#i can't draw well enough to put this out there aside from words

[iomadachd]

Dewdrop Ghoul in one of those widow robes. Send tweet.

[totalswag]

pairs love - DREW STARKEY

authors not since drew is in pairs at the fashion shows i thought why not write something cute and adorable. like can we talk about how freaking good he looked walking around ugh. the poll is officially over and the rafe series won! ima start working on the master list and have it up.

summary you come out to visit your boyfriend in pairs during fashion week.

warnings kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower

Drew was invited to two fashion shows in Paris: menswear for Prada and Loewe menswear. He left three days ago, while you stayed at home to put the finishing touches on your flower garden.

You couldn't be more proud of your boyfriend with all the success he's gained over the past couple years. He truly deserves this. Getting the recognition he deserves.

Last night, you landed in Pairs, drained from hours on the plane and eager to shower and sleep on a bed. It felt good seeing Drew and being in his arms. Although it was three days without each other, you always miss his presence.

Drew had the day off, so he planned to take you out to dinner, walk around, shopping, and visit the Eiffel Tower. He advised you to get enough rest early so you have enough rest to explore the Pairs at night.

During dinner, Drew spoke about what the shows were like and meeting celebs he's seen in movies or other people for the first time. It was really cool hearing what he had to say.

You were quite excited to visit the Eiffel Tower. You've always wanted to see it in person someday. Your inner child was jumping up and down inside.

"That restaurant was so delicious; I can see why you enjoy it so much," you tell Drew, tucking your hands into your coat to keep them warm from the cold.

"I'm glad to hear that you liked it baby," He smiles, tilts his head to the side, and blushes.

You chuckle as you playfully nudge his arm. He pretends to fall on his side, with a dramatic expression on his face.

"You are such a dork," you laugh.

"Your favorite dork, dork," he responds in a playful tone, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you continue walking down the sidewalk.

Drew and you went inside a few stores that caught your eye; you might've bought a few things. Drew watched you in awe as you showed him different clothing throughout the store.

"What do you think about this one?" You inquired Drew, holding two clothes that piqued your interest.

Drew hurriedly glances aside from the apparel rack he was browsing. His brows furrow as he casts a stern stare with his pointer finger on his chin.

"I think both will look great on you, but I'd go with this one because it draws your eyes out," he says casually, sweeping his arm toward the shirt you first showed him.

"You are too sweet, you know that" you reply as you turn around, putting back the other clothing item.

He loves seeing you happy. He knew how much you've always wanted to visit Pairs and thought this was the best time to go.

"Thank you for the stuff, baby," you grin, gripping his hand and lifting the bag with your other hand.

When you went out of the last store, you heard people heading in your direction, fans. They walked forward with grins on their faces, carrying items for him to sign and their phones for photos.

When one fan spotted you were with him, she screamed your name out in delight, and the rest followed after. You put your free hand over your heart with a pout before beaming at the little fans.

We love you Drew

This is the best day of my life

I can't believe he's in front of me

He's so beautiful in person

Drew started taking pictures with the fans; giving them hugs, making videos for fans that couldn't make it, signed a few things, and had conversations.

Fans also came up to as well. They were all so sweet and caring. One fan came up to you with tears forming in her eyes, you opened your arms to welcome her.

You are so sweet, Y/N

You are so gorgeous

Can't believe you are here too

I love your relationship with Drew

When word spread that Drew was in a relationship, all of the fans went crazy, searching for who this mystery girl was. You were apprehensive about how the fans might react.

You eventually posted a TikTok video with your best friend, Madelyn Cline, and Drew happened to be in the background; people then connected the dots. In the end, they loved and admired you.

Being in a relationship with someone in the public spotlight offers advantages and disadvantages, but you wouldn't alter it for anything, especially if you love them.

"Don't cry now love," you tell her softly, "what's your name?" She tells you her name and goes on to explain how much she loves you and your content you post.

"That's so sweet of you, thank you."

You spent ten minutes with the girls until it was ready to go look at the Eiffel Tower.

The Eiffel Tower was everything you've dreamed of. Seeing it in person was one of the best feelings in the world. So many emotions were going through your body.

You got out your phone to capture some photos and videos to share later tomorrow. Drew snapped a photo of you with his digital camera, capturing the tower, and he couldn't help but smile.

He carefully put his arms around your waist, drawing you into his front, chin on top of your head, rocking you side to side slowly and silently while savoring the moment.

"This has been one of the greatest days of my entire life. Being here with you in your arms in Pairs. I just want to say thank your for bringing me out here and experiencing this."

You feel your body relax in his touch, allowing a sigh to escape your lips, your head to strike his chest, and giving him the opportunity to kiss you.

You two don't give a damn whether anyone witnesses you kissing at this point. Right now, just the two of you matter because you are in love. And you are in Pairs.

"I had to bring you out here with me, of course, sweetheart. You keep me warm, too, and I love holding you in my arms. However, when you consider it, this is our first trip to Europe as a couple” he says.

You move your body around so that your chests are against one another. In return, you up on your small toes and wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him all over his face.

I love you.

I love you more.

my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line over your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@runningfrom2am @winterrrnight @chenslucy @brooklynscherry-z @johannelis2302nely @rosezza @kaydr3venge

[4only1]

Hello, hi. I read your fantastic Gitae fic and was wondering if you could do one where him and reader are business partners and are like considered a deadly duo because they work so well together and because the basically have the same personality but reader is much more sane and mostly tries to keep Gitae's bloodshed clean and not too messy but she overworks herself and is constantly on alert and Giate want to assure that they can both trust each other but reader was betrayed alot because people considered her weak and useless. 💋 thank you for listening to my Ted talk lovieeee

What you know

Gitae Kim X Reader Word Count: 767 Masterlist

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

When people heard the names (Y/N) (L/N) and Gitae Kim, they knew there would be trouble. Gitae, a man of strange habits and pure strength, the patricide. (Y/N), a genius who kept the whole drug cartel together, heck, kept Gitae together. Without you, he would be a dysfunctional wreck, not keeping his bloodsheding tendencies together.

You had been waiting in the car since Gitae went to deal with Kwak Jichang, the king- well, soon to be former king of Seoul. As you shuffle papers around in your hand, casually glancing at your phone every now and then, waves of exhaustion hit you. You both had arrived in Korea a few days ago, but when did you last sleep? Someone had to keep the drug cartel running at all hours, and while Gitae was meeting with James Lee and relaxing, it was up to you to do that work. Paperwork really wasn’t Gitae’s thing anyway. Numbers too.

As you kept fighting the feeling of sleep, the car door opened. Gitae entered the car soon after, talking on the phone, most likely to James Lee. Frustration bubbled within you as you noted Gitae's new addition to his look. He didn’t have that much blood on him when he left.

“Seriously”

Is all you manage to get out once Gitae hangs up the phone. Not only did he do the exact opposite of what he told you he was going to do, but he also came back soaked in blood. 

“I thought we talked about being less swing happy with the axe!”

“Not my fault. That Jichang guy was alright, but the police came so I had to deal with them.”

Gitae casually said, blowing out a puff of smoke with his sentence. You click your tongue at his response, before looking back at the papers. A yawn you tried so hard to keep back escapes your lips, drawing Gitae’s attention to you.

“And you have the nerve to scold me in that state. I thought we talked about you not overworking yourself.”

Gitae says, a bit mockingly, turning your own phrasing against you. You look at him, annoyance in your tired eyes. No matter how many times he told you to rest, you just couldn’t. You needed to prove your worth, no matter what personal cost came from it. You weren’t a fighter like Gitae, even the lower members of the gang have you beat in strength. You were the brains, you had to be, you couldn’t let simple exhaustion prevent you from doing the one thing that defined your worth. If things were running smoothly, you weren’t useless. 

You couldn't let a small mistake even become a thought. You feared that if something did happen, big or small, you would be cast aside, replaced with someone else. You couldn't let it happen, not again, you couldn't allow yourself to be thrown away again.

Lost in thought, you don't notice that Gitae has grabbed the papers until you feel them leaving your hand. You turn to him, ready to yell, when his gaze stops you. He didn't have a caring bone in his body, so why did he look at you with those soft eyes? Why did he make it so hard for you to not trust him. In all the time you've known him, he hasn't so much as yelled at you, just playful banter. Even that was enough to put you on edge. Why was he so kind to you but harsh to everybody else?

“Go to sleep.” Is all he says. 

“You can't be serious. I have to finish that work by tonight or-” He quickly cuts you off in a stern tone. But the gentleness is still there.

“Sleep. I refuse to spend another second being scolded by your sleep deprived ass. What's the saying, happy wife, happy life? You’re basically my wife with how you nag me all the time. I prefer if your grouchy ass was rested, so I don't have to deal with your complaints.”

Gitae calmly says before again reaching over and forcing you to lay down across the backseat, your head resting on his leg. You fought to keep your eyes open, but the comfort of Gitae's presence kept you relaxed. You wanted to argue back, but it didn't take long for sleep to consume you.

His large hand rested on the side of your head, stroking your hair. Cigarette smoke filled the air, but that didn't bother you much. You felt comfortable, safe, trusting. Maybe just this time, you can trust someone a little bit more.

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

Always love writing a Gitae request. I need to see more of this man in the story please. Next request comes out next week, spoilers, it's another Shingen request (what do y'all see in that man?)

I didn't properly proof read this one so I hope it sounds fine.

[game-set-canet]

hey could you make one where the reader is also a tennis player and carlos and she are mixed doubles rivals 🫶🏻

It's Even

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: ok, this turned out way different than I intended 🙈 but i hope you like it, lovely anon 🤍

* Y/N = your name * Y/L/N = your last name

MY MASTERLIST

(via Instagram @ carlitosalcarazz)

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

"Well...?", you look up from your phone, confused, as Grigor plops down on a chair next to you.

"Good morning, Grigor! What do you mean by 'well...'?"

"What do you think about the draw?", Grigor grins mischievously.

You raise an eyebrow, sceptical:  "What about the draw?"

The Bulgarian leans back, his grin widening: "So, you haven't seen who we're playing in the first round yet?"

Now your curiosity is piqued and you put your phone aside: "No, Dimitrov, enlighten me!"

Grigor leans in conspiratorially and shrugs nonchalantly: "Why don't you ask your boyfriend... and while you're at it, ask him what tactic he and Cristina plan to use for the match."

You feel a gentle blush spreading across your cheeks. Hearing the word "boyfriend" in connection with Carlos gives you butterflies.

You brush a strand of hair from your face and try to play it cool: "We're playing against Carlitos and Cristina?"

"Mhm...", Grigor nods slowly and meaningfully, "And don't you dare get those heart eyes again! Yesterday's practise was enough for me!", Grigor starts laughing, “As soon as Carlos started practising on the court next to ours, you couldn't hit a single serve!"

The gentle blush deepens into a rich tomato red and you shake your head vigorously: "That was because of the wind! And you know it!"

"Of course! The wind!", Grigor leaves no doubt that he doesn't believe a word you say, "Just make sure that doesn't happen during the match, whether your better half is on the other side of the net or not."

*** *** ***

"I can hardly wait for our match tomorrow!", Carlos has one arm around you while your head rests on his chest. You're both lying in the big hotel bed, eyes on the TV.

You smile and lift your head to look at your boyfriend: "You’re really excited about it, aren't you?"

Carlos beams at you and nods: "Of course! It's going to be our first time playing against each other!"

At that moment, you recall a tweet you saw during the rain delay: »Sometimes Carlitos is just like a golden retriever puppy« and the author of that tweet was obviously right.

You grin, furrowing your brow and your hand absentmindedly strokes Carlos' left side up: "But we play against each other all the time?"

"Practise doesn't count! A real match is something entirely different!", his eyes shine with excitement and you feel that special flutter in your stomach, you love him so much.

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

Carlos makes a grand gesture with the arm that's not around your shoulders: "Because it's going to be something special! Imagine the atmosphere!"

Now you can't hold back a laugh and poke him in the chest: "Carlitos, it's a first-round match, not the Roland Garros final!"

"For me, it has the same importance!", Carlitos matches your grin and you know he's at least partially serious.

You slide away from him a bit and sit up, looking down at him: "So, to you, the Roland Garros final is the same as our first-round match?"

Carlos' grin widens: "Absolutely! Because I'm playing against you!"

"True, and that's why you should be ready for something you've never experienced in a Slam final: you're going to lose."

Your expression is triumphant as you see Carlitos clutch his chest dramatically: "Ouch! What makes you so sure?"

"Grigor and I have already won a title together, and Cristina and you are playing together for the first time."

Carlos just shrugs, the grin returning to his face: "I've achieved a lot of things that seemed unlikely."

You ignore the slight increase in your heart rate at seeing that dazzling grin and toss your hair over your shoulder: "True. But not this time. This time, you’re going to lose."

Carlos doesn't say anything in response, he just pulls you close and gives you a long kiss.

*** *** ***

"Can I give you a tactical tip?" Grigor leans over, a bit out of breath, while you take a long sip from your water bottle, "If you’d stop staring at him, maybe you could actually play tennis."

You nearly choke on your drink and throw an annoyed look at your doubles partner: "And if you’d stop making double faults, maybe we could actually win."

Grigor makes a face and nods slowly before grabbing his tennis racket again: "Well, at least he’s staring at you the whole time too, so I guess it’s even."

Thankfully, it's very hot today, so no one notices your ears turning red. The match has been pretty even so far, but definitely not a highlight reel. Internally, you have to agree with Grigor: your level today is far from outstanding - the same goes for Carlitos. Surprisingly, the stands were almost full, and the crowd is cheering loudly.

"Why do I keep playing with you?", you mutter as you get ready to head back to the court.

Grigor grins widely: "Because you can’t play with Carlos: you two would just stare at each other’s butts the whole time and instead of high-fives after winning a point, it would be a five-minute make-out session."

You have to resist the temptation to throw a tennis ball at his head.

*** *** ***

In the third set, the match finally picks up and Carlitos starts showing why he’s called the golden boy. You also begin to play up to your second-place WTA ranking. Especially the tiebreak is a hard fight, lasting almost 20 minutes.

"Game, set, match, Dimitrov and Y/L/N!"

You hear Grigor sigh in relief next to you: "I thought this match would never end!"

You start laughing as you hug each other enthusiastically.

At the net, you first shake hands with Cristina and then with Carlos.

"I told you you’d lose.", you tease and Carlos laughs softly.

"It’s okay.", he still holds your hand in his and your eyes move from your interlaced hands to his face.

"Even though you claimed yesterday that today's match was just as important as a Slam final for you?"

"I don’t mind losing to you because I’m always so proud of you when you win!"

There it is again: his beautiful smile and your heart skips a beat.

Carlos leans over the net and kisses you.

The crowd cheers.

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev @purplecloudarcade

[ddarker-dreams]

Redamancy.

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 1k.

“You scowl too much.” 

If anyone else were to speak to Scaramouche, Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbinger in this way, they’d certainly be reduced to a pitiful pile of ash on the ground. Perhaps he’s thought about subjecting you to this fate, once or twice. That number could very well have been bumped up to three times if the indignant air he currently regards you with is to be considered. 

Then again, no one aside from you would get to experience this deceptively domestic scene. You sit beneath a canopy, branches free from winter’s thaw hastily preparing buds to herald in spring. Scaramouche holds your thighs captive, the soft flesh serving as his pillow. Indigo locks splay out against and tickle your skin. 

“There’s a lot to scowl about,” he replies, though he makes an effort to relax his tense facial muscles. The contemptuous smile he gives makes his previous expression look benevolent in comparison. “I’m stuck dealing with a fool of a woman who’d probably wander off a cliff because she was too busy admiring the clouds.” 

“Clouds are meant to be admired.” 

“Case in point.” 

“You make it sound like I’m chained to you with iron shackles, though,” you raise your ankle (notably shackle free, imagine that), drawing his attention and ire. Your sarcasm never fails to rile him up. He never seriously tries to put a stop to it, however. Such is his capricious nature. “If I’m such a bother, why not let me wander off the cliff?” 

Scaramouche grits his teeth. “Because…” 

There’s a pause, then, weighty and tangible. You know what he both wants and fears to say. If he were any less of a coward, he’d fill the aromatic air with truth, rather than engaging in his usual sidestepping. He’s so proficient at the act you swear he could moonlight as a crab. This mental image earns a barely contained giggle from you, one that further sours his mood, if such a thing were possible. 

Knowing you as intimately as he does, he correctly assumes that he’s the unwitting source of your amusement. 

“I can’t stand you,” he grumbles. Whether it’s to you or himself, you can’t decide. “Truly, I can't.” 

“Then hand me over to someone who can.” 

There’s a flash in his eyes then — otherworldly, malicious — he disregards composure like a snake abandons shed skin. He rises in a flash. Inhumanly cold fingers take your chin captive, bringing you closer to him, his delight in the ease with which he can manhandle you evident. Always the type to go for grand gestures, this one. His theatrical outbursts befit his moniker. 

Scaramouche grins, beset with an onslaught of bitterness akin to a black hole. It draws in and swallows anything unfortunate enough to be nearby. 

“You just love testing my patience, don’t you?” 

If you feared him, maybe you’d tremble, but you don’t, so you are still. It’s likely that you should fear him. He is volatile, a mess of contradictions too complicated to untangle, a vessel who fills himself with acrimony, the same way humans must with air. He delights in it and considers it his birthright. 

Your smile is not without kindness and that’s what bothers him most. 

“Come, don’t pout. I have no intentions of being complicit in whatever havoc you'd wreak if I was with another.” 

His eye twitches at the pesky word ‘another’. The mere thought of this faceless, nonexistent being having the audacity to lay claim to you, even in the land of fantasy, has his nostrils flaring and jaw tightening. You can see the ripple of muscles beneath his synthetic skin. He’s a wonder, this proprietorial doll, who can exalt and condemn you in the same breath. 

You are mine, and mine alone, his eyes seem to scream, and I’d sooner end the world than exist in it without having you for myself. 

“You really do scowl too much,” you reiterate your opinion from earlier, gently, almost sweetly. Whatever spell Scaramouche was under temporarily breaks, or perhaps he’s held prisoner to a new one, far more agreeable if not equally dangerous. “Your face is too pretty to always be frowning.” 

You enchant him by running your finger over his lower lip. It trembles by your command. His eyes go lidded, a lovelorn haze obscuring the former tempest. He can never decide if he wants to destroy or devour you. For someone like him, he can’t do one without the other. His love for you is a death sentence, despite the immortality that should’ve never belonged to your mortal body. 

It’s you who kisses him. 

He temporarily forgets himself. The arrogance, the hurt, the fear that you might slip between his fingers should he ever relax his hold. You find him foolish in that regard. He can have you in the palm of his hand if he likes, and you know he’d like that very much. There’s nowhere else for you to be. Not when he’s seen to the fact himself. 

Scaramouche melts into your person, returning your kiss with rapture, drunk on the way you offer yourself to him. He makes a deep, breathy noise, willing you closer, demanding total subservience. You let him have his way. Civilizations could rise and fall in the seconds that follow, and he’d pay them no mind, too absorbed with savoring your temporary connection. 

It is what he lives for; what he'd kill for.

His fair skin is flushed when you part. From the apple of his cheeks to the tip of his ears, he’s painted in a color from your palette. The pigmentation suits him. Red is the color around his eyes, of his longing for you, and of what would spill across the land should you ever part. 

“There,” you whisper, as if it were a secret meant for him alone, “That look suits you far better.” 

He wants to deny it — you can tell by how his grip tightens — but he remains uncharacteristically quiet. If he gets to delight in you, it’s only fair that you can occasionally delight in him, he supposes. 

Such is your capricious nature. 

[r0-boat]

İ would give my lungs for ghostface Leviathan pls plspls

All right fine just this once I will humor you

Sorry about your Boyfriend

Ghostface!Leviathan

Cw: murder, Yandere behavior, jealous ex, stabbing, blood, strangulation.

Human au!!

He thinks it's so cute that you think you're done with him. He thinks it's utterly adorable that you can just break up with him, and you'll be done with him just like that... How dare you cast him aside like worthless trash. He wonders if you notice his intense gaze from across the street as he watches you smile and flash those eyes that were only meant for him at another. And those friends of yours... Those two-faced snakes, hissing their little lies, trying to split you two apart.

Your friends finally convince you to host a college party at your place. You aren't much of a party person, But when they dragged your new boyfriend,, a happy-go-lucky Golden retriever type Who always loved seeing smile,s, You couldn't say no. Your friends, delighted to see you finally broke out of your shell, did not worry you with planning, prepping, snacks, and everything. They got everything handled. You smile. Lucky to have great friends. You've been through a lot; they've been with you through everything.

He planned this night meticulously. It had to go right. Even now, he was thinking of you as he dawned a black cloak and an iconic white mask with a few chains, small ones just for looks... You've always loved old horror films. He remembers how his face would always twist in jealousy as you talk on and on about people who you can't even see their faces and don't even know.

The Hunt begins. With a phone call.

"Hello?"

Your sweet voice he misses but it does not quell his anger

"Who is this?"

His voice sounds slightly different... Smooth yet husky, there's something about it that you can't quite put your finger on.

"Who you trying to call?"

"What number is this?"

"Well What number are you trying to reach?"

He could hear the smile in your voice His heart pounds,him wants to talk to you more He yearns for more of you.

"I don't know..."

"well you have the wrong number..."

He couldn't hide a smile as it slips into the phone.

"Do I~?"

You hang up your phone and place it on the counter before returning to where your friends are. He watched you through the window. You always were the forgetful type with everything, placing things down and forgetting them, and he was always there to bring them to you. As much as he nags and calls you worthless, it's adorable how much you need him... That's why he must do this. He turns on the cell phone jammer in his pocket. It's a good one, an expensive one. He got this from his wealthy roommate at his frat, so it better do its work.

He carefully places it in the bushes. The radius is wide enough to cover the entire house. He won't need it after tonight, and it's better if it's not in his hands, just in case.

The backyard blinds were closed, so it was easy to sneak around the back to cut the power. Then, with a spare key, he comes in from the door to the garage. All your friends were either asleep, drunk, or watching a movie with you. You're cuddled up to your new boyfriend when the power went out.

As you go to check the power, Levi purposely avoids you. He doesn't want you to see him yet. First, he wants to get rid of everyone that made you sway away from him. Simply stabbing and drawing blood wasn't enough. Especially to your fucking boy toy. The anger and jealousy consumed him As he wrapped his hands around his muscular neck and strangled him till he could no longer breathe.

He couldn't help but let out a little throated chuckle. I saw the fear in your eyes when you watched the situation unfold. He's never seen that look before... That look of panic and anxiety. Perhaps he understands why you like masks so much. He couldn't help from his words slipping. "Sorry about your boyfriend... All that struggling didn't help." He hissed the word boyfriend. The word alone made him sick. Knowing that he was talking about someone else other than him. You could have noticed him from his voice, but it seemed like you were so choked with fear. All you could do was scream and run.

When he sees something, he chases, and you are always like a magnet to him, brandishing a knife to get your blood pumping until you lock yourself in the bathroom. No matter... He could always return to you. He has other victims.

Your hands shake your entire body was shaking As you hear muffled screams from God knows where and you don't even want to think about where they're from. You must have the courage to try to at least find your phone to call the police...

The house was eeriely quiet and dark. The rain patterning against the windows and your heart thumping in your ears as every creek from your light steps sounded like thunder. But he was quieter It was almost as if he was supernatural stalking you in the shadows like an apex predator You're so engrossed and trying to get your phone to work You didn't notice the gloved hand slipping around your throat.

He laughed at your pitiful attempts the struggle before placing a knife right against your neck. It was cold and soaked with red as tears rolled down your face. That's when he finally took off his mask to kiss your tears away.

Your eyes widen at the sight "Levi..."

"Yes my love?"

His voice was sickly sweet and he used the pet name that he'd always give you when he was in a good mood which is rarely of ever. Everything he ever wanted was back in his arms. All you could do is cry.

"please don't kill me..."

His eyes widen before giving you a soft smile His fingers rushing against your cheek.

"Oh I'm not going to kill you..."

His smile a smile that you'll probably see in your nightmares from now and forever reaches into a pocket pulling out a purple collar.

"Now you will always be mine! And no one will ever come between us~"

[alrtyhoney]

VAMPIRE!

(You can't love anyone 'cause that would mean you had a heart.)

The rundown: Miguel had an image to uphold and you are in the way of him keeping up appearances.

Content: Miguel x !Reader / Angst! (wc: 2011)

Miguel had an image to uphold. He is of many things; stoic, cold-blooded, mean– some of the words you’d hear from whispers and passing spider-men. Of course he knew that, knew everything that came from everyone’s mouth. The walls talked, and by walls, it was mostly from those people that tolerated him. 

“You know people would talk more nicely about you if you weren’t so..” Peter B. trailed off, trying to find a description that didn’t seem offending. Not that it ever bothered Miguel, but he wasn’t in the mood to be sent out early back to his universe. 

“Stoic? Restrained?” He listed a reply, uninterested. 

“Closed off.” 

He wasn’t exactly expecting that. It wasn’t like the people knew him well enough to see who he was way past his shell of a tough man. He wasn’t closed off– He wasn’t heartless enough to not let people in and by people, you. Only you. 

It was only you that saw through him; the only one who tried to put the bricks of the wall he had built down one by one. You were gentle– genuine. Every word that he wasn’t. You made his brain short circuit, his spine rigid, and palms sweat. 

The problem was, while Miguel was all those mean words, he was also dense; unknowing, stupid, insensitive. He didn’t know how to love.

You were patient. It was satisfaction enough that Miguel had given you attention before; like you existed and wasn’t like any of the million other spider-men. You knew you weren’t imagining it when he had softened around you.

Days passed and melted into months– months into years and years into moments he couldn’t take for granted. Just how could he push you aside when you have been nothing but perfect to him? Before you knew it, he had asked you to be his and when he did, you saw nothing of what they called Miguel. 

It was surprising– Miguel wasn’t as overbearing with someone. And while everyone was delighted that someone had made him less hostile, a few comments had made his stomach churn in shame. (Who knew a woman was all he needed to release tension– jeez! / I wonder how y/n could put up with someone so nonchalant. Poor her.) They probably didn’t mean harm, but it made Miguel undeniably embarrassed. 

And before he knew it, he was pushing you away– slowly.

(“What ya working on, boss?” You had plopped on one of the tables from his office, legs swinging as you watched him from his platform. 

“Work. Something you should be doing too.” Miguel had answered, still focused on the plenty holograms but lowering the platform nonetheless. Something you’ve learned about him was he’d never be direct– everything he’d imply was for you to figure out. It wasn’t like you didn’t expect him to be an easy man, but it was still a privilege to know the little things about him. 

You jumped off from where you were sitting to join him, reading the reports from the desks that surrounded him, while stealing glances to what he worked on. It took every strength for Miguel to not soften his shoulders– jaw tightening so the smile that was threatening to seep through wouldn’t show. God, he yearned to touch you; to have you near him all the time. 

Something about you made him feel normal– just him. 

“Date night?” His body jolted slightly when you whispered, your warm breath fanning over his ears as you lovingly nuzzled your head against the crook of his neck. You had risen onto the tips of your toes, chest pressed against his as you waited for his response. 

He chuckles, the sound deep and resonating in your chest as you draw close to him. Unable to restrict himself anymore, he turns to you. He puts his weight against the machine behind him, positioning you between his legs. His crinkled eyes and warm smile make your heart swell, and for a moment it's just the two of you: no worries or troubles. No image to uphold.

"How could I possibly turn you down, amor?" he murmurs affectionately, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He revels in the giggle you let out and it makes him shiver with so much love. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” You trailed off jokingly, drawing circles on his chest. “You seem busy.” 

“Never too busy for you, you know that right?” You hummed softly in reply, leaning your body against his and letting him play with the strands of your hair.

Suddenly, Jess came into view, her gaze focused intently on the papers in her hands. It wasn't until she had realized that someone was in the room with her. "Miguel– oh, y/n, what are you doing here?" she asked in surprise.

Miguel quickly rises to his feet, coughing and shifting nervously. He turns to face away from you, “Leaving. She was just about to leave.” Miguel blurts out, tone dismissive. 

You feel the heat of embarrassment and confusion spread quickly through your veins as you stand there, your heart aching. You had stared for a second or so before he finally looked back at you. “Leave. Now.”

Your eyes widened and that was the cue you needed to go. “Right– right! Was just about to leave.” You quickly scurry to leave, murmuring a soft ‘I’ll see you later.’)

You were respective of Miguel; knew of what troubled him. After that occurrence, he had pampered you– apologized a million times in between opening up. I didn’t mean it, love. He said, she caught me off guard.

You were still patient. You understood that it was never his intention to hurt you, but your mind was blaring alerts in bright red. Do you perhaps embarrass him? This wasn’t the only time it had happened– wasn’t the only time he had left you in a clueless state. 

(“So, you and y/n.” Hobie had begun, tinkering with his machines and carefully extracting different parts from them.

Miguel was aware that the seemingly casual conversation was only a ruse to distract him while he continued to steal from his devices, but he indulged nonetheless. Reprimanding him wouldn’t help anyway. “What about her?” Unbeknownst to him, you were in the same place. You couldn't help but feel your eyebrows rise up to the sound of your name.

“I don’t know, you tell me, you dense bloke.” Hobie let out a huff, then plopped himself down in an office chair and began to spin it around in circles. He knew about it anyway. You would tell him about Miguel and your relationship, told him what made your heart race and what troubled you greatly.

Hobie wanted to hear it from Miguel– wanted to confirm your uncertainty. 

Miguel hesitates as he ponders, eyebrows knitted together. He clicks his tongue in frustration before finally giving an answer “An associate? Coworker? I don’t know what you want from me.”

You felt a sudden weight crash down upon you— your mouth became parched and your chest seemed to constrict. It was like something was pressing hard against you, making it difficult to breathe. An unwelcome realization dawned on you as you pieced it all together. 

“Ouch. You hear that, y/n? If I was you, I would’ve dumped this oaf.” But you had been gone before Miguel even got the chance to set his eyes on you and he knew he had messed up again.)

“I’m not closed off.” Miguel had muttered under his breath– a bit too defensive to his liking as he clicked away on his keyboard aggressively. Peter didn’t miss the shift on his behavior and he decided to push further. 

What was with everyone and questioning about his personal life?

“You know what I mean– Jess, help me out here.” 

“What he means is, it wouldn’t hurt to be less uptight.” Jessica said, “I mean, look at you and y/n. It’s not so hard to be friendly.”

Peter's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, his furrowed eyebrows clearly expressing his disagreement. “Friendly? Look me dead in the eyes and tell me the heart eyes he’s shooting y/n is friendly.” He butted in with Mayday babbling in the carrier strapped to his chest like she was on the same page as his father. 

Jess rolls her eyes, “I just don’t think Miguel’s the type to be all lovey-dovey.” She replies, both hands lifting in a gesture of surrender. “Besides, y/n is waaay out of his league.”  She can already imagine it - Miguel trying his best to sweep y/n off her feet with corny pickup lines or gestures that didn’t seem like him.

They didn’t know about them; no one did. It wasn’t like they made their relationship public. 

Blood rushed to his ears as they continued to banter about him, frustration brimming to the point of overflow. They continued to talk about him like he wasn’t there in front of him– like what he felt didn’t matter. He finally turns to them, expression clearly unamused. 

And unbeknownst to him, you were just around the corner. You marched towards his office, chest puffed and heart pounding as you advanced. Your mind was made up, finally giving in to the voices waving red flags. It wasn’t fair– wasn’t just that you had given your heart for him to throw around. However, his voice stopped you from making your appearance known; it was firm– angry.

“The fate of the multiverse depends on me,” He started off and it takes all the strength in Peter to not roll his eyes, “I do not have time to be in a relationship– let alone be with someone as soft-hearted as y/n.” 

It was like a strike to the gut and you only want the ground to swallow you whole now. Your legs threatened to buckle, begging you to leave but you couldn’t. It was wrong of you to eavesdrop, but you couldn’t help it; His words were answering every question you had in mind in the worst way possible, breaking you apart and squashing every butterfly that fluttered inside your stomach.

“Just what do you mean about that?” Peter comes to your defense, shoulders stiffened. 

“I do not need someone weighing me down.” 

Peter was having none of it— absolutely did not believe every word that fell from his lips. He knew it was love; the lingering stares, the small touches. He wasn’t a fool to ignore the signs, Miguel just needed a push. “But you tolerate her more than the others! You like being around her!” 

“Peter, just leave it.” Jess attempts to calm the escalating tension, but her words seem to fall on deaf ears as Miguel speaks again.

“Isn’t it our job to endure? What’s another headache to tolerate?” He said before finally looking away, ready to walk out. “Now stop asking because I have enough of having her around. Don’t make me talk about her too.”

What he didn't expect was that you were already standing in his path, cheeks wet with tears and lips pressed together in a deep frown. His heart sank as he took your presence in, letting it seep like a rain of needles. The realization had hit him like a bag of bricks. You had heard their conversation– heard every single thing he said. 

You quickly wiped away your tears, focusing on anything but the face of the one who caused them. You couldn’t bear to look into his eyes, not when he had you clutching your chest as you listened. It threatened to leap out, pounding against your ribs. “Yeah Peter, I think he said enough.”

“Amor,” He had whispered, walking towards you only for you to step backward in return. 

You had left the scene and the shame that swallowed him was nothing compared to the embarrassment he swore was unbearable. Miguel is of many things; stoic, cold-blooded, mean. And they were right– all of it. 

[rqbossman]

Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

[lilacmingi]

THE GOAT

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Hongjoong x fem reader, Mingi x fem reader

Word count: 4,790

Note: I’m doing something new with this little series. Each part will have two imagines based on the duos from the Bouncy music video, so you guys are getting TWO imagines in one :D

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 홍중

Hongjoong released a long sigh, staring through the telescope he held between his glove-clad hands.

"Tired?" You questioned.

He scoffed. "No."

"Liar."

"I'm used to staying up late. You should know this by now."

"Yeah, yeah." You waved a dismissive hand, repositioning yourself on the raised platform Hongjoong sat upon, fixing your gaze on the city below. "How many nights are we going to spend keeping watch out here like this?"

"Until we get the signal."

"The signal." You muttered through a sigh of exasperation. "And when will we be getting that?"

"Don't know." Hongjoong pushed the telescope closed and set it aside.

You leaned back, resting on your palms while gazing out at the nighttime cityscape lit up with vibrant neon hues from the different signs displayed on buildings. The streets were empty, completely vacant and void of any civilians. This place you called your temporary home was practically a ghost town. Despite the people here being away from the government's control, they all seemed to prefer to move quietly throughout to city so as not to draw any attention to themselves.

The sound of a motorcycle revving loudly echoed somewhere in the distance.

Well, except some people.

Hongjoong chuckled softly. "That must be Seonghwa."

"Must be. What is he doing anyway?"

"Riding around with his new motorcycle gang I suppose."

"That doesn't seem like something that pertains to the plan."

"No, but who says we can't have a little fun while we wait to put the plan in motion? He grinned.

"Yeah. You have a point."

"Plus, we're just regular civilians going about our daily lives. Isn't that right?"

"Right."

Hongjoong adjusted the hat on his head, pushing it back enough to where he could look up at the stars. His cowboy attire was a bit ridiculous, but it was his disguise and unfortunately yours as well. All the boys were staying in separate hideouts around the city. You, Hongjoong, and Mingi were located in a part of the city that had a more western feel to it and in order to blend in, you had to dress the part. Not only that, but the boys were wanted for their crimes against the government and they needed to keep a low profile, lest they get captured by the android guardians.

"Mingi's face is plastered all over the city." You commented, recalling the numerous sketches of him you had seen stuck to nearly every building.

"I know."

"You don't think our cover is gonna get blown?"

"No. There have been plenty of times we've almost been caught in the past, but we always make it out."

He had a point. All of them were uncannily lucky when it came to escaping the clutches of the android guardians. Yes, Yeosang got captured once, but he was brought back completely unscathed with his emotions still intact. That was a miracle in and of itself. There wasn't a day that went by where the boys weren't thankful for all eight of them being safe.

"At this point, what are we even watching for? Nothing has happened in Prestige Academy for months."

"We're not watching for anything. We're just keeping an eye on them."

You hummed and nodded, your fingers mindlessly fiddling with the fringe on your vest.

"Do you ever miss home?" You questioned, eyes locked on the dreary slate gray city of Strictland far in the distance—a reminder of how vastly dissimilar this world was from the one you grew up in.

Hongjoong pursed his lips in thought.

"Not really. Our lives weren't exactly perfect and it seemed like none of us had a purpose. The group broke apart and everyone was dealing with their own issues. Here, we have a purpose and whatever problems we had back home are insignificant now, especially compared to the threat we're facing here." There was a brief pause before he added, "What about you?"

"Do I miss home?" You questioned.

He nodded.

"No, but sometimes yes. Back in our world, I felt stuck I guess. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and I felt like I was being held back. If you can believe it, I feel more free here, even with all the rules the government is trying to enforce."

Hongjoong chuckled softly. "I get what you mean."

"When we first started this journey together, I was terrified. I didn't think I had it in me to make such daring moves, but now I want to do thrilling things like infiltrating an academy, but I do sometimes miss the normality of my old life. I miss hanging out with you guys in that old tin building."

"I do too." Hongjoong smiled fondly, turning to you. "But it's like I said earlier, who says we can't have a little fun? This dystopian world may be bleak, but we can still take it easy and have moments of normalcy."

The light from the large neon sign reading The Goat shone along his face, highlighting his side profile as he looked at you. It was a heavenly sight and one that had your heart thumping wildly with adoration.

You felt strongly about Hongjoong and had been quietly swooning over him for a long time now. Unfortunately, with all of the chaos constantly going on around you, there was no possibility of confessing. However, in this moment of vulnerability, you found yourself uttering something you normally wouldn't say.

"I'm glad I'm here with you."

Hongjoong's head lifted at your words. Now that he was looking at you, his eyes studying your face, you got nervous.

"Sorry." You murmured an apology, fiddling with the fringe of your vest again. "It's just that... well, you mean a lot to me and if we hadn't gone on this rollercoaster of a journey together and I stayed at our old home I'd probably be miserable. What I'm trying to say is that I'm thankful that we stuck together."

His gaze softened, a gentle smile gracing his pretty lips.

"I feel the same way."

A beat passed and Hongjoong scooted closer, it was unnoticed by you, as you'd turned your gaze back to the neon dotted cityscape ahead, staring out at the nighttime scene. His lips pressed together in momentary contemplation while his fingers fidgeted with the chains attached to his black leather gloves.

Hongjoong was a smart man, but your words caused him some confusion. Was that a confession? A subtle way to declare your feelings without saying it outright? Maybe you were just showing him appreciation for your companionship—or maybe you were hinting that you wanted something more. He hoped it was the latter.

There was only one way to find out.

He had taken on the android guardians multiple times, broke into a museum to steal the Cromer, snuck around Strictland to set up speakers, and now he was planning to infiltrate Prestige Academy to save as many students as possible, which would be one of their biggest and riskiest plans ever. Confessing is nothing compared to that. It should be a piece of cake. Keyword should.

Swallowing his pride and pushing away his nerves, he leaned over towards you, the movement grabbing your attention. Seeing how close he was made you tense up, but you didn't make any efforts to move away. Truthfully, you didn't want to.

His eyes were a little wider than usual, hesitancy swimming in his brown irises. The reason for that reluctance, you didn't know.

"Hongjoong?" Your voice came out much quieter than you intended. "What's happening?"

"I'm about to kiss you."

There was a brief pause of silence as your brain processed what he had just said. The only word that managed to come out of your mouth in response was,

"Okay."

You hardly had time to internally cringe at your lame response as Hongjoong's lips made contact with yours, promptly silencing your thoughts. Their softness alone had your mind turning to mush, your eyelids sliding closed as you practically melted into him. His gloved hand moved to cradle the side of your face while your hands relocated from your lap to the nape of his neck to keep him held close, hoping that this moment would last long enough for you to believe it wasn't a dream. His kisses were so delicate and slow. It felt like he was pouring all of his emotions into it, conveying just how much you meant to him with each gentle press of his lips.

Only a few moments passed before Hongjoong's kisses became a little more heated as he picked up the pace, moving his lips with more urgency. He even nipped at your bottom lip a couple times, earning a quiet squeak of surprise from you. You were thankful to be sitting down or else your knees would have given out on the spot. He chuckled lowly against your lips, amused by your reaction. His sultry laugh made your heart thump rapidly, your hands tightening into fists.

It wasn't long before your hands moved to his hat, pulling it off his head and tossing it to the side somewhere so you could card your fingers through his blue locks, grabbing handfuls of it. He let out a low hum that vibrated against your lips and sent a rush of butterflies to your stomach. After a particularly dizzying kiss, you sighed out his name, your mind far too clouded to realize what you had said. Hongjoong couldn't ignore the way that lit a fire in him. He liked how you sounded and he wanted to hear it again.

At this point, keeping watch was at the back of Hongjoong's mind. All he could think about was you and how glorious it felt to be kissing you like this and what it would take for you to say his name again.

"Say my name." He sighed out between heated kisses. "Please."

You did as he asked, repeating his name in a breathless whisper, egging him on.

His hand that cupped your cheek slid around to the back of your neck, his thumb gently rubbing your nape. You suppressed a shiver as he took your bottom lip between his, encasing it in warmth.

The both of you parted ways, Hongjoong's eyes looking hazy while his tongue darted out to wet his lips that were slightly swollen from your intense make out session. It seemed impossible, but he looked even more stunning than usual.

"What was that for?" You questioned breathlessly.

"I didn't know how else to convey my feelings."

"So, instead of just confessing, you did something riskier by kissing me?" You asked amusedly.

"What can I say? I'm a man who likes to take risks." The statement was confident, but judging by the pink tinting the tips of his ears, the thought of straight up confessing hadn't crossed his mind.

"Now what?"

"Well..." Hongjoong trailed off, his hand finding yours. "We can be together and still take down Prestige."

You gave a lighthearted chuckle. "Alright then. If you think you can handle balancing a relationship and overthrowing the government."

"Please." He scoffed playfully. "I'm the captain. I can handle anything."

Hongjoong's eyes shifted slightly, moving away from your face and focusing on something in the distance.

"Someone's coming." He announced, his gaze fixed on a figure riding a delivery scooter.

You chuckled softly even though you were bummed out that the moment had ended.

Duty calls.

He scrambled for his telescope, opening it up and peering through the glass.

"We didn't order any food." You mused.

"I know."

He zeroed in on a logo stuck to the delivery scooter that read Blue Bird Delivery. A silent sigh of relief was released. As the person approached, Hongjoong began messing with the pulley system attached to the roof of the building, lowering a beat up metal bucket to the ground below.

The moped came to a stop and the rider pulled out a plastic bag, placing it in the bucket before Hongjoong raised it.

"Is that Yeosang?"

"I think so."

The driver, who you assumed to be Yeosang got back onto the scooter and took off towards his next destination.

Hongjoong removed the plastic bag, carelessly tossing it aside as he opened the styrofoam takeout container. Inside was a single Cheongyang chili pepper.

Your brows furrowed in perplexmxent, wondering why Yeosang would bring you something like that. Hongjoong removed the paper from the container and examined it briefly. Glancing around, he broke open the green chili pepper, pulling out a rolled up note that had been put inside.

"What it is?" You inquired, watching as he unraveled it.

"It's time."

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈 | 민기

The atmosphere in the dim Chili Peppers bar was filled with the sound of low murmuring from the few patrons it housed, the occasional sound of clinking glasses or pool being played accompanied the low conversations. You pressed the corners of the wrinkled paper to the wall, hanging a new wanted poster, this one bigger than the ones that already hung there. Most of them depicted the same man while others showed images of a few other fugitives who were believed to run in the same group. The only thing that was different from the rest was that any poster that showed this particular man said DEAD OR ALIVE in large letters. You weren't exactly sure as to why this man was wanted, but you heard whispers throughout the city that he looted local businesses in the area and sometimes traveled with a group of other fugitives. Some even say he runs with the masked men in fedoras, but you're not sure—this town talks a lot.

The wooden doors of the saloon squeaked as they were pushed open by a strong force. A tall figure stepped into the establishment, all of the attention drawn to him, the chatter in the bar coming to an abrupt stop. Every patron in the saloon had their heads directed towards the stranger, their eyes following him across the room. He wore a large hat that blocked his face, keeping his head low as he approached the bar you stood behind. You took note of the large shotgun strapped to his back, not thinking too much of it, as quite a few people around here carried weapons with them.

"How can I help you?" You asked, leaning on the wooden bar top.

"Why else do you think I came to this bar?" The man responded, his voice low and incredibly deep.

"Not everybody comes into this bar to drink, you know."

"Soju." He responded, taking a seat on one of the stools.

Reaching underneath the bar, you grabbed a shot glass and a cold bottle of soju from the mini fridge. Cracking open the alcohol, you poured the clear liquid into a shot glass, sliding it over to the man. His gloved hand reached out and lifted the shot to his lips, downing it just as quickly as you had poured it. He slammed the glass down onto the counter with his head hanging low. It was only when he raised his head that you got a clear look at his face.

First, you noticed his strikingly handsome features, then instant recognition. This was the man from the wanted poster.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice was stuck in your throat as he stood up, pulling his long, leather coat back to flash the gun sitting in a holster on his hip.

"When I turn around, duck under the bar." He instructed lowly.

What? Is what you wanted to say, but you didn't have time as he spun around, pulling the gun out.

You dropped to the floor and covered your head as the sound of gunshots rang out above you, some stray bullets hitting the bottles of alcohol displayed behind the counter, the shattered glass falling onto you, liquor splashing onto the wooden boards of the floor.

You didn't even have time to consider wether you trusted this stranger or not, yet you did exactly as he said without a second thought. Then again, it was the only thing you knew to do when you saw him draw his weapon.

A thump sounded from above you, the noise drawing your attention. The man now stood on  the bar holding the shotgun that was previously strapped to his back, firing the weapon mercilessly. Based on the heavy thuds you heard after every shot, he was good.

"Alright. It's safe. You can come out now."

Deciding to peek out from your hiding spot, you slowly stood up, peering over the bar top. Bodies littered the floor, tables were overturned, and shell casings were scattered everywhere. Your eyes were blown wide in surprise as you took in the scene before you. The stranger hopped down off the bar, landing behind the counter with you. You unconsciously took a step back, still wary of the man.

"Who are you?" You asked in a shaky voice, rattled by the experience you just had.

"Mingi."

When you didn't respond, he held his hands up in a placating manner to show he wasn't a threat.

"I won't hurt you. I'm a good guy."

Still skeptical, you studied him for a moment, your eyes scanning his sharp features for any signs of dishonesty.

"I saved you." He added.

"Saved me?"

"Yes. Everyone in this bar was working for the government."

Your expression shifted upon hearing that.

"Strictland is getting tougher on enforcing their rules and regulations. They were going to bring you in and have your emotions taken away."

"What?"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, shaking your head in denial.

"That's not possible. This is the outskirts of the city. The government has no control here."

"They're trying to."

Mingi could see your breathing start to quicken, a look of fear crossing your features.

"What do I do?"

"You come with me."

"But I don't know you."

"Have you ever heard of The Black Pirates?"

"No."

"They're a group of people who are rebelling against the government and trying to undo what Strictland has tried to enforce. Me and my friends work with them."

So that's why his picture is all over the city. Those other wanted posters are probably the friends he mentioned.

"Trust me, it's best if you listen and come with me." He added.

After taking a few seconds to think it over, you caved and agreed to go with Mingi. It seemed to be your best and only option.

"Smart girl." He commented. "Follow me."

Taking a final glance at the bar that was in complete disarray, you turned your back and followed Mingi out of the establishment. There was something sad about walking out of that dingy bar. It felt like you were leaving a part of you behind. Chili Peppers was a place you had spent a year working at and met many  different people. You were well-acquainted with the regulars and enjoyed catching up with them when they came in. It was a fun job and one that had marked a new start of your life, so walking away from it broke your heart.

"Can I go back?" You asked.

"Probably not. You'll need to lay low."

"Right."

Unable to look at the bar any longer, you dropped your head and moved forward, rounding the corner of the building. It was only when Mingi came to a stop that you lifted your head.

He stood before the side of the Chili Peppers bar, staring at the multiple wanted posters depicting a sketch of his face that were plastered along the siding. Painted in harsh and aggressive black streaks across the posters was a giant Z. Mingi rolled his eyes, letting out an annoyed huff.

"So freaking persistent." He muttered under his breath.

"What's that?" You inquired.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek in agitation. "He's the one in control of everything going on in Strictland."

You pressed your lips together as a bitter taste invaded your mouth. "I see."

Mingi turned to look at your expression, seeing the discomfort that flashed across your features as unwanted memories more than likely invaded your mind. It was clear to him that you felt ill will against Z.

"We all hate him." Mingi spoke up, hoping to ease your mind a bit. "That's why my friends are here. To get rid of all these rules and laws. This world is... wrong."

"I used to live in Strictland." You spoke up after a moment of silence. "I had to watch my friends turn into emotionless zombies. The android guardians tried to get me, but I fled. That's how I ended up here in the outskirts of the city. I felt safe... until now."

Mingi frowned upon hearing your story. Z and his twisted way of thinking has ruined so many lives. Your story was just a reminder of why he and his friends constantly put themselves in the line of danger and why they needed to continue doing so.

They wouldn't stop until this world was saved.

Your feet dragged through the dirt that lined the streets of the city, your eyes cast downward to stare at your shoes as they kicked up tiny puffs of dust.

"So, where are you taking me?"

"My hideout."

"And where is that?"

"Rooftop of The Goat."

"Rooftops aren't very secretive."

Mingi chuckled softly. "No, but it's the perfect spot to keep watch. My friends and I split off into groups of two so it would be harder for us to be tracked down and possibly caught if the android guardians decide to infiltrate this temporary safe haven. I've been staying in this part of town for a while."

"I heard about a group of people displaying acts of rebellion against Strictland's government and they've never been caught. It seems like they slip away in the nick of time every single time." You paused for a moment. "That was you and your friends, wasn't it?"

Mingi gave a nod.

A short walk through the dusty streets led you to the building with the giant neon sign reading: The Goat shining brightly at the rooftop, the word entrance accompanying the name of the building. It was then that you realized there were no doors.

"Come on." Mingi beckoned, climbing up a set of rickety metal stairs that lined the side of dilapidated building.

With each step, the stairs rattled softly and you hoped they would stay together long enough for you to reach the top.

"Hongjoong." Mingi announced, using his knuckles to knock lightly on a metal pipe as the both of you emerged on the rooftop.

"Oh, Mingi. Hi." A man with vibrant blue hair and cowboy attire greeted while peering through a telescope.

"Any news?"

"Not at all." The man who you assumed was Hongjoong lowered the telescope and pushed it together into its compact form before setting it aside. When he finally turned to look at Mingi, his eyes landed on you.

"Who's this?"

"You know I told you I was going to Chili Peppers to take care of some business?"

"Yeah."

"Everyone sitting in that bar tonight was working for the government. Y/n was the bartender and the only one there with her emotions in tact. They were going to bring her in and brainwash her."

"The government has no jurisdiction here."

"They don't seem to care. You know Z is going to try and get his way no matter what."

"Great." Muttered Hongjoong. "Just what we needed."

Mingi removed his hat and let out a sigh, running his fingers through his short, choppily-cut pink hair.

"This is bad." He said to Hongjoong.

Meanwhile you were left to watch the tense exchange between the two, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. These two and their friends were the only people who could undo all of the damage Z has done to Strictland and here they are, visibly distraught.

"We still have the raid on Prestige." Hongjoong mentioned, making your ears perk up.

"Right." Mingi nodded. "That'll surely light a fire under Z. He won't see it coming."

Hongjoong peered into the distance, presumably where Prestige Academy sat.

"It's just a matter of time." He murmured.

"What's going on with Prestige?" You inquired, too curious to keep your mouth shut.

"We're going to sneak in and break everyone out of their trances. We've got an elaborate plan in place, we're just waiting to put it into motion." Mingi explained.

The government of Strictland was very powerful and this group of, you weren't sure how many people, are out here making big moves in order to save humanity. You commend them for their bravery but at the same time you wondered how someone could be so brave.

"I can't believe you guys do stuff like this."

"We have to. It's what we're here for." Mingi told you, his eyes holding a tsunami of emotions: commitment, determination, perhaps even a hint of fear.

"I'll leave you two alone." Hongjoong spoke up. "If you need me, I'll be downstairs."

With that, he stood up and entered a door that you assumed led to the inside of the building,  leaving the rooftop so you and Mingi could converse in private.

"Have a seat." The pink-haired male gestured to a raised platform resembling the front of a ship with two telescopes set up on it.

He stepped up on the platform, offering you a gloved hand to grab onto, which you did and allowed him to assist you onto the raised surface.

He set his hat aside and took a seat, his long legs hanging off the side of the platform. You followed suit and made yourself comfortable beside him, resting your arms on the metal bar of the railing that lined the ship-like structure.

"So, what's your story?" You asked, gently swinging your legs back and forth.

Mingi's captivating lips stuck out in though while his eyes focused on the buildings in the distance.

"I guess I should start from the beginning."

And so he did. From being brought here by the Cromer to taking the places of the masked men in fedoras and saving Strictland. You stayed silent the whole time and let him speak without interrupting. When he finally finished, a heavy and lengthy silence hung in the night air.

"So, you're not from this world." You said it like a statement.

"No."

"And you agreed to take the place of the men in fedoras just like that?"

"Yes. There's no way we can go back to our old world, especially knowing this one needs saving."

An overwhelming rush of admiration swelled in your chest, as did your respect for Mingi, if that was even possible.

"You and your friends are so brave."

He huffed out a light chuckle. "Yeah, I guess we are. It's weird. When we were told we would have to step up, we did. We did it without thinking."

"Do you ever get scared?"

"A lot. There have been times where I worry our plans won't work or one of my friends is about to get caught. I'm afraid one day, we won't be so lucky."

"If you need an extra person on your team, I'm willing to step up."

Mingi's brows raised, his sharp eyes becoming rounder in surprise.

"I'm not sure what I can do, but I'm willing to help however I can." You added.

"Are you sure?"

Yes, Mingi had just met you but he felt somewhat protective of you and there was a small part of him that couldn't see you get hurt or captured by the android guardians.

"Yes I'm sure." You were adamant in your decision. "I lost the only friends I had to that dictator. He stripped them of their emotions."

Mingi's eyes met yours, serious and searching for more confirmation even though he could see it clearly on your face—there was no changing your mind.

"We need all the help we can get, but it won't be easy." He told you.

"Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it. I'm up for whatever Strictland has to throw at me."

"Very well."

About that time, Hongjoong emerged onto the rooftop with a large sheet of rolled up paper in his hand that you presumed was a blueprint.

"Joong, we've got a new recruit." Mingi informed him.

"Is that so?"

You nodded in confirmation.

"What do you say we fill her in on the plans to invade Prestige?"

"I'm way ahead of you." Hongjoong wiggled the blueprint in his hand, bringing it over to spread it along the ground, revealing a grand plan. "Let's begin."

Seonghwa & Yeosang ⟡ Yunho & Jongho ⟡ San & Wooyoung

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Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

[twilightarc-gm]

MDZS Headcanon #4:

I think I share (again) this similar headcanon to @travalerray and @sun-lava and maybe a few others on the server...

That Suibian is actually an old blade that had already been well-cultivated by a prior master.

And of course I like to think Wei Wuxian just never knew this fact, because Jiang Fengmian couldn't let it be known he gave his ward a special sword or else his wife would see it as more favoritism. This also explains the overly plain hilt and scabbard, to oversell it as a new blade.

There's a couple of reasons why I think this headcanon works, and why canon doesn't explicitly disprove it:

1) How Suibian can seal itself when no other swords we know of seem to be able to do the same (Suihua and Shanghua both allow other users and Shanghua was a well known enough blade to be entered into a famous sword catalog). That it's considered such a rare event for it to happen.

Also that Suibian seems to be able to recognize a soul, which is different from a spiritual system, which is what the golden core would be a part of. Suibian recognizes Wei Wuxian within Mo Xuanyu's body—that has an entirely new spiritual system capable of solidifying a new golden core if Wei Wuxian worked for it.

I can’t believe it really sealed itself off. I just had to be the one to experience this kind of one-in-a-million event.

-

This sword was Suibian. This was Wei Wuxian’s sword. It had been taken by the Jin Clan of Lanling after the Siege of the Burial Mounds as a trophy for their collection. No one had ever been able to unsheathe it after that, since it had long since sealed itself of its own accord.

-

“I also heard that while no one could draw the sword, you [Jiang Cheng] were able to do so. How very curious, indeed. The sword was already sealed when it entered my collection thirteen years ago. Absolutely no one could draw it aside from the Yiling Patriarch himself…”

This fits with Jiang Fengmian's wish to take good care of Wei Ying as well as add to the golden heroic air of xianxia hero teen Wei Ying that a special sword became his.

Sentience that can recognize souls/masters across space and time is usually a very high level thing for spiritual tools for the genre—like Zidian recognizing a hierarchy of masters and obeying commands while at great distances from the master that commanded it. Yet if Suibian were new, it'd only been cultivated for 2-4 years at max and it'd be even more farfetched to believe it capable of Zidian's level of sentience. Like, Wei Wuxian is genuinely surprised it sealed itself...

Corollary Headcanon: This also means that piece of Wei Wuxian's original soul is attached to Jiang Cheng's gifted golden core.

2) The name of the sword is written on the hilt instead of the blade. Fuxue's was as well, so this seems to be common practice in this universe. But! The hilt is a part that can be replaced and equipped to a reused blade.

It follows then that Jiang Fengmian would let Wei Wuxian 'name' the sword if he's playing it off as a newly forged one. You notice some of the wording is funny here like Wei Wuxian says that "when Jiang-shushu was bestowing the sword upon me" only then does Wei Wuxian say 'whatever' and then the sword "came out of the kiln, that would be the word on [the hilt]". Obviously, this can't be taken too literally because hilts are attached after the blade is forged. Also use of the word kiln instead of forge implies casting metal which is a whole other thing. To me it sounds like a process Wei Wuxian wasn't involved in, and didn't see it all be put together.

Within the engravings upon the hilt were the carvings of two ancient characters, and what they spelled was the word “Suibian.” Wei Wuxian considerately explained, “You don’t have to say anything. I know. You must be wondering why I gave it that name? Everyone asks if there’s a special meaning to it. To be honest, though, there isn’t. It’s just that when Jiang-shushu was bestowing the sword upon me, he asked me what I wanted to call it. I thought of over twenty names at the time and wasn’t happy with any of them, so I thought, why don’t I let Jiang-shushu give it a name instead? So I responded with ‘whatever’! Who would’ve figured that when the sword was forged and came out of the kiln, that would be the word on it? Jiang-shushu said, ‘Since that’s the case, let the sword be called Suibian.’ It’s not actually such a bad name, don’t you think?”

Corollary Headcanon: The blade was Cangse-sanren's, hence it's snowy color (her name means 'hidden color' or 'colorless', you can play with the imagery considering it's a white blade) and vibes with how/why the sword was so utterly loyal. Jiang Fengmian found it when trying to back track to find Wei Ying. Again, the reason he never mentions this is the same reason in canon that he never mentions Cangse to Wei Ying—he just doesn't want to talk about it.

[ladytauria]

*★,°*:.☆(￣▽￣)/$:*.°★* 。 When their partner comes from a fight, all injured, with a smile because they won. But they are not happy, because what the actual heck? - sladejay AWOOOO ♡

heheheh thank u so much for the prompt love <3 i had a good time writing it... thank u for all ur help with it, too~

Title: taking a bird in hand Rating: Explicit Pairing: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson Word Count: 8.7k

There are consequences to self-destruction.

>> AO3 <<

Jason's body throbs.

His shoulder aches from where he had to pop it back into place, and he can't put any weight on his left leg without his knee twinging in pain. Blood and sweat are sticky on his skin; his cuts sting where sweat drips into them.

All of the pain, all of the discomfort, is secondary to the way his blood sings.

His landing on the fire escape lacks its usual grace; the metal clatters beneath him, the railing shaking when he reaches out to stabilize himself. When his better leg is no longer wobbling under him, he disables the traps on the window and slips into the brownstone he shares with Slade.

Only after the shades are drawn and the traps have been reset does Jason fumble for the latches of his helmet. He pulls it off with a low, mechanical hiss. Cool air washes over his face, and he tips his head back to enjoy it, running a hand through his hair.

The living room light is on. Jason can see the back of Slade's head—can hear the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone. His mouth twitches as he straightens.

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls, waltzing toward the couch with a feral, predatory grin. “Did you miss me?”

Not for the first time, Jason is struck by how… normal Slade looks, when he's not clad in the Ikon suit. Sitting on their shared couch, wearing nothing but a Henley and loose sweats, he looks almost… domestic, save for the knife and whetstone in his hands. There are more knives laid out on the coffee table. Jason spots a few of his spares among them—some of his favorite cooking knives, too, alongside a separate whetstone.

He ignores the way that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside.

Instead, he lets himself drink in the sight of Slade. The top buttons of the Henley are undone, exposing his collarbone and a generous smattering of gray chest hair. Braced against the back of the couch, Jason has a great view down the front of it, and he takes shameless advantage of it.

Slade hums, drawing the blade of the knife over the stone before raising it up to examine it. Light glints off of the blade. “How was patrol?” he asks, the subtlest curl of warmth in his words. He sheaths the knife and twists to look up at him. “Did you—” He cuts himself off, brows knitting. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jason knows him well enough to know the bite in his voice is concern, not anger. “Oh, y'know. Couple'a assholes got in some lucky hits.” Jason shrugs. Nothing he couldn't handle. He trails his fingers over Slade's nape. “I could use a shower. Wanna join me?”

He’s rewarded with a shiver—but then Slade shakes his head, pulling away from Jason’s hand. “Kid, you need medical attention. Not sex.”

“Or…” Jason leans down so his lips are brushing Slade's ear, voice dipping into something low and suggestive. “We could do both.” It wouldn't hurt to take care of his injuries first, honestly—his knee could use a wrap, and the way the cut on his thigh throbs… he probably needs stitches. Then… maybe he can talk Slade into picking him up, fucking him against the shower wall. No risk of popping his stitches that way.

Jason pouts when Slade's only reply is a snort.

Slade sets the knife and whetstone aside before he stands and rounds the couch. Despite the irritation on his face, his grip on Jason’s arm is nothing but gentle as he steers him toward the bathroom.

The pace is too quick at first—Jason stumbles, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Slade immediately shifts, wrapping his arm around Jason’s waist instead.

“The bats just let you walk off like this?” Now the bite in his voice is definitely anger.

Jason’s brow furrows. “What bats?” There better not have been any bats in his territory tonight.

Slade stills. “The ones you called for backup.” His voice drops to something low. Dangerous. A lesser man would be looking for an exit.

Jason scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t need back-up.”

Not for a group of small-time thugs guarding a weapons shipment. Jason will begrudgingly admit that they were more skilled than he expected. They landed several good blows—but Jason gave as good as he got.

Better than he got, even, because in the end, he was the only one able to actually walk out of there. Sure, he feels like one big bruise, but he’s had worse. It only hurts to breathe a little.

Slade grunts, disbelieving.

Jason’s hackles raise. “I didn’t. I had it handled,” he bites. He goes to shrug Slade’s arm off, but he doesn’t get the chance before Slade manhandles him to the bathroom.

The easy way Slade moves him never fails to get him hot. Even now, when Slade is being obnoxiously careful with him, he can feel his pulse quicken, his stomach tighten.

As soon as Jason is perched on the closed toilet seat, Slade digs their first aid kit out from under the sink. It’s one of several spread throughout the brownstone, though this one is the most substantial. It takes up more than half the sink counter when Slade opens it.

“Armor off,” Slade orders gruffly.

“I can do this myself,” Jason grunts. He rises to his feet to do just that, but Slade stops him with a hand on his chest.

“You can.” The acknowledgement mollifies Jason… but only slightly. “Let me help anyway.”

Jason debates being difficult and refusing. However… he does want that shower. Preferably as soon as possible. He’s not above acting counter to his own interests just to be petty, but… This time, he decides it’s not worth it.

His shoulder muscles protest as he shrugs out of his jacket, but the pain is easy enough to ignore. He disables the traps on his armor with fingers far less graceful than usual, and then fumbles with the latches until finally, he gets it off. Jason lets both fall to the floor with a thud.

One of them will pick them up later.

He undoes his belt and pops the button on his tac pants, only to still as Slade kneels between his legs. His breath hitches; thighs spreading on reflex. His leg twinges.

Jason isn’t fast enough to hide his wince. Not from Slade.

Slade’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Injury report?”

Jason rolls his shoulders carefully in response. “Dislocated my left shoulder. Popped it back in before I left. Twisted my knee. Got a cut that needs stitches… Normal bruises and scrapes.” He shrugs. “Nothin’ serious. I told you.”

Now that the adrenaline is starting to fade from his system, his side hurts a lot more than it did before. Breathing is a hell of a lot less comfortable. His left side always gives him trouble—he probably just aggravated the muscles or something.

Nothin’ a hot shower and a little endorphin rush can’t fix.

Although the way Slade is acting, he thinks the only action he’ll be seeing tonight is with his hand, and maybe a toy. Disappointing, but Jason will manage.

“Where’s the cut?” Slade asks, scanning Jason’s body.

“Outer thigh.” Jason taps his right leg.

Slade grunts. He goes for Jason’s boots first, deft fingers untying Jason’s laces and then dropping them neatly next to his armor. Jason rises as Slade tugs his tac pants down. The blood from his cut has started to dry; the fabric clinging to his skin and tugging at the edges of his injury. Worse, though, is the way Jason’s torso muscles protest. He grits his teeth against the pain, but he’s breathing a little more heavily when he settles again.

He’d be a fool to think that Slade didn’t notice.

The old man doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he rises again, taking out a cloth and wetting it. His expression is tight; the blue of his eye stormy. Still, when he sweeps the cloth over Jason’s skin, he’s nothing but gentle.

There’s more blood than Jason thought. It turns the white cloth pink. Slade balls it up when he’s done and throws it into the sink. It smacks against the first aid kit, rattling it loudly enough Jason almost flinches. Normally, this is the part where Slade pets him like he's a spooked horse (and Jason despises the way it works, the way he instantly feels settled under Slade's touch). This time, though… Slade doesn't. He grips Jason's leg—still careful not to hurt him—and manipulates it to get a better look at the cut.

It leaves Jason feeling… disquieted.

He keeps his mouth shut.

The cut is maybe four inches long, though not very wide or deep, and definitely in need of stitches.

Jason looks away when Slade reaches for the local anesthetic. It’s not something he would normally allow himself, but—angry at him or not, he trusts Slade.

The pain of the needle is brief, and followed by a numbing sensation that spreads down his thigh. Slade reaches for the suturing kit. Jason leans back and closes his eyes. The feeling is more acute this way, even dulled as it is, but it’s better than watching the needle drive in and out of his skin.

He doesn’t open his eyes again until he hears the soft snip of the thread being cut. Slade’s stitching is neat and precise. He doubts it will leave much of a scar—if any at all.

Slade wraps a bandage around Jason’s thigh to protect the cut, and then he sits back on his haunches, lifting Jason’s leg carefully to examine his knee. The flesh is swollen and tender, hurting no matter how gently Slade touches him. He hums, and then gets out a wrap, binding Jason’s knee tightly.

“Satisfied?” Jason asks. His voice is hoarser than he expected. He clears his throat.

“No. Shirt off. I don’t like the way your breathing sounds.”

Jason huffs. There’s nothing wrong with his breathing. “I’m fine,” he says. “I just need a shower.”

Slade’s eye narrows. “Humor me.”

Jason huffs again, but this time he listens.

It’s not like he won’t have to strip anyway, he supposes. He tugs his undershirt off—or, he starts to. His side screams when he goes to raise it over his head, causing him to drop the shirt with a low, pained groan. Slade is there immediately, smoothing a hand down Jason’s back. Jason leans into the comfort without thinking.

Slade waits until the pain has faded, Jason's muscles loosening, before gripping his shirt and pulling it up. He guides the arm on Jason's uninjured side through the hole and lifts the shirt over his head and down the injured arm so Jason doesn't have to raise it. Then, he sits back on his heels.

The set of his mouth grows tighter.

Jason follows his gaze, looking down at his side. It’s bruised a splotchy purple, and Jason grimaces.

Okay, so maybe Slade had cause to be worried.

Slade mutters an apology before his fingers start probing at Jason’s side, pushing down on each rib. At first, the pain is… manageable, but then—

Jason hisses, full body cringing away from Slade’s touch.

Fuck.

Jason is acutely familiar with the pain of a cracked rib. God fucking dammit. He’s going to be laid up for weeks. Three, at least.

“We’ll do x-rays in a bit.” Slade stands again. “Stay here.” He fills one of the small paper cups they keep in the bathroom and hands it to Jason alongside two capsules of Tylenol.

Jason downs them without complaint.

“Still think you didn’t need back-up?” Slade asks him, his voice low.

Jason scoffs. “I walked out of there, didn’t I?”

Slade clenches his jaw. His eye grows stormy. “If one of them was even slightly luckier, you wouldn’t have.”

“They weren’t.” It’s Jason’s turn to stand, then. His bad knee is on the same side as his potentially-cracked rib, so as long as he keeps his weight on his right side, it’s not so bad. Slade’s hands settle on his waist, steadying him. Even now, in the face of Slade’s anger, there’s still a part of Jason that relishes in the way they make him feel small.

“They could have been,” Slade snaps, holding Jason just a little bit tighter. Jason half-expects him to shake him.

“But they weren’t,” Jason stresses. His grip on Slade tightens a little. God. He’s so tired all of the sudden. He doesn’t want to argue—he wants to shower. Sleep. He doesn’t want to have to deal with Slade’s displeasure. His disappointment. “I—Can we not, right now?”

Slade studies him.

Jason doesn’t know what he sees, but whatever it is... he nods. “Yeah, kid. We can talk about it later.”

Jason expects him to leave, but he doesn’t. He stays right where he is… and Jason is grateful for it as he slumps. He lets his head fall forward to rest on Slade’s shoulder, where he breathes in the scent of him. Slade holds him up, holds him steady, until Jason is ready to pull away.

>> continue reading on AO3 <<

[adhdtsukasa]

totally not what i intended to post today but also whatever, we ball. pinocchiop is my favorite vocap and i'm very autistic about both him and wxs, so, to honor the song campaign clues that we got today, allow me to present to you the reincarnation apple wxs cover line distribution i did some time ago — and why, in my humble opinion, it fits wxs much more than it fits niigo,

(the lyrics where the color changes each word are where the characters both sing at the same time but my notes app doesn't have the option to do a gradient)

i'm in no way expecting it to be an official line distribution because i did it based on my personal interpretation of the lyrics — and i feel like dedicating almost a whole big part of the song to each member might mess up with the game cut, but i also really would like to see them have solos of those parts — but they're here to help me explain my point better my point. so!

what i like about wandasho covers is that they are performers — and it should give them more creative liberty when it comes to their covers. that's why the reincarnation in this song could be simply treated as them getting into roles, reliving countless lives as actors. even though the accuracy of the lines sung is always nicely welcomed, the covers don't have to always be 100% fitting. and that's fine. especially in wxs' case, because that is a yet another story that they want to tell us.

people often say that the storyline fits niigo but i... don't see it at all? i mean, yeah, ena as the artist and kanade as the savior, that much is obvious (and i guess you could also say that mizuki as a revolutionary, but that is kind of a reach?). but what about the part describing the inventor that matches rui's backstory so well? what if you put main story tsukasa in the artist's place and draw the similiarities? what if you think about emu as the savior, comparing the savior's unconditional love to her wanting to save wonder stage and make everyone smile? the only match that doesn't fit quite well is nene and the revolutionary, but you can't have anything i guess. and then the adventurer part, which is a call back to the our happy ending set (i set out in search of an ideal — emu deciding to go with wxs in order to expand her knowledge and horizons) (and then you know, the end has come with the reincarnation apple)... and then lines like i'm not smart enough and i don't have a great cause could resonate with how people viewed emu and rui in the past.

"oh but isn't the start of the song a bit too dark and depressing for it to be a wxs cover?" kami no manimani starts in a similiar way and yet it still is a wxs cover.

and, putting lyrics aside, it just doesn't feel like a niigo song from the instrumental alone. i'm not a music expert so i don't have strong arguments for it, but for me it sounds absolutely like a wxs song. it even reminds me of sekahaji in a way.

does that mean you're in the wrong for wanting niigo to cover it? nope! i just simply want to explain why it fits. and i don't want people to complain that it doesn't make sense for it to end up as a wxs cover. because i will cry.

tldr: reincarnation as a metaphore for acting save me

[ikeromantic]

Ikevamp Boys React to a Tattooed MC pt 3

Arthur, Jean, Isaac, Dazai, and Will!

Arthur

"What's this, luv?" Arthur's voice breaks the silence in the parlor as you take down the curtains for washing.

You turn, amused to see his playful grin, but anxious too. He is unpredictable and always such a flirt. "What's what?"

Arthur chuckles, reaching for you. His hands brush your hair aside and tug down the back of your collar. "This. I knew I saw a hint of something."

"Hey! I didn't give you permission to just go -"

"There's a little heart. With wings!" His fingers brush the tattoo on your upper back. "I had no idea you were such a naughty girl, hm?"

"Arthur. I am not naughty. Let go of me?" You don't want him to notice how your pulse races at the touch, or the delighted shiver it sends through you.

He reluctantly releases you, merriment dancing in his eyes. "So how and why did you become a tattooed woman? Please tell me there's some juicy story involving a carnival and too much whisky?"

You roll your eyes. "Absolutely not on both counts. Look -" You clear your throat. "In my time, it's not unusual. Lots of people get them. I got mine after a bad breakup. To symbolize my faith in true love. Because I know it's out there, even if I haven't found it yet."

Arthur grins. "Haven't you? I mean, you do live in the same house as the most desireable-"

"Shut. Up." You let out a sigh, realizing the mansion's playboy writer is not going to take anything seriously. "And go away. I have work to do." You turn back to the curtains, trying to give him a hint.

"Oh, but I can't!" He hugs you from behind, his cheek pressed against yours. "I have to see the whole thing without all those pesky clothes in the way. And oh!" His hands slide up your side, sending a delicious warmth rolling through you. "What if there are more? I need to see all of you, luv. Inspect every inch."

Jean

You take a tumble while helping Jean at his sword shop, and cut your leg. He insists on bandaging you up, and despite your misgivings (does he know how to apply a bandage??), you let him.

As he slides your dress up to see the cut on your leg, he gasps. You realize he must have noticed the tattoo on your thigh. The equal-armed cross done in a delicate, colorful pattern, just for your eyes. Jean leans close, his breath warms your skin.

"Jean? The uh, the cut is a bit lower?" You try to redirect him.

"This mark -" He touches it, first with his fingers then with his palm pressed against your skin. "Where did you get it?"

You take a breath, trying to sort your thoughts with the distraction of his rough palm on your upper thigh. He has absolutely no right to make you feel this way, not when he's completely unaware of your reaction. You want him to let go, and you don't want him to all at once.

"In my country. Why?"

He lets go of you then, a relief and a let-down. Then he tugs down his own shirt to show his shoulder. The tiny cross there is so similar that you gasp. "I got mine after Orleans . . ."

"Well. I mean. It's not - not that unusual?" You feel uncomfortable at the intensity of his violet gaze.

"We are marked. Connected."

Your heart lurches in your chest, thudding against your ribcage. You don't know what to say, and can only nod.

Isaac

You aren't sure why Isaac draws back. You thought the two of you were about to have a moment, but his hot-and-cold behavior always keeps you on your toes. You never know if he wants you to stay or to go away.

"Can I ask you something," he says, his tone full of uncertainty.

"You just did." Your joke doesn't even raise a smile. "Sure. Anything."

"You shouldn't tell people they can ask you anything. They might really do." He sighs, frowns. "I - I noticed something on your arm?" He gestures.

That's when you realize your sleeve slid up enough to reveal the first letter in the words on your forearm. "Oh. Yeah. I have a little quote there." You put your hand over it, remembering the day you got it.

"Why?" His petal-pink eyes are wide and curious, a hint of worry in them.

You shrug, uncomfortable with the attention. "I don't know. I guess . . . I wanted to remember. The quote and what it means to me. Does it bother you?"

He shakes his head after an awkward pause. "No. But. Would you tell me about it?"

His response sends a shooting warmth through your chest and you nod. "Yeah -" The two of you scoot closer as you show him the tattoo, and the story behind it.

Dazai

"Toshiko-san! What's this?" Dazai's teasing voice comes from the window to your room.

You jump in surprise. Afterall, you're on the second floor. "I'm not even going to ask why you're coming in through my window," you sigh.

"Good. Less to explain. Now -" He climbs over the sill and plops down on your floor. "What is that I see on your foot?"

"This?" You show him the tattoo on top of your foot, where SpongeBob and Patrick grin under a cartoon sun. "It's from a TV show I liked."

He grabs your foot, a wide smile on his face. "Tee-vee? Hm. And here I was, thinking my lovely Toshiko-san was secretly mafia."

Will

"I have a query for thee," Will's chin nestled on your shoulder, his hands around your waist. "Pray tell, what is this painted upon thy delicate canvas?" He reached with one hand to stroke your shoulder blade, where your sun-and-moon tattoo was inked.

You shrug, drowsy and not in the mood to explain.

Will nips your neck, sharp teeth grazing your skin lightly. "Thou must answer lest I am forced to request more forcefully. I want to hear the tale."

Awake now, a tremble of anticipation running through your body, you turn in his grasp, or try to.

He laughs and holds you in place. "Ah ah. Release shall not come until you give me what I seek."

You surrender, mostly because it feels good to be snuggled in his arms. "I got them in college. I was thinking about the duality of nature - how nothing is as simple as it looks and . . . I don't know. I like the symbolism." It's hard to put into words but you try.

After a moment, he nods. "I see." He kisses your etched skin. "I wonder if I might spin a tragedy 'round a mark such as this. Though thine is more fair and deserves a better fate. Perhaps then, a comedy?"

Laughing, you finally turn to face him and place a kiss to his upturned lips. "You are impossible," you sigh."

[genericpuff]

lmao so RS just confirmed she STILL does not, in fact, have a buffer.

FAST PASS SPOILERS AHEAD

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To kick this off, let's be real, 2 weeks is NOT enough time to build up a reasonable buffer.

When she took that 2 week break after the wedding episode went up, I knew 1 of 2 things was going to happen:

She was going to piss away the entire break on social media not getting anything done

Even if she DID get anything done and a reasonable buffer of more than 3-5 episodes built up, the episodes likely wouldn't be very high quality as you can't turn out shitloads of decent quality panels like that in just 2 weeks.

I think Rachel really just needs to acknowledge and take ownership of the fact that she is not good at managing herself, her time, or her team. When she started LO in the Originals section, she even admitted to not having a very strong buffer.

Now yes, in her defense, she hadn't fully transitioned to drawing LO full time when she started, but even still, she seems to treat her FastPass episodes as her buffer rather than creating an actual buffer.

A buffer is not "well I still have 3 episodes locked to the general public" or "I have the next couple episodes sketched up".

A proper buffer is "I have the next several episodes finished and exported and ready for their respective release dates." This ensures that they aren't racing to meet deadlines during the release period after pre-production (which is a surefire way to screw yourself over or write yourself into a corner) and that if anything happens in real life that prevents them from working on future episodes, they can still put out new episodes because they have a cushion of episodes still waiting to be released. Webtoons typically recommends its creators have anywhere from 9-15 episodes of buffer ready by the end of the pre-production phase. That usually means 3 free episodes, 3 FastPass episodes, and at minimum, 9 more episodes sitting on the backend, adding up to a minimum of 15 episodes. It sounds like a lot, but when many WT series run for 40+ episodes per season, 15 is a small number. Especially for a comic like LO which had 90 episodes in its S2 run and 116 in its first season. S3 of LO is already 37 episodes in.

She's also basically admitted to just writing as she goes in the past because most people working on their webtoons in productions like these have at least a decent skeleton of a story going on that they don't have to write as they draw. Writer's block doesn't happen in webcomics unless you're writing as you're going, same as how it doesn't typically happen in animated movies because you should already have a basis to work off of before you start the brunt of the visual work that needs a narrative structure to exist.

Now, all that aside, the reason I'm bringing this up again (as I've talked about her buffer range before) is because I've once again been proven that Rachel doesn't have a shred of a real buffer.

And the smoking gun this time was the horse.

This stupid fucking horse.

Now, besides the fact that we're a little sus this is meant to be an in-comic jab at all the criticism of LO pointing out how Persephone always looks like an MLP character-

-but that pony toy drawing didn't make its first appearance in Episode 241, it made its first appearance on Instagram. Not as a preview for episode 241 or as an official LO drawing, in her own words, 'just a pony'.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rachel Smythe (@usedbandaid)

As always, this is still just an estimation based on what goes out in LO and what Rachel posts to her IG/Twitter, but this pretty much tells me her buffer is STILL only 1-2 weeks ahead of time, because that pony drawing time lapse was posted two weeks ago. When we checked the actual timestamp of the post the day the episode it showed up in went up (Episode 241) it was ten days old.

Not to mention, the timestamps on those reddit posts? A month old. Granted, we had been making MLP jokes in the ULO/antiLO community prior to that, but the fact that this "my pretty pony" gimmick came out so soon after someone did literal art of Persephone crossed over with MLP, it really just furthers the suspicion (in addition to shitloads of other instances) that Rachel is snooping in on these crit communities to try and "clap back" at them through her comic. Which is something she'd only be able to do with a limited buffer anyways as it allows her to change things on the fly in response to criticism or whatever hurt her feelings that week.

That said, I won't be certain of this 1-2 week buffer estimation until we see when cowboy hat Hades shows up.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rachel Smythe (@usedbandaid)

I'm calling it now - it will be showing up in this week's episode which goes up April 22nd.

Place your bets, folks.

[alwaysteveswife]

Study night | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader.

A/N: I'm sorry for not making progress on Titanic's AU and Psycho's AU, the second one is already finished, but I don't feel like posting it yet 🫠. In the meantime I bring this, which is smoother.

You're preparing for a math test, and your boyfriend can't help but want to help you, of course, but not before setting a couple of rules to make studying more "fun".

Warnings: Implication of smut, Fluff, and nothing else, as I said, it's very light.

Words: 494

I stared at Steve, my eyebrows drawing together between my brows in confusion.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn that was the right answer," I muttered, bringing my hand to the top buttons of my shirt.

"I'm sure," he nodded slightly, shifting his gaze from my hands to my face, "but don't worry, we can go back and study as many times as you want".

A soft smile formed on his face, his cheeks tinged a faint shade of pink. I nodded quickly, hoping I could learn the answers well and have a good grade for my exam tomorrow.

"Steve, you're so cute," I finished unbuttoning my shirt, setting it aside next to my pants and socks. "I don't know what I would do without you".

He shook his head, his smile quivering for an instant. I watched as he set the card aside and read the next question.

"How much is the square root of one divided in two?" He glanced sideways at me, his fingers fiddling with the tip of the card.

"Zero point five or one half," I waited patiently for him to give the final verdict, keeping an eye on his movements.

"Right, honey," he smiled big again, stretching his arms out toward me. "Come here".

I walked on my knees, suddenly feeling embarrassed. I was in my underwear, Steve wasn't; I was supposed to kiss him, but there was almost no fabric to rest my hands on.

"Steve," I circled his waist with my arms, watching him inch closer, "you don't need to do that if you don't feel comfortable".

He let out a laugh, slipping his arm around my back and holding my cheek with his other hand.

"You're so cute," he left a brief kiss on my nose, smiling hugely, "so much so that I feel guilty".

Before I could ask, he pressed our lips together, kissing me slowly. His thumb traced invisible circles on my cheek, while his other hand moved up my arm, tickling me.

"Steve, wait," I laughed, trying to keep his hand away so I wouldn't start a laughing fit.

He took that moment to deepen the kiss. The hand that had come up to my arm took my wrist gently, starting to lean closer and closer to me.

Almost instantly I felt the cool sheets bump against my back, Steve's hands holding mine on either side of my head.

"Steve," I murmured, tilting my head to the side so I could kiss him more easily, "we have to study".

"Mhm," repeated short kisses began to spread across my lips, combined with light giggles from either of us. "The best way to study is to put it into practice, honey".

"I have to study math, not biology," I laughed, watching as he pulled away long enough to see my face.

"Everything in this life has math," a mischievous grin formed on his face, "Do you want me to prove it to you?".

Masterlist

[reluctanttrabbit]

its secret santa time!! woo!! @hearts4ggy BOO CAROUSEL JUMPSCARE 💥💥💥💥

originally i planned to make a fic AND draw a scene from the fic. but my dreams slowly crumbled as i realized i would have so much homework this month AND i also really just wanted to get this fic out before christmas bc i know many people are with family at this time

so heres the fic instead!! maybe i can finish up the art part of the gift this week.. :3

the full fic is also below the cut incase u wanna read it this way ^_^

Carol of the Bells

3,347 words

3:56. 3:57. 3:58.

Every time Michael glanced at the clock, it stared right back. Almost like it's taunting me, he thought.

Out of all of the days in the year, why did William Afton have to work on Christmas Eve and leave Michael to look after his siblings?

To be fair, it was a lose-lose situation either way. He could either spend the day stuck with his stupid siblings, or ditto but with his stupid father.

So here he was, baking cookies with Elizabeth and Evan in the afternoon.

"I.. I think we used too much sugar," a small voice piped up. It was Evan, who had just grabbed the egg carton out of the fridge and peered into the bowl the siblings were using. Sure enough, sugar was littered all over the kitchen counter. Evan guessed that was Elizabeth's handiwork.

"Good! Maybe you'll get some cavities from it, and you'll talk even less, then," Elizabeth jeered at her brother.

"Liz, these cookies are for all of us. if anything, you're getting cavities too." Michael sighed as he pushed her aside to swipe the eggs out of Evan's hands. she let out a small yelp of annoyance, which Michael had ignored. He turned to his phone propped up on the counter with the recipe on his screen.

"Ok, eggs and vanilla extract." he said aloud to himself. Michael looked to the counter, but the vanilla extract was nowhere in sight. What? That couldn't be right.

"We got vanilla extract, right? who has it?" Michael instantly turned to Evan, who jumped a little and showed Michael his hands. Empty.

Next, he turned to Liz, getting more agitated at the second. Once he looked in her direction, he noticed three red cups set on the counter, as Elizabeth wore a suspicious smile and eyed the cups. Michael simply wasn't having it, and knocked all 3 cups off the counter as if he were a cat. He deadpanned towards Elizabeth as she watched the vanilla extract fall out of the middle cup and onto the floor.

"Hey! What's your problem today?!" she cried, as Michael went to pick up the extract.

"My problem," he growled, "is that I'm stuck with you two today, because our father can't even manage to take the day off of work for CHRISTMAS EVE."

"Well, maybe he's getting some last minute gifts.. or something!" she said, trying to excuse her father.

"Bullshit, theres nothing open today! It's a holiday, he shouldn't even be at work in the first place!"

"Don't swear at me!"

"I'll do whatever I want! Dad isn't here, I'm in charge."

"Y'know, i bet you the reason you don't wanna spend Christmas Eve with us is because you'd rathe-"

The house phone started ringing, and the two stopped fighting. Michael sent a cold glare to Elizabeth, as if he was telling her this wasn't over, and he walked over to pick up.

"Hey, is mike here?" a voice rang through the speaker. it was Charlie!

"Uh- yeah, what happened?"

"What do you mean what happened, its Christmas Eve! we're coming over for a bit, so we can keep you guys company.. since your dad isn't here, y'know." there was a slight laugh in her voice, but it settled once she mentioned that William wasn't home. Right, how could Michael ever forget.

"Oh, well.. sweet. See you guys in a bit, I guess. bye." Michael put the phone down. He hoped Charlie couldn't tell that there was still hints of anger in his voice, despite their call being so short. He let out a sigh, which somewhat turned into a growl, and turned around to look back at his siblings. Evan had started to pick the extract up and clean it with some paper towels. Good. At least he was managing to be helpful.

hearing the news that Charlie and Henry (and hopefully Sammy) were coming over eased Michael's thoughts. maybe Henry could be the one to deal with his siblings, and Michael could get a break from these brats. Evan offered the extract to Mike, and he picked it up, turning his phone back on and reading over the recipe once again. Liz had left to go sit on the couch and cool off from her and Mike's previous squabbling. Hey, I'm not complaining, Mike thought to himself.

"Cass, you wanna grab the mixer for me?" he asked. Evan nodded, and went to search the cupboards until he pulled the machine out, with the cord dangling and nearly tripping him.

Evan hauled the machine up onto the counter. He brushed his hands off on his pants, and stood idly waiting for Michael to do the next step. He fidgeted with his sweater sleeves, and peeked around the corner of the fridge to look at Elizabeth. she had a pillow in her hand as she hit it repeatedly against the floor.

Evan had a hunch that pillow was supposed to be michael.

He turned back to face Michael. the boy jumped as the mixer started and the ingredients splashed onto his face. He grumbled, but held the bowl steady and let the mixer do its job.

Evan took advantage of the loud whirring from the mixer, and snuck off into the living room to stay with Elizabeth. Her eyes narrowed as he walked into the room, and put the pillow down.

The mixer slowed down and Michael went to wash his hands. He looked around for evan, only to find that the boy wasn't there.

"Hey, I still need help here!" he shouted.

"…"

"Fine."

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

Michael cringed with each bite he took of the cookie. Something had definitely went wrong once he was left alone to bake. Was it too sweet? Or too bitter? Were the ingredients expired?

"Ok, these… these cookies taste like shit." Michael put the cookie (could it even be called that?) back down on his plate and took a sip of water. he heard Elizabeth and Evan laugh, as they had already rejected their cookies.

"When will Charlie and Henry get here?" Evan asked, blankly staring out into the window. There were slight flurries outside- the thought of a white Christmas made Michael subconsciously smile. It had reminded him of better days - days where all he would do in school was make crafts and bring them home to his mom and dad. He remember the way his mother's nose would crinkle as she smiled and put the poor excuse for an ornament up on their Christmas tree.

"…"

"I'm gonna go get my sketchbook. Just… do whatever." Mike nearly bolted up as he dodged the question and tossed the tv remote to Elizabeth, heading for the stairs. She turned on the tv and started to flip through channels. There was nothing that interested the two. News channels, baby channels, reruns of old movies, the shopping channel; and a few kids channels, but none of them were playing anything good. Elizabeth decided on one that was about these weird CGI Christmas dogs.. it wasn't like she would actually pay attention to it.

"All of these shows suck!" she huffed in frustration. "Why aren't they playing, like, My Little Pony or something?" she went to lay back on the floor and stare up at the ceiling.

Evan had wanted to answer, because its Christmas and the only thing that's on right now are Christmas movies. But he was too lost in his own thoughts to interject. He remembered the look in Michael's eyes as he went up to grab his sketchbook. The teen looked like he was on the verge of tears. Evan felt as if he had seen a cryptid.

"Liz, um.. do you ever think about why Mike gets angry at us?" he turned to his sister.

"..Well, I don't think about it on a daily basis, but I know the answer. You should too." she sighed, crossing her arms.

"I mean, obviously I know why, but… why does he get angry? We only fight with him because he fights with us. Why does he get to be the angry one? Why does he see us as brats and then get to act like that?"

Elizabeth stayed silent. They both did for a minute.

"Maybe he never moved on. I don't know." she sighed, now giving more thought to the conversation. "I don't remember much of her. Maybe the problem is that he remembers too much."

Maybe the problem is that he remembers too much. The words repeated in Evan's mind. what did that even mean? It got louder and louder, and-

"Charlie!" Elizabeth cried as she shot up to run towards the window. She was careful to not scratch herself on the Christmas tree right beside the window, and peered through the snow, which had begun to fall faster than a few minutes ago. The headlights of Henry's car disoriented Liz, but she tried her best to get a good look.

Evan stared at the ground for a few more seconds, before getting up and opening the door for them. Henry and Charlie stepped out of the car, gift bags in each of their hands. Elizabeth nearly pushed Evan out of the way as they came in the door.

"Merry Christmas, you two!" Henry said, imitating the voice of Santa Claus. He definitely has the beard for the role, Evan thought.

Elizabeth jumped into Charlie arms, giving her a hug.

"Hey Liz!" the teen said, ruffling her hair. "Guess who these are for?" she said as she held up the bags in her arms. Elizabeth gasped and reached for them, but Charlie swiped them away.

"Hey, not until tomorrow." she laughed. Her and Henry walked towards the tree to put their gifts down and take off their coats. Henry paused as Charlie set down her bags.

"You kids only got 5 presents?" Henry asked, concerned. "Now I don't want to shame your dad, but I know he has more than enough money for you guys. There's no way he's putting all that into the mall..." the man trailed off as he answered his own question.

"Well, good thing we delivered, huh?" Charlie said, trying to keep the mood up. "C'mon Liz, let's go find a Christmas movie to watch." the 2 girls walked to the couch as Charlie flipped through their DVD collection.

Henry and Evan sat in silence as Henry looked around and rubbed his hands.

"So, where's your brother?" Henry asked, looking around the house.

"He ran upstairs." Evan answered, looking up at them as if Michael would appear there in seconds. But Evan knew better. He was probably locking himself in his room for the rest of the night. He turned back to look at Henry, but couldn't quite read his expression as the man grumbled something to himself.

"..Well, I see you made cookies! Mind if I take a bite?" Henry grinned as he walked over to the plate on the kitchen counter. He had moved too fast, as Evan was just about to respond until Henry took a bite out of the poorly iced mess. His face went sour, and Evan couldn't help but snicker.

"We- we didn't do the best, I'm sure you can tell." Evan said as he watched Henry put the cookie back down on its plate.

"No worries, kid. I guess it's Santa's problem, not ours." Henry sighed and walked off into the living room. But Evan stayed put as his gaze wandered to the stairs.

He wasn't actually going to stay upstairs, was he?

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

Evan walked down the hall, peering in each room. Every step he took made the floorboards creak, making Evan walk lighter than usually. He passed by his room, and the door was closed. He looked at all the drawings scattered on his door, some drawn by Michael and some drawn by himself.

Elizabeth's door was decorated with stickers and one of those "no boys allowed" signs -- a gift that she put up as a joke. Evan continued walking. The bathroom doors were both open, and Michael's door was locked shut. his door held no drawings, or no stickers. Just a door handle and peeling paint. Evan held his ear close to the door, but couldn't hear any signs of Michael. He was most likely in there, but Evan had to be sure.

..That left only 2 rooms to check.

If Evan wasn't stepping lightly before, he was definitely floating by now. Even just standing by the door of William's office was enough to make him remind himself to breathe. The door stood tall and foreboding, somewhat like his dad. The light was off, so Michael couldn't be in there. Evan turned to the room at the end of the hall.

William's room.

Of course, it had never been just William's room. It used to belong to their mother too, once upon a time. Or more like a few years ago. but it seemed like Evan's instincts were right, as the lamp on the bedside drawer was on. Michael was right beside that drawer leaning against the bed and burying his head in his arms. There was a book by his feet, sitting upside down with pictures falling out of it.

Something told Evan that the book wasn't Michael's sketchbook.

Evan walked closer to Michael, and the boy lifted his head up.

"Screw off Cass, get out." his throat was raspy; Michael sounded like he was tired. His voice was the quietest it had been in years.

Evan stayed silent. He moved closer.

"..Are you deaf, I said--"

"I heard you, and I'm not going to let you yell at me anymore!" Evan's voice wavered as he spoke.

"Oh, what, did you--"

"All day you've been rude to me AND Elizabeth, and you're always just rude in general! Why do you get to just- why do you not realize that when mom died, it.. it hurt us too. But you don't get that, because you're mad at our father, and.."

Evan felt tears welling up already. Why was he such a crybaby?

Evan and Michael both fell silent as the two thought of what to say.

"..You really suck at yelling." Michael grumbled as he picked the book up. Evan wiped his tears and tried to compose himself so he could continue his rant, but he finally noticed what the book was.

It was a photo album.

Evan took a breath as he moved closer to sit beside Michael.

"In a way, you aren't wrong. I am mad at our father. Because he doesn't give a shit about us or about mom's death-"

"Liar! Dad talks about her all the time! You wouldn't know that because you barely try to talk to him."

Michael ignored him as he flipped through the pages. Their parents didn't take many pictures of themselves, but there were lots of family photos. A picture of Michael on a high chair as he eats baby food. His hair sticks out in every direction. Carol is cleaning his face, smiling for the camera as she tries her best not to laugh. A beach day photo where she's putting sunscreen on a younger Elizabeth as Michael and Evan splash around in the water. Michael and Carol at a school dance.

Slowly but surely, Michael and Evan's mom started to appear less and less, until the last picture was of William and Henry at the opening of the Pizzaplex.

"It's like she's.. slowly disappearing. From the book, from us-- And somewhere deep down, I WANT her to. So I don't have to think about her everyday. So the pain is easier." Michael sobbed. Evan's eyes widened as Michael was crying real, live tears. Was this a prank?

"I can't remember anything else from our childhood except her."

As awkward as it was, Evan shifted closer to rest his head on Michael's shoulder. Michael didn't push him off. He didn't yell at him. It just happened. And that was enough.

They sat in silence for a good while.

"..It feels weird to see you cry. It's like our personalities were swapped or something. Like 'Freaky Friday'." Evan muttered in a soft voice. Michael sniffed and wiped his eyes as he let out a genuine snicker. It wasn't in a mocking or sarcastic tone, for the first time in a while. Evan still wasn't used to this.

"Maybe it should happen more. For the both of us. I can... cry more, and you can stand up to me more." Michael admitted. He sighed and rested his head on Evan's, like they were 2 brothers who actually liked each other.

Someday, maybe that could happen.

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

The rest of the night flew by. Evan and Michael finally went back downstairs to join everyone else and have a movie marathon, along with some TV dinner. They talked, and danced, but eventually Henry and Charlie had to drive back home. Henry allowed them to open at least one Christmas present before they left, and Elizabeth made sure to pick a big enough gift. Because of course, Henry wouldn't allow her to pick the box that DEFINITELY wasn't a new toy playset.

Michael got a set of watercolors, Evan got a set of pajamas, and Elizabeth got a 16" Glamrock Chica plushie. The Emilys went back to their house, and the Aftons got ready for bed.

William Afton was still nowhere in sight.

Falling in and out of sleep, Michael lay in his bed, snuggled up in a pile of 3 blankets with the fan running. It was peaceful.

That was, until Elizabeth creaked the door open and poked at Michael. And when he didn't respond to pokes, she rocked him back and forth.

"... What, Liz? It's.. I don't even know what time it is, why are you still awake?" he mumbled.

"Me and Ev can't sleep," she whispered, Glamrock Chica plushie in her hands.

"Well, that's not my problem, is it? If you're awake, Santa won't give you any presents. He knows when you're sleeping," Michael told her.

"Exactly! We need you so we can fall asleep, and then Santa can come! Get up already!" she dragged the boy out of his blanket nest as he protested. Evan had been waiting by the stairs, with a nightlight in one hand and a Fredbear plushie in the other. The 3 siblings walked down the stairs as the Christmas tree shined as bright as a fire.

"Why are we going in the living room?" Michael nearly tripped on his feet as Elizabeth led him around the house. He looked down at Evan, who was just as confused.

"Aw, wait... Michael, I'm gonna go take your blankets. Help Evan move the chair closer to the tree, okay?" she said in a hurry as the girl ran back up the stairs. Evan set his nightlight down, and Michael finally understood what Elizabeth was planning.

"I'll get some chairs," Michael muttered to himself.

Soon enough, Elizabeth had hurried back down with blankets in hand. Evan had knocked over a few things while he pushed the chair, but they'd fix it in the morning. Michael spaced out the chairs, and Elizabeth draped them all on top of each other.

It wasn't the best, but it was a feasible blanket fort. Michael took the pillows off of the couch and threw them into the fort, as the 3 settled in and got comfy. Michael propped up one more pillow for his head, and closed his eyes.

"Now go to sleep," he told his siblings. In twin movements, Elizabeth and Evan rested their heads on Michael's shoulders. He could have pushed them off, but he was getting more tired at the second. He listened to their breathing get slower, and Michael laughed at the thought that 'visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.'

Michael started to feel himself drifting away, and just before he fell asleep, he swore he heard the jingling of bells and something on the roof.

Maybe he made that part up in a sleepless haze. Maybe it was really his father's car engine.