#in the last image the posing is intentional to make it seem like he's looking at the viewer

[zombiedeers]

For the Anti-Pines, how does the Bill and Ford dynamic work?

How's this answer your question

So, to go more in-depth actually-

Anti-Bill doesn't exactly care for the Pines and being around them much, but it's... basically his JOB to go around "motivating" people in their sleep, particularly in Gravity Falls, so he doesn't have much choice

And Anti-Ford, he doesn't have low self-esteem or issue with his polydactyly or anything, actually loving himself and liking his appearance! So the "motivation" really doesn't do anything but confuse him

Ford doesn't even know Bill's name really lol

[sunsburns]

not you too (ii).

pairing: jason todd x ex vigilante!reader

summary: after spending days trying to crack a case that's starting to haunt gotham, you've reached nowhere but a dead end. now, all of a sudden jason todd wants to talk and nothing could've prepared you for what he's asking from you and in hours your life just flips.

or: you never would've thought that taking this case would've caused so much fucking trouble.

word count: 7.1k+

warnings: mentions of violence, gore, death, major character death, blood, angst, reader is super stubborn, jason is lowkey an asshole, damian being damian, you don't need to read part one to get this lol

The next few days passed in a haze as you threw yourself back into your routine, trying to shake off Jason’s visit. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, his voice still echoed in your mind, his figure leaving a dark red stain in your memories and on your carpet, reminding you of all the things you couldn’t forget. You told yourself you had to focus; you couldn’t afford any distractions, not when Gordon especially with the case Gordon had dropped on your desk that morning.

The file was thicker than usual, the weight of it unsettling. Gordon hadn’t said a word when he handed it to you, just a slight nod as he left the precinct floor.

Usually, a note scrawled in his familiar handwriting was tucked inside. "Would be a shame if this got in the wrong hands," it would read, a crude smiley face scrawled beneath the words.

You knew Gordon's system—files left just so in his office, waiting for the quiet turn of dusk so the Bat could collect them under the cover of night. But he was slipping these directly to you now, his trust implicit.

But there was no silly note this time.

And what made you pause was the material itself: crime scene photos, and not the kind you'd pass off to Batman with a nod and a handshake. No, these were disturbing, brutal enough that even in Gotham, they warranted concern.

No usual suspect, no familiar mugshot of some abuser that needed to get beat up by the Bat or his birds; instead, it held haunting images of bodies, each more graphic than the last.

You scanned through the pages, your stomach churning. Each victim had been carefully posed, twisted grotesquely, as though some sadistic artist had orchestrated each shot. Their eyes were gone, darkness where they once were, tears of blood coating their cheeks, mouths twisted in gasps or grimaces. The blood was still dark in the photos, pooling and splattered, smeared in a way that almost looked intentional.

The victim profiles had a disturbing similarity—they were known to have ties to the criminal underworld, men and women whose names you faintly recognized from past reports and even your past when you used to run rooftops at night alongside under another alias. But they’d never gone down like this.

This wasn’t an accident, nor the signature style of the usual Gotham criminals. This was personal, with an intensity that cut deep, a method to every violent stroke. As you turned the page, each new image seemed more deranged than the last, the brutality escalating in what felt like a sick crescendo.

This killer wanted attention.

Almost a week had passed since you first opened that file, and despite your best efforts, sleep had been elusive, as though every image from the case clung to the back of your eyelids. Each night, you’d lie awake in the dark, replaying the grainy, haunting crime scene photos in your mind, the details sharper each time you thought of them. The taste of coffee on your tongue had grown stale, and bitter, as you poured yourself another cup just to make it through.

It was Friday again, and the precinct was as chaotic as ever. Phones rang, the background chatter of detectives comparing notes, typing reports, and bantering.

It was Gotham’s white noise, but for you, it barely broke through the pressure building in your head. You sat at your desk, bent over a stack of notes from the latest case briefing, trying to pretend the room’s sounds didn’t grate on you. This killer had changed the routine, breaking through the monotony of cases that always felt solvable, if not predictable.

You wonder when Gordon will give you the green light to hand the papers over to Batman.

Just another Friday. That’s what you told yourself as you tapped your pen on the desk, skimming through yet another detail on the case. But your mind kept circling back to that first folder, Gordon’s barely there glance as he dropped it on your desk without explanation.

Across from you, your partner tossed you a knowing look. He was holding another file, new and thick like they always seemed to be lately. He gave you a little shrug, pushing the folder toward you with a smirk. “Looks like you’re the lucky winner today. Courtesy of Gordon. You’ve got yourself a special addition.”

You sighed, muttering, "Fuck off," but took the file anyway.

Flipping it open, you braced yourself for what you might find, already steeling yourself against the shock. Just as you suspected, another crime scene, another gruesome display, and yet another criminal with a dark past—a past that made them seem almost deserving of what had happened to them. This killer was doing his work publicly now, practically begging for the precinct’s attention. As you flipped through, the images seemed to scream at you, vivid, twisted displays of violence so calculated it felt sickeningly theatrical.

You’d seen it in person last night, called out to the scene when you and your partner happened to be nearby on patrol. It was a bakery in Old Gotham, the call coming in after midnight when the owner discovered the body dumped in the alley out back. The scent of old pastries mixed with the acrid bite of death, and you remembered the bile rising in your throat as you stepped closer, squinting under the harsh glow of police lights. Your instincts had told you to look away, but you forced yourself to examine the details. If you looked away, you’d miss something crucial: the jaggedness of the cuts, the wild angles of the wounds. They weren’t clean, but deliberate, like an artist who’d chosen chaos as his medium.

"Feels kinda like déjà vu, no?" Your partner’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the bustling chaos of the precinct.

“Hm?” You glanced at him, distracted

He perked up as you met his gaze, leaning forward with a grim look. "The bodies—don’t they remind you of something?"

You stared, waiting. You felt sluggish, as if the endless coffees you’d downed had backfired, leaving you hollow and wired. Sleep had been a fleeting luxury.

Detective Andy leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "Red Hood."

A chill shot down your spine. “What?”

He pointed to a photo, tapping it thoughtfully. "The patterns. Big murder scenes, violent displays. Doesn’t it remind you of when Red Hood first came on the scene?"

You fumbled for a response, your mind stumbling. You hadn’t been in the GCPD during Red Hood’s first appearance; you hadn’t even joined the academy yet. It wasn’t so long ago, just a few years back, but it still felt like ages.

You do remember those days, though.

You’d been younger, wilder, and always running right along the edge of Gotham’s underworld. Back then, you’d worked for Selina Kyle, a phantom in leather with a knack for pretty gems and diamonds. Under her tutelage, you’d learned to break into penthouses, crack safes in under five minutes, and disappear without a trace. All the things Gordon had to turn a blind eye to when he personally hired you.

You remember one night, a supposed to be an easy job, just a simple heist in the wealthier parts of Gotham. Selina had given you explicit instructions: break in, grab the diamonds and get out before anyone was the wiser. But Gotham had a way of twisting ���easy” jobs into something darker, something that left marks on you that never truly faded.

It had been just after midnight, the air was crisp and heavy with the city’s usual grit. You were supposed to head down Boulevard, make a left by the old brick post office, and hit the target—an art collector with more money than sense. But a wrong turn later, you found yourself in a different kind of darkness, somewhere off the beaten path, where street lamps flickered and silence took on.

You’d felt it before you’d seen him—a presence, sharp and cold, lingering like a predator waiting to pounce. At first, you thought it was just nerves after you realized you had just broken into the wrong apartment. All you could think was: shit.

You’d handled your share of tense moments, after all; but this was something else. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, a warning you hadn’t felt in years. You were no stranger to danger, but this was a different kind of threat, something that felt personal.

Then you saw him.

At first, it was just the faint gleam of red in the darkness, like a shard of blood against the shadows. But as he stepped into the faint light, you saw him more clearly—a figure clad in leather, the infamous helmet covering his face, standing over a man slumped on his knees, visibly trembling. In the Red Hood’s hand was something you couldn’t immediately make out, but as he turned slightly, the dim light cast a glint off it, and you realized with a shock that he was holding a head—a severed head.

You froze.

The man was pleading, begging for his life in a low, trembling voice. But the Red Hood only tilted his head, silent. There was no rage in his stance, only a dark calm that made the scene feel disturbingly deliberate.

You could see his fingers flex around the hilt of a blade, the kind used to skin prey, and he held it with a confidence that said he’d done this before—and would do it again without a second thought.

You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. The man’s pleas grew louder, more desperate, words spilling out in garbled, terrified sentences, but Red Hood was unmoved. Then, in one swift, final motion, he silenced him.

You weren’t sure what made you react then, but a sharp gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it. Red Hood’s head snapped up, his gaze locking onto yours.

Your heart thundered as you ducked out the window, into the shadows, pressing yourself against the rough brick, willing yourself to become invisible. You knew better than to run; Selina had taught you that too. Quick movements drew attention, made you a target. And you weren’t exactly eager to test your skills against this fucking guy.

As you held your breath, you could hear his footsteps drawing closer, a slow, haunting rhythm that echoed down the narrow street.

For a second, it felt like he would find you. You could practically feel his gaze searching the darkness, his eyes tracking every inch of the alleyway. The fear was unlike anything you’d felt before.

And then he stopped. The footsteps paused, and there was a long silence. When he turned away and his steps faded back into the apartment, you felt your shoulders relax. It wasn’t relief, not fully. You’d seen something you weren’t supposed to, and you had a feeling Red Hood had let you walk away for a reason.

A part of you, distant but insistent, wondered if Jason could be behind these new killings. The thought twisted uncomfortably in your mind before you dismissed it. Jason was… different now. He had to be. He was reckless, sure, but this? Even if he wasn't currently on good terms with Bruce, he’d never return to those ways.

Right?

“Didn’t think of that,” you lied, the words tasting hollow as you struggled to find a convincing way to deflect Andy’s suspicion.

The last thing you needed was for anyone to start seriously considering Red Hood as a suspect. Wanted posters of that stupid red helmet already lined the precinct’s walls

Andy laughed a half-hearted chuckle. “Guess old habits die hard, huh?”

You could barely crack a smile, but you tried your best.

A voice behind you interrupted the uneasy silence. “Detective?” You turned to see a uniformed officer standing stiffly at the edge of your desk. “You have a visitor at the front desk.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. No one was supposed to come by today—maybe your mother had stopped by on one of her random check-ins. The officer’s expression, however, was tense, and you felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The precinct wasn’t exactly an open-door policy; even visitors to officers needed a reason. A visitor, especially unexpected, was rarely a good sign.

You nodded, swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth. Setting the file aside, you rose, your heart pounding faintly as you walked through the maze of desks and toward the elevator, half-convinced that this "visitor" was your mother showing up with her usual worried expression and a container of food because you’d forgotten to call her recently.

But the moment the elevator doors opened, your heart faltered.

Jason. Standing right there in the precinct lobby, dressed casually in a worn leather jacket, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting casually on the front counter as he flashed an ID—one that was definitely fake.

Of course, it wasn't real, because Jason Todd has been dead for who knows how many years.

You used to think that Jason wasn't stupid enough to walk into a police department swinging around a fake ID with a stupid name like Trevor Duncan.

It was that same old card he used to keep back when the two of you were together. He’d only ever had to use it a handful of times, mostly when he got pulled over for speeding on his bike, but he always had it ready, a smooth grin on his face, acting as if he had nothing to hide. But now? Now it looked out of place, almost surreal. Jason Todd standing here as if he were just anyone off the street.

As he looked up, his eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he offered a familiar, almost casual, “Hey.”

You took a sharp breath, trying to steady yourself. Words failed you, stuck somewhere between disbelief and frustration. Jason never showed up here. Not as the Red Hood, and certainly not as himself. Not after the way he left things a week ago.

Some fucking nerve he has.

You never wanted to strangle someone so badly.

Glancing over your shoulder, you moved closer to him, lowering your voice. “Jason,” you hissed, barely able to hide the shock. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re—”

“Wanted, yeah, I know,” he just shrugged, an almost defiant glint in his eyes, the same one that used to drive you mad. He lets you grip his arm and pull him toward a quiet corner of the lobby, away from prying eyes. “Technically, that’s Red Hood who’s wanted, not Jason—”

“Don’t. What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cut him off, voice barely a whisper but heated nonetheless.

His face hardened slightly, his voice dropping. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Right, of course. Important. And yet, it was unnerving how familiar he looked like this, standing just close enough that the faint scent of leather and gunpowder hit you, reminders of nights spent together in places you weren’t supposed to be.

Your gaze flicked around the room, anxiety prickling your spine. “What do you want, Jason? If Gordon sees you…”

“I think I’m being set up,” he said abruptly.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“The murders,” he continued, voice steady but jaw clenched. “They’re not—it’s not me.”

“I know that.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You know—?”

“How do you know about—”

Jason scoffed, crossing his arms as his gaze bore into you. “C’mon. Don’t act like it’s some big secret behind closed doors. This shit is happening in my alley. Of course, I fucking know. And sooner or later, a lot more people are gonna know.” He paused, “And besides… Grayson might’ve filled me in on a few things I missed.”

Of course. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Dick had called you a few nights ago, asking for an extra set of eyes on a case he’d brought back from Blüdhaven. You’d tried to brush it off as usual, but there’d been something familiar about the weapon in the photos he’d sent, the way the scars on the victims matched the fresh crime scenes here in Gotham. You’d let it slip—against your better judgment—that those wounds looked eerily familiar.

You sighed, trying to push down the wave of frustration. Jason knowing more than you was one thing, but Dick going behind your back to clue him in? That threw you off.

“Right,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead. “Okay. So what is this? You just came here to make a statement? Give an alibi?”

“No.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Then what?”

He glanced down the hallway behind you, tense, as if he half-expected someone to overhear. Before you could turn to look, he grabbed your arm and pulled you aside, his expression unreadable.

“Listen—”

“I’m listening,” you replied, shrugging out of his grasp.

His voice dropped to a murmur, and you had to lean in to catch it. “I think you’re in danger.”

You scoffed, pulling back. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you noticed? The people turning up dead—this isn’t random.”

“I know that—”

“No, you don’t. Have you actually looked into their criminal records?”

“Yeah.” You spat it out, feeling a surge of defensiveness. Jason’s words were cold as if he was accusing you. This asshole, came in here, acting like he knows your job better than you do, acting like you haven’t pored over every detail, every link, every goddamn scrap of evidence that’s crossed your desk. “I looked into all of it. They’ve got some minor offences. A few of them were tied to Randolf, but they’re hardly worth anyone’s attention. I thought you took down Randolf Industries months ago.”

“I did.” His jaw tightened, and you know him well enough to recognize the anger in his clenched teeth. “But that doesn’t mean they’re done with us.”

You almost hate how much sense he makes.

“What does this have to do with me?”

Jason’s gaze shifted, softening just a fraction, and that subtle pity—pity for you—lit a fire in your chest. He’s looking at you like he’s sorry like he cares, like he still feels something. And for a split second, you wished he’d go back to hating you. “You worked under Randolf.” he said, reminding you of what you’d rather forget. “You were at their last event. A gala… an auction, remember?”

“Jason, I’ve worked dozens of events like that. Please stop wasting my time.”

He shook his head, frustration seeping into his voice. “Think, okay? It was an auction. You had a mission there. Probably to take some fucking diamonds or something. The night ended with a shootout in the south hall.”

The memory saw a slap in the face. You saw flashes of that night—the glittering, polished faces of Gotham’s elite, the diamonds, the weight of them, heavy in your hands. You remembered the gunfire, the chaos that tore through the hall. The blood. But to you, it had been just another job gone slightly wrong, another task to be done and forgotten. Sure, it may have been the end of Randolf but you never really liked the guy anyway.

Jason was still watching you, his expression dark. “Every person who’s turned up dead was there that night. And they all had ties to Randolf. And I know you used to do some of his dirty work with Silena. Whoever’s behind this isn’t stopping until they’ve crossed off everyone on their list… including Silena. Including you.”

Fuck.

You swallowed hard, clenching your fists. You kept your expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. Jason Todd, standing in your precinct, coming into your life after months of silence—after shutting you out, after telling you to keep your nose out of his work—telling you now that you should listen to him, that you should be worried, that you were doing your job wrong. Who does he think he is?

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust his judgment, but you were sick of hearing it. He used to shame you for what you do for work, hated that you had turned against him.

“I’ll look into it, I guess. But I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.” Your voice shook, but you pressed on, words spilling out before you could hold them back. “You always hated what I do—if it was stealing or fighting crime or getting my badge. Now, what, you’re here to play saviour? To swoop in like none of that matters anymore?”

Your eyes met his, and there was a look there that almost made you falter. It’s that mix of distress and conviction, a look that carries the weight of all the things he never says. You recognize it immediately because it’s the look he used to give you—before everything turned sour. But now, it feels almost mocking. Desperate and pleading, like he’s here to convince you of something, to beg you to understand.

He doesn’t say anything though.

It just fueled the anger that’s simmering in your chest. The thought that he could come here, to your work, and act as though he’s still allowed to care as if he’s entitled to it—that he can swoop in and remind you of things you don’t want to feel.

But he must care, right?

If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be here, right? If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be this close, standing right in front of you, risking everything to warn you about a threat he thinks exists. He could’ve just called, could’ve left a message when you purposely didn’t answer.

He could’ve sent a text and kept himself safe, kept himself out of your life. Holy shit, you knew him well enough to know he’s capable of watching from the shadows, lurking without getting involved. But he was standing there, in a police precinct of all the fucking places, surrounded by detectives who would do anything to bring the Red Hood to justice if they realized he was right in front of them.

He’s here, looking at you like he’d do anything to pull you out of this.

The thought wrapped itself around you, both comforting and infuriating. God, you wanted to kill this guy.

“I… I don’t know what you’re asking of me right now, Jason.”

He searched your face, frustration flickering across his expression like he was fighting the urge to shake you, to make you see something you just couldn’t. His mouth opened and closed as though he was running through every possible way to explain himself, to say whatever he came here to say, but the words... the words kind of just... died there. They died in his throat, stuck.

And now he looked… scattered, disarmed, like he hadn’t thought you’d put up this much of a fight.

“I…” he started, his voice dropping almost to a grumbled whisper. “I want you… you need to get out of town.”

You stared at him.

And you stared and stared and just kept staring.

And you probably stood there for a minute or two before biting back a bitter laugh.

Out of town?

He couldn’t be serious.

Your patience, already thin, was practically shredded at this point. You’d spent years building your career here—your life here, and he wanted you to drop everything because he said so? Because he had suddenly come back with some vague, half-assed—a fucking hunch—warning? Because he had a suspicion—with no real proof—that you could—possibly—might be in danger because of an old shady job you barely remember?

The words barely registered at first, almost as if they were so absurd that your brain refused to even process them. You blinked, your mind catching on his audacity—his audacity—to just show up out of nowhere and think he could tell you what to do. This man had left you, shut you out, made his choice to push you away, and now he thought he could waltz back in and tell you to pack up and leave the life you’d clawed your way into?

“What?”

“Go to Metropolis,” he urged, more insistent now as if saying the name of a different city was going to convince you. “Anywhere. Just… get out of Gotham until I’ve figured this all out.”

His words hit you wrong, each one stacking up like bricks in a wall between you. “Until you’ve figured it out?” you repeated, eyes narrowing, glaring.

“Yeah,” he muttered, the confidence slipping. He was realizing now, seeing just how badly this was going. “Just… just lay low until then.”

“Lay low?” you spat out, barely containing a scoff. “Jason, I can’t just drop everything and leave. I’m not some pawn you can just move around. Do you get that? This is my job. My case. My fucking case. I’ve earned every inch of ground I stand on here.”

He tried to say something else, tried to push back, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You think I don’t know the risks?” you continued, stubbornly digging your heels in. “I knew the risks when I took it. I know what I’m fucking doing.” You paused, the words heavy and unyielding. “Do you have any idea how it would look if I just disappeared because things got tough?”

The frustration in his expression deepened, but there was something else there now, something almost pleading. He looked at you like he wanted to say more like he needed to make you see something he was too damn stubborn to say outright. You could tell he didn’t want to fight you on this, that he was wishing you’d just listen, but that only made you stand your ground harder, and dig your heels in deeper.

He was the same Jason he’d always been: relentless, unyielding, pushing at you even when he knew you wouldn’t budge. And you? You were no different—just as stubborn, just as unwilling to give an inch. It was one of the reasons things had fallen apart between you. Two forces constantly colliding, too similar in their defiance yet too different in their methods. Like opposite sides of a magnet, doomed to repel each other despite every effort to hold on.

“I don’t care how it looks,” he muttered, his voice rough and low, but there was a crack in his resolve. “You’re not getting it. This isn’t about the case—this is about you.”

“Me?” The word escaped before you could stop it, sharper than you intended. You squared your shoulders, leaning into the bite of your tone. “If this is about me, then you should know better than to think I’d just leave. I don’t care what you think. If Randolf’s involved or not, this is my case, Jason. My responsibility. And I’m going to solve it, no matter the risks—because that’s my job. And I’m really fucking good at it.”

“Good at it?” His laugh was low and bitter like he couldn’t believe you were still fighting him on this. “You’re not listening. You’re going to die, and you’re standing here talking about responsibility like that’s going to protect you.”

You squared your jaw, rolling your eyes and scoffing.

“You sound just like him.” The words left Jason's mouth before he could stop them, his voice raw with anger and something deeper, something almost… horrified. “You sound just like Bruce.”

The words landed heavier than you expected, and you felt them settle uncomfortably in your chest. He meant it. Jason wasn’t just being dramatic; he wasn’t here to stir up trouble or drag you into another one of his wild theories. He was scared. Scared for you in a way that made your stomach twist uncomfortably because he still cared—too much.

You could hear your own heartbeat in the silence, the weight of what he’d just said hanging between you like a physical thing.

Bruce Wayne. Batman.

You? Similar to him?

The was new.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a voice called your name from down the hallway. Jason turned, his body instinctively tensing like he was preparing for a fight, his broad shoulders blocking your view until you leaned to the side.

It was Andy, jogging toward you with a grin that faltered the second he saw Jason. His eyes narrowed, flicking between you and the man standing far too close, his hands gripping your arms like they belonged there. You don’t remember when he held you.

“Uh… bad time?” Andy asked.

Jason let go of you immediately, stepping back but not far enough. His glare hardened as he sized up Andy like he was trying to determine whether he was a threat—or maybe just because he didn’t like the way Andy had interrupted.

“Yes,” Jason muttered flatly, not bothering to hide his irritation.

“No,” you said firmly, “He was just leaving. Weren’t you, Trevor?”

Jason’s head snapped toward you, his jaw tightening at the fake name. “Right,” he bit out, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he turned on his heel. His broad shoulders stiffened as he stalked off.

Andy watched him go, raising an eyebrow as he turned back to you. “Trevor?” he asked, the question loaded with curiosity.

“Don’t ask,” you said quickly. But your hands trembled slightly as you stuffed them into your pockets, Jason’s words echoing in your mind: You’re going to die.

You cleared your throat, your voice much steadier than you felt. “What’s up, Andy?”

He smiled a warm, familiar thing that barely reached his eyes. “I thought we could pick up a call. Something small, just to ease your mind. I’ve noticed how tense you’ve been, so I figured something like a missing bike or a dog would help take your mind off things.”

You hesitated, the idea of a mundane, easy case almost too good to pass up. You’d been running on fumes for days, your mind still tangled in threads of murder, mystery, and now, whatever the hell Jason was trying to get across.

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed, a little too quickly, though a quiet relief followed your words. The idea of a short break, even a small distraction, felt like just the kind of thing you needed. Still, your instincts told you to keep pushing, to go back upstairs and keep raking through the case files, questioning witnesses, tweaking the map with the locations of the bodies. You couldn’t shake the sense that you were missing something—something crucial.

But Andy’s eyes were a little too glazed over like he’d stared at one too many corpses, and maybe he needed this as much as you did. You could tell by the way his shoulders sagged that he was running on empty.

Maybe a clearer mind would help, you thought.

You reached out and grabbed the thinner file from his hand, glancing over it briefly. “Okay, let’s go,” you said, a bit of your usual confidence slipping back into your voice, even as the anxiety from the case lingered.

Andy’s grin was wide, a flash of his usual spirit. He waved the keys in front of your face like a kid with a new toy. “Fuck yeah!” His excitement was enough to snap you out of your darker thoughts, at least for a moment.

You just hoped Gordon wouldn’t kill you for this detour.

---

The drive to the supposed “missing dog” case felt like it dragged on forever.

Andy hummed along to whatever random song played on the radio, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the case you had been working on. Your mind buzzed with the same unanswered questions that had been hanging over you all day.

What was Jason’s real point? And more pressing, what was really going on with the bodies? Randolf, the name haunted you. Have you been missing something this whole time?

The moment Andy stopped the car, your stomach dropped. The “case” turned out to be a dead end, no missing dog, no clues, just another pointless distraction. You both spent hours going over the same circle of leads that led nowhere, retracing your steps, looking at things from different angles, but it was all for nothing.

Andy finally threw his hands up in frustration. “Nothing,” he muttered, clearly over it. “This is a waste of time.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push the growing feeling of dread away. You were already getting that itchy, restless feeling again—the same one that told you you’d just wasted precious hours when you could have been moving forward on the real case. “I know,” you said quietly, nodding absently. “But maybe we missed something. I think I should—”

“No,” Andy cut you off, his voice blunt, but it wasn’t unkind. “It’s time to call it.”

You wanted to argue, to push on, but his tone made it clear that it wasn’t worth it anymore.

---

Andy had left you at your apartment, and by the time you reached the door, exhaustion was pulling you down like a weight. You fumbled with your keys, your thoughts disjointed, still tangled in the mess of the case that had led nowhere, hours wasted, your mind too worn to keep up.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you dropped your bag by your feet. The thought that had been haunting you all day echoed once again, a sharp, intrusive whisper. You’re going to die.

You’re going to die.

The words gnawed at you relentlessly, a constant hum that never stopped, lingering just beneath your conscious thoughts.

You sighed, trying to shake it off, but the dull ache in your chest remained. You slid off your shoes and left your jacket crumpled on the floor, not caring for the mess. Your apartment was quiet—too quiet. The stillness in the air felt wrong somehow, like something was out of place.

You reached for your phone in your pocket, the buzz startling you slightly. It wasn’t Gordon—who you expected to hear from—but a message from Silena.

Your fingers froze over the screen as you read: Are you in Gotham? We should get lunch or something.

The message didn’t make sense. You hadn’t heard from Silena in a few days, and the last time you checked, she was halfway across the country, doing who knows what. The timing of it unnerved you.

You shook your head, trying to push away the instinct to feel like something was wrong, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite yourself. Silena was one of the few people you trusted, but the oddity of the message made you pause.

Yeah, I’m around. Let me know when you’re free.

You tossed your phone onto the counter and stepped into the living room. The space was dim, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight from the windows. The glow from the streetlights outside filtered in, casting long, strange shadows across the floor, and stretching the furniture in odd directions.

The silence was muggy. It felt like something was waiting for you, something just outside your perception, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

You’re going to die.

You stepped deeper into the room, your senses sharpening as you instinctively reached under a chair where your gun was always kept. Your fingers brushed the cool metal, and your grip tightened. It wasn’t like you to jump to conclusions, but something about this moment made you feel like you needed the reassurance.

You paused, listening carefully, your breath steady. The shadows in the room shifted slightly—flickering, moving. The moonlight played tricks on your eyes, making the figures dance just beyond your sight. You narrowed your eyes, peering through the dark.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

The movement was subtle, but you saw it again. There were figures standing just beyond the edge of the light, still as statues. You couldn’t be sure, but something told you that they weren’t supposed to be there. You raised the gun instinctively, aiming it in the direction of the shadows, your finger lightly on the trigger.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

And then, as if on cue, they moved.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

Two figures stepped forward, emerging from the darkness.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to—

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, staring into the dim light as the figures came into sharper focus. It wasn’t an intruder, wasn’t some random threat.

It was Robin, eyes cold and calculating as always, his posture rigid as he crossed his arms. Beside him, standing just out of the reach of the light, was Red Robin, his body language tight with tension. His mask didn’t hide the unease that flickered in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched slightly.

It wasn’t the first time the birds had slipped into your apartment unannounced—Jason had certainly made himself at home recently—but there was something different about this. Something formal, purposeful. The silence was heavy, the air thick with the weight of unspoken things. It wasn’t a casual visit, not even close.

They didn’t come to grab a snack from your fridge or hang around on your couch, not this time.

For the first time all day, the familiar tension in your chest felt like a vice, suffocating you. You lowered your gun slowly, the metal was cold and heavy in your hands.

Robin gave you a quick nod, his eyes darting to the weapon. He made a small, annoyed sound under his breath—TT—but said nothing as you deactivated the safety and set it back down where it belonged. The tension in the air didn’t fade, though. It only deepened.

“Our apologies if we startled you,” Robin said, his voice tight, almost mechanical, like he had rehearsed the words a hundred times before they came out. His tone lacked its usual sharpness, and something about that made you frown.

But the formality of it all—the serious way they stood, barely moving, as though waiting for something—made your gut twist.

“No worries...” you muttered.

You reached for the lamp on the side table, flipping it on. The room flooded with warm, yellow light, and you blinked against the sudden brightness. Robin’s face was still shadowed by the low light, but you could see his face better now, the sharp edges of his gaze unwavering. Red Robin stepped into the light fully, his jaw clenched, the skin on his lower lip raw from constant biting.

“Damian, Tim,” you greeted them, but the words felt hollow.

Damian didn’t say anything, his arms still crossed, his posture unwavering. He only tilted his head slightly, observing you.

Tim stepped forward, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. The air seemed to thicken with every passing second as he came closer, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. When he spoke, his voice was softer than Damian’s, but there was a finality to it.

“We need to talk,” he said, his tone low, heavy with meaning. “Maybe you should sit down.”

You stood frozen where you were. “What’s wrong?”

Tim hesitated, his gaze flickering briefly to Damian before he let out a slow breath. “We know about your past with Selina Kyle, we know what she meant to you,” he started, the words heavy, “and we thought you should be one of the first to know… She was found dead in her apartment less than an hour ago.”

Your world seemed to halt.

The words didn’t land right. They didn’t make sense. Selina Kyle? She was—she had been so alive in your messages, in your mind. You had just texted her, just now—how could she have been dead? How could this be real?

Your breath caught in your throat, and the room tilted for a second. “That’s… impossible,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. How could she be—?

Tim’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes stayed serious. “That’s what we thought too.”

His words felt distant, almost muffled like they were coming from the other end of a tunnel. You couldn’t process what he was saying. None of it made sense. Selina—dead? You had just texted her. She’d sent a message barely five minutes ago, her words still fresh on your screen, vivid proof of life. Your phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds now, sitting on the counter where you had tossed it, mocking you with its silence.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, dragging your attention back to him. “The cops should be arriving at the scene about now. But, uh, B wants to see you. He was the one who…” Tim hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He was the one who found her. He said—”

You stopped listening. The words faded into a hollow hum, and your mind spiralled. Selina was supposed to be untouchable. Smart, agile, always one step ahead of the chaos in Gotham. And now, she was just… gone? And you were just... supposed to live with that? The thought slammed into you like a train, impossible to reconcile with the image of her that lived in your memory: vibrant, sharp-tongued, alive.

Jason’s warning echoed in your head, louder now. You’re going to die.

Your stomach churned. Jason wasn’t exactly known for his optimism, but there was a pattern here, a thread you couldn’t ignore. The timing, the dread you’d been carrying all day—it all felt too calculated, too deliberate. As though the universe—or someone—was playing a sick game, tightening a noose you hadn’t even realized was there.

Your legs felt weak, and you sank into the armchair beside you, the cushions swallowing you whole. You stared at the floor, the edges of your vision blurring as you tried to process the words. Nothing added up. How could she be gone when she’d just messaged you? Had you imagined it? No, you couldn’t have. You’d replied.

Your hand twitched toward your phone, desperate for confirmation, but the thought of seeing her name on the screen—knowing it could never light up again—made your throat close up.

Tim’s voice broke through the haze, but you only caught the last thing he said. “You’re gonna have to come with us.”

It didn’t sound like a suggestion.

And Jason. Jason had warned you. You’d brushed it off as paranoia, his usual tendency to jump to the worst conclusions, but now… Now you couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew something you didn’t. Something he hadn’t said.

You pushed yourself upright, your legs shaky beneath you. “I need to see it,” you said, your voice stronger now despite the storm raging inside you. “I need to see her apartment.”

Tim and Damian exchanged a look, and Damian had a wicked smirk on his face. He turned toward the open window, his cape swishing as he moved. “Try to keep up.”

[project-sekai-facts]

i recall some kind of theory or pointing out of the fact that tsukasa's focus sets have had him getting less and less authority each time, and with the role of a minor character, it seems to have been intentional

oh i remember a lot of players on JP and KR side pointing that out when Phoenix released! and yeah I think it's definitely true

he went from king -> commoner -> jester/circus performer (for the king) -> a shadow

actually i have a lot of thoughts about his new card and i doubt this set will get an official blog post so i might just ramble a bit. (ftr: haven't read the event yet, sekai.best isn't updating and i surprisingly haven't really found anything from looking through JP/KR side either). specifically, i have a few thoughts about tsukasa being a shadow in this card because it's actually way more than that. oh to be a media student

first off the costume name: phantasmagoria. according to wikipedia, this was an old form of horror theatre that involved projecting scary images. (it's quite interesting actually you can read the article here). the effects in phantasmagoria productions would be done using magic lanterns, the ones you slide a disc with a picture into so it projects it onto a wall. usually, they'd use rear projection, where the lantern is placed behind the surface it's being projected on (so the surface would usually be smoke or some sort of semi-transparent screen) to keep up the illusion (rear projection is how old movies did backgrounds for reference).

now here's where the light in the card comes into play. for starters, rear projection clearly isn't being used here because he's on the stage-thingy (that will be relevant later). also instead of the light shining at him as if he were the subject being projected, it's shining down on him. while partially this was definitely done in part for composition cool points (the composition on this card is so fucking good actually it has nothing to do with symbolism but like holy shit), it's very reminiscent of a spotlight. as i said, i haven't had the chance to read the event yet but i'm assuming this will connect with him having to play a minor role (or play the shadow as the gacha says) and still putting himself in the spotlight.

i like that idea actually because if you link the fact he's standing in the spotlight that means he is still casting a shadow. it may appear to the viewer as if he's the centre of attention - he's right in the light, literally hitting all the composition marks to make him the sole focus of the card - but he's still just a shadow in a larger phantasmagoria. and actually, the spotlight sort of goes around him, he's pretty much cast in darkness despite being in the light and i love how that reflects him being part of a smaller role or "shadow". he stands in the spotlight and puts on a great show no matter if he's truly the star.

lastly: the pose. now look at this 4koma where he does a bird pose:

familiar? while in this 4koma he's meant to be imitating an eagle, i can't help but notice some striking similarities in how he's posed.

also the gacha has a feather! specifically a black one. unfortunately since there are no actual birds on the cards, nor are there feathers, I can't tell you exactly what bird he is meant to be..,

although if you wanted to really grasp at straws then his last event was called Towards the Phoenix at the Sky's Edge the play from that event was called Happy Phoenix and both the play and the lead role in it are incredibly significant to Tsukasa personally and he ended up cast as the lead role in that play and even though the lead role isn't the phoenix that bird is still significant to him in some way.

also going all the way back to the original point of his class decreasing with every set i think while yes in this set he has been reduced to nothing more than a prop, or even less so a mere shadow, but at the same time if you chose to go with that incredibly reachy phoenix idea, it's a comeback. the phoenix rises from the ashes, tsukasa can be reduced to nothing and still be the star owning the spotlight, the most powerful one in the room. hell, he's still on a stage despite everything. i think it's super neat actually that despite this being him at the lowest rank, he's actually in the place where he belongs.

i believe i've only briefly mentioned it in passing on this account before, but theatre is his life. above all else Tsukasa is an actor and the stage is where he thrives. i think it's so interesting how with each set he loses authority, but he also gets closer to being on the stage. the king is at (well, near) his castle where he leads (link to WMS), Torpe is at his piano where he performs (link to Dazzling Light), the Jester is at the circus where he performs, and then you get the one that's hardest to define as any set character. it's not a king or a pianist or jester, it's just some performer on a stage. this time there's no character, and it's not just "some performer" because this is tsukasa. it's still another role, but this time the role is, as the event synopsis states, more "real". this is tsukasa where he belongs, he never needed any sort of power or to play the role of another performer in order to shine because he himself is a performer at his core. Torpe is a performer, but Torpe is not Tsukasa. Tsukasa is Tsukasa, and Tsukasa is a performer. Something like that.

sekai.best please update

[tarithenurse]

A suitable arrangement - 2

Fandom: MCU AU. Pairing/starring: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader. Word count: 1362. Content: The audacity! A/N: I WROTE 18th CENTURY LAST TIME – THAT WAS A TYPO: it should have been 19th. Also I don’t think this will be a super long series...but it’s something. Let me know if it’s okay, please. Send ASK if you want a tag and please reblog. Also using my old tag list so if you’ve been tagged but don’t want to be on the list, just let me know.

2.

You can’t breathe properly. Admittedly, that might have more to do with how tight the maid laced your corset but you probably still would have been short of breath as you prepare to head downstairs to the sitting room where Lord Laufeyson is waiting.

Father has been clear in his orders: don’t bore the man to death and for goodness sake speak up when spoken to. He doesn’t understand how it is his own doing that you are so quiet.

Braving the steps, you make it down in the foyer with a rustle of fabrics and try to stride confidently through the doors.

There’s your father, standing by the book case and sending you a heavy look to remind you of your role.

And there’s Laufeyson, getting up from the settee with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, the other stretching towards you as he bows politely and as the good girl you are, you hand him yours as you courtesy, allowing him to kiss your knuckle lightly.

Then he presents you the bouquet: red tulips. It’s a bold statement and you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you accept them with a soft “thank you”. Thankfully Maude is there right away to whisk the flowers away, she will most likely put them in a vase in your chambers.

“You will have me excused,” your father says and leaves the two of you alone quite contrary to etiquette – but then again, your father has never really concerned himself much with the needs of the ladies including you.

So you straighten up, taking on the role as hostess and offer Laufeyson the opportunity to reclaim his seat as you sit on the settee opposite of him.

“Tea?” you manage to offer.

There’s a smirk on his lips. “Gladly.”

Chiming the little bell, it only takes Maude a moment to return and accept the order for refreshments. Then you’re alone with Laufeyson once more and you can feel your nerves fray ever so slowly.

“You may be wondering what caused me to near you at the debutante,” Laufeyson begins to explain, “I saw you, deeply enthralled in the artwork and I am quite an admirer of the arts myself. My intention was so converse upon the subject as it is rare I find any with the same love for it as I hold.”

You nod. “I understand,” you manage to press out on a breath.

There’s a gleam in his eye. “Do you dabble in the visual arts?” he asks, forcing you to speak further.

“I...I draw, yes.” It’s hard to get the words to be more than a whisper and you try to fight down the wiggling in your discomfort. “Mostly charcoal sketches, though.”

“And what is your preferred subject?” he keeps pressing.

“P-people,” you eek out.

He smiles again, the same smile that many must find warm and endearing but you can’t help but feel more appropriate for a cat that’s caught a mouse. And you are the mouse.

“I suppose your father makes one of your recurring models, then?”

You shake your head. Although you’ve managed to sketch your father a few times, he never takes the time to sit down, allowing you to render him properly. No, what you do is you draw from memory or make quick sketches of people passing by that you see from your window. Maude is often depicted on your paper, mostly when you’ve made your way to the kitchen while she’s cooking but you have never dared to ask her to sit model for you. Thankfully, Elena is differently keen to assist, often striking silly poses in which she looks dreamily at flowers or her own mirror image.

“No?” Laufeyson seems genuinely surprised. “Then perhaps I may do the honour of sitting model one day?”

If you hadn’t felt flushed before then you do so now at the idea of anyone else seeing you work and, even worse, the result thereof.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that,” you gasp.

“Nonsense!” he declares. “It would be my honour.”

He looks at you expectantly but thankfully you are saved from answering him just then as Maude arrives with the tray of tea and biscuits. Pouring for your both, she manages to catch your eye and discreetly nod towards the space next to the guest. Narrowing your eyes, you try to silently remind her of her place and she does leave right away, closing the doors softly.

“Diligent help,” Laufeyson comments.

“Yes, quite,” you whisper.

He turns to you. “Pray tell...what does it take to hear your voice ring true and clear like I heard that day? Must we sing?”

You nearly spill your tea at his boldness. “Lord Laufeyson!” you gasp softly.

But he is undeterred, coming to sit next to you on the seat and grasping your slightly trembling hand. “What I heard that day was not the shy sparrow I see before me now but a bold lark and I intend to win that mesmerizing creature over and have her sing my name.”

Snatching your hand back, you don’t dare meet his gaze. You get up and walk over to open the door, a clear indication that the visit is over. He does follow. Even accepts to go to the front door but that’s where he pauses as Maude comes rushing with his coat and hat.

“Until next time, miss [Y/L/N],” he smiles crookedly.

You have no way to ban him from visiting again unless you can convince father...and speaking up again him is beyond your abilities. So you just courtesy and see the bold visitor out the door.

---

In the days that follows gifts are delivered to you: flowers of ruby and pink hues, boxes of confection, even a delicate silken shawl that must be worth more than half your wardrobe.

Thankfully, though, Loki Laufeyson himself remains at a distance.

That is...until the next ball.

Lord Stark has invited and all of course attend. It had not been long before Elena had been swept up in the dances, leaving you to stand by yourself. You’ve half made up your mind to go exploring the halls for more art when a figure approaches: Laufeyson.

Smiling coyly, he extends an arm. “A dance, miss?”

You know it would be rude to refuse and so you accept, linking your arm in his and hoping that a dance will deter him.

Hand in hand, you float across the floor, finding that he is exceptionally good at guiding your movements despite your lack of familiarity with the steps. Sure, you’ve learned them, taking lessons like any young bachelorette, but you have never truly danced before as none have ever asked you. Now, not only are you dancing but you’re dancing with Lord Laufeyson and you feel the envious glares of many of your peers. Little do they know you’d love to trade places with them especially as his large hand supports your back, nudging you slightly closer to him.

In all fairness: it’s not that Loki Laufeyson is a sore on the eye or has a bad reputation. Quite the contrary. His features are beyond handsome, raven hair and sharp cheekbones and jawline match the air of nobility. And his stature! Tall, lithe, strong, slender. No, he truly is a wonder to behold. And you have only heard whispers of admiration about him.

So why your dislike?

You do not dislike him, actually. You fear him and his perfection. You know you can never measure with him. And now...now for some reason he has made it his mission to hear you speak or sing and it scares you beyond measure to be heard. Everything is so much easier when you can go about unnoticed.

As the music comes to a halt and the dance finishes, you are about to excuse yourself with yet another courtesy when he pulls the boutonniere from his coat and tucks it behind your ear. You hear the whispers and soft gasps at his actions, you feel the heat rise to your face unbidden...and you see the warmth in his eyes as he takes your hand, kisses it, and bows.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Defiled

(Just me torturing my oc Silver some more to vent some feelings. Tw: this story has some clear SA allegories. Nothing explicit but yes it's intentional. Warning for homophobic and sexist slurs).

Boys will be boys.

Kids will be kids.

It doesn't matter if they're in their twenties. It doesn't matter if they are old enough to drive, to drink, own property or even have kids of their own. Some men will always be boys, the world little more than a playground for their amusement, rules there to be broken.

The five of them are on a stag weekend. Johnny boy is getting hitched to the barmaid in town, who he also happened to knock up a year ago. Tied down already but might as well make it official for tax benefits. His last few days of freedom, him and his pals are doing an epic crawl across Surrey, grabbing any taxi they can and crashing the nearest pub to drink themselves stupid, annoy the country bumpkin locals, and then move on.

No taxi rank at the last place, so they're taking the journey on foot, hiking across woods and fields in the dead of night. Simon and Chris are using their phones as torches to light the way, though everyone is stumbling and falling arse over head every seven steps.

"SWEET CAROLINE! WOAH WOAH WOAH!" They croon, ducking their heads to not bump into the branches of the trees. "GOOD TIMES NEVER SEEMED SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!"

"Oi, ain't we near that fancy golf hotel? I 'ear they got a members bar, bet they do shots!" Kyle pipes.

"It's half ten, ya numpty, they ain't gonna be open are they!" Chris slapped him on the back of the head.

"Posh arse place like that won't let the likes of you chavs in anyhow."

"Ey, who you calling a chav? I earn more than you, ya prick!"

"All about style, not money, bruv, and that's where some of us got class and some ain't!" Simon swaggered, while the others made mocking hoots as he tilted the stripper's police cap on his head.

They decided to cut across the golf course to reach the main road, very little in the way of fencing. A few decided to relieve themselves on some of the holes and bunkers, writing messages in the sand for the greenkeepers.

"Clean me." "Thanks mate!" "Hole in 1!"

Along with some dick images of course.

"Sure you don't wanna try breaking into that members bar? Ain't a good stag do unless the groom to be ends up in jail."

"Sod that. Let's just get on the coke already. Ey, look, some benches near them trees." Pointed Kyle.

"You wanna do lines off a bench, you scummer?"

"Think we're gonna come across another surface soon? You got us kicked out the last place by grabbing that waitress. She weren't even fit! Who ate all the pies, ey?"

Laughter from their group sent the squirrels running into the trees and the deer to their dens. But the boys had enough sense to keep the volume down enough not to be picked up by the hotel, all the way across the course.

Only a few lights were on in the building, mostly upstairs for the residents watching TV.

An hour later, the bench is covered with white powder as if it had been snowing in July. The boys are daring each other to climb trees and pose for stupid pictures, Simon trying to chase a poor deer to make Johnny try to snog it.

"Ey lads! Check this out!" Kyle called them over, rubbing his nostrils.

"What the fuck is that?"

They gathered around the weird ass shrine. Lots of flowers and little statues set up as if around an invisible coffin.

"This a grave? In the middle of the woods? Who does that?"

"Maybe it's for someone's dog."

"Nah, look here." Simon pointed to a sketch on the tree, above a plaque; "Some bird who croaked here. Silver Ravenstar. What kind of fucking name is that?!"

"Check out all the symbols. Must have been some hippy, tree hugging witch bitch."

They'd all attended good, Christian schools, not that it would be easy to see, or that any of them seemed to give a shit until tonight.

"Says in brackets 'Louise Smith'. Died about twenty years ago."

Kyle whipped out his phone; "Give us a sec." Quick Google search, though he misspelled a little in his coked state; "....Fuck. Only one newspaper from years back about a girl who was found here dead. No suspicious reason. Suspected....Ha! Suspected drug usage but most likely natural causes. Bitch was some crazy little junkie."

"Fuck that! My old man gets his leg blown off in Afghanistan - he kills himself two weeks later and gets fuck all 'cause we can't afford a decent funeral for him. But this devil worshipping cunt who no-one heard of gets this set up?!" Johnny spat against the picture.

The boys shared similar looks. Anything that made Johnny boy think of his dad was a touchy issue.

"She was probably the daughter of the hotel owner. Or some rich golfing twat who comes here." Despite not being anything close to poor, the lads were middle-working class enough to hate on both those above and below in wealth.

Simon laughed and lay atop the flowers, on his belly.

"You reckon she's buried here? She probably died a virgin! Reckon I can pop her cherry in the afterlife?!" He unzipped his flies, as if ready to begin humping the ground.

Johnny kicked his sides; "Nah, look at that sket. Bet she had already been with all sorts before she snuffed it. I met some freaky Pagans in college, d'you know they do all their spells naked? Sometimes even have orgies? It's manic!"

Chris grabbed at the little bisexual pride flag hung up; "Of course she was a fucking dyke as well!"

He laughed as he crumpled it up and threw it to the dirt.

"Let's make this little memorial more fitting, shall we lads?"

Simon tossed Johnny a can of spray paint. He shook it up, the contents light as they'd used most of it on the bus stops in the village.

Kyle picked up a rock and scratched the name from the engraving. Simon then sprayed over the tree with the more appropriate name.

No hammers or knives. But they found what they needed in the Earth around them, ironically.

False idols were to be broken, Johnny remembered from Sunday school, though Chris made a show of snogging and pretending to thrust into the statue of some goddess welding a bow, the crescent moon as her crown.

A few more lines snorted on the log chair set up close by. More words carved into the trees.

And then Johnny boy struck the match.

"BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!"

"Fuck yeah, burn in hell, you little slut, you fucking nobody!" Johnny dropped it upon the mound of flowers.

The alcohol from the cans of beer they'd been swigging as they danced and trampled over the site made the flames spread rapidly. Within three seconds, every bit of colour, every petal and stem, had been devoured. The boys stepped back as the smoke rose into a thick pillar escaping through the tree tops.

"Shit! Put that out! Before someone sees, then we're really gonna be in it!" Simon hissed.

The boys stomped their boots on the ground until every flame was snuffed.

"Get them fucking embers, man!"

All any of them had in the way of non-alcoholic liquid was a half-full can of Monster Monarch, which Kyle tossed on the last few glowing specks.

"That all of them?"

"Think so. Quick, let's get the fuck out of here."

"Where to next? Wanna piss on Stonehenge?" Chris asked, to which all the lads laughed, their arms around each others shoulders as they stumbled into the night.

Many people had barbecues this time of year. Burning was such a common smell that Robin paid little attention to it. His nostrils flare as he enters the woods, noticing it's getting closer. But there's no sign of any flames that would be easy to spot on a night like this.

And yet, there is smoke....

"Sorry me late!" He called out, sure she had to be awake by now. The sun had set nearly an hour ago. "Got too into Stompy's horror movie 'bout creepy clown....Moonah girl?"

Had she already gone off to the hotel? Wait. He sniffed, smelling her close. No trail. He was in the right direction.

And then, a tiny sound. A snuffle. A cry.

"Moonah girl?!"

He rushed forward. Then he saw.

"Oh...No...."

The mound of blue flowers surrounded by Alison's added lilies and roses was now a large patch of grey ash and black, shriveled stems. Fragments of smashed white resin and porcelain and glass littered the site. Sketches and flags had been shredded and now became caught by the night breeze. Across the tree barks surrounding the bed, sprayed in red, were the words...

Whore. Slut. Dyke.

Burn The Witch. Burn in Hell. Burn. Burn. Burn.

And there, laying upon the ash, was the witch herself. Sobbing, curled into a fetal position around the smashed framed sketch of...

Robin's fists curled at his sides, knuckles turning white. His jaw clenched.

How. Dare. They.

Silver continued to weep, her body racked with aching sobs, one hand next to Alison's drawing of Mary.

"....Who?" Was all Robin asked.

Static fizzled between his fingertips.

"Who?! Who did it?!"

She didn't answer. She didn't care. Not really. They were most likely gone now. They were nobody. Just as she'd been nobody to them. And yet the mere idea of her enough had encouraged such cruelty. Such perverse abuse upon a girl already long dead.

Her gods. Her bed. Her...Her Mary. Destroyed.

The caveman gingerly reached his paw to touch her arm. Only then did she finally scream.

[demigodforfend]

Twilight of the Demigods: Forfend Edition - Session 17

Forfend trailed behind Melzaryn, feeling a bit uneasy about leaving Kagoshi to sit alone in the jailhouse.

"Don't worry," Kairi nudged it. "Last time he went to jail, I waited three days to bail him out! He's used to it." She giggled.

Forfend tilted its head at her. She and Kagoshi had a very strange friendship.

"They'll have to process him and get all the paperwork done first too," Melzaryn called back, wearing his usual inscrutable smile again already. "He's probably not up for bail yet. Depending on how much they figure out, he might not even get bail."

Forfend started to ask for clarification, but Melzaryn stopped dead and spread his arms. "This is the place."

Forfend glanced around.

It noticed the slats in the ground around the shop first. It had been curious to see where the interlocking steel plates had come from.

There honestly wasn't much of a tell. The slats didn't look like they housed a protective metal covering large enough to engulf a building. Perhaps it was magic more than mechanics.

Melzaryn passed a hand right in front of Forfend's face. "You still here?"

Forfend nodded and looked up.

Moli's Marvelous Mementos was a striking shop. The walls were off-white terracotta, making them stand out starkly in the gray cobblestone plaza. Varnished wood accents gleamed so brightly one could almost see their reflection. The silverly interlocking "M" symbol adorned the door.

Frosted windows obscured the view of the inside. Except, Forfend noticed that if it leaned forward with the intent to look inside, the frosting shimmered and cleared enough to let it peer into the colorful shop.

An advertisement awaited by one window. A standee of an elven woman with frazzled blond hair and cracked goggles wore an excited grin as she offered up a handful of ink vials.

The text read "Newly released: Molixeen's Magical Tattoos!"

Forfend studied the image. From the way Melzaryn and the pseudodragon had talked about her, it has guessed she was their sister. Now it was certain. She had the same platinum hair and high cheek bones Melzaryn sported.

Melzaryn strode purposefully into the shop. The door opened before he touched it and a tingling bell rang despite the fact there wasn't one hooked above the door.

Kairi trotted in right on his heels.

Forfend ducked in after them to avoid being left behind.

Just as it had opened, the door also shut of its own volition.

Forfend stuttered to a stop as it took in the shop's interior.

The building looked, maybe actually was, larger inside than it was outside. Not only that, but it extended downward several stories.

Forfend haltingly approached the edge of the platform they stood upon.

At least three more stories worth of product sprawled dizzyingly below.

A suit of display armor frozen in a power pose suddenly jolted to life and juddered to face the group. "Hello, new visitors! Welcome to Moli's Marvelous Mementos!" It gave one jerky wave and returned to its pose.

Forfend edged closer to a chuckling Melzaryn. It watched the stationary armor with some suspicion.

A tiny clockwork construct chugged past, swept up the dust the group's feet had left at the door, and promptly wheeled away.

Forfend suddenly spotted dozens more of them roaming around. Some dusted. Some swept. Some wiped up a strange gurgling blue spill. Some even seemed to be reorganizing stock.

Sitting along the railings and flitting about the glass chandeliers were softly chirping clockwork birds. Their collective song was a beautiful trill despite the mechanical undertone. It took Forfend several minutes of listening to realize their tune was scripted and looping.

"Forfend," Melzaryn called.

It snapped its attention over to where Melzaryn and Kairi waited, having already taken several steps down the stairs before realizing it hadn't followed.

"This is mostly just to display the new stuff and top sellers. The real shopping is on the next floor down," Melzaryn said.

Forfend glanced around at the displays of swords and scrolls and ink pots and pouches. Each one had a gleeful Moli standee in varying poses plastered to the wall behind it.

Forfend nodded and moved to follow Melzaryn.

The group descended the stairway and immediately approached the cashier's desk.

A gnomish man sat on a high stool behind the counter. He was impeccably dressed, his hair tied back neatly and his suit completely free of wrinkles or creases. The shop logo gleamed golden on his breast pocket.

"Oh, hello and welcome to Moli's Marvelous Mementos," the clerk greeted. "How may I assist you this fine day?"

He paused as he took in the group. His eyes lit up at the sight of Melzaryn. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "Mr. Collymore!"

Melzaryn ducked his head politely.

"I imagine you won't know who I am," the clerk joked good-naturedly. "Delkan Booncollar. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Melzaryn took Delkan's extended hand. "The pleasure's all mine. Any chance you can do item modifications here?"

"Yes, of course," Delkan nodded.

"Excellent," Melzaryn grinned. "I've run into a bit of a limitation on storage space. I'd like a couple of the handy mini magical pocket things but rather than a backpack, I'd like a belt."

"That's very interesting!" Delkan praised. "I could do a bit of a combination, perhaps with some items like, say, a Cloak of Useful Items and a Handy Haver Sack, to create this belt. Does that sound adequate, Mr. Collymore?"

"That sounds fantastic," Melzaryn agreed.

"Are there any special requests you'd like to make regarding the item's style or materials?" Delkan asked.

"Well, let's see," Melzaryn hummed and looked himself over. "My current adventuring gear is black with a bit of silver trim. Let's try to keep that aesthetic if we can."

"No problem," Delkan nodded. "So, with your family discount applied to the commission..." He trailed off as he pulled up an abacus and began figuring up the numbers. "Five-hundred gold pieces."

"Perfect! How long do you figure that'll take to throw together?" Melzaryn inquired.

"You're looking for multiple small pockets, yes?"

Melzaryn hummed affirmatively.

"Since it's multiple small enchantments rather than one large one, it shouldn't take too long with the materials we've recently acquired. I would say two days at most," Delkan estimated. "One day, if I mark it as a rush job, but that costs an additional hundred gold pieces."

Melzaryn rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if we have the time to wait."

"We have the time," Forfend piped up.

"We have the time," Melzaryn repeated perkily. "Two days is fine."

Delkan blinked owlishly at Forfend, as though he was seeing it for the first time. "Mr. Collymore, you've acquired a gol--" He cut himself off. "No, it spoke for itself. Greetings!" he waved excitedly.

Forfend returned the wave. "Hello."

"I've never seen a construct such as you before!" Delkan stood up on his stool. "All made up of marble! You almost resemble a stone golem and yet... That's the difference," he said, pointing at the rune on its face. "Fascinating."

Forfend's chest lit up bright orange. Finally, someone recognized it as anything other than a golem.

"I must formally extend my welcome to the shop to you as well, Mister..." he trailed off and gently rolled his wrist as a prompt.

"Forfend."

"Mr. Forfend," he bowed politely. "I am Delkan Booncollar and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," Forfend responded with its own polite bow.

Delkan smiled and turned back to Melzaryn. "Your commission will be done lickety-split. Five hundred gold and it'll be all set to go in two days' time."

"Excellent. Do you accept payment prior or upon completion? I don't really care which," Melzaryn shrugged.

"Typically, we take payment prior but, in this particular case, we'll accept payment at time of completion in the event that something goes awry," Delkan offered.

"Thank you."

Delkan wrote himself up a reminder note and stashed it to the side on his desk. "Alright, well, the store is yours to explore, friends. Is there anything else I can help you with? Perhaps I could interest you in our newly-invented arcane tattoos?"

Delkan shifted, standing taller and beginning what seemed to be a rehearsed but earnest pitch. "All you must do is press the needle to your skin and the ink itself will flow across in a luxurious tattoo of your very own design. And it even offers a few additional arcane benefits!"

He eyed Forfend, taking stock of the shield on its arm. "Or perhaps something simpler, like protection items."

His eyes darted over Kairi, then back to Melzaryn. He smiled knowingly at the two of them. "Or perhaps you're looking for something a little more esoteric and eccentric. What do you think?"

Delkan dropped back onto his stool and leaned his elbows on his desk, waiting giddily.

"I already got what I came for," Melzaryn said. "I think I'll just wander and peruse. You two should take a look around for yourselves."

Forfend nodded. "I would like to explore, I suppose."

Melzaryn was already walking away to browse.

"If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me or any of our helpful, handy... Well, you'll see them," Delkan said cryptically.

"Thank you," Forfend hummed.

"My pleasure, Mr. Forfend," Delkan waved as it took its leave.

Forfend milled about the shop, mostly watching the strange mechanical creatures go about their business.

Kairi gasped and dashed past it to whatever had caught her eye.

Forfend quickly lost sight of her in the rainbow tangle of product displays. It didn't know where Melzaryn had gotten off to anymore either. It guessed it was alone for now.

The little animatronic birds chirped and hopped along nearby while the clockwork cleaners scuttled about.

Perhaps it wasn't very alone in the shop, after all. Maybe no one could really be alone with all these little mechanical things buzzing around.

An armored mannequin caught Forfend's attention.

The display crouched low in a battle stance. It brandished a wooden sword, but the shield it held firmly before it was real. An emblem of Talbarius was emblazoned on the center of a black disk stuck to the front of the otherwise blank shield.

Forfend noticed a barrel of similar black disks sitting right next to the mannequin. These were much smaller and lacked an emblem of any kind. A vague magic sheen floated across their surfaces.

Forfend tilted its head. It reached out and lightly brushed its fingers against the device attached to the mannequin's shield.

The mannequin jerked upright, bringing its shield flush against its chest and thrusting its wooden sword skyward. "Presenting to you: the Guardian Emblem!" it shouted in the enthusiastic tone of an event announcer.

Forfend startled and backed up a step.

The mannequin jerkily lashed out with the shield as though bashing an enemy away and then held it out to show it off. "With this wonderful item right here, wherever an ally within your vicinity is attacked, you can step in and deflect the majority of the blow, acting as a guardian for all those around you! Huzzah!"

It banged its wooden sword against the shield once and then stuttered back into its original position.

Forfend watched the mannequin for a long moment, unnerved. When it was sure the strange display wouldn't move again, it slowly reached into the barrel and picked up one of the little black disks.

Magic chimed and text stating the price appeared above the barrel.

Five-hundred gold.

Forfend didn't think that was a bad price. It decided to take the little item with it while it pondered making the purchase.

It soon stumbled across another armored mannequin.

This one held a javelin as though preparing to launch it across the store. It was the very same pose in which Iram was often depicted throwing lighting bolts.

Forfend circled the display. It observed the stockstill mannequin, quietly taking note of the hidden mechanisms peeking through the armor. It stared into the mannequin's blank, helmeted face.

After a lot of silent deliberation, it gently tapped the display's chest piece.

This one sprung to life just like the last, brandishing its weapon around with spasmodic movements. "Hiya!" it shouted and slammed the spear into the ground.

Well, almost. The tip stopped just short of the floor.

Forfend still flinched at the sudden noise, but it was more prepared this time.

"Presenting to you," the mannequin announced as it offered up the javelin, "the Javelin of Lightning!" It lifted the weapon high over its head. "This fantastic magical item allows one to throw it through the air as though one were throwing a lightning bolt itself! T-t-targeting everything along the path between oneself and one's enemy with vicious arcane lightning the likes of which you have n-n-never seen!"

The mannequin twitched back into its starting position.

Forfend wondered about the catch in the mannequin's pre-recorded message. Maybe something in the jumble of gears wasn't sitting quite right.

It hummed to itself as it continued deeper into the shop.

It found itself tapping each and every display it came across, listening to their little blurbs play out, and then tromping off to the next one. Something about them had its attention.

Maybe it was the same odd sort of kinship it felt with animated armors and other inorganic creations. Those things weren't alive the same way it was, but there was an undeniable similarity.

At least, Forfend thought so.

The next mannequin in the seemingly neverending lineup stood with its hands braced atop a large shield. The symbol of Cassis was engraved into the exceptional piece.

Forfend bopped the mannequin's forehead.

"Intro-introducing the mighty and fine Sentinel's Shield!" the display declared in a slightly less jaunty tone than the others.

This one sounded a touch more serious, though it had the same stutter in its recording that many of the others had sported.

"With this shield upon your person, the central eye where the spears meet will open up to reveal all enemies around you, allowing you to remain vigilant while in combat," the mannequin finished. It held the shield out and gestured to the slit at the center of the symbol before promptly returning to its original pose.

Forfend tapped the mannequin again.

It repeated itself, stuttering again in the exact same spot as the first time.

Forfend hummed and wandered over to the next mannequin it saw.

This one stood tall, fists braced on its hips. It wasn't armored like most of the others. Instead, it showed off the wooden scaffolding and metal mechanics beneath. Its arms were thicker than the others and covered in thin fabric stuffed with straw to give the appearance of bulging muscles.

Around its waist was an enormous leather belt. The buckle bore two copper fists crashing into one another.

Forfend tapped the mannequin's arm.

It twitched to life and began shifting through various flexes. "Introducing," it thundered, "the Belt of Hill Giant Strength! It allows even the most feeble and weak individuals to gain the strength of a hill giant!"

The mannequin returned to its original pose.

"Interesting," Forfend hummed.

It started to go back to milling around idly when it spotted Kairi gallivanting through the aisles.

She paused to observe a particular display.

Forfend caught up to her and tilted its head.

This setup was much larger than any of the others it had seen so far.

Three mannequins slumped over a large table. One lay on the ground nearby.

Empty tankards, some tipped over, were scattered about the table and floor. Each mannequin had two or three in front of them.

At the head of the table sat a standee of Moli chugging a pint of ale. She was surrounded by over a dozen empty mugs and looking far more alert than her mechanical companions.

A small necklace was draped around the cutout's neck. A pendant resembling a tiny glass tankard dangled from the chain. It seemed to actually contain an amber liquid of some sort.

Forfend leaned forward and knocked on the table.

One of the mannequins sat up, grabbed a mug, and languidly dragged itself to its feet. It thrust the mug out as though for a toast. "Introducing the Amulet of the Drunkard," it slurred, swaying on its feet. "While wearing this fine, fine item, whenever you drink a pint of beer, ale, or mead, the liquid will become a restorative healing item to your body, allowing you to recover from your wounds while also enjoying a fine drink!"

The mannequin staggered back into its chair, thunked its tankard down, and slumped back onto the table.

"Well, that sounds interesting," Kairi mused, giggling at the little show.

"I am concerned for that mannequin's wellbeing," Forfend hummed and realized it wasn't entirely joking.

"Yeah, I'm definitely not sure that's something I'd buy," Kairi agreed with a grin.

She skipped off.

Forfend hustled after her.

It couldn't interact with the displays they were passing and still keep up so it watched the mechanical avians instead.

Slowly, it realized they were watching it back. They were still chirping rhythmically and hopping about, but they were more fixated on Forfend then they had been before.

It glanced down at the item in its hands.

Realization dawned on it.

Forfend hadn't made its purchase yet. The birds weren't just for ambiance. They were also theft prevention.

It had no intention of testing any theories, but it did wonder what countermeasures the birds would employ if they were certain of an attempted theft. Were they an alert system? Or could they do something to prevent escape? Did they try to recover the stolen merchandise?

Forfend abruptly stopped to keep from bowling right over Kairi.

She'd paused to look at a display and Forfend had nearly been too distracted to notice.

The armored mannequin here had its back to them. It looked over its shoulder, unbelievably haughty for something without a face.

Forfend hoped it was able to display its own emotions that well.

The mannequin held its arms up and pointed its thumbs down at the golden cloak flowing along its back.

This cloak bore the shop's logo emblazoned across the shoulders.

A hanging sign proclaimed it to be a Cloak of Protection.

Kairi walked off before Forfend could tap the display.

Begrudgingly, it caught up to her as she sifted through a shelf full of what appeared to be bottles of smoke.

A cutout of Moli graced the top of the shelf. She held an uncorked bottle of the mystery smoke. It seemed to be wrapping around her legs and obscuring her from the bottom up. She held her fingers to her lips, her eyes dancing with mischievous delight.

Forfend inspected the mannequin beside the shelf. It, too, held a bottle of smoke. It seemed to be gazing at it thoughtfully.

Forfend touched the mannequin's hand.

It shivered and turned jerkily, holding the bottle out. "Introducing the Ever-Smoking Bottle!"

It popped the cork out. Smoke hissed free and drifted downward, dusting over the ground.

"This item right here allows you to emit an endless stream of smoke! Even when the bottle eventually does empty, it'll recharge at the end of the day!" It corked the bottle again. "It allows one to conceal their environment, stay hidden, and..." It leaned forward conspiratorially. "Most importantly, have a good time," the mannequin said suggestively. "Sneaking around, of course," it added in a less sultry tone.

Forfend tilted its head at the mannequin as it returned to its original positioning.

"Did it suggest this item be used for..?" Forfend trailed off. Surely, that couldn't be right. It had just misunderstood.

Kairi shrugged, not quite hiding a smirk.

Forfend shook the befuddlement out of its body and followed Kairi to her next destination.

She hadn't gone far. She was poking around a display of small bags filled with sand.

Another standee of Moli stood nearby. This one was in a similar sneaky stance to the last. She was sprinkling the dust over her head. More than half her body was invisible with the effect apparently climbing to claim the rest of her.

Forfend immediately tapped the roughish mannequin next to the standee.

The mannequin sank lower into its stealthy crouch and greedily tugged the pouch of sand into its chest. It ducked its head, knocking its hood down a little lower, before it spoke in a stage whisper, "Introducing the Dust of Disappearance." It offered the slightest peek at the fine sand within before snapping the drawstring shut again. "With this item, all you must do is sprinkle some of this dust into the air around your body and you'll become invisible for a short period of time. Use it wisely." It returned to its creeping hunker.

"That seems pretty fun," Kairi muttered to herself.

Forfend couldn't help but ponder what use someone like Kairi would have for an underhanded item like this.

"Ooh, what's that?!" Kairi gasped.

Forfend followed her gaze to a mannequin traipsing right up the side of the wall.

The pair promptly found themselves standing under it next to a mannequin watching its friend with amazement in its body language.

All of the mannequins were so expressive, despite being completely featureless. Maybe it could learn something from them.

Forfend waited until Kairi wasn't looking to briefly copy the stance.

No one in Foumedo had trouble reading Forfend's mood, but it wasn't in Foumedo anymore. Maybe it should exaggerate its physical expressions a bit more to get its point across.

Kairi looked up from the rack of slippers she was browsing through and tapped the mannequin's shoulder.

The mannequin startled slightly and turned to face them. "Oh! Hello, there." It gestured up at its wayward friend who now seemed to be walking in place up the wall. "Introducing the Slippers of Spiderclimbing! While wearing these fine items, you will be able to walk up, down, and sideways across vertical and even upside-down surfaces such as ceilings, leaving your hands free for whatever you wish!" It turned back to wondrously observing its friend.

"Slippers? For walking up walls, would you not want something with laces?" Forfend asked. "What if you were to lose one?"

Kairi tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Well, the mannequin up there doesn't seem to be having any trouble with his. Maybe the magic keeps them on too?"

Forfend nodded. "That makes sense."

"Let's circle back. I think I want that Ever-Smoking Bottle thing," Kairi grinned.

She trotted jauntily back to the display and snagged a bottle off the shelf, barely glancing at the two-hundred gold price tag that popped up.

Forfend followed her through the multiple floors and winding aisles all the way back to the front counter.

"Oh, look! It's Melzaryn!" Kairi yelled.

She and Forfend joined him at a pair of massive displays sitting side by side.

It had been too focused on Delkan to see them when it first came in, but now they were glaringly obvious.

In fact, they were completely impossible to ignore. The design of the surrounding fixtures intentionally led customers to this spot. Not to mention that this pair of displays was easily twice the size of the others.

The first advertisement was an oversized standee of Moli wielding a painter's palette. She seemed to have just painted a doorway, but her hand actually grasped the knob and pushed it open as though it were truly there.

Forfend craned its head back to read the dangling sign above.

"Molixeen's Marvelous Pigments," it read aloud.

Kairi squinted at the mannequin gasping awestruck at Moli's painting. "I guess he's an art critic," Kairi said.

The mannequin sported gaudy noble's attire, a monocle, and a stuffy powdered wig that came complete with a twirling mustache.

Forfend poked the mannequin's shoulder.

It turned to regard them. "Well, this item is quite interesting to say the least. A new invention recently transported to this Cragwall establishment." It held its arms out to present the Moli standee. "Introducing Molixeen's Marvelous Pigments! While it does indeed require the artistic hand of a painter, whatever you paint with these pigments becomes real." It juddered back into its gasp position.

"That would be quite the amazing ability," Forfend admitted.

"They'd definitely be fun to play with," Kairi agreed.

"I could think of some uses," Melzaryn added.

Forfend leaned down and touched a finger to one of the cases of paints stacked up by the display.

A magical ching sounded as the price popped up above the items.

"Twenty-five thousand," Forfend said, steam whistling in its chest. It pulled its hand away from the paints and backed up a step.

"Well, this one won't be any cheaper, but I'd still like to look at it," Melzaryn shrugged as he stepped over to the next oversize display.

A pair of emerald gauntlets spun slowly in the air over an elevated pedestal.

Forfend perked up and inspected them critically.

They were gorgeously and expertly crafted, despite the incredibly strange material choice. Black steel was inlaid into the gauntlets, carving out intricate designs of draconic imagery throughout their angles and curves. Power radiated palpably.

A mannequin dressed in the green scholarly robes of a Tyrwedian arcanist stood nearby, looking fully prepared to begin a lecture.

Forfend tapped its hand.

"Intro-int-intr-introducing, with the j-joint construction of the gra-gra-gracious King Ledri-drian to this wonderful establish-blishment upon our a-a-a-a-arrival in Cragwall-wall, we present to y-you the G-g-g-gauntlets of Dragon-gon's Wrath," the mannequin stuttered and jerked through its motions.

"Oh no, you broke it," Melzaryn teased.

"With th-th-this weapon, one-one strikes with--" It jolted sharply to a halt, stuck in an awkward halfway point between lecturer poses.

Forfend tilted its head. "Oh, I did break it."

The mannequin suddenly yanked upright, buzzed mechanically, and slouched over. Despite its now abysmal posture, its recording started up again, "W-with these weapons-pons, once power-wer-werful blows b-b-become e-even strong-stronger! With the mi-might-t of a-an emerald-ald dra-drag-drago-go-gon behind them, one can-can un-unleash-leash a cone o-of psychic-psy-psy-psychic energy and-nd deal psychic d-dam-damage with-ith every bl-b-blow as th-the symbol-bol-bols glow with w-worthy drac-con-conic-ic energy-y-y-y! M-may this wea-weapon find-find-f-find its use i-in the right h-h-han-h-hand-h-hands." Its voice deepened and slowed on the last stuttered word until it finally petered out completely.

Forfend resisted the urge to take the mannequin apart and start trying to make repairs. It wanted to help, but it wasn't an artificer. It could probably identify the problem as long as the problem was mechanical, but fix it? Unlikely.

These also weren't its things to fix anyway.

Forfend hummed to itself.

Melzaryn nudged it and nodded. "Yeah, they'd be better in silver."

For a moment, Forfend had no idea what he was talking about. Then it remembered the spinning power gauntlets. It reached up and gently touched the top of the pedestal.

A magical ching sounded and the price popped up.

Forty-thousand gold pieces.

Forfend honestly wasn't surprised by the astronomical sum. Weapons like that were as rare as the skills needed to make them.

Melzaryn was already walking over to the front desk.

Forfend realized he was carrying a hefty bundle of items.

"Welcome back," Delkan greeted. "Did you find all the items you were looking for?"

"I'd say I did," Melzaryn answered as he carefully deposited his things onto the table.

"Excellent! Now let's see what we have here!" Delkan picked through the items, muttering to himself. He pulled an abacus up from behind his counter to run the numbers.

"Ooh, Broom of Flying! Excellent choice, Mr. Collymore," Delkan praised. "A pair of Sending Stones. Very useful indeed. And what is this? You're picking up the Astral Shard?"

"It seemed both useful and fun," Melzaryn smiled his easy, inscrutable smile.

Delkan nodded agreeably. "That brings us to a total value of twenty-two hundred gold. With your family discount, that brings you down to a good fifteen hundred gold."

Melzaryn counted out the money and placed it on the counter.

"Perfect." Delkan swiped the money off the edge of the table and stored it away. "I hope the items see good use and work well for you. Would you like a bag?"

"Thank you. Yes, I would. Not for this one though." Melzaryn picked up his new broom.

Delkan placed the set of Sending Stones and the Astral Shard into a bag decorated with an image of Moli grinning and giving a thumbs up.

"Thank you for shopping at my wonderful store and I hope you have a wonderful day!" the bag suddenly announced in what Forfend could only assume was Moli's voice.

"And what about you, Mr. Forfend?" Delkan coaxed.

Forfend straightened. It had nearly forgotten it was making a purchase today too. It stepped up to the counter and set its Guardian Emblem down.

"Very nice choice," Delkan nodded approvingly. "This will be five hundred gold pieces."

Forfend divvied up the money. "Thank you."

"Of course. Would you like a bag with that?"

"No, it is fine." Forfend shook its head.

Delkan passed the Guardian Emblem back across the counter.

Forfend dropped the item into one of the larger pouches on its belt and stepped aside for Kairi.

"I hope you have a wonderful day." Delkan spied Kairi approaching and ducked his head politely. "And what about you, Ms..." He frowned. "I do apologize. I don't believe I caught your name."

"It's Kairi," she offered amicably.

"Ah, well, Ms. Kairi, it appears you'd like to purchase the Ever-Smoking Bottle. That one is two hundred gold pieces."

"Alrighty," Kairi grinned. "But make it two hundred and five, as a tip." She gave him the gold.

"Well, I do appreciate a good tip from a gracious lady like yourself," Delkan preened as he dropped the extra money into his breast pocket. The rest he tucked away beneath his desk. "Would you like a bag?"

"That would be helpful, thank you."

Delkan bagged the item and passed it over.

Just like the first time, Moli's voice called, "Thank you for shopping at my wonderful store and I hope you have a wonderful day!"

"I hope you have a wonderful day," Delkan echoed. "If you have any other items you're looking for or if you'd like details on anything we sell, please do come let me know."

"Thank you, Delkan," Forfend ducked its head politely and followed Melzaryn out of the shop.

Kairi was close behind. "I guess we should probably go get Kagoshi now, huh?"

Melzaryn set his magical broom hovering in the air and hopped up on it, his feet dangling just an inch off the ground. "Yeah, probably."

Three claps sounded behind the group, followed by an arcane blip.

They turned around to see a transparent image of Moli.

Melzaryn startled, then sighed wearily.

"Well, if this recording is playing--" Moli began, then looked off to the side. "It's on, right? Yeah? Yeah. Okay, cool." She turned back to face them. "If this recording is playing, that means you are here, brother! Hi! I heard that you're in the area, so I had Delkan put this up. How are you doing?! I know you can't answer me. Don't even try. But! I hope you have a good time here and I hope you bought some shit! Did you like the discount?" She paused again and looked off to her left. "It's working, right? You're sure? What? Why would I..? You know what, I'm wasting time. Anyways!" She clapped and looked at them again. "Yeah, I hope you have a wonderful day and I hope to hear back from you sometime."

The illusion froze in place.

"That was sweet of her," Melzaryn said mostly to himself, an exasperated fondness wisping into his tone.

Moli suddenly looked up again as the recording apparently continued. "Yeah, Delkan, I told you to put it up right when he gets out the door. Don't fucking argue with me." She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered. "I've got a little project going on."

Melzaryn leaned in to hear her properly.

"It's gonna be pretty fucking cool. I need your help with it though."

This time the illusion disappeared in a puff of arcana.

A nervous shiver ran down Melzaryn's spine, but the glimmer in his eyes betrayed curious excitement.

"Let us get Kagoshi," Forfend prompted and began making its way over to the jail.

Kairi trotted along at its side, edging closer as they reentered the crowd in the town square.

Melzaryn floated up at Forfend's other side, lounging casually on his flying broom. "Here." He tossed Forfend one of the two Sending Stones he'd purchased. "I think we're the best two to be carrying these."

"That makes sense," Forfend nodded. It pocketed the stone.

Shortly, the group found themselves at the outer gates of the military complex.

Forfend recognized the guard on duty as the one who'd gifted it rocks.

And the guard recognized it as well.

"Oh, hi! You're back?" He cocked his head. "Can we help you?"

Forfend knelt to keep from looming so high over the guard. "Is Kagoshi up for bail yet?"

"Oh yeah, I mean, he just got in a little scuffle with a librarian, so yeah," the guard casually nodded.

Forfend looked to Melzaryn.

Melzaryn shrugged.

"What is the bail?" it asked, steam hissing in its chest.

"I, uh, I can go ask," the guard offered. "I'll be right back."

He jogged through the gates and into the building proper.

A few minutes later, he returned.

"Since it was just a minor thing, it's just one gold," the guard informed. "Thankfully, no one was hurt. Everything turned out fine. At least, that's what they told me. I wasn't there."

Melzaryn glanced sharply at Forfend, his eyes saying an unspoken, "You're welcome."

Forfend pressed two gold into the guard's hand.

"Oh, um, but this is double the amount? Why?" he asked.

"The second gold is for you," Forfend hummed.

"Really?"

"You helped me," it nodded.

"Oh! Okay, thank you," he grinned as he dropped the spare gold piece into his pocket.

"You know what they say about good deeds getting rewarded or whatever," Melzaryn botched the old saying.

"Alright, uh, thanks. I'm gonna go get him." The guard headed back inside.

"I thought you said his monstrous second personality tried to learn?" Forfend probed. "I imagined that would create... more alarm."

"Yeah, it did. And it should've. Definitely seemed like it was going to. I'll figure it out later," Melzaryn promised. "This isn't the time or place."

Kagoshi meandered out of the front gates and met up with them. "Well, that was stupid," he grumbled.

Melzaryn examined Kagoshi's face briefly. He quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"It's getting late, isn't it?" Kairi pointed out.

"We should get a room." Melzaryn walked over to the guard just as he returned to his post. "Any recommendations on places to stay?"

"Oh! Um, I mean, the best inn or tavern kind of place around here has to be the Brass Buffalo," the guard shared. "Its right down that way, past the king's statue. It's hard to miss."

"Sounds lovely, thank you."

Melzaryn started walking in the direction he'd been pointed in.

Forfend and the others followed him.

The Brass Buffalo was already abuzz when they arrived despite the fact that the sun had only just begun to cast orange across the skies.

The building was a full three stories, the top two appearing to be inn rooms while the bottom was packed with revelry.

An enormous brass buffalo statue, presumably the tavern's namesake, stood next to the front door.

The detail work was gorgeous and the metal gleaming. Though, the pristine effect was ruined by the fact that the statue appeared to have been unceremoniously dropped here hard enough to buckle the pavement beneath. A small fence and red cloth sectioned off the partially collapsed cobblestone.

Forfend wondered how that could've happened.

The group pushed through the doors into the bustling bar.

Forfend didn't have to stoop much.

The inside was even noisier and more lively than it had looked from the outside.

In the far corner, a band performed one joyful, exciting song after another.

Nearly every table was overflowing with chattering customers. Drinks clanged while people danced and laughed. Varying cards and dice games were in the midst of being played across several different tables.

Most of the patrons seemed to be farmers or off-duty guards.

A heavyset red dragonborn hollered from behind the bar, "Order's up!"

He pushed a tray of drinks down the counter and immediately set to taking the next order. He teased his regulars, laughing with them as he kept up his breakneck working pace.

"Well, I'm gonna get me some food. Jail food is awful," Kagoshi complained as he made his way to the bar.

"You were there for, what, hours? Did they even feed you?" Forfend asked.

"Eh, I took a nap for most of it. I told the guard I wasn't hungry because I knew the food would fucking suck." Kagoshi leaned on the bar. "Now I'm very hungry."

"Hello there! Pleasure to meet you all!" the red dragonborn bellowed a greeting. "What can I get for-- Hey! You're the guys who helped out at the Teleportation Hub yesterday! I can tell 'cause we've got the big, tall stone guy, we got the pink lady, we got the guy with the whole getup and the platinum blond hair, and we got the slightly angry looking man."

"He is even angrier than he looks," Forfend said.

"Hey now!" Kagoshi griped. "What the hell? 'Slightly angry looking' is my entire descriptor?"

"Hey, man, I wasn't there," the dragonborn placated. "But you know what? You saved a lot of people that day. First thing you order is on the house. What do you want? Drinks, food?"

"Food," Kagoshi accepted immediately. "I'm starving."

"Got the menu right here." The dragonborn placed a menu in front of each of them. "Just got buffalo ribeyes in the other day. Nice and fresh, if you want those."

Kagoshi nodded thoughtfully, pouring over the menu.

"We also got owlbear steak and eggs. Lots of different omelettes, any way you want them, if you're interested in that. Nice hearty stews and soups," the dragonborn listed off.

"I think what I want is a couple of eggs and all of your bacon."

The dragonborn nodded, scribbling the order down on a notepad.

"I do mean all of it," Kagoshi clarified. "I don't mean a lot. I mean all of it."

The dragonborn eyed him quizzically. After a moment, he nodded again. "I getcha, I getcha. I know the lingo. How'd you like those eggs cooked?"

"Screaming," Kagoshi responded.

The dragonborn nodded again, though Forfend didn't think he looked like he understood. It also didn't think Kagoshi had made any sense.

Still, the dragonborn turned and yelled into the kitchen, "Hey, chef! Can I get a couple of baby chickens, Godflame Mountain style?! And a mountain of pork, would you?!" He flashed them a friendly smile. "That'll be out in just a few. What are the rest of you ordering?"

"I do not eat or drink," Forfend shared.

"Ah, well, that's unfortunate. If you do need anything, first thing you order is on the house."

Forfend ducked its head politely.

"Do you have any wines here?" Melzaryn asked.

"Of course, we do!" the dragonborn exclaimed. "We just got in some good ones too. We've got Summerstead wine, Goodberry wine, and we even got in a branch of that new investment the Gallofords are trying out!"

"Do not buy the Galloford wine," Forfend said flatly.

Melzaryn nodded his agreement. "Let me get a hearty beef stew, a bottle of red Summerstead wine, and a single strip of bacon."

"Sure thing." The dragonborn wrote down the order and yelled into the kitchen again, "Hey, chef! Gimme the soup, mooing, with a single strip of pork on the side, keep it lean! And a bottle of dragon's blood!"

"I like the jargon here," Kagoshi mentioned.

"What about you, miss?" the dragonborn asked Kairi.

Kairi hummed as she browsed the menu. After a moment, she pointed to a particular dish. "I'll have rice with black beans, and a fried egg."

"Excellent choice. Drinks for either of you?" he asked Kairi and Kagoshi.

"Shit, drinks. I almost forgot about that," Kagoshi grumbled. "Strong alcohol. I don't have a preference."

"You want something that burns real bad?" the dragonborn offered with a wink.

"Yeah."

"I can get you a fireball, if you'd like. I think that would do you." The dragonborn nodded to himself.

"Hey, chef, how about some of that Fulgar Isles stuff with a Kuumedian twist! Drop the sun on it!" the dragonborn hollered what Forfend could only guess was Kairi's order into the kitchen.

He turned to Kagoshi, a sly grin creeping across his face. "I just got another idea. You look like a man's man. We got this... other drink. The chef concocted it a while back. He calls it the Death Wish. Would you rather try that than the fireball?"

"Yeah, I'm game," Kagoshi said slowly. "Some people already tell me I have a death wish anyway. Go for it."

"Alright, one Death Wish coming right up."

"What?!" a high-pitch scratchy voice called from the kitchen. "Somebody's ordering the Death Wish?! It's getting used?! Hold down the fort boys, I'm making this one myself!"

A goblin, tiny even by goblin standards, scampered out of the kitchen. His chef's hat had been modified to stand more than twice his height. It towered over him, but was barely level with the countertop.

The goblin gawked at Kagoshi. "You want the Death Wish?!"

"Yes, half-hat," Kagoshi growled.

"Fuck yeah!" the goblin cheered. "I'll be right back! Don't worry, your bacon is being cooked!"

He gallivanted off, only to return a minute later with a shot glass containing a drink that bubbled oily black.

"Here ya go!" the goblin cheerfully jumped up on a stool to push the drink into Kagoshi's hand. "Little of this, little of that, and just a couple drops of basilisk venom!"

Forfend physically recoiled. It couldn't believe Kagoshi actually intended to drink what appeared to be venom-laced tar.

Kagoshi eyed the drink suspiciously. "So what's in this exactly?"

"Trade secret," the goblin grinned.

"Alright, sure." Kagoshi shrugged and turned up the glass.

Within seconds, Kagoshi was swaying on his feet. His eyes were dilated and his face red. He slammed the glass back down on the table and hauled himself onto a stool.

The goblin bounced excitedly, screeching in his native tongue. "Holy shit, he's still awake!" he suddenly exclaimed in Common.

"Oh, I thought he was going to say 'alive,'" Melzaryn whispered under his breath.

"Guts of steel!" the goblin praised, elbowing the dragonborn.

"I know," the dragonborn agreed. "Look at him!"

Forfend watched Kagoshi struggle to focus on any one thing in front of his face. He held onto the edge of the bar to keep himself upright.

"Damn! You're only the second person I've ever seen stay awake after the Death Wish. The first one was me!" The goblin proudly jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "You know what? I'm making you extra bacon just for that!"

"Fuck yes," Kagoshi slurred.

The goblin disappeared back into the kitchen.

The group moved to find an empty table, and Kairi nearly had to carry Kagoshi to it.

Not long after they'd gotten settled, the food was brought out.

The dragonborn and a couple other waiters served everything to its rightful places. It took two people to carefully set down Kagoshi's absurd interwoven mountain of bacon.

Kagoshi immediately began shoveling food into his mouth.

Forfend hoped the meal would help him sober up a bit. It figured he hadn't eaten since they'd left the jail this morning. He really hadn't had any business drinking in the first place. Not on an empty stomach.

Melzaryn pulled up his waterskin and used magic to draw the water out. In his palm, it shaped itself into a wine glass and flash froze. Chilled fog drifted off the opaque ice.

"Oh, that's some very impressive arcana!" The dragonborn clapped. "Do you lot need rooms for the night?"

"Thank you," Melzaryn smiled his usual easy grin as he filled his makeshift glass with Summerstead wine. "We definitely will need rooms. I'm very tired."

"Alright. Don't worry about the price. You saved a hundred people yesterday. I think that's worth a room for the night." The dragonborn paused, his eyes lighting up with surprise. "I don't think I ever introduced myself! The name's Narmoth Brewcoat!"

"Forfend," it returned immediately.

"Forfend," Narmoth repeated. "Nice to meet you, Forfend."

"Melzaryn."

"Kairi. And that's Kagoshi," Kairi offered for her friend who seemed far too busy absolutely decimating his plate of bacon to answer.

"Wow, he's really going at that," Narmoth observed. "Anyway, do you need rooms together or separate?"

"Separate," Kagoshi growled through a mouthful of pork.

"The only person here I'd share a room with is Forfend," Melzaryn added.

"That would work for me," Forfend piped up. "I am just as happy to sit outside as I am to sit in a room. I do not need to sleep. There is no point in wasting a bed on me when someone else could use it."

"Alright, sure. Three rooms then," Narmoth nodded.

On the far side of the bar, another guest called for Narmoth.

"Oh, I've got to get that. I hope you enjoy your meal," Narmoth excused himself, weaving across the packed bar.

Melzaryn and Kairi immediately got started on their own plates.

Forfend let the others dig into their meals. It sat upright to watch people come and go.

The bustling tavern had no lack of interesting patrons.

Forfend watched gambling games, arguments that nearly became fist fights, stumbling drunks getting carried home by their friends, mirthful dancers, and a host of other distinctly mortal things it recalled falling in love with during the Sundering.

The wariness after yesterday's terrorist attack had almost entirely dissipated here. Tenacious people determined to keep up their good spirits in hard times made sure to enjoy their night out.

It was Forfend's favorite act of defiance. Joy, happiness, fun then the world didn't seem to want anyone to have those things.

Forfend found its chest was glowing softly orange.

An elven man let himself into the Brass Buffalo tavern.

He looked ordinary enough. Dirty blond hair and light stubble framed his face, his high cheekbones giving him a vague authoritative air he didn't seem to be trying to use. His clothes were nice but plain.

Forfend wasn't certain what about him it had caught onto.

Maybe it was the rapier at his side. The weapon was a bit of a contrast to his clothes. The hilt gleamed Tyrwedian green, a striking comparison to the man's otherwise earth-toned outfit. The dull wooden sheathe it rested in didn't seem to suit such a fine weapon.

The stranger leaned down to speak to a guard. He pat the man's shoulder and looked up, immediately locking gazes with Forfend. He headed straight toward it.

He grinned when he saw the rest of the group sitting with it.

"Hello," Forfend greeted.

Melzaryn, Kairi, and Kagoshi all looked up to see who it was talking to.

"Hi," the elven man greeted. His ears tottered back and forth from nerves or excitement, or perhaps both. "I couldn't help but notice you all from across the room. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"I often get noticed from across the room," Melzaryn said tiredly and took a sip of his wine.

Forfend motioned to an empty chair.

The elf accepted and waved Narmoth over.

Narmoth approached, a chuckle already rumbling in his chest. "Welcome back, Mr. King."

Melzaryn's pointed ears swiveled, though he didn't otherwise appear interested.

The elf sighed wearily. "Could I get some dinner?" He passed Narmoth the money without waiting for an answer.

"Sure thing. I'll get your usual." Narmoth dropped the coins in his apron pocket and returned to the counter.

"So, where are you all from?" the elf asked.

"North," Kagoshi deadpanned.

"North," Melzaryn and Kairi echoed together.

"I am from Foumedo," Forfend answered less cryptically.

"Foumedo? Really?" The elf looked it over again.

Forfend nodded.

"Huh," the elf vocalized as he considered the possibility. "Well, what you guys did yesterday, I really appreciate it. Problem's been persisting for a long time and, despite my best efforts, I can't really seem to track Envema down. So, I really appreciate what you did for my people."

The elf took the pint of ale directly from Narmoth's hands as the dragonborn returned with his meal.

"Enjoy." Narmoth set the plate down and gave the elf a friendly pat on the shoulder before returning to his post behind the bar.

The elf took a long draught. "Seriously, I can't thank you enough. You really helped Cragwall out. I know you guys are new in town and you did something real brave for people you don't even know. That's why I wanted to extend my thanks personally. Thank you. I really appreciate it."

Forfend nodded graciously. "Someone needed to help.

"Yeah." He rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. "When I heard the first boom, I tried to head out right away. But of course, they wouldn't let me do that. 'Too important,' they said. I get the sentiment, but those are my people out there."

Forfend hummed deep in its chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the elf suddenly jumped. "I didn't introduce myself. I know you guys from all the reports my advisors have been giving me, but I still need to tell you who I am. I'm Falco. Falco Ledrian. The king, I guess," he shrugged.

Forfend froze.

Kagoshi looked up, bacon hanging out of his mouth. "What?"

Kairi's eyebrows shot up.

"The king of Tyrwedia," Falco sheepishly clarified.

Forfend examined him: his features, his body language, every word he'd said since he arrived.

"I don't blame you for not recognizing me," Falco said. "Usually when I go out and tell people, they think I'm lying. I mean, the bartender here is still convinced I'm lying."

Forfend stared. As far as it could tell, Falco was telling the truth. At least, he believed he was. And he did look remarkably like the statue in the town square.

He really was King Falco Ledrian.

"Are you okay?" Falco asked, watching Forfend's blank face with some concern.

Forfend nodded slowly.

"So what brings you to a place like this?" Melzaryn asked, already pouring himself a second glass of wine.

"Well, I like to be down here with my people. Staying up in the castle doesn't do any good," Falco answered adamantly. "A king is supposed to serve his people, you know? I need to be down here to see what they're dealing with every day."

Forfend respected that response. It wasn't certain why Falco had built himself such a reputation of distance, with the statue and lack of notable public appearances.

Coming down to see his people when they wouldn't recognize him was good. It let him stay in touch without the opinions he encountered being censored to protect his ego or the interests of those he spoke with. But it shouldn't be all he was doing. His people needed to see him and know he was there sometimes too.

"Admirable," Melzaryn complimented. "Wine?"

"Oh, sure," Falco accepted.

Melzaryn fashioned a second icy wine glass and poured Falco a drink.

Falco took a sip from the frigid glass.

"Don't you have a son?" Kagoshi slurred.

"I do. I have a number of children, actually." Falco tilted his head curiously at the question. "Erest was my most martially-inclined child. Despite the fact that I wanted him to lead his own life and carve his own path, he still decided to become a knight."

"Is he the one we met yesterday?" Kagoshi squinted at something somewhere between Forfend and Melzaryn.

"Oh, Halt? Yeah," Melzaryn confirmed.

"He is the one that took us in for questioning," Forfend seconded.

"Right, Halt!" Kagoshi shouted. "Prince Halt! Yeah, I remember him!"

Falco chuckled. "Why do you call him that?"

"He yelled, 'Halt,' at three stationary people and three unconscious people," Forfend explained.

Falco laughed, his face lighting up. "He didn't tell me that. I'm definitely telling him about this one."

When he composed himself again, he leaned across the table. "Seriously though, thanks for helping out. They wouldn't let me out of the castle when the attack was happening. So when I heard your group stepped up to save all those people, take down the threat, and you even captured two Envema members, I had to see you for myself."

He gestured around the bar as a whole and towards the door. "Of course, I had to check up on my people first. I was a little surprised I managed to find you all."

"Everything did happen very quickly," Melzaryn noted.

"Very," Forfend, Kairi, and Kagoshi all echoed.

"By the way," Falco started, "at the front gates and again during your interrogation, it was brought up that you're here for court? What's the deal with that?"

"My dear friend Jessie from Foumedo was wrongly accused of a crime by a Galloford," Forfend explained.

Falco's face hardened, his lips drawing into a tight line. "Really now?"

Forfend nodded seriously. "It has been quite a mess."

"As much as I hate to say it, when I first established this kingdom the five noble families were very trustworthy, but that's not true anymore," Falco lamented. "As time went on, some of them stagnated or went down bad paths. The Gallofords are certainly one of them. Sagemantle is another."

Falco glanced at their faces and provided further exposition, "The Sagemantles are monopolizing on their arcane expertise here in Tyrwedia."

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "The families I can safely say have remained stalwart and loyal are the Duskhelms and the Summersteads. But I shouldn't be worrying you all with the political stuff. You're just here to get your trial over with so you can go home."

Actually, Forfend was immensely interested in the political stuff. It even had a question in mind right away for exactly this individual. "Could you tell me what you think of the protest?"

Falco blinked. A dozen emotions flickered across his face before he simply sank down in his chair with a tired huff. "Yeah." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's been going on for a while. Do you know the history of the whole conflict?"

Forfend skook is head. "I do not."

"Alright. Well, you see, I'm actually from the Howling Plains of Begstrom. Way back when--" Falco paused. "I'm a high elf with a pretty significant lifespan. The time frame might feel a little odd to you all. Sorry."

Kairi shrugged.

Melzaryn pointedly didn't look up from his glass.

Forfend and Kagoshi exchanged a glance, knowing they were both from times long passed.

Falco either didn't notice or didn't comment. "Way back when, before the Kingdom of Tyrwedia was the Kingdom of Tyrwedia, it was just an empty spot." He straightened sharply. "Well, no, not empty. I wouldn't want to imply anything negative about the genasi that lived here, but the region was neutral territory."

"With King Maggard Stormrike's whole deal in the Howling Plains with the constant warring, he overstepped his bounds. A lot," Falco said with notable irritation. "Let's just say he made enemies of the neighbors and it wasn't good for us regular folk. A bunch of us banded together and made our way south to see what was going on here."

"Technically, we were still citizens of the Howling Plains and, even now, Tyrwedia is still a vassal state." Falco picked idly at his food and took a long sip of wine. "We tried diplomatic relations with the genasi, but they're not inclined to have us stay here. Though, they were fairly nice about it initially. Cragwall was actually the first city built here in Tyrwedia and it was very nice here for a long time, despite the mild tension."

Falco's brow creased as he retreated into his thoughts for a moment. "And then one of their dragons attacked us. Well, it attacked Cragwall. Then, when Cragwall was in ruins, it went onward to attack the Howling Plains too. King Maggard responded the way he always did and I was told to lead the army."

He rubbed at his forehead and dragged his hand down his face. "The formation of the Kingdom of Tyrwedia isn't something I'm proud of. As I said before, try as I might, I'm still a vassal of King Maggard. The genasi haven't been forgiving, despite the effort I've put in to make it up to them."

Falco shrugged and spread his hands. "Their protests are completely justified," he admitted. "Which is part of why Envema is such an interesting group. Do you know what their name means?"

"I do not," Forfend hummed, absorbing all the information Falco was giving it. There was much to this story. Still more, it thought, than Falco was sharing. It would need to speak to an earth genasi to learn more.

"Genasi speak Primordial. Earth genasi specifically speak a dialect related heavily to the earth elemental plane," Falco continued his explanation. "In their language, Envema means 'burn.' I'm not sure what exactly their goal is, but they seem to have an extremely vested interest in removing all genasi presence against Tyrwedia. Of course, they're also just a general threat to the peace at large."

Falco rubbed at the back of his neck and fussed with his cloak. "I've had an extremely hard time getting a handle on them since I'm also dealing with the corruption of the nobles."

"I see." Forfend tilted its head and considered all it knew for a long moment. "There are likely far fewer true Envema members than it seems."

"I hope so," Falco said.

"If I had to guess, I would say most are hypnotized innocents. The true ringleaders are likely few and far between," Forfend surmised.

"I read that in your report," Falco recalled. "It's very peculiar. And if that's the case..."

He looked at each of them in turn. "May I ask a bit of a favor? Of course, you may decline. I may be king, but I don't control you. Nevertheless, you are the first people in a very long time who have been able to make any progress on the Envema investigation. May I ask that you lend a hand once again?"

"Yes," Forfend instantly agreed.

Falco blinked, surprise leaving his jaw slack. "Oh! I honestly thought I'd have to add a little bit of incentive. Wow."

"Hold on now. I have a single request," Melzaryn interjected.

"Yes?" Falco allowed.

"It seems your Teleportation Hub is a touch exploded and I was on my way home before all this. Could I request help arranging transport once we're ready to leave?" Melzaryn asked.

"Yeah, yeah, yes, of course," Falco nodded. "I'm happy to assist with that."

"Excellent." Melzaryn settled back into what Forfend guessed was now his third or fourth glass of wine.

"I will need to return to Foumedo briefly after the trial. I made a promise," Forfend said seriously.

"That'll be no issue," Falco nodded again.

"Gold," Kagoshi grumbled flatly, tuning into the conversation for the first time in a while.

"Um, sure. I can definitely do that." Falco squinted perplexedly at Kagoshi.

"Good." Kagoshi promptly returned to ignoring the rest of the table.

"I have one more request of you all as well," Falco mentioned. "Knowing of the descent of the Galloford family, would you mind if I were to personally oversee your trial? I don't want to intrude if you don't want me there though."

"That would be perfectly fine with me," Forfend hummed.

"No objections here," Melzaryn said.

"I don't see a reason not to," Kairi added.

"Alright, then it's settled." Falco tilted his head back and forth thoughtfully. "I mean, obviously nothing is set in stone yet. I need to get the papers drafted and all that to make everything official. I'll handle all that though."

Falco stood and gave them a polite nod. "And again, thank you. I seriously can't thank you enough for what you've done."

He caught sight of the darkening skies through the windows and flinched. "Oh, shit," he swore under his breath. "What time is it?" he asked rhetorically, pulling out a pocket watch to check for himself. "Oh. I have to make it back to the castle. Alright, one more time, I greatly appreciate what you did for Tyrwedia yesterday."

He dusted himself and made for the door.

"Stay safe," Forfend called after him.

"I'm a king," Falco said as though that could prevent him from all bodily harm. "I was sent to lead an army against the genasi for a reason." He nudged the rapier at his side. "I think I can handle myself. But I hope you guys have a good night."

"Nevertheless, stay safe," Forfend repeated.

Falco held his hand out to shake each of the group's hands in turn.

Forfend made an effort to be gentle with its oversized stony grip.

Kairi firmly bounced Falco's hand.

Melzaryn held his glass out for a toast instead. "To your health."

"Oh, to your health," Falco seconded, tinking his icy glass against Melzaryn's own.

Melzaryn drained the rest of his drink.

"Wow, you guys are a crazy bunch," Falco commented.

When he offered his hand to Kagoshi, the drunken man just glared at it.

After a brief moment, Kagoshi offered an emphatic thumbs up.

Confused, Falco returned the odd gesture. He waved to them and rushed to the door.

"Well, that was weird," Kagoshi said as soon as the door shut behind Falco.

"That was oddly normal for me," Melzaryn shrugged.

"That was the first time I have ever met royalty," Forfend hummed.

"Wow," Melzaryn huffed, offended.

Kagoshi glanced off to the side with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I thought you preferred that we did not know who you were." Forfend tilted its head at Melzaryn.

"I mean, yeah, but you meet a king hours after you find out and call him the first one," Melzaryn complained.

Forfend wasn't certain it counted Melzaryn as a noble. At least not here in Tyrwedia where he was trying so very hard not to be recognized as one.

"If it is any consolation, I was no more impressed with him than I am with you," Forfend tried.

Melzaryn mulled over the sentiment while he poured himself another glass of wine. "Strangely enough, that does help."

"Alright, I'm getting a key and heading up to rest," Kairi decided. She nudged Kagoshi. "You too, drunk-ass," she teased.

"Mhm," Kagoshi grumbled.

Kairi hauled Kagoshi up out of his seat and helped him stagger up the stairs to their inn rooms.

Forfend watched Melzaryn empty the last of the wine bottle into his glass.

"We should also retire to our room," it suggested.

Melzaryn swirled the glass. "You're probably right." He downed the last of his drink and stood up. He swayed, but he didn't seem to be nearly as unsteady or out of it as Forfend had expected. "I need to summon a snake before we go to bed. Hope that won't bother you."

"It will not," Forfend said, though it didn't know what he meant.

Melzaryn led the way to the counter, got himself a key, and headed straight to the designated inn room.

Forfend ducked through the doorway after him.

The rooms were small. However, they were also sparsely decorated, which meant ample floor space.

Forfend settled itself in against the wall where it could watch both the door and the window. It figured that wouldn't be necessary, but it was remiss to let go of cautious old habits. It shut off its rune.

Melzaryn cracked a window and set up a miniature brass brazier. He dumped herbs and incenses Forfend didn't recognize over the coals.

He spoke in Elvish, magic lacing his words.

The coal lit itself and slowly began consuming the contents of the brazier.

Forfend proceeded to watch Melzaryn continue his occasional quiet Elvish chanting and gentle nudging of the brazier over the next hour.

The last wisp of smoke to exit the bowl hovered in the air without dissipating. It twisted, darkened, and solidified.

Arcana crackled and poofed.

A silvery viper melded itself from the smoke and curled around Melzaryn's outstretched hand. It flicked its tongue, tasting the air of its new surroundings.

"We're gonna be good friends," Melzaryn told the snake. "Keep an eye on me while I rest please. And squeeze my arm to wake me if you sense anything."

The snake only blinked, but that answer seemed to be enough for Melzaryn. He settled into bed with his new familiar still wrapped around his forearm.

Forfend let its mind drift idly over the events of its day.

Late into the night, when it was well past lost in its thoughts, Melzaryn's snake hissed sharply and constricted around its master's arm.

Forfend stared at the empty air the snake had taken issue with.

It lit its rune, perplexed and concerned.

There was nothing there. What was the little creature getting riled up about?

It tapped the medallion on its chest, reached out its hand, and closed its fist.

The magic seized an invisible veil and stripped it away, Dispelling whatever arcane mask had been there.

An assassin cloaked in black warbled into being just as he drove his blade downward at Melzaryn's throat.

Melzaryn twisted at the last second, sleep making him sluggish despite the snake's early warning.

The knife still caught his neck, slashing across as he pulled out from beneath the plunging blade.

Melzaryn slapped his hand over the blood gushing from his wound. It hadn't been enough to kill, but his vocal chords had almost certainly been mangled.

He couldn't cast. Not verbally.

Forfend hauled itself to its feet, magic already sparking between its fingers as it freed its mace from its belt.

It hoped this assassin didn't know who he was dealing with. It feared he did.

[marcushartimages]

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Headshots are photos that focus on the face, face to shoulder, face to mid body, etc. There are various shots that are used for various businesses and personalities. There are no specific rules, whether you can smile for a headshot or maintain a deep expression on your face. It depends on the purpose of the photo and the vibe that you want to convey. Headshots can be categorized in a number of ways. Traditional headshot is a photo cropped to show only head to shoulders. The photo is taken in front of a white wall or an off-white background. The expression on the face seems to be neutral or slightly serious. This kind of photo is quite common in a corporate sector.

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[beyuwol]

for someone who just let slip something quite detrimental—like a confession, of all things—kou seems to be taking it in stride. at a loss for words, but that doesn't last too long. the silence is filled with yuwol's laughter anyway, and though he doesn't mean to undermine kou's feelings ( what a monster he would be, if he had those intentions ), kou's lack of reaction is also to blame.

instead of retracting his own words, kou doubles down; triples, maybe? in the same breath kou is reaffirming his own feelings, he called yuwol cute, like it's common knowledge. having such a pivotal moment in their friendship be witnessed by cats isn't ideal, but kou always had a knack for stumbling straight into interesting situations. this time, yuwol had simply been pulled into one of them.

yuwol doesn't mind—and such a thought should be open for further exploration, but yuwol lets it rest in the back of his head, into pandora's box—kou isn't pushing, only stating. he wonders, briefly, if kou feels some sort of relief now ( the question of why kou is so certain of his feelings dies in yuwol's throat, left firmly unsaid ).

"now i know what you think of me," yuwol responds plainly with a short laugh, unable to say anything else. a cowardly act, perhaps; but it's far from a rejection. he's probably being cruel, dangling his lack of an answer before kou's heart—still, in yuwol's messed up way of thinking, this is his mercy.

before that conversation has the opportunity to resume, he snaps a few pictures of kou in all his feline glory. just like that, the overcomplicated thoughts brewing in his mind takes a backseat and he's laughing once more. why is it so easy when he's with kou?

he doesn't shy away when kou approaches, despite everything that had transpired. he remains close, sticking within kou's orbit; selfishly. yuwol sends every picture he took to kou's contact, allowing the man in question to watch as he does so. "you definitely look like a cat. you wanting fish is making you even more cat-like too," he replies.

yuwol angles his phone once more, switching his camera to selfie-mode, saying nothing as he poses—leaning his head against kou's shoulder as his arm slings around kou's—and takes another picture. more candid this time, hoping to catch kou off-guard.

deciding not to detach himself from kou yet just in case they need to do another take ( oh, how mean of him ), he views the most-recent image. what catches his eyes first is his own expression—there's a foreign smile blooming on his own face, on the verge of laughter yet again just by being within proximity of kou's presence. is this how yuwol looks whenever he's around kou?

ah, that's not good.

he voices none of that, the concept of honesty alien to someone like him. "we look silly," yuwol comments.

ah. 

he’s done it this time. kou’s inability to think before speaking is usually something that he doesn’t mind too much – it’s never actually gotten him in trouble ( odd situations, yes, but not trouble ). still, blurting out how much you like someone isn’t exactly ideal. 

yuwol’s reaction, thankfully, isn’t horrible. if anything he doesn’t seem to have any aversion to kou’s attraction to him. it’s a small win, kou thinks. yuwol laughs and kou's heart does a somersault. it's not fair, how much kou likes him. “i didn’t,” he finally replies. he stares at yuwol in disbelief, as though he wasn’t the one who’d just let slip a confession. after a moment he deduces that it isn’t completely his fault though – if anything, yuwol has some blame as well. it’s really yuwol’s fault for being so adorable, and standing so close to kou.

“i was so sure i said it in my head,” kou continues after a moment, but there were times when his body didn’t quite listen to his brain. and this was perhaps, one of those times. “but i really do like you,” he adds, as though to reassure yuwol that despite it being an accident, his feelings were true. still, kou isn’t quite pushing for an answer. he’s just always been honest, and the thought that yuwol might perceive kou’s feelings as insincere doesn’t sit quite right with him.

kou’s eyes follow yuwol, and his expression remains mostly unchanging. “cats are cute,” kou agrees, “i’ve just always thought you were cuter.” he says it as though he was commenting about how hot summer is, how scorching the sun can feel. it’s not flirtatious, but factual. kou thinks yuwol is cute, and despite his love for cats, he thinks yuwol is cuter. 

he wonders if anything will change now that yuwol is aware of his feelings. what would kou do then? but his thoughts are put on pause ( as it usually is ), when yuwol speaks. wordlessly, kou lifts his hands and makes a peace sign. “cheese,” he says, eyes now looking at the camera. he poses once more this time, he makes a claw like gesture with his hand, “meow meow,” his voice remains monotonous but this is kou trying his hardest. 

“how is it? do i look like a cat?” he asks, walking over to yuwol to sneak a peek at his phone. “we should take a selfie too before we grab dinner. for some reason i feel like having fish,” kou scrunches up his nose, fixing his cat ears.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Gene... My baby mama... I need... More alt!dream... Whatever you got fr. I just need more I'm.. I love him (probs not as much as you) but I love him

You're in luck bc I'm running on rip fuel for him. [ALSO I WROTE THIS BEFORE EVERYONE DID THE TECHWEAR STUFF FOR HIM I'M SORRY. I'LL GET IT IN NEXT TIME. I PINKY SWEAR.]

𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐃. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), language, semi-public sex, light mentions of needles, domination

previous part ♘ fanart that i can't stop crying over

recommended listening: Hi Frequency by Vague002

The bus swayed slightly, your grip on the cool bar tightening to keep you from knocking into Clay as it turned. The dark city outside the windows bustled with sparkling lights, catching your eye every few seconds. As more people filed into the cramped space, Clay grabbed your hand, looping your arms around his waist and smugly grinning as you fought not to blush. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Will this be your first time in a parlor?” He asked, voice low and raspy as he whispered to you, not wanting to disturb the other members of society who just wanted to get home after a long day of work.

You nodded your head, making him chuckle. You knew it would be a different experience, mainly because it was taking place during the tattoo shops “after hours,” which Clay had only briefly explained the benefits of attending. “What are you getting done again?” You asked, moving so your hands were holding onto his arm instead, fingers brushing against the exposed skin peeking from beneath the cut-up shirt under his dark jacket.

He shrugged. “I couldn’t decide. Why don’t you pick?” He joshed, smirking at the way your eyebrows raised.

“I don’t want to be responsible for a mark on you,” you murmured, making him snort.

He hooked his fingers into the neckline of his shirt, stretching it down enough to reveal the litter of hickeys peppering his skin that you had left the night before. Your eyes widened as you swatted away his hand, looking around carefully in hopes that no one had seen them. He looped an arm around your shoulders, loving the fact that you were so worried about the crowd when all he wanted to do was fluster you.

He pressed his lips to your cheek, the warmth of his body encompassing you. “I love it when you get all blushy,” he teased. “Seriously though, you should pick. I won’t look at it if I don’t like it,” he snarked.

You groaned lightly. “Clay, come on.” He brushed his lips against yours.

“I trust you, sweetheart,” he cooed almost mockingly, his nose moving to press into your hair.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying your best to remember what was already on his body. You thought about the impending reality that whenever he saw the new tattoo, his mind would linger on you, and for some reason, heat traveled to your ears at that thought. “Um… what about a bird?” You asked, voice uneasy as if on eggshells.

His face twisted into a pleased smile. “A bird?” He repeated. You shrugged beneath his arm, making him chuckle. “I like that. George likes doing bird tattoos too, so you might just make his night,” he added, his praise and approval making your stomach fill with confidence. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your shoulder. Your mind began to forget what the two of you probably looked like to the other people as his scent invaded your senses. “Will you hold my hand while I’m in the chair?” He joked.

You scoffed. “Are you gonna cry?” You teased, making him chuckle.

“No, I’m just clingy,” he answered without skipping a beat. Your grin was hidden in the soft corduroy of his jacket.

The tattoo parlor was nothing like you had expected. The door was locked behind you after a bouncer let the two of you in, the man leading you two up a staircase and into a dimly lit room. The sound of heavy metal music and the buzz of tattoo guns swirled together, echoing off the dark brick walls. You slipped your hand into Clay’s as he talked to the receptionist, your eyes attempting to focus on one detail instead of letting the atmosphere overwhelm you.

The thick layer of smoke above your heads made you scoff, realizing it was coming from the opposite corner of the shop, a hookah lamp sitting on a coffee table like an outstretched octopus. The people around it seemed to be discussing something rather intense, their haircuts sharp and defining almost as if they stepped out of some kind of alternative fashion magazine. There were three tattoo artists, each with a white lamp focusing on their work as they carried on to the beat of the music.

Clay’s description of the place flashed into your mind, making you realize just how off the cards the parlor actually was. Clay took a toothpick from the receptionist’s desk, taking it between his white teeth before being waved down by a shorter man with dark hair across the floor. You followed closely behind him as Clay greeted the man; you quickly realizing that this was the famous George.

As Clay shrugged out of his jacket, George pulled out a binder, standing beside you as he flipped to a page with scattered drawings of different flight poses of birds. Your eyes drifted away from the page as Clay’s arms came into view. His old t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off was doing wonders for his biceps. Before you knew it, the two of you agreed on a mix of a few designs resembling a crow and Clay was laying on his back with his hand tucked behind his head. The spot he was filling was in the dead center of the flesh of his upper arm; a spot that George had grumbled about being awkward to reach, especially on someone as large as Clay.

You watched closely with curious eyes as George began to tattoo the design on Clay’s arm. Clay’s other hand was wrapped around the back of your elbow as you leaned on the chair at Clay’s side. His finger pads drew circles into your skin as you asked George about how he got into tattooing, making small talk here and there.

You liked George, mainly because he was quiet until he conjured up some kind of relentless backhanded comment. His tattoos revolved around a giant tree stretching from his back and down his arms. You wondered how long he had to sit for it and what the healing process was like. As he worked, his teeth played at his snake bite piercings, his dark eyes focused intently on the work in front of him.

Clay switched his toothpick to the other side of his mouth, his hand tightening around your arm with a small groan as George reached a sensitive spot. “Don’t be such a pussy,” he grumbled, continuing his work. He stopped, cleaning off some of the sprayed ink and filling a new cap with grey. “You have any work, pretty girl?” He asked you, voice low and charming.

You shook your head, earning a small tsk from him. “This is the closest she’s been to a tattoo gun,” Clay prided, making George sarcastically raise his eyes.

“A total virgin, huh?” He joked, winking at you. “Dream’s not corrupting you, is he?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek trying not to blush. “I’m trying,” Clay leered, smirking at you with his smug ego hinting at his lips.

George bit back a laugh. “Don’t get horny in my chair,” he muttered, eyes trained on the lines he was scaring into Clay. “Speaking of, I heard you got busted up by Punz, and by the looks of it… seems right,” he commented, gesturing to Clay’s eye that seemed to have started fading finally.

Clay let out a dry laugh. “His ribs are still healing,” you added, making George smirk with a shake of his head.

“You know what all that’s about right?” George asked you, taking his foot off the pedal to grab more paper towels from his desk. You looked up at Clay whose jaw tense as he chewed on the toothpick. After you shook your head, George continued. “Punz’s sister is stupidly in love with Dream,” he plopped back in his seat, swiveling his chair, and drawing a hand through his locks, revealing the bleached undersection. You had the fleeting mental image of him tying his hair back to reveal it.

He pulled on a new glove. “Madly in love, huh?” You pried, twisting your chair closer to Clay’s shoulder. Clay rolled his eyes at the fact as if he had been bugged about it for years. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, Clay,” you teased, and he looked up at you with a tired expression, making you bite back a giggle.

After George finished, you followed Clay through the door, breathing in the fresh air; or as fresh as it could be in the midst of the city’s industrial square. Clay’s fingers knitted together with yours as he led you down an alleyway, flicking aside the toothpick. You chewed on your lip in anticipation before he pinned you against one of the walls. His devious grin sent shivers down your spine as you looked up at him.

You swallowed. “Shouldn’t you take it easy? Let your arm heal a bit?” You asked, voice coming out in a soft whisper as his lips pressed against your neck. “Won’t it hurt a bit with your ribs, too?” Your heart hammered in your chest at the fact that someone could turn the corner and catch the two of you.

He chuckled against your skin, slipping his hands beneath your skirt to grip your ass. “I like the pain,” he mused, tongue grazing against your skin as he pulled your hips against his. He kissed you hungrily as if not being able to press his body against yours for that hour was too much for him. His hand dropped to wrap around the back of your knee, moving his own leg to prop your thigh up against his hip as your hands dug into his hair.

The friction from his jeans made you moan into his mouth as his hand moved beneath your shirt, fingers fitting beneath your bra to palm your breast. He mumbled praises against your lips at how good you made him feel and how beautiful you were.

He turned you, your hands planting against the coarse brick as he ground his hips against you. You bit your lip, trying not to be loud enough to draw attention to the two of you, which seemed to be the last thing on Clay’s mind as you heard him unbuckle his belt behind you. You could practically picture his cocky grin, controlling eyes set as his hand gripped onto your hips, shoving your underwear to the side. “You were so much fun to show off tonight,” he chided darkly, lips brushing against your shoulder. “Such a good girl.”

As he pushed into you, one of his hands moved to knot into your hair. He moaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, tugging on your hair as he pulled your hips back against his. A low grunt tumbled from his lips as he set his rhythm, basking in the fact that you were secretly ready for him to ruin you as soon as you stepped into the parlor.

His fingers moved to wrap around your neck, the thought of his tattooed hand tightening around your pristine skin sent shivers through your body and heat flushing your cheeks, the tension in your body tightening. As he pressed you closer against the wall, you thought about the power he had over you; his height and build would make it easy for him to break you if he wanted, yet even as he pounded into you like he wanted you to forget your own name, the restraint he showed was enough to send you over the edge if you let yourself divulge in the thought.

Clay pulled out of you, only to turn you, your shoulders hitting the wall again with a soft thump as he hoisted you up ever so slightly, thrusting up into you as his hand dig into your thigh, the other resting against the brick beside your head. Your arms looped beneath his jacket, raking down his skin as you held onto him.

He groaned as your thighs tightened around him, making his hips stutter as if he were trying not to let himself finish too early. He dug is face into the crook of your neck, burying his teeth in your neck to stifle his grunts of your name. Your head tilted back against the brick, hand moving to tighten around the wrist that was beside your head for some kind of anchor.

His hand wrapped around your waist, driving himself deeper into you, brushing the part of you that needed him the most. You moaned, carding your fingers into his hair as he pressed his lips to yours roughly, wanting to taste your pleasure as it washed over you from his movements.

You tugged on his hair, making his cock throb inside of you, him finishing inside you with a low groan, his hips snapping against yours to stimulate a reaction from you. The feeling of his sloppy pleasure as his movements lost their rhythm sent your hips grinding against his, his teeth marking your shoulders as a reminder of his work on you.

Your toes curled, finally reaching your orgasm as he murmured dirty expressions of him ruining your pretty clothes against the wall. As he pulled out of you, your knees felt weak, threatening to buckle beneath you. You tried not to give off how much he had trashed you, but the warmth snaking down your thighs and your bliss-ridden mind proved otherwise.

Long story short, the bus ride home was rather interesting.

Dream Taglist: (follow this link to be added :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @darphobic @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @lindsayhunz @shroomieissmall @mintmochiii @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @victory-is-here @rat-poisin

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Okayyyy now that I've slept on that episode I am ready to do some good old traumamongering so let's look at how Loki's responses to his environment and those around him are informed by his trauma--and how Mobius/the TVA are using his trauma to manipulate him.

One of the ways Loki deals with unpleasant or stressful situations is to verbally maneuver or posture, to try to assert control (if he feels he can reasonably do so). We see him do this with Tony in Avengers, who during their confrontation--at least for the moment--poses no active threat; instead of attacking him, Loki talks. In Thor, Loki tries several times to defuse situations with his words, which generally goes poorly for him. But when it comes to handling stress, it's essentially all he knows how to do--Mobius is absolutely right to point out that Loki "loves to talk," but usually his silver tongue is borne out of necessity.

In this case, starting from the moment of his escape, we see a lot of talking from Loki that is not strictly necessary. When he lands in Mongolia, the very first thing he does is make a speech to the bystanders--literally and figuratively trying to get his bearings. He's not aggressive at all (which would confuse the Avengers were they to see him, but wow, it's almost like Thanos/the Mind Stone was influencing him!) and seems quite at a loss as to what to do when the people he's addressing don't understand him. When the TVA agents try to arrest him, he tries to ask them what's going on, and gives plenty of warning (and posturing!) before attempting to physically assert himself. In the TVA itself, this continues. Loki complains, tries to intimidate, questions, and even talks to machines with no other real witnesses (twice). He's pulling out all the stops, so to speak, to try to verbally establish control of his situation. He's trying to get his bearings, to assert his autonomy and individuality--but no one is listening to him.

When that doesn't work, and only when a lot of that doesn't work, does Loki attempt physical control of his environment. He first tries his magic (something familiar to him) and is shocked when that also doesn't work. The TVA is already a foreign environment, but because none of Loki's usual and comfortable methods of surviving are working, it becomes more foreign, and more stressful. That's why he escalates to actively resisting the guards (but note he doesn't try too hard once someone (Mobius) starts talking). Physical resistance has never been Loki's forte, so he plays to his strengths while he can, but when that fails and he gets more desperate, he has to get creative.

But when Loki is stressed enough that he starts to physically fight back, the illusion of confidence starts to break down. We see this continue really clearly in the interrogation room scene. The subject matter actively makes Loki uncomfortable. His attempts to deflect or lie aren't effective, and his words once again fail to control his situation or even shield him from what he'd like to avoid. Unable to escape the direct questions, Loki again becomes physically restless and uncomfortable, standing and pacing while growing more obviously agitated. The questions Mobius is asking are ones Loki does not want to think about, and that's because they ultimately hit on his most vulnerable points.

The question of "What would you do if you could go back?" while seeming rather innocuous, is really a well-disguised gateway to all of Loki's trauma and insecurity. Why does he feel he should rule Midgard? Well, Loki attempts to respond, that's what he deserves, it's what he was born for--but it wasn't, really, and he knows it. Firstly, when it comes to his royal birthright, Loki has always fallen back on that as a grounding mechanism. It's what he asserts to claim his identity and feel powerful and in control. He does this with being a god, too, and we see him do this several times just within the TVA. But ultimately, it's just words--the real power is with those who can make what they want to happen actually happen, and in Loki's life, that has never been him. (Even talking about his birthright, and the concept of ruling, brings up the traumatic events of Thor 1; and the fact that he was looking to rule Midgard, not Asgard, means that he would still be playing second-fiddle to Thor. Midgard wasn't his birthright--Asgardians never ruled directly on Earth. It was just the best he could get.) And secondly, Loki's attack of Earth was directly caused and influenced by Thanos. That is the main source of trauma that Loki is desperately trying to avoid, and the questions he's being asked don't allow him to do so. He can't weasel out of it; Mobius is too persistent, and he knows all the worst buttons to push. In fact, he's systematically targeting Loki's weaknesses.

Look at the questions and statements he uses: "For someone born to rule, you sure lose an awful lot." Your birthright is false and you know it. "You weren't born to be a king. You were born to help others become the best versions of themselves." He juxtaposes this with footage of the Avengers, Thor among them: your identity only matters so far as you can enable others, especially your brother. Loki starts avoiding looking at the footage, becoming less brazen with his attitude and responses, so Mobius asks, "What is it that you're running from?" It's at about this point that Loki stands up, trying to physically distance himself from both Mobius and the question. This interaction reveals much about what Mobius is intending by this conversation. He's not trying to learn about Loki, necessarily. He already knows Loki is running from something, and seems to know what it is, which wouldn't be immediately clear to someone uninformed. What he's really trying to do is make Loki vulnerable, and make him admit it.

Mobius uses Loki's role in his mother's death to push him over the edge. Immediately, Loki turns on Mobius, furiously insisting that the whole thing is an illusion--more desperate verbal posturing, and Mobius treats it as such--and then Loki snaps, first throwing a chair at the painful image of his mother, which promptly reforms (it's inescapable), and then trying to attack Mobius. The fact that Loki is lashing out physically means he is desperate, but even his last resort isn't effective. He simply can't protect himself. He's powerless. That's triggering in and of itself.

But it's the footage that's the final blow. After escaping his restraints, he returns to the very room he left, and looks at his life. And he cries. He's so vulnerable and hurting and scared that in his first moment alone, he cries. And just as he thought he'd have a little bit of comfort, even laughing to see his improving relationship with Thor, he watches himself die a humiliating, pitiful, ignoble death, and hears himself say, "You will never be a god"--and that old boast means nothing because Thanos snaps his neck anyway. That moment, seeing the thing he was running from catch up to him and kill him, is his final emotional breaking point. When Loki laughs and bitterly says, "Glorious purpose," that's the end of the posturing. He's admitting Mobius was right: he didn't have a glorious purpose, or a glorious anything. Which is why when Mobius comes back, Loki tells the truth, unprompted. He actually calls himself weak. He admits he's been putting up an illusion in a feeble attempt to get control of his situation.

This level of vulnerability from Loki is unheard of, and speaks to how utterly he's been worn down by the very intentional psychological manipulation of Mobius and the TVA. When Loki entered, he was actively opposing them. Now, after having been massively triggered and emotionally exhausted, he's suggestible, and by playing a friendly angle, Mobius can manipulate Loki into working with them--and, literally, against himself.

Whether he has good intentions or no, that makes Mobius a truly formidable player, and one Loki--and we--shouldn't be too hastily comfortable with. He is clearly a master manipulator, and has no qualms using Loki's trauma to break him.

But what should be most concerning of all is that he succeeds. Because the only other person to have ever done that?

Is Thanos.

[lightsovermonaco]

Body Shots (Pierre Gasly)

Inspired by (and beta read) by the amazing @limp-wrist-max​ thank you Mea! 

Masterlist

Word count: 3.5k

Recommended song: “Lucky You” by Sim Dane

Vacationing in Milan had its perks. Fine dining, luxury stores that were prime for window shopping, and the proximity to your best friend, to name a few.

When you'd touched down in Milan you had had no intentions of visiting Pierre. You had just finished your exams for your summer class and had a week before the next semester started up, so you had simply booked the cheapest ticket and boarded a plane. 

The intent had been to have some good wine, good food and unwind. Pierre saw your Instagram story minutes after you posted it and recognized the bakery you stopped at for lunch. And once he found out you were only a few minutes away from that weekend's grand prix, he had ideas that didn't involve you reading a novel all day.

Pierre had insisted that a last minute cancelation by a family friend had left a paddock pass unclaimed and had suggested you take it.

"You're my best friend, it'll be fun to have you experience a weekend through my eyes for once instead of sitting in the stands. Come visit me."

Something in the inflection of his voice made the simple request rub you raw. He missed you. It had been months since your last get together and you couldn't blame him. The last year had been rough for him and he  rarely had anyone physically at his side to help him through it.

Inviting you instead of one of his parents was about more than your current proximity to the track. He hadn't missed a beat in asking you, not hesitating to consider anyone else being with him this weekend.

Your stomach had turned as you climbed in a cab Sunday morning, not out of fear of something going wrong but because of the nagging feeling that something was about to change.

You'd known Pierre since you were kids. Your brother had raced in karting before pursuing another dream, but in the few short years you'd hung around European tracks you had managed to forge a bond with one of your brother's rivals. That friendship carried on regardless of the distance that separated you, kept alive by visits in the off season and once a year trips to the racetrack at Silverstone.

Pierre met you at the gates and you had barely seen him since.

A decent qualifying session saw the Frenchman start P10 on Sunday's race. He didn't hide the fact that he was disappointed, but come time for his final meeting with the team you'd never guess he was anything but ecstatic.

You had to be conscious about your mouth hanging open when Pierre stepped into the garage in his fireproofs with his suit half undone. The tuft of blond hair peeking through his backwards cap floats on an invisible breeze and he bounces on his toes. His brow furrows when he is handed a data sheet, listening intently to what the engineer points out.

Butterflies riot in your stomach when Pierre catches you staring and winks. You pray he writes the blush on your cheeks off as the heat and he must, because he raises his eyebrows and flexes a bit.

You laugh to cover the way you want to do nothing but strip him out of that tight fitted white shirt. Your crush was getting out of hand. Pierre's shameless, friendly flirting only escalated matters.

You told yourself it was nothing. He was like this with every girl he met, making a fool of himself to earn a laugh. You were no different, except maybe that you were a constant where most other women only got to enjoy his playful personality for a short time.

You're treated to a few long minutes of watching Pierre prep to climb into the car before he's heading out on track to line up at the grid. 

The race starts off fine, Pierre's pace is better than expected. One of the Haas's breaks down at the pit entry and Pierre's strategist decides to bring him in for a fresh set of tires. A kiss seems like the proper reward for their stroke of brilliance, which affords Pierre the advantage when the pits close soon after. 

Restarting on lap 28 is nail biting. Hamilton, Stroll, and Pierre make up the podium places. The entire garage gasps when Stroll goes wide at turn four. Hamilton serves his penalty and Pierre inherits the lead. Sainz jumps on the opportunity to attack.

Pierre defends brilliantly until the final lap. The team erupts when he crosses the line first, bringing home the win.

Red, white and green confetti sticks to his skin as he sprays the champagne over all of you. In the heat of it all, Pierre sits on that top step and shakes his head. You already know that the photos of him being snapped from all angles will be gorgeous, the sun shining down on the first French grand prix winner in decades.

A legend in the minds of his people and in yours.

You could scarcely believe it yourself. Your best friend had finally, after years of being pushed down, won a grand prix at the temple of speed. Red Bull had been wrong, just as you'd insisted when Pierre cried over losing his seat and his friend in one weekend. But god, did Pierre rise above it all.

Pierre catches your gaze just before he leaves the podium. A lifetime of emotion swirls around him like an enigma, begging you to find out what it was hiding. Your wave is barely more than a lift of your hand but Pierre notes it nonetheless, tipping his trophy in your direction.

You wait patiently on the sidelines as Pierre poses for pictures with his team on and off the track. His attention constantly falls on you, his grin widening each time he sees you tucked under the arm of an enthusiastic mechanic or crew member. Alpha Tauri was a family and you were an honorary member thanks to your connection to their driver.

An action packed hour of cameras passes before Pierre is able to break away. As soon as he's given the go ahead he passes his trophy off and marching to you. You're both practically running by the time you meet in the middle. You crash into him and he lifts you off your feet in a crushing hug.

"You did it," you whisper, overwhelmed by his success now that you've gotten the chance to celebrate with him. "I'm so proud of you."

Pierre laughs as he sets you on your feet. His smile is wider than you've ever seen it and you're sure his cheeks must be sore.

"Wish they allowed us to bring a friend up there," Pierre says softly, a smile melting into a sly smirk. "Seeing you doused in champagne is an image I wouldn't forget."

You shake your head, caught up in his ceaseless flirting. He had no idea that his honeyed words and gentle touches lit something inside of you, rattling your brain and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Instead you snatch the black and gold Pirelli cap off his head and place it on your own, earning you a peal of laughter.

"Looks better on you anyway." Pierre runs a hand through his sweaty, champagne doused hair, leaving bits sticking up at odd angles.

Someone calls Pierre's name, far enough away that there's no rush. Pierre's hands remain planted on your waist and yours stay wrapped around his neck. By the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours, you swear he's thinking the same thing you are.

"Thank you for believing in me," he murmurs, gaze falling to your lips.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," you tell him, inching up on your tiptoes. Tempted by his win, you want to ruin the best friendship you've ever had. You want to discover if the lips you spend far too much time dreaming about felt as soft as they looked. You want to know how it feels to be lost in Pierre, newly minted race winner, and find out just how he dealt with the adrenaline and euphoria of his incredible drive.

"Well done mate!"

Max Verstappen startles the two of you apart. You take a healthy step back and drop your gaze to the ground to hide your burning cheeks.

"Thanks." Pierre accepts the Dutchman's embrace and claps him on the back. "Sucks I didn't get to fight you for it."

"There will be more chances in the future. And I didn't expect to see you here, that's a nice surprise." Max knocks you with his shoulder, tipping you off balance. On instinct you latch onto Pierre's arm to steady yourself. You wait a heartbeat too long to remove your hand and both of you find anywhere to look but each other.

"So where's the party?" You ask, searching for a distraction from the way your palm still burns.

"Definitely not at Red Bull." Max shudders and you laugh because that's what you do when someone is being over dramatic. It rings hollow in your ears.

"I hear there's a few guys with adjoining rooms at the hotel who bought plenty of booze," Pierre says. "You and Dan wanna come by?"

"Is that really a question?" Max grins, already typing out a text as Pierre feeds him the details.

**********

"You should do body shots," Max suggests, which earns a roaring laugh from Daniel and a half hearted one from Pierre.

"I don't think so," Pierre says, "there's no one here I trust enough to let that happen."

"Not even your best friend?" Max gestures to you and shoots you a wink when Pierre glances over. "I think she's trustworthy."

"No thanks." Pierre holds up his plastic cup and salutes Max before draining it to the dregs.

Pierre's immediate refusal hurt more than it probably should have. You hadn't expected him to jump at the offer but having him shut the idea down so thoroughly hadn't been what you wanted either.

Max notes your pouty lower lip and speaks on your behalf. "Come on mate," Max insists. "You just won your first prix, live a little! It's not like you've got anything to lose, she's your best friend."

"That's exactly why-"

"Shut up, it would be fun! Wouldn't it?" Max says this last bit to you, a wild grin on his face.

Max expects you to turn red and object. That was his end goal. But what the Dutchman hadn't counted on was how drunk you already were on Pierre. On his smile. On his bright blue eyes, swirling in the aftermath of his unlikely triumph. And mostly on the not-so-sneaky way he glances at you every few minutes.

"Let's do it."

Pierre blinks, searching your face for any sign of distress. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, suddenly fearing that you'd read him wrong and he really was against this whole thing. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Get the vodka," Pierre interrupts, nodding to Max though his stare remains pinned on you. Pierre latches onto your wrist and drags you around the room until he finds a table long and sturdy enough for his liking. 

"This a good height for you?"

The coffee table is low enough that you'd have to kneel. Luckily getting on your knees isn't something you'd mind doing for Pierre. You lick your lips without thinking. Pierre's pupils blow wide, black swallowing the swirling oceans of blue.

"Sure," is all you manage.

"Good." Apparently neither of you were able to focus on speech. You work together to clear the empty plastic cups and used napkins from the surface. Your hands brush when you both reach for the last cup and you just catch the way Pierre's breath hitches.

You and Pierre have danced this dance since you were teenagers. Each of you knows the steps by heart. The only difference is tonight neither of you were poised to bow out before the final lift.

"Beep beep, bitches!" You yank your hand away when Max's shout reaches you. Pierre's hand lingers in front of him,  outstretched as if your palm remained grazing his thumb. 

Max holds the bottle of vodka over his head as he wades through the crowd. "You're all about to be very, very entertained."

"Where's your chaperone?" You ask Max, searching for Daniel in the low lighting. You press your palm to your thigh, dissipating Pierre's lingering heat.

The Dutchman waves you off. "Went to get us more drinks. Pierre, isn't it kinda hard to do body shots if you're still fully clothed?"

"Who says I'm the one getting undressed?"

Max's grin dimples his flushed cheeks. "I mean you can ask her to take her shirt off in front of all these people if you want to."

"No," Pierre responds quickly. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Pierre strips off his shirt he gets more than a few whistles from men and women alike. That tended to happen when someone was built like a Greek fucking god, you supposed. Whoever voted for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" and decided on Michael B. Jordan had clearly never laid eyes on Pierre, with his bronzed skin, endless expanses of muscle, and brilliant cheshire grin.

Michael B. Jordan who?

Pierre hands the team branded shirt off and lays out on the table. He pillows an arm under his head, bare bicep flexed as he gets comfortable. Leaning in to kiss along the hard muscle was out of the question, however tempting it was.

Pierre looks up expectantly. "You coming?" 

Holy shit, this was actually happening.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You sink to your knees and Pierre laughs.

"Up here." He pats his thigh with his free hand and beacons you forward. "Please."

Screw it, you've already thrown your friendship out the window. This night ended either in heartbreak or awkwardness, might as well get your money's worth.

A few whoops break out above the music. The bassline isn't the only thing thundering in your chest as you straddle Pierre's thighs, hands braced on his chest.

"Okay?" Pierre whispers for your ears only. You nod with what you hope is a charming smile.

"Alright move," Max says, shooing you back until you're resting on your haunches. Max flicks the cap off the bottle and you grab it to take a long sip.

Max gapes at you and you wipe a hand over your mouth. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Pierre's thighs tense beneath you in response to your bold declaration. Dozens of Pierre's friends and team members gather around. For all you care, Pierre is the only person in the room.

"Last chance to back out," Max warns. You're too busy tracking the drop of liquid that falls from the neck of the bottle to splash onto the crease of Pierre's abs to bother responding. 

"Pour it out." Pierre's chest sinks with his demand, doing nothing but sparking your imagination, creating images of him heaving beneath you. You'd sell your soul to recreate the way you're currently poised above Pierre's hips with a little less clothing and no audience.

Max gives up hope on you replying and dribbles the alcohol up Pierre's abdomen, stopping just below his pecks.

"Have at 'er-"

Your tongue is on Pierre's skin before Max has finished his sentence. You feel the muscle tense beneath your tongue, going rigid at the first contact. The burn of the vodka doesn't even register as you lap it up, catching the drips that fall over his sides. 

You aren't sure either of you is breathing. Salty sweat mingles with the sharpness of the alcohol, an afterthought barely worth mentioning.

Blame the liquid courage or blame the high from Pierre's win, but you were confident Pierre was enjoying this just as much as you. 

Planting a hand on Pierre's hip, you steal a glance up at him to find him locked on you. You take that as permission to continue, dragging your tongue flat up his stomach and continuing well past where the vodka had been poured. Up between his pecks, over the curve of his throat that bobs beneath your tongue, over his chin until you meet his lips, already parted and waiting. 

Neither of you pay the shouts cresting around you any heed. You've both waited too long for this, endured too many almosts and what ifs to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Your sticky hands cradle Pierre's face, angling it in a way that's to your liking so you can explore more of his mouth. He tastes like whiskey and mint, the juxtaposition of hot and cold scattering your thoughts. One of Pierre's hands finds the nape of your neck when you gasp for air, refusing to let you end the moment.

And it's pure, unending bliss that floods your veins when he nips at your lower lip, swollen and surely reddened from his kiss. His thumb sweeps across the back of your neck while you both fight to catch the breath currently evading you.

Daydreams didn't hold a candle to the real thing. One taste and you were addicted, craving as much as Pierre was willing to give.  

"Hey," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a stupidly gorgeous smile.

"That was nice," you tease, tangling your fingers in the silky blond strands of his hair. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

"Me too. Maybe somewhere where it's just us though. I wouldn't want to scandalize my team any further." You manage to steal another sweet peck before Max hauls you off Pierre.

"Fucking finally," Daniel says, clapping when you're upright again. "Do you know how long I've been trying to orchestrate this? The two of you really are dumber than a box of rocks. I can't believe all it took was Max suggesting body shots to get you two to kiss."

The arm that wraps around your waist feels right. Pierre hasn't hugged you like this before, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his nose nuzzling your neck, but it already feels like home.

Pierre ignores Max completely in favor of pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go back to my room? I'll pour more alcohol on myself if that's what it takes to convince you."

You're just about to take him up on the offer when one of his team members taps his shoulder. He glances at them impatiently, which the man thankfully doesn't take personally.

"They want some photos with you holding your trophy," he explains, handing a shirt and the star shaped interpretation of the Italian flag to Pierre. "It will only take a few minutes,  they promised not to keep you long."

Of course everyone knew exactly where your minds were. Sanity had long since left the premises, tangled up in crisp white sheets. Pierre's entire team and half the Red Bull garage had seen what had gone down while the prix winner was sprawled on that coffee table. There would be no chance of denying it in the morning. 

And while you'd never imagined that the first time you'd kiss your best friend would be directly preceded by licking copious amounts of shitty liquor off his super-heated skin, now that you'd experienced it any other way seems forgettable.

Pierre sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I already have my trophy, but…" your stomach lurches when you realize he means you. Pierre catches the way your mouth hangs open and he shoots you a grin before accepting the real trophy.

"You carry it," he says, not giving you much of a choice as he thrusts it into your hands. "I'm occupied."

You're about to point out that his hands are, in fact, free and that the more likely reason for insisting you carry the trophy was his usual post-race laziness when he slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you tight to his side.

"Is this okay?" Pierre asks when you involuntarily stiffen. God, it was more than okay, it was perfect, it had just caught you by surprise. You'd only kissed him a handful of minutes ago and Pierre was already wrapped around your finger, smitten as if you'd been a couple for years.

"Yeah no, it's perfect. Simply lovely," you say quickly, stumbling over your words.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Your answer comes in the form of a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. You prop the trophy on your hip and smile up at your race winner.

"You don't have to ask that ever again. My answer is always yes."

[isthisthingeven0n]

number eleven : s.r

a serial killer is at large in atlana, carving numbers into his victims and throwing their bodies from rooftops. yet, things seem to hit a little too close to home for your liking, and sadly you get caught up in it all (4.2k)

( this is an original idea of mine, I’ve gone based off what I know in the show but the killer is made up! pls do not steal my concept without at least asking, and i hope you enjoy :) )

“It’ll be okay, Spence,” You fight against the unsubs hold as his arm remains pressed against your neck. “just, don’t give up.”

“Please, let her go!” You can hear the crack in his voice as his gun shakes in his grip, his eyes not leaving yours as tears pool. “You don’t have to do this, there’s another choice for you.”

The unsub scoffs as you wince at he breathes into your ear. “This ends with you.”

*

Two Days Earlier

“Hey, Spencer,” You smile as you walk through the doors to the bullpen, two cups of coffee in hand as you place onto his desk. “how was the Doctor Who convention?”

Out of everyone in the team, you were the only one to pay attention to the small details Spencer shares. You always have done, ever since you first joined the BAU, you noticed the subtle eye rolls as he rambled on with facts and statistics so you made sure to always pay attention.

Lifting his head up, Spencer can feel a smile tugging his lips as you take a seat at your desk adjacent to his. “You would’ve loved it. They had the original designs from the Cybermen’s first appearance in 1966, ‘The Tenth Planet’ and for the time, it was high tech stuff.” He explains whilst you listen contently, oblivious to the others watching you both.

“God, they’re so into each other it hurts.” Emily sighs as Penelope nods along.

JJ walks over to the girls, catching sight of what they’re fixated on. “Why can’t they just say something? I mean, it’s been three years.” Penelope questions, but JJ simply chuckles.

“This is Spencer and Y/n we’re talking about.” JJ comments. “For one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, Spencer can be stupid sometimes.” She states, returning her focus to how you look at Spencer as he talks, but also how willing Spencer is to be close to you and laughs at your input in between his rambles.

“I bet twenty dollars he’ll say something by the end of the year.” Rossi chimes in, but Emily scoffs. 

“Dream on, Rossi.” She comments, but Rossi shrugs his shoulders. 

Hotch exits his office, catching a glance from the girls who quickly stand up straight. “We’ve got a new case,” He announces, passing between you and Spencer on the way.

As you all enter the board room, you sit beside Spencer as you look at the tablet in front of you whilst he sticks to the original file.

“Within the past few months in Atlanta, Georgia, at least nine women have been found dead having fallen from rooftops, all in their twenties, latest victim was Caroline Kutes, twenty-three. Last seen having gone for a run after her shift at a local diner.” Penelope explains as you scroll through the images, seeing what was left of them from the crime scene.

“It’s not some suicide pack, is it?” Morgan speaks up, but Penelope shakes her head.

“I’m glad you asked, sugar.” She turns her back as she pulls up more images, displaying the victims left forearms. 

“Numbers?” You question, zooming in onto the number three having been carved into the victim's flesh. “Someone’s keeping track.”

“So we know there are nine confirmed victims of this unsub then, it’s not a suicide pack.” Hotch states. “The police have requested our insight on the case, wheels up in thirty.”

Closing the tablet you push your chair back. “You alright?” Spencer asks you as everyone begins to file out.

You force a small smile, nodding. “Yeah, just some cases are never easy.” You mutter before heading out and grabbing your things.

*

Arriving straight to the latest crime scene, Hotch splits the team up. “Prentiss, I want you and Morgan to go to the rooftop, see if there’s anything left by the unsub or Caroline Kutes. Reid, Y/L/N, go to the morgue to take a look at the carvings and if there’s any other sign of torture.”

With that, you climb into a car with Spencer, looking at the drop from the building to where Hotch stands. “One hell of a fall.” You whistle as the driver pulls away, Spencer not missing your comment or how you’ve been wiping your hands over your pants since you arrived.

Standing in the morgue, Spencer took the lead as you stood back whilst bodies were examined. “There isn’t any sign of sexual assault on any of the women, but there are bruises across the neck and the carvings on the arm.” The diener explains. “From the fall she suffered several broken bones, a collapsed lung and a crack to her skull along with internal bleeding.”

“Are you saying she was alive when she hit the ground?” You speak up, stepping closer to see how they’ve managed to clean up the victims face, what remains from the large gash in her head.

“Yes, but only for a minute. She chocked to death on her own blood.” The diener states and you can’t help but feel a shiver through your spine.

“It’s most likely the unsub approached these women, if Caroline was out for a run, he might’ve asked her for directions or grabbed her. If she was grabbed, it would explain the bruising on the neck in an attempt to cut the circulation off to the brain, rendering her unconscious.” Spencer suggests, looking over to you as you remain too quiet for his liking. “You in there?”

Snapping out from your thoughts, you nod. “So the unsub approaches these women, tries to strangle them and then takes them to a rooftop. He isn’t sexually assaulting these women, but why throw them off a roof?”

“If he’s trying to pose it as suicide, it’s unusual for women to throw herself off a roof, it’s too dramatic. If a woman were to commit suicide, she’d overdose or drown herself. A subtle way to go.” Spencer explains as you nod along. “It’s almost as if he’s apologetic. He wants them to suffer, but can’t inflict the pain besides carving a number into their forearm.” Spencer looks over the number on Caroline’s arm. “You can see in some area’s he didn’t go deep enough with the knife, he’s dug in multiple times to carve out enough skin to make it bleed.”

“Maybe he’s a narcissist? Keeping track of his victims, making sure no one else can take the limelight for these girls.” You state. “I mean, he knows he isn’t going to get caught by the girls. Based on Caroline, she could barely move let alone tell anyone who did this.”

“I’ve seen countless bodies from suicide by jumping from buildings. It’s a rarity if you survived such a fall like this.” The diener tells you. “Clearly they knew what they were doing.” 

“Contrary to popular belief, when the body falls from a height their head does not splatter onto the ground. Their bones will break and splay out, but if you were to fall from say a 48 feet building you’re most likely to live with a 50% chance of surviving.” Spencer explains, and you nod along. 

“But our unsub picks tall buildings. Office blocks, malls, parking lots.” You tell Spencer who hums. “He knows they’re not going to survive the fall.” 

“Yes, but statistically,” Spencer begins, but your phone begins to ring cutting him off. 

“Sorry, Spence.” You tell him with an apologetic smile before moving out from the morgue, taking the phone call. “Yeah?” 

“Ah, my sweet angel. Have you found Cupid’s arrow yet?” Penelope chuckles, causing you to roll your eyes. “How’s the case going? No one’s called to update me on the gruesome details.” 

You sigh quietly. “Honestly, Pen, you’re lucky.” You tell her. “And what’d you mean by Cupid’s arrow?” 

Penelope groans loudly through the phone, and you can hear her head hitting the keyboard before she apologises to it. “Y/n, how are you so pretty yet oblivious to the attraction of one Spencer Reid?” 

“I, what?” You stumble over your words as you look over your shoulder to see Spencer staring back at you with a small smile on his lips as he waves to you. “I, he, Spencer? No,” You scoff, trying to think about anything else to reduce the spike in your heart rate. 

“I’m no profiler, but I know things,” Penelope states. 

“You’ve got it all wrong, Pen. Sorry to disappoint you, but there is no way he could ever like-” 

“Y/n?” Spencer calls out, now standing in the doorway in front of you. “Hotch wants us to meet him, has a potential lead.” 

“Sorry P, I gotta go.” You tell Penelope before she has the chance to say anything else and hang up the phone. 

Walking alongside Spencer, you can’t help but notice how close he is to you. For someone who is a bit of a germaphobe, he’ll always sit with you before anyone else. During a flight last month with bad turbulence, he held your hand in his as you began to fall asleep, resting your head on his shoulder. You woke up concerned he’d mind, but Spencer just smiled and offered his shoulder any time. 

“So, what’s the lead?” You ask as you walk into the police precinct, finding the rest of your team in a small room as boards with pictures have already been set up. 

“I’ve checked with Garcia about the possibility that whoever is doing this must have some form of access to each of these buildings. There has to be something tying them together,” Prentiss begins. 

“Like a cleaning company, or security?” JJ suggests. 

Emily nods before grabbing a file and reading directly from it. “SecureO is a security company based all over Atlanta. They have hundreds of security guards working at various office blocks, department stores, parking lots. You name it, they’ve got people there.” 

“And our unsub works for them?” You question, looking at the file to see the hundreds of names. “How are we supposed to find him?” 

Hotch reaches out to call Garcia. “And here I thought you forgot about me.” Penelope states through the line, and Morgan smiles to himself. 

“Garcia, can you take a look at the employee records for SecureO and crosscheck to see if any of them have criminal records.” Hotch asks as you listen intently to Penelope typing away. 

“Okay, fifty-seven members of staff have criminal records.” Penelope states.

“How about any with troubled pasts? Maybe this guy is using these women as a form of release. He’s not sexually assaulting them, so it’s less likely to be about an ex, maybe it’s more personal.” You suggest, and Spencer scans through the file once again before looking back at the victims on the board.

“You, my pretty might be onto something,” Garcia chirps. “right, there are twelve members of staff who grew up in the foster system. I’m sending their details over to you right as we speak.”

“Wait, Penelope,” Spencer calls out and Hotch raises his head. “how many of those twelve lost family? Basing on their age and strength, he must be at least in his late twenties or early thirties. Try looking up any accidents in the state in the late eighties to early nineties.”

“Thinking he might have never left the state?” Morgan questions, his arms crossed over his chest.

Clearing his throat, Spencer stands taller beside you as you glance up at him with a reassuring smile. “Looking at all these women, they’re all young and pretty. Anyone who grew up in the system is less likely to leave the place they’re comfortable in. If our unsub grew up in Georgia, he would’ve stayed here and have gotten a job at eighteen. SecureO has been around for twelve years, and five of these employees have been around since it began.”

“Okay, I’ll send across anything once I’ve found it.” Penelope speaks up and hangs up the phone.

“Good work, Reid. Let’s go deliver the profile.” Hotch nods as he leads the way out of the room, Rossi patting Spencer’s shoulder as he departs.

“Not too shabby, Doctor.” You nudge Spencer playfully and he softly chuckles as you walk out.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Y/n.” He mutters under his breath as you walk out of earshot.

*

Entering the station the next morning, you looked around as solemn expressions greeted you.

“What’s happened?” You ask, taking a seat beside Spencer who notions to JJ.

“Another victim was found in the early hours of this morning. Amelie Hartnell, twenty, was discovered on top of a dumpster in a back alley below a seven-story abandoned office building.” JJ passes over the file to you as you flick through the images whilst you hold your breath.

“She was only twenty,” You mutter to yourself, unaware of Spencer eyeing you carefully. “there’s something about the carving on her, it isn’t as deep. You can see it’s a lot shallower than the others.” You explain.

“He was in a rush this time.” Morgan states. “But if it was an abandoned building, who was going to see him?”

“I’m not sure,” Hotch mutters. “call Garcia, see if she’s found anything yet about those five employees.” 

“On it. Baby girl,” Morgan comments before exiting the room. 

“You seem tired, Y/n.” Rossi speaks up, and you lift your head up to see the concern in his eyes. “Is something bothering you?” 

Shaking your head, you dismiss the matter as the team look over at you. “I’m fine, just thinking about a few things. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You tell him, but Spencer can tell there’s something else underlying you’re not saying. “Excuse me, I just need some air.” You mutter before exiting the precinct. 

Watching you walk away, Spencer sighs. “Well, go follow her,” Rossi motions to Spencer who quickly gets up and exits the room. “these kids, I swear.” He mutters to himself once Spencer is out of sight.

As you walk out, you take a deep breath, clearing your thoughts. “Y/n,” Spencer calls out and you turn around, forcing a smile. “something’s clearly bothering you.” He states as you move away to sit on a bench whilst Spencer hovers beside you. 

“When I was growing up, I had a friend, Sylvia,” You start, and Spencer watches as you brush your hands over your pants once more. “she moved to Savannah and we just grew apart, but I’ll never forget her brother, Killian.” 

Spencer sits down beside you, your leg touching his as he reaches out and takes your hand. “Y/n, what was it about Killian?” He questions quietly. 

“He was always there, just watching us.” You mumble, remembering those bright blue eyes always in the background, never leaving you or Sylvia. “But, their parents, they died in a car crash when Sylvia was thirteen, Killian was fourteen.” You begin to explain as you exhale a shaky breath. 

Squeezing Spencer’s hand, he shushes you. “It’s okay, just, take it one memory at a time.” He reassures you as your eyes remain tightly shut. 

“From what I know, Sylvia couldn’t take it, losing her parents,” You swallow the lump in your throat as you open your eyes, focusing on Spencer’s. “she killed herself, by jumping off of the roof of a mall.” 

“Just like the first victim.” Spencer mutters as he quickly stands up. “We gotta tell Hotch.” 

*

“Why didn’t you mention this sooner, Y/n?” Hotch stressed as he frowns at you, but Spencer remains by your side as you keep your focus on the team, eyeing the photos behind Emily. 

“I suppressed a lot of memories from when I was growing up, I forgot all about Killian and Sylvia, but seeing these photos it just made me think back to it all.” You explain, looking around at all of your team. “I’m sorry for holding back.” You apologise, and JJ smiles as she walks over, hugging you lightly. 

“Garcia, can you look up Killian and Sylvia Atwork?” You speak up into the phone and Penelope begins to type rapidly before pausing.

“Oh my god,” She mutters. “Killian has been working at SecureO for ten years. He was employed when he turned eighteen and is in charge of the security footage for various locations.” 

Hotch rises to his feet. “We have to inform the police department and the news outlets, JJ, can you sort a press conference?”

“I’m on it.” JJ states as she begins to call her contacts, taking the call in another room.

“Y/n, we might’ve just had a break in the case because of you, thank you.” Hotch comments and Rossi gives you a subtle thumbs up. “Garcia, I need you to look at any other buildings that SecureO are in charge of the security systems, see if our unsub is heading to any of these next. If we’re lucky, we’ve got enough time to stop him killing again.”

“Will do, Sir.” Penelope calls out from the phone.

“You think we’ll get him in time?” You speak up, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan.

“Hopefully.” Hotch sighs and JJ walks back in.

“Ready when you are, Hotch.”

* The plan was simple, and it should’ve been effective. All of you were teamed off into pairs. Prentiss and Morgan, JJ and Rossi, Hotch and the chief of police whilst you went with Reid.

“I’m proud of you, Y/n.” Spencer mutters as you sit beside him in the car on route to the office block about ten minutes west of the station. “Without you, we might not have gotten to this point.”

Spencer can’t help but feel warm inside as you smile up at him. “You think so?”

“I know for a fact.” He states as his hand reaches out to yours as he pulls up to the building. “Just keep an eye out, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Again.” You add as you close the car door, securing your vest on as the pair of you begin to head up to the roof of the building, you leading the way.

“Any sign, Y//L/N?” Hotch asks through your earpiece.

Looking around, you keep your gun extended in front of you as you quietly open the door to the roof. “Negative.” You state, turning the corner as you continue to search the place whilst Spencer is still coming up the stairs.

“Reid, my dead grandmother could’ve gotten up those stairs faster than you.” You joke playfully as he comes into sight, the sun beginning to set behind you illuminating his hazel eyes as they widen.

“Y/n!” Spencer yells, but you’re too slow to react as an arm is tightly holding your neck whilst a knife is being pressed against your back beneath the vest.

“Long time no see, huh, Y/n?” Killian mutters into your ear as he begins to drag you back as you sight against him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, this can end one of two ways, I prefer to keep this clean.”

“We need back up and medics at 1238 Meadow Lane, I repeat, we need backup. Killian is here, he, he has Y/n.” Saying that through the comms immediately causes his heart to sink as tears fill your eyes.

“We’re coming now,” Hotch announces, and you can hear the sound of sirens across the city as Killian drags you toward the edge of the roof with you in front of him.

“Spence,” You focus on Spencer’s face as his gun remains out, directed at Killian’s head. “what are the statistics of surviving this?” You ask him as a tear falls down your cheek.

“Y/n,” Spencer starts, but you shake your head as you fight against Killian, taking shallow breaths as he continues to apply pressure to your windpipe.

“Please,” You breathe out as Killian chuckles against you. “I need to know.”

The truth of the matter is you know your odds of making it out alive are slim to none, but you wanted to hear Spencer ramble one last time. 

“From a building like this, a ten-story drop your odds aren’t great, in fact, falls from ten-story buildings have a 90% chance of death.” He explains, his gun now shaking in his hand as he pictures you on the ground below, bleeding out. “Those, those who survive can be paralysed if they land on their backs, permanent brain damage from skull fractures or,” Spencer stops himself as Killian focuses on him.

“Do finish Doctor Reid, I’m enjoying this.” Killian states, and you shudder at the fact he’s finding this entertaining.

“In cases like Sylvia, she survived but was left to bleed out.” Spencer finishes, and your eyes widen. “You see, Sylvia wasn’t suicidal like we thought. She was just in the wrong place, wasn’t she, Killian?” Spencer steps closer, but you wince as you can feel the knife starting to pierce your skin.

“No, Sylvia killed herself. I, I saw it.” Killian yells, tightening his grip around your neck as your hands lie limply by your sides. “I would never hurt her.”

“Not intentionally,” Spencer comments. “you were playing, and you knocked her, didn’t you?”

Killian shakes his head. “No! She jumped!” You can feel his heart beating against you. “She jumped and never said goodbye, she left me all alone.” He cries out.

“Killian, I’m sorry.” You manage to say. “It wasn’t your, your fault.”

“She left me here.” He spits at you. “Everyone else moved on, but I was left with the guilt.”

“There’s always another way, Killian.” You speak softly, focusing on Spencer. “But if this is it,” You start, but Spencer shakes his head. “Spencer, I’m so sorry.” You let your tears fall freely down your cheeks as Spencer steps closer.

“Y/n, don’t do this.” Spencer tells you.

“I love you Spence, but please, please be strong for me.” You can feel yourself beginning to slip out of consciousness as Killian continues to apply more pressure around your neck.

“There’s another way out, Killian. I promise you, just let Y/n go.” Spencer is yelling at the top of his lungs as Killian simply laughs.

“You think there’s another option? You sure you’re a Doctor, kid?” Killian scoffs.

“It’ll be okay, Spence,” You fight against the unsubs hold as his arm remains pressed against your neck. “just, don’t give up.”

“Please, let her go!” You can hear the crack in his voice as his gun shakes in his grip, his eyes not leaving yours as tears pool. “You don’t have to do this, there’s another choice for you.”

The unsub scoffs as you wince at he breathes into your ear. “This ends with you.”

Closing your eyes, you embrace the feeling as Killian falls backwards, taking you with him.

“NO!” Spencer screams, running over as Killian lets go of you at the last second.

Spencer grabs a hold of your hand, but within a split second, it slips. “Spence,” You cry out as you hang on to the ledge of the building with all your might.

The sound of Killian hitting the floor only worsens your fear as Spencer begins to pull you up. All you can hear is the sound of your heart in your ears as the sirens dull behind you whilst Spencer is yelling in front of you, yet you can’t hear any of it. 

“Come on, Y/n, stay with me!” Spencer screams as another pair of hands appear by his side.

“Come on, we’ve got you.” Hotch states, pulling you up with Spencer and away from the ledge.

Immediately you fall into Spencer’s arms, your hands gripping his arms as you sob into his chest. “It’s okay, I’m not letting go.” Spencer holds you tightly as he looks up at Hotch, his expression saying more than words can.

“We need a medic!” Hotch yells as three men appear, checking over you as you remain sat with Spencer on the roof, far away from the ledge.

“You’re okay,” Spencer tells you as you go quiet, going into shock as the medics help you out from the building and into the ambulance as your team stands by.

“Oh thank god.” JJ blurts out as Spencer exits the building, enveloping him into a tight hug. “Are you alright?” She checks as she pulls away, but Spencer can’t help himself as he focuses on you in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in foil as the medics check you over.

JJ follows Spencer’s gaze and can’t help but force back her smile.

“Go on, you should be with her.” She assures him, but Spencer pauses.

“Y/n told me she loves me.” Spencer quietly tells JJ who quirks an eyebrow. “You, you knew didn’t you?”

JJ chuckles under her breath. “Spence, we all knew. But she doesn’t know you love her too, does she?”

Spencer shakes his head as he glances back over to you, seeing you being given the all-clear as you begin to rise to your feet.

Immediately, Spencer darts over to help you, his hand resting on your waist as you look up at him. “Spence, I,” You stumble over your words, watching as Killian’s body is being transported away in the body bag.

“Hey, don’t focus on that,” Spencer rests his hand on your cheek. “you’re alive, and I guess you beat the statistic.” He states, listening as you laugh lightly.

“Probably because I didn’t fall.” You add.

“But you almost did, and, and I would never have had the chance to tell you this,” Spencer tells you.

“Tell me what?” You ask, looking up at him with hesitation.

Spencer opens his mouth and after exactly three years, two months and nine days of knowing you and falling in love with you, he cannot find the right words to string together. “In the English language. there are 171,476 words. I’ve only ever needed three of them to tell you how I feel, but I can’t even do that properly.” He laughs uneasily as he focuses on you.

Lifting your hand up, you rest it on the back of his neck as you rise to your tiptoes. “Is this okay?” You whisper.

“More than okay,” Spencer responds before his lips are on yours.

You can hear Rossi cheering in the background as Hotch tries to shush them all but secretly is proud of you both. Having seen the way you gripped Spencer’s shirt when he saved you on that roof, he knew it was about time something would finally happen.

Pulling away from the kiss, you laugh lightly. “I take it the feeling is reciprocated then?” You question, and Spencer smiles.

“I’m never letting you go again.” He mumbles into you as you rest your head against his chest, hoping that promise will remain intact.

[ginnyweasleymybeloved]

willow / fred weasley

ahhhhh the first addition to this series!! really hope you guys like it! make sure to let me know what you think, asks/reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3

evermore x hp masterlist

all fics masterlist

summary: hogwarts’ most popular playboy has made it very clear that you, his best friend, were not his type, seeing as you were crushing on him hard, you decide to take matters into your own hands

word count: 2k

warnings: swearing, drinking, mentions of sex but not really, kissing, i think thats it but let me know if i missed anything <3

taglist: @padsfirewhisky

“life was a willow and it bent right to you wind

they count me out time and time again

life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

but i come back stronger than a 90s trend”

Fred Weasley had made quite the name for himself in Hogwarts as of late. You loved the boy dearly but in simple terms he’d become something of a womaniser. It was lighthearted, for the most part, girls knew what they were getting into with Fred, it was black and white and completely unsentimental. With him, a snog was just a snog and a shag was just a shag, there was no confusion over whether or not there was something more there with Fred, there wasn’t and, you supposed, as a teenage girl that there was a certain appeal to that sort of physical transaction. Even though Fred was becoming increasingly hard to catch by himself without a random girl hanging from his arm, he was very particular about who he chose to keep as company on any given night.

Unfortunately for you, it seemed that the criteria was “anyone who isn’t Y/n”. This was made clear to you during a party in the Gryffindor common room while you were hanging out with Fred, George, Lee and Angelina. The five of you were taking up one of the comfy sofas towards the back of the crowded room, a bottle of fire whiskey was being passed between you all. Angelina had her head sleepily tucked into your shoulder, ever the lightweight, as she listened to the conversation the boys were having halfheartedly. George was sat to your right while Angelina was tucked against the arm of the chair to your left, his long arm stretched to wrap around both yours and Angelina’s shoulders. Fred sat on the right arm of the sofa with Lee slouched drunkenly beside George, it was fairly late and since the party had started pretty early after the day’s quidditch win, you were all fairly intoxicated when the dreaded topic of Fred’s gallivanting came about.

“Right, question for Fred,” Lee started, his words slightly slurred as he passed the bottle of fire whiskey to George, who took a long swig before handing the bottle to you and resting his cheek against the top of your head. You let out a small laugh, with Angelina resting on your shoulder and George close to sleep on your head you felt like the comfiest spot in the entire common room.

“Go for it, Jordan,” Fred said airily, his brown eyes glazed over as his stared at your form enveloped between George and Angelina, catching his gaze you outstretched your arm, offering him the alcohol only for him to shake his head and greet you with a soft smile, shifting his eyes back to Lee.

Lee, who always had a tendency to talk with his hands, waved his arms around nonsensically as he posed the question, “If you had to spend the rest of your life with one girl in our year who would it be? Excluding Y/n obviously.”

You sprung to life at that, disturbing Angie and George when you lurched forward to face Lee with a confused expression, “What? What do you mean excluding Y/n?”

Fred chuckled at your affronted expression and shook his head softly, “Don’t look so offended, love. He just means that you’re not really my type.”

You let out a scoff as Angie whined, sitting up with you only to wrap her arms around your middle and plop her head back down on your shoulder, muttering a druken, “Piss off, Freddie. You couldn’t get her anyway,” George snorted, obviously entertained by the whole thing while Lee looked like a child who just got caught staying up past bedtime.

“Ignoring the fact that I’m obviously way out of your league,” you started, glaring at Fred teasingly, “If I’m not your type then how come last night’s girl looked exactly like me?” You challenged raising an eyebrow. George let out a low whistle and Fred choked on air.

“She didn’t- she wasn’t-“ Fred stuttered and Angie groaned against your neck.

“Yea she did, Fredrick. She wasn’t even as gorgeous as our Y/n stop acting like a prat you’d be lucky to spend your life with her!” She ranted, glaring at him as best she could through her droopy eyelids.

“I agree with Angie, Y/n is obviously an exception because she’s simply too good for our resident fuckboy,” George added as you and Fred entered into some kind of staring contest.

Lee snatched the fire whiskey from your hand and took a quick shot, “Alright, alright calm down! Here is my professional commentary; Y/n is not included because Freddie dearest doesn’t know how to deal with feelings and, as we all know, Y/n is a whirlwind- in a good way of course- however Freddie can only think with his dick so he would only get lost in her current.”

“Oi!” Fred shouted indignantly, pouting childishly before hopping off his seat and shoved his twin away from you, he squeezed himself into the space beside you and looked at you seriously, his cheeks flushed due to, what you thought was, his intoxicated state, “You’re not included because you’re my best mate and I’ll spend the rest of my life with you anyway I just think, you know, romantically you're not my type...” That stung. The alcohol in your system wasn’t working nearly as hard as Angie’s as she was reaching across your body and smacking Fred across the chest clumsily before you could even fully digest his words.

“Fred-“ smack, “Weasley-“ smack, “You-“ smack, “Are-“ smack, “such a-“ smack, “Twat!” The slaps she delivered were weak and didn’t do much besides cause Fred to fall into a state of utter confusion, “Romantically you’re not my type,” you, George and Lee snickered at Angie’s imitation of Fred’s voice, while Fred continued to stare at Angelina with a lost expression as she went on, “So a loyal, trustworthy, considerate, girlfriend isn’t your type? Hm? Well good because just because you said that you can never ever have her because she’s mine!”

“Alright, Angie. I think it’s time for bed,” you mumbled through a laugh, she was always a combative drunk and you usually found it quite funny but you didn’t need anymore reminding that your hopeless crush really was hopeless. When you stood up you howled out a laugh when Angie hopped up behind you, still glaring at Fred she smacked your ass, slung her arm around your shoulder and slurred, “Yeah. Let’s go, sexy,” George and Lee fell into a fit of laughter as you led Angie towards the stairs.

“I love you girls!” George called through his laughter, Lee hummed in agreement.

“Love you, Georgie. Love you, Lee!” You replied.

“I love you too!” Angie shouted over you.

Fred was still lost when you disappeared up the stairs with his, very drunk, teammate, “What the fuck just happened?”

“Your stupid ’Y/n is off limits’ rule has finally caught up to you. You’ve lost her to Angie.” George chuckled and Fred shoved him halfheartedly.

“Shut up. All that this proves is that I’m no good for her.” He said, bitterly taking a swig from the bottle in his hands. It was no secret to either of the boys that Fred was head over heels for you. He would’ve followed you anywhere, however, it seemed as though every time he spoke to you the less he even knew what he was trying to say; take that night as an example. You were exactly his type. In every way. But Lee was right when he said Fred wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, whereas you seemed to hold an ocean of feelings and insights to life that Fred would actively drown in if he could.

“She likes you Fred, you know how she is when she wants something. Tell her no, she’ll only come back stronger. She’ll crack you eventually, ‘specially with Angie in her corner,” George informed his brother, reminding him of your unmatched determination.

True enough, you had always played to win and often did everything in your power to complete a challenge and come out on top. Fred wasn’t an idiot, he knew you fancied him, he fancied you too, who wouldn’t? But there were times that he’d be with you and this feeling of home would wash over him- he couldn’t risk losing you or that feeling you brought about, he’d be completely hollow. Besides, chasing girls who reminded him of you would keep him satisfied for the time being, surely. Surely not apparently.

George was right when he said you wouldn’t give up, in the last few days Fred found himself wishing you were his and he just knew you were doing things to make him crazy on purpose. You were, of course. He couldn’t deny that you were a force of nature all on your own, but wow, you were indeed a whirlwind when you acted with intention.

It had started with fleeting touches whenever you were close enough to achieve it. Gentle brushes of your fingertips against his while you walked alongside each other in the halls, quickly progressed into your hand gripping his bicep every time you spoke to him, then onto biting your lip whenever you were aware of his gaze. Ignoring the growing frustration within him only grew harder when you’d approach him, like clockwork, each night before he’d get busy with whoever it happened to be that night. You’d casually brush your hand down his arm, pull your lip between your teeth, wink and tell him to, “have fun”, and he would, purely because he’d have that image of you seared into his head the entire time.

Playing dirty was never something Fred would normally get on board with, however, the second he noticed you lapping up the attention you were receiving from one of the, admittedly handsome, Ravenclaw boys; Fred decided that you were in fact the one prize he’d cheat to win.

“Fuck this,” he’d muttered, causing his twin to raise an eyebrow at him. They’d only just sat down for breakfast yet Fred was already cursing out the day.

Ginny had heard him too, the youngest Weasley gave Fred a bored look, “What’s wrong with you?”

Fred let out an agitated huff through his nose, glaring menacingly at the tall brunette boy, who was sitting far too close to you for Fred’s liking. George’s laugh broke him out of his trance and he heard his brother snicker out a sarcastic, “So the penny’s finally dropped, has it?”

“Piss off, George,” Fred grumbled, his lips forming a scowly as the boy placed his hand on your knee under the table.

“For Merlin’s sake, Fred. Would you just ask her out already? I’m sick of you,” Ginny complained, Fred was her brother and she loved him but this? This was ridiculous.

“Rude, Gins. You better watch it or I’ll tell mum you’re misbehaving,” Fred joked, halfheartedly while Ginny raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Try it, Fred. I’ll tell her that you’re being a git and ruining her chances of having Y/n as a daughter-in-law.” Ginny threatened. Fred shook his head, determination flooding his body.

He stood from his spot hastily, and all but marched up to you and the boy who currently occupied your attention, “Oi, can I steal you for a minute, love?” Before you could even answer, you were being pulled from your seat by Fred’s strong grip on your hand.

The boy pulled you along until you were out of earshot of the Great Hall and away from the prying eyes of the nosy student body.

“Can I help you, Freddie?” You asked sweetly, too sweetly.

Fred’s hands slid against your sides before settling contently on your waist, he shook his head in disbelief as he spoke, “You’re something else, do you know that?”

Butterflies rumbled in your stomach in response to his newfound proximity and burning gaze. It took everything in you to bite back a triumphant yell as you managed a wicked grin. “What I am is exactly your type, Fred Weasley.”

“You’re bloody right you are,” he muttered, impatient desire fuelling him as he brought his lips to yours, tugging you closer by the waist and kissing you with so much desperation that you were starting to think snogging Fred Weasley wasn’t as open and shut as you’d previously thought.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Petal

college!sebastian stan x reader

masterlist

Summary; Your boyfriend Sebastian has been spending much time studying, hardly sparing himself a break. Finally, he sees the pros of taking one

Warnings; smut, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, fluff

divider by @firefly-graphics

Sebastian was to be home any minute, he had been prolifically stressed from his classes regarding his law certification, and you had decided to exhibit him a well deserved distraction that would surely take his wired brain off from the course that was practically running through his veins at this point.

It seemed that at every waking moment, he was doing something to aid his studies, and whilst that was great that he was so dedicated to passing for this insane qualification, he did need to take breaks here and there. He wasn't the only one suffering from his late nights, and his resurrection from slumber at the crack of dawn, no. You were too, you missed him, despite being in the same apartment and room as him for the majority of his spare time.

He acted as though he had no time to spare, but you were well acquainted with his schedule, especially by now. The only difference was, that he had no occupation for a moment to relax with you, or by himself. His showers took five minutes every morning and evening, it was as though he were rushing to clean himself so that he could proceed to go back to putting his nose in a book, or searching specifics online.

But tonight, you were going to cut him off. If he didn't endure a moment of mindlessness, then you were sure to go mad yourself. You were keening for his touch, all you had received in the past few weeks were chaste kisses on both your lips and forehead, as well as verbalised 'I love you's. Perhaps it was selfish, he was striving towards a great achievement in his life, and you wanted a little bit of attention, but you knew he was holding himself from any relief also.

From the minimal time that he spent under the cold stream of the showerhead, he didn't have enough time to rub one out, and there was no fear that you had of him seeing another woman. Sebastian was not like that at all, and you had the clarity of him being in the kitchen half the time, typing away on his laptop, as he ran over some old notes and updated them.

Currently, he was out, he was in his lecture. There was a span of fifteen minutes from the time that he would be on the walk home, and you knew that was exactly how long that took in your shared student apartment, because you too endured your studies. But once more, your own were pushed to the side as you speculated your appearance in the silver tapestry of your mirror.

Your hand steadied on your right hip as you posed in front of it, twisting your waist to find the most attractive angle for you in your new wear. The underwear was tight, and not to mention, completely sheer. It's see through nature made wearing it practically pointless, but considering his current frustrations, it was only fair to give something to rip off of you.

Truthfully, you had to admit, you looked damned good. There was no way he would choose studying law over ravishing your body, a spark jolted through your body as the door behind you opened, and with a seductive bite to your lip, you turned around, only to scream and cover your body with your hands, or at least to the best of your ability. "Holy fuck, don't you know how to knock?!"

"I didn't think I'd have to because your human dildo isn't here!" Anthony defended himself, having turned around, as the image of you, one of his best friends, practically in the nude, burned behind his eye balls. The fact that he had seen you made you feel sick, this was not how you had intended the afternoon to go.

"Is there a reason that you burst into my room looking for me Mackie?" The question was indeed one that you wanted to know the answer to, you still felt so exposed, although he was not looking at you. That was certainly something that you were going to avoid telling Seb, that would definitely be a big distraction from his work.

And of course, alongside that, he would have an intent to possibly murder your flat mate, and whilst Chris would be laughing at that, there would be a heavy hotness to your face, as you watched them immaturely battle. Anthony cleared his throat thoroughly, directing towards the face that he was about to speak.

"Definitely not to see you like that." Retorted the math major, shrugging the shiver off his shiver as the memory tormented him once more. "But... me and Chris were going to meet with Scarlett, Takia and Brie, we were going to see if you and Seabass wanted to join, but as I saw against my own will, you have something already planned for your dinner."

“Um yeah, no, we’ll pass. Thanks tho buddy.” Oh god, to say you felt awkward was an understatement. If you were wearing clothes, or at least more socially appropriate ones, you’d go to him and give him a typical punch on the shoulder. Though, if you were clothed more body wear, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. Only things like this happened in college flats, that was one thing that could be confirmed.

“Okay then. Good to know...” Anthony closed the door and proceeded to enter the kitchen. He went grab himself an apple, and realised then that it was an unfortunate consequence, but he had lost his appetite. There had been nothing wrong with your appearance - nothing at all - but you were his flat mate and friend! And, you had a boyfriend, whom was also a great reference of social interaction for him.

The sound of keys interlocking with the outside of the door echoed through the kitchen, someone was outside, and he’d be write in assuming that it was Sebastian. Chris was presently occupied by scouring the internet for ways to surprise the girl he was currently hanging with, and honestly by that, Anthony was scared to enter his room.

It could have been anything that he was searching, but to his contrasting luck, the last resident of their flat entered, creases firm on his brow, from thinking too hard. Sebastian was mulling over the lecture that his professor had given his class. Remember to take a break every now and then. Maybe he was right, a break couldn't postpone him from graduating him that much, could it.

Perhaps he was putting it all off, because after receiving his degree, the four of you would have to find somewhere else to live, and a part of Seb was inclined to ask you individually to move in with him. A one bedroom apartment would be cheaper than one with three rooms, and atop of that, he wouldn't have to be cautious of minor things like walking around the flat in little to no clothing, or fucking you on the kitchen counter.

They were all coupley things that he had wishes to do, but because there were another two men residing with you and him, albeit them being your friends, he didn't allow you to do so in anything less than one of his shirts that cascaded down your thighs, so that if you weren't wearing panties, everything would be concealed. Anthony gulped, remembering he had seen you in your surprise for this man, and gosh, did he want to keep quiet about his accidental peek.

Sebastian wasn’t the jealous type, it was rather refreshing how he found that to be an unappealing trait, however, it would still not settle well that someone saw his girl, in a compromising choice of wear that was supposed to be for his eyes only. He would surely make it clear that you were his, and thus the fucking in the kitchen that he dreamt about would be more than likely to unfold, as he rammed you against the cupboards, caring not if guests were due.

“Hey.” It was a breath of fresh air to speak to someone who was not on his course, it was as though he had become estranged from the people closest to him during this part of the term. Thus a striking pang of guilt landed in his chest as he wondered how you must have felt. He hadn’t touched you in any intimate sense in weeks, it certainly felt like years.

That truth gave him no pride, he dropped his items on the counter, planning on returning to them after he had tended to greeting you. A long kiss sounded nice, strung by a chord of untwined tongues that groomed the insides of your mouth, as you reciprocated. If he was very generous to himself, he’d perhaps lay down for a moment, and allow his pianist hands to wander for more than a moment, stroking them up and down your thighs, until he gave supple attention to your sweet delicacy, dipping down to kiss it and run his fingers over the beautiful gates that only he was allowed to surpass through.

Anthony muffled a reply to him, before shuffling out the room, casting him a weird side eye, but Sebastian thought little of it as his mind was preoccupied with something other than his studies. Oh, and how he didn't mind. The mental image of your nude portrait blessing his eyes was enough motivation to have him striding at a fast, yet considerable pace, towards the door to your shared bedroom.

He knew you must have been inside, he saw your lanyard hanging on the coat rack, that was literally a makeshift piece of wood that you had drunkenly returned with one night, along with a very much intoxicated Paul Rudd. There had been construction nearby, and you thought that it was possible to turned the sharp edged plank with nails sticking out as a bedframe. Least to say, Sebastian did not allow that to happen, knowing that one morning, you would end up spiking your scalp against one of the rusted nails.

People had gotten hurt by it from where it was already, there was that time that Tessa had tried to lean on it for a photo, that in retrospect was an applicant towards your photography course, but that didn't end well, you were pretty sure there was still a streak of her blood stained into one side. That may have been why Chris had turned its weight around after that. However, none of you had the money to spare to invest in a real rack, so for now it stayed.

It sure as hell wasn't coming with you guys when you moved out, that was one thing that Sebastian was going to ensure. If Anthony wanted it, then so be it, if all went to plan, the pair of you wouldn't be living with the lovable goof when the time came. Turning the knob to the room, Sebastian heard a gasp, and thus after he shut it, he saw you wrapped up in your robe, your head cocked to the side as you seductively tried to settle on your small double bed.

"You made me jump Sebba." No, he could tell that you had been taking a short nap, as though you had wanted to forget some details from your day. And that you did, and you hoped that Anthony did as well. "Have you got much work to do bubs?" You raised yourself on your elbows and shuffled towards him as he came to sit on the side of the mattress.

"Think I'm going to take a short hiatus from it for a few hours." Now that certainly sounded pleasant, you hummed at his words, stroking his shoulder, as you pressed a kiss to his hand that moved cup your cheek. "Have I been neglecting my little petal?" It was a name he used whenever he was seeking forgiveness, but this time, you shook your head, frowning, as you settled a small smile on your face.

"You've been understandably busy, I get that. I'm not going to go as far as to use that word babes, you've just had a little time to yourself and your schoolwork, and that is fine." He tapped your chin, cocking his head to the side, inviting you to straddle his lap. You'd have been stupid if you refused after all the time that you had spent mentally apart from him, so without another hint, you clambered over his thighs, a giddy expression corrupting your face.

"This is why I love you. So open minded, and not to mention, that mind of yours has had me doing some thinking." Nodding in a current to prompt him to continue, his hands eased their lodging onto your bare thighs, stroking the skin with large soothing swipes, making any hair on your body stand on edge, as he averted his eyesight to the split of your gown that crisscrossed around your chest. It wasn't a sexual focus however, it was more so as though he feared a rejection of one kind.

"Hope you're not gonna propose us having a kid or something, because now is certainly not the time." At your humour, he sincerely laughed, causing a calm to wash over you and him, as he finally looked you in the face. “Unless you mean buying a plant, our last one died, and now you use the old pot to stub out your blunts." You could see the improvisational container as you turned your head to the side, seeing its white exterior be a gradient of light to shielded grey.

"I want you to move in with me." Sebastian responded straightly, bracing his slightly nervous palms to the divot of your waist, as he grasped the skin below your ribs, swirling the pads of his thumbs across your skin, caressing each nimble pore on that part of your body. His breath captured the side of your neck, as he licked a sweet line across a vein that he specifically picked out using his

"We already live together silly. Unless we're gonna move to mars." As you spoke, your brows optimistically raised, as your forearms found a home around the back of his neck, as you pressed tentative kisses to his clean jaw. A series of giggles evicted from you as you darted your tongue out to taste his sharp skin, your hand slipping down to control his own, trailing his touch beneath your gown so that the tips of his fingers were brushing the mesh of your underwear that was poised in a curve upon your hipbone.

"As much as the space nerd in me would love that, and not to mention you would make one foxy astronaut, I meant, after this, and here, we find a place for just you and me. I get if you don’t-“ you pressed your left forefinger to his lips, humming with a smile as he shared a gentle kiss upon your skin. He took the digit into his mouth, sucking the skin and swirling his tongue around the crescent of your nail.

“That sounds... perfect.” Ushering your finger from out past his lips, and the barrier of his nipping teeth, you languidly stroked his bottom lip, spreading the small extent of saliva that had coated your finger. “I’m so happy you’re taking a break Sebba, you deserve it. There’s something I want to show you baby, I know you’re going to like it.”

“Is it under this robe by any chance?” Obliging his answer with a supporting action, you allowed his hands to remain beneath the sleek material, as you untied the thick strand that tied the two sides together around your body. Pushing the dark silk from your shoulders, you revealed the design of petals that prompted through the thin material of your undergarments, everything exposed through the sultry and intimate pieces.

“Do you like it?” You seemed to have forgotten about Anthony seeing you in the internal wear, and from Sebastian’s honed gazing at your full breasts, your nipples sternly grew hard, telling him without need for word that he was silently turning you on. A sigh escaped from him, as he plucked at the seam of your panties, tugging lightly at the side to drag the material up your slit, grasping a light moan from your intimately affected lungs.

“My lovely petal, like is an understatement. You do all this for me, I don’t think I’m going to know how much this was, especially where we’re supposed to be budgeting.” Seb quirked his unbrushed brow, pressing his lips against the column of your throat, intaking the smell and pungent taste of your floral perfume. “But I’m not going to complain, because seeing you like this is certainly worth a fine penny. Is it ungrateful for me to want it off of you though?”

“Wait.” You instructed him, pressing your tongue into the divot of his chin, swiping a line of saliva through the bone structure. “I think we should get my money’s worth. First, I want to get my fill of your appreciation, and then maybe, maybe then I’ll allow you to discard piece by piece from my skin.” Your dominant hand pressed against his growing bulge as a you slid off his lap, running your nose along his thighs, as you fiddled with the purchase of his jeans, him helping you tug the denim off, and down his thick thighs.

“You’re so good to me.” He leaned back, curling his fists into the sheets, as he watched you enduringly pat him over his boxers, drawing a spot of precum to seep out onto the white cotton. “My beautiful petal, hungry for my cock, you want it, don’t you? Want to suck my hard cock, practically starving for it, ain’t ya?” Profusely nodding, you drooled as he twitched, and pushed down his underwear, revealing his uncut, and growing cock.

“Holy shit.” Escaped you as a breathy conjunction of two words, your palm reaching out to rotate his foreskin in your hand, pushing the layer back gently to reveal his hidden slit. Your tongue darted out over the flushed head, suckling on the sensitive portion, spoiling yourself with the salty taste of his aroused skin. “You have such a pretty cock baby.” Pressing a kiss along the length, you dragged your tongue up his shaft, before returning to the tip, swallowing down his cock in your throat.

“Fuck.” Your boyfriend revelled in the pleasure, one of his hands capturing your hair in its hold, running his fingers through your locks as you bobbed your head. Gargled sounds choked out from your easing throat, as you continued your administrations, making Seb squeeze his eyes shut, as he endured the pleasure that you pledged him with. “Baby...”

You moaned around his cock, your glazed irises peeking up at him, before pulling off, a strand of saliva connecting you to his hung length. “Say it.” Was his demand as his hand pressed the cheeks of your face together, forcing your lips into an exaggerated pout. It was a notion of past experiences that reminded you of what he was speaking of, you blinked your lashes innocently towards him, steadily breathing through your nose as he patiently awaited for you to carry out his order.

“I’m your cockslut.” You mumbled out, spit pooling out of your mouth and rolling down the cleavage of your lips, descending onto your chin, and slipping to be a river down your chest, playing hide and seek in the cups of your sheer bra. “Love your fat cock, and your large balls, and the way your mouth exhibits complete bliss over my pussy.” He tilted your head to the side, as he leaned down, his spare hand reaching behind you to remove your bra, leaving it hanging loosely off from your shoulders.

“How about I eat your cunt, huh? You’d like that, wouldn’t you petal?” A whine slipped from your lips as you shouldered off the floral laced bra, discarding it on the bedroom floor, as you waded your legs about so that you could do the same with the slim lined panties. “Come on then, get up on the bed pretty girl, let me at that pussy.” Doing as he said, you clambered onto the mattress, your front against the sheets as you tried to position yourself. A slap rumbled off your ass cheek, as Sebastian struck down on the globe of fat, straggling a surprised moan from your lips.

It seemed like he wanted you to remain on your stomach, and so you did as he breathed a swab of cool air upon your clenching lips, swiping his tongue from your heavy clit to your soaking entrance. “Sebs, do something, please.” You collapsed your face into the bed, wiggling your ass towards his face, earning yourself another spank to your behind. It stung, but it was a hot heat that granted you a minor bit of relief; it was certainly better than nothing.

And then, his tongue probed at your entrance, test tasting your cunt as his muscle flicked deliriously over your clit, his forefinger prying at your slit, and slipping without struggle inside of your walls, evoking a withering moan to collapse out from your chest. Another digit slunk through your folds, filling your further, as his pace increased, his mouth surrounding your clit, and rolling the bud around with his instigating tongue. “Petal, pass me the lube.”

With a light head, you blindly reached your hand across to on top of his bedside table, locating the bottle with your fiddling hands, tossing it back towards him. A thump indicates that it did not land on the mattress as planned, instead the container of lubricant hit him in the forehead. A frown covered his face as he shook his head, removing his fingers from your folds, as he grasped the bottle, splurging some of the clear and slippery liquid onto his fingertips.

Seb spread it around his fingers, rubbing it onto his skin, as he applied a little onto your tight hole, prying at your puckered entrance with his lubricated digits. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You gently rubbed your face against the sheets as Sebastian entered his fingers into your ass, quickly thrusting them in and out of you. “Feels so good Sebby, shit.” He continued his administrations with a clenched wrist, evicting pleasure upon you as you practically sobbed onto your shared bed. “No, no-“

He removed his fingers, as well as his own shirt that was still covering his chest. Seb clambered off the bed for a moment, locating a condom, as he gave his cock a couple of jerks, rolling the avast protection onto his length, as he positioned himself on his knees behind you. He entered you swiftly, returning his fingers back into your tighter hole, as he began to thrust into both of your entrances. Sounds of pleasure were compelled out from your lungs, as you half screamed his name; there were tears collecting in the corners of your eyes as you endured wafts pleasure from both intimate angles.

He curled his fingers within you, picking up his pace as his hips profusely clashed against your own. He was chasing a high, whilst simultaneously reducing you to nothing but a racer to your own. “So fucking tight; in both holes.” His teeth clenched as he moaned at the sensation of your walls clenching harshly around him, as he filled the condom with his white and warm seed. He remained inside of you as he brought one hand down to your cunt, playing with your clit, as he sternly thrusted his fingers into your ass.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, cumming around his softened cock, and mewling into your own wrist. Sebastian extracted his tender cock from within you, also removing his fingers, as he swiped off the condom, tying to open side so that no cum would spill out, and then discarding it in the bin. “Shit, I was wanting some attention from you, but I didn’t know I was going to get that.” You laughed lightly, feeling a little hazy and drunk from your numbing orgasm.

In turn, your boyfriend laughed too, grabbing his shirt from off the ground, and lightly pulling you up, helping you into the baggy material. He pressed a sweet kiss upon your forehead as he rolled to be laid beside you, bringing your sweaty body into his matching side, watching through appeased lids at how you curled yourself into him. “I love you darling.”

“I love you too Seb.” You replied, pressing a kiss to his soft nipple, as his arms locked adoringly around you. “And I’m so proud of you for putting your all into your course.” Your nails stroked down his stomach, as the two of you laid upon the sheets, rather than underneath them.

“Of course I would, it’s for our future in the long term of things.” He stated, brushing any loose strands of hair out from your face. “But I guess it’s okay to take a break sometimes. And that, well that was certainly worth the time away from studying, it always is with you.”

[onebizarrekai]

v3′s art is comically terrible for a professionally distributed game in a series: a compilation

in this not-essay I will list all of the mistakes and problems I have spotted in v3′s art. don’t worry, it’s entirely for fun and I’m doing this on a whim, so please feel free to not take this seriously but also it’s hilarious and embarrassing how ridiculous this is like what happened did they speedrun the whole production or what

see, there are some things you can take as meta like “they made it bad on purpose to allude to the downfall of tv shows that have been on air for much too long” but I have a very strong feeling this is not the case due to the nature of some of these errors

disclaimer, the more I study this art, the more I fear that the artists were underpaid and underslept, so if this is in fact the case, I am so sorry to all of them but also I’m going to make fun of the art anyway

anyway let’s get started!

if you study this image for longer than 5 seconds, you will see that kaede is the only one fully shaded and keebo is literally just his normal sprite pasted into the image. every other character is just an ordinary ref, hence most of them facing the exact same direction with neutral expressions on their faces. it looks like a bad edit, and is probably one of the worst pieces of art in the game. it kind of gets better from here on, but my roasting will not.

with that out of the way, here’s the problem that officially bothers me the most and clarifies my viewpoint of “this is not meta and an actual lack of company communication”

this freaking cg, which seems normal at a glance, but some wiseass was like “oh, kaede is a girl, so obviously she’s going to be shorter than the Male Protagonist™” ah, that’s funny. because if you look at the character bios, kaede is, in fact, one inch taller than shuichi and not like 6 inches shorter as she is shown here.

also shuichi’s shoulder is disproportionate and horrendous and he looks vaguely like a jojo character, but I wasn’t even thinking about that until right now.

thanks guys, 50% of the fandom who has never bothered to check these bios thinks that kaede is like 5′3 (did the developers really put so little thought into her to the point where drawing her correctly in the game didn’t even matter??)

also I would like to point out that, even though this isn’t related to the art itself, yes, a character kaede’s size being only 117 lbs is unfeasible, but this applies to literally every character in danganronpa ever and it’s not new news that it’s unrealistic

update: someone in the tags informed me that in versions of the game that use centimeters, like the japanese version, kaede is actually shorter than shuichi, which just adds another thing to the list of weird decisions the localization team made for no reason. that said, after confirming this, kaede is 167 cm in the original, while shuichi is 171 cm, which are approximately 5′6 and 5′7 respectively, but one inch is still nowhere near as drastic as it is depicted above. (in spite of this, I would rather depict kaede as slightly taller, so I’m probably going to keep doing that.)

the journey continues!

bro if you want kaede to have shoulder length hair then stick to it to begin with

you can pretend this is at an angle all you want but they definitely committed the shorter kaede sin a second time

wait a goddamn second.

DO YOU SEE THIS

no………… it wasn’t kaede who shrank. it was shuichi who got taller

speaking of which, can we talk about how shady the perspective is in this elevator pic? look at shuichi and kokichi in comparison to kaede. kokichi, who is canonically 7 inches (edit: or 5, if you’re loyal to the original) shorter than kaede, looks taller than kaede. he’s growing too. what steroids are these gays taking

running into the room, electric boogaloo: I don’t think tsumugi is supposed to be the same height as kokichi

gonta… gonta you’re lookin a bit like a jojo character there

I love how kaito’s head looks kind of like it was pasted onto his body. why is he the same size as shuichi? shouldn’t he be high school bully size or something? his torso is teensy

ah yes, white angie.

I love this cg but why is shuichi’s right hand so much bigger than his left hand

I also love how this cg looks like they literally took pictures of trees and pasted them into the background, especially on the left. the shadows are so weird, especially closer to the ceiling, it’s difficult for me to believe they didn’t do exactly that.

return of Enlarged shuichi

puberty update: kokichi is now taller than shuichi in spite of shuichi never missing leg day. what crimes will he commit

I have to mention it, guys. this has to be one of the worst danganronpa cgs. kokichi’s facial proportions look atrocious. look at the way his face sticks out like his jaw is in the wrong place. his scarf is a pasted texture. that’s it. this moment was so iconic but the cg just looks so… so… off. like something is terribly wrong, but you can’t put your finger on it.

you know what? let’s get into that ‘pasted texture’ thing.

let’s imagine you’re an artist working on a professional game. you’re assigned to draw cgs of kokichi ouma, who has a checkered scarf from hell. sure, it will be terrible to draw, but you only have to draw it once at a time! plus, perspective is pretty important, right? can you be bothered? nah, actually. let’s just copy paste a checkered pattern into the cg, because I’m sure nobody will notice. it’ll blend right in with the other cgs that someone actually put effort into drawing his scarf in, right?

no. the answer is no and I very much noticed. this genuinely looks terrible and I would understand taking a shortcut like that in fanart or even an indie game but this is a full price pc and console distributed game

(an addition: look at kokichi’s TINY HANDS in that last one)

meanwhile, they straight up forgot to color in kokichi’s scarf in this cg.

dude. I forgot about whatever the hell this cg was. anyway look at keebo please just look at him

lovin kaito’s baby arms

real talk, maybe you could argue that he’s missing muscle because he’s deathly sick, but most of his cgs don’t line up with this, and his arms just look disproportionate to his torso size (granted this is a consistent problem across all danganronpa games and a lot of characters have this weird problem, like hajime, but also kaito is bigger than hajime so I kind of have higher expectations of him) maybe it’s his stupid goatee and the way he reminds me of yasuhiro?? it creates this illusion that he’s older than he is and so I keep expecting him to look more like an adult

oh, also rantaro is missing some of his accessories in that video he made–you know the one–but I don’t wanna go back and screenshot it

also you may have noticed that I’m skipping all of the monokub cgs because I literally do not care about them and I’m not even bothering to check and see if they have artistic mistakes in them

JIMMY NEUTRON???

hey um uh kaito you seem to be missing your neck

hey guys do you like my pregame fanart

so, that done, the sprites are also pretty terrible at times. they’re not as interesting to go through, however, and downloading the full sprite sets for every character and studying every single one of them will drive me insane, so I’ll just sum some of the ones I noticed up. I made things for kaede and shuichi before deciding I wasn’t going to get into it, so here are these.

that said, other mistakes include kokichi missing his purple highlights in all of the sprites encompassing a specific pose, stray pixels all over the place on everyone, and everyone also has heavily inconsistent shading, but literally all I think about is how pregame shuichi is unshaded and two of kaede’s pregame sprites have glaring outfit change mistakes in them

anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my ridiculous ramble. in all seriousness, there’s this looming presence of some lack of communication in the development team, like with all the art and design inconsistencies, pieces and sprites that look rushed, stray pixels, and missing basic proportional stuff. these are the kinds of things that you supposedly have to pretty much have in the bag in order to get jobs in professional businesses, so it’s really weird to me that this game suffers from so many of these problems. it’s like they tried to make the art so much more crisp than the other games, but it fell on its face as they realized it was going to take longer to draw everything and they started to rush. it’s weird, because the coloring itself looks normal–it’s just sloppily drawn, and the proportions are a mess once put into the context of perspective. many of the cgs look like they were drawn by different people, and I’m still not over the fact that half of kokichi’s cgs have his scarf pasted in as a texture.

the moral of the story is that if you’re selling a game at full price that also happens to be in a series that has had 3 very good games in it already the stakes should probably be higher than this. v3 has been out for more than 3 years and it’s still $40 (did it cost more than that before? I sure hope not), and the overarching quality of the game is just not as high as the other games. I’m not saying that the other games don’t have any problems with their art at all, they’re just not as glaringly obvious and every artistic choice in those games feels intentional.

regardless, I had a blast roasting the art at 2am, so maybe you got a kick out of all this chaos.

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.”��

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.”