#maybe i'll get around to finishing it. i like writing out all the like. sensory stuff with this. lots of neat stuff to try with em fields

[telesodalite]

Woe, unfinished, mildly edited, fulfire fic tid-bits be upon you

-

Like a magnet, his optics kept drifting back to Misfire's face. His stupid, strangely charming face.

For a short while, after Clemency, it had been that face that haunted some of his nightmares. His recalls blurring the lines between the strange reality of Misfire's hands reaching into him to lock his fuel pump back into the very spot he'd pulled it from, and the fear that just as easily he could pull it out again. They had been bloody dreams. Dreams that had him startling awake, gripping his chest in the vain attempt to close what wasn't open, before spending the rest of the day avoiding Misfire's optics.

But now things were different. Not Misfire's face. No, that hadn't changed much. But Fulcrum's dreams had definitely changed. To say the least of what all rolled around in his processor as he slept nowadays.

Some of those newer dreams had crept to the forefront of his mind as he sat there on the couch, staring as the lights of the screen reflected dully across Misfire's plating in hazy blues and greys.

The lighting made his colors seem muddy and faded, but Fulcrum didn't really care, nor did he care to think what it made himself look like. He was too busy bringing an empty engex can to his lips while he watched the crinkle of Misfire's nose as he barked a laugh at something Fulcrum didn't catch onscreen.

He'd started noticing it months ago, all the ways the silvery mesh of Misfire's face would scrunch up with his emotions. Those little crinkles along his optics and nose when he laughed or glared. The creases indented along his cheeks when he grinned. Fulcrum found himself quietly logging away these little details. Idle notes and observations that had suddenly started piling up in the corners of his processer.

He… He'd never really done that before? He'd never really noticed those sorts of things in other mechs.

The faces and expressions of his past colleagues never seemed terribly important. All the details of every smile and frown were never worth filing away, outside of few notable moments where those expressions reflected his work performance. But besides the smile that meant promotion, and the frown that meant he'd screwed up, nothing else was noticeable. Nothing was worth remembering.

But now the memory of every genuine laugh that bubbled out of Misfire sat comfortably besides memories of warm joyful optics that Fulcrum found himself collecting every time Crankcase cracked a rare half-smile for him, or when Krok placed a reassuring hand against his back, or the times Spinister spontaneously pointed out something odd but ultimately nice about his stupid frame.

He didn't really know why he was doing it, memorizing all these mundane little things, just to have them flit through his processer randomly. Maybe it was because those expressions, those details, felt… comforting? Comforting in such a strange and unfamiliar way. But, a good way. A good sort of strange, much like the mechs themselves.

-

-

He had stared for a long moment, the credits and their rolling tune playing somewhere in the background as Fulcrum stared back. But Misfire was never one for personable silence, even as the sound of some likely long dead Iaconian orchestra filled the room.

"What is it?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping him as he brought a hand to his face, "Don't tell me I've poured it all over myself again."

It had taken Fulcrum longer than usual to unstick his glossa from the roof of his mouth as he watched Misfire run a thumb over his lips, but eventually he had coughed out a small, choked, "No."

That had earned him an odd look at first, but with their fields loose and open, Fulcrum could almost feel the exact moment something clicked in Misfire's mind, as the idle comfortable static he projected in pulsing waves evened out into something openly curious and almost subdued.

It wasn't often Fulcrum felt him that clearly.

Misfire tended to keep his field fairly close, though, maybe not as close as the others did, what with how Crankcase kept an iron grip on his, and how Krok's always held an air of strained control, even when it slipped from him. But still, Misfire's was always hard to read, no matter the reach or depth of his field.

Even then and there, with it loose and unfiltered and buzzing with the engex running through his system, there was an ever present undertone of something indescribably jumbled about him, like too many feelings at once, each too vast and hurried for Fulcrum to really feel or understand.

It always seemed to stir the passive anxiety Fulcrum must've been forged with when Misfire's field brushed against his own. As facing the indescribable vague mess of Misfire felt like trying to untangle a pile of live-wires he couldn't even see.

It was almost frustrating in a sense, the need to try and sort and understand what wasn't even his to begin with. But at the same time it was almost exciting as well. It was like a game, like a puzzle he had yet to solve.

-

-

Finally letting his own can go tumbling to the floor to join Misfire's, Fulcrum had brought a hand to cover his face as he drew his legs up and leaned back against the arm of the couch, trying to suppress the fit as the sly look slipped from Misfire's face at the sounds.

While Fulcrum had laughed, and… snorted, embarrassingly, he had felt Misfire's field change again, brushing something fizzy and almost warm against his plating as Misfire's features softened.

"I'm looking at you," Fulcrum had said then between gulps of air, letting his hand fall from his face as he reached out to poke at Misfire's chest, "Dumbaft."

His finger had lingered over the thick plating there for maybe a little longer than necessary, drawing Misfire's attention as it slid down a little before pulling away.

Looking back up again with his helm angled slightly, Misfire had followed the sight of his hand leaving his plating to where Fulcrum let it fall between them.

"Wow…" Misfire had chuckled a little dryly, "I was gonna make it real easy for you. I was going to say something like, ''Do you like what you see?'' or-… or something like that. But now you've ruined it. Good job."

Meeting Fulcrum's optics again as he pulled his own hand back from Fulcrum's shoulder, he brought it to rest between them as well.

"And you're laughing at me," He said next, faking a small pout as his hand drifted closer to Fulcrum's, "Which totally ruins the whole vibe I was going for really. I mean, it's sort of hard to be all nice and suave-like when you're being laughed at. Total vibe killer. Bit of an ego killer too if I'm being honest. So thanks for that loser, thanks for saying I have a funny face."

With Misfire's fingers brushing distractingly past his own, Fulcrum didn't think before the words stumbled out of him.

"I like your face."

It came out almost matter of fact sounding, Fulcrum's laughter having died down while Misfire complained about it. But at the same time the words felt so simple, they came out so easily, and in a weird way they felt nice to say. But Misfire's optics had widened in surprise, his frame frozen and his field suddenly struck quiet, and despite the engex numbing his usual nerves, Fulcrum felt a sudden pang of anxiety because of it.

The silence in Misfire's field was terribly alien. It felt wrong, and something in Fulcrum spiraled to think he had caused it. But slowly, almost as if it were creeping forward, an odd almost scrutinizing uncertainty fanned outward in a careful wave. Misfire moved with it, leaning closer as he searched Fulcrum's expression for something.

"Oh yeah?" He'd said lowly then, and that sly look returned. But that vague uncertainty didn't fade with it, if anything, Fulcrum felt it strengthen. Caught between what he saw, in Misfire's easy smile and dimmed optics, and what he felt, in the growing hollow distance within their fields, Fulcrum found himself frowning and pulling back.

-

-

Growing frustrated with himself, and wanting that feeling back, he had pushed forward, shifting onto his knees as he reached for Misfire's face before the other could pull away from him entirely.

"I like your face." He said firmly, maybe too firmly. His expression still drawn into a frown as he pressed his fingers into Misfire's helm, brushing his thumbs across the silver mesh he'd been staring so intently at before. "I like your optics, and your nose. I- I like the way you smile. When you really smile, and when you laugh. I do. I'm not lying."

And oh there it was again, that little curl of warmth in Misfire's field. Almost a tangible thing, like a brush of ventilation, but Misfire wasn't venting. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, but no breath left him as he stared at Fulcrum with widening optics.

Spurred on by that tiny bloom of warmth, Fulcrum chased after it with slightly slurred words and clumsy hands as he tried to fix whatever he'd done wrong, hoping with each word that Misfire might soften and smile again.

"I like your expressions, and- and I like your voice," He said, glancing down at Misfire's parted lips, and laughing softly, nervously, as he continued, "Even when you say something so stupid. I like- I like the way it sounds. I like your accent, I like the way it makes your words sound. I- I like your- your mouth?"

Once more that weird but nice feeling settled in Fulcrum's chest. Those simple words felt good to say. It felt like a weight off his shoulders, like an admission he'd been waiting to say. About what and why? He wasn't really sure. But the warmth grew, and Misfire took a sharp vent inwards, and that felt right, so Fulcrum kept on.

"I like your helm," He said with a smile, reaching up to brush his fingers over the jutting finials there, before dropping his hands to settle lightly over Misfire's chest. "I like your frame, the colors of it. I like your-"

Before he could finish, Misfire was surging forward, knocking their helms together and nearly bruising the mesh of their noses as he tried for, and just barely missed, Fulcrum's lips.

-

👁👁👍

[bibbykins]

Moonlight Reign Ch.1

A/N: Instead of forcing myself to focus on one series at a time, I'm planning to write what sparks joy to write in the moment and post it as I go! Hopefully this will clear some wips and help me feel less disorganized lmao! Not to say I'm not working on THB, I def am I just want to have something to post as I work on THB and the bigger projects like the LWAB fics among other things! So (hopefully) I'll keep these chapters limited to 5-7k, but we'll see lol pls enjoy and send me asks I thrive on them and so does my motivation!

And a huge thank you to my wonderful B @rapline-heaux for beta-reading ily!!

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yandere! Mafia! BTS x Reader

Words: 5.7k

Warnings: crime, sensory flashbacks, trauma, unhealthy relationships, yandere behavior not rlly in this part but soon, pining, violence, past abuse, past neglect, academic neglect, stitches, drunk Jungkook, tackling, pinning someone down, mention of open relationship, poly is the norm is this au

“It’s time to go now.” 

1, 2, 3, 4

“Five years after the fall of the underground power family, Moon Corporation, people still suspect an even more powerful company has taken their place since…”

1, 2, 3, 4

“It’s… so red…”

1, 2, 3, 4

“The exposure beheld more answers than questions, but on the five-year anniversary of the suicidal explosion that killed the head, Moon Byungyeol and his daughter, the elusive green-haired girl who was 18 at the time, colleagues mourn in secret and establishments fear an anniversary heist or something worst than last year as the date rapidly approaches…”

1, 2, 3, 4

“Locals have several theories on the big conglomerate that now controls Seoul’s business, underground and above, with the mafia organizations and gangs running rampant, people fear the government is under their thumb as well…”

1, 2- SHUT UP

You inhaled deeply as if just surfacing from the drowning body of water residing in your brain. Your fingers stilled from the tapping, a  desperate attempt to make you surface, a sorry technique your brief stint in therapy drilled into you. Maybe having nothing led to illogical personal connections with a number. Of all your training as an heir, it was the mundane basic curriculum lessons that fascinated you the most. You were never good at math, but you loved to be perplexed by the numbers. It was a humbling experience, and in your fruitless calculations, four was always the easiest to wrap your head around. Of course, you didn’t know how humbled you’d be until you were a 20 year old trying to figure out how to do middle school math. Your education left much to be desired growing up, but you still enjoyed learning. 

You used to be convinced four was too perfect of a number for such an ugly world, and though you let go of the notion with your past life, it didn’t change that it was a world you had to feign blind to now. In your youth, four was a beautiful result of a simple equation, a funny origin to big numbers. It was a warm hug among the violent reactions when you’d get questions far below your intended grade level wrong. In a world where stuffed animals were banned from your childhood room, the number four was all you had. You didn’t particularly like how pathetic that made you feel, but it didn’t change how much it helped you on days like these.

Your palms retracted from their firm placement on the wall you leaned on, relaxing you. Releasing your slightly curled fingers, you stifled a bitter laugh at the desperate attempt to grasp onto something. It was always so degrading to scrub off the marks your acrylics made along the wall, but the stiletto nails made taps loud enough to bring you back. It was an absolute mystery how the school you worked at let you get away with these. 

Your little episode was finished as you settled your mind with the news continuing to drone on. You massaged your jaw, sore from the subconscious clench you were cursed with. You blew out a sigh as you felt your face and nodded when no tears were felt. Your phone buzzed, alerting you to the time and you groaned. Your damn neighbor would be here any minute now.

Jungkook wasn’t a mean guy by any means, quite the opposite. He was extremely insistent on your well-being, so much so it bordered on doting, and such behavior made you clam up. You didn’t know how to respond to his fussing over you. Hell, you didn’t know how to respond to most interactions outside of your old family business for a long while. That was just one of the many things he taught you, and he never once lost his cool doing so. He was patient with you, and you didn’t know how to thank him for it. 

You both had been in the same class when you attended university, and while you were fine with letting your temporary acquaintanceship go no further than asking for notes or the occasional study session, he was a force to be reckoned with. You just kept running into him and when you moved here and found he was your next-door neighbor, you knew there was no getting out of it. He was going to be your friend. Although, you never understood why he wanted to be so bad. 

Cut to a whole year after you both graduated, and it still didn’t make any sense. You both were polar opposites in a lot of ways. He was the regular party boy always at clubs and coming home at ungodly hours of the night. Meanwhile, you were usually in bed by 11:00 pm and only left your apartment for the job that barely covered your rent. Needless to say, you weren't exactly a social butterfly, so if you found one friend in Jungkook, you figured it wouldn't be such a crime.

However, having Jungkook as a friend meant having a weekly dinner with him as he mooched off of your TV and you mooched off of the food he paid for. It was an even enough exchange. Plus, it was nice to talk freely, or well, as free as you've ever been able to, even if just for a little bit.

You faced the mirror, patting down your hair, thankful for how much healthier it was without the cheap dye job you had done yourself when you were 14, “That green didn’t suit me at all,” You mused, fixing your hair, “Plus it nearly ruined my hair.” You murmured to no one in particular, keeping track of your speeding thoughts as you settled back into Earth. 

Jungkook knocked on the door and you nodded to yourself, “It’s open!” You called and sat down at the table as he walked in, take-away bags in his hands.

“You really shouldn’t leave your door open like that, you know.” He tsked like he always did. It just made sense to leave it unlocked when you knew he was coming, especially if you needed to run to the bathroom so you could finish crying before facing him. Of course, you haven't had to do that in a while, but better safe than sorry. Your issues, for lack of better term, were no secret to Jungkook, and you both knew it, but you liked to avoid having him see you at your most vulnerable when you could help it.

You simply shrugged as you helped him unpack the food, “We’re the only ones on the top floor.” You reminded him, “it would be quite silly of a criminal to come all the way up to the 20th floor.” You chided.

“Still.” He tried to argue but quickly gave up. Jungkook knew by now that you could take care of yourself, but sometimes you wished you’d let him do it for you more often. However, he let this potential argument go, this time. He looked around and narrowed his gaze at the TV, “Why do you still have the news on?” 

You paused and looked up from your food as it prattled on about your family, “I guess I forgot,” You forced your casual tone, “Did you get-”

“Syndicates, huh…?” He echoed the news reporter’s words, eyes fixated on the screen with a curious look, “The news is so weird with this stuff.”

The chopsticks in your hand stilled. You wanted to say that the syndicates were even weirder since they were the ones that probably signed off on the script. As a little girl, that was the first thing you had learned, how to play chess outside on a park bench, how to play chess crushing people in your hands as you moved them. It had all been the same to you for far too long. 

“Like I care, it’s just background noise.” A lie, you hated lying, but it was something you had to get used to doing for the sake of your safety.

“You aren't scared of these guys at all?” Jungkook looked at you like you were crazy, although his eyes didn't match the rest of his face's intensity.

Shaking off the weird notion, you rolled your eyes, “A world without you buying me dinner is pretty spooky but that,” You gestured to the TV, “Is a cheap haunted house in comparison to the hell of making dinner or worse, ordering it myself, on a Friday night.” You giggled.

Jungkook rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Is that all I am to you? A sugar daddy?” He asked in mock offense and you nearly spit out your drink.

You swallowed roughly before glaring at him as he laughed, “If you’re my sugar daddy, I need a new one.” You retorted and his laugh died while a childish pout settled on his face, “I mean, all I get is a measly dinner once a week and I still have to work and pay my bills?” 

“Well, what do I get, huh?” He crossed his arms, and it made you chuckle. Laughter had never come easy to you growing up, and it still had a hard time coming to you but after years by Jungkook’s side it was easier than ever to do, “Where’s my sugar?” He thrusted his cheek toward you, tapping on it with his index finger.

You rolled your eyes in spite of the flutter in the pit of your stomach and pushed his face away with your index finger, “My presence is your sugar, dummy.” You teased and how easy it was to be human around him made you smile wider, “Plus I let you watch your silly little shirtless men.” 

He clicked his tongue, “First of all, if you’re going to call them shirtless men, at least call them hot because look at him.” He pressed a button on your remote and his favorite fighter, Park Jimin filled the screen, “Second of all, it’s literally fewer syllables to just say MMA fights.”

You took a bite of your food and shrugged, “Don’t you have, like, a million boyfriends? Wouldn’t you make them jealous drooling all over Jimin?” You challenged, vaguely remembering Jungkook saying he had more than three boyfriends at some point. Not that it was surprising, most people had at least two significant others. Unless they were you, of course. You had no one to talk to but the man sitting in front of you, forget about a significant other. “He would make me pretty damn insecure.” You chuckled.

Jungkook scrunched his brows at you, “Six.” He corrected, mirth filling his eyes already.

You looked from the TV to him, “Hm?” You tilted your head to the side.

“I have six boyfriends, thank you very much.” He stated matter-of-factly, and you rolled your eyes at his tone, “Why? Are you trying to give me seven significant others?” He feigned a scandalous gasp, “Well, the relationship is open, you know, so I guess I could pencil you in–” You cut him off by shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth with a glare. The teasing made your chest seize for a split moment when faced with his teasing smirk, so this had been the best way to shut him up. 

Jungkook had always been a flirt, he often relished in teasing you to see how embarrassed you would get. Thankfully, over the years you had gotten used to it. You had already known his relationship was open since he mentioned how often they’re all apart, but you didn’t care to entertain that kind of intimacy with Jungkook even in your thoughts these days. It was just better that way.

“Ha, ha, we got a comedian.” You deadpanned and before you could say anything else, something on the screen caught your eyes, “What the fuck?” You mumbled.

“What?” Jungkook inquired as he looked at the TV, swallowing the food you fed him.

The camera had panned over the crowd and over an eerily familiar face poorly covered with sunglasses. The etching of a scar peeking out of the cheap frames told you all you needed, though. That was your uncle. 

What the hell was he doing showing his face? Let alone this close to the five-year anniversary of everything. The new syndicate in charge took great joy in celebrating the fall of your family, no doubt they’re itching for someone to make an example of someone. Worry tried to leak its way into your veins, but you fought it. Why should you care about him? If he wanted to sign his death certificate, that was on him.

Still, the sight of a man you were almost positive you’d never see again made you feel uneasy. You’d acclimated to regular life quite well, so one of the few remnants of your past life appearing like a ghost was ominous. In spite of your unease, you couldn’t look away. Almost as if you were waiting for him to poof away. You kinda wished he would. 

The camera changed and you finally blinked.

“N-Nothing.” You finally said, shaking your head, “I just thought I recognized someone, that’s all.” Your hands trembled for the briefest of moments as you lifted food to your mouth.

“Oh really, who?” Your only friend asked curiously and you shrugged as you chewed.

“Just some teacher that called in today.” You lied and it made your food taste sour for a moment. It was for the best you lied, you had to keep reminding yourself of that. 

“Hell, I’d call in too if it meant I could see the fight live.” You were thankful Jungkook dropped the topic and let your shoulders relax. You shouldn’t feel bad for lying, really. An unspoken rule between you both was that you never pried about private details. Jungkook led his life and you led yours. Hell, you don’t even know what he does for a living, but it wouldn’t surprise you if it was living off of his boyfriends’ income. Not to mention you didn’t even know if he lived with anyone else next door or if that was just a place of his own to use on occasions. Though, you couldn’t help being a little jealous at the idea of being so pampered. 

“Yeah, I could go for a silly little shirtless man fight on occasion.” You shrugged with a cheeky grin. 

“Silly?!” Jungkook guffawed, “I’ll have you know if he wins this fight, he’ll qualify for the championship, so this is pretty high stakes.” He toted his knowledge of the sport.

“Hasn’t he already been champion like a few times now?” You asked, barely following.

“Yeah, but, he’s been off his game this season for… personal reasons, so he’s never been this close to not qualifying.” He admitted, and your brows scrunched at the melancholy in his eyes. 

“Damn.” You mustered, “How do you know all this?” You asked, genuine curiosity lighting your eyes.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s cheeks reddened as he tore his eyes from you, “Interviews and stuff, you know.” He waved his hand dismissively and you rolled your eyes. 

“Nothing wrong with being a fanboy.” You chided, “I’m certainly in no place to judge.” You offered, reminding him of your fixation on TV dramas, making him snort before you both honed in on the TV.

These fights were quite fascinating and allowed you to at least tap into some of your training. It was how you knew that Jimin was going to win this fight from the first calculated punch, his form was immaculate and instead of going for the face, he drove his fist into his opponent’s ear. It was a dirty trick, but it was more than enough to give him an opening. 

“Holy shit, I think he might win this.” The fanboy across from you breathed. 

“No way he isn’t going to win.” You confirmed.

“Don’t get my hopes too far up.” He all but squeaked out, basically on the edge of his seat.

After a couple of rounds and idle chitchat, the fight ended with Jimin as the victor. You clapped lightly, but Jungkook was so elated he hugged you as he let out a celebratory roar. The first couple of times he did this shocked you so bad your hands almost went to snap his neck. Now that you were both years into the friendship though, the gesture just made you chuckle. Soon after, just like it did every match, Jungkook’s phone vibrated and he had to leave. He always left you with some kind of affection and this time it was a kiss on the cheek, a rare one, but not a huge step from the common forehead kisses he gave you.

“Don’t drink too much.” You warned and he flashed you a cheeky smile, “At least don’t get into trouble.”

“We’ll see.” He chuckled,  and you rolled your eyes.

“Well then don’t make it my problem!” You yelled and he waved a hand as he closed your door behind him. 

—

“Father?” You whimpered as a strong hand patted your head to calm you, or soften the blow of what was to come, you couldn’t quite tell, “Tell me you didn't.” Your voice was in shambles as you trembled beneath his palm.

The news mocked you as panic took a hold of your body, shaking it out of the shred of blissful ignorance you had clung onto. Ever since your father took you in, you had many responsibilities, but the comfort of not needing to keep up with the public facade kept you going. You hated the public, all the pleasantries, and honeyed words. None of it made sense, and now, now you felt foolish for not involving yourself more. For not ensuring that something like this could never happen and crumble the only world you’ve known. 

Still, even as despair monopolized your nerves, a tear wouldn’t fall. You weren’t sure if you knew how to shed them, but you knew it would only piss off your father. 

Moon Byungyeol was a rough man and calling him father teetered between feeling genuine and like a formality. He was a boss first, but sometimes he wore the mask of a dad. Sometimes, but it was enough times with enough gusto that you couldn’t tell which side of him best represented his true self– or if he even had a truthful bone within himself. 

He may have been rough, but he was all you had. He and the family he brought you into had been your first priority all your life, even when you had never really been his priority at all.

Not unless you could be used as currency. 

“Y/n, it's time for us to go,” His voice was somber, but even. You’d never seen him so outwardly upset, but even so, he didn’t so much as let his eyes water as his life’s work shattered before his eyes. He was left with a subdued longing as he looked at the TV, melancholic defeat infecting his usually strong posture, “I let this greed consume me, and I'm afraid it's begun eating not just me alive now.” He admitted and it made you feel ill. 

“...such evidence is linking the Moon Corporation to heinous organized crime activities painting them as a possible syndicate, but no arrests have been made nor has a formal criminal investigation on Moon Byungyeol himself been launched, but many workers under the company are being investigated due to possible involvement…”

Everything was dying. The realization that everything you did, all the lives you took, all the training you had suffered through, had never been for some prosperous empire you were promised. All of it had been to supply the lining of your father’s and uncle’s pockets. You should’ve been angry, shocked, or even appalled, but you weren't. You were numb to the fact that you were raised on lies. Fear resided in your veins about what that meant for you. 

“If I just cash out and retire, we could never live in peace,” He shook his head as he switched off the TV before he placed his hands on your shoulder, catching your attention, “But Uncle Byungjoo has a plan that I think might just work.” You swallowed hard at this. Anything Byungjoo could think seldom meant good things for you. On your best days with him, you were a mere afterthought, but on the worst days– most days– you were–”The only thing is that you and I will have to… separate…”

He was going to abandon it. No, he was going to abandon you. The only thing more pitiful than your fear had to be your shock. What reason did you truly have to be surprised that he was throwing you away just as easily as he picked you? He was going to cash out one last time, and leave like this whole operation meant nothing to him. All the while you had put an inkling of faith in his heart to love this empire, like a fool. At the very least, it was the closest thing to love that you knew. This entire place was all you knew. When was the last time you had gone out on your own as anything but his daughter?

“But…” Your mouth was woefully dry, “The empire, just like you said, it’s-”

“We were never an empire,” His self-loathing clung to each word and disgust curled in your stomach as you looked at his solemn face, “I treated this organization as a bank, a money maker, it was inevitable that the paper I cradled would catch fire.” The roundabout way he was speaking began to grate at your nerve. The pseudo-poeticism of his words did nothing to save his dignity, but you didn’t tell him that. 

You didn't scream, yell, or cry. 

At least you hadn't, yet.

“Then who will rule Seoul?” You wondered aloud.

“That’s not my problem anymore.” He said as if it were the easiest thing to come to terms with.

“Who will stay with me?” You asked meekly, immediately regretting it as you watched his previous words dance on his lips before he decided against it.

He smiled warmly at you and it brought a chill down your spine, “Some of us are meant to be alone.” He patted your shoulder and you wanted so badly to break into pieces from the impact. 

No one would stay with you. Not him, not anyone, and he didn't care.

That wasn't the answer you had hoped for. You hung your head in shame, shame that you expected anything other than a cold answer from a man on fire. The request for him to just kill you was on the time of your tongue before he turned around, ready to attend his last hurrah.

////

You woke up with a start from a bang outside, but considering the fact that it was 4 am, you chalked it up to city noise. Now awake, you stared at the ceiling and blew out an annoyed sigh. You were constantly plagued with flashbacks both in and out of your dreams, and you wished the rancid memories would choose one state of consciousness to haunt you in. Your therapist a couple of years back told you it's normal for people who have gone through what you have to constantly see what you were then in trying to dissect where you are now. Essentially, it was a constant cloud that hung over your head, and no matter how far you removed yourself from that life, its consequences would stay etched into your skin.

Another bang sounded outside your window and you grimaced. Anniversary week was beginning, and you felt more on edge than usual.

Five years ago exactly, you saw the match light. In four days, it will have officially been five years since you saw the flames engulf your home, your family, and everything you were. Each year, this week was chaos for the city of Seoul. Each day was accompanied by an event that slowly grew more and more above ground. It was almost mocking the past, the surfacing of dirty secrets. Secrets the world knew, but never wanted to see, cowards.

The new syndicate at the top of the kingdom was known as Bangtan to the underground scene, but with a “Group” tacked on after the ominous name, they were also the kings of the business world. They were much better at actually hiding their identities, hence why most average people assumed there was no such syndicate anymore or that the “law” took care of it. As if the “law” wasn’t under the thumb of the kings. 

Even so, your information could very well be outdated. The whispers from the underground, also known as the Underworld or even more to the point, Hell, reached your ears less and less as you removed yourself from the lives of anyone who knew who you were. No longer working at the diner your previous nanny ran shut you off from the underground so much so you seldom became aware of Anniversary Week’s events until two days before the main event. 

Another bang, but this time on your door, startled you out of your thoughts, “I can’t believe you went to the bar on a day like today- where are your keys?!” An unfamiliar voice spoke through your door.

“Ask, y/n,” Jungkook’s slurred voice rang out in a yell as you flinched at the volume, “Y/n! I need stitches!” 

This wasn't the first time Jungkook was yelling outside your door, demanding your assistance. This was just another facet of your friendship that you both silently agreed was fine. You never really asked questions, you just patched him up and left him on your couch. It really wasn't any of your business, nor did you have any desire for it to be. Jungkook was an MMA fan, and you knew he was big on that scene and the fitness scene, so it just made sense he would get into fights. You could only hope these fights were agreed upon prior to alcohol, but you weren't naive enough to actually assume that was the case.

“This isn’t even your door, baby, come on.” The voice grunted and your attention peaked. You had encountered a few men trying to help Jungkook home, but you seldom got such an obvious confirmation of their relationship with him, “What? Are you trying to booty call your neighbor?” The unknown man teased and you rolled your eyes. Were they all like this?

“I wish!” Jungkook shouted in response and you were fine with leaving your door closed this time until he spoke, “Ew, I’m dripping on the doormat.”

This made you huff as you hopped out of bed in your large t-shirt and shorts and ripped the door open. You were faced with a man with perfectly styled black hair in a three-piece suit accompanied by a trashed Jungkook with a short, but deep, cut on the corner of his forehead. The man that looked a few years older than you and Jungkook stopped struggling with your neighbor as he looked at you with the most pristine and exasperated face.Everything about this man was polished. Even as your neighbor lazily draped around the man, his suit had barely begun to wrinkle. 

Meanwhile, he looked you up and down with contempt before sighing, “Look, just forget we were-”

“Y/n!” Jungkook cheered before he passed out.

“No booty calls here, sorry.” You remarked flatly, “He usually keeps his keys in his wallet for some reason.” You nodded to his pocket before you looked at his forehead again, “But he does need stitches.” You opened your door a little more, gesturing for them to come in.

The man narrowed his eyes at you, “Do you usually play nurse for him?” You bit your tongue and swallowed his condescending tone with a sigh. You couldn’t tell if he was jealous at the thought of his boyfriend having some neighbor who treats his wounds in the dead of night or if he simply didn’t like you. Although looking at his face, there was no way this man was jealous of you. His gaze was sharp nonetheless, sharp and vaguely familiar, but his eyes held no recognition for you, so you let it go.

“Only when his blood is dripping on my doormat, for the third time this month,” You pointed to the sullied mat that you had just cleaned fully this week, “Bring him in, this isn’t that uncommon-” 

“But-” He tried to object, noticeably a little clammy at the unspoken knowledge of their relationship. 

“Any more blood on that mat and I'm making you pay for it, now come on,” You snapped as he walked in and sat Jungkook in a chair around your table. You shut the door as you pulled your first aid kit out, “You have to sit him on the floor or the couch.”

He complied to the couch, and though he didn’t say anything, you could see the question floating around his mind.

“When he wakes up, he attacks whoever is in front of him,” You spoke, preparing the needle and thread, and you had to ignore the curiosity peaking within you when you saw the other man shift uncomfortably at your comment,  “And I can't stitch and hold him down at the table,” You explained, settling your knees to lock on both sides of Jungkook’s legs and your elbows pressing on his shoulders.

“Aren't you scared he'll hurt you?” The man asked as you began stitching.

You scoffed, “I can play scared if that's what you want, but certainly not for free.” You chuckled, but he remained straight-faced. Tough crowd. You worked very hard to develop your banter skills these past five years, but he paid them no mind making your smile drop. 

Eventually, you just went on stitching in silence until the man broke the silence, “Who are you?” The man spoke mid-way through your stitching.

You paused for a moment, “Didn't you hear Jungkook? I’m y/n, and who are you?”

“None of your concern,” He clipped.

You snorted a chuckle, “You're bleeding on my hardwood floor, that has me pretty concerned.” You gestured to your hand to show him the small cut on his and he slowly grabbed a napkin to press against his hand with his mouth in a thin line, “Concerned for my floor I mean.” You clarified, “But a word of advice? If you don’t want to be suspicious of you, don’t act suspicious.” 

He sighed, “My name is Namjoon-”

You were tying the final knot when Jungkook snapped his eyes open, “Shit.” Was all you were able to get out. He immediately dove at you, pushing you to the floor, making the needle in your hand scratch your forearm before you threw it across the room to avoid the tempting notion of stabbing him with it. You sucked in a breath through your teeth at the burning sensation while you struggled to shake him out of it. 

It didn’t take a genius to deduce why Jungkook’s fight or flight was so concentrated, he’d obviously grown up with a reason to be. Nevertheless, it has never been your place to pry or judge, if anything, it’d be quite hypocritical. He'd seen you in a less-than-ideal mental state plenty of times, to put it lightly. Plus, you knew he didn’t mean any harm, and he was always pretty apologetic after the fact. Although, you were sure the struggle looked pretty concerning as you saw Namjoon scramble to his feet. 

Namjoon was trying to find an opening to cut in between the battle as Jungkook was sloppily throwing his fist down and you were moving your head to dodge each blow. Though his moves were sloppy, they were still fast and you could only dodge for so long. With no other option left, you sighed before slamming your forehead on his fresh stitches to make him stop to register the pain. You took advantage of the opening as you effortlessly pinned his arms down with your knees planted on his upper arms, “Jungkook!” You snapped as Namjoon watched his younger friend finally recognize you in his drunken haze.

“Y-Y/n?” He questioned, his tongue thick in his mouth, “You hurt my head- hey, you’re bleeding on my shirt!”

Your arm had a scratch about half the length of your forearm, it was shallow and oozing blood, but you didn’t flinch, “Wonder who made me hurt both my arm and their head, dumbass,” You muttered, examining his stitches to make sure the impact didn’t affect the new suture, “And you got your blood on my doormat and my forehead, so let’s call it a draw.” You grunted as you fixed the suture.

The sight of someone towering over his boyfriend after headbutting them made Namjoon on edge. Jungkook talked for days and days about how much he loved spending time with his neighbor, but something was… off about you. Why would a school nurse be that skilled in combat? Jungkook was a ruthless fighter and you hardly flinched. 

This string of thoughts prompted his mistake of grasping your wounded forearm to make you stand so he could properly question you. What he didn’t calculate in that movement was the fact that he grasped your fresh cut, which hurt like a bitch. This pain made you bring your other forearm to his neck, pressing firmly into his trachea as his back hit the wall with a bang. You both looked at each other in surprise at your reflex. You gasped softly before releasing him, “Don’t ever manhandle a lady, Namjoon,” You mumbled as you brought distance between the two of you, “I don’t do well being frightened.”

Namjoon regained his composure, impressed by your reaction time and ability to weaken his pride in such a short matter of seconds, “Who are you?” His tone was rougher in comparison to when he first asked the question.

“None of your concern,” You mocked his voice cartoonishly, becoming more and more irritated with his line of questioning, “Now take him, an alcohol pad, and go.” You hissed, unceremoniously tossing the package at him.

He gave you a sharp glare but complied, hauling Jungkook over his shoulder and leaving.  The door shut and you let a relieved sigh escape you. You shut your eyes tightly, frustrated that you let your instincts take over like that. Namjoon was undoubtedly suspicious and that’s the last thing you needed. You opened your eyes and caught sight of the clock nearing 5 am, and it was a Saturday now, so you were going to sleep in as much as you could.

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

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Masterlist

[ceilidho]

Do you have any writing tips?? Like you write so GOOD

you could write shakespeare but could shakespeare write a great cod fic? I doubt it

first of all.....i am going to scream........second of all thnx u........

hmm i have some tips but tbh a lot of writing is just trial and error, like doing a bad job for a very long time until suddenly it's good. and these are just tips/rules that i follow; i don't think they're objectively the best tips in the world and they work for the way i like to write, but plenty of people have different styles and would maybe disagree with me, which is perfectly fine!

i really enjoy writing vivid sensory experiences, but i think to write a really immersive environment, you almost have to use words that seem unnatural. it's really difficult to evoke specific qualia in people so you have to do it in a roundabout way. this is really hard to describe and i'm doing a poor job here, but like for instance, here's something i wrote about a girl having trouble sleeping:

a bit of a play-by-play is fine (like "she went downstairs to get breakfast and went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk and then set it on the table" sort of thing), but it takes way too long to use that kind of narration all the time and it's not needed. if you find yourself describing the texture of like, their cereal, and it's not actually relevant to the plot, it's just extra writing for nothing.

this is work, but i think you really need to fall in love with words. learn new words, write down their definitions, group words together by their sounds so you know what sounds nice together, don't choose a word simply because it describes the thing you're talking about but also because the word itself feels dry/wet/elongated/or otherwise mirrors the content of what you're writing.

if you struggle with finishing things or get overwhelmed by long projects, set limits for yourself. only 500-1000 words a day or something like that, and then don't touch it after you hit your limit. it gives you some control over your anxiety imo but it also allows you to slowly chip away at your project.

read a lot. read so much. i have learned soooo much from reading other people's work and actually deeply respecting and appreciating how they write. this isn't the most recent thing i've learned but i've come to looooooooveeeee seeing something like ["Sure," he lied] in a story like OOOHHH it's so thrilling to be in on something that other characters aren't in on.

don't feel confined to a specific style of writing. some fics might call for a sparser style because it suits the tone of the story, but some fics might call for more purple prose, you know? and that's fine! you can play around with your writing and try different things. i feel like i have a pretty specific style, but even i eschew it sometimes when the mood feels right, like how superstore is NOT the same kind of fic as saltwater - saltwater was meant to be more introspective and lush, so the style reflects that, whereas superstore is supposed to be more direct and put you a little on edge.

anyway, just some thoughts!!! the thing to also remember is that nobody's doing it perfectly because everyone has a different style and a different way they want to tell stories. sometimes i'll find a really good writer and feel like briefly consumed by jealousy, but i can also write certain stories that they can't and vice versa. so don't beat yourself up while you're learning!!

[localsmg34shipper]

hiiiii!!!! is it possible for me to request SMG4, SMG3 and mr. puzzles (separate) with an autistic reader? maybe a scenario where reader just gets overwhelmed by how many things r going on around them so they just shut down, basically a comfort fic? only if ur comfortable writing it though!!!

HEYO Anon!! Thanks so so Much for requesting and of course! I'll (Try🥲) to write this! :3

I'm sorry it's not as good as you want I'm still relatively New to writing things like fanfics so I'm going to start out with short fanfics- Anygays into these silly short fanfics! >:3

SMG4, SMG3 & Mr puzzles

W/ an overwhelmed Autistic Reader

(Again the Reader Is GN and is also going to be Referred to as You)

(Ps: I include some of my head canons in theses)

༺ S m g 4 ༻

(Warning: Badly planned plot- I'm trying 🥲 I slightly based this off of our sensory issues)

It had been a good day You, and some of the Crew are relaxing watching some random meme compilation on YouTube, things where going good until Mario runs into the room and explodes everything causing everyone to freak out.

With everything suddenly out of nowhere getting Really loud and You suddenly being thrown into the wall by Mario Flipping the couch making all your senses go into over-drive which starts making You overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Smg4 Noticed this And walked over to you after dusting himself off. "Hey.. Um- You okay?" Smg4 trying to figure out what's wrong slowly realizes that You are overwhelmed with every thing going on, smg4 kneels down slightly to help You up "hey let's go somewhere more.." Smg4 looks at the crew meggy seems to have gotten Mario calmed down with some spaghetti. "Calming..? Oh! I know! I found a Really pretty spot in the woods if you'd want to go!"

You just wanting to go somewhere else to calm down Nod while Grabbing Smg4's Hand To Stand Up. "Follow me!" You start to follow smg4, Holding smg4's hand.

You and smg4 have comfortable silence while walking through the woods it was beautiful, the way the sun shines through the leaves making the forest floor glow in all the right ways, how the trees and vines dance together so prettily. As you and smg4 continue through the wood the trees part in a small flower field with a Weeping willow in the middle its leaves swaying in the wind softly.

"Here it is do you like it! I find it very beautiful"

You smile at smg4 and walk over to the tree and sit down leaning against the trees trunk, smg4 smiles and sits by You "Can I hug you? Only If you aren't as overwhelmed!"

You lean over and rest you head on smg4's shoulder, smg4 wraps his arms around You as you guys sit there talking about whatever crosses your guy's minds (mostly just smg4 ranting about memes and recent adventures you didn't get to go on)

I am so so so Sorry it took so long just for this I have been dealing with IRL stuff along with mental health so I just didn't have the motivation to finish this request-

but I managed to finish smg4s part maybe in the future I'll come back to this and finish it for you again I am deeply sorry I couldn't do the full request and for it being to short-

even with that I hope you enjoyed it!

[eolewyn1010]

As the pirate / poet shirt is very simple in theory, you'd think I shouldn't be able to mess this up. And yet here we are, and I have to find out and write down a sensible order to tackle what I have yet to do so I can stop jumping from one unfinished seam to another.

Close the second side. This includes trimming it down a bit as I've originally cut the body part of the shirt too wide, and have already taken the other side in a few centimeters when sewing that shut.

Also, hem the side seams on the inside. I've started this on one side but never finished it, and with the second side shut, it's time to find out how far up that closes, aka how big those goddamn armscyes actually need to be. What with the gussets, I suspect it's Not That Big Actually.

With the second side shut, I can forget about the upper half for a while and go about the lower hem instead, finishing that from one side slit to the other. And then reinforce both slit openings with a little patch (and hopefully do a cleaner job with that than with the cleavage patch).

Sleeve no 1: is a work of beauty, gusset set in, all seams hemmed, the lower opening gathered. So: set it into the cuff; send a prayer to the sewing gods while I'm at it.

Sleeve no 2: what is that thing. Set in the gusset, close down the side seam, hem it all. Gathering seam into the lower opening, then set it into the cuff.

Gathering seams into the tops of both sleeves. Then change the subject because sleeves are scary.

Reinforcement patches into the (blissfully completely-hemmed) collar opening.

Seam and turn the collar, set in the buttonholes while I'm at it, maybe a little placket for the buttons if it turns out I did cut the thing too short. I already re-cut the cuffs; I will not do that again with the collar. It will have a little placket for closure and like it.

Sew the collar to the shirt.

Seam three very narrow strips of fabric (because I don't own bias tape because I'm a garbage seamstress), two short ones for either side of the cleavage cut, a longer one to serve for tying said cut shut. Yes, I am aware that I'm making my life more difficult than it needs to be.

Sew in the two shorter strips on the inside of the cleavage cut. This whole enterprise only makes sense if I leave the gaps necessary to thread the tie strip through. I may yet decide to skip this whole endeavor and go for the much more visible eyelets, but I somehow think that'll take the same amount of time, especially since I'd have to back those up with a bit of facing.

Since I'm at the cleavage opening anyway, may as well hem and gather the ruffles and set them in.

With collar, ruffles, and potentially closing tie in place, it's back to the dreaded sleeves. I'll set them in and I may have to cover the seams on the inside of the shirt with additional reinforcement strips since I don't know how well-behaved the fabric is, or how many sensory issues the edge will cause me otherwise.

I have reinforcement strips for the shoulders lying around somewhere. If I find them again, I should put them in.

With the shirt itself finished, it's cravat time babey. Which means, a long, long strip of fabric that needs to be hemmed. But at least I'll get to add some fancy lace at the end of it.

This looks like a lot when I write it down like that, but it'll help me to keep an overview of the separate steps.

[not-so-avid-fanfic-writer]

Alien Blues

Pairing: Keigo Takami/Hawks X autistic reader

This one shot contains fluff, nesting, maybe some angst, and something that I always call 'autism dominance' (idk the real term for it, but it's basically and autistic individual who's traits are more noticeable than usual, probably due to stress)

DO NOT REPOST/PLAGARISE

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Based on this post

Quirk is from my Fan Fic series, Endless Forms Most Beautiful (but not the same universe) and you can read the info sheet here

Right now you just wanted to cry, but you almost visibly recoiled at the thought of your face feeling wet and sticky with salt.

The whole day, all you wanted was to be buried in your lover's arms, wings wrapped around each other, tucked into the corner of your apartment that was turned into a nest.

But instead you were stuck shoulder to shoulder with every type of stranger possible on the subway home from your dream-turned-nightmare 9-5 job.

You swear you've almost been fired a couple of times today. From your 'informal' work attitude because of you're stimming, to not wanting to give you're sweaty palmed and just generally unclean superior physical contact.

You can almost feel how moist your bones are inside your body, and count every air molecule that that you felt pounding against your skin as your finally freed from the metal cage of nightmarish speed. Speaking of nightmarish speeds, that's the one you chose to run at to guarantee no more sensory problems on your way home.

You wish you could fly, you really do. But the contract your company had with you which meant you couldn't use your quirk, unless it was for what was classed as a genuine reason.

As you closed the door to the apartment, you peeled your feet out of the ridiculous dress shoes the company had you wear so you could morph you feet into a more comfortable and natural state.

Stretching your wings and arms above your head, you wander your home searching for pillows, blankets, and most importantly, your beloved, Keigo Takami.

You heard the door open and close mid forage, and you whip your head around, eyes locking on the intruder.

"Keigo!" You sobbed, not realising your love was going to be home so early. Soon you found yourself breaking down in his arms.

"Hey, hey. Baby calm down. Let's get you into the nest, and I'll get you some snacks." He offered, and all you could muster was a quiet 'mhm' , and as soon as your body hit the circular mattress in your living room, you went limp, and Keigo left to get something to eat from the kitchen, as well as the blankets you had dropped.

"Today was shit." You spat out. "They kept on touching me."

"I know, baby bird. How about we finish the nest, order some takeout, and watch that ghost show you like?"

You look up at him from your spot in the nest, baffled.

"You're willing to watch Lockwood & Co. with me? You never do this."

"Sometimes sacrifices need to be made to make people happy."

~*-*~Timeskip~*-*~

A few pizzas and a finished nest later, you and Keigo were cuddling, your back to his chest.

He suddenly spoke up,

"I don't think she did look in the mirror."

You turn to look at him with a raised eye, questioning him.

"The one with the curly hair? I personally think she had enough time to look while George got the net."

. . .

There was silence for a bit before Keigo spoke.

"Nah, I don't think so, c'm'ere."

And before you knew it, you were pinned, deft hands working at your sides, causing you to writhe and giggle, almost to the point of pain.

"NO KEI- STOP, PLEASE." You squealed.

"Only if you stop being such a smart ass."

"AAAAHHH, FINE FINE JUST STOOPP, PLEASE."

. . .

Keigo flopped down onto you, and you welcomed it, the pressure grounding you.

"Y'know," you said, "I lied about what I said earlier." You admitted.

"Oh, shaddup."

That was fun to write

This prompt was made by @mirukosbitchywife

I hope I can use more of them in the future

Anyways, bye for now :]

-Ez

[oatmealcrisp-freak]

ok, sorry, i think im officially abandoning agwito :3 it's been fun but i just really don't feel like writing it anymore! if i ever get the gumption up to give it a proper ending i'll be surprised. here's the last bit that i had written under the readmore :3 tumblr exclusive!! thanks again

Though she was now a volumployee of Spirits and Such Consulting so she could get on her supernatural swag, Tome Kurata still had one teensy eensy problem.

Well, okay, she had several, least of which was the fact that her socks were cutting into her calves and making for a sensory nightmare as she ran.

No, her problem was what it usually was.

Aliens.

“Catch… that…!” 

And, okay, the stitch in her side was a big one too. Ou, ouch, that wasn’t a fun sensation. She wheezed hard, watching with hopeless eyes as the back she was chasing faded into the distance, his antenna blinking in the sun then winking right out. She groaned, and collapsed to her knees.

She’d lost.

“Uhm. Are you o-”

She whisked out a hand, her other too busy clutching at her face, as she reeled in the swamps of defeat.

“Not now, Mob. I’m reeling in the swamps of defeat,” Tome groaned.

There was a beat, then Mob said, “I don’t know what that means but okay.”

Uhg, did nothing mean anything to this boy? She whipped her hand away from her face so she could glare at him but Mob only eyed her with his usual sedate expression.

Sometimes he reminded her a bit of a cow. One of those very calm cows, simply at peace with its life in a vast grassy field so it thought about nothing much. Yes, a cow with big liquid dark eyes and a mopey face. He did love milk. Maybe he drank so much of it because of the resemblance. 

It didn’t strike Tome to think that might be mean, or that it might be inaccurate. Why would it?

Tacking that one to the conspiracy board of her mind, Tome flung a pair of pointed hands at him.

“What that means,” She explained, and pretended that she wasn’t pleased to be able to explain something, “Is that Saiki’s gotten away from me AGAIN!”

“Oh.”

Mob took that in. Then he squinted a little bit. “So what does that have to do with swamps-”

She hopped to her feet and caught Mob around the shoulders, poking a finger into his chest.

“You! You can help me!”

Mob also poked himself in the chest and said, “Me?”

Tome grinned and nodded, in love with herself and her mystical magical ideas. She was so smart!

“Yes, you. You’re friends, right? So you can help me catch him! I just want to ask him a few questions is all.”

That was a lie. But what she did want started with only a few questions like, “So what kind of alien are you” and “can you take me to your leader”. That was neither here nor there, though. What was here and there was getting Mob to agree with her.

Mob looked at her with his big dark eyes, and looked at her, and looked at her.

“I don’t think I should do that, Tome,” He disagreed with her and Tome hit the floor with a wail. 

“But why noooooot!” She pouted after jumping back up, fixing her shirt where it was tucked into her skirt. All this running about had mussed her outfit.

“If he’s running away from you, I think that means he must not want to talk to you very much,” Mob said.

Then he frowned, and inexplicably Tome felt suddenly very very bad indeed.

“He’s not doing very well right now. So be nice to him, okay?”

“Pshaw, what’s that supposed to mean?” Tome pouted and looked away, brushing hair behind her ear and trying not to be uncomfortable. “I’m being perfectly nice! I’m only attempting to befriend your friend, but he keeps running away from me.”

“Oh.” Mob said, then tilted his head and said, “Maybe he doesn’t want to be your friend.”

Then he turned and walked away like he hadn’t just shattered Tome’s pride to the core. 

Ow.

Ou ow.

It wasn’t only the stitch in her side that hurt anymore.

~~~

Another of Tome’s problems was thus.

“Hello, my name is Kokomi Teruhas-” Started an astonishingly beautiful girl but Tome screamed and ran away before she could finish.

It wasn’t only her, though.

“Heyo baby-oh,” Started an astonishingly beautiful girl with a wink and a v-sign. “My name is Mikoto Aiura, let’s be razzledazzl-”

Tome also screamed in her face and ran away again before she could finish.

‘Good grief,’ She rubbed the sweat away from her forehead and clutched at her chest. ‘I keep losing my cool. But there’s so many beautiful people at this resort, and for some reason they keep talking to me. I can’t cope with this!’

“Uhm, are you okay?” Said a feminine voice from behind her and instantly filled with the cold weight of dread, Tome turned around with the aching slowness of a person who fully expected to die any moment. She couldn’t take this. If it was another astonishingly beautiful person, girl or boy, she swore she’d-

It was a girl with a strawberry blond bob decorated with a cute little bow and big cinnamon eyes. She sort of reminded Tome of that Mezato girl that hung around with Mob sometimes, and the familiarity seemed founded in good fortune because Tome sagged in relief.

“Oh thank goodness, you’re not beautiful at all.” She said.

The girl’s look of concern flattened in an instant. “What.”

Tome realized a little too late what she said and started, then tried to smile and play it off. 

“Well, I mean-!”

But the girl was already walking away.

Tome thought about chasing after her to apologize properly because that had been an incredibly rude thing to say, but, well, it wasn’t like the girl was an alien and worth the cardio. 

‘Besides, it’s not as though I’ll probably ever see her again,’ Tome thought as she watched after the stranger as she rubbed the back of her head. ‘Yeah. I’m sure it’s fine.’

Anyways, she was supposed to meet everyone at the taco restaurant just a couple blocks away from the hotel. She sighed and shook her head, and decided to just look forward to good food.

Only when she got there-

“Mob, hey,” Tome started and lifted her hand in a wave.

Mob turned around and put on a smile to welcome her. “Master said I should wait outside for you since you’re late.”

“Haha, yeah, am I? Sorry.” Tome said as they walked into the restaurant. “I got a bit. Uhm. Distracted. You know UFOs. Geeze, it’s really busy in here, what gives?”

“I guess this restaurant is really popular. We’re seated over here.” Mob said with a pointing finger and led her to a table. Through the crowd it was hard to tell who all was there but Tome could see a pair of pink antenna and had to resist rubbing her hands together in villainous glee. Saiki would be trapped with her and the rules of social convention would bow him to her will, it was perfect.

“Saiki, hey-” Tome started, and then clued in on who was seated either side of Saiki. It was the blond and blue bombshells, and next to the blue bombshell was the girl who she’d accidentally insulted to her face.

Oh yeah.

Those were Saiki’s friends.

Her jaw cracked where it hit the table.

Saiki sighed, and said it for her. “Good grief.”

~~~

It shouldn’t have been so difficult to get through an all expenses paid lunch but being staunchly ignored while simultaneously surrounded by not just beauty but very, uh, loud personalities really put a damper in her appetite. Which was too bad. The tacos were really good.

‘I guess at least she hasn’t tried to talk to me,’ Tome thought, resisting the urge to sink very low in her seat indeed because hoo boy, this was not comfortable. ‘But those looks she’s giving me…’

The name of the girl she’d insulted to her face was Chiyo Yumehara and Chiyo Yumehara was evidently very talented at giving ghoul-like, empty-eyed smiles that zinged Tome every time those eyes scraped by her. They were just for her, too. When she wasn’t fawning over a boy with wild hair and red bandages, or talking with the blue and blonde bombshells, or eating a staggering amount of food that surely spoke to her work out regime, Yumehara was making her antipathy of Tome known.

But she wasn’t saying anything about it.

Worse still the restaurant was so jam-packed that it made it stiflingly hot, or maybe that was just the redhaired guy who seemed to put off heat like a furnace. He’d even melted his shaved ice.

It struck Tome that Saiki was by no means the only person in his friend group who was a little odd. Whether his friends were also of extraterrestrial origin was yet to be determined.

And to be honest, she wasn’t sure she felt like determining anything right now. The atmosphere, real and metaphorical, were so claustrophobic that, honestly? She didn’t even wanna speak.

Usually that would only incite Tome to say more but. Those looks.

Brrr.

And then Tome lifted her eyes from her plate for the first time in a while and noticed that Mob was missing.

“Where’d Mob go?” She asked Reigen.

“Hm? Oh.” Reigen swallowed his mouthful and nodded to the doors. “He was feeling a bit overstimulated so him, Saiki, and Serizawa went out to get some fresh air.”

Really?

She hadn’t even noticed him leaving.

Uhg. Typical boy. He would leave her in her time of need. All the more irritated, Tome stood from the table.

“Right. I’ll. Uh. Be right back too.” She said, then squeezed through the press of bodies for the doors.

The moment she got into the fresh open air and took a deep breath was the moment Tome felt something in her unravel. As the breeze toyed with her hair she closed her eyes.

Maybe Mob had the right idea, a tiny part of her said, because this felt much better.

But that just reminded her that Mob had left her, so with renewed irritation she looked around and went off to find him.

It didn’t take long. One dip through a short alley toward the ocean was all she needed to find three backs leaning against a railing to stare out into the water.

None of the three were talking to each other. They barely even looked together, Serizawa a few feet away. Somehow, though, something about the sight struck her as. Almost companionable.

Tome looked at her feet.

She was no stranger to feeling out of place but.

She turned on her heel and went back to the hotel.

It might have been her imagination but she almost thought she felt something stay with her. Whatever it was, silly as it may seem, Tome was grateful to it because it helped her feel less alone.

“We should be going ghost hunting anyway,” Tome grumbled, then perked up when she remembered she’d brought her ghost hunting equipment. This was the perfect opportunity to break it out!

[lord-squiggletits]

"blind Pharma au" Please tell me more 👀

Oh shit hiiiiii dsklfjsd I'll try to write down some sorta interesting details in bullet points, I don't really have a specific "plot" for it or anything it's literally just, "everything is the same but Pharma was born blind" so here goes. Also, warning for made-up medicine, sketchy biology/scientific knowledge, and lots of headcanons

Pharma was still a forged medic, only when he finished forging everything about him was top notch except his optics. They're still there on his face and look like any seeing mech's eyes, it's just that there's just no connection between his eyes and his brain for whatever reason

This leads to a lot of discussion of what classification he should be put underneath, as Pharma has beautiful medic hands (scientific class) but is also a flight frame (typically consigned to transportation or soldiering) but is blind so how is he supposed to do any of those things (disposable class)? Pharma is sitting there through all this and gets increasingly irate at these mechs calling him useless because he can't see and this is apparently a big deal. From Pharma's perspective, he has all the tools he needs to live a normal life, but apparently because he's not "seeing" there's something wrong with him

Pharma meanwhile was forged with plenty of extra strong senses including keen hearing, echolocation, electromagnetic sensors, sonar, etc even sensitive touch and taste and smell. He can walk around and avoid colliding with other mechs without aid. He can detect objects around him even if they're of very small size.

Somehow or another Pharma ends up successfully becoming a doctor (maybe they just decided they didn't want to waste a forged medic or something) and his medical hands + his increased senses actually allow him to do just fine. Things that other mechs would observe with their eyes, Pharma can sense through his hands but also unorthodox senses like tasting/smelling faint chemical traces in the air and being able to hear small changes in patients' organs and whatnot

Yes, Pharma gets a lot of questions about "but how can you fly if you're blind???" and his answer is always that his alt mode works just fine, he just avoids flying in the city because he doesn't want to get hit by anyone.

Which actually means that Pharma spends a lot of time living among ground-frames (taking public transportation instead of flying, living in an apartment with ground floors instead of high towers flight frames usually favor) and thus he becomes accustomed to near-constant attention and more or less being a spectacle. As a result, Pharma really doesn't like being stared at or having people crowd too close to him (sometimes people on the bus would get...touchy with him, with the wonder of seeing a flight frame on the ground and all).

Pharma could navigate on his own and do his job without disability aids, but he does buy a cane at some point just because it makes things a little easier (and also he can stab/whack people with it "by accident" if they get in his personal space)

Eventually, Pharma saves enough money from his job as a doctor to buy a seeing eye drone (this is why I was reblogging your art with "blind Pharma AU" :3c ). I imagine the drone also has flying capabilities and can augment Pharma's senses with its own due to some Cybertronian Bluetooth connection or something. It gives Pharma enough extra sensory and spatial information that he CAN do things like fly in crowded areas, since the drone can help him navigate traffic and guide him from open area to open area

Why doesn't Pharma just get his eyes fixed or something? A couple of reasons, one being that Pharma insists that there's nothing to fix out of pride. From the moment he came online people talked about him like he was defective just because he couldn't see, and frankly Pharma is so offended about it that he partially wants to remain blind just to spite everyone who thinks he's odd or can't be a good doctor

Another reason that Pharma doesn't "fix his eyes" could possibly be that the cause of his blindness isn't well known (he was forged, not cold constructed, which means there are no "schematics" to explain how each piece of his frame works) and Pharma is afraid of letting anyone tinker with his body or especially his brain without knowing exactly what the potential side effects of surgery could be. I mean, Pharma literally works for the Institute before the war; he knows exactly what things like shadowplay are capable of doing, and quite frankly, he doesn't want to even risk anyone getting inside of his brain and tampering with something that could completely alter his mind

That's about everything I can think of offhand ^_^ I'm happy to answer any follow-up questions or maybe dig through my Discord DMs if you want more details!

[patbwaifs]

it's tuesday my dudes

i forgot to take my meds last night and this morning, so i had a headache all day, but it went away as soon as I took my meds tonight. hahhh. Just finished working out a bit too.

this is what my desktop pretty much looks like all the time (sans legal documents)

I am so so serious about creating a consistent art style so I can make visual novels. My "main goal" right now is to "rewrite" Detroit via visual novel to practice branching gameplay and also rewrite a few scenes and story lines (like Kara and Alice.) Obviously, to recreate the entire game would be nuts. The main thing is to learn how to make visual novels in general, so I'm gonna start with specific scenes and then kinda go out from there.

I also want to write a fanfiction for D:BH. I started drafting it out. The first time is never perfect but I gotta start somewhere with storytelling, and for now, I'm borrowing these characters...

But my art style is pretty obviously going in a certain direction. Ghost in the shell was one of the first anime movies I ever saw (along with Adolescence of Utena. That was definitely an experience) And while I want each of my portraits to look like they "match" I also need to remember that I can still change and vary things up. That's kinda the main reason Markus and North are not 100% complete. The point wasn't to draw a finished portrait of them but to explore and practice a style. I like to think I'll go back once I gain more skill and draw finished portraits of the main D:BH cast.

One thing I really like about using D:BH to practice my art is that there are a variety of different characters to draw, from race to age and beyond.

This styles similarities to realism do throw me off though. I keep wanting to steer into realistic proportions but since it's not my intention from the outset, things get weird fast. Thankfully, I'm a lot better about starting over, reworking sketches and concepts, than I used to be. Before, I would have been tortured to even think about starting over on Amelia's portrait, but now? I want to make a proper portrait of her, in oil pastel. Not in procreate with my illustration tools. (I haven't shown yall my oil pastel rizz yet, hee hee)

On an unrelated note

I talked a bit with my best friend about my headspace around the Decharts' streams (and positive spaces in general) but i was still in oof ouch head hurty mode so I didn't get much out, but she was like "yeah. positivity vibe exposure therapy." I did catch their stream today but it was right when I had to go to the mechanic/dealership.

and boy, is my car a piece of work. I always done knew it too!!! But I need to be more assertive about taking care of it instead of feeling like my Abba is the only one who can decide when things get replaced and when. But i need new tires last week :/

He's throwing a route tonight too. I hope it's all boring and safe.

Gah, i had something else I wanted to talk about but it's escaped me.

Doing things in general has been easier.

I worry about when school starts. I have this gnawing feeling that I need to take a full course load but I know, consciously, that if I do it will end badly.

Although I'm trying to build better self-care habits over the summer so I don't get completely blindsided again. It's just, when I get drowned in a project, it can be hard to pull myself up and do the things I know help me. Like I can't work on my project as well if I don't take the moment to take my medication. gahhhh. but in each moment is eternity, so why would i take an eternity to do something else?

I guess that's my default way of thinking. Maybe that's why things are so intense so often unless I dislodge my brain from the world.

There's something about the Decharts' streams and other thing similar that makes it hard for me to zone out/dissociate/focus on something else/some variation of that. I can't ignore it. And then it's just sensory overload. I think when i feel emotions it's sensory overload first. and then whatever the emotion is second.

I've been trying to let myself feel things about silly android game. As long as it's not guilt. I am trying not feel guilty for liking this game so much. Like what's the use in feeling weird and bad about listening to the soundtrack. gahh the blood is draining from my fingers again.

Speech therapy today went well too.

goodnight yall.