#next part will be nicer

[momomallowart]

Took his pants away bc studio Bones is too cowardly to do it themselves ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ🫶💗

[wallwriterstuff]

Part 3: Dirty Laundry ||Fosterdad!John Price x Teen!Simon Riley||

Warnings: Mentions of child neglect and abuse. Mentions of police investigations. Mentions of the foster care system. Explicit description of PTSD and childhood trauma.

Words: 3118

Summary: Sometimes, trauma bleeds through the well crafted exterior of even the toughest souls. It festers and rots a person from the inside out, staining everything it touches, and Simon can't quite clean the stains in time before John finds them.

<- Previous Part: The Yes Basket Part 4: Paint Over The Cracks ->

It’s warm.

Too warm.

Constricting.

An arm around his throat and the cold metal of a barrel pressed to his temple.

The pressure’s what wakes him, and John quietly curses at Riley, who has managed to sneak in and drape himself atop him, creating the pressure that’s disturbed his sleep. The German Shepherd whines and John sighs, scratching behind his ear lightly.

“You to eh boy? Never can shake ‘em…” he murmured. For a moment, John stares at the ceiling, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline of the moment and breathe through the heaviness so many old ghosts leave behind. They put more pressure on his chest than Riley’s furry form ever could. It takes Price a long moment to realise that the rumbling he can hear isn’t actually his mind playing tricks on him. There’s no APC’s here rattling across dessert sands or cargo planes building up to take off. What this quiet suburban neighbourhood does have, though, is a laundry room in each house. A laundry room that sits right beneath his bedroom and vibrates the floorboards.

With a grunt, John heaves himself upright and reaches for his prosthetic. Riley waits patiently, head tilted and tail wagging slowly like a pendulum. With his leg on, John gives it a quick test as he pushes to stand, grunts at the initial phantom pain he can never quite get rid of, and then begins to hobble his way downstairs, clicking on lights as he goes. He hits the bottom step of the stairs, hand running over his face to stifle a yawn as he heads through the kitchen and into the laundry room just behind. The washing machine door is open, the glass is wet, and the smell of soap wafting strongly off of the lingering bubbles suggested that whoever had used it had used one too many pods. It’s the dryer that’s making the rumbling noise as it tumbles about what appears to be a sheet. John frowns, squinting in confusion, and then he sighs.

“You’re not in trouble Simon, come on out.”  He can’t see the boy anywhere and he moves like a ghost, he may have already snuck back to bed for all he knows, but he’s the only other person in the house who could be doing a wash at…

Fucking Christ, it’s 3AM John internally groans at the time and makes sure to take a good look around the laundry room and the kitchen before he slowly ambles back upstairs. Simon’s door is closed, of course and John pauses briefly on the other side of the wood as he tries to figure out what’s happened. Maybe the boys finally decided to wash some of the things in that binbag? John hadn’t pushed it, but he’d been a bit more vocal about good hygiene this week since Simon hadn’t changed his clothes in the 3 weeks he’d been living with him. Had that unnerved him? Pushed him to clean the clothes himself? Was it that whatever fascination with cleaning himself Simon had had now transferred to cleaning his possessions to? John knocked at the sound of shuffling behind the door, his brows furrowed. The shuffling immediately stopped. The only sounds John could hear being the faint rush of traffic along the road as Old Mike came home from a late shift again, the creaking of expanding and contracting pipes of his house, and the loaded silence of a boy who didn’t want to be caught doing what he shouldn’t.

John knocked again.

Simon barely cracked the door the second time, glacial eyes darting rapidly over John’s face, watching even more astutely than usual. They were rough as tree bark as they scraped over his soul and John had to wander what had the boy’s hackles raised.

“You need any help with your laundry, Simon?” he asked. The non-judgemental offer was left hanging in the air between them, and John let the boy scrutinise him and his intentions from head to toe.

“No.” Simon’s answer is as blunt as ever, but there’s a slightly terse edge to his voice that’s new, an underlying tension in his tone that set John’s bullshit buzzer whirring. John sighed, rubbed at his eyes and sniffed a bit to clear the early morning grogginess from his sinuses, then paused. The stench from Simon’s room was near revolting and he couldn’t stop the way his nose wrinkled.

“Jesus kid, let me in.” John said with a frown.

“No!” Simon was adamant now, lips twisting into half a snarl as he bared his teeth and puffed his chest, doing his best impression of a predator even as his eyes showed he was really feeling like prey. John looked him over for a moment, keeping his prosthetic in the doorway so that Simon couldn’t close the door on him, or at least, couldn’t hurt him if he tried to force it shut.

“Simon-“

“I have a right to privacy.” Simon had never spoken so much in all the time he’d been with him. John nodded his head slowly, taking a steadying breath and keeping his expression calm and neutral, even as his heart waged war in his chest.

“You do have a right to privacy, and you have a-“

“Then fuck off old man.” John doesn’t flinch in the face of the acid Simon spits. The boy’s shaking, and it isn’t from rage. He’s seen plenty of angry children, seen plenty of hurt and scared ones to. He won’t meet fire with fire and burn his house down.

“You also have a right to an adequate standard of living and to experience the best possible health,” John continued calmly, “And you have a right to ensure that I, as an adult in your life, makes decisions in your best interest. Now you’re a smart lad; if you were me, smelling what I can smell right now, would you say I’m acting in your best interest if I just go back to bed?” he let’s the question hang in the air for as long as needed, watches Simon grapple with the logic of his answer and his own fear. The smell takes him back to times he’s been stuck behind enemy lines in the black, moving through shantytowns where people don’t have the means to keep clean or rescuing PoWs from dank cells with no drainage or ventilation. It’s the smell of the hopeless and the damned. Except, Simon is neither, not in his house, John won’t let him be.

“I – I can clean it. I’m cleaning it.” He’s still trying to rationalise, still trying to find a way out. John doesn’t want him to feel cornered but for the sake of the boy’s health he can’t let this one go. He knows the smell now, can pick apart what’s the stench of old neglect in the binbag and the odour of current trauma. He understands why Simon’s been showering so much now, realises that this must have been going on for weeks before he noticed. He keeps his voice gentle, not accusing in anyway, doesn’t even force eye contact. He needs to praise the effort, prove he’s working with him, not against him.

“You’re doing a great job, the sheets’ll be dry soon…but maybe I can help you swap the mattress out so they can go back on a clean bed, yeah?” John’s suggestion is met with stone cold silence that drags for an infinite stretch of time. Simon’s not even able to look at him, and John can understand why. The boy prides himself on control so losing control of his bladder is more than embarrassing, and the way he’s acting makes John suspects it was a punishable offence in his former home. He’s never seen the boy be anything other than pale, but his cheeks are burning a fierce shade of pink now as he struggles to breathe properly. John’s not sure if it’s panic, the smell, or a mix of both, but Simon’s so beyond rational thought that he almost falls into a stupor as he stumbles back to let him in.

There’s a wash basin on the floor from the kitchen, Fairy Liquid sitting nearby to and even a bottle of lemon juice. Simon’s got a phone open to a cleaning article and sploshes of soapy water all over the hardwood as he’s desperately tried to scrub his mattress clean. John feels a deep swelling of sympathy, staring in mute horror at the soaked and stained mattress, eyes trailing to the open window fluttering curtains in the breeze like white flags. Simon can’t talk, but his body is coiled to spring like a rattle snake, one wrong move pulling the trigger to a gun he can’t control. They’re at the edge of a precipice now, and one small nudge could rob Simon of all rational thought and send him into a full on meltdown. John’s not just in his space but he’s bearing witness to a weakness, one he could exploit. He needs to prove he won’t. Simon won’t believe any of the evidence he lays out before him for a long time either way, but John knows he has to start somewhere.

“I say we move you into the spare room tonight, get a proper night’s sleep, and tomorrow we’ll deal with the mattress.” John’s suggestion is quiet, soft. Simon can’t seem to lift his gaze from the floor, finding the knots in the wood to be the most interesting thing in the room. The smell of stale urine is assaulting John’s nose, burning the nasal cavity, and his stomach twists to know Simon’s been sleeping in all this mess right under his nose for perhaps the entirety of the time he’s lived here. Seeing no response is incoming, John goes to one knee, makes himself small, tries to meet Simon’s gaze from below. The boy doesn’t shut his eyes, no he’d rather have a chance at seeing whatever’s coming John thinks, but he does turn his head immediately to keep avoiding John’s eyes.

“Simon, I’m not angry. Look at my face. Do I look upset? It’s okay, lad. It happens.” John thinks better of reaching for him. Simon still doesn’t respond. “What’s going to happen now, is that we’re going to get you fresh sheets, and move you into the room just across from mine. You can sleep in a clean bed, and tomorrow morning-“

“I’ll just piss it again.” The boy’s voice shakes, as if the confession takes physical effort to squeeze its way out of his throat. John is quiet for a moment, keeps his voice non-judgemental. The atmosphere in the room is charged and he feels like one small spark could ignite the gasoline he’s swimming in. Everything smells and burns and John’s angry, so, so furious, that somebody has broken this boy so badly. He can’t let Simon see that anger though, he’ll think it’s directed at him.

“This happens more than once in a night?” John asks. Simon clenches and unclenches his fists, manages a jerky nod.

“S-sometimes.” He stutters. John gives another slow nod.

“There’s things we can buy to help.” He promises softly.

“I’m not wearing fucking nappies.” Simon wipes furiously at his eyes, the embarrassment and anger leaking through his eyes as it overwhelms him. It’s the proof that’s upset him so much, John thinks. He can no longer hide the physical evidence that things are not okay, were never okay, and he can’t hold the demons at bay all the time, however much he gives the impression he can. The boy with eyes that would make Satan shiver can only do so much, hold on for so long, before he to drowns in the hellfire of his life. Simon likes to make a show of dealing with it, pretending things are fine, but John’s bore witness to the fact it’s not, and that’s set off all of Simon’s alarms. How long had he had to pretend to keep Tommy safe? His mother too maybe. Had Simon always fell into the role of protector perhaps? Keep anyone from suspecting things were going wrong, keep the family together. But they’re already broken up, aren’t they? John shakes the thoughts off, it’s best not to rationalise someone else’s trauma, especially with only half the story.

John shakes his head, “Of course not. There’s pads we can put on top of the mattress, you just throw them away and put a fresh one on if you need to. Some brands do pants and underwear liners. We can buy some waterproof mattress covers to. It’s something we can mention to the doctor, when we go to see them, there’s tablets they can prescribe. We have options to try alright?” John waits with baited breath to see if Simon will take any of the options available, will help him choose, work together with him as opposed to try and go it alone. Simon doesn’t say anything; he’s so busy trying to get a grip of himself and his emotions he can’t form any sort of answer it seems. John can’t imagine being in his shoes, how mortifying it must be for a man whose essentially a stranger to bear witness to this moment, a moment he strongly suspects he’s been punished for a lot which has only contributed to Simon’s desperation to hide this side effect of the trauma he’s experienced.

He seems to work on autopilot when he helps John to make up a fresh bed, flinching from him if he accidentally gets within touching distance. He isn’t surprised when Simon goes back to the binbag, but instead of bringing the whole thing, he rummages through it to find only one item. The hoodie is definitely far too small for him, a horrific bottle green colour that makes his already pale skin look sickly in comparison. It smells of that lingering scent of cigarettes still, even has some burn holes in it. John doesn’t comment on it and lets Simon keep the comfort item close. He gives him one last chance to confide in him before he leaves to go back to his own room.

“You need anything else before you turn in?” his offer is met by an immediate headshake, and John knows instinctually that Simon’s at his limit, that the kindness John has met him with tonight is going to keep the boy awake and shaking until sun rise can chase away the memory of it. “Alright then, try get some sleep yeah?” John gives him a slight nod as he shuts the door behind him and walks back to his room. He shuts the door behind him and goes through the motions of taking off his leg, but he can’t bring himself to get into bed somehow. He rests his head in his hands and takes a deep, steadying breath, finally letting his own tears fall as he grieves on the boy’s behalf.

Nobody ever said his job was easy.

His heart hurts and he’s filled with such a visceral rage it makes his teeth grind. To have traumatised a boy so thoroughly he can’t stop himself from wetting the bed at four-fucking-teen is more than criminal - John’s hunted people down for less before. Simon doesn’t need his anger though. He needs consistency, calm, support, and care. John inhales deeply and exhales in a rush, trying to force out all the negative emotions he’s feeling so that Simon get’s nothing but his best when he sees him tomorrow.

Simon deserves his best.

It only keeps getting worse.

Simon’s throwing a tennis ball for Riley in the backyard. He hasn’t spoken to him since last night and when John answers the phone he’s tired, beyond tired. He doubted either of them slept anymore after their 3AM meet up.  

“Kate…give me good news.” He sighs.

“Alright. We’ve got him signed up at your GP and they’ve given you one of tomorrow’s emergency appointments. 10:20AM.” Kate Laswell delivers the news perfunctorily, with almost too much nonchalance. John knows better than to believe that’s the end of it.

“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?” he asks. Kate is too quiet for a long moment and John readjusts his position, pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can go back to spreading mustard on his sandwich.

“He can’t see Tom.” Kate’s voice feels like a falling gavel in a courtroom. Simon’s not spoken of his brother much, but John gets the impression that it wasn’t his own hoodie he was clutching for comfort last night. He knows deep in his bones that this news won’t go over well with Simon.

“Can I at least give him a reason why? How the fuck do you want me to explain that to him?” John asks finally, voice a little bit clipped.

“You can’t. The thing’s Tom’s disclosed are vile, John. There’s a police investigation and all sorts opening, so right now, no visits. I’ve got to arrange a time and a date with you for the police to come interview Simon. Frankly, if what the kid’s been saying is true, it’ll do Simon better to not have contact with him at all.” Kate sounds just as tired as he feels and he can almost imagine the woman sitting in her office, rubbing her forehead to chase off a pounding headache. John puts down the knife in his hand and shifts it to his phone, gripping it tight and pushing it harder against his ear like he might catch a whisper of better news if he just holds it close enough.

“Kate I need something go off of here. The kids pissing the bed and got more bruises than a prisoner of war. What am I dealing with here?” he asks, frustration colouring his tone.

“Trauma, John. You’re dealing with trauma. It’s nothing new. All the kids coming to you are traumatised. This one just needs to be handled with more care than most. If you can’t handle that let me know and I’ll remove him now.” Her tone rings with finality and John flinches, feeling like he’s been sucker punched.

“No,” he speaks through gritted teeth, “He’s had enough upheaval…I’ll figure out a way to tell him if he asks. Thanks for sorting the doc’s.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else?”

“No.” John grunts out a reply before he can say something he might regret.

“Great. I’ll be in touch to arrange a time to visit Simon.” She hangs up without a goodbye, again, and once more John is left stumbling in the dark for a way to help Simon. He’s starting to feel like the only one in the world who wants to.  

[toestalucia]

(guy whos easy to please) i have forgiven cygames for everything

[starheirxero]

*slams hands down on table*

XERO????

AHAIAHSIWHF HAIII MINUTE. CLASPS MY HANDS TOGETHER VERY POLITELY. I put Eclipse in a time loop that starts from the first day of October and restarts on the day he dies 😁 The loop can only be broken when he starts to heal from his trauma and ties up loose ends :3

[royalight]

@hypnoswake

Sarah   and   Noctis.        [Dark   and   Light] 

[squuote]

lately I’ve been trying to divide my time evenly enough to where I don’t feel so guilty for not having created anything while still allowing myself time to relax and do other things I enjoy doing. work is tiring but it’ll be worth it once I can get a car and as long as I can sleep in on the weekends I don’t mind only sleeping a few hours most nights. plus I got a good balance with work and school so it checks out for now

[supercantaloupe]

unclear whether i'm getting upgraded to principal on the KC concert or not...?

[sollucets]

im winteaming again :’)

“P’Team,” says Wiew, the third time Team fumbles and drops a Gundam piece to the floor completely unprompted. “Is something on your mind?” 

“Why would you say that?” he asks immediately, making to attach the retrieved part to its proper spot on the wing. 

“That’s upside down,” Wiew points out, not unkindly. 

Team stares down at the small red-and-white piece in his hands. Very carefully, he sets it on the table, folds his hands in front of him, and composes himself. Then he glances sidelong at Wiew, who has his chin propped on one of his hands and is watching him with the kind of knowing look that would make Team consider throwing something were this a different brother.

[playingonedchess]

[redacted] most stupid city why even bother

[exopelagic]

I know the world is cruel because I finally wanna draw again and yet I am forced to pack :(

[havesomewafflefrys]

It's because it effected how he treated Martha. She deserved way better, no, not in the way of "he should have liked her" but instead in a way of "he shouldn't have been such a dick in the first place." He also shouldn't have been rude to Mickey, he wasn't rude in the 12 and Mr.Pink way were he was trying to protect the companion, no, he was just... rude.

why is ten being weepy and whiny about rose in s3 a bad thing. i like my men to be pathetically in love. it is delicious to me that losing rose scarred him so terribly in s3

[the-raindeer-king]

Imagine Simon's mom doesn't die with Tommy and Beth. Maybe she was out of town, or at a friend's house, and Roba's men were sloppy and missed her. Anyway, so it's just Simon and her now, and because he blames himself for what happened, he's pulled away from her.

He pays her rent, even if he wanted her to live in a nicer apartment complex. And he visits during her birthday and Mother's Day, and sometimes just randomly stops by. But he never stays very long, and he doesn't tell her a lot about his new life. It's a very one sided relationship, but she tries to make the best of it.

And then you move in next door, during one of Simon's deployments. You feel bad for the sweet lady that lives next to you. She never seems to have much company, and you take it upon yourself to befriend her, spending more time in her apartment than your own.

You learn about her ex husband, her sons, the tragedy, and most importantly, you learn about Simon. And you hate him. Mrs. Riley (she insists you call her Sarah) is such a lovely woman, and it's clear how much she cares about her living son, how hard she's trying to keep their relationship alive.

It's the second Mother's Day after you move in when you finally meet Simon. Your relationship with your own mother is complicated, so you've opted to spend the day with Mrs. Riley. You'd gotten her a small present, and had planned to spend the day drinking wine and watching historical romance movies.

You're thoroughly shocked when you knock on her door, and a man answers. Six feet, built like a brick house, but under his scowl, you recognize Sarah's eyes.

“You must be Simon.”

His scowl deepens, but before he can say anything, Mama Riley is pushing past him, pulling you into her apartment to fuss over you.

She apologizes for not telling you sooner, but your plans will have to be rescheduled. Simon's back early, and she can't waste a precious second.

You're understanding. You've listened to her worried rants, given her space to cry over how things have turned out. You know she loves spending time with her son, even if the visits are short and he doesn't talk much.

Simon doesn't miss the way you glare at him. There's a fury in your eyes, even as you cheerily wish his mother a happy mother's day. For a moment, he wonders if you're a spy. But that thought is quickly diminished, when you verbally eviscerate him at the door.

You're quiet, not wanting to upset his mom, but your anger is clear. It may not be your business, but Mama Riley is your friend, and you adore the older woman. And you cannot stand by while he treats her like this. She loves her son so much, and he needs to step up and try harder.

As you're chewing him out, Simon's already head over heels, planning your wedding as the seconds tick by.

(A/N: You can read this as a stand alone piece, but I did write 3 more drabbles (four in total!) for this! They're all on my blog under the tag mama riley au. Thank you for reading!)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[computercreature]

something i see a lot in the dungeon meshi fandom is attributing izutsumi's personality traits to her being a cat. and while ryoko kui definitely gave her cat-like traits intentionally, she's a talented enough writer to also give her a backstory with reasons for those traits. for example, her tendency to only do and eat what she wants.

izutsumi's character arc revolves around freedom. she grew up caged in a circus. and although she was fed enough to survive, this was only because a living catgirl attracted more customers than a dead one.

[id: first image is izutsumi as a child framed behind bars and standing on all fours, making it clear how skinny she is. a hand in the foreground holds out a bowl of what appears to be kibble. narration says “thrown in a cage and given food every once in a while… is that what you would call ‘being raised’?” in the second image she is now sitting on the floor of her cage and eating a rat. end id]

look how skinny she is! we see her eating what appears to be... kibble? oats? and then a rat that she possibly caught for herself. she had no choice but to eat anything she could.

[id: part of the dungeon meshi manga. a slightly older izutsumi is tied to a post and tade sits next to her to say "we've got a roof over our heads, beds, food, and clothes. they've got everything here. is there someplace nicer than this out there?" izutsumi thnks for a moment and says "i hate that someone's already decided what i'm going to eat tomorrow. my name, the clothes i wear, where i sleep, where i go next... here, all of that's been decided by another person... even though, come tomorrow, i might want to eat something else instead. that's why i'm leaving." at this, tade cries out in shock. end id]

when she's taken into the nakamoto household they begin to treat her much better. she's on about equal footing as tade, who also had a rough living situation before being taken in, and tade loves it there! they get healthy and tasty food and they're not sleeping in cages. but izutsumi still isn't free. she can pass off her chores and vegetables to tade and disobey in any way she can but she can't leave. maizuru even put a collar on her, further dehumanizing and trapping izutsumi.

when izutsumi joins laios's party, she's finally 'free', but it's not the kind of freedom she wants. she has to eat even more food she doesn't want or else she'll starve. but the difference now is that she's can leave at any time, and if she stays, she's treated as an equal. they're not feeding her monsters because they see her as inferior. they're all eating the same food so they can reach their goal(s). and this is part of izutsumi ultimately learning that in order to do what she wants, she has to be willing t do the things she doesn't want to

[pomefioredove]

now I'm actually invested in this idea. maybe I'll write a full length fic someday idk... for now I have short hcs

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | bad ending

summary: crowley decides to "give away" yuu to the highest "donation" for financial reasons type of post: headcanons characters: all nrc students additional info: can be read as platonic or romantic, except malleus is pretty romantic, second person pov, yuu is gender neutral, maybe a little ooc I wrote this as soon as I got up

crowley has had his fair share of "what the fuck" moments from you but this was really taking the cake

he acts so... casual about it?

swaggers into ramshackle one morning and says times are tough and your personal expenses are straining the budget so he's decided to "put you in someone else's care"

"The screening process will be vigorous to make sure you end up in good hands!" like you're a cat or something "Your expenses will be covered and you'll have somewhere to go during break!"

okay great. pretty obvious you have no say in this, so you don't even argue. what's the worst that could happen?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ace, Deuce, Jack, and Epel find you the next day to say they're pooling their money to buy you

"To what?"

Epel shrugs. "Oh, well Crowley said we need to offer a donation to prove we're capable of supporting you..."

(you think that if not for the laws of this land you would have slaughtered that old fart)

Jack goes on a really long tirade about how shady and underhanded this is, making sure to reaffirm that he believes you should be free to make your own choices

"So you'll let me go once you get me?"

"Uhhh..."

Ace thinks once they buy you you'll have no choice but to do all of his homework for him

Deuce says that's not really how it works- and even if he tried, Riddle would kill him

(they've already gone over this twice before finding you)

Epel happily volunteers to take you home with him over breaks, probably the only positive in this mess

even if he thinks the whole thing is kind of funny

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

incapable of keeping his mouth shut, Ace accidentally spills the plan to Riddle, who is understandably aghast

you can't just give away a person under your care like a toy!

of all the irresponsible things...

of course, he'll have to put up his offer, too

purely for your sake! with a nicer room and a brand new copy of the dorm rules, maybe you'll stop getting yourself into trouble

he's got some family money (doctors, naturally) and considers this a worthwhile purchase, for his sanity and yours

of course, Trey and Cater overhear and may or may not be pooling their own cash for a chance, too

going behind Riddle's back on this is a risky venture, but hey, someone's gotta be on your side, here, right?

I mean, between a bunch of sixteen year old boys, the housewarden, and them, who would you choose?

actually don't answer that

...not that it's much of a secret, anyway. Cater's already got their gofundme equivalent link in bio

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona initially plans to have you become a live-in lackey like Ruggie

but then he really starts thinking- and, hey, the possibilities are endless, right?

for one, you'd make a really good pillow

he might have to kick Grim out for your full attention, but you could learn to live with that

and malleus would hate it

...that's reason enough for him

plus, he's got money to burn, so why not?

either way, he sets his bid at a reasonable (maybe too confident) price and sits back to watch the chaos unfold as everyone scrambles for a piece of the pie

news travels fast around school, after all

then Ruggie finds out that you could dethrone him as Leona's #2 and is understandably a little annoyed

that's his cushy post-grad job gig, thank you! he's worked hard for that!

besides, why should Leona get to hoard you? the guy can barely take care of himself!

so, Ruggie ends up outsourcing to a few dozen classmates for the necessary funds at a steep I-owe-you price

he's gonna be eating nothing but dandelions for a while...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

now, Azul is annoyed

once the news goes school-wide, it's all anyone can talk about

talk about good marketing...

why didn't he think of such a brilliant scam? he could have negotiated with Crowley to have a café brand deal tie-in!

of course, he's already set his bid, with Jade and Floyd offering to pitch in as necessary

it's a risky investment, sure, but a worthwhile one

Azul tells everyone that with the prefect's "obvious" popularity, having them at the café a few nights a week would drive sales through the roof

though that's really just what he says to shirk suspicion

a likely excuse coming from him, though, really, it would just be nice having you around

and if not for his own affections, Floyd's incessant begging and Jade's subtly manipulative comments about "how nice" it would be having a new face around would be enough for him to cave eventually

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Kalim, no," is the first thing that Jamil says

"I strongly advise against this. It's another one of Crowley's silly scams and you could end up a target bec- are you even listening?"

hint: he is not

the second Kalim found out that he could get to take in his favorite magicless student like one of his treasures, he was all over it

(AKA infinite sleepovers)

and for what? a little optional donation to prove he's got the funds? he's got cash to spare!

he's already got your new room in Scarabia set up before he even puts his bid in

right next to his of course :)

and despite what Jamil insists, he himself might be working behind the curtain just a little to ensure he's the one who ends up with you

after all, why should Kalim get everything? this might be a valuable learning opportunity for him

You don't always get what you want

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

as much as Epel tries to keep the rest of his dorm from finding out, it's inevitable

he's actually a little surprised that the news didn't get to Vil sooner

with Rook around campus, surely he must have said something...

when Vil does find out, though, he just sighs

oh, of course. what next, will everyone meet each other in the arena and fight to the death over the prefect?

of all the silly, immature things...

oh? what's that? he's bidding anyway? of course he is, silly potato. he can't have some unwashed miscreant making you sleep on polyester bedding

(really, he's the only person on campus worthy of your time)

Rook has also been mysteriously absent from the dorm lately, though his initials on a poem and a strangely large sum of money end up in the donation pile

but really, that could be anyone... Rook would never dare betray Vil again, right?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ortho finds out directly from the other first years and sends Idia the details immediately

with a little note of encouragement, of course: "could be excellent for improving your social skills!"

Idia understandably freaks out

"WTF!!!! nooo way! this is a person, not a chatbot we're talking about here! I can barely keep virtual pets alive!!!!"

(liar)

(...but this is still different)

the conversation ends there, but semi-anonymous bid from someone named "gloomurai" gets cashapp'd directly to crowley

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

everyone in the room immediately turns to Malleus

"For the record, I think it's wrong to be bargaining over a human being," Silver says first. "But if anyone could handle it with grace, it's you."

Lilia laughs. "Oh, you're just saying that because you like the prefect so much!"

"Father, you're the one who likes the prefect so much,"

"Oh, right! carry on then. After all, I'm sure we could share,"

Sebek is the only one relatively against the idea, though Lilia luckily manages to get him to lower his voice after his third speech about how you aren't good enough for his liege

Malleus is rather quiet through the whole evening, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with any of the points made

he disappears for a short while, and when he comes back he seems a little more confident

though, of course, he goes to you first

seeing him at Ramshackle in the middle of the night is a familiar and welcoming sight after all of the chaos of your week

and he's in a great mood!

"Child of man! I've come with news," he says. "I have heard of your predicament and have come up with a solution!"

you immediately sulk. "Oh, no. You know I think this whole thing is terrible, right?"

"Yes, Silver mentioned you might not like the idea of being bought and sold like a trinket. But worry not, I do not plan on paying for you in money,"

you pause, at a loss for words, and then tentatively continue. "You're not...?"

"Of course not. What a primitive idea, I was baffled to hear it myself. My proposal will be more traditional: a modest sum of treasure, and a generous amount of livestock and the finest crop Briar Valley can offer,"

certainly he's not this naive, you think

"You really think Crowley is going to accept that over money? I'm pretty sure Kalim just bid away an entire country's worth,"

he laughs. "You speak as if this is some kind of business deal! I'm quite confident that my dowry will be best,"

huh. that was a strange way of putting it

but then again, you still didn't really understand how things work here, so you go along with it

and you allow yourself to relax. he seems confident in his offer, and he doesn't even see you as some kind of prize to win!

"Oh, well, alright. Thanks! I'm glad you're on it,"

he smiles. "Rest assured, child of man, you're in good hands. My dowry will far outshine the others, and the wedding will be even better,"

"I was honestly getting a little nervous for a momen- wait- wedding!?"

[seumyo]

a softie for sentimentality, bakugou katsuki.

Bakugou wears a bracelet. You’ve known about it for as long as you could remember, but only decided to acknowledge it now that you’re in your third year at UA, two weeks before graduation.

It wasn’t flashy or adorned with any kind of logo—just a simple, sturdy piece of metal with a stainless clasp that he seemed to wear all the time. You tilted your head as you studied it.

“You’ve had that bracelet for as long as I can remember,��� you said, sitting down on his study chair. It’s a privilege to even set foot inside of his room without immediately being told (yelled) off, really.

Bakugou looked up from his book and glanced at you. “Yeah, and?”

“Is there, like, a story behind it?”

“No story,” he said with a shrug, but you weren’t entirely convinced.

“Really? That’s so bland. I thought there’d be like a gut-wrenching or life-changing story for it.”

He sat up from his bed with a huff, his eyes narrowing at you. “It’s just somethin’ I wear. What’s it to you?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, a playful smile on your lips. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious. Keep your secrets.”

“Fuck off, dipshit.”

“Again with that! Why can’t you be nicer now that we’re graduating?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

-

But the conversation stuck to you.

It’s the day of graduation when you presented him with a small, handmade box. It was simple, made of sturdy cardboard decorated with his signature colors and an orange ribbon to match. Bakugou rose a brow.

“What’s this for?” He asks, holding it up like the box might explode at any given moment, though there was no bite to it.

“A box.”

“No shit,” he scoffs, “what’s in it?”

“Open it to find out!” You egged him on.

Bakugou sighs, opening the box with a focused pout. He went quiet when he saw what was inside.

“Ta-da! A bracelet,” you said, smiling. “For you. Thought you could use something new to switch things up.”

He held the stringed bracelet in his hand, looking at the material as if it would erupt in flames if he glared hard enough. It was a stark contrast to his metal one—brightly colored warm complementary beads with little charms that somehow still managed to feel like him. There was a red charm shaped like an explosion, a black bead with a skull design, and a small silver charm with an engraved kanji for “strength.”

“I’m not wearing this,” he said flatly.

It’s like your cartoonish heart balloon had suddenly been popped with a prickly needle.

“What? Why not? It’s cool!” you argued. “I even made it myself to really match you!”

“It’s not my style.”

“Sure it is. Look, it’s got black, silver, and even a little red—it screams Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I didn’t get you anythin’ as a parting gift,” he tells you.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s fine,” you replied, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just thought this’ll go with your metal bracelet.”

He nodded, though there was a somewhat frustrated pout on his expression, muttering something under his breath a soft “thanks,” and placed the gift back in the box, never actually letting you see him wearing it during that moment.

-

Years later, during a photoshoot for the yearly hero gala, Bakugou stood in front of the camera in his full Dynamight suit. The photographer adjusted the lights, snapping rapid shots as Bakugou struck his signature confident poses.

“Hold still,” the stylist said, adjusting his gauntlet slightly. Her eyes flicked to his wrist, and she paused. “Oh, that’s cute. Is that handmade?”

Bakugou blinked, following her gaze. Wrapped around his wrist, right next to his ever-present metal bracelet, was the colorful string bracelet you had made him all those years ago.

He stiffened slightly, but instead of taking it off, he shrugged. “Yeah. What about it?”

The stylist smiled warmly. “It’s a nice touch. Makes you seem... approachable. And quite frankly, it matches your suit.”

Bakugou snorted. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

-

When the photos surfaced online, fans quickly noticed the bracelet. Social media practically exploded that day.

Is Dynamight wearing a friendship bracelet??

A HANDMADE BRACELET ON DYNAMIGHT??

Guys, he’s worn this thing for YEARS. Check the old pictures! 🙂‍↔️

You, of course, caught wind of the news—because honestly, who wouldn’t when it took all social media platforms by storm? You saw the posts one evening while scrolling through your phone. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the photos. It was unmistakable—the bracelet you had made all those years ago.

Long after your UA days were behind you and your lives had taken you and Bakugou down different paths, the all-too-familiar bracelet made you smile sadly—more nostalgic happiness than actual sadness, really.

You stared at the screen, sighing quietly. You thought back to the last time you’d spoken, to the unspoken decision that had pulled you in different directions. You never thought something as small as a bracelet would still mean anything to him.

You didn’t even think you’d live to see the day he wears it, much less keep it after the years.

But there it was, bright and unapologetic on his wrist, a subtle reminder of a bond that hadn’t completely faded with time.

Somewhere across the city, Bakugou stood on a rooftop, the evening wind tugging at his hero uniform. He glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist, running his thumb over the frayed edges of the string. He smirked to himself, a quiet acknowledgment of the past and the person who’d given it to him.

“Guess you were right,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “It does scream Bakugou Katsuki.”

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[thesecondhandwoman]

MORNING AFTER

Sevika x f!reader

Summary: You and Sevika had another fling-filled night, but this time both of you decided to stay, waking up to one another, realizing that it was much nicer than waking up alone.

The morning light filtered through the tattered curtains of Sevika’s small apartment, painting the room in golden hues. The air carried a slight chill, but the warmth radiating from the body next to you was enough to keep you from shivering. You stretched lazily, muscles sore but pleasantly so, a satisfied smile curling on your lips as memories of last night flooded back.

You turned your head to find Sevika still asleep beside you, her broad shoulders rising and falling with each steady breath. The blanket was pushed down to her waist, revealing the scars and tattoos that decorated her upper body. In the soft light of morning, her sharp features were relaxed, her usually furrowed brow smooth, and her lips slightly parted. Even in sleep, she exuded a kind of raw, magnetic power that made it hard to look away.

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment before a wave of shyness hit. It wasn’t every day you woke up beside someone like Sevika—formidable, intimidating, and yet somehow, so tender when it came to you. The memory of her rough hands on your body, her lips trailing fire along your skin, sent a pleasant shiver through you.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, trying not to wake her. Your legs wobbled slightly as you stood, a testament to just how thorough Sevika had been. You grabbed the nearest piece of clothing—one of her oversized shirts—and slipped it on. It hung loosely on your smaller frame, the scent of leather and something distinctly her surrounding you.

The kitchen was barely more than a corner of the room, but you managed to scavenge some coffee grounds and get the old percolator working. As it bubbled away, you leaned against the counter, staring out the small window. Zaun was already alive, the sounds of machinery and distant shouting filtering up from the streets below.

“Stealing my clothes already, huh?”

The low, gravelly voice startled you, and you turned to find Sevika leaning against the doorway, her hair mussed from sleep and her cybernetic arm gleaming faintly in the morning light. She had thrown on a pair of loose pants but hadn’t bothered with a shirt, the lines of her torso drawing your attention despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” you said, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably as a blush crept up your cheeks.

She smirked, the expression lazy but dangerous, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. “I don’t. It looks better on you anyway.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Turning back to the coffee, you poured two mugs and handed one to her. She took it with her flesh hand, the metal of her prosthetic brushing against your fingers. The sensation was oddly comforting, familiar after last night.

Sevika took a sip, her sharp eyes never leaving you over the rim of the mug. “So,” she began, her voice still rough from sleep, “was last night… acceptable?”

You almost choked on your coffee. “Acceptable?” you repeated, laughing. “Is that your way of fishing for compliments?”

“Just trying to gauge my performance,” she said with a teasing smirk, though there was a flicker of something genuine in her gaze—uncertainty, maybe? It was rare to see Sevika vulnerable, even in the smallest ways.

You set your mug down and closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around her waist. “If I rated it anything less than perfect, I think my legs would file a formal complaint,” you murmured, resting your head against her chest.

She chuckled, the sound rumbling through her like a purr. Her metal arm came to rest on the small of your back while her flesh hand gently cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet her eyes. “Good,” she said softly, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’d hate to think I left you… unsatisfied.”

Her lips captured yours in a slow, languid kiss, the kind that made you forget about everything else. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “I don’t usually do this… the whole morning after thing.”

You smiled. “I figured. But I’m glad you’re making an exception.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

The rest of the morning passed in a comfortable haze. You ate a simple breakfast together, Sevika grumbling about the lack of decent food in her apartment while you teased her about her poor culinary skills. For a moment, it was easy to forget the harshness of the world outside, the constant dangers and betrayals that came with living in Zaun.

But as you sat there, watching Sevika’s rare smile as she listened to you ramble about nothing in particular, you realized something. Last night had been incredible, but this—this quiet, intimate moment—felt just as important. Maybe even more so.

And judging by the way Sevika reached across the table to take your hand, her fingers lacing with yours, you had a feeling she felt the same.

Hey dolls, I know this a bit smaller than my normal fanfic, but I thought it would be nice to add another fluffy write up for you guys! Hope y’all enjoyed it, and I’m always up for recommendations/requests.