#second of all I actually had Two really disturbing dreams

[trans-xianxian]

wuh I had a strange and disturbing dream about my drivers test last night 😭

[minkieater]

carousel – choi san ☄. *. ⋆

p. choi san x fem!reader g. non idol au, college boy!san w. smut minors dni PLS, alcohol consumption, smut is kinda kinky, toxic relationship, uhh san rocks you suck an. hello please don't be mad at me this had to happen for the lore, i also had to name you, apologies, if you share a name with shawty then congrats! if you've read luck you'll see some familiar stuff here, feel free to let me know anything you pick up on heheheh but seriously pls don't be mad at me wc. 10.7k

♫ – tear you apart, she wants revenge “it's only just a crush, it'll go away, it's just like all the others it'll go away or maybe this is danger and he just don't know”

cycle (sī-kel) noun a course or series of events or operations that recur regularly and usually lead back to the starting point

choi san regularly bounced between two moods. 

the first being a state of contentment, the second being complete and utter destruction. when he was content, the two of you were usually on good terms, and he felt good enough that he could keep his life on track. he could get his work done, he could go to classes, he could socialize with his peers with a smile on his face. 

when that peace was disturbed, more often than not by you, he was an absolute train wreck. all he could think about was you you you and when the two of you would fix things, if the two of you were really done this time, if he could reconcile the situation. sitting in class, remembering choreography at practice, being behind the bar at work… he couldn’t do a damn thing right. it wouldn’t be surprising if he forgot his own name when you were on bad terms. 

san has never been a fighter. when arguments arise he’s usually never the one that starts them, he’s the one begging to end them, opting for a peaceful compromise instead. despite the way he looks, san is a softie, something that took you by surprise and kept you by his side for almost a year.

you know him. you know his favorite color, his favorite show, his favorite album, his parents’ names, where he grew up, why he’s in school, who’s putting him through school, his biggest fear, his dream in life. you see how he looks at you, how he drops everything for you in a second, how he talks about you when you aren’t around to defend yourself. you know him better than you know yourself sometimes — you’ve been two peas in a pod since the beginning of your sophomore year, but yet the same question remains. one he’s asked you hundreds of times, one you could never find an answer to without breaking his heart. 

so instead you pick fights, argue to your heart’s content, damn near terrorize him on the regular just for the same fact to be true: choi san also knows everything about you. 

he knows exactly why you aren’t together, why you beat around the bush every time he asks you that same question, the sole reason why you freak the fuck out every time he asks you to give him just a little bit more. choi san knows very well that his love is unrequited, and he understands even the things you won’t tell him. he knows who you really love, he knows you’ve loved him since the summer before your freshman year, when you met at that concert. he notices when your eyes are the brightest, who you’re looking at when he wished you were looking at him, when you laugh the loudest. he notices everything.

if he’s anything, it’s observant. he’s been hanging out with you and your friends since way before he was your little secret, he’s been on your friends’ rooftop for parties more times than he can count. the first time the two of you slept together he couldn’t believe it was actually happening, the second you looked at him with lowered eyes and glossy lips he thought his eyes had been deceiving him for months prior. you looked at him like he was your last meal, your prey that you caught with your bare hands, you needed to have him or you’d die of starvation. he let you take the reins, took it all in with open arms, he wasn’t going to question a thing. for how long you had been obsessed with chan, he’d been obsessed with you. 

you’d met early in your freshman year, when chan had first gotten his apartment shared with three others, when they first started throwing their legendary parties that had been the talk of campus for ages to follow. san had gotten the invite through wooyoung, his best friend, whose close friend has dated chan’s roommate since freshman year. the moment he first saw you was nothing short of a movie scene, you were on the dance floor, definitely one too many drinks deep. you were dancing with felix, holding his hand, twirling your hair as he spun you in a circle. your smile, your eyes that were shut so delicately, your body that moved with such a fluidity, you were the embodiment of freedom. you looked like you couldn’t care less about anything, like the moon went down and the sun came up just so you could breathe another day. the world revolved around you. it was like everything he had ever done in his life leading up to this moment, each decision he made was to get him on this rooftop at this moment in the middle of soho. 

san had a few drinks himself and found himself on the dance floor right beside you. minho was with him, a close friend from his dance class, and then felix beside you. he couldn’t help but steal you for himself. he brought out the dancer inside of him but still followed your lead, spun you himself just as felix had, let your backside dance across his front one too many times for comfort. you picked up on how he was holding back, letting himself match you instead of taking the lead, and you couldn’t ignore how it sparked your interest. anyone besides felix that wasn’t in your group of close friends would be mindlessly grinding against you with an eyebrow raised and a smirk, but not him. 

for a moment you let yourself think the bar is deep in hell, then you introduced yourself (more like screamed your name at him) over the pounding music that could be heard two blocks down. the first thing you noticed were his broad shoulders before you took in the rest of his clearly strong build. complex, fox-like eyes that held too much power in them and a sweet smile that contrasted his hard demeanor, it all vexed you, but intrigued you so much more. 

out of everything, his hands give you the most whiplash. where they were long and limber they felt soft and warm, even the calluses on his palms somehow felt softer than every man you’ve ever come in contact with. compared to his chest which felt hard and strong, the contradicting features forced your mind straight in the gutter. there’s no doubt he’s beautiful, anyone could see that from first glance, but in that deep, hypnotizing voice he has, you could hear what kept itself hidden. it was a facade, that build and sexy voice, you could tell just from a few words that he’s not what he appears to be. 

at first glance you’d assume he was just like any typical guy, buff and egotistical and harsh. but looking for a moment in those eyes, listening to that soft voice, you could hear what he wasn’t saying, like his thoughts were being displayed for you on a silver platter. they enticed you to dig deeper, peel him open layer by layer, find out what no one else knows. beyond warm hands and a sturdy build, there was a softness to him that wasn’t inside of any other man on that rooftop. except one other. 

by the end of the night, minho had led san to the notorious smoking corner, where he’d come to learn the same people tend to gather and hangout towards the end of the night. thankfully, one of those people was you, and the rest of your little group of friends that he’d later come more than acquainted with. none of you really smoke, which was the weird part, the smokers would come and go around your seating area, but it was still named the smoking corner despite it. 

“you said your name was san, right?” you asked, an inviting smile on your face as he sat down right next to you on one of the cushioned chairs. it happened to be the only one open and had him thanking a god he didn’t believe in for the small favor. 

he nodded quickly, tight lipped smile on his face, dimples on display. even with the liquor he was nervous, he wasn’t one to spark up conversation, especially at a party like this. “you’re a dancer?”

“how’d you know?” your smile somehow got bigger, eyes widening with surprise, “i’ve danced my whole life.”

he shrugs, “one dancer to another.”

“you go to NYU?” you asked, turning your body to face him in your own chair.

“dance program, i’m in the same hip hop class as minho,” he pointed to minho who was standing somewhere to the side of the two of you. 

“ah,” you nod with a smile, “that makes sense, i’m in the theater program, i originally wanted to be in the dance program, though.”

“hey guys,” the two of you looked up at the same time, another pair of broad shoulders, massive biceps, and a beautiful smile staring straight at you. you could feel your heart rate pick up, your breath get caught in your throat, a heat cascading over you like the rooftop had suddenly raised fifteen degrees. 

san could feel his smile leave his face as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. the way your eyes lit up, the pink that raised to your cheeks, how you slightly stumbled over your words when you first spoke to him, he tried not to let his expression drop to a scowl. he knows you like him, maybe even love him, he couldn’t decide from the short interaction between the three of you. not that he wanted to know, anyways. 

san decided then and there that chan was his enemy, a one sided war he was willing to put up the good fight for. from a quick dance and a conversation, he had decided you were worth the fight, you were worth the long game, you were worth whatever it took to get you. he thinks it shouldn’t be too hard to win you over, with some effort and consistency, he should be the one you look at the way he desperately wants you to in no time. he knew he was good looking, he sees how women fawn over him left and right at parties, only sometimes letting them get any further then silly attempts to take him home. that ping of jealousy only jumpstarts his motivation, begs him to tap into whatever is making these women throw themselves at him.  

five parties and three months later, you made him feel like he was in the lead. small conversations here and there, longer dances that with each party turned more and more scandalous, once or twice you clearly felt him behind you on the dance floor and you didn’t pull away, you kept going until you made it so evident he couldn’t hide it in his jeans. moments of hands brushing and stolen glances across the smoking corner, he waited long enough, but he’d wait however long it took for you.

the night when you gave him that look that he knew meant you were taking him home, he couldn’t contain his excitement, he couldn’t hide anything from you already. you could see it all over his face, he could tell from the smirk you wore on your own lips and the cocky laugh you let out. you were playing with fire, and his specialty was water.

you knew he wanted you from the first time you met. whether he knew it about himself or not, despite his easygoing words and soft hands, you knew there was a side to him you desperately needed to unveil, you needed to experience, you needed to know like the back of your hand. it felt like tainting his innocence the more you got to know him, his personality reflected the opposite of what he portrayed on the outside. from that hard, chiseled look he has to the soft, tender persona, you wanted to tear him apart. you wanted to know what made him tick, what pissed him off, what got under his skin, how he acted when it did. 

you had him exactly where you wanted him, and he was letting it happen, fully aware of the attraction that was finally being returned. you looked at him differently that night, and unbeknownst to him, it was deliberate.

chan was out of sight, off with some dark haired girl he met hours prior. you watched the scene unfold in front of you, from when they exchanged names and phone numbers down to the moment when chan took her hand and led her inside his apartment. you watched them over heads through the dance floor, keeping your vision focused on the two of them like some fucked up form of tunnel vision. like what they say about trainwrecks, you should look away, but for some reason you can’t. your skin was burning, you were beyond angry, feeling an emotion that laid somewhere outside of what you’d ever experienced toward him. betrayal? abandonment? treachery?

none of your feelings were valid, chan had no idea how you felt, you never told him. he was more than allowed to take whatever dark haired bitch he wanted into his own damn apartment that seungmin’s dad pays for, that’s more than permissible. you have an apartment too, one that you and your roommate pay for yourselves, one that you could also take someone back to. your life didn’t revolve around him, his actions would not determine how your night would go, despite the feelings you have for him.

that’s when choi san caught your eye, across the crowd with his gorgeous face and incredible body. you felt the light bulb flash above your head, you knew exactly what would take the edge off, what would mend the heart chan had just broken in two. 

“you know, we always hangout here, but we never see each other outside of these parties,” you flipped your hair over your shoulder, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“never thought you wanted to,” he shrugs, lowered eyes watching your every move like he was waiting for the switch to flip.

“and why wouldn’t i want to? have you looked in a mirror recently?” it felt lame when it left your mouth, he didn’t seem to agree as a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. he turned away from you, a low chuckle leaving his lips.

“every morning at the gym, gotta make sure my form is right,” his shy smile turned into a faint smirk, and your own grows, hints of mischief creeping at the corners. you knew exactly what he was doing, mentioning the gym. like a moth to a flame, your eyes glazed over his biceps, which he flexed the moment your eyes left his. 

“every morning? very disciplined, aren’t you?” you ask, smile turning lopsided and nothing short of flirty. 

“very,” he nodded his head, “you should come with me sometime, get you some discipline, too.”

“and what about me makes you think i’m not disciplined?” your eyebrows furrow, tilting your head.

with that question his smile grows, dimples showing themselves once more. “brats always need discipline, and that’s exactly what you are. a little tease.”

your smile displays all of your teeth, exactly the answer you were hoping for. the side you knew he had in him, that version of him not many get to see, excitement flooded through you like a tidal wave. you were on a power trip, your plan worked with ease, you wanted to pat yourself on the back. 

“do something about it,” you sipped your drink through your tiny straw, staring at him through your lashes once again. 

within thirty minutes you were back at your place in manhattan, your roommate still at the party, you didn’t even let her know you left. in that one conversation you’d forgotten all about chan, the girl with the dark hair, and why you were in this situation in the first place. all you could think about was san, with his dark chocolate eyes and honeyed skin and arms strong enough to flip you around. you were overflowing with adrenaline, excitement, and greed. you wanted all of him, needed all of him, a need that has been lying dormant for months. you’d been curious about him, wanted to know what he kept hidden inside, too focused on chan to dig deeper into him.

san couldn’t fucking believe it. couldn’t believe he was in your bed, your walls that were covered in posters of rock bands and singers from the 80s, some faces he’s seen before and plenty of others he hasn’t. records cover one wall, soundtracks from different musicals, little trinkets filling every inch of open space on your bookshelves. your room was so undeniably you, from the smell to the color scheme, he took every inch of it and burned it to memory. he tried not to stare too much in his learning, telling himself to focus on you instead, he’d he back, this isn’t a one time thing. he couldn’t be more right. 

the moment his lips touched yours he couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without tasting you. a kiss so sweet, so rushed, so hungry, he’d never felt anything like it. he knew you'd wreck him, become too important to him, become a valued person in his life, for a moment he thought maybe he should stop – this was all too good to be true. 

when you whimpered in his mouth after a light grind to his crotch, he took all of his thoughts back. there was no stopping this, no hands could pry him off of you, he needed to see every bit of you. he needed to kiss every inch of your skin, inhale the scent of your sweat, he yearned to worship you. he wanted all of you, he needed to rein himself in, not get too excited so he could last. 

you fought for dominance on his lap, tongues in a rushed wrestle, strong thighs wrapped around his hips. as those soft hands of his squeezed the fat of your ass, you let out a yelp, grinding yourself into him. you wanted to hear any kind of noise, any harsh breath he might release. you wanted control, he didn’t want to give it up, at least not without a fight.

he scooped your waist with one arm, flipping you over, pressing you flat against the mattress. you mustered out a hushed fuck as the realization finally hit you: his biceps aren’t just for aesthetics, the sheer strength of one is enough to throw you around, and it’s strength he will use to his advantage. 

“as much as i want to be thrown around,” you broke the kiss for a moment, “save it for the next time.”

you wrapped your legs around his waist and lunged yourself forward with your hands, hips on top of his once more, your bodies sitting upright. as much as you wanted to revel in the gain of dominance, you knew he just willingly allowed you to do that, he could’ve stopped you with ease if he wanted to.

“see what i mean? brat,” he broke the kiss again with a huff, a smirk painting his own lips for a moment before returning them to yours. 

your right hand moved up to grip his throat, pushing him an inch away from you. on his lap you were taller, staring down at him, he looked up at you with a spark in his eyes you haven't seen yet. his eyebrows furrowed, not in confusion or hurt, but want. need. he liked this, he wanted this, and you couldn’t help the wicked smile that touched every feature on your face. 

“watch your mouth,” you tilted your chin up, looking down at him at a harsher angle, the act itself a display of dominance. in combination with the harsh tone to your words, he nearly quivered in your grasp. a strangled groan left his lips as your grip tightened for a moment, blocking his airway, before releasing him completely. you reached for the hem of his shirt, ripping it over his head with ease. 

“look at you, so fucking sexy,” you said as the cotton hit the floor, examining his exposed upper half in awe. chiseled abs, even sitting down, and a chest you’re sure could knock you out if it came in contact with your head. he was beautiful, perfect even, not an inch of him unsculpted. 

his breath turned heavy under your stare, eyes lowering into a different version of himself, a submission of sorts. he had no fight left in them, he gave up control, let you take it, and you were going to run with it. 

you brought your lips to his jaw, kissing down his neck, hands running over every inch of bare skin. he tugged at your top at the same time, tugging it over your head, unclasping your bra with just one hand. 

“done that before?” you asked with raised eyebrows and a playful smile, and he chuckled. 

“once or twice,” his reply was mindless as you fumbled with his belt buckle beneath you, slipping it out of the loops, throwing it to the floor. 

“hungry?” you asked and his eyes quickly met yours, confusion crossing them before realization set in. you didn’t wait for an answer as you pushed him back on the bed with your index finger to his chest, not having to muster up any force at all. 

you quickly sat up and slipped off your jeans and underwear, leaving yourself bare in front of him. he leaned up on his elbows for just a moment before you crawled back on top of him, further up his body until you sat right over his face. 

“no touching unless i tell you to,” your voice was stern, he nodded in understanding and you took that as the green light to plant yourself on his awaiting face. 

you moaned the moment his tongue came in contact with your soaked center, lapping up everything you had to offer. you stilled for a moment, letting him work himself on you, his tongue gliding through your wetness. 

“fuck, sannie, so fucking good,” you moaned out, a hand reaching down to tug at his styled black hair. he groaned in response, hands lifting off of the bed, but they didn’t touch you, didn’t even come close. 

you started riding his face and he stuck his tongue out in response to your movements, letting you have your way with him, grinding back and forth to use him for your own release. if you weren’t gone in your own pleasure you would’ve smiled at the eagerness, the willingness to please you. 

“fingers, please baby,” you gasped out, babbling your words, “need you to make me cum. you wanna make me cum, don’t you? all over your face?” 

his right hand came between your legs to slip two fingers inside of you, mouth moving up to your clit, wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves. he curved his fingers toward himself immediately, hitting that one spot inside of you that made you see stars, you started babbling and whining praise like you’d been doing this together for years. 

“so fucking good sannie, fuck,” you cried out, grinding yourself against him, the knot in your stomach tightening with every harsh suck to your clit. he brought his other hand up to smack your ass and you moaned out, the dam bursting, your release coating his fingers, past his knuckles. you rode out your high, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to get you through it before overstimulation set in. 

“mm, taste so fucking good baby, could eat you all night,” he announced the second you lifted yourself off of him, his voice octaves lower than earlier. you watched as he licked his lips so erotically, the action making you want to sit yourself back on his face and ride him until he couldn’t breathe. 

you sat next to him on the bed after climbing off of him instead, your orgasm took the need for control right out of you, you had your fill. you wanted to be taken care of, filled up, you didn’t want to think about anything other than your own pleasure. always observant san picked up in your change of energy, letting his own switch to another before continuing. 

“need to be inside you,” he said as he sat up, taking his jeans and boxers off in one go, “you have a condom?” 

you shimmied yourself down the bed, head hitting the pillow before you shook it, “‘m on the pill.” 

“dirty girl, where did that energy from earlier go? hm?” that dangerous smirk returned to his face, his dominance returning in just one sentence, “did i eat it all out of you? wanna be a good girl for me now?” 

he leaned himself over you, strong arms beside your head caging you in. you lifted your knees up to your elbows, spreading yourself for him.

“shut up,” you mumbled, feeling the tinge of embarrassment, “fuck me already.” 

“that wasn’t very polite, thought you were ready to behave,” he shook his head, “only girls with manners get fucked. should i put my pants back on, go back home?” 

“no! no, don’t go,” your arms came up to grab onto his, your eyes widening, “i’m sorry, i’ll be good. please, san, i need you.” 

a wicked smile crossed his face before he leaned down to plant a kiss on your own, “good, i hoped so. breathe for me, okay?”

you glanced down between your legs, realizing you hadn’t even seen him. you nearly gasped at the size of him, eyes widening, his length was perfect but the girth of him was more than intimidating. he spit into his hand, stroking himself, lubing himself up to slide into you easier. you nearly drooled at the sight, mouth agape, pussy clenching around nothing.

the whole act felt so sinful, so carnal, you so easily opened up to him with a side of yourself you don’t show until you’re fully comfortable. you blame your adrenaline, your hormones, how horny you were when you arrived, ignoring the real fact of how comfortable he made you feel to show so much of yourself to him. 

as he lined himself up you couldn’t ignore how it all felt right, you’ve had undeniable attraction to him for months now, but this… this was something entirely different. this was a beginning, the prologue chapter of a novel, the first episode to seasons spent with him. when he pushed himself into you and you had to physically remind yourself to breathe, you had to acknowledge that he fit so perfectly with you, his body felt like it was meant to be above yours. these weren’t feelings of a quick fuck, feelings from a one night stand, this was raw, intimate, unique. special. 

“so fucking big,” you huffed out, voice strained, eyes squeezed shut, fingers clawing at his biceps. 

“breathe, baby, you got it,” he praised you, encouraged you, and it did what it needed to. you breathed in and out, let him sheathe himself inside of you. as he bottomed out he groaned, a beautiful noise, one that could lure you to sleep if you heard it enough. he stayed there for a moment, letting you get used to the stretch, letting you relax around him. 

“so fuckin’ tight, baby, breathe,” he instructed, leaning down on his elbows to kiss you, distract you, take your mind off of the stretch. you tried your best to relax your muscles, unclench yourself from around him. 

“there you go,” his praises were a sweet song, easing you out of discomfort, “tell me when i can move.” 

you waited a few moments, returning your lips to his before grinding yourself against him. you felt your slick coating him, helping you glide up and down, and he let you for a moment — just a moment before he knew for sure you were comfortable. 

he pulled all the way out before bottoming out once more, and you yelped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to let your head lean back into the pillow.

“there it is, there we fucking go,” he mumbled as he started on a rhythm, “good fucking girl.” 

a string of moans left your lips, your hands still clawing at his biceps, body reacting to him without your brain allowing it. “so fucking good sannie.”

“thought you were so fucking badass earlier, huh? ordering me around like i’m your bitch?” that smirk returned to his lips again and all you could do was moan, staring at him through half lidded eyes, “look at you now, baby. all lifeless and limp, all for this dick?” 

“yes, san, all for you. just for you,” you mumble, words jumbling together, not knowing if your words even sounded clear. 

“yeah, baby, just as i thought, all for me,” he pistols himself into you, grabbing your hips, making you meet his thrusts. you were losing your strength, letting him have his way with you, just an incoherent mess beneath him. 

he reaches forward and grabs your jaw, “don’t go anywhere, eyes on me.”

you look up to him, eyes wide, that fuzzy space you were slipping into locked away for now, “you can go there eventually, not yet, not this time.” 

your eyes started to roll back as he shifted his hips upward, the mushroom tip of him rolling against that one spot so deliciously. with how quickly that knot formed once more in your stomach, you were surprised that drool wasn’t slipping down your chin. 

“right there, please don’t stop, gonna make me cum,” you can’t even hear yourself, so drunk on his dick, his assertiveness, you loved it. you’d never had your energy matched like this, never had a fuck like this, never had someone know you so quickly and easily. 

“hold it,” he ordered, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. how could he expect you to hold it, when he was hitting that spot too perfectly, doing everything in his power to get you there?

“i swear, do not fucking cum,” he smacked your hip and tears formed in your eyes trying to hold it, fighting every nerve in your body to not release around him. 

“i can’t! i can’t,” you babble, tears falling down your cheeks, and he released a long fuck, his voice dropping even lower. 

“cum for me, want you to cum around me, please,” his orders turned to begs quickly after he saw your tears. he leaned forward to wipe them off your face, bringing his fingers up to his lips. the string snapped and you gushed around him, legs shaking, a loud cry leaving your lips, probably heard in queens from the sheer volume of it. 

“where do you want me?” he quickly asked, his own words sounding shaky, slurring together. 

“inside, inside,” you begged, reaching up to cup his cheeks. he leaned down to kiss you as he released himself inside you, filling you up, thrusts slowing as he worked himself through it. 

he stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed against yours, heavy breaths being poured into each other’s mouths. he sighed as his forearms began to shake, finally pulling out of you, laying next to you.

“you okay?” he turned his head at the same time as you turned yours, eyes sharing too much of something yet saying nothing of it.

“‘m great, you?” you cracked a smile, the both of you still somewhere that wasn’t here, slowly coming back from two completely different headspaces. he nodded, returning the smile, and the two of you laid there for what felt like ages. 

sleeping with san was something outside of anything you’ve ever done. you’d slept with plenty of people, had plenty of experiences, explored what you liked and didn’t through many trials and errors. to have such an incredible first experience with someone, to have it flow so easily, to match each other so perfectly… it was almost unbelievable, it set unrealistic expectations for anyone you’d ever sleep with again. 

you needed him that night, needed that experience, needed whatever was going to distract you from whatever the hell chan was doing – and it worked. you needed that distraction for months to follow as chan continued to see the dark haired girl, who’s name you came to find out was eden, always hanging around on the rooftop, following him wherever he went. like a roach, never wanted, yet never went away. 

months you spent cooped up in your room, anger flowing through your blood as you watched his instagram stories, cute pictures of her posted every day. posed pictures together in times square, clubs on the weekends, clips of them getting drinks together on a random weekday afternoon. you couldn’t help but pick everything apart – what they were doing was touristy, corny, nothing you would do with him, nothing you would enjoy. you knew chan didn’t enjoy any of that, either. 

every time you pictured dates with him or fantasized about any time spent with him alone was always private, intimate, enriching – you’d be painting together, drinking wine in your living room as you played your favorite board game, watching a tv show from start to finish together. you were in the same major, maybe even studying together, bouncing ideas off of one another for assignments or projects, but nothing so flashy. chan hates time square, hates drinking in the middle of the day, and especially hates clubs unless there was a special occasion. you knew all of these things, you knew him, you felt the same way as him. yet he was still doing all of those things with her, playing in her garden, wasting his time when he should be focused on school, his career, his future, you.

in those months there was only one thing that could make you forget about chan, forget about eden, forget about the situation altogether. during class you were frustrated, in auditions, rehearsals, you couldn’t even study without the tv on and music playing simultaneously. if you had a singular moment of silence your brain took you back to him, took you back to what you could’ve had, what you never tried for in the first place. it was debilitating not being able to get anything done, being so one track minded, the only thing that could make you focus was san. you’d text him daily, always asking him to come over, always ending the night between his thighs. 

he always came, he always said yes, he never once said no to you. he didn’t ask any questions, didn’t make you explain your frustrations, only listened when you did speak about trivial things like school or rehearsal. you didn’t want his opinion, didn’t want his advice, only his company and the pleasure he never had any difficulty in giving you. it was perfect for those months, in your own world, the sanctuary you created in your bedroom with choi san. 

the moment when your relationship changed, you didn’t notice. there was no light bulb, no moment where you consciously started looking at him differently, yet it changed without your knowing or consent. you didn’t acknowledge it when you did notice, you didn’t want to, your heart was saved for another. yet you still talked about everything together, did all of those little things you dreamed of doing with chan. your fears, your dreams, your childhood, your favorite things, you began to know him so intimately without being aware of it. you watched grey’s anatomy with him, you played video games, you drew funky little doodles of each other on your notebooks. 

you started to crave him when he wasn’t around, and not just because he was your distraction, but a friend. he was good for you, he encouraged you to be consistent with school, you practiced lines with him, sang duets from different musicals with him. your relationship was raw, it was truth, it was naked, it was everything you wished for, it was everything you needed at that time. 

san fell for you. he fell so fucking hard, so headfirst, it was a bottomless pit with no end in sight and he couldn’t stop himself from digging further. everything he saw in you that first night was still there, only amplified into something he couldn’t hide anymore. he was at your beck and call, anything you needed, any time of day. he knew why you were so attached to him, he figured it out the second he went to the rooftop with wooyoung again, high off of his night spent with you, ready to see you again. when you were nowhere to be seen and he caught chan with his arm around the girl from his contemporary class, he put the pieces together quick. he knew you must be heartbroken, knew you needed support, a friend who knew nothing about the situation. it quickly made him realize his place in your relationship. 

he fought through the horrific realization with optimism, the returning thought that with time you’d see, you’d realize he was better for you than chan could ever be. as he spent more time with you and got to know you better, it only made his feelings deepen. your laugh, your thoughts, your competitive side, the way you’re so quick to fight back and assert your dominance, but give it up even faster… it was like an addiction, it wasn’t good for him, he knew it wasn’t, he knew it when his grades first started to slip. when he wasn’t on point at practice, too sleep deprived to remember choreography. minho read it all over him, knew something was wrong, knew san had gotten into something he shouldn’t have. 

“what’s up with you, man? this isn’t like you,” it was a rough practice that day. san was sat on the floor with his knees hugged tight to his chest, rubbing his eyes to force the exhaustion out of them. 

“just an off day,” is all san mumbled before he stood up slowly, grabbing his bag to sling over his shoulder.

“off day? you’ve been fucking up for the past week, san, you’re center,” minho put his hand on san’s shoulder, stopping him before he walked away, “they’re gonna put someone else there if you don’t get your shit together.”

“i get it, minho,” san turned his back, and minho’s grip only got tighter.

“what the hell is going on?” he asked, turning san to face him, “you can talk to me, we’re friends, you know.”

san’s hand returned to his face, trying to rub off his discomfort, this feeling that he should keep everything to himself, “it’s a lot.”

“is it a girl?” minho was quick with the question, eyes lowered, seeming to read san before he could get any words out. he started to walk, keeping his hand on san’s shoulder, encouraging him to walk alongside him. 

san answered with a coy nod, the answer seeming too taboo to say out loud. minho was a direct link to chan, he should be happy to talk about the fact that you were sleeping together. what he couldn’t shake off was the fear that you’d be angry at him for telling anyone. 

“did you get her pregnant or something?” humor was laced in minho’s tone, trying to ease up the straightforwardness of the question, but he was genuinely worried by how san had been acting.

san gasped, “preg- no! god, no,” he shook his head, “i hope not.”

minho laughed, “that doesn’t sound convincing. if she’s not pregnant then there’s no reason to be so torn up, why are you?”

they walked out of the building into the wet humidity of the city air, “like i said, it’s a lot. it’s my fault, though.”

“quit beating around the bush and tell me,” minho stood still, staring at san expectantly, “you can trust me.”

“if i’m going to tell you, i need a beer.”

an hour later they were seated at prince, not a popular dive bar in the city, but popular amongst your group of friends and whoever they introduced to it. san nursed his beer, barely getting two sips in before he was spilling everything about the last six months to one of his best friends. 

“i can’t wrap my head around why you keep fucking her if she loves another guy,” minho shrugs, “especially chan, at that. she’s been close with him since he moved to the city.”

“it’s not about fucking her,” san sighed, “i’m in too deep, i think i love her. even if i didn’t, and it was just about sex, it’s too good to stop.”

minho’s jaw physically drops, mouth hanging agape for a moment before he snaps it shut, straightening his left hand to start counting on his fingers, “so you love her, she doesn't know you love her, she loves someone else who’s in a relationship, and you spend every free moment with her. and you have so much sex you don’t sleep.”

san’s lips pull into a tight line, giving minho one long nod in response.

“there’s no way she doesn’t love you back if you’ve spent that much time together in six months, i can’t believe you kept all of this shit hidden for so long. you need to talk shit out, man.”

it was music to his ears, san’s entire body filled with a joy he’d never felt before when no way she doesn’t love you back left minho’s lips. he felt like he was putting a puzzle together in his brain, that actually made perfect sense, how could you not return anything he felt for you? you also experienced all your time together, got just as close to him as he did you. 

he barely gave minho another half hour before he was barreling out of prince and on his way to your apartment. 

“hey baby, how was practi-”

“i need to ask you a question.”

your head whipped to your front door, never hearing san sound so desperate outside of the bedroom. his eyes were blown, his eyebrows raised, fully out of breath from running up the flights of steps to your apartment. your blood ran cold, you knew this question was coming eventually, you were savoring every moment he didn't ask it. you stood slowly, facing him from the couch, eyes expectant.

“i’ll give you an answer,” you replied casually, keeping your voice steady. 

“do you want to be with me?” his words felt empty, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say them, yet he still sounded like he’d been dying to ask the question for months. he didn’t blink, kept his shoulders back, dance bag dangling from his fingertips.

“san,” you said calmly, taking a step towards him. 

“i don’t want to freak you out, please don’t freak out, it’s just been six months and i really enjoy you and your company and i love being around you, i love spending nights with you, the sex is incredible, everything just seems right,” a smile graces his lips with a pause. when you stared back at him in disbelief he panicked, his heart in his throat, “i’m sorry if i freaked you out, this is too much, isn’t it?” 

you took a breath, closing your eyes for a moment. the day you’d been dreading had come – the end of a perfect half year. 

“i can’t be in a relationship right now,” you blurt the first thing that came to mind, and his face dropped immediately. “i enjoy you, i love our time spent together, i love that you’re around all the time, you’ve been a huge help to me these past six months. i couldn’t of done it without you.”

you’ve been told these words before, you’ve been in his position before, you’re spouting the same venom that’s been thrown at you. you felt  as if you were shoved in a corner, not fully believing your own words, but you needed an excuse more than you wanted to say the truth. 

a sad smile crosses his face, “i get it.”

“i don’t want to stop whatever this is,” you walk closer to him, grabbing his hand, “and it could grow into something really great. i’m just not in a position to open my heart to anyone right now.” 

“i know, baby. the last six months have been rough on you,” his heart melted, even if he knew the reason why, he also knew that it really did hurt you. you needed time to heal, time to focus on yourself, time to get back into the dating scene. he’d be there, first in line when you were ready. 

“i knew you’d understand, thank you,” you stood on your toes, attaching your lips to his. ten minutes later you were on your knees, right back to normal like that conversation didn’t even happen. 

in just two weeks you’d started going out more regularly again, meeting your friends at prince, going to chan’s rooftop whenever felix told you to come. your friends that noticed, despite you keeping your appearances up, asked where you’d been, why you’re back, and you gave them the sophomore year bullshit of classes were hard and summer is here again! at your age, parties were a dime a dozen, you had plenty of excuses to be out of the house and away from your issues, stopping reality from hitting you that you were playing with fire once again.

you did have feelings for san, even if it was your own fucked up version. there was no way you couldn’t with how much time you spent together, how much you know about him, how much you care for him. but the other problem that you will never forget is still there, staring at you from across his own rooftop. 

you care for san, but the love you feel for bang christopher chan is so much fucking more.

“hey! i feel like i haven’t seen you in ages!” his smile is huge as he crosses the crowd, clinking his drink with your own. you blushed, that was basically him saying i missed you. 

“same here, how’s everything been? happy classes are over?” you asked, gripping your drink a little tighter. 

“incredibly happy classes are over, even happier this terrible fucking year is over,” he chuckled, “me and eden broke up, i don’t know if you heard. she cheated on me with some columbia architect, whatever.”

broke up? he’s… single again?

your jaw dropped, and you fought to keep the excitement to a minimum, “no, i didn’t know, i’m so sorry, channie. fuck her and that architect!”

he laughed again, a belly laugh that made you want to jump his bones, “what about you, though? seeing anyone?”

his question took you by surprise, “i- uh, no, i’m not,” your giggle was nervous, wanting to change the subject immediately. san crossed your mind, a thought you quickly shut down.

“you’re never seeing anyone, dude, we have to set you up with somebody, can’t go through your whole college experience without a shitty boyfriend or two,” it was a joke, a bad one, but it still made heat rise to your whole upper half. why was he asking? he’s never asked about your love life before. 

“i’m good off a shitty boyfriend, i’d rather be alone if that’s the case,” you shake your head, then sip through your tiny straw. 

“suit yourself,” he palmed your shoulder with a hand that completely enveloped it, and you felt the skin underneath burn. 

you felt eyes boring into your head from behind you, and you quickly turned, scanning the area. you saw your roommate and her boyfriend in the smoking corner, minho and han, then san, who was leaning against the concrete of the wall separating the rooftop from the drop to the ground below. like a hawk, he watched you through lowered eyes, taking in every move. you quickly turned back around, expecting chan to still be there, but he was gone, probably off being a good host to his party. you wiped the chill off of you, finishing off your drink, dismissing the guilty feeling creeping up your spine because chan is single again. determination washes over you, this time you’d be hell bent upon telling him how you feel, finally getting your chance to be with him. it was your turn this time. 

san was beyond frustrated. watching you talk to chan after all of these months, even from afar, picking up your body language, he was sick to his stomach. the way you shifted from foot to foot, unconsciously leaned into his touch, flipped your hair behind your back to show off your décolletage, san could pick up on exactly what you were thinking and he hated it. 

san wasn’t in the lead, he was forever the number two, your favorite best kept hidden secret. he was sick of it, sick of being with you behind closed doors, sick of dropping everything for you, sick of being under your spell. he knew his place, knew it enough to where he didn’t even approach you on the rooftop. he knew there would be a call, a text, a fucking messenger pigeon that would get him in your bed tonight, he was sure of it. when chan went back inside the apartment for the night and didn’t have a soul beside him, he knew exactly how the outcome of the night would go, and he was excited for it. 

as san slammed your apartment door shut behind him, you jumped nearly a foot in the air, turning to furrow your eyebrows. the two of you ended up leaving together, an outcome that wasn’t on his list of possibilities – no messenger pigeon needed. he was surprised, he didn’t think you’d even want to be seen getting in the same car as him. 

“what was that for?” the slam startled you, it was unlike him, he was delicate with everything he did.

“i’m sick of this, ri,” he shook his head, standing by the entrance to your kitchen, not following you into the living room. your stomach dropped, you should’ve seen this coming.

“what do you mean?” you opted for obliviousness after a pause, unsure of how to go about this conversation again after your last one was just two weeks ago. 

“i’m sick of being your secret, whatever the hell i am to you,” he ran a hand through his hair, “actually, that’s a good question. what am i to you, riley?”

you gulped, your eyes widening, coming to yet another moment of silence. you didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know how to tell him what you didn’t know yourself. 

“you don’t know? or you know and can’t say it?” he understands your silence, using his hands as he speaks, “tell me the truth.”

“i don’t know, san, a friend?” your voice is unsure, small. you wanted to shrink yourself, wanted to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. this is the first time you’ve seen this side of him, you and san had never argued before, the last time you had this talk it didn’t have any anger or frustration. 

“a friend? i’m a friend?” he laughs, a sarcastic chuckle that you’ve never heard leave his lips. you must’ve gotten away with it two weeks ago, this was really the end, there was only one way this talk could go. “a friend that knows every inch of you, a friend that’s spent more time here the past six months than the apartment they still pay rent at? that’s a fucking joke, riley.”

tears gathered in your eyes, ones that you weren’t exactly sure why they were there, you felt caught. bombarded with a choice you didn’t want to make. he was finally understanding your web of lies, finally over it, over you. you weren’t ready to let him go, you wanted to continue to live in your bubble with him, you wanted him to stay. you didn’t let them fall.

“what do you want me to say?” you don’t have a rebuttal, you don’t have any sly words that could change the topic, even momentarily change what he’s feeling. you chose anger, deflection.

“i want more, ri. i want you, i’ve wanted you since i met you. there’s no way you don’t know that,” he sighs, turning around, running that same hand through his hair. 

“and i can’t give you more, san, so what do you want me to do? force myself into something i’m not ready for? i’ve told you my piece,” you walk towards him, standing just a few steps from him.

“no, riley, i don’t want you to force yourself into being with me, that’s ridiculous. when we’re in public you barely look at me, let alone speak to me. what are you so afraid of? why can’t anyone know about… this?” he turned around, his own eyes glossy, looking down at you through damp eyelashes. your blood ran cold, colder than it had been from the moment he slammed the door, that familiar guilty feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach. 

“why do you need people to know? why do you need our relationship to be publicized? is being with me, here like this, not enough for you?” the laugh you let out was dry, calculated, “if it’s not enough then maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.” 

a small gasp left his lips, barely audible it could’ve been just an intake of air, his visage twisted the moment you spoke those words. with his lips and eyebrows turned downward, that slight anger, frustration, morphed into a sadness you never wanted to see again. 

“that’s not what i want,” his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, a shy mumble, his gaze pointed downward at his fingers which played with his rings. “i don’t want to fight with you.” 

“i know, baby,” you stepped forward, placing a hand on his soft, reddened cheek, “i don’t want to fight with you, either. want you to be happy.” 

“i’m happy with you,” his voice cracked, a raw tone, as he glanced back up at you. his eyes red, glossed over, full of emotion, it broke your heart. you could never truly make him happy, you knew that, but you could momentarily.

“then let me take care of you,” and that you did, like you always did, the same way you did two weeks ago. you rode him to oblivion, until he forgot why he was upset in the first place, the same thing he did for you six months ago. 

a week later, you’d fought again. plenty of times.

almost every day for the whole week you started an argument over something so fucking stupid and you couldn’t stop. everything he did pissed you off, every time he tried to fix it, it pissed you off even more. you were overflowing with so many different emotions you couldn’t breathe, you needed space, you needed him, you needed chan. you were too overstimulated to think clearly, if you were ever thinking clearly to begin with.

the guilt from not returning his feelings, but not being at ease when he isn’t sleeping in your bed.. it didn’t make any sense. you felt insane, suffocated in the overwhelming feelings you couldn’t bring yourself to return. you liked san, you liked everything about him, but the fervent feelings he had towards you mirrored what you felt for chan. 

there was now nothing left unsaid. there was no unspoken deal between you anymore, no weapon left to use to let yourself get off without consequence. you were uncomfortable, uncomfortable with his feelings, uncomfortable with your own, you felt shoved in a corner you couldn’t walk away from. 

the only things that stayed consistent in that week were chan’s rooftop, chan’s living room, and his incessant need to talk to you every damn time you were there.  

san felt like he was losing his goddamn mind. 

he wished he could go back in time and take back everything he said, his confession, his feelings, he had ruined everything. you would go from not answering him to getting pissed off that he answered your text with ok instead of okay… it seemed like he couldn’t do anything right, in a constant state of fear that today would be the day you break it off with him for real. 

his day to day life was only getting worse. he was making cocktails wrong at work, not replacing ice, handing the wrong beer to patrons at the bar. he got replaced again in his spot for his dance class, reprimanded by his teacher, minho gave him not one but two additional talks about getting his shit together. 

he hadn’t seen you since the night you argued two weeks ago, he hasn’t even been going out for just a glimpse of you, he’s been playing catch up for what felt like weeks. to make matters worse, he was pent up, he’d been so used to a consistent sex life, he needed release. he needed a night to let go of you, all of the whiplash he’d endured for weeks now, he needed a night to just be himself. to forget.

he called wooyoung, his best friend who was always out in the city, always had plans. thankfully he was going to a club that night to celebrate your roommate’s recent internship acceptance. wooyoung assured him that you wouldn’t be there, it would only be a couple of your roommates' close friends. he didn’t ask why you wouldn’t be there, he tried to convince himself he didn’t care, he needed to start forgetting now.

he hopped out of bed and got ready fast, the clock already past eight, and headed over to meet the group before going to the club. they were all familiar faces from the rooftop, despite him only knowing wooyoung super intimately. all of the nights he spent at your apartment your roommate was usually at her boyfriend’s, and if she wasn’t, her and her boyfriend were cooped up in her bedroom.

but here he was, in a club he’s never heard of in the middle of manhattan celebrating her.

“have a drink, sannie, do something,” wooyoung slung his arm around san’s shoulder, bent behind the booth he was sitting at, “don’t just sit there and mope.”

san nodded, not having much to say if it didn’t have to do with you. he sipped his beer mindlessly, listening to everyone talking around him, their conversation had to be more entertaining then the jail he created for himself in his own mind. 

“...i’ve been trying to get them together for years! i’m so happy it’s finally happening!” your roommate says loud, drunkenly, talking to yunho’s girlfriend. 

“years?” yunho’s girlfriend asked, brushing her hair behind her ear, “why the hell did it take so long?”

“when they met they were all just good friends, then i was introduced and started dating jeongin pretty much immediately, i’m the one who noticed how she felt about him. she wouldn’t admit it for ages, until i finally got it out of her, and pretty much immediately after that chan started dating eden, you remember her, right?” san’s ears perked up at that, his stomach dropping immediately. he put the pieces together quicker than ki could run her mouth. the drinks from the pregame clearly made her filter pretty much nonexistent, this is a conversation he wasn’t supposed to be listening to, something he wasn’t supposed to hear. she didn’t notice the extra ear, but her boyfriend did.

“ki,” jeongin interrupted, eyes glancing back and forth between san and his girlfriend, talking over yunho’s girlfriend.

ki ignored him, too deep in her own conversation, “yes! like two weeks ago or something it finally clicked, they’ve been seeing each other since.” 

“who?” san interrupted, panic in his voice. 

he knew who, from the bottom of his heart. a little over two weeks ago was when san started the fight between the two of you, ever since then you’d been off. he hasn’t seen you. he knows damn well who.

ki’s eyes were wide, her jaw agape, and jeongin’s hand went to his forehead. 

“san, i-”

“who are you talking about, ki?” san sat a little straighter, his chin jutting out, “who’s been seeing chan for the past two weeks?”

“i think you already know who, san, i didn’t realize you didn’t know?” ki’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, her hand holding her drink a little bit tighter. yunho’s girlfriend looked between san and ki, also confused, too nervous to ask any questions. the tension was thick in the air, too heavy for a night of celebration. san could feel the control he had over himself lessening by the second. 

san laughs, a dark chuckle, and something inside of him shifts. he’s done, he’s so fucking done. he feels stupid, it’s always been chan from the start, it’s always going to be chan. he tried telling himself months ago that you would see he was better for you than chan ever could be, but he was clearly so fucking wrong. chan would always be your endgame, it would never be him, no matter what he did for you. no matter how much he tried for you. no matter how much he begged for you.

everything he’s been feeling for the past two weeks, the confusing feelings, the constant begging just to see you, the amount of apologies he’d given to someone who didn’t fucking deserve them. how many times had you texted him when you were next to chan? how many times had you ignored him because you were next to chan?

san doesn’t get angry, san isn’t a fighter. san’s always been a peacekeeper, a problem solver, water to put out the fire. 

he is so fucking over it.

he thought about his grades, how long it’d taken him to bring them back up. his rehearsals, his performances, the center positions that had been taken away from him. how many bottles of beer he’d thrown away at work from constant fuck ups. how many times he’s gotten grilled from more people than he can count on his hands. 

he ignored ki, instead he looked into the crowd, suddenly remembering exactly where he was. he reached forward and grabbed one of the bottles yunho bought and took a long swig from it. he looked out in the crowd again and spotted a pretty little blonde thing almost immediately, and took a moment to reflect.

he remembered his life before you, before chan, before that fucking rooftop. how women fawned over him, flocked to him, how obsessed they were. how he didn’t have to try for anything or anyone. he passed the bottle to wooyoung behind him who was so taken aback he hadn’t said a word. 

“san, we can leave, we can go, it’s okay,” wooyoung said, bent over once more, taking the bottle from san’s hand, “we don’t have to stay here, let’s go.”

“if you’re not going to drink that then give it back,” his reply is so curt it sliced through the air like the knife ki just put through his chest, “we are not leaving.”

wooyoung took a swig of the bottle, a proud smirk growing on his face, “finally, man. let’s be done with it already.”

2:27 am ri: u up? ri: i miss you

[hana-no-seiiki]

ALL YOURS.

tw/cw: yandere (more on the soft side tbh, barely appears), mentions of slavery. Power dynamics are whack. AFAB! Reader but GN! Pronouns. Some Aventio sprinkled in there.

HAPPY AVENTURINE DAY!!! ( thank you @rninies / @teabutmakeitazure / @harmonysanreads for informing me cause I wouldn’t have known otherwise)

“Who is this?” His eyes ran through the sight of your body, a nice and controlled pace yet swift nonetheless. You looked like a dead leaf if he was to be completely honest. Covered in soot, malnourished, fragile. Like you’d disappear with the slightest breeze. Then, his eyes paused, a mark — a branding on the right side of your neck.

But still, he was confused. What was the point of showing yet another slave to him? Was it a thinly concealed, sadistic way of reminding him that he was still shackled? That his freedom was nothing more than a mirage? An illusion?

His benefactor — owner — slowly lifted the veil that covered your face. Beautiful. He’d seen many faces by now, his own among others. But strangely yours reminded him of his past. A wave of euphoric nostalgia almost overwhelmed him.

“Open your eyes, little one.” Jade said with a wicked smile on her face. “I told you I had quite the gift. I was actually hoping to keep them as a . . . collectible. But then I found quite an interesting fact.”

You looked at him with eyes far too similar to his own. Cold, dead, empty. He could think of many other terms to use for yours. One of them including home.

“It seems that the Avgin’s blood will not be running dry all too soon. They’re all yours.”

“Quit staring at them like that.” Veritas tapped on his book. His face morphing from disturbed to mild annoyance every few seconds.

“Like what?”

“Like they’re an oasis deep within the desert. And you, a man starved for eons, waiting to drink them up until they’ve ran dry. Stop it. It’s disgusting.” Dr. Ratio gestured at you. You were practically a walking ‘owned by Aventurine’ signal at this point. From head to toe, covered in expensive objects. It was a statement to say the least, a warning to those that looked closer.

“You exaggerate. I am simply . . . deliberating.”

“Is it really this one?”

“Hm?”

“This reality.” Dr. Ratio placed the corner of his book on the blond’s forehead, “The reality where someone like you actually had the mental capacity to deliberate.”

“Oh don’t be too mean at this hour, Doctor.”

“Or what? You’d force me to find and get you from whatever hole you got yourself drunk in? Unfortunately that is something you’ve already burdened me with far too long ago.”

“I can take care of Mr. Aventurine, Doctor.” You appeared from behind the two. Your signature monotonous voice in tow.

Plaster immediately covered the man in question’s head. “Did anyone teach you manners? You don’t just silently approach someone—“

“I’m sorry.” You replied. Your face empty as a canvas an artist was yet to touch. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

For once, Kakavasha took his time, let his eyes wander and behold your form. One feature at a time.

“All mine.”

a/n: this was rushed and written in one sitting, but i wanted to release something at least for our boi ! will be back to hsr fics once penacony’s entire story/lore is out. i miss aeon of dreams! reader so much…

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @radpunch for giving me an excuse for more Farmtale Sans... he's the love of my life

I don't usually do this, but I thought I'd add some recommended music for reading this piece. I listened to this the whole time I was writing, and I think it really adds to the vibe.

---

To anyone else, the sight of a body in a field neighbouring yours probably would’ve caused no small amount of alarm. Instead, you just sighed, finally laying down your shovel for the day and hopping the fence you had only just finished repairing.

The grass brushed against your hips as you walked, moving your feet as if wading through water. The evening sun caught the long, glimmering single stray cobwebs that trailed from the grass flower heads, and illuminated the tiny fluttering bodies of disturbed insects that fluttered up and away when you walked by. Though it was a pain to move through, you always liked when the field looked like this. It was your own romantic summer sea.

Eventually, you came across the ‘body’. Sans was lounging with his head propped up on a pile of empty seed bags, straw hat placed on his chest, sockets shut. The sun didn’t reach him now, the tall grass on all sides of him left a perfect little shady spot where he had nestled in. He looked very comfy... very peaceful. This wasn’t unusual at all, for him. He had a knack for finding hidden places to nap.

You crouched down. You could hear him faintly snoring. There was a tiny iridescent beetle sitting proudly on his bent knee, using the vantage point to observe its surroundings. It didn’t seem bothered by your presence in the slightest.

Sans was nice to look at. You had always considered him kinda good-looking, but he had grown more and more on you over time. Despite his brother being more classically ‘handsome’, with his high cheekbones, strong jawline and impressive physique, Sans was the one you found yourself getting caught staring at. He was... so easygoing. Not softspoken, too confident for that. Just never needing to raise his voice. Quick witted, strong, smart. Casual. Despite his silly straw hat, constantly muddy pants and crappy jokes, something about him was effortlessly cool. Effortlessly pretty.

And you were...

...

He had dirt on his cheekbone. Without thinking, you reached out, wiping it off. 

Before you could even blink, his hand snapped up, catching yours by the wrist. You let out a little inelegant shriek then slapped your free hand over your mouth in embarrassment - he snorted, sockets opening up, pretty fuzzy green eyelights landing on you. 

“well hello there,” he said, voice only mildly sleepy, with a gentle purr to it. He turned his face, and kissed your palm.

You shrieked a second time. Well... this one was more like a yelp, yanking your hand out of his grip as both of you descended into laughter. “Gross!”

You weren’t going to admit the move had given you butterflies. Nor that the way he was looking at you was making you feel things you didn’t have words for yet. You made a point of wiping your hand on your work pants.

“am i still asleep, or d’you just look like a dream to me?” he asked, leaning back, knitting his fingers together over his chest. 

“Charming.” Your tone just made him snicker. “The sun is setting. You getting up soon, or are you planning on sleeping under the stars tonight?”

Sans’ gaze was very soft. “hey, that actually don’t sound too bad. ‘specially if i had the right company.”

“True. Stargazing with someone is always nicer.”

“could always join me. room for two, in this patch.”

“Unlike you, I have to worry about ticks.” You flicked his shoulder. “I’ll think about it when the grass is cut.”

He grinned. “dang. never felt so motivated to do a chore before. s’that a promise, then? when i cut the grass you’ll come stargaze with me?”

You rolled your eyes. But there they were again; the butterflies. The thing with Sans was you never had any idea whether or not he was serious. He said entirely joking and entirely genuine things with the same tone of voice, the same smile, the same twinkling eyelights. Maybe in a few years you’d know him well enough to tell. Right now, though, you were much too afraid of embarrassing both of you by assuming his 'flirting' was anything but banter.

He finally sat up, and the beetle on his knee took off into the sky. It felt so cosy, somehow; the two of you were almost entirely below the top of the grass, hiding in a tiny den. It smelled like... well, grass, duh. But a specific kind of grassy smell - sweet and dry, more like hay, summery and clear. It reminded you of playing outside as a child until the sun had long gone down. 

“you been exertin’ yerself? all red.”

“Yeah, I’ve just been fixing the fence.” A lie and a truth. You had been fixing the fence, but it was a menial chore that hadn’t required huge amounts of strain. The blushing was from something else.

“ah, jeez." A break in his easy mood. "we’re still really sorry about that. pap is absolutely mortified, think he's set aside a whole load of crop for you.”

The brothers’ goat had managed to break through several fences, including yours, to take a 'visit' to your garden. You’d found her in your flowerbed, happily eating the tops off the marigolds you were going to cut and take to market. 

You’d never seen someone more apologetic than when Papyrus showed up to bring her home. The animal still had bright yellow petals in her beard as he led her away.

“It’s alright,” you said, warmly. “it wasn't like it was malicious or anything. Animals get out. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more sweet-natured goat anyway.”

“should’ve told me you were fixing that fence. i would’ve helped out.”

“Oh would you have?” Your tone was mock-suspicious. “How convenient that you waited until I was finished to tell me that.”

His sockets raised at the corners. “i’m serious! you doubtin’ my honesty? dang. thought we were close.”

Uh oh. Butterflies again. You swerved, doing your best to avoid it.

“So does your brother know you’re out here?”

“course not,” he snickered. “he still thinks i’m working.”

“Maybe I should go tell him that you’re flunking. I’m certain he already knows, he just needs to catch you in the act.”

He put his hat back on his head. “well. guess now i have to kill you.”

You laughed - and in the shade, entirely missed the little green shimmer across his cheekbones.

“How’s the day been then, sleepyhead?”

He shrugged, picking at some of the flattened grass. “busy. exactly how you think late summer on a farm would be. harvestin’, packin’ stuff up. lotsa ploughing. even with magic, it’s hard work. i’m just stealing whatever breaks i can find. you?”

You gave him a look. “You came over yesterday. You know how I'm doing.”

He leant over, lightly elbowing you. “c’mon. i’m doin’ the small talk thing. can’t leave me hangin’ here.”

“So now you’re guilt tripping me? You’re a real piece of work.”

That got another snicker out of him. He was so handsome when he laughed. 

Sans always liked knowing what was going on in your life. It was weird, you never saw him do that with anyone else; it had taken you a while to notice it but even with his closest friends he didn’t talk half as much as he did with you. The first time you’d seen him talking to Toriel you had thought he was in a bad mood, with how little he engaged, how simple his questions were, how sparingly he spoke.

“BAD MOOD? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“Sans just didn’t seem very chatty tonight. Did something happen?”

“OH? OH! NYEHEHEHEH, HOW FUNNY! SANS WAS COMPLETELY NORMAL TONIGHT, HUMAN, DON’T YOU WORRY. THIS IS HOW HE ALWAYS IS AT GET-TOGETHERS.”

“But he...”

“HE’S JUST MUCH CHATTIER WITH ME AND YOU.”

You liked to think he felt safe around you. You definitely felt safer around him, that was for sure. 

You pulled your knees up to your chest, relenting under his gaze. “Okay okay, fine. I’m doing alright, I guess. The old trees came right back to life as soon as the thickets were cleared away. There’s already fruit, they just need another year or so to get market ready.”

“and yer flowers? they sellin’ well?”

“It’s a good way to plug the money gaps in the meantime. Living in the age of the internet definitely helps, there’s lots of information floating around that has made it so much easier for me to get started. I dunno. It’s alright.”

You wanted to stop talking. You looked away, staring off into the ‘forest’ surrounding you, the waning sunset catching certain blades and turning them into a warm burning orange. In the distance you could hear the rolling and bubbling singing of a particularly loud bird somewhere overhead.

Despite your desire to shut up, Sans wasn’t about to let you. His lovely eyelights just continued to bore into you. 

“i can hear a ‘but’ in there.”

...

You sighed. Oh well. Who else were you going to be able to talk to?

“I thought the impostor syndrome would be gone by now.”

He cocked his head. You had no choice but to continue. 

“I’m just... I still feel like I’m not part of this. My mind hasn’t settled in. Every day is a confusing fight where I feel like I barely make it out the other side. Most of my flower boxes are stuck together with tape and hope.” You settled your chin onto your knees, sulking. “Every time things start to make sense, and I feel like I’m finally starting to get some solid ground, another problem shows up. Another thing breaks. Another bug I didn’t know existed is eating the fruit, another tree disease I have to prep against otherwise it might wipe out the orchard, another colony of aphids eating the flowers. I can’t win.”

“sounds pretty normal to me.”

You looked up from your knees. “Does it?” 

“that’s just life, ain’t it?” He had somehow shuffled closer to you, entirely without you noticing. “there’s always some new problem. if ya ask me, sounds exactly like a day on our farm. one of the ducks is injured, a coop is leaking, chicken got eaten in the night, goat escaped and ate the neighbour’s flowers. nothing goes how you expect. if you ask me, you’re doing great.”

You hummed. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“doin’ good on paper, too. human from the suburbs moves to the countryside and buys an abandoned orchard. most of the time that ends in disaster. but yer trees are fruiting, could be ready in a single year, the flowers are already bloomin’ and sellin’ at the market. not sure how you could do any better.”

... You couldn’t help but feel warm. Especially on your face again. Partially because of his kind words, yes... but mostly because he seemed so intent on making you feel less bad. It made your chest all fluttery.

“... Thank you,” you mumbled. "that does make me feel better."

“course. anytime. just wish you’d ask for help, more.”

The bird from earlier started singing again. You glanced up, but could see nothing from within the little 'den'.

“Any idea what that bird is?”

He leant back. One hand, conspicuously, resting on the ground just behind your back. “s’a skylark.”

“... Skylark.” 

You stared up into the clear evening sky. You weren’t great with bird names, but you’d definitely remember that. 

...

Feeling like he was looking at you, you turned to the side. Sans was looking at you - and his face was only really a few inches from yours. Close enough that if he tilted his head down a bit, the top of his straw hat would bump against your hair. His expression was calm... a lot calmer than you felt. The two of you quietly held eye contact, and the skylark continued to sing.

... Suddenly, and with no apparent trigger, you felt immensely flustered by the proximity. You pulled back, shuffling, unceremoniously dragging yourself to your feet and brushing off your pants. Your head popped up above the grass; immediately, some tiny birds scattered up and away, sun shining into your eyes.

“I should head home.” You were messing needlessly with your hair. “Dinner isn’t going to make itself.”

Sans looked up at you, for a few silent moments. You couldn’t read his face at all, the only thing you knew was that his smile was very soft.

“agh, i should head out too,” he eventually said, not standing, but folding his arms behind his head and stretching. “need to get home. pap probably thinks i fell into a ditch.”

You put your hands on your hips. “Then you can finally rest, after a long hard day of skipping your chores?”

He chuckled. “why of course.”

“Pft. Say hi to Papyrus for me.”

“sure thing. later, doll.”

With that, you headed back across the field, leaving Sans to pretend to wake up. Knowing him he had probably laid down and gone straight back to sleep.

... You put your hand over your chest, now that you were out of sight, trying to still your fluttering heart. It wasn’t really any use.

The more time you spent with Sans, the more you realised you were falling for him.

///---///

Sans watched you walk away, the golden light catching in your hair.

... He sighed, stretching again, before finally actually dragging himself to his feet. The green flush became more prominent on his face as he stopped to watch a skylark hovering just over the grass before tilting its wings and dancing away.

He’d been completely serious about the stargazing. Once again, you thought he was joking, his own persona had bitten him in the ass. He’d wanted to tell you as you were leaving - he’d wanted to finally put his foot down and make a date out of it, ask you when you were free and do what he’d been dreaming of doing for weeks. 

But just like always, when you’d looked at him, he’d completely fallen to pieces. The words had gotten stuck in his nonexistent throat. And by the time he’d shaken himself out of his stupor, you were already leaving.

Sans just sighed, adjusting his hat. 

“... next time,” he hummed. "there's always next time."

With that, he shortcutted home.

[yandere-wishes]

𝕆𝕦𝕣 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

Summary: You try to escape from two fearsome Sith Lords. Surprisingly they take it rather well.

Author's note: This is totally getting a part 2. Or maybe a series we'll see. 

Warnings: dark, absolutely no regard for the rule of two, sorta a vent fic (venting that these two are so fine and I can't get them out of my mind), slightly fluffy.

The empire's warships have a tendency to blur reality. The interiors of their large hulking exoskeletons house endless corridors and makeshift chambers. Vast, endless arrays of space. They've been optimized for housing droids, clones, and artillery. Not for escape, not for an endless search of a freedom that has long since eroded. 

Calling yourself anything but desperate would be a lie. Your feet run to the chorus of your broken heartbeat. The need for freedom, the need to escape spreads through your body like a poison. You know it'll end up killing you, either from exhaustion or by their sabars. But you have to try, you have to run. Even if you've left fragments of yourself in the warm bed the three of you sleep on. Even if you forgot your heart under Anakin's pillow and your soul still lingers in Maul's warm embrace. Maybe freedom is worth cutting off pieces of yourself, if only in the hope that someday they might grow back. 

There's something wrong with the corridors you're sure of it. You've never been one for directions, instead relying on the holo screens and navigation systems to lead the way. Mirror images as far as the eye can see. Identical, plain. Nothing substantial to store in your memory. There's something ironic about this situation, a punchline that doesn't quite land. You half haphazardly tug on the skirt of your nightgown, desperate for anything familiar. You're not sure why.

You remember how Anakin called you pretty this morning, still hazy, still clinging to the sensation of slumber. Perfect blue eyes too dazed to look at you. Really look at you. The chosen one gazes at your ghost, your ethos. the perfect doll he and Maul had morphed you into. Behind you

 Maul pulls you to his chest. Hand running up and down her side, trying to resurrect you into his dreams. It's only when Anakin's eyes close, seeling the shimmering blue orbs, that you crawl out of bed and into the unknown. 

You're lost, abandoned in absolute desolation. The marble tiles bleed frost into the soles of your feet. Somewhere in the distance, you feel a disturbance in the force. Too far away to matter, yet leaking with a potent rage that burns. It's hope you think, albeit pathetically, maybe it's better to capitulate this pointless crusade and wait for the Sith lords to find you. The crash comes just as you're about to stop. You bump into him, falling in the process. All armor and steel. The Stormtrooper's mask is off giving you a clear view of his scarred face. His eyes flash, some dreary emotion too obscure to read, he offers you a gloved hand, something human something casual. 

You stare frozen. 

When exactly did you stop comprehending human idiosyncrasies? 

When exactly did you start reading every interaction as a threat? 

He's a monster, you think, just like the ones you've been warned about. Lectured time and time again by both Anakine and Maul. Monsters pry on little girls, especially ones who wander off on their own. Monsters lurk behind unsuspecting walls, ready to pounce when their prey approaches. You wonder if, the definitive definition of "monster" could be passed on to the two Siths who call themselves your lovers. 

There's blood, too crimson to be real. Metallic aromas wafted through the air. You've only now noticed how close the disturbance in the force really is. Close enough to distinguish itself. To reveal that, in actuality, it's not a disturbance at all.

 It's two...

Something cold yanks at your forearm. Pulling you to your feet. for a split second, your nerves calm. The familiarity of the cybernetic arm grants you a heavy ease. Anakin pushes you over to where Maul is standing. Golden eyes burning holes through the stormtrooper's armor. 'He didn't do anything' you long to say. But the words wisely die on your tongue as Maul grips your shoulders. Anakine's saber is lit, stabbing through the soldier's armor as if it were flesh. As if killing him where as easy as killing a rogue thought. "You're quite a foolish soldier for daring to touch that which belongs to your commanders. Even more imbecilic for so much as looking at emperor Palpatine's disciple." 

Maul's grip on your shoulders tightens, eyes never once leaving the bloodshed. One of his hands instinctively roams to your belly, then slides down to your thigh. Rubbing it ever so gently as his claws pierce your soft skin. You close your eyes trying to make yourself smaller. You hate how his touch grounds you. How the familiarity plucks at your heartstrings. When he touches you like this you wish you would forever rot in his arms.

"'I'm sorry" You don't know why the words come so easily. As if they've been itching to spill from your tongue. Maybe it's easier to say 'I'm sorry' rather than 'You've broken my perception of love, of reality and now I can only find comfort in your darkness.' "Hush" Maul's anger spills with every syllable. His claws dig deeper, earning him a pained hiss from his doll. 

"You're not sorry, in fact, you rather enjoyed this didn't you? Running away making us chase you down, I never thought your species would enjoy being the prey so much, little one." Anakin walks over, saber seethed at his side. His every step promised pain, retribution. He's angry, furious. They both are, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, they'll end it all today. 

Maul's chambers have always been a testament to Dathomir, bathed in deep scarlets and endless ebony. You wonder if he's homesick for a place he's only visited in his worst ephialtes. After the incident in the corridors, they drag you back to the Zabrak's room. Neither bothering to say a word. Merely permitting their rage to engulf you, subduing you into submission. It's an unwelcome surprise when they begin to prep for the day. Throwing on their black cloaks, prior to choosing your outfit. An abnormal affinity settles across the room. Too unnerving to go unchecked. 

They dress you each morning, a ritual you think, some attestation of love that's never been quite right. Maul drapes you in velvet dresses. Each one harbors a sui generis softness that sits erroneously across your skin. Their opulent sensation only brings forth feelings of aversion and despair. Their softness an ode to your imprisonment. 

the dresses come in shades of crimson, detailed sometimes in black, sometimes in gold, and sometimes in a frigid blue that sends shivers running up your spine. 

Anakin fusses over your accessories, why they feel the need to dress you so extravagantly daily is beyond you -as you've come to realize many things are- On days when Anakin's hubris reaches its apex, he bathes you in gold. Astonishing glittering collars across your neck and Kuat bangles hanging from your wrists. When he's sober from his pride he chooses black diamonds. Simple and exotic. scintillate and opaque.

Allusions to the dark side.

A hidden reference that crawls inside you. 

Once, back when you'd been sure defiance was still an option. Back when callow hope still dared to flow through your veins. Back when you'd been a jejune, stubborn thing. You had refused to wear one of the dresses they'd bought. Adimant in your refusal until Maul had stuck out his hand. Summoning the Force to remind you just who held the supreme authority here. 

The Force had strangled you, clawing hungrily at your neck. You felt your bones caving in on themselves, watched with exacerbating hysteria as your feet abandoned the floor. He'd only released you when he was sure you were near death's adorned door. Permitting you to molder on the floor akin to a ragdoll. 

Anakin had chastised you after you'd conjured enough strength to sit up, gasping greedily for air. He'd broken two fingers that day. One still harbors a small scar.

A Promise ring. 

An augury.

There are days, few and far between. When they've deemed you've been behaving adequately for long enough. That they permit you the choice of which dress you'd fancy wearing for the day. It's a rare event, reserved as a special treat. You think it's their way of proposing variety, giving you the illusion of choice. Making you feel a little less smothered. 

Today is not one of those days. Today, you feel them pick you apart, only to reassemble you in their image. Drowning you in extravagance. A reminder, one whose deprecating nature weaves itself within your muscles. You, little girl, are nothing more than a doll. And dolls should know their place.

No sooner do you feel the final lace fasten across your back, that Anakin is tugging you outside the door. Metal arm clasped around your forearm. 

Maul follows behind molten gaze locked on your face. The hallways bend to their will as if the walls themselves quiver with their presence. You recognize this corridor, recognize the frigid forlorn. 

There's something wrong with Emperor Palpatine's throne room. It's surreal, makeshift. His real throne lays somewhere cold, somewhere even his apprentices don't dare wander off to. The ironclad throne has never felt right. Never felt like it held any real power. Just terror, just dread, just hatred. But here it is in all its glory. Left to two apprentices who'd rather treat it as a toy than a sacred place.

 Anakin dramatically throws himself onto the throne. One leg thrown over the armrest as he leans against the other. His other leg planted firmly on the ground. He keeps you steady on his thigh. Torturing you with his distant, disappointed look. Maul stands in front of you. His eyes liquid gold melting into you. You see the galaxy in them. Hear it whispearing secrets meant to be forgotten. It's Anakin's voice that rattles you from your disjointed thoughts. 

"You caused us so much worry angel" he's being nice. You don't trust that. There's something sinister plaguing his words.  

"You know Ani, she may cease escaping if you'd cease to spoil her." Maul leans down, gripping your chin and squeezing. " The brat forgets her place, merely cause you'd rather coddle her than discipline her." 

Anakin glares, a shift in his eyes, blue bleeding into gold. "Hmm, Maul, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Kenobi right now."

"Why's that? Did the old fool tend to also point out your shortcomings?" 

You wonder who this Kenobi is, as you watch the Siths' exchange crude childish vitriols. Maybe he'd make a better lover than the two men you have the misfortune of being adhered to. 

They never could truly see just how similar they were.

Two sides of the same coin. 

One born of copper, the other, black rose petals.

Subconsciously you reach out. Grasping Anakin's robotic hand, fiddling with the panel, peeling it away to gain access to the wires and circuits. You have a bad habit of ripping things open. Anakin learned this the first time he kissed you and you tried to gnaw at his chest with your nails. Not in malice, but rather to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. A raging need to open him and see just how he ticked. You'd wished to perform an autopsy on his soul. Rip him open and devour all his secrets. Back then you'd wondered if you could kiss sunrises into Anakin's eternal night. Strip him of bleak blackened skies and introduce him to stars and a moon that shines. He'd only vaguely permitted it. Opting to pluck the stars lying within you. Swiping them for steel and lava and other mundane things that fueled his incessant rage. 

Anakin's head dips, lips pressing on your jugular vein. "You're ethereal" Anakin mubbles against your skin, like the dying prayer of a collapsing star. He's so pretty when he kisses your neck. Biting away pieces of you. Stealing your light for himself. 

"Princess" Maul seethes venom pelting from his words. You realize you'd been ignoring him. Something he's not too fond of. "What in the stars was going through your pretty little head?" 

 he looks like he'd love nothing more than to wring your pretty little neck right now. "I just..." your words feel heavy. Tiny bullets polluting your tongue. It feels so cruel to say when you know just how much they love you. "I just wanted some freedom. Just a bit of space." 

"Dumb little angel" Anakin chastes. You lower your head in embarrassment watching Maul kneel in front of you. He cups your cheeks, placing a soft kiss on your head. "You can never escape us beloved".

 "I love you," says Anakin. All you hear is, I'll haunt you, I'll break your ribs one by one so that I may possess your heart. Maybe they mean the same thing. 

"And I'm pretty sure if Maul could feel normal emotions like everyone else, then he'd love you too." You can't help but let out a giggle as Anakin throws his head back laughing. A rare melodious sound, that causes your heart to skip a beat. Maul merely rolls his eyes before pecking you on the lips.

You trace your fingers across Maul's chest, feeling the pummelling of two hearts. A double heartbeat. Two melodies entwined, You wonder who he harbors in those hearts. One for love and one for family. You nip at his bottom lip. Ushering the blood into your mouth. He tastes of Ichor and smoke. Of sadness and rage. From behind you feel Akanin bite into the hollow of your flesh. Leaving traces of himself upon your skin. 

"Our pretty little problem" Anakin mumbles. 

You're a problem, a vexation draped in velvet, an unsolvable equation. Trapped between a love that seethes through your body like a toxin. Engulfing you until your mind relents. Maybe it's easier this way. Easier to say 'I love you' without the double entendre. 

You do love them.

A rather arduous conclusion to reach.

Maul and Anakin.

Palpatine's apprentices. 

Your lovers

Yeah, that sounds about right...

💜💜: @athanasia-day @hotpinkboots @jenn-patterson-69 @nickiiiixoxo-blog @the-chains-are-the-easy-part

[luffyrose]

We're back with another dc x dp, coming to you this time on my phone while hang in off the back of my couch. Is blood rushing to my head? Yes.

Either way, I had a random thought about how personally as a child, I was a little monkey, like if my parents had actually had the thought to put me in gymnastics I would probably be a menace to society. And so my thought was, what if Danny was like that too?

Danny had always been very hyper, like, bounce of the walls, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE FRIDGE-" kind of hyper. When he started to climb, hang, flip, and just about break something just to have some fun, Jazz finally tried to get their parents to sign him up for gymnastics.

They didn't.

Both had been very happy at the idea, but when it came down to it, they just forgot. And one time without actually paying attention to the two, said gymnastics was for girls, ultimately shattering Danny's budding hobby. Jazz of course didn't just let that dream go, instead finding anything she could to let him learn on his own, at the very least, she made sure he was capable enough to pick it up in his teenage years should he finally get a chance to take classes.

That didn't end up happened either.

He'd died, become Phantom, accidentally become Crown Prince of the Infinite realms, and now had to deal with superheroes realizing that something was up in Amity. More specifically, a credible news reporter finally came to the town and settled the real or not debate in one swift "WTF IS THAT-" upon seeing a giant robot hunter thing(it was Skulker).

Along with all that, his parents, or more specifically his mother, was finally noticing something was wrong. Almost two years after he died, she finally took a second to look at him, and was disturbed. So Danny, being optimistic as he can be, tries to tell them, which goes horribly wrong and ends in a lab explosion and Danny 'stuck' in the Ghost Zone. Really Jazz blew the portal up after reaching her own breaking point and immediately called CPS on her parents since Danny was never gonna come back to them.

Danny all ouchy, there goes my parents because the two destroyed their blood bond by intentionally aiming to harm him instead of the weird loophole they'd been in before. Clockwork being Clockwork yeets him over to Gotham, giving Jazz a note about it.

Over in Gotham, he's actually thrown right from a portal in the aky hurdling down toward one of the city's rogues. Whoever it is, the Batfam are like "wtf-" at the clearly confused child that suspiciously looks like they're one of the Waynes, and so they just take him back. Doesn't help that they're worried since he just got thrown from who knows where and definitely did not take that fall well- also doesn't help that he's clearly bleeding and severely injured.

Danny, after Alfred forces him to rest from injuries, is so hyper. His hyperness had gone into his vigilantism, so now with nothing to deter it, he was going crazy and he felt so stiff.

Cue one of the sibkings walking in to find the kid hanging dangerously off something and just going "hi". Dick has a new favorite(not really he still loves all his siblings the same...maybe Damian and new kid are a smidge higher, but they're younger so it doesn't count).

When he takes the kid to the gym in their house, he is literally running around and getting onto everything. Now Dick has accidentally acquired little acrobatic brother that he's determined to help out with getting better.

Best part, Danny doesn't even realize the others are like "welp he's family now" and is just thinking they're very nice for being rich. He doesn't trust Bruce too much though, sure rich people's mids could be chill(take Sam for example) but parents themselves were iffy.

No one knows how to react to the truth bombs he randomly drops without even realizing it either.

Dick, watching Danny haning upside down from a bar for the last like 10 minutes: whatcha doin buddy?

Danny: thinking about my parents.

Damian, who's also been watching the whole tome but would never admit it: Your parents?

Danny, yeeting himself off the bar with no sense of self preservation: yeah, they told me they'd sign me up for gymnastics. Never did. Claimed it was only for girls. Although I think that was the same day our oven came alive on accident and almost set me on fire so...they were pretty distracted.

Dick, staring in actual horror for many reasons: What?!

Damian, also horrified but not showing it as much: Your oven came alive...?

Danny, who still isn't paying attention and already having forgotten what he said: how do you do that thing you showed me earlier?

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

if you have paid any attention to my ramblings on my process, you know that i tend to rethink my comics and toss out a lot of work if im not satisfied with how it turned out. so i thought id share some previews of comics that have gone unseen, and why they havent been posted (yet?) in order of how likely i am to finish and/or post them :)

(under cut bc long post)

Be nice to each other: Main 4. Tomtord/Polyworld, angst. 4 pages. Matt confronts Tom and Tord on how have been acting, accidentally compelling them into saying how they really feel.

Status: abandoned.

I drew this one quite a while ago and i still really like the dialogue and character interactions i wrote for it! vampire hypnosis is a super cool concept and im definitely going to use it in the future, but this ultimately didnt pan out how i wanted it to.

Why it's not posted: while the buildup and climax are really good, this would be a huge mess to clean up. this would require some serious work both between the four of them and on my part for writing and drawing all of that!! plus, it would totally change the relationship dynamic between Tom and Tord, possibly ending it altogether (and i still have so much i want to do with them!!!)

Ed and Edd: Eduardo, Edd, Eduardo's mother. No pairings, angst. 3 pages. Eduardo can't wait to introduce himself at school, but he's got competition for the name he chose.

Status: abandoned.

Trans Eduardo is such a good concept. imagine figuring out who you are only to find out someone else already is that. of course you're going to hate them.

Why it's not posted: two main reasons. one is that i couldn't figure out how to end the comic (a recurring theme lol), but another is that i'm still not super confident with writing Eduardo yet. ...or writing children. so kid Eduardo is a challenge.

Can't tell where you're looking: Tommatt, fluff. 3 pages. Tom isn't as sneaky as he thinks he is.

Status: on my list!

Tommatt fans, i have heard your pleas i have received your asks. it's on my list.

Why it's not posted: i had a great idea, drew several pages, thought about it, and decided it sucked, actually. it can be reworked, but my motivation did not get out unscathed.

Bad (?) Dream: Tomtord, uh.... yeah thats just smut huh. 2 pages. A bad dream for one and a good dream for the other.

Status: ???

I'm not saying SHIT.

Why it's not posted: originally, it was because i didn't want to post suggestive stuff on this blog. now, it's because i found better ways to cover the concepts in this comic. Y'all will simply have to wait and see ;)

Matt figures it out: Matt, Tom. could be Tommatt. hurt/comfort. a collection of random sketches. Matt figures out how to turn into a bat! It sucks!

Status: on my list!

I've been wanting to talk about this SOOOO BAD!!! because why would you transform in a second via a poof of smoke when it could be an hour-long painful disturbing process?! honestly could be described as hurt/comfort/hurt.

Why it isn't posted: well for one it barely counts as a comic, just random sketches and a general idea. to be fair thats how most of my comics start, but... you know. i havent worked on it in a while mainly because the characters need to solve some personal problems first.

Not tonight: Tordmatt. fluff/suggestive. 2 pages. Matt's got pointy ears again, and Tord knows what that means!

Status: on my list!

TORDMATT FANS I HAVE ALSO HEARD YOUR PLEAS! Also, yippee i get to infodump about my headcanons via a comic

Why it's not posted: unfinished, and i hit a bit of a road block. usually its in writing, but this time its in the art half! so i have no idea how to get around it yet!!!

Puberty sucks fr. imagine losing an eye: Tom, Tom's mother. no pairings. angst. 3 pages. When did Tom's eyes change?

Status: on my list!

You all remember the soul-crushing existential grief that started at the same time as puberty, right? No, just me? Huh.

Why it isn't posted: layout isn't quite what im looking for :/ also, a half-naked child on tumblr, even in a completely non-sexual context, is something i am slightly apprehensive about!

Something's wrong: Main 4. Polyworld, angst/suggestive. 20+ pages. Tom doesn't feel well. Edd, Matt, and Tord try to help.

Status: actively working on it

Oh, you guys remember that poll? Haha thats funny. Yeah i'm still working on this one.

Why it isn't posted: uh its not done yet. and also i am unsure of whether or not it will be allowed on tumblr. or whether or not i want people to speculate on my entire deal.

...and while i'm here:

Communication comic part 6: IN PROGRESS!! these idiots need to establish boundaries. all of them. i believe <3

Zombie Tord part 4: ON MY LIST! i want to get through the communication comic first :3

thank u for reading all my ramblings :D! i am so fucking excited to continue working on all of my dumb shit and i am so happy that ppl like said dumb shit

[moni-logues]

30 Seconds

Pairing: Changbin x reader (afab)

Genre: smut/pwp, established relationship

Summary: Your boyfriend isn't exactly pleased when you wake him up so he can get you off, but you promise to be quick.

Word count: 1.2k

Content: masturbation (f.), fingering

A/N: if you can dream it, then you can do it!!!... or you can write it, at least lmaooo anyway Changbin has been giving me Problems recently, what can I say. unbeta'd, basically unedited.

You had got it down to a fine art: leaving after-work drinks at just the right moment. No longer sober but not yet drunk. Just a little warm, a little soft at the edges, a little bit giddy. And on your way home to Changbin, whom you had been thinking about all day.  

He had to have known what he was doing when he sent you that selfie from the gym. It was leg day. He hated leg day. You loved it. And there he was: thick thighs on display, the sweat between his pecs soaking through his T-shirt, hair sticking to him at the edges of his face. You loved sweaty, messy Changbin; you loved his feats of strength; you loved it when he showed off the results of all his efforts.

You just hoped he was still awake when you got home. 

It was a little later than you would usually return and the lights were all off when you opened the door. You sighed. He had gone to bed without you. He was asleep.  

You tiptoed into your bedroom and changed quietly in the dark; you moved to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth; you climbed carefully into bed, not wanting to wake him.  

Well, you did you want to wake him, actually. You really, really wanted him to wake up so he could make you feel good in the way that only he did. But you looked at his warm, curled up body, his soft curls over his forehead, his broad shoulders rounded as he held the duvet tight to his chest, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.  

He was dead asleep. He didn’t so much as grunt when you settled down beneath the covers. He was doing that tiny, quiet snore he sometimes did, that you somehow still found adorable rather than annoying.  

So you took matters into your own hands.  

You clamped your hands between your thighs for a moment, just to warm them up (your hands were always cold; his were always warm), then you slipped one under the waistband of your underwear, toying with yourself lightly, trying not to rush – because you always did when it was just you and you wanted to take your time for once. You ran your fingers across your lips, dipped just the tip into your core, stifling a laugh of surprise at how wet you were already. But it came easily when you had sluiced off the top of your inhibitions, when you’d sanded down the edges of your stress, when Changbin sent you selfies specifically designed to turn you on in the middle of a workday and you’d had to hold back for hours and hours and hours.  

You circled your clit, pressure light, and you could feel your patience wane as your pleasure grew. This would have been the point at which Changbin would’ve changed tack, would’ve neglected you a little, would have called you needy and laughed, looking at you with stars in his eyes. You didn’t do that.  

You chased it, the pressure and pleasure. You circled a little faster, pressing a little harder; you began to rock your hips against your hand as a wet heat rushed through you. You felt empty and moved your hand down, sliding two fingers straight into your slick cunt. 

It was your body. And you knew what you liked. You’d had enough practice (solo and otherwise) to know exactly how you liked it. The problem was that how you liked it was not solo. You couldn’t angle yourself in the right way, couldn’t get your short fingers to hit the right spot. On a different night, you might have sought mechanical help, but there was a sleeping boyfriend right next to you and you were trying not to disturb him.  

You were. You really, truly had decided not to bother him, not to wake him for this. It would’ve been selfish. He needed sleep. You didn’t need him to finish you off. 

Except for the fact that you did. You could feel frustration mounting because he was right there and he would do exactly what you wanted, would do it better than you could. And you wanted it so badly.  

“Binnie,” you called quietly.  

No response. 

“Binnie.” 

A grunt. 

“Are you awake?” 

“No.” 

You thought you heard him say it, anyway. It could have just been another grunt. It might have been an entirely coincidental sleep noise. You rolled onto your side and pressed your body against his back, laying a kiss on his neck. 

“Are you awake?” you whispered. 

“I’m sleeping,” came the mumbled reply, his face pushed into the pillow, his mouth barely moving, and his eyes closed. 

“I need your help.” 

“No.” 

He knew exactly what you wanted because he knew you and he knew that tone. You knew he knew.  

“Binniiiieee,” you whined. “Please. I don’t even want to have sex—” 

“Good. Night night.” 

You whined again and gave him a squeeze, pressing yourself tighter to him. 

“Just please-” you began, in an urgent whisper- “please finger me. I promise I’ll be quick. I really will. 30 seconds tops!” 

“Can’t you do it yourself?” 

His eyes were still closed but his words were clearer now, spoken to the room and not back into the pillow.  

“Not like you can. Please, Binnie, please.” 

There was a huff and, even in the gloom of your dark bedroom, you were sure you could see his lips twitch at the corners. 

“You’re so needy.” 

“Yes! I need you.” 

He didn’t reply that time, so you slunk away, flopping onto your back again with a defeated sigh. It had been cheeky of you to even as- 

Then Changbin rolled over, from one side to his other, and his hand slid smoothly across your stomach and down. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and you quietened the delighted squeal you wanted to make as his fingers found treasure and slipped through your soaked folds.  

He huffed again, the merest laugh, his lips stretched against your skin. 

“You are always so fucking wet, baby.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  

He shook his head with a hum and lay another kiss on you as his fingers dived into your slick core. Immediately, in an instant, you could feel it: the groundswell of pleasure which promised intensity, a dizzy climax, a riptide which would land you, eventually, safely next to Changbin, sated and satisfied and sweet.  

He could hit the spot that you couldn’t. He could crook his fingers and make your toes curl while he ground the heel of his hand into your clit. He could get you off in thirty seconds. He could get you off in thirty seconds and you’d be grateful for it, pleased, pleasured. You could get yourself off in thirty seconds and then you often wondered if you should have bothered at all.  

You were on your tiptoes at the edge of it, body hot and alight and straining, when Changbin put his lips to your ear. 

“Time’s up, princess,” he whispered. “Come now or never.” 

With a shiver running down your spine, you chose now. Your back arched off the bed, your feet pulled up and heels dug into the mattress, your hands fisted the sheets, your eyes closed and your mouth opened in a silent gasp.  

Then you flopped, soft and heavy, back into the bed. Changbin removed his fingers and brought them to your mouth, where you accepted them graciously, licking your own arousal from them, sucking them clean.  

“Thank you,” you said when his hand had moved away, as he turned over, back to his other side.  

You shivered again in the absence of his warm body and turned towards him, wrapping an arm around his middle and moulding your body to his. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” he replied, already sounding close to sleep. “I’ll give you thirty seconds any time.” 

You smiled and kissed the back of his neck. 

“Just don’t ask me for a minute.”  

[sanzaibian]

I look on with pride as I enter the Tokyo University of Arts, the most prestigious art school of the whole country. I studied so hard for the whole past year, and yet I barely made it through the entrance exams… but as the flowers bloom, it is time for me to enter the next step of my life !

I have had an immaculate record : I’ve had good grades throughout middle and high school, I was class representative in most classes in that time, and I already had a portfolio ready ! Really, I was the perfect candidate for the fine arts studies ! I’ll be able to realize my dream of becoming a great architect !

However, as I approach the steps of the Sogakudo Concert Hall where the Entrance Ceremony is supposed to take place, I am suddenly blasted by big plumes of smoke. The smell is all too familiar to me, as I distinctly remember disciplining a students who were smoking in the premises, and although now I’m studying alongside adults, it doesn’t mean spreading smoke without any care for others shouldn’t be grounds for objection. And as I turn to see the origin of the smoke, I am comforted in my decision, as a small group of the most typical of thugs appear in front of me. A small group of Bosozoku, with big obnoxious pompadours on their heads and leather jackets one of them with a cigarette in his mouth and another with hair dyed blonde.

“Hey, this is a university campus ! You can’t smoke and loiter like that !” I came in strong, but I was a bit disconcerted when they started laughing. Though it doesn’t matter, guys like them always act tough at first. - Hahaha ! Bro, look at this kouhai (junior) tryin’ to order us around !” Mocked one of them with an enthusiastic tone. - Well, what’s he gonna do, is he gonna call security ?” Added the second, with calmer and more objective tone. - Kouhai,” started saying the one who was smoking, looking at me in the eyes. “d’ya think ya have a right to boss me around ?”

W-wait… kouhai ? They may be older than me, I agree, but are they actually students here ? They’re mocking me, of course, such a prestigious academy would never let in rascals such as them ! It just cannot be !

“W-well… I’m sure that you aren’t allowed to disturb other students like that ! It harms public harmony ! - Public harmony, you say ?” Continues the one who was smoking. “Well, you know where I put your public harmony ? In my ass !”

The other roared of laughter. But I am not this easily fussed.

“Well, no matter what, I’ll report you all for trying to disturb the Tokyo University of Arts Entrance Ceremony by your illegal loitering.” I take my phone out. “You see, I can call the police.” I smile as I hear their laughs falter. - I see you’re already going with the nuclear option…” The smoking guy said, as he puts out his cigarette on a nearby wall. “Fine, we’ll go so you’re happy. - Well, great ! And I hope I won’t see you all again !” I can’t help but smile at my easy victory. A bit too easy, actually… but let’s rejoice rather than fear. - Don’t worry, you won’t see us until you need to meet back up…” The smoking one ends, quite ominously. “If you need to find us, Ryuunosuke will go to The Gigs tomorrow evening. - I hope to see you there.” I hear the calmer voice behind me, before suddenly hearing the click of a lighter.

I look back, and see one of the Bosozoku I saw earlier in the group, a lighter in his hand and a mask on his face.

Funny enough, with this ad behind him he almost looks like a graffiti artist… But no, the main thing is… has he tried to set me on fire !? I take a step back in defense, as he raises his hands as if he was innocent. I look behind me and see that the two others have also put on masks, and are starting to make their way out.

“Goodbye !” Says the one who had a lighter in his hand, likely that ‘Ryuunosuke’ guy, as he follows his… gang.

I stand there, quite confused by the whole altercation. What has actually happened ? Why did everything take on a sinister tone at the end ? Why did they say we would meet again ? Why were there these kind of thugs right besides the Sogakudo Concert Hall ? And... er… why am I not in the Sogakudo Concert Hall ?

Oh no ! I forgot everything due to that ! I hope I’m not late…

As I start making my way to the hall, I hear some weird noise as my foot touched the ground. I looked down, and saw a red cigarette on the ground, that was seemingly lighten up until I stepped on it. Great, these ruffians even littered… though the smell is a bit weird, it doesn’t seem like usual tobacco smell. It could even be said to smell… a bit good, actually ? Well, better than most, it doesn’t actually smell good, but the smell is still weirdly present.

But I don’t have any time to waste. The Entrance Ceremony is going to start any minute, I can’t be late to it !

I mean, I don’t know what I expected from some speech by important people, but this one was especially egregious. They were thanking a bunch of people, and patronizing us, saying we were the “future of Japan��… Thinking about it, it was about the same content as third year of high-school, but at least back then the headmaster had some charisma.

So, a bit disappointed, I make my way to Nezu station, to go back home. I might as well have stayed home, the consequences would have been barely noticeable. Plus, I could have bought a lollipop. I don’t know why, but I’ve got the urge to play with something in my mouth.

As I enter Nezu station, I automatically check the cameras and the personnel, and see that they have a dead space where I can go without my face being recognize. I smile, and take the very path I planned out to jump over the fare. As I do that, I get a rush of adrenaline, and make my way towards the platform, reveling in the danger.

But as I enter the train, I realize what I have done.

What has happened to me ? Why did I even think of entering the station illegally ? I have a metro card, and my parents have bought a full subscription, so it doesn’t even make sense ? God, this is the kind of things that those Bosozoku I sneered at would do… Then why the hell am I replicating this kind of hooligan behavior ?

When I arrive at my station, I scan my fare card, quite bashful, before leaving. I may have entered illegally, I won’t leave illegally. Though I must admit the adrenaline was fun. Even though it pains me to say that.

The remainder of my day is spent sulking in my small student’s apartment, going through lollipop after lollipop I bought at the Kombini after eating lunch. Then, the evening, I prepare my stuff for the beginning of classes tomorrow, hoping that my strange outburst of rebel attitude would be a fluke.

And so I drift off to sleep.

When I wake up, I find myself weirdly void of energy.

Usually, mornings are easy, and I’m ready for a full day of class. But today, things just ain’t it. It’s especially bad since today marks the beginning of classes… At least I had the foresight of preparing my things yesterday evening… Well, no matter. I prepare a bit more rice than usual to get the day really started, hopefully it will be enough to wake up properly.

After eating, I go to the bathroom to prepare myself. I put on my clothes, I brush my teeth, and then I search for… something ? I don’t actually know what, but I know I should be putting something in my hair… Plus, where is my comb ? I need a comb. Why do I need a comb ?

Oh no, oh no, the weird stuff from yesterday are happening again ! It can’t be !

I abandon all that searching and go out to class. This time, I make an actual effort to take the metro the correct way, yet during the whole ride the thrill of bypassing the fair kept on nagging me. And when I entered my first classroom, my troubles didn’t even actually end. I had a hard time concentrating on the teacher, especially on respecting his authority. I only wanted to go out, not to be trapped in here doing boring calculations… But I must admit that the classes that were more focused on design and on drawing, letting me do my own damn thing, were actually fun. I was able to flex my creative muscles in a way I didn’t know I could until now. I almost couldn’t recognize myself !

However, let’s be honest, something very weird is going on with me. And it all started with these Bosozoku.

Oh, yeah, didn’t they say that they would be waiting for me ? At “The Gigs” today evening ? Of course, yeah, what’s going wrong obviously has something to do with them. Otherwise they wouldn’t have insisted on me meeting back up with them…

I sigh. I know I’m the duck carrying its own leek, but it’s the only way to understand whatever has happened to me. And the only way to find a cure.

“The Gigs” was actually quite hard to find, but I found out that they were referring to a concert in the Nippon Budokan. Thankfully, I only had one change to do from the Chiyoda line to arrive here, but the whole ordeal of finding the place after many, many furious google searches proved quite frustrating.

But as I arrived to the door of the Nippon Budokan, as convened stood firm one of the Bosozoku I saw yesterday.

“So you came !” He exclaims, with a mix of amusement and surprise. “If you don’t remember, I’m Kowa Ryuunosuke. And, wouldn’t you know it, I have additional tickets !” While saying that, he waves two pieces of paper. - I don’t care. I want the weird stuff to end.” I answer, resolute, and a bit filter-less, I admit. - You know, Tsutomu and I thought that you wouldn’t show up, that we would have to find you. But no, turns out Hitoshi was correct, you would immediately notice that something was off. - What do you mean notice that something is off. You knew that weird stuff would happen to me ? - You know, the show is gonna start soon. I guarantee you’ll love it. You coming ?”

I am starting to get angry at how he keeps on avoiding my question.

“No, I’m not coming with you. I’m waiting to have an answer and a way to stop whatever you did to me.” I maintain as he sighs in answer. - Look. I can help you, but only if you come with me. I’m going in, and if you don’t follow me, you’ll have to fare for yourself in… whatever you found.”

I blush of embarrassment. I’ve lost at my own game, and now he knows I have nothing he’s interested in.

I guess now I must weigh whether sticking with these rascals is worth it or not. The benefits of not sticking are obvious : I wouldn’t have to associate with Bosozoku, and they wouldn’t be able to pressure me to do anything. But if I don’t, I do risk changing in ways I can’t understand, and may even put in jeopardy my studies in more substantial ways than being with Bosozoku. The choice is actually hard to make…

But then, knowing some people wouldn’t be so bad for such a lonely guy as myself… plus, it looks like it’s a Kishidan concert, it’s not a bad band… And tomorrow, I don’t have any early class… Plus, if we actually become friends, I may be able to actually find a way to reverse the effects of whatever they gave me...

“Eh, you know what, I’ll follow you. ‘Can’t that bad to go to a free concert.” I capitulate. - Welcome, then !”

Kowa gives me one of the concert tickets, smiling, likely happy to have scored a victory. He’s actually somewhat cute, gleeful like that. So I follow him inside, and we take our places, ready to listen to what turns out to be his favorite band.

Well, this was a blast ! I’ve never felt more alive than yesterday evening !

I was full of so much energy, it’s actually quite unbelievable ! I’m usually lethargic when we reach 5PM, 0AM or even 1AM the few times I actually stay up this late. Heh, I’d usually actually feel as lethargic as I’m doing right now, waking up ! But Kowa and I really had a great time. From around the half-point to the end of the concert, we were standing up, dancing our hearts off while Kishidan was giving their all. By the end of the evening, Kowa’s pompadour was ruined and I was thoroughly out of breath, but we agreed that it was worth it. The music was a lot more enjoyable than I remember, even more than I would rate video game music – and that’s quite a feat to remove Dragon Quest from the podium. I’m even finding myself humming the melody this very morning !

After eating breakfast, I find myself again in my bathroom searching for something that I don’t have after having brushed my teeth and washed my face. However, this time when I see the contents of my closet, I feel a bit self-conscious. There really isn’t much that’s actually cool, only uncreative dress shirts, plain jackets, mandatory ties and monochrome T-shirts. Why did I ever think this would even pass as clothing ?

I freeze. This is not me. I never cared about how I look. Only being comfortable and acceptable in society ever came into account when I chose clothing ! Besides, most of the time I only dressed in uniform ! This is something I’ll have to ask Kowa about. It is not the most egregious thing to happen, but it’s yet another step in leaving who I actually am behind. And I’m not keen on that.

Thankfully, Kowa told me that we could meet back up at Ueno station late afternoon, so I can ask him about it. And he also added me on Line, so, in case of emergency I can call him.

But now, class is the priority.

I look around in the train station, unsure of where I’m supposed to go. Although Kowa gave me a place and an hour to meet at, he wasn’t clear on how we would do that. But I’ll be honest, after all the dancing yesterday, we were both quite hammered. Though it really doesn’t help my case, as I was self-conscious the whole day, so I was unable to properly concentrate. Hopefully, he will find a way to help me, it’s barely my second day in the most prestigious academy of arts in the country, and I’m already encountering so many problems !

Suddenly, I receive a notification on my phone. Oh, it’s from Line ! Apparently, I was invited to the group 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento) by Kowa… and on there, someone named お鼠様 (Sir Rat) gave instructions, likely addressed to me.

He said :

“上野駅の下にですよ！参加してぞ！(I’m at the bottom of Ueno Station ! Join me !)”

His profile picture is cute, actually, being that of a rat with a cool hairstyle… quite reminiscent of that of the Bosozoku I now hang out with, actually – which should not really come as a surprise, thinking about it.

Back to the point, what did he mean by “at the bottom of Ueno station” ? It’s quite big, and there’s no real “bottom” point…

As I think about it for a while, wandering aimlessly in the meantime, my head starts to ache, and more than ever I crave for something in my mouth… I don’t know what, but something needs to go in. Thankfully, I thought to bring some spare lollipops, but they seem both too big and too small, they only bring temporary relief. That may also be something to talk about to them.

But bottom of the station… bottom of the station… Ha ! Yes, of course, the Metro ! That’s the part of the station that’s the deepest inside the earth !

I rush to there, hoping that Kowa – or more likely whoever that お鼠様 (Sir Rat) is – has not yet left. As I ride down the escalator, I keep my head out for anybody with the Bosozoku style. I wander a bit, not seeing anybody fitting the criteria, when suddenly I notice a service door that wasn’t fully closed.

Now, understand me. Service doors, as the name suggests, are for service employees only. Customers aren’t supposed to go in.

But the setup of this whole thing, and the mere thrill of doing something forbidden proved too enticing, as I find myself striding towards it, and entering. And my braveness… or rather foolishness if my opinion is the matter, is rewarded, as I find a Bosozoku with a big pompadour dyed blonde – though it appears ginger in the dark – standing there, with sunglasses and the attitude of a certified bad boy.

“Hey, so you made it, kouhai ! I was sure you would understand my hints ! You struck me as the smart kind – for better or for worse.” The guy hailed me very enthusiastically, almost making a motion of hugging towards me. - Uh… O-Nezu-sama, I presume ? - Heh, that’s correct ! Though you’d better know me as Soiri Tsutomu, that’s more worldly !” He corrects me, smiling seemingly both of amusement and compassion. - Oh, I-I’m sorry, Soiri…” I keep my head down in a show of humility. I may be breaking the law by being here, but I’m not breaking etiquette at the same time. - Don’t worry, don’t worry ! So, what brings you here ?”

I don’t quite know what to answer to this blunt a question. I expected him to rope me into something else like Kowa did, so while I thought of topics to bring up, I never thought of questions to ask… But as I look down at my clothes which bothered me the whole day, I get an idea. However, I barely open my mouth when Soiri interrupts me :

“Oh, yeah, I agree. That’s absolutely terrible fashion sense that you have here ! We’re gonna have to fix that pronto ! But you’re in luck !” Soiri makes a double biceps pose, pointing with his thumbs to his grubs. “I happen to be the best in fashion inside the 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento), so you’re in good hands !”

I squint, not understanding how he knew what I was thinking about. Seeing me stunned like that, he opens his mouth ready to speak once again, but this time I do manage to outpace him.

“Well, if you say so, then let’s go !” Better to leave this room earlier than later. It might be thrilling to live in danger, I don’t want to push my luck. - Okay, then follow me !”

As he leaves the service area to go to the subway, I follow him. I do ask him multiple times where we’re going, but he stays silent, telling me that it’s a surprise. We take the Ginza line and step down at Suehirocho station. We walk through a few narrow alleyways until we reach a small shop named Nichiwa.

Smiling, he invites me in, and when I enter, I’m immediately amazed at what that store actually sells. It sells leather clothes. Of all kinds of styles. And I didn’t know how much I needed leather clothes until today.

We bought a lot of clothes there. He also lead me to a few other stores where we bought other actually trendy and cool clothes, that are much better than anything I had in my closet.

As we left our last store, full of clothes in multiple bags, I felt quite tired from all the shopping, but at the same time so excited for this. Never would I ever need to feel self-conscious about what I wear ! So I thanked him :

“Thank you so much, Soiri. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here to help me ! - Don’t worry, I love helping people finding clothes ! I might be at the Tokyo Arts School for music, I could absolutely see myself doing fashion in another universe. - So you do actually study at the Tokyo Arts School ? I thought that you were just hanging out as rascals somewhere you were not supposed to !” I ask, in disbelief, causing him to laugh. - Of course I do ! We all do study here, in the 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento) ! Well, Hitoshi doesn’t anymore, but it’s only because he graduated last year. - Oh, wow… I would have never thought, looking at how you dressed…” I actually feel quite guilty for stereotyping them like that. Turns out they do belong in the Arts School, I was the one in the wrong. Thinking about it, how many other people did I label as rascals only by looking at their style ? “But you used the name 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento), that’s also what the Line group I was invited to is named. Is that actually the name of your group, or is it just a funny thing for the Line group ? - Yup, that’s our name ! Subject to change, of course, like everything, but we really like it. Besides, we’re all really happy to bring you inside the group, so you’ll get a say in changing the name if you want !”

I stop at that.

Did he say that he wants to bring me inside their group ? That’s not what I want, what I want is to find a solution for the weird behaviors I have ! I don’t want to have anything more to do with them than I already have ! Besides, it’s their fault if all of that happens to me. Did they plan on that ? Were they just searching for anyone to add in their group of rascals, and chose to change me so that I fit their wishes ?

“I have no intention of joining your group ! 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento) or not, I’m only doing this because you did something weird to me ! Are you actually doing some kind of advanced kidnapping or what ?” I snap.

His turn to look stunned. It seems like he realized he said something wrong and is scrambling to find a way to scavenge it back. Well, let him stew. They brought it onto themselves by toying with me.

“Uh… well…” Mumbles Soiri, before he manages something a bit clearer. “Y-you know, you shouldn’t be saying that to the one who basically bought all of your clothes ! Let me say that it’s not cheap ! - You have no right to say that !” I pounce back. “You’re the one who’s molding me into what you want, of course you’re not buying me clothes out of the kindness of your heart ! You’re doing that to further your nefarious plan !”

He looks away, likely in shame. Or at least I hope so.

“So now, I go back home, and you find a way to reverse that. The clothes you bought are my insurance.” I layer on the guilt.

And on that, I leave for the subway station, but before I’m too far from him, he shouts to me :

“I can’t ! ... Message us when you need to.”

A few days passed, and I haven’t contacted them since. I’m still in their Line group, but I muted them. I only want the hotline just in case something truly beyond my control happens. And to be honest, I’ve had multiple times the urge to call them. I’m growing more and more restless every day, I’m finding myself more and more confused with foreign urges I cannot satisfy, and I’m becoming more and more estranged from myself. By now, I only dress with the clothes Soiri bought me, and the only music I listen to is that of the group I danced to with Kowa.

And so I stand there, in my 7J flat, chewing on the remains of my last lollipop, the corpses of eight more lying on the table, ready to burst at any moment. Nothing feels right, and even the thing I used to do feel wrong, now.

I look at my phone. Must I do it ? … No… I can still resist, prevent them from molding me anymore than they already did… But is it wise ? Look at me, I’m way past my limit, anymore and I may very well land in a mental hospital… Like it or not, everything the 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento) gave me made my plight easier to bear…

I sigh.

I’ll regret it, I’m sure. But I can’t. Not anymore. I made a valiant try, but this is beyond my powers. In the end, I’m still a normal boy, adult since only a few months ago, barely out of public education. I am not equipped to bear this kind of pain.

“おはよう皆…参加しようか？(Hey everyone… Can we meet up ?” I send, defeated, on the 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento) chat. - おはよう後輩！もちろんです！龍之介と俺はザ・デック・コーヒーエンドパイに遊ぶ。会合しようぞ！(Hey, kouhai ! Of course ! Ryuunosuke and I are hanging out at The Deck Coffee & Pie. Let’s meet up !)” Answered Soiri, faster than I expected. Was he monitoring his phone or what ? - 渋谷区にだぞ。明治神宮前駅と北参道駅の間に。(It’s in Shibuya district. Between Meiji-jingumae station and Kita-sando station.)” Added Kowa, as he is likely scolding Soiri for not giving me the cafe’s location. - 今来るぞ。(I’m coming.)” I answer succinctly.

Thankfully, Meiji-jingumae station is on the same line as the one I take to go to class, so I quickly hop on the first subway, and make my way to Shibuya. Although, all in all, I do stand defeated, I make my way to Deck Coffee & Pie with determination. I need to find an actual solution… even if it means being roped in to their group. They don’t even seem that bad anymore, that’s to say…

I enter the small cafe, looking around to find Kowa and Soiri. As I go from table to table, having explained to the cashier that I’m joining up with “friends”, I finally notice Kowa seating alone at a table.

“Hey, kouhai ! How are you ?” He hails me.

He looks quite different, actually, when he doesn’t wear a mask ! Plus, his hair is quite immaculate today… did he go to the barber’s ?

“Not that great, I’m… actually surrendering. You can do anything you want with me, I just want my suffering to stop.” I answer truthfully, disregarding whatever actual answer that question should have brought. - You’re over-estimating our amount of agency, you know !” He smiles with compassion, visibly understanding my plight. “We can’t ‘mold’ you like you claim we do, we can only introduce to things you’ll like, you know… - Don’t be kidding me, you’re doing something to me, there’s no other way…”

He sighs, and then takes out of his bag a red cigarette. It looks like the one I’ve seen back when at the Entrance Ceremony, but it’s not a kind I’ve ever seen otherwise. Weirdly, it feels somewhat inviting...

“Now, I don’t smoke. And neither does Tsutomu. Hitoshi does, and he has developed a special brand that, when inhaled, changes someone.” He reveals, while I look at him, horrified. “I don’t know where or how he made them, but he made three of them : I carry one, he carries one, and the third one was used on you. Tsutomu doesn’t get any, because even he knows he will waste it.”

It’s… a lot to digest. So it was an actual intentional ploy to transform me… thanks to what likely is a dangerous drug…

“I didn’t want to use it. But you were annoying, and Hitoshi wanted to test it on you because of that. - It wasn’t a reason ! Yes, I may have been nosy, but it’s not because I’ve done a bad thing that I deserve to be changed to my very core !” I protest, though I now understand that nothing can be done to amend this decision. - And it’s not because a lot of young criminals dress like we do that we need to be driven out.”

I shut up at him exposing my hypocrisy like this. By now, I really regret what I have done… I guess what is happening to me must be retribution for the numerous people I likely wronged by not trying to understand their character.

Suddenly, I hear the voice of Soiri ring from the other side of the room.

“You’re here !”

I looked in the direction of his voice, and noticed him making a weird pose before making his way to us. I cannot help but smile at him doing silly stuff like that, it’s really refreshing seeing someone living his life in full, while on the other hand I lived mine always shying away from having genuine fun.

“You found us, kouhai ! Or I guess I should call you bro, now, huh ?” He takes place next to Kowa, in front of his drink. “You should really use my first name rather than family name. We’re all familiar, here ! - You may also use mine.” Adds Kowa… well, I guess, Ryuunosuke, now. - Uh… hello… Tsutomu.” I meekly answer. - So, whatcha talkin’ about ?” Tsutomu asks. - I decided to reveal to him the truth about the red cigarette. - Oh, so heavy stuff ! I guess you’re ready to fully transition to your new self, huh ?”

I look away, still uneasy about the whole debacle. Ryuunosuke visibly notices that, as he gives the stink eye to Tsutomu, before continuing to explain the situation to me.

“Hitoshi told us that using the cigarette would cause someone to be more like us, and it seems that it was correct, as you liked our music and you’re wearing the clothes Tsutomu bought you. But I don’t know how much more we need to give you before you can be fully alright with your new situation. - There’s really no way to fix that ? To go back to who I really am ?” I ask, little hope remaining. - Not to my knowledge. If you should ask anyone that question, it would be Hitoshi, but he will be opposed to turning you back.”

I sigh.

“So, if you want to know what are my problems right now, well… every morning I find myself looking for some kind of product to put into my hair, but I don’t have any… Is that part of the deal ? - The pomp is included ?” Laughed Tsutomu, before being scolded by Ryuunosuke’s angry look. “Nah, seriously, it’s not hard once you get the hang of it. Like, bro, I could show you right now in this bathroom ! - I…” I start answering, before I’m suddenly cut off. - He needs a haircut.” Interjects Ryuunosuke. “You may try, but I guarantee it will look like your biggest disaster. - Oh yeah, you’re right.”

As they discuss the logistics of hair-cutting, I take out yet another lollipop and put it into my mouth. Although it’s not perfect, it does make me feel more at ease. That red cigarette was weird, it looked bizarrely short, yet also inviting. Is that what I crave to go in my mouth ? No, it cannot be, Ryuunosuke clearly said that both he and Tsutomu don’t smoke, and that the effects make me more like them. Plus, smoking is very bad for the lungs, I don’t want any of that poison in my lungs…

“So we’re goin’, then ?” Suddenly said Tsutomu quite loudly, driving me out of my thoughts. - Uh… yeah ? Yeah, I guess.” I answer, unsure of what I’m agreeing to. Though I guess it’s the famed haircut that is being referred to. - Then let’s gooooo !” He celebrated, once again with much more enthusiasm than needed.

Smiling from his contagious glee, I follow both of the 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento) guys into a nearby barbershop. They’re visibly regulars in this place, as they present me to the owner who takes me in charge. I’m lead to a seat, where the owner promptly takes care of my hair. He cuts it mostly on the side, though not by much. It seems to mostly be adjustments, more than a complete change of style.

“So, you got roped into going リーゼント (rīzento). How did they do it ?” The barber suddenly asks. - Uh... well can’t I chose to try new things ?” I ask aggressively, not wanting to answer truthfully to his question. - Heh, I’m sorry ! It’s only because you don’t seem to be the kind of guys who would be into that. You may be dressed in leather, but it shows in your face that you’re not the kind of people who would usually do that.”

Quite a shrewd guy, to notice that. And I don’t even think Tsutomu and Ryuunosuke have explained to him the situation, so to deduce that merely from my face is quite impressive.

“Well, the truth is I unexpectedly made friends with them, and their hair made me a bit envious.” I half-lie. I guess I can call them friends, by now. - We agree, a well-maintained pomp is quite impressive ! Though I already tell you, I won’t be able to make one as impressive as theirs with your amount of hair. I’ll actually make one of a different type, an Elephant’s Trunk, if it doesn’t bother you. - Oh, okay. Well, I’m here to learn, so I won’t be picky. - Glad to be in agreement.” He says deferentially, before going on another subject. “But yeah, these two, Kowa and Soiri, they’re really good guys, if you go beyond their edginess. I can understand how you accidentally made friends with them. - Yeah, Ryuunosuke is very considerate, while Tsutomu is always in a good mood. They’re both refreshing in their own way.” I agree with him. - Already on first name basis ! Though they’re quick to ask to use their first name, I only continue using their surname because they’re my clients. - Yes, I guess that makes sense.”

Our discussion continues a while, as the barber starts applying products in my hair. He then combs it in the back in a ducktail, before combing the top into curls that rise to the center, combining in the front to a tube-like shape that is so reminiscent of anime it makes me smile. He then sprays more product, fixes a few details, and tells me a bit how to reproduce this style. He talks about using grease to comb and hairspray to keep it in place, as well as techniques to get the pompadour looking correct.

After a while of discussing, and me buying the necessary products, I go out of the shop with my great hairstyle, and see Ryuunosuke and Tsutomu waiting for me.

“It looks sooo great, kouhai ! I’m glad I took you here !” Exclaims Tsutomu, approaching me in a very familiar fashion. - It suits you a lot.” Agrees Ryuunosuke, nodding at the same time. - If you want any tip, don’t hesitate to ask us ! Once, I had this style, so I know exactly how to make it !”

And there goes Tsutomu rambling about all the hairstyles he’s tried in all his experimenting, and all the styles he may also try out one day. But I fully agree, it really feels like a piece of the puzzle has just been found. It immediately puts me more at ease, and although I know I’m not there yet, I know that now I can breathe.

“You know what ?” Suddenly asks Tsutomu. “You guys have class tomorrow ? - Only the afternoon.” States Ryuunosuke. - Uh… I…” I check my phone to see my agenda, and find it empty for tomorrow. “I don’t, surprisingly. - Well, why not go sleep over at my place ?”

I look at him surprised, not having anticipated this turn of events. It would be great, but… I don’t have any of my things, nor do I have anything to wear, I don’t know whether I need to check stuff at my flat, and…

Fuck ! This makes me stress so much ! I need something in my mouth ! I take out a lollipop in front of the guys, who look at me weirdly. What, haven’t they seen anyone liking sweets ? But yeah, actually, why not. I should take a cue out of Tsutomu and let go. If it’s fun, I should do it. Yeah, that seems way better.

“Seems good.” I answer. - Then we’re all set ! Let’s gooooo !” Celebrated Tsutomu.

It seems Ryuunosuke answered while I was considering. I hope I wasn’t too weird… NO ! Not weird, let’s ban this word from my dictionary !

Tsutomu leads us through streets and subway lines into a small flat, bigger than mine but not by much. However, just looking inside gives a good idea of who he is, as there are loads of colorful posters on the wall, an electric guitar – or bass, I don’t know the difference – and otherwise a lot of untidied clutter. Once inside, we hang out, have long conversations in which I participate eagerly, we dine – if instant ramen can be called a dinner – and all together have good fun.

When night falls, we get the futons out and place them aligned in the center of the tatami floor, with me in the middle – cozy ! Ryuunosuke and Tsutomu both take some kind of cap that looks like a plastic bag that they put around their hair. They urge me to do the same, but I refuse. I don’t want to sleep with a hat on. However, I do undress into my underwear, surprising both of them by my boldness -hey, that’s how I sleep ! – before I enter my futon to sleep.

When I wake up, I notice that the futon to my right is empty. After stretching a bit, I rise up and look around. On the futon to my left, Tsutomu is still sleeping quite deeply, or at least I assume so looking at his weird position. The blinds are half-opened, and looking behind me, I see Ryuunosuke taking his breakfast on the short table.

I go to stand up and sit in front of him. Weirdly enough, there seem to be a white box right next to his miso soup, I wonder what it is about… But as he finishes eating his bread, he hails me, taking on a quiet voice :

“Hey, kouhai. Slept well ? - Yeah, a lot easier than the last few days.” I answer, making him smile. - I’m glad you decided to come back. Even back when we went to see Kishidan I felt you were quite a good guy. - Thank you. I must admit I had my reservations, but you were so nice I couldn’t stay angry for long. Even if I like you better due to that weird cigarette thing. - Yeah.” He grimaces a bit. “I hope at least that you learned to be more considerate with this whole debacle. - I can’t say if I learned it, but… I’m really sorry about what I did to you three back then. No matter how I put it, I was in the wrong, and made you feel unwelcome somewhere you had all rights to be.”

He smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“I forgive you. I know you weren’t doing it out of malice, but since you now apologized, I have no reason to hold any grudge. - Thank you very much…”

His smile is so tender, I can’t help but reciprocate it. He may feel quite formal, and not show a lot of emotion apart from the occasional sarcasm, I can feel that he is true to himself. His humility isn’t for show, it’s something I believe he truly is. That’s a quality I hope to possess one day, even if it’s only to stay true to myself and not mire myself in politeness.

“By the way, Hitoshi came here, earlier. I told him that we were staying at Tsutomu’s because he had something he had to drop off to you, but he had to work so he couldn’t stay.”

He gave me the small white box, which opened into a pack of cigarettes. Why did he give that to me ? I… I don’t smoke ! I don’t want to ! It’s useless to me !

“I know you’re not very fussed about getting that. Trust me, I was also skeptical. But don’t you have a craving for something to go in your mouth, sometimes ? - Uh… n-no ! Of course, not !” I lie, because of course it wouldn’t be cigarettes I’m craving for… right ? - You know, I saw you take out a lollipop. You also have a few in your pocket. You can’t lie to me.”

Seeing his uncompromising glare, I sighed. I don’t like to admit it, but he might be correct. Cigarettes might be what I’ve actually been craving for… unfortunately.

“Yeah. Since the beginning. I need something in my mouth. - Well, Hitoshi told me that the fact your change started with the smoke, it made you crave the smell, and that the fact that the contents of the change are based on Hitoshi, who’s quite the smoker, it means that you’re now very likely a smoker.”

I consider the cigarettes, not knowing whether it’s a trick or the actual last piece of the puzzle. I do know that it’s hard to ever come back from smoking, so even if it was a wrong guess, I’d now have a smoking problem. But on the other hand, I do crave for something in my mouth, and nothing has ever seemed as convincing as this… Ryuunosuke opens to me the door to the balcony, and hands me a lighter. I guess he is convinced… I mean, why would he not, the creator of the drug that made me change told him that smoking would be the missing piece ! But I still stand somewhat unconvinced…

… Eh, what did I say before ? That I shouldn’t overthink, and should do things I want to do.

So I take him in his invitation and go to the balcony, putting one of the cigarettes in my mouth. Oh god, it already feels good ! It’s the right size, the right texture, the right resistance… I didn’t want any of those crappy lollipops, I really wanted a cigarette !

Then, I light it up, and take my first drag…

And it’s heavenly ! I’m for the first time since the beginning of my misadventures feeling alright ! Not nervous, not anxious, just fine !

I take other drags, and this feeling of intense pleasure continues. Yes, I confirm, smoking was the missing piece. And it feels so good. This wonderful sensation of everything falling into place into a complete apotheosisis absolutely worth all the dangers and problems it comes with.

Suddenly, there’s some noise inside. I’d look inside, but I don’t want to trouble Tsutomu by stinking his house with smoke odor – even though it smells so good now, I still remember a time when I’d shy away from it.

“Oh, Hitoshi’s here ?” Asks Tsutomu’s groggy voice. “I’d recognize this smell anytime… - No, he came in earlier but he’s not the one smoking.” Answered calmly Ryuunosuke. - Huh ? Eh…” I hear some loud steps, likely Tsutomu trying to find the source of the smell. “Oh, kouhai, what are you doing here ? You’re already up ? - Yup.” I answer casually. “By the way, thanks for all your help, Tsutomu. And sorry for the first time we met. - Well, you’re welcome ! I’m glad we got to meet !” I hear him come closer. “Wait… the smell… is it coming from you !?” He notices, very surprised. - Yeah. I needed a smoke.”

He shuffles his way to the balcony, so I can see his very confused face. It’s fun to see him look like that.

“Wait, since when do you smoke ? - Since right now. - Uh… okay… and where are the cigarettes from ? - From… er, sorry, I don’t know his surname. From Hitoshi. - Oh, it explains all.”

It’s funny to hear him being shut up like that, he usually doesn’t ever stop talking ! But it might be the fact that it’s early morning, I myself am still quite drowsy. I finish peacefully my smoke while I hear Tsutomu preparing his breakfast in the back. He also asks what I like to eat, and I tell him I prefer rice.

Once everything is cooked up, and my cigarette was extinguished, I took place at the table, and conversations once again spring up. This time, I feel so much more at ease, I think I finally found what clicked for me. I look at them both. I’m glad to have found them, even if it meant losing myself in the process, because I’m sure the new me is infinitely better than the old.

“Thank you both for being here for me.” I suddenly thank them. “It… really meant a lot, even if I was confrontational back then.”

They smile at me.

“Don’t worry about it ! We’re bros, now !” Answers Tsutomu. - Yes, and friends are for life.” Acquiesces Ryuunosuke.

One day, you may be wandering the streets of Tokyo, and find people dressed in a 70 year-old style coming from the United States. That day, you may be meeting the 令和リーゼント (Reiwa rīzento), a small group of four artistic people who like to draw, paint, sing and play. Even though I would have never had imagined even holding a conversation with them, circumstances made me join them, and I couldn’t be happier. Life is too bleak when you can’t share it with friends.

And if you ever find yourself lonely in that part of town…

… just know that two red cigarettes still stand unused.

================================================

If I had one nickle for each time I write a story set in Japan and it devolves into a 6000+ words odyssey that involves tons of research, I’d have two nickles, which is not a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

Just so you know : the Bōsōzoku (暴走族) were youth biker gangs from the 80s who were known for public disorder and otherwise gang violence, and took inspiration from American greasers for their style. Today, there’s not a lot of them left and they aren’t seen as a danger anymore, but their style was captured in pop culture, and is one of the go-to style for youth delinquents in anime (cf. Yusuke Urameshi and Kazuma Kuwabara in Yū Yū Hakusho and the whole of Jojo’s Adventure’s cast, really). This style has also found its way in Chinese pop culture, though the original reference is fully lost over there.

Hope you found this interesting ! ^^

[ms0milk]

𝟏𝟑 | 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐠

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Inside of you, fury has been replaced by something black and entirely unfocused. He twists to glare at what has caught him under the arm. He blinks when he sees it is you."

no cw memories of an overprotective prince and high fever. author is blatantly in love with Kirishima. whole apologies, half apologies, wordless promises, technical treason. learning how to speak softly. covering each other's mouths so the truth can't slip out because I want them to kiss as badly as you do. somewhat suggestive. nonviolent touches in the palatial bedroom of a long-dead prince. part ii: fin 6.7k

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Mina Ashido is sick, not like you finally breathing softly on a bed the size of a merchant village, but with guilt. She flicks a bric-à-brac she found on some grand writing desk and Denki punches her shoulder when her nail taps the metal absentmindedly. Click. Thud.

Their eyes dart to the far side of the room across a row of white windows and stop on the knotted body of their prince, folded like a trench soldier on a chaise half his size. His hair shags over his sleeping face and crossed arms but Mina can still see the veins of his jaw, clenched and dreaming of adrenaline.

One loud sound might be it for them– Bakugou would eulogize sleep schedule before skinning them like fish but it’s four in the afternoon and Mina knows it’s actually because your fever broke this morning and he would detonate if anyone disturbed you.

You can lay there like an angel because you never really fall asleep, right? Sick as a dog and dreaming of work. Sero pokes his head inside for a second to check the firewood cache and steps out again. Kirishima wears a path from the kitchen to your new bedroom with his constant lumber deliveries because he knows you wouldn’t want to see him at your bedside. Dead, conscious, or otherwise. All four of them rot.

You make a spectacle of the prince wherever he’s seen with you and this time you weren’t even awake to witness your destruction. Bakugou, dripping wet for some reason, roared through the halls of Takoba at midnight which wouldn’t have been special save for how tightly he held you and how little you moved. Safe but limp in the crook of his neck.

The castle at midnight is so much more lovely than during the day. There are no accusing Takoban eyes to make your Alderan shoulders itch and there was no loss of dignity in practicing her waltz in an empty ballroom. Mina swayed safe and alone and filled with excitement for the impending party. She anticipated Uraraka and practiced her flirtiest glances to deploy when the soldier inevitably found her, as she did every night, and sent her back upstairs. Mina was just a mage after all, not a lord or lady. Not a royal guard.

Boom! Rattled the ceiling from the floor above and where Mina was expecting a round-faced girl she’d gotten a heart attack. She snapped her candle in a startled fist at the first familiar eruption and darted up two staircases to Kirishima’s quarters with the second and third.

The champion was already half dressed. The heartbeat of the castle woke him up, the sound of hundreds of little bees mobilizing at royal orders.

They joined the flocks of servants and butlers in their night clothes all crowding, choking yawns, and rushing through the hallways, up higher and deeper into those frozen parts of the castle where their prince’s fury vibrated. The place no one dared breathe since the king left eleven years ago.

The North Wing was closed forever and someone had lit a spark at its highest point. Maids to her right, butlers and nurses to his left, Kirishima and Mina became insignificant in the river of nightgowns and candles and slippers and whispers. There is always more staff in Takoba than soldiers. Who could he have possibly picked a fight with at this hour? The farther Takobans hiked, the deeper their bones felt the cold in this place no one should be. Death march.

“Katsuki!” Someone rasped. The champion hoisted Mina onto his shoulders when they could no longer force themselves forward up stairs and through archways. Only little Shuzenji’s great big voice called out clearly for the crowd to hear, “Katsuki– you’ll be arrested, this– this is, I mean, you’re– fuck.”

At the end of the hallway, two red doors hung open, one truly dangling by its top hinges. The prince crouched just inside, squat by the light of a beautiful fireplace and its fine tinder. Chairs and ottomans, a writing desk, curtains and rugs, all delicate and silver and crushed and melting and screaming with moisture in a white Alderan fire.

“She needs fresh air and a fucking fireplace.”

You were melting in his arms too, quietly.

Sweating and indifferent to how carefully he supported the back of your head or with what level of self control it took for him to surrender you into the lap of the exasperated Takoban doctor. 

“This is a lot of fuss for a fever, Katsuki.”

“Get useful or die trying.”

Six footmen at the front of the crowd panicked at his words and knelt immediately to collect splinters from shattered furniture. They winced as the crowds continued to push around and above them to get a view of just what the Alderan guest would do with Prince Touya’s long dead bedroom.

He knelt in it. When the fire in its place wheezed, he fed it the dead boy’s gilded furniture and knelt again near you.

He lurched but didn’t strike when you were moved from the floor to the bed and found a seat again. He glared at loud noises from the foot of the bed but sat still as superstitious servants trembled while lighting candles. He rumbled when Princess Fuyumi squeezed herself through the frozen crowd with Uraraka in tow and immediately made an order for fresh bedlinens and firewood because before anything, before she was even a sister she was a saint.

He didn’t do too much more than that. He sat like a threat until dawn while staff and nurses buzzed around to make the North Wing breathe again. He waited for arrest.

He frowned at his Alderan company as they hovered in the doorway and sometimes he let them sit with you when he knew he needed to sleep. He balled his fists as he told them your misunderstanding and nothing else. More than anything he waited for you to wake up.

Prince Bakugou sleeps like a psychopath, you bewilder as you rub your eyes. He’s still pretty, knotted half a million ways to hell on the velvet chaise across the room and seeing him asleep is much more unusual than seeing him surrounded by books like this. There’s a pile at his feet and another at his head and a console table between them for his teacup and a pen.

It’s less scary to think about touching him when he’s sleeping. About rubbing his shoulder with your soft palm and stumbling back to this obnoxiously comfortable bed with his heat at your back– no. About rolling over in this obscenely large bed through morning chill and sunlight to find his magic-worn hands already pulling you against him. Fumbling to tuck every part of you inside his arms half-alseep– slipping under your–

About finally throwing your weapon aside as dust settles, victorious, and rattling his skull with the bloodiest punch you can manage. Breaking your fingers on his golden jaw– about kneeling over his battered body, panting, as he uses the last of his strength to raise his arms, to– no– to trace his fingers over your cheeks– no– and through your hair where you loom above him. About letting him pull you down with the last of his strength to kiss you on the battlefield.

Something outside clatters and crashes and your eyes fly open as you sit up in the room you made in a dream. You rub your eyes, deja vu, and spot your golden prince right where you left him. Scowling, pretty, on a sofa across the room in the afternoon sun. Someone shouts outside and you lurch from an aggressively comfortable bed with the confidence of a person who has just woken up without a question for reality. You are a captain and there’s violence outside the place where your prince is sleeping. No thoughts to your ten-pound beddress or the continental mystery bedroom or the fire that blazes in its white marble fireplace.

“You oaf!” Someone hisses as you pitter-patter pitter-patter and clear the room barefoot to throw open one of two elven doors. That someone is Mina. She is pretty and pink and she stares at you with her mouth open in a hallway cold enough to outline her breath in small puffs of shock.

Takoba is a series of beautiful rooms tied to tall hallways, this one’s no different. Mina is bathed in the warmest sunlight October can offer even in a place like this and she’s hunched and pointing in the middle of scolding Sero who has also frozen to stare at you on his knees halfway through reaching for a log that’s gotten away from him.

“Do you need help?”

Mina reaches for you like the air is too thick to move. You almost call her Lady again before you remember.

“Y/n,” she breathes. Sero is forgotten on the floor because you’re suddenly here in this doorway while the last vestiges of sleep drip off of you, gooey, onto the marble. “Y/n, are you–” she slips your hands into hers when she manages a step forward.

Bakugou and the sea, right? A column of fire in your chest and a trip back home. Was touching him a dream? They’re no lords. I hate you. One lost Alderan earring and two hands holding you. Last time they were golden and trembling.

Mina’s fingers twitch with every word out of her mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

“Mina, don’t–” Sero tries to stop her.

“We’re so sorry, Y/n, so so sorry, please gods we’re–” 

“Mina.”

Her body goes rigid but her hands stay soft on yours when she snaps at him, “Like you weren’t in tears two days ago! Don’t pretend to be cool.”

You become aware of your clothes for the first time when you consider their earnest Alderan faces and your tangled hands. Completely unarmed in a quilted dress that drags on the ground. Seashells twinkle when you move.

“Course I’m sorry,” Sero shudders. He rises and your eyes finally adjust well enough to sunlight to catch Kaminari standing statue-still beside a window where it appears you burst onto the scene as he was making to close it, “she’s my captain.”

If you weren’t still processing his lack of lordship you’d order him to his knees for the treason of calling you captain. What purpose does he serve in the castle? A mage like Mina? You cock your head and stuffy nose, and shift to shake away the inconvenient thought that someone’s been calling you captain for weeks with no punishment. Kaminari breathes, “Katsuki told us.”

“We thought you knew– we never meant to–!” And again your attention is on Mina, desperately closer than she’s ever been. Closer than anyone’s dared to hold you gently, “We thought you were playing Y/n, we– I should have said something.”

And of all the things to remember from that night, delirium and immodesty, a humiliating rescue, thoughts that meant to stay inside forever, I hate you, the taste of someone else’s teasweet breath– the one bites the least. They’re not lords.

It’s cold out here, you should invite the lot of them inside to warm up. You should ask them where the fuck you are.

“It’s my mistake Ms. Mina,” you smile pretty like you’ve trained for, “Harmless. Don’t worry.”

Three huge eyes blink out of sync surely because someone thought it was funny to put you in a queen’s night dress and hide your shoes. It’s better they’re not lords to be seeing you in the state.

“We,” Sero starts confidently and trails off with the syllable. Mina’s thinking.

Kaminari speaks beside the window and the three of you turn to his light, “We watched you grow up in that beautiful castle,” he hums. He has spoken with you twice, three times now, and it’s never been particularly affective or affectionate but he’s right that home is beautiful. Aldera is lots of things. You falter in the doorway now that adrenaline has bled from you into Mina’s hands. “You were in my letters class.”

Eight years old and late for Letters in a thunderstorm that swept you to the prince and clobbered you both with peaches. The students gaped when you stepped inside, dripping rainwater and bruised, to take your seat at the head of the class with a weapon still strapped to your back. Kaminari looks as if on the verge of tears which all feels a bit melodramatic for one damp day fifteen-some years ago. “I was afraid of you. Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“I –” Mina releases your hands so she can stand a bit taller, so you turn, “I believed what people told me, Y/n, I’m sorry. I listened in the kitchens and spellhalls when they told me you never eat or sing, I believed them every time I scurried past your post with an errand and back again where you hadn’t moved a breath for hours.” It’s kind that she’s not touching as she speaks but the cold of the hallway is pinching your stupid bare feet. You never cared enough to pay attention to her either, why should she apologize? You never noticed her out of the tens of children that studied with you, worked around you, served you, fell to you in training. 

“When you didn’t recognize us at the start of the trip I thought you were so cool. I thought, no, it was just so cool to be traveling with the only Alderan apprentice– Spear of the Queen– you– I watched you get stronger for years. Sero would come to the potion pantry while Kaminari and I organized and gush about any impossible whathaveyou Jeanist’s Second pulled off in the gallery that day. Any Alderan could recognize you from footsteps, you’re– I– I’m not doing a good job.”

“She’s sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” she confirms and hovers between your bodies like she’s warming her hands with your fire. “You’re a hero. I’m just a training mage the prince can’t get rid of and you’ve saved the skin off our skulls more times than there are calendars. Y/n,” you look between Mina who presses no closer and the boys behind her, “I’m a coward, I want to know everything about you.”

You are ridiculous, dressed up in a doorway at noon with no idea how you got there and a hunger that teeters on allconsuming. You are a soldier. You are Jeanist’s soldier, you are his prodigy you should have shoes– 

Something startles your Alderan company, shoulders jumping, and Sero drops to a knee when he registers the dark cloud gathering behind his commanding officer wilting in a nightgown by the sea.

“Wers, there he goes.”

“I am bound by blood and at your service, my captain! My behavior is unacceptable while you have been serving alone in Takoba.”

A soldier then. Mina turns from her friend on the floor to gauge your new reactions while Kaminari presses two footsteps closer. That night comes back in pieces. You reach for your ear and pinch one lobe in icy fingers while the Alderans look on. What part of the dream is this? First Bakugou, his warmth and anger now these three? What will this one melt into? More fevered confessions? Send them away.

You feel the bark in your throat and wait to see which one of them will scurry from you first. Have they heard your soldier’s voice before?

Go on. No one moves because you can’t actually make the sound. Sero doesn’t raise his head. They are mages and you outrank them. Be gone. “Just–” what finally comes out isn’t the voice of a soldier at all, “please.”

“I’ll help you to bed,” Mina tentatively leans forward as you lean exactly back.

“not necessary.”

“Y/n, you’ve been out for three days,” Kaminari closes in too, “We’ll throw some logs on your fire and get out of your hair, but first can we make sure you’re okay? Call the doctor and get you some food?”

You can only lean so far before you need to take a step, and then only so far after that before your back hits the door that has shut behind you. You haven’t been sick because you don’t get sick. You’ve been dreaming, too much, which is worse.

A series of hollow crashes startle the Alderans again half out of their coats but you haven’t been caught by surprise in seven years.

“Y/n,” Kirishima hardly whispers, barely breathes where he’s appeared a little ways down the hall, dropping stacks of lumber from his arms onto the marble. He didn’t grow up in the castle. He showed up a few years ago stuck to the hem of Bakugou’s cape like tree sap and he’s always made every effort to smile. A smile from a stranger doesn’t mean much.

“Y/n,” he whispers again and staggers forward like he’s tried to catch himself from tripping, “you’re–” at first he is relief and then you remember, in a moment of lucidity, that you’re upset with him. “You’re awake.”

His limp hair flounders red in your direction. What right does he have to look so disheveled? Dark circles and a creased forehead, for what? His palms and sleeves are flecked with splinters and filth that he tries to brush off as he steps over firewood– tree trunks really– that now litter the hallway.

Fury gives you the strength to step forward, “You–”

“You,” the distance is closed. Alderans have stopped pressing into you and watch their companion, rosy cheeks, dark stubble, smile lines thrown to the wayside and big, wet eyes, reach, “You scared me.” And on contact he dissolves into a sob.

Kirishima grabs your sleeve first without his usual care and wrenches you deep into his arms. Maybe you’re tired, you don’t strike him as he shakes.

“You, you have to tell someone, Y/n,” you can only hear the words through vibrations in his chest and now the whole hallway smells like sweet Alderan fire. You should be suffocated, furious, you shouldn’t close your eyes. “You can’t just collapse. No one needs to be that strong– it– you– ’m so sorry.” 

The champion’s fingers clutch at the back of your neck and shoulders but you’re too shocked to notice until his warmth, his fire and safety, pulls you away by the cheeks. Kirishima cradles your face in two hands that could crush and tries to speak through agony. Drowning teardrops plummet off his black lashes, “it must have been so lonely.”

And what Mina saw as exhaustion, Sero anger, folds the corners of your mouth like paper, lips trembling, and wets both eyes with a blink.

It is something inexplicable like being thirteen on your way home from Peruro. A day of joy, song dance and feats of strength. Fencing competitions. They don’t give toy swords to soldiers and so you slipped inside the quietest part of the celebrating castletown, victorious two years running, bloodied and something more than tired. Crunch. As you approached the basin in the stables for jockeys to rinse mud from their eyes, you lifted your boot just enough to watch the broken green body of a mantis fall apart between the ground and your tread. One thin arm, little just like yours, remained untouched by your footprint and detached entirely from the creature that was just two more arm’s-lengths too slow.

You were startled for the last time in your glance to the mirror. You usually rinsed muck or sweat off your cheeks in the stables and the horses were here, the smell and warmth were here, but today you were splashed in blood. And so much worse than that, tears ran clean streaks through the filth. When you fall to pieces in your beautiful dress beside the sea it is impossible to hide.

“Please can we help you?” Kirishima blubbers through a smile before you nod, and he pulls you back in tight.

It is so strange to be held and uninjured. A hand materializes at the top of your head and more bodies surround you in the dark of Kirishima’s chest. Splinters poke at your cheeks but you press through them. You hold tight to the fabric of his sleeves and wrap a warm finger around the cold fingers that find yours.

It’s condescending and so unnaturally welcomed. You can’t even cry right. The tears fall and your voice breaks uneven because you’ve forgotten how to breathe with a lump in your throat, how long has it been? Steady arms hold you upright as you try to remember. Anything for you, Majesty. Don’t need a babysitter. Who’re you lookin at? Cover yourself. Captain! Y/n! Yes sir. Yes sir. Yes sir.

“I’m.. ‘m so hungry,” you sob in muffled fragments and the champion rumbles with true tearful laughter,

“She’s hungry!”

Mina wraps herself around your back and grips the knit of Kirishima’s tunic to keep all three of you tight together. She’s crying too from the sound of it, and rambling as always through the tears, “Don’t just drop dead in the hallway for Kats to collect! Thought he was gonna torch the castle–” she shakes you all, Kirishima as the lighthouse, “my blood pressure’s never recovering from this week snakes on high I know we deserved it but we haven’t had a moment’s rest with that lunatic playing bedside officer,” she is still gentle when she touches you, when she rubs her cheeks to yours, when she leans herself into the champion’s hold to be that much closer, “I’m a much better nurse, Y/n, promise, I promise wouldn’t–”

“Talkin shit?” 

What if someone had found you that day in the stables, instead of clapping you on the back for the day’s bloody victories and ignoring your red rimmed eyes? Bakugou crosses his arms over his golden chest and leans against the doorway framed by fire whipping in the bedroom behind him. It’s subtle, but the heat’s made his ears pink. No one moves.

“A bit..”

Mina stuffs her hand over Kirishima’s wobbling lips before he says anything else to get you all sent to the gallows. You just watch and the prince watches back; over the champion’s soft forearms and part of a filthy cotton coat, and partially through Mina’s hair. Bakugou’s collarbones roll with his breath where they poke out from his soft tunic, same with his stomach. It fills slightly with each heartbeat like he’s still too sleepy to harden himself and his posture.

You’re warm in this October hallway and your heart has been picked open by fruithungry doves. Bleeding down the front of this nice white nightgown, pooling rich at your feet. It’s easier to look at him when you’re crying. You stare through a crack in the hug with stray tears tumbling from your eyes like springs.

I’m not letting you out of my sight.

“Go on then, down mutts.” The prince unfolds and steps forward to pry Mina’s arms apart, “Couldn’t trust you assholes to be quiet if I cut out your tongues.”

His Alderan company thaws slightly at the sarcasm and the hands tying you together unravel at every angle under his orders until you are the only one standing on the stain your bleeding heart made.

Prince Bakugou is not the same as he was when he carried you from the sea. He surveys your heavy beddress and bare feet with a frown but no fireworks and today he’s wearing no jewelry at all. Not a ruby, bone, nor sun in sight. He is still clearly out of place here, golden milk and glowing like coals; two red eyes that love to glare and his lips that called your name as you both choked on ocean foam.

“Hungry?”

You nod and the shake dislodges loose tears.

He grunts and tips his head towards the bedroom door, “Back inside. The rest of you,” and then turns to his company who has stiffly lined up along the wall to try and avoid the punishment their prince laid out very clearly in the event a series of Alderan shenanigans woke you up, “put your pea brains together and track down Uraraka– she’s late. And stop fucking crying.”

The prince would pull rank against a baby. He oozes control and ego and desperation for the self and it is infuriating how much he gets away with and how often he is right. His eyes are pomegranate seeds behind slits that shift constantly towards you in the cold hallway.

“Go on.”

You exchange a glance with your company behind you and each one of them is glowing with life. Mina has cleaned herself up with a smile and Kaminari leans against her, almost behind her, grinning nervously at his hellfire prince. Sero and Kirishima fight back tears and the lot of them hold their breath.

The mages delay their prince’s orders no longer. They file down the hallway. “Welcome back, Y/n!” Mina waves and rolls her eyes at Bakugou’s seething.

“Rest well,” Kirishima smiles and wipes his eyes with his filthy sleeve while collecting the logs he dropped. Kaminari manages a curtsy, which makes you laugh, and they all round the corner with unsubtle exhales.

For all his spitfire, cunning and rage, for all their worry and apology, your Alderan company never objects to leaving you alone with the prince. For all their apologies, for all his harsh words and actions. Is it their trust in you, or their trust in him? Alone and for a moment you stand just two arm’s lengths away from your prince while he looks pointedly down the hallway after their footsteps. His posture is returning. He rakes his hand like a claw through his hair to settle in itch and pauses for one more beat before turning to you. Prince Bakugou saved your life and you told him you hate him.

He cocks his head, “You look like shit.”

“Feel like shit, Highness.”

One fricative cough like laughter slips out of his chest and his eyes widen a bit, as if surprised by himself, before settling back to a scowl. He’s soft today, sleep deprived. You wipe the last of the salt from your eyes.

“Go back inside,” He instructs as he moves forward and corrals you back step by step.

“Where am I?”

Fury has been replaced by something wet inside of him, doused and smoking like a forest fire. He slips past you inside the white bedroom and marches to the camp he set up around his chaise to collect two books and a pen, which he tucks inside one cover before sticking both volumes under his arm. Prince Bakugou saved your life and slept beside you, and you told him you hate him.

You step toward him when he walks past again, this time out into the hallway, just too quickly for you to trap him with a stare. Your stomach cramps with hunger and your throat is dry from crying.

“Just go lay down.”

He does not get farther than one step over the threshold before you reach though, and clutch the hem of his tunic in a clammy hand.

Inside of you, fury has been replaced by something black and entirely unfocused. He twists to glare at what has caught him under the arm. He blinks when he sees it is you.

Prince Bakugou saved your life. He turns now when you dare to touch him, and when he looks at you the smoke inside him pours from his ears. The eye contact is not difficult like a spotlight or the sun, it’s more like a candle in the dark that stains the backs of your eyes for many few minutes. He looks like a dream in your delirium. What you must look like beneath him..

He squeezes his books tight under his bicep and fully squares himself to you, “I didn’t,” he starts. It’s a croak. It’s foreign to speak so softly as he speaks now, so softly you drop your hand from him and lean away. His ears are still red. “I didn’t tell them,” he frowns with thought, “about the sea.”

You stare at him like always and today like a void, and melt a little in front of the candle he is. What else is there to say? You nod and move away. His wax will burn you.

“Don’t–” he huffs. You weren’t surprised for seven years, not through contests or training, not under orders, not truly by the queen at the foot of your bed all those weeks ago, not camping with your new company and holding magic in your palms, not by blue fire. Bakugou clutches your wrist, your hand, when you turn away from him and the static shock makes each hair on your body rise. He squeezes your fingers through the goosebumps.

“Don’t ever–”

“Yes sir.”

“– not ever again.”

“Yes–”

“Y/n.”

You look forward unblinking while your prince reels you in like a fish, rolling your fingertips in his palm. You can’t even manage a frown when you face him, all that bubbles up is bitten lips.

You get one more chance to look at him, and when you do he doesn't bark or spit. Earnest red eyes watch under a frown.

“Just a prayer gone wrong, Highness. I promise.” You can’t feel the faint smile. You do not know what makes his eyes widen or scowl fall.

Someone clears their throat in the doorway behind him and the pair of you jump. Bakugou is quick to catch the books that fall from under his arm and you both rush to wipe your hands at your hips. Uraraka. She leans her weight against the door, “Sleeping beauties,” and smiles at you while your prince jerks away.

“You’re late,” he spits and pushes into the hallway.

“High Lords are waiting.”

“Spare me.”

Uraraka preens less than your Alderans but still ushers you to bed and rings a bell on the wall labeled ‘kitchen.” A log falls in the fireplace. Embers spit onto the marble hearth. The last glimpse of gold you catch is in your prince closing the bedroom door behind him, his hand like a claw again violently tousling his hair. You are a liar, you lie and tell lies, and you do not hate him at all.

Embarrassment is replaced with shame when you learn the princess has filled your new dressers with her old winter nightclothes. And when Uraraka tells you about her brother, the late prince, and his palatial bedroom locked away from the world with his mother’s sorrow.

You will find the princess tomorrow and press your head to the floor at her feet, you will kneel to the queen in thanks for her generosity, but tonight you will find your prince.

It won’t take long. Uraraka told you where his meeting was while she braided your hair and only half-heartedly instructed you to stay in bed when you asked for privacy. There is no lame guard stationed outside of this room, a room so high in the castle the fireplace can suck oxygen straight from the night sky above you. Warm like home. It’s easy to keep a fire that excited alive so you tent logs over the embers to feed it while you’re gone. Your white arming doublet blocks the cold– dragontooth brooch glowing– when you step into the hallway lit by torchlight, a gift and invitation from Master Aizawa.

The hallway is thawing slowly from it’s edges to its center and seems to be lined with every flammable item one could think of; candlesticks, torches, candelabrum, chandeliers– if a flame escaped from your fireplace the castle would burn from this hallway to it’s cornerstones like a match.

You smile watching the fire dance in place as you walk past them and into darker parts of the castle. Down staircases and through white hallways lined with their seed-sized carvings. Your temples ache with the change in temperature.

“Office of the King?” You ask a passing footman and they make a point to avoid eye contact before murmuring directions and shuffling away. Deeper you descend and even with rest and warm food in your belly your lungs start to work with great effort. “Office of the King?” You catch a housekeeper this time who is less timid but still keeps his head down like you are noble.

“Straight ahead,” he points and when he bows slightly to leave you no longer register his presence, because a fluffy golden head slips back inside a door in the hallway. You step down the last stair in front of you and into the corridor. Your boots would creak on wooden floors at home but along the marble you are silent.

There aren’t half enough torches down here to adequately light the way or warm the castle from the chill of its many windows. The door your prince tucked back inside of glows when you approach it. This is when you would steady your hand on your weapon, or shift your shoulder blades to feel the weight of your master’s halberd.

Office of the King. You trace the silver details with eyes and fingers because it is beautiful and you have finally found all the places your prince could possibly hide. With your relief you should have considered how to hide from him. The door flies open with too little forewarning for you to dodge and stops just short of knocking you across an already throbbing temple. Bakugou emerges in an air of tempest.

“Knew it,” he crackles like you are exactly who he was looking for and is wholly aggravated by it, “you’re fucking fired, get back in bed.”

He is wearing fine silks from Aldera and their golden fixtures and tassels stop your heart. His hair is soft tonight. It is pushed back with a jeweled comb so that pointed fringes fall barely over his eyes while medals and brooches pin silk in a bunch at the shoulder of his gambeson. He looks more like a general ready for war than a guest in a seashell castle.

The prince simmers, “We’re planning the ball not a coup, I don’t need a sentinel.” And squints when you don’t budge, eyes unfocused. He tuts his head in the direction you came, “Rest. Now.”

“Yes Majesty– Highness,” you snap and reach for a pair of passing maids who squeak when they can’t get past the Alderans fast enough to hide, “one of you, fetch me a chair.”

“Belay that,” he growls and they squeak again, “you’re a fucking handful.”

Bakugou pauses on you for three seconds and rolls his eyes before turning back inside to address someone, “Please continue without me,” with a voice you’ve never heard before.

When your prince walks you back to your bedroom he steers you from just slightly behind and at the exact angle you would use to escort a prisoner to the Hold. The only signs from him are in the thick of his black trousers beside your own legs or a sleeve ushering you up a staircase. When your breathing becomes obvious he slows pace. If you lean the wrong direction his head dips down close to glare and guide you with a trail of smoke. He’s only this quiet when he’s thinking.

What’s the time? Stars twinkle at the highest points of the castle lined with torches and tall windows.

“Ahead,” Bakugou murmurs and waves you forward with an open palm to the red doors around the bend. Your own corner of Takoba. You don’t remember the night that you were brought here. You don’t remember anything past, ‘I hate you.’

The prince clears his throat to answer your unvoiced question, “Shuzenji arranged it. Told the queen you needed a fireplace.” He walks clear through the logical spot to stop and leave you on your own for the evening, and marches right beside you to the doors. Add the doctor to your tour of thank yous and apologies.

“I told that shit apprentice not to leave you alone. You’re the gods' perfect little flight risk.”

It would be easier to stand close together if you still brimmed with unbridled fury. You drift beside him, too tired for any strong feelings one way or another. He does not hint at eruption. Your prince only grumbles and watches to make sure you step fully inside after pushing down the door’s silver handle.

The wave of hot air inside is a cushion at the end of what should have been a simple journey and instead knocked the four winds out of you. They were telling the truth, you must have been fighting something for days. It could be midnight, it could be dusk, your body cannot tell the time past its fatigue. There’s one more thing you have to do before you can give it what it wants.

“Kirishima’s coming to morning meetings tomorrow. I don’t need you both,” the prince speaks awkwardly loud like the thought came out too fast. He is telling you to rest.

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait for summons.”

He’s asking you to trust him.

“Yes sir.” You are too tired to lace the words with instigation and so Bakugou does not flinch like you like him to do when you call him sir. You turn away from the white warmth, fine cushions and curtains and fireplace, back to His Highness still stood stubbornly under your doorway. His headpiece glistens in the moonlight.

You will be his captain and you are not too good for a borrowed pair of greaves. You do not hate him. He can be the first stop on your tour.

Weary in your own little world and surrounded finally by fire, you steady your hands at your side and bend to take a knee. Forgive my…lots of things. “I’m–”

But Bakugou reacts again faster than you can fall. He jerks forward and catches you by both shoulders with his spark-leathered hands. The the last creature alive that can still startle you, not with his hold or speed, not with his magic, but his eyes. He stares through you in distress behind a pinched and stormy gaze. Spilled wine.

“Do not,” his voice rumbles through his touch. He pulls you up to standing and does not back away. Each hint his shoulders give promises that he will close any gap you try to make and so you do not move. He’s warm, his ears are red. Bakugou reaches between the gold clasps of his tunic and pulls out his fist for you to puzzle over in the few seconds it takes him, first to breathe, and then to open his hand.

One tiny sun, no bigger than an apple seed and polished to its core, twinkles like a spark on his palm.

He makes fine magic for you, he always has and you’ve never known it. He breathes again, “I. I’m..”

And you don’t mean to startle him, touch or stop him, but you do all three in rapid succession. Your hand jumps to his mouth because you don’t know how else to stop the birth of a star. You’re not ready for an apology.

His eyes mirror yours in their paralysis, his cloudy, yours panicked. His lips are damp. They part against your skin for a moment as he breathes once more deeply. As he closes his eyes– breathes you in. As you contend with the pulse of his tongue one last shock away from tasting the salt between your fingers. He is soft here. Here and when he wraps his own hand around your knuckles to disarm you. He does not let go when he lowers your hand, he does not let go after tucking the sun into your palm and closing your fist around it. Just for a moment.

Infinity is what exists in the void that replaced your fury and tonight it is full of fruit. Bruising peaches. Falling plums. Sneaking dinner under the Oak to watch his twinkling magic and to hide from crowds. Never questioning why students who told ghost stories about the child soldier never dared to bother you. Ignoring the peculiarity of Jeanist taking only one apprentice.

Inside, your expertly timed fire eats itself up in the silence and collapses to break the trance.

Immediately Bakugou dips away. He pulls back like you were the one holding him in place and leaves you briskly with his heart in your hands. He shakes his head and barks like a startled dog and does not look behind him, “Another time.”

The fire giggles and spits out embers. He hurries down the hallway because something in him died at sea to save you.

As you jump and skitter inside to the smell of smoldering rugs, your brooch and earring lay side by side where you toss them and leave them and try to sleep despite them, safe on the green velvet chaise.

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[clanwarrior-tumbly]

May I please have a Wally with a reader that is somehow sentient and aware with knowing they've somehow got stuck in this tv show and are heavely aware Wally has something to do with it?

So they're extra closed up about themselves, stay home a lot to avoid the puppets in overly social gathering (like they can handle two or three of them but not all at once as it's too overwhelming with happy shizzles and stuff), yet that doesn't mean they don't talk at all to them. They don't keep their mouth shut either when something's bothering them, like when they get annoyed when Wally stares too long at them and makes a comment about it or genuinely admit they dislike Home with how disturbing it seems to them.

Wally somehow doesn't mind as he's genuinely interested in them and wants to become their friend as best as possible, not for any reason with manipulation, just pure friendly business. But as the reader knows he's the main star of the show they're forced to play in, they know the camera follows him almost always, thus they avoid him like the plague which causes a cat and mouse play between you two. Wally trying to get closer to you with perhaps making paintings and gifts for you while you just casually dip out of there while somehow looking like you don't hate him.

(It would be even funnier if you somehow became the second favorite character of the show as you stand out a lot with your attitude and being the only human being there, perhaps even attracting teens to watch the show with your remarks at the puppets for a certain someone not even having a nose or eyebrows and your monotone voice singing and having no energy with dancing once you somehow get stuck in a song sequence with the others (kind of like red guy from dhmis)

Funny thing is, sadly for Wally, is that you get along well with Frank and Eddie as they're the more calm ones, Eddie still joyfull a lot, but more calmer than Julie and Howdy perhaps are.

So there's Wally, staring with the most confused and slight jealous eyes as he watches you joke around and actually smile with the duo/couple(?) while you always give him a frown that's somehow even deeper than Franks.

Sorry for the slight ramble and long explanation (I'm a fanfic writer myself), just wanted to give a summary of how I see it and wondering how you'd think this would work out.

Btw, reader doesn't hate Wally, they're just warry and uncomfortable with his stares and Home in general, and with the knowledge that's he's one of the reasons they're stuck here. They soften up to him a little eventually, like letting him hug them shortly or talking more casual with him, but no way he ever sees them entering his house.

This was so long I'm so sorry.

Anyway, have a great day/night!

Oh don't worry I think this is a great idea! I like how fleshed-out it is!

...........

You have only spent a week in the neighborhood...before realizing something was terribly, terribly wrong with the world surrounding you.

At first, this place seemed like nothing but sunshine and rainbows--full of fun, joy, color, and friendship. A place that one could only dream of living in all their life, free of worry or strife.

It felt comforting and safe, so when you started having these weird feelings that not everything was as it seemed..you figured you were just nervous about settling into a new place.

But when the folks here asked where you were from, you'd end up drawing a blank...starting to question where you really did come from. So you'd simply tell them you're just "out of town" and leave it at that, although you always sounded uncertain about it.

And there's something else that was especially peculiar: every activity the neighbors did almost always stopped at the end of the day. It seemed strange to you since there's plenty of things you could do. Like campfires or stargazing!

So one evening, you asked all of your neighbors why they rarely hung out during the night, and they had relatively normal responses: Eddie says it's tricky to deliver mail at nighttime; Howdy was too tired from working at the bugdega all day; Barnaby and Sally had to plan their next stunts, tricks, and plays; Julie and Frank wanted to get their "beauty sleep"; and Poppy needed to take care of things back at the barn.

All seemed to be perfectly reasonable answers...

Until you got to Wally.

He looked as though he was ready to respond...only to fall quiet and stare off into space, as though he was in another world. But the fact that his pupils seemed to dilate gave you the chills for some reason, and you calmly tried snapping him out of his trance.

Then he did, and quietly said something about Home "disliking" it whenever he stays out too late. And he bid you goodnight before leaving.

That exchange was the moment you realized something was very off about him beyond his staring habits. It's like he didn't know exactly what to say.

As if...it's such an unusual question for him, but normal to you.

And out of nowhere, the truth hit you like a truck:

This whole place was just one big TV show, with all of you trapped inside as the unwitting stars who were meant to follow certain "scripts" during your daily interactions.

You don't know how or why you knew that, but it became clearer when you constantly got the feeling that your movements were being watched.

You could sense eyes on you even when you were alone.

And sometimes you'd hear indistinguishable voices of adults and children alike while you slept, unable to discern whether they were merely in your dream or existed in reality. It must have been the former, considering none of the other neighbors said they heard anything.

To you, these people...these "viewers", sounded like they were in a faraway land--an unreachable place where you couldn't call out to them for answers no matter how hard you tried.

You knew nothing about them, but they knew everything about you.

Your character had become so fascinating to them from the moment you arrived in the humble neighborhood. You've actually become the second favorite almost instantly, given the uniqueness you've brought to the colorful cast as a human merely wearing an average-sized costume.

They've observed that your personality makes you relatable to young teens, attracting them to the show. Many of them got some chuckles out of your dry and semi-self aware humor (in that you'd joke about how Wally's missing his eyebrows and nose when everybody else has them). It was an immediate hit.

Even when you got pulled into some silly musical number with the rest of the gang, you just spoke in monotone and put lackluster energy into dancing when the camera panned over to you--much to the dismay of your "neighbors".

The viewers just couldn't get enough of you. They adored you.

And they can't stop watching.

You, on the other hand, weren't aware that you were so popular...and quite frankly, you didn't want to be. It terrified you.

So for a while, to protect your own sanity, you began attending less and less social events, not wanting to overwhelm yourself. You've declined invitations to Sally's and Barnaby's shows, which made you feel kinda bad..but you were just so fearful of everything at the time.

Were any of them aware of their circumstances, too?

You had no idea, and it would probably make you sound like a crazy person if you told them how you really felt.

The only other person to show any sort of "deviance" was...Wally himself.

You didn't know why, but you felt like he had something to do with the situation you're in. Especially given his odd response to you that evening and the fact that...he just apparently loved to stare so much, watching you just like the audience did.

It didn't help that whenever you talked to him or he tried approaching you, you got the chilling feeling that you were being perceived by the audience--as if somebody was holding a camera over your shoulder, wanting to capture every moment the "main character" spent with you.

You'd prefer to spend as little time in the spotlight as possible.

However, being anxious about this world didn't mean you weren't a bit mouthy towards other things you disliked. You were known for being blunt and sometimes a "realist", shrugging of whatever crocodile tears the others may give you just for the crime of being honest and true to yourself.

So yes...you'd always call out Wally if he was staring at you for a prolonged period of time, or if he tried persuading you to say hello to Home if you happened to pass by the sentient house.

Your response? Straight up "no thank you, it creeps me out and I don't like how its window-eye things are looking at me."

The audience may laugh, but it's the truth.

That building scares you.

Despite all of this, though...Wally didn't seem to bothered by it. He likened your sarcastic quips to Frank's, so that was never an issue with him. If anything, he was genuinely trying to help you feel right at home in the neighborhood, hoping to become a friend you could trust and rely on if you needed anything.

It'll just take you a bit more time to adjust, and that's alright!

Sure, maybe his stares were strange to you and Home was well...Home. He understood why those things might seem scary to a new neighbor.

But then again, that's how everybody else acted when he first met them, and now they were all good friends!

He's sure you'll fit right in and find true happiness here. So he made it his mission to befriend you without coming on too strongly, inviting you to quiet picnics and painting lessons, calling you on the phone, and even showing up at your doorstep with gifts.

He even made sure to tell his neighbors to give you space, though he was really hoping you'd stop being afraid of him the longer you spent around him alone.

But while you accepted his presents and showed up to his invites...you just couldn't let your guard down around him. You never looked happy or relaxed, and didn't stay long, usually cutting your time together short under the guise that you forgot to do something important and had to leave now.

Your latest excuse was that you forgot to "walk your fish" even though you owned no such pet. You were a terrible liar, but Wally believed you anyways.

He was a patient man, so he'll wait how ever long it took to befriend you.

...........

"Alright, Home..today I'm gonna gift [y/n] my finest work thus far! Do you think they'll like it?"

Pausing, Wally listened for the creaks of approval and squeaks of reassurances, smiling when he heard them, although Home noted something else.

"Haha..you're right. Silly me. It needs more time to dry..or else the paint will just smudge and make it a not-so-nice gift. Sorry, I'm just excited, is all.." He chuckled awkwardly.

After setting the canvas back on the easel, he wandered over to the window and peered outside, humming a small tune to himself as he rested his arms on the sill.

It took him all day and all night to paint the perfect picture of your favorite animal---which he learned about from an off-handed comment you made a few days ago. His memory was sharp, remembering all the details about the creature, and he believed you'll love what he created as a result!

Surely now you'll see that he's not all that bad. Otherwise he'd be lost on how to convince you.

However, he noticed a rather...surprising sight from across the street, one that even Home had to confirm was happening so he didn't think he was going crazy.

You were actually out and about, having a casual chat with Frank, asking how he got together with Eddie before bumping into said mailman on the sidewalk.

Wally couldn't make out what any of you three were discussing, but Eddie must have said something humorous, as it made Frank groan and hide his blushing face. And you just chuckled and shook your head, patting the latter's back sympathetically.

He felt his heart sink.

You were talking to the couple--joking around, smiling, and genuinely enjoying their company. As if you've known them all your life.

Yet anytime he's even near you in any capacity, he's met with frowns deeper than Frank's and constant excuses to get away from him. Like he was some kind of pest or scary monster.

He didn't understand what he was doing wrong.

Of course, he's happy you're getting along with some of the neighbors, no longer being so shut-in...but it hurt to know he's still stuck struggling, literally begging you to be his friend.

*creaaaak?*

"..no, Home. I'm not jealous. What gives you that idea?"

*...creeak.."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Wally looked back at the easel, sighing. Part of him wanted to just throw the whole canvas out the window, but....he shook off the feeling, forcing a smile.

He wanted you to have it, even if you didn't like him that much.

So when he saw you finally parting ways with Eddie and Frank, he decided to head over to your house about an hour later, assuming you were gonna be there and needed to recharge from socializing.

He put on his best cardigan and made sure his hair was neat before heading out the door with the small canvas tucked under his arm, covered by a protective sheet. He wouldn't wanna spoil the surprise for you, after all..even if you anticipated it being yet another painting.

For some reason, the sky was grayer than usual today..meaning it's probably gonna rain on his parade.

But he didn't let that deter him.

After arriving to your house, he knocked three times, in a certain rhythm that you've distinctively recognized as him being at the door.

But he was surprised when you opened it right away. "Oh heya, Wally. What's up?"

"Ohh nothing much, neighbor." He chuckled. "May I..come in? I promise I won't stay long-"

"It's cool. It looks like it's gonna rain anyways. Wouldn't wanna ruin your "beautiful" hair now, huh?" With a coy smirk, you let him come inside the house, shutting the door behind you as you turned around to see what be brought you this time.

He looked shocked, almost, standing there like a fish out of water. You invited him in without hesitation...though he tried not getting his hopes up too high.

You're just trying to be polite. In a few minutes you're gonna kick him out for some silly reason.

Shifting your gaze away from his uncomfortable stare, you looked at the painting in his hands, tilting your head. "I guess that's for me.."

Nodding, Wally handed you the canvas, watching you remove the small sheet to see it was a painting of your favorite animal. Your eyes lit up, impressed by the amount of details that went into this one, before looking back up at him. "Wow, man..this is....awesome. How long did it take you?"

"Not very long!" He suddenly chirped, hands clasped together with excitement. "I just hope it fits nicely in your collection! A-Assuming....you...have one...that is..."

Bit by bit, his words began to fall flat with uncertainty, before he completely dropped the act, shoulders slumped.

Why did he bother trying anymore? What was the point?

You noticed his odd mood shift. "Wally? What's wrong?"

"..nothing, neighbor.." Sighing, he hung his head low, a cloud of doom and gloom manifesting over him as he shuffled towards the door. He felt like going back to Home and curling up in a corner somewhere. "I'll...see you later-"

"Wait."

"...hm?"

He stopped and looked over his shoulder, still feeling quite depressed but willing to listen to whatever you wanted to say.

You set the painting on a nearby table, approaching him with your heart constrained with guilt. "Look, Wally..I know you think I hate you or something, but...that's not true."

"It...isn't?" He blinked.

"I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. There's just been...a lot of my mind lately. Things I can't really talk about just yet..I-I don't know. It's hard to explain. But the point is...I really do wanna be your friend. I guess I'm just...a very "guarded" person if that makes sense."

Although Wally was staring at you yet again, you didn't break eye contact, wanting him to know you're being genuine here. "I don't open up easy, but I know you've...helped me a lot, and I appreciate that. I do keep your paintings and I do feel bad for being a jerk to you sometimes. So...think you can forgive me? I'll even allow this if you want."

When he saw you open your arms up to him, he was frozen for a few long moments, astonishment written all over his face.

He just...didn't know what to say. Not only did you actually like his company, but....

He was allowed to hug you??

"..c'mon, pal. My arms are kinda getting tired." You awkwardly smiled, although you blinked as he suddenly latched onto you, letting out a few sniffles.

He wanted to sob so badly, but knew that wouldn't be very "neighborly" of him.

Yet you heard how he sounded, and felt guilty for treating him as some bad guy...when really he didn't seem malicious at all. You wanted to believe he had good intentions.

Whether or not he also knew the truth behind this place...that didn't matter right now.

He just wanted to be your friend.

You'll never be happy if you kept being so afraid of him all the time. That wasn't any life to live, even if you're unsure of whether this was your only life or not.

But you let him hug you anyways, patting his back.

"Th-This is very nice of you, neighbor. I forgive you." He mumbled, cheek squished against your shoulder as he clung to you tightly, never wanting to let go-

"Thanks......okay, you can let go now."

"..o-oh! Right, sorry." Reluctantly, Wally let you go, rubbing his eyes before dusting off his cardigan, breathing a sigh of relief. "Whew! I'm glad we're on better terms now. But...if I may ask..what changed?"

"Ah, well..I was talking with Frank and Eddie earlier..and I asked them about you."

"Huh....?" He pointed to himself, raising an invisible eyebrow. "Me..?"

"Yeah. Since they're more chill than most of the people here, I feel like I can be myself around them." You explained. "Howdy and Julie are kinda too loud for me, so...yeah. Those guys pushed me to reach out to you and try to make this friendship work...instead of the other way around."

'So...that's what they were talking about..' He realized, though he beamed anyways, happy you took their advice.

"Well that's great! I think we'll become great friends, [y/n]!" Smiling, he offered his hand to you, and you shook it as a way of saying you're both willing to start over.

"I..think so, too, Wally." You smiled back, feeling this huge weight being lifted off your shoulders.

"So...do you wanna come visit Home when the weather clears?"

"...I'll pass. But I'll wave to 'em from afar if that's okay."

"It's fine by me, neighbor."

[loriannbowman]

Honkai Star Rail X Arknights | Yandere!Sunday X Sankta!Reader | Part Six

You purse your lips with confusion. Sunday was acting strange... or maybe not? You don't actually know him as you had only just met him, but you can't help but feel uneasy with his flittery movements. He's on edge, you seen that look thousands of times, you couldn't mistake it for anything else.

You hum slightly, lips pressed into a firm line.

"Mr. Sunday? Are you sure everything is alright?"

Sunday's attention refocuses on you. He gives a wobbly smile. His body feels like it's buzzing. His gloved hands tremble and his fingers twitch.

"Of course," he says, trying his best to sooth himself, "I'm fine, just a bit excited, that's all."

"Excited?"

Sunday hums.

"Yes, I'm excited to show you around more of Penacony."

You quirk a brow.

"What do you mean? Before, it sounded like you were going to kick me out!" you say with a nervous chuckle.

"Kick you out? We don't have such ways of doing that unless your body is within the Reverie, which it's not, might I remind you, my little stow away."

You gawk at his words, shocked by the sudden playfulness Sunday was sharing with you.

"Uh huh..." you say with a tilt of your head, "right. Got it... Actually, on the topic of getting kicked, how would I leave this place?"

Sunday's expression flattens, almost threatening.

"Well, there are two ways. First, you simply wake up, many people wake up by themselves naturally or by force."

You lean forwards.

"And the second...?"

"You die."

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers. All parts of you go on high alert, the same feeling you get when ready to proceed in combat.

"Die?!" you exclaim.

Sunday quickly covers your mouth, his gloves getting slightly wet from your partly opened lips.

What soft lips... I wish I could kiss them.

"Shh! You mustn't say things so loudly, you'll cause panic! Let me explain. One cannot really die in a dream, right? When you hit the ground after a fall, or get hurt by a weapon, the body forces itself to wake up by jumpstarting itself. We do not speak of "death" in the dreamscape, lest the people run into disorder."

Your eyes slowly close back to their normal size as your brain begins to process the information. What he says is mostly true. When hit with a sort of trauma, the human body's natural system is to jolt awake with adrenaline as the brain thinks you're going to die.

But death is possible in dreams, it's just not common.

Sunday slowly removes his slender fingers from your mouth, fiddling with them with his thumb. You pop your lips slightly, trying to shake away the foreign feeling away.

Carefully, Sunday brings his hands to his lips in a thinking gesture. He presses the fabric that touched your lips against his.

An indirect kiss is still a kiss... but I want a real one.

"Anyway, those are the ways in which you can force yourself awake. But those are crude and can cause quiet a disturbance in the peace. There's no reason to force yourself awake, right? You'll wake up on your own, so why not enjoy the atmosphere while you're here? Who knows if you'll ever get a chance to visit again, right?"

You purse your lips once again, debating on what to do. Sunday's offer sounds tempting, and he's right about you ever coming back. But there are people back home who need treatments, protection, a person to talk to... Even though you've only been here for a short while, you can't help but feel home sick.

"Doctor Loriann might just kill me..." you mutter to yourself, "but a little longer won't hurt, right?"

[wileycap]

Special Instructions For Luke Skywalker

(approved by hon. Sen. Organa, Gen. Solo, entirety of Rogue Squadron, Adm. Ackbar, hon. Sen. Mothma, distributed to Cmdr. Skywalker)

1. No acrobatics, except in designated excercise areas.

1.1. Not even if you can "jump really high, the Force is so bright right now, look!"

2. Absolutely NO mind reading.

2.1. If you do it on accident, try not to get a weird look on your face and also tell us what you learned. Proverb: It's better to know than to wonder about it until one ends up doing something stupid.

2.2. Yes. I'm talking about that. I can't look General Madine in the eye anymore.

2.3. It's still allowed for intrasquadron prank purposes. But you can't do it to the others, they freak out.

3. No posing. Yes, you pose. It's annoying and wrong. The rest of us are dirty and want to slump down into our own filth and sleep. We don't need to see you being all heroic.

4. No claiming "the will of the Force" when you do something weird. Yes it's saved all our lives more than once. Yes it's still offputting and just plain disturbing.

4.1. "The universe is telling me that..." is not an acceptable substitute.

4.2. "I have received an omen" is also out.

4.3. "The vibes speak to me" is funny but no.

4.4. "Hey guys, guess what came to me in a dream" might be okay but it was in the middle of combat. And you said it over the general comms. And then you did an unannounced microjump into actual hyperspace in the middle of actual combat. Admiral Ackbar nearly had a medical event.

5. If somebody wants to hold your lightsaber you should let them.

5.1. You're officially allowed to disregard that. Never give Janson your lightsaber again. We have no idea how he snuck that in in the first place.

5.2. If Princess Leia requests to inspect your ceremonial weapon (commonly known as a 'lightsaber'), you should let her. For reasons for legitimate cultural intrest and archeological research. And because as your superior, she has the right to inspect your weapon as set down in the Alliance Charter, section General Conduct, heading B4467, subheading BA561-33. By permission of Princess Leia. I approve of this. Luke give it to me for a second you get to have it all the time.

6. If you need to "have a conversation with a ghost", do it in a private place.

6.1. If you agree to have your ghost conversations in private, we promise to stop referring to our "private time" as "having a conversation with a ghost."

6.2. In fact, we could just stop announcing it altogether. It was funny the first time and it hasn't been funny since. Guys, I don't want to know.

6.3. But please don't talk to thin air in front of us.

7. Luke, you are a hero of the Alliance. We are also friends. You don't need to bow when you see me, even if I am technically royalty and your superior.

7.1. It's very sweet that you do it and I appreciate that you want to show your respect, but the new recruits are getting confused.

7.2. NO, ADMIRAL ACKBAR DIDN'T WRITE THAT. It was obviously me, Leia!

7.3. If you're doing this on purpose and hiding it behind your innocent farmboyishness, I'LL KILL YOU. I'll kill you until you're dead.

7.4. STOP BOWING STOP

8. Don't work on the Falcon unsupervised.

8.1. Me being in the general area isn't supervision.

8.2. Me being near you but working on a different part isn't supervision.

8.3. Apparently me looking over your shoulder isn't supervision either. Just don't do it, kid.

9. Cub. You are very small in comparison to other humans. If you are having trouble hunting I can do it for you.

9.1. Apologies. Han reminded me that you are an adult by the standards of your species. I travel with him and I am often confused that he is an adult. You understand.

9.2. No asking Chewie if his relationship with me is "kind of like adopting a tooka" for him. For one, no, and for two, everybody else already made that joke.

9.3. He is very much like a badly behaved tooka.

[paperultra]

daisy, sweet pea, darling.

Pairing: OPLA!Usopp x Reader Word Count: 1,295 words Warnings: None

serendipity (noun): finding something good without looking for it

“Yo, Usopp.” You walk over to where your friend slouches against a tree and crouch down beside him. “Guess what I found.”

Usopp blinks at you, chewing idly on several slices of a tangerine. “Treasure?” he ventures through a full mouth.

“Nope.”

He swallows. “What, then?”

Triumphantly, you move your hand out from behind your back, presenting the daisy you’d found in front of his face. “A freaky-looking flower. Check it out.”

“Oh, dang!” Usopp drops his tangerine peels on the ground and takes the daisy, poking at the elongated flowerhead. “Hey, it looks like a smile.” He twirls it upside down. “Or a frown. Where’d you get it?”

“On that hill over there. I almost stepped on it while I was looking for actual treasure with Nami.”

He nods thoughtfully for a few seconds. “… You know,” he drawls, eyebrows arching pridefully in a way that tells you that whatever’s coming next is a total lie, “I found a three-headed rose in Kaya’s garden once.”

“Really,” you say.

“Yeah. It was huge. Easily the size of my face. And redder than a pirate’s blood.” Usopp rubs his chin, squinting at your daisy. “I was gonna pick it to show you and Kaya, but then Sham showed up out of nowhere with this giant shovel … I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, so I decided on a tactical retreat to prevent a commotion from disturbing you guys.”

Cue a slight pause for effect. You stare at him, then snort and poke his forehead.

“Please,” you laugh as Usopp makes a face. “You love making a commotion, Usopp.”

He gasps in offense. “Excuse me? I only make a commotion if the situation calls for it.”

“Uh-huh.” A grin spreading across your face, you fall back to sit properly and rest your back against the tree. “Then I guess we’re in a lot of situations that call for it?”

“Look, as your captain, I made a solemn vow to protect you guys. I have an eye for danger, okay? Just because you don’t see it as quickly as I do doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Despite your teasing, there’s some truth to his words. “You do have a good eye for things that want to kill us, I admit.”

Usopp’s chest puffs out with pride, and you chuckle, sliding further down the tree until you’re lying on the ground, head resting on a large root.

A warm breeze brushes past the two of you. Your eyelids fall halfway, a sudden drowsiness taking over.

Your gaze moves to the weird flower still in Usopp’s hand. “Hey, ’Sopp, could you hold onto that daisy for me? Just while I take a quick nap. I’m really … sleepy all of a sudden …”

“Oh. Uh, sure.”

“Thanks.” You yawn, closing your eyes completely. “’M gonna pick some more later to bring on board. Haven’t seen flowers in a while …”

As you drift off, you think that Usopp pats your shoulder gently, murmuring for you to have a good nap, but you’re not totally sure.

—

You dream about three-headed roses and daisies with centers that stretch on for miles.

When Nami shakes you awake, the sun has gotten a little lower, but the sky is still as blue as ever.

“We’re heading off soon,” she tells you.

“Okay.” You stretch and get to your feet, looking down towards the Going Merry. Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji are already on deck. “Where’s Usopp?” you ask.

“Oh, I saw him earlier back on that hill,” she replies, casting a glance over her shoulder. “He told me to go on ahead without him.”

Humming and brushing the dirt off the seat of your pants, you wonder whether Usopp went to look for more weird daisies. “I see. We’ll meet him at the ship, then?”

“Eventually.”

The two of you take the short journey down to Merry. Nami laments the empty treasure chests she had found while you were napping, and you sympathize with her, concluding that the legendary treasure island was not what it cracked up to be.

You help out with ship preparations while waiting for Usopp to get back, and once he does, you greet him happily.

“Found what you were looking for, Usopp?”

“Yeah. I mean, kind of. Er.”

One of his hands is behind his back, a mirror image of yourself when you had approached him at the tree, and you tilt your head curiously as he chews his bottom lip.

“What is it?”

Nami passes by behind him, and Usopp yelps as he suddenly stumbles forward. He trips over his feet, arms shooting out to steady himself.

A flash of white and pink catches the corner of your eye. Turning your attention to Usopp’s hand, your eyebrows raise and your lips part in surprise.

“Usopp,” you start.

He finally catches his balance and peers up at you. Perplexed, he turns his head slowly towards his outstretched arm, and then he slumps in resignation.

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh, extending the bouquet in your direction. “It’s for you.”

Gingerly, you take the flowers into your hands. Daisies and sweet pea flowers smile up at you, their stems held together with a long stem of grass tied into a bow. Buried in the middle is the stretched-out daisy you had left in Usopp’s care.

As you lift the bouquet to your nose to take a sniff, Usopp shifts awkwardly in front of you. “I was gonna make it a whole bunch of those weird daisies, but I think you picked the only one on the island,” he says. “I looked everywhere. Nami told me to just add some sweet peas so it at least smells really good.”

“It does,” you assure him, not bothering to bite down the grin on your face as you meet his eyes. Your heart flip-flops in your chest. “I love it, Usopp. Thank you.”

His eyes light up. “Well,” Usopp says, and he seems uncharacteristically bashful despite the giant smile on his own face, gripping the strap of his knapsack and rocking back on his heels. “I was also, like. Kinda thinking that maybe you’d wanna, y’know … check out the stars with me out on the deck later tonight, when we have time? If you want.”

“Will you tell me some stories about them?” you ask.

“Of course,” he immediately replies. “I have tons … y’know, I actually have a constellation named after me. Maybe we’ll see it.”

“Really? That’s something I’d like to see.” You step closer. “It’s a date, then?”

“It’s a …” Usopp stares at you, opening and closing his mouth for a split second. He wets his lips and coughs. “Yeah, it’s a date! I mean, I meant to say that explicitly at the beginning, but I didn’t want to pressure you in case that wasn’t what you wanted, so …”

“I’d love to go on a date with the mighty Captain Usopp,” you say.

“You would? I-I mean, cool. You won’t be disappointed.”

His usual swaggering persona returns, and you laugh, keeping your bouquet close to your chest. Your mind goes hazy with fondness.

Luffy shouts something from Merry’s figurehead, pulling the pair of you out of your little bubble and back into the real world. With one last shared smile, you reluctantly drift away from each other to go where you’re needed.

For the rest of the day, neither of you are particularly helpful. Those who are aware of the reason and its significance (Nami, Sanji, and Zoro) don’t give you or Usopp much scolding for it, though mischievous remarks are found around every corner and all throughout dinner.

You don’t mind, not at all – especially with how bright the stars are that night.

[therealslimshakespeare]

My Mother’s Child

Fandom: House of the Dragon, GRRM’s Fire and Blood

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: im a sucker for any GRRM universe and setting but after the recent release of the trailer for House of the Dragon’s second season I can’t quite contain the muses. So here is my self indulgent spillage of thoughts i entertained while watching the first. Perhaps growing up obsessed with Greek Myths, Shakespeare Anti-heroes and Renaissance families took its toll on my moral fascinations but the minute I see a codependent dynamic in a brutally restricted society I go a little nutty on the psycho-analysis and then it turns to feelings and then it turns to fiction.

Timeline: I’ve entirely had my wicked way with events and outcomes, nothing is critically pertinent but Aemond’s time in the Riverlands is changed, the time of Maelor’s birth is fudged, Aemond doesn’t die but is recalled to be regent again after Aegon’s demise, I’ve really no clue which of the Blacks are alive but the gist of it is the war has gone in favor of the Greens for the most part and now Aemond can come into his Crafty Uncle Richard III Regent era while obsessing over his pretty mom. Cheers.

Authors Note: im in no way romanticizing or advocating for the universe typical incest, warped relationships, casual murder, deranged intentions or the dire outcome portrayed of a stunted mother’s dependence on her worrisomely dependable son. Not proof read, have mercy on my tired eyes. Specific warnings below the cut:

Warnings: 18+, dead dove do not eat -thematically disturbing. An exploration of Alicent’s dependence on Aemond during his regency and beyond, undertones of attraction on Aemond’s part and submission to him on Alicent’s, combined with their delusional domesticity by coparenting little Maelor may disturb some. There is some physical touch that Aemond makes weird, his impure thoughts that are blamed on Targaryen tendencies, his recollections of sleeping in her bed as a child, him fucking Alys Rivers and imagining his mom sorta? along with sending Alicent his cum stained letters, calling Maelor “their boy” as if they are his parents, open ending suggesting a potential escalation in the dynamic. I tried to keep this as in character as possible so these warnings sound far more stark and crass than I hope the actual fic reads

It was Aemond sent to fetch his wayward brother, it was Aemond relied upon to soothe his sister, it was Aemond who absorbed Ser Criston Cole’s teaching, it was Aemond who stood any chance of gaining Otto Hightower’s commendation and through it some crumb of praise for the produce of poor, weary, teary eyed Alicent Hightower.

It was little more responsibility for Aemond Targaryen to quickly become the closest thing his mother had to a bosom friend by the time of his maturity, easily adding so weighty a role to those he already held as Lord Regent, terror of the realm, kinslayer and learned heir. It came as naturally to him as had filling each of its predecessors.

Whatever hopeless compulsion, dragon bound and magic made, to be loyal to his family that already ran in his poisoned blood, it was only ever magnified by the sight of his mother’s dutiful martyrdom, year after year bleeding herself out -and all the while not a soul to staunch the wound but him. Surely her husband the King only made it larger with each neglect or attention he paid her, and Aegon had long since been the sour fruit of a painful initiation. Helaena for reasons as gentle as they were cruel could not bear her own mother’s company -nor was the realm that sweet daughter lived in that of the Seven Kingdoms, where Alicent spent her every waking moment dwelling on and maneuvering for her boy King. Helaena lived in dreams and lived to avoid dreams and all Alicent had were harsh realities and dreams so trodden under the march of time that they resembled very little to their former selves by the retelling.

Aemond lived in the bridge between the two women of his house. There were dear to him the cherished traditions of Old Valyria and also, there were crucial to him the pressing matters of harvest and uprising and famine and the throne of Westeros.

He too lived in the Seven Kingdoms, he was practically their king, and like the manner in which he had long led this family by innate authority, such a role came naturally to him, as did sitting by the hearth in his mother's antechamber each evening, a recreation of the way he had stayed with her night after night in the wake of Driftmark, and discussing with her the petitions of the day, outcomes whose decisions needed making before dawn and hopes for the future.

Aemond felt close to her then, and dismal though the Kingdom’s prospects often felt, between the two of them there was calm in these moments. For once in his life Aemond did not find himself chafing under its soothing influence, but instead he would match her in her reclining, legs spread wide in his chair and silver head tilted to rest on the gilt chair, their hands near to brushing and let the connection grow until he wondered if he too were a dreamer and could know her inner thoughts, know her bewilderment and also her relief when he took from her the weight of the day with his sober companionship.

It felt odd parting in the evenings after these talks, what had once been a ritual of her comforting his painful wound in his youth and holding him close through the nighttime terror now felt necessary to be repeated as cure from her own dejection. Only her last remaining grandson Maelor provided some support to Alicent, she herself a child grown old using her own children to soothe herself.

Aemond saw to it that Maelor was brought often to their evening chats, a docile boy with an intense interest in blocks, he was no distraction from their more weighty discussions but when the evening grew late and the moon high and Aemond’s better judgment waned at the soft sight of his mother’s tender form and unguarded appreciation for his presence by her side, there was Maelor to place in her arms in instead of himself, and there was Maelor to pat her arms and lay upon her breast and enjoy the uncomplicated devotion of a mother that Aemond had never known.

Perhaps if his father the King had even once played the role of father, Aemond would not have spent his childhood clasped to that soft bosom while pretending he were the one being comforted by it and not her. He was older now and he had read of such dynamics, he had read of myths and scandals, Maester’s studies of the codependent phenomenon that blurs the line between each familial role. Childlike herself, his mother deserved not another man to have designs on her but a child, a true child she could dote upon and cuddle at night and a good son to tell her,

“You are weary, come, I’ll walk you to bed. Nevermind his blanket, I have it.”

and so it was Maelor who lay with her, Maelor who delighted her, Maelor who took up the space that had last been Aemond’s under her left arm. Only Aemond now allowed himself the task of tucking the furs about them both and stroking the tear tracks off her cheek, leaning down to kiss her forehead as she had dreamed of her own father doing. And then, Aemond betook himself to his own chambers laden with her burdens and his own and fell into the bedding with pleasure in his heart at having been entrusted with the wearisome load.

It continued thus in a pleasurable routine until the Riverlands called for his attention. Aegon was propped up, scarred and dim, on his neglected throne and Alicent was made Protector of the Realm and immediately thereafter Aemond found himself in the courtyard, Vhaegar waiting for him to mount and lead the reinforcements.

As Aemond pressed his thin lips to mother’s forehead in farewell for the duration of a long campaign, little Maelor who was in her arms laid hold of Aemond’s silver locks and seized them tightly during the moment between mother and son, holding the prince hostage a bit longer, for a moment nearer,

“dada.” -the infant nephew babbled to his uncle Aemond for a kiss of his own and to judge by Alicent’s alarmed expression, Aemond’s enforced separation from this little family they had made of a year’s evenings could not have come a moment too soon.

It haunted him, that flash of horror on his mother’s face at an infant’s small confusion. It brought back a seething reproach against her for all the times she’d never understood him, all the times she had raged against his very nature as a Dragon, holding him up with disgust and pride all at once until his head spun with it and he had learned to dance to her every whim, now the devout follower of Old Town and now the noble Dragon whose rights were being denied.

But woe to him should he be one or the other when it did not suit her. She thought his innate longing for a dragon to be imbecilic when he was young and yet she glowed with pride when he called out those Strong bastards for being anything but pure blooded dragons themselves.

As always with her duty, she hated herself for its outcome yet chose to cloak herself in pride for her sacrifices. His very existence, those of his siblings too, was sacrifice, his very bloodline and nature was an abomination against her faith, his impulses were beastly however much he took her principles to heart, and his tastes remained strange no matter how stifled her own had long remained.

But she had made him. How dare she be repulsed by her own creation.

Prince Aemond’s ire burned through him and suited the needs of war far better than kinder feelings of pining for hearth and home, so he stayed angry with his mother at each hack and hewing of his blade, each swath of farmland he burnt and every ill organized column of traitor levys he annihilated.

Capable, he is the capable son and his mother writes to him thanking him for it and he crushes the missive in his hand before regret surges after and he strokes the parchment flat again on his desk with all the revernace of a lover for his beloved’s skin.

He is kinder the parchment than he is to Alys Rivers.

Alys who is older and smart and wicked, who never once flinches at his nature, who accepts the ruthless pace of his hips and the mauling of his mouth with her own vigor, Alys who he swears to himself is a wartime necessity, the humors most flow somewhere and if he is to bleed he must also spill and she is there and trustworthy and her aura reminds in the moments after pain, warm arms holding him tight on his right side lest he roll on his wounded eye in sleep. The eye does not throb in that raw way any longer, it is a dull and perpetual ache he can expect to remain with him for all time, but the longing for such comfort remains and he lays atop Alys’ matronly breast often for longer than his daylight-sobered self can countenance.

He writes of her to his mother, to grieve her with his sin as much as not to withhold anything from her, he has not before and why should he now? Her reply is stifled and terse in regards to his admission, barely even a line and he must squint to decipher wether it pertains to the subject he is most anxious to hear from her about. But as he thumbs the well familiar scrawl of her pen he can imagine the set of her mouth and the pleading of her eyes, so different from true distress, no, instead it is the girlish patheticness she plays at, despite its lack of success all these years and how the same years have robbed her of the youthful vulnerability that once made men take notice of it.

Only Aemond remains affected by it, and he finds it so deliciously false that he teases it out of her as a treat for himself on occasion. Aegon may have it whenever he sees fit, though being a fool he thinks every crease to her forehead is that of genuine concern. Aemond’s knows her better than that, and sees her pouting eyes come through the written admonition to “keep himself in good company”.

He smirks at Alys when she enters his tent and finds him rolling up the motherly advice. He ploughs her atop the volumes of communication his dear mother has sent him during this campaign and the parchment he sends back to her with his report next morning is stained.

Aemond doesn’t need to hope that she smells his letters for sweat and smoke the same way he smells hers for rosewater and thyme. He knows she does, he has caught them under her pillow and in her pockets when returning to the Keep, time and again, without warning. He knows she prays for him to outlive them all and he knows she will kiss the stains she mistakes for tears. A holy horror fills him at the satisfaction that thought brings, and after it has taken root he cannot find it in himself to enjoy Alys’ cheerful vigor any longer or the dark appetites they once shared. She is too eager, she is too unabashed, there is too little shame for his taste.

Alys is a whore and Aemond longs for the droopy eyed piety of his mother’s face when he tucks her abed, the melancholy contentment of his dutiful care for her and the mislaid trust that she has domesticated her little dragonling to the faith of the seven, her plaint limbed trust that the Warrior and Mother would never meet in the throes of burning want that consume him.

When his task is done, or near to done in these rebellious lands, and a call comes of his brother’s failing health, Aegon mounts Vheagar a disillusioned man, flying high and away above the wreckage he has committed and leaving behind the last Strong bastard dead as promised.

Alicent’s son is a man fully grown when he alights in the courtyard, long limbed and toned from his wartime deprivations, the set of his jaw remains firm but his gait is looser, there is a confidence in bloom now that was only budding before he left. Alicent cannot hide her joy at seeing him again, her pace is faster than is strictly proper as she breaks ranks of the welcoming party to greet him -it is her right as reigning regent.

As his mother.

She clasps his hands and feels his strong fingers engulf her forearms, tugging her nearer in an almost playful fashion -the action suits his new demeanor of confidence but it hardly suits the action of a son greeting his mother.

“Muña,” his rich voice murmurs to her as he stares down at her with not a bit of the usual softening in his sharp features, his lips quirk and his eyes sharply plumb through the depths of her own, “I am come home, as you asked.”

Unnerved by his intensity, Alicent gives him a trembling smile, watery eyes darting from one dear feature in that ethereal face to the next -it is the war terrors, perhaps, that have him so ardent in his tone and grip, men often come back from battle strung taut.

“Then we are safe.” she sighs, meaning it for their family even as her own heart quickens in vague misgiving.

“Maelor?” he questions, not even bothering to ask after the current king, his blood brother, it is the infant he has already fashioned into a surrogate son that interests him now.

“Is well.” his mother glows at the mention of the babe, “Growing and talking more each week.”

“And his mother?” Aemond asks with a soft light in his face as he ducks to meet her eye to eye, and Alicent knows he does not mean the poor Helaena gone mad in the tower, he means Alicent.

“Well enough.” She insists with all the age-old weariness that suggests, and is meant to inform him, otherwise.

Aemond’s jaw ticks in recognition of the old habit, his mother lies often for so pious a woman and she manipulates even more frequently for so devout a defender of the truth. It is a child’s tactic and he knows it, and that fury over it that had filled him in his days in the Riverlands surges back in another form, he feels a superiority in that moment even as he is being played by her weary pout and soft hands.

It is a woman’s way of asking a man to carry her load, to disarm her of her duties, to take from her the pretense of capability and taste for ruling.

Aemond’s conflict for such a role died somewhere with Alys in the Riverlands, by his own hand, in his own bed, his mother’s last letter dancing before his sightless eye. It is with confidence and entitlement that he glides his hands down her shapely arms and takes her hands in his, weighing them between them as she watches in surprise. He thumbs over the knuckles before splaying them out in his much larger palms and running a forefinger over the mangled cuticles.

“Mmm, not well enough for my liking, judging by this.” he remarks and when she goes to snatch the evidence of her worry away he clasps them stronger until it is an undeniable struggle for her to take them back -one he denies with an iron grip and a patronizing smile that she has only ever seen Aegon receive from him. “Those days are over, munta, we will have peace and plenty now.” he drags her stiff arm through his own and turns them towards the entrance of the Keep, patting the sore fingers laying on his arm, “And I’ll have no more of…this.”

Dazed, Alicent allows him to lead her through the great doors and into the colossal tomb that has been her children's home, she stares up at the familiar face of her third born in the light of the grand hall’s torches and marvels at the comfort one existence can bring another. Just as she fears the firm hold on her hand and heeds the temptation she feels to obey a man child she should be governing. These thoughts are put to flight when Aemond halts and turns to her warmly, no sneer remaining and no cold authority left when he whispers excitedly,

“Will you take me to our boy?”

The instant awareness of his meaning, that he means his nephew, that he means her grandson, that he means the future king, that he means Maelor -it sickens her how natural her impulse is to smile back at Aemond’s oddly paternal expression, to lead him back to her antechambers and reunite the little family they made before the war called him and that witch possessed the son Alicent had so lovingly made pure and noble in her belly. It is balm to hear him grown and saying that they are one again, that she is paramount in his life once more, that together they have made something gentler and better than any bastard lovechild conceived in wartime.

“Come.” Alicent urges her son, taking his scarred hand in her soft one as she had a million times before to lead him to the Sept. Yet this time, Alicent leads Aemond to her rooms and the cradle of their future King.

[the-heart-of-a-monster]

PUTTING THE NEW PAGE INTO THIS ASK AS WELL FOR GHE FIRST TIME BECAUSE THERE IS A LOT TO TALK ABOUT WITH THIS PAGE SO PLEASE BEAR WITH ME HERE

Ima start with the first panel because there’s already so much in that one single panel and it is gonna drive me nuts!

So first up, we have “Secret” Chaotix meeting room. Yes, this place is apparently being kept a secret from the public eye. This could be due to the Chaotix having to handle a bunch of super deep and disturbing cases that, if allowed to spill out into the public, would be catastrophic! Not in the sense that it would destroy the world or anything like that, but it’d certainly ruin their reputation as detectives! Don’t detectives irl have these kinds of cases too…? Or maybe I’m thinking too hard on this and it’s just the place they meet with their friends whenever Eggman does something stupid? Who knows.

I do know though that it looks beautiful and it looks like they’re actually in a room which, as an amateur artist myself, can only dream of achieving!! It looks so cool! I just… I adore your backgrounds and I can tell you put a lot of love and effort into making them, so please give yourself a pat on the back!

And maybe I’m reading too much into a single panel.

But that’s not all that we get to see!!! (No I’m not talking about the Chaotix even though I REALLY wanna talk about the Chaotix cuz they deserve more love and I’m so glad they’re here THANK YOUUUUUUUU) YEAH THAT’S RIGHT, SONIC IS FULLY CONVERTED TO DARK GAIA SONIC LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Well not fully converted, but we can clearly see that it’s taking a huge toll on his body! Not only are the markings now visible on him during the day, but it also seems to be siphoning his energy…? Kind of…? I mean, Sonic has been out cold since “Killing” Omega, and usually he wouldn’t be so out of it otherwise. And I can see a little tiny X over his Gaia eye, so… I’m not too sure, but what I am sure of is that this is BAD for Sonic. The poor guy is gonna have to deal with not only being corrupted during the day, but also at night, and that cannot be good for his psyche. It was bad enough when he had to be in a completely new body for just the nighttime, but now it’s for both day and night in its own way, and… Gosh, this is gonna be torture for Sonic once he wakes up.

Okay now onto the actually lore panels because there is so much to uncover but BEFORE WE GET INTO THE LORE PARTS OF ALL THAT LEMME JUST POINT OUT HOW PISSED SHADOW LOOKS IN THE SECOND PANEL BRO LOOKS LIKE HE WANTS TO PUNT CHIP INTO THE SUN FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER AND HE IS JUST SO OVERPROTECTIVE OF SONIC IT’S NOT EVEN FUNNY I LOVE THIS ANGSTY EDGY BOY SO MUCH BUT I WANNA KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH HIS HEAD RIGHT NOW WHY IS HE GLARING DAGGERS AT CHIP WHAT DID THIS LITTLE CREECHUR EVEN DO TO YOU SHADZ

Okay back to the lore-

So, im still gonna call Light Gaia as Chip because I still see a cute adorable fluffy fairy in those big brown eyes and I think he deserves a real name. Anyhow, Chip now is aware of him being a literal god. He says he regulates the day and Dark Gaia regulates the night. This kind of makes sense. Chip handles the sun and DG handles the moon. Think Luna and Celestia from MLP. And similar to those two as well, Dark Gaia got out of control like Luna did and created an eternal night. But this doesn’t really explain the planet splitting into a million giant pieces. (Not literally a million) Nor does it explain Chip losing his memory. Chip claims that whenever one of them falls out of line, the other will be there to pull them back together. Does this mean Chip or Dark Gaia have lost their memory before? Have the events of Unleashed happened before? How do they reign the other in?

These questions are probably gonna get answered in the next page lmao what am I doing-

Everything else is kinda sorta spelled out to us which I think is a good thing, since Chip is, in the story, explaining all of this to a group of people who had no idea about any of this for their entire lives. The poor Chaotix just got roped into this, they just want their pay. So with that in mind I don’t know what else to really cover…? Maybe I’ll notice something later on and just start spamming you with questions, who knows. For now I’m SUPER DUPER EXCITED FOR THE NEXT PAGE LET’S GO THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN CANNOT WAIT FOR NEXT WEEK

hell yeah do look out for the new page on monday :3 i love ur little big analysis its always the highlight of my week to see one

btw this goes out to evecryone but the whole scene has a lot of moments for everyone else than sonic and shadow so we are winning