#so I figured I’d add them to the tags

[void-chara]

first finished piece of lifesteal fanart yaayyy!! I. I started this during the second round of the mcytblr sexyman contest. Why does art take me so long. I finished most of it a while ago but the scythe just took forever because I couldn’t figure it out and kept redoing it. I think it turned out good though!

[seven-thewanderer]

…I kinda wish I could just.

mentally transfer all the info of my Strayed!Au telepathically to my device & to yall

[look-better-in-gold]

one thing i think one piece fans forget is that for most of the characters in it having the d initial doesn’t mean anything. we don’t find out it’s anything to think about until skypiea while robin is talking to gan fall (who met roger) and he says “d.? i see. one letter of his name… that can’t just be a coincidence!!!” and laughs. we only know what we do bc luffy’s the main character. i guess you could argue kureha saying roger’s name is gol d. roger at the end of drum counts but it’s brushed off and you’re not like. encouraged to think about why it’s different. she only knows this bc she’s a REALLY old lady who was around when roger first set out. and gan fall met roger. law knows about it from cora, Who Used To Be A Celestial Dragon. nobody who knows about it is a normal citizen. the world government wants it to be a secret. they successfully wiped out 100 years of history. “the will of d.�� or those “eat like a d.” jokes are NOT something everyone is making!!! GUYS. WE ONLY KNOW BECAUSE WE’RE THE VIEWERS. WE’RE WATCHING THE MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE IN THE WORLD RIGHT NOW. NOT EVERYONE WILL KNOW WHAT THEY DO!!!!

[sam-moss]

Heads up, if you presaved the new album on Spotify it *might* add LMB to your Liked Songs. Make sure to Hide it and all of the versions to both prevent that from happening AND to prevent you from streaming it on accident!

please I want to buy the album without supporting the zionists😭😭

(i fear this because the accordian ver has lose my breath concept pics)

[bareee]

Tav-Dex Template(or just Tav info card)

It is done! This took was too long to figure out… so after testing out a number of ways to do this with @0illipheist help, we found the best way to set it up was as a transparent pngs.

I’ve made one for each subclass(which is why this took so long) so no one would have to fight editin too much and just had to add text. I’ve categorized them in their classes, so ya aint gonna hunt for none neither, I’ve made a Google Drive with all the classes organized to hopefully make things easier to find then crammin em in multiple posts.

I left a blank one for those who wanna have more freedom or multi class, yal gonna have to work harder cause ain’t no way….i ain’t makin all those nuuuupe. I’ve also added the layout example for those who’d like to follow it

Hope Everyone Enjoys, Go wild, Go messy, and have fun with it~

Blank Layout Example

Drive to All Classes:

*If there are any issues with anything, let me know*

EDIT: I wanted to add I’ll be makin a Tav-Dex blog(in process now) and would love to add anyone who wants their Tav added. I’m workin on some Tav entries at the moment to show what they can look like, but if anyone would like to be added DO NOT ADD IT BY REBLOGGIN IT ON THIS. I’d rather not have this sucker repeated on ever post. Instead use the tag #Tav-Dex so I know who’d like to be added. I’ll post an update on the blog here when I can. For now, I must nap…

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Like my father pt 3 {burb}

Sirius Black x Potter!Reader

Summary: Sirius asks Y/N out on a date, with the subtly of being hit by a bus

CW: A few curses, no helmets on the motorcycle(drive responsively), fluffy, not proof read

WC: 2714

Tagged: @hisparentsgallerryy @crowleythesexydemon @otterlockholmes

Part one

You were in the parlor room of the house, wrapped up in a wooden quilt your mother had worked on all summer.

It was getting darker earlier, a telltale sign that summer was ending. Still, fall was coming, and you couldn't deny your excitement for it. Especially as the flowers outside started to turn that beautiful red and gold.

“Still reading?” Your eyes flickered from the window to the figure in the hall. It was late, and Sirius had been out most of the day, you couldn't believe you didn't hear the door open. You were hardly able to make out the figure of your father walking upstairs.

“Mhm.” You hummed and set the book aside. “I'm lying, no, not really.”

He chuckled and set his keys on the coffee table. Trying to be quiet and respectful of the sleeping residents.

Then, like an absolute dick, he grabbed you by your ankles and yanked you across the couch. You gave a yelp and a laugh as he lugged you up by your arms when he was able to reach them. “Up! Up! Let's go.”

“Where?” You squeaked out past your giggles and got to your feet, he simply put his finger to his lips to tell you to shush. As if he didn't cause the scene to begin with-

He dragged you along, grabbing his keys again and pulling you out the door with hardly enough time for you to slip on your shoes. He walked you down the drive and gestured to a large tarp in the street.

You looked at it with a small laugh and lifted your eyebrow at him. “What's this?”

“You can't tell James yet.” He smirked and grabbed the tarp, yanking it down to reveal a jet black motorcycle. Your jaw dropped as you looked it over, and he patted the seat a bit. “What do you think?”

You walked over and gave it a good look. It looked so damn cool, but.. “This isn't the bike you wanted.”

Sirius couldn't help but smile. Of course, all those months of him cutting out models from magazines, ranting about different fit and engine sizes, he never really thought you were truly listening to him. Not how much he listens to you.

“Why the change?”

Sirius snapped out of his thoughts and gave a small shrug. “Your dad helped me pick it out. Said it was more stable for a two seater.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving a small shocked laugh. “So, you’re telling me my dad had a hand in this?”

Sirius nodded, his grin widening. “Yep! He even took it for a spin to make sure it could handle a bit of speed. Said it was perfect for two people..”

“Two people?” You echoed and walked over, as he sat down on the bike and smirked up at you. You smiled with an arched eyebrow as you pulled your cardigan tighter around you.

“Mhm. In case I have to save you from another rough date.” He teased and you groaned in embarrassment.

“Seriously? You’re still thinking about that?” You laughed, shaking your head. “It was one bad date! I’m fine now.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, a mischievous smirk taking over his face. “But I’d rather be prepared. You never know when another git might come along.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile was tugging at your lips. “So, are you saying I need a personal bodyguard now? Is that you?”

“Always has been, against my will, might I add.” He cheeked and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Come on. I need to test her out, you gonna help me or not?”

“What? You want me to get on? Ride that death trip? I'm not your guinea pig.” You scoffed and he pressed his tongue to his cheek.

“No need to be scared, bams.”

You gave a huff of a laugh and shook your head. “No way.”

“Come on, bambi. You know how this goes. You tell me no, I say I'll beg, you tell me not to be an idiot, I get all sentimental and you cave to my charms.”

You crossed your arms, trying to suppress a smile. “That’s not fair! You know I can’t resist when you get all sentimental.” You sang in a sarcastic tone.

“Exactly.” Sirius leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “So save us both the embarrassment.”

You glanced back at the house, where the soft glow of lamps lit up in your parents room. You bit your cheek and watched as your father’s shadow greeted your mothers.

“... she'll kill you if she sees me on that thing. You and my dad.”

“Then let's make sure she doesn't see.” He teased and nudged you with a helmet. You only stood there for a few more moments before muttering a curse and taking it with a giddy feeling.

Sirius beamed as you accepted the helmet, sliding it over your head and adjusting the straps beneath your chin. “See? You look so cute.” Cooed teasingly.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile creeping onto your face. “Fine, but if my mom finds out, I’m blaming you.”

“Good luck with that.” He laughed, giving you a playful nudge as he swung his leg over the bike and settled into the seat. “Just hold on tight, and I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You climbed on behind him, your heart racing with anticipation and a hint of nerves. As you wrapped your arms around his waist, you felt the warmth of his body seep through the layers of your clothing. It was a comforting sensation, though you tried to focus on the task at hand rather than the fluttering in your heart.

You felt so incredibly pathetic.

Since that night he saved you from your bad date, you had seen Sirius a bit differently. Not that you didn't have a small crush on him back at Hogwarts, it was so different now. You didn't want to admit you might be crushing again, giving Sirius made it abundantly clear you were just a sister to him. A kid.

“Ready?”

“Yeah!” You shouted above the engine and gave a startled yelp when he started up and sped off.

“Where is your helmet!?” You screamed and he laughed, leaning forward further.

“You're wearing it, bams!”

You closed your eyes tight and hugged him closer, hiding your face in his back. Only for your eyes to shoot open wide when you felt the pavement become smoother.

Not smooth.

You were bloody flying. (More like hovering but if he were to correct you you'd surely go for the eyes.)

“Sirius Orion Black! Get me back to the earth this instant!”

Sirius just laughed as you scrambled for purchase. He quickly moved one hand to grab your wrists, keeping your arms locked around him. He looked back at you with that stupid charming smirk of his.

“Bams, trust me!” He shouted above the rushing in your ears. “I've never let you down, yeah?”

You hugged him tighter and closed your eyes, but still shook your head. “N-no…”

“Can't hear ya, bams!”

“N-no!” You squeaked and he chuckled.

Leaning back to let his lips brush over your cheek. Merlin strike you both dead, bring you some pity. “Open your eyes.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as the wind whipped around you. "Sirius, I swear-"

"Just a quick peek!" He urged, his voice filled with excitement. "I promise it's worth it!"

With a deep breath, you slowly opened your eyes, your grip on him tightening instinctively. The world around you was a blur of colors, but as you focused, you realized you were flying down a winding road lined with trees, their leaves shimmering in shades of red and gold. Oh, those colors you loved. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and the crisp autumn air filled your lungs. Hardly above the ground, maybe a foot or so, and carefully raising higher and higher.

“Wow…” You breathed, momentarily forgetting your fear. The beauty of it all was breathtaking. The way the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, made your heart swell with joy.

“See? Not so bad, right?” Sirius shouted over the wind, and you couldn't help but smile.

“It's so pretty!”

Sirius took a second to glance back at your awestruck expression. Quickly looking back to the road and unable to help how he slowly began to smile like a love sick fool.

“Yeah? I have something better to show ya.” He cooed and you slowly nuzzled your nose into the back of his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” You shouted.

He didn’t respond right away, instead, he made a sharp turn down a narrower road, lowering just enough for his wheels to finally hit the ground again. The trees around you seemed to close in, creating a tunnel of vibrant colors as you picked up speed. Your heart raced not just from the adrenaline of the ride, but from the sheer thrill of the moment.

“Hold on tight!” Sirius shouted, and before you could fully process what he meant, he accelerated even faster, the bike roaring as it surged forward. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your face against his back, feeling safe and secured as long as Sirius was there to latch onto..

“Where are we going?” You yelled over the wind, even with the slight fear you were so damn excited..

“Just a little further!” He called back, his tone light and carefree. “Trust me!”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax as you clung to him. The wind whipped through your hair through the opening in the helmet, and you could feel the cool evening air invigorating your senses. It felt freeing, and for a moment, all your worries vanished.

You felt like you unstood Sirius all that much more, able to get behind the thrill of danger if it felt like this. Though, you couldn't help but wonder if your bravery was only because you knew Sirius would be right here.

Eventually, Sirius slowed down and came to a stop in a small clearing. You opened your eyes and looked around, taking in the stunning view. The sun was nearly set, casting a golden glow across a vast field that stretched out before you. The trees framed the horizon beautifully, and the sky was painted with the last remnants of sunset.

“Wow.” You whispered, looking out at the scene before you. “This is incredible.”

Sirius grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Told you it would be worth it. Found this place a few days ago.”

Finally, he let go of your wrists and you moved to take your helmet off, looking around in awe; the perfect little autumn scene.

“I guess I could live with almost dying to see this.” You muttered and slowly got off the bike. Looking around to get a proper view of the place. It was beautiful, the air was crisp, and the trees hid you away from any who would try and intrude on your time together.

Even as the sun officially set, there was still a magic about the place. A small lamp post over a branch that looked down at an almost dried up lake.

Even its imperfections were beautiful.

You turned to face Sirius, your heart still racing from both the ride and the beauty surrounding you. He was leaning against his bike with his arms crossed, smirking at you. You gave a small laugh and his smirk only grew. “You really know how to make a girl feel alive, don’t you?”

“I know how to keep a bird entertained.” He cheeked with a playful wink, running a hand through his wind swept hair. “But I think I might need to start charging you for these services.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, please. You could put a price on a day like this.”

Sirius stood up and. took a step closer, his eyes sweeping around you as he invaded your space. The intrusion was very much welcome as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his. “What if I demand a favor instead? You know, a life debt or something?”

You raised an eyebrow, giving a dry laugh. “A life debt? What kind of favor are we talking about here, weirdo?”

“Hmm…” He mused in faux thought, putting a finger to his chin dramatically. “How about you agree to go on at least one more date? With me this time. Just to keep the practice up for when the next git comes along.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his suggestion, but you couldn’t help smiling. “Are you asking me out, Black?”

He shrugged, trying to hide his cheeky little smile. “It's very possible, depending on your answer.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and gave a laugh hum of thought. “I'm not sure, Sirius… what's in it for me?”

He gave an exaggerated gasp, clenching his chest with his free hand. “Wha- huh? What's in it for you?” He dramatized. “Darling, have you seen me?”

You looked away from him but couldn't hold back your smile any longer, and he gave a snicker. “Oh, you totally have been checking me out, haven't you?”

“Oh shut it, Black.” You spat back in a fluster and he just laughed louder.

Sirius leaned in a bit closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “Admit it! You think I’m charming, dashing, and the perfect motorcycle riding dreamboat.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider it seriously. “Charming? Maybe. Dashing? That’s a stretch. Perfect motorcycle breamboat? You've lost it. Are you trying to get me grounded for life?”

“Grounded? Pfft!” He scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Your father can't even stay angry at you for longer than an hour.”

“It's my mother to fear, Sirius.”

“Oh, she loves me. Thinks I'm just the sweetest gentleman.”

“Right, because running off with her daughter on a motorcycle is complete gentlemanly behavior.” You shot back, rolling your eyes. “Not to mention you did it at night. What will the press say?” You gasped in fake horror and he rolled his eyes.

“Uh huh. After all that, nothing? Not even the Grease stunt?”

You furrowed your brows at him in amused confusion before your jaw dropped and your face lit up. “Sirius Black!”

“The one and only.” He winked at you as you playfully hit his chest.

“You enchanted your bike to fly? To copy the ending in Grease? Oh my stars, you're a sap!”

He bit his cheek and tried to avoid your eyes, clearly flustered beyond belief. You gave a laugh before you looked around and you felt your heart clench helplessly in your chest as another realization hit you.

“This field- like when Laurie confessed to Jo-”

“You said you always wished they got together.” He shrugged and you gawked at him. “... what? Sirius-”

Your eyes snapped around before you hugged his arm tighter. Whispering softly. “Sunflowers?”

“Why would you need those, bambi? You got a sunset.”

“You've.. you've gone mad, Sirius.” You choked on your own sniffles before you quickly dried your tears. “Absolutely loony.”

He turned to face you fully and shook his head. Reaching out to cup your cheeks. “Everytime I see you at night you're crying. Come on.” He cooed and you couldn't help but fall against his chest. Hugging him tighter as he cradled you close.

He brushed your back and you let out a whine as the tears dried up. “It's not fair. I feel like I'm going to explode over here.”

He laughed and raised his hands to cup your jaw on either side. Pushing you to look up at him as he cooed teasingly. “Pretty girl-”

“Oh Merlin, don't call me that.” You huffed and hid your face in his shoulder. He laughed and nuzzled his nose against your hair, lips right against your ear. “Pretty girl. The prettiest girl I've ever seen.”

“You're going to kill me!” You wheezed against his sleeve and he gave your ear tip a gentle kiss.

“One way to make me stop, darling girl.”

“Anything.” You whined and he bit his cheek.

“Just one date, doll.”

“Please.”

[bratphilia]

grasp (w. afton x reader)

request: "I don’t really have a coherent story (just some thots) but i’d kill for some sort of smuttyyy ficlet that has the reader who is very short as in 4 foot 10 and has petite features (just like me 😵‍💫) being picked up and slung over Matthew Lillard!William Afton’s shoulder 🥴🥴 Include reader being scared and trying to wriggle free??? (due to her seeing or knowing something she shouldn’t have about Raglan) and some name-calling like ‘little one’, ‘good girl’ & ‘atta girl’ 🤤 - 🧸"

note: hi nonniebear!! i'm sorry if this fic is a little rushed but i tried to stay true to what you requested! hope you enjoy and feel free to keep sending in more ideas :)

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: bondage, praise kink, fingering, squirting, begging

fuck. you're really in for it now. 

this yellowish, decaying rabbit stalks towards you, and there are four, sentient and bloodthirsty animatronics behind you. 

you're stuck. 

even worse, the rabbit came from the entrance, so if you were to try to make your escape that way there was a likelihood of you running into his knife.

"please," you find yourself pleading. "please don't kill me."

the rabbit laughs menacingly and bends down to your level. "how about this? i'll give you a head start." 

without any further questions you bolt through the maze of halls and towards the office. you crouch down in front of the vent the rabbit was referring to and unscrew the bolts barricading it. thank god you're small enough to fit in the vents. this might actually work.

then you hear unmistakeable, thumping footsteps coming towards you. 

it only hurries your actions. your heart rate rapidly increases. the screws are so aged with rust that it's hard to—

the door opens with a loud thud. you scream at the noise, and again when you're being lifted off the ground. it's the yellow rabbit. 

it slings you over its shoulder with unmatched strength. you wail incoherent words and pleas as you pound the back of the suit with balled fists. 

"help me!" you scream out to no one. "somebody help!" 

the rabbit wordlessly carries you down the hall, to one of the locked doors you dared not to venture into during your shifts. it carried you down a couple stairs and then set you on a dentist-office-style chair. 

at this point tears are rolling down your face. eyes are shut in fear of looking your captor in the eyes. uncontrollable sobs escape your mouth, praying that these aren't your final moments. then the rabbit wraps both hands (paws?) around your wrists and holds them to the arm handles so that restraints can bolt around them. 

"oh, save it," he says, clearly annoyed with your crying. "i've heard it all before, you don't deserve to die, and all that."

your eyes shoot open. the rabbit's voice no longer sounds robotic and you realize you actually recognize it. 

in a very dramatic fashion, it's steve raglan. your career counsellor, a.k.a the man who got you this job in the first place. 

he almost looks ridiculous in the rabbit suit, which admittedly doesn't add much to his already sizeable frame, but you can't find the humor in the situation in which you could be seconds away from dying in. 

"why?" you find yourself asking, suddenly more curious than hysteric. "why give me this job if you were just going to kill me in the end?" 

"because you got a little too close to the truth, and for some reason, those brats up there were unable to take care of the job themselves," he snarls resentfully. he must be referencing the animatronics. it makes sense now— the kids in the drawings with the yellow rabbit on the wall. 

"it was you. you killed those kids."

steve gives you a horrible smile. one that almost makes you weak, with that dimple you recognize from many conversations in his office. "you finally figured it out."

he walks behind you, shuffling around in the suit, and you crane your neck around to see him taking it off. he's wearing a white tee and dark purple slacks. he's not particularly muscular, but not thin either. it's a build specific to middle aged men. you hate to admit it, but your face flushes when you notice how large his hands are. 

he catches you looking at him and smiles, cocking his head curiously. "see something you like, little night guard?" instantly you whip your head back around. your head is at a moral war with itself, with you being disappointed in yourself that you were actually checking out a child serial killer. 

but steve doesn't leave it alone. once he abandons the suit, he swiftly strides over you. he places both hands on your restraints, caging you in. you shrink into yourself. 

"i think," he says lowly, "i might have a different use for you, little one. one that we can both enjoy." 

you swallow, not saying anything. steve reaches a hand up to slide down your face then cup your jaw. his hands are cold to the touch and it sends shivers down your spine. 

you find your voice. "don't touch me."

"don't touch you? are you sure?" he says cockily and you can only glare at him in response. 

"what if i just..." he trails off, sliding the hands on his face down your neck, your chest, abdomen, and eventually your core. he presses his hand there hard, making you jolt upwards and whimper. "so you don't want me to touch you, is what i'm hearing?"

fuck. this undeniably hot serial killer has you at his disposal and you can't help but feel turned on. if you're going to die, and your chances really aren't looking good for you, maybe you should just...

"please," you murmur, closing your legs so they trap his hand there.

"please, what?"

you swallow. "please fuck me." 

"'atta girl." he grins from ear to ear. "y'know, all that begging you did earlier really did a number on me, but i must say i love this change of heart."

steve starts to undo the buttons of your slacks and begins to pull them down, leaving you bare in your underwear. it's at this point you realize how wet you are, and you try to relieve the tension in your core by squeezing your thighs together but he grabs your legs and presses them to your stomach. you're just so malleable to him.

he tugs off your panties and discards them mindlessly. "look at that," he marvels at your bare skin, "so pretty, little one."

you squirm against the restraints a little. at this point the anticipation will kill you faster than he will. you wish he would just touch you already, but you had to admit all his praises were only adding to your arousal.

steve decides to sit a little further down the chair and wordlessly plunges a finger inside your pussy. he goes deliberately slow, clearly gaging your reaction. "fuck," you mutter, and it takes all your strength to not buck your hips into his movements.

"you need this, don't you, sweet girl?" he muses, stopping the thrusting of his fingers, but still keeping them inside. "tell me."

"please, please, please..." tears coat your lashes from all the teasing. "'need it so bad."

he gives you a kind smile, one you haven't seen since you were back in his office. "good girls get what they ask for. "

steve slides in a second finger and begins to pump faster. it's an improvement but you find yourself needing more. you buck your hips up hoping he would get the message and he simply laughs lowly as he adds a third finger into the mix.

his pace gets progressively faster over time to your delight. the noises coming from your center is absolutely obscene. you can feel your juices dripping down onto the seat.

"ah — ah!" you cry out, feeling your orgasm nearing. "i'm coming — please, slow down—"

you squeeze your eyes shut. all the sudden the chair is abnormally wetter than you would have expected and— oh.

your face burns bright red. "i-i'm sorry..."

he's shocked, mouth agape and eyes slightly widened. then a wolfish grin spreads across his face. "don't you dare apologize, little one, let's try that again."

[inaflashimagine]

SINCE LAST TIME

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from. But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

pairing: nagumo yoichi x reader

wc: 9.4k

tags & warnings: (kinda) friends with benefits, suggestive themes, manga spoilers (sakamoto's past arc & assassination exhibition arc), light angst, reader was Nagumo's former spy classmate, no use of pronouns, instance of harassment/inappropriate behavior

notes: can be read as a standalone fic or the second part of a series found here. crossposted on ao3.

“Those are pretty!”

You can’t help but agree with the excited six-year-old holding your hand, though choosing the right words to voice your thoughts proves difficult. 

Your eyes survey the rest of your apartment. They seem to move quicker than your stiff tongue, less focused on the bouquet of roses on the dining table and more worried about locating the trespasser who put them there in the first place. 

The walk from the school back to the apartment didn’t take more than ten minutes. The television was still left on before you headed out. You didn’t realize how it was still programmed to the assassin channel until the JAA News anchors resumed their discussion of three wanted terrorists, their names when you first heard them a week ago as unexpected as the bloodred flowers currently staring at you.

In hindsight, wondering if you’d be able to find the culprit was a silly thing to fret over. Especially when the type of person to make such a grand gesture rarely decides to remain hidden. 

“I know, right?” exclaims a deep, jubilant voice from behind. “The florist freshly cut them from his garden, too! But how do we feel about the vase? Are the polka dots too flashy?”

The door shuts with a firm click, a sound you had already heard a few seconds ago. Because you closed the door yourself. 

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from.

But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. 

It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

The hand enveloped by yours feels smaller than ever as you turn the curious girl around and shield her from the smiling man leaning forward to wave at her. The action gets her to peek behind your protective stance, her giggles growing louder the more your frown widens. 

���Yumiko,” you say softly, refusing to show the hint of panic beginning to seize your chest. “How about you do your drills first? I’ll review them with you in a bit.” It’s already that time of the school year when her class learns basic kanji. However, you secretly fear all those hours of practice still won’t correct her sloppy penmanship.

“But you said we’d watch Sugar’s Sweet Adventures first!” she whines, the rare protest paired with her doe-like eyes close enough to make you cave in. 

Yet your gaze remains on the smiling man in front of you. 

“We’ll do that after you finish your homework. I promise.” You give her hand two tight squeezes, your voice reedier by the second. “Please.”

“I’d listen if I were you,” he unhelpfully adds as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his white baggy pants, “because the one time I hadn’t was sooo close to being my last day on this planet!”

Yumiko laughs, a melody so light that you can feel your resolve chipping away. “You’re funny, mister!”

“Aw, you think so? Well, at least I have one fan in this household!”

“Wait, if you brought flowers, does that mean you’re staying for dinner, too?” Her black pigtails bounce with the rocking of her feet before she takes a step forward. She tugs on the strap of her limited edition Sugar backpack while you pull her behind you again. “We’re having Chinese tonight.”

“Oh, from that one place around the corner? Their pork dumplings are so delicious!”

As if to prove his point, he pats his stomach a few times and lists a few other of his favorite meals from the restaurant with a satisfied smile, leaving you stunned and Yumiko giggling once again.

“Yes! Please join us, mister!” Her gaze flits back to you, catching your mortified expression reflected in those excited dark brown eyes. “Can he join us, please?”

“Not if you don’t finish those assignments,” you cut in, the anxiety gnawing at you so intensely that you’re able to snap out of your bewilderment. Desperate for any solution that gets her far away from all this. 

But you’re not sure what shocks you more: Yumiko’s disappointed sigh or the ease with which she proceeds to simultaneously slip out her shiny black shoes and shrug off her bag. 

“Fine, I’ll do them. But only after I go to the bathroom.”

The moment you hear the pitter-patter of feet being muffled by the closing of a bathroom door is the instant you push the intruder against the apartment’s front door. The one he somehow managed to picklock without so much as uttering a sound.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch,” Nagumo says cheerfully, his disguise gone within a blink. 

Though that smile hasn’t faltered one bit. If anything, you swear it’s gotten bigger.

“Seems like you’ve lost yours.” The grooves of your apartment key dig deeper into his neck, a tiny bead of red coloring the black spiral inked onto him. It’s a once-in-a-blue-moon achievement that would’ve made you insufferable to be around had it happened during your sparring classes at the JCC.

But when you see his pinned shoulders relax instead of resist, you remember how deftly he can flip himself out of this situation.

And how swiftly he can end yours. 

You snort derisively, trying your best to ignore the way his large eyes only seem interested in taking in the face that’s a hair’s breadth away from his. As much as his talkative nature drives you mad, you’d rather deal with his constantly running mouth over his silent one. “You call yourself a master of disguise but can’t change that obnoxious cologne you wear?”

He seems unfazed, the lazy stretch of his lips as he watches you with mild amusement infuriating you even more. “Obnoxious? How hurtful! And here I was worried that time made you softer.”

“The only thing you need to worry about is that target over your head.” Your eyes glance at the flat screen before returning to a slowly blinking Nagumo.

The tip of your tongue feels heavy with the number of questions you want to ask him. Why is he pictured in between an assassin who has long since retired and another who he swore he would kill? 

And why is he here, of all places? You already have enough on your plate to worry about. Are there others currently on his tail? The idea that more assassins may burst through this door while Yumiko is here terrifies you. 

You want to strangle him. 

“A target?” The confusion that tinges his voice is also seen in the exaggerated tilt of his head, the assassin uncaring that the action causes the key to poke further into his neck. “While I am flattered to be compared to that objectively attractive ‘Wanted’ guy, you’re confusing me for another Nagumo Yoichi. After all, I’m an upstanding JAA employee and obedient member of the Order, thank you very much.”

“Oh, cut the act,” you hiss, the flush of the toilet in the background proving how little time you have left. Leaning forward, you glimpse the silver key between your fingers beginning to turn crimson. “Or I’ll let the JAA know where their Special Class-A Extermination Target is…”

He dares to feign a pained gasp while mirth dances in his eyes. “You’d rat me out, even after I brought you these flowers? You have to admit that they’re an upgrade from last time.”

Despite it being the most inopportune time, his words bring back a rush of memories that you have no shot at ever blocking out.

The faint surprise your face undeniably showed upon opening the apartment door that one night over seven years ago–a shock that wasn’t caused by the all-too-familiar sight of long limbs occupying every corner of your couch but had rather stemmed from the bouquet of bright white roses he tossed between his hands.

White roses speckled with dark red splotches.

His thank-you gift, no doubt. 

At least his suit was clean. 

What remained uncertain was whether the present was for a favor in the past, or for a current one in his unlucky deck of cards.

You had grabbed it from him anyway, heading straight to the kitchen and swallowing a pleased sigh that threatened to leave you when soft lips grazed your neck and long arms wrapped around your waist. Ignoring the warmth in your constricted chest as fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and strands of silky hair tickled your cheek, instead attempting to focus on the scissors in your hands to cut the flower stems at a sharp angle. “But please don’t tell me those dots are bloo–”

“Nah, of course it’s not my blood!” he immediately clarified with a chuckle, the deep sound vibrating through your skin and going straight through your bones. “How was I supposed to know the dude would bleed like some stuck pig?”

“Nagumo!” You hoped he’d surmise your gasp as one of horror over his indifference, but saying his name like that the minute his hand dipped below your pants is not something even the most naive could chalk up to coincidence.

“Now, don’t act all innocent on me,” he whispered into your ear, planting a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Not when you’re the only spy who knows the whereabouts of one of my next targets.”

After placing the stained roses in a black vase, you managed to wiggle in his grasp, turning to pull on his tie before linking your arms around his neck. Unsure why the knot in your stomach seemed to tighten from his admission, one that you already saw coming the moment you opened the door. 

The more you thought about it, Nagumo rarely offered gifts of appreciation for services completed in the past. Perhaps a present of that magnitude could only be received for accomplishing a wish not even a god could grant.

If that was the case, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. The latest trail you caught wind of went cold months ago. At the very least, it was likely she was still alive, but providing him any further details would be pure speculation or straight-up lies. Despite all the classes Nagumo skipped when you two were in high school, one particular lesson always stuck with each student in the intelligence-gathering and assassin programs: a stiff body is easier to find than a constantly moving one. 

But if she wasn’t dead, then it was also very likely that she didn’t want to be found. 

Neither of you had ever discussed that last scenario—such hypotheticals were pointless in this profession, after all—but you’re sure he already knew. Even then, he still acted like a stubborn dog that refused to let go of the worn bone, as if hopeful that, maybe, just maybe, he could eventually trade it in for something of higher value. 

Hope was the last thing assassins should hold onto. Civilians who did so were often seen as optimistic or naive. But for those in your field, it got you killed.

Shaking your head, you sent him an unimpressed look. “Contaminated roses in exchange for valuable intel? Talk about unfair exchange.”

He merely blinked, blank eyes staring evenly at you before giving you a boyish smile. “Ah, of course, my bad! So would you prefer red ones next time?”

“You’re ridiculous!” And like last time, you laughed against his lips, closing the distance to push away the sinking feeling that this transaction, along with the previous ones, would never extend beyond that. Perhaps if he squeezed his eyes just as hard as you were then he’d be able to picture the one target that’s never been able to leave his mind.

Upset at Nagumo for evoking such unwelcome thoughts, you tighten your grip against him and repeat those two words.

What favor does he want now? Wasn’t last time enough?

Does he know how much you’ve risked for him? How much is at stake just because he stepped foot into your haven?

“You know, it’s quite rude to treat a friend like this!” he chides, grabbing your wrist with the key before wagging a finger from his other–now free–hand. “Especially one who saw their best friend fake-resurrect from the dead before nearly getting sliced to pieces by a senile man with a sword.”

The key clatters to the floor as your jaw goes slack, attempting to piece together the bomb he so casually dropped.

Akao Rion?

“She’s alive?” you ask, dumbfounded. Even saying it now is a foreign sensation. How? “And that’s made you a wanted man?”

And if Akao Rion is alive, then why is he here?

“Mister, how did you lose so much weight?”

Hearing Yumiko makes you recognize what else you missed amidst the chaos: the creaky sound of the bathroom faucet turning on and off; the echo of the bar soap she always drops into the sink when washing her hands; the shuffling of her feet when she opens the door.

Maybe you are losing your touch.

It doesn’t matter that for the length he was gone, you carried on normally. And it doesn’t matter that in those years you almost forgot how important he was to you. Because it makes no difference now. The time and distance apart lulled you into a false sense of security, and created an illusion that is so painstakingly obvious now– 

Everything is thrown out of orbit whenever he inserts himself into your life.

“That’s a good question! Well, you know how 70% of our bodies are made up of water? Mine is stored in all these mini balloons and your mom just happened to pop a few by accident. Crazy, right?”

“Just because I’m six doesn’t mean I’m dumb.” Standing beside you once again, she reaches for a scratched-up MP3 player and a pair of oversized headphones that are all neatly tucked in her bag before peering at you instead of the bleeding man in your apartment. “Can I go to my bedroom instead of the guest room? I forgot that I left my drill book there.”

Your mouth drops momentarily before you come to your senses. The fact that she might be safer alone than with you is pathetically insulting, although that might speak more to her capabilities than yours. Oddly enough, she’s probably the wisest child you know. Not that you run across many children with your career. “Uh, sure. Do you have the spare key?”

She nods wordlessly, opting for a cursory thanks before she excuses herself, puts on her shoes, and politely asks a perplexed Nagumo to step aside. As she opens the door, the small girl cranes her head upward to spare him a plain look before she leaves.

“And my mom won’t be here until dinner. But I’ll be done with homework before then.”

You think it’s one of the few times you’ve seen someone steal Nagumo’s last words. And based on how wide his bemused eyes are, it might be his first as well.

But the pride that swells in your chest is quickly deflated with another realization.

“Wait…you thought Yumiko was my daughter?”

“Not just your daughter,” he mutters as he loosens his hold around your wrist, the action–or rather, the absence of it–reminding you how warm his touch is. 

It’s your turn to be rendered speechless, taking a step back as you fix an incredulous stare at the former-spy-apprentice-turned-rogue-assassin whose blood continues to drip onto your typically spotless floor.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” he teases with the corners of his lips tugging into a knowing expression. He looks way too happy at the possibility of being a deadbeat. “You can’t deny that we look alike. Plus, you can do the math. She’s six years old, has my humor and intellect…”

You wonder if he realizes that comparing his intelligence to that of a first-grader isn’t the best demonstration of his mind at ‘its brightest’. Then again, his childish frivolity might also explain why kids seem to cling to him like a magnet.

Despite the roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and direct him to put it over his wounded neck, uncaring for how he winces at your rough treatment. As melodramatic as ever. You swore you had just nicked him, in spite of the mess he’s made with your clothes and apartment. “Just shut up and stay there.” 

“–And then you disappeared a few days after our little spat. I also remember the condom break–”

“What a spot-on analysis, Sherlock,” you spit out, picking up your dirty key before making your way to the kitchen drawers. “But you were the one who disappeared, after that night”–you falter, shaking your head furiously while grabbing a clean rag–“anyway, it’s not my fault I was assigned a two-year mission in Singapore. And you could’ve reached out anytime, especially for work matters. Other Order members have.”

Yet that number seems to be dwindling more with each passing day. You feel your fist slightly curl around the cloth when Hyo pops up in your mind. He always provided updates on how Nagumo was doing, no matter how reluctant he was to deliver them and no matter how awkward you felt receiving them. You think you would happily endure a thousand more of those embarrassing moments if it meant he could still be alive.

You guess that’s why it’s called wishful thinking.

Nagumo takes the rag from you, immediately offering a good-natured grin when he catches your eyes narrowing at how long his fingers linger on yours. “Ah, you’re no fun anymore. I was just kidding about all that!”

Your huff of disbelief is less than flattering. “Well forgive me for not being able to tell the difference between the truth and your shitty jokes after seven years of radio silence.”

His whistle rings far and low. “Wow, seven years? Has it been that long?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Folding your arms, you fling his words right back at him. “You can do the math, right? After all, I’m the one who doesn’t ‘know anything’.”

Nagumo sighs upon seeing your air quotes, scratching the back of his head with one hand while staunching the slower trickle of blood from his neck using the other. “So you are still upset over what happened that night.”

And for every subsequent night that he seemed to forget you exist.

“No, I’m upset that you show up at my home while you’re being hunted by every single assassin and spy in Japan.”

At least it’s not a total lie.

“Well, not every single member.” You can only scoff at the direction of his pointed finger.

“And what makes you think I won’t alert them of your whereabouts?”

“Because you already would’ve done so.” It’s a fact that seems to please him, based on that smirk plastered on his face. “Guess I can still call you a friend, even if you won’t formally invite me into your place.” 

There he goes with that word again. 

“No, don’t think about taking another step. I refuse to be an accomplice to whatever mess you dragged Sakamoto into.”

“Immediately taking his side? I see how it is.” For someone who sounds offended, his carefree laughter indicates otherwise. “I’ll have you know that I was the one trying to stop Sakamoto-kun. Not to mention he was the one with the billion-yen bounty! But you always did have a soft spot for him.”

“That doesn’t explain why you partnered with Uzuki. And after everything he’s done?” Though with Akao allegedly being alive, you’re still not sure what to make of any of this. It feels like you’re trying to solve a puzzle with lost pieces and several wrong ones. 

The smile on his face immediately hardens into a straight line, and like last time, that’s when you know you asked the wrong question.

“You’re missing the full story.”

Aware that you’ll fail, you futilely try to see anything past the void he expertly maintains in those eyes. Eyes that are cleverly hidden by long strands of hair. 

Against your better judgment, you take back the rag from his hand and nod, unable to suppress the tired sigh that leaves you. Or the splitting headache that follows. “I know. So tell me.” 

Once Nagumo reassures you that no one followed him (“Please, I’m a wanted man, not some half-baked assassin!”), you leave him in the living room area, make a pit stop at the laundry basket, and head to the apartment next door after letting him know that you’ll be back in a few.

“Hey there, I’m checking in.” You wonder why you bothered knocking on her bedroom door, considering Yumiko only responds after you remove her headphones, the young girl accepting your greeting with a bored expression on her face. “Are you done with your drills?”

“Hmmm, not yet. Is your strange friend still in your home?” 

You do your best to hide the twitch in your eye with an enthusiastic nod. “He is. We’ll be catching up on a few things but shouldn’t take long. I’ll come back here to review your book when we’re done.”

“And then Sugar’s Sweet Adventures?”

“Only if we have time.”

Shockingly, she doesn’t look too disappointed. “Okay. I also think you should get him a new shirt.”

That makes you pause. “Why do you say that?”

“Because of the stain,” she answers plainly, like you asked her what color the sky was. She must mistake your furrowed brows for bafflement because she elaborates with a small, uncertain smile. “It’s probably more difficult to scrub out blood on a black shirt than a white shirt because it’s harder to see where it ends and begins.”

Her mother is going to kill you.

“Right, thank you, that’s a kind suggestion for you to make. I’ll follow it.” 

“And is…he…coming for dinner?”

Pursing your lips, you search for any signs of anxiety or fear on her face. When her calm expression betrays neither, you sigh wearily. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He hasn’t told me. But I can see if he will.”

“If he does?”

“Then we’ll have to order some more dumplings.”

Yumiko smiles widely at that, her delighted laugh contagious. Her adult front tooth has started to fill in the gap of the baby tooth that preceded it, and you briefly wonder if you’ll live long enough to see when they all come in.

“Can some of them be fried then?”

“Sure thing, kid,” you say without hesitation, lightly tugging on one of her pigtails before ruffling the top of her head. “So long as you come up with a story on why we couldn’t get the steamed ones. And it better not involve me or so much mention my name.”

“Deal,” she says just as seriously, throwing in a solemn nod to demonstrate her commitment. But her toothy grin shows no sign of leaving. 

Standing up from your kneeling position you ask her one more question. “Also, can we make sure this conversation just stays between the two of us?”

But she’s already slipped her headphones back on, pop music blaring out as she resumes her writing.

As you return to your living room, you catch him holding a certain photo frame. He wiggles it in front of you with gusto, as if you don’t know what picture you placed there yourself. 

“Wow, you didn’t tell me Yumiko’s mom was a total bab–”

“...”

“I mean, a totally responsible-looking and contributing adult to society!”

“So I’m just going to ignore everything you just said,” is your surprisingly measured response, tossing him a large white shirt that you grab from the pile of clean clothes you thankfully laundered a day ago. “Yumiko thought you might want something cleaner. I’m not washing that black one for you though.”

He catches it with ease, already peeling off his baggy shirt as he puts on the new one. “So she did see the blood. Man, I bet she and Hana would get along swimmingly.”

Who? Your face scrunches in confusion, attempting to ignore the sharp stab you suddenly feel on the side. “Hana?”

“And a non-squeamish six-year-old sounds like the kind of promising candidate the JCC loves. You’re sure she’s not yours?”

You hum absent-mindedly, finding your gaze set on the new ink that accompanies numerous bruises on pale skin. He looks more banged up than normal, a strange sight to behold and one that makes you so unusually queasy that you try to brush the thought aside. Parts of the quote on his torso are blocked by thick bandages, some of which turn redder the more he moves around.

The number of assassins and spies you know with tattoos is so few that you can count them on a single hand. You always wondered why such a mysterious person whose life and career depend on the utmost discretion would willingly paint his body with such permanent identifiers. When you had first seen them–starting with seemingly random numbers on dainty fingers–you figured it would be best to stray away from such an arrogant spy apprentice. If a rookie did the same thing, they wouldn’t last longer than a month past graduation. Yet such concerns always fell on deaf ears–even during the JCC days, professors from the intelligence gathering program would chew him out whenever he walked into class with new ink. (“Oh, this? I must’ve forgotten to wash it off this morning! What a drag. Mind if I go to the bathroom to get it off? I swear I’ll be back in a few!”) 

Maybe that’s why he also transferred to another department.

“You know, you didn’t have to use the bloody shirt as an excuse to see me half naked,” he chirps with a close-eyed smile, a statement that is mortifying to hear alone, much less have it directed at you. Particularly when the new shirt hugs him tighter than you’d like. “If you politely asked, I might’ve even let you take it off me.”

Your face blooms with heat and for some unknown reason, you feel like a clueless teenager again. “Yumiko is not mine,” you reply through gritted teeth, trying to remember his original question before he nearly made your spiral. “But she is my neighbor. Her mom's a nurse with long shifts at the hospital, so I pick Yumiko up after school to make sure she’s not alone.”

“Helping your neighbors, for free?” he asks, unsure how to interpret the slight tilt of his head as he sends you a small smirk. “Maybe you have gone soft.”

“I have not ‘gone soft’,” you say defensively, shoulders taut. “Contrary to what you think, I like to help people.”

Besides, you’ve been told that you’re a nice person. You like to think you’re affable than most. Or at the very least, as approachable as a spy can be in this world. 

“Is that so? Tell me, does helping people also include killing innocent assassins on the run?”

But it doesn’t help that you always feel like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff whenever you’re around him.

If there were a way to weaponize your glares toward assigned targets you’d be the richest person in the assassin world. And the man cheekily smiling across from you would be dead a million times over.

Because if that’s an innocent assassin, you don’t want to see a guilty one.

“Hey Nagumo, has anyone ever told you that you’re a living oxymoron?”

The loud laugh he barks out sounds so nice that it grates your nerves. “As funny as ever! But on second thought, since the grannies at your last place made quite the snoopy bunch, I so get why you were reluctant to help them out.”

The mention of your previous neighbors gets a begrudging eye roll out of you. Nagumo had become such a frequent visitor at your last apartment that he, unsurprisingly, won the hearts of the two nosy, old ladies sandwiched between your unit. If he wasn’t at your place but you still heard rowdy laughter permeating the walls, you instantly assumed that he was gossiping with them over who knew what. Based on the frequent–and unsolicited–reports those two women provided you, he occasionally felt charitable enough to sort their trash and cross off a few items from their grocery lists. They had promised to not snitch on you for breaking the lease terms of authorized occupants despite your insistence that Nagumo–or as they liked to call him, the pretty boy with way too many tattoos–was not living with you nor was he your boyfriend.

“And after seeing this picture”–he, once again, waves the picture frame you repeatedly told him to return to the end table–“I completely understand your newfound passion for community service. She really is a total babe–”

You wack him in the head, which he smartly knows not to block.

“Anyway,” Nagumo says while nursing the newly formed bump on his head, “speaking of being neighborly, mind if I treat myself to some snacks in your pantry?” 

Squinting, you suspiciously eye the gleam of aluminum poking out of his pant pockets. “Good to know you still follow the values of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission’.”

That youthful grin on his face never leaves, his simple shrug providing a sufficient answer when he pairs it with a familiar can of white peaches that he whips out. “Actually, I wanted to ask for a can opener. Couldn’t find it in your drawers. I’d use my handy weapon, but a juvenile delinquent ruined it the other day.”

“Oh no,” you draw out slowly once you make your way to the kitchen, deciding to hurl a chef's knife toward him despite fully knowing where the can opener is. “How will you entertain the masses without your party trick?”

Like a thrown dart, it sticks to the white wall next to him, taking some jet-black strands of hair for company. He sends you a flat look before he uses the heel of the knife to pry open the can. “At least sound a bit more devastated, will you? I doubt I can get my usual weapons maker to make another one for me right now. It truly is a tragedy.”

“The real tragedy is the little remaining time you have to tell me why your face is not only here inhaling all my food but also currently on my TV.” Pointedly peering at the clock hand that gets closer to six with each passing second, your fingers impatiently tap the kitchen island you’re leaning against. 

“So I’m taking the roses didn’t win you over? Was it the vase?”

You can only stare.

Changing into a clean shirt, being fed, and fulfilling the hasty catch-up have all been done. He’s run out of distractions and excuses, a fact he resigns to with an annoyed sigh.

“Fine.” Or at least that’s what you think he says, mouth still stuffed with food. He jumps onto the couch, patting the seat next to him. “But trust me that you’ll want to be sitting down for this.”

It’s a suggestion you’re glad you heed, unable to mask your shock as he spares no detail in his account of fighting a formidable member of X’s group; of thinking he finally killed Uzuki, only to hear the voice of his deceased friend come out the body of her executioner; of learning that Sakamoto knew about this ‘copy’ Akao since Thailand and deciding to not tell Nagumo about it; of losing his status as an Order member the moment Chairman Asaki placed a hit on the inadvertent trio; and of nearly dying from Takamura’s blade until X copied the old man as well.

It’s too much to take in. This might be the only time you wish that everything the trickster just told you was fabricated lies rather than the cold truth. And there’s no way he’s lied to you about this or even embellished a detail or two. Not when you can’t recall the last time he’s ever looked this grim.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, with you just sitting there, staring at an empty aluminum can on the coffee table. Watching how the mouths of the JAA news anchors on the TV screen move soundlessly, having muted the channel long ago. 

You don’t even know where to start. Everything feels too convoluted to begin to process.

And you can tell Nagumo is feeling the same. This is the most expressive you’ve ever seen him–the way his brow knits furiously as he provides a recap of his conversation with Uzuki’s Rion, almost as if committing each word to memory lest he forgets or misses a major clue. How his eyes harden and knuckles turn paperwhite when mentioning Asaki, who claimed to have seen Rion’s death. How his face seems to lose its tension when he relays some dumb joke that Uzuki’s Rion made about Sakamoto’s weight, only to regain it when he recounts his morning encounter with Oki and the two newest members of the Order.

Meeting X was supposed to solve the biggest question that’s plagued Nagumo’s every waking moment. Yet none of this makes sense. Now, it’s only introduced more cryptic puzzles and an increasingly higher risk of death.

“I fear you’ve told all this to the wrong person,” you admit with a sardonic smile. 

Nagumo’s gaze on you is steady, unwavering. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I don’t know how I can help you with any of this.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhale deeply and try to ignore the mind-numbing panic that begins to trickle its way into your chest. “I don’t know anything about Uzuki or X or Slur or whatever the fuck his name is other than what you’ve told me. And I have no idea where he and his lame posse currently are. I don’t even know what you should do next.”

For the amount of stress he’s under, Nagumo sure doesn’t show it with his easygoing smile. “I’m not asking you to do any of that.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

It comes off more petulant than you’d like, and perhaps if he strained his ears, he might be able to hear the concern tinting your voice. Yet one thing is certain–you’re far from the professionally composed person you typically are during work meetings.

But when has anything ever stayed professional between you two?

He leans forward, eyes locked onto yours so that you can’t avert your gaze.

You don’t.

“The only people who know where Sakamoto and I are hiding include his ragtag group of wannabe pacifists, sweet ol’ Granny Miya, and you.”

You?

“Me?” It comes out as a whisper, and in its meekness, you’re relying on him to understand the implicit message.

Why?

“Yup!” he exclaims with an eager nod. “And hopefully, it stays that way!” Which roughly translates to ‘don’t snitch’. You’ve seen that threatening glint before. You’ve heard the hint of finality in that trademark sprightly tone of his before, his sunny disposition softening the blow that targets would undoubtedly feel just a brief moment later. However, none of that has ever been meant for you.

Until now. 

“But I will say, I’m surprised no one else from the Order has paid you a visit.”

“Well, they have, but no one’s asked for you. Oki-san needed the contacts for the two new members he recruited.” You bite your lip, mulling over your next choice of words. “Unless you’ve blabbered to Shishiba or Osaragi, I think only Hyo knew that we were…acquaintances.”

His lips quirk ever so slightly. “Hah! Not the acquaintance card. What will it take for you to say ‘friends’? Do you know how to say it? I can spell it for you.”

Your grimace is far from subtle. “Too bad I don’t have pen and paper,” you weakly joke, trying your best to not roll your eyes for the umpteenth time today.

He licks his lips, lidded eyes refusing to leave yours when he lets out a low, contemplative hum. “That’s for amateurs, which we are not. There’s other ways to teach you.”

Blood rushes to your face, and you blow out an indignant puff of air to focus on anywhere but that coy smile.

“Switching the subject once again,” you say with a dry laugh, relieved that the only stuttering that’s present is tucked away in the staccato notes of your heartbeat. “That’s when I know you’re hiding something.”

He bows slightly, eyes smoothly blocked by unruly hair. Yet his smile only grows. “Is that so?”

“What’s the other reason you’ve told me all this?” A hesitant pause before your voice lowers. “The real reason.”

You’ve always hated how he can quickly school his expression into a blank canvas when it’s impossible for you to do the same to him. It’s a skill that might be even more frustrating than your inability to read him, to break past the wall he effortlessly puts up. 

And you’re a good spy; deep down, you know this. But when your usually astute perception is impervious to his shield at every single angle, the only viable course of action is to take his next words at face value.

“Because who else will tell the truth once the JAA silences everyone?”

It’s the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Words said so breezily as if inquiring what day of the week it was.

And all you can picture is his lifeless body.

Another sharp inhale, followed by a shaky breath. Your stomach continues to drop, and you’re uncertain when you’ll be fully sunk. Every fiber in your being knows this is the wrong reaction, a sign of weakness that goes against all the training that’s been ingrained into your body since your family explained what they do for a living.

But the idea of a life without Nagumo in it feels worse than death itself.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Anything that reaches your ears sounds muffled, trapped underwater until two hands grab your face and pull you back to the surface.

His thumb strokes your cheek gently as he softly repeats your name. One. Two. Three times.

“You can’t die,” you finally say. Slowly, quietly. Almost as if you’re reassuring yourself. Your face hardens, a sharp edge to your voice. “You won’t die.”

He meets your stare unabashedly, an amused smile making its way back to his lips. “Who said anything about dying?”

“Nagumo, I’m serious.” You find your breath steadying, only for it to quicken the moment your fingers lock around his wrists. “You can’t leave…leave me.”

“I never left,” he says decisively, and right before you can get a retort in, he won’t stop talking.

“Your mission in Singapore was not only two years but two years, seven months, and twenty-nine nights. You went back to your old place but immediately found and moved into this one. Maybe because you wanted to get away from those annoying grannies, or maybe because you were afraid of me breaking in again–which I didn’t, by the way!–but I think it’s because you wanted to be closer to that used bookstore, which you visit every Saturday and only after ordering your tea latte and a chocolate croissant from the cafe next door. 

“You say you only pick up Yumiko after school, but I’ve seen you take her to each of her soccer games and sometimes to the Science Museum in Ueno whenever it’s rainy. Assassins and spies of all levels seek your intel, but you only let Order members and the Chairman into your place. Not that you have much say in that, I guess. Though what you do have control over is who you go on dates with and boy, do you go on a lot more shitty dates than good ones. That Ren was a character.”

You can’t tell if the urge to slap him is stronger than your desire to smash his lips with yours.

“Are you done?” is all you can muster. Yet in the time between you find yourself inching closer toward him, noses brushing as you take in his overwhelming presence. The smell of Granny Miya’s arnica tincture with the heady scent of smoky amber makes your head feel light and your clammy hands all tingly. 

But you can’t stop smiling.

“Hmmm, that depends,” he muses, a glance to your lips causing your stomach to flutter. “How much more time do I have before you kick me out?”

“You’re ridiculous.” More like insane.

You kiss him anyway. 

It starts slowly, hesitantly. Like you’re back to being clumsy teenagers, curious to explore what it means to carry out a mission of seduction.

Then his tongue swipes over your lips before parting them, and hunger takes over.

His mouth tastes sweet, and addicting, a warmth wholly inviting and so easy to get lost in that you can’t stop your content sigh. It’s all-consuming, and you pull him down with you, grabbing onto the front of his shirt as you sink into the couch together. 

His arms keep you trapped, though you don’t think you mind, legs wrapped around him as you indulge in a stolen moment.

Until a flash of bright blue hair pops into your mind.

You open your eyes, unclenching your fist from his shirt and recoiling like you’ve touched a hot stove. And all of sudden something that felt good feels so incredibly off.

“What?” He’s as breathless as you are, though his body still hovers over you, long hair tickling your forehead while you’re surprised to see the worried crease form on his. “What’s wrong?”

“Us,” you blurt out, cheeks hot from shame. “I can’t be her. I never will be.”

Dark eyes study your face as you feel his hands drift to your back. He lifts you with him until you’re back to sitting across from one another, and for a second you think he might leave right then and there.

And then he captures your lips again.

This kiss is fleeting, but softer, a tenderness that you didn’t think he had. A gentleness you don’t deserve.

He parts to look at you once more, a lone finger tracing your cheek with the caress of a lover.

“You don’t need to be her,” he murmurs against your lips, feeling the flutter of his eyelashes and his unyielding gaze. “I don’t want you to be her.”   There’s a gradual levity in your chest, a foreign sensation that makes you realize how weighed down you were.

You want to bask in it, drink in more of the giddiness he seems to get out of you so easily. And when he leans in to gently nip at your bottom lip, you find yourself caving in.

A feeling short-lived when the timer in your phone goes off. 

Nagumo doesn’t take the interruption to heart, a breathy laugh fanning your neck as you reluctantly peel away from him to stop the alarm. “So you did set a time limit.”

The grin you send as consolation is half sheepish, half nervous. “Didn’t think we would go past it if I’m being honest.”

He raises a brow, hands back to sliding all over you. “Ouch! Sounds like I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

Your thighs press uncomfortably when feather-like touches brush over your hip.

“As much as I’d love to, we’ll have to take a rain check,” you mutter, quite begrudgingly. Struggling out of his iron-clad grip is a challenge enough, legs wobbly as you stand abruptly. When you lick your swollen lips you can instantly taste the faint sweetness of white peaches. “I have to stop by the restaurant with Yumiko before her mother arrives.”

Yet your attention keeps finding itself on the clock, the incessant ticking of the big hand seeming to mock you as you realize how little time you have left.

“So what’s actually rushing you?”

Your shoulders tense, but you shoot him a casual smile that you’re confident could rival his. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, his scrutiny intense as he stands up to observe you. “I don’t know, you tell me. I thought we were done with giving each other the cold shoulder.”

Your eyes narrow. “Maybe lay off? Sorry if I don’t want Yumiko’s mother walking in on us going at it like some horny teenagers.”

Based on the way he purses his lips, he doesn’t seem convinced. You feel like you’re being examined under a magnifying glass, an unpleasant sensation that makes your body itch all over.

And then all your ears can hear is his boisterous laughter. 

Nagumo slaps your back, hard, right before he doubles over. Pretending to wipe a fake tear, he airily says, “Civilians see us killing from left to right every day without fuss, and you think she’s gonna bat an eye at two consenting adults kissing? Gee, maybe you’re more of a prude than Sakamoto-kun!”

“Oh, shut up!” You shove him near the edge of the step to the genkan, wondering if your chuckling sounds as nervous at you think it does. “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, don’t you think?”

“Ah shoot–did I just fumble my shot at a date?”

You open the door for him, trying to ignore your embarrassment with how your stomach flips from that question. Your small smile will have to be enough for him. “Yes. Yet if you focus on staying alive then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Good to see you’re still a terrible liar. But sounds like we have a deal,” says a larger man who bears no resemblance to one of JAA’s most wanted men. His voice is gruffer, but the lips that chastely brush yours hold a softness you already find yourself craving.

Then he’s gone in a blink. 

—

After making sure Nagumo didn’t swipe your phone or other valuables as he sped off, you take a few extra minutes to regain your composure before visiting Yumiko. Resting your head against her bedroom door doesn’t subside your pounding headache, and when Yumiko’s stomach begins to grumble in the middle of reviewing her homework, you finally think it’s time to eat.

“But why are we going back to your place?” she inquires, exasperation evident.

“Because I forgot my wallet,” you reply with a weary sigh. Your hands feel aimless, afraid that Nagumo’s one-liner on repaying Sakamoto for eating Hana’s ruined birthday cake was more than just a foolish joke. 

“Forgot, or lost?” 

You look up from your bent position near the coffee table. “I don’t appreciate the sass, kid.”  

“You seemed to like it when your friend acted that way.”

Mouth agape, you’re ready to rescind your offer of fried dumplings when you hear a familiar voice.

“Didn’t anyone teach you ladies how to close the front door?”

“Mother!” Yumiko calls out as she hugs the older woman’s leg. “You’re home early!”

“Wanted to make sure I made it in time for dinner. Chinese, right? Were you two about to head there?”

“Yes!” you answer with a triumphant smile as you shake the wallet in your hands. “And tonight’s on me!”

“That’s not necessary, I don’t mind paying our share…”

“I know, which is why I insist.” Just as you make your way toward the front entrance, the door still ajar, Yumiko drags her mother to the vibrant roses on the table. “Wait, what are you–?”

“I want mother to see the flowers!” The child looks at you before gazing back at the woman beside her. “Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

“They’re beautiful,” she agrees, smoothing Yumiko’s hair as she sends you a wink. “A gift from your boyfriend?”

Your heart nervously skips a beat. A white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

“–while the red roses are a classic option, that vase is too garish for my taste. Should I have to worry about a secret admirer?”

A shiver wracks through your spine the moment you feel his hand on the small of your back. Cold fingers linger around your waist, and it takes all your strength to look up at him and not suffocate under his bloodlust. There’s so much of it that you wonder how fast he can masterfully hide it without raising any alarms.

“Well?”

“Of course not,” you quickly assure with a shaky smile, your cheeks hurting from how wide your lips stretch.

“The flowers are from my secret admirer, Asaki-san,” Yumiko pipes up, her voice tiny among the adults. “They were too heavy to carry back home so I had some help. He told me that the florist freshly cut them from the garden, too.”

“Your what now?” gasps her mother, though Yumiko’s innocent gaze remains on you.

Is…he…coming for dinner?

You wish your eyes could convey how apologetic you are. How guilty you are for involving two completely innocent civilians into this.

Yet only adrenaline and fear course through your veins, preventing any other flood of emotions from rushing in.

“Being outdone by a child? That won’t do,” Asaki says after an impatient click of his tongue, his long earrings dangling with a slight shake of his head. He offers you a smile, but it appears more like a grimace. “I’ll have Watarai deliver a fresh bouquet of my preferred arrangement to both this apartment and my office tomorrow.”

You should change the door lock sometime soon.

You blink instead, opening your mouth before shutting it promptly. “Sure. Thank you.” Entirely cognizant of the arm snaked around you, you look at the bag in his other hand and do your best to not think about the cage you’re currently in. “What do you have there?”

“Ah, yes! I know you mentioned Chinese, but that place you go to looks pretty dismal, not to mention dirty. So I got tapas from a restaurant that just so happens to have a Michelin-star. Their food is exquisite. Watarai, you can prepare the table now, thank you.” 

The smug smile Asaki boasts seems more genuine this time, especially as his assistant–who, to no one’s surprise, materializes out of nowhere–carefully grabs the bag from his boss and begins to set the table. 

The roses are nowhere to be found. 

“You’re too kind, Asaki-san,” Yumiko’s mother says after an uncomfortable silence, the overt wringing of her hands making you wince. “But perhaps this dinner is best left to the couple?”

“Nonsense! The more the merrier!” are words he’s probably never uttered until now. 

Despite her appreciative bow, she exchanges a wary look with you before grabbing her daughter’s hand. “Well, thank you very much for thinking to include us. If you may excuse us, Yumiko and I will wash our hands.”

“But I wanted dumplings…”

“Yumiko, hurry along now!”

Once that door closes you pry his hands off you, uncaring for the disgruntled frown that tugs his thin lips downward.

“I’ve grown quite wearisome of your antics.”

“How did you know we were getting Chinese?” you focus instead, distress churning in your stomach. 

Asaki gives you an unimpressed look, like you’re roadkill that the tires of his car had the misfortune of running over. “Now, we’ve gone over this before,” he sighs despondently, already trying some of the cured meat on the plate Watarai had placed. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Your mouth feels like sandpaper, finding it harder to breathe while he appraises you chillingly.

Two times a day. That’s how often you check each corner and room of your apartment for anything amiss, how often you look through each gap and crevice for a camera, and how often you run your finger along each smooth surface for any hidden microphone that might’ve been placed in the time between those two moments you check daily.

The first time you removed the small mics placed in your rooms was his last attempt at bugging your house. Or at least, to your knowledge. 

Your phone rests in the back pocket of your jeans, the device feeling particularly heavy. You take it out and think of all the conversations he’s heard. All the messages he’s read. 

How silly of you.

Despite the urge to chuck it against a wall you remain frozen, save for the slight tremble of your fingers that can also be heard in your voice.

“I don’t know anything.”

Asaki walks, the click-clack from his Italian leather derby shoes reminiscent of a clock ticking away the last precious seconds of a bomb about to go off. You watch him through the mirror that faces him, but his eyes only look forward. He adjusts his black tie and wrangles a loose dark streak of his hair back into place. 

“Now might serve as a perfect reminder that lying to the Chairman is a JAA violation punishable by death.”

Clearing your throat makes the dryness in your mouth worse. “And what if I’m speaking to my…boyfriend?”

Black eyes shift to meet yours, examining you with a coldness that makes winter seem like summer. 

“Then perhaps I’ve far overestimated your abilities, and your use to me.”

You’re fine with dying. Ever since you were a student, all the training you’ve received was concentrated on preventing it. But you’ve experienced far too many brushes with death to sincerely believe that the job you love won’t be what kills you. If anything, the JCC only taught you how to delay death, not avoid it entirely. 

And so you’re fine with dying. With each close call, you update your will. Yumiko and her mother will receive the majority of your assets because you don’t really have other friends and family to give it to. Maybe some assassins and spies you’ve worked with will take a second to say your name when they hear the news in some passing conversation. Have it linger on their tongue as they maybe recall a foggy memory of you before they continue with their day. Death is simply a sped-up inevitability for you all, so you’ve long accepted that it can happen today. Tomorrow. Or now.

But he can’t die. Losing him once was enough.

“Is everything alright?”

You want to tell Yumiko it will be but as he continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression, you figure it might be best to stop lying to the child.

“Sir,” Watarai interrupts, standing behind Asaki and bowing curtly, “I apologize for the interruption, but your presence is requested by the executive board.”

A sigh of instantaneous relief bubbles up in your throat until you glance down at your phone and spot the alert that appears on the screen.

JAA NEWS: TERRORIST ATTACK ON JAA-OWNED WEAPONS FACTORY

Your heart drops.

A lax smile rests on Asaki’s passive face. “I see. Then I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our visit short.”

“You won’t be taking the food with you, right?”

“Yumiko!”

He tilts his head toward the young girl and her scandalized mother, his closed-eye smile an off-kilter sight to see. “Well, aren’t you…precocious. Treat yourself to whatever! You’ll find the taste is much better than those greasy dumplings. Watarai, let’s hurry along now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yet his smooth strides don’t betray any urgency, eyes focused on the prey he approaches.

He kisses your cheek, your skin burning from the contact. It’s a clever position he’s placed himself in, the tall man blocking your figure and preventing others from seeing the exchange. Mere seconds feel like an eternity as a horrible combination of shame and cold dread wash over you.

“Next time, tell our friend to stop wearing that obnoxious cologne,” he whispers into your ear, his disgust ringing loud and clear. “I can smell him all over you.”

You can’t breathe.

He straightens and pats your tense shoulder. And then he leaves, the door finally locking with a short click.

Your head is spinning, panicked and scattered thoughts leaking out the tiny box you thought you could contain. You think you hear your name being called but your body seems to have lost all function, knees striking the floor. And that’s when you see it, just an arm’s distance away. 

A fallen rose petal.

end notes: me struggling to come up with a name for this fic: [insert preposition here] + last time. and you can bet i'll do it for the next one

i was rereading the manga and nagumo's comment about the chairman–"he does whatever he wants. and he'll do whatever it takes to achieve his goals"–inspired me to include that horrible man here. idk it just felt fitting :)

[kings-roar]

credit card: prologue

summary: Yuu gets invited on their first journey to one of their schoolmates’ hometowns! But with the meager allowance given by that stingy headmage, they don’t think they have enough to cover the travel. Luckily for them, they’re dating a super rich (and surprisingly generous) boyfriend. notes: this is part one of my series: credit card! details/warnings: gender-neutral pronouns, yuu instead of y/n, adult!yuu, established relationship, leoyuu, follows EN server

ao3 link: xxx

It was on a lazy Friday evening in the botanical gardens when Yuu was approached by an energetic ball of energy, otherwise known as Kalim Al-Asim, and his childhood companion Jamil. Yuu looks up just as Kalim barrels into them with a hug. They laugh as Jamil begins to scold Kalim, reminding the latter to be aware of boundaries, something that is hardly in the young heir’s vocabulary.

“How can I help you, Kalim?” The prefect moves their homework to the side as they reciprocate the second year’s hug.

“We’re going on a trip!” he exclaims excitedly. Yuu tilts their head to the side.

“Oh? Well, congrats! I hope you have fun.”

“What are you talking about? You’re coming with us!”

‘… Huh?’

“Kalim,” Jamil’s voice sounds tired as he places a hand on his classmate’s shoulder. “You can’t just tell someone they’re going somewhere. You have to ask them first.”

“Oh, right! Well, Yuu, do you wanna come home with us?”

Jamil smacks a hand to his forehead as Yuu continues to become more and more confused. What does he mean, “come home with us”? Is Crowley kicking them out of the campus? Did Grim do something whilst with the Heartslabyul duo? Yuu thought they could trust those two, but maybe they were wrong.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Jamil explains with a tired sigh. “Kalim and I are heading back home, to the Scalding Sands, for the Yasamina River Fireworks Fest.”

“And since you’re from another world, I’d love to show you my hometown, Yuu!” Kalim adds with a beaming smile. “We got six VIP seats, so you and Grim can both tag along! Oh, maybe I should hit up the guys from my Pop Music club too!”

“Wait a minute, you are one of the organizers of the event, Kalim, and as your attendant, I will also be at your side. Inviting Grim and Yuu last minute is one thing, but adding even MORE people whilst we’re busy is too much.”

“It’ll be fine, Jamil! The more the merrier, as they say. Besides, They can take care of their own, right?” Kalim looks towards Yuu with shining, puppy-dog eyes.

“Um, sure.” they nod hesitantly. “But what about the cost? As you can probably guess, Crowley isn’t really on the generous side…”

“Well, the seats for the festival are covered by your tickets. The street food is pretty cheap though! Maybe you could ask the headmage to lend you some more money?”

“Eh, I doubt he’d agree. Grim is also a really big eater.”

Suddenly, a figure jumps down from the tree Yuu was leaning against. The Scarabia duo jumps in surprise, whilst the prefect merely smiled. The figure, ignoring his two underclassmen, ruffles Yuu’s head lightly before sitting down beside them. His long tail curls around Yuu’s wrist as he yawns.

“Hey, Leona-senpai!” Kalim’s the first to recover from the unexpected guest. “Can’t believe I didn’t notice you up in that tree.”

“‘Course you didn’t,” the beastman smirks. “An herbivore like you would never be able to detect a beastman like me.” The comment doesn’t hold much malice in it, if any, and Kalim continues as if nothing happened.

“Well, anyway, were you able to hear everything? Do you wanna come with us?”

“Kalim!”

“What? Leona-senpai is a classmate of ours! Besides, it would be rude not to invite him after hearing us invite Yuu and Grim.”

Leona yawns again as he nestles himself closer to his favourite human, who also happens to be his partner. His eyes are only half open, a sign that he’s just about ready to fall asleep once again.

“A trip to the Scalding Sands? I’ll pass; not a huge fan of large crowds. But if you wanna go, Yuu…” He stares into his lover’s eyes, waiting for a response. The prefect gives it a thought before answering.

“Hm, well I would like to go, since the festival is a once-a-year event. After all, who knows if I’ll be here to experience it again.”

Leona ignores the twinge in his heart at the thought of his favourite herbivore leaving his side, opting instead to reach into his pocket. He takes out a leather wallet, opening it with one hand and expertly fishing out a thin object. The prince places it gently into Yuu’s hand and quickly tucks away his wallet.

“There, now you can enjoy yourself without worrying. Just don’t let that little weasel see it. He might think this means he can spend on whatever without thinking.”

Yuu’s eyes widen as they unfurl their hand, their gaze falling on a shiny black credit card embellished with gold printed words. LEONA KINGSCHOLAR bedazzles the front, and a shiny crown emblem is stamped at the end of his name. The name of some unknown bank, as well as other details, dot the rest of the card. They flip it over and over, studying it carefully to make sure it’s real. Kalim and Jamil’s faces are also aghast as they recognize the card.

“WOAH!” Kalim gasps. “Is that a black card?! I have one too!”

From the sounds of Kalim’s voice, a black card seems exceptionally rare. Perhaps only the rich and royalty could own one. Either way, Yuu remained quite shocked at the mere fact that Leona trusted them enough to loan them his card. After all, he’s a prince! If Yuu ended up misplacing the card, and it got into the wrong hands, then who knows what could happen to THE prince of Sunset Savanna if his royal funds were taken.

“See? You’re all set now. Now hurry up and leave. You’re digging into my date time.”

“All you’re doing is sleeping…” Jamil mumbles, though it still reaches the beastman’s ears. “Whatever. Let’s go, Kalim. Because of you, I have to rearrange a bunch of things.”

“I’ll pass the news onto Grim for ya, Yuu! Be sure to be at the Mirror in the morning!” Kalim waves to the prefect and beastman as he’s dragged off by Jamil.

Once they’re gone, Leona gently brings Yuu closer to him, nuzzling his face into the crook of their neck. The prefect smiles and softly begins to brush their fingers through the prince’s brown locks, eliciting a pleased noise from the back of his throat.

“Thanks for trusting me with your card, Leona. I’ll be sure to keep it safe and use it wisely.”

“‘s all good,” Leona’s words come out slurred, the familiar and comforting scent of the gardens and his love lulling him back into dreamland. “Just want you to enjoy yourself.”

Leona finally falls asleep, and Yuu joins him once they’ve packed all their things. Trying to do homework now would be futile, it seems. The two peacefully slumber in each other’s embrace for the next hour or so, until Grim and Ruggie came to bring them back to their dorms for curfew.

[scoonsaliciousupdates]

5.3 Lily

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 500

Previously On...: Bucky got a call from Lily, wanting to know where he was. He lied to her, of course. That definitely won't come back to bite him in the ass.

A/N: Sorry this is so late going up! Had a last-minute Mother's Day dinner with the family, and then some quality time with @cazellen, and when you add on an hour+ drive each way, it ended up eating my entire evening. But! I wouldn't leave you hanging, so here is today's update, just... six hours late :(

Also, PLEASE NOTE: There is one more section of Chapter 5 to go up tomorrow, and then I will be taking a one-week break from posting so I can focus on writing. So, Chapter 6 will start on Sunday, May 19th. I probably will not be as active on here as I normally am, so if you send me a message and I don't respond right away, it's because I'm busy making more content for you!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Lily clutched her phone to her chest, shocked. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He had lied to her. She couldn’t believe it. Her best friend had lied to her about what he was doing and who he was with. 

She hadn’t planned on coming to the Compound that night– she’d realized she’d forgotten some files in her office that she needed to look over before she went back to work on Monday, and had just stopped in to pick them up. She figured, since she was there, she might as well go see what Bucky and Sam were up to. She didn’t want to crash their boys’ night, per se, but if they happened to invite her to join them? Well, how could she refuse such an invitation?

That’s why it came as such a shock when she rounded the corner to the rec room and saw Sam and Steve, in front of the large television, watching football together, and Bucky nowhere in sight. She hung back for a few moments, giving him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe he’d been in the bathroom, or in the kitchen grabbing snacks. But when fifteen minutes went by, then thirty, and Bucky still hadn’t shown himself, she began to worry.

She was about to barge into the room and demand answers from Sam and Steve, when she heard them talking during a commercial break.

“So, how do you think the date’s going?” Steve asked Sam.

“Knowing Tin Man, I’d usually say ‘terribly,’” Sam said with a laugh, “but this girl seems to actually like him, so who the hell knows? I guess it depends on what time he comes home tonight… or tomorrow morning, doesn’t it?” 

Lily brought a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp as she backed away from the entrance to the rec room. 

No. No, no, no, no, no, she thought. He wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t just start seeing someone without telling her, warning her, would he? 

So, she’d called him. 

“I promised Sam we’d do guys’ night,” he’d told her at brunch, the lie coming so smoothly off his lips. But she’d heard a woman’s voice on the line with him.

Lies.

And then, he’d snapped “I already told you what I was doing… You don’t have to keep checking up on me.” He’d never used that exasperated tone with her before. Never. And to just hang up on her, without even a proper goodbye?

She felt hurt. She felt betrayed. In their years of friendship, Bucky had never lied to her before, had he? And why? Why now? Who was this girl, and what was so fucking special about her that Bucky felt the need to lie to his best friend about her? 

Lily felt like she was going to be sick.

She needed to find out who this mystery woman was, immediately. And she needed to do everything in her power to make sure Bucky never saw her again.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking someone not to make my art about a ship I hate?

This happened a couple months ago, but I’m still kinda unsure if I handled it correctly.

Basic rundown of events: I posted some art of a character on their own in the evening, and when I woke up the next morning, someone had reblogged with an addition about a ship that’s a big notp for me. I messaged them to ask they delete it as politely as possible, because people had been interacting with that version of the post specifically and it made me uncomfortable. They responded by saying I was being immature and needed to learn not to police what other people do on the internet. We exchanged a couple more messages, and I tried to explain my position my throughly. Neither of us was overtly hostile or anything, but I felt extremely talked down to by their tone of voice. After our conversation, we both blocked each other, and that was that. They never did delete their addition.

Why I think I might be TA: we weren’t exactly friends or anything. Neither of us followed each other. I’d seen them around in the fandom, and they’d reblogged some of my art in the past, but I think messaging someone I didn’t know instead of just blocking them might have been a bit of an overreach. Plus the ship in question is canon, and not particularly controversial or anything, so most people in the fandom probably wouldn’t have minded.

On the other hand, the ship being so unavoidable is a big part of the reason it upset me so much. It’s hard for me to exist in this fandom without having to see it constantly, and I don’t even ever mention the other character in it for fear of this exact thing happening. I’ve had people be assholes on my posts about the ship I prefer, or go out of their way to interpret my romantic posts about them platonically, or add tags to my art about how they only like my ship as backstory and not endgame. I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer every single time I post about this fandom. I just want to enjoy the things I like without being negative all the time. Which is why I figured messaging privately was more polite than making a stink where everyone could see. I specifically mentioned that I knew they wouldn’t have known and wasn’t mad.

No one actually ended up reblogging their addition, which is also a strike against me, but I got a lot of likes on specifically that version of the post, which made me scared they were going to. I hated the idea of having to turn off reblogs on a piece I’d worked pretty fucking hard on because a version I found so upsetting was in circulation. If it was just tags, I’d have blocked, but it being an addition is different. I don’t think asking people not to make my posts about it is “policing what other people do on the internet”. You’re in MY house, on MY post with MY art I spent hours on. Making additions to art posts already seems somewhat rude to me, that’s just not something you do, but I guess that’s a matter of the corner of tumblr culture you’re used it.

Also, their response felt very aggressive and condescending. They implied I was, like, a kid, and I do think I’m somewhat younger than them, but the only information about my age in my bio at the time was that I’m an adult, so it felt like a rude assumption. My age doesn’t have anything to do with it.

Again, though, I do absolutely see how my initial message could read as entitled. During the rest of our messaging, I did lose my temper a little bit at one point; I said something about how I’ve had to deal with shit in this fandom before, and I don’t remember the exact words since, again, we both blocked each other, but I know I swore at them. That might’ve come across as more aggressive than I wanted, and probably didn’t exactly help deescalate. (Can’t say for sure, I don’t have their side of the story)

Like I said, this situation was a bit ago now, but it upset me pretty bad at the time, and I’m still not entirely sure who’s in the wrong. So, AITA?

(Also to get ahead of this: please don’t make this about shipcourse in the comments. It’s not about that. They and I have similar opinions on that discourse from what I’ve gathered anyway. Thanks.)

What are these acronyms?

[runnning-outof-time]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - written for @pacifymebby ‘s 2k Follower/Christmas Celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy promises (Y/N) that he’ll be home for his family’s first Christmas in Arrow House. (Y/N)’s hoping it won’t only happen in her dreams.

Warnings: none - just some Christmas fluff

Word Count: 2223

A/N: Congrats on 2K, Layla! I went with the song ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ … I listened to Brett Eldredge’s version of it and came up with this idea. I hope you like it. And it’s fitting that this is being posted on Christmas Eve, right? Sorry for cutting it close. Happy Holidays to all! Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one

(Y/N) sat back on the chaise lounge with a sigh. She bit on her bottom lip as she held the reciever up to her ear.

“Are you still there?” came from the other line.

“I am,” was what she was able to get out before she choked on her words, fingertips pressed against her lips as she tried her damnedest to hold back tears.

“Tell me what’s wrong, love.” Even miles away and through a phone call, Tommy was still able to read his wife like an open book.

There was a moment of silence before she responded. In that time, (Y/N) was trying to decide whether she wanted to make her plights known or not. On one hand, he was her husband; the person who she was supposed to disclose these sorts of problems to. On the other, she didn’t want to add another problem onto his probably already full plate.

“(Y/N)?” Tommy’s voice cut through her internal debate, bringing her back to the conversation.

“When will you be home, Tommy?” she decided to come right out and ask.

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” he assured her within seconds of her making her worry known.

“But…but Christmas is tomorrow,” she stammered out, wracking her mind to try and figure out if his homecoming was even possible, “where even are you right now?”

“I’m in London, and I know it’s tomorrow. I’ll be home,” he assured her once more.

“It’s our first Christmas in this new house,” she said as she looked around the reading room that she’d decorated to her particular taste. The manor was beautiful, but it felt so empty when Tommy was away. “The kids had the best time decorating the tree,” she added, a smile gracing her face as she thought back to the time she spent with her three children earlier in the week. A time that Tommy had missed out on.

“That’s good to hear,” Tommy smiled as he closed his eyes and pictured his three young children gathered around the large tree in the living room. He never had a chance to make a memory like it when he was younger. The fact that he wasn’t present for his children at this time felt like a stab to the heart.

(Y/N)’s smile faltered as the thing that had been eating her alive from the moment her husband’s car pulled out of the driveway returned to the forefront of her mind. “I can’t have you gone much longer, Tommy,” she finally spoke, deciding to come out with her thoughts rather than keep them in.

“I won’t be, darling,” he assured her.

“When will these business trips end?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed as he ran a hand over his face.

“Yes you do. You’re the head of the company,” she insisted, a tinge of desperation seeping into her words.

“They’re part of the job.”

“They’re taking away time from our family.”

Silence rang on the line after (Y/N)’s declaration. She was no longer able to hold back the tears, letting them silently slip down her cheeks as she tried to keep the front that everything was fine on her end of the conversation.

“I’ll be home for Christmas, (Y/N),” Tommy was the one to break the silence after a few moments had passed.

(Y/N) swiped away her tears and nodded even though he wasn’t able to see her. “Ok, Tommy,” she agreed, even though she knew that it would most likely be a moot promise.

“I have to go,” he told her then.

“Ok,” she nodded once more, “I love you.”

“I love you. Give the kids a kiss for me.”

“I will.”

The line went dead after she told him she would. (Y/N) hung the phone up and let out a shuddered sigh. She looked at the garland lined mantle for a minute before closing her eyes and silently hoping that Tommy’s promise would come true this time around.

The sentence “mumma, wake up!” graced (Y/N)’s ears at the beautiful hour of seven o’clock the next morning. The feeling of three, small bodies bouncing on the bed soon accompanied it, making the woman finally open her eyes.

She was reluctant to at first because she knew that doing so would bring her beautiful dream of sitting by Tommy while watching the kids play with their presents to an end. The sight of the empty spot next to her in bed still hit her like a ton of bricks even though she was prepared for it. She couldn’t dwell on it though, because the kids’ excitement increased tenfold the second they saw her eyes open.

“Let’s go downstairs!” Charlotte, the oldest of the three, declared as she hurried to get off of the bed and make her way to the door. Max and Henry - twins who were two years younger than Charlotte, quickly followed their sister, their excitement practically palpable.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile as she tossed the covers to the side and moved over to where her robe was hung on the dressing screen. She took the same path as her children once the cozy garment was tied tightly against her frame.

The children were already rooting around the gifts that were placed under the tree, trying to find the ones that had their names on it. (Y/N) smiled as she made her way over to the couch and sat down on it. A tinge of sadness crept up on her before she could stop it. Tommy should be here, she thought to herself as the children went about unwrapping their presents.

Tommy’s words from the previous evening then echoed in her mind: “I’ll be home for Christmas”. She wanted to badly to believe that and think nothing else. But that sadness still loomed.

The children were excited to have their mum unwrap the presents that they made for her once they were finished opening theirs, and (Y/N) was able to push the sadness away as she beamed at the thoughtful, homemade gifts they’d given her.

The gloomy feelings came back when the kids went back to playing with their toys and she was left alone on the couch once more. An even larger wave washed over her when she noticed the unopened presents that still sat under the tree. One of the tags was facing upwards, and the name ‘DAD’ was written on it in Charlotte’s unmistakeable hand.

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” Tommy’s words rang in her mind again. She sighed and hugged her robe tighter to her body before looking over to the clock. Only in my dreams, she thought as she tried to focus back on the kids.

(Y/N) and the children ate a wonderful breakfast before the three young ones quickly dragged her back into the front room so that they could continue playing. She’d just gotten comfortable under the blanket when the sound of tires on gravel was heard outside. It made her eyebrows furrow. The family wasn’t supposed to come over until later, she thought to herself as she glanced over at the clock sitting on the mantle. It was still early in the morning.

Then the worry started to set in. (Y/N) was no stranger to the type of business that Tommy was involved in. She was by his side while he created a name for himself, and she stayed with him every step of the way. He continuously assured her that no one would ever come to their home and attack their family, but (Y/N) still couldn’t get the possibility of it to leave her mind.

She was so engulfed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Frances say “welcome home, Mr. Shelby. They’re in the front room,” as her husband entered the foyer. It didn’t even set in as Tommy appeared in the archway, and the three children went running over to greet their father.

Things didn’t become clear until Charlotte turned to face her and exclaimed: “mumma! Dad’s home!”

Then everything came into view. Charlotte with a wide smile on her face. Max and Henry in their father’s arms. And Tommy. Tommy was looking right at her with one of the widest smiles she’s seen from him in a long time.

“Let’s go over and see your mum, eh?” Tommy said to his sons before he made his way over to the couch. Max and Henry wriggled out of his arms once he stopped in front of (Y/N), clambering up into her lap to give her a hug and a kiss before they went back to their new toys.

Tommy’s eyes quickly found (Y/N)’s once it was just the two of them. “You made it home,” she said, her smile practically stretching from ear to ear.

“I told you I’d be home from Christmas, love,” he answered, winking as he sent her a grin.

“C’mere, Tommy,” she held her hands out to him, and he got the idea, sitting down next to her on the couch. (Y/N) didn’t waste a second, throwing her arms around his frame and practically climbing into his lap as she hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy you’re home,” she whispered into his neck as she nestled her face deeper into it.

“Wouldn’t miss Christmas with you for the world,” he told her, his hands finding her shoulders then. She took it as a hint and lifted her head to look at him. “I love you,” (Y/N),” he said as he reached up and ran his hand down her cheek. She leaned into his touch, her smile widening before she closed the gap between them to press her lips to his.

The kiss was filled with so much love, and (Y/N) would have happily held it longer if her lungs weren’t screaming for air. She was the one to pull away, but she didn’t move far, opting to rest her forehead against his. “I love you, Tommy. Merry Christmas,” she breathed, her eyes still closed as she reveled in his presence.

“Merry Christmas,” he responded in a similar tone, his arms moving to wrap around her frame.

“Dad! We have presents for you!” Charlotte’s excited voice broke into their reverie moments later.

(Y/N) moved slightly so that she was now sitting next to him, and Tommy managed to tuck one of his arms behind her back - in efforts to keep her as close as possible - before their children came over to him with presents in hand.

“Open mine first!” Max exclaimed, thrusting the small box into his father’s lap.

Tommy smiled at the boy before he went about opening the present. (Y/N) watched on with a smile, knowing exactly what her husband was getting and how excited their son was to give it to him. Max let out like giggles of excitement as Tommy took the silver tie clasp that had a horse’s head on it out of its holder.

“Do you like it?” the boy asked with anticipation.

“I love it,” Tommy smiled before adding, “I’ll wear it the first chance I get.”

Henry gave him the next gift, which was a fancy pen that the boy had picked out himself. He said that Tommy could use it to write all of ‘his important letters’. Tommy made a promise to use it as his only pen from then on.

Then it was Charlotte’s turn. “Be careful when unwrapping it, dad. It’s fragile,” she gave a warning, one which Tommy chuckled at but also heeded to. “Do you like it?” she asked, like her younger brother had, when it was completely unwrapped.

Tommy didn’t say anything at first. Instead he stared at the present. (Y/N) peered over his shoulder to see what it was. Charlotte had been keeping it a secret from everybody. What Tommy was holding made (Y/N)’s heart swell. It was a hand drawn picture of her family - Tommy and (Y/N) stood on either side, then Max and Henry were standing next to them. In the middle was Charlotte, holding both of her brothers’ hands while she was wearing her favorite, purple colored dress. (Y/N) also didn’t miss the fact that Tommy, Max and Henry were all wearing a peaked cap.

“Do you like it?” Charlotte asked again, getting slightly impatient as her father was taking too long.

“I love it, sweetheart,” Tommy answered, finally looking up to smile at his daughter, “it’s perfect, Charlie,” he added, sounding choked up.

“It’s our family!” Charlotte exclaimed, a beaming smile now present on her face.

“It is,” Tommy nodded, “and it’s going in a frame so that it can sit on me desk.”

“So you can look at it always?” she asked.

“So I can look at it always,” he answered with a nod. Charlotte then rushed to get onto the couch so that she could hug her father.

(Y/N) quickly took the picture out of Tommy’s hands before it would get crumbled. She couldn’t help but smile as she looked down at it. Everything she needed in life was present in that picture…and was sitting beside her on the couch.

She was thankful that Tommy was able to make it home for Christmas.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @areyenotfondofmelobster @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

Listen to Brett Eldredge’s version of I’ll Be Home For Christmas:

HERE.

[homunculus-argument]

Gosh this is a weird request and perhaps childish I don’t really know how to start a blog but I have created a cultural declaration for any whom wish to adopt it and may even add to it , for those whom feel alienated by there own culture , detached or foreigner in there own country I was wondering if I gave it to you would you mind posting? I’d post it myself but still not entirely sure how to start a blog or post where it’ll actually be seen , it’s Likely no one will adopt it but I’d still like to present it as a gift to those of whom feel like an alien within there own country , culture and etc , you talk about culture quite often so I figured you may be the one to treat such a thing with care and respect albeit.. admitting a very niche and odd idea perhaps even unrealistic. Anyhow when ya not busy give me your thoughts or etc .

On tumblr, you just start posting. You're better off adding somewhat-relevant tags to your posts to get the attention of people who are interested in that kind of thing (though I'm not sure what they'd be for what you've got in mind) and if you find them, it snowballs from there as people who like what you're posting reblog it on their own blogs and the people who like what they are posting will see it. Tumblr blogs are kind of about slowly building up reputation, of people knowing what kind of stuff you're posting and introducing it to their own peers in their own circles.

A niche is a niche for a reason, and even if there were like just 3 people on this whole platform who were interested in your idea, those three people would be going around like this:

"HOLY SHIT SOMEONE'S BLOGGING ABOUT IT, I'VE NEVER SEEN SOMEONE BLOG ABOUT THIS"

[anjelagarrick]

ink

john price x reader

summary: your husband notices something new.

tags: established relationship, very domestic, fluff!!!, talks about having children, i love him sm 😭

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

JOHN’S CHEST RISES and falls with each deep breath. You’re on your phone, back pressed to his chest, other hand resting upon his forearm, gently rubbing circles with your thumb. John loved his work, but he loved you more; he always craved being beside you, having you in his arms. The bedroom is quiet, other than a fan running to keep you both cool in the summer heat. “John, look.” You smile, offering him your phone. Just as he’s about to take it, a line on your wrist catches his attention. Slowly, he takes the phone, trying to peer at what was on your skin, yet you moved your hand away as he took it. It was a simple post of a saint bernard puppy, his favourite breed of dog. It makes him smile. “His name is Cash. Isn’t he adorable?” You giggle, rolling over in your husband’s arms to huddle closer to his chest. “Yeah, very.” He hums, handing you your phone back. You’re smiling as you continue scrolling.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of John, and he gently grasps your wrist, pulling ever so slightly. You glance at him, watching his eyes trace over the tattoo upon your wrist. It was only small, barely noticeable. “When’d you get this?” He asks softly, smiling a little. “A few weeks ago. Do you like it?” You respond, a ghost of a laugh on your voice. It was a small, fluffy bear with a bucket hat on. John’s eyes are bright with amusement. “I love it.” He chuckles, it rumbles in his chest as he lifts your wrist; pressing a kiss over the mark. “Ive been talking about one for a while, and I figured i’d get something of you. To remind me you’re still here even when you’re away.” You explain, letting him run his thumb over your inked skin. “Maybe I should get something of you.” He muses, looking at you.

“I thought you didn’t want tattoos.” You tease, kissing his lips gently as John lowers your wrist once more. “I’d do anything for you.” He mutters, smile creasing his eyes. “Sap.” You chuckle, gently hitting his chest. “What would you get?” You add on, resting your head upon your lover’s shoulder. “A swan, maybe on her phone.” He half-jokes. “A swan?” You giggle, looking at him. “Mhm. They’re beautiful birds, very elegant, very precious too. You’re definitely my swan.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Aw, John.” You croon, cupping his cheek to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “Perhaps you should make a design for me.” John suggests, holding you closer. “Yeah? Maybe I could…” You reply, letting your head rest once more. “Mhm. I’ve seen your little doodles. It would feel more… special, intimate.” He adds on, fingers brushing over yours before tangling between them, he brings your hand up to a soft kiss; focusing upon your ring finger where your wedding band sits.

“I’ll see what I can do.” You respond, smiling brightly. “Good, good. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” John chuckles, already picturing what little creations you could come up with. “Let’s just hope your boys don’t tease you.” You joke, scrolling through your social media’s once more. “They wouldn’t.” John rolls his eyes playfully. “Mmm… they would.” You smile, kissing his collarbone. John let’s out a soft chuckle. “They’ve been asking about you.” He notes. “Yeah?” You chuckle, looking up at him. “Mhm. It’s all ‘how’s our mama bear?’ and ‘when can we see her again?’ It’s mainly Johnny, you know how he is.” He laughs gently, you smile. “They’re probably the closest we’ll have to kids.” You joke, knowing how fond they were of you. “I think kids would be less difficult.” John grins. “Yeah,” you laugh. “Kids don’t have access to C4.” John lets out a joking groan. “Don’t remind me.” You laugh again, gazing at your husband as the room settles once more. “What..?” He muses, smiling gently at you. “Nothing.” You smile wider, kissing him.

“Nah, somethings up. What?” He muses, hand rubbing your back. “Just… would you want kids? A family?” You ask, pressing your head into his neck. “Of course. We’d have adorable kids.” He chuckles, “They’d look like you, i’m sure.” He adds on. “Yeah?” You smile, squeezing his torso a little tighter. “Yeah. I wouldn’t mind having a few kids with you, doll.” John insists, muscular arms moving around you securely. You giggle softly, snuggling closer. “I love you.” You tell him, chest elated with joy. “I love you more, darling. Get some rest, eh? It’s getting late.” John whispers, kissing the top of your head. “Alright. Good night, John.” You respond, curling closer. “Night, lovely.”

[siconetribal]

Put it on My Tab (20)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Warning: Interview pressure, No filter

A/N:

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

As always, a huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

An ache started at the base of the back of her head. How long had she been standing here with her neck craned back, looking up at the tall justice building that held the Gotham City Police Department. Y/N could count the number of times she had been her on one hand. This visit was not breaking that record, but she hoped this would be the only one needed. She appreciated the department as a whole, but like all places, it had rotten personalities. 

And now weirdos like Dick Dick. She snorted at the little nickname she had for the detective she was working with on the claim case. “Well, I guess he really isn’t all that bad. There are weirder people in this city, like criminals with themes.” The mumbled words were hers alone to hear as she rocked her head side to side to ease the tension before walking in. The ‘enthusiastic’ receptionist barely moved when pointing to a hall of doors, she eventually found her way to the right place and was led to an interview room. 

“Y/N, good morning, glad you could make it.” The young detective flashed her a swoon worthy grin. She was not sure if he was trying to charm or disarm, so she gave a small polite smile back.

“Well, it was either come or possibly have a warrant out for my arrest for fraud. As dull as everyday life can be, I like not having a noose around my neck. Plus, my boss would fire me, and I lack a sugar daddy for that luxury.” The casual shrug was in stark contrast to the wide-eyed shock that currently adorned the face of the handsome detective. His brows were so high that they were slightly covered by his bangs that swept across his forehead. “Everything ok?”

“No-yes, sorry, yes. I was just trying to figure out if that was a good morning or something else.”

“Did I forget to say good morning? Where are my manners, good morning…and now you can tack all that I said after that.” She said with a triumphant smile, taking a seat. “Have a seat, let’s get this statement down, and I’ll be out of your well-kept hair and back to grinding coffee beans and whipping up crazy drinks for overly privileged teens.” She motioned to the seat that was clearly meant for him to take. 

The corners of his mouth twitched as he pulled out the chair and angled it to face her better. He was thrown off. This was good for her, a little victory for her in all this. It was only fair that he be equally thrown as she, a normal Gothomite, would feel while in a room like this. “I’m guessing your dream job isn’t being a barista.” He chuckled.

“What job could be more satisfying than slaving away in a tiny spot with a few others, a single counter keeping you from the rabid coffee-addicted zombies that come rushing in impossible demands that they don’t even know they want?” She raised a brow at him, her voice was flat and dry. He chuckled again.

“You make a valid point, working for the public is not fun.” He briefly raised his hands, palms facing her, before resting on the table again. “Shall we get started then? As you know, this meeting will be recorded. It’s nothing serious, just formality and procedure. We can stop whenever you want, you’re not under arrest or being interrogated.” He placed a tape recorder on the table between them and clicked the red button. “If you don’t have any questions, we can begin.”

“Oh, one question Dick Dick, Nightwing gave me a tip that evening, do I need to hand that over to you as part of the claim or do I just keep it as a usual tip from a customer?”

Dick Grayson sat frozen in place, the reels of the tape slowly turning as it caught all of her words. This was the second time today that this odd young woman rendered him speechless, but this time was different. He was not sure if he should be laughing at her words or at himself. She had not said anything wrong, and he knew that. It was informal, possibly derogatory to some, and very old-fashioned. It was something he never expected, and yet he knew he was at fault for forgetting he was currently speaking with the very young woman who had his usually grumpy little brother even grumpier than usual. 

But did she actually say that on purpose, or was that a slip of the tongue? She was calling me Detective Grayson up until now. Did I miss something? I can see why he’s all knotted up, she really knows how to throw a guy. He watched the slow realization of her words dawning on her. Her eyes widening, her back going straight as she sat taller, and her jaw silently opening and closing until words finally started coming out. A series of apologies and reassurances that she had no ill intentions.

“Can you strike that from the record? Like erase it?”

“I can have it stricken from the transcript, yes, but not from the audio recording, no. That’s, that’s going to be staying on here forever. It’ll just be disregarded, since we’re officially marking it as struck from the record.” He swallowed the laughter that threatened to take over him as she slumped forward with her face hidden in her hands. Her words were low and muffled, but he was certain he heard a few more apologies in there before she forced herself back up and looked at him. “As for your question, a tip is a tip. You said you gave them coffee, they decided to give you a tip. It’s got nothing to do with the claim, since all that’s being asked to be covered is the restoration of the window. Now, shall we officially begin?”

As soon as the interview had concluded, Y/N was out the door before anything else could be said, mostly by her. The last thing she needed was for the detective to try to pry out anything more embarrassing from her. Her heart rammed into her chest as her mind so mercifully replayed her words and the look of horror that came across Detective Grayson’s normally jovial expression on an infinite loop. The flirtatious cop had shrunk away, and the look had to be disgusted, what else would he feel after someone called him something so utterly ridiculous. Regardless of his highly unprofessional dalliances, he never actually crossed a line with her. She, who kept it completely professional throughout the time, had blown everything up to the high heavens.

Because clearly, my mind is willing to give up the idiotic things that come to me, for free. Slapping a hand over her eyes, rubbing up and down a few times before combing her fingers through her hair. “Don’t say it, Y/N, don’t say it. If you say it, something worse will happen.” Climbing up the steps of the bus, she quickly took one of the few available seats and plugged in her earbuds. She sank into the uncomfortable seat, actively pushing the mortifying memory that would haunt her for the rest of her days, as she increased the volume. With her favorite playlist playing on shuffle, she mindlessly went through her phone and realized she was now staring at the old text conversation between her and her ‘capeless crusader’. Automatically, her thumb moved to close the screen, but the finger hesitated. It hovered between tapping back to her home screen and the input box in the chat. 

Maybe he’s a bigger dumbass and thinks I’m happy he’s out of my hair? She bit her lower lip as she warred with what to do. There’s no harm in texting, right? What’s the worst that can happen? He doesn’t read or leaves me on read? He wasn’t the best at texting right away with his work schedule. Not only that, but he could be busy. She reasoned in favor of him. “What do I even text him? It’s not like I’m living an exciting life.” She grumbled when one word from the chat came into focus. 

<Hey, I know this is late, but thanks again for helping me out. I let my brain just shut down and enjoy the first few days of debt-free life. The brownies you made were amazing. Didn’t peg you as the baking type. Books, bikes, and now baking? You’re a triple B threat, Boy Wounder. Are you still planning that meet up, or should I quash my hopes before they’re dashed?> She reread the message several times, tweaking the tiniest of things. It got to the point that she was getting frustrated herself and just hit the arrow to send and shoved the phone into her pocket. It was done and there was nothing more she could do except wait for would inevitably feel like an eternity or will actually be an eternity, if he decided not to reply. Nothing to worry about, but why would her mind side with logic? Today was to be a day of mental anguish, all thanks to herself.

Tags:

@vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotall @antiquecultist

[most-tragic-character-tournament]

So,

What a wild ride, everybody.

This tournament went live on July 13th, 3023, and concluded January 1st, 2024. For a long time before, I’d been wondering if I should try my hand at running one of these tournaments, and then I realized we hadn’t had a general tumblr-wide one for tragic characters. I knew that I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I decided to bite the bullet and take the URL. The rest is history.

I didn’t have a set plan, but I figured I could take 128 entries. And then in less than a week and a half, I had ~122. And honestly, I wasn’t happy continuing with just those I’d gotten so far, and thought it’d be unfair if it closed that quickly without warning, so I decided to up it to 256 with a max 2 characters per canon after preliminaries. Only after that did I go on a mad search to find brackets that were big enough for that, and I’d almost given up before I finally found these:

Those are all the characters that made it past prelims and into the competition. Some quite unexpected results came out of these matchups, round after round, and honestly I’d consider the first round to have had the most brutal competitions, because I had tried to do the best I could to match levels of popularity with each other, as far as I could tell. (Yeah, that’s why we had c!Tommy v Jon Sims and Primrose v Jinx.). But even eclipsing all of those, as the weeks went on, we were eventually met with Antigone versus Lloyd Garmadon. Ah, those crazy kids.

At some points it was stressful, in the early rounds when I had dozens of posts, each with edited images and alt text, to prepare for every round, but I never regretted starting this. As of posting, this blog has 2,020 followers and has made over 1,000 posts. This will be the last post on this blog—any future asks I receive I will answer privately back to the asker, or cannot be answered if they are anon—but it will always remain here for posterity. The link below is to the similarly-preserved google sheet compiling every word of every submission this tournament ever received.

I’d like to take this chance to say thank you to everyone who submitted characters, supplied photos, sent in propaganda, reblogged the polls, indoctrinated their teachers into greeklitsweep, and everyone who kept good sportsmanship when their blorbos proved so tragic they couldn’t even win. Thank you to the small group of URLs whom I’ve consistently recognized in my inbox from submissions all the way to finals, thank you for letting me know when a name was messed up, and thank you for your patience in-between rounds. (Shoutout to @elemom as well for having their tiktok on the original antigone/lloyd poll blow up.)

If you’ve stumbled upon this blog weeks, months, or even years after this was posted, I would direct your attention to the tag map in the pinned post to sift through the tumblr history you’ve just uncovered. And I would also be tempted to point at the big sign next to it reciting the nuclear zone warning poem. Lastly, if anyone here or there wishes to talk to me about anything regarding the tournament, you’re welcome to DM @twilight-skies.

There were times when I said to myself this was a one-and-done thing—I was NOT dealing with this again, but….keep a look on the horizon, ya never know.

But until next time, it’s been amazing.

Sayonara you weeaboo shits.