#the first of many installments of me crossposting from ao3

[ceruleanwind]

Won't Last Long

Sebmark | Explicit | 2.8k | Read on AO3

Most Formula One drivers do, they say. In interviews and press conferences, it’s not uncommon to hear a driver confess to wetting themselves during a race. Even the likes of Michael Schumacher, arguably the greatest driver to ever drive, have done it. Right now, Seb’s heavily considering the option of joining the vast ranks of drivers who have wet themselves during a race. Or: Seb gets desperate during a race and makes it out of the car only to be ambushed on his way to the bathroom.

Sebastian Vettel’s self-control has always been . . . iffy, at the very least.

While of course intelligent under the surface, he’s been known to be a bit brash at times, the words coming out of his mouth oftentimes snarky and just a little dumb. He’s never been one to shy away from what he wants; if Seb wants it, he won’t give up until he gets it. It’s safe to say, then, that keeping himself at bay is difficult sometimes.

No matter how bad his self-control might be, though, Seb has never peed himself in his car. Ever.

Most Formula One drivers do, they say. In interviews and press conferences, it’s not uncommon to hear a driver confess to wetting themselves during a race. Even the likes of Michael Schumacher, arguably the greatest driver to ever drive, have done it.

That’s what Seb reminds himself in his head, over and over, teeth clenched so hard he worries they might break, as he floors it in his car and tries to shakily steer through the last few laps of this race. He has to pee, and he has to pee bad. Seb isn’t sure what it is—he’d made sure to use the bathroom before getting in the car, but he did drink a lot of water beforehand and—well, no matter. He’s tensing nearly every muscle in his body, resisting the urge to twist and press his thighs together to relieve some of the ache on his bladder. Seb’s practically bursting with it, and right now he’s heavily considering the option of joining the vast ranks of drivers who have wet themselves during a race.

It would be wrong, Seb tells himself, taking a deep breath in and letting it out in a frustrated groan as he drives along a straight. He wouldn’t leave the mechanics with that mess, and he certainly wouldn’t want to climb out of the car with a half-soaked race suit and expose his accident to the world. That would just be humiliating.

One more lap now.

Climbing out of the car will be a different story, Seb thinks. It’s hard to hold it now, when he’s practically rendered immobile by his car, but—Seb shudders as he imagines it—he’ll have to climb out of it, push his knees to his chest to get out, then jump out onto the track, jostling his bladder even further, and what if he loses control then? He’ll be standing out on the track beside his parked car, hundreds of cameras on him, and he’ll be wetting himself in front of the entire world. Seb winces, bottom lip caught between his teeth under his balaclava, as he realises just how dire this situation is.

Half a lap, he yells at himself in his head, then a quarter lap. He’s gripping the steering wheel so tight that he’s amazed it’s not crumpling in his hands. The final straight now—Seb sees the chequered flag waving out in front of him, even hears the thrilled cheers from the crowd over the scream of his car’s engine. His overwhelming urge to pee ebbs for just a moment once he crosses the finish line, winning yet again, shouting over the radio in victory.

During the cooldown lap, the adrenaline runs through Seb’s veins like liquid gold. As he navigates the twists and turns of the track, though, his seatbelt digs into his overfilled bladder, making him wince yet again, hissing through his teeth. He tries to squirm, shy away from the seatbelt stretched tight across his lower stomach, but to no avail; he pants as he struggles to keep himself under control, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily.

Seb turns into parc fermé and breathes a soft sigh of relief. He’s so close to the bathroom, now—he nearly wants to moan at how good he knows it’ll feel to let it all go and relieve the ache. He parks his car, kills the engine, and immediately fumbles to get the seatbelt undone, twisting free from the restraints. It hurts to bend his knees to his chest to get out of the car—he nearly has to hold his breath as he does it—but it’s surprisingly manageable once Seb has his feet on asphalt, stretched to his full height. Seb’s growing increasingly desperate by the second, however, so after exchanging handshakes and hugs with Jenson and Lewis, who finished second and third, he makes a beeline indoors, seeking out the relief he’s been craving.

Much to Seb’s absolute horror, when he finally reaches the door of the nearest single-stall bathroom, it is decidedly locked. Seb jiggles the handle, growing desperate, still holding his helmet in one arm. “Shit,” he whispers, a frustrated whine emitting from the back of his throat. He’ll have to go to the other bathroom, then, the one that’s nearly on the other side of the goddamn building.

Seb takes a deep breath, twists to press his free hand between his thighs for a moment, sets his helmet onto the floor, then takes off for the other bathroom, quick on his feet as he traverses the corridors. He can’t be late to his own podium ceremony, either—that would be just as embarrassing as what he was trying to avoid here in the first place.

“Seb?” A voice sounds from behind him—a very low, a very annoying, and a very Aussie voice. Seb turns slowly, mortified to see his teammate standing at the junction of two hallways, dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “The hell are you doing, mate? Didn’t you just win?”

Seriously, Seb doesn’t think a worse person could have found him in this state. Mark’s still angry with him over the majority of last year’s season, after all, and the feeling is certainly mutual. He moves to glare, opens his mouth to tell Mark to fuck off, or something of a similar nature, but a sudden pang of desperation hits Seb’s bladder and all that comes out is a pathetic little squeak. Heat rushes to his cheeks and he manages to form words despite his internal battle. “I—I was just, ah, you know,” Seb says, gesturing wildly in hopes that Mark understands.

He doesn’t. Mark merely raises an eyebrow.

Shame burns Seb’s cheeks. He’s itching to just take off again, find the bathroom before the podium ceremony starts without him, but now he’s stuck struggling to explain himself. “The, uh, bathroom,” he forces out, twisting to cross his thighs over one another. “The other one was locked.”

“Mate,” Mark says, stepping towards Seb with that patronising little smile on his handsome face, “you’re not making it all the way to the other one in time. What if that one’s locked, anyway?”

Shit. Seb hadn’t thought that far ahead. He squeezes his eyes shut, emitting another frustrated groan. It’s clear that he’s running out of options. “What am I—” he tries, only to be cut off by a short burst of liquid heat escaping his cock, quickly soaking into the thin fabric of his boxers. He gasps, bringing one hand down to squeeze his cock, a shiver wracking his body. “What am I supposed to do then?” Seb’s question sounds a lot more whiny and desperate than he intended.

Mark steps closer, gets one hand around Seb’s bicep, and roughly tugs him down a secluded, dead-ended section of hallway. Seb gasps again, yanks his arm away from Mark, and presses his hand between his thighs, his bladder throbbing at the pressure.

“Stop, I—I can’t—” Seb whimpers, his twitching muscles threatening to give out again. He squeezes desperately at his cock, cheeks burning with embarrassment because Mark is here and looking at him when he’s like this. “I don’t—I don’t know what to—” Panicked, Seb’s gaze flits up to meet Mark’s, and his stomach twists at what he sees. Mark’s eyes look dark and hungry, as if he wants to see this scene unfold before him.

“Do you really think you can make it?” Mark asks, his tone just condescending enough to boil Seb’s blood a little. He steps closer to Seb, towering over him, crowding him against the wall. If anyone stumbled upon them like this, they’d certainly have some explaining to do.

Tears gather in Seb’s pretty blue eyes. His hope of making it to a bathroom rapidly deteriorates and it becomes clear to him what he’ll be made to do. “No,” he chokes out. “I can’t, but—” he gasps again when his twitching cock releases another hot wash of pee out into his clothes, and this time, he feels it run down his thigh before soaking into his fireproofs. He looks anywhere except for at Mark, his plush bottom lip caught tightly between his teeth.

“Seb,” Mark says, his voice uncharacteristically low and firm, prompting Seb to look up at him, eyes wet with tears. “Wouldn’t it feel so nice to let go, hmm?”

Seb’s lips part as he considers the thought. He doesn’t have much of a choice, anyway; it’s either piss his pants right here in front of his teammate, or piss his pants in front of potentially a lot more watching eyes. Mark is right, as much as Seb doesn’t want to admit it—it would feel awfully nice to let go, feel the warmth spread over the fabric. Slowly, Seb pulls his hand out from between his thighs, and Mark takes it into one of his—Seb lets him keep it there. That hot tingling feeling spreads out from Seb’s core into each of his limbs, coiling warm and needy right in Seb’s cock, and he’s close, he’s so close.

With a choked little sob, Seb squeezes his eyes shut and relaxes, letting it come. A thin, hot stream trickles down over his cock before soaking through his boxers and running down his thighs. Seb pants, chest heaving as he wills himself to relax further, let it all out, and that’s when his body finally seems to get the message.

His eyes fly open and he gasps at the downright dizzying, full-body rush that rips through him in an instant as his bladder lets go completely, emptying itself into his clothes. It all feels so hot and wet and delicious as that liquid heat floods his crotch and the wet patch on his race suit blooms bigger and bigger. He can feel it everywhere; hot piss runs down his thighs and pools at his ass and even seeps up into the thin fireproof undershirt he’s wearing underneath.

Seb lets out a drawn-out moan at the surprising relief of it all, squirming with a long, high whimper. He’s peeing so hard he can just about hear the hiss of it against his boxers, spilling out into his clothes and thoroughly soaking his lower half. If his race suit was just a touch lighter, he thinks, it would be a lot prettier to look at, but unfortunately dark navy blue leaves a lot up to the imagination. It still feels fantastic, though, the hot wet rush, and with each movement Seb makes, the wet fabric of his boxers drags over his oversensitive cock and makes his back arch.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Mark murmurs as he watches Seb wet himself. He looks so pretty like this, Mark thinks, with his flushed cheeks and bitten lips and his long eyelashes clumped together with unshed tears. He brings his free hand, the one not holding one of Seb’s, to Seb’s front, gently cupping his still-pissing cock through his clothes. The warmth of it is nearly dizzying, washing continuously over the thick fabric of Seb’s race suit.

Seb jolts at Mark’s touch, instinctively trying to pull away, but he’s rather trapped between Mark and the wall and he just lets it happen with a defeated whine. He’s embarrassed, beyond humiliated to have Mark watching him while he’s doing this, not to mention touching his cock while he’s still pissing. “Mark,” he tries to protest, but it comes out as a moan just as Mark squeezes his cock, the drag of the wet fabric against it making his legs feel like jelly.

He just keeps peeing, too, all rushing out of him in an endless torrent of bliss. Hot pee continues spilling down his thighs, completely soaking the seat of his race suit. Slowly bringing his eyes up to meet Mark’s, Seb lets his hips move a little, beginning a slow, filthy grind forward against Mark’s warm palm. His breaths quicken, becoming shorter and needier as the flow tapers off and his cock rapidly hardens in wake of the overwhelming relief.

“F—fuck,” Seb curses under his breath as his hips twitch forward of their own accord, his cock positively throbbing at the delicious friction. He squeezes Mark’s hand tightly, fisting at the fabric on Mark’s bicep with his other hand for some leverage. This is dirty and he knows it—he’s soaked practically from waist to toe and rutting into his teammate’s hand like he’s a fucking animal in heat—but he can’t force himself to hate it no matter what he does.

Mark leans closer, his lips grazing the soft stubble on the side of Seb’s jaw. He sucks a bruise into the skin there, grinning into it when Seb whines and bucks into Mark’s palm. Pulling back to take a good look at Seb’s wrecked face, Mark smiles and murmurs, “Depraved little thing, aren’t you, Sebi? Getting off on not being able to control yourself?”

Seb hisses and moans in response, panting as he feels himself draw closer and closer to an orgasm. “You—” his fingertips dig into Mark’s arm as his grinding becomes more desperate, his hips stuttering with it— “you liked watching it, fuck off.” He tries to glare at Mark, tries to arrange his eyebrows into some semblance of a scowl, but Mark gives his cock another little squeeze and he can’t help but toss his head back, letting it thump against the wall as he chases his own pleasure.

“I did,” Mark says, chuckling all low and rumbly, bringing their tangled hands up to pin Seb’s hand to the wall. “You’re a lot less annoying when you’re pissing yourself in front of me, sweetheart.”

Seb’s too lost in his own pleasure to form words anymore. He’s panting and moaning, unabashed and whorish, as he grinds his soaked, aching cock up against Mark’s palm. The unmistakable hot coil of his orgasm builds and tightens, sending hot waves of delicious pleasure spreading throughout his muscles, before snapping, making his back arch against the wall yet again as he comes in his clothes with a gasping cry. Slick ropes of his come spurt out against his wet cockhead, the sticky warmth adding to the overwhelming friction.

As Seb comes down from his high, his exhausted bladder gives no resistance against the last few spurts of pee Seb lets out, straight into his dripping wet clothes. He gives one last soft moan, chest heaving as he recovers from it all.

“Fucking Christ,” Mark mutters in a whisper, utterly incredulous at what he just witnessed. With his dry hand, he lets go of Seb’s hand before gently brushing away the tears that had spilled out onto his blood-hot cheeks. Seb looks utterly ruined, and he’ll have to go out in front of the world and pretend like this never happened in a matter of moments.

“Fuck,” Seb whines, peeling his eyes open, his legs threatening to give out with how much they’re shaking. He lets himself float dazedly over cloud nine for another few seconds before he stiffens and straightens up against the wall. “Fuck. Fuck. The podium,” he says, voice cracking on the last word. “I have to—”

Mark wipes his wet hand on a section of dry fabric just above Seb’s waist, then guides Seb out from where he’s pressed against the wall, his hand resting on the small of Seb’s back. “Come on,” he urges. “We’ll have time to clean up. If the bathroom isn’t locked, that is.” He flashes a devilish grin at Seb, realising he may just be a little sick in the head for enjoying every second of this.

Seb curses under his breath and swats Mark’s shoulder, sticking his bitten bottom lip out in a pout. His cheeks still burn with embarrassment, but the knowledge that Mark liked watching him mitigates his shame a little. “You dick,” he whines, forcing his shaky legs to carry him down the corridor side by side with Mark.

“Ah-ah, Sebi. Was just being objective.”

Right, Seb thinks, letting out an exasperated scoff. He totally had that planned from the beginning.

[crystillyzed]

at the rainbow's end // mysta rias

pairing: mysta rias x gn!reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: fluff, staff!reader, mutual pining, wingman elira

content warning(s): swearing, unedited

summary:

After nearly a year of hearing each other's voice, you finally meet him.

a/n: this was originally going to be released as my 100 follower celebration since i hit that a while back and to make up for the lack of event since i don’t have the time to host one. but with mysta’s graduation this past weekend, i didn’t want to keep this in my drafts since i’ve been working on this for like practically a year now.

this fox-dog man means so much to me, even though i can’t really catch his streams due to timezone differences, but he means So Much to me. i got back into writing because of luxiem, but he and shu were the ones who got me back into the swing of writing which is amazing bc i love writing. i just lost all the motivation to do so until i found them last year. even though he’s no longer in niji anymore or mysta anymore, i will keep writing for him. in fact, i actually have like 3 or so mysta works in the drafts lol

and speaking of writing, this is the first long fic i’ve written in 3-4 years. i’m considering crossposting this onto my ao3 as an alternative access to read longer fics bc ik how tumblr is poopy with loading long text posts. i’m a bit rusty when it comes to writing long fics, but i hope you’ll be able to enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this 🧡

links: luxiem m.l || main m.l || ao3 ver (if tumblr dies)

You twist your head from your phone back towards your monitor, displaying the Discord window showing your current private call with your blue dragon friend.

“Mysta’s WHAT?”

“Yeah, he’s coming along on the trip,” Elira laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“Apparent-ly! What the hell!! Luca, that motherfucker, I’m gonna beat his ass when I see him!”

She howls with laughter as you ramble on and on about how Luca told you everything about their planned trip but didn’t tell you about Mysta’s planned involvement. Once you’re done, she takes many deep breaths to calm down. “You should come with us! It’s gonna be fun. And, you’ll get to see him again.~”

You can’t really see each other’s faces, considering you’re both in a voice call. But god damn, you can hear the eyebrow wiggle in her teasing tone.

“I can’t,” you groaned, “I have finals when you’re there. As much as I wanna skip it, I really need to pass.”

“Damn, you can’t even get a referral from staff to get you here for a business meeting? Unlucky.”

“Can’t even do that anyway. I already told my professor that my trip’s been canceled, so now I have to take it.”

Though you’re not a liver for the company, you are, however, a staff member for the company. Specifically one of the staff in charge of promotions. Of course, you mainly focus on promoting EN and sometimes the other two now-merged branches. In fact, that’s how you got close to some of the livers.

As one of the staff promoters, you have to speak with the associated livers about PR stream offers and their convention appearance invites. Since you’ve been interacting with the livers the most, you’ve become friends with a few of them. Some namely Elira and Mysta.

Honestly, it’s not that you play favorites with the livers. You try your best to keep your relationships professional with them. But your bond with a specific fox-like man says otherwise.

You see, Mysta has been a joy to be around with. Although you haven’t met him in person yet, you have played some multiplayer games with him. Sometimes you check out the EN Minecraft server to see if the installed mods are working properly. Weirdly enough, almost every time you visit the server, Mysta is online. In fact, that’s how your not-so-business relationship started.

When you first entered the server, after double checking if no one was streaming at the scheduled hour, he was the first person you met. You thought you would run into Selen, Pomu, or perhaps Uki during your visit, but you were pleasantly surprised at his sudden appearance. Luckily, he was kind enough to show you around the server while teaching you some mods. With, of course, the trademark Mysta Rias experience packaged with sexual innuendos and teasing about. Well, except he didn’t go completely sexual considering it was your first time meeting him. He has some decency.

After that, you’ve run into him almost every time you visit the Minecraft server. Every visit eventually turned into hangouts, just you two (and sometimes another liver) chatting and building projects in-game. Soon enough, you and Mysta started to play other games together. You both played games such as Overwatch, Clubhouse, and sometimes League if you felt like torturing yourself for some reason.

Obviously, you had to keep the professionalism on both sides somehow. Your fellow staff members, especially some livers, noticed your close bond with the detective. So they usually send you to his DMs to discuss about any promotion offers involving him. Whenever you have your cameras on for a meeting, he somehow always flusters you with sudden flirtatious marks or something of the sort mid-conversation.

“Hello? Helloooooooo? Is someone there??”

Elira’s voice yoinks you out of your thoughts. Oh god, were you spacing out this entire time? How embarassing.

You clear your throat then respond as if you weren’t thinking of someone just now, “S-sorry, did you say something?”

“Oh my god. It’s that bad,” she mindlessly mutters.

Blink blink. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” she quickly retaliates. With a slight hum, she speaks again, “Since you’re gonna be stuck in hell… Want me to get you something? Like a souvenir or a limited edition thing? I literally have your address, man.”

Oh right, she does. Sometimes you and Elira send gifts to each other like figurines or plushies at random times.

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks for the offer, man.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I’ll still probably send some pics buuut… Y’know… Just saying…”

There she goes again, doing that thing where she wiggles her eyebrows even though you can’t see her fucking face right now. Goddamn it, why did you tell her about your… thing with Mysta? You should’ve known that she’s NOT going to let it go.

You groan, “Just. Just surprise me.”

“That’s so vague! Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah? So? Surprise me.”

“Man… You have no idea how much power you just gave me.” She cackles for the next few seconds, making you start regretting your decision. “Okay, I’ll surprise you. Just don’t forget you asked me to, alright? And no complaining!”

“Okay, alright, fine! I won’t complain! Jeez… Now get to bed, nerd, you have a flight tomorrow.”

“Sheesh, what are you, my mom?” You both chuckle at her remark. “Okieee~ I’ll go pass out now, I guess. Good night!”

“Good night, Ewiwa. Have a safe trip.”

And you both leave call. Well, maybe you should get to sleep too. It’s getting super late, after all.

—

Mysta stares at Elira across the table in disbelief. “Finals? Of all times? Bruh…”

“Haha, yeah! Super uncool and lame and not something I have to worry about soon,” his penguin colleague beside him laughs with a dreadfully crazed look in her eyes. She anxiously reaches out for her soda and starts drinking rapidly.

“Wh— it’s not like I can control it or anything. Shit happens!”

“I know, it’s just…” he drawls off as his gaze lowers to the table. Admittedly, it’s difficult for him to hide his expression. So naturally, the two girls noticed his disappointment. Elira and Petra awkwardly look at each other, then to him, then back at each other.

“Hey, it’s okay, Mysta,” Petra says as she pats his back. “You can always see them next time! Like Nijifest!”

The dragon nods, “Yeah! Or you could see them the next time you take a break. Like going on another vacation or something.”

“If I have enough money for it,” he sighed. But he gives them a small smile to appreciate their attempts to soothe him.

Petra frowns. “If? Mysta, you’re literally one of the top livers in EN, like? Hello? Mr. One Million?”

“But I still don’t know when that’s gonna happen. Might as well be in a year or maybe like half a year or something.”

Elira’s eyes narrow. She quietly listens to their conversation, or bickering at this point, while taking some occasional sips of her drink.

For the past practically a year, Elira’s been one of the victims to both of your hopeless gushing.

She already knew about your friendship since you’ve talked a lot about it before. She knows the stupid hijinks and drunken confessions that you and Mysta told her about off stream. Her eyes closes as a confused thought crosses her mind, Seriously, how are you two not dating already?

Of course, she’s quite aware that the rest of Luxiem are both of your victims. Hell, when Elira’s alone with the other boys, it’s usually them talking about how astonishing that you and Mysta aren’t together. Sometimes, they make bets on who’s going to confess first. It’s obvious!

Even with the two going back and forth, practically becoming one with the background, she closes her eyes and hums in thought. Finals should be finished next week, she mused. Her visible eye opens as she takes a glance at the ashy haired male. But he’s been so busy lately that they haven’t spoken with each other…

The entire EN branch had a full schedule for the past few months. In fact, their schedule was so full that sometimes the livers couldn’t make their own streaming schedules nor stream in general. Mysta, of course, was no exception. As one of the most popular livers in EN, he’s one of the most busiest people she’s ever known. On top of that, you too have been busy recently too. You haven’t been able to hang out with him as of late despite being a staff member yourself. Life really likes to fuck anyone over, doesn’t it?

She could tell that you two haven’t been able to find the time to talk with each other. The staff picked up many projects that practically almost everyone is unavailable, and you were one of said unavailable members. The only times the livers could contact you was through Slack or by email for business inquiries. But things should be slightly slowing down, for now that is.

Although, it would be nice to have you two meet each other once at the same time, even if it’s a coincidental encounter.

Wait a minute…

A devious smirk lifts her lips, her eyes glinting with mischief in mind. She chuckles to herself as she entertains the thought. Hell, it even looks kinda creepy to the other patrons. ESPECIALLY to her coworkers who’s now staring at her with confusion and a hint of fear.

“…Elira? Are you okay?” Petra asked the dragon.

“Hm?” She blinks out of her thoughts as the penguin’s voice pulls her back into reality. Elira stares at her and Mysta, who also looks a bit dumbfounded, before grinning at them. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Just thought of something.”

Blink blink. “Like what?” Mysta asked this time.

Again, she lets out a chuckle and flicks her wrist to wave off the concern. “Like I said! Don’t worry about it! Y’all will see it eventually.”

Soon enough, the waitress arrives with their orders. Elira turns to face her and helps her with the food. On the other side of the table, the two livers tilt their heads in confusion and eventually give each other an unknowing look as the table is served.

—

You lie in bed snuggled underneath your covers, but the lights are still on as you scroll through Twitter on your phone.

It’s been about a couple weeks since your call with Elira. She’s been sending you updates, videos, and pictures of the group’s adventures in Japan. Sometimes, she’d call you before going to bed to tell you what happened during the trip in case it was a story she couldn’t explain over text. Of course, there were times when another liver like Reimu and Nina would join in the call and give you the tea. As much as you wished you wanted to be there while dying in exams, you felt warm as you saw the livers enjoying themselves on their vacation.

Then, you noticed how fast the month flew by. Eventually, it was time for the livers to fly home and say goodbye for a while. They all had different flights, obviously, but there was a specific person who didn’t leave the country yet.

You were looking on Twitter while watching the members’ story time streams on a pop-up viewer. Although, you didn’t see Mysta’s waiting room or tweet indicating his return to streaming yet.

Suddenly, you remembered why.

“He wants to stay back for a bit,” Elira answered over the sound of her packing. “Dunno why, but I don’t blame him. He was in Japan for work last time.”

That he was. Though disappointing it is that you can’t hang with him for a while longer, at least he’s having fun.

“Oh, remember the thing I asked you about?”

She asked you something? When?

“What thing?” You asked.

“Uh… The souvenir thing?”

Oh shit, you forgot about that. And apparently, she noticed your forgetfulness as indicated by her laughter.

“I got you something,” Elira continued, “but I’ll send it to you when I get back.”

“Why not now? You can just ask headquarters to send it to me.”

“It’s not something in a box though.”

You blinked in confusion, unanswering.

On the other end of the line, you heard her chuckle, “You’ll see.”

Your brief conversation did, in fact, make you scared. Although it’s Elira, your local dependable dragon, sometimes she can be as unpredictable as… well… the rest of Nijisanji. Not just EN, but Nijisanji in general. Remember that one time you watched her stream where she suddenly jumped into a hole in that Forest collab? Yeah…

Now, some time has passed since the trip and she’s been home for about almost a week. It’s something not in a box, right? So what’s taking her so long? Is it digital? Or did she fuck up somewhere with the delivery?

Currently, you’ve been juggling schoolwork, personal work, and work-work. Needless to say, it’s been a stressful time, especially around this type of year. Seriously, why is everyone so goddamn busy around this time? Idle thoughts aside, you’ve also been anxiously waiting for Elira’s souvenir. For the past week, you’d constantly check your phone and your PC for any email or DM from Slack and Discord with Elira’s name attached to it. Every time you get DM’ed or emailed, it’s always been another liver or staff member whose name doesn’t start with Elira and end with Pendora.

But hey, at least you got funny memes from Luca and Mysta in the mean time!

Honestly, at this point, you might as well just give up. Maybe she did run into issues, or she just forgot.

You let out a sigh as you refreshed your feed for the umpteenth time tonight, accompanied by the ghost’s voice eminating through your speakers. Yet suddenly, a notification banner from Discord slides down onto the screen.

Elira Pendora

SURPRISE!!!!

Oh.

Huh.

So she didn’t forget??

Confused yet astonished at the same time, you pull down your notifications bar and tap on the DM to see what she sent.

As the iconic Discord logo pops up on your screen, it eventually loads your conversation with Elira. When you look past your previous chat, a message larger than it should be fills about a third of your screen.

A plane ticket to London next week. Seat number and all. And most notably, it has your name.

…

“HUH?”

You frantically tap on the textbox and type.

You

GIRL

WHAGT THE FUCK IS THIS

Elira Pendora

your souvenir! ☺️

You

WDYM SOUVENIR THATS NOT EVEN RELATED TO JAPAN??? 😭😭😭😭

also

HOW DID YUO GET MY NUMBER??? AND MY EMAIL????? :monkas:

Elira Pendora

I had to pull a few strings with staff

just normal coworker things

You

:thonk:

“normal”

Elira Pendora

but like you should go!!!

I didn’t go through all that just for you to not see him

and you really needed a break so 😎

You

??????

but hes Still in japan?????

Elira Pendora

yeah but he’s flying back home next week

I asked him earlier and had to like try to figure out how to get you to meet him at the same time

or like

around the same time 😌

You

man idk if i should thank you or yell at you

Elira Pendora

LMAO EITHER WORKS IT’S OKAY MAN

better get ready!!!

You

wait what about the hotel

Elira Pendora

what hotel? ☺️

i’m sure he wouldn’t mind letting you stay for a few days tbh

and yes I will also pay for your return trip

You

BUT YOUR LEN FUNDS……

Elira Pendora

I KNOW 😭😭😭

but it’s worth it! go get your man bitch!!

but :thonk:

I think I’ll try to pass out now since I have something scheduled tomorrow soooo

GOOD NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!

You

gn ewiwa :D

Well! Looks like you have a trip to prepare for.

—

The gray haired detective lounged comfortably in the AirBnB’s living room, resting on the sofa as he scrolled through Twitter. He let out a chuckle here and there, sometimes full on laughing whenever a funny meme popped up on his timeline.

“Meesta!” Elira called out to him from the kitchen island.

He turned around to look at the unusually giddy dragon. Confused, he asked, “What’s up?”

“When are you heading back?”

“Uh…” Pulling out his phone, he quickly went through his gallery to find a screenshot of his ticket. Once he found it, he examined the ticket for its boarding time and date then put it away. “In like a couple or so weeks. I thought I told you?”

“I don’t think you did,” she answered.

She motioned him to give her the device, or at least show her the screen. Of course, he complied. Though insane she is, he does have immense respect for her and Lazulight. Mysta stood up from his seat and approached her. Once in the kitchen area, he flipped his phone towards her, letting her singular visible eye take a peek.

Elira hummed as she inspected the ticket details then pulled back. “Cool. Thanks man!”

She walked away from the kitchen, carrying a glass of water upstairs leaving him even more confused.

It’s been three weeks since his unusual encounter with Elira. He sits idly at a bench by a luggage conveyor in the airport, waiting for his bags to unload from the plane. While waiting, he leans back into his seat and lets out an exhausted sigh. Luckily, no one is seated beside him, so he could just take up all the space on this uncomfortable bench. Still, he couldn’t help but reminisce onto their conversation.

Was she planning something? Was she just curious? What was she cooking?

Now, he’s back in the dreaded land of England, land of the beloathed. He pulls out his phone and immediately checks Discord. The EN server is lively as always, everyone’s practically home but the sense of energy radiates from the screen despite being digital. Like any other liver, he hops in the conversation a bit, sometimes memeing around with the others in the general channel.

Although, he noticed that your icon hasn’t appeared at least once since he landed. He was even paying attention to the top left corner of his screen for a red dot indicating your message. Normally, you’d send him a meme or something to see while he’s asleep or busy. But strangely enough, you haven’t yet. Maybe he should send you something? Or maybe call?

Mysta continues to catch up and reflect on the livers’ vacation in Japan on the server, his attention eventually caught by a familiar bag on the conveyor.

Welp. Looks like he’ll call you later.

—

Thank god Elira had the brain cells to make sure your flight isn’t after his own. Of course, she had to take in account about the flight times since you’re both literally across the globe from each other going to London. To avoid missing him right after landing, you were booked super early into the morning. But sometimes, there’s a possibility that you might be too early when he lands. And, unfortunately, that seems to be the case.

“He lands around midnight,” Elira told you on phone prior to checking in. “So you should be a biiiit early.”

Yeah, by like, 2 hours.

Man, what the hell are you supposed to do for two whole hours? Well, at least you have your phone AND your luggage. You could even people watch in the lobby. But that’s 2 hours!

What’s even more fucked up is that you can’t really use your phone unless you find the wifi. But airport wifi is kinda shitty, especially in England of all places. Talk about a British debuff.

You let out a heavy sigh and collapse into your seat. Napping is out of the question, even though you’re still kind of tired from the flight. Don’t wanna risk missing him by a smidgen, of course. So you ended up roaming around the airport for a while, getting yourself some drinks and snacks to keep you occupied while waiting for your friend. Luckily there were plenty of places to lounge while waiting, so you found a place to sit and enjoy your haul of snacks while waiting.

You did get to connect to the public wifi to look at some memes, but again, it’s the airport wifi. With how slow your phone’s been loading, you eventually disconnect yourself from the wifi after moments of mindless scrolling.

But then you realized something.

You have absolutely no idea what gate he’s in.

Panicked, you scramble to pick up your bags from your side and stand up. Shit, did Elira tell you what airline he took? God, having data in another country would be so helpful. There’s absolutely no way you’re gonna reconnect to the public wifi, it’s too damn slow! If you did have data, you’d look back to your DMs and scrub through your brief conversation from last night.

With a quick glance at your phone, the clock flashes briefly on the screen. 9:20pm, that means his flight’s arriving in less than an hour. Oh shit.

Immediately, you pace briskly throughout the terminals. As you scrounge through the crowds just to take a good look at the terminals, you ask staff for international flights from Japan along the way to help narrow down as much as possible. Throughout the search, you occasionally checked the clock on your phone. 9:40? Shit, his flight should be here now or soon.

“Mysta!” You suddenly shout, passerbys looking at you strangely as you start calling for his name. Your luggage rolls and bumps against the crevices of the floor, bags jostling as you promptly continue your search throughout the terminals. “Mysta Rias!”

Meanwhile, in the same area…

An ashy gray haired man stands in front of the carousel, waiting for the rest of his bags to drop onto the conveyor belt. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, taking a quick glance at his notifications and Discord. His mouth lowers into a frown, his brows furrowing in worry as he notices the lack of notifications from you. Did they really fall asleep?

Clink-clang!

Sunset kissed eyes shift towards the carousel at the sound. Spotting his luggage on the conveyor belt, he walks over to his revolving baggage and lifts them onto the ground. Maybe he’ll shoot you a dm later when he gets home. The handle on his large case clicks as he pulls it up, soon dragging it on its wheels behind him as he heads towards the direction of the exit.

You continue running and searching for him, frantically calling his name throughout the terminal. Your head turns left and right as you look into the surrounding late night crowd, your gaze briefly analyzing each arrival for any hint of his gray hair or his tallness. As you remain standing in the middle of the hall, looking for him, you see a tall man wearing small shades on the bridge of his nose. Gray side hairs framing his face sway into the air as he lugs his bags from the baggage claim and towards the nearest exit.

Without a second thought, your feet starts moving towards him. “Mysta—“ you call. “Mysta!”

After seconds and minutes of searching for him, calling his name and pushing through the crowd as you chase after him. Just a little more…!

“MYSTA!”

And finally… Finally, you see him.

With a clear shout of his name, the gray haired man halts.

Bewildered, he looks left and right until he turns around to see you panting. His heart stopped as he stares at you astonishly. The ambience of the crowd and muffled intercom speakers drowned out as he zoned onto you.

He looked at you.

The person standing just centimeters away from him.

The person who he thought was someone he’d never meet face to face ever.

The person who helped him find a reason to keep going even in the darkest of times.

It felt like hours just staring at each other. It didn’t even feel like there was an ocean of people swarming about and passing by. Without a second thought, Mysta slowly approaches you as if he were to scare you off. As if he didn’t want to wake up, if he is dreaming.

As he gets closer and closer, you didn’t make a move. No, you merely stared at him with wonder and excitement im your eyes.

You both stood across each other, only a few centimeters apart. He blinks several times, even pinching his wrists to disprove his thoughts. But he felt a stinging pain on each part.

An airy huff somewhat resembling a laugh escapes from him. Relief washes over him, and he whispers with a smile, “…Hi.”

You smile back.

“Hi.”

[bad4amficideas]

Random Batboys Yandere HCs

Hey hello, ask is open, not only like but say what you like since Idk what I'm doing?... may I crosspost this on AO3?

Note: English is not my language, so I hope you will be understanding of any flaws you find.

Dick is the best at emotional manipulation. Also, for having grown up in the circus, his social façade is the natural (because Brucie one makes me want to hit him in the face)

In Gotham chats "Wayne most likely to be yandere" theories always puts Dick last (Tim is offended) and "Brucie" (not Bruce) first. But, with their vigilantes egos they put Robin as last likely yandere because is a brat with high standards, Batman because... Batman and Red Hood as most likely be the one. The boys don't understand how the mind of the gothamites works. Neither do I.

Is this going to sound contradictory or weird? but I think most of them would be fine and respect you being aro or ace... although for the same reason, they would turn sex into The Punishment (with Damian leading the top of "more likely to use it as") Jason in his best mental moments lest likely, like never force anything sexual.

Bruce and Jason kinda will have occasional sex with the man or woman whom offered to them if you are a big nono.

If all or some of them would have to share you, almost everyone would pick to share with Dick and immediately regrets it, because everyone, including Bruce, compares themselves with him and even though he doesn't search for it, he makes others feel that he is really competence. Bruce + anyone but Jason is the best for sharing. Jason and Damian once quit trying kill each other and actually talk it, work surprisingly well too.

Ironically, the more members of the batboys share you, the better for everyone's dynamics. The more, the merrier! But RobinBoysTeam is 💋

...Just because you don't catch Stephanie and Cass together (and Barbs at times) though. You don't want to add girls to the mix, they somehow seem easier to you to manipulate than the boys... but they aren't. At all.

If you're a vigilante/hero without superpowers, Bruce, Tim and Dick are more kinda locking or tricking you in giving up asap. Damian and Jason would at least give you the bare minimum of showing your worth or even training you (depends on the context, how you are, etc)

If you have superpowers, Dick and Tim are more likely to find it... exciting. Bruce and Damian more like to put some superpower block or suppressor (respectively) on you in case they need to control you. Jason will work according to how things unfold.

So yes, checked that Batman would be the most controlling of all.

Install cameras, track your phone, read your computer history? The point is who takes the LONGER to fall into the temptation and do it. Also a matter of patience and how wide your social circle is... and how necessary is for them take meassures to avoid... unnecessary risks.

I think that even though many imagine Tim as the first to set up cameras and going in your files, he would enjoy discovering and eliciting your likes and dislikes the old-fashioned way.

Or who, ahem, Damian, Jason, maybe Dick if you catch him on a weird day, see it as a HuNt. A game of seduction (Bruce ways) can also be a hunt, but these three could -inadvertently- go a little literal for fun. Like, to be a vigilante or hero. No superpowers. In Gotham. You've got to have an adrenaline problem, I dare you to deny it to me.

Steal things from you, watch over you while you sleep (bonus if they manage to enter your room), if you cook or something, eat the leftovers. Rubbing on your bed or sofa (soak in your scent and leave theirs). Send small gifts or tokens. Needless to say, they always has to "accompany" you home... I wanted to say who was most likely to do what, but hell *fan*. Everyone would do all?They all, ALL have steal something from you though maybe only 2 from the 5 thought in brought you a substitute to cover the absence.

Tim would sleep where you if could be the case and since he knows your work schedule... also sometimes he does his own work from your home.

Jason would take your food just to see if (in case you made it ahead of time for when you got back from work) he could give it an extra touch of flavor or literally remake the dish so it's almost fresh when you get back, he may have also added some books to your library and read yours, who knows.

Damian enters the house, takes care of your plants and animals if you have, steals things, returns them, moves them but not (and you are now crashing with things and forgotting where is everything), he's all about being around the house and fantasizing what it would be like to be with you and how he watches over you, if he knows that you need / will need something, subtly move or reposition so that "oh, the umbrella, right, right! Raining today" (now subtly sticking out from where you had it stored).

Dick steals, sends you flowers / chocolate / whatever for any silly day (your saint, your birthday, first day at new job, new haircut, your finally gots "x" thing you wanted...) and your days (that you don't know what happened like the first time you "both" met, 1st time he visited your house, a non so random meeting at the supermarket that you won't remember) and watch you sleep.

Ok, this is another weird "rich people they have to be" thing of mine but I imagine them taking some of your possessions such as electrical devices, air system or how you call it, security system, window glasses and replacing it with better bulletproof versions but making sure that the hardware/external looks remains intact so you don't find out. Like, if Bruce has transmitted something to them, it is to be overprotective yanderes to a greater or lesser degree.

[goobergamer]

Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 4/?

Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge.

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Pairing: Sarge/Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Warnings: Alcohol use in this chapter

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). Also crossposted to AO3.

Wash is a chronic homebody rapidly chewing through the books on his shelf and the TV shows he can stand to be semi-present for. The phone never rings when he’s there, but he still can’t help and check every morning and night hoping the voicemail light will have come on.

He’s pretty sure he saw a couple of his teammates when he was taken in by the medical team, half-coherent. No one has been in touch since, through his care or discharge. He’s not sure what he expects them to say. Wish you were here, xoxo? Sorry you’ve cracked? (He’s not crazy.) Thanks for compromising the mission, asshole? How could you have fucked up so badly?

Wash isn’t sure. But he thinks he’d take any of it over the dead light and the dial tone.

---

It just keeps getting hotter as they approach midsummer, and one day when Wash steps outside straight into a wall of humidity, Sarge joins him only to suggest that he come inside for coffee so they don’t just up and die on the porch from the weather.

Wash is pleasantly surprised when Sarge gives him a tour of the downstairs space; it’s cluttered, but not a junk pile as he may have guessed. Rather, the home looks lovingly lived-in. A card table is open in the corner of the living room, with parts and tools for some sort of electronics project scattered across it. The TV stand is covered in small piles of DVDs; at quick glance Wash sees serious war documentaries mingling with old family sitcoms.

Of course, it still shows little signs of Sarge’s quirkiness beyond the multiple locks on the door. Despite the gun cabinet standing against the wall with his scarlet beret sitting atop it, there’s a shotgun casually leaned up against the coffee table that Wash only hopes has the safety on. Everything that can come in different colors is red in Sarge’s apartment; upholstery, painted wood, you name it. There’s a strawberry Yoo-hoo balanced on the couch armrest, and Wash halfway wonders if the flavor was chosen to fit the color scheme.

They take their coffee on very red chairs at the very red table in the kitchen. Sarge is polite enough to only harass Wash for two straight minutes about how he takes his coffee (“Washington, without sugar you’ll have no energy to defend yourself!” “Defend myself from what?”) The new location doesn’t change much until Wash asks, “Which way to your bathroom? Is your side of the duplex the same as mine?”

“Flipped. Upstairs to the left.”

When Wash walks into the bathroom, it takes him a moment to register what’s off. At first he thinks Sarge had installed a full-size towel rack above the sink, but after stepping closer, he sees that a bath towel has simply been strung across the medicine cabinet to cover it.

He remembered, Wash realizes. He remembered the mirror.

Something in his throat tightens, almost imperceptibly. It was a small, simple gesture, but an appreciated one all the same, at a time when the world feels minimal in its kindness.

---

When Wash hears a knock on his door early one evening, he only pauses a moment before opening it without the chain in place, having an easy enough guess of who it will be. “Hey, Sarge. Something you need?”

Sarge is leaning against the doorframe all too casually, an atypical grin splitting his face in two. “Washington, when was the last time you went out anywhere?”

Wash pauses for a moment, thinking. “I go running every day? Beyond that, I picked up groceries three days ago.”

Sarge switches battle tactics. “When was the last time you went somewhere to do something fun?”

Wash has a sinking, suspicious feeling he knows the ballpark where this is heading. “...I don’t mind grocery shopping.”

“...Well, that answers that.” Sarge chuckles. He doesn’t seem too surprised. Wash supposes he can’t really be insulted; a serious answer to Sarge’s question would have been ‘on shore leave over a year ago’.

“There’s a legion a couple towns over,” Sarge continues. “A few of the guys I know are catching up there tonight! There will be drinks! General merriment! And YOU are cordially invited!”

“I wouldn’t know any of the people there.”

“I can introduce ya’!”

Wash knows that Sarge isn’t the type to take no for an answer when his mind is set on something. And he has to acknowledge that he has become a hermit in the months since his discharge, to an unsustainable extent. At some point he’ll have to reconnect with the real world. May as well do it with a friend to guide him. “Alright, fine.”

“That’s the spirit!”

They take Sarge’s Ford, a decades-spanning oddity; the truck itself is from the 70’s, but has a new high-tech radio system Sarge says he installed himself. The radio will only tune into an obnoxious polka station from god knows where and which Sarge will claim no fault in his installation process for. The drive is still nice with the windows rolled low, Sarge resting his elbow on the sill as he steers with one hand, Wash turning in his seat so the early evening sun shines down on his face.

They’re quickly hailed by a chorus of both greetings and heckling from a far table when Sarge leads the way into the Legion. There’s one chair left open for Sarge when they approach, but he grabs another one from an empty table and plants it next to his own for Wash, the nearest guy shuffling over to make more space.

“Men, this is Washington,” Sarge announces when they’ve settled in. Wash receives some amicable nods and hello’s from the ensemble; apparently Sarge doesn’t think more introduction is necessary, and neither do they. “Washington, this is Tucker, Caboose, Donut, Lopez, Simmons, and Grif.” There’s a surly element to his tone when he introduces the last one, who seems unperturbed, just offering Wash a late “‘Sup?” before some earlier conversation picks back up.

Wash takes the time to examine the group unnoticed, observing that they look ragtag in more ways than one. They’re all young, younger than Wash, though it's not always easy to tell under the scars; the majority of this group look like they had to physically claw their way out of warzones. Wash can pick out four prosthetics between what he can see of just two of the people at the table, and with the extent of Lopez’s, he might guess prosthetic legs were hidden out of sight too. Grif and...Donut? sport some major scarring visible above the table. Grif’s scars, a layer of patchworks across his cheek and down one arm, look too clean to be from anything in-field; skin grafts, maybe? With Donut’s ear and eye gone, and the side of his nose and lips halfway there, it’s easy to assume that he took something hard straight to the face.

“—Before I can catch whatever gave Private Pinhead that stroke of inspiration, I’m going to get a drink!” Sarge huffs, brushing off a conversation with Grif to rise. “You want something, Washington?”

“Oh, I—whatever you’re getting is fine. Thanks.” Wash reaches for his wallet to offer him payment for the drink, but Sarge has already moseyed over to the bar.

“So, Washington, how do you know Sarge?” Simmons asks, all attention now turning to the new guy.

“He’s my neighbor.”

“Man, that sucks,” Tucker replies, though obviously without true rancor.

“Could be worse. He could live next to Donut,” Grif says.

“Hey!”

“That’s right, has Lopez gotten his insurance pay back after that fire yet?”

“No.”

“Hey, I said sorry, I didn’t think a hair dryer could overheat like that! I guess I’d been doing too much blowing.”

Amidst a chorus of groans, Sarge returns with a pina colada in each hand. “Can’t believe the bartender didn’t card me! They’re supposed to card anyone under forty.”

“And why would they card you, again?” Wash asks as he takes one of the drinks. Sarge’s efforts to convince Wash that he’s some ludicrous age are drowned out by amused laughter from others at the table.

The longer Wash is there with them, the more he feels himself settling into the rhythm of the conversation, becoming comfortable enough to laugh and joke along. By the end of the night, he’s been wrapped up into a number of ridiculous and crazy anecdotes that tell him two things: Sarge surrounds himself only with those that are as insane as himself, and that Wash has had the best night in as many weeks despite his hesitation before he came.

“They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots,” Sarge says fondly in the car on the way home.

“I can see why. They’re good guys.”

“We’re there every week. Just let me know if you want to come along again.” Washington looks at Sarge, but Sarge is cheerfully watching the road as he says it.

It’s an unexpected offer, but certainly not unwelcome as he thinks about the dark apartment he’s about to return to. Remembering the warmth of the rum and the night’s festivities is a strong pull. “I just might take you up on that.”

[confidenceatitsfinest]

The Fire Was Screaming Out Your Name (And I Watched You Burn) Ch. 7

Pairing: Jungkook/Jimin

Description: Mafia au

Jungkook was Jimin’s most trusted right-hand man. While Jungkook is dutiful and devoted towards Jimin, their relationship and past is slowly unveiled, but not without turmoil and conflict.

Author’s Note: I AM BACK! With a short chapter this time, but I’ll be working on the next part since I’m in quarantine with more time to do things. 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Crossposted on AO3

Jungkook tilted his head to the side back and forth, rolling his shoulders in an effort to relieve some of the ache from staying in the same position for so long. Despite so much training and multiple recon missions, having to stay quiet and still managed to drain him every time. It’d been five hours since he had stationed himself in an inconspicuous spot in front of Jeon Wonwoo’s home, close enough to monitor any movement but still within the blind spots of the cameras lining the perimeter of the large house. Jungkook had taken a caffeine pill earlier, but it did nothing so soothe the tension he felt in his triceps and lower back.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, trying to get rid of the edges of tiredness he felt creeping onto him. Then, he noticed one of the lights turn on in the second floor office. The curtains made it difficult to see anything clearly, but he could make out the shadow of what he presumed to be Jeon Wonwoo on the phone. The man was pacing back and forth, hands making wild gestures. Jungkook wondered what had the CFO so frustrated. He made a note to install some bugs when Jeon left for work the next morning. The call had lasted an hour, five minutes, and thirty-four seconds. Jungkook had counted with nothing better to do. Who knows, the information might come in handy later. For the rest of the night, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and before he knew it, Jungkook witnessed the first streaks of sunrise.

From what he had gathered, once Jeon Wonwoo left for the company, he would not return until the clock hit at least 9 P.M. His wife and kids were also out of the house by 9 A.M. and wouldn’t return until later that afternoon. The housekeepers weren’t allowed in the office and the alarm system was turned off since people were in the house, giving Jungkook the perfect opportunity to do some investigating of his own. Of course, that didn’t mean it was easy to break in. There was no balcony or side entrance. Jungkook would have to break in through one of the bedroom windows. While he knew he’d be able to do so without being detected, it was still a tedious task.

‘Alright, time to get to work. I should make this quick so I can at least see if anyone suspicious wanders into Jeon Enterprises.’

Jungkook made his way to the tree branch closest to the master bedroom balcony, trying to minimize the amount of noise he made. On his way, he’d almost knocked a squirrel off, but quickly apologized mentally. If only he could be as unnoticeable as a squirrel in a tree. Life would be so much easier. He sucked in a breath before making the leap to the balcony’s guardrails to avoid the cameras and then hopped onto the square tile that he’d marked as a blindspot, landing solidly on both feet. Now that part was over with, time for the riskiest part. Jungkook peered into the bedroom. The bed had already been made and everything else looked to be in order, which meant the housekeeper wouldn’t be coming in any time soon.

He made quick work of the balcony lock and entered the room. It took him three minutes to install various listening devices throughout the master bedroom. Now, time to head over to the office two rooms down. He slowly opened the cherry wood door and peered out into the hallway. No one, as expected. Without wasting time, Jungkook quickly slipped out and towards the office when he heard voices coming up the staircase.

‘Shit, I swear I better pick this lock faster than I ever have in my life. I don’t want to kill any innocent people if I don’t have to. Jimin hyung would be so disappointed if I did.’ His eyebrows furrowed as he fumbled with the door handle. Jungkook breathed a soft sigh of relief as he heard the quiet click and made his way inside. He closed the door as gently as possible and turned around.

He bugged the whole room the same way, but didn’t put as many to avoid possible detection. Jeon Wonwoo’s office looked like any normal home office, but Jungkook knew it wouldn’t be locked off it didn’t have any secrets. He looked for any safes first since those usually contained the most sensitive information. He ran his hands along the walls, searching for a hollow spot or any place that looked to have more marks than usual. His fingers ran along a groove and he couldn’t help the smile that lit up on his face.

‘Aha, found you.’ He pressed around the edges to look for a button and found one at the top right of the square he’d mentally traced out. Jungkook wasn’t sure if pressing the button would send an alert to Jeon Wonwoo so he wouldn’t risk it for now, but knowing it was there was helpful.

Jungkook combed through the desk drawers until he found the bottom of the top drawer suspiciously unstable. Knowing that people like this liked to keep things hidden but close at hand, there had to be something relatively important. He lifted the bottom of the drawer to find a thin file hidden underneath. A false bottom drawer, just as he thought. Jungkook opened the file to be faced with a picture of himself.

Jungkook almost dropped the file in shock. He felt his heart rate increase and watched as his hands shook, holding the papers. Why did they already have his picture? How did they even know all of this information about him? His age, blood type, height, weight. All of his basic information was listed.

He turned the page to find more pictures, but these made him freeze. They were worn photos of Jungkook. These photos, they were undeniably him. Except he was a child, no more than maybe four or five years old.  

‘No, even I don’t have these photos. How? Who are these people? Who am I?’ Jungkook quickly looked through the rest of the documents, hoping to find answers to his past, but found nothing more than pictures of him with Jimin at the party. Those were expected, but his childhood pictures. He hadn’t known they existed until today.

Jungkook turned his head quickly when he heard the sound of footsteps nearing. He quickly put the file back in place neatly and hid underneath the desk. He held his breath until the voices were too far away to hear. He needed to go back to Jeon Enterprises soon. With whatever materials they had on him now, something was bound to happen. He needed to be cautious now, but all that filled his mind were questions and uncertainties. From his past, he’d only remembered being at the tender age of twelve when Jimin had found him and taken him in. Before that, everything blurred together in a whirlwind of bitter cold and starvation. Past those two years, Jungkook couldn’t remember anything. Not a single memory or fragment of a memory.

‘I need to ask Jimin hyung how and where he found me when I get back. This is insane.’ Jungkook cursed quietly, realizing the implications this had not only on him, but on his precious Jimin hyung’s safety. He had to get out of here quickly. Getting back out was easier than coming in, and Jungkook was back on the motorcycle towards Jeon Enterprises within minutes.

He punched in Seokjin’s number on his burner phone quickly. He never called Jimin in order to protect him and his privacy.

“Jungkook-ah, what’s up? Are you hurt? I thought you were still on your assignment.” The man’s soft, concerned voice filled his ears through his earpiece and he couldn’t help but relax just a little.

“I am, hyung, and I’m safe, but I need to you to tell Jimin hyung something for me.”

“Yeah, of course. What is it?” Jungkook loved how Jin never asked many questions and just trusted his fellow members like he trusted Jimin.

“Can you tell him I’m going to be back earlier than expected and that I really need to see him once I get back? In approximately twelve hours, hyung.”

“Sure, Jungkookie. Just don’t get into trouble, alright?”

“You know I won’t, Jin hyung. Have some faith in me, hmm? I’m the best at what I do after all.”

“Alright, brat. Don’t get cocky or you’ll really get yourself killed and your poor Jin hyung won’t have anyone to taste his concoctions.”

“Yes, yes, will do, hyung. Okay, I have to go. I’ll see you when I’m back, thanks.” Jungkook hung up, feeling better after hearing a familiar voice.

He eyes narrowed in concentration again as he parked a block away from the Jeon Enterprise headquarter building before finding a place to do some spying. It was broad daylight so finding a dark, hidden spot was harder. He managed to find a rooftop, propped up with a pair of binoculars. He trained his line of sight towards the entrance and raised it to the top floor where Jeon Wonwoo’s office was every five minutes. Nothing had happened yet, but he couldn’t afford to lose sight of anything.

A black car pulled up to the curb of the building’s entrance, catching Jungkook’s eyes. A man stepped out, surrounded by bodyguards on all sides. Jungkook squinted, trying to make out the vague features as the man’s back was turned to him. When the man turned to tell the driver something, Jungkook gasped. He recognized this man. He’d seen his face in numerous files. He’s seen his face at parties and social gatherings Jimin attended.

This man was Park Jihyun. Jimin’s uncle. Successor to Park Incoporation if anything ever happened to Jimin’s own father.

What was he doing at Jeon Enterprises? Did Park Suwoong have knowledge of this?

[honekitteh]

Fic: Countdown - Chapter 6

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: M Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor,  Canon-typical levels of poor decision-making Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Warnings: See Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Crossposted to AO3

“This is a door?”

Kira nodded to me as I walked towards the circle window like fixture on the left side of the entrance hall of the People’s Tower.  I tried to keep my focus on the entryway to the next level of the building as opposed to the corpses now laying at our feet.  The amount of bodies that were being thrown towards me to try to prevent us from our path, with little more purpose than for just simple mayhem and death, was overwhelming.  There were very few meditation techniques that could fully block out the scent of the dead at this point, but I needed to press on.  The fate of this world felt like it was slipping out of my grasp and it felt like it was up to me.

Again.

I couldn’t find the way to open the door easily, looking around for the controls.  I reached out with my senses.  “Locked.”

“Typical Imperials,” Kira huffed, “So rude to guests.”

I frowned as tried a few things with the Force.  “I’m not sure I can bust it myself.”

My friend took a step up and closed her eyes.  Then she shook her head.  “I doubt even the two of us could do it alone, even if one of us was on the other side. Unless Lana is miraculously right there, we’re on our own.  We need something else.”

I frowned.  Not really willing to give up quite yet, I tested the door again with my senses.

“Jyana, I think we need something with a bit more explosive power.”

I sighed heavily. “Fine.  What do you have in mind?”

Kira scanned the entrance hall.  There was a large holographic map of Ziost on display on the middle console.  She took a scan beyond it.  “There’s something over there, but I think we’ll have to fight our way there.”

“Sounds about normal,” I sighed.

We worked our way over there quickly, myself leaping into battle with a Sith Lord.  I only felt slightly bad about engaging him in battle, cause I was fairly sure he’d want to thwart whatever we were planning on his own volition.  I couldn’t tell how long he’d been under Vitiate’s puppetry, but it didn’t matter now. A poor imperial medic was unfortunately in the crossfire, which was something that I did feel terrible about. But our situation did not give us a lot of time to reflect or regret.  We had to keep moving.

When the enemies had fallen, as they refused to stop until they were ended, I noticed the thing Kira thought she had seen.  I picked up the rocket launcher and looked at it with great suspicion.

“That looks promising,” Kira said.

“This might be overkill,” I stated looking at it and checking to make certain it was loaded.

“Pft,” Kira waved that off, “No such thing as overkill.”

“Let’s move.”  I put the rocket launcher over my shoulder, loosely letting the strap on it secure it there.  I looked back towards the door and frowned.  “Did you invite more friends to the party?” I asked motioning towards the four imperial commandos that were now between us and the door.  

“I need to hire a new party planner.”

I was getting so tired of fighting, but I tossed my lightsabers to draw the commandos’ attention. I wasn’t sure I was quite comfortable opening with my typical leap into the fray.  Adding the rocket launcher to my back would wreck the physics of the leap or at least set it off that I wasn’t sure I had the right read on it. I already had a habit of overexerting and I really could not afford to do it at this stage.  I was already exhausted.  I knew the final battle was soon, but I could not completely estimate how much longer I had to go.  I couldn’t go overboard now, not at this stage.  

Kira pushed the last of the four back as he fell.  She frowned looking down at them.  A glance up at me showed me she was feeling what I was.  Overwhelming sorrow.  Both of us knew what it was like to be out of our own control.  Both of us had broken free, but it did not pass without some level of scars.  Such was our life.

We got to the door and I unholstered the rocket launcher.  This wasn’t my first rodeo.  I checked all the mechanisms, made certain the ammo was set just right.

“Maybe we should knock first?” Kira asked.

“This is me knocking,” I said and fired.

The explosion shock the building and threw both of us back.  Startled at the reaction I dropped the rocket launcher and used the Force to cushion our fall.

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

I stared at Kira as I picked myself up off the floor.

“I gotta get me one of those!” she said as she was pointing at the rocket launcher.

“Later.  We don’t have any way to reload it and we’ve got to keep moving.”

“No fun.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes and jumped through the door.

It felt like Vitiate had an endless supply of bodies to pile up between us and our destination.  It also took a great deal of concentration to focus on jumping up along the elevator shaft to the next level of the building.  The screams of the dying, the terror, the fear, all the feelings of deep buried rage kept trying to overwhelm my senses.  

“Watch out!” Kira shouted as turrets opened fire on us after we gained our footing on the floor.  

A flick of the lightsabers sadly was not all it took, but we did make fairly quick work of them.

My wrist computer blinked at me, telling me that I had an incoming call.  I flicked it on as we were besieged by another group of soldiers.

Lana’s voice came through the call saying, “Before we go ahead with this... you and I should talk—in person.  I’ll see you shortly.”

I frowned then looked down at the coordinates now showing on the small data viewer after the comm cut off.

“This way.”

I looked at the forcefield over the door to the room that Lana had indicated and let out a heavy sigh. Kira motioned there were electrical panels on the outside of each door.  Nodding we both threw a wave of the Force at the panels, causing them to explode.  This knocked the forcefield down.

There were many civilian employees within the room.  I tried to raise my hands in a defensive pose.  “I don’t want to hurt any of you...” I said before they started to lunge at Kira and I, shooting and even some just trying to go at us hand to hand. I sighed, looking at each of their eyes as they fell, fighting to their last with no control of their own bodies. The silver eyes, showing their actions belonged to him.

In the corner of my eye, a green and black cloak flicked by, moving towards the console in the back of the room.  Kira and I sheathed our sabers and moved to join Lana.  

“You’ve made it,” the Sith Lord stated without looking up as she pushed on the controls, “Good.  Time is short—so is reliable assistance.”  She fiddled with the holo communication controls on the console and continued talking without really looking back at me. “I have Agent Kovach assembling a suppression team out of whatever droids he can find, so I approached another agent to assist us.”

Theron Shan appeared on the holo and he looked around between us and did what could only be described as striking a pose.  He rested his hand on his hip with ease and comfort that belied the exhaustion that was evident in his eyes, even from within a holo communication.  I raised my eyebrows and gave a sigh.  I partially wondered if he was trying to play it cool with Lana.  Then again, this is Theron.  There were so many layers behind the surface.  I am not entirely sure how many I’d seen behind, but there was a selfish part of me that would like to think that I was one of the few that had.

Of course, now was not the time to think about those kinds of things.  Lana addressed him quickly, “Are you in position?”

“Yeah, but this setup isn’t anything like what you described.”

“So what you’re saying is you can’t figure it out.”

“Don’t get all…” he sighed and put his hands in front of him, “I’ll figure it out.”

“We’re about to begin, so that would be nice.”

“He has Teeseven with him, he’ll be fine,” I quickly cut in.

Theron gave me a grateful nod and cut out the communication.

As soon as his image flickered off, I asked, “What exactly are we about to begin, Lana?”

“You’re going to make Vitiate angry.  So angry that he’ll place all his attention on killing you.”  She punched in some controls on the console and then turned to look at me.  If I didn’t know better, she had a very Jedi way of masking her emotions, but that could be partially from how she had to keep her mind focused on defense, lest the incorporeal former Emperor decide to take her body for a ride.  She continued on, “When the time comes, you’ll lead him to an electrostatic weapon stored there, in the heart of New Adasta.  It’s meant to be a last resort against major civil uprisings, but Theron’s modifying it to be non-lethal.  With the reduced charge, its radius of impact will diminish.”

I raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with Kira before looking back to Lana.  “You have a weapon designed with the sole purpose of killing your own people?”

Lana waved it off as if it was a non-issue.  “It’s not as if we install one in every metropolis.  We nearly lost New Adasta to unrest once before.”

“Well in that case...”

I could see her eye slightly twitch, but she ignored my snide remark.  “Shall we get started?” she asked and pointed towards the holo comm device.

Suppose it was time for my performance art masterpiece of a monologue.  I really hate monologuing.  But certain people seemed to love it.  Maybe it will do the trick.  

I took a deep breath and nodded to Lana and she opened the comm.  “Vitate!  I am the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order.  I’ve struck you down once already.  Today, I’m finishing the job.  Today, you will face justice.”

Lana cut off the communication and glanced over at me, her expression unreadable except for very obvious exhaustion.  

“I think that did it?” I questioned, pondering over if I should have monologued longer, or been harsher, and I almost got caught in my train of thought until Lana cut me off.

“I have to go now. There’s much to be done.”  She sighed heavily, “Too much.  I shouldn’t have come here, truth be told.”

I reached out and took hold of her shoulder.  A year or so ago, she might have flinched at the contact, but not today.  “Be strong, Lana.  Stay focused.  You’ll be fine.”

She offered me a tired smile.  “Thank you. We’ll see if you’re right.”

I looked behind me after I pressed the button to call the elevator to the top floor.  Master Onok and Master Landai were both unconscious, but free. I could still hear their voices demanding for me to kill them, even though they weren’t really their own voices.  I electrocuted them.  They would make it.  Doc and Lord Scourge were on their way to retrieve them and get them off world as soon as they could.  I needed to focus though.  

As I stepped in the elevator and punched the controls to take us up, I wondered if Lana’s plan would work.  Kira gave me a poke.  I gave her a tired smile.  She was right.  There was a time and place to dwell on what has happened since I stepped foot on this planet, and now was not one of them.

We walked onto the platform to find Theron and T7 working on opposite sides of the entryway.

“That’s it, Teeseven,” he called out to the droid then looked up from his work to see us.  He gave a quick nod and what I thought was a slight smirk to me and continued, “Got it set up for as big a non-lethal burst as we can manage.”  He looked over to T7 as the droid unplugged himself from the wall socket.  “Thanks buddy,” he said to the droid then turned back to Kira and I.  “Should be enough to zap anyone in range into a nice, long, involuntary nap.”

I looked up at the large device that was on the ceiling over the open air platform.  Frowning I muttered lowly, “Should be?”

Theron shrugged. “Hard to come up with a one-size fits all solution.  Lot of guesswork involved.  Wish there was a way Teeseven and I could have done a test run before...”

As his vocalized thought trailed off, I looked back towards the entry point I had just come through. I didn’t sense anything quite yet, but I could feel it wouldn’t be too long.  

“They’ve got to be closing in,” Kira stated aloud, echoing my own thoughts.

“Then come on,” he said, waving me over to where he had a device waiting for us, “We need to be shielded.”  I followed him, still studying my surroundings.  He straightened up after ensuring the shield was properly set and looked to me.  “Okay. We should wait until they’re good and close.”  

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my senses to reach out to get a good feel for how much time we had. It wasn’t much.  I moved slightly closer to Theron and said softly, “I wasn’t sure when I’d run into you again.  Not the greatest circumstances, but still.”  I very nearly reached to him but halted myself with a small glance behind me.  It wasn’t Kira though that I sensed when I could feel we weren’t alone.

He offered a weak but knowing smile.  “Maybe next time the lives of an entire world won’t be in danger – but, yeah, feeling’s mutual.”

I felt my heart flip flop a bit at his smile and met his with my own.  Soon though, I could feel them.  His amber eyes shifted from mine to behind me.  Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I took a deep breath, then reopened them to follow his gaze.  Kira had already drawn her dual-saber, its green light reflecting against the metallic floor.

Theron pulled out his data pad and started tapping. “Okay, here comes the puppet brigade.  Fingers crossed…”

It was a fairly sizable group, Imperials, Republic troops, and even some Jedi.  I silently cursed the Chancellor and added it to the growing list of matters I will add to a report, should I bother to file one.  At this particular moment, the choice words I had planning were significantly less Jedi than they had been the beginning of this entire fiasco.  The horde moved closer and Theron triggered the device.

That Theron even had to modify it to be non-lethal was not lost on me.  As I saw the soldiers all be stunned and fall to the ground, I could not help but wonder what the result would have been had that modification not been made.  The Empire, putting a weapon in one of its capital cities with the capability to kill a vast amount of their own citizens?  If they had one of these in New Adasta, they could have it on Kass City, or in a number of other cities.  But why?  Because of riots?  Gee, I wonder why anyone would riot against a ruling body that had no regard for their lives.

My eyes glanced over to a Republic soldier that had collapsed.  Were we even better?  The Republic should be better than this.  Theron followed my eyes and let the shield dome collapse.  He approached the soldier and knelt.  “This one was closet, took the biggest hit.”  He reached for his neck, checking his pulse as I walked up beside him.  I looked out towards the door and across the landscape of unconscious bodies.  “Still alive,” Theron confirmed, relief in his voice, “We did it!  Let’s just hope we got all of them.”

“Let’s hope,” I murmured, still scanning the surroundings.  Something still felt off.  This moment was far from over, I could feel it.

“We should call Lana now, see if she has a plan for what’s next.”

The bodies began to float in the air.  “I have a better idea,” a booming male imperial voice spoke through the woman sauntering onto the platform.  With a small flick of a hand motion, the bodies crashed back away from her, clearing a path.  Her eyes yellow and wild, she smirked as she drew her lightsaber.

“Master Surro.” Theron’s entire stance sunk and he moved to stand between me and the unconscious puppet army and the approaching Jedi Master.  “No...” I lightly reached an arm to his shoulder, trying to pull him back and shift him behind me, but he stood his ground.

“Watching you believe you had a chance; it’s amused me.”   Master Surro raised her hand sluggishly as if it were pulled by string, the Force lifting a dazed Imperial lieutenant into a sitting position. “Now this whole charade is pathetic.”

I shifted my own position, trying to assess the situation and moved in front of Theron.  Not soon enough, as Master Surro summarily executed the dazed man she’d just set up.  The range of emotions in the man beside me went from shock, to horror, to anger. It took a great deal of my own willpower and Force meditation to not absorb Theron’s pain and have it fuel me and complement the dread that I felt; the very dread I’ve been feeling rising since the moment I’d received his distress holo.

Master Surro’s lips turned in a cruel sneer.  “Now, how do you wish to die?  In combat or on your knees?”

Lana raced from within the building, lightsaber drawn and poised to attack.

“Go away, little Sith.” Master Surro easily shoved the approaching Sith Lord with a shove.  Theron moved in front of me again and drew his weapon but was immediately lifted in the air.  He gave me a wincing glance before he was unceremoniously thrown against the wall and crashed the ground.  I looked between Lana and Theron and took the last reserves of my energy to take a deep breath.  

Glancing back to Master Surro, I furrowed my brow and drew both my shoto.  The Emperor controlled puppet smirked.  “This has nothing to do with your friends.  This is you and I.”

Igniting my sabers, I leaped into the air.

The original clash was brief, a flurry of blades.  Kira flanked our opponent, trying to keep her busy.  There was no way that she was going to let me fight alone, even if I sensed that was what Master Surro desired.  We just had to stay vigiliant.

If I could keep my eyes from glancing over at Theron long enough to stay focused.

Of course Surro, no… not Surro, Vitiate… he figured out my distraction and pressed the attack on me, completely ignoring Kira who was trying to sneak attack from behind.  I tried to block a downward strike with both my shoto but I lost track of my direction and Surro took the opportunity to kick me and Force push me at that moment.  The push knocked me near complete off the edge and drop my shoto completely.  I reached out quickly and barely grabbed hold of the edge.

I took this time to reflect on my life choices.  Trying my hardest to keep as many people alive as possible, even the possessed jedi that Vitiate used to try to taunt me.  Kill them, he had said, I won’t mind—and neither will your dear ally.

I sighed.  I tried so hard to compartmentalize my feelings.  It wasn’t working.  I took a deep breath.  Theron’s been through worse, he’ll be fine.  They’ll all be fine.

I heard a squeak as I sensed Kira get knocked out, not far from where Lana was.  Closing my eyes, I found my sabers and lept into the air.

I landed on the other side of Master Surro, flipping overhead her before she’d noticed I’d gotten there it seemed.  She gave me a sneer.  “Why won’t you die, little girl?”

“No matter how powerful you are, I’ll never fall to you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Confident—to the end.”

My lightsabers returned to my hands, I ignited them and pressed the attack.  I did not relent, I would not back down, and he had to know that.

It took some time until Master Surro finally collapsed at my feet.  I took a deep breath and studied her, not wanting to take any chances. When she looked back up, her eyes were their natural color.

[hollenka99]

A Talk With The Creator

Summary: ‘Birthday cards crowd the table next to the bed. He's 29 today. If Jack is aware of this in any way is a mystery. It's the second birthday he's missing now.’

Disclaimer: I wrote this for Sean’s birthday last month. Just to write something to acknowledge it, you know? So this is what came out. But then, I got a couple comments on AO3. They lead to me creating my Creator AU and The Friend. This one shot is no longer canon in its current form. Maybe once I post Jameson’s POV, I might rewrite this so it fits better.

I was in two minds about crossposting this on here but after posting The Friend (which, by the way, thank you for all the responses. A couple nights ago I was literally sitting here tearing up because you were all being so nice to me. My stories rarely get attention so you have no idea how happy it made me.) I thought it would be best to show where the basis for the AU came from.

Henrik checked on Jack's monitors. His vitals were stable and everything was fine with him. Except, of course, for the fact he was still in a coma.

It had been a year and a half now. 18 whole months since he'd barely saved his friend from death. Jack did in fact die for a brief period. Not that Henrik wants to dwell on that. It was all Sean's fault. He had true control over all of them. If he so desired, he could set Anti on them without any warning. They could have an average Monday, only for the rest of their week be thrown into chaos. Jackie had been subject to Anti's mercy, shortly joined by Schneeplestein. They were both free now, thank God, but it was only a matter of time before Sean got creative again. At times like that, it is difficult to remember his friend is a good person at heart.

Birthday cards crowd the table next to the bed. He's 29 today. If Jack is aware of this in any way is a mystery. It's the second birthday he's missing now. Two years ago, they'd all cheered as Jack and Sean blew out the candles together on the cake they shared. A lot had happened since last February. Fortunately, 2018 had been relatively quiet for them, if you excluded May. But Sean had been very busy during the past year, be it touring or focusing on mental health. None this would bring Jack back to them.

Defeated, he places his hand gently on Jack's shoulder. "Happy birthday, mein freund. I wish we could be celebrating together."

"We need to talk to Sean." Henrik scowled as he entered the living room. "This has gone on too long." "Leave it until tomorrow. It's his birthday too." Marvin sighed. "No, Schneep's right. It's been a year and a half now. I don't know how much longer I can do this." Chase had improved hiding hints of his insecurities. All that improvement was going to waste as his face crumbled in despair.

They make up their minds. As soon as possible, the five of them would negotiate with their creator to return Jack to their friendship group. It didn't matter that Sean struggled to see them as more than characters brought to life. Jack was different to them in that he was essentially Sean's own self but living with energy levels exceeding 100%. They could use that to their advantage.

"Hi, Sean." Jackie greets. "Hey guys, nice to see you." He was a little dumbfounded to see five of his ego characters standing outside his home. Nevertheless, he smiles politely at them. "Want to come in? I got myself cake. Bit sad, I know. But today's a great excuse to eat as much cake as I want. I don't really have much to do until tonight except for reblogging stuff on social media. It would be pretty cool if you had a slice too." "Sean, we need to discuss a few things." The doctor didn't seem to pleased with him. "Which we can do over cake." Marvin interjected.

The group gathers somewhat civilly in Sean's living room. The cake slices are served but remain untouched. The egos look between each other. Who would bring their demands up first? Things take an unexpected turn when Chase notices an open notebook laying on the dining table.

"Wait, are these your plans for us?" The vlogger reaches for the notebook. In a panic, Sean takes it from him. "I'm sorry but it's best if you don't look. Uh, it's not good to know your future and all that. Besides, I'm still working stuff out." "Like what? How many times should we expect Anti to appear?" "Jackie, shut up." Marvin scolded. "Well?!" Chase didn't intend that outburst. "Look guys, calm down would you? Jesus. I haven't finished my plans so anything could change. Plus, I haven't put paint on my neck since... uh..." "August 2017. When you put Jack in a coma." Henrik answered for him. "Yeah, since Kill Jacksepticeye. Right now, I just stare at the camera and twitch my eye. I've told you before, it was a spur of the moment thing. I was sick and tired of YouTube messing about with ad revenue and the shitty algorithm. Plus, Mark was making Darkiplier vs Antisepticeye so it was the best time to do Anti stuff. And that's why I put Jack away for a while. I regret it now. Don't act like I don't miss him too. One thing's for sure, this next 'phase' will definitely see him wake up. I can tell you that. So please don't be mad at me." Jameson ripped a page from the small notebook, passing a written message to Sean. "Am I happier now? Yeah, totally. Last year was a blast. I really turned stuff around, you know that." "So are you happy enough to wake Jack up on his birthday?"

Sean hesitates. In terms of the storyline, Jack won't wake up until later in the year. But screw it, he's not a dick. He neglected Jack last February and saw how miserable they were as a result. He promises the five of them he'll give them all a break for today. That said, he's far from omnipotent. Keeping Jack awake will likely be draining. When he falls asleep, so will his alter ego. One last time, he assures them they'll get Jack back for good in a few months. He just needs to finalise his plans first.

When they return home, the sirens are blaring. Jackie had installed them long ago to give them warning in case of an attack. They'd since been modified to additionally alert Henrik if Jack was in need of assistance. As soon as the doctor heard the shrieking, he sprints through the halls to the ward.

And there he is, maintaining consciousness faster than any coma patient he's known. He's been reading their birthday cards. Jack's bewilderment is entirely expected. Henrik opens his mouth to say something, anything comforting will suffice really. Before the words come, his friend lifts his head to make eye contact.

"I guess I'm not 27 anymore, am I."

[accidemia]

scintillate, part 1

aka: seto kaiba learns something new, perhaps even frightening, about his brother. post-series, pre-dsod. hints of prideshipping and rivalshipping if you squint hard and hold your breath.

acknowledgement to @aigamidiiva for tolerating my many seto rants. crossposted to ao3 here. please send me comments on here or ao3 about what you liked!

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The lights of KaibaCorp scattered across the glass desk that the hands of Seto Kaiba truly called home. It was a home won with years of pain, but one which he had formed into his own image. A boyish smile, flitting, barely impressed itself upon his face before it was swallowed up by the chill of Gozaburo.

Seto felt the dull sting of harsh words lance themselves into his back. Instinctively– although not without taking another deep breath and moving the analyzer into its proper position– he moved back, away from the phantom memory of a beating. The boy which cowered bravely beneath the blows was the Seto of the past, but the Seto of the future– he was greater than the bottom-feeding scum that stole his childhood. Yet the simple fantasy of something greater had never been enough to scour his mind of it all.

Perhaps he could not bury the boy that beat Gozaburo Kaiba in a game of chess, but he had never been known to be one who gave up on his plans. The old man had tried to spin the adoption off as a game of kindness to the sniveling sycophants he called investors, and he supposed they never knew better. Gozaburo was good enough to deceive them, but he was never intelligent enough to beat Seto at anything, and that is why he was afraid, had always been afraid, and why he had been eliminated as one of the unfit.

Seto scoffed as he regained his steadfast focus on tinkering with the analyzing machine. A code snagged within the advanced operating system Seto had demanded be installed on his personal laptop, and the computer gave a beleaguered wail. A sigh of irritation issued from between his lips, but that was merely something else to be expected in the humdrum malfunction of this reality. His mind frustratingly wandered from the task, so simple for his mind, and it quickly went to the darkness. Kindness was such a ridiculous concept when coming from the lying lips of the bully that was his adoptive father. There was no kindness for him, in the end. No kindness for Mokuba.

At that, Seto’s fist clenched. Mokuba.

(Perhaps he hauled the dueling disk prototype up onto the analyzer with a bit too much force, but they would never know.)

Mokuba, the brother he had protected all of these years. There was a point where Seto thought it was better not to love, so as not to fall prey to the vices of weak men, but it seemed the cheap friendship speeches Anzu gave had struck the soft part he carefully kept hidden. Mokuba was the reason he worked himself to the bone and to the bleeding. All for him, all to spite the warmongering council and the adoption committee and the newspapers, all to tear down a culture of death that condemned his brother to a life without him. But Seto was not weak. He was not a traitor to his own ideals, and his ideals told him that the mediocre self espoused by the occasionally limp oversight of Yuugi Motou was not to be accepted.

The tools he had bought for the plans before him were expensive– he had seen the ledger with his own eyes– but their chrome promised to bend to his genius as well as his deck did. The computer screen flickered as he logged into the program he had coded himself; the others he had found were all too inferior to stand up to the robust nature of his design. His fingers ached as he worked anew, but mind over matter, mind over matter. He had to beat the pharaoh, to rid himself of the stain of dishonor that was his loss to the transcendent being. The pharaoh had soiled his brother’s eyes with defeat and turned him into the laughingstock of the dueling community. but no more! He, Seto Kaiba, would once again take his rightful place as dueling champion of the world.

With little effort, Kaiba finished tightening the painfully small bolts on the first portion of the duel disk before reaching to the side of his face to flick his personal light on into fluorescent life. The wattage of the bulb made him blink for a moment, and his blue eyes ached with the brightness of it. Another drink of hot tea brewed hours earlier, and he was ready to continue past the sun that lazily shifted down the horizon and neglected its duties in the natural order. All too easily, the mathematics solved itself in some recess of his brain. The stubborn creep of exhaustion pressed incessantly into his focus, but out of sheer will more pieces made their way into the intricate hexagonal framework as the minutes ticked by. Small victories, like the whir of the cooling fan or the flawlessness of the holographic card projection which so eerily matched the magnificence of his blue-eyes, drove the adrenaline high on and on. It raged through his veins like the alcohol Gozaburo sampled occasionally until finally his hands screamed from their overuse. His right wrist flamed with pain, and Seto paused almost disinterestedly to rub it into submission. There was no time for delay, not even from the impending exhaustion of his fleshly shell.

A clearing of a young throat behind him shakes him slightly from his work, then another, closer, piques his attention. Kaiba turns around, his erect posture drooping ever-so-slightly before he raises himself to a presentable height. He knows exactly who it is that has come to search for him in his study. Even to himself, he cannot admit the slight pinch of guilt that inflames his will.

“Why aren’t you still asleep, Mokuba?”