#the formatting doesn't work that well on tumblr but oh well

[piningpercussionist]

(ooc)

I want you all to know that if I had the energy for it. There are so many posts stored in my drafts I long to queue... but neglected to preemptively tag, despite knowing I am Like This....

Anyway, there is a slight chance the queue might run out tomorrow unless I can get more responses in there-- I am,, tired,,

[andhumanslovedstories]

I've been running this writing experiment lately to cut out phrases like "I felt" in my fiction writing. Like I was looking at a sentence in a draft that said, "he felt as if character's eyes were pinning him in place." And then I was like, "well, does he think that or is it true? As a result of this person watching him, he's froze. It's not like a thing, it is that thing."

Oh and "almost"! I'm always going, "He felt almost relieved that it hadn't happened." Well, did he feel better that it didn't happen or didn't he? Or "somewhat", I'm always going, "she felt somewhat perturbed."

And like none of that is wrong, to be clear. I don't know if it'd improve your writing, I don't even know if it'll improve my writing, but I use this sentence structure all the time so every viewpoint is from a voice that thinks about what it thinks, hedges its statements, and offers the same ability for wry little jokes formatted in the exact same way. And I have a lot of writing like that and I think (!) that they're good, but read as a whole, I'm like, "god, they all sound the same." Like there's one melody that I write songs to, so even with different lyrics, it's almost (!) the same song. Something I've been struggling with in regards to my writing and why I've felt so blocked is how boring I found writing my usual way. I'd read something and enjoy the individual parts of it, but then I'd step back and I didn't like the whole. And I got good at this enough at seeing that I didn't like it to do it in real time as I was writing, which as you can imagine didn't improve the process of writing because now I was bored AND dejected about being bored.

There's this sentence-level structure fact that I use unconsciously. A pattern I find easy is short sentence, short sentence, short sentence, long sentence. So I write that. "He [verbed]. He [verbed]. Then he [verbed]. As he [verbed] to his [consequence], he [verbed] that [noun] was [statement of condition]." Which could work, it often does make for a nice rhythm, but it's something I reach for often because it's easier for me.

Just last sentence, I originally typed, "I find it easier for me." But if what I mean is "using this pattern is less effort than another pattern," then it's easier for me. One voice is hedging its bets and the other asserting. Either is fine! But they're different! And, again, GOD you would not believe how many words I've cut out of this paragraph as I write it. I'm so chatty. I love using twelve words when six will do. And that gives my writing a specific tone to my ear.

So if I am bored of that tone, why not try using just the six words? Why be understated? Why be afraid of stronger opinions? So right now with my fiction, I'm experimenting with cutting out as many self-reflective words as I can. Sometime you do need to draw attention to the face that this is the character's interpretation, but like you definitely don't need to do it as much as I naturally want to do it. You don't need to always go out of your way to allow the possibility that the narrative voice is wrong. During editing, I trim the weaker ones (I originally typed, "what I consider the weaker ones" Is that more accurate?). But I think them being there in the first place shifts my language which shifts my character's which shifts my plot. It's sentence structure all the way down!!

(this barely applies to my writing on here, btw. i try to do good but yknow this is a tumblr blog. i'm not trying to get a lit mag to accept it.)

Anyway blah blah (chatty!) the point is I've been trying to write in a way opposite of my interests. Something that doesn't take itself too seriously, that emphasizes EMOTION and ACTION instead of minimizing it, and that clips through scenes at a good pace. Doing this been amazingly fun. I've been having such a good time doing it. I am writing so much because I really enjoy doing it. The process of writing is so fun again.

This post is about two things. One is my new mood stabilizer and therapy day camp. The other is about the benefit of pretending to be MXTX.

[stinkyturd]

When It Rains

Pairing: Leo Kurosagi/Reader

Comments: This one's pretty long, 15.6k. There's probably spacing issues, but I'm too tired to go over it again. FUCK Tumblr's editing system. The format is easier to read on ao3(I cross posted), if you find the texting portions to be a headache. MC is an anonymous Vtuber that makes commentary videos. Leo's a viewer and drama ensues. :')

"Ugh... I hate it when it rains."

Leo’s sprawled out on the couch in the Vagastrom garage, playing on his phone. His feet are kicked up on the armrest, despite the fact that he still has his shoes on. You sat on the loveseat across from him, going over errors on recent case reports. This week you were assigned to help out Alan and Leo, but mostly Alan. To your knowledge, Leo hasn't been doing much of any work as of late. Either that, or he just didn't want you involved in anything that he had his nose in, which would also track.

"What? Upset you can't spy on Alan as easily?" You ask, not bothering to look up from your laptop. 

You already knew the answer. The rain was falling hard enough against the tin roof that you knew there was no way he was clearly eavesdropping on the Vagastrom captain from here.

Leo shrugs dismissively. "The rain isn't gonna last all day."

"Alan will be out later," You counter.

"I'll know when he gets back."

“It’ll probably be your bedtime by then," You remark as your fingers dance across the keyboard in front of you.

"I'll be up late. I gotta stream tonight anyway." Leo tilts his head to look at you. "Stay the night and help me.”

"Not happening," You shut him down without hesitation. Leo isn't well behaved enough for you to go out of your way to do favors for him unprompted. Not only that, you planned on recording a video today for your Youtube channel.

It was a side hustle you picked up a few months ago. You report general news and social media gossip anonymously using a voice modulator and a virtual avatar. The idea came to you after reading an article on the spike in popularity with Vtubers. You didn't particularly want the attention that came with a social media platform, so it seemed perfect. Making money at Darkwick proved to be difficult, but somehow you garnered enough consistent views to make a decent amount of income.

The content itself felt opportunistic, but it's popular. You did your best to make sure all details you reported on were accurate and not character assassination like some of the other creators would put out. 

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" Leo retorts in an accusatory tone.

"I'm supposed to be helping you with Darkwick duties," You correct him. "Last I checked, that doesn't include eavesdropping on your captain's private conversations."

Leo scoffs. "You don't know that."

You ignore his comment and catch him continuing to stare at you in your peripheral vision. He is likely banking on you caving. Unfortunately for him, it won't happen that easily.

Leo narrows his eyes at you. "Get me an energy drink from the fridge."

You let out a one-syllable, humorless, laugh. "Are your legs broken?" 

"I just took a hot bath. Don't feel like walking."

"Sounds like a ‘you’ problem."

"...Fine." Leo snaps his head forward, returning his attention back to his phone. 

Allowing silence to fall, you continue your work. For a brief few moments, the only noise in the room is your fingers hitting the keys on your laptop. 

"...Looks like I'll just have to tell that infantile werewolf the real reason you ditched him the other day," Leo mutters, just loud enough for you to hear. 

Your hands still and you finally glance up at him with a sharp look. "What?"

Leo types out a text. "Oh, nothing. I was just speaking out loud."

"Canceling aside, how do you even know that I planned to hang out with Lyca?"

The vice-captain shrugs. "Use that brain of yours for once."

You cease your typing and your fingers curl into the palm of your hand in agitation. "...Have you been snooping around the cathedral?"

"Tch, don't flatter yourself. I just happened to be passing by."

"And you just happened to activate your stigma near my location where no one else is? Get real, Kurosagi," You bite back.

Leo glosses over your comment and continues to antagonize you. "What will the poor pooch think when he finds out that you weren't actually pulled for a mission? You just blew him off to cozy up with King Kamurai." 

"It's not like that, asshole! I just overbooked my schedule." 

It was true. You had lost track of time that day filming one of your Youtube videos. So much so, that you forgot you had promised to help Jin that afternoon and didn't end up having time for both. You called Lyca to tell him that you had to do a mission to avoid over-explaining, or admitting to your negligence. You knew there was no point defending yourself, though. Leo would spin the story anyway to get what he wants.

Leo tosses a glance your way, his expression mocking. "Yeah? That why you were all dressed up when you left?" 

Why the hell was he paying that much attention?

"...That wasn't for him," You protest.

Yet another misconception. It was for a brand deal and you didn't have time to change out of it. But you weren't about to blow your cover to Leo of all people. 

The vice-captain rolls his eyes. "Puh-lease. Honestly, it's kind of pathetic that you think someone like Kamurai would actually go for you."

At this point, you're clenching your jaw so tightly that you think it might snap. "You're grasping at straws. For you to be lurking around my dorm long enough to witness all those details is more pathetic. Why are you so obsessed with tormenting me?"

"Implying my gathering intel is exclusive to you." Leo sighs and draws his attention back to his phone. "Spare me, Honor Roll. You're not special. Anyway, if you don't grab me an energy drink, I'll just text the hound my version of your dirty little secret."

"..." 

You wordlessly shut your laptop and toss it to the side. Then you get to your feet and head for the mini fridge across the room. 

"Put it over ice~" Leo demands in a sing-song voice.

You'd put it over ice, alright.

When you open up the fridge, you pull out a random energy drink from inside the door. The design on the can is gaudy and you don't recognize it-- likely something Leo had been gifted for free from one of his own brand deals. You peel back the aluminum lip at the top and a satisfying hiss rings in the air. There happens to be disposable cups on top of the fridge, right next to the ice maker. You grab one, fill it with ice, then pour the energy drink over the top. Once it's empty, you take some of your pent up aggression out on the can and crunch it up, before it gets tossed into a nearby recycling bin. 

You make your way back over to Leo. 

Leo clicks his tongue. "Took you long enough." The vice-captain holds out his grubby hand expectantly. "Give it here."

A wry smile pulls at your lips. "Yeah. Sure." 

Ignoring the potential consequences of your actions, you bring the lip of the cup to your mouth and spit into the drink before handing it to him. "Here you go, Princess."

Leo stares blankly at the cup in your hand, his expression unimpressed. He takes it from you and brings it to his mouth, drinking out of it anyway. 

…Well, can't say you expected that.

Leo flashes a derisive grin. "Try harder next time, NPC. Now piss off, will you? I'm about to record some reels and I don't need an eye sore in the background.”

For a moment you fantasize about beating the vice-captain into a bloody pulp. And why shouldn't you? He's a complete menace, after all. It’s not the first time he's blackmailed you and it wouldn't be the last.

You will get back at him. 

“Sure thing.” You maintain a pleasant enough expression as you walk over to your previous spot to retrieve your laptop. After that, you gladly heed Leo's request and make yourself scarce.

–

Later that night, you record a video for your channel. It's short enough in length that you don't spend long editing it. That leaves you just enough time to upload it, before it's time to start getting ready for bed. 

The video covered a week's worth of social media news that you had gathered, and also included a segment where you plugged a brand deal for a clothing company. They sent you several outfits for free that you tried on and reviewed. Of course, you made sure your face had been cut out for that portion of the video. 

By the time you're dressing down in your pajamas you receive a text notification from your phone that's lying on your mattress. Nothing out of the ordinary– you'd check it once you're done. 

And then another comes in. And another. Followed by two more. 

You sigh, narrowing your eyes at the device as you pull your pants up. There's only one person that spam texts to you in fragments like that.

Leo.

What could he possibly want this time?

You begrudgingly make your way over to your bed, pick up your phone, and flop down on your stomach. After unlocking the screen, you check your notification bar. 

Oh, it isn't Leo. 

Just messages from someone on Instagram that you don't immediately recognize. After staring at the screen name for a moment, you realize it's a variation of a name that you've seen in your Youtube comment section– firechicken22. You click on the message.

[Omg]

[U always come in hot with the tea]

[Was about to search for that recent drama w chillygoat cuz ive been busy]

[But u did the work for me 🩷]

You smile at that and type a message back.

[Glad I could help 💕.]

You thought that would be the end of it, but you see them typing again.

[I rly liked the clothes u wore today. Cant believe u got a brand deal w Kimyou, totally jelly. Been tryna get one w them for years.]

Oh? Is this person a content creator? Curiosity gets the better of you and you click on their profile. 

They only have a couple hundred followers, and they follow a couple of people– you being one of them. The few pictures they have up seem to be shitposts, not actual photos. And their profile picture is a bowl of spicy ramen. Another text notification pops up on your screen. 

[I got a deal w Mior but theyre inconsistent w sending products :P]

You click on the notification again to reply.

[Mior? That's a pretty big deal. You create content?]

[Mhm. This is my alt lol. I avoid dming on my main.]

[Oh? Do I follow you?]

[Nope. I'll let u know if u ever do 😉]

Seems like they don't plan on telling you.

[Haha, alright. Keep your secrets. 🤭]

[I'll drop hints if u keep talking to me. 😏 Kinda wanna get to know u. I like ur takes on stuff.]

You don't mind the idea of messaging this person when you have time. Your following is decent sized, but it's not like you receive a lot of messages from fans. Plus, you were a little curious as to who this could be.

[Sure. I've been a little busy, but I'll respond when I have time. ☺️ I'm glad you feel like you can relate to what I put out. I try to keep things unbiased.]

[Kinda impossible to avoid at some point lol. I think u are impartial enough tho. Every1 glazes chillygoat but shes fr two faced asf– I should know.]

[I haven't spoken with her personally, but I'll take your word for it.]

That Youtuber wouldn't give you the time of day if you wanted it. You were still a small fry.

[We collabed b4 n all she does is yap about this guy that doesnt even want her n only talks about herself. Couldnt get a word in, shes lucky I was in a good mood. Totally not surprised she got caught w her pants down lmao.]

If this person has collabed with chillygoat, they must be relatively big. You're a little surprised they're revealing such a harsh opinion right off the bat.

[That's too bad! I've known some people that can be self-centered like that too. Sucks that you had to deal with that.]

[Nah its fine lol. U cant expect to meet much nice ppl in this industry. Then theres u.]

[There's me?]

[Yup. Ur a little too nice for this platform. :P]

You blink, a little perplexed by the random observation.

[You've never even talked to me outside of comment sections. 🤔]

[Don't need to im good at scoping ppl out. Thts why im talking shit to u, I trust u wont tell on me. 😘]

[I dunno… That's a lot of pressure to put on me. Withholding profitable tea for the sake of being a trustworthy person? 🫣]

[Lol cap. U dont even report hearsay like that nice try 💕.]

[Okay, you caught me. x) Your secret is safe with me.]

[U should add me on Snapchat its still firechicken22. I'll respond on it faster cuz thats the only app I dont have another acc on rn.]

Adding randoms on Snapchat is… dubious at best. 

[Snapchat, huh? I have one, but I rarely use it. Are you a guy?]

[Lol yea. What u afraid im gonna send u dick pics? Im classier than that.]

[Hm… 🤔 Okay, I'll trust you. Adding you now.]

[Thx 🫰🏻. Anyway I'll ttyl. Got shit I gotta do. Night. 💤]

[Goodnight!]

You hook your phone up to its charger and bury yourself under the covers of your bed. Tomorrow you would do your morning classes and help at Vagastrom after. Then you'd inadvertently deal with your least favorite person on the planet– Leo.

Ugh.

—

“Oh, Alan! Your keys are falling out of your jacket.”

“Hm…?” The captain stops in front of your spot on the couch and looks down at his pocket. “...Oh.”

A few keys on his ring are spilling out of the fabric sleeve. It looks as if the bottom seam is hanging on by a few threads. You set your laptop to the side and stand to examine it.

“Looks like it needs a touch up,” You remark as you gently nudge the metal accessories back inside.

Alan nods. “Yeah. Must have snagged it on something when I was looking at the undercarriage of that truck.” The captain shakes his head. “I'll just switch it with my other one tomorrow.”

“I can fix it for you! I'm not the best at it, but I am capable of minor repairs,” You offer with a smile. 

Alan returns a smile of his own, appearing a little meek. “That… isn't necessary. Aren't you busy right now?”

“I'm caught up enough!” You insist. “I even have an emergency sewing kit on me because I had to fix a tear this morning in class. It's no sweat!”

Alan shoots you a skeptical look. After a few beats he caves and removes his jacket and hands it to you. “Thanks. I'll get you a coffee.”

“I won't say no to caffeine!” You reply genially. Taking the jacket from him, you plop back down on the sofa and get to work. Alan makes his way to the door leading out of the garage and into the main section of the Vagastrom building.

“Wow, so that's suddenly part of your inspector duties, huh?”

Your eyes snap up to see Leo's. He's lying on the couch across from you, just as he was yesterday.

“Yeah,” You answer with a dismissive shrug as you begin to thread a sewing needle from your kit. “Alan is actually kind and cooperative. Unlike you.”

“Sounds like bias to me. Don't tell me you're mooning over that himbo?”

You roll your eyes and begin to adjust the torn pocket of Alan's jacket to make your first stitch. “Always jumping to conclusions. Let's say I was. How is that your business?” 

You don't mean it. As much as you adore Alan, you don't know him well enough to have those kinds of feelings towards him. A flash of indiscernible emotion crosses Leo's face for a brief moment. It leaves as quick as it comes, and a mocking grin peels his features.

“Awwh. You wanna fuck him?” 

You frown, barely sparing him a glance before returning your attention back to your project. “Don't be so crass.”

“What other conclusion am I supposed to draw? You do so many favors for him that you don't need to be doing and it's laughable.”

“Why do you care?” You ask, keeping your tone level. 

“Care is a strong word. I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“Why?” You press as you loop the needle through the pieces of fabric.

Leo's shit-eating grin turns tight-lipped the longer you grill him. “Because you bitch and whine about doing the simplest shit.”

“For you,” You correct coolly. “Try not being insufferable for a change. Besides, didn't you say Sho is your ‘slave’ before? Ask him to do it.”

Ever since the first mission you did with Vagastrom, Sho has been increasingly less patient with helping Leo. The vice-captain has noticed it too, judging by how his expression shifts to a noticeably irritated one after you make the comment. 

“Get your eyes checked. Does it look like he's here, NPC?” Leo bites back rigidly. 

You hum and suppress a smirk. “Wonder why that is? Maybe he's getting tired of your shit.”

Leo's eyes crinkle as he maintains his cheery facade. He turns his head forward and starts typing away at his phone. “Mmm, yeah. Maybe you're onto something. Guess I gotta get a new servant.”

“Guess you do.” You get the last word in.

The both of you sit in silence for the next few minutes. He texts away on his phone while you sew up Alan's jacket.

Right when you're finishing up the last few stitches, your phone pings, notifying you of a message. You ignore it for now to finish your task and it goes off a few more times after that. 

“You getting spam sent to your email? Shut that off, it's annoying,” Leo complains without looking up from his phone. 

You roll your eyes as you secure your last stitch and cut the thread. “It only pings for my texts, it will stop.”

For reasons unbeknownst to you, the vice-captain chortles. You ignore it.

“Should be good,” You murmur to yourself as you tug the pocket to test the durability. Deciding it's fine, you set Alan's jacket to the side and pick up your phone to check your messages. When you unlock your phone and pull down your notification bar, you see a few texts from Lyca. You click on one of them.

[(y/n) is it true?]

[that jerky guy thats mean to suba texted me..]

[he said you only hang out with me because darkwick makes you]

[and said that you think i smell weird]

You clench the phone in your hands with a dangerous amount of force as indignant fury builds in the pit of your stomach. 

First things first, you text Lyca back.

[Block him, please. I said nothing like that, he's just being a child. I'll come over later tonight to help you study. Please, please, do not listen to him. 🙏]

You stand up, drop your phone to the side, and march over towards Leo. The conniving sack of shit is grinning from ear to ear with his attention locked on the screen in his hand. He's still typing out messages to Lyca, judging by what you can see of the profile picture. Somehow the dumbass still doesn't notice you approaching. 

You reach over Leo's shoulder and easily yank his phone from his grip. The vice-captain flits his gaze upwards, the amusement on his expression only becoming more obvious. 

“Fucking asshole,” You growl. From a quick glance, you notice that he sent far more than what Lyca reported to you. Without hesitation, you erase the message Leo had started to type out and then delete Lyca’s contact information.

Leo moves to get to his feet and you instinctively take several steps back. “Aaawh, you mad?”

“You wanted my attention that badly, Kurosagi?” You taunt. If not for the influence of anger, your tone would ideally be more unbothered. You're only giving this pipsqueak what he wants, after all.

“Yeah, real bad.” Leo holds out his open palm. “You deleted it right? Give it back, NPC.”

You let out a taunting laugh. “Fat chance.”

Without missing a beat, you spin on your heel and bolt in the opposite direction, Leo's phone in hand.

“Hey…!” 

The garage is big enough that you can run around without getting cornered if you do it meticulously. You didn't have a plan other than you knew you wanted to get back at the scheming rat. Leo's feet stomping against the concrete could be heard at your tail as you speed around the perimeter of the garage. You knock over a few stools to trip him up and even mistakenly shoulder check another nameless Vagastrom student in your haste.

“Watch it!” 

“Sorry!” You yell back without turning around.

“Can't run for long, Honor Roll!” Leo grabs at the end of your skirt's uniform, but you somehow manage to slip away just in time. 

Unfortunately, he's right. As annoying as Leo is he's still got more stamina and agility, being a ghoul and all. You're now on your second lap around the room and the only reason he hasn't caught you is because of the stuff you keep knocking over in front of him. Regardless, you had to exact your revenge somehow– even if you get caught in the process. Making a split-second decision, you run for a nearby bathroom and fling open the door, before promptly slamming it shut behind you. 

And there it is. A urinal filled with someone's leftover, unflushed, piss. 

Committing to your act of tyranny, you fling Leo's phone into the dirty urinal. You watch as the device clatters against the back of the ceramic before fully submerging into the sewage water. 

The door opens behind you and Leo skirts to a complete halt when his eyes land on the urinal ahead.

“...”

The vice-captain lets go of the door, allowing it to hinge to a close on its own. You feel your stomach drop from the silence that follows. 

You intend to assess his expression, until the wind is suddenly knocked right out of you, and you're being shoved against a nearby wall.

Leo grabs your face roughly in one hand, while his other rests flat against the tile next to you. He's smiling, but it's completely devoid of warmth. His golden eyes bore into you so frigidly that it sends a chill down your spine.

“Now you've fucked up, (Y/N),” Leo says, his voice oozing contempt. “I didn't back up my recent data and I won't be the one to fish that out.”

You attempt to jerk your chin out of his grip, but he's surprisingly strong. Your hands move to the wrist that's holding onto you. “Let me go, piece of shit,” You manage through your pinched cheeks. “You deserve that and more.”

“How about you get it out for me, hm?” Leo narrows his eyes at you, his thumb dragging roughly over your bottom lip, exposing your teeth in the process. “I'll dunk you in headfirst and you'll catch it with your mouth, kay?” 

You glare daggers at him, showing no indication of folding. “I can literally knee your balls and end this in two seconds, don't try me.”

Leo opens his mouth to speak, but then the door flies open yet again. 

In comes Mido, a sight for sore eyes. 

Alan frowns when his eyes land on the two of you. He wastes no time grabbing the vice-captain by the shoulder and pulling him backwards. “What the hell are you doing, Kurosagi?”

Leo loosens his grip on your face as he's drawn away from you. He grimaces, his lips peeling back as he attempts to jostle Alan's hand from him. “Fuck off, Himbo. This isn't your business.”

“It is,” Alan corrects. His gaze softens when his eyes meet yours. “What's going on, (Y/N)?”

You move yourself off of the wall and hastily begin your explanation. “Leo messaged Lyca lying about all sorts of mean shit because I won't do his petty bidding. He's an asshole! Now Lyca’s upset, so I threw Leo's phone in the urinal.”

Alan nods calmly, seemingly unsurprised by the revelation. His eyes redirect to the urinal that held the phone. “Sounds like Kurosagi instigated, as I expected.”

Leo bares his teeth and jerks away from Alan. “...Fucking simp.” You watch as the vice-captain barrels past him, exiting the bathroom in a huff.

“S-Sorry for the trouble,” You apologize meekly. “I'll clean up what I threw around out there.”

Alan shakes his head. “Don't worry about it. You're supposed to be helping us and he's causing problems with other houses.”

“But still… You're always so understanding. Thanks, Alan.” Your lips curl into an appreciative smile. “I finished sewing your jacket, it's on the couch.”

“Thank you, (Y/N). I appreciate it.” Alan smiles softly back at you. He hands you a canned coffee that you didn't notice he had until now. “Why don't you leave early today, so you can focus on whatever mess Kurosagi created?”

Alan's so sweet. A stark contrast to Leo.

“Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks so much.” You bow politely and accept the coffee from him. “And thanks for this.”

The Vagastrom captain nods and opens the door, gesturing for you to leave first. 

As you exit the bathroom and head back towards the couch you notice that Leo is nowhere to be found. You wonder if he's going to pay someone to get his piss-soaked phone out of the urinal or just take the L.

Whatever, he probably has insurance on it anyway.

–

You don't get back to the cathedral until late in the evening. With all that had happened with Leo, you decided to spend your day with Lyca. Thankfully, your werewolf friend was understanding of the situation, because he knew enough about the Vagastrom vice-captain from Subaru. 

By the time you're showered and settling in your bed to catch up on social media news, you receive a Snapchat notification from firechicken22. You open it.

[U doin research for ur next vid?]

[Yeah, how'd you guess?]

[Research takes time n its late. :P Best time to do it. Assuming ur in a similar time zone to me?]

Your time zone is the same as Tokyo, even though you're technically separated from it– being in Darkwick and all. You decide to go with that.

[I'm in Tokyo.]

[Lol same kinda. I dont live far from there. I figured cuz ur dialect.]

[Small world. 😊]

[Gonna stream soon so help me pick my outfit. Which one?]

You receive two images. Both are of firechicken22 standing in a full body mirror, but the pictures are cut off from the shoulder up. One photo he's wearing a denim, bright yellow, jacket, with patches of random black lettering. The other is a black color block jacket with a white hoodie underneath. Both are kind of grungy looking and stylish. 

He's lean and has thin hands, you notice. 

[Hmm… Do you usually wear more dark colors or bright ones?]

[Both lol. But ig my bright is usually in accents not full pieces.]

[Then do the yellow jacket. Spice it up.]

[I'll take ur word for it. I still got an hour b4 I go live so lets play a game.]

A game…?

[Okay, Jigsaw. What kind of game? 🤔]

[Would u rather. U dont post much about urself so I think itd be fun lol.]

You don't exactly have anything to hide. If you were to get more questions about yourself that aren't indicative of your identity, you'd answer them. So far, firechicken22 is the first to ask you to do something like this. 

[Sure, why not? Any boundaries I should know about?]

[Nope what about u?]

[I don't think so. I'll just tell you if I don't want to answer it.]

[K u go first. :P]

The one who asks to play insists you go first, huh? 

You look up a template on Google and pick something random.

[Alright I found one to ask you. Would you rather be poor but fun or rich but boring?]

[Um def dont wanna be boring. I'll do poor but fun cuz I can just marry rich.]

[Opportunistic, I see.]

[A dog eats dog world lol. My turn.]

[Go ahead.]

[Would u rather hit pause or rewind on ur life?]

A deep one, huh? Well with the Kyklos curse…

[Pause.]

[Interesting lol. Any reason?]

[Does ‘Would You Rather’ require explanations? 😏]

[Guess not. :P Ur turn again.]

[Would you rather give up all the memories, or money you made this year?]

[Def memories. 💴]

Firechicken22 is opportunistic and values money. Not that you can really blame him. It all depends on circumstance anyway, and you don't know his.

[Fair enough.]

[Would u rather have more time or energy?]

[Energy, I'd say. Can't seem to have enough.]

[Lol thought u would say that.]

The two of you trade questions for the next hour. It becomes obvious that firechicken22 really is trying to get to know you. And it's too soon to tell if he's genuinely curious, or if he is trying to coax your identity out of you. As far as you're concerned, there isn't much to gain in doing that because your following isn't that big. 

So, maybe he's just a fan. Regardless, you don't intend on revealing anything too personal.

After the umpteenth question exchange, firechicken22 announces his plan to depart.

[Its been fun stranger but i gotta start my stream :P]

[Yeah, you're fun to talk to. Maybe you can send the link to your stream next time? 😌]

[Wanna c me that badly? I dont blame u~]

[I'm curious. But if you're streaming this late I'd be listening rather than watching. I do have morning classes, after all.]

[U go to university?]

Darkwick is kind of like a university, so you'll go with that. You certainly don't plan on revealing the name, though.

[Yeah. Do you?]

[Yup. Maybe I'll let u know who I am soon, or I'll let u guess if u dont recognize me.]

[Take your time, because I can't say when, or if I'll ever show my face to you.]

[The thought crossed ur mind? 😘]

[That's only natural if you bring it up, you know.]

[R u cute?]

[Hideous. ���]

[Somehow I doubt that lol. Anyway gtg fr now. Nite~]

[Goodnight.]

Once you end your conversation with firechicken22, you realize it's already very late. Your research will have to wait until tomorrow, you decide. You tuck yourself in under the covers of your bed and plug your phone in its charger. 

Tomorrow brings another day at Vagastrom. Hopefully Leo leaves you alone.

–

“Here's the ingredient list. Mind helping me gather it, while I find my phone? Pretty sure I left it in my room.”

You are talking to Sho in the kitchen at Vagastrom. Leo sits in a stool at the other end of the kitchen island, eating a bowl of ramen that’s notably bright red. You can only assume it's the extra spicy Buldak noodles he always buys. The vice-captain hasn't said a word to you so far.

“Sure. This is for the curry bread?” You ask as you glance over the sheet of paper. 

Sho flashes you a dazzling smile. “Sure is. I'll be right back. In the meantime, I'm sure Leo can direct you if you have trouble finding something.”

“Riiight,” You say sarcastically, your eyes darting back over to Leo. He doesn't look up at the mention of his name. 

Sho snickers and pats your back twice before leaving you to it.

You grab the list and begin searching for the ingredients. First you grab the cold items on the list from the fridge, since that was the easy part. Milk, butter, and ground beef. Then the vegetables, spices, panko, and sugar. The only thing you're struggling to find is the yeast and flour. You search the pantry and even open and close a bunch of cupboards. When you're not successful after the second search, you audibly curse. 

“Looking for something, Honor Roll?”

Your attention snaps to Leo. His phone is resting on the counter and he's propping his head in his hand, eyeing you with newfound interest. The bowl of ramen is pushed to the side for now, with his chopsticks resting over the top of it.

“...Flour and yeast,” You answer reluctantly.

“Cupboard above the fridge,” Leo answers readily. 

You glance up at the fridge and let out a sigh. It's particularly large. Who the hell decided it was a good idea to put a common kitchen ingredient all the way up there? 

Leo must be drawing the same conclusion as you because he speaks up again. “That stool by the window is taller than the other ones. Could use that.”

You relocate your attention to said stool. It was out of place and looked like it belonged to a set of furniture that no longer exists in Vagastrom. Regardless, he's right. It is taller. Deciding you'll take his advice; you walk over to it and drag the piece of furniture all the way to the fridge. 

Leo sure is being helpful today, all things considered. Maybe he regrets being a douche?

You climb on top of the stool and stand on your toes. It's high enough that you're able to easily open the cupboard above. You instantly spot the yeast and several large bags of flour when you do. As soon as you shift your weight and get your hands around what you need, you hear the stool creak painfully. 

“...”

Cautiously, you settle backwards with the ingredients in your hand. Much to your dismay, as soon as you rest your heel onto the cushion of the stool, you hear a metal object clatter to the ground. 

And then it tips. 

“Shit…!”

You lose your momentum as the chair sways, and you unceremoniously crash to the ground on your side. The bag of flour in your arms bursts open and you're suddenly coated in the white powder. 

“Pffft…”

…That snicker. 

You drop the bag and the yeast, then lift your now aching body into a sitting position. Your eyes find Leo's. His phone is pointed towards you as if he's recording a video. 

Leo tilts his head as a devious grin splits his delicate features. “Smile for the camera, NPC.”

Your blood boils. 

“You did that on purpose,” You accuse, much more calmly than you feel. 

“Me?” Leo poorly feigns a perplexed expression. “Naaah, I don't tinker with chairs.”

You grab a fistful of flour and get to your feet, making a beeline for him. “You knew it was broken, don't fuck with me.”

Leo lifts himself from his stool, the seat sliding back audibly as he does. You watch him shove his phone underneath the waistband of his pants just as you're stopping in front of him. “Ah, ah. Not this time, Honor Roll.”

“You seriously think that's going to stop me at this point, Kurosagi?” You move your hand to fling the flour in his face, but Leo catches your wrist before it can do too much damage. All the same, the powder falls from your fingertips and onto the front of his clothes. 

He just laughs, though.

“That all you got? Flour is an easy clean up,” Leo taunts, thoroughly entertained.

His hold on your wrist is firm enough that you can't move it. You dart your other hand forward and go for his waistband, but he captures the other just as easily. 

“Delete it,” You demand, unwavering. 

Leo steps backwards as you continue to advance towards him, despite the restriction of your arms. 

The smile doesn't leave the vice-captain's face. “Nah. You don't get to cost me a pretty penny to recover data and also make demands. That's not how it works, Princess.”

“How is it that you get to push people around however you want and expect no repercussions?” You protest angrily. “We were even, if anything!”

Leo raises an eyebrow and scoffs incredulously. “Even? As if you could get even with me.”

You grit your teeth at his delusional nonchalance. “You must be far too used to people pandering to you, because you're on another level of entitlement!”

Leo doesn't have time to reply before you catch your right leg behind his and push forward with all your strength. As you had hoped, Leo loses his balance and falls backwards. Unfortunately, his hold on your wrists stays secure and you end up tumbling with him. 

The second he hits the ground, his grip loosens enough that you're able to tear your arms from him. You waste no time sitting up to straddle him. Your left hand grips the band of his pants while the right dives for the phone inside. Swallowing any embarrassment from the action, you find it resting against the side of his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. By the time you pull it out, you realize he's not fighting you anymore. A slight pink tinge adorns his face, yet he still sneers at you.

“Wow, pervert much?”

You ignore him and look at his screen, which miraculously is still unlocked. Clicking on the gallery, you browse the recent shots. 

There is no video, only recent selfies he's taken.

You narrow your eyes at him. “...You were bluffing.”

Leo sticks his tongue out. “Looks like you felt me up for nothing, freak.”

Heat rises to your face. “T-That's totally your fault, idiot! As if I wanted to!”

Without warning, Leo sits up, causing you to slide into his lap. He grabs his phone from your hand and his gaze lands on your wrist. 

The vice-captain blinks in surprise. “...Where'd you get that bracelet?”

The sudden question throws you off guard. You glance at the bracelet he's looking at. A unique gold pressed flower bracelet that you got from Kimyou. It’s a pre-order that hasn't been released yet, but the company gifted it to you because of your sponsorship. Leo must know this company, so his confusion is understandable.

“I…” You lick your lips nervously, fumbling for an excuse. “Have a friend that works there.”

You feel Leo's eyes on you and you reluctantly meet his gaze again. He stares at you for a few beats, his expression unreadable.

A short laugh escapes him. “Send me their info, I want a brand deal.”

Phew. Looks like he believes you.

“Not a chance,” You retort. 

“Am I interrupting something…?”

Your attention relocates to the doorway. Looks like Sho’s back. 

“No, you're saving me. NPC tried molesting me, can you believe that?” Leo lies, feigning a pitiful tone.

The cogs in your head turn and you belatedly recall that you're straddling the whiney influencer. 

You scramble off his lap and get to your feet. 

Sho places a hand on his hip, shooting his vice-captain a skeptical look. “I don't believe you.” 

Leo stands and brushes himself off. “That's ‘cause you're no better than the himbo.”

Sho seems to take notice of the state of the kitchen and gestures towards the fridge, his expression bewildered. “And what the hell happened here?”

“You're looking at the work of this clutz,” Leo fibs, jabbing his thumb in your direction.

“Bullshit,” You argue. “He told me to use that stool and it's broken!”

Sho gives Leo a precarious look. “C’mon man, you knew that was broken. You owe me another bag of flour.”

Rather than arguing, Leo just shrugs and makes his way towards the counter. “What a whole five-hundred Yen? Worth it.”

“Clean it up, at least,” Sho demands.

Leo pulls his bowl back in front of him and picks up another round of noodles with his chopsticks. “Nope. I wasn't the one who spilled it.” 

Sho frowns. “Are you being for real? I'm not making (Y/N) do it. She's gotta be bruised to shit from that.”

Leo noisily slurps up his noodles. He takes his time chewing and swallowing before replying again. “Sucks to suck.”

Sho browbeats Leo with a hard stare as he continues to eat. The vice-captain stares at him back with an unbothered expression. 

“...”

Sho gives up after a few moments and lets out an exasperated sigh. He makes his way over to the broken stool and picks it up to move it out of the way. “...One day someone's gonna beat your ass and I won't cover for you.”

Leo ignores him and pulls out his phone, setting it on the counter to find something to entertain himself while he finishes his food. 

Sho grabs a broom and dustpan that's hanging on the wall and begins sweeping up the flour. 

“Hey, let me help,” You offer, making your way over to him. 

Sho laughs and shoots you a dubious look. “After the demon here nearly caused a concussion?”

Leo begins loudly playing a video that has a familiar instrumental on it. You talk over it.

“But I technically spilled it,” You point out.

Sho shakes his head as he collects a pile of flour with the broom. “Don't sweat it. You didn't hit your head did you?”

“No, I'm okay! Just a little bruising.”

You nearly jump out of your skin when the audio of someone speaking on Leo's video reaches your ears. It's a voice you're all too familiar with. 

The voice modulation for your Vtuber avatar. 

Sho scoops up a sizable pile of the flour and dumps it out into a nearby trash can. “Once I clean up I can show you how to make the dough. It's super simple.”

Sho does a brief explanation of the process of making the curry bread dough, but you're far too preoccupied with Leo watching one of your videos right in front of the two of you to pay attention. 

Is Leo a fan of yours? It seemed unlikely. You could only imagine the kind of shit he'd say about Vtubers. He always had some negative commentary about people that didn't show their face online when it came to hate. 

“...Sound good, (Y/N)?” Sho asks.

The sound of your name snaps you out of your thoughts. 

“Yeah… sounds good,” You answer, your gaze still locked on Leo. 

The vice-captain doesn't seem to notice your staring. With his eyes trained on the screen of his phone, he abruptly rises from his seat, taking the bowl and chopsticks with him. You watch him throw the tableware haphazardly into the kitchen sink, without rinsing it, before he leaves the room altogether.

Sho finishes up sweeping the last of the mess and dumps it in the garbage bin. “Alright, let me wash my hands and we'll get started.”

“...Yeah.”

–

So, Leo watches your videos.

When you get home later that afternoon, you spend time putting extra soundproof foam up in your room. The issue is, it's not foolproof against Leo's stigma unless you cover every inch of the walls and you only have so much. You decide you'll just continue to make an effort to record on rainy days, if at all possible. Even if Leo happens to over hear, you could just say you were watching your videos, right? 

All you know is that he's the last person that should find out about your identity. You can only imagine how much he would dangle that over your head to get you to do his bidding. 

Once you dress down and get cozy on your bed, you start doing research for your next video again. Not even an hour later, firechicken22 sends you a message on Snapchat. 

[Omg did u see that kodiakmiller started more drama?]

[I was actually just reading an article on that.]

[U probably can already guess but half the shit she says is complete bs. That bitch just virtue signals 2 get attention.]

[I kind of figured that based on the patterns of behavior. I'll keep that in mind when I record.]

You watch firechicken22 type for a little longer than usual before another message comes in.

[Am I the only influencer u talk to?]

[Would you be jealous if I said no? 😏]

[Lol nah. I would tell u to be cautious w em tho cuz most r two faced.]

[And you're an exception?]

[No lol.]

[...At least you're honest about it, I suppose. Should I worry about you doxxing me? 🤔]

[Nah. If I wanted 2 kno ur identity I could find out if I rly wanted to.]

[Oh? You're a tech guy?]

[Thats one way to put it lol. Anyway i already shit talked ppl ik to u. If u wanted u could easily blackmail me. :P]

[Do you talk to influencers outside of collabs?]

[Nah. Just you. 😘]

[Influencer is a generous word for me, haha. Anyway, why me?]

[Hm…]

You watch the ‘typing…’ text pop up again as you wait for an explanation.

[Bc u couldnt b more different than me ig]

[Really? We seem to have stuff in common.]

[Lol ur so cute]

[🤔]

[Anyway meant 2 ask. U got anymore brand deals w clothing companies?]

[Only a newer brand called modflavor. I should be receiving mail from them within the next day or two.]

[Wanna put in a good word for me w Kimyou? 🥺🩷]

That feels familiar. Where have you heard that before?

[Wouldn't I need to know your identity for that?]

[If u knew would u do it? :P]

[I don't see why not. The worst they could do is not reach out.]

Firechicken22 stops messaging for the moment. So, you continue your video research for the time being. Maybe two minutes later you receive a Snapchat, but this time it's an image. You open it.

Skin is the first thing you notice– clear and pale. An exposed collar bone, exposed torso in general. He appears to be posed over the edge of a tub. Your eyes wander up towards firechicken22's face. Soft features, gold eyes, gray hair, smug grin, cute. 

Your phone slips from your grip and comes crashing against the bridge of your nose. But you don't even register the pain. 

You've been messaging Leo?!

Did he know it was you? Was he just fucking with you? Some of your exchanges with him even bordered on flirtatious. And you admittedly had been having fun messaging him. 

… But it wouldn't make sense that he knows, because he's been talking shit about other creators on the platform. And Leo also knows you've been trying to find a way to get back at him for all the bullshit.

…

And maybe this would be the perfect opportunity.

Leo seems to like your content because it's a condensed and unbiased way to consume news. And for whatever reason he seems to like you as a person. But it's not like you act any differently in real life, so why the sudden flip of a switch when you're a stranger?

Another message notification rings audibly. You pick up your phone to view it.

[Heeello…? Don't tell me u have beef with me lol.]

That's right. Snapchat notifies when you open messages and it's probably been a solid two minutes since you've viewed his photo. You decide you'll play dumb. 

[No, sorry! I was just trying to recall your name! ☺️ I know I've seen your content around. You're Leo Kurosagi, right?]

[Yup]

[No wonder you're interested in fashion, you always look so stylish. 😊]

[Thx u do too lol 💕]

[That's only because of the brand deals, haha. Don't worry, I'll put a good word in for you with Kimyou. 😊🩷]

[Ur the best 😘. I'll give u a shout-out on my next stream. 🫰🏻]

[Thank you. 😇 You're kind of sassy on your streams, but I feel like I've seen a sweeter side of you through text messages.]

Laying it on thick.

You sometimes watched Leo before you ever came to Darkwick, but never recently. Not since you learned how self-centered he really is. 

[Wow, u down bad for me already?]

You would have assumed before the face reveal that firechicken22 is just teasing. But knowing Leo, he's probably egotistical enough to actually think that. You decide to let him have the compliment he's probably fishing for.

[You're very cute, but I'm not swayed that easily.]

[Give it time I could change ur mind 😏]

Why's he being so forward? Leo seems like a shallow person and he doesn't even know what you look like. It could be that he's just toying with you.

[Pffft, we'll see about that. Anyway, I'm going to do more research before bed. Unfortunately I'm a little behind. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Leo. 😊]

[Boooo. 😮‍💨 K I'll ttyl.]

[Goodnight!]

You close the Snapchat app and work on sending an email to Kimyou regarding Leo's recommendation. Afterwards, you'll plot your next move against the sneaky influencer. 

–

A couple days pass. You and Leo talk over Snapchat every afternoon and into the evening, while your in-person interactions remain unpleasant as usual. Your text conversations become more personal as you learn more about each other. Leo divulges details about his family and upbringing– things you've never been privy to before. He also asks you a variety of things whenever he wants to keep the conversation going. 

You wonder if he really doesn't talk to anyone in his private life like this. Sho seems to know him best, but their interactions are more impersonal, even when Leo isn't treating him like a servant. In a weird way, you feel honored that he seems to trust you enough to confide in you about the little things. 

Unfortunately for Leo, that didn't change the fact that you still held a grudge towards him and his reign of terror. 

You still had yet to decide how you're going to get back at him, though. It wouldn't be through exposing anything incriminating of him online. Leo knew his way around a computer and you're sure he could identify you anytime if he really wanted to. He would only be more inclined to expose your secret if you did something to alter his reputation.

No, you had to think bigger. 

Would it be possible to get him attached enough that if you ghosted it would hurt him?

…It's an idea.

Three days after the night you found out Leo's identity, your modflavor package arrives that afternoon. Since you've got a decent outline of news highlights, you decide it would be a good time to record a video and add a sponsorship segment. 

It's a rainy day, so you don't have to sweat the off chance that Leo's lurking around.

You record the news part first to get it over with and then take a short break to message back Leo.

[Ughhhhhh i hate the rain]

[Really? I find it relaxing.]

[It's noisy 😒 wyd?]

[I'm recording! My modflavor haul came in, so I'm about to try stuff on.]

[Fr? Show me.]

You take a photo of some of the outfits lined up on your bed and send it.

[I'm not going to wear all of these, though. The slip dress looks like it'd be revealing if I can't find anything to put under it.]

[Try it on n I'll let u know]

… Leo wants you to take a photo in it?

He did send you a photo in the tub for his reveal didn't he?

It's probably against your better judgement, but you change into the dress. 

As you suspected, it is a little revealing. It's a deep red color with a low collar that exposes a decent amount of cleavage. Overall, the dress hugs your body in a flattering way. 

Making sure to move your hair out of the frame, you sit on the bed cross-legged and take several photos from the neck down. In a burst of confidence you pick the sexiest looking one and send it.

It takes a minute, but Leo replies.

[Need more angles than that. :P]

… Did he, though?

You get up from the bed and walk over to your wooden full-body mirror hanging on the wall. Leo's never been in your room and has no reason to be, so you're not worried about him recognizing your surroundings. In spite of that, you very carefully take more photos of your dress at different angles without showing your face, or much background. You send them afterward.

[Looks good on u. 😘 If u got a black turtleneck and black belt wear it.]

You hate the way your heart skips a beat.

[I'll look! So it's a no go if I can't find them?]

[Yep it will look cuter accessorized. I can even send u some stuff.]

[Oh, like links?]

[No like literally lol]

Leo's offering to get you stuff?

Totally unexpected, but either way you'll have to decline. When packages are sent into Darkwick, they all use a similar address. The campus cats make the deliveries to the dorms from there using the student's names. 

[I don't have a PO box set up yet. I'm sure you understand! The thought is very appreciated, though. 😳]

[Lmk when u do]

[You're sweet when you want to be. 🥰 I'll talk to you here soon, I've got to finish recording.]

[I'll watch when it drops]

[A dedicated fan. 🤭]

[Not to mention one of the first lol]

Really…? You'd have to fact check that, but you do recall seeing his screen name a while back.

[I'm flattered. 🥺 🫶]

[U should be :P]

You're pretty sure you might have the items Leo mentioned in your wardrobe, but you decide not to wear that dress for the video. The filming of the try on haul doesn't take long, but you spend some time editing it and end up uploading late.

Leo texts you goodnight before you ever manage to get back to him.

–

Over a week goes by before you have any notable in-person interactions with Leo. 

Subaru invites you to eat lunch with him on a bench outside Sho’s food truck. The both of you ordered beef soboro.

You open the still warm container in your lap as you sit to the left of Subaru. “Looks as good as it smells!”

“It does,” Subaru agrees wholeheartedly. He breaks the poached egg on top with his chopsticks and begins mixing it. “He always goes the extra mile with the garnishes, doesn't he?”

“Mmmhm, it's no wonder he's gotten so popular.” You break your disposable chopsticks apart and glance up at the long line forming outside the truck. It's a good thing you guys came early.

Subaru nods and tilts his head in your direction. “It's been a while since we've been able to sit down and chat like this. How have you been faring? Anything new?”

“I've been good. Not a whole lot has happened recently.” 

Not that you can talk about anyway. 

“At least I'm not subjected to the demon this week,” You add.

Subaru's expression turns sympathetic. “Ah, yes. He was causing you some problems last week, I heard. I'm sorry you had to go through that, he can be very…” The Hotarubi Captain looks towards the food on his lap as he searches for a delicate way to put it. 

“A piece of shit?” You offer bluntly, as you mix your own food.

Subaru laughs. “I wasn't going to say it, but… there is no gentle way to describe it.”

“Yeah, I've certainly never encountered anyone like him in my life. He's seriously one of the most self-centered people I've ever had the displeasure of knowing,” You rant bitterly. “How does one even acquire such a rotten personality?”

“Well… perhaps trouble with homelife growing up. Maybe some level of neglect, skewed ideals, or lack of positive reinforcement,” Subaru suggests coolly.

You wonder if that is the case. Leo told you about his family over Snapchat, but not anything inherently indicative of neglect. 

The Hotarubi Captain continues. “Although, some people have a lack of social empathy without any direct cause. I don't want to make any baseless accusations, but there are some people that bully others due to suppressed feelings of inadequacy. They may even try to keep people at an arm's length, so they don't have to deal with the complications that come with forming attachments.”

The hand holding your chopsticks stills.

You consider the complexities behind the idea for a brief moment. It’s a lot to unpack for baseless speculation and the last thing you want to do is feel sorry for the jackass. “...I don't think that jerk can form bonds like a normal person anyway. He's a lost cause.”

Although you've been flirting with him over text and becoming a friend of his anonymously, you don't anticipate him getting that attached. If you ghosted him today, you're certain he'd be petty and angry for maybe a day before moving on. Even then, it would be over a bruised ego, not a lost contact. 

“Perhaps you're correct. You know him better than I, after all,” Subaru replies with a smile. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while to eat your food. At some point you open up your phone and scroll funny Instagram reels. You find one that makes you laugh out loud, piquing the captain's curiosity. So, Subaru can get a better view of your screen, you scoot closer on the bench to watch together. 

While the two of you begin yucking it up, you fail to notice another student approaching you. You're in the middle of a particularly amusing reel involving a cat with the zoomies, when someone abruptly wedges in between you and Subaru. 

“--Hey…!” You yelp.

“Geez NPC. Didn't you see my jacket at the end of the bench?” Leo jeers as he settles himself on the seat, effectively ceasing your interaction with Subaru. “I had this spot saved.”

You frown, barely sparing a glance at said jacket before glaring daggers at the vice-captain. Instinctively, you scoot back so your thighs aren't up against Leo's. “Saving spots? What are you twelve? If it was that important, you wouldn't have left it!”

Subaru scoots to the other end, appearing a little meek at the new development. “O-Oh! Hello, Kurosagi. How are you?” The captain forces a smile. 

Leo's eyes shift to Subaru and he gives him a look that can only be described as bitchy. “Oh, it's you,” He says, as if he hadn't noticed the captain before cramming himself on the bench. Leo equips a fake smile of his own, but it's far icier. “Wow, you're so desperate that you're kicking it with this nobody? Your looks must not be enough to keep the baddies interested. That skittish personality of yours is kind of a turn-off, I guess.”

Subaru's jaw goes slack at the casual verbal assault. The captain's cheeks turn red as the insinuation settles in and his violet eyes dart towards the ground. “...Say what you want about me, but (Y/N) is very interesting and pretty.”

Your cheeks flush at Subaru's words.  

“...Hah. Eat shit, Leo,” You manage, internally swallowing your embarrassment. 

Leo looks at you and his lip curls back in disdain. Surprisingly, he doesn't acknowledge your taunt. Instead, he returns his attention to Subaru. “By the way,” Leo starts, his lips pulling into a tight-lipped, saccharine, smile. “I passed that werewolf kid on the way here. He's standing at the front entrance of the academy and he's looking for you. Said something about his voice command password for his ipad not working? I'm assuming it's ‘cause whatever he was trying to pronounce sounded like gibberish.”

Subaru's face falls. “Again?” The captain sighs and closes up his unfinished container of food before standing. He shoots you a skeptical glance. “Would you mind if I go check on him?”

You shake your head fervently. “No, it's okay! Take your time!”

Subaru's lips curl up pleasantly. “Okay. Maybe we can try again on Monday?”

“Sure! Sounds good to–”

“Ugh, just go already, will you? If I hear any more of this sappy shit I'm going to barf,” Leo complains as he looks up from his phone to sneer at Subaru.

“Leo!” You bark in irritation.

Subaru waves his hands in a placating gesture. “N-No! It's fine (Y/N), truly. I'll message you.” 

Before you can say anything more, Subaru is scurrying off.

You turn your head to glare at Leo. “What the actual fuck is your problem?”

The vice-captain leans back on the bench with his legs stretched out, as he taps away at the keyboard on his phone. “What?” He plays dumb, not sparing you a glance.

“Why were you being a dick to him? And did you actually run into Lyca?”

Leo shrugs. “I just told the truth. Except for the werewolf thing.”

Your eyes narrow. “...You lied to make him go away?”

“Who knows?” Leo responds dismissively.

Deciding you lost your appetite; you close your container of food. “...Funny. Almost seems like you're jealous.”

“Of him?” Leo scoffs, jumping to the conclusion. “As if there's anything to be jealous of. He's only relevant to a select community of people.”

You roll your eyes. “That's not what I meant.”

Leo's brow creases. His gaze slowly shifts back to meet yours. For a split second you swear he looks miffed, but he quickly recovers with another fake smile.

“...You?” The vice-captain throws his head back and barks out an obnoxious laugh. “Be fucking for real, Honor Roll. You're not even a little close to meeting my standards.”

You squint at him suspiciously, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Homely, boring, a buzz kill, useless, annoying.” Leo holds out a finger every time he lists a new insult. “Uptight, brainless, a clutz, obvious surface flaws.”

He's literally just spewing shit now. Somehow, you're not that bothered by it for once. But if Leo's so insistent on you being inadequate for him, you decide you'll begin your revenge arc starting tonight. You wouldn't want to disappoint him if he knew the truth, after all.

Sike.

“You know what? I could say the same for you. You're far below my standards too. I don't need to list the reasons, everyone knows you're insufferable,” You quip rigidly.

Leo sticks out his tongue childishly. “At least I can get a date.” 

“Oh? Well, Subaru asked me to go out with him next weekend on an off-campus trip,” You divulge.

Leo rolls his eyes. “And what? Do a mission? Hardly an advance.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “Well, he referred to it as a date.”

A fib, really. Subaru did invite you out to a theme park because he already had business in the area and wanted to spend time together. Lyca even managed to get a permit to come along, so it couldn't be considered a date. You don't clarify that, though. 

Leo’s lips twitch faintly. After a few seconds he rises from his seat. The vice-captain pockets his phone and turns heel but pauses to spare you a parting glance. “Good luck with all that. Make sure to wear a full face of makeup. It's the only way you'll stand a chance at keeping his interest, uggo.”

“Uh huh,” You respond, your tone unimpressed.

Just as Leo's leaving, you notice the jacket he mentioned earlier on the edge of the bench. It's white with blue patches on the elbows. Without warning, you pick it up and toss it at him. A sleeve wraps around his shoulder, just barely hanging on for dear life. He grabs the fabric before it drops to the floor and examines it curiously.

“Your jacket?” You say.

“...Yup,” He confirms belatedly. 

Leo doesn't put it back on. You watch him sling it over his shoulder as he exits the scene. 

–

Later that evening, you text ‘firechicken22’.

[Hey. Are you going to the Sumidagawa festival? I know it's popular with influencers.]

[Maybe lol. All depends.]

[On?]

[Are u going?]

[Depends.]

[??]

[Do you want to meet up with me, if I do? 😊]

You knew that Leo had a good chance of getting the permit to leave for it, considering he's vice-captain. For this event, a lot of permits were being granted to Darkwick students that have been proactive with missions. You even were offered one for this festival because of your hard work lately. Of course, you didn't intend on actually going. 

[Yea I do. Meet up w me in the afternoon. The fireworks show doesnt start til 7 but we can visit stalls.]

[Oh, you really want to? 🥺]

[Yep wanna c u irl 🙈💕]

Ugh… why is this sociopathic demon randomly cutesy?

[You might be disappointed if that's the goal.]

[Nah I wont be lol]

[Hah. What makes you so sure?]

Leo types for a little longer than usual before getting back to you.

[Well if u were a total catfish id still b ur friend lol]

This is a side of Leo that you're totally familiar with. He's unapologetically admitting that you may not fit his standards in appearance. There's no doubt in your mind he's genuinely expressing some level of romantic interest here. 

[Implying you're into me? 🤔]

[Thought i made that obvious lol]

[...Obvious isn't a word I'd use to describe you, haha. You type with a lot of hearts when responding to comments too. And you're a bit of a shit talker, so I wasn't sure.]

[I dont talk to ppl online a lot like this. Ur the first.]

And you believe that. You're sure now that Leo doesn't talk to any one person as frequently as he has been with you the last two weeks. 

Oh, well. You're still going to ditch him. 

[Me neither! But it's been fun. 😇 I'll text you tomorrow, okay? I'm probably going to fall asleep here soon.]

[K 🩷]

[Goodnight. 😴]

–

“Kaito…? What are you doing here?”

It's the afternoon of the fireworks festival and you're in the casino VIP room helping resolve scheduling conflicts for Romeo on his laptop. Kaito just walked in wearing the official wait staff uniform. He's holding a silver tray filled with drinks in one hand and the door with the other. 

“(Y/N)?” Kaito blinks, seemingly perplexed by your appearance. His face flushes pink and he averts his gaze. “I uh… that psycho said I could pay back some of my debt if I helped him out today.”

You nod in understanding. “That tracks.”

As much as you want to sympathize with Kaito, he's really just digging his own grave by actively borrowing money from Romeo of all people. 

“So what are yo– Hey…!”

Taiga shoulders past Kaito, grabbing a drink filled with brown liquid from the tray as he passes. He makes a beeline for the couch you're on and a toothy grin splits his face when he spots you. 

“Hey, it's the kitty cat~” 

Taiga plops down not too far from you and takes a swig of his drink. He haphazardly sets the glass on the edge of a coaster. You watch it begin to tip, so you hastily lean forward and adjust it properly to avoid a spill. 

You can only assume he recognizes you right away because you passed him earlier. 

“Hey, Taiga,” You greet him, before your gaze relocates to Kaito. 

The blonde walks in your direction and sets the silver tray of drinks on the coffee table in front of you. “Uh, Lucci asked me to walk him here…” Kaito explains nervously, his blue eyes darting from Taiga and back to you. 

The captain is already distracted and leaning forward in preparation to shuffle a deck of cards.

“Were you winning too many games again?” You ask the Sinostra captain in a playful tone. 

Taiga clicks his tongue. He tents the corners of two cuts of the deck together in a riffle shuffle. “Somethin’ crawled up his ass today. I wasn't gonna listen to him bitch anyway.”

“I understand.” You glance back up to Kaito. “You still owe Romeo from the last time?”

Kaito furrows his brow and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I had the money, but I left it in my jacket, and I can't find it.” 

“That sucks. Maybe it's somewhere obvious,” You suggest. “Did you try retracing your steps?”

“I tore apart my room already. Last place I remember having it was outside Sho’s food truck on the bench.” Kaito rakes a hand through his hair in distress. “Checked there yesterday though, no luck.” 

“I was just there yesterday during lunch! What did it look like?” 

The blonde gives you a piteous look. “White with blue patches.” 

…Isn't that what the jacket Leo took looked like?

“Anyway, it's good seeing you (Y/N). I'm gonna get back to work before that guy starts spamming me.” Kaito flashes you an upbeat grin and waves, before pivoting to leave.

“See you later!” You call back.

You redirect your attention back to Romeo's laptop. That is, until your phone pings multiple times at your side. 

You slide down your notification bar and can't help the grin that tugs at the corner of your mouth as you catch Leo asking about your whereabouts. You don't open the messages.

Today is a good day. 

“Kitty, play blackjack with me.”

You turn your attention to Taiga, your lips pulling into an apologetic smile. “Romeo asked that I adjust his staff schedule for him and I'm not quite finished.”

“Do it later.”

“If he walks in and catches us when I'm not done, he's going to have a cow,” You reason. 

Taiga deals you two cards anyway. “Nah, he's brown-nosing a big shot right now. ‘Sides, I won't tell if you won't.” The captain throws a wink your way. 

You can't help but express amusement at his antics. Deciding to entertain him for the moment, you set your laptop aside with your phone and scoot closer to the table. “I'll need a refresher on the rules though. And no betting real money.”

Taiga reaches forward to grab his drink again. He takes another swig of it, before dropping it back on its coaster, this time centered. 

“Fine by me. We got time.”

–

You stay at the casino until around seven in the evening before heading back home in the pouring rain. It's a good thing you remembered to bring your umbrella with you. The thought crosses your mind that tonight would be a good time to record a video.

Leo didn't continue to message you after the first string of texts, and you still had yet to open Snapchat. The fact that he didn't seem that desperate for your attention helped you feel less guilty about the whole thing. Not that you felt bad…

Leo's ego is probably just slightly bruised, and he'll get over it. 

Once you enter the cathedral and make your way up the staircase, you immediately notice several strange things. The door to your room is cracked open and the lights are on. And you couldn't hear it downstairs because of the rain and the soundproof foam you have up, but music is playing audibly too.

…Who the hell could be in your room?

The only person to ever enter without warning was Jiro. And he wouldn't be here at this time– certainly not blasting electro-pop music. 

Should you call someone to scope out the building? Is it safe to enter?

A familiar voice reaches your ears and it's enough to dissipate any looming sense of dread that had settled in your gut seconds before. You decidedly march to the top of the stairs and fling open the door to your room.

A body lays sprawled out on your couch, reading a book that's inadvertently concealing their face. You recognize the paperback as one of your manga volumes that had been collecting dust for some time. Not a second after the door makes contact with the wall, the book lowers.

Shit.

Leo smirks and tosses the volume carelessly on the coffee table in front of him. For reasons unbeknownst to you, he's wearing a set of headphones despite the music playing in the background. The vice-captain leisurely sits up and pulls them down to rest around his neck. He reaches for the stereo remote and lowers the music to where it sounds like a quiet lull. 

You hear yourself gulp.

“You're out late, huh?” Leo's jaw shifts like he's chewing something. 

Maybe he doesn't know. Act normal. 

You frown and manage a steady tone. “What the hell are you doing here, Kurosagi? And how'd you get in?”

“You left it unlocked, duh,” Leo replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “And I just wanna talk, that's all.”

You slowly walk over to a nearby end table and set your keys down. “I never leave my door unlocked.”

Leo's eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips curling into a delighted smile. “No? You sure did this time.” 

You narrow your eyes at him and redirect the topic. “What do you want to talk about? Make it quick, I'm tired.” 

Leo rises from his spot on the couch. You instinctively take a step back and almost hit the wall, despite being on the other side of the room. If he noticed, he doesn't comment on it. 

“I was just wondering about your friend that works for Kimyou,” The vice-captain explains innocently, his hand moving in an animated gesture. You watch him walk around, his eyes shifting to different areas of the room. “They got socials?”

You cross your arms over your chest, making a point to stay where you're at. “Even if they did, I wouldn't tell you.”

“Why not?” Leo walks up to the back wall and prods at a piece of foam hanging up. A red sphere of gum inflates from his mouth into the size of a tennis ball before bursting. “I thought we were just starting to be chummy too.”

“That's a crock of shit and you know it. I can't stand you. Also, don't move that!”

“Relax, NPC. I was just looking at the type of acoustic foam you have up. It's good quality, I've used this brand when I lived in a studio apartment.” Leo raps his knuckles against the textured surface and his gilt eyes meet yours again. “You sure have a lot of it, though. What for?”

Your stomach churns uneasily. “...Isn't it obvious? Your nosey ass snoops around all the time.”

Leo tents his brows, his expression skeptical. “Just for me, huh? This quantity can't be cheap for a regular Darkwick student.” 

“I have savings,” You counter, holding your ground. “Anyway, you asked what you wanted. You know where the door is.”

“I still have more questions.”

“They can wait until tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I'm not in the mood. You came in unannounced!” You near shout as your patience wavers.

“Exactly. You would have been way more assertive with escorting me out if it were as simple as that,” Leo accuses as he steps a little closer to you. 

You hold your position, unmoving. “What are you implying?”

“While you were out, I took the liberty of doing a little digging.”

Leo knows.

You roll your eyes in an attempt to hide your crumbling nerves. “Digging? What are you on about?”

“Where to start…” Leo taps his chin thoughtfully. Following a brief pause, his features brighten, like he had an epiphany. “Did you know that even if you use a VPN, if you have access to your location enabled on other devices it's sort of a dead giveaway? You should, if you're posting online and all.”

Fuck.

“Posting online?” You feel the palms of your hands begin to sweat. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I had my suspicions when I saw that bracelet. Not to mention every time that you've posted recently, it just so happens to be when it rains,” The vice-captain takes a few steps closer, until he's only a few meters away. Placing a hand on his hip, his eyes scan ambiguously over your form. “And those photos you sent me? You didn't even notice that you caught the beginning stages of bruising on your leg, right after your little tumble at Vagastrom. Then of course, there's that tacky looking mirror in here that’s a carbon copy of the one in the photos.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Your voice betrays you by cracking.

“Oh come off it! You're caught red-handed, so don't act all shy on me now.” Leo laughs derisively. “Tell me why you sent me those suggestive photos. Was it to seduce me? I really didn't think you had it in you. I mean, that takes guts considering how unappealing you are in real life.”

And suddenly you remember just why you took it this far.

You ball your fists up at your side as anger buries any and all feelings of disquiet. “Yeah? If I'm so unappealing, then why have you even entertained talking to me, dumbass?”

Leo squints at your comment, his phoney cheerful demeanor not faltering. “Maybe I just felt sorry for you. You ever consider that?”

“You're full of shit, Kurosagi. If that were the case you wouldn't have told me so much personal stuff or even messaged me in the first place!” 

Leo pauses, giving you a sideways look. “All that personal shit may as well be fabricated. I could have been playing you the whole time.”

“I recognized that screen name of yours when you messaged me. You've been a viewer for months, so I don't buy it,” You argue. “What do you even hope to gain by coming here?”

“What made you decide it was a brilliant idea to ask me out just to ghost me?” Leo throws back at you, deflecting the question. 

You clench your jaw. “I asked first.”

He scoffs. “Like I care.”

An exasperated sigh escapes you. “Obviously it was to get back at you for being an asshole!”

“Oh?” Leo raises an eyebrow, his expression tickled. “You think you hurt my feelings? That's rich, Honor Roll.”

“What did you really come here for?” You try again. “If you found my IP, it's irrefutable. So what's the point? And don't even try to blackmail me either, because I got shit on you too now, Kurosagi!”

Rather than deflecting with more insults, Leo shifts his stance and stares at you like he's deliberating something. After a few beats he speaks. 

“Okay, I'll bite. Let's say I enjoyed your company. Maybe even though I suspected your identity a few days into chatting, I wanted to test the waters. So maybe I didn't bother verifying.”

Your stomach flips when Leo begins to saunter towards you. Unconsciously, you find yourself taking another step back. 

The vice-captain stops two feet away from you, his jaw moving visibly as the gum shifts around in his mouth. His lips are tinted red and a little swollen, like he just got done eating something hot. A bitter smirk paints his soft features. “I wanted to see if you'd actually show. And when you decided to ditch without a word, I wasn't entirely surprised. You knew I had the means to find out your identity if I wanted to.”

You did know there was a possibility he'd confront you. The idea wasn’t intimidating enough to stop you from doing it.

“Almost like you wanted to fight with me about it.” Leo's eyes crinkle with mirth as he tosses a cat-like grin your way. “Fess up. Do you like our little disputes, Honor Roll?”

The teasing tone he uses inadvertently sends heat crawling up your neck.

You consider the question. It's not like it's one that hasn't crossed your mind before. Some part of you finds the conflict entertaining, but not when he involves Lyca or any of your friends. And his mean comments do get under your skin sometimes… But could you rightfully say you hated him for it?

“I could ask the same thing to you,” You reply with a smirk of your own. “You're the one bringing it up, maybe it's projection.”

“And what if I do think it's fun?” Leo admits readily. “Judging by your reaction, I think we're on the same page.”

The vice-captain takes another step towards you and loops an arm around your waist. You suck in a sharp breath of air as his free hand cups the side of your neck and his thumb brushes against your throat. 

“H-Hey…!“ You press your palms instinctively against his chest, but for reasons you can't pinpoint, you don't shove him away. His cologne swarms your senses– earthy and a little floral. The sudden, non-hostile, proximity makes you feel a little dizzy. 

Rain begins to pummel relentlessly against the roof. It's so deafening that if Leo wasn’t so close, his next words might be difficult to pick up. 

“I guess you're not half bad now that I get a better look at you. It's a shame you've got the personality of a wet blanket,” Leo drawls, with a notable lack of animosity in his tone. 

Your nerves catch on fire when his hand shifts to cup your jaw unexpectedly.

What the hell is he doing?

Leo's grip isn't restricting your movements by much. In fact, you're sure you could get out of this if you really wanted to. Why did his hands have to feel so soft? The warmth he's radiating is so inviting that you're tempted to lean into his touch. Maybe the cold weather is influencing this senseless feeling. 

“...Yeah, you should find it really embarrassing that you carried an ‘NPC’ through so many lengthy conversations,” You bite back, your fingers curling against his shirt. “It must have been like talking to a brick wall.”

Leo's thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “Why do you think I'm really here? I need to make sure you keep that info under wraps somehow. A gossip blog highlighting that loser shit would ruin my reputation.”

“Pffft…” A snicker bubbles up from your mouth from his banter. “Wait until they hear about you touching up on me too. That would be so humiliating.”

“Oh, well.” Leo smirks. “I'll adjust the narrative in my favor.”

Thunder claps outside, loud enough that objects in your room shake with the reverberation. 

The abruptness is enough to startle anyone out of their skin, but for some reason neither of you move. Maybe it's because your heart is hammering in your chest so violently that you hear it over everything else. And you might be mistaken, but you're pretty sure you feel Leo's beating just as desperately through the fabric of his shirt. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his gaze lingers on your lips, but he seems to be hesitantly dancing around an idea.

You're not sure how the two of you ended up in this predicament, or why he's even reacting like this. What you do know is that Leo's unusual display of nervousness is fueling your own ego for once. You decide to voice your hunch and accept the inevitable repercussions.

“I must not be that unappealing if you're staring at me like that. Don't tell me that after all that shit talking you’ve never kissed anyone?”

Leo's brow creases in annoyance. “Of course I've kissed people before, just not–...” The vice-captain cuts himself off and averts his gaze.

Now, that's a look you could get used to.

“...Just not?” You press in amusement. 

Leo huffs, his eyes meeting yours again– this time with determination. “Ugh. Just shut up, Honor Roll.”

The vice-captain leans in, slanting his mouth at an angle and you accept the advance. Your eyes flutter shut when his lips meld into yours.

Butterflies stir in the pit of your stomach as you return the kiss. And despite the well anticipated crash landing, his lips are quick to move against yours with urgency– robbing you of the courtesy of easing into a rhythm. Seeing as how everything with Leo has always been an uphill battle, it's nothing you weren't used to.

You adapt, reciprocating with an intensity that mirrors his own. A tingling sensation begins to linger around your mouth the longer the kissing continues, but it's so mild that you dismiss it unthinkingly. Leo's arm tightens around your waist, and you're pulled right up against him. You decide that the plush feeling of his lips on yours is one you could easily get addicted to. 

At some point Leo separates, just barely. His fingers dig into your cheeks, and he regards you with a half-lidded gaze.

“Open,” He demands, his hot breath ghosting over your lips.

The sudden verbal request throws you off guard. Your first instinct is to question him, but you fold after a brief standstill. His tongue delves past your parted lips, and you feel the metal bar of his piercing clack noisily against the back of your teeth. The inflamed sensation you felt earlier only gets stronger as the kiss deepens, to the point where you decide to break away. Just as you're preparing to jerk your face from his, the vice-captain pushes the wad of gum he was chewing into your mouth. 

You involuntarily catch it between your tongue and the roof of your mouth to prevent yourself from choking. It's only then that you realize what the burning sensation was from, as the center of your mouth catches on fire.

Leo's hand grazes your upper thigh right as you're extending your palms forward to push him away. The second your mouths disconnect, your hand covers your own, and you start coughing violently from the overload of capsaicin. 

The vice-captain laughs obnoxiously at your expense as he steps back from you.

“LEO, COUGH…! WHAT THE…COUGH…! FUCK IS THAT?!” 

Tears well up in your eyes and you bolt for trash. Leo continues speaking, but you're too focused on getting the gum out of your mouth to actually listen. 

“Carolina Reaper flavor. Pffft, you look so red! Ahahaha…!”

Once you spit the gum into the garbage bin, you immediately head for the sink and fill a nearby glass with water. As you chug it, you remember the hard way that water can exacerbate inflammation, but your options are woefully limited right now. You stand at the sink for a while, drinking a couple of glasses until the sensation dissipates to a manageable level. 

Following your recovery, you flip around to reprimand Leo, only to find him perched on the edge of your bed with a phone in his hand. The harsh words you had intended to throw at him die in your mouth when you notice the case of the phone. You pat your now empty pocket to confirm your suspicions. 

That idiot had the gall to take your phone too?!

“What are you doing with that?” You hurry towards him as mild panic sets in. 

Leo kicks his shoes off and slides farther back onto the bed, as if to give himself a few seconds longer to finish whatever it is that he's doing. “Just removing evidence, chill out.” 

“Evidence?!” You repeat impatiently as you stop in front of the mattress. “Give it back.”

Leo plops his head down on one of your pillows. “Two seconds.”

“What the fuck do you mean two seconds? No!” You climb onto the bed and grip the edges of the case to pull it from him. 

Thunder cracks outside again, but this time it takes the power with it. The lights in your room flicker for a split second, and then the room goes black entirely. You and Leo blink at each other in surprise, your faces illuminated somewhat by the natural light coming in through the window. 

You sigh, your grip loosening on the phone in defeat. “Fuck. This is your fault.”

Leo scoffs. “The weather? Wrong vice-captain.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “My poor luck. I was going to record today.”

A weather alert notification rings loudly from your phone. You slide next to Leo to peer at the screen.

“Severe thunderstorm warning until midnight,” You read aloud. “The campus cats will promptly work to recover the power back in the dormitories. Darkwick staff strongly advises students to remain in their respective buildings for the time being… Shit.” 

Without warning, Leo peels back your comforter and settles underneath it, making himself right at home. “Aaawh. Looks like you're stuck with me. Poor you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I could keep you downstairs too.” 

Leo's lips pucker into a pout. “After getting the privilege to kiss me? Show some gratitude.” 

“You spit hot ass gum into my mouth,” You deadpan.

“It's not even that hot. Not my fault you can't handle it,” Leo retorts. 

You stare at the vice-captain for a moment. He looks cute cozied up under your sheets. For the time being, you forget about him messing around on your phone. You realize how confused you still are by the random shift in his actions. “...Why did you kiss me, though?”

Leo rolls on his right side and props his head in his hand as he looks up at you. “‘Cause I felt like it.”

His statement is resolute, yet still leaves more questions than answers. 

You shake your head tiredly. “You're so confusing, seriously. Everything you say and do contradicts itself.”

“Maybe you just suck at reading me.”

“Or maybe you do it so I can't.”

The soft accusation makes Leo shut up for a few moments. His expression remains unreadable, and your phone still limply resides in his free hand. 

“Get under the covers with me,” He demands, blatantly diverting the topic.

You feel your cheeks turn pink at the sudden request. “Nice cop out. I'm not going to do anything until you tell me exactly what you deleted on my phone.”

“I told you– evidence. Just anything that indicates I'm connected to that burner account.” Leo shrugs.

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I wouldn't have told on you. And you better not rat me out.”

Leo smirks impishly. “It's cold as shit in here, Honor Roll. Get under the covers and your secret is safe with me.”

You click your tongue and stand up to peel back the comforter. “Fine. But it has to be permanently safe if I agree now– no backtracking.”

“Cross my heart~” Leo assures.

You browbeat him for a moment. Once you determine he's being sincere, you slip underneath the covers next to him and prop your head up on a pillow. “I'm taking this back, though.” You grab your phone in his hand, and he lets go without a fight. 

“Have it your way,” Leo acquiesces.

You begin checking your apps for any signs of tampering besides what the influencer admitted to. As you flick through tabs, you feel a weight settle against your chest. You redirect your attention to find Leo shamelessly cuddling up against you, his arm looping around your waist. 

It's… stupidly cute.

Rather than drawing attention to it, you bury your muddled thoughts to resume the task at hand. You look around for a little longer and determine that Leo had indeed only deleted some messages. He probably knew you wouldn't really do anything anyway. Almost everything he did to annoy you ended up being a ploy for attention. 

A message notification pops up from Subaru and you click on it. 

[… Kurosagi?]

Huh?

There’s a text beforehand from Subaru and then one sent from your device. 

[Hello, (Y/N)! I hope you're in your dorm safe in this weather. I just checked the forecast for next weekend and there is a high chance that it will be storming Saturday. Do you have any plans for Sunday? 😊]

[Sry bozo i have plans. 🤥 Dont bother asking me other days either. 💀 Mayb if sho feels bad 4 u he will cancel service so u dont have 2 contest a refund 🤣🤣🤣]

“Leo, what the fuck?” 

A ghost of a smirk appears on the vice-captain's face. He doesn't need to ask what you found. “Hmm?”

“Do NOT text people on my phone without permission. Now I have to apologize! You being here at this time of night is going to look weird, you know?”

“You going on a date with a guy after making out with me is even weirder,” Leo counters, not bothering to lift his head. “He shouldn't be messaging you this late anyway.”

You did tell him it was a date when you were shit talking to each other. But you really don't have the energy to explain all that right now. 

You type out a quick apology text to Subaru and set aside your phone. 

Having Leo this close to you felt foreign, but it certainly isn't unwelcome. The cold rain harshly pelting the roof of your poorly insulated room feels even more serene when there's a warm body nestled against you. You experimentally run your fingers through Leo's hair to test the waters. A pleased hum reaches your ears amongst the ambient noise, wordlessly inviting you to continue. 

You're not sure how your relationship with Leo will be after all this. Romantic? That's something you can't really picture. Not in the traditional sense.

You got yourself a little too involved with Darkwick's most difficult and bratty ghoul. Now you'd have to navigate the consequences that follow. 

[haveyoureadthismcytfic]

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[vyzz-undercover]

im insane have a few kilos of:

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(6,600ish words) (please fucking sedate me)

{i dont usually write in whatever perspective having a 'you' in this sort of context is, so forgive any oopsies besties!!!}

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink

•intercourse [M/F]

•degrading language

•mild possessive behaviour

•pisspoor cliche of 'oh no you're freezing haha body warmth eh?' trope

•mr. sicarius' insufferable ego

•tumblr's dogshit formatting from phone notes to the app

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super special thanks to all the writers im too much of a spineless coward to actually @ because i only ever lurked on anon asks on old main for, like: moodymisty, mothiir, lemon-russ, the-raven-lady, scriberye and many others. you're all the unknowing reasons why i made an alt to post this, cheers for your amazing works and ideas!!! :3

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It was doomed from the start, honestly.

Not to say he had any hope that an assignment would ever actually go easily for once.

It's supposed to be an apparently simple diplomatic procedure. Namely, you get to stand around, run your ambassadorial trap and bat your lashes and trollop about in front of pompous baseline fools. While he, Cato Sicarius, stands at attention in pissy formal wear; pretending like he's not a hair-breadth from an aneurysm watching it all take place.

Oh, and not to forget the brother who's a head taller than him, in full plate, and isn't being held to a standard of mock-humility.

He realises belatedly he's forgotten the Primaris' name. That shouldn't happen. He never used to forget things. Eidetic memory shouldn't let him. He shouldn't be able to—or, well—maybe his subconscious deigned it unimportant and emptied it out the proverbial airlock of his mind. It was admittedly largely inconsequential. He'd been told, surely. He remembers he was a Sergeant of some sort from his markings. He also remembers being gawked at by the Primaris, borderline felated by eyes alone. He's Cato Sicarius, afterall. Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of Ultramar—of course he'd been inspiring awe. But for some warp-damned reason, alongside all those great titles, his Father'd decided to add Master Babysitter of His Ambassador to the list. But Cato does doesn't let it bother him. He's always got better things to occupy his time. Like furiously glaring at you across the thunder-hawk, even if you'd been dead-set on counting the rivets in the floor plating.

You'd looked absolutely idiotic in an Astartes troop seat. Like a toddler in an adult-sized wheelchair, draped in furs that seemed a size too big; hiding a dress that looked a size too small.

Simply put, the entire assignment was to be an event in circle-jerking—until shit hit the fan with all the painful similarity of a Nurgling thrown headlong into a thruster engine.

To begin with, it was a trap—a trap where he's separated from brother-Sergeant 'whatever-the-fuck-riel' in the commotion and responding bolter fire. That'd left Cato pointedly responsible for evacuating you, the useless little chatterbox, by the scruff of your fuzzy coat through side halls.

On another note, of all the accursed biomes, he hates tundras the most.

Pointedly, it's exactly what seventy percent of this backwater, shit-hole planet is this time of year; whereas the other thirty percent is glacial mush.

He discovers firsthand just how much sloshy ice-water there is to be found as he kicks in a shutter door and gets doused for the first time of many to follow; only to vault from the eastern rampart. Sliding down a long, raised and sleet covered run-off canal that passed over the keep's lesser residential rooftops with you in his grasp.

Melt water soaks you both as he scrambles fights to a halt on the steep decline before the drop off. Wobbling balancing on the edge for a second before he manages to scud back up and down a side chute, worming through the raucous hellscape of filthy baselines and too-tight alleys into the scrappy frozen wilds.

There was little time to hesitate when he decides breaking into a dead-sprint with a soggy ambassador thrown over his shoulder's the modus operandi of the situation.

He didn't stop until he was at least fifteen clicks away, or rather—he only stops when he's able to recognise a spot to hide and await for emergency evacuation.

A half-standing shack. Probably some peasant's hunting hovel. Clearly in poor condition, and honestly, a cave would've been preferable—but he isn't about to pass up the opportunity.

The door doesn't even swing open when he nudges it with his elbow. No, it falls inward, because of course it does, and he grumbles belatedly when it thuds.

The inside of the structure is a damnable mess, but, at the very least, it's dry.

He moves to tug you off his shoulder and toss you onto a pile of rags in the far corner, but he hesitates periodically. Even through his own wet outer attire, he can tell very little body heat is coming off you. His hearing catches on the way your breathing labours below the incessant chatter of your teeth.

Some wretched part of him implores he let you down carefully next to the nested mess of dirty cloth; and for once, he acquiesces to granting mercy.

You curl up into a ball on the floorboards almost immediately.

In his eyes, you're the pict of some drowned rat. The fur coat you'd been wearing over your dress is just as soaked through as everything else. Your hair is full of small, frozen rivulets at the ends, mixed in with powder snow and ice; and all the while, you're whining softly and trying to coil tighter into a fetal position.

He's trying very hard not to just stand there and dumbly listen to your little noises of weakness like a salivating dog.

Instead, Cato turns and lifts the door back into place against the frame; then he activates the honing beacon on his belt.

No latency pings, no close contact.

He grumbles again, eyeing your shivering form over his shoulder begrudgingly.

He hates you.

He hates that he's the one who's responsible for you.

The fact he is also currently out of his power-armour because of this charade only makes him even more irate, impossibly.

Sure, he has his combat bodyglove on under the tacky regalia, but it's no real consolation. He'd feel a lot better if there was a couple extra hundred kilos of plasteel and ceramite on him.

He could've had his armour on, had someone else been the one to babysit you.

He would have preferred anything but sole custody of your wretched, annoying existence falling on him. But because he's the only competent Astartes around ninety percent of the time, and you're the root of all problems—it means he's the only one who's capable of handling your stupidity. He can't even imagine letting anyone else do it. You'd probably deafen Trajan with your yapping if he was in his stead. Or Prabian. And if Titus had watch of you, you two'd probably be—ugh, he won't even dignify the thought. He can't believe the man'd been Captain of Second Company before him, or how or why Agemman gave the captaincy to him. He understands why Titus'd been struck from most records aside from high clearance. To say nothing of the fact that one would think being a Blackshield for a century would humble someone. But no, it seems crossing the Rubicon Primaris gave him his balls back.

Cato had almost flown into a blind rage when he'd heard him jokingly warning about rough weather to you on the embarkation deck the last time you'd been in each others general vicinity—because oh, of course Lieutenant Titus is suddenly a subsector-renowned fucking comedian as soon as you're there. Cato ought to subpoena the dribbling Inquisition like that little snake Leandros did. See how Titus'd like a real stage to perform on again. Maybe they'll have a new rendition of the cunted Rubicon Primaris to piece his sorry fat-arse back together once more by then. But he won't. He won't because Marneus would sulk, and Cato would feel bad. Plus, Cato's infinitely more likely to kill an Inquisitor than help one. But you—you little skank—you find Titus so funny. Hiding a giggle behind your hand, pretending to look demure and professional despite your wretched nature.

Why don't you smile at him like that?

You would be the death of him.

It was always all because of you. Every single time. Because you're so useless in any situation that can't be rambled out of. Which is all of them when you're involved, in Cato's opinion. His Father should leave the talking to professionals who wouldn't break a hip from a smack on the rear.

But now you are going to die of hypothermia, like a typical, pathetic little baseline—well, unless you start following his orders.

Cato tries not to think of how you were acting when rounds started going off earlier. Of course, like a spooked animal, you'd been all ears to his commands then. Hiding against him with your hands pawing at the side of his dress uniform as bullets careened across the dining hall, looking up at him with those big, terrified, caught-in-the-crosshair eyes—and, Throne, it had been so easy to pick you up. You were so soft flimsy, he could fling you around like a rag-doll if he really wanted. Manhandling you would be a singlehanded venture. He's liable to just hoist you up whenever you think yourself bold enough to bother him next. Grab you by your uniform's scruff and just pin you against a bulkhead, you'd be bent at the perfect height to—no—no, no.

Abruptly trying to distract himself, Cato draws his blade from it's ceremonial sheath and activates the disruption core, trying to stoke some sort of heated spark as he drove it into the fireplace.

He brutishly nudges it amidst the old wood and long dim coals. It isn't his finest moment of critical thinking, but it seems to be working; seeing as a few weak embers sputter to life.

Gratingly, he's aware that even a servitor would've known starting a fire in hostile territory was a fool's surest way at getting caught—but he has no other choice. Either he acts the moron and plays his poor hand, or you die from the shock of your chill; and if that happens, he'll have to face his Father's wrath.

And Guilliman would have his left testicle as a paperweight if you died under his watch.

In conclusion, if Cato is to choose between stupidity and complete failure, he's opting for stupidity. Which aggravatingly felt like an ongoing occurrence, ever since you started existing anywhere near him.

He reaches for your soggy swaddled form, and tugs.

Even practically hypothermic, you've still got enough of a two-faced-bitch's spirit hidden away in you to hiss and swat at him blindly. So much for his Father's claims you were of 'sweet, kind temperament.'

For a moment, he genuinely wants to throttle you for the outburst; but he swallows down the urge.

"You need to get out of those," he snaps, glowering down at you. "Or you are going to die."

Your response is a poignant little groan as you glance dizzily around the room.

Cato huffs, "There are blankets beside you, fool."

He holds up a dingy plaid throw, half fraying and stinking of stale mould. It was an assault on his vomeronasal organ, but he wasn't about to let you act the typical spoiled cunt routine of an Imperial ambassador. He would have you wrapped in it sooner rather than later, wether you liked it or not. You dying reflects poorly on him, afterall.

"T-T-Turn, p-p-please—" you say, but your stammering mangles the words into a juddering mess.

He growls, almost tempted to snarl something about 'the fucking audacity in thinking you can tell him what to do—' but acquiesces out of sheer force of will and pivots on his heel, settling into a martial line stance.

Cato can hear you struggling to wriggle free of your clothes. The whines of effort and heavy breathing, to say nothing of the almost comedic slop sound one miscellaneous article makes as it hits the rotted wooden floorboards.

Even if he's taking it to his grave, he's admittedly itching to look over his shoulder.

It's a completely degenerate urge.

But he's—he's wanted this. He's wanted this exact opportunity.

He's got it, now.

You're alone with him.

Nothing and nobody to distract or detract from your attention finally being all on him.

You make a fey little groan, and he takes that as a signal you're finished.

He rounds about-face, and, for lack of a better word, ogles the shape of your covered form.

You've dragged that pile of rags closer to the meagre fireplace, lying on it with the plaid blanket strewn over the top of you.

Even completely hidden beneath, he can see you are still shaking under the ratty thing. Even moreso than before, in all actuality. He supposes that's a good sign. It proves your feeble body is still well and keen on living.

But the suffocating concept you're bare weak, soft useless and needing pathetic underneath that scrap of fabric worms its way into his brain like a cancer.

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

Tearing his gaze away, he finds the embers his blade coaxed are a small flame eating away at the old timber now.

Looking back, your shivering's subsiding, but your rapid breathing is increasing; which is surely not good.

He has an idea, which definitely isn't influenced by depravity at all—shut up.

Cato tries for a moment to actually unbutton his attire. His fingers are too large, unsurprisingly. And with the body-suit, he's got no leverage of a nail or two to do away with the dainty fasteners. So, ultimately, he tears the regalia down the front, sending buttons flying—and continues to pry and rend the sopping garments off his arms and legs until they're a pile at his feet.

Then he sets about a more strenuous matter. He releases the locking mechanism at his clavicle, and promptly undoes the thick claps over his pectorals so he can pop free the catches beneath, peeling the layered material back and shucking his arms and hands loose of their constraints.

The top of his bodyglove hangs around his hips now, and he sighs. The chill is of no real annoyance to him. He's built to endure most conditions. Sure, it's cold—but Astartes run hot. And right now, he's boiling for so very many accursed reasons.

He settles on his side next to you and scuds himself to bracket the pile of fabric.

"Move closer," he bites out.

He tries not to groan when you actually do, and surprises himself when he manages to stifle the sound. Even through the blanket, he imagines his warmth is a welcome change to freezing.

"T-Thank you," you say softly, soaking in his body heat like a banal reptile under a sun's rays.

He likes hearing timidity on your lips.

He supposes it stems from his habit of humbling you. The opportunities are unsurprisingly plentiful. He often finds enjoyment hearing you back-pedal when he would cut you down for so much as genially inquiring on Astartesian discussions. Putting himself in the middle and shutting you out, even if you were welcomed in them prior to his arrival.

If you want to ask something of his Brothers, it'll be his answers.

All it ever took was a growl and a curt reminder to know your place. Then you'd fumble and take two steps back. Snipped down to size as you ought to be. Forced to suffer an ounce of the shame he feels. Oh, and then your big doe-eyes'd cast down at Cato's ceramite boots, fussing; trying to apologise to him.

In truth, it's adorable pathetic to watch.

You look so hurt.

It's an act, he's sure of it.

You play at being difficult to anger, and that makes you just that bit more grating. You've unknowingly caught him with an unfair advantage. One that his prowess as a statesman and a warrior cannot seem to scratch. He's always left feeling robbed in your presence. In a way that furiously giving in to the alien urge of palming himself afterwards doesn't ever fix. He's toey and irked to be excluded when you talk to other Astartes, but simultaneously darkly glad that you shy from such antics with him.

It's paradoxical, yes. But no, he's not a hypocrite. Though some part of him is scolding him for being one. No, he's aching to sink his proverbial claws into you—though he won't ever say it to a soul. He won't because he knows he's not supposed to have tastes such as this. A pit in his gut taunts that the stint he'd suffered in the Warp is to blame. But he's the commander of Roboute Guilliman's Victrix Guard. He is not aberrant. The sidelong, fraction-of-a-second glances Cato receives from his Primarch when you enter his office to give briefings surely mean nothing.

It's clear why you have his Father's favour, but he'll never admit that either. Aside from Guilliman's desperation to find baseline company for some strange reason. You're surely just a pet to him. Like a small rodent he pries off a little wheel and sets out in a clear sphere to roll about on the bridge, or something.

To say nothing of his brothers' behaviours.

They won't show it in a group, but he knows the Astartes beneath him preen at your every query.

It's complete lunacy.

It's heresy.

You must have somehow beguiled them all, just like you've done him.

But you're still right there—right where he wants you.

And damn it all, does he want you.

He wants—he wants you on your front, squirming underneath him. No, wait, he wants to see you—but then you'd need to be on top. He can watch, like that. Then afterwards he'll have you on your back, perhaps. Why not sideways? You're already like that, now. Or—or... who's he kidding, he'd take anything, and everything.

Throne, he's so hard he swears he is going to have a brain haemorrhage. He feels like he's already had one, honestly, for all his thoughts are hazing. It's a million leagues worse than the time you'd accidentally called him 'Lord Sicarius' by accident instead of your usual choice of 'Commander' and Throne, he'd rubbed himself raw after that.

Maybe if you weren't such a whorish little wretch, his fantasies wouldn't be running so rabid right now.

You wriggle and your half-covered back slides up against his front.

Cato's never held himself stiller in his life.

Your skin feels like fine silk to his spiralling mind; and even worse, your damnable wriggling doesn't stop. You start making little movements with your feet to try to get circulation back in them—and again, there's a fey similarity to your behaviours and some soaked rodent he recognises.

Decidedly, you've realised it's not enough and promptly jut your feet backwards between his quads. Still continuing the motions, but more furiously.

The touch is dangerously close to the cradle of his inner thighs.

He swears he actually feels the blood drain from his face in mortification. The touch is meagre, but it's real. It's more warming than any he's ever known. And of course, to add insult to injury, that blood drains straight to were he's already painfully hard—which is currently pushed against his navel, halfway jutting out of his bodyglove's zipper.

Thankfully, you withdraw yourself from between his legs and sigh again, snug.

Then, you shuffle closer.

Your rear scuds right up to the swell of his confined cock.

Cato's immediately beside himself in an instant, flying into a rainbow of emotion. First, he's disgusted. Then he's seething at the audacity—which makes him furious—and finally, he's... he's ecstatic.

He groans, raring like some rutting animal; but the sound ultimately leaves him as an angry, subvocal snarl of transhuman harmonics.

You flinch, and wriggle away sharply, and he repeats the sound again at the loss of contact. You're only a hair away from being there still, he can feel how close you are—but you remain just beyond him again.

"My—my apologies, Commander... I-I—" you blurt out, voice still a little chill stuttered, "I didn't... I didn't mean to overstep."

He inhales steadily. He notes you're doused in human stress hormones; but he's acutely aware of a honeyed smell just below the surface. It's so suffocatingly sugary it's actually hurting his nose to scent the air. It's addling his thoughts, turning his focus to mist.

He can smell you failing to juggle all the reactions and thankfully rottenly settling for the one that makes you reek of mollasses.

"Come back, shut up," he hisses. "And stay still."

Sweet-stink radiates again before you swallow sharply.

There's an eternal breath of time in which he's about to go mad with anticipation, and the instant you're slotted against him again.

Some base urgency sends him frotting forward, and the thick, leaking head of him that peaks out the top of his zip brushes against a warm cunt; all thanks to that blanket of yours having slipped loose slightly, and lo, the blessed horrid consequence.

He'd live off the way your surprised gasp makes his nerves thrill.

"Is—" you wheeze, "Is that...?"

He grimaces, unsurprised you're ever stupider than you look. Recklessly, instead of lying—instead of saying 'no, it's a combat knife,' his mouth decides he's to act the most pathologically honest town crier alive.

"It," he intones sharply, before the words "...is your fault," leave him as a rushed hiss.

A belated pause wins out for a moment, and he's mortified as he realises what he's just confessed. There's a leaden feeling at the back of his throat. One option to recover the situation is that he could just hit you on the head. What'd be a shiner of a punch to a brother would be a terminal concussion to a baseline. Then, he'd tell the Primarch, oh yes, you died. Very sad. How? To shreds. To shreds you say? Truthfully, he can't really bring any actual conviction to the plan. He wouldn't. The notion is merely a hypothetical, in a perfect world where violence solved everything. Because if you die, Guilliman will send him to an Agri-world to be some peasant's plough-puller or someshit for a few centuries—and Cato's going to kill himself before he has to suffer that indignity. Uriel would never let him live it down. He's bound to suffer the same consequences, ultimately. Even if he's got no idea what an Astartes with a sex drive would be liable to be punished for. Oh, right. Corruption. So now, there's a credible witness to his flaw and one that his Father'll believe, worst of all, and... abruptly, you reply instead of scream in revulsion, your voice a mumbled little squeak as you say, "I didn't know—I mean, I didn't think—"

"Believe me, I am well aware you lack the capacity to think," Cato cuts in, and swallows down a snort at his own mean spirited joke. He's fucked, and for some reason he's suddenly further struck by the hilarity of the bastard, warp-spawn wiles of fate and chance. May as well be hung for the sheep as for a lamb, he decides.

Your breathing gains a shallow edge, and he feels you make as if to inch away again.

"I said not to move," He growls, and keeps you flush against him—holding you there by way of folding an arm across you.

"I just... uh," you reply, "I'm just..."

Your ass grinds back against him.

There's contact, your skin against the flushed, drooling head of him that feels painfully tender—and then you ruin it by speaking again.

"Curious, I suppose...? I was of the belief the Adeptus Astartes didn't..." your voice is soft, at least; slow and distracted, "Have an appetite for... this sort of thing?"

Cato momentarily stays fixated on the breathiness of your tone, and has to remind himself he's supposed to be angry at being robbed of silence—so he grumbles, "I told you to shut your trap," and promptly smothers a palm over your mouth.

You make a noise that sounds vaguely like a mumbled curse and settle, breathing hard through your nose to compensate.

Still, your rear presses back against him.

Cato takes the gesture at face value and fusses, roughly wrenching his bodyglove down to his thighs with his free hand.

Unconfined, his cock slaps the small of your back, and he manhandles you to readjust so it glides between your thighs instead.

Everything in place, he skews his hips forward, and his eyes roll back at the smooth, sublime drag of skin against skin. It's genuine perfection, wet and soft and molten.

The little hitched breaths you steal through your nose with each roll of his hips make him grind faster. Pressing closer with each, until the abhorrent, sticky sound of him steadily fucking against you is nigh deafening.

"I go in or I stay out," he says, and he can feel his molars grate against each other as he adds, "...or I can stop."

You shake your head furiously, or at least as much as the huge mitt on your chin, maw and jaw allows.

"Then decide," he snaps. "In?"

Cato hears the cartilage in your gullet move as you swallow dryly and nod.

Chuffed with your allowance compliance, he hums—and then it's his turn to hesitate.

When he draws his hand from your mouth, he curtly says, "Stay silent," and starts as if to tell you to arrange one way, then decides against it; dithering uncharacteristically. Then, rarer yet, Cato stumbles his words as he adds, "Move on to y-your front, then."

He doesn't know why he asked for the least preferred option when he'd been deliberating over the hypothetical for so long previously but nonetheless you, miraculously, comply without complaint. And despite himself he frustrates as you roll, his cock slipping away from between your thighs.

Draped in covers, he can't see much of you aside from the shape of you slowly arranging onto your hands and knees; before your chest sinks, and your ass stays up.

Like a rabid dog, he scrambles onto his haunches and scuds over behind you.

He's not entirely sure what to do first, and harrumphs.

In answer, your back arches even further in a dangerously luring bow, a display of willingness whorishness that turns Cato's thoughts to mush. Ass up and still in the pile, covered in blankets and rags, it's painfully easy to tug you from them just enough so that a decent portion of your raised lower half is exposed to him.

All he's able to comprehend the very next instant in some hind-brain, primitive way is a shapely ass, and a pretty pink cunt.

He grabs your hip, and the size comparison is so stark his head swims. With the span of one hand, he could palm a whole globe of your rear.

He does just that, and spreads you to take a nice long look.

You've a glossy sheen of clear slick that's starting to string down where it's collecting between your labia, and Throne—it's that. That's the sweet smell. And it's all for him—you're everything he's wanted.

Inspecting, he finds the hole leaking lubricant and a much, much smaller one below it—the vagina and then the urethra, he reasons by way of thinking back on a baseline biologis graphics; and, eyeing lower to a hooded fold, he finds a swollen little nub.

Pointedly, he's got a suspicion of what it is and turns his curiosity to it.

It's an easy target for his large thumb, even as slippery as your lust has made you, and—

A shaky little keen, then your knees pull together; body curling.

"Keep your damn legs apart," he grunts, wrenching them wide, and splaying a big palm on your ass to lift you into an arch again.

He's tempted to just bask in the glory of it all, grope, smack, lick—make you beg for it until he's sure you know he's in charge. Until you're as high strung for him as he's ever been for you. But he's frenzied, and well beyond being able to linger on those broader wants; not when he's got an Ambassador to fill.

He's aware of what your clit's really for now, and keeps rolling the pad of his thumb over it until you're squirming. It doesn't take long until your hole is visibly twitching. Nothing but a sloppy, wet mess of your own whorish excitement for him, as you ought to be. Cato bites back a longing sigh as he gets the delight of watching a fresh rivulet of slick string down your thigh.

And when he works up the gall, he jams that same thumb to the hilt in your cunt.

Your insides squeeze around it, and you start shaking, then. But it's not from the cold. No, anything but that. You're warm now, and he's deliriously happy to find you're as soft inside as the rest of you looks and feels. Warp damn him, he's no better than some slavering genestealer wretch fiending for its pound of flesh.

Your smaller baseline frame makes every part of him look huge in comparison. Even his thumb is big. And you're so much less—and the fact the disparity is so glaringly obvious plays havoc with his brain; but he's got an idea. An idea that he refuses to acknowledge sounding painfully like a boarding action to him.

With little tact, he sidles up and positions himself so his tip slots right against you, while stretching your opening with his thumb.

Lining himself up with his other hand, he nudges your entrance, smearing precum in with your wetness while inching forward; sliding his thumb out in tandem with pushing his cock in—and his efforts succeed.

Cato's transfixed watching the head of himself fill the gap, sliding in—and you let out a muffled yelp, still half-buried in the blankets like some stuck animal; your thighs juddering as you suck in air.

Honestly, he's glad you've smothered yourself like that, because he can't imagine keeping it together if you were actively watching him. He thinks the stark reality of it would have him run right out of the shack. Even the idea of having your pretty damning eyes on him makes him swoon sick.

With an over-eager roll of his hips, a shiver races up his spine. But he earns a cry from you.

He takes a deep breath.

There's a twinge of pain-smell and the vaguest hint of blood in the air, but it's impermanent compared to the amount of lust.

He pushes a little more, and you ripple internally around him; making a racketing, breathless noise—twitching before slacking, and then twitching again. A few perfect little moans escaping you at last.

Abruptly, all he's able to give a fuck about is the sensation of wet and hot, and how you're finally all his—it's a strangling fit, but it's satisfying a craving bone-deep. Infinitely better than his war calloused hands.

You feel sublime, and it's pure bliss finally getting what he's wanted for so very long.

All those rest cycles wasted furiously humping into his own clenched hand, all those hours of torment seething about your latest unintended slight against him.

He's so dazed by the new sensation he's massaging small circles with his fingers on your flank, humming lowly. Who would have known all he really needed was to hilt in a warm, velvety, absolutely sopping wet cunt to come around to you? Maybe you're not so bad afterall. That is, for an insufferable little cock-sleeve; but it's nothing Cato can't grin and bare. He can almost imagine tolerating further babysitting assignments, if it means he can use you as a hole to ram his frustrations into like this.

He continues petting you, absentmindedly.

But the involuntary mercy didn't stop you from jackknifing when he bucks in more—each little motion seating him deeper and deeper. He's stunned he fits. You're so... small, and Throne, he feels monstrous even fixating upon the disparity; nevermind the shiver that races up his spine at the thought.

He yanks you backward and you stop squirming for a moment.

When your wriggling starts up again, he holds you still with the sheer willpower only a neurotic control-freak could muster. He stops your motion, yes—but your insides also stop shivering around his cock and he's resentful of that.

Nonetheless, you make to move again then, keening and bothering him; but you're seemingly struck daft when he bottoms out at last, hitting your cervix. Your internal muscles tense on the intrusion, practically cramping around him, blinding him with ecstasy for a heartbeat as you clench down hard; and a squeak of surprise escapes you. Your legs lock stiff for a moment, air venting out your lungs in shock.

You garble out a sweet, hoarse curse that sounds more like a sob than anything.

Cato supposes the theatrics are what an orgasm on something his size does to a woman. And he finds he's appallingly keen to see and hear you do it again. Keen to feel it, too. He adjusts himself and grinds, making sure you're getting every bit he's got to give. It's no small feat of restraint from Cato to not simply drive into you with all his might like a hydraulic press.

Maybe that'll make your tight little hole cinch up again? He thinks you'd like that. No—no, you should be begging for him to keep fucking you. You should be thanking him while you're at it too, really. Thanking him for deigning to take you to begin with.

Your arch falls away to a prone slump with a whine, thighs trembling, leaving him straining forward to stay in you.

He is irate at your antics, now; and his retaliation betrays it.

Cato seizes your hips and yanks you back up his cock, shimmying you a little so he's nice and sheathed and stuffing you full, nigh folded under him. Warm cunt stretched taut around the base of his thick cock, like a perfect scabbard.

He's suddenly absorbed in watching your covered form consciously trying to counter the overwhelming forward mass of him starting to drive into you like he was part battering-ram.

"Better than all those limp-dicked, bastard lordlings you've let empty in you to even chance a cushion near my Primarch's table, hm?" His tone is little more than a scathing drawl, pulling almost entirely out of you just to dip the head of himself in.

You moan into the fabric smothering you, and he holds you with a controlled desperation.

"Answer me, you little shit."

He watches you nodding desperately beneath the cover a second later, failing to get an actual reply out around your huffing and puffing.

Cato groans, "Far keener for Astartes cock, aren't you?"

You nod again, needy.

"Throne, you're pathetic," he chides harshly, delighting in the soft whine of protest you make when pulls out to the tip one last time. "All that haughty bullshit, just to turn out to be so—so easy," then he's sliding back to the hilt and starting his rutting anew, grinding into that perfect spot that has your insides shiver around him again and again. "Isn't that right? This is all you're really good for?"

Beneath him, you're too much of an insensible mess to even think about answering; and somewhere in that depraved miasma of sound, he swears you're trying to say his name.

So, understandably, he inches forward on his knees and boxes you under him. Pinning you under the span of his bulk, two big hands firmly planted either side of your blanketed head.

He can see a few strands of your hair sticking out from beneath it and he can see the fog of your breath and the tip of your nose through a tented section, and only one of your hands—clawing out at the scraps of fabric.

"Prick-dumb animal," he sneers, flagrantly showboating; trying to sound as if he's not feigning lucidity and completely at the mercy of his lust.

He drops from his hands to rest on his elbows, manoeuvring a forearm under your head to prop your chin up. He's so bent over you that your ass is practically glued to his massive pelvis.

You can't stifle yourself now.

The sounds you make when he starts ploughing into you again are unrestrained and absolutely debauched. Practically music to his ears. He can feel your saliva smearing across his arm, and he's absolutely stupefied at the mantra of 'Sicarius, S-Sicarius, Sica-ah—rius—' you start panting. To say nothing of the keening whimpers that escape when you're not crying out for him. Louder with each thrust, and warp damn it all—his perfect memory is never going to let those gorgeous sounds go. He's going to fiend off you mewling his surname like a full dose of battle-chems until he fucking dies.

Cato groans and delights in the involuntary squeeze you make around his cock again; your hips skewing up into his own, meeting him.

He just wants one more thing—he wants—no, needs—he needs to hear you scream his name in that reedy voice. Telling him that you like him playing guard for you, and you're all his and you love hi—

Rather abruptly however, you're cinching down on his cock as you come again. Throne, your cunt may as well be Marneus' clenched powerfist the way you're wringing him for everything he's got. Crying out like you're inconsolable, and so painfully eager and—oh, fuck. He tries to hold off, but it's of little use. The dam cracks, and it's all too much for him far too quickly.

"You rotten w-whore—" the words leave him in between ragged, staggered pants, gritting his teeth even though it's achieving absolutely nothing. "Stop s-squeezing, I-I—"

He's finishing in you the next second and letting out a rough, unbecoming moan instead of the rest of his sentence; despite trying to muffle himself against your shoulder and save face. Emptying all his pent up spend as deep as he can inside you and rutting himself deliriously into oversensitivity. The simple feeling of it is a more profound experience than he can even begin to explain—and he's rendered daft. Fighting just to stay awake against the warm, coddling bliss running rife in his nerves as his muscles twitch.

Still trying to recuperate, he's drunk with afterglow for a few seconds. Head beside yours, sharing the same air and hurried breaths.

In his stupor, he notes that your hair smells nice even after everything. And he tuts softly, resting his eyes. Lulled by the soft sound of your hyperventilating evening out and the continuous, weak fluttering of your cunt around him, hot and tight, and still a perfect fit.

He almost understands why mortal men so frequently fought over baseline women, now.

Almost.

Because then you start squirming again.

Pointedly, he opens his eyes and begrudgingly lifts himself away, slipping free and leaving a big sloppy smear of combined fluids across your ass and thighs as he settles into a kneel.

You're still presenting yourself as Cato scrubs a palm across his face, and blinks slowly.

He glances down for a moment and swallows.

He's hard—still.

Just as ready to rut as he was to start with, despite the fact he's only just finished.

And, much like a beast in season, he genuinely contemplates another round—what would be the harm, anyways? He could be sliding himself back into you, right then, and he doubted you'd do anything but buck up to meet him. So much for some diplomatic prodigy. You're little more than a mewling wreck. And what better way to prove it than another wet layer of your mixed fluids on his cock?

A soft sound escapes you abruptly and he looks back to the place he's itching to slam back inside of.

A few fat rivulets of his cum drip out your abused entrance, but you're too well-screwed to even care, it seems.

He thumbs one of your folds aside and smiles smugly at the mess.

You poor thing, it must be so humbling to be put in your place. He hopes it felt good. Having your better's cum leaking out of you like a banner on a conquered fortress.

He's tempted to stuff his spend back into you and give you another load to drip. Let it leak down your thighs as you pad past his men on the flagship, that'd make them well aware of who you really admire—

At that brilliant jarring thought, blazing post-clarity arrived; an abrupt and unsettling feeling. The fact he'd even—even dignified your almost Slaneeshi-tier temptation—the fact he's raring to go again—he must already reek of your lust, and you of his—and Emperor have mercy, one quick scenting betrays everything, his men would tell their Father, and—you—you groan and worm yourself back under the blanket, likely truly feeling the chill now without his body to warm you.

The urge to say something becomes almost suffocating all at once, and Cato opens his mouth—just to be interrupted by a beep.

Hesitation seizes him, and he eyes his pile of half-frozen attire in the far corner.

Eighteen and a half seconds pass and it beeps again, indicating a second for every minute of arrival estimation.

The tracker beacon has finally done it's job.

But the matter of hastily cleaning up what insanity just happened becomes the real concern now.

Suddenly stuffed to the brim with adrenaline, Cato gets to his feet with Astartesian speed. He tries to take a step but sways, almost toppling. Looking down, he realises himself; and gingerly stoically waddles marches away from you, his bodysuit stuck around his knees. There's a cupboard in the other corner, covered in a frosted cobweb that looks a little like gossamer. Rifling through it provides him little. Most of it's contents are iced through, but a bottle of what stinks like absinthe is good enough, and he doesn't think it matters what he cleans up with. He definitely does doesn't look like a servitor on broken wheels as he scuds on his heels back beside your pile. And if he suffers any more injuries to his ego, they definitely don't include him bungling a kneel and being forced to wobble down on to his haunches. It's not his fault he's mentally accommodating for power armour that, currently, isn't there.

Pausing, he pokes the mound of scraps you're under, trying to rouse you.

When your answer to his 'kinder' effort results in you whining and curling up tighter, he settles for tossing any mercy out the window with a petulant grunt; and identifies the shape of one of your legs and tugs you half-free by your ankle like a speared fish, earning a yelp as the cold assaults you.

Grabbing one of the loose rags in your pile, he saturates it with spirit and scoops you up under the hips, before starting to wipe away the evidence.

You begin thrashing almost immediately when the rag makes contact. Then you're practically yowling, "It hurts, it h-hurts—wait, wait—" and okay—yes, maybe using high proof alcohol to clean the smell and slime of his cum off your freshly fucked hole wasn't his best idea. In his defence, you're one of the most stubborn baselines he's ever met, and you should learn to handle a little pain. Secondly, booze is the only thing that stays liquid at freezing.

"Enough with the bloody caterwauling, woman," he barks, effortlessly holding you steady despite your struggling. "It's not that bad, toughen the fuck up."

When he's done with you, he's actually remorseful of the situation. Certainly not his finest choice. Because now you're sniffling weakly, fussing about the residual stinging; and then you promptly scramble back under the blanket.

"There was nothing else I could use, okay?" He says sourly, scowling at the bundle of fabric you disappear into; before tossing the soiled rag he'd used to clean you into the fireplace to ignite.

He grabs another from the pile and douses it, wiping himself off—and at last, he's finally able to start to pull his bodyglove up over his hips. Wiggling and straining to fit the thick, skin-tight material over his still very much erect cock.

From the edge of his vision he can see you've peaked your head out to watch as he fixes the sternum latch in place.

He gives you a cursory glance, but nothing more.

He ultimately expects you to look away like the mouse you are—but no, what actually happens is worse. You just keep silently raking him with an expression that makes him feel like he's made of glass and every secret he's ever had or ever known is laid bare.

He can't stand it.

It makes Cato want to sneer at you fiercely in the hopes it would scare you off, remind you he's an exemplar of the Adeptus Astartes and shouldn't be stared at—something, anything except that look.

"Get up," he turns sharply and snorts.

The beeping is once every two and a half seconds, now.

Two and a half minutes, then.

"You let me fuck you," he bites out.

You're sitting now. Covered in one of the larger articles of rags. A tartan, fraying thing crumpled atop you, frowning and looking dejected. Then you open your mouth to speak but promptly stop. He can tell you're trying to form a diplomatic reply, and he grumbles, fuming.

"Tell anyone of this—" Cato's well aware he's being cruel as he adds, "—and I'll wring your little neck, Father's favourite pet or not."

You finally look away.

And he finds he can't stand that either.

So, to souse his bruised ego, Cato decides he's going to burn the shack down as soon as the transport lands and you're onboard.

He also decides he's going to burn that tacky formal tunic of his too, simply because he can.

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Hii, I asked you a question about spiritual qi being transferred. Thanks for replying!

Also I'm a bit shocked. Mo Xuanyu and Jin Guangyao did not develop a golden core yet? I didn't know oh my goodness! I might have missed this in the novel. Do you know where it says so? I need to bookmark this. Or is it only explicitly said so in the interview with mxtx?

Man this makes me view Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng in a way different light. If I remember correctly, Wei Wuxian punched a few meters into the ground while in Mo Xuanyu's body. So the fact that he did it without a core and with a weakened body like Mo Xuanyu's... he's an absolute monster XD. What can't this man do?

And it makes Jiang Cheng a loser even more. He lost to a physical fight with Jin Guangyao XD. Jiang Cheng literally wasted Wei Wuxian's golden core at this point.

(I really really hate you tumblr erasing my posts I work on mid sentence 💜) sighhhhh round two of this:

Hi again anon!

Chapter 1 and 2 of the web serialization and chapter 1 of the published version:

Hanzi:

然而,尚未等到莫玄羽修仙有成、继承他父亲 的家业,他就被赶了回来。

而且是被极其难看地赶了回来。因为莫玄羽是 个断袖,还胆大包天地骚扰纠缠同门,这丑事被当 众捅破,再加上天资平平,修为无所建树,也就没 有让他继续留在家族中的理由了。

My translation:

However, before Mo Xuanyu could even succeed in cultivating like an immortal to inherit his father's position, he was driven back.

In an extremely brutal way at that. Mo Xuanyu was a cut sleeve, he had been so bold as to harrass his fellow disciples and the scandal became public knowledge. Additionally, he was of mediocre talent with no achievements in cultivation, so there was no reason for the clan to keep him.

Sevenseas:

ExR:

(Remember that immortal part in particular because his mother had bragged specifically about Mo Xuanyu achieving immortality as a cultivator and expecting him to be the fastest at it just before this passage when Jin Guangshan summoned Mo Xuanyu to Lanling Jin)

Secondly:

Hanzi:

他索性先打坐一阵,适应新舍。这一坐就是一 整天。睁眼时,有阳光从门缝窗隙漏入屋中。虽然 能起身行走,却仍头昏眼花,不见好转。魏无羡心 中奇怪:“这莫玄羽修为低得那点灵力可以忽略不 计,没道理我驾驭不了这具肉身,怎么这般不好 使?”

直到腹中传来异响,他才明白根本不关修为灵 力的事,只不过是这具不辟谷的身体饿了而已。他 再不去觅食,说不定就要成为有史以来头一位刚被 人请上身就立刻活活饿死的厉鬼邪神��

My Translation:

He decided he would simply meditate a bit to adapt to his new accommodations*. He sat there almost the entire day. When he opened his eyes, sunlight seeped through the cracks of the door and the windows. Although he could stand up and walk, he felt dizzy without it seeming to ease. Wei Wuxian was puzzled, "This Mo Xuanyu's cultivation is so nonexistent any spiritual power might as well be ignored. It doesn't make sense why I can't control this body. Why is it so difficult?"

Until he heard a strange sound from his stomach, he realized that it had nothing to do with cultivation and spiritual power. It was just that this body hadn't practiced inedia, and was hungry. If he didn't seek out food, he might just become the first evil ghost in history to starve to death as soon as he was summoned to possess someone.

(*That first line is pretty funny because Wei Wuxian literally does refer to the body as a new residence/dwelling)

Sevenseas:

ExR:

Now in terms of this, I guess you could say it requires to know some general cultivation conventions (personally why I don't suggest MDZS as a first time cultivation read as well as it being a deconstruction of the tropes). If Mo Xuanyu had achieved forming a golden core, even a low level one, he would be able to practice inedia as that is one of the first things learned by cultivators once a foundation level is achieved. Mo Dao Zu Shi also just... mashes the first three stages of cultivation ( qi formation, foundation level and golden core) into one base at immediate golden core at young age.

We also get told Mo Xuanyu is summoned at the age of fourteen, but did not stay long enough to learn the cultivation to form that essential core (in this jianghu it is pertinent to form these cores early otherwise it is next to impossible unless you are EXCEPTIONALLY talented). If Mo Xuanyu had formed a core his spiritual power should at least be somewhat of note and it is not. No one with a golden core or uses spiritual energy often should be lacking in spiritual prowess as he is. MXTX's interview just reiterates this all.

As for the Jiang Cheng matter... well... Wen Ning was right to say he was lacking despite being given a prodigious core...

[lxnarphase]

do you have any advice for new writers who want to start posting on tumblr?

Oh man, I'm gonna give you a list of things I wish I could've told myself when I first started posting.

Some Basic Tips:

Don't be scared to post! You'll never see growth in your followers, mutuals, and even your writing if you don't post!

Be open to asking others for help or advice if you struggle with writing. I sometimes ask some of my mutuals for help or read fanfiction to see how others write a scene. Then, I take the knowledge and write it in my own way. For example, I do well with writing dialogue but find myself always struggling with how to start the story.

Don't be afraid to post about non-writing things, too! Remember, you deserve to have fun on your account, so post what you want. You aren't a machine. You are a person!

The number of notes you get doesn't determine your worth or skill in writing. In my opinion, Tumblr has shifted a bit, making it harder for smaller writers to get likes, reblogs, or comments on their works.

But at the end of the day, in order to enjoy being a writing blog on Tumblr, you have to enjoy what you are writing and posting. Do not feel like you have to force yourself to write just for the numbers, let it happen naturally. Things will start out slow at first, as all things do, but you'll get to a point where you can barely keep up with things.

Post and Blog Formatting + Style:

Formatting is really important! Break up paragraphs, ask a friend to be a beta reader, and for longer works, go back and proofread if you have the time! It's okay if you have minor mistakes, though. I tend to miss things in my writing, and when I return a week later, I just fix them. No big deal!

Nowadays, aesthetics is HUGE for fanfiction posts and your account. Channel your creativity and style! Make your blog super pretty in your own way! It can be pink and cutesy, black and edgy, simple and clean, or colorful and cluttered! Don't have a blank blog!

PUT YOUR AGE CLEARLY SOMEWHERE! In your bio, pinned post, SOMEWHERE IT IS EASY TO SEE. I have had writing accounts follow me but no age, so I don't feel comfortable engaging with them.

You can take inspiration from other accounts (don't outright copy, though) on how they format their fanfictions. You will probably notice a lot of accounts have headers, dividers, or colored text. You can do that too, as it can catch the readers attention.

I get headers from doujins and mangas I read, websites such as Pinterest are good for cute ones, and Twitter is your go-to for more NSFW headers.

Create a tagging system to make navigating your blog easier, and have a pinned post with links to your rules/byf/masterlist/etc.

Try to put warnings in your writing. A lot of people have filters on to avoid the types of content they don't want to see, but there are the occasional people who don't put warnings in the writing post itself. It could be a simple tag or a list of themes at the beginning of the post.

An example would be a post with the tag #dubcon #tw dubcon OR putting "cw: dubcon" in the post itself before the writing itself.

This is a tag vs. in the actual post

Tagging and Reblogs

Speaking of tags, USE THE TAGGING SYSTEM! If you don't tag your post with popular fanfiction tags, it will be hard for people to find you.

Only the first twenty tags will show up in Tumblr search, including your own blog. Reblogs will not show up in tracked tags or searches.

However, don't feel bad for reblogging your own works again. Do it as many times as you want. You created something and should feel proud of it! I still reblog things from January just because.

Making Mutuals

Don't be afraid to engage with other accounts. That's how you make friends on here! But here's something important:

Be genuine. Make mutuals because you enjoy each other's work, AND both have fun talking with each other! If someone doesn't add you back as a mutual, that is okay; don't feel like they have something against you! Making mutuals shouldn't be your only goal when posting on Tumblr. Otherwise, you might tire yourself out mentally. It took me a while to make mutuals on here, but I'm glad it did it naturally instead of trying to force it.

Asks and Anons

Once you build a following, you will get the most wonderful, loving, and supportive anons in your inbox! Cherish them, respond to them, and have fun with them! Because there is a very high chance, you will also get assholes in your inbox.

I say this from the bottom of my heart but do NOT give hateful people your attention because that is what they thrive on. I still get them, but when I tell you I am at so much peace, I block and delete the messages and carry on.

If a certain message bothers me for a bit, then I just take a little break, talk to some friends about what happened, and do what helps me calm down so I don't act rashly. Don't be afraid to turn off anonymous messages for a while. This is YOUR blog, not theirs.

Don't feel pressured to answer every ask or fulfill every request. Take your time because that can burn you out! I love socializing so much, but sometimes I just pull a blank on how to respond to my asks. I always ensure my mutuals and followers know that I'm not ignoring them and just tend to go blank-brained with some asks, OR I save some of them to look at when I'm sad!

Overall, just start and DO IT FOR YOURSELF.

That's the best advice for when you want to make anything. You just have to start posting and learning and improving as you go on. Hopefully, this will sort of help. I know it's not the best list of advice, but it's just some things I would tell myself back when I first started.

If you have any other questions, I can try my best to answer them!

[heylittleriotact]

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨.

This is a link to ao3 because apparently tumblr doesn't feel like auto-formatting links today.

Her head hurt.

Oh it hurt terribly.

‘I’m getting a bit too old for these, I think,’ she had smirked before tipping back a jagerbomb the night before. 

She’d been saying that for almost a year - every time she knocked back a shot of something sweet and boozy. And every time for almost a year, she ended up waking up in the morning feeling nauseous with a vicious headache and a general feeling of well-deserved malaise.

She was only 25: still young enough to party, but there was no denying that the consequence-free era of staying up until the sun rose and doing it all over again the next night was little more than a fond memory of her late teens. 

Staring up at the ceiling, roused by her 7:10 alarm, she decided there was a distinct possibility she was still slightly drunk. 

She’d woken up with her phone in her hand, her messaging app still open on the last message Emmrich had sent her.

Goodnight, Rook.

It had taken her a hot minute to recall their brief exchange in the early, drunken hours of the morning, and she’d forgotten sending him a selfie all together until she saw it with her own eyes.

“Goddammit…” she hissed at her own traitorous visage, snarling up at her from the phone defiantly, tits squeezed together, and fingers parted in the shape of a peace sign. “‘Thanks for looking after my headphones’ - heart emoji?!” Her stomach twisted on itself and threatened to vacate her body entirely through whichever orifice was most convenient. “Fuck me…” 

She quickly scanned through the rest of the messages again to ensure that she hadn’t said anything else incredibly foolish that she had missed earlier. Blessedly, the blatantly flirtatious selfie appeared to be the only mortifying thing her wasted ass had taken upon itself to send Emmrich the night before. 

Drunk Rook had all the impulse control of a toddler given unsupervised access to unlimited quantities of sugar and then set loose in a toy store. Except instead of sugar, it was liquor and party drugs, and instead of a toy store, it was apparently the repressed and horny corners of her mind. 

Or… or something.

She didn’t have time to try and divine the inebriated reasoning behind her decision to harass Emmrich in the middle of the night: she needed to get ready for work and pray that she could pass herself off as some imitation of a reasonably put together human at work that day. 

She showered and dried her hair, strange little jabs and jolts of adrenaline coursing through her gut whenever her mind wandered back to those words: Goodnight, Rook - which it appeared to be doing a lot. 

Alright, so maybe she had developed a bit of a crush on him, but in her defense, she couldn’t begin to tell where the fuck it had come from.

Truth be told, she had been sort of hoping he’d offer to drive her home the day before, because she was rapidly realizing that once she got over herself and gave him a chance, Emmrich wasn’t terrible to be around.

It wasn’t just his actions, but his energy alone was notably unthreatening despite Rook’s best attempts at talking herself into believing it was: most people that wanted something from her set something off in her mind - triggered a very sensitive and unforgiving defense mechanism to put herself as far away from the person setting her off as she could. 

But… Emmrich didn’t. He might have at first, but everyone did, and she was increasingly finding herself looking forward to their interactions... so much so that apparently when she was hammered, she felt inclined to send him pictures of herself after he texted her exactly one time to kindly let her know that she’d forgotten her headphones in his car.

Am… am I the creep?  

Lovely. Like ‘Professor Volkarin’ hasn’t got enough hot-to-trot raven-haired-death-groupies probably panting after him in his embalming course…

“Fuuuuuck!” She groaned, feeling terrible for her plight as she shrugged on her jacket and wrapped a scarf around her face. She flung open her apartment door and jabbed an accusatory finger at the rather sad potted Norfolk Pine in the corner and snapped, “Perk up!” Before slamming the door behind her. 

He wasn’t scheduled for any arrangements by the time he got in, but he had known from the service schedule released towards the end of the previous day that he was leading a service that morning. He’d done the arrangements with the family - it would be a fairly sizable funeral: services for younger people were always well-attended, with plenty of friends and family and colleagues to make an appearance to support one another through a difficult time.

And a difficult time it was: Helen Gardner had been only 56 when she succumbed to the pancreatic cancer that ravaged her in less than a year, robbing the healthy, active paralegal of her strength and vitality with harrowing efficiency. Her deeply bereaved husband, Todd, explained this to Emmrich at the arrangement meeting. Told him that a year earlier she had completed her fifth triathlon.

All it took was a routine blood test with a handful of abnormalities to start the avalanche of panels and scans and treatments, and despite her hard-fought battle, Helen Gardner was shuffled off the mortal coil with the same cold, uncaring hands of Death that would touch all living things eventually.  

Emmrich wasn’t far off from her age. He was 52.

Having done this work for decades, there were few things that made him uncomfortable anymore, but working with a decedent that was similar in age to him never sat right: it hit too close to home - was too thorough of a reminder that yes, Emmrich Volkarin, this will be you one day too - and that day may come sooner than you think. 

But just because he was unsettled by the reality of his own mortality, that didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do: someone had died, and those who loved and knew her were left behind to pick up the pieces.

So Emmrich did what he’d done for twenty-seven years, and he brushed his own fear and discomfort under the rug, politely dismissing it from his psyche because the Gardner family and their bereavement took precedence over something as silly and unimportant as his own crippling fear of death. 

He set himself up in a free arrangement office, and powered on his laptop, opening the file containing all of the information and details for Mrs. Gardner’s service and sending it to the printer in the main office. 

“Good morning, Rook,” he said brightly, sweeping past her to retrieve the print out of the file. 

He received a dismissive grunt in return and he turned to see her hunched over her desk, head resting heavily on one hand as she scrolled through the bevy of emails that had come in overnight. She didn’t look at him. 

Folding the file in half and tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket, he rounded the desk and picked up the clipboard that held the printed service schedule for the day: he’d forgotten which funeral attendants were scheduled on the Gardner service with him.

It was silent apart from the familiar Tchaikovsky violin concerto playing over the speakers throughout the chapel, and the occasional ‘click’ of Rook tapping the down arrow key to read the next email on the list.

She looked miserable: her eyes were dull and dark circles lingered around them. Her skin was somewhat ashen, even with makeup, and she’d skipped her trademark scarlet lip-stick - the shade she was wearing in the picture she’d sent him.

Still holding the clipboard, Emmrich reached into his pocket and withdrew the blue headphone case, extending it to Rook with a soft clearing of his throat. 

Her eyes flicked from the monitor to his outstretched hand and an unmistakable flush of colour blossomed over the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. She snatched the case from his hand, eyes locked back on the computer screen. “Thanks,” she said distantly, very, very intently reading her emails.

Despite decades of adhering to a high standard of conduct in the workplace, and the fact that he considered himself a consummate professional, that bloom of colour on her face went straight to his cock.

It meant she wasn’t so inebriated that morning that she had no memory of their messages. It meant that she was just as aware of the selfie and their ensuing conversation as he was. It meant that she felt some sort of way about it.

“Did you have a nice evening?” He inquired, genuinely wanting to know.

Her slightly bloodshot eyes remained on the screen and she yanked a tissue from the box on her desk, blowing her nose loudly before sniffling and saying, “Too nice of an evening, if I’m being honest.” She wadded up the tissue and binned it, reaching for another one. 

Emmrich couldn’t keep the wry smile from appearing on his lips: she clearly hadn’t limited herself to drinking if the fountain of snot pouring out of her face was anything to go by.

“It sounded like it: you accidentally pocket-dialed me at one point.”

He could just shut up. He could not mention any of this and go on with his day and rub one out at lunch in an attempt to get this out of his system like a normal person, but no. He kept talking.

“Forgive me for unintentionally eavesdropping, but it sounded like you were on a date.” He flipped to the next page of the schedule, hoping he sounded nonchalant - just a co-worker asking another co-worker about their night in an attempt at making friendly conversation.

“I pocket-dialed you?!” Rook’s eyes widened, panic clear. “When?”

“Around eleven.”

She put her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes. “Fuck. Sorry. You must think I’m a complete fucking loser. My friend’s band was playing last night, and my old roommate Leon met me at the bar and he’s… oh man he’s a bad influence. I got pretty sloppy, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Was he hearing this correctly? Was she apologizing to him instead of leaping down his throat for listening in on her private conversation? And ‘old roommate’? So it wasn’t a date…

Suddenly his whole day seemed better, even with the impending funeral of a woman four years older than himself. 

“No harm done. Nothing wrong with a bit of harmless fun,” he assured her, finally finding the page with the service he was leading, and - oh… interesting. “Were you aware that you’ve been scheduled on the service this morning?” He held up the clipboard, indicating her name on the list of personnel, along with another student named Elijah Frederick, and a part-timer, Jasper Blackwell. 

The clipboard was ripped from his hand. “What?!” She griped, staring at her name. “No one told me I’d be on a service today. I’ve never been scheduled on a service before!”

“Sunday staffing,” Emmrich reminded her. “There probably weren’t enough attendants working today between all the other services, so they put you on. It’ll be good for you to start gaining experience working funerals.” 

The tension in her face was palpable, and the image of her jeering up at the camera the night before waltzed through his mind: so confident and carefree. Something inside of him tugged at the thought of it, and something else simultaneously warned him away from the urge to follow it. 

“You’ll be just fine, Rook - I know it.” He smiled at her, hoping he’d put her mind somewhat at ease: all she had to do was go where he told her: he wasn’t going to put the stress of running the music or the memorial slideshow on her - Elijah had been with them long enough that he was trained and confident on sound, and Jasper was excellent at ushering, so that left the processional, and he'd be there to guide Rook through that. 

She groaned sullenly and took a long drink from the cup of black coffee in front of her. “And here I was hoping for a quiet day…” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “I haven’t seen Jasper or Elijah yet, and the flowers are already here - I saw them when I came in through the garage this morning…” she blew her nose one more time and stood, adjusting her skirt. “Better start setting up, I guess…” 

Hungover and complaining or not, this was what he appreciated about Rook: she may not want to, but she pulled her own weight and took initiative when the occasion called for it rather than hoping someone else would do the work for her. 

He followed her out of the office, through the foyer and into the garage. 

At least a dozen floral arrangements were set on the metal rack against the far wall past the hearse and the lead car - Todd Gardner had purchased the casket spray and two matching bouquets to be displayed at either end of the casket during arrangements, but the rest had been ordered and sent to the chapel by people who knew the Gardners and wished to express their condolences. 

It always warmed Emmrich’s heart to see the myriad ways that people supported and stood with the bereaved. Flowers, home-cooked meals, long embraces, and shared tears… humanity was indeed capable of seemingly depthless cruelty, but on the other side of the coin, the community that sprang up around those in pain was nothing short of awe-inspiring. 

They worked in relative silence, shuttling floral arrangements from the garage into the chapel. Rook had assisted with setting up enough services over the past few months that she required little direction, and the fact that she’d gone to bed around four in the morning seemingly did little to slow her down. 

Once the flowers were all stacked on pedestals of varying heights and freed of their plastic wrapping, they took the stairs to the lower level to bring Mrs. Gardner’s casket up to the visitation room. She was to be cremated after the service, but Mr. Bridges wished for her casket to be present at the funeral itself, and there would be a brief viewing for the immediate family just prior to the service. 

Emmrich held the prep room door open for Rook, allowing her inside first, much like he’d held the door open for her on the day of her interview. His eyes followed her as she passed him by, and the delicate scent of her perfume followed in her wake, diffusing into the air behind her and prompting the photo back into his mind - unbidden once again. 

Have some decency, he chided himself inwardly. The last thing I need is her accusing me of smelling her again…

“I think I’ll have you assist me with the processional, and Elijah can run sound. Jasper will usher and set up the reception.” He flipped on the lights and found Mrs. Bridges’ casket: a very distinguished oak, polished to a gleaming sheen. Expensive… and heavy. He carefully maneuvered it towards himself, mindful not to hit the other occupied caskets on either side. “That way if any other families arrive during the service and require assistance, you’ll be free to help: the processional will only take a few minutes, so once the service starts you can head back to the office and we’ll take it from there. If we need anything else, we’ll be sure to let you know, but I think between the three of us we can handle the rest of the service and the reception.” 

“What about the recessional?” Rook rounded the other side of the casket and placed her hands on the corners.

“The casket will stay in the chapel during the reception. No need to move it again until after the family has left.” Another easy smile. Another effortless reassurance.

Rook nodded, started pushing the casket, and together they guided it out of the room to the elevator. 

“Uh… Emmrich?” She said when the elevator doors closed behind them, something like worry dwelling on her face. 

“Yes, Rook?”

“Sorry for… sorry for being such a bitch over the past few months. You don’t deserve it, and you’ve been so nice and… and helpful since I started.”

The lift emitted a sanitary ‘ding’ to let them know they’d arrived at the main level. Emmrich felt his ears heat up and managed to close his mouth which he knew was slightly agape in reflexive shock at the unexpected and utterly contrite apology.

“Oh. Think nothing of it, Rook - you’re a pleasure to work with,” he willed another smile onto his face.

“I’m not. I’m short, and sarcastic, and mean.” 

They began wheeling the heavy casket towards the visitation room next to the main chapel. 

“You can be a bit… brusque at times, certainly, but I’ve never taken any offense.”

No. If anything her dry wit amused him. This profession was rife with good-hearted, compassionate, well-meaning doormats, and Rook Ingellvar was no such thing. Having worked under the Raffertys for as long as he had, he knew that those who walked through these doors unable to stand up for themselves were usually eaten alive in short order. Rook seemed especially resilient to the back-biting and bus-throwing that many of the established staff resorted to in order to stay on top. She didn’t seem compelled to sink to that level, but instead guarded her peace and stayed well clear of the frequent entanglements of ego that cropped up on a near daily basis amongst the hundred-odd staff.

“If you say so,” she conceded, not sounding convinced. 

They lined the casket up parallel to the wall in the visitation room, and Emmrich opened the upper half of the lid using the casket key he kept on his person. He removed the spread out piece of Kleenex that was covering her face, the lightness in his heart vanishing at the sight of poor Mrs. Gardner.

She was well-prepared - the staff that had embalmed her did an excellent job - but the frail, hollow shell of her corpse looked so unlike the image of the beaming, vivacious woman with sandy blonde hair and a toothy smile that graced the cover of the funeral programs designed and printed by the graphics department. 

To have so much potential… so many stories left waiting in the wings, forever unwritten… a fate so unjust and cruel that he could never quite wrap his head around it…

“‘S’cuse me - just need to fix the wheels…” Rook murmured, jolting Emmrich from his existential spiral as she slipped past him and dropped to her knees at the head end of the casket with all the effortless ease of someone half his age. 

He busied himself with ensuring Mrs. Gardner looked acceptable for the viewing prior to the service, but found himself watching Rook through the gap under his arm.

The corner of the casket nearest to him lifted ever so slightly as Rook braced her upper back against it and straightened slightly, relieving the bier of weight for long enough that she could reposition the wheel so it was facing outwards, aligned with the direction of the casket, then she crawled forward a few inches to do the same on the side closest to the wall.

Emmrich’s mouth went dry: Rook’s rear was inches from him, sticking up in the air as she squirmed under the other corner of the casket. Her skirt had hiked up a few inches and… goodness - was that lace? Black lace halfway up her thigh?

He felt a bit faint when she shifted again and the skirt pulled higher still, clearly revealing the scalloped edge of the black stocking coming to an end and revealing a combination of creamy white skin and the vividly coloured ink that had been injected into it: obscured patterns and designs that he found himself suddenly very curious about.

He became aware of the tightness of his pants in the vicinity of his crotch, and shame hurtled into him as his cock stirred at the sight before him, yet he couldn’t look away: he felt compelled by some depraved need to keep staring at the tight, curvaceous ass of his colleague as she went about her day, utterly ignorant to his lust.

Despite the impropriety of it, he simply couldn’t help but imagining what it would be like to slip his fingertips over the edge of those stockings and slip them down her long, toned legs… lifting her skirt a few more inches and—

“I would actually appreciate it if you stopped drooling over the young lady helping with my funeral like a pig and got on with your job.”

Emmrich started, and turned to face the origin of the voice: the pale, incorporeal specter of Helen Gardner, sitting in one of the armchairs against the wall, her legs crossed primly as she picked at a loose thread on her gray Chanel suit. Her face - thin skin stretched over bone, all fat and muscle stolen by months of cancer treatments - was set in a dubious expression befitting someone who had just caught someone else red-handed.

Him.

Rook didn’t surface from the bier at the sound of the voice: she carried on fussing away with the wheels like she hadn’t heard anything. 

Because she hadn’t. 

Only Emmrich could see and hear Mrs. Gardner.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning his attention back to the dead woman in the casket.

“Hm?” Rook grunted from under the casket.

“Nothing!” Emmrich said quickly.

“And fix my wig please - I never wore it like that: I always tucked some of the hair behind my left ear.” Mrs. Gardner’s ghost had risen from the armchair and joined Emmrich at her casket, resting her ghostly fingers on the edge and peering down into her own face, a strange expression on hers.

Not wanting to give Rook further cause to think there was anything odd going on, Emmrich nodded his understanding and quickly donned a pair of nitrile gloves. 

He tucked a strand of hair behind Mrs. Bridges’ left ear. “There,” he whispered. 

Rook, oblivious to all of this, moved behind them and set to work on the wheels at the foot end of the casket.

“You’re the only one who’s been able to see me,” Helen Bridges said, seemingly unable to remove her eyes from the body she once occupied. 

Emmrich nodded once, slowly, in confirmation. 

Mrs. Bridges let out a long sad sigh, and the temperature in the room dropped almost imperceptibly.

“We were supposed to be in Rivain this week… of course that was before I got sick and all of our plans changed…” She reached out and trailed her insubstantial fingers over her cold, firm cheek. “I was going to retire in the next few years and we - Todd and I… we were going to travel the world together…”

Her voice - distant and distorted like she was speaking through a tin can packed with cotton from the bottom of a swimming pool - wavered. 

“I fought so hard for him… for us… and now he’s alone...”

He isn’t, Emmrich wanted to say, but with Rook right there, he couldn’t, so instead he moved his hand a few inches to the right on the edge of the casket, feeling dreadful cold shock through his nerves as it came to rest on hers - in hers - lending her the closest thing he could to human touch… and comfort. 

“I doubt he’d even believe you if you told him, but… if… if you can find a way… can you… can you tell him I love him? And… that I’ll be waiting for him at the zebras: our first date was to the zoo, and we met by the zebra enclosure.” She finally managed to tear her gaze away from herself to look at Emmrich. “He’ll get it.”

Emmrich nodded again, and warmth flooded his hand as hers vanished. 

She meandered back to the pair of armchairs and sat down again, crossing her legs and lacing her fingers over her knee. “I think I’ll stay here a while longer,” she mused distantly. “Don’t wanna miss my big day…”

For the last time, Emmrich nodded - a cordial tip of the head, and he finished adjusting the casket.

Rook finally surfaced, finished with the wheels. She wriggled her skirt back down her thighs and dusted off her hands. 

“There!” She said cheerfully, grinning for the first time that day. “All done - oh.” Her smile faded at the sight of Emmrich’s rather blanched expression. “You uh… good, Emmrich? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The irony of the observation was not lost on him.

She sat on the bus home after her shift, scarfed wrapped around her face, headphones absolutely fucking cranked, wishing for nothing more than a random, fatal embolism to kill her on the spot.

The rest of the set up and the funeral service itself had gone well.

The processional, set to ‘My Sweet Lord’ by George Harrison was… intense. Rook wasn’t sure if it was the song itself - chosen by Mrs. Gardner’s husband, or the fact that the three-hundred occupant capacity chapel was filled to the brim with friends, family, and loved ones. When the procession began and from the doors of the chapel Emmrich instructed everyone to please stand, and they did, and then they moved that heavy casket down the aisle, Mr. Gardner and the rest of the immediate family in tow…

It was… it was a lot. 

The love in that room was unmistakable: so powerful and tangible that for a moment, it almost seemed like it could be strong enough to reverse the very existence of Death itself, and bring the beloved woman back to life.

She didn’t think she’d ever forget that feeling.

Or maybe due to the combined effect of the cocaine and alcohol hangover, her dopamine starved brain was just reading into things too much.

This suspicion was all but confirmed when (for some reason) she plucked up the nerve after the service to ask Emmrich if he could drive her home instead of waiting - hoping - for him to offer. 

‘Oh dear… I’m terribly sorry, Rook - I can’t today. I’m afraid I have plans, and I need to head straight home.’

He looked truly pained to have to turn her down, and her stupid, blow-blasted brain betrayed her once again as the recent rejection stampeded through her mind and she was suddenly blinking away tears on the bus.

Stop it. Grow up. Holy fuck.

She forced a deep breath through her nose and tried to swallow past the tightness in her throat.

He doesn’t have plans. He thinks you’re a fucking weirdo and you’ve made him uncomfortable with your stupid selfies and heart emojis. You know better than anyone that unwanted attention from someone you work with is gross and awkward.

Idiot.

A tiny sob forced past her lips and she managed to disguise it as some sort of odd hiccup so that the people sitting around her on the bus weren’t subjected to the spectacle of a woman openly weeping as she listened to ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ by Prince because her kind-hearted coworker who was old enough to be her father had politely declined her request for a ride home due to the fact that he was a sentient human being with a life outside of catering to her.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and lifted her phone to read the message that had just come through - if it was Leon trying to get her to go out again tonight, he could shove it up his ass…

But it wasn’t. 

‘I truly feel terrible that I wasn’t able to drive you home tonight. I’m sorry. Please let me know when you get home safely? E.’

Oh.

That’s really nice of him.

He’s really nice…

[spnfanficpond]

New Member Spotlight January 2025

The Pond is always growing and we want to make our new members feel welcome! Here’s a list of recent additions to our fishy family and a little info about them!

Guppies, Jellies, and Mutuals, oh, my!

doe - she/they, @nyc-pizza-rat, Purple_Starflower (AO3), sleepydoe (Discord)

OTP? - Destiel

Other fandoms? - A few — ofmd, good omens, do bollywood movies count?

Looking for in the Pond? - Community and support! Also accountability

Pairings you read? - Destiel, mostly

Genres you read? - Fluffy & Angst, low smut, soulmate AUs, Accidental marriage

What do you like to write? - One shots

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? -Long fic

Mari D - she/her, EST, @rosemariad, kunoichidelahoja (AO3), R0s3mar1_D (Discord), mari_m_d on Instagram, mdgurl on Twitter (I'm always gonna call it Twitter, idc lol) & bluesky

OTP? - Destiel, SamJess

Other fandoms? - Naruto

Looking for in the Pond? - Support, engagement, social activity

Something to signal boost? - I'm working on an SPN fanfic series - I've published 5 fics contributing to that series spanning from the end of s4 to s8, s9 is currently in progress and will be done by next week, here's the link to the series on Ao3:

Pairings you read? - ships, occasional love triangles

Genres you read? - angst, PWP, smut, slow burn, Canon divergent, Canon compliant, the occasional bit of crack for levity lol.

Favorite writer(s)? - favorite fanfic writer not necessarily but favorite fics absolutely: our old heroes by adelaclancy, a room of ones own by northernsparrow, four letter word for intercourse by @bendingsignpost

What do you like to write? - I love putting my own spin of Canon events and then spiraling from there, so it tends to be in-universe but Canon divergent or Canon compliant and writing from a character's perspective never seen before.

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - SPN Inferno

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - I would've previously said publishing this spn fanfic series I'm working on but just gauging people's thoughts on it would be super helpful, what works, what doesn't work? what would people want more of or less? I want these fanfics to be the best it can be because of how long the SPN Fandom has endured, now reaching 20 years since the show began.

Liane - she/her or they/them, Germany, @chevroletdean, Reika (AO3), reikanra (Discord)

OTP? - Destiel (I also love Samwena)

Other fandoms? - Anime (some of my favorites are Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Attack on Titan, Sailor Moon, Durarara!!, Death Note), Gaming (some favorites are Persona, Animal Crossing, the Legend of Zelda, Ace Attorney), Dungeons & Dragons, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, anything vampire related honestly

Looking for in the Pond? - I hope to connect with other writers/readers, to participate in writing events, and to learn a thing or two (especially about formatting stuff). I'm also looking forward to fic recs.

Something to signal boost? - Back in November 2024 I have created a Tumblr Community for Supernatural Writers. It is a groupchat-esque space for all kinds of writers to connect, collaborate, and help each other out. In December we've hosted a Prompt-Mas event as well as a Secret Santa. Tumblr was rolling out this new feature and I wanted to use it for that purpose. Secondly, I have recently joined a mutual's Discord Server for SPN Fanfic Writers and am currently a mod there.

Pairings you read? - Destiel, Samwena, Reader inserts (all of them! Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader, etc.)

Genres you read? - Angst, fluff, smut. My favorite is ANGST all the way, the heavier the better. Some of my favorite tropes are hurt/comfort, Royal!AU (knight x prince(ss) has my HEART), sunshine x grumpy, friends to lovers, Character A fell first and Character B fell harder

Favorite writer(s)? - There are too many to just pick one, but I'll try to list the first 5 that come to my mind! Alex ( @zepskies on Tumblr and Zeppelin_Skies on AO3), Blondie ( @ohsc on Tumblr and AO3), Dahlia ( @lovedahlia on Tumblr), Fig ( @figthoughts on Tumblr), and Kelsey ( @inknopewetrust on Tumblr and happyhogan on AO3)

What do you like to write? - As of right now I mainly write Dean x Reader and Dean x OC stories. I write for other SPN characters too, though, as well as characters played by Jensen Ackles. They all range from fluff to angst to smut, or revolve around platonic relationships. I generally prefer one-shots, but also write headcanons and multichapter fics. My current main project is Tainted, a very angsty Dean x Fem!Reader mutlichapter fic revolving around the Mark of Cain and Demon!Dean arc in seasons 9-10.

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - NSFW warning, I wrote this for Kinktober 2024: Lingerie

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - As someone who's queer myself, I'd love to write more sapphic x reader fics. I already have (cf. the underappreciated Rowena x Fem!Reader oneshot above), but it fell a bit flat, so I haven't done it again. I love the boys dearly, but sometimes I wanna put more spotlight on the female characters of Supernatural. Especially in x (fem!)reader scenarios, but also just generally. Maybe events where the ladies get to be the main characters would motivate me more, if a couple of people participate.

Mal - she/her, EST, @winchester11213, Winchester11213 (AO3),

OTP? - Sam/Eileen

Other fandoms? - Marvel

Looking for in the Pond? - Recommendations and possibly when I get the gumption, to have others see my writing.

Pairings you read? - Reader inserts

Genres you read? - All genres. Favorite tropes: enemies/friends to lovers; fake relationships

Favorite writer(s)? - @kittenofdoomage is my favorite.

What do you like to write? - Smut, fluff, working my way into some more genres at a snail’s pace

Masterlist!

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - Not yet. I still have 96 (exaggerating a bit) WIP & a 3yo so I’m very slow at putting out work between time restriction and my general lack of confidence

Beth - she/her, Australia, @bettystonewell, betty_stonewell (AO3),

Looking for in the Pond? - Making fandom friends

Pairings you read? - Reader inserts

Genres you read? - Romance with a bit of everything. I prefer humour to angst. Slow burns, friends to lovers, omegaverse

Favorite writer(s)? - @littlegreenplasticsoldier, @kittenofdoomage, and alexjanna91 (on AO3)

What do you like to write? - Dean x reader. Writing from Dean’s perspective

Masterlist!

Abbie - Great Britain, @supernotnatural2005, Supernotnatural_2005 (AO3), Abbalinawrites (Discord)

OTP? - Dean x reader

Other fandoms? - Big sky, SPN RPF, wanting write for more

Looking for in the Pond? - I’d like to be able to communicate with more people, and find new blogs with work to read. I’d love to be able to bounce ideas around and get more advice, or opinions on my work. Be part of a community with lovely people I can share my work and theirs with.

Pairings you read? - Any of Jensen’s characters x reader

Genres you read? - Angst, fluff, smut, alternate universe, A/B/O

Favorite writer(s)? - Currently, my two favourite atm are @zepskies and waynesmultiverse because I have recently read their works, and love everything they put out. Also, Alex has been lovely in responding to some of my work.

What do you like to write? - Angst to fluff, smut, AU, A/B/O

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - A Christmas Miracle

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - I would like to write my own Alpha!dean x Omega!reader story. I have attempted but struggled to put the ideas to the page. And maybe idea bouncing? I show/tell you my idea and get feedback or advice?

EnTeSelene - she/her, Spain, @enteselene, enteselene (AO3), EnTeSelene (Discord), enteselene.bsky.soc

OTP? - Wincest

Looking for in the Pond? - I'm looking for fellow fans who love to read and write

Something to signal boost? - I'm the @spneldritchbang mod. On AO3

Pairings you read? - gen, wincest. I don't mind the pairing if the story is good

Genres you read? - lol, horror, case fics, character study... But again I don't mind the trope if the plot is good

Favorite writer(s)? - fleshflutter is to blame that I fell down the rabbit hole

What do you like to write? - horror and dark fics

Masterlist!

Most underappreciated fic? - Porcelain Soul

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - uh, thriller? sci-fi? I guess that the plot bunny missed my address

Tiffany (or Tiff) - PA, USA, (no Tumblr or AO3), Maxx15849 (Discord)

Looking for in the Pond? - To meet other writers and support others

Something to signal boost? - I'm working on my own application for writers

Pairings you read? - Oc/Dean Winchester ships

Genres you read? - Romance, friendship

What do you like to write? - Romance, friendship

Something you haven't written but would like to try? Why not? How can we help? - Not really. Still working on the ones I am working on now

That’s all for this month, folks! (If we’re missing anyone, let us know and we’ll add them to next month’s list!) Make sure to say hi to the newbies and make them feel welcome! Thanks to all from @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, @heavenssexiestangel, @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes, and @manawhaat!

[gallus-rising]

mp100 horror fic recs 👻🎃

For a while now I've been thinking about mp100's amazing horror potential and how it really doesn't get enough attention. SO! For the spooky season why don't you settle down with a nice scary story ;D

All of these fics are complete and have no shipping. I've only linked 1 fic per author so this list doesn't get bloated, but all of these wonderful authors have other fics just waiting for you to read them ❤ Some definitely freaked me out more than others, but I'm not gonna give any particular ratings since "scary" is so subjective. All fics are properly tagged and you know your own limits better than I do.

Also feel free to add on your own recs!! My general reading preferences and parameters when making this list is only a small sampling, so please share any and all of your favs ❤ Hope you enjoy!

If you see an "N/A" instead of a Tumblr UN that means there wasn't one linked in either the fics' notes or author's bio. If you know the author or are the author yourself feel free to let me know so I can edit the post :] And now in no particular order I present:

The Immeasurable Dark: @tinkertoysdamn Immediately breaking my own "no ships" rule just this once because I can't resist a good House of Leaves inspired story! If you've read HoL is you know what's up. If not expect a fucked-up house and impossibly large spaces, funky text formatting and footnotes, maybe a minotaur. Ship featured is background established serirei.

a pilgrimage: @tooomuchtofu Divine Tree arc bad ending. Told from the PoV of an unnamed worshiper on their first visit to "the capital" aka an overgrown Seasoning City. Uses second person pov wonderfully to build the dread.

And Who Is Killing Me?: @sammisafetypin Koyama beats the shit outta Mob a little harder than in canon, hospitalizing him and delaying the 7th Division rescue arc by [TIME NOT FOUND]. The Awakening Lab kids are so minor I tend to forget they even exist, but oh my god does this author make you care about them! This fic is written with great suddenly swapping PoVs that keep you feeling off kilter without making you lose track of the story. It's the longest fic on this list by far but 100% worth every second of it. A real gut punch.

Adoration: (N/A) The Divine Tree takes a particular interest in Reigen. I don't think I've ever seen anyone properly touch on how creepy the Psycho Helm constructs themselves are like this fic has. God, those things freak me out so much. Features "shipping" in the sense of a sentient broccoli becoming fixated on a guy. Keep in mind that the Psycho Helms look like Mob if you think that'll squick you out, but for me personally it added to the horror.

Similarities: (N/A) Reigen receives a fucked up email. Ends on the sillier side, but BOY is that email fucked up!

The Water Ran Clean: @bandtrees A Mogami-mentors-Mob AU and a damn fine one at that. Love the sort of fragmented style it's written in, and the exploration of Mogami's fucked up moral code is great. There's some Choice viscerally described imagery here 👌👌 Features a drawing of Mob covered in blood just in case that freaks you out; but worry, it's not his :]

An Outlier Among a Sea of Common Denominators: @hebezunet A rewrite of the early Divine Tree arc that asks the question we've all been too scared to consider: What if the brainwashing was like cordyceps? In particular I want to highlight the opening scene where after eating the broccoli powder cookies Teru has to physically rip florets out of his body to resist being brainwashed. Very gnarly stuff.

Prison Surveillance: (N/A) Touichirou was a very bad boss so Hatori pulls a The Ring to torment him in Psychic Supermax Prison. Was written pre-season 3 so Hatori doesn't work for the government.

Stairs: (N/A) Reigen and Mob have a job in the woods. There are some stairs. Inspired by an r/nosleep story which the author links to if you'd like to check that out as well.

Fight, Flight, or Fraud: @cowardlybean So everyone's got a really specific supernatural fear, right? Something that could absolutely never happen in real life but when you see it in media it freaks you the fuck out? Mine is someone I know being killed and replaced by an evil doppelganger and I'm the only one who knows. I've not seen anything since The Magnus Archives that's properly captured that fear like this fic, which is some of the highest praise I can bestow.

In Quicksand: @ghoststrawberries Reigen catches a nasty cold and by that I mean he gets possessed. Very fun the way Reigen's train of thought and feeling shifts around as the evil spirit tries to influence him while he's unconsciously resisting it. The scene where the gang realizes Reigen's been possessed is a real "OOOOOH, SHIT!!!" moment, but I won't spoil ;D

Playing Human: (N/A) Espers and psychic powers might not be real but spirits are. Poor baby Mob is a ghost possessing his own dead body. Features Dimple as the bad guy.

Mithridatism: If I may be so self-indulgent to list one of my own fics here :3 Absorbing evil spirits while still alive was actively killing Mogami and I wanted to dig into that! Features my Signature™ (lol) "HEY, DON'T EAT THAT!!" style of body horror.

[cornfieldsrambles]

I saw your explanation about lords in black and I have a question: tgwdlm the main lord in black is pokey, in black friday it is wiggly, and in npmd, who would it be?

oh god that post is going to haunt me forever (joke)

well, NPMD isn't really that simple I don't think. It's all of them. All five Lords in Black. And I think that makes sense.

Let me back up and explain. So NPMD happened after both Nightmare Times had been released. Obviously NPMD had been "in the works" before then, but for the actual finished show, I think Starkid assumed that a substantial amount of the people watching would've seen Nightmare Time. So I reckon they wanted to give something new to those people, while also not excluding people who hadn't watched it. That's just my assumption, though.

Not every Nightmare Time story is directly related to the Lords in Black.* About half the episodes have a bit more of a 'monster of the week' vibe. Hatchetfield Ape-Man, Forever and Always, Perky’s Buds and Killer Track are some examples. Generally, the pattern goes: a monster of the week, then a Lord in Black, then a monster of the week, then a Lord in Black.**

So when NPMD rolled around and (again, this is kind of me speculating) Starkid wanted to give something new/rewarding to those who watched Nightmare Time, while accommodating those who didn't, so they decided to do both. A particularly memorable and exciting monster-of-the-week is the main event, and we also get to see the Lords. Hatchetfield lore is referenced but you don't need to know much about it, and the stuff you do need to know is communicated through what the characters learn. The Waylons were in a cult and had their weird book which they used to worship Wiggly and co., and now they're dead and their house is cursed or something. Got it.

The other thing about Nightmare Time is... we've already seen each Lord in action. Heck, including TGWDLM we've seen Pokey twice. So what's better than one Lord in Black? FIVE LORDS IN BLACK!!!!!

So having not just Wiggly, but ALL of the Lords - with brand new Tumblr sexyman forms to boot - and showing them in a new and interesting role of pretty much the Deus Ex Machina of the show (this is hands-down the most helpful they've ever been) is something that feels very new and very rewarding to NMT watchers. Like "Oh my god! I know those guys! But it's all of them! This rules!"***

But also, showing Wiggly again gives the non-NMT watchers something to latch onto. Showing his brothers is in itself the new exciting thing, like "Oh my god, it's Wiggly! Wait - there's more of him? What the hell?!" At its core, their purpose in the plot is simple and comprehensible. It's deal-with-the-devil plotline, it's not rocket science. That, and showing all the Lords and dropping crumbs of lore could also get non-NMT watchers excited and interested, and would hopefully entice them to watch Nightmare Time. (Which I am once again encouraging you to do! There's so much you're missing out on!)

So TL;DR - My guess is that Starkid wanted the show to be rewarding to Nightmare Time watchers, and accessible to non-NMT watchers. They did this by combining the two main Nightmare Time episode formats (monster of the week and Lords in Black) in a way that felt new and exciting, wasn't too lore heavy to confuse non-NMTs, but was just lore-y enough to get them interested and feeling rewarding for NMT watchers who already knew about this stuff. So that's why they used all five Lords.

Wow I did not mean for this to turn out so long, I am sorry lol

*If you want to be pedantic, you could say everything/most things in Hatchetfield lead back to things like the Witchwood or the Starry Children or whatever, which arguably lead back to the Lords, but what I mean is not every Nightmare Time is about one or more Lord in Black directly making a mess. The 'monster of the week' things I mentioned are all related to stuff that happened years and years ago, so they don't count as much.

**Okay, NMT2 doesn't really stick to this formula as cleanly, but that doesn't really matter for my point.

***This was pretty much my reaction, after a lot of incoherent excited yelling lmao

[novacorpsrecruit]

Theme: social media / modern media AU

Don’t Hate the Player by daynight (Ao3) @daynightinc (tumblr)

M | wc 6,373 | minor cw cut scene cyber sex (I read it at work 🫡)

Steve Harrington doesn't really play video games. Not his thing.

Somehow, however, he's ended up in an utterly delusional, one-sided relationship with an NPC.

This is so fucking unique I’m literally hanging it up Video Game Hall of Fame. Rochester, here I come. Steve is bullied into playing ‘Upside Down’ an 18+ MMORG, as Dustin tells him the most efficient way to get a hold of him is through [reads notes] the in-game messaging system. Sounds right. Steve gets enamored with the game, playing hours on end even without Dustin. And Steve finds Keswardia the Banished, an NPC merchant, that he can’t stop visiting.

I’ll be honest I fucking love video game lore. It’s one thing that sucks me into games so hard. The world building in this fic just for the video game is so good!! I want to eat it up. And the fact that Steve stumbles into Keswardia destroys me. Read it, you’ll get it.

Gareth the Matchmaker by Steviesbicrisis (Ao3) @steviesbicrisis (tumblr)

G | 15/16 chapters | no cw

Gareth is in charge of the Corroded Coffin official TikTok account, he's playing Fuck Marry Kill with the three random celebrities filters and trying to make the other guys join as well.

When it's Eddie's turn, he's having none of it until he sees the three celebrities on top of his head.

He has no clue who these people are, but the one in the middle? Eddie is sure he's going to marry him someday.

Eddie has yet to find out that the guy is none other than baseball player Steve Harrington, 1/3 of the "Ladykiller Trio", currently playing for the Yomiuri Giants. In Japan.

And when things get too complicated for Eddie's liking, thankfully he has Gareth on his side.

I honestly think this is the first time I’ve ever read a social media AU that’s only through images and with a complete story. There’s screenshots of the text messages, Instagram, news articles, TikTok’s. This is such a unique storytelling method and everyone is so in character, you forget that it’s not real screenshots. (I hardly ever read anything that’s incomplete but I made sure to hit subscribe when I first saw it was on Ao3.) It’s a WIP, but chapter 16 is supposed to be an epilogue, so even if you don’t like reading WIPs, I highly encourage this one!!

WHO IS EDDIE MUNSON FUCKING by beetlesandstars, witchjeons (ao3)

M | wc 2,445 | no cw

Summary: eddie: oh god

oh no god please no

FUCK

FUCK FCUK FUCK FCK FUCK

NOBODY LOOK NOBODY SCROLL UP

PLEASE

nancy: did you actually just sext the fucking group chat

eddie: so. like

Or, Eddie accidentally sends a sext to the group chat. Chaos ensues.

I fucking die reading this. This is an entire fic made of chat rooms and it’s so fUCKING funny I’m not even joking.

Eddie accidentally opens a can of worms when he sends the wrong message to the wrong chat and chaos ensues. All of their personalities fit so well in a modern setting and it feels like you’re snooping in someone’s phone. I really recommend anything that Jo writes that has chats (and in general)!

Eddie Munson/Hotdude Official Megatherad! By MixAddams (ao3) @mixsethaddams (tumblr)

T | wc 1,906 | cw Reddit simulation

Summary: The general public spent 30 years thinking nothing of Steve’s presence in pictures beyond him being ‘that one hot dude in the background’ because whatever, he was just another part of Corroded Coffin’s entourage.

Imagine the scramble on the band’s subreddit to reexamine every picture he’s ever been in when, the day gay marriage gets legalised in Indiana, Eddie posts a picture on Instagram of the two of them with the caption “Finally. We’ve been engaged since 1989.”

(Because of the formatting is infinitely clearer on desktop or tablets than on mobile)

I absolutely love this. This is literally peering into the Stranger Things universe in 2Kwhatever and peering into the mess that is Reddit and the Corroded Coffin fan base. This is so fucking brilliant I just !!!! Please read.

Seth tbh I don’t think I realized this was your fic I love your brain, I’m kissing your brain.

Consensual Catfishing by foresthearts (ao3)

M | wc 32,108 | cw miscommunication

Summary: When Eddie gets a message on instagram from an account claiming to be the famous pop-star Steve Harrington, he knows immediately it's a catfish. He's not dumb. The account has no pictures and people like Steve Harrington don't just randomly DM guys like Eddie.

Still. What would be the harm in letting it play out? It's not dangerous if he knows he's being catfished. No, if he knows about it, then it's basically like a fun little roleplay. No harm, no foul.

(Eddie is not, in fact, being catfished)

*slaps the screen of Ao3* This baby can fit so much into it! Mistaken identities, identity porn, mixed media, famous Steve, slightly less famous Eddie, podcasts, text messages, tumblr posts, and dungeons and dragons.

Eddie, a DM for a Dungeons and Dragons online podcast (vodcast? wtf do you call it when it’s a video series), gets a message from someone pretending to be his (slightly former) celebrity crush, Steve Harrington. Eddie goes along with it, joking about it on his show, and maybe he kind of falls in love with the catfisher…

While Steve Harrington finds out an internet celebrity is into him. He reaches out to the famous DM Eddie Munson in hopes he can get over his former relationship with his bandmate.

This Untitled modern AU by @steddiealltheway

G | ficlet sized | no cw

Summary: A wrong number leads to Steve making an unlikely friendship.

This fic rattled my brain so much, when I was searching for it I thought it was on Ao3/10K fic. I absolutely love this piece! Robin goes out on a date and Steve (lovingly) jokes that Robin is going out with a serial killer. Steve texts Robin’s new number, just to ensure she’s safe and not actually with a serial killer… only to find out that he has the wrong number. He creates a friendship with Not Robin (of course, after finding out Robin was indeed safe), and maybe he falls along the way, too.

Found God in a Tomato by beetlesandstars (ao3)

M | wc 5,725 | no cw

Summary: Eddie: just met the cutest guy on god’s green earth and i didn’t get his number

basically it’s over for me

Steve: Oh? Where?

Eddie: at this little coffee shop i like

i’ve never seen Tall Pretty Gorgeous here before though so. i will probably never see him again.

shoot me

Steve: Tall Pretty Gorgeous huh?

He must’ve been something

Eddie: YES Steve. he WAS

operative word being WAS!

i can’t believe i didn’t ask for his number

Steve: What’d he look like?

Eddie: oh, you know

his beauty was beyond compare

with flaming locks of chestnut hair

with suntanned skin and eyes of roasted beans…

his smile soft like summer rain

his voice was like a breath of spring

and i cannot be normal now, joleeeeene

I actually found this fic while searching for the above untitled tumblr fic (when I thought it was on Ao3) and stumbled upon another great Jo creation!

A text to the wrong number creates a friendship through sending songs back and forth (the best kind of friendship). And ugh!!!!! I just love this so much.

i couldn’t see (you were always right beside me) by oriscribes (Ao3)

T | wc 13,609 | cw they’re fucking idiots

Summary: Three hours later Steve logged off to get ready for his shift at the hospital. He was several levels higher and had finished the quests in Darkshore with the help of Greyhawk. He also had a friend listed in his friends list.

Greyhawk had said that being friends would let them be able to tell when the other was online so they could quest again. Steve really liked the sound of that. He didn’t have many friends his own age. He and Robin basically lived in each other’s pockets at work, but with Robin’s new girlfriend and their sleep schedules, they didn’t end up getting to hang out more than once a week.

A new friend sounded really nice, especially given that it was unlikely he would ever get along with his neighbors. The only resident Steve’s age on this floor was the neighbor he hated and that was very unlikely to change anytime soon.

OR

Steve hated his neighbor. And then Dustin and the other kiddos left for college and Steve signed up for some online game called World of Warcraft. Which was how Steve met a Night Elf druid named Greyhawk.

Oh my god did we ask for more mistake identities because THIS FIC IS LOADED WITH THEM!!! I cannot stress how much I loved this fic. I just discovered it two weeks ago and it is embedded so deeply into my brain I just !!!!

Steve decides to join Dustin and the rest of the party on WoW, to bridge the distance college has created, but somehow never joins their party as he makes a new friend online. Steve uses WoW to relax from the real world of his stressful job at the hospital, the ongoing feud he has with his neighbor and his cat (Cowboy!!!!!!), and the constant nagging he gets from Dustin to meet his other older friend Eddie.

Eddie, on the other hand, found a newb on WoW and somehow adopted him as a new friend, helping him level up and teach him the game. If only friendships work out this well in real life, then maybe he could help his grumpy neighbor not be so … well… grumpy.

Please remember to leave kudos and comments on the fics you read/enjoyed! Support your writers 🖤

Prev fic rec: fics that fucked me up (so you should read them too)

[flowers-of-io]

Destinytober - Ghost

Read on Ao3 with formatting that isn't broken by the mobile tumblr app :)))

Nkechi-32 takes a deep breath, and exhales Light.

The Lost City is brilliant in the sunlight, overgrown buildings letting the brightness in through wide open windows and cracks in the ceilings. The floor is all grass, lush and green, and when she walks it feels like stepping on soft carpet—a little springy, a little uneaven, enticing her to take off the heavy boots and wade through it barefoot. Perhaps she could indulge in a little picnic, when the job's done.

Because of course there's a job. Much like Micah, to have sent her out Ghost-hunting when she'd barely arrived. Nkechi refocuses her optics as Agu flicks through the sensors on her HUD, trying to lock in on their target, but there is so much Light here it's near impossible to track down a single errant signature.

"I think I got something," he informs, and Nkechi sees it too—a speck of yellow on the heat map, some fifteen metres away from them and approaching. She turns the corner just as Agu says, "Wait, the signature doesn't ma—"

"Hi there!"

"Whoa!" Nkechi takes an abrupt step back, barely avoiding bumping head first into something small and violet. She didn't account for how fast the Ghost was moving.

"Oh, sorry!" It draws back as well, and she can see its shell now: Reef-made, delicate metal cut into shapes like flower petals and glazed over. It is strikingly familiar.

"Pulled Pork?" She laughs in disbelief. "Whatcha doin' here?"

"Nkechi!" he chirps, and cartwheels in the air. "We're patrolling! Oh, and by the way, my name's Glint now!"

"I take it this means you've found your Guardian," she says with a smile.

Agu emerges from his hiding spot and gives the other Ghost a good-natured nudge. "Did you find them on some asteroid?"

"Nope!" Glint cartwheels again, then stops and narrows his optic in thought. "Actually, the Dreaming City is technically built on an asteroid, so I guess it counts...? I don't know. Especially now with the curse and everything."

He is still talking when a shadow drops down from the rafters behind him, landing on two legs and then unfurling into a cloaked figure. With her instincts honed over centuries, Nkechi doesn't even flinch.

"You weren't joking about people calling you shredded meat, huh." The Hunter pushes their hood back and extends a hand to her. "You're Glint's friends, I take it?"

"These are Nkechi and Agu!" Glint says before any of them can reply. His voice gains an almost ceremonial tone when he adds, "And this is Crow, my Guardian."

Nkechi doesn't meet her Ghost's eye, but she can feel the look he is giving her. She shakes Crow's hand instead, and lets Glint ramble on.

They actually saw the missing Ghost, he tells her, a few hours ago by the eastern edge of the city. Crow offers to help track it down. He is quite nice, Nkechi thinks; his countenance seems to be in a state of constant battle between the natural Hunter confidence and the sheepishness of young Guardians in conversation with someone much older. They make quick work together, and she has to admit, he's not half bad a scout, even if Glint almost ruins their cover by chattering like a wound-up toy right in front of a flock of Husks.

Later, after escorting the wayward Ghost to Micah, Agu and her sit together on one of the Tower balconies and watch half the sunset, half the buzzing courtyard below.

"You know," he says, "that's not really what I pictured when I said he might find the greatest Guardian of all time."

"What, a prince of the Reef?"

"A Hunter Vanguard."

Nkechi laughs. "With how well filling that position had been going for the past few years, the odds really weren't in his favour."

"You think they're a good match?"

She looks down at the black-and-white Hunter leaning against the kiosk and chatting with a Legionnary. Glint is a tiny splotch of purple in the folds of his cloak, nestled against his cheek.

"Yeah," she says with a smile, and pulls her own Ghost closer. "Almost as good as we are."

[nem0-kn0ws-n0t]

Anders Week 2025- Monday

hiii, here's my submission for Anders week 2025- Monday- Healing which you can find here. I make no promises to follow up during the week haha, but I'll try

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62752942

Here's the fic if you prefer ao3, and here's the fic if you prefer tumblr., enjoy!

As the stones Crash- The fight is not going well, Fenris registers briefly as he deflects yet another arrow.

All things considered, this should have been a routine fight for them. Fenris charging ahead, blade sharp and slicing through the initial line, Hawke cutting down those who get too far from the warrior with swift dual daggers, Varric and Bianca picking off anyone out of reach and the Mage assisting from somewhere in the back. It's a known strategy they've employed often enough that they default to it, and the group they're currently up against is average at best. What is the issue, what's happening, why why why-

Loud familiar cursing interrupts the stream of thought, from the very end of their formation. Ha, of course, it's the Mage's fault, as usual.

Fenris barely throws a glance over his shoulder to assess the situation before letting out his curse and sweeping his sword in a wide arc around him through the dwindling amount of mercenaries. He turns on his heel and weaves through the blades swinging towards him, trusting Hawke's bloodthirst to pick up where he left off, there are more important things to deal with. Somehow, without anyone else realizing, just under half the mercenaries they've been fighting slipped out of the main group to gang up on their mage. The Mage might be slightly competent at magic on a good day, but not even he can magic his way out of this many angry swordsmen, and the constant attacks are wearing him down faster than usual. Fenris breaks into a sprint without even realizing it.

He barely reaches the back in time to sink his sword into the largest mercenary's ribs before the man in question disintegrates on his sword, as his compatriots. His eyes snap up to the Mage. Oh no.

Where normally would be the healer, hunched over his staff in 1 part relief and 2 parts exhaustion, a quip ready at his lips or a potion in his hand, stands the glowing form of his abomination side. Eyes large and an unsettling blue, skin cracking under the pressure of his spirit, hand outstretched towards where the mercenary once was, he feels more like a prey animal than the proud mage Fenris reluctantly knows. Oh, and the blood.

There is so much blood covering his robes, and his hands, and his staff and even matting into his loose hair. Fenris feels his heart skip a beat at the sight, lodging itself painfully in his throat.

Despite the faintest hints of worry blooming in his chest, the sound of swords clashing quickly brings him back to reality, firmly squashing down any vague notion of checking in on the mage. "Mage, snap out of it." He orders, a quick hand latching onto the other's wrist. "This is no time for losing control." The fade cracks further into the skin and the Mage rips his arm out of his grip with unexpected strength. The force of it sends him reeling back, falling back in a mad scramble to get away. Fenris takes a step forward, whether to grab him again or to help him he doesn't know, only for the fade lines to flicker again. "Don't" He chokes out, voice wet and fade-tinged. "Don't come any closer." Fenris moves to ignore it the ridiculous demand, ready to force his way to check on the mage, but before he can even decide to move his feet, the abomination glows again. "I mean it. Stay away." Fenris clenches his jaw involuntarily, looking away. His eyes expertly sweep over the battle instead of the trembling man next to him, making sure to keep him visible from the corner of his eyes. Hawke unleashed is a terrifying creature, as exemplified by the growing stack of corpses. Fenris had already diminished their numbers greatly and injured much of the rest of the gang, but the smooth arcs of Hawke's daggers take care of those still kicking. Bolts whiz past them, sinking into flesh and armour the same, incapacitating them before they meet their painful end. Fenris feels almost assured at the victory, slightly more secure to stay and keep an eye on their mage while the other two deal with the rest.

Just as the thought crosses his head, one of the locked wooden doors from the side of the room slams open, only to reveal another handful of mercenaries, these wearing better armour and appearing much,much angrier. Of course, when is anything ever straightforward for them? A frustrated growl escapes him.

"Mage." He commands, grip shifting on his sword and body tensing, "pull yourself together, heal yourself and get up. There is no time for lazing around and I will not be covering you if you are not pulling your weight." He doesn't bother glancing back, ignoring the wet cough that follows his words and pouncing into the fray.

The familiar rhythm of a fight takes him over, any thought or concerns for the mage replaced by the familiar motions. Arch, pummel, dodge, slice, turn, again and again as the thrill of a good fight sinks back into his muscles. He distinctly notices the tide of the fight sink back in their favour as he feels the familiar spells whiz past him. Good, the mage is back in action, this'll be easy.

Leg two of the fight is over in just under half an hour, with their team working like a well-oiled machine. Before long, Fenris finds himself sweeping his eyes over the room, trying to spot any missed mercenary. Finding none, he sheaths his sword and hears his companions do the same.

"Ah, there's always a second wave with this kind of thing." Moans Hawke, already low to the ground and looting the fresh corpses. "You'd think they'd all attack at once; try to overwhelm us or something." Varric chuckles, walking around to inspect the used bolts, picking up the still usable ones. "That'd go against the concept of ambushing them. Next time, we'll send an advanced warning so they can prepare their best men to fight against you if you want. " Hawke sends him a feral grin, only accentuated by blood still dripping down their forehead. "Good. More fun for us." Fenris ignores their banter, instead his eyes catching onto the hunched shoulders of their mage.

Standing a few feet away from them, turned away from the group, hair still loose and absolutely drenched in blood, his sensitive elven ears can just about hear his still much too slow breaths and the slight hitch in every other one.

Fenris frowns, walking up to him, deliberately walking as noisily as he can. He doesn't seem to react, still leaning heavily on his staff, lost in his own world.

A heavy armoured hand rests on his shoulder.

"Mage, what-" His arm is wretched off as Anders suddenly twists under him again, walking off. "I said don't touch me!" He snaps, suddenly cutting off the banter between the two rogues immediately. His wheezing is suddenly sharper in the quiet room. Fenris stares him down, trying to reassess the situation, but coming up short.

"Mage." He starts, tone as soft as he dares make it, but the other one only turns his head to the side. Fenris bites back a growl. "You are not well."

Anders scoffs a wet sound. "Yeah? And why do you care?" He bites back, eyes still stubbornly fixed on the wall. The dynamic Rogue duo finally arrive next to Fenris and immediately assess the situation. Hawke's eyes damn near pop out of their skull while sweeping over. the damage, and even normally unflappable Varric seems taken aback by the mess. "Anders, what's wrong?" "Blondie you're absolutely covered in blood, what happened?"

They talk over each other as they tend to do. This little habit of theirs that usually makes Anders chuckle fondly only makes his clenched jaw tighten. Fenris can't help but notice how his hands clench tighter around the staff. "I'm fine." He snaps. "But-" "I said I'm fine. I will not say it again" He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, that he lets out slowly and unsteadily. He taps his staff on the blood-covered floor once, then twice, before steeling his shoulders back. "Now, I think we've got a quest to finish." He walks off, through the now unlocked doors, leaning against his staff more than he should. The rest of them can only throw worried glances at each other before picking up the pace to catch up with the limping mage.

~~

Fenris is not worried about the mage. That'd be ridiculous and useless. The group had managed to get through the quest Hawke had dragged them on without much further complication. The mage managed to hold his own just as he had before, if not even more ruthlessly than usual. And if he had snapped and shrugged off any inquiries about his well-being, well, he's an abomination, being unstable seems like a requirement.

They had gotten whatever item Hawke was sent to fetch. got the reward split evenly and separated as they made their way back through lowtown with promises to show up for their card night in a few days at the Hanged Man. Varric back to his rooms, Fenris and Hawke up to their respective mansions and Anders to his clinic, assumingly. Fenris had not seen the Mage in half a week and he was not worried. Usually, he'd have been relieved not to be in the abomination's presence for longer than required. Not that long ago, after a particularly close call with Tevinter slavers and blood mages, Fenris had even told Hawke that he would not accompany them if the mage was taken along. That resolve had only lasted a week before Hawke had chewed him out but the disdain remains. If possible, he wished to never have to see the man again.

So Fenris hadn't seen the mage since that fight, which is fairly usual. But apparently, neither had anyone else. When Hawke came with yet another adventure for him a few days later, he halfheartedly registered the missing healer from the group. Half a day after, while their crew was busy covering their wounds with gauze and poultices and sipping on health potions, he couldn't help but point out the glaring hole in their group. "If you knew we were fighting this many assholes," He grumbles out, tying a stretch of gauze around their arm snugly, "Why did you not bring the Mage?" Hawke's sharp gaze lends on his face as if trying to read his mind. He stubbornly refuses to let anything slip, eyes focused on rolling up the rest of the unused gauze into the standard balls. "Why?" Finally cracks Hawke, a crooked grin already promising that they'll be insufferable about this. "Do you miss him?" Fenris rolls his eyes, not even sure why he bothered. Of course, he'd be teased over this, Hawke is relentless about his hatred of the mage. "No," he replies dryly. "But I prefer my organs inside my body. Which is helped by having a healer on standby." Isabella, face currently covered in adhesive gauze a few feet away mumbles something akin to "Bold words from someone who rips people's organs out.", which Fenris stupendously ignores.

Hawke, who has never known decorum in their life, cackles at the comment. Fenris barely manages to resist the urge to throw the roll at their head, instead rolling back his shoulders and getting up from where he was crouched. A nimble hand curls itself around his ankle. "Wait," heaves Hawke, laughter fading from their mouth. "I'm sorry, no you're right. Anders would have been a useful mage right now. No offence, Merrill. " The blood mage in question quips back a "none taken!" before turning back to her unruly charge.

Fenris only stares down the Rogue, a singular eyebrow quirked as his patience fades quickly. Hawke rubs the back of their neck almost shyly. "It's just, you know…um, after the fight a few days ago… " The half-assured mumbling is cut off by Isabela's shrill tones, again. "Sparkle's been missing for days now." She mumbles half coherently. Merrill tuts softly, but Isabela doesn't seem to care. "Clinic's been closed since you guys left. And he's not anywhere else that we could find either." Fenris's hands freeze and his heart skips a beat again, the start of worry lodging itself in his throat. His eyes snap back to Hawke's. "Is it-" He can't even bring himself to say the words, mind barely comprehending the possibility. Hawke seems to understand where his mind is heading and quickly shakes their head. "No, I asked Cullen, he's not in the Gallows." Yet, his traitorous mind whispers, a sentiment echoed across all his companions' faces. The panic only builds. "He's been missing for days now, and no one's done anything?" The words are sharp and accusatory. Hawke bristles. "We've done plenty, thank you. Isabela and I have swept through his clinic and Darktown for traces, Merrill's trying to track him down his magic, Aveline has her guards sweeping through Hightown and Varric has runners keeping watch else everywhere. We're trying our best, thank you very much." His head swims with the new information, but one thing stands out.

"… why was I not informed prior to this?" Hawke scoffs and rolls their eyes, carefully getting up without looking back at him.

"Why would you be." They mutter under their breath, turning away from him and making their way to the other two. "It's not like you'd care." Shame slides down his throat, but there's nothing he can say to that.

~~

Fenris finds himself halfway to Darktown before he realizes where his feet are taking him.

The group had barely returned from their latest adventure before Fenris separated from the others, stalking his way down the streets ignoring the knowing looks.

The Lowtown locals he crossed seemed to flinch out of the way, not that he was paying enough attention to even register the wide breath others were giving him. The worry that had climbed up his throat the last time he saw the mage was back in full strength, only parsed by the hints of shame.

He knew the mage wasn't doing okay, with his breakdown from his injury last time. He knew it. He could have helped, somehow. If Hawke and everyone else had only told him, they'd have already found their mage. Maybe if he had told them about the abomination lapse-

Anger blooms within him so suddenly, that he barely registers his fist slamming into a brick wall before a couple of elven girls gasp and round away from him. He rubs his face with the other hand. Why didn't they tell him? Even if he hadn't cared for the older man, he'd have helped in the search efforts. He would have found him by now. Were they not a team? Did they not trust him? And now he was missing and Fenris would never get to see him again due to Hawke's incompetence. No, he decides abruptly, pulling himself together enough to keep going towards the lift. This couldn't be the end. The mage was like a roach; he would not be disposed of so easily. He reaches the front of the clinic swiftly, only to pause near the entrance. He hadn't thought this far. What could he even do to help? He wasn't as well connected, nor did he know magic, nor any tracking that any of their team could do. He was a killing machine at best. What could he do?

More than a handful of refugees sat near the entrance, looking at him through suspicious eyes. The lack of a healer was evident in Darktown.

He phases through the door, barely glancing at them.

While a part of him knew that expecting to find the mage sitting at his desk safe and sound and snarky was a foolish hope, he was not prepared for what he found otherwise.

Gone was the hard-fought-for order of the main room- cots were overturned and smashed, potions were broken off the shelf, their contents swirling among the mud and the grim of the floor. Something terrible happened here, and something truly horrible had happened to the Mage for him to let his clinic remain in this state. His marks flair unconsciously as he makes his way through the carnage and he freezes, pain flaring through his entire being. What? He's not currently using them, why would they… Another flair causes him to grab onto the shattered remain of a cot with both hands and exhale, ever so slowly to combat the fire under his skin. This is nothing like his lyrium ghost form. No, where normally it's like sinking into a second skin, whatever is triggering his markings is pulling at them, as if- His heartbeat picks up. It's as if someone is pulling at his lyrium to fuel a spell. A sensation he'd had forgotten while a free man, but that still hurt, just as much as it had all the time before. But the feel of the magic draining him is different than the ones used on him prior. A magic signature he knows more as the soft caress of healing spells. The Mage. He's here. Somewhere. Fenris pauses to breathe through the pain flairs. He has this advantage, however painful it is, and he needs to use it if he is to find the mage and yell at him for his carelessness. He knows his bands better than anyone left alive. Carefully, ever so carefully he steels himself, let a slow breath out and activates his brands. This is a familiar motion to him, an act he had done thousands of times before. Facing resistance for the first time in a while is a challenge, but this is his body, in the end. He knows how to master it. It doesn't take him long to take back control over his lyrium and to cut off the drain. Something crashes in the nearby room. Something crashes again and again as if dragged repeatedly through wood and stone and other damaging things. Fenris barely stops to consider before rushing behind the curtain to see- It's not the mage. "Demon." Fenris breathes out.

The abomination's head snaps towards him. "Elf." they answer back.

Like this, with the demon in control, it's hard to remember the haggard and worn- down mage he saw last. Glowing blue from the cracks webbed over the skin, the once blonde strands crackling in the dimly lit room, nothing is left of the mage but the shell, carefully curled on himself. His hands reach for the blade on his back. A movement followed by soulless blue eyes. "I have no desire to fight you." Remarks the demon. Despite that, he curls further inward protectively, their hands splayed out behind them, flexing. Fenris tilts his sword forward slowly, steadily, all too aware of his disadvantage, the tip pointing at the abomination's chin. "Release him, demon."

The demon sighs. "I cannot do so." The sword swings, missing the space where the demon was by a second. On the other side of the small room Anders used as a private living space, the demon raises their hands by their head in an attempt at peace. "Please do not attack us anymore, I wish not to cause harm.".

Fenris grits his teeth and ignores the sting at the reminder. "You should have thought of that before you took him over." He knew this would happen- he had warned the group times and times again. He had warned the mage himself of the likelihood of this ending only to be dismissed. And yet the responsibility ended with him to free him from his self-afflicted curse. The disjointed puppet that the mage had become avoids his strikes at the last second, the demon apparently truthful in his claims. Not that it matters. "It was for his own good." "That's what all the demons say but I kn-" "Anders is injured." The sharp tones cause Fenris to falter, brain snapping out of the battle fog to assess the abomination in front of him. "…what?" Sensing the lull, and apparently trusting him, the demon stops. He carefully strips out of their robes, leaving the mage naked but for his smalls. And Fenris sees it. Them. Him. Harsh blue and sickly yellow pepper every inch of visible skin. Between them, cuts, of all shapes and sizes splay out as a sickly mozaic. In the middle, as if framed, are larger slashes, that Fenris clearly recalls the mage having gotten on their quest days ago. They look fresh, the skin pink and puckered, and most notably, bleeding out continuously. Fenris inhales sharply, eyes darting back and forth, sword limp at his side "He is injured." Justice hesitates, eyes straying toward their hands. "He slipped into the fade and I cannot bring him back. He cannot succumb to his injuries while I am in control, but neither can he heal."

Silence stretches between them before Fenris makes a decision. "I will help." ——

[valve3nthusiast]

Octomer Ratchet is so good. I can imagine any chromatophores he might have going wild while pursuing Drift, if he has any natural camouflage abilities.

Perhaps he plays a game with Drift, hiding among coral and rock formations in order to "sneak up" on him, his usual brights reds and whites distorting to match their environment-- Maybe arousal causes some colour changing as well?

IDK I just really like the idea of Ratchet changing colour (or at least hues) like a mood ring lmao maybe it even frustrates him a bit, like oh no my fucking chromatophores are going to give away this huge crush I have -- he might try to hide in corals or swirl up a bunch of sand with his tentacles initially

If Drift is a land dweller, then maybe they figure out Ratchet is interested in him by studying how Ratch's colours change, and what patterns/colours only appear when Drift is around...

...and maybe Ratchet's attempts at hiding/playing hide and seek (lol) are mistaken for aggression at first, because they don't know why he's doing it

and then they guess it's some kind of broody behaviour, like maybe he's trying to defend a nest or egg clutch that he doesn't really have?? Because Ratchet's grumpy but not usually aggressive and it's weird behaviour from him as far as they're aware. So then he gets a little pity from the facility staff but it's hilarious because he does want to Do It but all the guessing isn't quite right. Like yes it's about Doin It and Eventual Eggs but not in the way they think. Communication Issues lol

"stop giving me extra companion fish out of pity and just give me Drift, do you not see my cream and burgundy-red colouring, is this somehow not clear enough? Oh god here he comes, sand sand sand I need more sand why is this coral so small" no it is not clear to them, Ratchet. lmaooo

Anyway this is earthstellar but Tumblr will only let me send asks from my main blog and not my TF blog lol so ayyy just wanted to say, loving this mer AU situation 🐙💖

This is such a good concept,,, besotted Ratchet accidentally telling on himself with his own colors is genius. Also blushy Ratchet is adorable <3

Hmm a really clear concept just came to me... Security guard Drift at the marine research facility, Ratchet is the only mer there who constantly avoids him, so he just disappointedly assumes he gives Ratchet bad vibes

One night when he's on a skeleton shift, he passes by Ratchet's tank and suddenly notices that something is fucked up with the filtration pumps (or whatever I don't know how aquariums work)

He immediately makes an emergency call to the aquarium techs who are at home. They tell him to get Ratchet moved till someone arrives to fix it. So he's hesitantly going up to the tank like, "hey buddy I know you dont like me, but I gotta pull you out of here for a bit, it's not safe" Ratchet quickly pulls himself right into Drifts arms... and now he's carrying a big squirming octomer. Drift's pretty surprised, but he brushes it off as Ratchet wanting out of his tank

When Drift finally gets to the temporary tank he expects Ratchet to jump from his arms and signal for him to basically fuck off... instead, he goes to put Ratchet down, only to get pulled into the tank with him. Now he's sitting in chest high water, pinned by a heavy wiggling octomer in his lap

For Ratchet, life is good 😎👍

Drift, meanwhile, is mentally repeating "don't get hard" like a mantra, while a purring Ratchet's tentacles caress every inch of his plating. Since it was the middle of the night, they have to wait a good bit for someone who can fix the pumps to get there and make Ratchet's tank safe again...

Maybe, as the hours go on, Ratchet gets a bit friskier... or maybe he just leaves it at intimate exploration, because he's too busy watching Drift whimper and twitch underneath his tentacles <3

[staybabblingbaby]

SKZ x Coordi (Intro Part) a1 d3

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader is a successful makeup artist with a notorious and prolific career and no self awareness. Reader joins JYP as a part of Stray Kids' team and encounters their hazing ritual for new coordis: flirting.

Word Count: 1,178 Notes: This spawned because of my conviction that I could never get my makeup done by a professional bc I would fall in love. Getting your makeup done by someone else just feels very intimate to me (ik its not, ok, I'm just touch starved T^T). It's sort of lending itself to long one-shot style formatting, but for tumblr purposes I'm posting it in parts. Also, I think I accidentally avoided pronouns for Reader? Not sure how but I didn't see any when I was reviewing this part. Will update as I post (idk how to add emojis, just imagine a thumbs up here pls TT^TT). Needs to be edited for clarity. Warnings: None that I know of? Reader has weird self esteem but it's not bad?

Masterlist Link :D | Next Part Link <3

You're fairly sure, by the time your sunbae finishes showing you around and giving you the low-down on your new duties, that you'd gotten this job over other make-up artists because you were the safe choice. You suppose it's not an awful thing to be thought of as safe and professional. You can’t help feeling stung anyways.

You'd come to this conclusion after your sunbae, while showing you a few of the dressing rooms in the company building you'd be working in, casually drops, "oh, yeah, if you end up having relations with one of the idols, just make sure the media and management don't find out. No one else will rat you out." mid-tour.

You'd had to stop and give your sunbae the most confused and alarmed look you could manage, and when she'd seen she'd immediately laughed and made the face back at you. That made you crack, and the two of you ended up giggling together for a minute. Once you'd calmed down, she elaborated.

"It's a bit of an open secret that the unattached idols will sleep with a willing coordi every now and then," she explained "As long as management doesn't find out, and the media is entirely clueless, it's pretty much useless to try and stop it." You’d nodded along, fascinated by how similar celebrities were around the world. Sure, the cultures surrounding them were different, but there was almost always a similar sort of system when you were contracted long-term somewhere.

"Staff are pretty safe options for them, at least here at JYP.” Your sunbae had continued, “They vet our staff and stylists really well." You’d nodded again. The background check had been intensive and you’d had to sign a lot of release forms about it. It was one of the things you’d liked most about this opportunity, actually.

"Your group in particular have probably fucked at least 2 dozen coordis between them." You’d choked on air and turned to her incredulously again. What was with her and dropping bombs like this on you? It was your first day! She’d just laughed and rolled her eyes at you. "Why are you so scandalized? There's 8 of them." She reasoned, "That's, like, 3 flings a piece. Not that many." You’d conceded her point with a tilt of your head. You're sure the actual numbers aren't so even, but she had made an excellent point regardless.

"I guess that makes sense," You’d mused, "I mean, they're grown men, right? Their hands must get awful tired." That startled a laugh out of your sunbae and you’d grinned at her before you continued. "But, sunbaenim, you won't have to worry about that from me." You’d stated confidently. She’d shot you a questioning look, so you’d continued, “They’re both my clients and my coworkers under my contract. Two types of people I categorically refuse to sleep with.”

She’d laughed again, simply saying “That’s probably for the best.” and moving on with your tour. You’d let yourself be distracted by memorizing everything she was telling you and promptly forgot all about your scandalous conversation.

Despite moving on, a seed of doubt had been planted in you. You couldn’t help but think back to one of the odder questions you’d been asked when you were interviewing for this position. As an independent make-up artist you’d had to negotiate everything yourself, and at the time you’d assumed it to simply be part of their vetting process.

“What are your views on workplace relationships?” They’d asked. At the time you’d simply said you strived for friendship with both your clients and coworkers, but that you preferred professionalism over all else. Which was true, obviously, but after that conversation with your sunbae you couldn’t help but add a new context to the question.

That doubtful seed sprouted at the end of your tour, when your sunbae gave you another warning.

“Don’t mind the boys, by the way,” She’d said out of nowhere. “They’re playful, all of them, but they’ll respect a boundary to the death the moment you set it.” Once again you’d had to look at her, hopelessly confused, and you’d become pretty sure at that point that she just liked getting a reaction out of you because she snorted a laugh at whatever face you’d made and explained herself.

“I mean that they can be pretty loud and playful with both each other and staff. That includes being flirty and touchy.” she said, “I think it comes with the territory of being an idol. All that fanservice must do something to them.” She laughed, and you’d smiled along, still somewhat confused of the warning.

She must have noticed, because she elaborated further, “It can be flustering for new stylists.” She explained, and you finally started to understand, “A lot of the time it’s the first time a new stylist has been so close to an idol, you know? You have to prepare for it, like, mentally.” She made a weird gesture toward her head and you’d giggled at her antics but shook your head.

“I’ve seen so many beautiful people at this point in my life that I'm pretty sure I'm immune.” you’d declared with a chuckle. You weren’t lying either, you’d seen so many examples of so many different culture’s beauty standards you could probably write a book on it.

You’d sort of made it your career’s goal to learn as many different styles and skin and face types as you possibly could. You’d done pretty well by that goal so far, doing everything from tiny private boudoir shoots to high profile fashion shows, just about anywhere you could get to, from Cairo in Egypt, to Hollywood in California, to tiny barely-named towns all over Europe.

“Idols are different!” Your sunbae insisted, “There are hot people everywhere, but idols are built different. They’re manufactured to be desirable.”

“So are models,” you’d dismissed with a wave, “Honestly, sunbaenim, I’ll be fine. If anything, it’s the idols you should worry for.” you’d given her a saucy wink and she’d howled with laughter and clapped in delight. You’d giggled right along with her, and when you’d both calmed again, you continued. “No, but really, I’ve been told I can be quite intense when I’m focused, so maybe you should be warning the group instead.”

She’d waved you off, saying “It’ll do them some good to be humbled by someone they have no chance with.” with a devious giggle. And that had been that. The click of a conclusion sliding into place in your mind had sounded and you’d become certain that you’d been the safest of the candidates who’d applied.

It hurt, just a bit, because you’re used to being selected for your experience and ability to mimic and blend styles, not for your personal beliefs. You stave off the hurt by reminding yourself that reputation matters in this industry. If they hired you because you value your professionalism, then you’d show them exactly how professional you could be! You’d wrapped up your tour with mixed feelings and lots of determination.