#there has never been anyone more beautiful

[dirtyvulture]

15 Minutes

Natasha Romanoff x Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 2430

Requested by abyss anon (and other anons): here me out. i've been listening to 15 minutes by sabrina carpenter and the lyrics “i can do a lot with fifteen minutes, only gonna take two to make you finish” is stuck in my head.

what if masc!r with innocent!shy!nat who is completely and utterly inlove with reader but too afraid to make a move? and when she finally does... *wink* but we all know baby natty is going to make up for it all night.

AN: This basically became pure filth with like a sprinkle of plot so...enjoy!

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

The first time Natasha met you, she knew she was in love with you. Which really sucked for her because you were the type of person who didn’t look at her twice. You were constantly surrounded by people who were prettier, better, and more important than her. Natasha felt so insignificant around you, and whenever she tried to make her presence known, it always ended in a colossal and embarrassing failure.

She had exactly three conversations with you. The first was just an exchange of names, so she didn’t count that. But it was the first time she got to touch your hand and look into your eyes, and she almost physically fell for you right there.

The second conversation was at the dining hall’s salad bar, where the two of you had reached for the tongs to the romaine at the same time. You had insisted she go first, and Natasha had tried to make a joke about lettuce that fell so short it kept her up for three nights. 

The third conversation took place on a basketball court, where you were playing a scrimmage with a few friends. Natasha emboldened herself to approach, which she immediately regretted when you passed her the ball and asked if she could sink a shot from the three-point line. She stumbled through a pickup line about if you could show her, but you and your friends had only laughed. Naturally, she had missed, and she went home in shame, promising to never speak to you in front of others again.

She always told herself that if she had 15 minutes alone with you, she could get you to give her a chance. But getting those 15 minutes was an impossible task in itself.

Or so she thought.

She finds you sitting alone in the common room, staring at the television, but you hardly look interested in the James Bond movie playing.

Fifteen.

“Y/N?” Natasha whispers. Your head shifts in her direction, but you don’t say anything to acknowledge her. “Is anyone sitting with you?” You grunt, which Natasha cannot determine as a definitive yes or no. “Can I sit with you?” She holds her breath, surprised by her own confidence but fully expecting a denial.

“Sure,” you say, to her shock.

Natasha rounds the couch. You make no effort to move and she settles on the cushion next to you.

Fourteen.

She isn’t sure what to say next. You seem incredibly absorbed in the movie, and she’s nervous to break your focus.

“Natasha,” you say, still not looking at her. “That’s your name, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a pretty name. For a pretty woman.”

Natasha’s heart thunders in her chest. Did she hear you correctly? “You think I’m pretty?” she asks.

“I think you’re beautiful.” You look her in the eye now, and Natasha has to catch herself before she falls off the couch.

“I…Um…Wow. Thank you. That’s…really nice of you to say,” she stammers.

“I’m not just saying it. I mean it.”

Thirteen.

Natasha stares at you, trying to read your passive expression. Maybe you were just messing with her, or took a bet from your friends to flirt with her. No one–not even Bruce–wanted her. So why would you? 

“You’re especially cute when you’re nervous,” you say.

“Nervous? I’m not–”

You chuckle. “I know the effect I have on you. And most people. But I hardly notice any of them when you’re around me.”

Natasha feels like she’s in a dream. Are you really saying these words to her? And you mean every one of them? She pinches her thigh, but the sting doesn’t do much to clear her head. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you,” she admits in a rush.

“Is that so?” Your right eyebrow lifts and Natasha squeezes her thighs together subtly. “I never approached you first because…well, I didn’t think you’d be able to handle me.”

Twelve.

Natasha leans forward, resting her hand lightly on your upper thigh. She’s determined to prove you wrong if that’s the only thing she succeeds in tonight. “And what makes you think that?”

Your expression changes to one of surprise. “You’re cute, but way too innocent–” The words die in your throat when her hand slides up to cup the bulge in your sweatpants. 

“You were saying?” she says, turning her voice into a huskier tone. 

“Natasha,” you grunt, and she can tell you’re fighting to keep your hips pinned to the couch, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I don’t plan on it.” She grips onto you and wonders if the fabric is thin enough for you to feel the heat of your palm. 

“Someone can walk in at any moment,” you warn her.

“Good. Then they can see you’ve always been mine the whole time.” She feels you twitch and start to harden. She wonders if she can get you off with her words alone, but quickly decides she’d much rather have you inside her instead. 

Eleven.

“I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” you comment. 

“What do you know about me? Besides my name,” she counters.

“That you’re awful at flirting–oh shit.” Natasha pushes her hand past the waistband of your sweatpants and it closes around your hot and hard flesh. She rubs you up and down, her thumb brushing the underside of your tip with every stroke and she grins when she starts to see your thighs tremble. “You ever done this before?” you gasp, your hips rocking off the couch to push yourself through her hand. 

“You tell me, baby.” 

You grunt at the term of endearment. “Not quite what I expected from you,” you say. 

“In a good or bad way?”

“Hmm, well…” You look down at your crotch, frowning because you can’t see any of the action under your sweatpants. Natasha uses her free hand and tugs them down, and you lift your butt up to slide them to your knees. Your cock bobs out and Natasha subconsciously licks her lips, knowing she is that much closer to having you the way she always dreamed of. “Are you gonna keep staring at it or do something with it?” you ask suddenly.

Ten.

“I don’t want you finishing too early,” Natasha says, right as a bead of pre-cum leaks out of your dick.  

“I won’t,” you say, although for once, your voice lacks confidence.

“I bet you can’t last two minutes in me.”

Your eyes narrow at the challenge. “And what if I can?”

“Then I’ll let you take me back to your room and fuck me any way you want.”

You inhale sharply at the filthy thoughts her words inspire. 

“But if you can’t…” Natasha squeezes your cock for emphasis, “Then I get take you to my room and fuck you any way I want.”

You snort. “That’s not really a bad deal either way.”

“You’ve hardly seen what I can do,” Natasha warns.

“So show me more.”

Nine.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Natasha leans over and takes the head of your cock in her mouth.

“Goddamn,” you mutter, pumping your hips up into the new heat of her mouth. You had severely misjudged Natasha in her innocence, but you weren’t upset to be wrong. Her tongue flicks against your tip and you’re practically squirming in your seat when she presses down and takes you into her throat.  

“Fuck, your mouth feels good,” you pant, your hands coming to the back of Natasha’s head and gently pushing on it to keep her in place. “This is hardly fair,” you whine.

Natasha releases your cock and it slaps against your stomach, glistening with her saliva and your pre-cum. “You want me to stop?” she asks.

“Not really.”

Eight.

“Then be quiet,” she says, and her dominance surprises you. It also makes you even harder, which you didn’t know was possible at this stage anymore. “Besides, we aren’t even at the main event yet.”

“Main event?” You have to bite your lip to distract yourself as her mouth descends on you again. You squeeze the muscles in your thighs to keep them grounded, not wanting to show her how close you are. 

“Mhmm,” she mumbles around your cock, and the vibrations have you holding on the couch cushions for dear life. The pounding between your legs heightens, spurred on by the fact that the prettiest girl around has her head in your lap, her mouth bobbing frantically up and down your dick. 

Seven.

“You’re cheating,” you whine, but you totally love it as you jog your hips up a few times. 

“I’m what?” Natasha draws back fully and the cold air that hits your cock makes it visibly twitch. 

“Ugh, fuck,” you mutter. “Never mind, baby. Just put your mouth back and–”

“No,” Natasha says, and you shrink back into the cushions just a little. Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut like she said. “I can tell you’re about to cum, and I don’t want you finishing in my mouth.”

“Oh.” Somehow, despite every skill she’s just showed you, you’re surprised she won’t swallow. But you won’t hold it against her. She’s already doing better than most of the girls that sleep with you.

Six.

Natasha leans towards your face, her lips brushing your cheek on her way to your ear. “I want you to finish in my pussy,” she whispers, and the words alone nearly send you over the edge. 

“Oh.” You don’t even realize you’ve reached down to grip the base of your cock, squeezing hard to quite literally prevent yourself from finishing all over your sweatpants. 

“But…I don’t know if you can last that much longer,” Natasha says, pulling away from you. 

“Yes, yes, I can,” you plead. You would do everything in your power to please and if you couldn’t…what was really the worst that could happen? 

“Hmm.” Natasha tilts her head, as if seriously contemplating ending things with you right here.

Five.

“You started this,” you protest. “You can’t leave me hanging.” Literally.

“I didn’t expect you to be so whiny,” she says.

“I didn’t expect you to be this mean,” you counter.

Natasha chuckles. “And you’re the one who said I couldn’t handle you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, happy to eat your words if she’ll ride you. Natasha stands up, and for a moment you think she’s going to walk out on you, but she shimmies down her jeans and you drool at the sight of her lacey red panties. You drop your sweatpants to your ankles so you have more room to move as Natasha swings her leg over your waist.

Four.

You can see the damp patch of her arousal and it hardens you further to see she’s just as excited as you are. 

“Two minutes,” she says, humping you slowly. 

“Easy,” you promise, but you already know you’re going to lose. You reach for her hips, happy that she doesn’t swat you away, and pull her towards yourself until her stomach presses against your cock.

At first, you had been genuinely concerned that someone would walk in on the two of you, but now you couldn’t care less. You were about to get with the Natasha Romanoff, someone your friends had told you would be untouchable. 

Your hands wrap around to her butt and squeeze teasingly. “I’m ready for you,” you remind her, as if she forgot what she was supposed to be doing.

Three.

“I can see that.” She reaches down to grab your cock and drags it along the wet patch of her panties. You groan and dig your fingers harder into her butt. She was far more of a tease than you had ever imagined.

“Come on, baby,” you beg as your cock rubs against the smooth fabric of her panties.

Natasha pulls her panties to the side to reveal her glistening center. Your eyes widen and your hips jerk up to brush through her wetness. She puts one hand on her shoulder to steady herself and uses the other to finger herself. The slick noises she makes are downright sinful and you’re practically vibrating with excitement.

“Let me,” you say, eager to get any part of you inside her and trying to replace her fingers with your own. 

“I think I’m ready,” she says, lifting herself up high enough to position the head of your cock with her opening.

Two. 

Both of you inhale sharply at the first contact. You’re certain you’ve left your marks on Natasha’s butt as she slowly sinks down, taking your entire length in her molten heat.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” you gasp as you feel yourself twitching inside of her. Natasha rests on your thighs and rocks back and forth. A moan rips out of your throat and your head falls back on the couch. The tightness surrounding your cock is too much. 

“Don’t let me down,” Natasha teases, raising a few inches and falling back down again. Her hand slips around your throat possessively, but even that isn’t enough to bring you back from the brink.

Your bodies move together in a calm rhythm that does not match the emotions racing inside of you. While part of you wants to jackhammer into her like an animal, part of you also wants this feeling to last as long as possible.

Which, to be perfectly honest, wasn’t going to be more than another minute. 

“Do I feel good?” Natasha whispers, threading her fingers in your hair and pulling your head back so you have to look her in the eye as she fucks you.

“You feel perfect,” you grunt, your lower body starting to shake, but you give up trying to fight it off.

One.

“You’re lasting longer than I thought,” she hums, clenching around you with the tightness of a vice and you arch your chest into her, slipping your hands under her shirt to clutch at the warmth of her skin.

“Not for much longer,” you admit, feeling a thin layer of sweat forming on your forehead. The band in your stomach finally snaps and your thighs lock in place as you spill your seed into her, but hardly feeling relieved. Natasha circles her hips to coax out every last drop, leaving you shaking and begging her to stop. 

“I think I won our bet,” she says, finally climbing off your cock. 

“Whatever,” you mutter, your cheeks tinged red. 

“I want to claim my prize now,” she continues, pulling her jeans back on and offering you her hand.

You don’t protest and go to follow her back to her room.

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AN: Thanks for ideas, anons! Hope you liked it. :)

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[sierrale8ne]

something about you / juju watkins x fem!reader PART OF THE $$$4U COLLECTION ‘ i’m tryna do something explicit. you askin me what i like about you, girl how long you wanna sit in this kitchen? ’

summary a few substances and some conversation has juju realizing that no time apart is gonna stop her from wanting you. warnings sexual content, smoking, fingering from lena “in the morning” yeah yeah i’m a liar we already knew that next 🙄🙄 here’s the first post of my lil collection and my first juju fic because y’all alr know… that’s my lil shit.

The chime of the bell is what causes your attention to shift from your spot behind the counter. You’ve been working at the smoothie bar on campus for quite some time now, any chance to get more money in your pocket and your roommates off your back.

It was a slow day today, luckily for you, the wind of southern California kept majority of your peers bundled up and in their own dorms rather than the commons or in the store.

Until now.

You’re cleaning the counter top, paying attention to every crumb that lands on the floor that you’ll have to sweep— when you see her.

It was hard not to recognize her, the typical baggy jeans and graphic hoodie, her Nike dunks thudding across the floor as she walks in, and a slicked back bun, different than her everyday game bun. Anyone on campus would be able to see her and point her out, the Juju Watkins.

But you recognize her for other reasons, as the only person in the world who knew you like no one else did.

You haven’t seen Juju in a few weeks, all thanks to her efforts in bringing home a national championship. But still, even through all that, she never once made you feel left to the side. You were involved in every moment of her life— texts, calls, FaceTimes— Juju made an effort to show you that she really did like you. That she cared.

She walks towards the counter, one hand gripping her wallet and the other tucked into her pocket.

“What’s up, baby?” She smiles, and it makes you smile at how her eyes scrunch together. Juju’s perfume travels over the expanse of the counter and to your nose, smelling just as good as you remember she did.

“What are you doing here, Ju?” You ask. It takes everything in your body to hide the blush growing on your face. By second nature, you start ringing her up for her smoothie— mango and peach with extra vanilla protein.

She shrugs, digging in her wallet for her card. “We ain’t linked up in a minute. I gotta pay my girl a visit, y’know?”

You nod, watching the way the girl never takes her eyes off you, even as she pays for her smoothie. Her card lazily held in the tips of her fingers. “Your girl?”

“Stop playing.” Juju shakes her head.

“Judea. You just tipped me 20 for a six dollar drink.” You groan. She was never shy to make a show of how much she liked you, even if you made it clear that money wasn’t the way to do that. It seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, though.

The only lights left in the store are the ones low ones over the tables and the white light over the blenders, dim, but just enough for you to see the red haze over her eyes. “Maybe it’ll make you work faster so we can get outta here. I just wanna see you tonight.” Juju explains.

“I’m closing tonight, love.”

“Okay? When you finish?” She questions. You ignore her briefly, enough to turn your back and start on the athlete’s smoothie.

It gave Juju the opportunity to run her eyes over you. You wear black leggings that hug the curve of your ass perfectly. Your uniform shirt is cropped just enough to give her a view of your lower back. The bright lime green of your apron is nearly blinding, but also looks beautiful on your skin. She can’t seem to take her eyes off you.

“I get off in 30!” You yell over the sound of the blender, looking over your shoulder to see that nothing you said has registered in her head. “Ju?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. You said what, mama?” Juju blots her lips together, glossy and slightly rosy. They look plump and a part of you wants to jump over the counter and kiss them until all the breath in your lungs gives out.

Her eyes meet yours, and just by the look in them you know she’s not lying about wanting to see you. It’s something, almost a sparkle, that you haven’t seen in so long. She wants you.

“I get off in 30.” You repeat, handing the girl her drink.

“I’ll wait right here then.”

You cradle Deuce in your arms, the dog being quite happy to see you in Juju’s apartment again. Her hoodie is long gone, tossed somewhere on the couch which leaves her in a cropped shirt that puts her abs on display.

The seat of her kitchen counter gives her only a few inches over you as you both talk. That seemed to be what you guys did often, picking each other’s brains apart for any and everything.

“How’s school goin’?” Juju asks in between puffs of smoke. The joint rests lazily in her fingers, teasing her bottom lip. Her eyes are already low, raking over you like you were candy. And the slope of her lashes was not helping you keep your cool.

That’s how it always seemed to be with Juju, she could do nothing— but also doo too much— and you still be completely enamored with her.

“It’s alright. Stressful, but s’nothin’ I can’t handle.” You nod, darting your eyes to the joint she passes off to you. “And you? Though I doubt you’re even focused with all this basketball shit.”

You take a puff, the drug swirling through your lungs and messing with your head before you breathe it out. The slight haze traveling through the yellow light of the kitchen.

“What? I’m focused. Sometimes.” She hums and you let out a laugh.

For as long as you’ve known the athlete she’d claim that school comes first, and then as the season continues it becomes pushed to the back burner. She had one goal— or really two— win a natty, and get the girl. You.

“Just sometimes?”

“Why else do you think I play worse when I see you? You’re the distraction, mama.” Blushed. You’re blushed fucking red. And Juju can’t help but smirk at it, she finds you adorable.

Deuce fights in your arms, and you make quick work of setting him on the floor. “Can I ask you something?” You question her, passing over the joint back.

“Of course.”

Your tongue tingles at the thought of the words about to come out of your mouth. You and Juju liked each other, that was clear— but what wasn’t was why things were still kept under wraps. Why she never asked you out officially and honestly why you didn’t do the same.

“What do you like about me, Ju? ‘Cause you keep sayin’ you do, but we’re not moving anywhere.” You trail off, feeling a little small under all six feet and two inches of her.

She ashes the joint, crossing her arms over her chest before making her way over to you. The tension is thick, almost too thick to even focus on anything other than the warmth that spreads through your body.

“How long do you wanna sit here, baby? I could talk about you for hours. It’s just… something about you, got me hooked from the minute I met you.” She explains. You look at how she plays with her fingers, almost like she was nervous. But you know her, Juju doesn’t get nervous. Especially with you.

“I-I dunno, I just feel like—”

“You don’t think I want you?” She wonders. Juju trails closer, hands pressing to the counter on each side of your thighs. “‘Cause I do. I could show you?”

Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it. The words repeat in your head over and over again. But she’s standing here, smelling like lavender and something else that’s distinctly Juju Watkins. Her eyes are serious, telling you that everything she’s said isn’t a lie. And then you’re thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve even kissed her, weeks, maybe even a full month.

You remember it like it was tattooed in your brain. Just before Valentine’s day. She came to your job with flowers, much to the dismay of your coworkers. You two drove around for hours, Brent Faiyaz and Frank Ocean filling the car until you stopped at the beach. She kissed you with a purpose, so much so that the air left your lungs and all other thoughts left your brain.

You miss it.

“Show me, Ju.” You murmur, widening the gap between your legs for her to stand there.

Juju doesn’t even waste time. She grips your thigh with one hand, snaking her other into the crook of your neck and pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut and her lips meet yours. Soft and even sweeter than you remembered.

Her lips glide against your own— slow— like she was savoring the moment. And she was, the tournament was approaching and it wasn’t clear the next time she’d be able to have you like this.

She breaks the kiss and you groan in disapproval, chasing after those plump lips before you can even think not to.

“That’s good enough? Or—”

“More.” You sigh, tugging her back to you by her jeans. “I want you, and I want more.” Juju presses her knee closer to your cunt as the kiss grows hungrier. Her mouth opens further, tongue darting out to slide against your own tongue. Like she was begging for more, begging for entry with a small whine. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you dizzy with need.

Juju digs her hands into the band of your leggings, snapping the elastic onto your hip. “Can I?” She mumbles against you.

It’s your turn to break the kiss, licking the saliva string between you both. Her eyes stare into your soul, deep and full of longing. She’s yearning for you, you see it how she grips your clothes, how her legs just slightly buckle.

“Yes. Please.” You whine, spreading your legs further.

The athlete leans into your neck, sniffing the fruity scent that lingers on you from work. Her lips find your sweet spot as she kisses along your skin. “Smell so good, baby. Taste even better.” She smiles against you.

“Ju, I need—” Your plea is cut off by the feel of her fingers inside your pants. She trails them down to your clothed cunt. Copping a feel of your clit through your panties.

“I know. You’re soaked. Just need me so fucking bad, yeah?” Her voice rings in your ear while her middle finger applied the kind of pressure that made your legs shake. You gush almost instantly, more of your slick drenching the fabric.

You nod fast—anything to get her to speed up—but you mean it. “Need you so bad, pretty girl.” Your hand holds the back of her neck, fingers toying with the flyaways of hair that reside there. “Please?”

“I don’t know, baby. I wanna make you my girl first.” She teases. Her fingers don’t stop, still running up and down your covered slit.

“Ask me.” You pant. Your hips buck up in need, free hand clutching the hem of her shirt.

Juju’s face comes back to view, looking down at you with a smirk she can’t hide, not in the slightest. “Y’sure? Here? Like thi—”

“Fucking ask me, Ju.” You stutter, and she doesn’t miss it.

She can’t miss it. How your mouth hangs open and your pants huff into her ears. You’re dying for it, for more. For anything she can give you.

“Will you be my girlfriend, beautiful? Please?” She smiled. Her fingers hook into your panties, tugging them to the side. Enough for the air to make you shiver, but not enough for her to touch you fully. She was leaving you on edge.

“You make your girlfriend feel good?” “You joke.

“Y’know I will, mama.”

“Then yes. Yes, baby, I’ll be your girlfriend.” Juju’s fingertips brush over your clit. Once, twice— and then the third time, she’s slipping her middle finger inside your pussy. Biting her lip as she does so.

“Take your shirt off.” She orders. Her voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, at least when she was with you. So you listen. Dragging your hands off her body and to your work shirt. It hits the floor with a thud that is ultimately drowned out by the sound of your moan.

She’s good. Better than you even imagined. Her finger is long, brushing along your g-spot with nearly every stroke. And when she curls them, God, it makes your eyes water.

“You feel so good.” You whimper, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. Juju relishes in the sounds you give her, not even the moans but your cunt. It’s loud, ringing in her ears as she slips another finger inside.

“Yeah? Who’s makin’ you feel this good, mama.” She asks, holding her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your head falls back, eyes rolling as she speeds up. “Y-you. You, baby. Only you, Ju.” You babble.

“Remember when you used to say you ain’t want me?” She starts, twisting her fingers in and out until your panties are all sloppy and you’re soaking your leggings. “Look at you now, legs shaking. Pussy just screamin’ for me.”

“Juju! Oh, fuck.” You grunt, meeting her halfway with each push of her fingers. Her hand trails up to your chest, squeezing your breast with a haste that makes you want to give her any and everything that she pleases. “I can’t—”

“Can’t take it? Really? ‘Cause I know you’re not a quitter. Ain’t nothing you can’t handle, right?” She hums, pressing her plump lips to your cheek.

You can smell the weed off her breath, the mango of her smoothie. And it’s all overstimulating.

Juju curls her fingers, and she knows she’s hit your spot when you nearly fly into her hold, arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

Your breath hits her ear, alongside the pleas of her name. “I’m so close.” You all but cry.

“Imma make you cum?” The question is rhetorical, she knows the answer. The way your body says all the words you don’t. “Yeahhhh, gonna make it feel good for you, baby. I promise.”

“Fuck, don’t stop! Don’t, Ju.” Your moans nearly make the athlete go blind with arousal. Soaking through her own underwear and they thought of having you finish here. On her kitchen counter.

“Lemme feel it. Cum, mama.”

It takes one more push of her fingers to make you nearly fall off the counter. Your legs tremble and your hands clutch Juju’s shoulders like a fucking life line. She works you through it, leaving kisses along your earlobe until she finally drags her coated fingers out of you.

They travel to her mouth, where she makes a show of licking them clean of you. Your eyes make sure they’re fully open to get the view, you’d rather die than miss it.

“Goddamn you taste good.” Juju groans, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Just something about me, I guess.”

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @d3arapril @wbbgetsmewetter @ryywyd @tndaqlwifwy @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige @janaelalfysblunt @cherryswisherz @courtsidewithlani @vamptizm @bdbueckers @makethemhoesmad @omg-imtumbling @avvwritesstufff

[leclace]

the sound of eyes

p l o t : Oscar steps in the new season focused on a single objective: win the championship. But a girl who sees the world like he never has will mess everything up for him.

w a r n i n g s : deaf!reader, sexual harassment (for a short moment)

w o r d c o u n t : 4.2k

n o t e s : this is a VERY ambitious project, as each chapter will follow each race for the whole 2025 season! i am not personally deaf, i tried to portray it in the best way possible with researches, but if anyone has tips pls send them in asks!!

t a g l i s t (for future parts too) : @dark-night-sky-99 @eugene-emt-roe

I - AUSTRALIA

You had never gotten over your fear of the dark.

Even after you had now become a young adult, being alone in a dark room made your body freeze. And it had become a problem since you had gone to live alone, and at night you were inevitably forced to turn off the lights and venture all over the house with such slow, uncertain steps that it only ended up making things worse.

At least, however, you had ended up learning her house, you had known the sudden corners, the floor tiles sticking up, the scratches on the parquet floor that pointed to the bathroom. In the room where you were staying in those days nothing was familiar to you.

It was deep night when you decided you could not sleep with all those shadows reflected on the wall that looked like anything but tree leaves. You got up from the mattress, abandoning the warmth of the blankets, to reach out and press the light switch. When everything in the room was visible to you, you resumed deep breathing.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you did not know what to do. Lying in bed trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep was getting on your nerves, but taking a walk around an unfamiliar city seemed even more stressful. You were in balance between two choices, and each way you leaned you saw a terrible idea. What had you come to Melbourne for, though, if you remained locked in your room observing the country from the outside? You were certain you were making a huge mistake, but for a moment, you decided to turn off the thoughts swirling around in your head and finally take some risks after a lifetime of protecting yourself from whatever edges might burst your bubble.

You therefore grabbed your room keys, greeted the kind girl at the front desk who smiled at you even though it was past midnight, and found the warm wind on your face as soon as you stepped outside the hotel. You looked around; colored lights lit up a city that still did not even think about going to sleep. Still not entirely free of fear, you took a random direction, just to go - even you did not know where.

Your legs guided her to uncertain places as you concentrated on assimilating everything you could observe. You were so focused on looking upward at those buildings that seemed to touch the stars, or downward, where there was water so dark that it was almost indistinguishable from the sky on the horizon line, that you did not notice the small group of boys next to you.

They had been flanking you for a while, trying to be heard, to no avail. They were exchanging strange faces at the fact that this little girl could not hear their very clear voices in the night. When they realized they could not get your attention with words, they stood in front of you, interrupting your steps.

You noticed them only then, and your eyes widened in fright. You took an instinctive step back and clasped your arms to your chest, watching their faces; there were four or five of them, they seemed to be a few years older than you, and their faces did not look at all welcoming. You could also tell they were from there because words formed on their lips that you easily recognized, but they spoke several people at once and with their mouths distorted into a strange smile, so you could only catch a few of them. Mainly, you recorded whistles and words such as “beautiful,” “night,” and, mostly, “hey!

The boys were beginning to think the girl was mute, not having made a single sound since they had surrounded her. Usually girls would burst in mutters of excuses or declines, but you seemed to not have speaking abilities. They recieved a confirmation when they observed your trembling hand rise to your ear and then move your index from left to right.

You were panicking because you did not know how to get rid of them. The only way you could communicate with them was to let them know that you could not communicate. But at your gesture to warn them, the boys only burst into seemingly hearty laughter. You frowned: what was so funny about a deaf person? The laughter froze your blood even more: if you had an uneasy feeling before, now you really had the instinct to turn and run away. But you were aware that in that way you would only be signing your death warrant, as not even in your most impossible hopes could you outrun five big men.

You slowly slid your tongue on your lips, which were beginning to tremble with anxiety; wrong move, for you saw the eyes of the small group get darker, and almost all of them stopped laughing. One of them took a step forward, causing you to take an ensuing step backward. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you saw the others take example from the first one and move closer and closer. You went on for a short while in this step-forward-step-back game until one of them reached out his hand to trap your wrist in it.

You took a sharp breath and began to feel the adrenaline coursing through yout blood. You tried to wiggle your arm to free yourself from the big guy's grasp, but in vain, because the force with which he was holding her was so strong that it left a mark. At the sight of the helpless girl, the strange smile returned to the group's face.

Your eyes began to fill with tears. You tried hard to hold them back, because you knew how these things went, your mother had explained it to her: the more desperate you are, the more the malicious ones enjoy it. You didn't want to make them enjoy it, so you clenched your lips and pushed back your tears.

You were getting ready to fist fight, when the boys' gazes shifted from you to something behind you. In their eyes, you glimpsed alarm and wondered what on earth could make them react that way. You also turned in the direction of their gazes, and noticed another boy walking with quick steps toward them.

He was much taller than they were, and there was a furious expression on his face that would make any sane person run away. In fact, you felt the grip on your wrist loosen, and she sensed the boys behind you striding away.

“What are you, animals? Leave now!” was what you could read on the boy's lips. The thugs did not let him repeat it twice; you, again facing them, smiled with satisfaction as you saw them walking away hurriedly, their heads down and their hands in their pockets.

Standing side by side in a dark, empty street, only you and the mysterious boy, your savior, remained. You met his gaze and offered him the biggest smile you had, your chest full of relief and gratitude. You brought your open hand to your chin, close to your lips, and dropped it, moving toward him.

The boy did not seem to notice your gesture; he was still looking into your eyes. You raised the inner corners of your eyebrows, not understanding what the boy was looking at. Let him not be a madman like those others, you prayed internally.

“Not even a thank you?” the boy finally broke the silence, with an almost embarrassed smile. You frowned and blinked quickly, confused - you had signed a thank you beforehand. Then you sighed when you remembered that basically no one spoke sign language.

You bit the inside of your cheek to figure out how to talk to the boy, who was beginning to get confused himself. You had an idea and raised your palm signaling him to wait while you searched in your bag for your phone.

Finding the phone, you opened the notes app and wrote down what you wanted to say to the boy. "I signed you “thank you” earlier but you didn't notice" you wrote, and showed him the screen, but before he could read you added "I'm deaf."

The boy's eyes scanned the phone and his expression turned into a stunned look. You were used to a surprised reaction; surely he would immediately start treating you as if you were some kind of kid. They all did. Who knows why they associated not being able to hear with less intellectual ability?

The boy looked you in the eyes again, but without shaping an expression as if he were looking at a lost puppy, as was usual of people. He simply asked you, slightly exaggerating the movements of his mouth, “When did you sign it?”

"When I brought my hand to my chin" you wrote in the notes.

The boy smiled again. “I didn't see you. You're welcome then,” he said, still making unnaturally dynamic and slow movements with his lips.

Smiling, you opened the notes again. "There is no need for you to talk in that strange way."

He wrinkled his nose and sighed, shaking his head. “I knew I shouldn't have done it, but it seemed like the most convenient choice.”

You understood that he had thought to make things easier for you by spelling out every word he said, but that he was not sure that this was how one communicated with a deaf person. You still appreciated the effort he had put into it. You wrote on the phone: "For me reading lips is like speaking for you, it comes naturally to me, I don't need facilitation."

After reading, he nodded. You saw in his autumnal eyes a curiosity toward you, but it went beyond your deafness. He seemed intrigued by you as a person. And indeed, he continued to ask questions. “Do you really understand absolutely everything?”

You shrugged. "Some words I've never seen or read before, no. Not even some accents."

“Let's see if you understand my name, then,” proposed the boy with a slight smile on his lips.

You nodded, beginning to get curious about the boy herself. When he said his name, you narrowed your eyes. It was a name you had never seen anyone pronounce, not even on TV. Puzzled, you tried to write down what you understood. "Occa?"

The boy glanced at the screen and a giggle that seemed faint to you escaped his lips. With gentle hands, he grabbed your phone and asked you permission to take it. You nodded yes.

When he handed it back to you, in very large letters it said OSCAR. You tilted your head to one side and burst into silent laughter in disbelief too.

The boy, Oscar apparently, crossed his arms over his chest. “You never heard that?”

You shook your head. "Not at all. It has a funny sound to it."

Oscar made a mock indignant face. “Excuse me? Let's hear yours name, then!”

It took you a short time to write it down, but you watched it for a while before handing him the phone. Giving Oscar your name meant giving him a piece of you.

“_____.” Oscar pronounced your name with a serene seriousness on his face. He was aware, too, that the two of you had now established the basis for a bond, by which yoy both seemed intrigued.

Despite your experience just before, you had not had even a wary thought about Oscar. You could not recognize exactly what in him made you feel comfortable; the fact was that you had the impression that you could be guided by Oscar even with your eyes closed, which was a big deal for you, sight being the sense in which you placed all your trust. You began to let your guard down, relaxing your shoulders and legs, but always imagining your mother spelling with her lips well, “Don't trust anyone.”

Oscar tilted his head to meet your gaze, which had drifted off into an undefined distance as you reflected. “And what are you doing all alone, in a foreign country, at…” he pulled the phone out of his pocket, ”…two in the morning?”

You blushed a little, remembering how stupid your idea had been. Tightening your lips into a guilty smile, you resumed typing on the phone. "I couldn't sleep, I know it was a dumb idea. I brought it on myself."

Shaking his head, Oscar stepped closer to you. “It's those morons' fault, not yours,” he offered yoy a reassuring smile, which made the blush fade from your cheeks; you were relieved that Oscar didn't think you were unconscious. You returned his smile immediately.

You both were silent for a few moments. Thinking about it, the silence must have been really oppressive for those who perceived it, but it had no effect on you. You took advantage of the stillness to observe Oscar's eyes; it was your favorite thing to do, because you could tell much more about a person from his eyes than from his speech. Words are a dirty game, which can conceal infinite purposes. Eyes, on the other hand, could conceal nothing from you. At that exact moment, you seemed to catch a nascent idea shimmering in Oscar's pupils. “Since you're here, would you like to see a place I know?”

The proposal startled you for a moment, so much so that your thumbs froze on the phone screen. Oscar's expression was inviting, and it clearly screamed an innocent exhortation to trust. You took a sharp breath, carefully contemplating your choices. You avoided Oscar's gaze to look at the blank page of notes. He had given you no reason to distrust him until then; in fact, he had even saved you. Your whole body was urging you to accept, and even the thought in your mind telling you not to was clouded - your goal for that trip was just to risk a little.

When Oscar read the word yes on your phone, he smiled slightly and motioned for you to follow him. He made sure to walk beside you so that he could see you and talk to you at any time. He led you through the city streets, smaller than the ones you had walked so far, seeming confident in his steps. For those fifteen minutes of walking you both remained silent; you could feel your heart beating with trepidation. You werebtrembling with eagerness to see the place Oscar had spoken of and with the adrenaline rush that the unknown sent through your blood.

Finally, Oscar stopped and glanced at you curiously to see your face. You were intent on reading the sign of the club you had stopped in front of; it read “retro lounge bar.” You turned to Oscar with a bemused smile, to which he responded with a nod of his head as if to say “wait and see.”

The door revealed dark wooden walls and tables when Oscar opened it to let him and you in. All faces immediately turned to inspect the newcomers, putting you in such awe that you sought refuge behind Oscar's back. But you noticed that the gazes of the men seated at the tables did not stop on you; on the contrary, after eyeing Oscar their expressions turned from suspicion to surprise, and they immediately took to talking incredulously with their neighbors.

You frowned: what was so strange about Oscar that an entire bar was amazed? The men's eyes did not leave you both all the way to the bar, where Oscar casually spoke to the waiter, asking something that you could not understand, because you still kept yourself sheltered behind him. So you also did not understand why, instead of staying to wait for the drinks you were sure he had just ordered, Oscar walked to the back of the counter, making sure that you were always behind him.

You crossed the kitchen amidst contented greetings from the cooks. The strong, pungent smell of alcohol made you, not exactly used to being in environments filled with it, wrinkle your nose. The few times you had drunk, you had done so with your cousin, in your aunt's basement, and it was only cheap limoncello, basically lemon juice.

Seeing you were struggling, trying your best not to make a disgusted facial expression, Oscar put his hand in yours, gently, your fingers barely touching, to rush you somewhere else. He led you to another door, which opened to a long flight of stairs. You struggled to match Oscar's pace while climbing up; he seemed like an athlete compared to you... no, actually he just seemed like an athlete.

Once the physical activity was finally over, you scoffed in relief. You were, once again, facing a door; Oscar turned to meet your confused gaze. Smiling softly, he asked: "Ready?". You immediatly nodded, watching the door. Oscar pushed the door a little, and the air, now colder, ran through your hair again. You stepped out together on what you now understood was a terrace.

Above you, you were towered by the dark sky, with not even a weak twinkle of a star. You were disappointed, for yoy thought the sky would have been way prettier. Trying to conceal your dissatisfaction, you avoided Oscar's gaze and looked in front of you: your mouth dropped open. You were wrong, the sky was not above you; the stars were shining in the skyline you saw stretched out in front of you. That was Oscar's surprise spot.

You turned your whole body to him, who had stayed behind you to let you enjoy the view. Your mouth was still open to show him her wonder. The corners of Oscar's lips turned up and he mouthed: "Pretty, right?"

While you slowly spun on yourselt to not miss any millimeter of the view, he moved closer to the edge and jumped over the low walls, sitting comfortably with his legs inside of the terrace and his back facing the void underneath. The girl he just met was shifting her gaze left and right continously, with the widest eyes he had ever seen; it seemed like you were getting drunk off that sight. Has she never seen a city from above? Oscar found himself wondering, but he was grateful for your probable inexperience, as you were a fun and intriguing view.

Oscar was not left alone admiring you, though; you finally brought your gaze back to where he was, and when you saw him in that position, your eyes narrowed again. You quickly moved to his side, furrowing your eyebrows. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, as if you were deciding whether to say something or not, and Oscar noticed you were in visible distress.

"Don't worry," he shook his head with a smile, just then catching the reason for your change in behaviour, "I'm not going to fall."

You kept your brows furrowed, not trusting at all but still not saying or writing anything. Oscar was finding a way to convince you he was fine, you could see it by the way his eyes travelled up, left and right a few times. "I do much more dangerous things usually, y'know?" Oscar resorted to affirm.

You now raised your eyebrows and tilted your head, reaching for your phone. "That's not really reassuring" you typed, your mouth distorted in a bewildered smile.

Oscar rubbed his neck with an hand. "Yeah, but I mean, at least you know I know what I'm doing". You nodded with fake persuasion, ironically complying him.

"You can try too". You saw Oscar's lips shape the sentence, and immediately, your breath got caught in your throat. Just the thought of exposing yourself to such a dangerous situation made your legs shake; what would your parents say? No, you couldn't risk that much, your body literally wouldn't allow you to. You took a step back, distancing yourself from the danger, like you had always done in your life. You knew the rules: everything that could go wrong, will go wrong.

"Nothing will go wrong," Oscar broke the silence he saw you spiraling into, "I'm here next to you."

You parted your lips slightly as Oscar's words sank through your chest. You felt a warmth permeate your body, and then expand all around, making your view clearer. Suddendly, your legs stopped shaking, and, keeping your eyes locked with Oscar's, you laid your hands on the low wall.

Oscar watched with content as you took a deep breath and jumped just high enough to sit right by his side, while you repeated all over in your head "I'm here next to you, I'm here next to you, I'm here next to you".

You felt the wind just underneath you, raging and trying to drag you down with itself, but you had never felt more stable. You weren't sure why, but your chest was basically empty of fear; his words had filled you with a strenght you didn't even know you had, and now you gripped the wall trying to keep it inside you.

With a huge smile, Oscar put a hand on your shoulder to give you more security, as he saw yoy was pushing your limits. "See? It's alright."

You pushed a big puff of air out of your mouth, followed by a clear, joyful laugh. Oscar stopped breathing for a moment, the sound inebriating his brain; in a few seconds, he decided if he was on the verge of dying, your laugh would have been the sound he'd want to hear to die happy. He cleared his throat and removed his hand from your shoulder as if it was burning.

You shook your head like you couldn't believe what just happened. As if you just remembered something, you rushed to grab your phone. "So, superman, what super-dangerous activity do you do on a daily basis?" you teased him with sincere curiosity.

"Oh, um..." Oscar seemed to struggle with words.

"Is it a secret? Are you in the FBI or something?"

"No, no!" he chuckled, "it's just... have you ever heard of Formula 1?"

Much to Oscar's relief, your eyes lit up and your jaw dropped. "No way! My father used to make me watch it all the time. So, are you like a mechanic?"

"Worse," Oscar grinned, his cheeks flushing a little.

Your eyes got even wider. "Don't tell me I'm talking to an F1 driver right now."

He just nodded, awkward and proud at the same time. He never knew how to deal with fame. "In the flesh."

Like you had just connected all the dots, you pointed a finger towards him. "That's why all the men were checking you out! And why they let you up here!" You began to feel embarassed, suddendly not seeing herself as worthy of his time. "Why are you here?"

Oscar shrugged, looking up to the sky. "The first race week just ended, but I... uh... it didn't quite go as I expected, so I couldn't sleep. And here we are."

You nodded in understanding, feeling sorry for him. He seemed really disappointed in himself. "There are still 23 other weeks, right?" you attempted to console him.

He lightly smiled watching your phone's screen. "Right."

"I've never attended a gran prix, but I've always enjoyed watching the races with my dad." You wrote, trying to hold a conversation without feeling overwhelmed by the fact you were face to face with an F1 driver, but it wasn't easy at all.

"Come with me to the next one, then" Oscar spit out without thinking, and immediately froze. The proposal came to him so intinctively it surprised even him.

You, though, was a thousand times more surprised. You literally chocked on air in shock and your eyebrows shot up on her forehead. No answer came out in your mind, you were just speechless.

Oscar realized he may have overstepped a little, but the idea did not displease him at all. The more he thought about it, the more he wished you'd be in the paddock next week. You filled him with such a pleasant feeling he was sure you would have a positive effect on his performance as well. He did not want to step back from his proposal.

He made sure he locked eyes with you. "Next week, in Shangai. It's a pretty city. You won't have to pay anything."

You did not see even a trace of a smile on his face. He was being absolutely serious.

You tightened your lips. For the whole night, Oscar had done nothing but help you overcome your fear of the unknown. You let him guide you, and with just a few words, he did what you couldn't do in 23 years. I'm here next to you. You just climbed on a wall hundreds of meters in the air, what could travel in a foreign country with a stranger be compared to it?

Oscar's tense shoulders dropped in relief when you slowly nodded.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Best Friends Club

summary: prompt fill. Wally's been your best friend since the Grade 4 puppet show. a disaster that brought you together for life. only now, years later and months away from graduation, Wally needs to get something off his chest. he just...didn't exactly plan to do it this way... (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. friends to lovers. protective behavior. AU. silliness & fluff. Simon and Wally are bros (fight me).

bon reading, frens

___________________________☄️

Best Friends Club

Wally's chatting with Maddie and Charley before school, has his arm around your shoulders as you focus on your phone, laughing and joking and smiling wide until:

"Holy crap, Jake Tremblay just asked me to go out Friday," You announce, pretty eyes wide, blinking in shock at everyone.

Wally goes still, smile sliding off his face as his stomach drops and his heart ups and lodges itself in his throat. God, this hurts.

See, the thing is, you're Wally's best friend. And while he has his arm around you—is always reaching for you, hand on your back, arm, shoulder, whatever—it's never been anything but friendly. Best friendly. Because you and he are f r i e n d s. And it sucks. Royally.

Why? Yeah, no one needs three guesses to figure out that Wally's been in love with you since Grade 4. That massacre of a puppet show the kids put on for their parents during Spirit Week. You and Wally spent the entire performance using sock puppets to have a dialogue about who'd win in a fight: Goku or Sailor Moon. Didn't even notice the blood vessel about to pop in Mr. Toast's temple when things really started to spiral.

Wally only comes down to earth when you say his name for what must not be the first time, everyone's eyes on him. Yours, especially, beautiful and concerned as you stare at him expectantly.

"What was that?" He asks, feeling simultaneously dumb and unable to function.

You repeat, "I asked you what I should say..." and turn to face him fully. Still close enough that your body heat soaks through his hoodie. Fuck, how can he say anything negative when you're giving him that sweet, earnest expression? Seeking advice from someone you trust implicitly.

Against his better judgment—or maybe for it—Wally slaps on a smile and says, "Yeah. You should go for it."

This isn't the first time you've been asked out. Of course, those last few times you didn't look so keen on accepting the offer. When you turn back to your phone, Wally's face immediately falls. He doesn't look at Maddie or Charley, can't handle the pity he knows he'll see in their eyes.

Everyone in the circle knows about Wally's crush on you (fuck, it's so much more than that), but apart from insisting he talk to you, no one points it out. You're the only one who hasn't caught on, Nicole having informed Wally that you giggled over popcorn, what are you talking about? Wally's always like that, when everyone was at the APEX for a midnight screening of some scary movie Wally couldn't have cared less about.

And, sure, Wally is 'always like that': Goofy, charming, flirtatious; standing in line at concessions for you and holding your bag when you go to the bathroom... What you don't seem to grasp is that Wally isn't like that with anyone else. And now you're saying 'yes' to Jake Tremblay and Wally has to muster the strength not to punch a wall.

‗•‗

Simon closes his locker only to jolt backwards. Wally appeared out of the fucking ether, what the hell? He has his forehead pressed against the locker beside Simon's, shoulders slumped, looking all-in-all miserable to exist.

"Yoouu okay?" Simon ventures, raising a brow.

Slowly, Wally turns his head and nothing else, eyes puppy-dog sad and lower lip pursed in a pout, "No." And then, after turning to face the locker again, "She said yes to Jake Tremblay."

"Dude, I've told you a thousand times, talk. to. her." Simon says like a mother insisting Wally clean his room.

Pointed, "Oh, you mean like you talked to Maddie?"

Simon takes a moment to reevaluate his life before, in a placid, neutral tone, declares, "I regret this friendship."

"No you don't." Wally says, but he's still glooming into the locker. "What do I do?"

"Aside from talk to her?" Simon shrugs helplessly. How's he supposed to know? He and Wally have been paddling the same sinking boat for approximately the same number of years. "Do you...wanna threaten Jake?" Simon asks in a pitch similar to that used when asking children if they want to go for ice cream after a tantrum.

Wally seems to seriously consider it but glumly decides, "No. I want her to be happy." A heavy sigh. "Even if it's not with me."

"This isn't going to make you some kind of martyr, you know."

"I know."

Simon doesn't think Wally does know, but fine, he'll play along. "Maybe it'll go so bad that she swears off dating forever."

"A guy can dream," Wally mumbles as he straightens, and, Jesus, he looks like every kitten in the world just got launched at the sun and he was forced to watch.

Simon can see beneath Wally's utter despair to the gears turning in his brain. Can sense what ill-advised plan Wally is cooking up (because this isn't the first time he's done something stupid to ensure you're safe). In an effort to, a) avoid criminal charges and, b) make Wally feel better:

"What if I happen to be in the same place at the same time? I could keep an eye on things for you." Simon suggests and he already wishes he didn't say anything.

Wally brightens, "You'd do that for me?"

"Apparently..." Simon says, questioning himself. "Look, better me than you, right? Otherwise, it'll be exactly what it is and she'll never talk to you again."

"Why? What would it be if I do it?"

"Stalking, Wally," Simon states as he heads into History, Wally at his heels.

"Hey!" Wally protests, "It's not like that!"

Taking his seat, Simon just gives Wally a pointed stare, "Buddy, I know you read those BookTok romances, but following your BFF on her date with another dude isn't a romantic gesture. It's creepy a-f."

"But...you'll do it for me?" Wally wants to confirm, his eyes all wide and pleading.

Simon sighs, thinking this is a terrible idea, but seeing Wally so sad breaks Simon's heart and he can't bring himself to take back the offer. "...Apparently."

‗•‗

Friday comes. It's all you've been talking about since Monday and Wally has had it up to here with Jake This and Jake That, and if he hears one. more. thing. about Jake, Wally's going to burst into a million pieces of ragehate and take the whole school with him.

But he smiles and nods and teases you like he would in any other situation, bumping your ass with his hip when he finds you bent over at your locker at lunch. You don't even need to look to know it's him, simply continue to shove your backpack in your locker and grab your jean jacket.

"Diner?" You give him a sunshine smile that Wally returns, almost forgetting about your date and Jake and how you're not actually Wally's girlfriend.

Not in this lifetime, his brain reminds him bluntly.

His blood stings.

Over lunch at the diner down the street, you outline exactly what Jake has planned. Dinner at the Italian place beside the Arcade (it's fucking Olive Garden, Jake, do better) and then—Jesus, really?!—stargazing on the roof of the old cigarette factory. An organized thing. The planets will be in some kind of super rare alignment or something, and local enthusiasts have banded together to share their telescopes.

"No offense, but since when do you care about the planets?" Wally wonders as he dips his fries into your ketchup.

You shrug, "I mean, it's something to do, right? And you're always telling me to 'branch out and try new things, dorkface'," You exaggerate the last part in a parody of Wally's voice before continuing as yourself, "so, why not astronomy?"

"Because it's outside and you hate outside things before May." Wally chuckles and shakes his head, "You're gonna get cold and complain and steal Jake's hoodie like you've stolen five of mine."

Wally loathed the idea of you stealing another guy's anything, but he smiled through the jealousy. Perhaps a little too intent on smearing more fries through your ketchup as his knee bumps the underside of the table in quick, nervous intervals.

Oh, he is not doing well.

He instantly notices how you've gone still, how you're studying his expression, words, behavior like a zoologist at the gorilla enclosure because Wally can't fucking keep his cool when he's forced to think about you being cozy and cute for someone who isn't him-shaped.

Wally keeps his eyes on his plate for a few moments; long enough that you gracefully change the subject and ask Wally what his plans are for tonight. As if they don't involve hanging out with his phone while he obsessively waits for Simon's updates throughout the course of your date.

"Nothing special," He says, patting himself on the back for keeping his voice even, "just hanging out at home."

‗•‗

It's 8:43PM when Wally's phone lights up with a call. As promised, Simon kept Wally abreast of every. single. thing. you and Jake did on your date. From flirty conversation over unlimited breadsticks to shifting to one side of the booth to split dessert.

It's only been an hour and a half since you and Jake were seated. What on earth could Simon have to tell him that couldn't be texted?

"Don't freak out—" Wally promptly freaks out "—but something happened."

Wally shoots up in bed, where he's been whiling away since he got home from school, and is immediately on alert. Heart pounding, blood pumping, ready for war.

"What's going on? Is she okay?"

"Oh. She's fine." Simon reports. He sounds like he's hiding, voice a harsh whisper just loud enough for Wally to hear. "Jake might be in a permanent body cast for the rest of his life, but she's totally fine."

Wally breathes a sigh of relief, although he's still confused, "What happened?"

Simon clears his throat, "She's probably going to call you in, like, a minute, so you have to act...just...be cool, okay?" And then, finally, he reveals, "Jake tried to stick his hand under her skirt. And I mean, he went for it. Full grope from behind."

At that moment, Wally sees fucking r e d. He's off the phone and in his car faster than a bullet, tearing out of his parents' driveway with a screech. Burns rubber around every corner; breaks several traffic laws; and pulls up just as you're about to get into an Uber. There's no sign of Jake. Unfortunate, since Wally has a surplus of adrenaline thrumming through his veins, and the only cure is beating the guy's face to a fucking pulp.

You look confused for all of a second before your face crumples. Wally gets out of the driver's seat and hurries toward you. Gathers you in his arms as soon as you're within reach, and holds you as you shake. He rubs your back, soothes you with soft words; managing to simultaneously shoo the Uber driver away with a polite nod and a gesture.

"Are you okay?" He asks after a minute. "Do I need to kill him?"

"...No," You mumble into Wally's chest. "I already did that."

Wally grins, though it's sad at its edges. You shouldn't have had to.

"That's my girl," He murmurs into your hair after he places a comforting kiss on your head. "Come on. I'll drive you home."

You go without resistance, even allowing Wally to fuss over you and buckle you in. As he settles behind the wheel, he glances at you again and realizes, "Whose jacket is that?"

You press your lips together and stare at your lap, "I got cold... Besides, after what he did, I think I earned it." You end firmly, folding your arms.

"Did you take it before or after you kicked his ass?"

"After, duh." You say like it's so obvious, "We were inside before. But I didn't want to wait for my Uber in front of everyone who saw what happened. So...I made him give it to me."

Wally barks a laugh as he takes your hand, holding it in that platonic way, fingers not laced how he wants them to be, but he'll take what he can get. Your knuckles are raw where they made impact with whatever part of Jake you punched. Wally smooths the pad of his thumb over them. Gentle. Loving.

"Where to, sweetcheeks?" He asks, "Home or ice cream?"

"Home." You decide with finality which makes it hard to swallow around the lump of disappointment in Wally's throat.

Call him selfish, but he hoped you'd want to let him comfort you. Regardless, he does as he's told and pulls away from the curb, pulling a uey to head toward your house.

‗•‗

On Monday, Wally finds Jake in the boys' locker room after swim practice, his black eye looking like it needs a twin. Wally punches Jake hard enough that even he sees circling birdies.

He shakes his hand as he leaves without a word, hardly feeling the pain through the smug satisfaction warming his belly.

‗•‗

It's the next weekend when you invite Wally over for a casual afternoon kick back. I need Best Friend Time, you said, all adorable and gloomy, wanting to put all thoughts of ever dating again behind you (thanks for putting that out there, Simon, you da man!). Wally's in, of course he is, on the road as soon as you hang up.

Your parents are having a late lunch with friends a town over, so it'll be just you and him for a while. Games and snacks and Domino's on the menu for dinner. When you answer the door for him, you've got some of the sunshine glow back in your eyes, your smile making Wally's heart flutter.

You lead him to the basement, everything already set up: coffee table pushed aside for the nest of blankets and pillows on the floor, bags of gummy worms and twizzlers (Wally's favorite) and those Canadian chips you in a pile beside cans of Dr. Pepper and Coke Zero.

Wally wore his cleanest sweatpants for the occasion, matching your chill vibe. And damn those low-slung yoga pants and that fucking tight-as-sin tank top, no bra because you love to drive Wally crazy.

"Ready to have your ass handed to you again?" You joke as you get comfortable on your side of the nest.

Wally claps back, "Hah! You haven't won in three months, sugarlips, what makes you think today's the day?"

You just smirk and hand Wally a controller, "I have a plan." And that's all there is to it. You don't elaborate, don't hint, don't give Wally any indication whatsoever what this plan might be.

Fishy...but effective. You're already in Wally's head. Hmm, maybe that's the plan? Wally shakes himself to attention and starts the game, grinning like a shark as he gets the lead right off the bat.

Just as he's about to cross the finish line, "So much for your pla—" the world suddenly tilts sideways. He can't finish his thought, barreled over by your weight crashing into him as you grab the controller right out of his hand.

You squeal victoriously, the sound rebooting his brain, and he realizes what just happened.

"Hey!" He tries to grab the controller, but you hold it up and away from him, big smile on your face as the screen announces Wally's demise. "Not fair!" He wraps his arms around you and flips you onto your back; presses his weight into you as he uses the advantage of his longer limbs to snatch the controller back.

Apparently not taking this lying down, you band your legs around his waist then surge up, somehow summoning the strength of five Wallys and rolling him onto his back again. Stunned, he stares up at you as you wave the controller victoriously.

"You were saying?" You chuckle, smug as ever, slightly out of breath.

Oh, but Wally isn't done yet, miss ma'am. He snaps his hands up, clamping his fingers for the controller which you arch your back to hold away from him, crying out when he takes advantage of your off-balance position to knock you backward. Once more, he has you squirming beneath him.

He grabs one wrist and then the other, transferring both into the grip of one of his large hands while he plucks the controller from you with the other. That's about the moment he realizes, uh-oh, he can feel your breath on his lips. Your face is such a beautiful shade of pink, and your thighs are on either side of his hips. Wally's body is completely flush against yours. All of him. Every. Last little bit. of him.

Wally should move. Definitely. He should move right now; just get off you and pretend everything's normal and you're not gazing up at him like that and his lips aren't so fucking close to yours, and the air hasn't been sucked out of the room that no longer exists around you and him because there's only you and only him and fuck. Shit.

"Wally~?" You say, voice a whisper tinged with something that makes Wally's cock twitch. Heat, maybe. Or need. You swallow, the sound audible, and, oh fuck, Wally watches your eyes flicker to his mouth then back, like you're finally on the same page, like you want it, too.

His hand flexes around your wrists, body settling more firmly on yours, and he stares at your face as he rocks his hips, just once, experimental, just to see what you'll do. He knows you can feel him, stiff and hardening further, all his inches against the heat of your pussy through your thin as fuck yoga pants.

Your reaction almost explodes Wally's brain. That sweet little whimper, how your eyes glaze over and your lips part; how you mimic the action with one of your own, sending sparks of electricity through Wally's nervous system.

"Fuck," He chokes out, grip loosening around your wrists, but not letting go. He drops the controller. Instead uses that hand to brush his fingers across your cheek and down the slope of your jaw. His breath mingles with yours, the heat in him rises, his heart beating a frenzied tattoo in his chest. Is he really going to do this?

"Please," You say, so soft, so perfect, that, yes, Wally is absolutely going to do this.

He gently bumps the tip of his nose against yours, smiles in wonder that this is really about to happen, and then slowly, to give you a chance to turn away if you don't want this, he leans in, stopping only to tease, "One more time, princess." His voice low and husky.

He feels you tense and then release before whispering, "Please, Wally..."

That's all he needs to lean in and kiss you for the first time, his lips capturing yours with years of hunger and desire and fucking love. So much love it threatens to go nuclear if Wally doesn't share the burden right this minute.

He moans, grinds his hips against yours, his cock throbbing against you, God, he needs you so badly. Has needed you so badly since he first discovered how his dick works and probably even before then. He lets his hand roam down down down, then up under your tank top, fingers caressing the soft shape of your breast.

You keen and arch into the touch, and, holy shit, he can't do this slow. Next time—please Jesus, let there be a next time—he'll do this right. He'll do candles and rose petals and Barry Manilow, but right now, he has to know what it feels like when you come around his cock.

His kisses turn urgent, his movements more hungry, and you match his crazy like a mirror. His shirt first, thrown behind the TV, then yours, tossed somewhere near the coffee table. Wally takes a second to admire your bare chest, licks his lips, and then descends, starving for a taste. He sucks your nipple, twirls his tongue around it, moaning as if it's the best thing he's ever had in his mouth.

Which, as soon as he peels your yoga pants off and resituates himself between your spread-wide thighs, he knows isn't true. This is the best thing he's ever had on his tongue. He spears it in and out of you, moaning and panting as he kisses your pussy deeply, brings one, two fingers into the mix; pumping into you over and over until you shake and beg and arch so fucking pretty for him.

"Fuck, baby, I need to feel you come," He groans, shoving his sweatpants and boxers off and throwing them somewhere to find later.

You agree enthusiastically, reaching for him as you hook one leg over his hip, the other over his shoulder—Goddamn, were you always this bendy!?—and cry out like a heavenly chorus when he drives his cock into you. Fuck, God, his eyes roll back in his skull, it's the most incredible feeling, an indescribable euphoria flushing through him from scalp to soles.

"You feel so...big, Wally, oh my god," You gasp when he begins to move, and doesn't that just rub his ego the right way?

He genuinely can't even find the brain cells to reply, too busy losing himself to the sensation of being inside you, finally, so much more intense than any and every fantasy he's had of you and him entwined like this.

"Baby," He moans, hips pumping faster, fat tip hitting your sweet spot over and over and over until he feels you tighten around him, hears you gasp, and then moan in ecstasy.

He wishes he could last, that he could keep going until you come again, again, again, but he's waited so long for this and it's overwhelming, he can't do it. With one, two, three more quick thrusts, Wally tenses and then groans, grinding his release into you; leaning down to take your lips in a feverish kiss.

As you and he recover, he rests his forehead against yours, releases your wrists—oops—and cradles your face in one hand, his most precious girl a vision in the afterglow. You shift, your hands on his jaw, and you're looking at him like the sun, moon, and stars.

"How long?" You eventually ask.

Wally doesn't need you to clarify. He knows exactly what you mean.

"Grade 4."

He watches you absorb the information, nod, and then your eyes meet his when you make your own confession, "Grade 3. Ms. Houette's class. You made a joke about seagulls that was so lame it was funny."

Wally about short-circuits. He begs your finest pardon, but what was that? "Grade...3?"

"Grade 3."

"...are you saying that I could've been loving on you—" He emphasizes with a roll of his hips, winces from oversensitivity, "—since before I even understood what that meant?"

"I'm saying I've had a big, stupid crush on you since Grade 3." You say, innocent and solemn, "You take that however you want."

Wally chooses to forego the existential crisis and simply enjoy that he has you under him. There's a lot of time to make up for and a lot of fantasies Wally wants to bring to life, which you and he do with gusto until your parents get home and call down a hello.

Later, after redressing in a tornado and greeting your parents face-to-face; after stammered updates and weak conversation; after retreating to the basement to watch a movie and cuddle—Lord, you feel so good in Wally's arms, he never wants to let you go.

After all that, during a lull in the movie, you finally ask, "So, are you going to tell me how you knew what happened with Jake before I told you?" And you prop your chin on his chest, looking up at him with amusement.

Wally gulps, facing the screen as he desperately tries to come up with a feasible answer. Nothing comes to mind, though, so he's stuck offering:

"Uuuh...?"

You sit back, on your knees between his legs, and raise a brow, "I know Simon was there. You can tell him that Groucho glasses do not a disguise make."

Sheepish, "He's a good bro...?"

"A very good bro," You agree primly, "A bro who stalks one of his best friend's other best friend because...?"

Now Wally knows he has to tell you. He sits up himself, hands finding your waist, eyes earnest and sweet as he admits, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't know anything about Jake and you never let me vet any of the guys you go out with—"

"Yes. All three of them." You say flatly, rolling your eyes.

"One, three, five, doesn't matter, baby, I always wanted to make sure they were good enough for you..."

"So, did you make Simon follow me and Dan to the movie last year?" You wonder.

Wally glances away, guilt muddling his expression.

"...Did you follow me and Dan to the movie last year?"

"If I say no, will you believe me and let me cuddle you some more?"

Your jaw drops, eyes round, and for a second, Wally's sure he's about to get the boot. Not just from your house, but from the Best Friends Club altogether. He's already mourning the loss of your touch when you abruptly burst into laughter, crashing into him like you did before, only this time a lot gentler.

You nuzzle your face into his neck and then kiss his face all over, grinning down at him with the same beautiful smile you always give him.

"You're not mad?"

You shake your head, "I made Xavier come with me to that football game you took Melissa to last fall..."

Gobsmacked, Wally blurts, "You hate sports," since it's entirely relevant to how you stalked him as much as he stalked you on dates neither of you wanted the other to be on.

"I don't hate sports. I like sports. I hate all the pauses and the time outs and the—"

Wally cuts you off with a kiss, at first just a stamp of lips to lips but slowly melting into something softer, deeper, more heated.

Wally pulls back a fraction to say, "I love you, babygirl," looking deep into your eyes. One hand on your hip, the other in your hair, releasing a long, shaky breath as he waits for you to say something.

Finally, a smile spreads across your face and you kiss him again, short and sweet and meaningful.

"I love you, too, Wally Clark." Then, completely off-topic and far less romantic: "Do you wanna come with me when I stalk Simon's date for Maddie?"

Tires screech as Wally's brain comes to a full stop. Sorry, what was that? "Wait, Mads wants you to follow Simon?"

"Oh yeah, she's liked him for ages, but he never seems interested so...you know...she doesn't wanna risk the friendship."

"Jesus Christ." Wally looks at you, totally serious when he sighs with the exasperation of an ignored parent, "You know, I've told him, like, a thousand times to just talk to her." A helpless shrug, "He never listens."

‗•‗

Several days later, when you aren't looking, Wally steals the jacket you stole from Jake. Does terrible things to it before throwing it in Jake's face the following day.

Wally replaces the jacket with his letterman and has never been prouder of himself when he sees you slip it on without question.

fin.

☄️___________________________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Marshmallow Miles.

a cutie-smut-lite oneshot wherein Wally wants to celebrate your birthday away from Split River. Because he can.

[heliosunny]

Hi! I love your depictions of Phainon, especially when he toes the line between charming and threatening. I’m a sucker for a good unrequited love trope, so could you write a scenario where reader was in love with Phainon in the past but he treated her the same as he did everyone else so she eventually loses hope and gives up, so now he’s the one that has to chase after her? Thank you so much!

Yandere!Phainon x Fem!Reader

The first time you saw Phainon, you thought the stars had fallen from the sky and taken the shape of a man. He was brilliant, untouchable, a light too blinding for anyone to hold. And yet, you tried.

You were seven when you first told Phainon you wanted to marry him.

It had been one of those golden afternoons, the sun slanting through the trees, painting his silver hair with a soft glow. He sat on a patch of grass beside you, staring up at the clouds like they held all the answers in the world.

“Phai!” you had said, kicking your legs idly. “When we grow up, let’s get married.”

“Married?”

“Yes! Like grown-ups do! You’ll protect me, and I’ll make you happy.”

Phainon tilted his head, considering. Then, with a soft laugh, he shrugged. “Alright.”

And that was it. A simple agreement, like you had just decided to play a new game. He didn’t think about it beyond that moment, and maybe, at the time, you didn’t either. But as you grew, the weight of those words stayed with you.

Years passed. You stayed by his side, always reaching, always hoping. Phainon was kind—always had been. But as you both grew older, you noticed something.

He was kind to everyone.

He smiled at others the way he smiled at you. He listened to them, helped them, comforted them—just as he did with you. Maybe a little softer, a little gentler when it came to you, but never in the way you wanted. Never in a way that meant something more.

And so, the quiet realization settled in your heart like a stone sinking into a river.

You weren’t special.

Not to him.

And then there was that day. The day you knew, without a doubt, that you were just another name in his life.

It had been at the annual festival, a celebration where lights hung from every corner, where laughter echoed in the streets, and where lovers exchanged tokens of devotion.

You had spent all morning crafting a gift for him—something small but meaningful. A charm, woven with threads of silver and blue, the colors that reminded you of him. A silent confession, the last desperate hope that maybe, maybe he would see you.

When you found him, he was standing beneath the lantern-lit trees. But he wasn’t alone. A girl stood before him, cheeks dusted pink, hands nervously clasping a carefully wrapped box.

You had seen it before—people gravitating toward Phainon, drawn in by his quiet kindness, by the way he made everyone feel special. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That he would just smile, politely decline, and move on.

“Oh, for me?” Phainon had taken the box gently, his voice carrying that familiar warmth, the kind that once made your heart race. “That’s really kind of you.”

You stood there, gift clutched in your hands, heart pounding as he opened it. Inside was a scarf, delicately embroidered, clearly made with effort and care. He held it up, smiling, before effortlessly wrapping it around his neck.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” he said. And then, without hesitation, he lifted a hand and gently patted the girl’s head.

It was the same gesture he had given you countless times. The same words. The same smile.

Something inside you shattered.

You had spent years thinking you were different, that maybe, maybe the way he treated you was special. But here he was, accepting another person’s affection with the same grace, the same warmth.

You weren’t special.

Not to him.

Your hands trembled around the charm you had made. And then, slowly, you let it fall to the ground.

Phainon never even noticed.

----

“Y/N”

His voice cut through the air, quiet but firm. You stiffened for half a second before turning to face him.

“What is it, Phainon?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy”

“I never meant to make you feel like—”

You stopped him before he could finish.

Eventually, you stopped seeking him out, stopped waiting for his attention. And as days turned to weeks, you started avoiding him entirely.

But you never got the chance to truly leave him behind.

Because then the war came.

It happened suddenly—one evening, the village bells rang in alarm. Riders arrived from the capital, shouting of an approaching army, of an impending invasion. Chaos followed, families scrambling to gather their belongings, the town elders deciding who would flee and who would stay to defend.

Phainon, of course, chose to fight.

You still remember the look in his eyes that night. Determined. Steady. As if the boy who once watched clouds beside you had already faded into something sharper.

“You’re leaving, right?” His voice was firm, but there was something uneasy beneath it. “You should go to the capital—it’s safer there.”

You had hesitated, watching the way his hand gripped the hilt of a borrowed sword.

He was afraid.

You had known him long enough to see it, even if no one else could.

“I—” Your throat tightened. What were you supposed to say? Be safe? Don’t fight? You had spent so long pulling away, trying to make peace with the idea that you were just another person to him. And yet, standing there, watching him prepare for battle, you couldn’t help but remember the Phainon you once loved.

In the end, you only nodded. “Goodbye, Phai.”

The way his breath caught at your words—it almost made you stay.

But you didn’t.

You left with the others, escaping toward the capital as the village prepared for war.

You never thought you’d see him again.

Years Later – The Capital

The war changed everything.

Your village, though damaged, had survived—but life could never return to what it was. The battle had taken many, scattered others, and those who returned were never quite the same.

You, like so many others, had built a new life in the capital.

With your skill in design, you carved out a name for yourself among the noble elite. What had once been a simple love for embroidery and fabric turned into something much greater—a business, a reputation, a sense of independence you never had before.

You ran a high-end clothing shop near the palace, known for its elegant craftsmanship and modern designs. Nobles sought you out, eager for your work, for the quiet dignity and beauty woven into each piece you created.

And here, in the bustling streets of the capital, you finally found yourself.

----

The soft chime of the shop bell barely drew your attention as you worked, fingers carefully adjusting the pearl buttons on an elegant gown. You were used to high-ranking visitors—nobles, courtiers, even foreign envoys—so the presence of yet another escort was nothing unusual.

“Sir Luvain, if you’d follow me, the tailor should be expecting you.”

Slowly, you lifted your gaze.

Phainon stood at the entrance, clad in the silver-trimmed armor of the royal knights, the sigil of his rank gleaming against his shoulder. He had grown taller, stronger—the soft edges of youth sharpened into something disciplined, something restrained.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, as if nothing had happened, you turned your attention to his companion, the nobleman he was escorting. With practiced ease, you greeted him, all professionalism and grace.

“Lord Luvain, I trust you received my message regarding the final adjustments?”

The noble smiled, stepping forward to allow you to take his measurements. He spoke lightly about the upcoming banquet, about how eager he was to debut his attire. You listened, responded when necessary, all while acutely aware of Phainon standing silently at the edge of the room.

“Your measurements are set, my lord.” you finally said, stepping back with a slight bow. “This will be delivered two days later. If there are any final alterations needed, send word.”

Luvain gave a pleased nod before turning back to Phainon.

Phainon hesitated for just a second—his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something—but you were already turning away, reaching for your next task.

----

The bell chimed again the next morning.

You didn’t expect to see him. Not so soon.

But there he stood, alone this time.

You frowned as you saw his handsome face.. ruined. His lip was cut, a faint bruise darkening his cheekbone. He wasn’t injured enough for it to be from battle. No, this was different. A personal kind of fight.

Still, you didn’t ask.

Instead, you simply set down your tools and gestured toward the small seating area. “Sit.”

“…I didn’t come for treatment.”

“I didn’t ask why you came.”

Perhaps it was the casual, almost dismissive way you spoke. Perhaps it was the fact that, for the first time, you weren’t treating him as something untouchable.

But he obeyed.

As he settled into the chair, you retrieved a small cloth and a jar of medicinal balm, kneeling beside him to gently dab at the cut on his lip.

He winced slightly. “I could do this myself.”

“You’re terrible at it”

Up close, you noticed the slight exhaustion in his expression. You had heard stories—whispers of how politics in the palace were ruthless, how those who rose too quickly often became the target of others.

Perhaps he was learning that now.

It had been years since he left the village, years spent surrounded by flattery, empty smiles, and noble courtiers who praised him not for who he was, but for what he had become.

Yet here you were. Treating him with the same quiet care as always.

You hadn’t changed at all.

And maybe—maybe that was what unsettled him most.

“There.” You finally pulled away, capping the jar and setting it aside. “Try not to get hit next time.”

“You’re not going to ask what happened?”

You glanced at him, then gave a light shrug. “Does it matter?”

Then, with a soft sigh, you stood. “Well, if that’s all, Sir Phainon, I have other clients to attend to.”

You had never called him that before.

Not Phai. Not Phainon. Just Sir Phainon, like he was any other knight, any other customer.

Something about it unsettled him.

But before he could dwell on it, you had already turned away.

“Take care” you said over your shoulder, already moving on.

As he stepped out of the shop, Phainon barely noticed the bustling streets around him. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the way you had looked at him—or rather, the way you didn’t.

He had spent so long being adored, sought after, respected. And yet, none of it compared to the simple, quiet way you had once looked at him.

The way you didn’t anymore.

---

Days turned into weeks, and Phainon didn’t disappear like before.

If anything, he only climbed higher.

You heard the murmurs in the capital—of his growing reputation, his skill on the battlefield, his unwavering determination. His name was spoken with admiration, his presence sought after by nobles eager to have a knight of his caliber within their inner circles.

But no matter how high he reached, no matter how many doors opened for him, he always seemed to find his way back to you.

At first, it was subtle. A chance meeting in the marketplace, an escort duty that just so happened to lead him near your shop. Then it became deliberate. He would stop by under the guise of checking on his previous order, lingering too long, watching you in that unreadable way.

You had long stopped being a girl waiting for his affection. You had built your own life, your own success. But somehow, he refused to let you slip away.

----

“You may take the next few days off for your wedding. Enjoy yourself.”

Your worker’s eyes lit up, bowing in gratitude before hurrying off. You watched her go, your fingers idly tracing over the fabric on your desk.

Marriage.

You hadn’t thought about it much.

But now, with your employee stepping away for her own wedding, it dawned on you—it was that time in life where people settled down, where friends and acquaintances from your village were likely married with families of their own.

Once upon a time, you had naïvely dreamed of it, too.

A childhood promise, whispered in the golden glow of late afternoons—"Marry me when we grow up!"—and the careless laughter that followed, as if it was nothing more than a game.

But it hadn’t been a game. Not for you.

And in the years that followed, when you had loved him in silence, when you had watched him treat others with the same kindness he gave you, when you had finally learned that you were never special to him—

You had given up.

You weren’t that foolish girl anymore.

The shop bell chimed.

Phainon.

But this time, he wasn’t in armor. No weapons, no duties. Just simple, well-made clothing that suited him far too well—his presence somehow heavier despite his unassuming attire.

And in his hands—

A small, wrapped gift.

“For you.”

You hesitated before reaching out, carefully undoing the ribbon.

A hairpin. Carved in the shape of a flower that once bloomed in your village, back when you were children.

“…Why?”

Phainon inhaled slowly, as if steadying himself.

“I’ve been a fool. I didn’t see it back then.” He said “How much you meant to me. How much I took for granted.”

No, he wasn’t doing this.

Not now. Not after all these years.

“I thought of you often, even when I was away” he admitted. “But I only understood it after returning. When I saw you again, when you treated me as if I was just another face in the crowd.”

Your fingers curled around the hairpin.

“Because that’s what you are now” you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

“It’s not what I want to be.”

“I don’t want to be ‘just another knight’ to you.” His gaze locked onto yours, “I want—” He exhaled, softer this time. “I want you.”

And yet, all you could do was stare at him—at this man who was once your world, at this man who had only now realized his own feelings, at this man who had already taken too much from you.

You had already suffered once. Already let yourself burn for him.

You wouldn’t do it again.

Carefully, you placed the hairpin back into the box and closed the lid.

“…Thank you for the gift, Sir Phainon.” Your voice was steady, polite. “But I have no use for it.”

“Y/N—”

“I gave up on you long ago.” The words cut through the air, “And I have no intention of reliving that pain.”

“Goodbye, Phainon.”

And with that, you turned away.

You didn’t look back.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t hear the sound of him leaving.

Because this time—

This time, he wasn’t willing to let you go.

His heartbeat thundered.

He had always been admired, always been wanted. There was not a single noblewoman who wouldn’t welcome his favor, not a single courtier who wouldn’t seek his company.

But you?

You, who had once loved him so openly, had turned him away.

And it hurt.

More than it should have. More than anything ever had.

Phainon’s grip tightened around the small box still in his hands.

No.

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Not when the only person who had ever been truly kind to him was slipping through his fingers.

----

No matter what you said, no matter how much distance you tried to place between you—

Phainon kept coming back.

Whenever he had a break from duty, he would stop by the shop under the pretense of ordering something, checking on an old commission, or simply greeting you.

It didn’t matter if the sun was blazing or if the streets were slick with rain—Phainon would still appear, standing just outside, waiting for the smallest chance to speak to you.

And you?

You refused to give him anything.

And yet, it never stopped him.

Until one day—

You closed your shop.

It was the first time in weeks that Phainon hadn’t seen you.

He had arrived as usual, fully expecting you to be there, only to find the doors locked. A simple note hung at the entrance, inked in your delicate handwriting:

"Closed for the week. No appointments will be taken."

The words should have meant nothing.

And yet—

Something in his chest twisted.

Because you weren’t someone who closed your shop without reason. You weren’t someone who let anything—anyone—get in the way of your work.

“You didn’t hear? She’s fallen ill” one of the merchants gossiped. “Not too severe, but bad enough to keep her indoors.”

You were ill.

And no one had told him.

By the time he arrived at your house, you were already recovering.

You were still pale, still weaker than usual, but you were up, moving about, focused on tidying the mess that had gathered during your bedridden days.

When the knock came, you hesitated.

Then, with a tired sigh, you opened the door.

And there he was.

Phainon, standing on your doorstep.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I heard you were unwell.”

“I’m fine now.”

“I’ll stay”

“…What?”

“I’ll stay here” Phainon repeated, stepping forward slightly. “Until you’re fully recovered.”

You had spent weeks pushing him away.

And still, still, he refused to listen.

“Phainon.” You swallowed back the frustration. “Go home. You have better things to do than waste time here.”

“I don’t consider this a waste.”

You inhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temples. “Stop this. You’re—” A sigh. “You’re an important figure now. You have responsibilities.”

“…You really think that?”

You exhaled, suddenly too tired to argue. “I think you should leave.”

And with that, you turned away, stepping back inside.

You closed the door.

You locked it.

After that day, something changed.

Phainon stopped coming to your shop. Stopped appearing in front of you. Stopped waiting by the doors, stopped lingering in the streets.

And for a while, you thought you had finally won.

---

The streets were quiet.

You stood at the entrance of your shop, the weight of exhaustion pressing on your shoulders as you locked the door for the night.

The metal clicked into place.

A shadow moved.

Your fingers froze over the lock. What was that? A ghost?

Slowly, cautiously, you turned.

And there he was.

Standing at the edge of the dimly lit street, half-shrouded in darkness, his blue eyes watching you.

You had known Phainon for years. You had grown up with him, watched him rise from a mere village boy to a knight of the palace. You had seen him change—seen him become colder, more refined, more distant.

But this was unnerving.

Still, you swallowed down the discomfort, "Phainon…?"

"You've been ignoring me. Did you meet someone else?"

"What?"

"Is that why? You found someone else, didn’t you?"

You frowned, unease curling at the base of your spine. "That’s ridiculous. I just have my own life, Phainon. You should focus on yours."

Then, with an exhale that sounded almost amused—

"You don’t understand how exhausting things are in the palace."

He took another step forward.

You instinctively took one back.

"Everything is fake" he continued, "Every smile. Every kind word. They all lie. They all pretend to care. But you—"

"You were always real."

Your fingers twitched, itching to reach for the key still in the lock.

"But now you avoid me," he murmured. "Now you won’t even look at me."

"Phainon—"

He cut you off.

"If I got you pregnant," he said suddenly, "no one would bat an eye."

Your mind barely had time to process the words—what he had just said—before your body reacted on instinct.

You slapped him.

Phainon’s head snapped slightly to the side, his cheek flushed red from the strike, his lips slightly parted from shock.

But that moment of surprise didn’t last.

Slowly—so, so slowly—he turned his head back to you.

The last remnants of the boy you once knew were gone.

There was only him.

Only the man who had finally decided to take what was his.

You moved to run.

His hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you forward, crashing into his chest.

"That," he murmured, "was a mistake."

By the time the townspeople saw the smoke, it was already too late.

The shop was engulfed in flames. The fire devoured the wooden walls, the carefully crafted gowns and fabrics, reducing everything to ash.

And inside—

A body. Unrecognizable. Burnt beyond recognition.

A robbery gone wrong, they said.

A tragic death.

You were gone.

Far beyond the burning remains of your old life, in a place far from the city’s reach, a single candle flickered inside a dimly lit room.

The scent of smoke still clung to Phainon’s clothes as he sat beside the bed—the bed where you lay, unconscious.

Your wrists were bound. Just enough to make sure you wouldn’t do anything stupid when you woke.

He exhaled softly, reaching out, fingers brushing against your cheek.

Even now—even now, you were still his.

Now, you had nowhere to run.

The ropes around your wrists chafed against your skin, but the pain barely registered over the sheer rage bubbling in your chest.

The moment you had woken up—realized what he had done—you fought.

You screamed. You kicked. You thrashed so violently that Phainon had to pin you down.

"Let me go!" you spat, your voice hoarse from screaming.

Phainon only sighed, looking down at you with something almost close to pity.

"You’re being difficult."

"Do you think I’ll just sit here and accept this?" Your breath was ragged, fury shaking through your limbs. "I will never be yours."

"You always say that" he murmured, "But you’ve never really tried being mine, have you?"

"I have time" he whispered.

And that terrified you more than anything.

Because he truly believed you would break.

Your wrists throbbed where the restraints had dug into your skin. Your breath came ragged, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

Phainon knelt before you, "You’re exhausting yourself"

You flinched. He hesitated. But only for a second before he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"You always did push yourself too hard"

You gritted your teeth. "Don't act like you know me."

That made him laugh—quiet, humorless.

"I do know you." His eyes burned as he held your gaze. "Better than anyone. Better than all those nobles who use your talent, who smile and bow and then forget you the moment they leave."

"I remember you, even when no one else did." His fingers brushed against your knuckles, "I never stopped thinking about you. Even when you left me behind. Even when you convinced yourself you didn’t care anymore."

You yanked your hands away.

"You don’t get to say that"

"Why?" he challenged. "Because it’s the truth?"

"Because you’re insane."

"Maybe I am. But does it matter?"

"You’ve already lost everything, haven’t you?" he continued, voice deceptively soft. "They think you’re dead. Your shop, your name, your life—it’s all gone. No one’s coming for you. No one even remembers you exist."

Phainon cupped your face then, forcing you to look at him.

"But I do," he whispered. "I always will. I would burn the world if it meant keeping you by my side."

For the first time, you truly understood.

There was no line he wouldn’t cross.

No limit to how far he would go to make sure you never left him again.

Phainon leaned in, forehead pressing against yours.

"Stop fighting," he whispered. "Just let go. You’ll be happier if you do."

"…I don’t know how to let go"

"You don’t have to know" he murmured. "Just trust me."

You nodded.

And that was it.

That was all he needed to believe he had finally won.

Days passed.

Phainon gave you more freedom—not complete, but enough. Enough for you to move without chains. Enough for you to pretend.

You let him think you were adjusting, that his patience had worn you down. You let him dress you in fine silks, let him touch you, let him believe that you were his.

Because the closer he let you get to the edge of the cage—

The easier it would be to escape.

The day of the wedding arrived in whispers and candlelight.

The halls of the estate were decorated in muted elegance—nothing extravagant, nothing too public. He didn’t need an audience.

This wasn’t about power.

This was about you.

And Phainon already had what he wanted.

Or so he thought.

You stood before the mirror in your gown, hands trembling—not with nerves, but with anticipation.

Outside, the horses were ready.

Inside, the door was left unlocked—a careless mistake born from his growing trust.

You took a breath.

One step.

Another.

The halls were silent as you slipped through the shadows, heart pounding with every second.

The exit was so close.

"Going somewhere?"

The voice froze you in place.

You turned—and Phainon stood at the end of the hall.

His wedding attire was pristine, but the grip he had on the hilt of his sword? Tight.

Your mouth went dry.

"Phainon.."

"Was it all a lie?"

You clenched your fists.

And then—

You ran.

Bolted down the hall, legs burning, lungs aching—but Phainon was faster.

You twisted, struggling, but he slammed you back against the stone wall, his body caging you in.

"You almost had me," he murmured, "Almost."

"Let me go."

"You were going to leave me," he said, "Again."

"Then ...I'll just have to make sure you never try again."

The room was suffocatingly quiet.

The iron shackle around your ankle was too tight, cold against your skin.

Phainon stood at the door, silent, watching.

Then—

He left.

For a moment, you almost believed that was it. That he had locked you away, that this was the extent of your punishment.

Then he came back.

With a knife.

Your body tensed when he knelt beside you, when his calloused fingers traced along your wrist too gently before pinning it against the bedpost.

You sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed the knife flat against your palm—just resting there.

"You tried to leave me."

He tilted his head, as if waiting. Daring you to lie to him.

"Say it."

"I—" You swallowed hard. "I tried to leave."

The blade pressed harder. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to make you feel the cold bite of the metal.

"Did it feel good?" he murmured. "Running away? Thinking you could escape me?"

"Phainon, please—"

A sharp swipe.

You flinched, expecting pain—but he didn’t cut you.

The blade had only sliced through the sleeve of your gown, the fabric slipping down your arm in ribbons.

"You’re scared" he observed.

You clenched your fists, refusing to give him an answer.

"Good."

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.

He set the knife down.

The bed dipped as he leaned in one last time, lips brushing against your ear.

"Next time," he murmured, "I won’t be so merciful."

Then he left, locking the door behind him.

Leaving you with the shackle around your ankle, the torn fabric on your arm—

And the overwhelming realization that you were truly trapped.

[jetii]

Good Graces

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x Esmé Terel (Handmaiden!OC)

Tags/Warnings: Fives POV, romance, fluff, hurt/comfort, action/adventure, unrequited feelings, kinda enemies to lovers, forced proximity, awkward flirting, eventual smut, Fives is a bit much in this chapter but he evens out quick

Fic Summary: Assigned to protect Senator Amidala during high-stakes peace talks on Naboo, ARC Trooper Fives finds himself working alongside Esmé, one of Padmé’s longtime handmaidens. She’s disciplined, distant, and utterly unimpressed by his charm—exactly the kind of challenge Fives can’t resist. But when an unexpected crisis forces them into an uneasy partnership, he realizes there’s far more to Esmé than she lets anyone see. And he might just be in over his head.

Chapter WC: 2,172

A/N: I love Padmé's handmaidens and all the lore that goes with it, and I couldn't resist writing this. I'm aiming for about 10 chapters total. There's a new option on the taglist for this fic btw (feel free to update your choices if you don't want to be tagged in this).

Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

It's a simple assignment. Escort Senator Amidala during the peace talks, ensure she stays safe, and after, if he's lucky, spend a night drinking and enjoying the sights of Naboo's capital city with his brothers. Easy enough.

Fives is well-versed in these sorts of things. The escort missions are some of the few types of jobs the 501st takes up outside of the battlefield. It's always senators, ambassadors, or important personages, and most of the time, they're content to let him and his brothers do their jobs, as they should.

He likes doing this. It's a breath of fresh air to the normal routine. Most of their missions, after all, tend to be high-risk, high-stress, and high-fatality. It's hard not to appreciate the simplicity of the assignments every once in a while, and he's sure it's the same for all the other troopers. They get to take a break from the fighting, and instead get to have the pleasure of walking among beautiful landscapes and beautiful people. It's not a bad gig.

He just wishes it wasn't Senator Amidala.

He has nothing against the Senator herself, of course. She's nice, polite, and professional, and she's very clearly well-acquainted with the ways of the galaxy. She's the exact opposite of the clueless, sheltered politicians he's so used to dealing with, and that alone puts her leagues above her peers in his mind.

But it's not her he's worried about.

It's her handmaiden.

Esmé is the sort of woman he'd go out of his way to meet on any other day. The kind of woman that would stop him dead in his tracks, make him reevaluate his life, and then make him consider dropping everything to chase her until she'd let him have her. He's never had an easy time ignoring his attraction to pretty girls, and Esmé is just that.

She's the picture of everything a Nabooian woman is supposed to be, with her dark, curling hair, golden skin, and a pair of large hazel eyes that shine a deep amber in the light. She's smart, beautiful, and a little bit mean, the sort of person Fives knows his brothers would joke about being his type. And they're right.

He doesn't believe in love at first sight, but Esmé is the closest thing he's ever found to it. She's perfect in almost every single way.

So, naturally, he doesn't understand why she hates him.

She doesn't look at him, doesn't talk to him, doesn't even acknowledge him. She barely spares him a second glance when they're together. Her words are curt, her tone cold, and she doesn't speak more than a few sentences to him even when he tries to engage her. 

He's not entirely sure what he's done to offend her. He's never been anything but polite and friendly. Maybe a little too friendly in hindsight, but he can't imagine what would have set her off. The most she's ever given him was an annoyed look and a sigh when he'd tried to help her carry her things. She's never actually told him to fuck off, but it's obvious enough from the way she ignores him that he might as well not be there.

But even with how obviously she's avoiding him, he can't bring himself to dislike her. She's just... something else. It's hard not to think about her even when he's not around her, and he finds himself wanting her attention. Wanting her. 

He's a bit of a glutton for punishment, he'll admit, but there's a certain thrill in knowing that Esmé could destroy him with a single word, and he'd thank her for it. He doesn't even know what it is about her. Maybe it's the challenge, maybe it's the fact that he's a weak man and a pretty face is all it takes to make him want to get on his knees and beg, or maybe it's something else entirely, but he doesn't think it really matters.

The point is, he wants her, and she's decided he's not worth her time.

If it were any other woman, he would have backed off. But it's not any other woman. It's her. And he can't stop himself from thinking about her, from staring at her, from wishing she'd spare him just a sliver of the attention she devotes to Senator Amidala.

It's a hopeless endeavor. She's completely disinterested, and he knows he should give up.

But he's stubborn, and a bit of an idiot, and he's not quite ready to let go. The universe has handed him the perfect opportunity, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get another chance like this to spend so much time alone with her. He doesn't know what he'll do, or what he'll say, but he'll figure it out.

He's not letting her go without a fight.

He's got the entire week.

All he has to do is figure out a way to win her over.

Fives trips the moment he's stepping out of the gunship.

The Senator's entourage, gathered on the landing pad, watches in abject horror as he falls forward, his helmet slipping off of his head as his hands fly out to catch himself. In his haste to follow General Skywalker out of the ship, his foot catches on the ramp and sends him stumbling forward. His bucket goes sailing through the air, bouncing off of the paved stones and skittering to a stop against Esmé's feet.

There's a moment of silence as he stares at his helmet in shock, his gaze trailing slowly up the delicately embroidered skirt, across Esmé's stomach, her chest, and finally, to her face. Her expression is carefully blank, but there's something about the look in her eyes that lets him know exactly how stupid he's just looked.

At her side, Senator Amidala holds a hand over her mouth to hide a smile, though her shoulders tremble slightly as she looks away. General Skywalker is outright snickering, and he can hear Jesse and Tup laughing loudly from inside the gunship behind him. Even Rex has the audacity to snort quietly as he steps down from the ramp.

Fives' ears burn as he jumps to his feet. A nervous chuckle escapes him as he dusts himself off.

"Ah. Um. Hi."

Esmé stares back at him blankly. She looks down at the helmet lying at her feet and then back up to him.

"I—" He starts down the ramp quickly, his eyes never leaving her. "That's..."

Esmé leans down and plucks the helmet from the ground before he can force any more words out. She holds it between her thumb and forefinger, inspecting the visor, her nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. He thinks she might laugh at him like the others, but instead, she gathers her sleeve in her hand and uses the fabric to rub the visor clean, ignoring him entirely.

He feels his chest go a bit warm at the sight, and his footsteps stutter. 

General Skywalker claps him on the shoulder, laughing, and then he's walking past him towards Senator Amidala, greeting her warmly. She gives him a bright smile, and the two of them begin to talk in low tones, heads bent together as they walk away.

Esmé still hasn't looked at him, even as he comes to a stop at her side. Her eyes are still on his helmet, her lip curling slightly. She must feel him staring, because she looks over at him and quirks a brow, her gaze flicking downwards and then back up again. 

He realizes belatedly that he's still watching her with his mouth open. He closes his mouth and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"You, um." Fives' tongue darts out to wet his lips. He clears his throat. "I'm Fives, by the way. ARC Trooper. Just in case you forgot. Or... if you didn't know. I don't think I ever introduced myself."

Esmé gives him a bland look.

He shifts his weight. Looks down at his helmet, then at her, then down again.

"...Right." He laughs nervously. "You probably already knew that."

She doesn't speak, merely holding out his helmet for him to take. He's quick to accept it, his cheeks going hot as their fingers brush. He tucks the helmet beneath his arm and rocks back on his heels, trying not to fidget under the heat of her stare.

"Thanks," he says lamely.

Again, she says nothing. But her gaze is still on him, and he wonders, briefly, if maybe now would be a good time to say something, maybe start a conversation, try and get to know her. Maybe if he could just find something they had in common, a shared interest, he could—

"Don't mention it," Esmé says finally. Her gaze trails downwards and back up. There’s a hint of…something in her tone. It's hard to tell what. Disdain? Indifference? Boredom? All three? "I suppose it’s not every day a man falls at your feet."

Fives nearly chokes on his tongue, his entire body going rigid as he stares down at her. He can hear the other troopers hooting with laughter behind him, but he's too caught off guard by her words to do anything but gape. 

Had she just...was that a joke? A tease? Something else? It was hard to tell, with how emotionless her voice had sounded. But he sees her lips twitch, a barely-there tilt of the corner of her mouth that he'd have missed if he hadn't been looking for it. 

Oh. Oh.

He hadn't thought—

Well, now. This changes everything.

He can’t seem to make his mouth work for a few long seconds. She's watching him now, a slight furrow in her brow, and suddenly, all he can think about is getting her alone and showing her exactly how willing he is to fall at her feet.

She seems to realize her mistake immediately. Her lips thin into a tight line, and her jaw goes tight. There's a subtle change in her demeanor, the way she holds herself, the look on her face. He can't place what it is, but something is different, and it's like someone's flipped a switch. Gone is the amused gleam in her eyes, replaced with a cool disinterest that makes his heart sink.

Esmé nods at him curtly, and then turns away, her shoulders squared and her chin held high. The rest of the entourage is already heading toward the transports waiting to take them into the city, and she follows without a backwards glance, her stride steady and sure.

"See you around," Fives calls after her, once he’s managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Esmé’s shoulders tense slightly, her foot hovering in midair. It's brief, only a half-second of hesitation, and then she's continuing on her way, hands tightened into fists behind her back. 

He watches as she stops to help Senator Amidala fix her shawl, tucking it back over the Senator's shoulder and brushing her hands along the fabric. The two exchange a few quiet words, their heads bent together, and then Esmé is turning and following the rest of the party towards the transport.

He can't help but admire the way she moves, her hair fluttering in the breeze, and the sway of her hips as she walks. There's a confidence in her, an air of authority that sets her apart from the rest of the handmaidens and staff trailing behind her, and it's mesmerizing to watch.

Maybe it's a trick of the light, or maybe he's imagining it, but he swears he sees her cast a glance back at him, her eyes narrowed. He stares back at her and grins, and he sees her shoulders go tight. She whips around quickly and marches towards the transport without another look back.

He feels his chest swell with something that feels dangerously close to hope.

That was the first time she'd ever spared him a second glance. And the first time she'd ever spoken to him directly. It might not have been much, but it was a start. A good one, he thinks. And it's something he can build off of.

Maybe this won't be as hard as he'd originally thought.

"Wow," Rex says from behind him.

"Yeah," Fives breathes. "Wow."

Rex gives him a pitying look and pats him on the back. He leaves his hand there as he starts herding Fives along, and Fives lets himself be led. He doesn't stop watching her, even as the transport doors close behind her and she disappears from view.

"You're not going to be any help this week, are you?" Rex asks, his voice low.

Fives shakes his head. He can't seem to wipe the smile off of his face.

"Nope," he answers distractedly, still trying to catch a glimpse of her through the tinted windows. "I'm gonna do something stupid, Rex. I can feel it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rex turn his gaze skyward as if praying for patience, his sigh heavy and put-upon.

"Of course you are."

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[britishassistant]

Soul Searching (Is Harder If You Have Different Maps)

Azul (sharing injuries) - Yuu (dream sharing)

You’ve never quite got dreams.

You have them, of course, formless and hazy, in the way that all dreams of those who haven’t met their soulmates yet are. But you’ve never been able to understand why everyone else is so delighted by the experience, not when yours are so. So…

Muffled.

The full sensory equivalent of pressing your ear against a shell wrapped in a towel, straining, straining, straining to hear a sound that you aren’t sure is even there to begin with.

Still, you keep your own counsel. What you’ve overheard from your half-siblings and peers makes it clear that your dreams are…lacking, somehow. That you should have some glimpses of your soulmate’s interests, of their passions, their personality in between all the haze. That you see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing is apparently not normal.

You never breathe a word to anyone about it.

Instead, you add it to the list of many, many things you try not to think about. Who cares if your dreams are vague and unsatisfying? You’re a busy person, with lots of important work to do.

Even more so once you’re on your own.

And then you’re walking home from your late shift at the convenience store, and all of a sudden you’re in the middle of experiencing (was it a dream? It must have been, but it was so sharp, so vivid, so real—!) a monster murder you, with more vicious clarity than anything else that’s ever been in your head. When you wake, you’re in a coffin with a fire-breathing tanuki trying to steal heavy, ornamental clothing that you don’t ever remember putting on.

You’re so disoriented by everything that you don’t even realize when something in your head…shifts. Not while you’re standing there in front of hundreds of boys, being told that your country, your world doesn’t exist.

That night, for what is possibly the first time in your life, you dream.

It’s different, this dreaming.

It’s soft rather than stark, not the vivid terror of the monster, but not the sensory deprivation you usually experience whenever you close your eyes. You can see, hear, feel things. Comprehensible things, understandable things, tinted by a haze of what must be memory.

You see miles upon miles of blue, dappled where sunlight pierces through far above and plays on the white sand below, colorful rocks and coral reefs breaking up the landscape.

Or rather, seascape.

A faint waft of warmth moves over your skin, ephemeral but somehow more solid than the breezes you’re accustomed to. An ocean current, flowing past your location.

There are far off cries and laughter, and you glimpse gleaming scales darting in and out of the coral.

You feel a strange, foreign longing to explore that place, to go and find out what more beauty it has to offer.

But you remain hidden, surrounded by curved ceramic walls throughout.

You wake up smiling.

It’s impossible. Incomprehensible. Here you are, in a world that’s nothing like your own, with a magic tanuki flopped over your chest and snoring, with less than nothing to your name.

And yet, you’ve found your soulmate. You’ve met them. You’re seeing their dreams.

And, you realize, smile slipping off your face as Grim the (not?) tanuki gives a yawn and plants a foot right in your solar plexus, you have absolutely no idea who they are.

They have to be someone you met yesterday, but you were paraded in front of a crowd of at least four hundred people, if not more. Finding out who they are will be like searching for a needle in an entire countryside of harvested grain.

And that’s not even getting into the issue of what will happen to the pair of you when you find a way back to your world.

It’s that thought which bolsters your resolve more than anything. You can’t look for your soulmate, just to abandon them when it comes time for you to head back. For all you know, you’ll be gone by the end of the week.

And yet…

Your soulmate dreams of a world under the sea when they sleep.

You tuck that small kernel of information close to your heart as you shove the tanuki off you and go to pull on the itchy school-branded clothes the headmaster provided for your new job as janitor.

You get very busy very quickly after that.

You’re nearly expelled over a chandelier you had no hand in breaking, nearly killed by a monster of ink and rage, reinstated as a two-in-one Prefect of a nearly dorm, nearly punished for losing track of Grim, nearly successful in presenting a Mont Blanc at an Unbirthday Party, nearly involved in unseating a dorm head, nearly killed by the same dorm head transforming into a monster of ink and trauma and rage, nearly falling through the many, many rotting floorboards in the ramshackle derelict you live in, nearly passing classes in subjects you’ve never studied before.

Nearly driving yourself mad trying to work out what the hell is going on in your head.

If your soulmate’s dreams are soothing and ever so slightly nonsensical, a balm to your mind after a long day of dealing with this school’s weirdness, then the other dreams are exactly the opposite. A jarring disruption in the middle of a harmony, clanging in your brain and forcing your attention no matter how you try to pull away.

Some of them are less intense, dreams of a red queen persecuting a little girl for not following all the rules of her topsy-turvy kingdom. Of a lion desiring to replace his brother as leader of the pride.

And then there’s the one with the monster that kills you.

You’ve poured over as many bestiaries as the library will let you check out at one time (and a few you’ve smuggled out for good measure). But there’s nothing like the murderous creature in your dreams anywhere you look. Hell, even the amount of literature on overblots is pretty thin, constantly alluding to “incidents” in the distant past that nearly decimated nations which somehow lack even one primary resource to detail what happened beyond “powerful mages under extreme stress overextended their magic reserves”, let alone how to stop them from starting.

Maybe you’re going too far. Maybe this is all just part of the persecution complex you’ve been accused of having multiple times.

But given how shaken and exhausted you feel after every time you wake up from one of those dreams? How its hold on your slumber feels distinctly and hideously unnatural, looming and ominous?

How this could spread from you to your soulmate if left unchecked?

Yeah, there’s no way you’re not pouring every spare second outside of school into researching these things.

So of course the headmaster decides to push his job of investigating potential sabotage against players of the ridiculous-sounding Magift onto you, cutting that time down dramatically. Because he’s just. so. Kind.

If you hear that catchphrase of his one more time, you will scream. And once you’ve started, you may not be able to stop.

Still, at Grim’s urging you turn your attention towards investigation, redoubling your efforts once you see what the culprits did to Trey-senpai. Ace and Deuce joining doesn’t exactly help, but more hands make it easier to cover more ground, you suppose.

The two of them arrive to lunch surprisingly late. They hadn’t been waiting outside the locker room restroom for you and Grim like usual, but you weren’t sure where exactly they’d gone, more focused on ensuring Grim received sustenance before he began gnawing on your arm. Again.

You have obtained food for you and the gremlin who serves as your “other half”, and are defending your omelette from his opportunistic paws when you hear Deuce sigh, “There you guys are. We were worried we’d missed you—ah! Don’t take it off yet!”

“I’m tryin’ not to spill anything here! Quit nagging!”

You look up to see Ace trying to set down a lunch tray one handed, while the other presses a cold compress to his face. He gives up, dumping the compress onto the table so he can better negotiate not spilling his drink onto his sandwich as he sits next to you.

“Fgnah! What happened to you?” Grim gasps. “Didja steal the wrong guy’s lunch?”

Ace’s eye is almost swollen shut, the skin around it and partway down his cheek dark purple with bruising.

“I don’t wanna hear that from a thieving weasel like you.” Ace sticks his tongue out, bringing the cold compress back up to his face.

“Who did this.” Your voice is cold and hard.

You need names, places, information to begin planning how best to get back at the asshole who hurt him. You don’t know what you’ll do or how you’ll do it yet, don’t know if this is retribution for looking into the “accidents”, but rest assured, no matter who did this, you are going to ruin them—!

To your shock, Ace laughs, shrugging off your hand. “Chill, would you? It’s just my soulmate, no big deal.”

You feel your mouth go dry as you stare at him. His soulmate did this to him?! How could they—why did they—and he’s laughing?!

You’ve heard of soulmate abuse cases before, know how dangerous and touchy a subject they can be. You never thought you’d be friends with one.

“Who is it?” You insist, your voice strangled.

Ace shrugs. “I dunno.”

You don’t even try to stop your mouth hanging open.

“You don’t know.”

Ace nods as he sticks a straw into his drink and gives an obnoxious slurp.

“I’m sorry, how can you not know the identity of the person who punched you in the face when they’re your soulmate?!” You demand, gripping his shoulders. “Did they hit you anywhere else in the head? Do you have a concussion? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Whoa, whoa!” He presses a finger to your forehead and pushes your head back. “Why the hell are you freaking out so much? No one punched me, this is just from my soulmate. Like you’ve never gotten a bruise from yours before.”

You’re so bewildered by this nonsensical explanation, that all you can do is stutter out, “No??”

Ace actually does a double take. “No? The hell d’you mean, no?! Wh—OW, FUCK!!”

“Ace!” Deuce hisses, darting a glance at you before trying to kick Ace under the table again. “I-it’s okay, Prefect, you don’t need to talk about it just because this guy has no tact—”

“Why the hell would my soulmate ever hurt me?!” You demand, incredulity ratcheting your voice up several octaves. “What kind of, of fucked up, abusive mindset is that?! What, are you telling it’s normal here for soulmates to physically assault one another??”

Grim’s little head is whipping back and forth between you all like he’s watching a tennis match. Some of your omelette vanishes into his mouth.

“A-assault?” Deuce gasps, finally showing the appropriate level of concern that you’d expect for a topic like this.

“Hooold up a sec.” Ace holds an arm up between the two of you. “Pause, time out, whatever. Prefect, what d’you mean ‘soulmates here’? How do you think soulmates work?”

You jab a finger against the sticky surface of the table. “Dreams. Soulmates. Share. Each others’. Dreams. They resolve when you see each other for the first time but even before that they’re meant to give you hints of personality and preferences. Any elementary kid can tell you that.”

There’s a pause to let this basic knowledge and the shame of them somehow forgetting it sink in.

“N-No?” Deuce says, looking bewildered for some reason. “That’s. That’s not how they work at all?”

You splutter. “Wh-Yes! Yes, it is!”

“No, it isn’t.” Ace takes far too much glee in informing you. “Soulmates share each others’ pain and injuries. So that they’ll care for each other as they would themselves.”

You stare at the two of them.

“…what kind of masochistic fuckery is that?”

“It’s not fuckery!!” Deuce protests immediately. “Also, watch your mouth!”

“You’ve no room to talk, ya know…” Grim mutters in the middle of licking your plate clean.

“It’s better than the twee bullshit you’re spouting.” Ace flutters the one eyelid as best he can, pressing his cold compress to his forehead. “Oooh, I see all my soulmate’s dreams, even the freaky ones about showing up to class naked or getting chased by crabs because I’m secretly a creepy weirdo.”

“I don’t want to hear that from a guy who thinks beans in tomato sauce on toast is acceptable breakfast food!!” You hiss.

“WH—YOU LITERALLY SAID YOU EAT ROTTEN SOYBEANS ON RICE!!!” He yells at you.

“NATTŌ ISN’T ROTTEN, IT’S FERMENTED YOU DOLT!”

A commotion slightly louder than the usual noise of the cafeteria draws your attention.

You watch the tall green-haired guy who always screams at people running in the halls yell at the upperclassman who keeps taking naps in weird places.

Even from where you’re sitting, you can see the giant, angry bruise taking up half his face. His left leg buckles slightly as he stands, and you watch as he rubs his knee with a grimace, shouting at the sleepy second-year in response to some question you can’t hear.

The same knee, part of you notes, that Deuce had kicked Ace in not five minutes ago.

“So what,” You point. “You’re telling me that that guy is your soulmate?”

The three of them whip around to stare.

“Oh my Seven.” Ace breathes.

“Prefect.” Deuce says, half-awed, half-despairing.

“Oh my Seven.”

“Prefect, what the hell.”

Ace stands up and begins waving his arms above his head. “OI!! HEY, DIASOMNIA GUY!!”

Somehow, the “Diasomnia Guy” doesn’t even hear him. In fact, you think his yelling manages drowns out the din from the rest of the cafeteria, so none of Ace’s shouting gets through.

“His lung capacity must be amazing…” Deuce mutters as you watch. “Wonder if he’d join the track and field team?”

Ace takes a defeated breath. “Gah, it feels like my throat’s gonna give out. How loud can one guy be, anyway?”

“Well, of course yer not gonna get his attention with only that, fgnah!” Grim puffs out his little chest, scrambling onto the table and grabbing the abandoned compress. “Since I feel so bad for you, the Great Grim will show ya how to really get someone to look only at you!”

He winds up as far as little floating body will allow. You feel a great sense of foreboding as he cries, “HEY, GREENIE!! TAKE THIS, FGNAH!!”

“Wait, GrIM, NO—!”

You all watch as the cold compress soars through the air.

Diasomnia Guy turns around just in time for it to catch him right on the swollen side of his face.

And that’s how you all make the acquaintance of Sebek Zigvolt, Ace Trappola’s soulmate…right after he stops chasing the four of you all over campus, screaming about assassination attempts.

It’s probably for the best that Riddle-senpai and Cater-senpai decided to join your “investigation team” in a more active capacity after hearing about this incident. For your safety, if nothing else.

It is a little confusing when they do the soulmate thing of having an entire conversation in a single glance, but at least Cater-senpai’s kind enough to fill the rest of you in, and Riddle-senpai strategizes with you all once Jack Howl comes to you to confirm your suspicions about Savannaclaw.

The plan is elegant in its simplicity, but does require all of you to be in your proper places at the proper time.

Which leads you to now. Fighting your way through the crowds to reach the Hall of Mirrors now that you’ve seen the hyena second-year head away from it.

It’s a tight squeeze in all the crowds outside the stadium.

Not helped by how Grim keeps getting distracted by all the sights and smells like an overexcited little kid, dashing underfoot almost too quickly for you to snag him. “Minion! Minion, these guys are selling bubble drinks!! How’sat different from soda? I wanna try it! I wanna try!”

“Not now, Grim—it’ll still be here afterwards, come on.” You take advantage of a brief gap in all the people to bend down and scoop up your furball, who immediately began whining about losing walking privileges.

As you straighten up, someone bumps into your back and almost sends you sprawling. Only a gloved hand catching your shoulder keeps you from crushing your fuzzy other half.

“Oh. Careful there.”

You look up to see a bespectacled boy in a three-piece suit, coat, and hat despite the sunny weather. He keeps you anchored as you find your footing in the midst of the throng.

“Ah—thanks. My apologies for the inconvenience.”

“No, no.” The boy says, tilting his head. You’re momentarily dazzled by how the sun reflects off his hair. “The fault is all mine.”

You quirk a small smile, before Deuce calls your name and you hurry off into the crowd.

You’ve got an important job to prepare for, after all.

So you end up in the infirmary. Again.

Turns out Kingscholar-senpai decided that the best way to react to you all not letting his hyena junior commit 3rd degree homicide against the Diasomnia dorm head was by overblotting. And attempting to disintegrate you, the bleachers you happened to be sheltering on, and the aforementioned junior. Who also happens to be his soulmate.

If you’d had any doubts about the whole “sharing pain” thing, they’d dissolved as parts of the two boys in front of you had.

Kingscholar-senpai, you decide with great feeling, is a huge bag of dicks.

At least Ace got to show off and look cool in front of Zigvolt-san. Even if it meant that you ended up taking a Magift disk to the back of the skull, it sounds like they had fun playing.

Still, at least the infirmary is quiet, now that the others have all left and Kingscholar-senpai’s nephew has been safely returned to his security team.

Until the source of your current woes decides to open his mouth.

“You must have it in for your soulmate.” Kingscholar-senpai mutters. “I feel sorry for the guy, with everything a crazy herbivore like you’s put him through.”

You bark a humorless laugh. “I don’t wanna hear that from the guy who did this to me. And who tried to disintegrate his own soulmate too.”

Kingscholar lets out a low grumble as you twist as much as you comfortably can to look at Buchie-senpai. “If you wanna report him for soulmate abuse senpai, I’ll back you up all the way. You don’t have to let him get away with this.”

“What I want is f’r you numbskulls to shaddup so I can sleep.” Buchie-senpai groans from the bed between the two of you. Then, after a tense silence where you and Kingscholar-senpai reflect on your wrongdoing, he speaks again. “An’ I’m not lettin’ him “get away” with anything. There’s so much grovellin’ in yer future Leona, it isn’t even funny. But I’m gonna be nice and let you do it, because I love you and won’t let you get away with half-assin’ this outta guilt or some shit like that. You’re too important to me for that.”

There’s another grumble from Kingscholar-senpai, though this one sounds considerably more flustered.

You feel your cheeks heat in second-hand embarrassment. “Can’t you wait until you two can get a room?”

You can hear Buchie-senpai’s grin even in the dark. “Hey, you started it.”

May the Great Seven save you from overly affectionate and mushy soulmates. Hopefully, you think muzzily as you finally begin to drift off to sleep, whoever yours is won’t be as ridiculous and gung-ho as all the others you’ve encountered so far.

You spend the next few weeks on crutches.

Nurse Kamac insists on it. Apparently jumping off a set of bleachers isn’t the greatest for your torn ankle ligament or barely healed rib fractures, to say nothing of the deep sand abrasions Kingscholar-senpai inflicted on your thigh and hip.

You have to renovate your dorm almost out of self-defense. It’s hard to use your crutches for their intended purpose when they go through the floors you’re trying to walk on. And if you’re fixing the floors, why not clear away the cobwebs in the corners? Try to cover the holes in the ceiling? Replace the peeling wallpaper and scrub away the mold? Fit new glass into the windows and beat the dust out of the rugs and duvets and pillows?

It’s a lot of work, and Grim and Ace complain whenever you rope them into it. Even Deuce and Jack leave exhausted even with their enthusiasm to help out, and you collapse into bed aching so much you’re sure you’ve set some part of your recovery back. But it gets easier to navigate every day, and you’re sure that the place Ramshackle Dorm is becoming is one that is far more conducive to your recovery.

You try to put Kingscholar’s words from your mind. To tell yourself that soulmates don’t work that way for you, even if it’s how they work in this world. That surely, your soulmate shares your dreams and not what’s been inflicted upon you.

But.

But…

Your soulmate’s been having nightmares recently.

Figures of people with colorful fish tails swarm your slumber, jeering at your inability to swim quickly, making cracks about your unsightly appearance, your lack of grace, lack of desirability, lack of any ability whatsoever, how of all the creatures in the sea, you alone surely must be a mistake of creation.

You can’t do anything in the dreams. Can’t manifest your body or change the scene, can’t whisper to your soulmate to cover their ears and not listen or shout down the poisonous words and their speakers. You’re a spectator, carried along with your soulmate’s anguish and sorrow.

You sometimes pretend that your will is enough to act as a shield, to let your soulmate know how much you care about them and want to give them strength to withstand what their mind puts them through every night.

But you can’t help wondering if you caused this.

After all, if they’re some kind of mermaid (look, this world has ghosts and beast-people and fairies, your disbelief has been officially suspended for a while now) then wouldn’t all the injuries you’ve received so far directly affect their ability to swim? What if, through no fault of their own other than being soul-bonded with you, their life has been ruined? What if they’re dreaming of the abuse they have to endure every day, now that your overblot injuries have destroyed both their mobility and social standing?

Will it get worse for them if you have to endure another one?

There are only two things you can think of to help, to apologize. One is to follow Nurse Kamac’s directions to the letter, as much as you can. Try to let your battered body heal and pray theirs will do the same.

The other is to throw yourself back into your research on how to stop Overblots before they start. Surely, if you’re better prepared, if you can find out what connects these incidents and cut it out at the root, then your soulmate won’t have anything to worry about, right? No infection through the strange dreams or from your injuries.

Next time, you’ll be ready. Next time, you’ll stop it.

You won’t let anything hurt them or you ever again.

You instinctively know that when Deuce manages to score higher than you on exams that something is deeply, terribly wrong.

You’d been distracted on the last day of exams by a new dream, of a mermaid saving a prince from drowning, so maybe you didn’t pay as much attention to the test as you should’ve. But under any other circumstances, your 87 would have been perfectly respectable. Especially as you don’t have the knowledge base most of these wizards take for granted.

But to find out that you’re only two points ahead of Grim, that the curve of the entire grade has been dramatically skewed to the 90s and higher almost overnight?

You feel something’s off even before the others race out of the classroom to see the official results board.

“I got a 92, so I gotta be in the top 50, right?!” Ace demands, eyes scanning over the board with a fervor usually reserved for getting the last piece of cherry pie in the cafeteria.

“…48th, 49th, 50th…not there!!” Grim yowls, panicked for some reason. “Minion, I’m not on there at all!!”

“Look!” Deuce gasps, interrupting your attempts to comfort your fuzzy companion. “The top 30 people, they—they all got top marks in every subject!!”

You boggle at the columns of “500 points” making up most of the list. “That’s not possible. For thirty people to have gotten perfect scores…surely there’s cheating going on here, right?”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Comes a deep voice from behind you. When you look up, Jack Howl looks a little defensive. “You—you guys were makin’ so much noise I had to see what was goin’ on.”

“Who cares about that!” Grim frets, pacing circles around your legs. “If I’m not in the top 50, I’ve broken my contract!”

“What?” You ask, entirely befuddled.

Ace and Deuce stare at him, as if they’ve had a horrible realization.

Which is when they, Grim, and most of the students in the hall sprout blueish-purple growths from their heads that wouldn’t look out of place in an ocean documentary.

“What.” You demand. “What is happening.”

“Prefect, Jack,” Deuce gasps. “Ah! You guys don’t have anemones? So, for exams, you didn’t…?”

“Didn’t what?” Jack asks, looking just as confused as you feel. “The hell’s that thing on your heads?”

“W-well, you see i—AAAAAGH!!” The “anemone” on Ace’s head suddenly tilts all the way to the left in time with his pained screeching. Deuce and Grim join in as their anemones bend too, all of them acting like some invisible force is yanking them away from you by the hair.

“The fuck…?” Jack mutters as the crowd in front of the exam board is forcibly dispersed, howls of pain rising like some horrendous chorus.

You set your jaw. “C’mon, we need to go after them.”

“Who’s we?” Jack snorts. “This looks like a you problem. ‘S got nothing to do with me.”

You fix him with a dour stare.

Suddenly, you let out a pained hiss, clutching at your sand-abrasion’d hip. “Augh, ow, ow! Of all times for my injuries to be acting up! What’ll happen to me if I go off to investigate on my own and it’s dangerous, I wonder?”

Jack’s ears go flat on his head and he lets out a small growl. “Alright, alright fine. You’ve adjusted way too quickly to how things work at this school…”

“You know you love me.” You tease.

Jack raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you. “I love Vil. I put up with you and the idiots.”

Despite his words, you can see his tail swishing slightly behind him.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” You turn to follow the stumbling crowd of anemone’d students. “Now, let’s go get our idiots back.”

As the two of you give chase, the halls grow thick with students. All sporting that same lavender growth from their heads. All heading towards one particular mirror in the Hall of Mirrors.

All complaining about how their lives are now over since they failed to make the top 50 places in exams.

You follow them through.

What’s on the other side of the mirror takes your breath away.

An entire dorm building, emerging from underwater rock formations and forests of delicate seaweed around it, sparkling faintly in the sunlight that trickles through the leagues upon leagues of water above you. The scent of brine is thick in the air around you, enveloping you like a gentle embrace.

“This is amazing!” Jack grins, echoing your sentiments exactly. “That’s Night Raven College for you!”

He glances at you and flusters for some reason, ears drooping slightly as he folds his arms. “Ah, ahem! …Remember this is a strange dorm. We need to keep our guard up.”

“Right.” You nod as you keep following the group of shuffling anemones down a corridor that has curving glass walls like an aquarium. “…It’s still really cool though.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice him give a small smile.

The two of you end up following the crowd into what seems like a relatively swanky restaurant. Most of the walls are glass tanks, open-backed to allow fish from the ocean around the dorm to flit in and out of what looks to be a carefully curated mimicry of the ocean floor. The floor is divided between a central bay and a slightly raised area where the maitre’d booth is. Most of the tables are set inside curved, shell-like booths, with only a few taller ones with stools scattered around. There’s even a bar, though you’re pretty sure almost every student here is under the legal drinking age.

The lights dim slightly.

A boy strides out to the raised area in front of the main tank, illuminated by a spotlight. His three piece suit is immaculate and surely too hot for the temperate room you’re in, just like when you last saw him.

“Him?” You murmur to yourself. “Figures.”

Jack’s ear twitches and he looks down at you. “You know this guy, Prefect?”

You shrug. “He helped me up when I fell over at the Magift festival, before we took on Leona. He seemed nice enough then, but…”

But, as you well know, “nice” is often a cover for “manipulative”.

“Good afternoon.” The boy says. “I know I’m well-known to you all, but allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Azul Ashengrotto, and I am the dorm head of Octavinelle. As of today, I am also the man who will be your master.”

Everything goes downhill quickly from there.

To summarize your rather pathetic situation right now:

Azul Ashengrotto revealed that he’d managed to trick nearly all the first years, and a good portion of the second years and third years into signing contracts with him to get personalized study guides for final exams, leading to inflated scores across the board. Because of the privacy clause built into those contracts, none of them could let on what they’d done once it was signed, and so he was able to recruit enough people that even if he does need to create personalized guides for fifty people until they graduate, the rest are under a contract of “absolute obedience” to him and are conscripted to work in his restaurant, Mostro Lounge.

And, as Jack, Deuce, Ace, and Grim discovered, any magic he’d received as collateral is now at his disposal, and its previous owner can no longer use it. Contractees also cannot destroy the contract that binds them, as it is apparently “invincible”.

You discover from Headmaster Dire Crowley that this is not the first time Azul Ashengrotto has gotten away with this. As he creates these study guides by meticulously combing over 100 years’ worth of exam questions in each subject at every grade level, and then customizes them to the learning styles of each student who comes to him, he’s technically not “cheating” so much as he is “studying with his peers”.

You also discover from Crowley that this is your problem now. Or the headmaster will be “so busy” that he’ll have to cut off your food stipend. Entirely.

Which is what has lead to you and Jack peering at your target from the backs of classrooms and around walls, feeling like an absolute creeper.

You can’t gleam much information about Azul Ashengrotto just by following him around. He’s an excellent and conscientious student by all accounts, but you knew that from the headmaster’s description already.

All you’ve really accomplished is attracting the attention of the twins who also tend to shadow him.

They wait until Ace, Deuce and Grim join you and Jack for lunch before approaching. One appears controlled and introduces himself as Jade Leech. The other appears lackadaisical and says he’s called Floyd Leech. You gain the nickname “Shrimpy” from (justifiably) flinching away when each twin takes a seat on either side of you.

Immediately, they begin waxing rhapsodic about how if you have any problems, any at all, Azul can help you! He can grant anyone’s deepest desire so long as they’re willing to make a deal and pay the price. If you would like to hear more, you, the Ramshackle Prefect, are apparently cordially invited to visit at 9 PM this evening.

You’re slightly impressed.

You can see ten anemones at the table behind Jack. Six at the table behind that, approximately fifteen at the table to your right past Ace, and twelve at the table to your left past Deuce and Grim. You have no doubt that if you turned around, there would be even more anemone-inflicted students at the tables behind you.

It seems Ashengrotto-san gave most of his enslaved workforce this lunch break off. And judging by the strange lull in the usual noise of the cafeteria, all of them heard Leech-san’s proposal to you.

It’s an annoyingly clever play. Even if you were willing to risk your relationships with Ace, Deuce, and Grim by refusing to go, you’d then have to deal with the…“persuasion tactics” of all the other enslaved students, who know now you have the potential to free them. And even if all of them have traded the magic they have the most pride in away…

Well. There are many, many ways a magicless mob of students can make your life hell. You know this from experience.

You’re cornered on all sides. You owe Ashengrotto that much to concede.

And, as sure as the tides, the anemones on Ace, Deuce and Grim’s heads begin tugging them away the moment you state your intention to hear Ashengrotto out. The cafeteria empties in a matter of minutes.

Really, you think as you shovel some rice into your mouth. You’re going up against a tricky one this time around.

“Aha!” The more lackadaisical Leech-san (Floyd, you believe) cheers. “Shrimpy, you came!!”

“This is a mistake.” Jack mutters behind you.

“Any better ideas you have, I’m all ears.” You murmur as Leech-san leads you both to a table where his twin is waiting.

“My apologies.” The more controlled Leech-san (Jade, you think) says. “Azul is currently meeting with another client. It may be some time before he is able to meet with you.”

Your foot he is. You know these tactics, have grown up seeing them employed by and against your family with varying levels of success.

Forcing the other party in a negotiation to wait, implying that they rank low in your list of priorities. Artificially increasing desperation and frustration with the manufactured power imbalance, so they’re sloppy with irritation or overly timid when they sit across from you at long last, giving you more than they ever originally planned.

You also recognize the trick being played when the Leech brothers begin mistreating Ace and Deuce in front of you. Granted, it’s usually less violent, but by having a low-level employee mess up in front of a competitor, you can gauge how altruistic and competent they are. Your father always trusted a business partner who went out of their way to successfully help the unfortunate employee more than any who left them to struggle or berated them. Those who tried to help but messed up themselves never even made it into his office.

Though, you think to yourself as you coordinate Jack, Ace, Deuce, and the other servers through the brunt of the evening rush, it’s possible that Ashengrotto is also just trying to exhaust you enough to make you careless as well.

A slow clapping as you try to catch your breath breaks you out of your musings.

“Bravo, Prefect.” The Octavinelle dorm head leans against an octopus-headed cane. “Wonderful job managing the dinner rush. Have you had experience doing this before?”

You smile tightly. “Rather than focusing on myself, I’d love to have a discussion with you, Dorm Head Ashengrotto.”

“Is that so?” He offers you his arm. “Well, please, right this way, Prefect.”

Ashengrotto-san has a very nice office for a high schooler. Ledgers fill the bookshelves built into the walls, small glass panes near the floor give a view to the restaurant’s tank, and a sturdy, gilded desk of dark wood sits proudly in front of a large vault that’s nestled into the back wall.

“Are we even at school anymore?” Jack mutters to you. “This feels like a bank.”

“Don’t stand on ceremony. Please, take a seat.” Ashengrotto gestures to the couch opposite his own.

You and Jack sit. The couch is almost offensively plush and comfortable. The twin you think is Floyd Leech sets down a mug of white tea before each of you.

“Here ya go~ On the house this time.”

“Ah, and I’ll thank you to not write anything down, Prefect.” Ashengrotto-san’s glasses flash as he eyes your little black notebook. “I’m afraid I must insist on client confidentiality in all of my dealings.”

You don’t click your tongue as you stash your notebook and pencil away, but it’s a near thing.

“Now then,” He spreads his hands, ever the benevolent businessman. “What can I do for you two?”

“I want you to release all the student workers you contracted during exams.” You state.

Ashengrotto-san makes a show of chuckling and shaking his head. “This is a rather tyrannical request all of a sudden. We hardly know each other, and yet you want me to release all 225 students I’ve made contracts with?”

“225 people?!” Jack barks, ears flat on his head. “You enslaved that many?!”

“Please, I’ll ask you not to use that word.” Ashengrotto-san chides gently. “I prefer to think of it as mandatory work-study experience. Jade and Floyd did an excellent job recruiting this year. Thanks to that, I was able to work with so many new clients.”

“No.” The gears in your head turn. “It’s closer to 337, isn’t it? A little over or under that at least.”

Ashengrotto-san tilts his head at you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Jack stares at you, uncomprehending.

“With the way these soulmates work, sharing physical afflictions, the soulmates of contractees probably feel it every time you compel their other halves into obedience. You may have managed to get both halves of some pairs, but mathematically there’s no way that’s the case for everyone.” You fold your hands in your lap. “Even if your control of them isn’t as absolute as it is for someone under contract, the correction techniques of your managers show there’s leverage being applied. For the contractees, it’s ‘don’t disobey unless you want harm to come you your soulmate’. For their other halves, it’s ‘do whatever you can to lessen their burden if you want the pain to stop’. Am I wrong?”

Jack’s mouth is hanging open, horrified. “That’s—!”

One Leech twins lets out an amused little chuckle, as if you’ve told a mildly humorous anecdote. The other lets out a deranged cackle that’s more in line with the description of torture you’ve given.

Ashengrotto-san spreads his hands, playing helpless. “You make me sound heartless, Prefect. If some wish to volunteer here at the Lounge with their partners, who am I to stop them? Of course, if they’d like to make a deal instead, my door is open to any poor, unfortunate soul who needs it. How about you, Prefect? Did you come here to soothe what ails your other half?”

“I don’t feel a tickle.” You say bluntly. “I’m not here to cherry pick. It’s all or nothing, I’m afraid.”

Ashengrotto-san sighs theatrically. “How unromantic. Anyway, I can’t honor your request, Prefect. After all, I’m not making them do any work that goes against labor standards or takes away from their time in class. They all had the opportunity to read my terms before signing, and if they signed they must agree with them. What kind of world would we live in if a contract could be easily nullified because someone feels sorry for the contractee? Society would be in shambles.”

He makes a show of shaking his head. “In other words, it’s too late for them already. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help you on that score—”

“And here I heard that you could grant any wish if someone makes a deal with you.” The words force themselves from your mouth.

Jack whips around to stare. “Oi, Prefect! What do you think you’re—?!”

“Wow, so brave Shrimpy~” The deranged Leech twin coos over your shoulder. “You’ve got guts.”

You’re lacking brains is more like it, but you force yourself to remain impassive.

“So, you would like to make a deal with me.” Ashengrotto taps his chin with a gloved finger. “Ffmm…there is an issue, however. You have no magic, and your singing voice is not worth trading for.”

Excuse you?

Excuse you???

The outrage at the slight to your musicality is surprising enough to almost distract you from what Ashengrotto says next. “You’re also not the sole heir to a country. You’re just a simple human.”

“Do you always insult potential business partners, or am I a special case?” You cross one leg over the other.

“Now, now,” The sadistic Leech twin behind Jack soothes. “No insult was meant. Azul was merely stating the unfortunate reality of your circumstances. Is that not so, Azul?”

“That is correct, Jade.” Ahensgrotto smiles disingenuously. “While you are no doubt talented in many areas, you cannot provide the collateral I prefer to deal in, so we must come up with an alternative. Say, the exclusive rights to the use of Ramshackle Dorm?”

A chill runs down your spine.

You know how collateral works. If you agree to this, then you’ll be forced to leave your dorm for as many days as it takes to fulfill whatever conditions he sets. If you lose, you won’t be able to go back there ever again. And you doubt Crowley will be so kind as to arrange any other accommodations if you barter your current ones away.

So your choices are between starvation and homelessness. Honestly, what kind of idiot would jump—

“I’M OKAY WITH THIS!!”

A pile of suds with Grim’s voice bursts through the doors and zooms its way into your lap.

“Minion, I can’t go on like this!!” He wails, clutching at your blazer. “Do somethin’, please!!”

You pull him into your lap on instinct more than anything else. He’s sopping wet and shivering, the flames in his ears guttering weakly. How much worse will it get if you try to draw this out for him, for Ace and Deuce? Can you really afford to play coy here?

“…If I were to make a deal with you.” Your words sound far away. “What would the conditions entail?”

Azul Ashengrotto smiles like you’re a fish swimming into a net.

“There is something I’d like you to acquire for me from the Atalantica Memorial Museum in the Coral Sea—”

“I’m not doing anything I could go to jail for.” You interrupt. “Please bear my situation as a visitor to Twisted Wonderland in mind.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s hardly anything serious. Just a commemorative photo by the entrance, celebrating Prince Rielle’s visit ten years ago.”

There’s a small intake of breath behind you. When you glance back, the controlled Leech twin gives you a placid smile.

“We went there in elementary school, didn’t we?” The lackadaisical Leech muses. “Heh, that place was pretty fun~”

“So why’d ya want it?” Grim asks.

“There must be some challenge to make this worth my while. We aren’t a charity here. If you bring me that photo by sunset three days from now, I’ll free all 225 of the students I contracted during exams.” Ashengrotto decrees. “Fail, and you will be joining our ranks.”

“All 225, and any who’ve made contracts on their behalf since then or I walk.” You counter. “I said all or nothing, didn’t I?”

“Also the Coral Sea is a country at the bottom of the ocean.” Jack interjects, his words only a decibel or two away from a snarl. “Land folk like us can’t get there easily since we can’t breathe underwater. This task is impossible from the get go.”

Is it just you, or does Ashengrotto-san look a touch irritated? “Figure it out yourself…is what an amateur would say. Potions of Water-Breathing are a matter of child’s play for me. And, as the Witch of the Seas gave the Mermaid Princess legs to run to her human prince, so I shall give you one of my potions. I’m nothing of not benevolent, after all.”

He pulls a piece of paper from his coat, which begins to glow gold as he writes on it with a fishbone quill. “So, three days to retrieve the picture, a carafe of Water-Breathing to ease the way, Ramshackle dorm as collateral, and the release of all 389 contractees. Are these terms generous enough for you to agree to, Prefect?”

You stare at the quill he’s proffering, dread calcifying in your stomach.

Ashengrotto tilts his head, a parody of consideration. “I’m a very busy man, Prefect. As pleasant as spending time with you is, I haven’t got all night. Please sign now, if you’re going to.”

Your mind races, trying to think of other options, of ways out of this trap you’ve so neatly found yourself in.

Refusing to sign gives you the most latitude, gives you time to get out of here and regroup. You could get Ace and Deuce to band together with the other contractees and all tank their grades so that Crowley has an academic excuse to order their release from service. You could maybe talk Cater-senpai, Trey-senpai, and Riddle-senpai into review-bombing the Mostro Lounge online, ask Jack to get his apparently famous soulmate involved, driving away Ashengrotto’s customer base until he gives up. You could even see if it’s possible to have Grim steal a customer’s credit card information somehow, then report the breach of industry data security standards to the professors who will have no choice but to monitor the business themselves or shut it down.

But all of those plans will take time. Time that Ashengrotto and his Leech goons can use to torture your friends, to turn his army of contracted students on them, on you.

You hate this, you hate this so so so much. But you never had a choice in the matter to begin with.

Just like last time.

You set your jaw.

You sign the contract.

So you get kicked out of your dorm.

Only Grim is surprised by this extremely predictable turn of events.

Luckily for the pair of you, your friends aren’t entirely heartless. Given that Heartslaybul is filled to capacity (and that you like Ace and Deuce, but not enough to endure their snoring or teeth grinding for three days), you and Grim elect to bunk with Jack in Savannaclaw.

Sure, you and Grim need to best the dickheads who tried to intimidate you during your investigation before Kingscholar-senpai will let you stay, but you need the opportunity to vent some frustration at the situation you’ve found yourself stuck in.

Especially when your soulmate’s dreams are overridden by a vision of the small fish mermaid from last time signing a deal with an octopus mermaid, trading her voice for legs to go on land. It leaves you with an awful taste in your mouth when you wake up.

Still, it’s good motivation for gathering your merry band of nitwits together to get this museum heist over and done with as quickly as possible.

“So…how should we drink this?” Deuce asks, tilting his portion of the potion back and forth in one of the paper cups Jack snagged from Magift practice this morning. “D’you think we should wait ‘til we get there to do it? Just in case it works fast?”

“How’re ya gonna drink anything underwater?!” Grim scoffs, pronged tail lashing. “S smarter to drink it now, that way we don’t end up drowning, ya know!”

“Alright.” Jack says grimly, tail hanging between his legs. Ace mimes a toast. “Bottom’s up!”

You all down the glowing green potion.

It tastes absolutely foul, like vinegar mixed with persimmons that had been left out to rot. You splutter, trying to get rid of the aftertaste—but when you suck in a breath, it feels like the air is scraping your throat raw, shredding you from the inside out.

“Sh-shit!” You hear Deuce gasp. “It’s getting hard t’breathe! We, we need to go!”

Jack’s arm clotheslines you through the Dark Mirror as you hear Ace yell. “Take us—huff—t’ the Coral Sea!!”

Breathing underwater is a weird sensation. The feeling of water going up your nose and down your throat, but somehow dissipating into clean, fresh, slightly salty air before it hits your lungs. You’re finding it a little difficult to get used to.

At least you’re not the only one, if the way Grim keeps screwing up his face like he wants to sneeze but isn’t able to is any indication.

The feeling of warm ocean currents drifting by you as you make your way across the seafloor feels a little more oddly familiar, in the way many things you associate with your soulmate do. A sensation that makes you feel at home, even as you experience it for the first ever time.

You’re so distracted by this that you almost don’t notice when you near the Atalantica Memorial Museum. It’s only Ace’s appreciative whistle that has you looking up at the pearl-shaded building, eyes widening as you take in the many thin spires that appear seashell-delicate, the crown-like structure would have certainly crumbled long ago if built on land.

You know this place.

You’ve never been here before, never seen it in person or a picture, but you know it.

Your soulmate has been dreaming about this museum intermittently since the start of the school year.

“What the fuck.” You mutter to yourself.

A pair of dark shadows blot out the sun above you.

“Aha, Shrimpy said a bad word!!”

“Please, Prefect.” Its twin is accompanied by a razor-sharp smile in a scaled-face. “There’s no call for such language when we’ve merely come to play.”

You don’t make it to the museum.

The four of you are left panting on the floor of the Mirror Chamber, licking your wounds. Floyd Leech has a Unique Magic that allows him to deflect any spells cast at him of his brother, so Deuce’s hands are red with freezer-burn from Ace’s ice spell while Ace’s cheek is scratched up from Deuce’s attempt at wind magic. Jack has bruises up and down his arms from where Floyd Leech’s tail ensnared him and began to squeeze.

There’s a stinging cut dragging from behind your left ear down your neck, where Jade Leech got his claws into you before you could yank free. Grim is similarly ruffled, trying to groom his fur down over a scrape from being smacked out of the way.

Maybe it was obvious, as Kingscholar-senpai scolds you that evening, that this was never going to be as easy as Ashengrotto-san made it sound. Still, it wouldn’t hurt him to keep some of his “told you sos” to himself, especially as he said nothing beforehand.

While Buchie-senpai did cement his status as your second-favorite Savannaclaw member by chiding his soulmate to be nicer and give proper advice to his kouhai, you’re not sure that trying to steal a contract from Octavinelle directly will go any better than your previous escapade. Even if they say that it’s just a matter of finding a weakness in the contract’s “invincibility”, you’re certain getting one will be just as arduous as sneaking into a museum, if not more so.

The dream you have that night, of the octopus witch trading the little mermaid for her father’s sea kingdom, doesn’t exactly allay your fears.

The five of you sneak in during the shift change, while the rest of the dorm and its indentured servants are either filtering out of the Lounge to grab some lunch or in to do some last minute food prep before opening.

You have fourteen years of practice at not drawing attention to yourself so you can pass unmolested. And if Grim clings to Jack’s shoulders and hunches down behind his head, it looks to the unobservant like the wolf beast-man is anemone’d too, letting him walk beside Ace and Deuce without question. You can’t quite believe that it works to get you all the way into Ashengrotto’s office, but you’ll take what you can get.

Which is of course when Jack’s ear twitches and his head shoots up. “Wait. Someone’s coming!”

“Shit!” Ace hisses. “We gotta hide!”

There is only one of hiding place in this stupid, fancy office.

As the second-smallest, you’re crushed against the back of the desk, contorted and struggling to breathe against Deuce’s bicep on your windpipe and Grim’s everything in your gut. You dislike enclosed spaces at the best of times, but this is ridiculous.

There’s the neat click of polished shoes accompanied by a cane. A small grunt of discomfort, before a series of clicks as the keypad is pressed and a clanking as the dial is turned to open the vault door. From your vantage point, you can just about see a sheaf of golden papers being removed.

You hold your breath when Ashengrotto-san sits down in his desk chair. Jack’s tail is barely an inch from his foot. If he looks down…

A deep inhale and exhale. Ashengrotto-san’s dulcet voice seeps through the wood, thick with laughter. “One. Two. Heh, heh, three…hm?”

He stands. He turns. The golden papers go back into the vault. The door is closed and snaps as the lock is reset. A click, click, click that grows fainter, until finally the door is shut.

You all stay frozen as you are for a good three seconds before you relax and tumble out of your cramped hiding spot.

“Freaking finally, fgnah!” Grim gasps. “I thought he’d never leave!”

“I think I strained something in my back.” Deuce groans.

“Wait.” Jack says suddenly. “He left one out on the desk.”

When you turn around, there is indeed a gently glowing golden sheet of paper sitting there.

“Lucky!” Ace cheers, somehow immune to all the warning bells going off in your brain. “Now we just gotta get it outta here and figure out how to destroy it.”

You frown. “Wait, don’t—”

Ace’s fingers touch the edge of the contract.

He jerks, elbows colliding with Deuce. Deuce’s hand shoots out to grab Jack for stability before his fingers lock into place. You see the fur on Jack’s ears go stiff and staticky, his tail nearly doubling in size as the same affliction passes to Grim, flopped over his shoulder.

Grim’s tail curls around your wrist, raised in warning.

The circuit is completed.

You howl as electricity rips through you, the shocks to your system turning your scream vibrato.

It lasts no more than a minute or two, but you’re left slumped against the desk and flinching as lingering static jerks through your limbs.

The door BANGS open.

Azul Ashengrotto is listing heavily between his cane and the hand he has splayed on the door. He stares at you all, wide-eyed.

Even in your state of jittery-post-shock, you can see he doesn’t look good. Almost as though he’d somehow been caught in the shock himself…?

But that’s not possible. He was outside, so how…?

You’re not sure how Deuce is moving with how painful the aftershocks feel to you, but for some reason he’s able to hoist you upright and behind him and Jack, forming a wall between you, the Octavinelle dorm head, and the Leech twins who are oddly silent for once.

“Which.” Ashengrotto seems to need to take a breath before continuing, “Which one of you?”

When none of you answer, he lets out an inarticulate noise of frustration. “I may be a benevolent man, but I have no patience for thieves or those who waste my time. So unless you’d like Jade and Floyd to go all out, you will tell me, which one of you is it?!”

It takes a moment for your jolted brain to make the connection.

Oh.

One of you must be his soulmate. That’s how it works here. That’s why he’s freaking out so much. He hadn’t expected when setting this trap that it would end up attacking him as well.

But that doesn’t make sense either. You’ve confirmed that Ace is soulmates with Sebek Zigvolt, while Jack’s mentioned that he’s known that the dorm head of Pomefiore was his since they were both little kids. It could be Deuce you guess, but then wouldn’t the twins go out of their way to avoid hurting him since it would mean Azul would feel it every time the contract was enforced? Maybe Grim then? But wouldn’t that lead to the same problems, especially when he gets used as a dishrag?

Well, there’s always you.

…

Wait.

What.

You tune back in in time to see Ace point his magic pen and yell, “COME FORTH, CAULDRON!!”

“Like that’ll hit anything!” Leech-san cackles over Deuce’s cries of outrage. “Bind the Heart!!”

You all watch as the cauldron rebounds off the empty air in front of the Octavinelle trio…and nearly murders all of you before you leap out of the way, crashing into the large vault door instead.

“AHHHH!!” Ashengrotto screams. “Floyd, where are you aiming your magic?!”

“Whoopsie. My bad.” Floyd Leech says, not sounding repentant at all.

Ashengrotto-san stumbles towards the vault, hands fluttering as he mutters. “There’s a scratch—do the dials still work? The hinges?? How many times have I told you to watch where you’re aiming?!”

“I said I was sorry! Geez, ya don’t gotta keep yellin’ at me!”

“It’s too late if it’s broken!!” As he passes you, your eyes flick to his neck.

There’s a reddened, recently inflicted scratch snaking up the back of it to behind his left ear.

Its mirror behind your own left ear feels itchy, all of a sudden.

But you have no real time to focus on this revelation as the five of you take advantage of the bickering between the Octavinelle dorm members to book it as quickly as you can, splitting off in different directions to make it harder for the twins to chase you.

There’s blood in your socks.

It squelches as you peel them off, grimacing at the weird, partially burned gashes on the bottom of your feet.

You know you’re lucky that you only have grounding injuries from where the electricity left your body. You know that.

It’s just. These are some of the only socks you own. And since you can’t launder them at Savannaclaw, they’ll stain in a way you can’t wash out. And sure, it’s not like you can’t wear them again, but…

You drop your head back against the wrought-iron fence behind you with a bone weary sigh.

You came back to Ramshackle out of pure habit. You shouldn’t be able to feel homesick for places you’ve stayed in for less than a year. Not while still missing the pokey little apartment left behind in your world as well.

“Hm? Oh, it’s you.”

You crane your head farther back to see the horned boy leaning over the fence, peering down at you.

“Ah, it’s Tsunotaro the abandoned building fan.”

The horned boy blinks. “Are…are you referring to me? Heh. A bold one, aren’t you?”

“You did say I could call you what I liked.” You remind him with a cheeky grin. It drops from your face as the reality of your situation dawns on you again. “…Though I guess you won’t really wanna come around here much anymore. After tomorrow, “abandoned” is the last thing Ramshackle’s going to be.”

He frowns lightly. “I had noticed this place seemed…livelier these past two nights. You are displeased by this?”

You groan, dropping your head to your knees.

The whole sordid story falls from your lips like overripe fruit, just waiting to bruise once it hits the ground.

“So Ashengrotto will claim the building if you fail, but has also made it impossible to succeed…” The newly dubbed “Tsunotaro” drums his fingers against the wrought-iron of the fence. “It seems that you’ve found quite the mare’s nest for yourself.”

“…the worst part of it all is,” Your fingers trace the scratch behind your ear again. “I. I think he might be my soulmate?”

There’s a pause.

“Oh.” Tsunotaro says slowly. “That does indeed complicate matters.”

“Tell me about it.” You huff, (gently) thunking your head back against the fence bars. “There is no good way to go up to a guy and say, ‘hey, I know you’ve enslaved half the student body and are going to do the same to me, but I think we might be soulmates so could you please not hold it against me if I foil your dreams?’ It’s just. He’s smart and cool and I can see there are parts of him that I find a,attractive, but he’s also so intent on this scheme that I don’t think I could convince him to stop, let alone stop him myself…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Tsunotaro hums. “I’ve not met mine yet. But surely entrusting yourself to yours in eternal servitude is a sign of devotion, no?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Pardon my English, but fuck that noise. Plus, do you know how pissy Ace and Grim would be if I let that happen? I’m not putting up with their whining for another week, devotion or no.”

He barks a noise that it takes you a moment to place as full-bellied laughter. It almost sounds…unpracticed, somehow.

“Well then, if that is the case,” His eyes sparkle with amusement as he looks down at you. “I trust you have noticed the rather splendid gargoyles adorning your residence, Child of Man?”

You blink. “You…you’re referring to the sculptures on the corners, right? The monsters that me and Grim had to peel the moss off of?”

He hums, pleased. “And a fine job you did too. You noticed, then, that they are not merely statuary but also serve as water spouts? A gargoyle is distinguished from a grotesque in that it functions as part of a building’s rain drainage system. They look fearsome, but help take such care of their homes. It is noteworthy, is it not?”

You stare at him, speechless at this surprise digression that has nothing to do with the topic at hand, your cold toes curling into the fabric of your bloody socks—

And then it clicks.

The booby-trapped contract, the scuffed safe, Ashengrotto-senpai’s panic over the latter but not the former—!!

“What you see doesn’t match with the reality of the situation.” You breathe. “It’s—it’s smoke and mirrors, to make us think that…when actually…!”

You tug your socks and shoes on with renewed ferocity, mind racing a mile a minute as your mouth babbles. “Sorry Tsunotaro, I mean, thank you so much for everything, but I’ve got to, to tell, to plan, the others, I, I think I know what to do now. Thanks to you. Thank you again.”

He chuckles as you hoist yourself upright. “It’s nothing, Child of Man. I wish you good tidings in your endeavors.”

With a twinkle in his eyes, he adds, “I look forward to hearing of how you showed your fated one the error of his ways.”

He vanishes into green firefly glows as you sprint back to Savannaclaw.

You’re going to have a long night of “persuasion” ahead of you and Grim to pull off the tentative plan forming in your mind. But, if you can get your senpai on board, then you may just have the chance you’ve been waiting for all this time.

The dream you see that night is from your soulmate, rather than the weird force that’s been plaguing you these past two days.

You’re staring down at yourself, your eyes wide and gentle and beseeching as they gaze up at you. There’s a delicate fuzz around you, softening your harsh edges, smoothing away the spots you know have been cropping up lately, making you into something small and soft, needy and welcoming.

A white gloved hand brushes your bangs away from your eyes (which do not have the bags you noticed last time you saw a mirror), sliding smoothly around to cradle the base of your skull as your mouth makes a sweet “o” of surprise and your eyes flutter shut. You grow even fuzzier as pair of glasses are lifted up and out of the way.

And—

And—!

You wake up.

You cover your face with your hands and try to muffle hysterical snickering into your palms in the hush of Kingscholar-senpai’s room.

Well.

At least you don’t have to worry about your soulmate finding you unattractive.

A pillow hits you in the face with an unceremonious whud.

“M helpin’, so shuddup ‘lready.” Kingscholar-senpai grumbles before pulling a new pillow over his head.

You roll over, burying your face in your futon to try and hide your grin. You should try to follow your senpai’s example in this at least. You need to get some sleep before your big day tomorrow.

But you drift off feeling more hopeful than you have in days.

You couldn’t ask for your part of the plan to go more smoothly.

You limit your explanation to just the essentials, both to spare your sore throat and keep the twin shadows you spot lurking at the edge of the courtyard from gleaning anything they shouldn’t.

Ace manages to charm a security guard into chatting with him about a famous mermaid princess while you and Grim sneak into the museum, lifting the photo of the prince’s visit off the wall and secreting it out.

You send a silent prayer of apology to the security guard whose faith in humanity will be shattered if the picture’s disappearance is discovered before tomorrow.

As if on cue, Jade-san and Floyd-san show up to keep you all from making it back to school.

During the game of keep away, you’re counting down the minutes. They need as much time as you can give them. Just a bit more. Just a bit—!

And then the anemones disintegrate.

“What the hell?!” Floyd-san yelps. “Where’d the anemones go?!”

“That’s not meant to happen.” Jade-san mutters. “How in Twisted Wonderland—?”

“I suppose I’m just lucky that you didn’t manage to ensnare Cater-senpai in a contract.” You sigh, rolling your neck. “After all, each of your Unique Magics are very cool, senpai, but even you can’t each be in more than one place at once.”

“What are you talking about?” Ooh, this is the first time you’ve heard Jade-san’s tone get this sharp, a far cry from the self-assured cool he’s presented up until now.

“In the event that you both are absent from Mostro Lounge, the chain of command defaults to Ashengrotto-senpai if any problems arise, right?” You run your finger over the edge of the photo frame. “And a restaurant full of rowdy, hungry Savannaclaw students? Well, I’d say that’s any manager’s nightmare shift. You could hardly blame him for getting distracted, right?”

Floyd-san scoffs. “What, you sayin’ you got Sea Lion to help ya? Like hell, he just wants to lie around all day sleepin’ like a sea lion on the sand. No way he’d pitch in for something so troublesome.”

“It’s true that Kingscholar-senpai values his rest above all else.” You tap the photograph against your chin gently in mock consideration. “So what do you think would happen if something threatened it?”

That stops them up short.

“We made a deal of our own, ya know!” Grim boasts. “If he helped us out, we’d leave Savannaclaw nicely. But if not…”

“We’d return every night every night and make such a ruckus that he’d never know another night of peace until he killed us or left NRC.” You chuck Grim under the chin. “And then we gave him a demonstration.”

“I blew out my voice from yelling all last night, fgnah!” Grim leans against you, “But it worked! Guess you guys were right—he really does love sleepin’!”

“Looks like it’s my win, for once.” You can’t control the victorious grin splitting your face. “Right? Leech-senpai?”

The two mermen stare at you, dumbfounded.

“Eeh…” Floyd rolls his neck, irises and pupils shrinking to predator pinpricks as he looms over you. “Shrimpy, I’m gonna squeeze ya real hard for this.”

A dark shadow descends.

Floyd-san barely darts out of the way as a cauldron plummets through the water where he’d just been.

“You can try.” Deuce vows beside you, magic pen at the ready. “But it’s not gonna be easy now we’ve got our magic back.”

“No more holdin’ back.” Jack rumbles behind you.

“C’mon senpai,” Ace grins on your other side. “Play with us some more~?”

It’s not surprising to you that both the Leech twins flee like a horror from the deep is on their tails.

It is surprising to return to Octavinelle to find the water turned dark, screams resounding from the dorm as if the horror from the deep has taken up residence there.

“YOUR MAGIC POWER AND YOUR ATHLETICISM!!” Ashengrotto-senpai howls at a Scarabia student from the center of a whirlpool of displaced sand. “GIVE THEM TO ME!!” The student topples with a shriek, formerly healthy body shriveling as he goes.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO MAKE HIM OVERBLOT!!” You scream at Kingscholar-senpai.

“You’re the ones who told me to destroy his contracts!” He yells back at you. “I did jack shit, herbivore!”

Ashengrotto-senpai lets out a maniacal cackle as more and more students topple like puppets with their strings cut, magic leaving trailing tentacles of sparkles and blot floating in the air around him.

“THERE’S NO WAY THAT’S TRUE, YOU LIAR!!” Grim screeches from your shoulders.

“Jade…Floyd…” Ashengrotto-senpai croons. “Those bastards destroyed them all…my precious contracts…I’ve lost everything. I’m helpless like this. So give it to me. Your strength. Your power. GIVE IT TO ME ALREADY!!”

“Stop this Azul! You know better!” Jade-san barks while Floyd-san clicks his tongue. “Uwah. This is more lame than you ever were before.”

“Ah~ is that right?!” His laughter sounds almost indistinguishable from sobbing. You can’t stop the pang that goes through your chest. “Because I’m just a useless, dumb octopunk who can’t ever do anything right on my own!! Can’t even find my own soulmate when they’re right in front of me!! Well, it’s fine. I just need to get better then. I’ll keep improving myself until I’m the best I can be, until no one can resist me!! Until my soulmate falls to their knees before me!! A beautiful singing voice…strong magic…ALL OF IT BELONGS TO ME!!!”

You can’t stop the scream tearing itself from your throat as your soulmate is encased by blot.

Your shoulder is probably dislocated.

No, you wince as you shift closer when Azul-senpai begins to stir. Make that definitely dislocated.

You are extremely lucky that the whole-soulmates-sharing-pain thing only goes one way. It hurt badly enough when one of his tentacles yanked your arm out of its socket, and you saw Azul-senpai’s shoulder mimic it with a crack. You’re not entirely sure if all the blows the others rained down on him after that were ones your body could have survived.

“Wh-what happened?” He murmurs as Jade-senpai helps him sit up carefully. “I. I overblotted?”

“I mean, it’s understandable.” Buchie-senpai shrugs. “I know if anyone destroyed my piggy bank after all the stuff I’d saved up to put in it, I’d be mad as hell too.”

“Especially after all the effort you’d put in even without them…” You mutter.

“You’re a good guy, but ya need to shape up, ya know? No more usin’ yer skills for shady stuff.” Grim decrees with all the authority of an honor student.

“No, the one who needs to shape up and do schoolwork properly is you.” Jack sighs. He nudges you in the side gently.

“Huh?” At his meaningful look, you suddenly remember the first part of your plan before the second went to shit. “Ah, yeah. Here, we managed to get this from the museum.”

Kingscholar-senpai leans over to peer at it, one eyebrow raised. “What, so all this shit was over an elementary school photo?”

“Aha! This takes me back!!” Floyd-senpai cheers, reaching over to tap on two familiar looking eel kids in the foreground. “See, see, me an’ Jade are right here, princey’s in the middle, that guy in the back was one of the first ones we squeezed… And over there, in the corner…”

Your eyes follow his finger and you have to cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

“Baby Azul!”

There’s a small, squishy octopus merboy at the very edge of the photo, with glasses that are just a little too large for his face. He’s giving the camera a hesitant little smile, like he’s not entirely sure he’s allowed to, sweetly dimpled in each round, mochi-like cheek.

There’s no question about it. You would murder a man for this child’s smile.

“StooOOOP!!” Azul-senpi sobs. “Don’t look! Don’t loooook!!”

“My my, you should try and take it easy.” Jade-senpai consoles. His grin turns sadistic as he adds. “Just accept this as inevitable.”

“Y’know, I like this version of Azul the best.” Floyd-senpai says wisely. As you’re about to nod in agreement, he adds. “Looks more delicious that way.”

You clutch the photo to your chest, eyeing Floyd-senpai suspiciously. He snaps his teeth at you, snickering.

It’s decided that your little quintet will accompany the Octavinelle trio back to the museum tomorrow, to ensure the photo is returned unaltered. But before that, both you and he are in dire need of medical attention.

You really don’t appreciate how Grim cheers, “It’s time to go see that Nurse guy again, ya know!”

You notice Azul-senpai glancing at you several times while you walk to the infirmary.

He occasionally opens his mouth like he wants to say something—

But then he closes it again, and looks away. He hasn’t spoken a word to you by the time Nurse Kamac gives you two slings and the green light to head back to your individual dorms.

You tell yourself that the only thing souring your triumphant return to Ramshackle is the dream monster that brutally savages you when you lay your head down to sleep that night.

Your ability to lie to yourself seems to have deserted you, for some reason.

Floyd and Jade collect you and Grim from your dorm at what feels like an obscenely early hour, but in reality is only 9 o’clock.

You’ll admit, you enjoy the trip to the museum much more, now you aren’t under constant threat of them ambushing you.

But when Azul-senpai declares he’s going to return the picture, fall into step beside him as the others go off to see something called a “dinglehopper.”

“You don’t need to follow me, you know.” He chides. “I am capable of returning this without needing to be supervised.”

“Never said you weren’t.” You reply. “I just have my own reasons.”

He eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t protest as the two of you make your way over to the commemoration wall.

You’re a little concerned that no one had apparently noticed the large gap where the photograph was hanging, but you suppose that isn’t your problem as your soulmate returns the picture to its place.

“I so wanted to be like her.” Azul-senpai mumbles, a pensive look on his face. “The Witch of the Seas. But she faced her past head on and worked to overcome her reputation, while I…I just hid behind my contracts and tried to make it so it didn’t exist. Guess I haven’t outgrown hiding in an octopot after all…”

“I think you’re pretty amazing without any of the contracts.” You blurt out. “I mean, you managed to corner the headmaster through hard work alone, you know?”

He blinks at you. “Eh?”

“Yeah.” You huff a small laugh. “I mean, you managed to get Grim to score an 85 legitimately. Hell, you made Crowley so desperate he threatened to cut off my food stipend so that I had to get involved. There was literally nothing else he or any of the other faculty could do against your smarts and diligence.”

For some reason, Azul-senpai doesn’t look quite as pleased as you’d hoped at that information. “Is that so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment.

Well. No time like the present, you suppose.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Azul-senpai tilts his head and smiles at you. Benevolent. “It’s. It’s alright, Prefect. I believe I already…I already know what you’re going to say.”

You frown. “Can I say it first, at least? That way we can at least confirm neither of us have got the wrong idea.”

He twitches at that, smile struggling at the corners before he sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “If you must.”

You exhale, your palms suddenly much clammier than they were a moment ago.

“Well, as you’ve probably worked out.” You make a vague gesture between your sling and his. “I f-fit certain parameters to be your. Your soulmate.”

Oh dear Seven, this is so awkward it looks like it’s causing him physical pain. It’s certainly doing that to you. But you soldier on, “What you may not know is that y-you also fit certain parameters to be my soulmate. Because my parameters are not the same as your parameters.”

That stops him up short. “…What are you saying, Prefect?”

“Soulmates in my world share dreams instead of pain.”

Azul-senpai blinks as he digests this.

It’s interesting, watching him flush. The color starts as a soft sky blue in the apples of his cheeks, but gets darker and darker as it spreads, so the bright cobalt tips of his ears are set off beautifully against his silvery hair.

You never considered that mermen might have different colors of blood to humans. For some reason, you find this irrationally delightful.

“S-so.” He croaks. “But…that means—you, you saw…?”

You feel your own face go warm. You scratch one of your cheeks, unable to meet his eyes. “Ah, hm. Not, not on purpose? But I understand if that doesn’t make it feel better…”

Azul-senpai attempts to muffle a scream when he can’t comfortably move one shoulder.

It’s only kind of successful.

“But why?” He’s got one hand in his hair. “Why didn’t you say anything before? Why tell me now?”

“Azul-senpai.” You say, long-suffering. “When was the last time you and I got the chance to talk alone? Without Grim, Ace, Deuce, or Jack, Kingscholar-senpai or Buchie-senpai, or Leech-senpai?”

There’s a wide-eyed moment of silence.

“Ah.” Azul-senpai says, adjusting his glasses. “I see. Thank you for your foresight.”

The two of you stand there, avoiding eye contact. The tension is thick enough to drown in.

Well. It seems like you’re going have to be the brave one again.

“I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.” You start. “I knew how soulmates here worked, but I assumed that since it wasn’t how it worked for me, that you’d be an exception as well. And then a lot of the time I was so caught up that I just. Didn’t think. Even if I didn’t know it was you for sure until the day before yesterday, I should have taken more care, tried harder. I’m sorry that I didn’t. And while I can’t promise never getting hurt in the future, I swear I’ll do my best to keep any damage to a minimum.”

“An-And while I don’t have the,” Oh Seven your cheeks are burning. “The anatomy for some of the things? In the dream?”

“Please, stop talking—!”

“I’d still like to do them with you. At some point. In the future. Once we’ve gotten to know each other better.” Your voice is strangled as you admit it, your cheeks feel like they’ll burst with the sheer amount of blood filling them. “Much, much better. Maybe once we’ve graduated? And, and been d-dating for a while before that? I, I don’t know. Just, just my opinion, if you’re not interested, feel free to forget this entire conversation.”

Your hand is caught.

You blink at the other hand grasping it tightly. It’s cooler than your own, and slightly clammy, as if its owner is just as nervous as you are.

When you peek up at Azul’s face, it’s a deep shade of blue. His jaw is set, and he can’t quite meet your eyes as he adjusts his glasses.

“I-it would be s,something that—I mean, ne-negotiations would—” He cuts himself off with a frazzled noise. Then, slightly softer, “Yes. I’d, I’d like to discuss this. With you.”

Your cheeks are burning as you link your fingers with his, mouth unable to stop twitching into a smile as you gently squeeze.

“I’d really like it too.”

[satureja13]

Last Episode before our inZOI hiatus!

Great A'Tuin II reached the Boys home planet. Jack's odd feelings had been right. He never watched the stars again with Vlad and they never returened back to their home in Tomarang.

After Jonathan packed everything together and stored the pods with the Boys in the ship's cargo bay, he contacted Rubyn and she told him the coordinates for the STaCKs in San Myshuno.

The Boys would be safe there. The STaCKs are occupied by droids and no 'meatbag' dares to enter them without their consent. The Doctor would monitor the Boys until Rubyn and Jonathan found a way to bring them back.

Jonathan connected Tiny Can to the computer to take a look how the Boys are doing. Rubyn: "This doesn't look like the Therapy Game! What have you done, Tiny Can!" Tiny Can let out a blue streak of excited beeps. Rubyn: "A new save? This isn't just a new save! You've made a whole new game!" athena: "He means well. They will do just fine, I'm sure. He couldn't leave them in that corrupted save file after all. I mean, it's still corrupt and they still forgot everything - and can't get out because they even forgot they're in a game... But look how beautiful that new world is! Ah, I envy them! You outdid yourself, Tiny Can!"

Rubyn informed their inner circle about what happened. And not anyone sees the latest happenings as bright and exciting as athena. Not only will the Boys forget about literally everything, now they'll also find themself in a complete new universe! (Not that they'd even notice anything of that though... ö.Ö')

It was a muddy, grey day in Moonwood Mill and Greg took Noxee for a hike to the Moonwood Cliff above Lake Lunvik. To distract her from her sorrows.

But she was heartbroken about losing her Babies. Greg: "You won't stop crying, won't you?" Noxee sobbed: "When I imagine them - all alone..." She cried again. Greg sighed: "All right then."

They went home to the hospital wing of the bunker, where Greg fell in love with Noxee, and made love one last time. After they'd enter the game to join the Boys/their Babies, they will forget each other. But they'd faced worse. Far, far worse. Greg: "Nothing will keep me from you. I will find you - and make you mine again." Noxee: "You better do. I love you, you know." Greg: "I know."

Meanwhile at Hummelshain Castle/Tartosa. Rita: "When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?" Francine: "When the hurly-burly's done." Dtui: "When the battle's lost and won."

It's clear that Dtui, Kiyoshi's mentor, and Francine, Jeb's grandmother, won't leave their Boys unattended. They are just too nosy - and curious. Even though they'd forget too - they'd find their way. At least it won't rain on the inside in that new game, right? Francine left Dtui and Rita alone to say goodbye. Rita will remain in this realm - to keep things going. Francine had already brought the heartbreaking conversation with Jules behind her.

Rita and Dtui don't worry too much though. They are as old as the dinosaurs (Jack says that, not me!) and this new adventure will only last for a blink of the eye to them.

Leander and Wesley brought their dog Baby Ogg to chestnut ridge. They are supposed to enter the game too. Genji will take care of the Boys' animals and Baby Ogg.

All of the Boys' mentors will join them in their new adventure. Only Genji, Ji Ho's mentor, will swap his place with Wesley. Wesley and Leander survived their hell together - and remained conscious. So the resistance hopes this will help them to remember in the new game too and help to bring the Boys back.

Aww and look! Kiyoshi and Jack's horses seem to be back together again! Ach, but Jeb and Jack's were so cute together! Maybe they'll form a throuple? Or even add Sai's horse for a quad? (More about their horses in our spin-off The Stables)

And this is how the Boys and their mentors (minus Genji, plus Wesley) entered the Therapy Game 2.0 ...

'When the night has come And the land is dark And the moon is the only light we'll see No, I won't be afraid Oh, I won't be afraid Just as long as you stand Stand by me

So darlin', darlin', stand by me Oh, stand by me Oh, stand Stand by me, stand by me

If the sky that we look upon Should tumble and fall Or the mountain should crumble to the sea I won't cry, I won't cry No, I won't shed a tear Just as long as you stand Stand by me

And darlin', darlin', stand by me Oh, stand by me Oh, stand now Stand by me, stand by me

Whenever you're in trouble won't you stand by me Oh, stand by me Won't you stand by me'

Ben E. King - Stand by me

The perfect song for the last episode. It was also OST from the movie 'Stand by me'. MV linked above is with scenes from the movie. It reminded me of how Vlad, Saiwa, Ji Ho and Jack started this story as teenagers 2 years and 8 months and 1.715 posts ago. I watched the MV again and imagined them as the main characters and I cried. Even though I will still have them around in inZOI and I won't loose them, somehow I do. I played The Sims for ~ 25 years, oh my. Adult Vlad, Jack and Sai for over ten years! It was a wild ride for sure. Thank you so much for participating! I will make an extra hiatus post after this one. The link to our new tumblr/zoiblr is -> here. (It's still empty though ^^')

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter 'Goats in Space': starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Piglets in Space' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

[nabi-unveiled]

Nabi Notices (Mar 18, 2025)

It's been something like eight weeks since I decided to stop being a ghost and risk writing up my thoughts on Tumblr. I tagged my first post as "things I might regret", and I still might regret it one day. But today is not that day.

Interacting with everyone has been so much fun. It's enriched my viewing experience, and it's given me an outlet that I didn't know I needed. I'm not new to Asian media or BL by any means. I've watched Asian media for over 20 years and BL since 2017 (plus other queer media prior), but my options for discussing it have been very limited (my brother mostly).

It's just not safe in my family or my community. But man - it really is fun talking about the things you enjoy. There have been some interesting side effects of this venture, but I'll save those thoughts for a future week.

In general, the BL Tumblr community has been so welcoming and affirming. We may disagree on our takes and interpretations. A show one person loves, another may hate. But isn't that the beauty of it? We can actually say those things. We can have conversations about dopamine sprinkles, read too much into symbols and colors, and rant about poorly written dialogue. I continually feel affirmed here.

When I started this blog two months ago, I initially did a "Weekly Wrap-Up" outlining shows I watched and a few thoughts. I really enjoy reading those posts from other people. However, I quickly learned that I don't enjoy writing those posts myself.

I watch a lot of shows during the week - some properly, most as background noise. I'm sporadic at best. My brother calls us human ping-pong balls. In our defense, we only get to talk 1-2 hours a month. There's a lot of ground we need to cover in those calls.

I drop and pick up shows based on my current mood, the nature of my current work assignment, time availability, and if I crash from lack of sleep. Sometimes I binge. Sometimes I space episodes out weeks apart. Anyone who followed me during When It Rains knows I have bouts of hyperfixation. The thought of being "locked into" a show is not for me. After all, the reason I delayed this long in watching the ThamePo finale is personal. It has nothing to do with the show. The typical format of a weekly wrap-up felt like I was setting up an expectation I couldn't keep.

So this made me ponder - what type of "weekly post" would work for me? After much thought, I've decided I'll post my favorite moments of the past week from a variety of categories. The categories may change from time to time. My main goal here is to give myself flexibility and have fun with it. The intro will probably be MUCH shorter in future weeks.

The Things I Noticed This Week:

Fabulous Fit

I love talking style. I love looking at fashion. My phone background changes about every three days and is always a look I liked from an actor or K-pop idol. I still dress in comfy basics more often than not. But this week, the look that caught my eye was this one right here:

My man Eve (Make Up With Mud) is the epitome of dressing how you feel and varying style up. I can't recommend the show, but I'll be watching it to the end solely for this character and his asymmetrical earrings. I fully intend on making a compilation of his looks by the end of my watch. Maybe by then I'll have learned how to properly make GIFs.

Fascinating Find

I go on a lot of deep dives. When a question pops into my brain, I tend to seek out the answer. I've learned a lot of interesting information over the years. Some things I never figure out. This week's fascinating find came from Secret Relationships.

I knew that this move here is referred to as being the black knight/black rose (or dark knight/dark rose). But I wasn't really sure "why" it was called black knight. My search didn't produce exactly what I was looking for other than the black knight/black rose gets a wish from the person they drink for. It's really a different type of drinking game, and you can be asked to do some very embarrassing things if someone drinks for you. It's not really a pure/selfless act in most cases. I mostly knew all that - though we don't see the "wish" aspect itself often in shows. I still found it interesting because...that means Sung-hyun owes Da-on a wish (or does he? Sung-hyun didn't ask him to drink it after all).

Fantastic Frame

I loved this shot in Secret Relationships this week. There's a light on the chessboard in the back highlighting Jae-min's playing games. There's Jae-min wearing pink with his pink plates and making a dinner that looks great just like he looks great to society. But the trash is peeking out from under the counter, because others are beginning to see him for what he is. We know something he doesn't. We are now up high observing him as we wonder what the next move will be.

Fun Fluorish

This category is my "miscellaneous" category. It could be about anything really. Just something that caught my attention. This week it's the name of the bar in P10Ls.

I know that this bar has a perfectly respectable name in Thai. Something along the lines of "village of food"? (my Thai is super weak; feel free to correct). But all I keep seeing is these college boys drinking in a bar that says "Bang On" which in English....yeah. It makes me chuckle every time I see it. I have the mind of a middle schooler at times. It's probably part of the reason I get along so well with my oldest son.

Favorite Fragment

This is the category for a bit of dialogue I particularly enjoyed. This could be dialogue that is serious, humorous, nerdy, etc. It just caught my attention for whatever reason.

I watch Flirt Milk for one reason - Scrappy Doo and his brat tamer (formerly called Swamp Thing). There is SO MUCH wrong with this show and it's definitely a background watch for me, but Scrappy Doo continues to bring me at least one smile (or fun fit) a week so I typically tune in at some point.

My Queue for the Coming Week:

These are the things that I KNOW I will be watching (unless disaster of some kind strikes).

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Finale)

Secret Relationships (Ep 7-8)

Perfect 10 Liners (Ep 22)

Make Up With Mud (Ep 4)

Love for Love's Sake (Ep 1) (It seemed like this show was on everyone's list during the tag game.)

When Life Gives You Tangerines (Ep 1)

I'll also probably watch the ThamePo finale. I've delayed it long enough. Anything else is up to whim and fancy.

[bdafic]

Have you played Veilguard? Do you plan to?

If yes, what is your opinion on how Solas and solavellan was handled? :)

I did! I actually posted about it, encouraging people not to read reviews and posts and just play the game for them. I chose not to go into any depth other than I liked it. I'm cool with going into it now, though I want to make really clear to anyone reading that I have zero interest in seeing, inviting, or participating in the "everything must be criticized hard and moralized" discourse. The level of hostility around this game is off the charts and I'm super not into it.

(I am very into being hostile as fuck about layoffs, crunch, and execs sabotaging projects, setting impossible "goals" and whipping up anger to justify dissolving studios though. We can do that all day.)

Anyway, back to your question.

Overall, my feelings on how Solas/Solavellan was done mirrors my feelings on the game as a whole: I loved 85% of it, and the other 15% I didn't so much 'not love' as much as I wished it could've been more. That last 15% felt like being a kid finding out there's a whole other floor of your house you've never explored, and once you finally get all prepped to go spelunking you find it in the midst of being demolished. All those little tantalizing peeks you got are gone or waved off like "you can make do with what you have". Technically that's true. You've got a nice house that's pretty and isn't falling apart and everything connects and has all the right things in it... but you can't help being really sad for the loss of experiences you could've had on the mystery floor.

I loved all the insight we got into the history of the Evanuris, ancient elves, and Solas himself. It confirmed a bunch of theories I'd discussed with others for years -- and that felt awesome! I love it when fans are rewarded for noticing the details and putting shit together. (If you're also into that, go watch Severance). There's so much of what we saw in his memories and experiences that deepen the sense of sadness and loss in his character. It made people who hate him, hate him more, and people who love him, sympathize with him more. I think he's honestly one of the most well-written characters I've ever encountered in any media, anywhere, and not just because I'm a sucker for beautiful tragedy.

I'm happy they didn't shy away from Solas' edges, either. I'd predicted Varric's death at his hands during The Missing's run, though I thought it'd play out differently. I think that and the war crimes were good additions to his story. It reinforced his position as an antivillain to the series. Solas is a living, breathing, 'sunk cost fallacy' of a man. He (almost) says it himself: to stop now would make all the horrible things he'd done be for nothing. He has to keep going.

He was Wisdom, twisted into Pride. He wants to still be Wisdom. It's how he sees himself, though he's smart enough to know it isn't true deep down. The planning, the arrogance, the failures, the devotion, they're all aspects of that change. Of course he keeps failing. Of course he keeps trying. And of course falling in love without any of that being known would absolutely caboodle his noodle. One of the things that first drew me was realizing how much of him was only revealed upon romancing. It makes a ton of sense for his character, and gave him a depth and longing that was incredibly compelling. A character who lays it out for everyone regardless is just an NPC, but that made him feel like a person. It speaks to his loneliness; how badly he wants someone to find a way to change his mind, and how resigned he is to the belief that nobody can. Wisdom and Pride.

I'm very pleased that a Solavellan ending even exists, because that's a pretty big nod to fandom and the impact of his character. Of course I'd have loved to see more -- Solavellan hell is eternal and I'll never escape -- but I can be happy with what we got. And I understand why it felt truncated.

(And honestly, my biggest complaint with Lavellan's inclusion is that we cannot modify her appearance later if we fucked it up. My kingdom for her eyeballs to've worked properly in my first run.)

I am a bit sad about how 'well' a lot of it got wrapped up, not just because of the loss of mystery, but because it's pretty clear that was a reflection of the (rather prescient) fears from devs/writers about the future of the franchise. The game's impact and mood suffered from that sense of impending doom. Edges were shaved off, things glossed over, middles discarded so threads could be tied up neater, and that probably really sucked for the people who have lived and breathed this world for the better part of 20 years. It needed more time. Chill time. And freedom to fuck about. People say that audiences don't like it when things end on an uncertain note, and honestly after seeing the discourse this produced as is I'm gonna say that the things I personally wished were included would've probably started much bigger fires and resulted in much more smoke. (People like to jump in here with, "it was going for ten years" but that's kind of disingenuous. It was ten years between releases. The game was scrapped twice and the final iteration was only going for three-ish, and writers and devs kept getting fucking laid off.)

Anyway, there's a lot of stuff it's clear they wanted to go into more and simply weren't able to. That isn't their fault, and I grieve with them. People forget the writers were the original spelunkers. They're also people who have to roll with punches in a way that fans never, ever, have to.

That was a lot of words to say, basically, that I think Solavellan and Solas' story were handled well, and I'm satisfied. I wish there was more -- I'll always mourn whatever was on the mystery floor -- but that's what fanfic is for. It's in our hands now.

[imaginedreamwrite]

One of the 141 boys goes out for drinks and when reader picks them up they say they’re married already…yeah married to reader!

“You need to come get your husband.” Simon almost begged you through the phone, and in the background you could hear your husband—loudly announcing that he was done for the night and he needed his wife.

Of course he was slurring his words, stumbling over himself likely, after going out with Gaz, Price and Ghost. The four of them had gone out to celebrate another mission, successfully hunting and taking down their target without losses. It never bothered you when he went out, you were more of an introvert anyway which balanced out Johnny’s extroverted personality.

“He’s been staring at his ring and thinks he lost his wife. Come deal with him.” Simon’s voice was not overshadowing Johnny’s, the repeated statement of my wife is my life had clearly been heard through the phone.

You were already getting your keys and bag from the hook near the front door when Simon asked again. You were already halfway out the door toward your vehicle when you heard someone cursing Johnny’s name.

The drive itself only took 15 minutes at the most, and when you had pulled up to the curb you could see them all. Johnny was clearly the most inebriated, his eyes glossy as he leaned against the light post, muttering under his breath. When you parked and stepped out of the vehicle, a sense of relief passed through John, Simon and Kyle as you showed up to deal with Johnny.

“Having fun, Johnny?” You laughed under your breath, approaching him as he continued to mumble about his wife, about his marriage and the bed he shared with you.

“He won’t let any of us take his home, said he won’t leave with anyone but his wife.” John looked annoyed, mildly irritated by the sergeant who wouldn’t budge from his spot without his wife. “Sergeant, your missus is here!”

Johnny looked up, his glossy eyes narrowing slightly in your direction. He was looking at you as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, trying to place exactly where he knows you from. To your credit, he wasn’t going to go home with anyone who wasn’t you, and he made that abundantly clear by his refusal to move until his wife was there.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he stood up straight, or at least attempted to, his arms crossed over his chest, “I’m a married man, lassie. I love my wife-“

“Johnny she is your damn wife.” Simon groaned in contempt, his arms crossing over his chest, irritated after repeatedly trying to explain the same thing to the stubborn Scotsman. “Her picture’s on the Lock Screen of your phone.”

There was tentative silence, and Johnny hadn’t shifted from where he stood. He had stared at you with furrowed eyebrows and his lips pursed. He waited for a moment until he had slipped his hand into his pocket and removed his phone, turning his attention to the screen. Like Simon was trying to tell him, there was a picture of the two of you from your wedding day—you in your beautiful dress and Johnny in his kilt suit.

It registered quickly, far quicker than you expected, and once it became clear that you were who you said you were, his face lit up.

“My bonnie wife!” Johnny’s speculation turned to excitement as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. He stumbled toward you and embraced you tightly, his face nuzzling into your neck as he crooned slurred affections to you. “I was waiting for you, love. Why didnae show up-“

You laughed at his endless affections, his hands slipping down to your ass and, in front of everyone, he squeezed you with a firm grip. His fingers squeezed, his groan was hungry and dripping with need and appreciation. “I recognize this ass, my bonnie wife has such a good ass-“

“Okay, Johnny…” you laughed and pulled away from him, keys in one hand and his wrist in the other. “Let’s go home, you’ve had enough.”

“I get to go home with you.” Johnny pulled his wrist out of your hand and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, sloppily kissing into your hair. “I’m a damn lucky man, hen. I get to go home with me wife!”

You escorted him to your vehicle, helping him get into the seat without causing him to stumble. When you reached over and helped buckle him in, Johnny’s hand slid up the back of your thighs to your ass—giving you a slightly sharp yet playful spank. He grinned like the devil, overly proud of himself for being married to you, shamelessly verbalizing his pride.

“I’m the luckiest man alive, darl’.” He slurred, looking at you with an unrelenting softness even while drunk. “Look at you, you’re my wife! I get to go home with you?”

“You’re going home with me, Johnny.” You looked at him from the corner of your eyes as you began driving home, laughing when he seemed overly pleased with himself.

“Damn I’m lucky.” He repeated a sentiment he shared before, and leaned back against the seat, just happy to watch you drive.

[yolojrkf]

Secretly Yours

There was always a warm feeling within you when arrived back at school. Hogwarts truly is a magical place, in photos, books, in newspapers. It’s something you could never once get over.

Having stepped off the train onto the platform you watch closely as everyone is quick to reunite with their lost friends. As do you. Summer break was quite long and boring as well seeing as it was just you and your parents at home all break plus some visitors here and there.

Not just any visitors. It was him.

You stare off into the distance, locking eyes with the one and only boy who has ever made you feel like you were truly the only girl in the world. The only boy who made you feel like you were more than just a pretty face. The boy who stole your heart who was also know as the boy who lived.

You watched as Harry stepped off the train onto the platform, Hermione and Ron following close by. He sent you a quick loving smile not wanting to be caught looking at you by the wandering eyes that are of the excited students.

You are quick to send one back slowly turning around and making your way towards your awaiting friend group eager to get back into the school.

“There she is! (Y/N)! Over here!” You hear Florence scream with Lucy next to her.

As you make your way towards them you can’t help but notice all the wandering eyes and turning heads. You weren’t a stranger to that, if anything it was quite normal. Being part Veela did come with struggles. Always having to brush off both guys and girls and waving away all the unwanted attention, but there was nothing much you could do.

People at Hogwarts saw you as an angel, as a trophy almost. You were beautiful, kind and smart who wouldn’t want that as a partner? They saw you as an object which always rubbed you the wrong way.

Why is beauty the deciding factor in whether or not you’re a good person? It angered you. You were more than just a pretty face, you were quidditch captain for your house. You were at the top of your class last year along with Hermione. You wanted people to recognize you for being you but unfortunately that rarely happened.

Finally arriving to where Florence and Lucy were you quickly greeted them before you all made your way towards where Hagrid was calling student over at.

Truthfully crossing the black lake on the boat always made you anxious, knowing the creature that lay within the lake always made you scared if you’d ever accidentally fall off. This is why you kept a tight hold onto whatever was closest to you and tonight’s victim is Florence’s arm.

“Geez could you hold me any tighter?! Serious (Y/N) we’ve crossed this line a billion times already, it’s not that big of a deal.” Florence said to me as she rolled her eyes playfully.

“Says you! You know I can’t swim and just knowing there is giant creatures living right beneath where we are currently floating just makes me anxious!” You said as you desperately held her arm even tighter.

“Yeah Florence cut her some slack, the black lake isn’t exactly all sunshine and rainbows.” Lucy said as she stairs right ahead.

When we finally arrived to school I had never been more grateful to be out of that boat.

“Oh my god finally some solid ground!” I exclaimed as I exited the boat.

“Oh come on relax and hurry we’re going to be late for the sorting ceremony! You all know I can’t be late or else William is going to go snitch on me to mum!” Florence exclaims as she hurriedly pulls Lucy and I along with her.

“Is she really? Or are you in a hurry to see someone else??? Huh???” Lucy nudges her, wiggling her eyebrows at her.

“Oh HELL NO! If anyone is eager to see someone it has to be (Y/N)!” Florence declares as she points her finger towards me.

“ME?! But I haven’t even talked or looked at a guy all year! What does this even have to do with me?!” I exclaim as I follow them down towards the great hall.

“Stop trying to deflect Flor, we both know you’ve got your eyes on a certain red head~” Lucy sings towards the end.

“And besides (Y/N) has admirers not crushes or boyfriend which is totally different” Lucy adds on.

We finally make it to the great hall. As we go inside it like being hit with a breath of fresh air and good smelling food. You quickly look around, trying to spot a certain someone noticing all the vivid and lively chatting from all the students that attend.

You finally catch his eyes again and there he is. The only guy at this school who makes your heart beat at an abnormal pace.

As you keep admiring him you notice him signal towards the doors you just came through. Seeing him stand up and make his way towards the exit.

Eager to meet him after missing him all those days during break when he wasn’t with you, you quickly come up with an excuse to leave.

“Hey guys imma head to the restroom real quick, go ahead and start without me though!” You exclaim as you release your grip from Florence’s arm. But before you can make a clear escape, Lucy grabs your wrist and exclaims,

“Wait maybe we can go together. I’m sure Florence wouldn’t mind missing just a bit right girl?”

“No I actually do mind because if I miss it then there goes my potential tickets to the quidditch World Cup all thanks to Willy.” She says while rolling her eyes.

“Plus I don’t want to sit all alone, (Y/N) is fine going on her own, right (Y/N)?” Florence asks as she makes her way to her seat while Lucy and I follow.

“Yeah I’m okay, seriously guys! And plus we wouldn’t want Flor loosing those potential tickets right Lucy?” You ask.

“I guess so, just be quick or you’ll miss all the good food!” Lucy exclaims as she lets you go. You waste no time making your way towards the exit, excited to meet him.

After exiting the big great hall doors, you make a left turn and turn into a dark empty hallway. It’s almost like muscle memory with the way you are walking. Making your way through the dark empty hallways as if you’ve done this before (which you obviously have).

You finally make it to an empty classroom but not just any. The same classroom where you had your very first encounter with Harry. As you reach for the door, who ever is on the other side is faster. The door swings open and as if it happened in fast-motion, you are swooped inside by a strong arm held onto your waist.

Opening your eyes you come face to face with him.

Harry.

You stare at him a bit longer before a wide smile breaks out onto your face and your laugh soon follows. You ware not time swinging your arms around his neck and pulling him into the tightest hug possible making him loose his balance for a second.

“Woah, relax my love~” Harry says through laughs as he try’s to regain his balance.

You face him once again.

“Sorry just couldn’t help it. I’ve missed you so much!” You say as you continue to stare at him dreamily.

“I’ve missed you more. Staying at that pathetic house with my cousin has not been fun. This whole summer break hasn’t been fun except when I was with you.” He says as he caresses your face.

You lean into his touch and all you can think about is how much you want to just kiss him. So that’s what you do.

“Harry?” You ask.

“Yeah?” He responds.

“Kiss me.” You say.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He reply’s with a smile. Closing in the gap in between both of you. How you wish this moment would last forever but even the best things come to an end. Don’t they?

Helllllllooooooo~

My name is Kevin! (They/them)

This is my first time writing on here! Please feel free to leave any corrections down below in the notes section. I want people to enjoy my writing!

I am open to requests from all with a few minor exceptions of course!

I will NOT be doing any of the following:

-rape

-SA

-incest

-HUGE age gap (I’m talking grandpa age with a freshly turned 18 year old)

-Bullying

Hate in general is just a no!

Thank you so much for reading!

(˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) bye~~~~

[roguetelepaths]

I'm sorry if this is a weird place to comment my two cents but this has been brewing since the first Trump administration and I need to talk about this somewhere. Any time anyone complains about "fandomizing" and how it is supposed to be an American Problem that Shows How Inherently Evil Americans Are I'm just like. So how do you feel about Autistic people

Because like, here's the thing about a wide swath of the Autistic population. Our centered and passionate interests directly, tangibly inform our worldviews, A LOT. (I use the phrases "centered interest" and "passionate interest" in place of "special interest" because I fucking hate calling anything about autism ~special~ like ugh.)

And this isn't just "fandom" either. There was a great example of this in the animated movie The Mitchells vs. The Machines, where (maybe I'm remembering this wrong) the little brother processes his feelings about his sister leaving for college by asking his parents if they know about what happens when a dinosaur gets separated from its pack.

He views the world at least partially through the lens of paleontology. I view the world at least partially through the lens of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. They're incomplete sources of worldview information, but so is the Bible.

I don't know if OP would say 30 Rock is a passionate/centered interest, but even if it isn't, stories and art form a large part of how we make sense of the world. Honestly, they probably do for you too, allistic person reading this. You are absolutely 1000% fucking lying to me if you have never seen life imitate art or vice versa. That is, I shit you not, one of THE FUNCTIONS OF ART in the human experience. Do you not find the fact that we have the ability to point at stories and say "this reminds me of what is currently happening in our world and makes me feel more prepared to deal with and process it" beautiful?

So yeah. I'm pro "fandomization." I love stories and storytelling as a vital part of not just the Autistic experience of adapting to an increasingly complex world, but the human experience more generally.

not to be autistic as fuck but luigi mangione is like real life elisa 30 rock. he’ll be in like portugal or smth in 10 years like “i couldn’t get an impartial jury after that television network released that documentary about me”

[zoirohs]

Vivien Leigh as Lady Emma Hamilton

THAT HAMILTON WOMAN (1941) dir. Alexander Korda

[jancysmixtape]

Benvi has always been the main ship from the very beginning. Devi’s feelings for Ben always being the most clear, whenever Ben showed genuine concern and care for her. Also, all these scenes happening in every season finale, with their story being the main focus.

[sam-montembeault]

getting sloppy drunk for the first time on accident: woo! i am going to luxuriate in the todays decadent win of the montreal canadiens, mes habs, over the florida panthers and the fact that our baby rookie baby goalie shut out said defending stanley cup champs! and also think salacious things about sam monty montembeault. olé