#they’re unnerving and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it

[tumblinglikeduckling]

I don’t think there’s anything I hate quite like spiders… they have too many legs and they unnerve me….

I just saw one crawling across the floor and it’s one of the big ones or well… it’s not that big but it’s bulky and has those gross legs that aren’t just pieces of thread

It’s literally trapped under a glass 2 meters away from me

And it’s like 3 am (close to 4) so everyone’s sleeping no one (my mom) is here to save me😭😭😭

I put books on top of the glass in case the spider got any ideas…

[sparkly-sediment]

Tf2 Mediscout headcanons pt 1

This was requested! If you have any little tf2 desires, my asks are open, as are fanfic commissions! Feel free to dm

Personally this ship awakens a beast within if you catch my drift

It started off just like the others. No jarring attraction, no electricity, no 😩🫦💦. Just two dudes who are now very weird coworkers

Medic def has a type and Scouts fit the bill. Skinny lanky boy toy! During various experiments and totally inconspicuous injections (he told Scout it was penicillin) he notes the slender frame and the lean muscles but he is a professional after all

Scout, however, is not

He’s initially unnerved by Medic and attributes it to the threatening, could-vivisect-you aura, but the tightness in his chest when Medic comes too close or Scout catches a hint of his french cologne isn’tfear

They work fairly separately for a while. Yes, they live together, but they also live in a chaotic team of nine with very different jobs. Their conversations aren’t close like Medic and Heavy or Scout and Sniper

Different peers groups yk? And with the age gap, Scout isn’t exactly knowledgeable in whatever the fuck old people talk about

Scout isn’t a little bitch. He got his ass beat as a kid, so he could handle a bloody nose or split lip, and going to the med bay means close contact with a man who makes him feel funny (like, more than any chick ever had), so Scout keeps out

Medic doesn’t like that. Medic usually corrals someone onto the operating table, and Scout becomes his main target. The others don’t mind since they aren’t being sliced up but there are a few comments between Engineer and Heavy about it

They aren’t uncomfortable, but they notice. No one had made it weird so Engie wasn’t about to do so and neither was Heavy. They just notice an uptick of scout/medic conversations, the two bumping into each other a bit more, and the brutality of experiments on Scout decreasing

They’re highkey jealous LMAO who knew the doctor wouldn’t hurt you if he thought you were hot

Medic starts insisting Scout come in the med bay more. That doesn’t last long, because Scout quickly starts going on his own will

“I uh, need a bandaid” absolutely bitchless and unsure of himself it is pitiful! Medic finds it endearing

By this point Scout is aware he finds Medic attractive but is repressing the shit out of it. Internalized homophobia, tragically.

The way Medic towers over him, with his broad stature completely enveloping Scout haunts the runner and Scout starts having some silly little thoughts he just can’t control

During fights with BLU, he watches Medic haul the medigun and really starts spamming E ifykyk

What if Medic was rough with him? What if Medic held him down, or pinned him against the wall? Scout can’t help the images that pop into his head despite his best efforts, and he really can’t help the flush his skin takes when Medic touched him or speaks in a low tone

Scout is folded like a five dollar lawn chair and foolishly thinks he’s hiding it well

Medic knows and is toying with Scout like a cat. Bats at the mouse, holds his leg a little too long after looking at Scout’s ankle. He backs off and acts like there’s nothing tense about leaning over Scout for something on the counter

Medic is surprisingly chill if he’s in his element. Find him in the med bay, cleaning or tinkering with something fleshy, and he is really just vibing. If you’re Scout sitting on the counter watching, then Medics dropping knowledge of the human body

Medic exercising his intelligence sends Scout into heat highkey. Boy has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about but damn those hands that accent the big words!! He is desperate!!

Apologies for the set up rather than active relationship head canons. I’ll post some getting together, fluffy, and maybe nsfw headcanons for this pair!! Didn’t want a too long post and am tbh exhausted 😜

[angronsjewelbeetle]

Hello! I really like you're work, so I want to make a request! Can you please write first kiss with primarch? Or first confession?

-🐉

WHAJDKGJDN TYSM 🥰🥰 you're so kind! I think I'll come back and write the confessions later when I get a bit more confidence - those will be longer after all, I like a bit of lorebuilding, so for now, kisses 💋

EDIT: pt II here

First kisses with the Primarchs ~♡ Pt. 1

Includes: Konrad, Rogal, Leman, Khan, Perturabo, Fulgrim, Lion

I bit off more than I could chew on this one whoops, but I refuse to not do it so...it'll be in a couple of parts. It'll be done by tomorrow if I can, and by 02/05/24 if I can't.

Lion: You offer him a little smile as you squeeze his hand, his expression remains stoic as ever, but his eyes gain something you don’t recognise. And then, all at once, he’s on one knee before you, a hand cupping the side of your face and tilting it upwards to meet him. It’s awkward and a little stiff, and both of your eyes are open. His beard kind of tickles and his gaze is unnerving as he stares right into you, but his lips are soft, if not a little chapped, and he holds his position for a minute before pulling away and standing up, right as someone enters the room. 

Fulgrim: He’s warm and smells strongly of lavender oil, his hair is a damp curtain against his shoulders, full of stray curls as you dry it for him, his eyes are shut and he looks at peace, despite being sprawled somewhat awkwardly against his bed so you can reach him properly. Discarding the towel over the end of the bed to deal with later, you reach up again to run his brush through silvery locks and to your surprise, end up with soft lips against yours and a calloused hand cupping your cheek. You’re breathless by the end of it, and so is he. 

Perturabo: It’s hardly a kiss, really - or, the first one isn't. It’s a light brush of his lips against yours - it’s a copout and you tell him so, frowning. Did he not want to kiss you? Was there something wrong? But - his cheeks are burning a fiery red, eyes fierce as he scowls at you and licks his lips, muttering something under his breath, you barely catch the tail end of “I’ll show you,” before his face is against yours. His lips are chapped and the kiss itself is hard and quick, and he leaves your lips wet with his own saliva as he pulls away.

Khan: His heartbeats thump steadily against your ear as you lay together; it’s early, close to dawn, and you’re both wrapped in furs as you watch the very first slivers of sun peek over the horizon through the tent flaps. It’s a beautiful sight, and Jaghatai gives you a warm smile when you murmur as much, wrapping an arm around your waist. He bends down a bit, presumably to kiss your forehead as he so often does in the mornings, but you tilt your head up and catch his lips with yours. They’re warm and dry and yeah, his morning breath is a bit…eh, but it’s a sweet kiss overall, and by the time you’re pulling away, the sun has turned the skies to a rainbow of pastels.

Leman: He’s endlessly warm and his arm is comfortingly but constrictingly heavy around your back as you lay together, having just recently awoken pressed into his side like he was trying to affectionately suffocate you. His chest rumbles with a sleepy grunt as his eyes crack open to watch you squirm away from his furnace-like heat. Unfortunately, your attempts to get your personal space back are thwarted by him rolling to you and shifting down on the bed to press his face into yours in what you think? Is a kiss? It’s a little hard to tell when it seems like he’s trying to inhale your face, but his lips are definitely against yours, warm and plush and wet with saliva. He pulls away eventually, leaving you rather breathless and him sleepily smug as he rolls back over and goes back to sleep. 

Rogal: He’s sitting there on his knees, head tilted towards you and body as stiff as a board as you fish the whatever it was from his hair, he doesn’t move until you tell him you’ve got it, and even then, he stays on his knees. He drops his shoulders suddenly and presses his cool lips against yours, his eyes are closed, brow furrowed like he’s wincing and you vaguely feel like you’re kissing a statue - you raise your hands to cup his cheeks and quietly think to yourself he feels a bit like warm marble as he pulls away, ears and cheeks dusted pink as he clears his throat. 

Konrad: He’s kneeling by your bedside, elbows resting on it as he watches you get dressed in your nightclothes and then get into bed - which proves to be a somewhat difficult feat, what with him refusing to move his bony elbows off the covers. You sit against the pillows and reach for the book on your nightstand - you can’t quite reach, and huff out a sigh. “Could you- uh,” you begin a little awkwardly, waggling your fingers at the book. Konrad shifts, reaching over to pick it up, he offers it to you as you go to take it from him. Your elbow slips and all of a sudden your forehead thunks against his and he makes a surprised grunt, dark eyes staring into yours for a long moment before he tilts his chin up awkwardly and oh- oh, he’s kissing you. You can feel the scars on his dry lips for a brief moment before he pulls away and you land most ungracefully face-first on the bed.

[wakeywakeyjakey]

Obsessed with the duality of potential Batjokes dynamics. When it comes to the vulnerability and accepting feelings piece, both routes of the one who has trouble accepting it + the one who accepts it easily are so sweet.

It feels a little bit obvious that Bruce might be the one who struggles to accept it even once they’ve been established—but I like when it goes beyond just that good vs evil dichotomy. Bruce running from the love and vulnerability that Joker offers him is nuanced in that he doesn’t believe he actually deserves anything outside of his mission. His whole life, everything he’s allowed to want or desire, is capped by who Batman is and represents. Accepting love from Joker would mean that he’s more human than he wants to be, than he allows himself to be, even than he gets to experience when he’s fully Bruce Wayne. He can’t let himself do love. A big part of that is rooted in his childhood trauma and the idea that getting close to someone means you could lose them forever—which is only exacerbated by the lifestyle that Joker leads and the reality that Joker walks that line of life/death every single day (just like Bruce). It would be letting go of control, and we know he’s not exactly good at that. But also it’s because Joker sees him. All of him. He sees the most “ugly” side of Bruce that even the Batfam runs from and he embraces that side of him with open arms, with love. Letting Joker love him would mean that those parts of him are lovable too and he can’t allow himself to accept that either when it would be unleashing the side of him he keeps caged and doesn’t want to even acknowledge. Accepting Joker’s love would be finally letting go of his delusion dream of normalcy because then he’s accepting that the only person who truly sees and loves the real him is the Joker. Which makes him just as crazy as the clown.

I also really fucking love when Joker is the one who struggles to accept vulnerability and softness. So much of his experience of their relationship is based in the violence that he seeks and genuinely enjoys. Clearly the love and the flirting is so present on his end that it would almost seem obvious that he’s the one who easily accepts it. BUT there’s this nuance to it in that he can’t fully accept that those feelings are/might be returned deep down and, if they are and if Bruce wants to love him, then it means he would be opening himself up to being broken by love instead of fists, which is a type of breaking he can’t control. There’s inherent control in him accepting and goading being absolutely pummeled to a pulp. But being loved by someone who can withdraw their affections (rather than their fists) without warning is different. So once that control leaves his hands, I can see him being completely unnerved by the affection he previously doled out.

I also think he’s created this culture of love and flirting that feels so much like a joke (even when it’s genuine) that accepting that, when Bruce says it, it isn’t a joke would be a little bit life-shattering. He can’t laugh when there’s no punchline and certainly not when his co-star goes off-script. Not to mention the fact that it would mean accepting his humanity on some level. Joker has been called a monster, an aberration, a freak, his entire life and those are his core beliefs (albeit that he leans into, but they’re not good beliefs). So letting himself be loved and held and touched gently would go against everything he believes about himself and sometimes that’s just too much to bear. His game with Bruce used to affirm one of the only things he knew about himself—so once it leaves that territory and gets twisted into something that feels even more dangerous and unknown to him, I can easily see Joker being the one to run from it.

The sheer amount of potential and poetic duality that comes from Batjokes is something I don’t think I’ll ever get over. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[thislovintime]

1968.

“‘Actually, I wanted to leave the group over two years ago when the first season ended, but the guys convinced me not to. I didn’t care about all the things that were happening, all the acclaim. I hated the work! It was tough, and I didn’t like it. I just wanted to record for all my life. Also, the pressure was awful. We were working in an incredibly new environment. Half of the crew on the show was young and had very little experience at that level of work. Many of them were getting their first big break. Actually, after the TV show was canceled it was easier for me to leave. Doing the TV show was the worst. Then came the movie, and I couldn’t forego the movie, so I did it. You know, there were moments here and there — lots of good, funny stuff happening throughout — but the only time that I was really happy was when we were recording the ‘Headquarters’ album. The concerts were fun, but during the concert tours you are removed from your friends except for the guys. And even when we did take a few friends along it was only a mild relief. This last tour of Australia and Japan wasn’t fun because I felt hideously under-rehearsed. I was constantly pushing for rehearsals, and they were constantly saying well, like later. We couldn’t get together. Also, we didn’t play any new music this last concert tour. It was all old tunes, nothing from our newer albums, and it was a bore. But I think they suspected I was leaving anyway. For me, a lot of the pressure was off. When I felt a part of the group every time someone said something that jarred my sensibilities, I’d raise a huge ruckus and everybody thought I was out of my mind. While we were making the TV Special, knowing I was not going to be there any longer, I just thought to myself — I don’t have to worry about this thing — and I just let everything slide off my back. They must have though something was screwy. Then I finally told them, ‘Gentlemen I’m in negotiations to resign from the group.’ And they said, ‘Okay, well, there’s not much time, we’d better get to work on this Special.’ So we taped the thing and that’s the last I saw of them. The last day of the taping they gave me this little testimonial memorial watch.’ From his pocket Peter drew out a silver, antique-looking timepiece with the back side engraved, ‘To Peter Tork, from the guys down at work.’ ‘I’m free, I don’t know what I’ll be doing. I’m actually a little apprehensive, because there’s no doubt that there are three other incredibly talented fellows out there. They’re very talented guys. Mike is one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. Micky is even funnier and Davy is just cute as a button. Who could ask for anything more? Davy dances so great, did you see him dance in the film? I’ve not seen dancing like that on the screen except from Fred Astaire. The only other thing is that I’m both really relieved and really, really apprehensive. I’m terribly glad and also terribly sad.’” - NME, January 25, 1969

“Peter and I were the bulk of the playing ability because we were musicians. But when Peter left it rather unnerved Davy and Micky — and I changed my mind [about leaving]. After all, the personal appearances were pretty well satisfying, the music was fun, and the whole thing was fairly lucrative. And Davy and Micky left alone would have been in real trouble.” - Michael Nesmith, Disc and Music Echo, September 19, 1970

"In a telephone interview this week, Tork explained why he left the group in 1968, three years after it was formed. ‘Musicians were being auditioned in an effort to create the Monkees, and the purpose was to reap money,’ he said. ‘But for our first two albums, studio musicians were hired to do the instrumentals and we just did the lead singing. I didn’t want that.’ Tork convinced the other three members, Davy Jones, [Micky] Dolenz and Mike Nesmith, to do the third album themselves. ‘But I couldn’t get the guys to go for that again, so the fourth album was half and half,’ he said. Critics had frowned on the Monkees for this. ‘Every single malcontent felt he had the right to tell me what was wrong with the situation. I took the critics to heart,’ Tork said. ‘When I talked to the guys about it, they told me if I want more I should get my own act.’ Tork describes his current relationship with Jones, Dolenz and Nesmith as ‘cordial.’ ‘I learned to put all my bitterness behind me,’ he said. ‘I hear about them through the grapevine, but we have no real call to talk to each other, although, I had a brief lunch with Davy Jones in Japan recently.’ When Tork joined the Monkees in October 1965, he was 23 years old and inexperienced in handling fame and fortune. ‘There’s a lot of things involved with money and recognition, and the price was much higher than I expected,’ he said. ‘There’s an isolating pressure that goes along with success. I couldn’t handle it.’" - article by Lisa Stenza, Connecticut Daily Campus, February 26, 1982 (read more in an older post)

[questionablemorally]

Hello! I’m sorry for not posting for so long.

Thanks to @necesitotequila for the inspiration to do another hc dump! This time, new flavour - Sebataker. Some of these are from our talk about it :)

(This is your warning for nsfw under cut… again. Minors, as usual, please don’t interact!)

They initially start off as a physical attraction - they both eye each other up with the ‘he’s hot’. Though, they don’t get along incredibly well.

Once they’ve established something of a relationship, I could see them in a few ways: one, they’re incredibly toxic to each other, and would probably take any opportunity to tear the other down (closest to canon I’ll ever be lol). Two, they’re mostly neutral on each other except for a soft spot.

They fight a lot. And by fight, I mean physically. UT enjoys a bit of action in his boring immortality, and Sebastian likes blowing off some steam with him. Sometimes, it’s fuelled by simple boredom, and other times they’re actually angry with each other. Neither would come away completely unscathed, but they never kill each other.

If they ever had a wedding, Undertaker would show up in a black dress for shock factor (he’d be giggling at the reactions) and Sebastian would wear a white suit. Or, hell, put them both in gorgeous, silky dresses! The concept of gender has no use when you’re an immortal being.

After visiting enough times, UT sets Sebastian up a room in the funeral parlour (or Sebastian stays in undertaker’s room). Sebastian constantly complains about how dusty and unclean it is, but he stays anyways. This, I think, would be GREAT for a modern au.

Another great opportunity for this ship: hate sex. Degradation mixed with some praise (UT’s ‘good boy’ in BOA is… something), roughness, choking, scratching, biting. The possibilities are endless.

Most likely, they are switches who fight to top (I am incredibly biased, however, because there’s just something about seeing the powerful demon be reduced to a mess when topped… so I will focus on this. My apologies 😞).

Once they both admit (or just know) they want to fuck each other, the undertaker wastes no time in asking for Seb’s ‘services’ in return for information. This most likely involves a BJ, where Undertaker purposefully makes a sticky mess of the other’s face, much to Sebastian’s dismay. Also, UT’s a little unnerving with how he stares and giggles quietly the entire time through it…

In the evening, once all his duties are completed and the premises are clearly safe, Seb visits UT for a late-night rendezvous, involving either being bent over a casket or an adrenaline-pumped fight. Or a mix of both. Any option has him limping away, until he heals before morning (which is slower than usual, considering UT is a reaper).

Undertaker loves to leave marks on Sebastian. Whether or not they’d stay was always a gamble. Sometimes, his bites remained at least long enough for him to see Sebastian out (usually the ones below the collar, rather conveniently…), and sometimes they’d heal soon. In reality, Sebastian also enjoyed the marks (despite his protesting stating otherwise), and simply adjusted what he healed and what he didn’t. While UT is definitely aware of this, he likes to pretend to not be.

While it’s hard to shake either of them (especially during sex, something Sebastian is an expert at for seduction purposes), somehow they surprise each other a lot. For example, Sebastian didn’t anticipate the undertaker - this ancient, utterly insane man - to pick him up by his thighs and slam his back against a wall without injuring himself in some way. Similarly, Undertaker never expected to be pushed onto his back on the floor, with Seb riding him, especially considering he still had his hand wrapped around the other’s throat.

Let me know what you think, or if you want any more! I adore doing these, and I hope you enjoy them too.

[nehswritesstuffs]

ghosts speak in whispers and lies; can’t know what’s real ‘til you’re the one who’s died - Part Two

All I can say about this thing right now is holy shit.

The Hearts welcome the only other trusted crew into their midst, while Law is sucked further into the lie. [6687 words]

Luckily, the Thousand Sunny was not too terribly far from where the Polar Tang had landed and was able to make the trip over in a relatively short amount of time, arriving just before dinner. It was all the Straw Hats could do to stop Luffy from breaking down the door to the submarine, the teen absolutely panicked about the state their friend was now in. They had elected to not move him from the table in the mess hall, instead putting a blanket over him and his bunched-up hooded sweatshirt under his head as a pillow for the time being.

“Hmm… I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything like this,” Chopper frowned. It filled the Heart Pirates with dread—it wasn’t good when the reindeer looked puzzled, let alone admitted it. He had been briefed on everything that had happened and still it seemed like he had no answers. “I’ll have to cross-reference his collection and my own when it comes to parasites. Jean Bart?”

“Yes, Doctor Chopper?”

“How did the device work that took these things off the slaves in Mary Geoise?”

“It went between the person and the creature and seemed to forcibly rip it off—many people were injured when going through the process because of how it holds on the face.” He grew quiet, unnerved by the situation. “What do you suggest for now?”

“Well, we need to get him out of the mess hall for one,” Chopper decided. “I’m glad you didn’t move him until I made my preliminary assessment. He needs to get into the medbay with at least a sodium lactate drip. When was the last time he ate?”

“Last we’re aware: lunch yesterday,” Shachi noted. The reindeer’s eyes bugged and he shrugged guiltily. “Getting him to eat is sometimes an issue. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t.” Chopper gestured to Luffy, who was crying in worry for his friend while still double-fisting slabs of meat that he was hoovering up like a menace. Oh, yeah, that was definitely a completely different sort of problem. “Do you have any TPN prepped?” Crickets. “You know: total parenteral nutrition? To make sure he’s getting regular nutrients while his esophagus is blocked?”

“You make it sound like there’s more doctors on the ship than just the captain,” Clione stated. Chopper groaned and transformed into Heavy Point, gingerly picking up Law. “We can help, but none of us are… you know…” Chopper tried to not roll his eyes—expecting too much medically out of Law’s crew was tantamount to expecting medical assistance out of the Straw Hats, which was anywhere from adequate to… lacking, to say the least.

“I’m going to get him set up—Robin, could you please get some TPN bags from the fridge in the Sunny? Everyone else, I’m going to need some space in order to take care of him properly. He’s allowed two visitors at a time, okay?”

“Torao…get better soon!” Luffy demanded as Zoro carried him out of the mess hall, still attempting to eat. Bepo and Jean Bart led Chopper to the medbay, where the younger doctor placed his colleague on the bed.

“Where does he keep his medical volumes?” Chopper asked.

“They’re in his room—I can bring you there once we’re sure he’s stable,” Bepo said. Jean Bart looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry, but I think the captain will understand.”

“I’m sure he will,” Jean Bart nodded. The pair helped Chopper get acclimated to their medbay and watched as he hooked up Law to a couple monitors and put the IV in his forearm, the sodium lactate drip going almost as soon as Robin arrived.

“Here you are, Chopper,” she said, using her Devil Fruit ability to hold three bags in three separate hands. “I got more than one since I don’t think this is going to be solved within a day.”

“Thanks; you can put the others in the fridge there,” Chopper said, taking one of the bags and gesturing towards the wall. Robin put the spare bags in the refrigerator and watched in silence as Chopper connected the bag to the IV line. Jean Bart noticed her stare and things clicked into place.

“I’m going to make sure that everyone is keeping a cool head,” he decided out loud. “Both our crews are fond of the captain for good reason. Have Bepo fetch me if I’m needed.”

“Thanks!” Chopper seemed genuinely thankful, which put the man at-ease. Once he had left, Robin moved into the space he had occupied. She stared at Law contemplatively and it caught the attention of the Mink.

“Are you okay, Miss Robin?” Bepo wondered. She nodded.

“He looks… wrong.”

“Don’t worry—the captain’s strong like you wouldn’t believe,” the bear assured. He placed his paw on her shoulder in solace, though the one who reacted was Chopper.

“What’s going on?” he wondered. “Is something wrong?”

“Torao and I… worked closely together while we were headed to Zou and Wano… while you were going to rescue Sanji,” Robin stated. Chopper didn’t know much about Humans and their emotions, but he was getting better at reading between the lines: something romantic happened at the very least, though to what degree he was unsure. Robin was working through something, though what he didn’t want to know unless she specifically opened up about it, and considering she used the voice she did when she didn’t want to reveal everything at once… well…

“Oh, I understand,” Chopper nodded. He hummed quietly and made a few notes on his chart. “Bepo? Can you show me Torao’s library is kept? I should get to work on figuring out what this is; Robin’s watched over patients for me before.”

The bear quickly obliged, leading Chopper out of the medbay and down the hall. Robin sat quietly with the steady beeping of the monitors; if she concentrated, she could almost hear Law’s breathing. She gently picked up his hand in hers and began to lightly trace the blackwork tattoos, glad that Chopper put the IV in his inner forearm to avoid the ink.

“I know you likely can’t hear me,” she said, “but I want to at least say that Chopper is doing everything in his power to make sure this weird creature doesn’t melt your brain or eat your innards.” He continued to lay there, immobile and unresponsive. The only comforts she had was that his hand was still warm and the monitors doing their job. “I still don’t regret going with Luffy, you know. Maybe next time you’ll think before you get into trouble. You of all people know how terrible it is to be left behind.”

Law still did not answer.

“If you don’t wake up soon, Luffy’s going to try to do something about it.”

Again, nothing; if anything was to work if he was somehow faking, it would be invoking Luffy. His silence confirmed leagues of information for Robin, though the most troubling fact was something to do with her and nothing else. She hated to see him like this and she had to wonder how deep it truly went. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to find out the hard way.

She did not know if she could be left behind again.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Alcohol flowed freely on the Going Luffy-senpai as the newly formed Straw Hat Fleet partied to celebrate having escaped Dressrosa and the certain death that would have welcomed them had they stayed a moment longer. It was a wonderful party, one that easily presented many opportunities to slip away from the main proceedings.

Below deck, Law walked out of the bathroom and looked up and down the corridor to see if there was anyone there—he was alone. That worked in his favor, honestly, as it allowed him to find a bit of peace and quiet to recharge himself with minimal pressure. After having been with the Straw Hats for what felt like ages, plus the varied others who came with them, he needed some time alone before he screamed.

Opening a door, he found that he had only stumbled upon Nico Robin as she studied the contents of the map room. He raised an eyebrow—it looked like she was stealing the only semi-navigable maps the ship possessed.

“I thought it was your crewmate who’s a cat burglar,” he quipped. She simply smiled.

“Who do you think these are going to once we arrive at Zou?” she replied. Fuck—she had him there. Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure if it was the booze or something else, but Nico Robin… she wasn’t bad to have around. “Are you doing alright, Torao? You look a bit pale.”

“Haven’t had that much alcohol in a while,” he admitted. “I’m not normally a lightweight, but that idiot with a hard-on for your captain has some strong stuff in his stores.”

“Yes, I do give him that.” She watched as he closed the door behind him, making it only the two of them in the small room. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll beat you up?”

“No,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. His face felt hot from both booze and blush; she was either good at masking being drunk as well, or her tolerance was far beyond his. “I wanted to… uh…” He swallowed hard. “Nico-ya, can I kiss you?”

“An interesting question,” she noted. “Might I ask why?”

“I remember seeing your bounty poster as a child, not long after it came out,” he said. Fuck, words would not stop spilling out of his mouth, Nika help him, and it was complicating things even more. “The sisters at the school used it to warn us about being naughty, that we’d get a bounty just like you. It terrified my classmates into behaving all the way to the end.”

“…and what did the young Torao believe?” she asked, moving closer to him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, then cradled his face, making him look directly at her. He began to tremble and his voice grew raspy.

“I thought that was the coolest shit ever.”

In half a moment, Robin popped up on her toes and leaned in to kiss Law. She materialized an arm out of his back so she could hold his head in place as she ran three hands’ worth of fingers in his hair. Two additional false arms pulled him in closer, all while he struggled to figure out how to both kiss back and find an appropriate place for his hands. Their hesitation melted away as they kissed, the pair breathlessly breaking apart only when they realized that they were getting dizzy.

“Here I was afraid you were with Cyborg-ya,” he chuckled incredulously. She shook her head.

“Franky? He’s just a friend. A very odd friend.”

“Then I guess he won’t mind if I kiss you again?”

“He doesn’t even need to know.”

Law took that as his cue and kissed her again, becoming intoxicated from more than just their host’s choice in alcohol. He walked Robin back into the wall next to the door, pausing just long enough for her to protest, only to find that she instead pulled him even closer. She slid one of her legs between his and felt his growing erection throb against her, chuckling at her find. “Do you have the necessary equipment to take care of this?”

His brain stalled; the what…? Oh…

“I wasn’t even certain that I’d get a kiss. Besides, I…!”

“MISS ROBIN?!” The pair froze at the sound of Bartolomeo’s booming voice in the corridor. “MISS ROBIN?! WE’RE ABOUT’TA TELL STORIES DETAILING YOUR VICTORY AT ENIES LOBBY! DIDJA WANNA COME?!”

Robin pressed a finger to Law’s lips and suddenly he could hear her voice out in the corridor, leading Bartolomeo away from the map room. Once it sounded like they were out of danger, the pair leaned into one another and giggled quietly. He hesitated before burying his face in her neck, not entirely believing his luck.

“Do you know a place where we’re more likely to… be alone…?”

“Why Torao, I thought you’d never ask.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was lunchtime when Law finally got to sit down and relax, even if it was only for a short time. Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo had joined him in their favorite corner of the cafeteria, the four lazily eating their lunch over a shared break.

“Sooo… the big day’s coming up soon, isn’t it?” Penguin asked. Law shrugged.

“It’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, but you’re having Robin meet your family—that’s kind of a big deal,” Penguin replied. “It’s actually a pretty huge step if you ask me.”

“Why are you afraid of what my family is going to think of my girlfriend?” Law questioned. “I’d say it doesn’t concern you.”

“Except it does concern us,” Shachi said, “because ever since you and Robin started seeing one another, it’s like you’ve been a completely different person. In a good way.”

“Yeah, you’re living proof that getting kinky pussy on the regular changes a man,” Penguin added. “You’re not nearly as cranky as before.”

“You know, I’d prefer it if we didn’t talk about my sex life within potential earshot of people I’ve known since childhood,” Law grumbled. His brain went overtime into thinking about how many of the other hospital staff members there had known him as his parents’ son long before he even gained awareness of his surroundings. “You’re just jealous I even have one.”

“Pffft, nah,” Penguin scoffed, shrugging off the accusation.

“We’re proud that you have yourself a girlfriend, what do you mean?” Shachi added.

“They’re both extremely jealous and wonder what you did to score Robin,” Bepo deadpanned through his food. Ah! Fucking traitor! “Very specifically they wonder whose dick you had to suck.”

“You two are the worst,” Law groaned. Both Penguin and Shachi turned beet red at that, piss completely taken out.

“Hey, come on,” Shachi whined. “It’s just… like… you’re fucking perfect and it’s rough on us normies’ self-esteem some days.”

“Yeah,” Penguin added. “You’re smart, handsome, tall, got that deep voice and talented hands—no wonder Robin’s agreeing to meet your family.”

“…and how would you know I’ve got the kind of ‘talented hands’ she’d enjoy?”

“Dude, it’s completely and totally normal to notice the fact that you’ve got long fingers when you start twirling a pen or are pointing to incisions on patients,” Penguin defended. “Besides, you’re only a surgeon because you’re good with your hands.”

“It’s more than that, but thanks for the vote of confidence,” Law replied sarcastically. “I’m just lucky that Robin doesn’t hate Sora.”

“Yeah! Not even that she doesn’t hate it! She doesn’t think still being a fan at our age is weird!” Penguin stabbed the air with a fry for emphasis. “Smoking hot, tolerant of hobbies, and smarter than you too! We couldn’t get that even in a million years!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Law scolded. “You’re making it sound like we’re some sort of power couple.”

“Peng, he’s gonna have the smartest, most gorgeous children in all the Cardinal Blues, and he doesn’t even realize it,” Shachi whined. “Fuck, I wonder what it’s like to be that oblivious.”

“I’m not oblivious…”

“Dude, you’re fucking oblivious,” Penguin replied, backing up Shachi. “Tell ‘im, Bep.”

“You’re all oblivious,” Bepo said, hitting all three friends’ egos with laser-precision. “Law’s so stupidly in love that he can’t think straight, but he’s not the only one. Penguin, don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed the blond at the gym, and Shachi’s had his eye on the lady in the gift shop for a while now.”

“You’re cruel,” Shachi mumbled, absolutely devastated. “To be honest, I don’t know who’s worse.”

“I think after the Captain and Miss Robin get married, I’m gonna go home for a bit,” Bepo grumbled. “I wanna meet a cute bear and there’s no bears here, let alone any other Minks.”

“If you opened up your horizons, there would be plenty in the dating pool,” Penguin noted.

“I’m not attracted to Humans and you know that,” Bepo whined. He began to argue with Penguin and Shachi, with Law slowly ignoring their words. None of them knew what it was like, and how could they? The goobers only knew lust and Bepo went through puberty far from anyone even capable of catching his eye. He thought of Robin coming back from her conference and how lonely it must have been for her—if only because he knew how lonely it was for himself—and what he might do to welcome her back. He only snapped back to the conversation at-hand when Shachi waved a hand in front of his face and caught his attention.

“Yo, Captain, stop thinking of your other meals and start concentrating on this one,” he joked. Law scowled at him—it wasn’t funny. “Now, are you going to tell us what the schedule looks like for the outgoing month? I want to see if we can get in a crew camping trip before the snows fly.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Chopper had called a joint meeting of the Straw Hat and Heart Pirates to discuss the situation Law was in. Everyone crammed into the Polar Tang’s mess hall, with crews interspersed amongst each other. Although he acknowledged right off the bat that patient privacy was essential under normal conditions, the extenuating circumstances of the situation made this a bit different than usual.

“The thing that’s attached to Torao’s face is a very rare type of shell-less mollusk that is most-often seen being created via a Devil Fruit,” the young doctor said. He placed a book on the table, open to a page with a drawing of another specimen, presumably latched onto the face of a slave. “The good news is that we have the ability to save him; the bad news is that it’s very tricky.”

“What do you mean tricky?” Sanji wondered. “If it’s a mollusk it can be killed and eaten, right? Just throw some salt on it and it shrivels.”

“It’s not that simple,” Chopper explained. “I’ve corroborated Jean Bart’s first-hand accounts with multiple sources of written documentation—this thing does not give up its prey easily and attempts at doing so can be lethal.”

“Prey?!” the Heart Pirates panicked.

“Yes—what’s happening to Torao is normally a mechanism by which they kill their food, by slowly starving them to death without them even realizing.” Chopper brought out another diagram, which was a cross-section of the creature. “While in this form, it’s just a parasite, feeding off the nutrients in his bloodstream. It has even grown since I began my observation. By continuing the intravenous care, we can keep both it and Torao alive for as long as we see fit, but that’s just it… it’s both of them.”

“…but what happens if you stop the treatment?” Clione wondered. “It’s not like we can keep doing this forever.”

“If we stop the treatment, then Torao will slowly die, and when he does, the parasite becomes a scavenger and will feed on his internal organs and use his corpse as a nest,” Chopper replied frankly. Everyone in the room went pale—what the fuck? “It’s likely used by Celestial Dragons to torture their slaves because of the toxin that it emits while keeping the victim incapacitated. What better way to break someone’s spirit but to show them how good their life could be, only to remind them that they’re still a slave?”

“That’s sick,” Nami frowned. “My question is: how did it get on Torao?”

“I don’t know if that’s the question we should be asking at this point since it takes away from the fact his life is in danger,” Ikkaku said. She grunted as she stared at the anatomical drawing of the creature—it looked nasty as hell. “Jean Bart said he knows these things can come off on their own. Do you know how to do it so we don’t hurt him?”

“The creature’s toxin can be overcome by the victim under certain circumstances,” Chopper said. “They’re sensitive to their victim’s brainwaves and will detach when it seems like its in danger of regaining awareness. That would surely mean getting hurt, since the victim would most likely try to pry it off and hurt the creature in the process. Hurt it while it’s still attached to him and we don’t know what kind of damage we’d do to Torao’s psyche, let alone if it will just try to hide inside him.”

“So Torao just needs to tell it to let him go?” Luffy asked, head cocked to the side as he thought. “I thought he would have done that by now.”

“It’s not that simple,” Chopper said. “According to sources, doing that involves the victim realizing that the dream they are experiencing is not real and using that as a jumping point to shatter that reality. Without that, Torao will keep dreaming until he dies.”

“He hasn’t been sleeping lately because of dreams,” Shachi offered. “The captain’s not exactly brimming with warm and fuzzy memories. Whatever has him in there has his ass good.”

“What kind of a life is better than this one?” Luffy wondered. Penguin sighed at that; Law was going to kill them all when he woke up.

“It’s not really our place to say, especially since I don’t know what he’s told all of you, but his hometown kind of went through two different genocide events and he’s possibly the only survivor. Something tells me that whatever that thing is having the captain see, it’s related to that stuff turning out different.”

“…but that would mean no Polar Tang! No Heart Pirates!” Uni huffed. “What kind of a life is that?!”

“A normal one,” Bepo said sadly. Everyone looked over at him and saw that he was picking at his paws as he stared at a spot on the floor. “Captain’s always wanted to be a doctor… maybe he’s dreaming about being a successful surgeon after never meeting us…” He sucked in a sniffle—the thought was almost too much to bear.

“Is there anything in your research about what we can do?” Jean Bart asked. Chopper grimaced.

“Yes and no,” he replied. “There is some thought to the idea that a victim who is aware of what’s going on from the beginning can have an easier time defeating it, but not a lot of research has been done in that regard. I highly doubt Torao knew any of it going in, and getting data on it is risky. The ethics alone surrounding using a control group in an experiment like that is dubious at-best…”

“…but, we might be able to help Torao,” Luffy said. “That is what you said, right Chopper?”

“Possibly…? I’m not entirely sure how though…”

“Let me go in.” The room went quiet as Robin stepped forward. “I can go into Torao’s dream with full knowledge of the parasite and help him escape. If the parasite is showing him what I think it is, then I know what he’s feeling—I can help.”

“…but Miss Robin,” Shachi frowned, “we don’t even know why this thing is on the captain.”

“You called us for help, correct? The let me help.”

“I dunno…” Chopper mused. “This is not a well-tested method. How do you know that you would be accessing Torao’s dream and not get sucked into your own?”

“You said it yourself: the creature is growing,” she replied. “If it latches onto both of us, it might be able to let me access Torao’s dream since it would have to sync our brainwaves in order to handle us both. Wouldn’t that make sense?”

“Well, yeah, if we were in a science fiction or fantasy novel…”

“…and if I don’t find him, then I escape my dream as quick as I can,” she assured.

“It’s a better plan than nothing,” Penguin said.

“You can’t, Robin,” Nami scowled. “That thing is killing Torao—if you allow it to touch you, it’ll be like signing up for the exact same fate.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Robin replied. “It’s a risk I’m sure many of us would take considering how Torao has helped us. Whomever goes in has to know what they’re doing.”

“Robin did pretend she was a bad guy for a long time before we came around,” Luffy noted aloud. He then nodded in approval. “But you better come back, okay?”

“It’s a promise, Captain,” Robin smiled. Luffy smiled back, his grin as wide and brilliant as ever.

“Alright! Now, who’s up for some lunch? Sanji! I’m hungry!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Family Dinner Night, was—as it often was—awkward.

It wasn’t as though Law did not enjoy spending time with his parents and sister—that wasn’t the case. There was simply plenty more he could have been doing, could have been reading, could have been seeing without his family there making conversation as they shared a meal. Three times a week. It was almost too much for him to stomach.

“You should have seen Law-nii!” Lami said excitedly. She was explaining her afternoon to her parents, the pair amused at her enthusiasm. “Any time he had a complication, he used his Devil Fruit and bap! They were stabilized again!”

“I wonder when bap became a technical term,” her mother chuckled.

“I dunno, but it’s probably around the time our children got old enough for med school,” her father teased. He noted that Law was very quiet, picking at his potatoes almost sullenly. “Speaking of med school, I haven’t seen that face since before you were enrolled. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Law lied. He shoveled up some veg and stuffed it in his mouth. “Just a little lost in thought, I guess.”

“He misses Robin and his hand doesn’t cut it anymore,” Lami quipped. Law sat up straight and kicked his sister in the shin angrily—what the fuck?!

“Nika save us—kids, what have I told you?!” the mother hissed. “You’re both adults for seas’ sake!”

“Angela, they’re siblings. That’s what siblings do.”

“I know that, Lars, but they are both in their twenties! They should have cut this out a whole decade ago!”

“Relax—just let them be.”

“Yeah; it’s not my fault that she’s jealous I even have someone,” Law sniped. Now it was Lami’s turn to kick him under the table, which only served to irritate their mother further.

“That’s it,” she hissed. “Oath or not, I will end both of you if you don’t straighten up! It’ll be a miracle if either of you don’t mess it up at this rate.”

“Moer…”

“Don’t moer me, young man.” Law flinched slightly at how sharp his mother’s voice was, instead deciding it was worth spearing a bit of potato and shoving it in his mouth. She let out a breath and shook her head. “Don’t make me the bad guy. I don’t like being the bad guy.”

Law swallowed his food and mumbled, “Sorry I kicked you and reminded everyone you’re alone.”

Lami shifted in her chair. “Sorry I kicked you and made it clear I can hear you through the walls in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t know if that’s better, but you know what? I’m going to take it.” Their mother groaned in frustration before taking a long drink of her water. “Whoever said parenting adult children is easier was lying through their teeth.”

“That would be your cousin who, yes, lies through her teeth.” Law and Lami exchanged a glance; their father was treading on dangerous territory. Again. Instead of continuing, however, he cleared his throat and picked up his own water glass. “So, kids, any thoughts on the new provost the college is importing? I hear she’s going to be a rough one when it comes to academics?”

Yeah, maybe that was going to be a safer topic.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was after dinner and Law was helping clean up the dishes. His mother and Lami were in the sitting room going over her observation notes from the surgery, while Law and his father were in the kitchen washing dishes. It was usually safer to keep the siblings separated after a spat at dinner and their parents kept to that despite the fact everyone in the house was now an adult. They worked in practiced silence until the sound of Lami’s groaning made them both smirk.

“If Lami didn’t insist on kicking and screaming and pouting the entire way, she’d already be a medical professional and your moer would be off her back,” his father chuckled. Law shook his head.

“I doubt,” he replied. Law picked up another dish from the soapy water and scrubbed the crocheted washcloth over it before putting it in the rinse water. “Hey, uh, Vaor?”

“Yes?

“Have you heard anything lately about dream studies from anyone over in neurology?”

His father continued taking dishes out of the rinse water and placing them in the drying rack. “The same-old: no one knows how they originate and interpretation is based on conjecture and bias. Why do you ask? Got someone on your floor insisting otherwise?”

“No… just…” He paused, wondering if he should lie or not. “I’ve been having some… intense dreams lately.”

“How intense are you talking about?” His father paused to allow him room to elaborate, yet he didn’t, causing the older man to lean in a bit closer and drop his voice. “If it’s sex dreams about your girlfriend, that’s normal even if you’re an adult.”

“I wish it was that,” Law scoffed. He took his hands out of the dishwater and leaned against the counter. Fuck… this was so weird. “It’s… have you ever had a dream that took place over a long period of time?”

“Like, a recurring dream…?”

“No, like, you go to sleep and just… live. I recently had a dream where I lived an entirely different life and I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Mmm. I take it that it’s not a pleasant life.”

“No.” Law could feel himself tremble as he swallowed hard. “I dreamt… I dreamt what would have happened if you and Moer hadn’t found the treatment for Amber Lead in time. Everyone was just… gone.”

“Gone? You mean, dead? Come on, Law… even all the worst-case scenarios would have left Flevance with a population mostly comprised of first-and-second-generation immigrants. You’ve seen the data.”

“I know, but…” Fuck, this was awkward to the point he wished it was just a sex dream. “In this dream, no one else outside of Flevance believed it was a heavy metal poisoning. They thought it was infectious instead and… and… between the fires and the bullets I was the only one who made it out alive.” He turned towards his father, who was looking at him curiously. “Am I going nuts?”

“No, I don’t think so,” the older man said. He dried his hands on a dishrag before patting his son on the back. The pair were echoes of one another separated by thirty-two years and at that point they really felt it. “Maybe… maybe you’re just nervous about Robin coming over once she’s back from that conference. It could be that your subconscious is seeing the prospect of settling down and is coming up with different ways your life could have gone. I think it’s just going a little overboard because you don’t exactly have an ex to wonder about.”

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah.” Law couldn’t help but feel like a child as his father drew him into a hug despite the need to crouch slightly into it. “It’s scary to consider that kind of commitment, even if you feel ready.” His father then held him at arm’s length and smirked knowingly at him. “Did you pick the ring up yet?”

“Yeah, it’s in my room.” His face flushed hot as he thought of the piece of jewelry—because that’s all it really was—and how it was going to change everything… for better or worse. “How did you propose to Moer?”

“I was too chicken to do it directly and slipped the ring in her purse while we were doing clinicals together; took her almost three weeks to find.”

“That’s kind of pathetic.”

“Yeah, but the point is that you can’t possibly do it worse than me if you’re coming at her face-to-face.” His father ruffled his hair and chuckled. “Don’t overthink it.”

“All I can do is overthink, what, with the weird dreams and all.”

“You’ll be fine—you’ll see.” Law’s father then gestured back to the sink. “Let’s finish these up before the water gets cold, hmm? I think doing something with your hands will help.”

“Yeah, something that won’t risk traumatizing the neighborhood kids,” Lami snarked, standing just outside the kitchen. It was clear that she had just slid into the conversation, so Law took pity on her and when he opened a Room, all he did was switch the dishcloth with a speck of dust over her head and not an entire soapy dish. Who ever said he wasn’t charitable?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Twilight had long given way to the dim darkness of the city as Law made his way down the maze of streets that was Flevance, finding his way towards a street settled on either side of a moonlit canal. The night chill made him pull the collar of his coat tighter as he tried to not look like he was suspiciously hurrying. He found a specific door and used the key to enter, then another key at the top of the staircase that led into the flat. The moment he was over the threshold a sort of calm overtook him as it usually did; it was difficult to be on-edge in Robin’s place.

Not wanting to fail his original purpose for going, Law shucked off his coat and grabbed the watering can, getting to work on caring for Robin’s multitude of plants that were scattered around the studio flat. Could she have left it to one of the downstairs neighbors? Of course she could have, but that would have given him less of an excuse to leave his parents’ house… to be in the space that was very, very her. He put down the watering can and picked up one of his hooded sweatshirts from its perch on the battered sofa—one deep breath and he could smell her perfume still on it.

Okay, so he had been planning on jerking it in the flat before his sister mentioned his relationship at dinner, but now the entire idea tasted sour. He put the sweatshirt back down and continued to water the plants, eventually heading back to the sink for a refill once the watering can emptied.

“I missed you,” he said aloud, trying to imagine what he would say to Robin next time he saw her. No… that wasn’t right. “How was the conference? Did they like your presentation? I missed you.” No, that wasn’t right either…

Law put the watering can down on the dining area table and looked around. Their lives were already beginning to meld as his things began to lay about abandoned, often in preparation for them to have sex. Both of their book collections sat on the shelves and in piles everywhere, evidence of many a night they spent together studying and working. Little things here and there made the place their own little haven, and it was something he didn’t entirely want to let go.

“Robin, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and…” He trailed off, unsure how to continue. “Robin, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought and do you want to make this permanent? No… that’s fucking stupid.” He scratched at his scalp and began to pace, wondering how he was going to do this.

Should he wait a while or ask her right after she returned from her conference? In the flat? At the park? No, nowhere public—he knew better. Should he go down on one knee or hide it in the flat so he could take it out after they had sex? If he hid it, would he keep it within an arm’s reach, or would Scrambling it into his hand be enough? Law took the ring box out of his coat pocket and felt its weight in his hand. It was not a heavy box by any means, but it was enough to feel a difference, which was honestly enough.

“Nico Robin, will you do me the hono—no, not that. Robin, will you—no, shit. Do you want to make this permanent? Because I want to make this permanent.” He grimaced. “Trafalgar D. Water Law, you are a fucking idiot.” He allowed his feet to take him to the bed and he flopped into it, the unmade linens rumpled and askew underneath him, looking up through the skylight at the city-dimmed stars.

“If you know any pointers, I’d like to know,” he said to no one in particular. Law kicked off his boots and pulled his legs up into the bed, curling up in the space he was well-acquainted with sharing. It smelled like her soap, the books she was always absorbed in, the coffee that was a staple during their late nights… it was so comforting that he felt like he could sleep there.

“We shouldn’t have to be punished for wanting to learn history!”

Law inhaled sharply as his dream came back to him, the words weighing down on his chest. He had said those words, but only in the auspices of his highly-realistic dream… but why? Most Flevench citizens worth their weight in the Amber Lead extracted from their bodies distrusted the central government nearly by default, but in the dream he had been saying it to an Emperor of the Sea as he and some metalhead from the South Blue readied to take her down. Why was he telling a Yonkou that? What knowledge was she keeping under lock and key? The dream was becoming hazy—as all dream did—but that did not mean it wasn’t still bothering him.

“Robin,” he whispered, “I never want this to end. Can we get married so that it doesn’t have to?”

The silence that met him was more assuring than it had any right to be.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Robin flexed her arm as she looked at the IV hookup that was already placed in her forearm as a precaution. Chopper, Bepo, and Jean Bart were in the process of transferring Law to a larger bed, placing him on his side, positioned carefully so that his windpipe remained clear. They were the only ones on the entire Polar Tang, as everyone else had to be sequestered to the Thousand Sunny so that work could get done. It had been less than two days since the Straw Hats had gotten the call and yet they knew that time was extremely important to making sure that not only Law lived, but now Robin as well.

“It looks like everything’s set,” Chopper said with a nod. He watched as Robin sat down on the edge of the mattress, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. “Last chance: are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah—I can still go in and get the Captain,” Bepo offered. “He’s been my best friend for years.”

“Thank you; I think having someone as a backup will be important,” she replied. Robin shifted in order to lay down, placing her forehead close to where Law’s was underneath the parasite. The creature clicked and purred, reaching out tentatively towards Robin with one of the tentacles on its back. She watched it as it inched closer to her without losing its grip on Law.

‘None of it is real,’ she thought to herself. ‘None of it is real. None of it is real. Everything this thing shows me will not be real…’ She took hold of Law’s inked hand in hers, hoping it would help ground her.

Nico Robin gasped and the world went dark.

[crybaby-bkg]

sᴄᴏʀɴᴇᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴇᴠᴇɴ

Bakugou x f!reader Warnings/Tags: panic attacks, flashbacks, pro hero training ensues, a teeny tidbit of jealousy from bakugou 👀 Word Count: 5.3k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI!

Main Masterlist AO3

“Can you put your gun somewhere that’s not on your body?” Bakugou asks you when you reach outside of the gym doors of the agency. Your head swivels up quickly, eyes darting around him to see if anyone nearby heard, but the space is empty. Oddly so, for an agency bustling with too strong heroes. You wonder if he played a part in clearing the space. 

“You don’t know if I have it, or not.” You frown at him, even though the warmth of the gun rests against your hip. Bakugou fixes you with an unamused face, and you stare back at him, even going as far as crossing your arms. 

“I’m not gonna pat you down.” He tells you, matching your stance when you don’t budge. “And I really don’t need another shot hero in this agency.” He fires at you, eyes glancing to his shirt covered shoulder. You bristle at that, chewing your cheek before you huff loudly, exasperated. 

“Keep bringing that up, why don’t you?” You groan, unholstering your gun from your hip as you hold it tightly in your hands, finger surprisingly away from the trigger. 

“I’ll bring it up until the day I die.” Bakugou spat back pettily, eyeing the gun in your hands before looking up at you and cocking his eyebrow. 

“Well let me bring that day closer to you, then.” You mutter, pointing the gun to the center of his chest. But he doesn’t flinch, only rolls his eyes at you before the gun goes limp in your hands as you hand it off to him. He takes it gently, unloading the clip and pocketing the heavy metal. 

“Get yer ass in there already.” Bakugou grunts to you, holding the door of the gym open to you. You walk in, first sticking your tongue out at him childishly as he narrows his eyes at you. 

On the other side, is a huge fucking gym, one that has absolutely no reason to be that big. It’s filled with racks and weights heavier than ten times the size of you, a couple treadmills, an open space with a hard mat on the floor, and some boxing sandbags that someone is occupying at the moment. He’s the only one in the gym currently, and you definitely think this was set up by Bakugou, because the redhead pauses mid punch to face you, grinning instantly and calling out your real name. 

You falter in your steps, stomach suddenly dropping, haunches rising. Bakugou curses at you for almost making him run into you, but you don’t really hear him at the moment. All you can focus on is the too big man in front of you, with his unnaturally sharp teeth, his bulking frame, and intimidatingly large hands that reach out for you. 

You take a shaky step back when he gets too close, ears filled with cotton as Bakugou���s voice  calls out in the empty gym. But you can’t focus on him, can only focus on the too familiar build, the too sharp teeth, the too unnerving figure. 

Oh, you wanna try to defend yourself? Wanna put up a fight, huh? Go ‘head, its not like you’d ever win. Fuckin’ weak bitch. 

The eery voices that haunt your worse dreams feels like they’re becoming reality again, and it makes your chest tighten as you gasp for breath. This isn’t him, isn’t them, the person in front of you isn’t the one who hurt you, he’s dead, they’re all dead. So why does catching your breath feel so impossible right now?

“Oi,” Bakugou calls out to you, snapping you out of your stupor. You hadn’t even realized that you were shaking all over, that your body had automatically went into your ready stance, your fists up and trembling terribly in front of your face, that your mouth was set in a firm and determined line. You look over to Bakugou who stares at you with his eyebrows furrowed, a hand reached out to you, hesitant, but doesn’t dare to touch. You look back over at the redhead, who’s short brows had turned up in worry, a few steps further back than you had realized, with his hands raised in the air beside his head. 

“Oh,” you mumble, slowly coming back to your senses. Your body creaks, feels numb with how you have to unfold yourself. You shake your head, looking between the two men as you try to catch your breath, before landing on the redhead, who hasn’t moved from his position. 

“Sorry about that,” you whisper slowly, slightly bowing your head to him. But he only nods to you before glancing back to Bakugou, who’s still staring at you. 

“I just,” you swallow thickly as you try to gather your words. “You just remind me of someone. In build. You know?” Your words are choppy, and you feel so fucking stupid when you get a good look at his face and realize who he is. 

Fucking Red Riot, one of the most unproblematic heroes ever. One that even you and Vanity liked to a degree. And you almost drop kicked him because his stature reminded you of a dead man. Fuck your life. 

“It’s totally fine.” Red Riot finally unfolds himself, arms hanging limply at his sides before he places them on his hips, smiling down softly at you, none of his teeth showing. “I usually get those kinds of reactions from kids and babies.” He smiles again before it drops in panic, his hands shooting out in front of him, and making you flinch. 

“Not saying you’re a baby or anything! Just that, you know, being of this size, you kinda get those reactions often.” He starts rambling, and it disarms you more than you expect it to. In minutes, with his rambling and over explaining, you get why he’s loved by so many people. He’s just too big for his own good, you suppose. 

“Shut yer damn trap, Shitty Hair.” Bakugou juts in after enough is enough with a roll of his eyes. “I brought her here so you can aid in training, not run your damn mouth.” 

You expect the hero, who introduced himself as Kirishima mid ramble, to snap back at Bakugou, the same way you would. But he only handles it with grace, nodding as he rubs at his nape with a sheepish grin. 

“Yeah, guess we should get started.” He smiles, looking over at you in confirmation. You can only smile back and agree with him, unaware of the way Bakugou’s eyes narrow at you. 

You follow the redhead to the middle of the gym, where the spacious mat lies, watch how he stretches, directing you to do the same. You inhale deeply, thinking back on the exercises your self defense coach taught you, before you begin. They’re light work, with just a few arm stretches and bending your body until it doesn’t feel as stiff anymore. When you finish, you stand straight, pulling your hoodie off, looking around to where you could place it when Bakugou is suddenly beside you. 

“I can take that,” he mutters, big hand reaching out in front of him. You blink up at him, wonder why he looks so grumpy all of a sudden, but chalk it up to his face always being like that. You hand him your hoodie wordlessly, watching him turn until he crosses the gym to a bench that rests against the wall, head swiveling back when Kirishima calls out to you. 

“Ready to get started?” He asks, boxing gloves stripped from his hands, his own shirt baggy on his form. You match him in your loose sweatpants and a tee that covers your chest and upper arms, hands steadied on your hips as you hear Bakugou walk up a few feet beside you, off the mats. His arms are crossed over his chest, and you can make out the outline of your gun in his pockets. Secretly, you miss the protection of it, but you know that you have to get even stronger if you want to keep saving people. 

“Readier than I’ll ever be.” You shrug, to which Kirishima smiles at you. It’s fucking infectious, and you can’t help but give him the tiniest little grin in return, albeit somewhat feral. You hear Bakugou scoff, but you don’t have time to reflect on it before Kirishima charges at you. 

Your heart drops instantly, but the moment only catapults you back into your training days, days where you fist fought men thrice the size of you in the streets at night. And even if it is just training, you absolutely refuse to lose. 

A few minutes go by, the only sound in the gym you and Kirishima’s grunting and hitting the mat, and Bakugou’s occasional input and instruction, despite repeatedly reminding him that you had your own training. He moves around you guys’ form slowly, eyebrows set deep on his forehead, barking out commands for you to hit him here, use your elbow, to not be afraid of fighting dirty. You wish you could say he did more harm than good with his instructions, but some of what he was saying actually was a little helpful, you guess. 

“Self defense and hero training are similar, but vastly different. Get another go at ‘em, and see.” Bakugou commands you, with a jerk of his chin to Kirishima when you two separate, panting as you stare the other down, waiting for the other to make the next move. After a few seconds, you turn your head to glare at Bakugou with a snarl. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You bite at him, before turning back and lunging at the man who’s twice your size. You can tell he doesn’t expect it, neither of them do, and that makes the tussle even more thrilling. 

This goes on for a while, with you sneak attacking Kirishima before he starts getting wind of your moves. After that, he starts pinning you, and the anger that lights within you is only the fuel you need to start matching his own moves. Bakugou hollers at out things for you to do, to be aware of, how to attack without relying on sneakiness, how to throw your body weight around. 

You punch Kirishima in the stomach once, and damn near think you broke your hand. He freezes at your pained moan, and grabs your hand in his, and it pisses you off that he doesn’t even seem affected by the punch at all. 

“I wasn’t even hard that time!” He cries out, to which your head instantly snaps at him. He looks confused for a second before his wording catches up to him, and his face gets as red as his hair. He tries to backpedal his words, but you ignore him in favor of going to punch him again with the other hand, and surprisingly, you get the same results. 

“I think that’s enough training for today.” Kirishima laughs at you, now holding both of your hands in his own as he exams them. You frown at him, then at Bakugou who stares down at your linked hands with the redhead. His gaze lingers, eyeing your proximity, damn near toe to toe, before he turns sharply on his heel. 

“I’ll get some ice.” He mutters, voice barely heard before he’s gone. You send an inquisitive look to Kirishima, but he only pulls his mouth to the side and shrugs. 

“You were good today. Wasn’t expecting that kind of strength on you!” Kirishima praises, his grin big and just a little less frightening than before. “And for you to keep trying, even though you were in pain? That was so amazing to watch.” He sighs in awe, a big grinning lighting up his face as he keeps your hands in his. 

“Usually I have to tell people when training them, to fight like their lives depend on it every single time, but you have such a fire burning in you already. It’s commendable and so manly!” He acclaims, shaking your hands around in his to make you chuckle lowly. 

If that were anyone else calling your strength manly, you think you’d shoot them in both of their kneecaps. But this is his brand, and its not as shitty as you thought it would be in person. If anything, you smile a tiny little smile, nodding to him. 

“Thanks,” you say simply, stepping back when Bakugou returns with a clear bag of ice wrapped in a white hand towel. He doesn’t say anything to you as he hands it off, before awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets, gaze focused on where you finally disconnect from Kirishima. 

“You ready to go?” Bakugou asks, head cocking to the side as he surveys the damage to your hands. They’re bruising already, but its nothing that you can’t handle. So you nod at him, before turning to Kirishima again. 

“Thanks again. I’ll see you next time, hopefully.” You tell him kindly. He smiles wide at that, pumping a fist into the air excitedly. 

“Hell yeah! You were a great training partner.” He grins, to which Bakugou just scoffs under his breath. He turns quickly on his heel again, and you and the redhead share another look before nodding to each other. He calls out a goodbye to Bakugou, but he wordlessly waves over his shoulder as you jog to follow him, still holding the ice to your knuckles. 

You two walk out of the busy agency into the warm air outside. There’s a few turns you guys make until the streets lessen with people, and Bakugou finally slows his pace to something more manageable. You glance up at him, his downturned brows and frown, and decide to break the ice. 

“Kirishima was nice.” You say softly, and that only seems to make his shoulders hike up even higher to his ears. 

“Oh yeah.” He says more than asks, tone sharp and just a little too on the loud side. 

“Yeah.” You answer, suddenly feeling the need to poke the bear. “Don’t know why he sticks around with your mean ass, though.” You shrug, pocketing the ice so that your hands can rest on it inside of the front pocket of your hoodie. Bakugou side eyes you, before looking ahead again. 

“Shut up.” He mumbles, and it doesn’t carry the same playful bite you’ve gotten accustomed to these past few days. 

“How come you were getting so buddy-buddy with Shitty Hair, but I’m still called shit head every other sentence?” He grunts when your silence stretches on for a little too long. 

“Because you are a shit head.” You answer simply, and wonder if it was the wrong thing to say with the way his mouth pulls tightly before he falls silent. You stare at him for a while, notice how he avoids your eye, and decide to speak up. Uncertainty always makes your chest squeeze a little harder than usual. 

“Is that a problem?” You murmur softly, which makes Bakugou finally look at you again with a confused scrunch of his face. 

“Hah? Why would that be a problem?” He tries to sound convincing and unbothered, but he fails miserably at it. You squint at him in question. 

“Because you’ve been sulking since our training session. Didn’t expect me to be so strong?” You tease him, bumping him with your shoulder softer than you usually do. But he only frowns deeper, and doesn’t even try to bump you back this time. 

“No I expected that.” He answers honestly, before his voice grows quieter in the empty neighborhood you two walk through. “Just didn’t expect you to take an immediate liking to Red.” He confesses, and it suddenly all makes sense. 

“Well, I can’t say it was immediate.” You remind him of your panic attack at just the sight of the hero. But Bakugou merely rolls his eyes at that. 

“You know what I mean.”

“What, are you jealous?” You shoot back, a little amused at the way the supposedly big bad hero pouts, pale bottom lip jutting out. 

“What’s there to be jealous of?” Bakugou snaps, hands curling into fists in his pockets. It startles you, his tone, and suddenly you want to drop the topic. Its a little overwhelming to think about why Bakugou might be so jealous in the first place, why you always feel so warm and comfortable around him recently, why you even handed him your gun earlier with little complaint. So you drop it completely. 

“Okay, Bakugou.” You mutter, kicking up a pebble, before starting up again. “Wanna get some sushi?” You ask to lighten the mood. Bakugou snorts quietly before nodding his head, looking to the street signs as he starts guiding you to the nearest restaurant. 

“As long as you’re paying.” He mumbles, holding a hand out in front of you when you almost step off the sidewalk without looking. He motions you forward when a car passes, as you scoff loudly. 

“I’ll never pay for a man.” You proclaim loudly, earning a few looks from some pedestrians. Bakugou chuckles at that. 

“Damn straight.”

…

“So, when will I be able to start patrolling with you?” You ask Bakugou around a mouthful of food, and he only rolls his eyes up from his plate to look at you, before picking up another bite. He shrugs, chewing slowly, speaking around his own food. 

“I think you’ll need some hero lessons first.” He tips his head and points his chopsticks at you. You try to bat them away, but he’s too quick, making you narrow your eyes at him. 

“Well when is that starting?” You ask him, sipping at your water as you watch him watch you. He’s taking all of you in, the little scar on your forehead, the bags under your eyes, the way your mouth pops off the straw. And you do the same with him—how his jaw works slowly with every chew, his own scar running across his cheek to his hairline, how his eyes scan you, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. You blink out of your stupor when he begins talking. 

“It’ll start when you agree to become a hero.” Bakugou says simply, as if the solution was the easiest thing to get to. You groan at that with a dramatic roll of your eyes, resting your head on the table beside your plate. 

“You people and your hero business shit.” You complain, reaching a hand up to push your food around on the plate with your chopsticks. You slap his away when they go reaching for a spring roll, and it creates a battle of chopsticks, one that you win surprisingly. 

“Can’t get the secrets of being a hero if you don’t agree to it.” Bakugou grunts at you, waiting until you were caught off guard to snatch your food up. You only do the same to his, even though you didn’t even like the spicy shit. He chuckles at your cough when it slides down your throat. 

“Shitty hero secrets.” You mutter childishly around your water, to which he only snorts under his breath. When the food is gone, do you both sit there in silence for what feels like forever. He keeps looking at you with these weird looks on his face, and you wish you could read his mind. It’s probably filled with dumb shit, like hero politics, and who has the biggest tits in his friend group. That makes you laugh to yourself. 

“The fuck is so funny?” Bakugou asks, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his arms to face you. You only roll your eyes, matching his position, with the tiniest hint of a smile on your face. 

“None of your damn business.” You counter back, watching how he scowls so petulantly. It makes you laugh quietly again, and his face softens, just the tiniest bit, before he’s huffing and rolling his eyes again. You two fall in silence once more, your eyes scanning his scars, and he does the same to you. You can’t ask if this is what you’ll look like if you change career paths, as you already match him. 

What’s the worse that could happen? A lot, you think to yourself, a lot could happen. But maybe, the reward will become so much greater than the risks you’ve already encountered so often in life. 

“I think I wanna become a hero.” You mutter softly into the quiet atmosphere of the restaurant air. Your eyes are focused on your empty plate, suddenly interested in the sauce and tidbits of rice leftover. You can’t meet Bakugou’s eyes, can’t watch the excitement or the hope build, afraid of what you’ll compare it to if it all somehow comes crashing down. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Bakugou says softly, doesn’t make any big hoopla around you agreeing to anything. So your eyes tilt up, hesitantly, and you take in his neutral face. He doesn’t look ecstatic nor does he looks upset, and something about the calmness of it all settles the churning pit of your stomach. 

“Before I fully agree though, I’m going to talk to my friend first.” You add on quickly, sitting up in your seat as you plaster your hands on the sticky table. Bakugou nods again at that, still unswayed by your conditions. 

“Do whatever you need.” He tells you, tilting his head at you. His voice from this morning rings in your head again, telling you to do whatever makes you comfortable. And he’s sticking by that statement, thankfully, with no pressure. You deflate in your seat, unaware of the breath you had been holding in, stomach untwisting from its previous knots. 

You two sit there in silence for a long while again, looking around the emptying sushi bar as the minutes tick on. You think back on your training with Kirishima today, before a thought pops into your mind. 

“Will I be able to train with some of your other friends? Like Deku and Shouto?” You ask, imagining what training with them might be like. Your thought bubble is popped though, with the ugly scoff that emits from the back of Bakugou’s throat. 

“They’re not my friends.” He rolls his eyes at that, leaning back far into his chair. You hold your hands up in surrender, snickering under your breath. 

“Touchy subject, I get it.” You tease, making Bakugou narrow his eyes at you in mirth. 

“They’d train with you, though, cause they’re fucking nerds. Deku already talked about how much he could teach you.” Bakugou scoffs a little, eyes far away as if in thought. You smile at that, leaning forward to rest your chin on the backs of your hands. 

“Stop holding shitty hero secrets, and tell me all about it.” You say softly, already thinking of ordering another round of sushi, because Bakugou sits up like he’s got a lot to share about his friends-not-friends. And you’re more than willing to listen. 

…

Two days after only half agreeing to becoming a hero, do you finally make that dreaded walk to the warehouse. You know Vanity is in there since there was just news of her kicking some dudes ass for groping a woman on the street. But you hesitate, wonder if you should come back later after she’s cooled down, interrupted by the heavy metal door suddenly swinging open. 

“You just gonna stand there all day or come in?” Vanity asks on the other side of the door, her eyebrows downturned, but you catch a hint of a smile on her face. It instantly calms you, and you sag your body into her welcoming arms with a heavy sigh. She only laughs, dragging you inside, as someone leaving out closes the door behind you. 

“Missed your annoying ass.” She says quietly into your hair when you finally straighten up to hug her back. Her embrace is so warm, so tight, so nurturing as it always is, and you release the tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying the entire way here. 

“Missed you too. And your cheap food.” You murmur back, feeling her whole back shake with laughter, making you laugh too. You both stand there in the entryway to the warehouse hugging for a while, before she’s the first one to pull away. She holds you by your shoulders, glancing around to make sure that the room is empty, before she speaks. 

“I got your letter.” She whispers still, afraid that any looming ears might catch wind of what she says. The tension instantly springs back into your body, but her scarred hands only grip your shoulders tighter when you tense. 

“And I wanted to tell you that I’m not mad at you.” She establishes first and foremost. You can feel the tears instantly spring to your eyes, your head suddenly becoming heavy as it hangs between your shoulders. 

“Would I have gone the same route? No, but I’m not you.” Vanity lifts your face up with a single finger by your wobbling chin, her eyes kind where she takes you in. 

“I don’t have your experiences in life, I don’t have your brain. I’m not you to dictate and create these decisions for you. You have to do that yourself, and if you believe that this is what suits you best, then I’m going to support you all the way.” She finishes with the kindest smile you think you’ve ever seen, her eye akin to the golden hues of sunlight peeking over the horizon. 

It warms you, makes the tears spill over the apples of your cheeks, and you think that maybe she’s the only one in this world who can make you cry this hard and not feel ashamed about it. You pull her in for another hug, your face smushed into her neck, before you murmur into her skin, 

“Will you still have that same sentiment when I tell you that I think I might become a hero?” Your voice is barely a whisper, and you can feel the way she tenses all over. But you press your palms into her shoulder blades, pull her in close to you, feel the weight of your words slowly melt off of her skin. She takes a deep sigh in before releasing it all, squeezing you back when the seconds tick on much too slowly for you. 

“I will.” She states, voice sure and steady. “Not because I agree with your decision, but because I love and respect you too much to try to guide your life and shield you from everything. You did that for me when I needed it, when I came to you broken, and needing that guidance.” Her voice shakes on the last sentence, and it makes the tears roll around again, as you try to force them back down by blinking quickly. 

You think back on Vanity when she first came to you, in quite literal pieces, how terrified she was, how relieved she looked when you told her that you’d take her under your wing. And to see her flourish like this, to mature like this, to support you and guide you and love you, even when you grew into someone that she hadn’t originally sought out? It makes your heart burst with so much love, it pains you. 

“But I can’t force it on you, if you only need my support right now.” She murmurs into your hair, rubbing a soothing hand down your back. You take in a shaking breath, swallowing another sob that tries to inch its way up your throat. 

“Thank you so much, Vanity.” You croak out, biting at your bottom lip to quiet your sniffles. She squeezes you tight into her chest before she lets go, holding you back by the shoulders again. 

“And stop looking for my approval, damnit. You were gonna do anything you’ve ever wanted in life, even if I said not to.” She narrows her eye at your playfully, wiping a stray tear with her thumb as you laugh. 

“I mean, yeah, but its nice having some kind of support.” You grin at her, holding her shoulders back as you grin at each other. 

“Thank you, again.” You mutter after a long while, grin softening into something sweet that she matches. “You know if you ever need something, I can just take it from him. Well, except for his stove.” You shrug at that, before you both break out into giggles, still holding each other close. 

“Damn, that’s the thing I need most!” She rolls her eyes playfully, making you laugh even harder, before it dies out slowly. You two stand there staring at each other, as she tucks a stray hair behind your ear, and you smooth out the wrinkles in her shirt. You can see the gears in her mind turning, and it scares you, just a little. 

“Why a hero, though?” She asks after a while, smile lessening as she tilts her head at you. “I support you, but—why? Looking at their justice system, how corrupt so many of them are? Why would you want to be apart of that?” Her voice diminishes into a tiny whisper, her eye shining something that makes your heart clench. 

You think about your answer for a long while, turning it all over in your head. Why did you agree? Was it mainly Bakugou, who has shown you more kindness, compassion, and patience than any man has ever given you? He offered his home to you, even though you had shot him only months beforehand. And yet—he still gifted you shelter without looking for anything in return, not even a yes to becoming a hero. 

Was it the benefits? Of being able to be free? To put your name on the capture of a villain, a bad man? The ability to walk outside and inspire so many young kids to fight for what’s right, and push back against anything that’s wrong? Was it the status, the stability that comes with being a hero? 

Was it all of that? Was it nothing at all? 

“I won’t have to hide anymore.” You shrug softly, mouth quirking up weakly at the corners. “And I wanna make a change in the world, and being a vigilante can limits that at times.

“Obviously, there are limits to being a hero, too, but my reach would spread so much farther. I would be respected, more than I am now, because I’m choosing to show my face and fight for what I believe in.” You squeeze Vanity’s hands in yours, her attention undivided on you and you only. 

“Also, I really need the fuckin’ money.” You tack on, making her laugh loudly in the echoing openness of the warehouse. 

“Don’t we all,” she smiles at you, eyes casting down to the floor as the silence blankets the two of you for a while again. “I still don’t get it, but I know you’ll make the right decision. I have faith in you.” She whispers, looking at you again with the teeniest hint of a smile. You match hers, squeezing her hands once more as you bite the bullet. 

“Do you have enough faith to let me drag you with me?” You ask hopefully, shoulders hiking up in nervousness. Vanity fixes you with a look, and it makes your shoulders drop as you nod at her, already understanding what that face means. 

“Your journey is not my own.” She states simply, holding your hands tight in hers all the while. “I support you from my position in life. Just keep me in the loop when you can’t do something, so I can clean it up for ya.” She lets go to hold your face in her hands, squeezing it gently. You smile at her, leaning into her palm, before you pull her into another hug, embracing her tighter than you think you ever have before. 

“What are best friends for?” You whisper, and she agrees with the quietest hum. 

chapter eight

please do not repost or rec on tik tok!

tag list: @endlessfreaky @iamaconfusedpan

[possiblylisle]

On the Pond's Surface: Part Three

They wanted him to make a hole in reality.

                “Just a small one, if you can. We don’t want anything too crazy happening on the ship lest we have a repeat of what happened with your—”

                Grant glared at the researcher, and they shuffled backward in fear. His eyes had changed again and now they were unsettling to the staff. While some conducted their tests, they made him wear a sleep mask to hide his eyes. At first, they tried to get him to simply close his eyes but that had done nothing to relieve the unnerve.

                The whites of his eyes were black and speckled with little bits of the reverse’s brightness. His pupils were glowing with it too, but he felt no change. He’d only known something was wrong when the morning doctor had nearly fallen over at the sight of him.

                “Just a small hole please. I’ll refrain from offending you further,” the researcher said meekly.

                Grant grumbled and closed his eyes, trying to center himself. He didn’t know how they expected him to do what they wanted, or why they thought he could. He had a vague feeling of what to do, but that may have been the itching. The tingling of the antimatter in his body was hard to ignore, but in this moment, he needed to focus on it. Will the feeling to collect in his hand. Or that’s what he thought he was supposed to do.

                When he asked the researchers how they expected him to create a hole, they shrugged and tried to avoid giving a real answer. None of the old accounts on dreamers had ever said how they manipulated reality, only that they could.

                He pushed himself to concentrate further, blocking out anything that was not the tingle of antimatter. His breathing was steady, and he could feel the writhing beneath his skin begin to move. It slithered under his flesh, tying itself in a knot as it slipped through his arm and into the palm of his hand. Then he willed it to the surface, forcing it to leave the flesh and blossom on what it considered the wrong side of reality.

                He felt a flash of heat. That intense heat. The very same from his seconds spent in the reverse. Opening his eyes he saw it gathered like a tiny star in the palm of his hand.

                “What should I do with it?”

                The researchers were all pressed against the wall, their eyes closed or looking away from the brightness of the antimatter in his hand.

                “Use it to make a hole.”

                “No! Are you crazy?”

                “What do you think he should do then?”

                “Reabsorb it or something. It would kill us if he used it to tear open a hole to the reverse.”

                Grant tuned them out and squeezed the star in his hand. It weighed nothing. No. It was less than nothing. The true antithesis of the mass carried by regular matter. He squeezed it again and the star popped, sucking all the sound out of the room as it did.

“From what we’ve gathered, it appeared to be a bubble not to unlike the ones we use to cover ships during a skip.” The researcher was older and seemed more at ease with the situation despite the absurdity of it. Her hair was black laced with a few long strands of the silver that signified a growing age. A stainless-steel nametag was pinned to her cardigan. Doctor Aoi Wakako.

                “It didn’t look like one to me. Skip bubbles are supposed to be dark when they’re holding your ship.” Grant toyed with the antimatter flowing under his skin. Mindlessly compelling it to move and change shape.

                “That is because we saw this bubble from the outside,” she paused, squinting at him in concern. “You do know how bubbles work, right? If not, I am more than qualified to explain.”

                Grant sighed and dropped his arm, allowing the antimatter to act on its own. “I know how bubbles work. We load a skip drive with antimatter, program its output, and then when we get ready to skip across the pond, the drive surrounds us in antimatter and dips us through to the reverse.”

                It was basic knowledge. Every child born and raised on the flotilla knew the basics of skips and why it was so important that every step in the process was followed perfectly. If one tiny thing was wrong, then, well, the ship would end up like Grant’s home.

                “That is… good enough. Do you know why we must bubble ourselves?”

                “Because regular matter can’t exist in the reverse. I’m aware. You read the reports. You know that I’ve witnessed firsthand what happens when a ship has no bubble.” He sighed again, slumping back on the couch and resting his head against its stiff pillows.

                “That’s not what I meant, Grant. I mean do you understand why it must be a bubble of antimatter?” She was leaning forward then, and her eyes were widened with interest, like she was begging him to not know so she’d have an excuse to explain.

                “Doctor Wakako, I worked as one of the main technicians for my ship’s skip drive. I know how they work and why they need to work that way.”

                All spacers knew why a bubble was necessary, but not all of them knew why it worked or how important it truly was in the grand scheme of the universe’s workings. He knew. Of course he knew. Skip drives and FTL felt like the only things he’d ever cared about in school and that had bled into his adult life.

University taught him what he wanted to know, but it never felt like it did when he first learned of it as a child. Now it all made too much logical sense. The wonder was gone. He didn’t excitedly stay up at night, talking to Kimi about all his different theories. He just knew. The bubbles were antimatter that clung to a ship, letting its regular matter exist in the reverse to exploit the fact that the speed of light was the minimum for movement in the reverse. But it could not protect the ship alone. Regular matter coated the inner side of the bubble and the two, probably, touched at some point, mixing into the real structure of the bubble. But it was the orientation of it that worked. Antimatter on the outside to protect from the reverse, regular matter on the inside to keep the outer shell from bleeding away into the reverse too quickly.

Even with all that, not all antimatter was usable in a skip drive. The antimatter used to fuel a skip drive was special, able to exist longer in the regular side without being torn apart, just like he was special; able to exist in the reverse for longer without being ripped into atoms.

“I understand it well enough, but one thing is bugging me. No one has told me why the bubble popped.”

Doctor Wakako chewed her lip, thinking. “That is not easy to answer. You are the only survivor and therefore you’re the only one who might know why it popped. The other drive technicians in your flotilla seem to think that the ship’s course wasn’t properly calculated, and the bubble disappeared before the ship could leave the reverse.”

He felt as though he should be insulted. He wasn’t the one who had run the calculations for the skip that day; it was a member of his staff. They were all capable, he knew as much because he was the ones that kept them in order. He taught them the vitals of what they needed to know. But even then, one tiny mistake was more than enough.

He sighed, moving on. “One more thing: when I was in the reverse without a bubble, I should have experienced time dilation. At least a few extra minutes should have passed on the regular side of the pond while I was in there.”

Wakako clucked her tongue and looked down at her lap. “You did experience time dilation. It’s clear no one bothered to mention it until now. Your ship was missing for an hour and a half before returning.”

Time dilation. Time travel! It didn’t feel real. He’d experienced time dilation. An hour and half of regular reality slipped by him in only a few seconds. He’d traveled forward in time; he’d done it. If Kimi were still alive, he knew she’d make some sort of joke about it, call him the world’s worst time traveler, or say that maybe he hadn’t experienced time dilation but was just daydreaming like when they were kids; living in his own bubble. A bubble of regular reality… antimatter shell, regularity lining.

“Doctor Wakako…” he trailed off, realizing that what he wanted to say would sound insane, or desperate, or both.

“Yes Grant?” Her head was slightly tilted, and her eyes were curious.

His mouth moved without noise, thoughts still collecting, fermenting into words. “Do you think it would be possible for a piece of the reverse to travel backward in time if it leaked into our side of reality without a bubble?”

“Yes? That’s kind of what we understand stable antimatter to do. It leaks into our side but starts decaying because it is moving backward in time. The most popular theory is that because antimatter only exists naturally in a part of reality that is always moving faster than light and therefore always rapidly moving forward in time, being forced to exist in a place where it cannot break the light speed barrier causes it to experience backwards time dilation.”

Grant hummed, looking down at the antimatter under his skin, compelling it to move. “Interesting. Thank you, Doctor.”

Tag List:

@capnmachete @leahnardo-da-veggie @tamiveldura @lorifragolina @liminalgoddessworld

@humbleartspawn @orion-lacroix @insecure-pilot @xenascribbles

[chimaeraonwards]

DownDectector x AO3

To celebrate AO3 coming back online, here is the fic I wrote to cope with the Great AO3 Shutdown.

_____

“DownDetector, what is your emergency?” 

Sharp, shallow breaths come through their headset. A panic attack, unfortunately not that uncommon in Emergency Website Shutdown Reporting.  

“Hi, can you hear me? Take deep breaths, slowly,” Dow continues, their training kicking in immediately. When the caller sounds a little deeper, longer. “How can I help you?” 

A small frantic voice rushes out, “I was on Ao3 reading a 400k hurt/comfort fic, and then, they were finally going to make up after all the angst, and now”. A sob wreaks through the other end of the line. “It's gone, it's all gone. Ao3 is down.”   

A shudder pierces through their heart. No, wait, focus on the call - you’re on the job damn it. 

Automatically DownDetector replies, “Thank you for your report. Not to worry, sometimes servers go down but Ao3 usually bounces back in at most, a few hours.” Down glances at the screen. Usually Arch messages Dow quickly with an update, they know how much Dow worries. 

“I just feel like something is different this time. It feels wrong.”

Oh right, the call. Dow quickly types through the report in front of them. “I understand how alarming this may be. Please check Ao3’s official Twitter account for any updates. Can I have your location to complete this report?”   

Dow goes through the motions but there is a blaring alarm going off in their mind. 

Ao3 is down. 

Ao3 is down.

Ao3 is down.

Ao3 is down.

Ao3 

is 

down.

A glance at the screen shows no messages from Arch but the usual flood of reports that follow any of Ao3’s technical issues. 

The caller was right. This feels wrong. The notification sounds are the only thing that graces the dreaded silence hanging in the air. 

Dow’s finger hovers over the call button. It would be so easy to call Arch right now and find out if they’re okay. Dow doesn’t talk with Arch often, just a few pictures of the bumps and scrapes Arch sends after each tussle with technical issues (often accompanied by a selfie with a thumbs up and a goofy smile). 

It's not professional to directly message websites that get reported here, but Ao3 is different. 

Whenever a website goes down, so many people barge into DownDetector with complaints and anger, but with Archive of Our Own, it's only love and worry. Looking at their previous messages which consist of mostly Arch sending memes and fluff fic recs, Dow smiles at the screen. When Ao3 goes down, so many people come in with care and understanding, and it's easy to understand why. What’s not to love about Ao3?

The contact image of Arch putting French fries up their nose comes with a call. Dow would lie to you if you asked them how fast their picked up Arch’s calls every time. It's always borderline impossibly fast. 

Dow is greeted by a flurry of wet coughs. Okay, shit shit shit this does not look good. 

“Arch? Arch? Are you okay?” 

The coughs die down. 

Arch’s voice sounds so small, smaller than it has ever been. It's unnerving. Archive of Our Own is a titan - more than 11 million fics, over 57 thousand fandoms. Time, love, and care has put been fed into the website, making it the envy of most. Dow doesn’t think Wikipedia’s rants about donations can get worse but it takes a step higher every time Ao3 has a donation drive. Arch was never meant to sound so small. 

“I don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to call you first”, Arch’s voice is raspy like they’ve been screaming while eating glass. “I’m going to be gone for a while.” 

“What’s going on? Everyone says something is wrong.” 

Dow hears a deep tired exhale down the line like Arch is thinking about the words to say. Just like their users, sometimes words don’t come easy to Arch. “It was an attack, they came out of nowhere. A DDOS.” 

DDOS – the weapon of cowards trying to take down a titan, a deity, worshipped by so so many. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay. I’m more worried about everyone else.” Even at the brink of a meltdown, Ao3 always put everyone else before themselves. “Maybe Fanfiction.net or Wattpad can take them back, huh?” 

Oh, this isn’t a warning, it's a goodbye. 

Dow takes a deep breath. It's all in the handbook, you cannot panic in a time of crisis. Breathe, breathe deeply. “Archive, what’s going on? Something’s wrong.” 

“Hey hey don’t worry, alright? The volunteers are coming, you know how well they take care of me.” 

“Down, they’re going to take me offline for a while. 

“Take you offline?” Dow exclaims. “For how long? You can’t go! It's not even been 5 minutes and everyone already misses you.” 

I will miss you goes unsaid. 

A pregnant pause fills the room. Dow can hear the rush of blood behind their ears. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Arch please –” 

Dow is cut off by shouts that come down from the other end of the call. Before they can say anything, Arch rushes out, “I have to go, the volunteers are here.” Tears can’t stop rolling down Dow’s face. “Take care of them for me, will you?” 

Dow looks back to the screens on their desk. The overwhelming cries of terror, care, and worry fill the comments section. 

“I will,” spills off their tongue without hesitation. 

“Thank you,” whispers Arch, their voice clear as day amidst all the commotion. “Goodbye, DownDetector.” 

The disconnect tone plays. 

“I’ll see you soon, Archive of Our Own.”  

Silence fills the room again. 

For the first time in their lives, Dow gets down to their knees and prays. 

Please, whatever entities are out there, please. 

Bring them back.  

[honeycrashed]

Kazemaru and Fubuki 🔪👻💤. Enjooooy! (no pressure!)

FINALLY POSTING THIS RAHHH I really had to draw one of the asks

🔪 A headcanon relating to fighting/violence

Kazemaru:

Kazemaru usually isn’t the type to get into serious fights, unless you start provoking him about questioning their club’s skills, then maybe you’ll get a bit of a rise out of him. He doesn’t care much about what people have to say about him, so long as you don’t undermine his or his club’s skill.

He’s an instigator for petty squabbles in the clubroom though, handling bets on who would win. Keeps a tally for “Days without stupid arguments” in the clubroom.

(He was let go when he fell asleep)

(Someoka once tried to just put him on top of the closet and then he proceeded to jump Someoka.)

Fubuki: //actual violence skip to the GO Fubuki part if you're sensitive to that!

Instigating Fubuki will lead to Shirou doubting himself silently depending on who it is. He has to hold Atsuya back from harming the person, But they can’t always hold themselves back. This will lead to situations where Shirou’s just silently trying to stop Atsuya from doing it while the person mocks him more, leading to Shirou doubting himself more and Atsuya getting even more upset. And their body feels cold but there’s a warm burning pain in their chest and maybe tears are about to come out, and maybe they’ve already landed a hit or more, and maybe they’re being dragged away, and maybe it hurts to breathe from that kick to the ribs, It's hard to differentiate when it feels like their brain is being disorganized.

//The audio in the bg while I write about Fubuki getting kicked in the ribs:

GO Fubuki is more inclined into getting into fights.

Petty fights with Atsuya usually go like this,

Atsuya: I’ll be in charge of this one since I’m taller.

Shirou: We are the same height? (Shirou lets him do it anyways)

👻 A headcanon about what scares them

Kazemaru:

Losing himself to the want for power again. Sometimes when he watches over his friends' smiles, He thinks of that day he gave in to the aliea meteorite's powers. The day he lost himself, along with his team. He's wracked up guilt over it and he knows that they've put it in the past by now, But he can't help but beat himself up over it. His hand still stings as a memory of that day.

(skip this part if u have an issue with like. bug/worm mentions. just skip to Fubuki then.)

Worm. he just do not like them they make him cringe thinking about worms on his skin ewww yucky

Fubuki:

if I get personal this means acknowledging my fears that hit too close. I'm not doing that! not today !!!

Shirou has an interest in unnerving things, playing lots of horror games and being an avid fan of horror media in general. Atsuya isn't as good at stomaching such things, But he insists that he can. He can't, and Shirou notices this, so when Shirou can tell Atsuya needs a break, he goes off and does something else for them.

💤 A headcanon about their sleep

(THIS IS AN EXCUSE TO ALL STARS ALL OVER THE PLACEEE)(I GOT DERAILED WHILE TALKING TO MY FRIEND ABOUT HCS. SO. THIS WILL BE LONG…and. Some of these might be unrelated. oops.)

Kazemaru:

Sleeps on his side. Argues with his life that it’s the best position to sleep in. (Kidou would argue otherwise, finding that sleeping like you’ve been put in the coffin is much better.)

Kazemaru argues with Kidou that side sleeping is much better and Kidou just offhandedly goes "Not for your uneven ahh face from the center of gravity pulling onto your face while you lie down like that for hours"

"let's not talk abt faces here mr marks on my face from wearing my goggles all the damn time" Kazemaru would shoot back.

And then they laugh at each other and hug, then Kidou goes “Obviously sleeping on one’s back is better though.” And then they get launched into a 2hr debate.

Stopped by Endou mentioning that he just sleeps on his stomach which is the WORST for anyone's back. ever. especially with all those hits he takes from those soccerballs.

(Gouenji silently overthinks which position really is the best to optimize.)

Fubuki:

When he does fall asleep on his bed, They prefer having a plushie to hug. If he's in Hokkaido, they prefer to have a cozy soft blanket.

If he's staying over at Inazuma City, (Kidou’s house bc there are probably sooo many guest rooms..) He likes having the air conditioner on high, Kidou swears it was like a barren frozen wasteland when he opened the door to Fubuki’s room.

Caffeine makes him sleepy! He doesn't remember this all the time though, leading to “oh.shit.shit.shit.shit.” moments when he drinks coffee while pulling an all-nighter to cram a project and realize exactly what he'd done. He likes the taste of the coffee though, that’s what he drinks it for. He only avoids it when they’re sleepy, at least try to.

One late night hanging out with each other, Kazemaru mentions how he once spotted Kidou just pour the beans into the cup and then chug it. Atsuya wants to try it once, but Shirou constantly tries to stop him.

Atsuya’s usually the one who’s fronting when they wake up, finding himself wherever Shirou passed out last. This time was the washing machine! He was taking out the laundry! Atsuya tries to get them to a bed before their body passes out.

Heavy sleepers, once he falls asleep there’s no chance of waking him back up.

Always looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

[fruit-of-infidelity]

♱  DIABOLIK LOVERS: Haunted Dark Bridal ー Sakamaki Ryuuto | Maniac Epilogue  ♱

⌜Monologue⌟

ーーDo I want this? Truly?

 Tormented with visions of your return,

I begin to question my own sanity.

Come back to me;

Leading with my heart more than my head…

Have I been blinded by my own selfishness?

To desire nothing but you, yet in turn

Destined to deliver my own demise?

I know now I don’t care; I want this.

　　　　[ Lord Ryuuto ]

⌜ Scene: Sakamaki Living Room ⌟

Yui: ( Ever since confronting Reiji-san at school, Ryuuto-san’s been mentioning that strange drug far too often… )

( That “Resurrection Drug”… )

( I guess that’s why he’s dragged me all the way out here again… )

( But being back in this place is so unnerving… Even by Ryuuto-san’s side. )

Ryuuto: ... ...

Yui: ...Ryuuto-san? Are you sure they’re herーー

Laito: My my. Look who let themselves in.

ー Suddenly, Laito appears before Ryuuto and Yui. ー

Laito: I didn’t think you ever wanted to see us again “Big Brother”. What are you doing showing up, with my Bitch-chan, no less? 

Ryuuto: ... ...

Yui: ( I don’t like the look in Ryuuto’s eyes... Something about it just screams “danger”.  Laito-kun is really pushing it... )

Laito: And…

ー Laito gets close enough to whisper against Yui’s ear. ー

Nfu, don’t you smell… nostalgic.

Yui: Eek!

Ryuuto: Do keep your hands to yourself, won’t you?

ー Laito backs off. ー

Laito: Come on now. Don’t be so stiff...

Then again, you were always one to take after our Uncle. Frowning gives you wrinkles, you know.

Speaking of... You’re looking an awful lot like Ritcher lately. The slouched posture, the unruly hair... Andーー

Oh my, is that a bald spot? Fufu.

Ryuuto: I didn’t come here to beat around the bush and entertain you, Laito. You’re lucky it’s me you’re dealing with and not Father...

He would have already torn this place apart, you know, and wiped that grin off your face, looking for what it is I’m after.

Instead, I have comewith a peace offering.

Laito: Could you be talking about…

Yui: …!

( Their eyes are on me? No way, that meansーー )

M-Me!?

Ryuuto: In exchange for what I want, I’ll give you a single drop of her blood. That is what you were after just the other day, wasn’t it?

Yui: W-Wait just a moment, Ryuuto-san…!

ー Ryuuto snaps his fingers, and Yui is forced to quiet down. ー

Yui: …!?

( My voice!! What on earth… )

Laito: And, what do you want?

Ryuuto: That drug.

???: Could this be the one in question?

ー Reiji appears before Yui’s eyes, with the drug. ー

Ryuuto: …!

Yes…! That one.

Reiji: What on earth would someone like you need this for?

Laito: A drug, you say?

Reiji: This… will be my pride and joy. A unique mixture which is capable of revival, of the supernatural sort.

Ryuuto: My prized possession, for yours. A fair trade, no?

Yui: ( Ryuuto-san… )

( He wouldn’t… Would he? )

Reiji: Even I cannot be sure of its success...

And you would, regardless, be willing to take the chance for whatever reasoning you have at stake?

I admire your ambition, as desperate as it is.

Laito: Revival…

Of all people… You really are delusional, but I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. Turns out you’re more like Richter than I thought.

Ryuuto: What was that?

Laito: … ...

ー Laito takes the drug from Reiji, and hands it over. ー

Reiji: … …!

Laito: There. Take the drug, and keep your Bitch-chan…

Holding off will only give me more satisfaction to kill you both, when the time comes.

Ryuuto: …Fufu.

Is that truly why you’re lending a hand, I wonder? Either way, I’ll be sure to pass on your regards.

Laito: … …

ー Ryuuto snaps his fingers again, for Yui. ー

Yui: …! Ryuu…to-san?

( Thank God! My voice… )

Ryuuto: We’ll see ourselves out. Yui, come along.

Yui: Uuh, y-yes…

ー They both exit. ー

Reiji: … …Laito.

Laito: I’ll reimburse you. Promise.

Even if I have to slave away in that miserable lab of yours, fufu… It'll be worth it to see that person’s face again.

✥ TO BE CONTINUED ✥

─────── ≪ °♛° ≫ ───────

←  [ ✥ Maniac 10 ✥ ] ⎥ [ ✥ Ecstasy Prologue ✥ ]  →

[flecks-of-stardust]

Dreamless: Chapter Three — First Reckonings

Chapter three of my Hollow Knight AU, Dreamless. Spoilers inbound.

Learn more about this AU; a link to the Dreamless masterlist.

Chapter summary: Ghost finishes polishing Quirrel's nail and bids him farewell. They then have an altercation with the snails, and are thrown out. After that, they encounter Sly, and are given a few uncomfortable truths about Hallownest.

Content warning for bound hands and legs (briefly) and self hatred (brief).

Read this chapter on AO3.

It doesn’t take too long for them to finish polishing the nail. They sit back, admiring their work briefly. It’s polished enough that they can see their reflection in it, the metal catching the glow of their shell nicely. Hefting it in their hand one last time, they hand the nail back to the isopod hilt first. “You should really learn how to care for your nail yourself.” 

The isopod sighs, accepting the nail and turning it over in their hands. “I should. Once I’m done here, I’ll figure something out.” The isopod turns it this way and that, observing their work. “Thank you, traveler.”  

They shrug. “Just be glad it was still fixable.”

“Oh, I am.” The isopod sheathes their nail with another sigh. “I owe it to travelers like you to pass on little bits of knowledge I otherwise lack. It’s saved my hide more times than one.” The isopod’s antennae twitch, and they adjust their hat with a small smile. “It’s lovely, learning more about the world, don’t you think?”

They give an impatient nod. With the task at hand complete, they need to get going. “Yeah, whatever.” They give the stone cage a long look, searching for the pain of the Call, before hopping to their feet and heading back the way they came. They’ve wasted enough time here.

“Oh, are you leaving? Be well, traveler! Hopefully we’ll meet again!” the isopod calls after them as they walk away. They don’t look back, unsheathing their nail as they continue with a huff. That isopod is lucky if they make it back to another kingdom.

The stone walls press down on them as they march onward, claws clicking softly against the ground with every step. Without the Call thumping through their head, they’re left with an uncomfortable silence broken only by their thoughts. Over and over again the same thought circles: they have a sibling, here. Their sibling cried out for them. All this time, it was their sibling. 

Their insides twist. They were so disgusted at the Call previously, cursing it for existing and bemoaning its every move. That raw pain from the Call, when their eye threatens to rupture… that’s from their sibling, isn’t it? All along it was just their pain. What else could it be? They should have come sooner. If they had they’d both be out of here by now.

They shake their head, trying to clear it of the swirling thoughts, but the lack of the now familiar throbbing of the Call as they do so only disorients them more, sending them stumbling into the wall. Bracing themself against it, they clench their hand around their nail with a hiss. They’ll get this done, no matter what. They just need more information.

Returning to the base of the second staircase, they stop and look around, gauging their next move. There are two other passageways branching off from the room. One has a more polished appearance, while the other looks somewhat rudimentary. Of the three possible exits from the room, the rudimentary path is noticeably older and more battered by time than the other two.

A strange energy they hadn’t previously noticed is seeping out from the rudimentary path. They take a step towards it, lifting their nail. It’s oddly familiar, somehow. It twists through the air, settling around them like a blanket of snow, cold and numb and heavy. Their body prickles where it touches them, and they rub at their arms, unnerved. They don’t recall ever encountering something like this, but their body reacts like it’s felt it before; the buzzing of the energy is… no, not enjoyable, not exactly, but it feels… familiar is the only word they have for it. 

This place is as good a place as any to start figuring out more, they suppose. Holding their nail closer, they walk towards the entrance of the rudimentary path, trying to ignore how the hairs on their body stand up on end the closer to the tunnel they get. 

The moment they enter the tunnel, darkness swallows them. They freeze, their fingers tingling as the energy coalesces inside them, vibrating and jittering around. The previous room had been dim, but not completely dark; even with the glow of their own shell, they can’t see anything in front of them. They’re still holding their nail up, but despite swishing it around experimentally, the metal no longer catches the glow of their shell. 

They continue anyway, but slow down their pace significantly, testing the ground in front of them lightly before leaning their weight on their foot. This darkness is artificial, that much they’re certain of, but they don’t know how it manages to swallow even their own natural glow. The energy presses down on them with every move they take; whatever this is, they need to be careful.

A few more steps, and their foot clicks against a solid wall. Freezing in place again, they wait, listening for whispers of movement around them. The energy hums through the air, thickening it, until it pulls at them in dense clumps, hanging off their body and condensing around their head; they shake their head in a futile attempt to rid themself of the sensation. 

Have they really never felt this before? It’s too familiar. But where, then? Where else could they possibly have—

A faint, distant pattering of footsteps sounds. They spin, pointing their nail in its direction, tensing. It’s gone before they even move, but they try to pinpoint the source of the sound anyway, having to sift through the buzzing of the energy in the air as they do so. It’s so loud, despite not even being a sound. They scratch at their head in irritation.

Nothing moves for another flicker. Warily, they lower their nail somewhat, but they keep it in front of them. They’re in a bad position here, especially since their shell glows. Maybe they should turn back. Without being able to see anything, they won’t find any answers here either.

Reaching out a hand, they pat for the nearest wall. Instead, their hand lands on something that distinctly does not feel like a wall, and a dull, echoing thump emanates from it. They leap back in alarm, pointing their nail at the object. 

While still midair, their wrists slam together of their own accord, their nail clattering out of their hands from the impact as the darkness abruptly lifts from the room. They stagger as they land, thrown off balance by the sudden change. The glowing band around their wrists makes their hands shake, the energy flowing off the band making their muscles clench and twitch painfully. They strain against it, trying to break the bonds or at least pull a hand out, but their arms do not respond to them, uselessly jerking from the glut of energy that floods their body.

They’re not alone here. They spin, looking around wildly and meeting the gazes of a circle of twelve snails. They block their path to the exits, including the way they had come from, and they glower at them, eyestalks waving angrily. With a growl, they dive for their nail, fingers spasming violently from the bindings. But before their hands even make contact with the nail, it flies away from them; a snail on the far end of the circle plucks it from the air, laying it at their feet before resuming staring daggers at them. They glare back, arms still convulsing. 

One of the snails, their shell noticeably larger than many of the rest of the snails’ shells, steps forward. Attempting to stand to face them, they nearly fall flat on their face as new bindings pin their tibias to the floor. They opt to glower up at the elder snail as they stop in front of them. 

The elder snail returns their glare coolly. “In a bit of a bind, aren’t you?” they say snidely, each slow and deliberate sign dripping with venom. 

They shake their bound hands at the elder snail, trying to flip them off; their fingers merely flail around pointlessly. Sighing, the snail flicks their hand. The glowing bonds dissipate with a faint hiss. Unprepared for the sudden release, their arms fly away in opposite directions, spasming violently. They grimace, attempting to reacquaint themself with their limbs.

Soul magic. That’s what the energy is; they were sensing the soul in the air from the spells. They’ve seen people use it once or twice; their hands glowed in a similar way to the elder snail’s do now as they healed up a scrape on someone’s arm or whatever. They’ve never seen it used for this, though.

It takes a while for their arms to regain enough sensation for them to sign, and even then the signs come out jerky and jagged. “What do you want from me?” they spit, trying to make their signs as sharp as they can. The effect is lost as their hands flop around, still not fully responsive to them.  

The elder snail gives an unimpressed twitch of their eyestalks. “What do _you_ want with _us_?” they retort, their signs fast but precise. “Why are you here?”

“That’s none of your business.” 

Their hands throw themselves into the air, yanking painfully on their already aching muscles before dropping like stones. They flinch, shakily reaching around to massage their arms. The elder snail’s gaze is even colder now. “It is very much my business. You walked into our home and began poking around. Why are you here?”

They freeze. Their home? They glance around at the snails, a deep, roiling unease starting to swirl inside of them. They hadn’t expected there to be people living this close to Dirtmouth. Clearly they’re unaffiliated with Elderbug, or he wouldn’t be the way he is. 

The elder snail steps even closer, forcing them to tilt their head up to look at them. “You would have kept going if we hadn’t stopped you. Just ‘exploring’ deeper. And what would you have done to our children, if you’d found them?” The snail bends down, their hands and face uncomfortably close to theirs. They lean back, both out of instinct and so they can see the signs better. “You, of all people, should know better than to stick your head where it doesn’t belong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” they snap, their signs even sloppier than before from the angle they’re holding themself at. “Why me? What have I done?” 

“Don’t play dumb, wyrmspawn.”

Bewildered, they stare at the snail. “What?”

A soft, derisive noise escapes the snail. “Ignorance won’t get you out of this.” Stepping away, the snail claps their hands, and they pitch forward onto their face as the bindings around their tibias are released. Gasping, they force themself up onto their elbows and look up at the elder snail, who only gives them a short, mirthless laugh. “I have to admit I expected more from you, wyrmspawn. You didn’t even put up a fight.” The snails part around one of the exits, giving them an escape path. The elder snail jabs a finger at it. “Now get out.” 

They lay there for a few moments, uncertain. “But my nail—” 

They duck, slamming their face into the ground, as the snail who confiscated their nail hurls it towards them. It sails over their head, then clatters against the stone walls; they cringe internally. Then they gasp as an invisible force yanks them into the air, feet dangling off the ground as they flail in a panic. “You had your chance,” the elder snail says, hands glowing so brightly their eyes start to hurt. 

Before they can even process what the elder snail is doing, they’re flung through the air after their nail. Several things crack as they hit the ground, and they slide a few more tarsi before fully coming to a stop. Every part of their body is screaming in pain; they try to prop themself up, but the moment they put weight on their arms, they give way again, and they slump to the ground, their head spinning from the pain. 

A small burst of soul magic pulses through them again, the resultant buzz of energy making their limbs twitch. _Leave._ A command, given not through voice nor sign, but directly into their mind by force of will and magic. They shudder, retrieving their nail and forcing themself up onto their hands again despite how their arms violently shake. They’re not sticking around to find out what the snails think about them resting here.

As they painfully crawl their way down the tunnel, their limbs gradually regain responsiveness, until they’re able to stand again with the support of the wall. With a hiss of pain, they sheathe their nail. Was any of that really necessary? 

Wyrmspawn. They nearly slide back down to the floor. Them, the spawn of the legendary pale wyrms that bring reverence and terror everywhere they go? How could the elder snail possibly know that? They don’t even know their own origins.

But they’d been so insistent about them being a danger. They just got here. What have they done that could possibly warrant the treatment they’d just gotten? 

But… they have a sibling here. A sibling who presumably never… left. Who was always here.  

… wasn’t the king of Hallownest a wyrm? 

No. No, no no no no no. The king of Hallownest is long dead. The elder snail has no proof. Even if they were right, it could be any other wyrm. 

It doesn’t matter either way. They’re wasting time here. They let go of the wall, resolutely walking forward despite the uncontrollable shaking of their legs. They’ve at least concluded that there’s no further information to be found here.

They make their way over to the remaining exit, one shaking step after another. The tunnel is, thankfully, free of soul energy, and is also illuminated by wall mounted lumafly lanterns; they relish the ability to see where they’re putting their feet down. Logic follows that somewhere in here, they should make some progress towards freeing their sibling. They’ll be glad to be rid of this place.

Emerging uncontested into a new room, they lean against the wall as they survey their surroundings. It’s much larger than any of the other rooms they’ve been in so far, large enough that the illumination of the lanterns is dampened; the other end of the room is too far away and too shaded for them to make out any details. There is, however, a structure directly in front of them, one with steps leading down to what appears to be another tunnel. They glare at it, taking a few steps closer to get a better look. Surely that’s not another settlement.

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you.”

They instinctively spin around, but their legs buckle from the sudden movement, sending them crashing to the ground. The fly standing a few widths away lets out a droll chuckle. “I see you’ve met the snails.”

They scramble to their feet, struggling to pull their nail out. The fly crosses their arms with another laugh. “Nice little show you’ve got there.” The fly flicks their antennae at their nail. “Save your strength. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

“Reassuring, thank you,” they spit, giving up on caring about how neat their signs are.

The fly harrumphs. “Trade Sign. I’m out of practice. We’ll see if I’ve still got it.” Making a beckoning gesture with their hand, the fly turns and starts walking away. “Come. We can sit while we talk.” 

They stand there, legs trembling, and glare at the fly. The fly stops, meeting their glare with an impassioned look. “Well? Either follow or leave. You clearly have questions, and I may have answers.”

Crossing their arms with a huff, they stomp towards the fly, who resumes walking without so much as a backward glance. As much as they hate to admit it, the fly is right about both things. They need answers, and their legs are about to give out on them again.

They stop at a wooden door around a length away, which the fly shoves open with one hand. There’s a small campsite inside the room, complete with a blanket on the ground, a big lumafly lantern in the center of the blanket, and a few piles of random objects. “Make yourself comfortable,” the fly says, airily flicking their hand at the blanket. “And don’t touch anything.”

They comply, sinking to their tibias with a sigh on the corner of the blanket. The room, clearly an abandoned storeroom, is modestly lit by the big lantern, displaying the stacks of abandoned crates placed haphazardly around the room. A few overturned crates lie on their sides on the ground; all of them are empty. 

“Other people took anything that could be of use here long ago,” the fly remarks, sitting down across from them without closing the door. “Unless you want wood, there’s nothing here for you.” Crossing their arms, the fly fixes them with an austere stare. “So. Ask away.”

They stare at the fly for a few moments. With the better lighting from the big lantern, they quite clearly match the description Elderbug had given them earlier. “Are you Sly?” they ask, their hands starting to cramp from forcing them to move in a specific way instead of letting them flop all over the place. “Elderbug was looking for you.”

The fly sighs. “Again? I told him I’d be down here a while. Yes, I’m Sly. Are you his rescue mission?” 

They blink. “No, he just asked me to do him a favor.”

“So yes, you are.” Sly’s antennae twitch irritably. “He asks every traveler that comes through about that whenever I’m not back in town within a harvest. I suppose it’s about time I pay him a visit to remind him I’m not dead.” 

Oh. “He was very worried.” 

“Give him anything to think about and he’ll worry about it. He does a fantastic job at making minor issues into mountains of stress.” Sly grabs a bag near him and starts packing items in his camp away, glancing up at them occasionally. They sit there awkwardly, remembering Sly’s earlier request for them not to touch anything. “One of these cycles he’s going to start peeling his own chitin off from the stress. I don’t know how he hasn’t dropped dead from sheer anxiety yet.” He pauses in his packing briefly, letting out a sigh. “He’s only gotten worse since Bretta stumbled her way down here. I’m sure he mentioned her to you.” 

“Yes, he did. Asked me to look for her too.” 

Sly gives them a sharp but otherwise unreadable look. They squirm under his gaze. “I haven’t had much luck so far, but I’ve been slowly working my way into the deeper parts of the Fungal Groves. Send her back up if you find her. She’s a lovely young lass, but she’s more than a bit airheaded.” He resumes packing. “If she thought to bring food with her, it’s bound to be all gone now, so I hope she’s found something to eat down here.”

They nod stiffly. They still don’t expect to have time to find the child, but they’re not going to tell Sly that.

With a few more firm shoves, Sly finishes cramming the last of his items into his bag, which he tosses aside. “But, enough about me and my issues.” He fixes them with the same stern stare from earlier. “You have questions, yes?”

Caught off guard by the sudden topic change, they stare at him, their mind going blank. He crosses his arms again with a shrug. “One word of advice that I’m going to give you regardless of whether you ask for it or not. If you came this way looking for Hallownest’s riches?” His stare intensifies. Their hands twitch. “Don’t.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Their tail spasms. “Not what I’m here for.” 

“Good. Then what are you here for?”

The truth will sound utterly ridiculous. Why tell him about their sibling, anyway? Sly has no stake in this. “I’m… looking for someone,” they say after a few ticks. Close enough to the truth, yet so far away from it. “Or something, I guess.”

Sly shrugs, flicking his antennae blithely. “That’s what we’re all down here for, one way or another. You’re going to have to be more specific about what you want to know.”

The knowledge that they have no idea how to free their sibling presses down on their shoulders, and they hunch into themself. How do they even ask about this? They’re not even sure where to go next. Dirtmouth is all but dead itself, and the snails will kill them if they return. What else is left?

… there is still Hallownest itself. “How much do you know about Hallownest?” they try, trying to gauge Sly’s reaction. 

He does not react. “More than I’d like to. I used to live there.” 

Shock jolts through them, making their arms twitch. “What?”

“What? The stories about Hallownest aren’t just for show.” He unsheathes his nail, glancing down at it. “I hatched and grew up there.” 

They stare at him, dumbfounded. He returns the stare levelly. “Most of what you hear about Hallownest has some truth to it. It sealed itself off years ago and is now a shadow of its former self. The one thing that is untrue is that it’s dead.” He tilts his nail, catching the glow of the lumafly lantern with the broad edge, and he sighs. “I think things would be simpler if it were actually gone.” 

The shock coalesces into a cold, hard lump of dread that thumps around inside their chest. “How can it still be alive?” they argue, fumbling for the right words. “It’s been over sixty-four years since it had imports. Elderbug’s the only one left in Dirtmouth.”

Sly lets out a bitter laugh. “Are you actually trying to debate me on whether the kingdom I _ran away from_ is still alive?”

They lift their hands to retort, but no words come to mind. Sly continues, his voice darkening with every word, “Last I checked, the reason Dirtmouth is empty is because everyone keeps trying to find this blasted kingdom. For all I know, Bretta’s already made her way there.” They shrink into themself from the force of his glare. “Hallownest is very much alive, and it is ravenous for the ill informed. It will swallow you up like everyone else who came before you.” He stands, picking up his lantern and sheathing his nail. “Turn back. You’re unprepared for this.”

They get to their feet, wobbling as their legs protest the sudden movement. “You can’t just tell me to leave. You don’t know me.” 

“I don’t. But I’ve watched enough people lose themselves to this kingdom.” 

“I don’t have a _choice_—”

“You _always_ have a choice,” he snaps, closing the gap between them. “There is never a moment where you are not making choices. And _you_”—he jabs his finger into their chest, making them stumble a step back—”have _no idea_ what you’re getting yourself into.”

“You don’t even know—”

“You walked into the snails’ abode.” His stare burns into them, and they have to force themself to keep standing straight. “If you knew what you were doing they would not have needed to throw you out.”

They snarl, reaching for their nail. Sly draws his in one smooth motion, his stare not wavering. “Do you really want to test me on this?” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Might I remind you that you’re in no state to fight right now?”

They stare at each other for a few moments, unmoving, before they let their arm fall, clenching their hands into fists. Sly keeps his nail unsheathed. “You will run out of leniency, traveler,” he warns, his voice barely above a whisper. “And this kingdom will treat you far, far worse.” 

He maintains his stare for a few more moments; they force themself to meet it despite the way their insides crawl. With a final scoff, he steps back, sheathing his nail and picking up his bag. “Regardless, good luck on your travels. I hope whatever business you have here is resolved quickly and cleanly.” He turns, walking a few steps towards the door, then stops. “If you need me, I’ll be back up in Dirtmouth.”  

He leaves without another word, leaving the door hanging open. Alone again, their legs finally give out on them, and they allow themself to collapse to the ground in an unceremonious heap. There goes their lead. Botched because they can’t ever stop to think before they point their nail at something. 

So much for wyrmspawn. They can’t do anything right. Their sibling’s never going to get out of here. They fully curl up, letting their body shake itself apart. All they ever do is make things worse. 

First chapter: A Call to Struggle | Previous chapter: A Cry from the Dark

[j-graysonlibrary]

Heartbeats; Paradise Chapter 9

Title: Heartbeats; Paradise

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 112K

Genres: Psychological thriller, drama, sci-fi, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: Melvin Hardy and Kade Axel appear to be a match made in heaven. After a meet-cute in the rain, the two quickly find themselves in a burgeoning, wholesome relationship.

Yet, things feel…off. It isn’t the ghosts of their pasts that resurface to test the strength of their partnership—no—it’s something nebulous. Something indescribable. Melvin can’t put his finger on it but, the more time he spends with Kade, the more he starts to wonder what’s real and what’s pure fiction. 

Full chapter 9 under the cut:

Chapter Nine:

I follow the directions my phone gives me to some ritzy apartment complex in a part of town that I usually ignore. None of Kade and I’s dates have ever taken us remotely near this area and I wonder who he knows here. There is no name on the note so I’m going in blind.

Perhaps an old friend, I assume, and someone Nate doesn’t know about. Or, my heart warns, an ex that Kade hasn’t felt comfortable enough to tell me about.

It would be a perfect revenge for what I did.

It makes sense.

I still hope that’s not the case even if my gut screams that it’s probably true.

I swallow down my fears and my pride, knowing that when I see Kade I need to be kind and apologetic. Though I can only hope that I say what I mean to say instead on instigating things further. I feel I have a little more control over myself, at least, and I practice what I’ll say when I see him.

‘Kade, I’m so sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean any of it and you were right. I absolutely should have told you about Gladis. You have every right to be mad. What can I do to make it up to you?’

It’s a little wordy but I think it covers everything. And, if it doesn’t work, I’ll throw myself at his feet and beg if I have to.

The apartment complex is even fancier on the inside and my thoughts are stolen by the majesty of the interior design. Large paintings, marble sculptures, and gold trim are everywhere and the floors are so clean that they’re reflective. The walls too—I keep getting startled by my own reflection as I pass through.

I reach the elevator and, based on the apartment number, I push the number five on the panel. I don’t run into any other people and the halls are quiet, unnerving me in a way I find hard to describe. It’s almost as if I’m somewhere I’m not supposed to be.

My palms begin to sweat as I approach the correct door and I repeat my script in my mind again, just to be sure I have it down.

The door is black with gold lining, like all the others I’ve passed, and I freeze in front of it. Underneath the number, there is a name plaque and I read over it several times as I’m sure I must be reading it incorrectly.

It doesn’t make any sense.

O. Friar.

My heart thunders but now it’s got less to do with nerves and more to do with a vicious rage I had, somehow, forgotten about. Friar is not a common last name and there aren’t many names that can start with the letter O. If it isn’t him then I will be surprised but I know that it’s him.

I know it is.

My hands clench into fists and I resist the urge to beat the door down without warning. The one thing that sticks out to me—that centers me—is the fact Bree gave me the address. She knows something I don’t and I want to see what that is and, probably, I’ll need to be calm to understand it.

I push the buzzer and I try not to swallow my tongue or be overcome by my red hot anger. I need to be able to get answers—especially if Kade really is in there with this man.

I hear footsteps on the other side of the door and then the shuffling of metal as the locks are clicked out of place. “Are you finally here for my sample? I’ve been waiting—”

The door opens and the man stops instantly as he realizes I’m not the person he thought he was talking to. I’m frozen in place as well but for a very different reason.

Oswald is a few inches taller than me, enough to leer down at me and enough for a shadow to be cast over his eyes. I can still see that they are brown, matching his wild and curly hair and his unkempt eyebrows knot together in confusion. Spotty stubble covers his face and I see a forest of hair peeking out from the top of his white T-shirt, similar to the hair on his head.

He smells strongly of alcohol and cigarettes with an after hint of general body odor. I doubt he’s had guests for a while unless they don’t mind the state of him.

But, apparently, Kade must not mind if Bree thinks he’s here.

“You’re not from the agency, are you?” Oswald asks and frowns down at me.

I shake my head and then push my way inside with surprisingly little resistance from the giant man. “KADE!” I call out and search the immediate vicinity for him.

Like Oswald himself, the living room and kitchen areas are a mess and covered with discarded clothes and empty dishes. A piano is set up in the far corner and sheet music is scattered about haphazardly. It’s hard to imagine he’s some prestigious teacher with this scene before me.

I hear the door shut and I turn to see Oswald looking at me with narrowed eyes. “Did you say…Kade? Kade…Axel?”

“Don’t play dumb,” I snap and point a finger at him, “He’s here, isn’t he?”

I continue to look, ready to intrude into his hallway and bedrooms if I have to.

“He’s not here,” the man tells me and brings my attention back to him, “I’ve never even met him.”

“What?” I say before it fully sinks in. All of my anger simmers and I drop my arms, staring at him as if he’s spoken in a foreign language.

Hasn’t met him?

How can he say that?

As if thrown into a crackling fire, my rage returns just as ferociously as when I first heard Kade tell the awful story. I grab the man’s filthy white T-shirt and I roll my fists in it, wringing the material tight in my hold. I throw him against the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room. I don’t even question the fact he doesn’t resist me. It doesn’t matter.

“You bastard! How can you say you’ve never even met him when you molested him?!”

I see nothing but red and I swear I can kill him.

I should, after all.

He hurt Kade.

He hurt the person I love more than anyone in the entire world.

He deserves to die.

All people like him deserve to die.

I’d be doing the world a favor by snuffing out his life here and now.

Yet…his blank, unbothered face sucks the fury right out of me.

I can’t stay as mad when he’s not responding.

The silence permeates the room until Oswald takes my hands and removes them. He’s incredibly strong to do so without hurting me because I’m still gripping as hard as I can. His fingers lock into mine, loosening them and pushing them away.

I’m no longer so sure I can fight him and win.

“I mean…” he sighs. “I know that I, Oswald Friar, assaulted a fourteen year old boy named Kade Axel but I don’t remember it at all.”

I don’t understand and I’m not sure I want to either. Still, I ask with a snarl, “What do you mean?”

“There’s text in my mind, telling me this.” Oswald points to his temple. “But I don’t actually remember it. I have things that I just…know. Like how your name is Melvin Hardy and you’re currently dating Kade Axel but I don’t think I was supposed to meet you yet.”

“How do you…?” I step away from him, my anger entirely replaced with bewilderment and a small dose of fright.

He shrugs. “I woke up in this apartment the other week with a few chunks of text in my head. The thing about Kade and the fact that I’m a composer who does commissions and…well, that’s about it. I don’t remember any of this myself—I couldn’t even tell you what Kade looks like. Couldn’t pick him out of a crowd but, apparently, I molested him. It doesn’t feel like something I’d do but…who am I to argue? I don’t even know who I am.”

This is scary—mostly because I’m inclined to believe him. It’s a weird lie, if it is one, and it doesn’t help him much. My stomach twists into knots and I feel the hair rise on the back of my neck.

“You…you don’t remember anything about your past? Do you have amnesia or something?”

“I can’t say for sure.” Oswald looks up at the ceiling as he says, “I don’t know anything about my childhood, what I like to do, what my beliefs are…nothing. I tried to go out into town and jog something in me but, each time I leave my building I’m compelled to go back inside. It’s only in here that I have some peace in my mind but this emptiness tortures me.”

My hands begin to shake and I hang on every one of his words.

I feel my lips tremble as I ask for clarification, “What do you mean…compelled?”

Oswald’s head snaps back down and there is life in him for a change—a spark in his eye. “Do you feel it too, Melvin?”

It’s more than a little weird to hear him say my name when I never introduced myself. But I push that aside and give a terse nod. “I think so…”

“It’s her, right?” He starts to smile at the prospect of a connection but I’m lost again.

Her? I think and then repeat it aloud, “Her?”

“It’s a female voice—I’m pretty sure.” Oswald starts to pace back and forth in front of me. “It sure as hell isn’t my voice. It’s not my thoughts. Not my actions.” He then stops and stares at me. “What is it making you do?”

I’m uncomfortable being put on the spot but I gulp and think back to just a few hours ago. I intended to say completely different things to what actually came out of my mouth. If someone besides me is experiencing this, I’d like to know about it. Mostly, what is it, exactly, and what I can do about it.

“I fought with Kade…said things I didn’t want to.” I shift my attention to the side as the memories replay in my mind. “And not in a heat of the moment fighting kind of way…I tried to say other things but the confrontational words came out instead. Is that…is that what happens to you too?”

“Well I haven’t spoken to anyone until now—to you,” Oswald admits as if the statement, alone, isn’t bizarre, “So I can’t say on that front. But I certainly can’t move on my own outside.”

I take it all in but I’m still baffled. My mind is at war with itself and I can’t decide on what I want to think—what I want to believe. I’m not sure I’ve ever had this much on my mind before. Usually, it’s one or two issues at a time and not exactly complex ones. This is a lot.

And I don’t have an answer.

Oswald doesn’t appear to have one either.

“How do you get food to eat?” I ask after a long moment of silence. Strangely, it’s one of the only things I can pick out of the mess in my brain.

“Bags have been showing up outside my door each Monday since I woke up.” Oswald gestures with his thumb to the entrance. “I don’t order it but…it’s just there.”

“I don’t get it…” I cover my mouth with my hand. The wheels are certainly spinning in my mind but nothing is coming of it.

“I don’t either.” Oswald lets out a dry laugh. “I’m working on a few theories but I can’t prove any of them. At least now I can be sure this is happening to someone besides me.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I stop him and the glint in his eye disappears. “I haven’t heard a woman in my head so I don’t know if what’s happening with you is happening with me.”

“Oh…right.” He frowns and exhales loudly through his nose, deflated. For him, it’s probably back to square one.

I’m surprised to find myself feeling bad for him.

Whether it’s amnesia or some elaborate lie, he still hurt Kade. I have to remind myself of this. His strange circumstances don’t absolve him of his past actions.

And I still really need to find Kade.

A sharp sensation pokes the side of my head, sticking into my brain and causing me to raise my hands to my head. I grunt out in pain and hunch over.

“Melvin?!” Oswald calls out in concern.

I push my hand out to keep him away and slowly straighten myself back up. It’s not so bad any more but there is still a dull ache. “I have to go.”

“Is she in your head?” he asks, wary.

I set my jaw and shake my head. “No…I need to leave.”

I hurry out of the apartment despite Oswald yelling my name after me.

I can’t stay—he’s keeping me from getting back to Kade.

He’s a gross, awful man and I can’t stand to be in his presence any longer.

I’ll have to confront Bree about this misdirection whenever I see her again.

But she’s the last thing on my mind when I step outside and back toward my car. All I know is that I need to return home—to my apartment—where, if I’m lucky, my love will be there, waiting for me.

[kiarazuri]

Chapter 13: Eya

Golden Tickets.      Golden Tickets.      Eya’s been thinking about them all day. All through the (excruciatingly tedious and egregiously insulting) meeting with the CC Hunters and on the ride back to town. Thoughts of the DuCiel’s contest won’t stop going round and round in his head.      We need to win.      It may complicate things further—but they need to get into The Factorie.      If for no other reason than to slake this burning curiosity in Eya’s gut.      I need to know what the DuCiels are.      And I need to prove their innocence.      That last thought is a new one. One only born after JJ’s date. Is it a selfish wish? Maybe. But Eya hasn’t seen JJ so interested in someone else in eons. And Eya’s never been so… enthralled by one of JJ’s partners in… ever.      He’s never wanted to share a partner as much as he does now.      I haven’t even had a proper conversation with him! Eya reminds himself.      Himself doesn’t care, apparently.      The witch goes back to the hotel with AJ but doesn’t stick around. He grabs the ingredients for a locator spell and heads straight for Délicieux Carré.      He doesn’t expect to find such a humongous line when he gets there.      Shit. He tries not to show his concern, but his mind is whirling ’cause how the fuck am I supposed to use a locating spell with so many people? especially if he’ll need to ask the DuCiel at the counter to pick for him. Fuuuuuck.      He wishes JJ could help him but judging by the blurriness in the corner of his eye, his husband’s caught in Lottie’s obscuration spell again.      Luck don’t fail me now.      It doesn’t take very long to reach the front, but by the time he gets there Eya’s a little concerned they won’t even have any bars left–the spatial distortion spell in here is immaculate, he notes as he finally steps up to the counter. The walk was at least three times as long as the last time he was here. He’d be jealous of such pristine magic if it didn’t unnerve him so much.      It’s like no witch’s magic he’s ever encountered.      Once again reminding him that they’ve still not a clue what kinda supes the DuCiels are.      Lée DuCiel is at the counter again today and greets him with a smile. “Welcome back, what’re you feeling?” She asks, gesturing at the case between them. Eya pays close attention to how nonchalant she’s being, giving absolutely no indication she’s worried about the most recent murder. No doubt it’s the reason for the (very) sudden contest.      “Actually, I was hoping you had some chocolate bars left.”      “Sure do! How many’d you like?”      “What flavors have you got?”      “They’re on display over there–” she points in the opposite direction of JJ and Lottie’s privacy cloud. “If you’d like, you can pay for your wares now and then select your flavors after. Many of our customers like to think over the selection while they drink a cup of coffee.”      “They must take this very seriously,” he notes.      Lée smiles wide and infectious. “You could say that.”      “Okay then, I’ll take… nine.” He thinks just getting one would be suspicious, and there’s no guarantee that his spell will lock onto a golden ticket directly, it could very well alert to a bar that’s touching a winning bar and not the winner itself. So, not one. Three for each of them should suffice. (Besides, AJ may not appreciate it, but Eya likes chocolate just as much as his husband.)      Fangs glint in Lée’s mouth as her smile widens. “How ’bout that drink?”      “Uh, yeah,” Eya looks at the cakes in the display between them. They seem to be breakfast and café themed this time. “Hot spiced chai and craisin crumb cake?”      “‘O course, cher, that’ll be $XX.XX.” Eya places the cash in the little tray. “Parfait! How ’bout you find yourself a seat and I’ll bring it right along.”      Eya smiles and does as he’s told, finding (impossibly) a seat at the counter directly in front of the display (literally impossible considering how many people are already loitering in the same area. If the spatial distortion is so pristine here I can’t imagine what the magic must be like in the factorie itself, Eya thinks. No wonder it’s so hard to get an accurate layout of the place.)      Glancing around to make sure no one’s watching. Eya takes the opportunity to pull out a handful of lodestones, magnetized pieces of beautifully black, glossy magnetite, dangling at the end of three individual lanyards. Lodestones, when properly harnessed, will pull towards whatever the spellcaster desires.      All Eya has to do is properly formulate his spell.      He hovers the stones over the bottom row of DuCiel chocolate bars (gods I hope one’s here–the more rows he has to go through, the more likely he’ll be to get caught). The lanyards sway slowly over the bars.

Seekers of the North, / Hear my plea — find for me what I now seek,
 / paper, plastic, gold, and ink / Leading stones,
 / Help me find what I aspire,
 / By moon and sun and air and fire, / 
Show me the way to my heart’s desire / Compass of the earth and sea,
 / To find what I seek–I now invoke the power of thee: / 
paper, plastic, gold, and ink
 / paper, plastic, gold, and ink
 / paper, plastic, gold, and ink

Eya’s voice is soft, careful, as he encants the stones. The black lodestones glow with an internal light, brightening with each word out of his mouth. As the spell finishes, the light gets almost too bright, too noticeable, and Eya mutters a panicked obscuration spell over them before anyone sees.      The gems’ dimmed lights pulse at him as if annoyed by the interference, but continue swaying back and forth, slowly but surely slowing until it stops at an unnaturally steep angle. Eya moves his hand in the direction the stone wants to go, getting closer and closer till the stop stops on a stack of spiced caramel dark chocolate bars.      Eya grabs the stack and splits it in half. He keeps doing so, letting the gems choose inbetween each split, until the gems are fixated on a single chocolate bar.      Eya whoops internally at the success. He quickly makes a little tear on the back of the bar’s wrapper, puts the other bars away, and stuffs the lodestones warm bodies back in his pocket.      Just in time.      “Sorry ’bout that, the chai took longer than expected.”      Lée’s voice is too close and when Eya looks up, he finds her standing just on the other side of the counter, watching him with an amused expression with his order in hand. There’s a tilt to Sucre’s mouth and the gleam in his eyes that makes Eya wonder if she knows. She at least suspects something, that much is clear. Eya wonders just how many people have tried to use magic to get a Golden Ticket and a feeling of dread sinks in his gut. Is… this the trap? If it is, then the actual “trapping” portion of the trap has yet to release. And it doesn’t look as if Lée is the one in charge of doing the releasing.      Eya withholds the urge to peak over at the cloud obscuring Lottie and his husband.      “Have you found a flavor you like?”      Eya holds up his prize. “One down. Eight to go.”      “Well you got plenty of time,” She smiles, placing the plate and mug in front of him. “Enjoy!”      Eya alternates between taking a bite, a sip, and selecting a chocolate bar (using the lodestones a few more times just to double-check his original selection) until he’s finished and has exactly 9. He’s taking his final sip when he sees movement on the otherside of the counter. Expecting it to be Lée, he looks up. The words “that was delicious, give my compliments to the baker” die on his tongue.      Or rather, his tongue becomes too tied to speak.      ‘Cause Lottie’s there, watching him with a warm, coy smile.      “You came back.”      Eya nods. It’s all he can do.      Gods I forgot how fucking gorgeous you are.      He must stare a little too long.      “Cat got your tongue, cher?”      Eya jolts out of the trance and coughs to clear his throat. “Sorry, wasn’t uh, wasn’t expecting you.”      “I had another customer to tend to, he left though–” Lottie gives a wistful little sigh and looks longingly at the front door before turning back to Eya. “Then I saw you.”      Then you saw me.      And you came straight over.      To me.      Eya’s mind is an anxious, excited mess at the implications.      Gods what the fuck is wrong with me?      Lottie’s fangs glint as his smile widens. “I know my baby sister already got you’re order but can I get you anything?”      Your number.      Lottie laughs. A full body, throw his head back kind of laugh and–oh fuck. “Did I say that out loud?” Eya asks, horrified.      It takes the DuCiel a second to control himself but when he does he leans over the counter towards Eya with a soft, absolutely gorgeous expression on his face. “Sure did, cher.” He holds his hand out to Eya and the man just stares at it. Swallows. And places his phone obediently into the DuCiel’s palm.      When Lottie slides the phone back towards him there’s a text that reads “cutie from the cakerie” sent to a brand new contact: L♡ttie.      Eya turns his head to hide his embarrassed smile, but it only makes Lottie laugh.      “Next time I’ll buy you the coffee, yeah?”      Lée’s voice breaks in between them with an annoyed shout from the back room. Lottie groans and hangs his head.      One day we’ll get to have an actual conversation without any interruptions, Eya vows.      “Sorry, cher, duty calls,” Lottie says as he pushes off from the counter. His eyes linger on Eya’s face and the witch has to hold back the ridiculous urge to kiss the man goodbye. “Text me,” He glances down at the chocolate bars and smiles. “If you get a lucky one, let me know.”      He winks.      Then he gone.      And Eya’s left to wonder if he’s just made a terrible mistake… or one of the greatest decisions of his life.

To Be Continued in Chapter 14 💗

[kdj-225]

H-hi Ren-nim, it's me 😬 could you write something with older KDJ and younger YJH? 🥺🙏🏻

[I had to think on this prompt for a while because there were so many paths I could take with it lmao 😂 Hope you like it!! 💖]

※DO NOT REPOST / HOST MY WORK ON OTHER APPS OR SITES

“Dokja-hyung.”

Adorably large ears, a scrunched up nose, and pouty lips. He’s still small, but Dokja has a feeling he’ll be the type to grow up handsome eventually. A kid who’s five years his junior, the same kid who’s saved him from going hungry far too often that it’s already embarrassing, Yoo Joonghyuk.

He’s the older one of the pair of them, yet somehow, Joonghyuk is much, much better at looking after him. From sneaking him lunches when his aunt and uncle aren’t looking, to taking him in when his relatives are fighting…he’s been far too kind in inviting him over to escape all of that.

Joonghyuk is young, but he’s got an undeniably good heart and head on his shoulders. Dokja should feel humiliated for being so immature in comparison, but.

He’s lonely. He’s never had siblings, and Joonghyuk already has Mia at least.

He pats the space beside him on the bench where he’s taking a break. He’s sure Joonghyuk must have come here for the same reason, given the screaming matches that had been happening in his apartment. His relatives might have saved him from living alone, but that didn’t mean they were the best family he could have at the moment. “Need something, Joonghyuk-ah?”

Those sharp eyes set their gaze upon him, like a cat looking to capture prey. Dokja would be unnerved, but he’s spent enough years on the receiving end of such a gaze that he’s practically immune to it now.

Joonghyuk huffs out a breath as if coming to a decision. He sits beside him, turning his sharp gaze down onto his feet, and keeps quiet for so long that one would think he has nothing to say.

Yet Dokja waits, like he always does.

Dogs bark in the distance. He hears the laughter of people passing by, the occasional yells, and the tinkling of bells whenever someone enters the restaurant near the park they’re at.

Eventually, Joonghyuk says,

“Mia and I are moving soon.”

He’s still looking down. Dokja, for all that he feels his heart dropping to his stomach, manages to utter a small, “Oh?”

“Next week,” Joonghyuk clarifies.

Oh. So it’s already been decided.

“I see,” Dokja says, putting on a smile. Quickly, thoughts flash through his head (so he’ll be alone again, like always; at least Joonghyuk is kind enough to give him a warning; is this a permanent goodbye?), though all he ends up saying is, “You were able to find the guardian you said you were looking for?”

“Yes.”

He wonders if Joonghyuk will ever learn to be a little less short with words. “Then, that’s good.” I’ll miss you, maybe. “I’m glad you were able to find them.”

“...”

He leans down to get a peek at Joonghyuk’s face, finding him frowning. Like he’s still holding something back, perhaps? “Was there something else?”

“There’s something I want before I leave.”

“...is it something expensive? You know I’m not—”

“Fool,” Joonghyuk spits out, making him crack a more sincere smile. Even when he’s angry, he just looks cute. Like an irritable cat, kind of. “I know you don’t get much from your family, hyung. I’m not stupid.”

“Right, you aren’t. Then what do you want to ask for?”

Joonghyuk finally looks up at him then. He looks oddly determined for no logical reason, Dokja finds himself concerned if he’s going to ask for something beyond his means.

Then Joonghyuk holds out a hand to him, palm up.

Dokja stares at that small hand, then looks up at Joonghyuk’s face. Such a serious face for someone so young, he can’t help himself from saying:

“My hand in marriage?”

He had predicted an angry response to that. Another “foolish hyung” from Joonghyuk, like always. Maybe a smack for his immaturity once again.

And yet, he gets none of that. Joonghyuk keeps his hand held up, gaze unwavering on his face, and Dokja thinks, ‘Well, if it’s going to be like this…’

He puts his hand in Joonghyuk’s own.

Promptly, Joonghyuk slips a ring onto his ring finger.

Oh.

Oh, what the hell.

“You,” he laughs, disbelieving as he takes his hand back to squint at the plain silver band on his ring finger, “you smooth bastard? What is this? Are you seriously giving me this?”

“It’s a promise. Just wear it.”

“Wear it—you’re twelve,” he sighs, using his other hand to fiddle with the ring on his finger. “Why are you proposing at such a young age? Who even says I’m interested—”

“I’ll make you happy,” Joonghyuk says. Bluntly, almost expressionlessly, except…his thick brows are furrowed enough that even Dokja can tell he’s serious about this.

He can’t help smiling, seeing that. What, so he can be this cute? Who’d have thought?

“You already make me happy,” he admits. “You’re a good little brother to me.”

“I don’t want to be your brother.”

He hums in amusement. “You’re too young to be my partner, Joonghyuk-ah.”

“That’s one more reason why we’re moving.”

“...hm?”

“If we grow up like this, as neighbors,” Joonghyuk says, left eyebrow twitching, “you’ll never stop seeing me as a child. And since I know you’re going to leave soon, I thought this would be the best time to go as well.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m not you, hyung.”

“What is that,” he says, laughing as he covers his mouth. “That, that…that’s too sly of you. You’re just—”

“If you say I’m just a kid, I’m going to kick you.”

“...never mind then.”

It’s quiet for a moment, even if Dokja’s mind is anything but. What, so Joonghyuk’s first crush is me? That’s flattering, but also, very awkward. We’re both guys, so why? Does he think it’s fun to take care of someone like me? Isn’t that just sad? Joonghyuk-ah, you shouldn’t have picked this hyung just because we’re close…

“When I’m older, I’ll find you again,” Joonghyuk adds. He’s a lot more relaxed now than before…so maybe he’d been tense because he wasn’t sure of his own proposal? Even when he’d acted so confidently, at that.

Damn it, he really is a cute kid. Smiling, he says, “And you’ll propose again?”

“Yes.”

Ah, really, he can’t even joke around him.

Patiently, he explains, “You might change your mind eventually, Joonghyuk-ah. You shouldn’t make promises you’re not sure you can keep.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“You’ve still got plenty of time to figure yourself out.”

“No. I chose you. I’m not that fickle, hyung.”

God, he’s gonna get a heart attack at this rate. Are kids these days usually this blunt about their affection? Are they often this determined? When he was Joonghyuk’s age…

Well, maybe he didn’t have the same kind of childhood to even afford being like this.

“Okay,” he says, finally releasing the ring from his fiddling. Joonghyuk blinks at him then, perhaps thinking he wouldn’t have accepted him this easily. “Then, find me in ten years so I can think of your proposal again.”

Joonghyuk frowns again. “Why ten years?”

“Because you’re still a kid in my eyes right now.” He raises his ring-adorned hand, and pats Joonghyuk on the head. “Give me ten years to forget the Joonghyuk that I know now, so the older Joonghyuk can have a chance.”

“...okay.”

Well, that was certainly easy. Ten years might be long enough for him to forget this childish Joonghyuk, but it’s also enough for Joonghyuk to forget him too. There’s no way he can keep holding onto such pure feelings for that long, right? It’s impossible.

He smiles.

“Then, I’ll be waiting, Joonghyuk-ah.”

-----------------

Kim Dokja is an idiot. A fool of the highest degree.

Exactly ten years later (down to the day, at that), Joonghyuk dares to come to Minosoft for a collaboration. Yoo Joonghyuk, who’s grown up to become a well-known pro gamer with enough funds to buy his own house—Yoo Joonghyuk, who’d proposed to him when he was twelve and Dokja was seventeen.

Upon finishing up the meeting, with cold sweat running down like bullets on his back, Dokja thinks he can escape. He’s just a QA tester who’d been requested to sit in on the meeting to provide his feedback on possible problems for their collaboration; there’s absolutely no reason Joonghyuk should remember their cute childhood memories.

Except Joonghyuk kept staring at him all throughout the meeting.

Except Joonghyuk kept mentioning, over and over, that the collaboration is only even possible because, “I’m here for Kim Dokja.”

Except Joonghyuk—

“Dokja-hyung.”

“Yes,” he croaks out, then clenches his jaw. Shit, get it together. He clears his throat, smiles, and completely ignores the curious looks on his coworkers’ faces as they exit the meeting room. Of course they’d abandon me like this. “Yes, Joonghyuk-nim?”

Joonghyuk makes a face at him. He’s certainly grown up handsomely, enough that even his ugliest expressions don’t look ugly at all. It’s unfair. “Don’t call me that.”

“Joonghyuk-ssi.”

“No.”

His smile twitches. “Joonghyuk-ah?”

Joonghyuk nods. What a brat. “You know why I’m here.”

“For the collaboration,” he says, maintaining the smile on his face even with the frown Joonghyuk throws his way. No way. There’s no way you remember that childish proposal. You’re twenty-two and at the peak of your career, there’s absolutely no way you haven’t found anyone else. “Yes?”

“It’s been ten years.”

Ahhh, shit.

“So it has…”

“I’m here to propose again.”

“...you can’t be serious,” he says, getting up to a stand. He drops his smile in favor of giving him a serious look. “It’s been ten years, like you’ve said. You…there’s no way you could’ve held onto those feelings for that long.”

Joonghyuk doesn’t waver. “I told you, I chose you.”

Why does that sound so much worse than a simple I love you? Joonghyuk-ah, you insane bastard.

He smiles, even when it feels awkward on his mouth. “Can’t we date first?”

“Okay.”

Okay? Huh?

“Let’s date first,” Joonghyuk agrees, his entire expression loosening up as he comes closer to him. There’s…something like a smile on his face, an expression that makes his chest ache at the sheer unfamiliarity of it. He’s handsome, yes, but more than that…

They’ve already grown up away from each other. They’ve been apart for far too long already.

Isn’t Joonghyuk just clinging onto old memories of him?

“...then, alright,” he says, sighing as he closes his eyes. He pinches at the bridge of his nose, hoping that the headache stinging at his eyes will fade away soon. It’s not dehydration, but the possibility of it being a headache from lack of sleep is too high.

“You still aren’t sleeping properly.”

“Hey now—”

His voice cuts off when he opens his eyes to the sight of Joonghyuk right in front of him, his warm hand coming up to…smooth down the wrinkles between his eyebrows?

“I told you,” Joonghyuk says, one thick eyebrow raised as he pulls his hand away, “I’ll make you happy. That’s why, don’t overthink this.”

“Huh.”

“The you that I chose then, is the you that I know now.” A pause. “It’s not difficult to find you on social media when you use your real name either.”

What. “What?” he asks, blinking wide eyes at him. “Social media—you looked for me?” You looked for me and still didn’t contact me, you jerk?

Joonghyuk nods. “I missed you.”

He chokes on an inhale. “Y-you, who taught you to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“This, this—being this sly, saying such things!”

Joonghyuk smiles at him then. A gentle, warm smile that reaches up to his eyes, making him look even more impossibly beautiful. It’s so new an expression that he’s left in a daze for a moment—which is when Joonghyuk takes his chance to grab his hand, the one he’d left adorned with that ring he’d had resized to fit him in his growth.

Joonghyuk kisses his ring, and he just about dies on the spot.

With a smirk on his lips, mouth moving against his skin, Joonghyuk says,

“You did, hyung.”