#you’ll just have to guess which line isn’t supposed to be there

[pjthevulcan]

she is my wife she is my wife she is my wife she is my wife she is my wife she is m

#ro laren #ensign ro #star trek #the next generation #star trek the next generation #st tng #tng #i hate this pen ahhhhh #also my pen got bonked so i messed up but i’ll never tell you where #you’ll just have to guess which line isn’t supposed to be there #star trek fanart

[nobodyfamousposts]

Scarlet Lady Essay: Frightningale

Yet another essay for @zoe-oneesama. Because you deserve it.

I’m not going to bother with a compare/contrast of canon vs Scarlet Lady Frightningale because Frightningale in canon was a pretty forgettable episode. Akuma was lame. Setup was wasted. And it’s removal from the series would lose nothing of value.

So instead, I'm going to focus primarily on the Scarlet Lady version of Frightningale and what it does that makes it memorable.

I guess to start with, I should make it clear that I’m not a fan of shows being lazy, especially when they display a lack of planning or consideration of their story and characters. And perhaps one of the greater indicators of this issue is when a series suddenly realizes they they neglected multiple plot points until it’s too late to give them all the focus they warrant so they end up shoving all of those points into one episode and try to present it like it’s supposed to be an adequate resolution of all that buildup or in any way intentional.

Penalteam was that episode for Miraculous. They had the “temporary heroes” setup going for them but then wasted so much time on filler like Frightningale that it seems like they honestly forgot about it until they were reaching a designated end point and they realized they still had four more heroes they were supposed to introduce. Whoops? Ah well, just introduce them all at once. Not like anyone will care!

And when you treat most of the cast like they’re all as shallow as a puddle, I guess that’s true.

The thing is, when you have a setup where there is a running theme of every person in a specific group getting their own episode/chapter to detail their issues and how they get a power up, it’s going to stand out whenever one of them doesn’t. Especially when that one or more are forced to share their limelight episode. 

That’s not to say you can’t do it, but it’s bound to get attention if you do. It reflects poorly on the writing. It shows whom the “favored” and “unfavored” characters are. And it displays the issue with pacing—namely that it’s next to nonexistent until it hits you with the force of a freight train.

But can it be done and be done well? Is it possible to pull off such a thing and have it make sense and fit in lines with the characters?

Well, yes. Off the top of my head, I can think of two different ways to do it to make it work.

And Zoe did both of them.

If you look at Scarlet Lady as a whole, you’ll see a conglomeration of characters—each with stories and arcs attached. They have personalities. They have goals and problems and their own highs and lows. One sign of good writing is that some focus is given to highlight these other characters as people. Individuals in their own right with lives outside of the main characters or situation.

Miraculous doesn't really do this.

Scarlet Lady, however, does. Because contrary to the title, Scarlet Lady isn’t just about Chloe.

It isn’t even just about the heroes.

It isn’t just about Chloe being horrible. Or Marinette being in love. Or Adrien being in desperate need of a hug and a nap. Because while the story is centered around them, it isn’t solely about them. Other characters get focus and growth and their own arcs throughout the comics.

But the big two—the BIGGEST two with arguably the most depth and most growth and quite frankly the best storylines out of everyone in the entire series?

It’s Sabrina and Lila. And their individual stories have led up to this.

As such, this episode—which was mostly filler and all around forgettable in canon, matters here.

It’s where Sabrina and Lila reach the culmination of their respective character arcs. 

Yes, it’s when they both get to become Miraculous Heroes and meet their own kwamis, but it’s more than just that! They both hang out with the girls group as full members of the crew, getting to take part in a music video together. It’s also where they both get to stand up for themselves and the city at large while calling out Chloe and Scarlet Lady. This is what their storylines have been building up to and where their growth really shows.

Sabrina started out as Chloe’s minion same as canon—albeit with more attention to her feelings and her responses, no matter how seemingly small, allowing her to feel more like her own person. And through this focus, we got to see her open up more, pull and eventually break away from Chloe and her influence, and over time stand up for herself and try to establish herself both with the class and as an individual.

Lila started off as a liar and manipulator, selfish and self centered, much like canon. Unlike canon, her lies are tied to her issues, noted to be poorly thought through, and give her more introspection as a person. After the lies are revealed, she’s not “redeemed” so much as she is “accountable”, and it doesn’t change who she is. She remains selfish and certainly far from being considered “good”, but she’s letting people in past her walls and masks in a way she hadn’t been able to before.

Both of these things? Figuring out who you are and letting people know you for who you are? They’re incredibly hard. And a lot of time was devoted to both of their journeys along the course of the comic.

Sabrina’s arc was about her figuring out who she is on her own. Outside of Chloe and her previous role of being a follower and lackey. And sometimes it feels less scary to stay with someone toxic than to be alone and facing the unknown. We see it in the way she tries to put herself out there afterwards, reaching out and risking rejection and just figuring herself out. Even or perhaps especially with those she already knows and has a less than positive history with.

And we still see the struggle of her view of herself in this episode. It was in the way she was upset that she legitimately tried to help and it still resulted in bad things happening. And it was also clear when she calls herself a “sidekick” to Marigold after the day was saved, as if it’s a role she still sees herself as and one she struggles not to fall in to. Over time, we’re seeing Sabrina learning that she doesn’t have to be attached or subservient to someone else to have an identity or be accepted. 

Lila’s arc involved her figuring out who she is with people. Outside of the lies and manipulations she creates, the masks she wears, and the identities she crafts to make people like her. The “real Lila” is far from the best person and arguably not even a good person, but she also doesn’t have to be for the others to accept her as the still somewhat bad influence she is. She’s still very much selfish and flawed, but she’s less inclined to hide it or treat it like something that needs to be hidden. And isn’t that a common lesson? That it’s better to be liked for who you are than to force yourself to be someone else to be liked?

And at the same time, even with being less than a fully good person, she’s showing that she can still find better ways of acting that allow her to help others rather than hurt them or serve herself. She still hates Scar, but rather than working with Hawk Moth to kill her and risk dooming Paris and the world, she’s instead working with Alya through more legitimate (and legal) means…and hitting Scar where it hurts most. She and Adrien may not be friends, but rather than try to punish him for not going along with her, she’s instead rescued him, putting herself on the line—something that the former Lila wouldn’t have considered doing and one that canon Lila wouldn’t be capable of. Even if she’s motivated by pettiness or self-interest, what would have been straight up revenge on someone who upset her has grown to be something that is working in everyone’s better interests.

Both Lila and Sabrina hid themselves in different ways and for different reasons. So having them both assert themselves and call out both Chloe and Scarlet Lady is a show of their growth and overall a huge deal. It’s not something either of them would have done at the start of the series. Sabrina, because she was a “yes man” who wouldn’t dare to argue with Chloe and Lila because she wouldn’t risk openly doing something to make herself a target. 

And now boom! Look at them both! Lila stepped up to openly and publicly denounce Scarlet Lady as not being a hero for real reasons that aren’t just about herself or her feelings—complete with receipts! The girl did her research, noting incidents from before she even came into the picture. Then follow up with Sabrina standing up against Chloe’s machinations and dismantling Chloe’s main source of power: her father. Even better, she’s using logic and knowledge she would have as a former ally of Chloe’s who would know her tricks, taking her former friendship with Chloe and using it against her.

And on top of that, each of them are given the Miraculous by the person they wronged in the past. Marinette to Sabrina and Adrien to Lila. Especially in Lila’s case, it says a lot that they’re trusted. That shows narratively that even with their mistakes and bad choices and continued struggles, they still can move forward—not necessarily to find redemption, but to find themselves and be their best selves.

This is why it makes sense for them to share this episode. It’s also why both of them speaking up matters. They are both publicly confronting their greatest foe, and the fact that their foes are really two faces of the same person further highlights this. 

So they both have issues with the same person, are dealing with forming their identities without catering to others, are working out how to have/be friends, were formerly not the best of people, and have a fear of rejection. As such, this isn’t just their obligatory hero episode, this is what their individual stories have been leading up to. Almost like they’re two sides of the same coin. And the comparison between the two helps them both shine.

And speaking of shining, does anyone remember how the all girls team up didn’t get a chance to shine in canon? Zoe sure did.

I have a whole list of problems I have regarding Party Crasher, but perhaps number seven on that list is that the boys got to have an all male temp hero team up episode while the girls didn’t.

In fact, by this episode in canon, only Alya, Chloe, and Kagami actually got to be temp heroes.

To be fair, only four of the guys out of seven in canon got to be part of their particular event in Party Crasher, leaving out Ivan (who often tends to get overlooked) and Nathaniel (who has had a precedent of just literally disappearing from the episode). But originally, part of the appeal of Party Crasher was that the focus was supposed to be on the male classmates and getting to see at least some of them being part of a team against the akuma.

Why then didn’t we get an episode like this with the girls? Or at least something LIKE this?

Frightningale became that episode. And if any of the episodes were to do it, it makes the most sense for Frightningale to be the one.

All of the girls were together to take part in this event. So Zag would have had the perfect excuse to include them all in the fight or just have the girls do something to help even as civilians. I mean, we’ve had episodes do this before. Max in Robustus. Nathaniel and Alix in Reverser. Luka in Captain Hardrock. Let the civilians show their heroic traits even before they become heroes. It’s not a Miraculous, but it’s still giving them focus and expanding on them as individuals.

Instead, canon Frightningale was a filler episode. And not even a good one. For an akuma who forces people to sing or dance, it’s a waste that they just had the heroes spend the whole time rhyming. A waste of writing and talent. I mean, have you heard Christina Vee sing? If there needed to be a musical episode, I would think that the akuma who forces people to sing would certainly warrant it! At least more than it’s Christmas and they sing just cuz.

So this is yet another thing that Zoe improves with the Scarlet Lady version of this episode. Giving us the all girl team up episode so many of us have long wanted and getting to see all the female heroes together at last. 

And with this, we get the full roster of friends-turned heroes.

Except for Alix. Poor, poor Alix.  ;_;

Your day will come.

In this way, the end where Clara goes a different direction with her music video feels less like a half-assed fix to a half-forgotten plot point and more like something that was built by everyone involved. I don’t know about the rest of you, but given Clara’s excitement over the all girl band playing and Pigella’s gift showing Clara an idea for her video, it highlights the focus on EVERYONE being part of this—both the video and the episode itself. It kind of comes off as a lesson of its own about teamwork and giving everyone a shot rather than focusing specifically only on one or two specific individuals.

And isn’t that what separates the heroes from Scarlet Lady?

But there’s a third important aspect of this episode.

This is the episode where Chloe is smacked in the face with Scarlet Lady’s falling popularity. 

Let’s remember that at the start of the comic, Scarlet Lady was fully and widely considered THE Hero of Paris. She was beloved for doing nothing and it was a point of frustration for Chat, who actually was having to pick up her slack. Initially, there was nothing he could do because him being the only real hero among the duo meant he often couldn't stick around after akuma fights to prevent Scar from telling "our story". In addition, he didn’t know who she was or who chose her and why. Then even when it was clear her getting the Earrings was a mistake, for a lot of the first couple seasons, she was so popular that they couldn’t just take the Earrings away from her lest they risk backlash from the rest of the city. It’s a backlash that seems increasingly unlikely as more and more people get to see her behavior and callousness firsthand.

We’ve seen hints of it in other episodes, but none of them were so blatant to Chloe that she couldn’t ignore it or shrug it off or otherwise make excuses to protect her ego.

Prime Queen wanted to focus on Marigold and Chat Noir for their “romance” to try and boost ratings. Alya and Lila made some snarky comments, but Chloe could easily dismiss them both. Nadja also made a comment that nobody cared about Scarlet’s love life, but a lack of interest in her love life isn’t a lack of interest in herself and Chloe despises both of her “sidekicks” and wouldn’t want anyone trying to pair her with them anyway. And Nadja reassures her that they’ll focus on her after they’re done with Chat and Marigold. So yes, she can dismiss that as well.

Reverser has Chloe faced with both of her identities are made as villains in art and a story. However, she clearly looks down on Nathaniel and Marc barely registers to her. So she can dismiss them.

Look at Despair Bear, the Intermission, the interactions with the various other heroes, and the fact that only Chat Noir and Marigold are privy to the Guardian’s secret existence and allowed to pass out other Miraculous. Much has been shown of the other characters being less than impressed with her, snarky towards her, or showing the process of how they discover the truth about her and how she actually handles akuma attacks…namely in that she doesn’t. And Chloe can dismiss all of that because to her, none of them really matter to her.

But Chloe can’t dismiss the fact that a renown celebrity dedicating a music video to the “Heroes of Paris” isn’t including her. Bad enough her sidekicks are taking center stage but she’s not even in the music video at all?

And when someone she despises calls out the reasons why she’s not a hero in an openly public setting surrounded by a multitude of people who all agree with her? You could say it’s insult to injury. But some would say it was a long time coming.

Some Rando: Scarlet Lady sucks! Alya: Marigold and Chat Noir do all the work, not her! Kagami: She’s barely even necessary at this point. Clara: This video and song are to celebrate hope and love. And Scarlet Lady lacks both when push comes to shove. Chloe: ARGHHH! WHATEVER!

It further shows the turning tide of public opinion against Scar. What was once a trickle has grown into a wave, and now Chloe is forced to acknowledge her image and status aren’t as ironclad as she thought. Sure, she could denounce Lila as a liar like she’s done before, but Lila is bringing up instances that Chloe can’t deny: being late (as she’s just plain been a no show to several fights), endangering civilians, and being caught live on camera being willing to let someone die in a particularly horrible way because it’s easier.

This is the episode where it’s not just people seeing Scar is horrible, but acting on it and letting Chloe know they know she’s horrible. It’s reached the point where Chloe can’t just disregard the claims or discount and ignore her critics. And we’re seeing Chloe starting to lose control as a result. To the point she has to force her dad to ruin a previously sanctioned event in what has to be one of his most flagrant displays of abuse of power to date just to shut down her detractors.

And even that would come with more consequences for Chloe if it had been allowed to continue. Sabrina herself points it out that Clara is very popular with a lot of fans—people who would be aware she’s making a music video and whom would be very disappointed if word got out that it was cancelled due to an issue with the Mayor. And given all the very unhappy people we see in the comic in question where she points that out, it stands to reason that the word would get out. Heck, I’d be surprised if someone wasn’t recording it.

Then there’s the love square/hero shenanigans.

Remember how in canon, the whole “playing themselves/risking identities” bit kinda just dropped out halfway in? The kwamis were the only authority figures involved to call out on the risk and of the two, Plagg didn’t care and Tikki gave one knowing stare at Marinette before turning around to gush about the suit. Even though Marinette offers the alternative idea to the music video by the end, there’s no further comment or notice of how she and Adrien nearly blew their identities….or alternatively a comedic take where nobody recognizes them regardless and they worried for nothing. Honestly, I would have taken either setup.

Having Fu present to call them both out shows there is a responsible authority figure watching, makes it clear there are rules they are expected to follow, and reinforces that this was, in fact, a horrible idea. Sure, Marinette and Adrien worried enough to hide their masks, but it should have been obvious that wouldn’t work long term. They are risking their identities, not just to Paris but to each other. And he calls them out for doing it on purpose.

Then there’s the beautiful crescendo of the love square dance in that the two both pretty much have figured out the other’s identity and just want an identity reveal to make it official—which Fu won’t allow. We see it in their playful banter that gets mistaken for “getting into character” and in Adrien in particular pushing Marinette to take part.

This is a point where we are seeing them be teenagers. Foolish of them? Yes. Should they have known better and not done it? Yes. But is it in character and the sort of teenage shenanigans we would expect of teenage superheroes? Definitely. And that’s part of the point. Because they are teenagers. Teenagers in love, no less. Teenagers in love with secret identities to dance around. Which is half the fun of secret identities!

It’s just another aspect to this episode that makes it enjoyable.

So overall, the episode matters in ways that the canon version didn’t and was fun in ways that the canon version wasn’t, making it stand out not just as an episode or a remake of the canon episode, but as its own standalone episode AND a noteworthy point in the overall story.

#scarlet lady au #scarlet lady essay #scarlet lady is better than canon #for zoe

[waddlewaddlewaddlewaddle]

ᵤₙfₒᵣₜᵤₙₐₜₑₗy ₛₘᵢₜₜₑₙ ₍ₘₐfᵢₐ bₒₛₛ! Gₒⱼₒ ₓ ᵣₑₐdₑᵣ₎

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Summary: Life leads you to treacherous roads after deciding to enter the dangerous life you knew well not to follow.Having gojo by your side inviting you deeper and deeper into all that’s wrong in the world, inciting you to be selfish and carefree wasn’t supposed to be to your liking, so why do you shiver with adrenaline every time he decides to be the devil on your shoulder?

Contents: Mafia boss gojo x secretary reader.(civilian au ig)

-Secret crush Gojo!

-Yandere Gojo

-Physical altercation I guess.

-angst.

Gojo being an egocentric bitch! Wealthy gojo! X no nonsense reader.

Warnings: trigger warning if you’re not interested in anything mafia like drugs or violence related. The narration of this story is inspired by Latin and Asian mafia.

Wc:3k

🏷:@busyreader17 @starlight5cat @xavlyzn (I love y’all for tuning in I appreciate your comments🫶🏻🫶🏻)

Chapter 3

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Some dew drops are seen sliding down the windows of a custom Gulf Stream jet ;due to the rain as it lands on a clandestine pathway in the city of Shanghai, China.

As the wheels below the jet deploy you feel a soft warm hand tap you on shoulder waking you up out of your slumber, as you feel the jet tremble due to the landing;you gasp yourself awake due to the strange circumstances of your awakening.

-“Good morning Miss, I hope your flight with us has been lovely. I’ll leave you a cup of coffee ,a bottle of water and some ibuprofen in the case that you require them. Mr Gojo and Mr Geto are waiting for you outside the jet so you can all head to Báisè de huā villa. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be taking my leave.-“ Said the flight attendant before taking a bow then leaving.

You wink your eyes in hopes that I’ll help you understand what the fuck she just said,since you slept too little, you were still a bit drunk from all the whiskey from a few hours ago. You popped an ibuprofen then exited the master bedroom which you don’t remember getting into. You notice that your top is now lingering a scent of a mens cologne, but you shrug the thought off and conclude that the alcohol is just messing up your senses.

As you strut through cabin corridor,you quickly spot the jet door.Which leads you to an unknown country full of posibilites or new found problems. You tip tap down the jet stairs in hopes of finding warmth in one of the 5 Ford Everest parked by the path way, but you soon notice that in front of you is your boss and his god mother standing proudly before 2 lines of 20 men , 10 on each side forming a hallway to the vehicles while respectfully bowing down to them. Out of instinct you decide to take a step back to process the power demonstration being held before your boss, you knew he was a shady man but you’ve also never thought of him like anything else but a coworker; as you take a step back you also realize you’ve stepped out barefoot and now you have an un pleasantly wet foot.

-“Fuck.”- You comment making heads turn your way as you practically announce your arrival, as their workers noticed you ;one of them ran over to you to place and umbrella over your head.

As your presence is known; Gojo swiftly turns around and looks at you with slight amusement sparking his blue orbs.

-“How shameful,I should fire you.”-He recites while walking over to you, while making some weird hand gestures tu one of his men.

-“Be my guest.”- you reply as you gather your hair up in a pony tail to look more presentable.-”Lovely weather isn’t it?”-You comment as you rub your feet together trying to fend off the cold.

He scoffs strolling over to you ,knowing he wouldn’t fire you in his wildest dreams, a few seconds after ;the assistant whom he was signing to handed him a box. He then proceeded to crouch his tall figure to the ground , it looked as if he was bowing down to you, then he took some slippers out of the box to then grab an ankle delicately to slip then on. As of you weren’t already nervous due to this unexpected action,the look of his men piercing you made you anxious.

-“I can put them on myself you know. Stand up you’ll get your suit dirty.”-You mumbled squatting down to take the slippers from his hands.

-“Don’t tell me what to do.”-He expressed looking you dead in the eyes as he snatched back the fluffy slipper from your hand putting them back on your other foot.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

3 figures could be seen sitting down in the main dining room of the Báisè de huā villa, it is currently 2 pm and all of you just woke up from a few hours of sleep after you guys arrived from the landing site.

You were now in an impromptu business meeting as your boss explained to you your obligations as his secretary while on this very important work trip.You timidly smiled as you see how the passion for his work ( truthfully power hunger) sparked a passion in his eyes ,as he explained to you how he wanted to add Chinese territories to his reign; starting with Shanghai.

Todays meeting was very important ,here he would be meeting with a very noteworthy drug supplier that worked with very few clients due to the quality of its goods and mainly to avoid getting dragged in between gang wars, the goal for today is to be accepted to the client list and negotiate prices.

You were perfect for the job

He knew that from the moment that Geto and he started stalking you, after seeing how you built wonderful companies from zero, that you were the only one capable of fulfilling their expectations. Yes, you were young, and many people may associate that with immaturity, but your age only highlighted your strategic thinking and endless energy.

You started to supervise some work your underclass men sent you to Japan when you noticed a clothed reflection on your computer screen.

-“Do I bore you?”-The deep familiar voice questioned.

-“Sometimes.”-You snapped back in annoyance due to his stupid questions.

He frowned from your unexpected reply , your tone making him a little sad. He knew you were a woman of firm character,a quality he admired about you ,so he started to worry of what would happen if you found out about what him and geto did.

-“Are you being sincere?”-Gojo asked in a more serious tone.

-“Dead serious.”-You reply as you smile from ear to ear at his “playful” questioning.

As soon as he realized you were playing ,the stress left his shoulders , he sighed and cackled at himself due to his behavior. He barely recognized himself, the guilt is eating him alive, he needed to makeup for it fast.

-“Want to go shopping?”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The busy Nanjing road if full of locals and tourist.The infrastructure of the shopping districts is breathtaking , the afternoon sunset is reflecting beautifully on the buildings decorated by big led screens and beautiful compositions of glass.

In the big sum of people, Gojo and you found peace due to the fact that, to the naked eye, you were no different from any tourist. Your boss stayed close to you as he scanned the environment with his icy blue eyes; he hid his hands in his cashmere pockets as he looked down on you.

-“I have a surprise, c’mon, follow me, princess.” - Your heart skipped a beat as you heard those sweet words come out of his pink lips. For some reason unknown to you, your boss only let out those teasing words in front of you. You decided not to think much of it since you knew he had his fair share of good-looking girls behind him. You knew your place, his secretary, nothing more.

His calloused, cold hand grabbed yours as he calmly walked through the crowd; he looked ahead so calmly. You felt embarrassed for thinking anything of his nonchalant attitude. But to him, oh man. His heart was running a thousand miles per hour; the only thing he could do to hide his blushing cheeks is to look ahead. Your hand felt so warm, so soft, so small against his; that only led him to wonder what the rest of you feels like. For a woman with such a small frame, you surely had too much attitude. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t fantasize about all the ways he could tame that cheeky attitude of yours. In the end, that white-haired man decided it was better for him to stop such wild thoughts before he started having issues controlling his breathing.

When both of you arrived at the store, the sales assistant immediately recognized the tall man beside you and promptly led you to a private room. It seemed to be a private dressing room; it was composed of a luxurious cream sofa, a extravagant white wood table, and what seemed to be another small room to dress in. On top of the table was a black suede box with a red bow that screamed open me!

You look over to the grinning figure beside you for permission, and as soon as he gives you the green light, you scramble to open the mystery box, which reveals a beautiful turquoise Qi pao with tiny white flowers detailing the side of your hip. The cloth ended at mid-knee and seemed like silk; it glided beautifully under your fingertips, and the stitching was impeccable. Once the sales assistant noticed you were satisfied with the dress, she took her leave.

-“You shouldn’t have.”-You gasped.

-“Oh, but I did.”-He sweet-talked as he started getting closer to your face.-”How about you model that piece for me as a thank you.”

-“Model for you?”-you giggled.-“I’d rather pay credit.”- You say as you searched your purse.

-“Fuck.”- He mumbles under his breath as he drags one hand on his face.-“I’m starting to think you get a high from contradicting me, when will you stop playing dumb, my dear.”-he taps your forehead with his index finger as he mutters this sentence.

You grab his hand, catching him off guard.

-“I don’t know if fooling around with me is your source of entertainment for today, but please consider that it’s not normal for a man such as yourself to grab my hand and plan surprises for me and take me to foreign countries. I’m aware it’s all for business reasons, so I beg you to keep this as strictly professional as possible.”

With a swift movement; your hand still in his, he turns you around to face the mirror as he positions himself behind you, towering over you as he hugs you with the arm you're both holding hands with. You gulp at the sight of his broad shoulders contrasting your own back, at the way you're engulfing yourself with his aroma, sweating at the way he dared to rest his head on your other shoulder just to whisper…

-“What if it wasn’t for business, what if the absolute truth was that you drive me crazy.”-He groaned as he looked intently at your cute expressions through the mirror.-“The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you make me want to have some damn morals just so I can have the right to talk to someone like you.”

You shake your head as you refuse to accept the reality of the situation you're in.

-“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Gojo.”

He bit his tongue in anger and frustration; all he could do is tighten his jaw in hopes he wouldn’t say anything stupid.

-“Good, cause all that’s not the fucking case.”-He left the room after spitting that out in resentment at the way you turned down his feelings as he was a beggar. He knew it; he’s a fucking idiot for ever having hope; all he’s done on this trip is embarrass himself in front of you. Having to swallow his feelings these 2 years drove him to insanity; all he wanted was to include you in his life’s plans, why couldn’t you accept that?

Oh, he clearly knew why.

It’s because you deserve better.

You deserve a Prince Charming who will offer you peace and warmth, someone who works a 9-5, someone who has a family life to offer you, probably someone who doesn’t have to carry a gun in his waistband to protect himself from all the bad things he’s done in the past, someone not crazy enough to kill for you or even better someone who’s not masochistic enough to live with the burden of his unrequited sentiments towards you.

But in the end, he knew he was selfish; that’s how he got to where he is today. He knew damn well you deserved better, so why did he still have the irresistible urge to steal you away, to drown you in his feelings to the point where you couldn’t deny them.

He laughed, no cackled at himself outside of your dressing room; you had no idea what you had coming.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Three champagne glasses clicked in celebration of a newfound business project. Tonight’s meeting has been a success, even though you’ve been burning your brain cells trying to decipher what the hell happened at the boutique this afternoon. You were clearly distracted but not to the point you forgot why you were here in the first place.

You sat back into your seat, participating in idle chit-chat with the supplier. Meanwhile, your tight turquoise Qi pao emphasized your waist, the slit by your thigh earning some stolen glances from your boss as he still acted indifferent towards you after today's spectacle.

Geto could already smell what was happening between you two, but in reality, he didn’t care one bit to even ask about it. So all he could do was stand by the door, keeping watch for any potential danger.

The meeting concluded wonderfully, so you said your goodbyes to the supplier to excuse yourself to the bathroom, allowing yourself to think straight for a few minutes before returning to your chaotic reality.

As you finished washing your hands, you touched your nape with your cold hands with the hopes of cooling down your body heat. After fanning yourself a few times, you exited the bathroom.

But to your surprise, you found a familiar face in the hallway.

-“Miss! You’re Gojo’s secretary right?”-The supplier asked, waving his hands at you to come over.

-“Yes, sir, can I help you with anything?”-You answered with a grin.

-“If you’re so very kind, I’d like to know what kind of jet you both traveled here in, because I’d also like one that can hold as much cocaine as yours do.”

You chuckled at the poor guy in front of you, too drunk out of his mind to comprehend what he’s saying.

-“Sir, we didn’t bring any cocaine; the only thing the plane carried were the three people that were in the room with you.”-You smiled as you explained the situation to him.

-“Don’t try to act sly with me, young woman! Your boss just told me that he secretly brought over 400 kilos in that jet of his; he brought them to sell over here while I released some of my product to him.”

As he uttered that sentence, your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. This morning you were used as a drug mule, and you didn’t even notice it.

You truly thought he would respect your boundaries.

How foolish.

You start to tremble as you start to imagine what could have been if the navy or the immigration officers wanted to inspect the plane and found the three of you with all those drugs in it.

You run back to the bathroom feeling sick, thinking that by slim chance your hard-worked career was almost over. No, your precious life was over if they decided to try you for drug possession in a country as strict as China, all because of his stupid greed.

You dried your sweat as you quickly mapped out an exit back to Japan without your two business partners finding out about you knowing their dirty little secret. Now you knew you couldn’t trust them; it was idiotic of you in the first place to do so.

You quickly ran to the entrance unbeknownst to the fact that Geto was trailing after you since the moment you left the dining room. Sure, he could have prevented the supplier from telling the truth, but that would’ve been even more suspicious in your eyes, so he finally had to let the truth break free.

You signaled over one of the cars that Gojo put at your service; all you hoped for was to get your passport back from the villa and take the first flight back to your home country and maybe even treat yourself to a little crying session in the taxi.

But the moment your hand met the car door handle, a cold force pulled you back by your free hand.

-“Please, baby, let me explain.”-Gojo stated out as he felt his heart rip to shreds due to the liquid pearls forming in your eyes.-“You weren’t supposed to know; I knew we weren’t gonna get caught, so I didn’t want you to know since I knew you’d get nerv-“

A smack was heard echoing the Shanghai streets as Gojo held his red cheek after his sentenced was slapped into the air since you decided to give him a taste of what a liar like him deserved.

-“I fucking hate you!”-you yelled out while pointing a finger at him while wiping your tears with the back of your other hand.-“ I wish I never met any of you motherfuckers!”-You said as you pointed to Geto and his crew.

What surprises all of them next was your ability to get lost in the busy Shanghai streets after crossing a simple street.

Gojo didn’t hesitate to chase after you into unknown territory wishing he could turn time back, unbeknownst to himself that some threatening enemies were watching close by.

*　　 　　✦　　　. *　　 　　✦　　　. *　　 　　✦

A/n: Holy fucking shit man , i hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I hope sacrificing my spine for the time I edited this in one sitting is worth it. Any suggestions or comments let me know!! Have a good day 🥸🫶🏻💋

#comments are appreciated #idk what tags to use #dark romance #gojo imagine #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jjk mafia #mafia romance #gojo mafia boss #simp gojo #mafia gojo #yandere gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #geto suguru #mafia #walk him like a dog #angst #angst with a happy ending #jjk angst #Spotify

[ddarker-dreams]

Tastiest Treat.

Scaramouche x Reader.

Word count: 1.1k. 

“No.”

Scaramouche shuts you down the mere second you excitedly enter his line of sight. It isn’t an unexpected reaction, that incessant scowl often seen on his otherwise pretty face. You think looking grumpy might be a hobby of his. How pitiful is that? This is exactly why your presence in his life is a need, not a want.

You consider voicing this sentiment, only to wisely decide against it. To get what you want today, you’ll need to choose your battles carefully. This isn’t a fight you should pick.

… Maybe tomorrow, instead.

“Huh? I haven’t even said anything yet,” you reply.

He waves off your faux offense as if he were swatting a pesky bug. Which, if his current miffed expression is anything to go by, is exactly how he currently views you. That’d be hot water for anyone else. You’d say the temperature feels more lukewarm than anything. Comfortable enough to take a bath in.

“You didn’t need to. Your expression alone is enough to serve as a sufficient warning. Whatever strange request it is you’re inevitably about to ask of me, my answer is no.”

“I hope you’ll set aside your prejudiced misconceptions for just a moment to hear me out,” you reply without missing a beat. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose yet doesn’t attempt to stop you. He probably knows better than to try. “I only want to play a simple game with you. Something tells me you’ll enjoy it more than you think.”

The sales pitch must not have been as effective as you hoped, for he shakes his head. “Enjoyable for you, maybe. For someone who enjoys using the word ‘sadistic’ to describe me, you sure do take a fair share of delight in my torment.”

“It’s not torment, it’s character building. As the only person who isn’t at risk of an excruciating death for so much as breathing in your vicinity, I consider it my sworn duty to keep you humble. Or the closest thing you can get to it.”

He gives you a thin smile. “You sure do love testing my patience, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I love it nearly as much as you do. Now, for the game,” you pull out a thin biscuit-like stick covered in chocolate. “We both start eating from each end. You lose if your mouth comes off it or the opposing player gets to the middle first. Simple, right?”

Scaramouche eyes it warily. “You know I don’t care for sweets.”

“But you care for me, so let’s give it a shot anyway.”

(He noticeably doesn’t deny this).

“My answer is still no. Honestly, I can’t take my eyes off you… the second I do, you’re running off coming up with the most half-witted ideas. Should I follow through with that threat of tying you to my wrist after all?”

The grin he gives you is supposed to be menacing, you presume, but you’re undeterred. Such trials are the spice of life. Besides, you’re already well acquainted with his questionable sense of humor. “Thanks for reminding me to always keep a pair of scissors on hand. Anyway, if you really still don’t want to, then well…”

He inhales, bracing himself for the worst—

“That’s fine then.”

“What?” He blurts out, having all the grace of a newborn fawn trying to cross a frozen lake seconds after being born. Further forgetting the virtues of propriety, he points at you, his senses on the highest alert.  “That… isn’t how this works. How you work.”

The Harbinger keeps you at arm’s length, as if you were actually any threat to him. Apprehension radiates off him in waves. You examine the treat in your grasp with something akin to yearning. Purposeful silence ensues, multiplying the already building tension in the air. He’s waiting with bated breath for whatever stunt you pull next.

You don’t keep him waiting long.

“I mean, I would’ve liked to play the game, since, y’know, it’s possible we might’ve ended up kissing,” you drop your shoulders while he processes the information being presented to him. “I guess I could look to see if someone else might take me up on my offer… well, sorry to bother you—”

“Hand it over.”

“Oh?”

“I forbid you from playing this ‘game’ with anyone else. After all, you said…” he trails off, his face flushing with color, “That… that a kiss could potentially arise as a result. I can’t allow that. Game or otherwise. Because I’m… ahem… the only person who has kissing privileges.”

You blink, finding the swiftness of your success unexpected. There were a few more plans hidden up your sleeve that will get to say there now. You underestimated how quick he’d be to disregard his pride so long as a kiss is on the table. Not wanting to waste any more time in case he regains his temporarily cast-aside dignity, you set the thin biscuit inside your mouth.

Scaramouche latches onto the other end with unrivaled vigor. You’d almost think his life was on the line by how seriously he’s taking this.

Your strategy is a simple one — the classic little nibbles that err on the side of caution. He mimics your approach, having to take a step forward to remain balanced from how close your bodies are becoming. From this angle, you’re treated to an unobscured view of his pretty features. The glassiness of his indigo eyes, the brushstrokes of red surrounding them, the cute creases from his nose being scrunched up in concentration.

There’s precious little you wouldn’t do to experience a sight like this.

You’re both making decent headway, though you’re the slightest bit closer to the middle. Victory should be within reach, so long as you keep this up—

Hm? What’s this pressure you’re feeling against your lips?

Soft, oh so soft. Warm too. Caressing, the slightest bit greedy.

Scaramouche is smirking at you, evidently very pleased with himself, savoring each second of your bewilderment. You mentally scour through the files of your short-term memory. He had moved so fast that your eyes could barely process the motion before them. In less than the time it took you to blink, he had taken a sizable bite, eliminating what little distance remained between your faces.

His teeth tug your lower lip toward him lightly when he pulls away, his eyes lidded. “I got to the middle before you did. Wouldn’t you say that means I won? What’s my prize?”

“Truthfully, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” you admit, to which he snorts. “Uh… best two out of three?”

He wipes a few stray crumbs from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“If I get to keep doing that, then we can go through your whole stupid box. Try me.”

#i just wanted to write a lil something <3 #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche brainrot #my stuff

[genoskissors]

Guide to Understanding Genocider’s Many Names

Genocide Jack has many names and it can be hard to understand why so many people use different ones or spell them differently, so I attempted to make a guide that is as comprehensible as possible.

Something to know before hand

Kanji: More complicated, such as 翔

Hiragana: Simple and smooth, such as しょう

Katakana: Simple and sharp, such as ショウ

Let’s get the “Genocide” part out of the way

This part of her name is written in katakana, (ジェノサイダー) and you’ll notice the line at the end. This means the sound is extended, so instead of “da” it’s “dā”. Japanese doesn’t have an “er” so this is used instead, since they sound similar. Her official title is Genocider. The localization simply switched this is be Genocide. I’m not sure why, maybe since Genocider isn’t actually a word, but that’s just my best guess.

Syo VS Sho

Here’s where it get complicated.

In order to make sounds like “kyo”, “bya”, or “ju”, two hiragana are need. First, a character ending in i, such as ki, bi, or ji, characters pronounced like ka or bu cannot be used. Second, one of the three y’s (ya, yo, or yu) in a smaller form.

The character “ki” (き), combined with “yo” (よ), would make “kiyo”. But if the “yo” is written smaller (よ→ょ) then the “i” from the first hiragana is replaced by it. So since きよ is Kiyo, きょ is Kyo. Same for “bya”. びや is Biya, so びゃ is Bya.

Now, we have our “exceptions”, shi (し) and ji (じ). You’ll notice they look very similar, which is why they are both “exceptions”. For “ji” (じ) and “yu”, (ゆ) rather than jyu it’s just ju (じゅ). It’s different since in the case of kyo and ko, it’s a whole other sound, but jyu and ju are pronounced the same, so the y isn’t needed.

But in all my examples, you’ll notice the first hiragana is two letters, which is why it gets tricky for “shi”. Like jyu, shyo is unnecessary, however, h and y are pronounced the same here, so you can remove either one and get the same sound.

Quick Note: I used “kyo”, “bya”, and “ju” as examples since there are Danganronpa characters with those in their names, but, just to clarify, they aren’t the only combinations possible.

The reason I put exceptions in quotes is because this is romanization, there is no rule book saying you must write it this way. While Sho is the most common way to write this, it doesn’t mean Syo is wrong. In fact, the games themselves use this.

However, they also use Sho.

So, really, both are correct.

Syou VS Syo / Shou Vs Sho

> I’ll be calling her Sho/Shou here for convenience.

翔 should be spelt with a “u”, since it’s しょ“sho” then う “u”, so “shou”. Still, a lot of times the u is excluded because it doesn’t sound too different in English. English speakers pronounce “Shuuichi” and “Shuichi” the same, so I suppose the u is unnecessary. You’ll find this is common in a lot of different translations. Even Japanese media that use the alphabet, like the pictures above, will sometimes leave out the u, if following an o or another u.

Jack & Jill

These are just the titles that are strictly English. Since the whole thing about Syo in the beginning was that she’s a serial killer, society will assume it’s a man, so the public will give her a masculine name. In English, people will hear Sho and see it’s foreign, so there’s no gender association. I think it was changed that way so we’d see it as masculine. While I think they should’ve kept her Japanese name like everyone else in the game, I cannot deny how easily Genocide Jack rolls off the tongue.

Overall

All the names work, use whatever you want.

I hope this made sense to at least one person. If it doesn’t, feel free to ask for further clarification!

#danganronpa #genocide jack #genocider syo #genocide jill #genocider sho #praying I didn’t misspell anything

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Gross

Fic Idea (no pressure obviously) Thomas struggling with his self image and ego, and in response Roman ends shapeshifting all the time, fluctuating between the masculine beauty standard (lean, muscular, hairless) and what society considers “ugly” (pudgy, hairy). And based on how he looks, Roman will interact with the others or hide away – anon

hihi!! had this random idea for a sanders sides fic- something along the lines of- a while after Remus and Roman split, Remus comes back (when the dark sides start to get more involved) and confesses that he hoped Roman was doing better after he joined the light sides? that all he wanted was for his brother to be happy, away from the darkness for once? angst sadness ykyk :)) – can-you-hear-me-axhilles

hi, so I just read your wings series and I was wondering if we could have something with Remus and his tentacles? Like maybe him thinking they are ugly or something, I’m not really sure. Maybe Roman has animal characteristics too and they’re “prettier” or “better” so he gets insecure? Mainly focused on these two but I don’t mind if it’s all of them together. No pressure to write this tho! – anon

I’ve been reading your Sanders Sides stuff for the longest time and I was wondering if I could get some Roman angst with a side of creativitwins? – meandmacats

Read on Ao3

Warnings: non-consensual body modification, self-esteem issues, self-hatred

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5481

Or, five times Remus helped Roman out when Thomas's self-esteem issues change his nature, and one time Roman helps Remus.

 

”Remus?”

Remus looks up from his knitting to see Patton standing over him. “What’s good, Pat-Pat?”

“I’m, what’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m knitting this patchwork sweater out of hair.”

“Oh…how cool.” Patton gives himself a shake. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’ve seen Roman? He was supposed to come down for lunch but he never showed.”

“Like, at all, at all?”

“Yeah. Neither hair nor hide! Or—well, I guess he did do the hide since he’s hiding from us, and you’re the hair!”

“Ah, Pat-Pat, never stop with the dad jokes. You’ll make all of us go into pun-withdrawal.” Remus carefully sets aside the needles and bounces to his feet. “I’ll go look for him, see if he needs to be pried out of the dragon’s gullet again.”

“Oh, thanks so much, Remus, I really—wait, ‘again?’”

“Gotta blast!”

Honestly, it’s not like Roro is known for missing deadlines, that’s Remus’s thing. Especially when it comes to things like meals and remembering to eat—well, Ro’s not exactly the pinnacle of healthy practices when he get absorbed in his work, but he’s better at it than some people give him credit for. Which means he’s either deep in the middle of something he’s keeping to himself, he’s asleep because the time zones in the Imagination are all kinds of wackadoo, or he really does need to be rescued.

Which isn’t Remus’s thing, come on, Ro, you’re ruining his reputation.

By the time he gets to the Imagination, he’s already pulling out his acid-proof gloves and sharpening his Morningstar. He stops dead, however, when he sees the doors are still locked from last night. That’s weird. Maybe Ro just used his personal gate instead of the main one? But that just takes him right to his little workshop area, that’s not anywhere near where the dragons are…

He’s about to go for his gateway when he hears a quiet noise coming from Roman’s door. Frowning, he turns. Roman’s door is only a few feet away. He glances up and down the hall to make sure none of the resident sneaks are nearby—Janus and Virgil—and knocks on the door.

“Uh, busy!”

“Ro, it’s me.”

“Oh. Did you, um, did you need something?”

“You weren’t at lunch. Pat-Pat’s getting worried.”

He hears a muffled curse and the door glimmers slightly. That’s Roman’s cue that he can sink in. He stows the acid gloves and the Morningstar and sinks in, expecting Roman at his desk or on the floor puzzling over some bit of a story he can’t quite get right, but instead he sees an empty room.

“Where are you?”

“Bathroom.”

Remus pops his head through the door and blinks. “Whoa.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Roman mumbles, already reaching for the bandages curled up on the counter, “you don’t have to say it.”

”That looks—“

“I said you don’t have to say it.”

Remus slams his mouth shut, but he can’t stop staring at the acne. Throbbing red pimples that look like they’re causing Roman pain every time he so much as breathes, bigger whiteheads that have already started to ooze, blackheads that litter every inch of skin that isn’t already covered, some of which look like they’re almost on top of each other…

Roman turns his back on him and hunches his shoulders. “What do you want, Re?”

“I, uh…well, now I want to help.”

Roman laughs. It’s not funny. “There isn’t any helping this. Not until Thomas feels better.”

“Whoa. Back up. What?”

“This.” He waves a hand at his face. “This is a thing, remember?”

“Oh. Oh, right, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Remus scrubs a hand over his face. “Can I help make it less painful while it’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Then Roman’s head turns slightly. “Would you?”

“Shit, yeah,. Roro. You’ve helped me with stuff more times than I can count on my fingers and toes, let me help you.” He gets a small huff that might be an actual that-was-kind-of-funny-I’m-feeling-better laugh. “Yeah?”

“…yeah, okay.”

“Wonder-bats! Okay, I think I still have that stuff from when we had those sores from the poison experiments…where did I put that?”

“Did you leave it in your room or my room?”

”We cleaned up here, so it should be…aha!” He takes a big plastic case from under the sink. “Go sit your perky butt on the edge of the tub, I’ll be right there.”

“…thanks, Remus.”

“What’re brothers for?”

2.

The very first time it had happened, it had been well before Thomas had learned what it was to be attractive.

Remus had found Roman crying in his room, curled up under all the blankets he could find with tissues covering the floor.

“Ro-bro? What happened? Do I need to fight someone for you?”

“It won’t come off!”

“What won’t come off?”

Roman had peered out from under the blanket cocoon and Remus’s mouth had dropped open when he saw the words FREAK and LOSER written all across Roman’s face in permanent marker.

“Who did that? Was it Virgil? I’ll fight him!”

“No,” Roman had sniffled, “it wasn’t—wasn’t Virgil. It wasn’t any of them.”

“Did you do it? That’s more my kinda thing, isn’t it?”

“No!” Roman had wailed. “I didn’t do it! Someone—someone hurt Thomas!”

“Someone hurt Thomas? But nothing happened! We didn’t get into any fights!”

“Not like that! They were just mean. They were really mean and they said he looked ugly and they called him a f-freak and a loser and—and—“

Remus had scurried forward and wrapped his brother in a hug as he broke down in tears. “You’re not a freak or a loser, Roro. Neither is Thomas. They were wrong, you know that, right?”

”Then why won’t it come off?”

Sure enough, up close, Remus had seen the red and raw skin where Roman had scrubbed it with whatever he could find to make the words go away. Bits were even coming off on the blanket as Roman rubbed his cheek against it.

”Hey, hey, stop that. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care! I don’t like seeing my brother hurt!” Remus had given him a shake. “You don’t have to hurt yourself more on top of this, okay? Come on, come into the bathroom, I’ll help you.”

“Y-you will?”

“Yeah, Roro, come on.”

The twins had gone to the bathroom where towels and washcloths were still strewn around from Roman’s previous attempts. Remus had made Roman sit on the stool and reached for the soap, getting one of the washcloth more suds than cloth and trying to wipe off the words.

“That tastes so bad.”

“So keep your mouth shut.”

“But you keep wiping it over my mouth!”

“No, I’m wiping it over your cheek, which is next to your mouth. And you talking isn’t making it any better, so shush.”

Roman had grumbled silently until Remus accidentally went too roughly over one of the sore spots and Roman yelped.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,. I didn’t mean to.”

“Wash it off! Wash it off!”

“Okay, okay! Come here!”

They had stumbled over to the sink and Remus practically shoved Roman’s head under the tap. He had spluttered and flailed out, splashing Remus.

”Hey! Don’t splash me!”

“I’ll splash you all I want!”

“No, you won’t!”

“Yeah, I will!”

It had…devolved from there.

The bathroom had been sopping wet by the end of it, not a towel nor tile had been spared from the twin’s water war. Their clothes were just as soaked, their hair dripping like they’d just walked through a hurricane. The sink and the bathtub still ran as if nothing were wrong and the detachable shower head in Remus’s hand sprayed as merrily as ever.

”Whoa, hey!”

“What?”

“It’s gone!”

Roman had run to the mirror, touching his face. Sure enough, the words had vanished.

”It is gone!”

”You’re welcome,” and he had taken a big bow with the shower head still spraying everywhere, “I think that means I win.”

“Whoa, wait, no, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

”No!”

“Yes!”

It took a while longer for the war to end and even longer for the bathroom to dry.

3.

Someone says Thomas eats too much junk food and Roman can’t stop dripping oil.

Remus finds him sitting on his bathroom floor, the drain in the shower covered with a towel. He’s sitting on towels too, towels soaked and heavy with oil as Roman’s tears fight to get out from his eyes and through the slick covering his skin.

“The others are worried,” he says quietly, lingering in the doorway, “they want to know what’s wrong.”

Roman doesn’t say anything. Remus peers a little closer and sees the telltale sheen over his mouth too. Even just thinking about how it must feel to have that much oil on his lips makes Remus shudder. He summons a washcloth from his own stash and a bottle of soap.

“Just like old times,” he says as he crouches down in front of him, “I’m gonna wash off the oil on your face, okay?”

Roman manages a small nod and Remus gets to work. Normally when he’s washing oil off stuff, he scrubs at it like he’s trying to grind it with sandpaper and the soap foams up around his wrist. But this is Roman, not some metal piece of equipment, so he goes as gently as he can without suffocating him with soap or making no progress at all. He has to stop a few times when Roman lets out a pained noise or winces at the rasp of the cloth, just holding a blotting sheet there to soak up the oil as best he can while he waits for him to settle. He makes a note to work on the heavy duty blotters in case something like this ever happens again.

At last, when Roman looks like he’s about to cry for a very different reason, the space around his lips and nose is clear enough for him to gasp out a few words.

“Sorry, thank you, sorry—“

”Shh-shh, Roro, you don’t need to apologize. Just tell me what you need.”

”’S so gross.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m right here.”

Roman lets out a frustrated whine and Remus quickly pulls out his phone.

“If you tell me what Thomas needs to stop thinking about I can get Lolo on it.”

“No, then he’ll—“

“I’m not gonna tell him what’s wrong with you, okay? I’m just gonna prod them into getting Thomathy’s brain on the right track away from whatever-the-fuck-this-is-station.”

More oil starts to build up and he shoves his phone in his pocket, working on washing it away again. His presence seems to have calmed Roman down a bit; the oil comes in smaller waves this time, concentrated more around the naturally oily parts of his face rather than every inch of his skin. When he’s cleaned off the areas around his nose and mouth, he goes and starts moving to the rest of his head.

“Junk food,” Roman mumbles, as if saying it too loud would make the oil return with a vengeance, “saying bad stuff ‘bout Thomas…unhealthy…gross…”

Remus whips out his phone and sends a text to Logan about food not having a moral weight and how eating something was always better than eating nothing. He gets a text back a few seconds later that just says on it.

“Lolo cavalry is assembled, he’s going.” He tucks the phone away and keeps washing Roman off. “And I’m gonna stay right here until we get all this oil off you, okay? We can even do your thirteen-step skin care routine once it’s gone.”

“It’s not thirteen steps.”

“Whatever you wanna tell me, Roro, at least you’re not as bad as Snakey.”

It’s the first time Roman manages to laugh that day, and Remus makes sure it isn’t the last.

4.

When Patton and Logan have near simultaneous nervous breakdowns after someone calls Thomas lazy, Remus makes sure Virgil’s wrapped around the Mindscape’s padre and Janus has Logan in his little snake den before he goes off in search of Roman.

The Imagination door is covered in cobwebs that retreat as he approaches, a few spiders waving hello as they disappear. He runs his hand over the keyhole, checking to see if it’s just an affectation, or if Roman really hasn’t been using it. He knows he has, is the thing; Roman’s had more projects on the go this month than he’s ever had before and if it weren’t for Janus and Logan dragging him out of it to make sure he didn’t completely lose touch with the Mindscape, he bets his left barnacle that Roman would’ve been living there too just so he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to keep working. And sure enough, the keyhole glows red as soon as his fingers brush it and he carefully pushes the door open.

He walks into the most statistically average middle class sitcom home he’s ever seen. Needless to say, he hates it.

”Ro? Are you here?”

There’s a faint noise coming from what he guesses is the direction of the living room and listen, as little time as he has to spend in this painfully mediocre place, the better. Seriously, he can feel the whispers of white picket fences and PTA meetings lingering ominously over his shoulder with every second he walks through these beige walls. Snatches of TV dialogue becomes audible as he makes his way through the house.

He comes to a stop.

He tilts his head.

There’s certainly a person in the living room, but it doesn’t really look like Roman. They look like every Sunday cartoon about a husband and wife where it’s terribly misogynistic and heteronormative, recliner out, bag of chips in lap, staring vacantly at the TV. It’s only the fact that they’re crying at the paid advertising programs and that Remus would recognize his brother anywhere that he knows it’s Roman.

He sits down on the plastic covered couch and tries not to look at the soulless photos of smiling families perched on the dusty mantle. Roman doesn’t look away from the screen but the hand nearest Remus twitches slightly.

“Hey,” he calls, and Roman’s head turns a little, “hey, Roro. I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

The TV blares something about a crockpot that cooks fancier meals than a normal crock pot.

“I know how shitty it is when people accuse you of being lazy. Especially when they’re just complaining that they haven’t seen anything from you.” He shuffles and the couch squeaks. “And we all know how hard you’re working. How hard Thomas is working.”

Roman’s eyes flick to his. Remus smiles and takes his hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“Giving yourself a break isn’t being lazy. Having a hard time doing things isn’t lazy. Not being able to work on something because it’s just covered in the fucking ooze isn’t being lazy. You aren’t being lazy, okay? You wouldn’t even be lazy if you decided you didn’t want to work on any projects for the next year.”

The TV glitches out. Static fills the room and it actually feels like Remus can breathe. He squeezes Roman’s hand again and shifts closer. Roman stares at him with wide eyes.

”I mean it, Roro. You’re not—I know we’ve gone over this and I’ll keep giving you crowbars for as long as you need them—“

The smallest smile appears on Roman’s face.

“—but you’re not—your worth isn’t in what products or content you can make. You know i love you because you’re my brother, because you’re funny and clever and ridiculous and there’s no one I’d rather make stuff with. You could decide that you don’t want anything to do with Thomas’s career anymore—“

Roman makes a devastated noise.

“Calm down, calm down, I know that’s not true, I’m just spouting a wild hypothetical, okay? If you decided to do that and I made sure it was really you and you hadn’t lost some sort of bet, then yeah, I’d still want you to be my brother. We’d still do stuff. I don’t give a shit what everyone else thinks.”

”…promise?”

Remus could sob with relief at actually hearing Roman’s voice come out, and he grins so wide his cheeks start to hurt. “I promise, Roro, I promise. You’re not lazy, you’re resting, and even if you were, I wouldn’t care.”

‘’M not trying to be lazy. It’s—I’m just—“

“Shh, shh, Roro, it’s okay,” The bag of chips falls to the ground and catches fire as Remus tugs his brother into his arms. “I’m right here. You’re doing so good, okay? Thomas is too.”

Remus doesn’t burn the house down because he’s had too many lectures from Janus about that, but he does get a big cartoon wrecking ball to smash the whole thing into smithereens.

He does burn the recliner though. And the plastic-covered couch. They deserved it.

5.

The latex gloves snap on as Roman sits on the edge of the tub with a grunt. He picks up the rest of the kit and sets it on the stool.

”Do you know what it’s about this time?”

“Someone said something about how immature Thomas is being about criticism and how he can’t take care of things, something like that.”

“Why did it manifest as acne, then?”

”I don’t know, maybe something about how teenagers who are hormonal and don’t really know how to take care of their skin get acne?”

Remus snorts. “Do people still not understand that acne happens and can happen to anyone regardless of age?”

‘Apparently not.”

“Well, they can go lick the Kraken’s crack.”

“Ew, Remus.”

“Just trying to keep the mood light.” He picks up one of the cotton swabs and a paper towel and leans down. “I’m gonna try and clean up some of the wet stuff first, okay? Then we can actually get onto some relief.”

“You’re not gonna pop any of them, are you?”

“I don’t think so. At least not right now.”

”Because I really don’t want this to scar.”

Remus hums, carefully running the swab over a particularly inflamed part of his cheek. “Can you give me a pain rating?”

”Like a 6? It’s not that bad but it’s not a pain I’m used to it’s…freaking me out.”

“Understandable, have a nice day. If it ever gets too much, let me know and we’ll switch to a cool pack, okay?”

Roman hums as Remus goes to work. A pile of discarded swabs and other trash accumulates at Remus’s elbow as he works patiently around the various, uh, ‘zones.’ They have to stop a few times when it gets to a point where Roman’s whole face just aches, waiting for it to subside enough that Remus can keep going.

“There are a couple down here that look like they’re ready to go, do you want me to just get ‘em out?”

”Be careful.”

“Sure, yeah. If it starts to hurt lemme know and I’ll back off right away.”

He gets a few of them, a few more putting up too much of a fight so he leaves them be. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Roman heroically stop two or three whimpers before he lightly jabs him in the stomach and tells him to knock that posturing shit off, he doesn’t need it here.

“…thanks, Re.”

“I told you, it hurts too much, I stop.”

“I know.” He shifts on the tub. “I think it’s just…hard to remember.”

Remus frowns, glancing up at him. Roman fiddles with the hem of his prince costume.

“You know…with the others?”

”No. I don’t know, Ro.”

“They don’t—they’re—they want Princey, Prince Roman. Not…the rest of this.” He waves his hand to indicate the cotton carnage. “So it’s hard to…”

He trails off when he sees the expression on Remus’s face.

“What?”

”You mean they don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That this—“ he waves at Roman— “happens to you. Any of it.”

“I mean, they know I’m the Ego and it makes sense that I get hurt when Thomas feels bad, but—“

”But not how much.” Roman won’t meet his gaze. “Fuck, Ro.”

“…it’s complicated.”

“Shit, no, I’m not—look at me, Ro. I’m not mad at you. I’m just—this wasn’t what I’d hoped.”

Roman frowns. “What do you mean, what you hoped?”

Remus sighs. This is turning into way more of a conversation than he’d ever anticipated. Glancing around, he picks up the cold pack and hands to to Roman before taking a seat on the counter. His legs swing and kick at the cabinets with a quiet thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk.

“When the Split happened, and we went to the Dark Sides, I…dunno, I guess I thought it would be…better.”

“Because we were separated?”

“What? No, no, because I had the stuff like Deceit and Anxiety with me, so they couldn’t make any of this stuff worse—not that they would,” he says when Roman opens his mouth to protest, and wow, have they come a long way, “but just ‘cause…well, yeah. You had Logic and Morality, who were—doesn’t that make sense? That they would be able to help?”

Roman sighs. He picks at the edge of the ice pack. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Logan’s thing is object impermanence, you know that.” Remus winces in sympathy. “But having someone tell you something isn’t real when you can feel it and it is real, to you, that’s not…that’s not helpful. It’s better if he just goes right to Thomas than coming to me.”

“And Patton?”

Roman lets out a humorless huff. “Thomas is feeling bad and Patton is Thomas’s feelings. How do you think that normally goes?”

…yeah, probably not great.

“It’s not all bad,” he continues, softer now, “they’re at least good when I tell them I don’t want to be disturbed. They don’t ask questions if I tell them I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That feels suspiciously like the bare minimum.” Roman shrugs. “I know I literally just said the opposite, but do Janus and Virgil…?”

“They’re both better at comforting the others. It’s okay, Re, I have you. I really only want you when it’s…bad like this.”

“Me? Why?”

“You get it.”

Remus chuckles, getting back up and picking up the next tool. “That simple, huh?”

“Sometimes it’s just that simple.”

”Aw, I love you too, Roro. You’re the specialist baby brother any Side could ever ask for.”

“You—what the hell do you mean, ‘baby brother?’”

“You’re the baby brother.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. Now hush so I don’t accidentally poke your eye out.”

“I’m gonna get you back for this.”

“Oh, I’m so scared about that. Now hold still, Roro, let’s get this out of the way so you can feel better.”

“…love you.”

“I love you too.”

+1.

The Imagination is upset. Roman feels it the second he steps foot through the door and forgoes his normal prince costume for a rougher tunic and boots, strapping his sword to his hip and an emergency pack to his back. The wind blows frigid and punishing over the grass as he starts down the trail, squinting through the dust clouds whipping up around him. The clouds frown around the edges of the tree line, darkening to a stormy black near the edge of the coast. As he nears the black cliffs, rocks crumble beneath him and tumble into a churning sea.

He edges carefully around the craggy rock face, keeping his movements light and careful. Spray whips him in the face as thunder rolls in the distance. The chill near rips his fingers from their precarious handholds. He grits his teeth and keeps going, even as the wind howl so loudly his ears near split from the pain.

There, a little ways down the cliff, is a small cove. He inches his way around the edge of the bluff and drops onto a larger path leading him along the coast. There isn’t any sand here, only rough and unyielding stone. Froth and foam given them gleaming white teeth as the waves churn furiously around the mouth of the sea. He follows the path down, down towards he massive cracks in the sheer rock face, one eye on the black water below him. Despite being so close to the shore, there’s no sign of a bottom and he doesn’t want to risk how deep it is. There’s no telling what current might rip him into the open ocean if he falls in.

The cove is shaped like a spear’s point, the crack in the cliff at its very point as though some massive weapon had shattered the rocks themselves. As Roman nears it, the shadow at the base of the path slowly grows more and more defined, until he realizes that it’s a path through the cliff. The cove is an inlet leading into a hidden sea cave with a vast black lake in its center. Roman peers up at the glistening wet walls, hand on the wall as the wind whistles angrily by.

The water moves. He looks down. Something massive slips just underneath the surface, sending ripples to the shore. He crouches down and sees a huge shape getting closer and closer to the surface. An eye the size of a dining table glares up at him through the water and long arms with rows and rows of hooks reach up toward him.

“Ollie, it’s me. It’s Roman.”

The Kraken pause. The hooked arms retreat and he pokes his head up, letting out a mournful burble. Roman reaches over and taps the water. One of his other arms comes up and Roman pets soothingly along the skin.

“What’s the matter, buddy? What’s going on?”

Ollie burbles again and Roman suddenly realizes why the hooked arms were the ones to reach for him. Beneath the surface, the Kraken’s arms form a cradle of sorts, holding something close to the Kraken’s massive body. As the water shifts and ripples, the thing comes closer and closer to surface, slowly moving to reveal its precious cargo.

And there, nestled in the Kraken’s grip, covered in his own writhing tentacles, is Remus.

“Oh, Re,” Roman murmurs as his brother twitches and whimpers, “what happened? Who did this?”

Ollie burbles again, holding him out, and Roman balances on the edge of the shoreline and stretches to hold on. The Kraken lifts him up and into the cradle too, letting him touch Remus’s frigid skin and shake him awake.

“Re? Re, wake up, it’s okay, I’m here to help.”

The tentacles writhe as Remus stirs, blinking through a pained haze up at Roman. “…Ro?”

“Hey, Re, it’s me. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. What happened?”

“Thoughts got too loud.” A tentacle leaves a thick trail of slime across his arm and he shudders. “Sorry.”

“What could you have to be sorry for?”

“‘S gross.”

“You stop that,” Roman chides gently, running his fingers through Remus’s wet hair, “I don’t care if something’s gross, I care if it’s hurting you.”

Remus whimpers, clutching at one of Ollie’s arms. The Kraken squeaks back, trying in vain to warm him up, but there’s only so much he can do in this freezing cave. Roman glances around and bites his lip.

“Does it feel better in the water? Is that why you came down here?”

“Yeah. Ollie came and f-found me.”

Roman pats the worried Kraken. “What do we need to do? Is it like caring for Ollie’s arms?”

“N-no. Like helping the jelly—jellyfish with the twisted—twisted ones.”

He’ll bet just about anything that this frigid water isn’t helping Remus do that, and it’s not like Ollie has opposable thumbs. He goes to slide into the water himself but Ollie chirps in alarm, hoisting them higher.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to help.“

Remus shakes his head, more slime trailing across his shivering body. “Too cold for you.”

“Well, then it’s definitely too cold for you. Can we get you somewhere warmer?” Remus curls up a little more. “What about that pool near the glowstone trees?”

“That’s all the way on your side.”

“Ollie can take you. I’ll meet you over there.” Remus stays quiet. Roman leans down and brushes the wet hair from his eyes. “What else is bothering you, Re?”

Two of the tentacles glob onto Roman and start leaving trails of slime across his tunic. Remus whimpers and reaches out a hand to yank them away. It’s no use; the roiling mass just keeps smearing slime onto Roman as they try to pull him closer, no matter how hard Remus shoves them away.

Oh.

Oh.

“Re, you’re not too gross. You’re not going to ruin anything. I want you to come with me so I can help you. I care about you. Let me help, please?”

It takes a painfully long moment for Remus to peek up at him and nod. Roman can’t stop the way his shoulders sag in relief and he sits up, patting Ollie’s arm as the Kraken burbles happily.

“You…you really wanna help?”

“Of course I wanna help you, Re, you’re my brother.”

“Okay.”

“Have Ollie take you over to the pool, okay? I’ll meet you there.”

“How are you gonna get there?”

“I have my ways.”

Remus grumbles and he sounds just enough like his normal self that Roman has to reach down and ruffle his hair, no matter how much Remus squawks about it. He climbs back off to the shore and watches Ollie sinks below the surface before he makes his way out to the ocean proper. Taking the charm from beneath his tunic, he closes his eyes and concentrates.

A screaming cry and the massive thudding of wings splits the wind.

Roman’s dragon lands just on the other side of the bluffs and he climbs on, taking off and soaring over the stormy sea. The dragon calls out over the waves and far beneath, he can see the shape of Ollie swimming through the depths. The clouds begin to part as they near the opposite coast, sun rays splitting the worst of the storm as the glowing trees appear on the horizon.

Roman’s dragon sets him down just on the edge of the shimmering pool. He pats its snout and it huffs, lying down on the sun-warmed grass and closing its eyes. As he walks toward the pool and begins to take off his boots, he spots Ollie’s shade moving through the inlet into the warmer water. He chuckles at the way the water vibrates with the Kraken’s pleased rumble.

Clad in just his boxers, he slips into the water and through the tangle of arms to draw Remus into the warmth. Remus immediately tuns and clings to him like a limpet, shivering from the temperature change.

“I know, I know,” Roman murmurs as he starts to work his hands patiently through the mass of tentacles, “just hold onto me. I can still kind of stand here, I’ve got you.”

”You gonna take care of me?”

“Yeah, Re, I’m gonna take care of you.”

He’s rewarded with a sleepy hum and Remus snuggles into him. “You’re the best.”

“No, you’re the best. The best baby brother anyone could ever ask for.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Remus might mutter an am not back, but it’s muffled by his tired slump into Roman’s arms. Roman just chuckles. He’s sure it’ll come up again at some point.

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#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #remus sanders #sympathetic remus

[adiluv]

❥ MERCENARY + HOMEMAKER SPOUSE HCS. ˚⊹꒷

☁️୧・꒰word count꒱ 1158.

🌼୧・꒰warnings꒱ takes place pre-manor.

🦆୧・꒰adi moment꒱ request here! these were originally supposed to be combined into one post, though i decided to split them since they ended up full length regardless, lol. i had a lot of fun writing this, i think it's a super adorable scenario! hope you enjoy! ꒰˵•̀⤙•́˵꒱૭

you can find eli's version here!

꒰🗡️꒱・Naib isn’t exactly accustomed to how peaceful life is with you, having gone through most of his entire life without any opportunity to relax. First, it was the war, which—for obvious reasons—proved to be a rather heavy strain on the man, both physically and emotionally. Even after he’d decided he’d had enough of the bloodshed and defected, living within Britain certainly wasn’t cheap, and he was still unable to seize the chance to step back—though he now had his job as a mercenary to blame for that one.

꒰🗡️꒱・I’d imagine that Naib would prefer to live in a more rural part of Britain, perhaps in a cottage not too far away from the city. Not only does he benefit by encouraging your aesthetic preferences ꒰which is for the best, considering he’s got no taste for design, himself꒱, but he also manages to keep you safe. Two birds with one stone, really. Of course, while living outside of the city does make his line of work slightly more tedious, he’s more than willing to deal with commuting than to move you anywhere closer to such prying eyes.

꒰🗡️꒱・That is to say—he kills, and he gets his assignment done. It’s simply business, as cruel as the reality is. But who’s to say that those close to the victim won’t try to seek ‘reimbursement’ of their own? He’s seen the way that people act when they’re desperate, and he’s seen just how far down they’ll stoop to achieve their goals. For this reason, he’s incredibly protective over you and the life that you share. The thought of anything happening to you is one that he actively despises, and he’s always on the lookout to make sure that nobody’s following him back home.

꒰🗡️꒱・You’re in no real danger while Naib is around, at the very least. He’s got years of experience killing and protecting under his belt, so it’s safe to say that most attackers prove to be of little to no threat to him. Sure, there are occasions where he’ll receive a couple of scratches every here and there, though those tend to be the only signs that anything had even occurred. You’ll patch them up upon noticing them, gently scolding him for attempting to hide his injuries, yet he’s always really preferred to be discreet about such occurrences. In his mind, there’s no need to worry you over a pest that’s already been dealt with… But he is thankful for your concern.

꒰🗡️꒱・As an extension of this, he’s very much insistent on accompanying you whenever you head out—a habit you’d only receive explanation for well into your relationship. Finding out that your partner is a mercenary certainly is quite the shocker, especially when it re-contextualizes the instances in which he’d depart whilst citing ‘work’. Even still, I’d say that Naib was even more shocked when you’d decided to stay with him—under the assumption that there would be no more major secrets kept between the both of you. Regardless, he still couldn’t help but be confused when he’d awoken the next morning to see that you were still sleeping soundly to him. He’d truly expected to lose you. 

꒰🗡️꒱・Although he sends some of his paycheck back to Nepal, you’d be genuinely surprised by the amount that he has left back. Whether it be just by his lack of desire to splurge or simply due to how lucrative his… career choice is, the man is rich—far more than you’d ever guessed. You’ll never be without anything that you need, considering that Naib is perfectly content to allow you to decorate the house and buy anything that catches your fancy.

꒰🗡️꒱・He’s got enough in savings to comfortably retire from his duties as a mercenary, something that he’ll do if you express discomfort with the job. It takes him some time to fully realize that that chapter of his life has finally come to its conclusion—and he’ll be eternally grateful if you attempt to help him ease the transition. Practicing for job interviews and reminding him of what excuses to use should anybody question the sizable gap in his resume does eventually help him snag a new job of his own—free from all the bloodshed of his past!

꒰🗡️꒱・One of his greatest struggles in re-adjusting to an average job would easily be working alongside other people. It’s something that he hadn’t really done since he was in the army, and even then—thinking about his old comrades had the tendency to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. His general introversion does nothing to help him, either, with him preferring to keep entirely to himself or a select handful of trusted individuals. There’s also the added factor of his coworkers just… pissing him off for no reason, as well. He just can’t seem to understand why they’re so incompetent—surely, such simple tasks can’t be all that difficult?

꒰🗡️꒱・Considering his background, you’ll have to admit that it’s quite interesting to see him getting so heavily worked up over something that’s so mundane, though you’re aware that his lack of options wasn’t any fault of his. You do listen to all of his ranting and raving, something that you’d initially recommended to him as therapeutic, though he’d only come to understand why until that first gossip session. He’d ended up getting really into it, and… I don’t think he can go back, honestly.

꒰🗡️꒱・Naib tends to get progressively cuddlier as time goes on, but I’d also say that his desire to cuddle with you is also rather dependent on his mood. It’s relatively safe to say that he’d prefer to be the big spoon—the just something satisfying to him about having your curled up, and safe within his arms—though he’d also still love to be held by you every now and then. Especially so when it feels as though he’ll drown within the memories of his past.

꒰🗡️꒱・Even if he decides to quit his job as a mercenary and return to the life of an average civilian, the pain that he’s felt—and inflicted—isn’t something that just… goes away. There are times where it’ll haunt him, where it’ll break down his walls and make him feel like a microscopic mess. It will claw at him, tearing him down and turning him into a shell of himself, where he just wants nothing more than to be rid of such terrible memories—and you wish that there were a way for you to remove them.

꒰🗡️꒱・He loves you, and he’d never hurt you, but he’s absolutely terrified that he might. Please hold him, please reassure him that you’re there for him. Reminding him that he’s got a whole life ahead of him to live, and that he’s far from alone—that he’s safe, at least now—it helps him… And he appreciates it, more than you could ever know. So, no, he’s never quite understood what it means to have a peaceful life… but if it’s with you, then… He doesn’t mind learning.

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#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆ #identity v #identity 5 #idv #id5 #idv mercenary #idv naib #naib subedar #identity v naib #naib subedar x reader #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v headcanons #idv headcanons #identity v headcannons #idv headcannons

[passivenovember]

“You know how I used to have a crush on you?”

Steve looks up from his math homework, sort of. Stuck in that space between awake and swimming. 

Billy won’t look at him. The end of his pencil has been chewed to shit, his rough draft for Erickson’s American History seminar laying blank and discarded on the lush green carpet of Steve’s bedroom floor.

“I guess so,” Steve tells him. Only, he doesn’t know. 

They’ve never talked about it. But, with Billy, it’s best to go along with what he says, most of the time. Unless Steve’s looking to get his head chewed off, and. 

Consequently, Steve needs his head for midterms.

There’s a powder-pink flush across Billy’s cheeks. An edge to his voice when he says, “I made a list,” 

Like Steve’s supposed to know what that means.

"You did?” Steve asks. Because he doesn’t know. He leans back against the footboard of his window seat, legs stretching like a bridge between them. “Is it a good list?”

Billy shrugs. His cheeks get redder, somehow.

He’s pretty. Like a sugared lollipop.

Steve leans forward, “It’s a pros and cons list?” 

Steve’s cocky. knows from dating Nancy that his pros outweigh his cons by a couple lines. Mentions of his cock and chest hair. 

He’s nervous, all of a sudden.

Doesn’t admit that even though there’s no way he’s getting into college, he hopes that someone as bright and magnetic as Billy will still want to neck at the drive in. 

Billy crosses his arms. Frowns. Says, “It’s a list of Icks,” all pissy, like Steve has control over that stuff.

And it makes sense Steve would find out that all his dreams are coming true when they can’t take a minute to celebrate. He feels like a shooting star, anyway. His head takes a break from swimming in equations and backstrokes through insurmountable joy.

He grins. “What’s an ‘ick’?”

“It’s something you do that makes my stomach turn,” Billy rumbles, so low Steve imagines rocks and pebbles jumping like popped corn on the ground outside. 

He sticks his legs out in front of him, leaning back a little so Billy’s faced with the long, lean line of him. 

One of Nancy’s pro’s. Tall.

“Tell me about ‘em,” Steve says. 

There’s every possibility that Billy hates him for stuff he can’t change. Like the way he smiles or how he laughs, but. Nobody’s perfect, right? 

"Fuck you, Harrington,” Billy says, baby blues tracing the bulge of Steve’s thighs, “I’m not--”

“You brought it up.”

“You’ll get your feelings hurt. Run crying to mama so I won’t be invited over anymore, and then who’s gonna help you get into college?”

Steve snorts. “I’m not getting in, anyway,” He uses his toe to poke at Billy’s knee cap, smiling when he rocks a little with the force. “C’mon. I wanna know what’s wrong with me so I can change and be perfect.”

Billy mumbles under his breath but he reaches around to his backpack, shirt riding up around his belly so Steve gets a peek at his stomach muscles. 

When he turns back around he’s got a piece of crisp, quartered notebook paper in hand. In the light from the window, Steve can see that it’s full, which.

Isn’t great for his esteem. 

Billy clears his throat. “Number one--”

“You numbered them?”

“From least disgusting to most,” Billy snaps. Like, duh. “Number one. When you do your Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation and you dribble spit on your chin.”

“I gotta use my full range of motion to get the vowels right.”

“It’s gross,” Billy says, but he smiles. And giggles, happy like the Gerber baby and he’s so fucking cute Steve’s gonna die. “Can I keep going, or--”

“Be my guest.”

Billy smooths his list, mouthing the next line before reading aloud. 

Steve wants to add that to his own list, just to be spiteful.

“Number two,” Billy reads, “That time you went to the barber and he had to pump the chair a little to get--”

Steve laughs, bright and sudden.

He shuts right the fuck up when Billy glares.

“Number three,” Billy tells him, the paper shaking a little in his grasp. “The sound you make when you eat something spicy. Number four, any time you open an umbrella and the wind makes it pop inside out. Number five, when you tie your shoes too efficiently and the bow is really big--”

“I’m a present. The bow is essential,” Steve sits up straight, suddenly worried. “Let me see that fucking--”

Billy blocks him with a strong arm to the chest. “C’mon, let me get through it,” He says. Like it matters. 

Like it’s important to him. Billy’s continued survival hinges on this moment, so.

Steve settles down and listens to Billy read, all the way down to number twelve: when we play crack the egg with the kids on Dustin’s trampoline and you’re the egg.

And Steve has to ask, “How long have you kept this list, man?” Because that was last summer. 

And Steve remembers his stomach tying itself into knots when Billy dropped Max off and stayed until the sun set. He remembers going home after the kids fell asleep, Billy tagging along. Smoking pot and blowing clouds into the twinkling night sky. He remembers Billy laughing at his jokes staying up all night to catch fireflies with him. 

Steve remembers the sunrise, its first lavender rays bringing with it a sunburn across Billy’s freckles. He remembers falling in love. Or realizing it.

Billy shrugs, “I wrote the first one to help me get over you.”

Steve frowns. Hopes it didn’t work and says, “What’s the first one?”

Because if he knows, maybe he can change it. Maybe he can cheat the system and get Billy’s love focused on him again, burning hot and heady.

Billy stares at him for a long, breathless moment. “You dress up for Halloween,” He admits. “The way your nose supports the weight of sunglasses wigs me out.”

And.

Steve’s belly swoops low, like he’s been at the peak of the highest hill on a rollercoaster. Now he’s plummeting down to Earth. Right now, he’s a crash dummy colliding with the realization that--

“That was love, the first night we met,” Steve says bluntly. Billy’s cheeks look like apples, fresh and embarrassed. “That night, at Tina’s Halloween party--”

“I didn’t say I was in love with you--”

“I know, I’m saying I’m in love with you,” Steve admits, like. Leap.

A lot of things happen at once. 

Billy’s whole face cracks open. His eyes look like swimming pools overflowing with emotion until they turn into lakes and rivers and oceans, pulling Steve under with all their sincerity.

Outside Steve’s window, the sun shines.

It casts a halo of golden love around Billy’s head. He looks like an angel.

Steve’s never going to let him go. 

He leans forward, “Keep reading,” Steve asks softly. “C’mon, I wanna hear.”

Billy jerks into motion, tearing his eyes away to scan the page in front of him. “Number thirteen,” He tries, swallowing until his throat clicks, “When we’re swimming in the pool and you’re trunks inflate so it looks like you’re wearing a diaper.”

Steve chuckles, allowing his fingers to wrap playfully around the ends of Billy’s hair.

Now that the truth is out, he’s going to touch. 

Billy shivers. “Number fourteen, when you put on Chapstick and you’ve sharpened the applicator so it looks like a sword or a baby finger.”

Steve cups the back of Billy’s neck. 

Pulls himself forward.

When they kiss, Billy’s notebook paper glides to the floor. 

#harringrove #fluff #IDK WHAT THIS IS #i didn't edit either so you get what you get babes #hope you enjoy!

[rabesbabe]

Blondie

Gwen Stacy x Fem!Spiderman

Summary: being Spiderman isn’t easy when you have to hide your identity from everyone you love. Especially, your girlfriend Gwen who just wants to spend time with you. But you’re too preoccupied with being the city’s savior.

A/N: Hey guyss! This is my first marvel fic which is shocking lmao But I hope you guys enjoy. No warnings on this fic but it is a lottt of fluff! (Not proofread as usual lol)

_______________________________________________

You stand in front of your locker struggling to open the lock. Your hands were full of folders and your skateboard that you weren’t even supposed to have in the halls.

Just as your folder was about to fall from your arms someone swoops in and grabs it for you. You look up to see your girlfriends teasing eyes.

“Looks like you might want this?” She says pointing to the sticker on the folder that says Ap Bio knowing you have it with her next period.

You smile at her laughing. “Why thank you.” You say sarcastically. You put the rest of the stuff you had in your locker after opening it.

“Are we still on for tonight?” Gwen says. Looking doubtful that you’ll say yes.

“Of course we are.” You smile at her and give her a quick peck.

Gwen had planned for you both to go to her favorite record store and get some coffee to study for a test you both had.

You had missed so many of your dates due to your duties as New York City’s protecter. You were running out of excuses. You loved Gwen to death but how could you tell her who you really were?

You look down at your phone that reads “7:30” in big letters. “shit, shit, shit.” You were supposed to be at Gwen’s house by now to pick her up. There was no way you had missed another date.

You got so caught up with trying to track down this guys who’s stole some lady’s purse, that it hadn’t even occurred to you that your girlfriend was waiting for you. She had to have hated you by now.

You dial her number on your phone. “Gwen?” You say as the line clicks. You hear sniffles and you could tell she was crying. “Where the hell have you been y/n.”

“I know Gwen. I’m sorry.” You grab your face and sigh. “I’ll make it up to you I promise.”

You swing over to a corner store to get Gwen her favorite candy, flowers, and a card. Not exactly enough for the amount of times you had bailed on her but a girl could try.

You swing back home and sneak in through your window. You gently set the stuff you bought down on your bed and start taking off your suit.

“Oh my fucking god!”

Your eyes go wide. You spin around and see Gwen staring at you as if she had just seen a ghost. Out of reflex you shoot webs at her mouth thinking she was gonna scream.

“I know what this looks like but you gotta understand babe. It’s not what you think.”

She try’s to say something but her eyebrow quirks up at the fact she can’t even speak. “Oh! Sorry, Sorry.”

You take the web off her mouth. “Why are you in my house Gwen?”

She looks at you as if you just asked the dumbest question ever. “Why are you spiderman y/n?!”

She looks you up and down and you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re half naked in a bra with your suit hanging at your waist.

“Wait, I can explain Gwen just let me change?” You sigh motioning to the fact you’re not dressed.

“Oh.” says Gwen, visibly blushing.

“And then I guess ever since then i’ve been spider-‘man’.” You say ending your explanation on how you became spiderman.

“Does Ms. May even know?” She asks. You giggle at her words. “She’s told you to stop calling her that a million times,” She rolls her eyes at you. “Come on she’s my girlfriend’s aunt i’m not gonna be disrespectful! Now answer my question.”

You laugh again. “No she doesn’t know. I wanna tell her but…it’s kinda of hard to tell your aunt her niece is the ‘dude’ in spandex fighting crime each day.” You say avoiding her eyes.

“But I’m sorry for everything. For all the missed dates.” You get up and grab the flowers and other gifts you got for her.

She smiles and grabs the gifts you got her. “Why thank you.” She says leaning her forehead against yours. She presses her lips against yours and you smile into the kiss.

You back away from her. “Wait Gwen,” “Hm?”

“How’d you get in my house anyway?” You look at her slightly confused.

“I’ll only tell you if you promise you’ll let me come with you one day when you swing around the city.” She says smirking.

“Deal.” You smile at her.

You get up and grab her hand. “Cmon let’s go see what Aunt Mays cooking for dinner.

“Whatever you say spider-girl.” She giggles.

#wlw ship #gwen stacy x reader #emma stone x reader #emma stone #spiderman #spiderman x reader #aunt may x reader #tom holland #andrew garfield #the amazing spiderman #spider girl

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Déjà Brew

@hinnymicrofic June 15 "Coffee," Muggle AU, Coffee Shop <3

Harry isn’t trendy enough for this shop, that much is obvious.

The bulletin boards are plastered with advertisements for several local bands and a poetry slam; the chalkboard lists at least ten different types of milk alternatives and more flavor shot options than he thought possible; and some indie song he’s never heard in his life blares from the speakers.

He considers turning around, but decides the day calls for coffee more than it calls for a tactical retreat, and he presses on.

He’s still staring at the menu, upon which every order has been assigned a kitschy nickname, when he arrives at the front of the line, trying to decipher how to order an americano without making a tit of himself. The barista asks what he’d like and he panic-orders a plain black coffee so there’s no room for error, the pain in his voice apparent. He starts digging around in his wallet for his credit card, and it isn’t until he goes to hand it over that his eyes land on the barista and he freezes.

Fuck she’s pretty.

It’s an annoyingly blokey thing to think, but he thinks it, and keeps on thinking it as her lips quirk into a smirk and her amber eyes glint with amusement at his expression and she tucks an errant strand of coppery hair behind her ear.

“Do you really want a black coffee?” the local goddess moonlighting as a barista asks, her nose scrunched in amusement. “Or did you panic?”

Panic is an ongoing state of affairs, frankly. “Er…” he says, in a fruitless attempt to kick start his brain. “How could you tell?”

“Call it a barista’s intuition,” she says with a wink. “Plus you look like you were having a tooth pulled trying to read the menu.”

“The fuck’s nitro cold foam?”

“Nothing you’d ever order.”

“You don’t know that,” Harry says obstinately, ignoring the way speaking with her seems to be having the same effect as the four shots of espresso he’d intended to order would have. “I’m very difficult to read.”

She snorts, and he’s not sure whether to be offended or enchanted. “Let me guess,” she narrows her eyes. “You want straight espresso.”

“How–”

“You look too tired for two. A bit too young for four. Three shots?”

“I’ll just have a nitro cold foam, thanks.”

“Sure,” the barista says with a chuckle. “Only, that’s supposed to go on top of an order.”

“Well, shit.”

She laughs, and Harry decides right then and there that he likes this shop, after all. Might be his new favorite place.

“I wanted four, actually,” he admits.

“Rough day, eh?” the barista says sympathetically. His eyes flit down to her nametag, Ginny, and linger for a beat too long. Her smirk tells him she notices. “For future reference, if you want four espresso shots you can order the Déjà Brew, double.”

“Fuck’s sake, that’s terrible.”

“It’s revolting,” she agrees cheerfully and turns around to pull his espresso shots, revealing that the back of her is as tragically fit as the front.

She hands him his drink a few minutes later. “Enjoy. Don’t expect you’ll be visiting again, eh?”

I will if you’re here. “Never know. Could do.”

“I hope so,” she adopts a decidedly wicked expression that does something funny to his stomach. “It’ll be just like Déjà Brew.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. The joke is objectively terrible, as is everything about the hipster shop.

He'll be back tomorrow.

#hinny #hinny microfic #muggle au #coffee shop au #puns

[ranchycowgirllover]

Alright so I made a Stella Re-Design, this post ‘ill be kinda long cuz I wanna explain things and such

My main problems with this design are 1- Details that are unneeded that lead to inconvenience in the animation department (like seriously watch scenes with her and focus on her lashes) 2- This outfit isn’t very regal, I’m guessing the bottom of the dress is supposed to resemble feathers idk it just doesn’t look good.

Alright so we have that out of the way, I have made a few different possible re designs. You’ll see the one I prefer at the end.

This one I tried to keep more in line with the original pink princess theme. Simplified the dress and hair (I imagine that her hair can fluff up when she’s angry) and I replaced the dark purple with a maroon. I also made her hair white. This way the only purple is her make up which should cause you to look at her face more.

This one is a more evil Queen inspired Stella, used the purple as a main dress color, I gave her green/blue eyes and grey hair which she had in the pilot. The eyes are help tell her apart from her husband, and the hair change is to make her look older and more regal. I changed the style of dress now she looks less little girl costume princess. (No hate to princess peach)

This is a younger Stella design that I did. My canon is that she was dressed this way as to appeal more to Stolas.

Now this is the final design that I chose. The purple is for royalty, I did away with the dark purple as to make her look less threatening. And the dress is rococo era inspired just because I those dresses no real reason

I also did a design for her brother.

His changes were simplify his outfit, and the other stuff like his hair were changed to match his redesigned sister

Alright so that’s all the art. The rest of the this is just going to be me ranting and raving about her character.

Okay so I think we should acknowledge how fucked Stella’s situation is. She’s in an arranged marriage and her only purpose in hells society was to give birth to an heir.

Stolas and her brother are shown to have magic powers, and Stolas we know he has princely duty’s so we can assume the same for her brother. Stella doesn’t have any of these she was meant to be a baby a maker. Even her name Stella compliments Stolas’s role as star prince or whatever.

Now in the first episode of season 2 we have Stella making fun of her husband how he’s bad in bed and how she’s glad she doesn’t have to fuck him because she’s given birth. I think this is Viv’s attempt at making this situation seem less fucked up.

I don’t even know it just makes me really uncomfortable that this very feminine woman in a shitty situation is being vilified. Like if I was in Stella’s situation I’d probably have anger issues too. I’m just so tired of being told that feminine outrage and displays of anger make us monstrous bitches.

Now obviously Stolas being forced into a loveless marriage also sucks and is an awful situation for him too. But he’s not that much better than Stella. Both are shown to be physically abusive to the castle staff, and Stella for all her faults isn’t black mailing someone into sex.

Now having two shitty people wouldn’t bother me if the narrative didn’t bend over backwards to make Stolas seem like such good guy, just an uwu gay bean. His wife is SO mean she won’t let the gay people be happy 🥺. Also painting abusers as cartoonishly evil monsters does a disservice to people who have been abused is all I’m saying.

Anyways I’ll hopefully have a Stolas Redesign up next

Bye now

#vivziepop critical #helluva critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss redesign #helluva boss critique #fuck vivziepop

[royalsweetteaa]

This is a sad thought but what about a HC where y/n catches the men crying? How will they respond? :(

NOOOO please this will break my heart but I’m kind of craving some angst so…I guess I want my heart broken. What I’m kind of gathering is they were lowkey trying to ‘hide themselves’ from reader while crying so I’ll write their reactions of being caught as they’re high on sad emotions.

Pairing: cevans characters x gf!reader

Ransom Drysdale

Ransom would turn his face away, hoping you hadn’t noticed anything different about him, but he quickly realizes you had seen him and he would let out a shaky sigh. “Fuck,…you weren’t supposed to see me like this..” He says while chuckling, but it’s forced as he’s just feeling very awkward about the situation, on top of his sadness. He hasn’t shown his vulnerability to anyone since he was a child, so it takes a lot to swallow his pride and accept he has been caught, - though he doesn’t mind as much as expected since it’s only you, his girl, who’s witnessing him in such a vulnerable state. He’d still play off relaxed and carefree to cover up his internal breakdown.

Johnny Storm

Johnny would be like a deer in headlights, and deny he was crying, saying something in the lines of; “-I’m fine! Hahah, I’m not crying, I just…I had something in my eye and…” his voice is choked before he can complete his sentence and he swallows a sob as his fake smile fades, facing with the fact that he had been caught being vulnerable. “Shit…this is embarrassing. I’m not supposed to cry,…I..- I’m a hero for fuck’s sake.” He’ll say, more tears spilling than he can wipe off. He isn’t good at hiding his emotions - just like his excitement and pride, his sadness isn’t easy to cover up when it hits hard.

Steve Rogers

Steve wouldn’t intentionally hide his sorrow away from you. It would be more like he had in a moment of thinking while alone started crying as something bugs him, and if you show up while that happens, he’ll be straight up honest about it. “It’s just one of those days…don’t worry about it, my love. I’ll be…I’ll be fine.” Steve explains reassuringly, not wanting to get into the details yet as he’s letting the tears fall. He doesn’t have a shaky nor hoarse voice, - the tears are the only proof he’s in a sad mood. He’s very composed, but that doesn’t level down his sorrow compared to the others.

Jake Jensen

Jake would be embarrassed if caught while shedding tears but he would be the first one to seek your comfort. First thing he would do when he realizes you’re in his presence is to do a double take before he stands up, slowly walks over to you and hugging you tightly, only if you’ll allow him to. “I’m feeling so fucking down and…fuck, I thought I could contain it but I can’t anymore…” He’ll admit, feeling weak but he knows he’s safe being vulnerable with you.

Bryce Langley

Bryce would be defensive once he realizes he’s caught in a moment of his sorrow, but not in a mean way. “Nothing’s wrong,….I want to be alone.” He would simply say, at loss of other words as he feels another layer of emotion beyond sadness; shame. He doesn’t express his unhappiness much, and he’s usually the one to be so upbeat and make people feel better. So when he’s seen like this even in front of his girlfriend for the first time, it’s as if he feels like he’s failed her of keeping that usual positive persona.

Andy Barber & Ari Levinson

Andy and Ari would respond to you catching them crying somewhat similar. They would first take note of your worried face and they would wipe their faces dry as they respond something in the lines of, “Sorry sweetie, don’t mean to worry you. My thoughts are kind of running at the moment and…well, this is a result of that…”, wanting to reassure you there’s no ‘catastrophe’ going on. They’re aware they don’t cry often, and they can imagine your mind wandering when you catch them in such a state. While they only moments ago were feeling upset about something, their concern is moved over to you, which may be the reason why they don’t find themselves crying much anyway. The times they do cry though is when they feel very vulnerable, but not too vulnerable to hide their feelings away from you.

Bonus: You would of course in response of all these comfort them like the good girlfriend you are, and they would appreciate that very much (some probably not in the heat of the moment *cough cough* Ransom & Bryce *cough cough* but in the end they certainly would)!

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

#cevans characters #chris evans #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen #bryce langley x reader #bryce langley #andy barber x reader #andy barber #chris evans x reader

[cityandking]

another kind of hello

oc kiss week '24 // dairef + canon (1.2k) dai and zaref got to enjoy a couple (private!) date nights in selto after daichi's time in the abyss. here's the tail end of their first post-rez date (and also their first real proper date ever)

He thinks on it all afternoon, as they leave the tattoo parlor and when they pass the skating rink and at dinner after. It isn’t that big a thought, not really, but it seems to grow larger the longer he mulls it over, and more layered, and a little delicate too. It's the sort of thought he has to turn over so he can see it from all angles before he speaks out.

So it isn’t until they’re standing on the street after dinner, night warm and bright and busy around them in the way Selto always is, that he says, “I want to do this right.”

Zaref, looking up timetables on the side of the bus shelter, glances at him.

“I know it’s a little late for that,” Daichi allows, more wry than guilty—which is a relief, to be honest; he doesn’t want to do this with guilt. “But I’d like to do this right anyway. Or as right as I can.”

“This,” Zaref echoes. His eyes trace the lines of the bus shelter, pointed, and Daichi swallows something that feels like a laugh.

“Dinner,” he clarifies. “Skating rinks. Museums or bars or... I would like to spend time with you without worrying about the world ending around us.”

Zaref raises an eyebrow. “I believe they call that dating.”

His tone is dry, but there’s something amused in the crook of his mouth as he says it.

"I— Yes." Daichi shrugs, too aware of his own skin and the shape of himself inside it. “I don’t know if I’ll be very good at it. I haven’t had much experience, and things so far have been… a little intense.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“And—“ Daichi hesitates, takes a breath. This is the harder part, one of the layers he isn't entirely sure about. “And I know you’re angry.”

In truth, anger feels like too small a word for it, but it’s the one Zaref used. Even saying it now it makes him go a little still, a little sharp.

“I would like to do things right," he says, careful. Zaref waits, watching, giving Daichi time to parcel out what he wants to say. Daichi still isn't entirely sure how to tell him how grateful he is for that space. "Even if it’s difficult. I want time with you. I want to know you with and without the armor. I want— I want to have fun.”

Zaref gives him a look at that, something between challenge and doubt, but Daichi holds it. He means that. He has the sense it might take more work than he’s prepared for—fun is not something he's had much opportunity to cultivate—but he wants it. He’s never been one to shy away from hard work.

A heartbeat later, Zaref’s expression softens. The city moves around them, cars and pedestrians and the endless hum.

“We have some fun,” he says, mild.

“Well, yes. But we also…” He doesn’t want to bring up the Abyss right now. Or Selto, or Monrha, or Asdor, or Wiztopia. He grimaces. “We don’t often have time for it.”

“No,” Zaref allows. “I suppose we do not.”

“So I would just— I’d like to do this again. More. I had a good time. I’d like to— I want to take you out again.”

“I think you are supposed to wait to ask for a second date after the first one has ended.” Zaref is definitely smiling now. Daichi sighs.

“I thought someone might try to listen in if I asked at home.”

“I suppose sometimes they can be nosy.”

“Right,” Daichi says dryly. “Sometimes.”

Zaref laughs.

“I know they mean well," he hurries to add, a little sorry for the irritation. They don't deserve it, mostly. They mean the best of almost everyone he knows. “I only— I hope you’ll forgive me if sometimes I don’t want to share you. Or— Share us, I guess.”

“Mmh,” hums Zaref. “I think I can forgive you for that.”

“So then— Can we do this again?”

“Isn't it customary to kiss at the end of the date,” Zaref returns, “before asking for the next one?"

He's definitely teasing now, but it draws Daichi up short.

“You— Oh.” He isn’t sure why that’s a surprise, except that they haven’t actually kissed, not since— Zaref’s has hardly left his side, true, but this is…

This they haven’t tried again. Not yet.

“Are you sure?” he asks. This feels like the sort of thing that requires confirmation. Permission. The guilt is back, a little—it does tend to lurk, particularly where Zaref is concerned.

Zaref’s answer is a step forward, moving slow and purposefully into Daichi’s space. The closeness is not a surprise, but he hand on his jaw is a sweeter, stranger thing. For a moment, Daichi remembers a desert world from a lifetime ago. The sun has long since set, but the light of the bus shelter drips over them, and Daichi is all instinct when he rises onto his toes and closes the distance between them.

It’s a strange thing to kiss someone again after so many years of separation. It's strange to fall back into something he used to know so well and hasn't forgotten so much as un-remembered.

“Sorry,” he mumbles when they part, his heart thudding a mile a minute. He says it like a reflex, automatic and clumsy, and it surprises him. His fingers have curled into Zaref’s shirt, holding tight without his permission, and a small and distant part of him marvels at how badly he can miss someone who is standing right in front of him. All of the neat, clean lines of meaning he holds in his mind smear to abstraction; he forgets to look at the layers and the angles and the thoughts. “Sorry,” he repeats, though sorry isn't what he means at all, and then he leans in to kiss Zaref again.

Everything inside him buzzes. He feels it from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, a shock and a settling both. It is, he imagines, a little like coming home. Something like desperation pushes up under his tongue, a deep and welling want, and Daichi makes himself pull away before it swamps him.

“Don’t apologize,” says Zaref, hand at his waist, voice rough. “Don’t— Not for this.”

“Okay,” Daichi nods. Promises. He takes a breath and makes himself unhook his fingers from Zaref’s shirt. He finds his hand instead, a better thing to hold, and Zaref slots their fingers together without a word.

For a long minute, they sit under the shelter. The bus comes, and then they sit there instead, side by side, clasped hands tucked between them. The night flashes past through the window, the city big and blooming and alive.

It isn’t until they get off the bus that Daichi asks again.

“Persistent,” Zaref says, squeezing his hand. Daichi hums.

“I've heard I can sometimes be stubborn.”

“Sometimes,” Zaref echoes, dry, and Daichi doesn’t bother to hide his smile. Zaref bumps against him, pointedly clumsy, and Daichi sways with him. “I guess you like me, hm.”

It catches for a moment—that flicker of guilt, of things left unsaid too long. Daichi feels it and lets it pass.

“Yes. I meant it. I want to do this right.”

“Mmh. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’d like that too.”

“Okay,” says Daichi, and even in the dark he can see the edge of Zaref’s smile. “Then we will.”

#this is like. canon adjacent. a canon what-if. I have no idea what goes through zaref's head but whatever I wrote something anyway #ockiss24 #mine; writing #a tag I haven't used in a million million years wow #r: light through stained glass #voidhopping campaign #mine; daichi #daichi

[fruchtfleisch-art]

If micro-fics are still withstanding, why not something about Shinobu’s parents! Perhaps contrasted with how Kosaku’s were, or maybe even Kira’s?

Idk, im just fascinated with in-laws and families !!!

I love thinking about families too, this was a really fun prompt! I wish I'd had some space to write about Kira's parents as well, but this already is a tadge too long... I guess emotional neglect is the thread connecting their families, albeit on completely opposite ends of the spectrum. Neglect is so fun and versatile like that!

Big HUGE thanks to @toytle for reading this over for me, you caught so many word repetitions and overstuffed sentences I glossed right over in my first edit, haha. This fic is much better now thanks to you!

It’s unfortunate, but Kosaku can’t stay in the kitchen forever. He eases the flow of the faucet from a torrent to a trickle, sets his bowl in the sink, and listens, his heart in his throat, to the heavy, solid silence emanating from the dining room.

Shinobu hasn’t said a word for almost five minutes, her father twice that, but Kosaku doesn’t want to go back. He would give anything to be somewhere else, away from this cramped little house where everything is dingy and shabby and a little off-kilter, even the yellowed lines of grout lining the checkered tile counter. There’s no towel to dry his hands with, so he wipes them on his pants, feeling the square lump of his lighter in his pocket.

A quick glance towards the dining room confirms a total lack of movement since he went to rinse his dish out.

In five steps, with a brief pause to jam his feet into his shoes, he’s out on the engawa, the door lurching stiffly shut behind him. It’s freezing, the crisp air crackly in his lungs, but the view of the road below is clear. A few stars have emerged in the darkness settling over the sky like a thin slick of oil, following in the rosy wake of the pale sun. Kosaku puts his glasses on, smooths his hair back, and lights a cigarette.

He's not going to be out here for long, just until he figures out what he wants to say. He can’t think around Shinobu’s father, crumbles under his hard stare and his gravel-voiced accusations.

‘What do you want, money?” he’d asked in lieu of a greeting.

“This is a fine mess,” he’d said, after weathering their feeble attempts to talk around the issue at hand. “You’ll be expecting me to feed you, I suppose.”

Then, as they sat down to eat, to Shinobu: “Why are you doing this? Haven’t you caused me enough trouble?”

It’s all the worse for the apathy behind such cutting words, for his complete disinterest in anything said in response. Her father isn’t a big man, but he drains all the energy out of the room, with only cold contempt to replace it.

Shinobu adores romance movies, and there’s always a scene where the male lead swoops in with a heartfelt confession, the admission of which becomes shield and sword against anything standing in the way of his lover’s happiness. But life isn’t a movie, and when Kosaku tried to say something-anything- the words dried up and died on his tongue, and he found himself staring down into his lap, wishing he could wake up and find the last few weeks to be nothing more than a terrible dream.

Shinobu’s voice catches his ear, low and furious and only slightly muffled by the wall between them. The dining room window is cracked open a few centimeters; Kosaku can hear her as clearly as if he had his ear pressed to the door in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you just be happy for me? I don’t know why I even bothered.”

Her father, dull and scratchy: “You don’t call, you don’t visit, but now when you need something-“

“That’s not fair-“

“Life’s not fair. I don’t know why you can’t seem to get that through your head-“

Kosaku feels a sudden rush of gratitude towards his parents, who, although not the least bit pleased with him, at least waited for Shinobu to leave before saying so. He sits down, trying not to shiver as the cold seeps into his legs, then his core, like a stripe of ice creeping up his spine.

He sits and doesn’t think of much at all, letting the argument wash over him as pure noise, as meaningless as the rattle and hush of the wind in the bare branches of the trees. It’s full dark, the glowing tip of his cigarette the only point of brightness on a street cloaked in shadow, as remote and lifeless as the surface of the moon.

There’s the distant glare of yellow halogen headlights further down the road, the remote sound of the motor like a windup toy. Kosaku watches as it pulls up to the house, tires crunching to a stop on the gravel drive.

The man who slides out of the car is thin and shabby, lank hair hanging in his eyes. His shirtsleeves are rolled back to the elbows, and his canvas pants are ragged and splotched with old stains. He looks like a manual laborer, or some kind of repairman, but it’s far too late for somebody like that to come here.

Kosaku doesn’t see the resemblance to Shinobu’s father until he’s at the foot of the engawa, but it’s unmistakable up close. The man glances at Kosaku as he walks up to the front door, then cocks his head, listening to the argument like a spaniel hearing the clumsy wingbeats of a particularly fat duck. A smile worms its way across his face.

“Cigarette?” the man asks, holding his hand out to Kosaku.

“Huh?”

The outstretched hand closes, jabs a finger towards his face. “You’re the runt who knocked my sister up. Give me a goddamn cigarette.”

Kosaku lights it for him, too.

Shinobu’s brother sucks his first draught in hard and blows a dense cloud of smoke, settling down next to Kosaku with a satisfied sigh.

“So,“ Kosaku says, swallowing hard. He wets his lips. Shinobu never said anything about a brother.

“Why aren’t you in there?” the brother asks. His hands are red and chapped, speckled with tiny iridescent dots: fish scales. He must be a dock worker. Maybe she’s embarrassed.

“Sounds like they’re talking about you,” he continues. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”

Kosaku doesn’t know what he would say, though. Everything is happening so fast. A few months ago he had a girlfriend. Now he has a fiancé, soon to be a wife. And the baby, of course. Their child. Milestones that were once distant possibilities are suddenly only a hair’s breadth from the present.

“You’re not gonna run off, are you?” the brother asks.

“No!” Kosaku says, startled. “Never. I love her.”

“Alright. If you say so.”

His cigarette is starting to taste bad, thick and ashy on his tongue. Would it be rude to leave, or would the brother follow him inside? Would Shinobu be happy to see either of them?

“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? This whole thing?”

“No, it’s not,” Kosaku says quietly.

“What, you don’t think so? She was an oops baby, too. Did she ever tell you that?” He leans in, his voice low and dangerous, close enough for Kosaku to see the stubble on his lip and the shallow pits of old acne scars on his cheek. “Hey, here’s some brotherly advice, from me to you: don’t wait twelve years after your first child is born to start fucking your neighbor’s wife. But if you do, if you really can’t help it, don’t forget to wear a condom, alright?”

Kosaku doesn’t understand what kind of reaction he’s trying to get out of him. He didn’t want to know that. Shinobu’s brother grins, his eyes bright and pitiless under the shaggy fringe of his bangs.

“Well. Best of luck.” He stands, flicking his cigarette off into the bushes, and stretches. “Take care of her, I guess. When’s the wedding?”

Kosaku doesn’t want to tell him. Shinobu has good reason not to talk about her brother. What was it like, growing up with a sibling over ten years distant from you, old enough to understand why his family is coming apart, but young enough to blame you for it?

The front door bangs open and Shinobu storms out, face set in a hard look of resignation. Kosaku scrambles to his feet as she passes him on her way to his car, ready for… something. He’s not sure what to expect: shouting, cursing, thrown shoes?

There’s none of that, just a deep, awful silence that seems to ooze from the gap between door and jamb, the frame swollen from cold, or damp, or both. The quiet shrouds them like a dark, dirty blanket, and Kosaku feels his breath catch, burning, in his chest.

“Be seeing you,” Shinobu’s brother says, but Kosaku doesn’t know which one of them he’s addressing. He pulls the door open, a thin strip of orange light spilling out onto the three of them, and then it groans shut, leaving Kosaku and Shinobu in darkness.

She shifts closer to him, arms wrapped around herself. Kosaku drops his cigarette and grinds it out with a gritty crunch.

“Let’s-“

“Can we-“

“Let’s just go,” he says. It’s not a romantic statement by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s decisive. “We can go to my parents’ place, or your dorm- anywhere you want.”

Shinobu sniffles. She looks cold, her nose red and her face pale and waxy, eyes ringed in dark circles. He wonders how well she’s been sleeping. “It’s a long drive back.”

“I can do it.” Kosaku takes her hand and it’s like a block of ice. He doesn’t start the car until he feels some warmth seeping in, until she clenches back, until he feels the bones in his fingers shift and ache.

#shinobu kawajiri #kosaku kawajiri #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba fanfic #like by the barest stretch of the imagination lmao we are stretching it Thin today #ask #no shinomama to speak of i think she tried settling with shinopapa for a few years and then got the hell out of dodge #maybe she's hanging out in italy with giorno's terrible beautiful party girl mother... imagine... #thank you guys for your patience i will continue with microfics 🙏

[runner5anna]

Christmas Cactus

Heyo @kodessa ! I am your ZR secret Santa. Here is a festive fic for you.

Thank you @notforconsumption and @delucadarling for organising this !

It's Christmas day in Able township. It's icey, it's cold, it's not very festive. But, Sam is quite determined to at least make something warm out of the bad day.

There is no spoilers, its SFW but there is discussions of grief and cussing. Also cringe pick up lines.

"Shit!" Bellowed Sam, along with a cacophony of clattering coming from downstairs. Five sucked a lungful of cold air in, kicking the many layers of blankets off of her, grabbed the knife from under the bedside table and ran downstairs. She shoved open the door, shouting “who the hell is there?” and slashing at the air. Her chest heaved with adrenaline and fatigue. The cold air pressed on her bare feet, and her pyjama trousers were halfway up her legs. 

‘Uh - just me?” Answered Sam. He was hunched over the side, which was covered in cocoa powder and parts of a mug. The forest green hoodie he wore to bed was covered in water. “Wait - is that another knife, 5? I thought we talked about this. You don’t need to keep knives under the bed side table.” 

5 grinned and placed it down on the side. “I don’t know what you mean.” She slid it into the drawer, intending to pick it up later. “Need a hand?”

“No - I think I’m ok.” he sighed. He picked up his foot, inspecting it closely. “I stubbed my toe and dropped the pink mug. I found the cocoa powder at the bottom of the drawer in the comms shack. Happy Christmas, I guess?” he sighed, dusted the reminisce of the brown powder off the base of his foot, and placed it down - deciding that it wasn’t broken, just sore. “I wanted to surprise you.” 

“Oh shit - that day already?” 5 ran her hands up her face, pressing her palms into her eyes. She really needed a shower. Her face felt slick with sweat and grime from the night. Maybe she’d treat herself later to a lukewarm one. 

“Yeah. Snuck up on me too. I looked at the clock on the computer last night and it was the 24th! I wanted to surprise you with some hot cocoa but I pigged that one up pretty badly.” He sniffled, and the tears welled like little gems in the corner of his large brown eyes.  

“Oh - bless your heart, Sammy. You’re too kind for this world.” 5 opened her arms, inviting him in for a hug. He placed his bristled chin on her head and sighed, relaxing into her touch. “You didn’t have to do that for me.” 

“I know. I’m the best.” He grinned. “But - I wanted to. So I did.” He pulled away from 5 and picked up the brush from the side. “I need to clean up. Snow isn’t brown. Unless it's mixed with mud. Or zombie parts. But I suppose I’d quite like chocolate snow.” 

“How’s about I make us hot chocolate with what we have left over? And we can do…” Five pressed her tongue against her teeth in thought. “...festive things.” 

“What can we do? Really?” 

5 lent down to scoop up some more powder back into the pot. If she grabbed a collider, she could at least filter out some of the dust. It was salvageable at least - and there wasn’t much of this stuff left in the world so they should at least treasure it. Somewhat disgusting, yes, but it was the apocalypse. If you could be disgusting, it was now. It would be good for her immune system development, her mother would say. “I’m not actually sure. It’s not like we have a big dinner we can make or gifts.”

“Janine has given us the day off - for those that want it.” 

“I might head out eventually, then.” 

Sam slowly turned around, and pleaded. “Please don’t. It’s -6. It’s freezing. The ground is solid. You’ll slip. Plus it’s Christmas. Let’s just have a day together - It’s been too long.” 

5 pulled a hair from the powder. It was short, brown and blunt - one of Janine’s. Her hair managed to get everywhere. It was a nice reminder that she was there somewhere - a dependable figure even in the hardest of times. “I don’t know what we can do, really.” she tutted. “We don’t even have a tree.” 

Sam gave a little gasp, and quickly shuffled over to the window where he held up Cedrick the Cactus. He was a medium sized fluffy plant - whose fuzz were actually tiny spines which Sam found out rather painfully. 5 wasn’t quite sure why she grabbed it off of the shelf, but she didn’t regret it. He kept 5 and Sam entertained, and it gave them something to talk about outside of the insanity of work, how tired they were and whoever had died recently. 

“Let’s decorate Cedrick!” 

“Won’t I be pulling spines out of your hand for the next week again?” 

“No.” He pouted. “Get your crochet, I’ll get a pen and paper. Let’s make some Christmas clothes for him. It will be fun!” 

5 felt her belly rise with giggles that Sam could only bring from her. He was a ray of sunshine - everything good in the world. When 5 was with Sam, she felt like the best version of herself, like the world was lighter and the breeze was fresher. Her heart fluttered and her cheeks began to flush with how much she realised she was smiling. 

“Let me go get dressed and I’ll be with you.” 

“Ah ah ah!” Sam grabbed her hand, gently pulling her back and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Absolutely not. No one gets dressed before midday on Christmas.” 

“If you say so. But I need a shower later. I’ll get dressed then.” 

“I’ll give you one of my shower tokens. My treat.” 

“Don’t you need them?” 

“Nah. I’m clean enough. And I don’t go running multiple times a week. They’re upstairs, I think in my jeans pocket.”

“My crochet is upstairs as well - I’ll grab them on the way. And who knows. If I’m feeling generous later I’ll let you share the shower later.” 5 purred as she slunk out of the room, leaving Sam blushing a deep shade of beetroot red. 

*

5 plodded down the stairs, still in their faded plaid pyjamas as promised, crochet hooks and wool in hand. She turned into the kitchen to see Sam was doodling, colouring and shading. He held the paper happily up - on it was a bundle of red berries and green leaves. “Mistletoe!” he announced proudly. “You know what that means?” 

“No.” Five teased, leaning across the table. She softly held his gaze. Usually, Sam’s eyes darted everywhere, like he was avoiding eye contact with everyone while gaining as much information around him as possible. In moments like this, his eyes - beautiful pools of watercolour brown - held steady and calm. 

“It means you-” he poked 5 on the nose with the paper. “-have to give me a kiss.” 

“Ugh. If you insist.” 5 joked. She placed her hand on the base of Sam’s neck, pulling him across the table and into a kiss. It was deep and long, as the two relaxed into each other. 5 inhaled a smell she’d grown to love so much of marmite, washing powder and ink. Before he pulled away, Sam nuzzled their noses together, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Thank you.” He whispered.

“You’re welcome.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Five sat down, pulling up a chair and setting her crochet on the table. “What do you think I should make?” 

“A little scarf, or a hat maybe. I think a tiny scarf will be easier. If your hand starts to hurt you can help me with the decorations.” 

“All right.” Five started with a quick slip not, starting to make the first chain. “I always feel a little startled when I need to relax. I’m always so on edge that when I set time aside to be quiet and have time to myself I’m always waiting for the proverbial hat to drop.” 

Sam hummed in agreement. “It is hard to relax now isn’t it? With the grey wandering outside the walls and regularly staring death in the ugly maw.” He finished colouring in a little robbin and began to cut around it with the scissors. 

“I thought you were banned from using scissors by Maxine after the great finger slice event.” 

“For your information, that ban was temporary. How was I supposed to know that Maxine had just sharpened her scissors? Who has scissors that sharp anyway?” he subconsciously ran his thumb over the scar on his finger. 

“Who uses massive scissors on such a tiny thing?” 

“Oh, be quiet!” He threw the roll of string at 5’s head. “Can I have that back please.” 

5 leaned down to grab it, and spoke while she slid it across the table. “Events always feel so odd now. And I never quite know how to feel. I’m happy I survived another year I suppose.” She finished off a row and started another. “It’s such a tiny scarf, I’ll be done soon.” 

Sam stood up and boiled the kettle. “I’m just letting the glue set - I won’t spill the hot chocolate powder. Close your mouth runner 5 I can tell exactly what you’ll tease me about.” 

“What do you mean?” She scoffed mockingly. 

“You were going to make fun of me for sticking my hand to my head with aeroplane glue.” 

“I was not.” 

“Yes you were.” 

The two went back and forth, squabbling in good spirits while Sam made the hot chocolate.  

“Oh - Sam look! Cedrick has a little flower. He's bloomed.” 

“He reminds me of you in a way. You thrive in the harshest times, and you are very pretty.” He passed a mug over to 5, giving her a gentle kiss on the head. “You’re my little pretty flower.”

“Thank you, darling.” 5 pulled the final thread through, finishing off the tiny scarf. It wasn’t great, considering she’d not spent long on the thing, and the colours didn’t quite match the decor that Sam made. “It looks so bad.” 

“What? I think it looks good. Christmas trees are not supposed to look good.” 

“Cedrick is a Christmas cactus, and we made this in about 45 minutes. It's more ironic than anything - I don’t think they’re supposed to look good. But, y’know, I like him more because we raised him together, and we decorated him as well.” Sam wrapped an arm around 5’s shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly. “I want to make another one next year. I think it would be a good tradition.”

“I think…I’d like that. Christmas is so traditional - and now for the first time in ages we can’t do all of them. I’m so used to being with everyone at Christmas that it feels almost positive to create new traditions.” 

“I don’t think Christmas will ever not be hard.” Sam mused between sips of hot chocolate and blowing on too hot marshmallows. “I cried one year because I put out 6 sets of cutlery for dinner even though It had been 2 years since my grandad died. No - three.” 

“It will be hard - but with you I feel I can handle it. Thank you, for being there for me Sam. I appreciate you.” 

“I appreciate you too, 5.” He placed his head on top of 

“I think it’s just all been a lot. Even if we are a few years into the apocalypse, Christmas will always feel different. But I am happy I can spend it with you.” 

“You know what I really want to do?” 

“What? Remember it’s not midday yet, so there's no getting dressed. It’s the Christmas law.” 

“No - I follow Christmas law. I want to cuddle and watch the Doctor Who Christmas specials in bed. Do you have them on your laptop?” 

“Do I ever! I thought you’d never ask. That is a new and old Christmas tradition I can get behind.”

#zombies run #zr #runner five #runner 5 #sam yao #zombies run! #5am #zr fic #zombies run secret Santa #zr secret Santa #zr secret Santa 2023 #Kodessa #note to self cross post to AO3 #you can scheduel in advance on tumblr not AO3 #i was stupid an did 3 secret santas this year so thats three fics #i did four if you count the flat secret Santa but i didn't write for that #but i have had an excellent time but i have written...so much...

[redisaid]

The World Will Only Darken Without Candlelight - Chapter 4

Girls like me don’t cry

Ao3 is back and I only had to hold onto this one for a few hours. That’s good, because the second I have to keep anything longer, I will edit it to an unrecognizable death. 

Also yay for Ao3! Also apparently it’s Zelink week, so that’s fun, though this isn’t following any sort of prompt for that.

7467 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Tell me that you’ll keep me safe and never let this fade away I'm hiding out so they don't see this part of me Girls like me don't cry Girls like me pretend we don't cry

Link lived in a bus.

Link lived in a fucking bus in the parking lot. An old school bus painted with a geometric sort of motif of forests and mountains.

Converted, quite nicely, Zelda might add, into a tiny house on wheels in which she now sat, screaming into her cracked phone. “Why are both you and Urbosa telling me not to call the cops? I was just assaulted, dad! Link is still over here bleeding all over his…bus.”

Of course he lived in a bus.

Rhoam’s voice on the other end of the line was still groggy with sleep. He hadn’t bothered to turn off the TV he'd fallen asleep in front of, which Zelda could still hear blaring a cable news station in the background.

“Just trust me on this,” he begged of her. “Trust me and stay with Link until I’m there. I’m getting my keys now and I’ll be there as soon as I can, princess.”

“Are you going to fucking explain what’s going on?” Zelda shouted back at him.

She wasn’t all that confident she could convince her phone to make another call after this one. The cracked screen was flickering in and out, and the touch controls were hit or miss.

She’d wasted that first call on Urbosa, who had first apologized for letting her leave alone, then told Zelda not to call the cops, call her dad, and call her back immediately if he didn’t answer.

And now this.

“Stay with Link,” her father repeated. “I’m on my way.”

He hung up on her. Or her phone stopped working. Zelda couldn’t be sure, but it took every ounce of control she had not to throw it clear across the bus. Maybe at Link, who was standing between her and the door, paper towel held to the worst of his bloodied knees.

But, no, not at him. He’d just saved her fucking life. The mute, short, horse girl of a man who lived in a bus.

At least it was a nice bus. Very cozy. All finished out with what seemed like recycled wood and clean, soft white paint. Something that an Instagram van-lifer would dream of.

Zelda sat at a little dinette of that same recycled wood, on a bench softened by dark green upholstery cushions.

“Here. It’s okay. Come with me,” had been the second thing Link ever said to her.

And, “Do you, uh, want a water or something?” was the third as he noticed her call had ended and she was now the one staring at him.

“You live in a bus,” she observed.

“Yup,” he answered.

“You just saved my life,” Zelda continued stating the obvious, hoping that repeating it would make the words make more sense to her.

“I guess?” was Link’s answer.

“You can talk.”

“Yup.”

“And you’re a wonderful conversationalist,” she noted. “Full of details. Fuck. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve how I’m talking to you right now. How I have talked to you. I’m sorry for everything.”

“It’s okay.”

It was not okay. Someone just held a knife to her throat and tried to zip tie her hands. Link had just presumably seen this across the parking lot, run out of his lovely bus home in just a pair of shorts, and tackled that someone to the ground like some sort of wrestling cage match and fought him off. And for all this, Zelda was supposed to not call the police?

“I’ll--sorry--I’ll take the water.”

He nodded, artfully scooting past her in the cramped space toward the little kitchen area, where a small but not small enough to necessarily be called mini fridge sat built into the white cabinets. It too was green, retro-looking, and very much stocked to the brim.

Link handed her a bottle of water before checking his knee and tossing the bloody paper towel into a garbage can hidden in yet another cabinet.

Whatever wounds had been inflicted on him seemed to be entirely due to the fact that he’d charged through a gravel parking lot half-naked in the middle of the night to save her. Without a shirt, he wasn’t as scrawny as Zelda thought. Obviously, he had to have some muscle on him to do the things she’d seen him do. She just was somehow expecting less.

And blamed her current emotional state for even thinking about that.

“My dad’s coming to get me,” she relayed as she decided it was better to stare at the bottle of water instead.

Link grunted an ascent to this. From the sheer volume of her previous conversation alone, she suspected that she didn’t have to tell him. But she did anyway.

He went over to the kitchen again, wetting a dishrag in the sink before wiping his face with it. The cut there had stopped bleeding on their walk over to the bus.

The bus, the only thing parked in the old RV spots that night. Rhoam used to let performers camp at the site, and apparently still did. For all he’d complained about it looking “trashy”, obviously the hookups still worked to the point where Link’s bus had power and water. Soft LED lighting had made it a haven in the darkness.

A bus. A fucking bus.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Zelda started up again, asking without even popping the cap on the water bottle. “Actually no, I know you do. I know you’ll tell me the same thing as them. Not to call the cops.”

Link winced at this. Actually winced. Maybe it was from stinging the cut on his forehead. Maybe not.

But he’d gone mute again, and gave no other response.

That only set Zelda off more. “You do and you would. You’re standing here bleeding all over your fucking bus and you’re going to tell me to keep quiet about it just like them. Why? Why did I bother coming back to this crazy little fucked up make-believe world you people live in?”

Link offered no answer to that.

Zelda looked down at her phone again, half of a mind to dial for emergency services anyway and defy all of them. Her father, Urbosa, Link. Hell, she had the numbers of the other Champions and would bet money they were in on it too if she bothered to ring them.

But it didn’t matter, because the phone only offered one last weak flicker to her touch before going black.

“I didn’t really mean that. I’m sorry,” was all Zelda had to say after that.

She slumped into the dinette table, head falling into the cradle of her forearms on the varnished wood.

A hand appeared in the sliver of vision that was left to her to slide the neglected water bottle toward her as Link crossed back once again to stand between her and the door.

“Are you okay?” Zelda thought to ask him, not bothering with the water, but turning her head the other way so she could see him out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah,” was Link’s answer to that. He seemed to think about it for a moment.

Zelda turned her head just a little more, peering through the long blonde strands of her own hair at him. For once, he wasn’t looking at her, but out of the glass of the door, seeming not to trust that they were well and truly done with whatever was out there, lurking in the dark. Or maybe he was hoping to see the headlights of Rhoam’s car appear so he could be done with her. Probably that one, actually.

“I’m sorry for ruining your night,” Zelda told him as she buried her face in her arms completely. “And basically your entire day. But you deserved to at least have the evening to yourself after putting up with my shit and now here I am, sitting at your table.”

“It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. She wanted him so badly to say that it wasn’t okay. That he hated her. That he despised her. That she was selfish and immature and ungrateful. That for all he cared, he could have just watched her get kidnapped and done nothing and had a better tomorrow for it. She was just an entitled brat, after all. The boss’ daughter, who didn’t even want to be there.

But instead, Link wandered past again, and pushed the cold water bottle at her elbow insistently.

This time, he went deeper into the bus, and when Zelda looked up to follow him with her eyes, emerged from the back of it, now wearing a faded graphic t-shirt she couldn’t quite make out the wording on. But she could make out the image of a knight on a horse. A different renaissance faire’s logo?

He looked at her, looking at him. He opened his mouth to say something, then reconsidered. He took a step forward, then tried again, “I was going to make dinner. I didn’t eat. You didn’t eat either. I don’t think, at least. Do you, um…?”

Link didn’t manage to finish the sentence. That many words at once seemed like it was too much for him, or maybe just too much for now. Even several feet down the bus, Zelda could see him shaking just slightly as he held his hands up in a bit of a shrug. Shaking just as she had when she’d followed him to the bus, fumbling to find Urbosa’s contact in her dying phone.

Zelda knew that feeling well. The tremor of anxiety and leftover adrenaline. The need to do something with that energy, anything, always. Because if she stopped, she would have to face reality. She would have to face the past and future alike, and watch them tear her apart.

“That sounds great,” she eventually answered. “And you’re right. I didn’t really eat. But…you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything for me. You’ve already done too much.”

Link didn’t offer any response to that protest, and instead buried himself in the little fridge again. He gathered item after item, holding them to his chest before going over to the stove with an armful of things. A container of takeout rice. Two eggs wrapped between fingers. A bunch of green onions. A bottle of some brown sauce. A green-lidded tupperware whose contents were otherwise unidentifiable. A chunk of butter. A bag of frozen peas.

Zelda cracked open the bottle of water, finally. She sipped it as she watched him chop the onions. She watched him crack the eggs and whip them with a fork. She watched him dump the rice into a wok he pulled out. She watched as the tremors in him seemed to calm, slowly but surely, as the tupperware revealed a chunk of ham that he diced into smaller chunks of ham.

She watched as Link made fried rice that looked better than anything she’d eaten in weeks. She watched him smile to himself as he flipped it in the wok.

Short, horse girl chef man. Bloody knees. Lived in bus. He hummed a little as he cooked, seemingly lost in the process, forgetting all else. In his happy place, finally.

And here Zelda was, drinking her water and watching him, feeling the adrenaline leave her system too. Slowly and steadily, not like the confusing rush that had happened after her attacker ran off. Or the anger-filled void of staring at her broken phone.

This time, she only felt tired. Bone tired. She just wanted this night to be over. This long, terrible awful opening day of the faire. She wanted to just start over, honestly. Start over and try again. Curl up onto this dinette bench and its soft green cushions and wait for morning to come.

So when Rhoam came knocking at the door of the bus, just as Link was setting down a bowl of that delicious-smelling fried rice in front of her, Zelda decided it was not worth trying to explain why she didn’t really want to leave. Not that she could explain it, really.

She didn’t even get to try the rice.

---

“For the last time, I am physically fine!” Zelda shouted at her father as he drove down the mostly abandoned avenue that would lead back to their suburban home. “Mentally, I would be much better if I knew what was going on. Especially why you won’t involve the authorities in, I don’t know, your only child being attacked in the parking lot of a venue you own? One where, let’s not forget, you host a renaissance faire primarily attended by families with--”

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Rhoam cut her off, repeating the same phrase for at least the fifth time in this awful car ride. “But I’m glad Link was there. And you’ll have to trust that I’m handling it.”

“You and a semi-mute horse girl that lives in a bus are going to keep me safe?” Zelda challenged from the passenger’s seat, arms crossed over her tank top, running parallel to the horizontal stripes that crossed it.

“Horse girl?”

“Link!”

The grimace that had been firmly planted on Rhoam’s face since Zelda began her much-deserved rant softened a little, revealing a smirk beneath it. “The lad is a bit of a horse girl. Good kid, though. And he even watched out for you off the clock.”

“I don’t want to be watched out for, dad,” Zelda told him, unphased by his odd fondness for Link this time. “I want to just work through my summer and get out of here. Right now, I’m thinking I should do that in Hateno. Working at a coffee shop or the campus bookstore couldn’t possibly be as awful as this.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Rhoam swept in, scowl back on his face even though he kept his eyes on the road. “Now that this has happened, it’s better you’re here and have someone to look after you. Clearly Link is working out.”

“What is with you and him anyway?” Zelda asked, then thought for a moment before she began outlining her priorities, “That’s low on the list, actually. First, why was I attacked? Second, why won’t you call the cops? Third, why do you trust the weird dude who lives in a bus to keep me safe?”

“What’s wrong with living in a bus? You saw it. It’s a nice bus. I would have loved to have something like that when I was his age,” Rhoam said.

“There’s nothing wrong with living in a bus! Forget point number three entirely!” Zelda demanded, voice raising and pitch sharpening along with it as she clung to the armrest, turned as much toward him as her seatbelt would allow.

“I can’t have you involved,” Rhoam told her, his answer quiet and low in comparison.

“Dad, I’m already involved.”

She was too involved. So involved. So involved she could still feel the knife on her throat. Link’s shaking hand reaching for her elbow. The copper penny smell of his blood. The way her heart beat and beat and her brain somehow did nothing for all the effort.

Zelda had never felt so helpless in her entire life. Losing the internship was the worst thing to happen to her up until tonight. Now, she could have that terrible phone call with her dad any day, everyday, in exchange for never having to experience that again.

Rhoam hit a red light on the intersection before the one that he’d turn on to get into their subdivision. The road was nearly empty, and no one was waiting at the cross street. The light caught them purely on a timer, not for any need.

Well, any need besides Zelda’s. “Please, dad. It’s too late for you to keep me in the dark.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” was Rhoam’s answer as he finally turned to her.

“I didn’t want to be either,” Zelda told him.

Though these last two weeks between that fateful phone call and tonight had her questioning if she’d really rather be accepted for the internship at alll. Disease research was fascinating, sure, but it didn’t fill her with the passionate fire that other things did.

Sometimes it was just a brief, fleeting burn. She’d binge watch some shitty series while studying and then become utterly obsessed with it for a week. Then her favorite character would get killed off or do something stupid and her interest would immediately dissipate as if it had never existed at all.

But other things…they felt like the only things keeping her alive. Breath and blood. Each new fact or concept she grasped about archeology filled her with energy that vibrated her very bones and sinew. Reading papers on new discoveries was her guilty pleasure. Normal people didn’t subscribe to several scientific journals to get their daily serotonin, but Zelda did.

In fact, a good paper was just about the only thing that was going to calm her down enough to even get a shred of sleep tonight. That or some fried rice.

Fuck. She was starving.

But her father was cracking, looking down at her from across the cab of his truck. The information would have to fill her for now. “I received some threatening letters a few weeks ago. Several of them. Threats to me, to you, to the faire. Me, I could care less about. The faire, well, I can get help there. You, though. You, I won’t negotiate on.”

“Wait, what?”

She hadn’t expected this honestly, despite receiving it. But clearly, her father was feeling guilty enough to keep talking, so Zelda let him.

“I thought it was just some kids at first, threatening to pipe bomb the faire or whatever. I didn’t call the cops then because I couldn’t afford to have them shut us down if they decided to take things seriously. So I didn’t,” Rhoam explained.

The light turned green again, and he used the need to press down on the accelerator to take a pause.

“But they threatened me?” Zelda asked to keep him going.

Rhoam blew a sigh out of his nose. His beard didn’t ruffle much for it, having been flattened from its kingly glory by his nap on the couch and subsequent rush to come get her. “Eventually. Clearly whoever it is knows a lot about me.”

“What do they want?”

The eternal question. But Zelda wasn’t used to being the center of it. She’d watched her father deal with the many dramas of running the faire over the years. Dealing with high maintenance vendors and performers alike. Someone always wanted something from him. More space. More money. More time on stage. More, more, more.

“The castle,” was Rhoam’s answer.

He turned onto their street, into a neighborhood of simple, modest homes, most of them several decades old. Theirs was no exception. Tan brick, white siding, blue shutters. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Badly in need of a kitchen renovation. Hardly a castle itself.

“They want me to put the castle ruins up for sale,” Rhoam continued. “By midsummer. In the middle of the faire.”

“The midsummer festival is the busiest week of the faire,” Zelda noted. “Why would whoever this is think you’d be okay with that? It’d ruin you.”

“I’m not okay with it. That’s why they’re threatening me and my family,” Rhoam concluded. “Again, if it were just me, it’d be different. But people depend on that faire. People I’ve known for years and years. People you’ve grown up with. And you…”

His hands gripped at the leather of the steering wheel until it creaked. Zelda had no doubt in her mind where she’d gotten that bad habit of clenching her fists and crushing water bottles from.

Rhoam turned into their driveway with the steering wheel still under threat from his meaty fingers. “Link came to me looking for work,” he went on. “Exactly on the day that I got the letter that made a threat on you. And then you called me about the internship when he was still sitting in my office.”

The fact that the timing of all this was terribly convenient wasn’t lost on Zelda. But it paled in comparison to the deep sinkhole of embarrassment she was falling into at the idea of Link hearing her sobbing on the phone and begging her father for rescue from her own failure.

“He offered,” Rhoam told her. He pulled into the garage, shutting off the ignition and pressing the remote he kept clipped to the mirror to shut the door. “He promised me he’d keep you safe.”

“He did,” Zelda told him. “But you also could have told me. You could have given me options.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight at the time,” Rhoam admitted. His massive frame slumped against the seat of the truck. He made no move to open the door.

“I still don’t know if you’re thinking straight,” Zelda told him, unbuckling herself so she could lift her own much smaller body to twist in the seat and face him fully. “If you just told the police--”

“About a bomb threat? Kidnapping? Murder? Sure, they would definitely let me keep the faire open, Zelda. They definitely wouldn’t shut it down and leave hundreds of people without a source of income for the summer. And that’s even if they didn’t just laugh this off as some prank, even with what happened to you,” Rhoam said, shaking his head. “No, I can’t have that. I’m working on it. I promise I’m working on it.”

“How?” Zelda pried. “How can you fix that? Have Daruk go mean mug every slightly suspicious person that goes near the castle? Have Purah install some facial recognition system that scans police databases or whatever?”

“She did rig up some surveillance cameras for me.”

“Is that it?”

“No,” Rhoam told her with another shake of his head. “The good thing about working with all kinds of people for fifteen years is that you get to know, well, all kinds of people. Some of them are shady people who are good at investigating shady things. Trust me. They’re taking care of it for us, and I don’t need you sticking your nose into it.”

“You’re asking me to trust carnies in tights and armor--”

“--that you grew up around,” Rhoam reminded her. “That I consider our extended family. Don’t forget that. As much as I know you want to, please don’t forget that. It’s important to have people who have your back in life, Zelda. Sometimes, they’re not exactly the type of people you had imagined they would be, but that doesn’t change what you mean to one another.”

“It’s just--”

Rhoam finally looked over at her, turning to her. In a rare moment of contact between them--Zelda couldn’t remember the last hug she’d gotten from her father, maybe high school graduation--he took hold of her hands with his, encompassing them as he looked into her eyes.

“Zelda, please. Promise me. I told you this because it didn’t feel fair to leave you in the dark. You are involved now, yes, but I don’t want you any more involved than you are. Keep yourself safe. Don’t go off alone anymore. Stay with Link. I wrote an entire new plot for the faire to keep you with someone at all times. I know it’s not what you might want, but for now, until we figure this out, please just stick with him, all right? Stick with him and leave fixing this to me, all right?” he asked.

She looked down at his hands. So much bigger than hers. Rough and warm. A sincerity bled from his touch that went beyond the barrier of resentment between them. Beyond not being enough and being too much at the same time. Beyond being absent and too present at the same time as well.

“Okay,” Zelda answered, surprised by the shaking in her own voice.

Equally surprised by the fact that she had to run into the house after this, so that he wouldn’t see the tears that finally fell freely from her eyes then. After all that had happened, all the fear and frustration of the day, it had taken her father holding her hand to make her remember how to cry.

---

Zelda woke the next morning at seven. She’d fallen asleep maybe somewhere around four in the morning, so it wasn’t exactly a graceful rising. More of a battle against her alarm and the sandpaper consistency of her eyelids. But she won it, somehow.

And while she’d hoped to get more information out of her father over coffee, she instead came out into the kitchen to find that there was both no coffee to be found, and a note waiting for her next to a phone.

Had to go in early for a horse emergency up at the barn. Sorry, princess.

Urbosa drove your car back this morning. This phone is already activated with your number and restored from a cloud backup thanks to Purah.

Remember what I said about the people you know. And please remember what you promised.

I hate to ask you to go to work today. I really do. But please at least come to the castle so I know where you are.

- Dad

The only thing worse than having a control freak for a father was having any inclination to agree with that control. But, Zelda didn’t want to be in the house alone. So much so that she left early and made a beeline straight for the castle.

Well, with just one very short stop. Both because she very much needed to have coffee to make it through today, and because she needed to fix what she was allowed to fix. What she could fix.

It wasn’t exactly her fault she liked fixing things.

And this time, fixing things had her knocking on the door of a bus with a bag of breakfast burritos in hand.

Probably too many breakfast burritos, but she was starving, and Link clearly liked to eat.

Initially, there was no answer. Enough time passed for Zelda to think to herself about how stupid this was. How he was probably up at dawn to exercise his horse or whatever. Or help her dad with whatever horse emergency had been going on. Though she had her reasons to believe there was no such horse emergency and he just didn’t want to deal with her yelling at him in the car again.

And what if Link didn’t even like breakfast burritos? Nonsense. Everyone loves a breakfast burrito. But--

Zelda looked up from her own thoughts to find the door swinging open. A bleary-eyed Link stared down at her from an unusually high vantage for his short frame atop the steps up to the bus, loose hair wet from a shower and longer than she thought it was, but still clad in the same shirt and shorts she’d left him in last night.

The shirt she could read now that her brain was functioning normally again. The faded letters stretched across his chest spelled out, “Hateno Renaissance Festival”.

It all clicked at once. Her father’s nearly instant trust of him. His very specific set of skills relative to his young age. The brief mentions of her having met him when they were both small.

Link was another ren faire kid. Just like her.

Zelda remembered herself for a moment and held up the bag of burritos. “I um, hey. I wanted to--no, not, I don’t know--thank you? I guess? And also apologize for being awful to you. I was awful. I’m still pretty awful. But, I brought us breakfast burritos. Do you even like breakfast burritos?”

Link seemed to need a second to process that. It was early, terribly early still. Not even eight in the morning early. But also, she had been terrible to him. He had no reason to accept any sort of apology.

Especially not this early in the morning.

But, despite it all, a little closed-mouth smile appeared on his face, and he stepped aside, beckoning her to follow him up into the bus.

It was a really nice bus. Zelda had to admit that. She’d noticed the matching horse trailer parked on the side of it this morning--complete with the same paint job of the mostly green, blue, and brown geometric forest and mountain motif over white.

The full-length bus still felt oddly cozy, but at the same time bigger than she’d remembered from the night before. The little kitchen was at the front, with the dinette she’d sat at being just behind the driver’s seat. Beyond that, Zelda could see a little living room area, complete with a decent-sized couch. A wall stood to partition most of the rest of the bus beyond that, clearly for a bathroom that was big enough to fit the shower Link must have just come out of. His soap smelled nice. Very woodsy. A tiny glimpse of a bed lay beyond that, big enough to take up the entire back of the bus and scattered with an overabundance of pillows.

“I guess that’s a yes on breakfast burritos,” Zelda noted as she set the bag on the dinette table.

Link turned from where he’d retreated back into the kitchen and nodded to her, then offered, “Yes, sorry. I should have said something.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she told him. “I’m the one who came here to apologize, and clearly you aren’t a talker. That’s fine. It’s all good.”

Zelda busied herself with setting out what was very much too many breakfast burritos in order to avoid any lingering awkwardness. She could easily house two herself, but didn’t think about doing that in mostly polite company. But there were six here. Not to mention the secret order of tater tots she ate in the car and chased with coffee.

But she didn’t know what Link liked. That was her excuse. Maybe he couldn’t do cheese, so she got some without cheese. Maybe he wasn’t a fan of the somewhat spicy Gerudo sausage that came in most of the burritos, so she had to get one with bacon instead. And then she wanted the bacon, so there were two with bacon now. And green and red salsa. Hot sauce too. Sour cream. Another order of tater tots for Link, of course, though she was definitely going to snag some. She should have gotten him a drink too. Oh well.

The dinette table was just about full from the spread by the time she looked up to see his eyes go wide from it.

“I bought way too much food,” Zelda told him and herself as well. “Don’t you dare say, ‘It’s okay,’ again either. For the record, some of this is for me. You just seemed really into food and--I don’t know. I’m sorry, okay?”

“It’s--” Link stopped himself before he could finish the phrase, and instead sat down at the dinette rather abruptly.

Zelda swallowed a breath she didn’t know she was holding and snatched one of the bacon burritos for herself. “Cheese, no cheese, bacon. Their hot sauce is amazing if you like spicy stuff. Sorry I didn’t get you a drink. I’m not very good at apologies, I guess.”

Link shrugged and took the other bacon burrito.

Good. Noted. Everyone loves bacon. Even weird little horse girl ren faire boys who Zelda just realized she likely had way too much in common with.

“I um, my dad told me a bit about what’s going on, last night that is, on the way home,” she started as she sat down on the other side of the table, on the same soft green cushions that had nearly lulled her to sleep the night before. “Not enough. He probably will never tell me everything, but I know about the threats. The letters. What you promised him. What you’re trying to do. How hard I made that for you. And I’m sorry.”

How many more times would she have to say it for things to feel right? Because it certainly didn’t sink in yet. Not even as she stared at him over the pile of burritos, trying to decide if it was weird to reach for the salsa to cover the silence.

“You said you didn’t want me to say it’s okay again,” Link finally piped up as he reached for that exact container of salsa and eased her of yet another burden.

“I don’t, but I realize that’s kind of what you’re supposed to say. At least if you mean it, that is. And I’m sorry for that too. And for bringing you a mountain of burritos to try to fix it. This was stupid. I’m being so stupid about this,” Zelda said, standing up with the full intent of leaving her half-unwrapped burrito behind and letting Link eat in peace.

He deserved that much, at least.

“It’s not stupid and neither are you,” Link affirmed, reaching out to lay just the very tips of his fingers on the back of her hand to stop her. “I love burritos.”

“Everyone loves burritos,” Zelda concluded. She looked between him and his stupid little small hands on hers. Just about as big as hers. Not massively intimidating like her father’s.

At least his touch didn’t draw tears from her.

Zelda sat back down and took the hot sauce instead. “I just--sorry--I talk too much. You’ve realized that by now, I’m sure, so I don’t know why I keep talking to tell you that. Anyway, I’m sorry. You were just trying to look out for me and I’m very grateful that you did. I understand why now and I feel like shit about it. I just want to start over with you.”

“Okay,” Link mouthed around his first bite of burrito.

“Really? It’s that easy?” Zelda asked.

Link shrugged and kept eating his burrito, clearly enjoying it, or maybe as hungry as she was.

At least he’d gotten to eat the fried rice he’d made for them. She should ask him for the recipe.

All things considered, though, Zelda couldn’t believe him. She needed more than just that shrug, but didn’t feel she could truly ask for anything else of him. She was just so used to fighting for everything and anything she’d ever wanted for herself. Her archeology minor, which she’d had to swear up and down to her father wouldn’t get in the way of her pre-med program or affect her grades in the classes that “really mattered”. Hell, even living outside of the dorms had been an argument for the ages. Going to prom with her first girlfriend. Having the girlfriend at all, as her father was worried that would distract too much from her studies. Going on a date with a guy after that had been entirely another thing too. Even getting her driver’s license. Doing anything for herself or by herself or just because she wanted to.

She wondered if Link had his own oppressive ren faire dad. If his perfect jousting was the result of the same pressure. The same…

Their hands collided again over the green salsa.

“Go ahead,” Zelda told him, quickly snatching hers back. “It’s really good. This is from one of my favorite spots. They do authentic Southern Gerudo style breakfast and lunch and are always fast. Urbosa knows the owner, because of course Urbosa knows anyone who’s so much as even been near the desert. I should have gotten you a coffee too. I didn’t know if you liked coffee. Their coffee is amazing. Sorry, I’m talking again.”

“I don’t mind,” Link told her as he doused his burrito in the green salsa. “You always have interesting things to say.”

Not shut up Zelda. Stop talking Zelda. Okay no one cares Zelda. I’m sorry Zelda, but you lost me there. That’s nice, little bird, don’t you have somewhere else to be right now?

People were always trying to get her to shut up. No one had ever been interested in her rambling before. Even most people’s politeness had a limit that she would very quickly and easily exceed.

So, “Oh,” was all she could say to that, along with taking a bite of burrito with maybe a little too much hot sauce on it to cover that up.

Definitely too much hot sauce. To the point where she was coughing from it and Link had to get up to get both of them a bottle of water.

This time, at least, Zelda was self-conscious enough to avoid crushing it. Link’s little laugh at her struggle helped, as did the fact that he seemed to take this as his cue to dunk his second burrito in the offending hot sauce, and then have his own personal battle with the spice level of it.

“It’s really good,” Zelda repeated between bouts of spicy laughter.

“Yeah,” Link choked back at her.

Halfway through her bottle of water and a bite into a sauceless burrito to tame the last of the flames, Zelda piped up again, throat finally clear enough to speak, “Anyway, I wanted to again just apologize for being awful to you and for evading you. And thank you for last night. I don’t really want to think about what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

“Me either.”

Link didn’t say much, even with him now breaking his seeming vow of silence around her, but when he did say anything, the words always packed a punch. Somehow, they struck a chord on the very sinew that held Zelda together, playing her like the faire musicians would their lutes or fiddles.

She wondered why, then, had he not spoken to her at all before, or presumably to anyone but her father. Clearly he could. Clearly, even if he wasn’t comfortable with it, he knew how to make his words matter.

“Can I ask you something?” she questioned as she let her wondering spill from her lips. “You don’t have to answer if it’s a difficult answer or at least difficult to explain. But, um, why don’t you talk to anyone?”

Blue eyes looked up from her beneath a mop of dirty blonde hair drying to a slight wave. He still had half a burrito in one hand, a tater tot in the other, and a streak of green salsa down his chin.

Link swallowed before replying, slow and low, “It was easier, I guess. If I wasn’t supposed to talk to you about what was happening. Your dad said it might be better just not to talk to you at all. And then it didn’t seem fair to talk to anyone else. Keeping the secret was my burden to bear. I don’t talk a lot anyway, so it was easier just not to talk at all.”

It was the most she’d ever heard him say at once, but exactly no more than what needed to be said. Succinct and to the point. The enraging, aggravating, and forever annoying point.

“It seems you and I have the same problem,” Zelda told him. “And it wears a fake crown, has a shitty beard, and thinks it knows better than us.”

Yet another thing she could blame her father for, then. Link had felt so pressured by the circumstances that he couldn’t even speak. And on top of that had presumably been made to promise not to speak of them to her, yet still be around her day in and day out.

No wonder her father had him playing the Silent Knight.

A quiet rage simmered within her at this notion. For all of her father’s good intentions in trying to keep her away from the threats to the faire, he could have easily gotten Link killed for it.

“What if he had a gun?” Zelda asked out loud. “Both of us could have ended up dead last night. For all those secrets. I promised my father I wouldn’t go to the authorities, as stupid as it seems. I also promised him I’d stick with you, and frankly, I didn’t need to make that promise. I don’t really want to be alone again after last night.”

A new paranoia had her looking around her all morning for red and black hoodies--anyone dressed uncharacteristically for the summer heat, really. Somewhere around three in the morning, as she was trying to lull herself to sleep the night before with a lovely paper about ancient Hylian pottery and just how rare it was to find a piece of it intact at any given site, Zelda had the thought that if they knew about her, then presumably they knew where she and her father lived. Maybe even where her apartment in Hateno was.

And suddenly the rare bliss of being alone and quiet with nothing but the constant ramble of her own thoughts was a thing she could no longer enjoy.

Good as it was, she was quickly losing her appetite for the rest of that second burrito, and set it down.

“Let’s…let’s not get shot about it, all right?” Zelda asked of Link, who was still eating despite the serious nature of the conversation. She was pretty sure he might still be eating if he was actively being shot at, but that was beside the point.

Still, he took a break to nod at her.

“I will warn you that I am going to be sticking my nose in this to some degree,” Zelda went on. “And you can tell on me if you want. If you must. But I’ll tell you as well that I’m going to do it in a way that keeps my promise. I’ll stick around and do my job here at the faire and not wander off alone. But, if I see something suspicious, or find some way I’m able to get more information about what’s going on otherwise, I’m going to pursue it. Just to be perfectly honest with you.”

Link gave her another nod and reached for his third burrito.

And although she was trying very much to be mad at her father and the situation he’d put both of them in at the moment, Zelda couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips.

That boy really did love to eat, huh? Well, at least she could always bribe him with food, if she needed to craft another apology to him for some reason.

Only when he leaned over to grab the hot sauce again and gingerly pour just a small amount onto his burrito this time, did she finally notice the thin red line that still marked his forehead from the night before. No longer actively bleeding, yes, and likely to scab over within the next few hours. It wouldn’t scar.

But still, it was there because of her.

Zelda didn’t even realize she was leaning over to brush it with her thumb until she was midway through the action. Link’s hair was soft and still damp as it parted way for her hand. His soap did smell good, at least, for a men’s product.

Link, for his part, didn’t so much as flinch, and let it happen.

“That cut doesn’t look too bad, actually,” Zelda noted as she tried to be graceful about suddenly leaning back to her side of the little dinette booth. “It’s fine for now. But you know, there’s a fine line between courage and recklessness. As brave as you are, that does not make you immortal.”

And as worried as she was for herself, Zelda certainly didn’t want him getting hurt over her either. Or worse. True enough, he had come to her rescue, but if things were only going to escalate from there, she didn’t think that his valiant, shirtless charges into battle would do either of them much good for long.

“I’m afraid things might only get worse from here,” she told him.

Link hadn’t started eating again since she’d touched him. He just looked at her, listening. Waiting.

She probably shouldn’t have touched him.

Still, Zelda went on, “So, from now on, let’s work together to make sure it doesn’t come to that. Deal?”

Link gave her another nod, then stuffed the rest of the third burrito in his mouth.

Well, at least he was easy to work with. And he appeared to very much appreciate her peace offering. She had to give him credit for that much.

And he smelled nice. For a boy, that is.

#zelda #breath of the wild #zelink #loz #fanfic #the world will only darken without candlelight #i want a breakfast burrito so bad right now #i'm gonna get way too into this bus as a set piece so get used to it