#the pineapple has spoken

[anxiouspineapple99]

Why do you think is going to happen for TBB finale vs what do you WANT to happen

I genuinely don’t know at this point. I started off so hopeful for this season but there are so many plot points open still and with the last episode in two days…

I am very nervous about how this will shake out. I have so many criticisms about the season but I’ll probably save them until after Wednesday.

Early concerns under the cut.

I am very uneasy about how they will wrap up saving Omega and the kids, the Zillo beast, CX-2 (assuming he is a character of any importance and not just the writers fucking with the fandom with a giant red herring), Wolffe, Cody… just to name a few.

I’m very disappointed with how Tech’s death has been handled. He’s been referenced only in how he was useful to the team and not the emotional impact his death had on anyone.

There has been a very disappointing amount of “telling instead of showing” (aka impactful moments happening off screen and the characters mentioning them in passing). Which is poor storytelling and is generally frowned upon if you want any real emotional impact in your story.

I really don’t know how they will turn all of this around among the rest of my laundry list of complaints for the season on Wednesday.

#star wars #the bad batch #the pineapple has spoken #tbb #tbb spoilers #tbb season 3 #tbb season three #tbb season 3 spoilers

[hoppinkiss]

I am wearing a light blue tshirt with a white pineapple pattern on it. black shorts. white shoes with blue and pink accents. and bright yellow socks with spo.ngebob's face on them.

the height of fashion.

#harper has spoken #i was out of my usual socks and saw these and i was like. *looks at pineapple shirt* yes.

[the-sassy-shell]

Oh magic conch shell! Should I actually try to do things this year?

Every day! Even the smallest things. That is how you grow and progress. It's what makes you a living creature. And that is beautiful.

... Unless you're the gangly turquoise tentacle fellow, then no.

#the shell has spoken! #all hail the magic conch! #ask the magic conch #pineapple-sora #doing things #this year #except squidward #spongebob squarepants #patrick star #gif

[inkdrinkerworld]

okay wait i could totally see like kinda maybe insecure chubby reader who obvs likes Spence cuz who wouldn’t but afraid to make the first move and early seasons Spencer makes some off handed comment about how beautiful reader is like not even thinking about it maybe during a little tangent or something and r is just like ?????? like deadass ????? hahahaha idk idk i think something like that could be fun

you’re accustomed to spencer’s babbling. his seemingly never-ending tangents and the way he gets a little breathless from them and you love them.

you think you love him.

he’s cute, knowledgeable, and he can hold a conversation for hours. he’s also always soft spoken and leaning just slightly into your space.

if you were a profiler like he was you’d probably have deduced that he likes you too- you’re not, so you don’t realise.

you’re just their media liaison along with jj and you don’t realise it at all.

not until spencer’s rambling about colour theory.

“no it’s really cool. you mix the colours to get the correct shade,” you're all having lunch in the bull pen at quantico, your sandwich in your hand and a bowl of fruits on your desk.

spencer has a similar lunch, considering he’s the one who brings you fruit every day, but he has pasta rather than a sandwich.

the rest of the team- even hotch- have tried convincing you spencer likes you because you’re the only one that gets fruit from him but you brush it aside.

you’re also the only one that’s content to listen to his ramblings.

“like with y/n,” spencer turns to you, his eyes zeroing in on the purple dress you’ve got on. “the shade of purple really goes with her skin tone and it makes her look even more beautiful, that’s colour theory. well it’s also learning what colours make your skin look good and not dull.”

your ears are ringing with spencer’s compliment. you never thought there’d be a day where he said something like that so casually.

your heart is a stampede when spencer passes you the last three cubes of pineapple and the last bunch of grapes from his bowl- his fingers lingering on yours just long enough for it not to be an accident.

you just hope he couldn’t feel your pulse.

#spencer reid #spencerreid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x chubby!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid

[colormepurplex2]

Did It Hurt? | Flicker of Hope

↳ FallenAngel!Taehyung x LostSoul!f.Reader ⤜ Fallen Angel AU, Strangers to Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 15,057 ⚠️ Crass language, unwanted drunken advances, being drugged, blackmail, descriptions of past sexual acts, hidden desires, criminal activity, alluded to SA & potential human trafficking/disappearances, Tae has feelings he’s trying to suppress, scars/vulnerability over past incidents

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

Taehyung, 100 years into exile, somewhere in Los Angeles

“Did it hurt?”

The words barely carry over the clamor of the nightclub. But, to Taehyung, they’re as clear as if they were spoken right into his ear. It makes his lips twist in disgust. Because who actually uses that line anymore?

Taehyung flicks his eyes over the scene in front of him. It’s a Friday night, and the place is filled with gyrating bodies and thumping bass. Some frat-boy wannabe is practically crawling into the lap of the goddess—and that’s thought with the utmost respect because it’s precisely what she looks like in her sleek black minidress, vibrant auburn curls, smokey makeup, and red-bottomed heels—sitting at the bar, trying to enjoy her fruity cocktail.

The way she angles her body away from the guy and pointedly stabs the little plastic red saber from her drink into a chunk of pineapple floating on top should be sign enough for the douchebag to clearly see she’s not interested.

“Idiot,” Taehyung murmurs under his breath before bringing his whisky on the rocks to his lips and taking a measured sip. He drums his fingers on the lacquered tabletop where he’s seated at one of the hightops a few feet away. This is one of his usual haunts, a place with the perfect blend of class and an underlying taste of debauchery. It should be the ideal hunting ground, however it remains to be fruitful. Though, perhaps his luck is about to change.

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that. Humor me. Did it hurt?”

There is a moment of hesitation with how the woman’s shoulders hitch up, and Taehyung watches as varying emotions flick across her face before she trains it back to a neutral expression. He can read her like an open book; too bad Douchebag can’t seem to. She’ll entertain him simply to avoid confrontation and make a scene. It's supposedly a polite way to try and thwart unwanted male attention; he’s seen it far too many times before.

“Did what hurt?” comes the exasperated reply. Her lips twitch into a strained smile that’s more of a grimace which Douchebag probably mistakes for being coy. The way her body curls in on itself, and she leans away from his pawing hands, makes Taehyung grind his molars. Human men are stupid; it's no wonder he’s had such a hard time finding any redeeming opportunities in the world.

“When you fell from heaven, angel.”

And there it is. Taehyung rolls his eyes, finishing his drink. “Insipid fool, of course it hurts to fall from Heaven,” he grumbles. A burning, phantom itch crawls up his spine, a reminder of just how much it hurts. It’s a moment in time that he relives every time he closes his eyes. Which, perhaps, can be blamed for why he’s grown so callous and flippant over the years. Nightmares will do that to someone, Seraphim or not.

“Does that really work?” the woman bites out before downing the rest of her drink and shoving the empty glass away. She’s out of her seat and trying to give Douchebag a wide berth before his snail brain can even catch up with her words.

It’s comical watching him finally get it. He throws his head back and guffaws loudly before stumbling in her direction. She goes to sidestep around him but is stopped short when she bumps into a barstool someone just slid back as they stood. Douchebag crowds her against the bar, and Taehyung is tempted to intervene, but something niggles at the back of his mind; he’s curious about what she’ll do.

“You tell me, is it working, angel?”

A saccharine smile curves her lips, baring her teeth in a mockery of flirtation. Taehyung wishes he could read her as easily as he did earlier, but somehow, she’s masking her emotions and intentions to the point her form nearly blurs across his vision.

“That remains to be seen. How about you let me try?” Her words are light and airy, intentionally being falsely sweet. Douchebag’s alcohol-soaked brain doesn’t pick up on the trap he’s about to fall into. Taehyung is thrilled. “Did it hurt?” she asks, batting her eyelashes at him. “Did what hurt?” Douchebag asks, teeth sinking into his bottom lip in what he surely believes is a sexy manner, but Taehyung thinks it comes off more like he’s constipated. “Me kneeing you in the balls.”

The words accompany the action. Her right knee comes up, and all Taehyung can see from this angle is the sudden doubling over of Douchebag. He sways heavily to the side, unsteady on his feet, as the woman pushes by him, a triumphant smile half-hidden behind a hand as she disappears into the crowd.

“How clever,” Taehyung muses to himself. He spares one last glance at the man still cupping the front of his jeans before following the tug of intrigue that’s swiftly escaping on 6-inch heels. He catches sight of the woman just as she slips out the front entrance of the bar.

It’s easy to pick her out on the sidewalk. Even if it weren’t for the distinct click-clack of her shoes on the pavement, he’d be able to follow her by sheer feeling alone. It’s been decades since he’s felt someone so clearly, so viscerally. Taehyung can’t stop until his curiosity has been satiated.

The woman doesn’t hail a taxi or head toward a railway station. She only goes a few city blocks down before she cuts across the street, her eyes flicking both ways as she crosses to the luxury apartment building on the corner.

Taehyung catches the flash of a sleek black and red card as she passes the porter. “Evening, ma’am.” The guard gives her a nod before bringing his attention back to the sidewalk.

There can only be one place that card gains her access to—the top floor penthouse. Taehyung gives the surrounding block a cursory glance, looking for the perfect vantage point. He appraises the angle of the top floor windows before skirting around the back of the building and quickly vaulting over the security fence. If his presence raises an alarm, he’s unaware of it as no one appears to question him.

It’s typical of these kinds of places. There is plenty of security on the front side, with no open windows and no direct buildings across that will allow someone to peep in on the residence. But, on the backside, past all the lavish greenery and the immaculate tennis and basketball courts? Taehyung glances up at the zigzag of the fire escape on the building directly behind the condominium highrise. Just as he expected, all it will take is him climbing the iron platforms, and he’ll have the perfect view through the backside of the penthouse.

He begins his ascent, easily pulling himself up and over the railing of the fire escape and making quick work of the several stories until he lines himself with the one he needs. The condominium is a few floors shorter than the building he’s scaling, making it even more comical that there is so little thought put into the security back here. Anyone worth their merit could do precisely what he’s doing. It’s laughable…and alarming.

Settling in on the fire escape platform of the eighth floor, he glances around to be sure whoever is attached to this particular landing won’t stumble across him somehow. The curtains over the windows are drawn, with no lights coming from within. Taking a calming breath of the tepid night air, he dangles his feet over the edge of the platform and rests his arms on one of the support bars of the railing.

Unsurprisingly, he made it up here faster than the woman, who he presumes must have taken the elevator. He’s always been known for his speed, even more so when he’s on the prowl for something. He might have lost his wings, but he’s kept nearly everything else: speed, heightened senses, and a penchant for picking up on the emotions of others. It’s insufferable, being neither mortal nor fully immortal, but a mockery of something in between.

From his vantage point, he can only see the penthouse’s elaborate sprawl of patio, the pool, and the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the entire back wall. The inside is dark save for the soft blue LED lights from the sleek kitchen appliances and an under-glow along the bottom of what he assumes is a flatscreen TV on the wall.

A few minutes pass, and then Taehyung watches as the light from the upper elevator lobby spills into the space, illuminating a sliver of the grossly opulent penthouse. The woman flicks a switch on a panel on the wall by the entry, and the living space floods with bright, white light. Everything is modern, with sleek lines and glaring metal.

Confusion makes Taehyung tuck his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to connect the decadent, vivacious creature that the woman is with such a jarring and emotionless space. It doesn’t make sense. Unless…

Taehyung smiles as he watches the woman pull out a black leather billfold from where it is hidden in her cleavage. She flips it open, briefly thumbing through the thick wad of cash and the pockets dense with credit cards. Even from this distance, with his heightened vision, he can clearly make out the license behind the plastic pocket. The smiling face belongs to none other than Douchebag from the bar. She picked his pocket. Taehyung can’t help but laugh with delight.

And now Taehyung is almost sure he knows why the penthouse doesn’t look like it belongs to her. It excites him to consider the prospect of finally getting an inkling of the mysterious puzzle that this goddess has become for him. In fact, he’s reasonably certain if he waits just a little bit longer, it will be confirmed.

A noise Taehyung can’t hear must draw her attention because she shoves the wallet back into her cleavage before spinning around. The door to the penthouse swings open, revealing a well-dressed businessman with a slimy grin on his face. Taehyung hopes all the more that he’s right about his guess.

The familiarity the man has with the place says it all. He tosses a set of keys onto the table by the entryway and toes off his brown leather brogues while undoing the buttons of his brown and cream tweed jacket. The jacket gets hung up in a closet, though the man’s eyes never leave the woman standing in the open living space. Her back is to Taehyung, so he can only guess that she’s speaking to the man with how he reacts and how attentive he’s being.

A predatory smile slowly forms on the man’s face as he advances on the woman. She stands her ground, her shoulders rolling slightly back as her chin tilts up. Before the man can grab her, she deftly moves to the side and pointedly directs herself to a wet bar across the living room. The man laughs, though it is silent to Taehyung’s ears, the thick double-paned glass proving to be more than even his hearing can work through.

It plays out like a silent comedy before Taehyung: the man gabs on, gesturing animatedly with his hands, probably boasting about his latest business conquest. At the same time, the woman remains silent, pouring him a finger of scotch. What the man doesn’t notice, for all his attention being focused mainly on himself, is the small packet of powder the woman produces that ends up tipped into the scotch glass.

She turns with a false smile on her face, offering the drink to the man. He takes it with a flourish and downs all the contents in one gulp. Carelessly tossing the glass to the side, where it lands on the leather sofa, he reaches for her again, only to come up short as he stumbles. He’s on his knees before he can right himself, a look of pure bewildered confusion on his face before his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he pitches forward in a heavy heap.

Taehyung smiles, his curiosity doubling as he tries to piece together what might happen next. What started as a bit of entertainment at the bar has come full circle into a spectacular show that Taehyung is grateful he has a front-row seat to. Maybe he’s finally getting a break after nearly one hundred years of searching. Perhaps this is his path back into the Arms of Grace…or the failure that will seal his fate in the 9th Circle. He sighs, resting his chin on his forearm where it’s draped over the support bar of the railing, and waits patiently.

🤍🤍🤍

Roy Simmons is an arrogant pig; there’s no doubt about that. Even passed out the way he is with his mouth open and drool beginning to drip from the corner of his lips, he still looks every bit like an asshole, which is precisely why you’re doing what you’re doing. He’s just the next rung on a long ladder of revenge.

This is your third time coming to Roy’s place. The first was to establish contact, the second was simply to dig your claws into him a little more, and now you’re ready for the grand finale. But, it’s not like you want to be here, not really. It’s just a means to an end. Well, multiple endings. It puts a stop to creeps like Roy from hurting innocent people, but it also puts you one step closer, the final step really, to him—Lorren Bianchi, the man responsible for the death of your best friend, Danika.

She died two years ago at the hands of Bianchi. It was supposed to be a routine night, just something to earn a little extra money as Danika put herself through nursing school. She had become an escort; nothing serious, just being arm candy for rich men. But, it went sideways…really sideways when she met Lorren Bianchi. The man put a leash around Danika’s neck and never let her go. It still pains you to think about it. The only balm to ease the ache is the prospect of watching him suffer the way she did.

Roy works for Bianchi. As have all the other losers you’ve sunk your teeth into over the last two years. They’re all part of the same end game. You’re climbing your own corporate ladder of sorts; one built from blackmail and seething hate. Speaking of which, you turn back to Roy, shoving his shoulder with your heel until he rolls over onto his back.

Grabbing his wrists, you heave and jerk until you manage to drag him across the floor and into the adjoining main bedroom. This penthouse is the one he uses when he wants a night away from his wife, which is more often than not. You know he gave her an excuse tonight of working late so he’d just crash at his downtown place before coming home tomorrow morning for the weekend.

It makes you feel bad thinking about the woman who attached herself to such a despicable man and how you’ve knowingly slept with her husband. But, it’s honestly the leverage you need to take Roy down. You know they signed a hefty prenup, required by her father when they got married. The perks of coming from another well-to-do business family, you suppose. If something happens, she walks away with over half his money and holdings in the business. He would go from being in the top ten wealthiest men in the city to just another blip on the radar. Which is why you know he’ll crack; he’ll give you exactly what you want.

Maneuvering him onto the bed is nearly as tricky as it is to strip off his clothing. You think maybe you should have waited to drug him until he was already naked and on the bed, but hindsight is twenty-twenty. Finally, once you’ve gotten him positioned into the middle of the bed, his pasty, fleshy body spread eagle, you dig for the restraints you know he has installed in the posts. You tighten them around his ankles and wrists, perhaps a little tighter than they should go, but you can’t find it in you to care; let him hurt.

Because he’s a sick fuck, you know there is also video recording equipment in the closet. The asshole has an entire box full of discs labeled with not names, no, but features. Big tits, round ass, blue eyes, braids, chin dimple…the list goes on, each DVD with their own scrawl in permanent marker. You stumbled across them the second time you were here when you managed to put him into a drunken stupor to the point he passed out in the shower, leaving you to snoop.

You were looking for anything that might hold a list of his personal contacts. In the end, you found that and so much more, which is why you bumped up your finale for Mr. Simmons. The sooner you take him down, the quicker his grubby hands stay to himself, and he can’t lure in any more unsuspecting women.

Grabbing the tripod from the closet, you position your phone on the contraption, angling it to get a full view of the bed. As you stand there, assessing your work, you get a weird tingling sensation between your shoulder blades. Oddly, you feel like you’re being watched. Though, you know, being in the penthouse, that should be impossible. There is no building directly behind the condominium.

No matter how much you twitch your shoulders and tell yourself to ignore the sensation, it won't disappear. So, to humor yourself, you turn and peer out the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the back wall of the bedroom. The glass stretches across the entire backside, broken up only by the backdoor and the vertical supports between each giant pane.

All you can see is the back patio. The lip of the pool is just barely visible, highlighted by the twinkling fairy lights strung around the garden. The closest building is easily a city block and a half away, with enough room for tennis and basketball courts to separate the condominium property and the next building. It would only be possible for someone to be watching you if they had some sort of telephoto lens or something. 

But that would mean Roy knew, or someone else figured it out and had been following you. Which, at this point, let them watch. You have enough evidence to bury half the city as it is. What you’re doing might be illegal; blackmailing someone is never smiled upon, you don’t think. However, you’re confident you’d get a clap on the back for a job well done instead of a clap on the wrist with a bit of metal.

Roy begins to groan and shift around on the bed. Which means it’s showtime.

You click the button to record as soon as he utters, “What the fuck?” Only it comes out half coherent and accompanied by a generous dribble of saliva down his chin. It would be just like him to look like a blubbering man-baby as he comes to. He’s whimpering between mutters, finally gaining enough coherency to realize what’s happening.

“Hello, Roy,” you say, drawing his attention to where you stand behind the tripod holding your phone.

“Ginger,” Roy sighs what he believes is your name, in relief. “Ginger, baby, what are you up to? Is this some new kink you want to try out? I have to say, I don’t know if I’m a fan.” He chuckles nervously, tugging at the restraints. “Loosen these for me, will you, baby?”

“What’s the matter, Roy, don’t like being the helpless one?”

He smirks, tugging more, trying to sit up. The ties are tight, leaving little slack for him to move much other than his central bulk. His hips flex, the flabby meat of his stomach jiggling as he wiggles around. “Okay, baby, I’ll bite. What do I gotta do to get you to take these off?”

“Do you remember what we did last weekend?” you muse softly, laying the first layer of the trap.

Roy gives you an appreciative up and down. “You mean when I shoved your face in the pillow and pounded your sassy little tail until you screamed? Or how about when I shoved my cock so far down your throat that you gagged?”

You internally roll your eyes, not wanting to break character just yet. “Sure, Roy, what else?”

“Let’s see. Oh, can’t forget how I sprayed my cum all over those pretty tits of yours before I made you rub it into your skin.” The flaccid appendage between his thighs gives a jerk. “That was probably my favorite part.”

Your skin crawls at the memory. You nearly scalded yourself in the shower once you got home, turning the water so hot it made you cry out, and the heat lingered long after. “I’m not the first, though, am I? The first you’ve done all that with, I mean.”

“Awe, Ginger, baby, all those other women meant nothing to me. You’re my favorite. Now, let me show you just how much I love that tight body of yours. Untie me.”

You step to the side of the tripod, and Roy’s eyes light up in triumph. “Hmm...I don’t think I will. Not until you give me what I want, at least.”

Roy wiggles his hips. “Come take what you want, baby.”

You can’t help but laugh, the peeling litany echoing through the room as you give in to the dark humor of the situation. “Oh, Roy, that’s hilarious. You could be a comedian.”

The smile slowly leeches from his face, and lines appear between his brows as he narrows them. “What the hell are you going on about? Untie me. Now.”

“It’s simple, Roy. The last thing I want is your wimpy dick. Once was enough and quite pitiful, I might add. Though, while we’re on the subject of sticking your dick in places, why don’t you say ‘hello’ to Miriam and explain to her why we’re even having this particular conversation?” You nod at the phone on the tripod.

He pales, sweat popping up along his receding hairline. “You’re lying.”

“Oh, how I wish I were,” you say, reciting off Miriam’s phone number to prove how much you’re not. “All I have to do is hit send, Roy, and you can kiss seventy-five percent of your assets goodbye. Prenups are a bitch, huh? If I’m not mistaken, part of it specifically says no affairs or adultery of any kind. Hell, with that, she might even try to take more than that for simply being the disgusting asshole that you are.”

His struggle stops, and you can audibly hear him swallow. “What do you want from me?” he asks, licking his trembling lips.

You reach back and turn off the recording, quickly sending it off to several different places, so you have copies just in case. You tell Roy just as much, giving him a pointed look when he tries to open his mouth to protest. “What I want is very simple, Roy,” you begin before laying it all out for him. His eyes grow wide as you explain, shaking his head in protest with each additional request until you’re almost sure tears are gathering in his eyes.

“That’s impossible,” he whispers thickly.

“You better hope it’s not, for your own sake.” You grab your phone and turn to leave, knowing the maid will find him when she comes by to clean in the morning. “Oh, and Roy?” You glance back over your shoulder at him, “Don’t do anything stupid, like trying to find a way out of this. You deliver, or I do.” You shake your phone, waving it at him as a reminder of what you have.

🤍🤍🤍

Taehyung

In all his years among mortals, he’s never found himself so wholly and utterly intrigued. There have been instances, especially in the early years of his exile, where he found himself hounding after anyone who even remotely seemed like a redemption opportunity. He salivated at the prospect of serving his time and swiftly regaining his wings.

Heavens Above, there was even a time when Taehyung thought perhaps if he could find a damned soul and deliver them as soon as possible, it would curry favor with his Brothers, and they would welcome him back sooner than his one-hundred prospected years. He gave up that pipe dream around the twenty-year mark.

It’s not that he’s grown to enjoy the mortal plane, not exactly. There’s just something freeing about being able to live a little and breathe deeper without worrying about stepping on toes or crossing some divine line drawn in the sand. These thoughts are kept personal, of course.

Taehyung knows if his Brothers ever caught wind of his musings and the way he’s grown to resent them over the years, they’d slam the Pearly Gates and throw away the key along with his wings, which are probably covered in dust and molting away in a corner somewhere. That phantom itch comes alive once more, lingering heat and pain web across his shoulders before he can stop it.

Directing his focus back on the woman, he watches as she saunters from the room, all haughty confidence and severity. It’s not until she’s out of sight of the pitiful man on the bed that her shoulders droop like there’s a heavy weight bearing down on them. He can see it now, something he was distracted from before; there is a haggardness around her bright eyes and a tightness around the curve of her lips.

A sensation he hasn’t felt since—well, since one hundred years ago—twists in his chest as he watches her dig through the coat closet by the door. Taehyung’s brows draw down as she pulls out a backpack and stands there staring down at it. The fact she’s lingering in the penthouse worries him. He’s unsure what she’s doing or what the bag is for. She didn’t come in with anything that he could see, no purse or clutch. Spinning on her heel, she marches back to the bedroom, startling the man on the bed. He starts to yell at her, Taehyung thinks, based on how wide his mouth opens and how red he grows in the face.

It’s comical, watching the man cut off whatever he’s saying and nearly swallow his tongue when the woman holds up her phone threateningly. Taehyung wasn’t sure what was going on at first, but he’s slowly been putting together the pieces, he believes.

She moves to the closet, stooping down to the point Taehyung can only see the red bottoms of her heels and the barest hint of the curve of her ass. He swallows hard, tucking away the tempting thought that springs up with that appraisal. Sexual deviance is what landed him where he is. It’s a fine line to walk, which he’s mostly avoided for the last hundred years.

A few moments later, she emerges from the closet, the backpack bulging. The man closes his eyes, his lips pressed into a trembling line as she moves back across the room and exits once again. This time, she doesn’t stop, swiftly making her escape through the front door. 

Taehyung looks down, contemplating how long it’ll take him to descend and make it back to the front side of the building in time to catch the woman coming out. He stands up, lightly brushing his hands along his slacks, and absently smoothes his white dress shirt. He might have dressed a little more appropriately if he had known he was going on such an adventure tonight. As it is, the suede Tom Ford loafers on his feet have acquired some scuffs and unsightly stains.

Before he can lament over his shoes anymore, he quickly makes his way down the zig-zag of the fire escape. Taking his time, he traverses the condominium grounds and easily climbs back over the fence before leisurely strolling down the service alley and onto the sidewalk just as the front door swings open and the porter bids a good evening to the goddess. If the porter finds it odd she is leaving with a bag she didn’t go in with, he doesn’t mention it.

Following a dozen feet behind, Taehyung watches as the woman slings the backpack over a shoulder and takes off at a brisk pace down the sidewalk. Again, she doesn’t hail a taxi or head toward a railway station. She either lives nearby or perhaps has an ulterior motive to avoiding those places in particular.

Considering his long legs and stride, it doesn’t take much to keep up with her. The heels slow her down considerably as well, but Taehyung also realizes that she’s on the slighter side, height mostly being attributed to said shoes, it seems. It’s hard not to watch her body bounce and sway because of them, too. They cause an exaggerated sway to her hips, which already seem quite daring on their own.

Clearing his throat, he forces himself to think of something other than her hips, like what’s in that bag that was so important she chose to go back into that bedroom. Taehyung’s curiosity doesn’t need to last long as she turns down the next cross street and approaches a nondescript apartment building. There is no porter out front, just a simple iron gate in front of a quaint garden that she gains access through with a keycode.

If he were anyone else, he would miss the code completely, being several yards behind her. But he’s not anyone else; he’s Taehyung—a fallen angel complete with heightened senses, including eyesight. 1306, and he has just as much access as she does. Perhaps it should feel like a violation of her privacy, but considering what he witnessed her doing earlier, he feels it’s mildly justified. Now, to just get a little closer.

“Hello? Excuse me?” Taehyung calls out, shoving his hand in his pocket and grabbing whatever his fingers close around. He glances at his hand, noting the two rumpled one hundred dollar bills now pinched in his fingers. “I believe you dropped these just a moment ago as you crossed the street.”

Cool, calculating eyes flick over him before landing on the proffered bills. She didn’t drop them, but if anything he’s observed proves helpful, he’s reasonably sure she’ll take the bills–the bait–anyway.

Her appraising gaze settles on his eyes for a moment as if she’s trying to gauge whether or not he’s a threat before they dip to the money again. She hesitates only a second, long enough that Taehyung knows she’s far more competent than he gave her credit for. She’s cautious, which is good.

“Hm,” she softly hums. “So I did. Thank you.”

The touch of her skin against his is electric, a zing that he’s experienced a few times over the last century. It’s the feel of a soul on the brink of disaster, a subtle taste of darkness lingering around her edges. Taehyung doesn’t immediately release the bills, wanting to brand the feel of her fingers brushing alongside his for as long as possible.

“You’re welcome…” he trails off, raising his brows and tilting his chin in question.

“Ginger,” she offers, a fake smile straining her lips as she gives a sharp tug to the money, pulling it from his fingers.

The name grates, sliding over his mind like razors. A lie; of course she would give a false name. It’s poised on the tip of his tongue to call her bluff, to implore for her real name, but he knows he needs to tread lightly with this one.

“Ginger,” he repeats, the name pinching his tongue with the lie. “Charmed. I’m Taehyung, Kim,” he tacks on to see if the name might trigger something for her.

Her eyes flick over him once more, what might be mistaken as recognition flashing in their depths. “Yeah, okay. Thanks again, Taehyung. Have a good evening.”

It’s a dismissal. He knows that and can sense the unease that’s thrumming from her body, so he relents. Stepping back, he nods his head and makes to go back down the sidewalk from the direction he approached. “You, too,” he calls over his shoulder to the already empty sidewalk.

Taehyung stops just shy of the next building, listening to the telltale signs that she’s gone in. The soft snick of metal, the hushed tap of her heels over the front welcome mat, the equally quiet click of the door opening, and her murmured “fucking hell” before she steals away beyond it.

It’s easy to follow, punching in the four-digit code he observed. “Seventh floor,” Taehyung murmurs to himself as he watches the digital display above the elevator stop. It’s fitting, he thinks, considering she was just on the seventh floor of that highrise, binding that businessman to the bed. Maybe seven is her lucky number. He hopes so; he’s partial to it himself.

🤍🤍🤍

Tonight could have gone much better, but it wasn’t a complete disaster either. An easy smirk slides onto your face when you toss the two hundred dollars on the dining table. “What a fucking idiot,” you muse to yourself, proceeding to drop off your other winnings for the night. Douchebag’s wallet makes a satisfying thud on the glass surface, thick with cash and untold possibilities. “If you wanted to give up two just to say ‘hi’, I won’t complain.” Though there is something you feel you should know, something about his name almost seemed familiar.

You shrug and turn your attention to everything else. Fingering the zipper on the backpack sobers you quickly, the random encounter downstairs disappearing from your thoughts completely. The DVD collection is far less enjoyable of a prize tonight. It’s daunting to think about how long it will take to try and track down the victims. Because that’s what they are to you. Even if they knew about the recordings, which you’re certain most didn’t, it still feels like a gross violation that Roy hoarded them like sick treasures.

“So itchy,” you grump, grabbing a fistful of the stark auburn curls atop your head. With achingly slow movements, you ease the wig away. The tape and glue tug, but with a practiced hand, you finally get it off with minimal irritation. It joins the pile on the table, to be dealt with when you have more energy. Right now, all you want is a shower and your bed.

You don’t bother turning on any of the lights, intimately comfortable in your own space that you can navigate it with your eyes closed. Abandoning your heels by the table, you shrug out of the body-hugging dress, leaving it in a puddle somewhere between the living room and your bedroom, and make your way to the bathroom.

All you want to do is take a shower and fall into a near-comatose state for the next twenty-four hours while you wait for Roy to deliver. The shower part goes well; the hot water helps to relax the anxiety and tension that seem to reside permanently in your shoulders. 

However, once you slip beneath the duvet and close your eyes for sleep, your body feels like it’s high-strung with electricity. Restlessness hums beneath your skin. Not wanting to spend the next several hours trying to convince your body it needs sleep, you feel around in the side drawer of your nightstand until you find what you want.

The sleeping pills go down dry; you don’t have the energy to get up and grab a glass of water. Now, to just wait for them to take effect. You fuss with the edge of the duvet, folding the fabric and rubbing it between your fingers over and over. The goosedown and satin set is one of the only luxuries you’ve allowed yourself over the last two years. It’s not that you’re punishing yourself. You just don’t want to waste extra time or energy on creature comforts when so much still needs to be done.

Your chest aches every time you stop to think about Danika. She would berate you for spending so much time focused on her rather than going out there and living your life. You just can’t help it; in many ways, you feel responsible for what happened. Sure, you didn’t make Lorren Bianchi kill her, but you might as well have delivered her right into his murderous hands.

It was your idea to sign up for the escort service, swearing it was just for fun and extra money; that surely all those movies and shows were just being dramatic for cinematic reasons. Oh, how you wish that were the case.

Not a single day goes by that you don’t think about how much you wish it were just an exaggeration. The icing on the cake, though? Lorren was supposed to be your client. But you got your schedule mixed up and overbooked yourself that night. Danika said she could use the extra cash and volunteered to take the commitment.

Everything changed after that. Lorren poured thousands of dollars into wining and dining Danika over the next few months. She slowly started to pull away, spending time with him even outside the allotted dates scheduled with the service.

Then, one day, you woke up, and she hadn’t returned to your shared apartment. It was excruciating waiting an entire twenty-four hours before calling the cops and an even worse week waiting for them to do something. They never did. It wasn’t until a month after you first reported her missing that something happened. Her body was found, floating down the Los Angeles River just outside Burbank. Strangled, tossed out with the trash.

You’ll never forget being called in to identify her remains. Danika had no family, just you. Her parents moved to the States from Russia when she was just a few years old. They both passed the summer before sophomore year in high school, putting her in the foster system. You met her freshman year of college. She was your dorm mate and started off so quiet and reserved. Little did you know she was just trying not to fall apart on the inside.

One night, you came in late from a cram session in the library to find her crying, sitting in the middle of the floor with faded family photos arrayed around her. She tried to apologize and beg off talking, but you slowly coaxed her into opening up. You had been inseparable ever since.

It’s not fair. She was far too young and had so much more to give in life. Graduation was just around the corner when it all came crumbling down. You try to summon the memory of her laugh, just to have something to cling to, but it’s muted as your thoughts grow fuzzy. The memories fade, and the pain and ache from the loss of Danika washed away on a pill-laden sleep.

🤍🤍🤍

Taehyung

It’s been two hours since you–his goddess–disappeared upstairs. He doesn’t stop to think about how he’s already considering you to be his; it just feels right. And who is he to question that? Taehyung has long since stopped sending up prayers; they are never answered anyway. However, for some reason, he finds himself taking a moment to center himself, which consists of a quick mutterance of peace. It’ll have to do.

There are four units on the seventh floor. But it’s easy enough to guess which belongs to you. Two of the doors are decorated in full-blown holiday decor, bright colors and themed welcome mats. He doesn’t have to know you deeply to understand that’s not your style. The last two are more similar. Though, the closer he looks, the more evident it is which unit is yours, considering the ‘BYOB, bring your own babes’ welcome mat situated in front of one. For some reason, he doesn’t think that’s quite your style, either. The far more plain, yet inviting, ‘welcome’ is his guess.

The lock on the door is easy to pick. There is no security, no cameras or electronic keypads, which would ruffle his feathers—if he still had them. He’ll have to address that later, once he’s established himself within your life somehow.

The door to your apartment opens on silent hinges once he slides the small set of tools back into his wallet. They’re something he took to carrying around after locking himself out of his own place one too many times. A key is so easily lost, such a small, tedious, and fumbly little thing; even tucked in his wallet, it would often fall out.

Taehyung doesn’t have friends, per se, so it’s not like he can let someone hang on to a spare for him. He used to luxuriate in the solitude, spending countless hours sequestered behind closed doors as a means to reflect on his actions and seek repentance. Now, though, he realizes he’s grown quite lonely—no time like the present to change that.

Closing the door just as softly behind him, he toes off his shoes and takes in the space around him. He can tell instantly that he was right in this being your place, it smells of you. It’s not as lavish or garishly expensive as the penthouse was, but it’s also relatively devoid of personality. There is no permanence to the place. Very minimal, and as if you could easily pick up one moment and be gone without a thought of much effort.

So, you’re a runner. Or some close equivalent. That could prove troublesome for him if you decide to pick up and move off now that whatever game you were playing with the sleazeball from the penthouse seems to be done. He’s not sure how easy it would be for him to track you. So, he now wonders, is there anything else keeping you here? He hopes to find the answer to that somewhere among your scant things.

It doesn’t take long to browse through the kitchen and the living room. There are only a few dishes in the cabinets, nothing fancy, just the basics. There is a sofa in the living room and a small flatscreen TV sitting on the floor. The thin layer of dust sitting on the remote lets him know you don’t spend your free time keeping up with the latest TV drama.

The space is minimally furnished, but there is still a class to it. It’s a newer building, and the living area is expansive compared to most places in the city proper. The dining table sits between the kitchen and living room, holding the only items that seem to be remotely interesting.

Taehyung recognizes the backpack and the billfold. Derrek Lanier, a fitting name for Douchebag. He sets the wallet back down, going for the bag next. It’s filled with DVD cases; the matte covers all sporting white stickers with handwritten titles. However, titles are a loose interpretation of what these seem to be. The labels all just list physical features instead of proper names. Taehyung almost wishes he had visited the penthouse after you left. This isn’t painting a pretty picture for the guy.

Before his anger can get the best of him and make him abandon this in favor of doing just that, his eye catches on a pile of red fluffy curls sitting behind the backpack. He fingers a ringlet, holding back a chuckle when he realizes it’s a wig. It's a very fine, quality wig. He’s pleasantly surprised. What other astounding things do you have waiting for him? He’s even more eager to get to your bedroom now.

The hardwood floor is cold under his socked feet as they whisper down the hall. There are three doors, two closed and one ajar. Peeking into the open door, he gives the bathroom a once over. It’s clean, smelling lightly of floral body wash with an underlying burn of bleach.

Taking his chance on the first closed door, he slowly turns the knob and pushes it open. The room beyond is empty, completely devoid of furniture or belongings. The air feels stale, like the room is never used, perhaps even forgotten. He’s just about to turn and close the door when he notices that the closet door of the room is not closed all the way.

Perhaps it's his curiosity about why the door is open when no one is clearly using this room, or maybe it’s a sixth sense Taehyung has that draws him to it. But he gnaws his bottom lip for a moment before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He approaches the closet tentatively, readying himself for disappointment.

The click of the light switch sounds muted in comparison to the gasp he emits when light floods the small space of the closet. If he weren’t so distracted, he might have cursed himself for being so careless like that.

“Hells Fire,” he whispers, taking in the four walls completely covered in pictures, sticky notes, and sheets of paper.

It’s like something straight out of a crime show. He’s wiled away enough hours consuming that kind of brain rot to know. The only thing missing is the red yarn stretching between push pins connecting the scatter of photos.

It’s a murder board. That much is clear, though. Some of the images have red Xs drawn on them. Looking close enough, he recognizes some of the faces—well-to-do businessmen, just like the one from tonight. There are a few scanner copies of autopsy reports and some X-ray photos, though none look masculine. As far as he’s aware, none of these men have died. They’re all still very much alive and still very wealthy.

So, maybe not a murder board…but what?

Pulling out his phone, Taehyung takes a few photos of the display, hoping to be able to spend more time deciphering it when he’s not sneaking around your apartment with the risk of getting caught.

A small cardboard box sits in a corner. Taehyung peels back one of the flaps, peeking inside. There are two pictures, both in frames, a small wooden jewelry box, and a deflated Valentine balloon still attached to the plastic stick.

Grabbing one of the frames, Taehyung squints at the grainy, dated photo. It’s of a man and a woman, the sepia tones indicating its age. There is some water damage along the edges, as if the image were saved from a damp space before being put into the simple black frame.

The other frame is more stylish, reminiscent of the 90s, with rainbow flowers and smiley faces around the rim. He recognizes one of the two girls in the picture. At least, he believes it’s a younger version of you. The girl has the same eyes, if more full of life, and the same mouth, just less severe.

The girls are laughing, arms wrapped around each other as they face the camera. Taehyung can’t help but smile as he looks at it. Their joy infectious even through a snapshot like this. He brushes a finger over your smile before letting his digit swipe over the platinum blond hair of the other girl. Her twinkling blue eyes pour into the camera, holding a vibrancy that speaks of a careless and loving attitude.

A line forms between Taehyung's brows. The longer he looks at the photo, the more it sparks a recollection. Straightening from where he was crouching down beside the box, he holds up the picture and looks from it to the wall and back again–searching.

Dread, a cold trickle, seeps down his spine when he realizes why the girl looks familiar. Looking closer, he compares the black and white photocopy from the autopsy report to the smiling blonde in the frame. It’s easier to connect the dots now. Clearly, something happened to this girl—Danika Petrov, according to the report—and you’re out for revenge of some sort.

Shaking his head, Taehyung takes a quick shot of the photo in his hand before returning it to the box and turning out the light. He’s learned a lot, far more than he thought he would. There’s a lot to mull over. But first, he has one more place he wishes to explore before he leaves.

Taehyung is extra quiet as he eases the door open to your bedroom. It’s just as devoid of things as everywhere else. Your bed sits against one wall, centered between two heavily curtained windows. The mound in the middle of the bed calls to him. But, first things first, a look around so he doesn’t miss anything with the distraction.

There is no bathroom attached, just a walk-in closet that holds scant clothing and shoes. The single bedside table has a phone, lamp, and a white pill bottle sitting on it. Upon closer inspection, Taehyung sees that the bottle is sleeping pills. It makes him curious about what kind of nightmares you have in order to need assistance sleeping. With everything he’s seen so far, he doesn’t have to imagine much.

Easing open the small drawer on the nightstand, he smiles in triumph. Peeking out under the corner of some miscellaneous items, a blank notepad, pen, hair ties, tweezers, and a tube of lip balm, he sees the edge of a passport. Delicately extracting the tiny book, he flips it open and beholds the most coveted information he could have hoped to find.

There, displayed before him, is all your information. Your legal name–well, that is unless this is a fake, and at which, if it is, then Taehyung has to admit it’s a damn good fake–date of birth, birthplace, it’s all the basics he needs.

Movement on the bed beside him makes him freeze, not even daring to breathe as you roll over and unconsciously push the duvet down around your waist. You sleep in the nude. Of course you do. Taehyung swallows thickly, eyes glued to your sleeping form. It’s like you’re begging him to screw this up, to make a mistake.

Biting his tongue until he tastes the tang of blood, he tears his gaze away from your pebbling nipples and deftly replaces the passport, making his escape back into your living room. He’s breathing hard, heart beating erratically in his chest. The front of his trousers is tight, uncomfortable, as he battles against his baser desires.

You’d think being a holy being would mean he had better control over these things. Apparently, Angels–even fallen ones–are just as culpable of unholy thoughts as humans—guilt twists in his chest. It’s things like this that are what landed him here, to begin with.

Shoving aside the intruding thoughts and feelings, he smoothes a hand down the front of his dress shirt before shoving his feet back into his shoes. Now, he has an idea of who you are and what your game is. He just needs to figure out how to make himself a part of it—starting with finding out more about Danika; she seems to be central to your motivations, and now she’s part of his.

🤍🤍🤍

It’s disconcerting to wake up and feel like someone has invaded your space. Yet, nothing is amiss no matter where you look or how hard you try to find something. It’s similar to what you felt last night in Roy’s penthouse, that itch between your shoulder blades like someone had eyes on you, except now it feels like they’re beneath your skin; just a breath away.

Chalking it up to a bad trip with the sleeping pills, you carry on with your day. You have a lot to do and little time to accomplish it.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite vigilante. To what do I owe this pleasure, Ging?” Ryan’s sleep-rough voice crackles through the line of the burner phone you’re using.

“Morning, Ry. Put the pot on. I’ll be over in a few. Got something for you to sink your teeth into.”

Before he can respond, you disconnect the call, knowing he’ll be far too curious to turn you away when you show up at his door. Ryan Weller is as close to a friend as you’ve got these days. He’s been a good guy to you over the years, always treated you like a little sister, the same as he treated Danika. They were fostered together after her parents passed. When she died, you were all each other had left of her, a sort of pseudo lifeline to Danika—you both refuse to let go.

It only takes twenty minutes to walk to Ryan’s place. You pull on some jeans and a t-shirt, grab the backpack and wallet, and lock up on your way out. As your key slides out of the knob, you can’t help but stop and brush your thumb over the smooth brass handle. It looks the same as it always has…except, does it feel looser? You jiggle the knob and then shake your head, puffing out your cheeks. Your paranoia must be getting the best of you.

Slinging the backpack over your shoulder, you hit the call button for the elevator. The street is bustling, just a typical Saturday morning for this area. It wasn’t your first choice of places to live, but after Danika, you needed to get away from the apartment you shared but also wanted to situate yourself closer to the wolves you’d be hunting.

Ryan lives in the area by choice, having moved there almost a year before Danika was lost. He’s not the typical well-to-do-business guy, but he makes plenty of money as a private investigator. Or, at least, that’s what the placard on his door says he is. Considering what he does for you, you know it’s not all on the books or legal, which is just fine by you.

You don’t bother knocking, knowing Ryan will have unlocked the door for you already. His space is open-concept, all the rooms–sans the bath and bedrooms–bleeding together. The windows along the back wall are open, letting in a flood of daylight that dapples the space in warmth. He’s waiting for you in the kitchen, cup of coffee in hand. “What do we have this time?”

Dropping the backpack on the floor beside the dining table, you gesture at his laptop that’s already sitting open on the surface and set the wallet beside it. “Some money for you, for starters. And this,” you nudge the bag with your foot, “has videos of about a dozen girls I’d like you to try and track down using your magic machine.”

“Magic machine?” he asks, raising a bright strawberry-blond eyebrow.

Ryan is conventionally attractive, with natural russet highlights feathered through his wheat-colored hair and charming moss-green eyes, with a straight aristocratic nose sitting above perfect bow-shaped lips. If he were anyone other than who he is, he might have been someone you’d pursue. As it is, though, the thought of Ryan like that gives you the ick. He looks like a model; his grey sweats and a crimson jersey knit top belong in some Abercrombie ad for loungewear.

“Coffee first,” you whine, making grabby hands toward the cup he’s holding. “Then I’ll explain.”

Ryan laughs, handing off the cup and grabbing another for himself. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the only reason you ever come by to visit is for my coffee and to ask favors.” His tone is light, joking…but it hits a little too close to an uncomfortable truth. You can’t remember the last time you bothered to ask Ryan about something not Danika-related.

“I know,” you whisper, letting the guilt wash over you. “I’m sorry. It’s just, we’re so close…I’m so close to Bianchi, Ry. I’m so close I can’t stop now. I can’t risk losing momentum. I have to strike while it’s hot, and right now, it’s like the surface of the sun.”

That sobers him, his easy smile slipping from his face—you hate to see it go, the guilt festering even further in your heart, but you can’t let it show, not when it’s imperative you don’t crumble yet.

“Tell me what you need,” he implores, settling at the table where his laptop sits. “Where do we start?”

“Facial recognition is probably best,” you explain, thankful for the transition into more comfortable territory; the one without messy emotions.

Several hours and cups of coffee later, Ryan gets his first break. He sits back in his chair, fingers laced together on top of his head, his green eyes looking bleaker. “It’s not good, Ging, not good at all.” Even though he knows your real name, he still humors you with the persona you’ve adopted for your revenge plan.

“Tell me.”

Ryan sighs, dropping his hands into his lap. “I ran some cross-references just to be sure, but all these girls”—he nods toward the backpack now sitting on the table, disc cases spilling from the opening—“are missing. Every single one. Some of these are a decade old, cold cases at the bottom of some detective's desk at this point.”

The fact Roy Simmons is a monster isn’t a surprise to you. But the news still makes your blood boil. It makes you want to return to Roy’s penthouse and get a little creative with a knife instead of just holding blackmail over his head.

You swallow past the bile in your throat. “Send it. Let him rot.”

Ryan has a contact at the FBI, someone he trusts implicitly—someone who doesn’t know about you and doesn’t ask questions when Ryan dumps some evidence in his lap, either.

“Are you sure?” Ryan asks. “Simmons needs to get his, sure. But aren’t you worried it might alert Bianchi to the fact someone is getting close to him? Especially after what happened with Hurst.”

Sazi Hurst was your target before Roy. He found himself in FBI handcuffs after you told Ryan he could send all the information you scrounged up on him, and it almost cost you your first date with Roy; he was so paranoid after one of his biggest business venture partners ended up in custody, singing like a canary.

You hate the conflicting feelings waging war in your mind right now. The desire to see justice served and give these girls’ families peace weighs heavily against your own need to see this whole thing through to the end, with no mistakes made.

Finally, you relent, “You’re right. Fuck. Okay, give me until the end of next week.”

“You think you’ll get to him that soon?” Ryan gives you a wide-eyed stare, lips parting in surprise.

“As long as Roy gives me what I need. He has until midnight tonight,” you say, glancing at your phone for the time. Just a handful of hours to go. “Oh, did you get my little surprise last night?”

Ryan’s nose wrinkles as he makes a disgusted sound in his throat. “You mean the gross video of the naked pig on the bed? Yeah. I got it alright.”

You nod, satisfied for now. You stand from the table, drop your empty mug off in the sink, and head toward the door. “I’m going to go take care of some stuff.” By that, you mean wallow in a little bit of self-pity before the other shoe drops tonight. “If I don’t get what I need, you’ll take care of it?”

That sweet smile flashes on Ryan’s face once again. “Of course, I will. We’re in this together, Ging. And not even just because of Dani, but because I care about you, too, okay? Be careful out there. Call me if you need me.”

You let that linger between you, choosing not to respond to his kindness. It could be the nerves and how high-strung you are right now, but you know it’s deeper than that. It’s far too dangerous to get so close to someone again, even if it’s Ryan. Keeping him at arms-length when it comes to things of the heart is easier, safer…better that way.

Back on the sidewalk, you decide to stop by your apartment before going on the prowl. Pulling out your phone, you check one of the many fake social media profiles you’ve created to keep tabs on your targets. If you’re lucky, you’ll have a few precious hours to prepare before initiating phase number one of your final mission.

You move on autopilot, letting yourself be swept away by the normalcy of everything around you. The rest of your day is a blur. You’re not even sure what you spent your time doing. It doesn’t matter now; however, all you’re focused on is what’s before you: a closet full of things that will make the perfect disguise tonight. 

Two hours later, you find yourself dressed to the nines, wig firmly in place, and a forced smile on your face as you approach the frosted glass door to Liquid Inferno, the city's hottest, most exclusive nightclub. Pulling out the fake golden access card that Ryan made for you, you flash it at the bouncer. The door swings open without so much as a questioning word.

Thumping bass vibrates through the soles of your heels as you zig-zag your way through the pulsing crowd—strobes of different colors flash, the whole place coated in thick neons thanks to the overhead blacklights. The coral mini dress you decided to wear takes on the brightness of a pink highlighter.

What you really want to do right now is head to the bar and order a drink, but you know that’s just the nerves setting in. Instead, you angle your path toward the darkened VIP area on the second floor.

A set of brutish-looking men stand at the bottom of the stairs. The one closest to you gives you a once-over before asking, “Looking to climb into the lap of a king, princess?”

You grit your teeth to keep from snarling at him in response. “Something like that,” you say, letting your words dripping saccharine sweetness as you bat your lashes.

“Sorry, sweetheart, no one is allowed up without a pass.” The other bouncer leers at you, blatantly eyeing your cleavage and the curve of your ass.

You fish into the top of your dress, intentionally shifting around your tits. “Oh, you mean one of these?” you ask, pinching the black VIP card, that you’re glad you had the forethought to nab from Roy’s place, between your thumb and forefinger.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the second guy whistles appreciatively. “Looks like she’s good to go, Mike.”

Mike turns his glare on his counterpart. “I know all VIPs, and she isn’t one.” His focus swings back to you, looking slightly more murderous this time. “Where’d you get it?”

One false move or misspoken word, and you can kiss this chance goodbye, you know that. So, treading carefully, you choose your words in hopes they’ll believe the semi-lie, “Roy Simmons. He gave me his card and told me to meet him here.” You turn the card so the thick, black lettering of Roy’s last name can be seen on the back.

“Roy didn’t mention giving his card to a floozy,” Mike grunts.

You hold up your hands, the card's shiny surface catching in the strobing lights. “I’m just trying to do as I was told.” You enunciate the word ‘told’, layering on extra meaning to it. 

A knowing smile curves on the nameless douchebag's lips. “Sounds like Roy to me,” he chuckles, elbowing Mike lightly in the ribs. “Let her up so she doesn’t get in trouble, huh, Mike? Wouldn’t want a pretty little thing like her getting spanked for being a bad girl.”

Mike doesn’t laugh with his partner. He just stares at you with a challenging gleam in his eyes. Finally, he relents, stepping back and snatching the hook that’s holding the velvet rope across the bottom of the stairs.

“First sign of trouble from you, princess, and you’re out on your ass. Got me?”

You give him a subtle nod, demurely dropping your chin as you pass and hurry up the stairs. Cold sweat beads along the nape of your neck, and you feel like you might pass out. There is a small alcove at the top of the stairs, just before the floor opens up to the VIP lounge, and you duck inside to catch your breath.

The side seam of your dress buzzes. You nearly bust the stitching in your haste to pull out your phone. A message from Ryan flashes on the screen.

Let’s have bacon in the morning.

It’s code. Roy Simmons quickly earned the moniker ‘The Pig’, and Ryan has been joking about wanting to eat bacon ever since you put that leg of the plan into motion. Having bacon in the morning means Roy has provided you with what you wanted. Which is perfect; one more loop in the rope you hope to have Bianchi with.

Being here tonight might be a mistake, now that you’re taking a moment to think it through. What you should really be doing is going home and digging through everything Simmons gave up. Yet—you peek out from the alcove, scanning the VIP area—you’re far too close to give up this chance.

You’re generally not so reckless. Getting this close is making you sloppy, you decide, and you can’t have that. Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders back and remind yourself why you’re doing this and that you can’t make a mistake—not now, before stepping out of the alcove and into the den of wolves.

Testing the waters tonight can’t hurt…much.

🤍🤍🤍

Taehyung

Following you has been all too easy for Taehyung. His body doesn’t need sleep, so instead of retreating back to his own apartment, he stationed himself outside of yours. It was a surprise to see you leaving so early this morning but an even bigger surprise to see you looking so decidedly normal. You weren’t wearing any fancy clothes, the wig, or painted up with rouge like you had been the night before—yet, you’re still the image of a goddess to him.

Taehyung has decided he likes you more when you’re just being you, not when you’re playing what is obviously a character part. It’s a clever rouse. He’ll grant you that. You’re good; he would have been none the wiser had he not let himself into your space last night.

You were moving fast, and Taehyung nearly lost you a few times as you worked your way toward another apartment building. It was like striking gold when Taehyung could repeat his trick from the night before, scaling the backside of the adjacent building. Only this time, the windows were open, and he could hear everything you and Ryan were discussing.

It’s been a long time since Taehyung tasted the bitter tang of jealousy. It’s a very unbecoming emotion for someone of his stature. Yet, watching how that blond Adonis fawned over you and how comfortable you seemed around him made Taehyung want to chew through the metal railing of the fire escape he was on. He hated seeing you together.

Now, though, you’re alone. Or as alone as someone can be in a packed VIP area of a nightclub. Taehyung can taste the nervousness coming off of you in waves. He can feel the erratic thump of your heart from where he’s standing in the shadows a few feet away.

Getting past Dumb and Dumber at the bottom of the stairs was comical; all it took was a whispered name, and they let him up without even asking for a card. He might not have any friends, but Taehyung has plenty of connections in this city. It would be wild if he didn’t, considering he’s been prowling these same streets for a hundred years now. Not many people know his face, but plenty know his name.

You look like a newborn fawn tiptoeing through a pack of wild, rabid wolves, eyes wide and lush lips parted as you edge yourself closer to the back of the space. He knows where you’re going; he’s just not sure why. The conversation he overheard between you and Ryan was enough to fill in some of the puzzle pieces concerning your venture. He also spent the majority of the night surfing the web on his phone and scrounging up everything he could on you, Danika, and whatever connection you might have to the man you’re now fast approaching.

Lorren Bianchi—world renowned flesh and drug trader kingpin—is sitting in a dimly lit booth, surrounded by a few scantily clad women holding champagne glasses and half a dozen muscle-thick bodyguards who aren’t bothering to cover up the pistols hooked to their belts.

Taehyung knows who Bianchi is and has spoken with him a handful of times as well. He’s never liked the oily fucker, far too pretentious and corrupt for Taehyung. It clicks then, and Taehyung curses himself for being a fool and not seeing it sooner. The box with the sentimental items you have tossed into the closet of the spare room, the smiling, beautiful blond girl with you in the photo—Danika. It all makes sense now, and if Taehyung doesn’t do something, you’re going to find yourself in someone else's cherished box in a closet.

🤍🤍🤍

You’re so focused on picking your way through the crowd, eyes honed in on the one man you’ve been gnashing at the bit to draw blood from, that you miss the man closing in through your periphery until you walk solidly into his chest. You blink a few times, dragging your focus up a narrow chest covered in a white button-up until you meet familiar golden-brown eyes.

“Ginger, what a surprise.”

A surprise is one way to describe it. However, surprises are far too close to being coincidences to you, and you stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. Consider it a product of the deep distrust you’ve developed over the years. Running into the same man twice in less than twenty-four hours should be immediate alarm bells for you…yet, surprisingly, they remain silent.

“Sorry, can’t talk right now,” you mumble, intending to skirt around the guy and be on your way without further interaction. But he follows your step, blocking your way yet again. It’s hard to tell if it’s intentional or if he was stepping aside at the same time as you were.

He laughs, a warm, rumbling note that makes you look up just to make sure it’s really coming from him. “I’m sorry.” He moves to the side, gesturing with his arm toward the darkened back corner. The look in his eye is unreadable, making it hard to judge his intentions, but you’re not going to balk at the opportunity to get away, paranoia a thick collar slipping around your throat.

If you weren’t so on edge, you might give up your endeavor for the night and take the opportunity to slip a hook into this odd man. It would be easy enough, another chance to practice before the big take down. You’d be honest in saying you could use a bit more practice, if the way your hands shake is any indication.

But, no matter how hard you contemplate that idea, it won’t stick. There’s something about the man that screams innocent, which is also probably why your alarm bells refuse to ring. A man like that doesn’t deserve your torment, so you continue, not sparing him another glance.

“Thanks,” you say, stepping past him.

A hand on your arm brings you up short, though. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your gaze cuts to the man—Taehyung—before flicking down to the slender fingers wrapped around your upper arm. His palm is warm against your skin, contrasting with the chill from the AC blasting overhead.

“What?”

Taehyung flicks his eyes toward where Lorren is sitting. “He’s a dangerous man.”

“All men are dangerous,” you snap.

Taehyung searches your eyes, for what you’re not sure, but whatever he sees there must disappoint him because his lips form a thin line, and he gives a subtle shake of his head. “I hate that that’s your reality.” He glances back toward the table where Bianchi is sitting. “Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you along to an empty seat a few feet away.

“What are you—Oh!” Your protest cuts off as Taehyung slumps into the vacant seat and drags you onto his lap. “What the hell!?”

“Calm down, or you’re going to draw attention to us.” Taehyung pulls you back against his chest, angling his head around yours so his words ghost over your ear, “Humor me a little, won’t you? Tell me what you see.”

“What I see?”

Slender fingers graze underneath your chin before hooking against it and tilting your head. For anyone else, it must look like Taehyung is whispering sweet nothings in your ear, plying you with his big hands. Every part of him that touches you is warm and inviting. But, you can’t let yourself get caught up in that.

Your eyes catch on the far table once more. Bianchi is laughing at something, his head thrown back and his mouth hanging open, though the sound doesn’t carry to you. You’re here for a reason, and you’re not going to let some bozo you ran into last night stop you.

Shifting around on his lap, you try to brace your heels on the floor to gain leverage, but Taehyung bands an arm around your hips and clears his throat. “Stop that, and before you ask, yes, I know him, and no, I don’t care for him. Now, look closely. Tell me what you perceive about the people around him. Tell me why if you would have approached that table tonight, it would have been short-lived and you’d be sorely disappointed that you wasted your chance.”

You lick your lips, willing your racing heart to calm down so you can focus. You know you should be scrambling off his lap, yelling obscenities, and cursing him for being a creep. Only, he’s, in fact, not being one. The only thing that’s disturbing is the fact that he somehow knows you’re here for Bianchi. A man who is nothing more than a stranger who gave up two hundred dollars last night is now acting like he knows all your dirty little secrets.

“How do you know that’s what I was going to do? Maybe I’m just here trying to have a good time, and you’ve gone and ruined it.”

“You’re easier to read than you think. Now, tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, you refocus on the table. Lorren is sitting in the middle, two girls on one side and one on the other. All blond, very young, petite with large eyes and lips. They could be triplets for all you can discern between the three of them. Everything you know about Bianchi flashes through your mind as you try to connect the dots. Of course, you should have seen it before. “Blond. He likes blondes. Fuck,” you mutter. There is a soft sound of approval from Taehyung, a low hum that vibrates through his chest. “Now, should I let you go make a fool of yourself, or would you like to hear what I have to offer?”

“Why are you even here? Have you been following me?”

Taehyung grunts as you begin to wiggle in earnest in his lap. “It’s not like that,” he says.

Now, the alarm bells do start to ring because that’s as good as saying ‘yes’. “Let me go.”

“I will, on one condition.” You twist in his lap, ready to lash out at him, but he catches your upraised palm and urges, “Let me help you with whatever you’re trying to do.”

“No, fuck you, jackass,” you hiss, trying to jerk your hand from his grip. “Let me go, or I’ll scream.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow, and a smirk crooks up the corner of his mouth. It’s the first time his angelic demeanor has taken on a dark note, and you’re not sure if you like it or not. “Do you really think screaming will make any of these snakes come running to your aid?”

You swallow hard against the truth of that. A woman screaming is probably as common as a millionaire snorting coke in this place. Which judging by the tray covered in lines of white powder you can see on a table to your left, you’d wager the odds aren’t in your favor.

“Please,” you try for your best impression of desperation. “Please, let me go. You don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you know,” Taehyung whispers in response before standing, bringing you up with him, and dragging you toward the top of the stairs. You try to twist and protest, but his hand is like a vice around your wrist, and your pleas go unanswered.

It takes little time for Taehyung to haul you through the crowd. It’s like the surge of bodies part around him, making the escape smooth and seamless. The air outside is light and crisp compared to how suffocating it was inside; you hadn’t even noticed until now that you can take your first real, deep breath since you went in.

“Who the fuck even are you?” you snarl, finally jerking yourself free from Taehyung’s grip, though that might have more to do with him letting you pull yourself free than anything.

The look on his face is unreadable for a moment before a placating smile spreads across his lips. “I’m just someone with your best interest in mind and who is trying to help.”

“I already said I don’t need your help.” You make to step around him and head back inside. Even if your chances of introducing yourself to Bianchi tonight won’t go as planned, you can still do some more recon, and gather more information—but those slender fingers find themselves cuffing your wrist all over again. He drops his grip on you when it seems he’s certain you’re not going to try and run again.

“Look, just hear me out, and if you don’t like what I have to say, then I’ll provide you with the proper look and introduce you to Lorren Bianchi myself.” That earns him a narrow look filled with suspicion.

You look around, contemplating whether or not this man is full of shit or not. If you agree to hear him out, you might miss out on your opportunity to get closer to Bianchi tonight. But if he’s telling the truth, you might not need to do all the legwork anyway.

Taehyung looks hopeful as he waits for your response, bouncing ever so lightly on his toes, hands clasped in front of him. There is still that unmistakable sense of innocence about him, even though he just bodily dragged you from inside the club and somehow has a personal connection to Bianchi.

Ryan would urge you not to move so quickly tonight. He might also balk at the idea of you entertaining a stranger who seems to sneakily know more than he should…but which would earn you the most ire? Ryan would definitely find out about your attempt with Bianchi tonight, but he might not necessarily have to find out about Taehyung. Maybe you can play both fields.

You tug your phone from the inner seam on your dress and shoot off a text to Ryan, asking him to send you everything he can on Taehyung Kim and how he might be connected to Bianchi and to be quick about it. You add please to the end of your text, hoping you seem less demanding in your request.

“You have thirty minutes. If I’m not impressed, you introduce me, or I’ll make you wish you’d kept your two hundred dollars.” You give him a pointed look, the ruse from last night taking on a whole new meaning now. Clearly he was trying to make a connection to you and is now taking it a step further.

Taehyung holds up his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. Deal. Follow me.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to ask any more questions. You have to skip a few steps, your heels clicking against the sidewalk, to catch up with him as his long strides carry him away from the club.

You’re taken aback, thinking he’d surely lead you to some apartment or a hotel, somewhere there is a mild bit of privacy. Though an empty park wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, it does afford you the privacy.

“Start talking,” you insist, crossing your arms over your chest. You set a thirty-minute timer on your phone already and have it clutched in your hand so you can feel it vibrating either from time running out or with any messages from Ryan.

Taehyung’s back is to you, his attention directed somewhere overhead. “It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

“What?” you ask, confused, feeling like you’re being whiplashed by the sudden change in conversation.

He glances at you over his shoulder, and you’re stuck by just how gorgeous he is, bathed in the soft glow from the lamps lining the walkway through the park. “The sky, it’s beautiful.”

“Um, yeah, sure.” You’re honestly not certain of the last time you took the time to actually look up at the sky and admire it. Living in the city, the light pollution and dirty air doesn’t really have an appeal anyway.

“Look,” he says, nodding back in the direction he was looking in before.

You sigh, irritated, but if he wants to waste part of his thirty minutes looking up at the smog-filled sky, who are you to—your thoughts trail off as you finally gaze up. The moon hangs full and low in the sky. You can see a smattering of stars as if they’re demanding to be seen despite the blazing city lights. It takes your breath away for a moment, grounding you in a different reality, one not filled with plots of revenge and loneliness.

Dragging your attention away from the sight and to the man so nonchalantly standing there, wasting his time, you say. “Your time is running out.”

“I’m not from here.” His words come as a whisper, barely carrying to you from over his shoulder. “The view is so different here, no matter how many times I look up, it’s never the same.”

“So, you’re from some other city. What’s that got to do with any of this? Is that how you know Bianchi?”

Taehyung turns, giving you his full attention. You feel bared to him, somehow. As if his eyes are taking stock of your every sin and folly. “I’m not from some other city. I’m not from here,” he emphasizes the word, drawing it out intentionally slow.

“I don’t have time for riddles,” you grunt, growing more irritated by the second. You should have known this was a waste of time. Your phone buzzes in your hand, and a wash of relief swells inside you. Ryan is just in time to confirm this is a complete waste.

Why are you asking about him?

Please don’t tell me you’re wanting to target him. Don’t be an idiot, Ging.

Seriously? You’re not going to answer me? Fine.

There are a few texts that are several minutes old. You must have been so distracted you missed your phone vibrating with them. A flood of new texts come in as you’re reading.

He’s one of the good ones. There’s a link to a website attached. You click on it and scan the opening page. ‘Kim Taehyung, Billionaire With No Billions’ is the headline. The article is filled with statistics and data showing that every cent Taehyung earns with any of his business ventures goes toward charity or medical research.

He’s a literal saint. Like, there isn’t a single mark against this guy. Targeting him would be doing the devil’s work. His connection to Bianchi seems to be one of rivalry. He’s the one who stopped Bianchi from opening up that one casino, you know, the one that was going to serve as an underground skin trade, but the evidence magically disappeared before his court hearing?

So that’s why Taehyung is familiar to you. You didn’t pay much attention to the casino thing, just kept tabs on it in passing in hopes it could lead you to gathering another connection to Bianchi.

Thanks. You hit send, thumb out of the timer you set, and tuck your phone away back into your dress.

“Ready to hear what I have to say now?”

You can feel heat crawling up your neck. Mild embarrassment is a bitter taste in the back of your throat as you feel thoroughly chastised even though he’s not speaking to you in a demeaning way.

“I’m listening.”

“Perhaps where I’m from is not important, not that you’d believe me anyway. So, perhaps the best place to start is acknowledging that I know what you’re going through. I’ve experienced what you’re experiencing, the pain and grief of losing someone you love.”

It’s like a white-hot dagger to the heart, a mix of indignation and sympathy. “You might think you do, but I don’t know.”

“I was punished for loving someone, they were taken from me, and I was… ostracized. I’ll never be the same. I still”—he rolls his shoulders and winces—”ache.”

His words are cryptic, but you’re fairly certain they’re only the surface of his experience, as there is evident pain laced within his whispered confession.

Slowly, his slender fingers nimbly work at the ivory buttons along the front of his shirt. One by one, they reveal the subtlest hint of flesh. The lighting that wreathed him in a halo glow just a moment ago now casts his features in stark relief as he moves closer to you.

“What are you doing?”

“Making myself vulnerable to you, in hopes of earning some of your trust.” With painfully slow movements, Taehyung turns and shrugs down the top of his dress shirt. It’s confusing, at first, trying to decipher what you’re seeing in the dim lighting. Ripples and bumps form two narrow swaths to either side of his spine, just within his shoulder blades; scars, jagged ones, made of tight, shiny ridges. The placement, the mirrored precision…it almost, almost looks like he had wings ripped from his back. “Not ripped,” he murmurs and you realize you spoke your thought aloud. “They were shorn from my body by my Brother Michael.”

“Your brother did this to you?!” you ask incredulously.

“Brothers,” he emphasizes. “But, only one wielded the blade.”

You balk at him, unable to comprehend how someone could do this to another human being. Before you can think better of it, you brush a light finger over one of the ridges. Taehyung shudders so intensely under your touch, that you’re afraid you might have hurt him. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, snatching your hand back.

He clears his throat. “Nothing to apologize for. It’s just that, well, I haven’t been touched by another being in a very, very long time. I had almost forgotten what it felt like, a tender touch like that.”

“You shouldn’t have suffered at the hands of your brothers.”

“Water under the bridge at this point,” Taehyung sighs, pulling his shirt back up and redoing the buttons as he turns to face you once more. “I know what you’re trying to do with Bianchi, and even if you manage to get close enough to him, you’re not going to be able to go through with it. You can’t kill him.”

“I can and I will,” you state fiercely. “I have to.”

Taehyung gives you a sad smile. “There’s too much good in your heart. You’ll hesitate, and then he’ll turn the tables. He’ll give you the same fate as your friend.”

“You don’t know anything about her!” you shout, wincing at your own outburst as your words echo through the park and startle some birds out of a nearby tree.

“I know that you love her. I know that you’re on a path of revenge for her. A path that is going to lead you to an eternity of damnation even if you do succeed. Please, let me help you. I promise Bianchi will suffer for what he has done, but we have to do it the right way.”

“And what exactly would you consider the right way?” Anger eats at your eyes, making them burn with tears you refuse to shed.

Looking deep into your eyes, Taehyung explains, “If you kill him, that’s the end of it. But, if you tear down his empire, make him lose everything, brick by brick…he’ll endure a lifetime of suffering, which, to a man like him, is far crueler of a punishment than bringing his miserable life to an end. He’ll probably do it himself by the time we’re done with him.”

“Why is it, exactly, that you want to help me again?”

“I’ve dealt with Bianchi on a few occasions. Unfortunately, he rubs elbows with a lot of the same people that I do. I suppose money doesn’t care if someone is a good person or not.” Taehyung fits his hands into his pockets, leaning back on one heel in a relaxed manner as his eyes flick over your features. “I’ve never had the right justification for bringing him down. He’s always managed to slip between my fingers. Now, though, you’re presenting me with the perfect opportunity, the perfect justified means to take him down once and for all...and well, if it means I can save you, then I’ll take that, too.”

The fact this man seems to care about you, care about Danika, doesn’t seem all that unusual. His eyes are open and full of warmth, so welcoming and completely unalarming in their charm and sincerity. You can’t help but accept. “What do you propose we do? Where do we start?”

That seems to put a little pep back into Taehyung’s demeanor. “Simple, of course. We start where it will hurt him most, his bank account.”

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-01-28 ColorMePurplex2

#kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagines #taehyung fanfiction #bts taehyung #fallenangeltaehyung #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts angst #bangtanwhq #btscreaturecoven

[headfullof-ideas]

I have decided to also start posting some of my head canons here as well, because I’m already posting drawings of my Incorrect Quotes that I’ve posted to Ao3 here, so might as well throw these ones out here as well

These ones are about the kids. I love thinking about these funky little aquanauts and pirates, and their funky little childhoods

Ant

- He’s afraid of heights(this one’s kinda Canon)

- Ant is ambidextrous, but primarily uses his left hand

- He’s really into parkour and gymnastics

- He has ADHD

- Has terrible social skills when talking to ‘normal’ people

Fontaine

- Fontaine is a terrible cook, she can only bake (I think this one is Canon, based off of Ant and Wills reactions to Fontaine baking him a cake for his birthday)

- She’s bisexual, but prefers boys over girls

- She seems like a cat person, but really wants a dog

- Has a whole drawer of hair dye beyond pink

- Can sprint in heels despite almost never wearing them (sea life balance is a lifesaver)

Finn

- Secretly watches rom-coms at night

- Wants to get a tongue piercing cause he thinks it’d look cool on him

- Likes to paint his nails

- Wants to be a school counselor

- Finn is a huge fan of pirate movies despite hating being a pirate, if only to make fun of how bad they are. The only exception was Pirates of the Caribbean, in which he laughed about Captain Jack Sparrow, and cried over Will, Elizabeth, and the soundtrack

Maddie

- The only thing she takes care of is her hair

- Maddie thinks Ant is the same age as her

- Wants a dress, but won’t admit it

- Has a secret collection of rings and necklaces she stole from her dad

- Gets excited every time she sees the Aronnax, knowing it’s going to be a fun day

Fontaine and Ant

- Fontaine and Ant have a sibling language: a weird combination of their first two languages, which were their parents first languages. They haven’t spoken it in years, but can still speak it at the drop of a hat

- Fontaine has an easier time than Ant convincing people she’s mixed. Ant has to carry a photo of their family everywhere to convince people

- Ant loves pineapple on pizza; Fontaine hates it

Finn and Maddie

- Finn and Maddie have secret plans to put Hammerhead in a pirate nursing home as soon as they can

- Finn and Maddie both have something of their moms to remember her

- They both think Hammerhead needs to upgrade the Dark Orca to be more clean

#ant nekton #antaeus nekton #fontaine nekton #smiling finn #mad madeline #the deep cartoon #the deep 2015 #headcanon #i have so many WIPs to finish #ninety percent of them related to The Deep #but in the meantime I’m just posting incorrect quotes and headcannons #why can’t I ever finish something substantial?

[yiippii]

A lot of things have happened during the two days I haven’t posted y’all💕😭🦫🤭🌸😔

• At lunch there is always salads and veggies you can choose from, shredded carrots, lettuce, beans etc. Lately there has been fruit in the salads! So far there has been, apples, pineapple, grapes, pomegranate and yesterday and today there was fricking melon in it 🍉🍈

I’m very happy about that

• One of my favorite songs has been deleted off of Spotify!!! And I was going to email the artist somehow and ask him why and to put it back up again but he passed away in 2006😔 The song is called “Theology/Civilization” it is by Basil Poledouris. Rest in peace G 🕊️

• I have spoken to him a few times this week, waved at him, just said hi a few times. I’ve also seen him be affectionate towards his goddess of a girlfriend and it hurts a little but I’ll live💪🏻

not😭

That’s all I can think of at the moment

Byeeeee, I love you.

#coquette #coquette aesthetic #girlblogging #girly blog #girly girl #let’s be friends #looking for friends #be my frieeennnddd #be my friend #wanna be friends? #conan the barbarian #life update #life upd8 #dream girl #girl problems #pink coquette #girly fashion #girly tumblr #girly aesthetic #girlblog #girly stuff #it girl #pink pilates princess #pinkcore #vanilla girl #manic pixie dream girl #this is what makes us girls

[the-error-if]

The Error

The Error is an interactive fiction that is very much a work in progress. Updates will be very far apart, seeing as this is a side project and I’m off for summer and will go back to school shortly. ———————————————————————

DEMO: https://lactose-intolerant.itch.io/the-error

The Error is about a retired villain that wants nothing more than to live a semi-normal life, but when a bunch of new villains threaten the MC’s city, MC is dragged kicking and screaming to help save the day by the city’s hero team. Will MC be a hero for the first time? Or will MC go back to their villainous ways? Will MC be able to have a decent sleep schedule? Unfortunately for MC, that’s for you to decide!

This game will feature:

A customizable MC from gender (whether Cis, Trans, or one that believes gender is a social construct) to if MC thinks pineapple belongs on pizza

Choices that will have consequences for every action and affect your relationships with others (sorry people pleasers, you will not be pleased)

✨Superpowers✨

The ability to influence your very own sidekick and influence your team dynamic

Romance options that include 7 main options and possibly secret options

———————————————————————

RO OPTIONS:

Sawyer (he/him); Sawyer is a the previous police chief of the NYPD and has arrested MC plenty of times. He now is the commissioner of the NY Hero Team and is absolutely desperate to take down the newest villains, so he recruits (read as kidnaps) a retired villain in hopes of finally being able to take down the new villains. Will MC be able to change his mind about them? Can there be love or friendship between these two enemies?

Jordan (gender selectable); Jordan is apart of the NY Hero Team and is known as the Pied Piper for their ability of being able to convince people to do as they say. They are known to be easy going and aloof. But hearing that an ex-villain will be joining the team, now that has their attention. How will MC react to their attention? Is this just another fling for Jordan or will MC be able to retain Jordan’s attention?

Rory (they/them); Rory is apart of the NY Hero Team and is known as Guard for their force fields. They are known for being a ray of sunshine to everyone and everyone loves them! Hearing that a villain is joining the team, Rory has set out to change MC’s ways to the more heroic sort. With so much competition for Rory’s heart, will MC be able to win? Will Rory let go of trying to change MC and love them for them?

Quinn (gender selectable); Quinn is apart of the NY Hero Team and is known as Obscure for their power of manipulating shadows. They know about the MC being a villain, but they don’t really care or do they? It’s just so hard to tell with Quinn being so shy. Will MC be able to convince Quinn to lower their guard? Will Quinn ever be able to express themselves?

Hayden (she/her); Hayden is apart of the NY Hero Team and is known as Cicatrize for her powers of healing.As the resident healer for the team, Hayden knows to treat everyone the same and tend to their injuries with care, but knowing that the MC is a villain leaves Hayden feeling uneasy. Will Hayden get over MC’s past? Will MC be able to gain Hayden’s trust and potentially her love?

Rowan (he/him); Rowan is apart of the NY Hero Team and is known as Glitch for his teleportation power. Being team leader is hard enough but having to babysit a new teammate that happens to be a villain is impossible. Rowan wants nothing more than MC to stay quiet and on the sidelines. Will MC be able to prove their self to him? Will he get it through his thick head that MC could be into him?

Kai (gender selectable); Kai is the MC’s childhood lover/friend/enemy (depending on your choice) and is apart of the new villain league. They are known as Drifter because of their power of super speed. Kai and MC have not spoken since MC quit being a villain. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t been keeping tabs on MC. Will MC and Kai ever rekindle what they once had or will they start something new?

———————————————————————

Feedback is very much appreciated! Don’t be afraid to point out mistakes or mention an idea that you think will fit into this story or will make the story better! I live to please and want this story to be inclusive and interesting for all readers! If you have any questions please feel free to ask!

Was that too many exclamation marks? -Gremlin

#interactive fiction #The Error #IF #storytelling #fiction #x reader #if game #if wip #twine wip #twine game #itchio

[tmntxthings]

Not sure if you dropped this series or not but I loved your 'Orange Graffiti' fic with Mikey.

I honestly feel like there isn't enough fics, let alone a whole series for him, so I was wondering if you would ever pick it back up?

一∑orange graffiti pt. 6。・゜・

author’s notes: well yk, now that you mentioned it, it has been a while since i uploaded for this series! i didn’t have any intentions to make a new chapter, but bc of you dear anon and your lovely words, here we are c: i hope you enjoy! p.s. i totally agree we need more mikey fics T^T

warnings: cursing, fluff, rekindling, reconciling, unedited

previous - next?

—————————————————————————

Previously. . .

“WHAT ABOUT US?!” The foot members screamed and the two of you laughed. You turned giving them the stank eye while Mikey blew a raspberry. “Don’t worry the cops will find you eventually if ya keep yelling!~” you hollered over your shoulder. You were happy, things weren’t perfect, and you had a bit of a rough evening, but what the hell! Life ain’t perfect and at least Mikey’s next to you. You smiled over at him, making his heart melt.

You knew you weren’t entirely back in their good graces. Raph especially. But what you did want to know was why Leo stood up for you… if you could call it that? Even more surprising was Donnie’s robotic hand. They had pretty much avoided you whenever you came over with Mikey after the secret was out. Which stung, but you had expected that. You had expected them to all shun you. But Mikey hadn’t so you had stuck around.

So why now, after proving that whole year you had turned your back on the foot?? It made you feel cautious… but like always Mikey was trying to pull out smiles. Distract everyone from the awkwardness. Raph loomed behind everyone with a sour aura now, you could feel his eyes on you. He had definitely decided to lag behind on purpose. “So I’m thinking pizza!” Mikey chirped merrily. Sticking to your side like glue. Ignoring the hostile intent from behind.

“Do you ever eat anything else?” You teased. Leo immediately responded with a “nope!” much to Mikey’s dismay. He was a chef afterall. It hurt his pride very much to be reduced to one food, even if it was his favorite of them all. “Of course notttt but I think we should celebrate! No one got hurt, and you get to stay with us!!” He was beaming a smile at the last bit. An indefinite sleepover. Raph grumbled something unintelligible from behind and you gave him a quick peek. “Do you not want pizza?” You asked, initiating the conversation first seemed like the right thing to do. Raph sighed, “I’ll eat whatever,” he didn’t return your stare.

Mikey tugged on your hand. “Great! Since everyone’s in agreement I’ll call, anything special?” Donnie was quickly stating that pineapple should not be allowed as an option. Leo going against his purple brother just to spite him. “You should order from Run of the Mill, I’ll pick it up if you do,” Leo said offhandedly. Like he wasn’t angling to go see Senor Hueso. “Got it!” Mikey nodded.

That concluded the trip to the lair. Raph branching off first, probably heading to the gym or his room if you had to guess. Donnie readily doing the same, asking to be called when the pizza was here as he zoomed to his lab. It was just the three of you now. You stood as Leo collapsed into a bean bag on the floor. Mikey waving his phone at you to show he was going to make the phone call as he exited the room. Well, the two of you now. “Y’know I don’t fully trust you.”

You looked down to where Leo was sitting, but he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was on the tv. You already knew that. You didn’t expect them to trust you. But it didn’t hurt any less for it to be spoken aloud. A year was a long time, but some things could never be forgiven. “I don’t expect you to, any of you…” you crossed your arms.

“That’s not to say that I don’t trust you partly!” He met your gaze now. His eyes were cold, which shocked you because his tone didn’t sound so serious. “So don’t screw it up this time, hmm?” You were silent at that. Letting your stare convey how you felt. That you wouldn’t break their trust a second time. “I love a good backstabbing after all, but yours, I don’t know I guess I didn’t see it coming!”

You nodded. He was offering an explanation as to why he had ignored you for so long. You knew all the brothers quite well despite hanging out with Mikey the most. At one point, you had hung out with them all. “I’m sorry,” you murmured honestly. More sorry than you could ever know..

It was his turn to nod. You knew Leo reveled in being a prankster. Knowing others underlying motives and being able to best them with that knowledge. He hadn’t realized how tangled you were with the foot clan, he thought you were definitely unlucky to be targeted. But he hadn’t questioned it further. Why were you being targeted? He couldn’t even remember the fake excuse you had given them. But he had believed you. And he had healed you each time the foot clan managed to get to you. The beatings you had taken were very believable. The ploy, the trap, he had fallen for it hook-line-sinker. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stand the sight of you for so long.

It reminded him of how he had been bested. One of his best attributes had failed him. He hadn’t been able to see this betrayal coming. “Consider it water under the bridge,” Leo stood up right as Mikey re-entered the room. “Ready in 15 Lee!” Thought the blue brother was already opening up a portal. “I’ll head there now, kinda wanna annoy a certain bone man~” he departed with a wink as the portal closed.

“Don’t worry! I got your favorite!!” Mikey elbowed you softly in the arm. And you gave him a raised eyebrow, asking him to go on. His brow ridge shot up, “What you don’t think I remember?! Supreme with stuffed crust, no mushrooms!” He recounted confidently. If you could whistle you would. “I’m flattered you remember though I guess with a chef brain like yours it comes naturally?” You drawled with a teasing lilt. Mikey just smiled and shrugged. He didn’t know if he should say that he couldn’t remember everyone’s favorite pizza. He had plenty of friends, a list so long that it would be near impossible even with a chef brain. “Maybe your just special!” He smirked as he lifted up on his toes to boop your nose with one green finger. You blinked. He was gone as soon as it happened. Already on the couch and patting it for you to finally sit down.

“C’mon get comfy!! You’ll be staying with us for a while. Can’t have the big bad footsies getting a hold of you!” You plopped yourself next to him. “Hey I held my own out there didn’t I?” That sentence had started off strong but you faltered towards the end… I mean you had been pushed off a building. Though Mikey didn’t bring that up. He thought about how far you must have ran. Leaping across buildings to get to ‘their territory’ as the foot had called it. Two versus one is never fair. “I think so,” Mikey finally spoke, though he added, “I just wish I could’ve helped sooner, to even the odds..”

You hadn’t trusted him with the knowledge of your ‘home.’ Which now looking at it you felt ashamed. He was the one person who had trusted you implicitly even after the truth came out. He didn’t treat you any differently, in fact he just had started caring even more if that was possible. You should’ve trusted him. You should have told him. “When I get a new place, you’ll be the first I invite over,” you promised. If eyes could sparkle, Mikey’s would be right now. “Really??” He perked up. “Really really, I’ll need help with the heavy lifting. Y’know furniture and all!” You couldn’t help but turn the sweet moment into one of teasing. He was just too cute.

And became even cuter as he lifted up one green arm. Flexing and saying how he could lift the whole building if you asked him to! It was so ridiculous that you laughed, and Mikey was on a roll after that. He wanted to continue to make you laugh, to make you smile.

“Pizza’s here~~!”

—————————————————————————

“Pizza’s here~~~!”

#michelangelo x reader #rise michelangelo x reader #rise mikey x y/n #rise mikey x reader #rise michelangelo #tmnt fandom #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles #turtle bros #leonardo #raph #mikey #donatello #rottmnt x you #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x y/n #michelangelo hamato #tmnt michelangelo #foot clan #foot clan reader #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fandom #rottmnt fluff #fluff #rise leo #rise leonardo #rise raphael #rise fanfic

[sangre]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.  REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons, etc.

name: catarina raverre. nicknames: rini from wyll + which the tiefling children from the grove picked up on and call her as well, rina from shadowheart and gale, cat (funny/condescending) from astarion, karlach will enthusiastically call him Raverre!! if not soldier, and lae’zel is trying not to pick up a nickname but settles on an over emphatic ca-TA around act 3. Full-naming is very weird and intimate for her, so of course, she hears it most from the dream visitor in the shell of her ear. tav is the quick and easy introduction he gives to other NPC’s (it's what her brothers called her growing up) and will hear it from just about everyone as well. age: twenty-nine. race: asmodeus tiefling, infernal bloodline on her father’s side, draconic lineage on his mother’s. gender: fluid, he/him & she/her. often dancing the lines to have fun in presentation and feeling with both at once. orientation: bisexual. zodiac: aries. a very strong case for an aries I think. moral alignment: chaotic neutral, though he’s protective of innocence and will go out of his way on select occasions to pay back in the name of karma :wink: (Karma is also the name of the dragon that her lineage comes from). class/subclass: sorcerer - draconic bloodline. (poison dragon) background: guild artisan. interests/hobbies: woodwork and architecture hold his attention in a quiet appreciation kind of way, as in he could watch someone whittle for a long time and enjoy the silence (haha) about it – and traveling to see different kinds of buildings and interior decoration and stuff like that is very compelling, as someone who was raised with a reverence for like... ruins and the history shown in the way places are built. she loves magic. being able to storytell and stuff through that medium is very precious and memorable to him. quite nerdy behind closed doors. demanded to be read to a lot as a baby before falling asleep. LIKES NAPPING! Is sleepypilled. some other misc things he likes are intricate weaponry and gambling (he's freakishly good at catching a cheater/reading people's faces). spoken languages: fluent in common, draconic, infernal, and primordial (in addition to being able to communicate in sign in common) profession: adventurer, mostly. back at home, she follows the raverre family line in serving as a warden for a vestige that comes from the hoard that the dragon from her lineage kept and protected. she has four older brothers and one much younger brother, hence a very no-nonsense approach to bullshit. height: 5’11” colors: deep pale brown, purplish red, toxic slutch green, and fiendlike nauseous pink. fruits: grapefruit, guava, strawberries, pineapple and passionfruit. drinks: iced coffees, iced fruit juices, anything that tastes like radioactive mcdonalds sprite and buzzes and freaks out his tongue. alcoholic beverages: dark honey mead, ginger beer with lime. smokes: no but she DOES BREATHE smoke if she coughs and her temperature is too high. drugs: recreational use if he’s with friends and he gets something fun from an alchemist or druid he trusts. drivers license: can this bitch steer a horse? (Catarina voice) Sure how hard could it be. (NO) (BE CAREFUL) (GET OUT OF THE WAY) (horses get nervous around her. Most animals are okay with her/love her in fact but for some reason I think, to a horse, she has rancid vibes. I think it’s because she stares them in the eyes). ever been arrested: YUP but it did not last long!

TAGGED BY: no one i stole this from one of my old RP blogs ^p^ i wanted to party TAGGING: tagging my bagu gagu fwiends but also fwiends for other ocs! @the-lovely-lady-luck @interstices @reides @fluffy-snow-fox @kirkewrites @roberthouses @jessieleaf @killdragons @cass1x1 @bvckywrites @devilatelier

#just bringing a little indie tumblr magic back to our dashes in 2023 in a manner that brings joy. #i played w the questionnaire a bit to suit my needs so ofc do that too if it suits u :3 #EXCITED TO SEE OTHER BABIES IF ANYONE DOES IT :D #catarina

[anxiouspineapple99]

Cosmic Persona Quiz 💫💫

Link to the quiz

Yeah checks out lmao. I am definitely odd.

NPT: @mythical-illustrator @moonlightwarriorqueen @dickarchivist @jedi-hawkins @reader6898 @wings-and-beskar @dystopicjumpsuit and anyone else interested

#tag game #cosmic persona #the pineapple has spoken

[cornbreadarts]

So I finally got around to finishing the rest of the Primal Kwamis and designing a miracle box for them. These for will round out the group for a total of 10.

Chose to continue with my theme of lesser known dinosaurs and prehistoric animal.

Loot is an Oviraptor. He’s a bit of a Klepto, loves to take little trinkets and such from his holder’s home or really… anywhere and sort of horde them. He’s pretty protective of his stash aswell even his own miraculous, may take some convincing to get him to hand it over so you can transform. But you can always trade him his favorite food hard boiled eggs.

Malla is an Edmontinia. When I posted the first group on Reddit someone suggested that i do an ankylosaur, and this was the first really unique one that came to mind. Despite her tough shell Malla is very soft spoken and sensitive. She loves hugs and cuddles, though her spikes can get in the way. Her favorite food is pineapple.

Torro is a Carnotaurus. Fancies himself the leader of the Primals(though none of the others would agree with that). He tries really hard to be big and tough. Don’t mention his little baby arms it really sets him off. His favorite food is beef jerky.

And last is Inno who is a gorgonopsid. Very pugnacious, loves to hide and launch “sneak attacks” on the other Kwamis or her holder. Has sort of a feral huntress mentality and is super competitive. Her favorite food is ham.

And this is their miracle box I wanted it to look really timeworn and rough.

[Link to the post containing the rest|http://aminoapps.com/p/ueqbm2i]

#my art #miraculous kwami #miraculous oc #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanart #kwami oc #kwami #dinosaurs

[foximator-blog]

More Random Pizza Tower OCs and ideas lol.

Even though Pep is Peppino's son (Peppino had Pep back in his twenties... But he and the mom ended up separating... Pep wasn't able to reconnect until later.)

His new annoying rival Millie isn't actually related to the Noise by blood. Seeing as Noise is a TV personality of sorts, I think it would make sense if there were fans of his chaos. Millie is one such super fan, who looks to be just as chaotic as her idol.

Also have my own Toppin girls and a pepper oc. Though Bella the mushroom girl was changed a bit to make her a little more original... Even if she's not entirely unique.

Mushroom: Bella, very soft spoken, sweet, and genuine. She has a relaxed and calming aura, but she also has a breaking point, so don't start thinking you can push her around. She likes making Pizzas for fun... Though if an order is over complicated or complex she'll get a headache.

Pepper: Rika: Sassy, but she loves kids. She hates people holding up the line (I like to think Peppino's gets at least a little more business after the tower's destruction) and is pretty much the safeguard between Bella and overly complex orders. She's endeared by Pep, who still looks up to his dad, even after being separated for at least 17 years or so.

Tomato: Cherri, a shy and soft spoken gamer girl. She met her gf online and they eventually met up irl.

Pineapple: Calypso, a more social and outgoing lady who likes the beach. She games in her spare time and actually met Cherri online.

Sausage: Peggy. Comes of as stern and hard headed... But really she's a big softy.

Cheese: Motzee. She's a little bit chaotic, so her gf has to keep her outta trouble.

And that Spaghetti Monster would be the Equivalent to Pizza head, but from the Palace o Pasta (a dumb fan sequel starring Pep that's brewing in my head)

Sorry if these are cringe ><

#pizza tower au #pizza tower oc #pizza tower #pizza tower spoilers #pizza tower toppins #peppino spaghetti #pepperman

[byler-luvr]

MISTAKE ~ A BYLER FANFICTION

(i’m going to post this on ao3 as soon as my account gets approved, but for now, enjoy this!)

summary : mike battles through his internalized homophobia as he makes a shocking realization about his best friend, will.

Mike sat next to his best friend of ten years in complete and utter silence, neither knowing what to say. It had been like that a lot lately.

Mike wasn't sure why. 

The two were currently sat in the Wheeler's living room, a more-than-safe distance between them, with Will sitting on the far right, and Mike on the far left. He truly didn't know why.

They had barely spoken in days. He'd assumed it was just because they were all tired from being crammed in a pizza van for the past week, but now he wasn't so sure. They'd gotten back hours ago, and Mike still hadn't heard a word from the boy that sat next to him. 

They'd gone to Hopper's cabin - who was apparently alive now, much to Mike's confusion - the hospital, where Max was sat in a coma, for God knows how long; The school, to volunteer for those that were injured, or had destroyed property; The field, where vividly gorgeous grass and flowers turned melancholy. And still, nothing. 

And it wasn't one of Will's depressive silences, either - it wasn't like before, when he simply couldn't bring himself to talk, and all Mike could do was hug him, tell him everything would be alright. No, this was different. There had been a confusing tension between the pair since they'd left Surfer Boy Pizza, where El had seemingly saved the word.

Oh, Mike thought. That was another thing. The breakup. 

Much to his surprise, however, Mike didn't care much about it - Like, at all. He seriously didn't give a shit, which was concerning, to say the least. He should care that his girlfriend of several years had broken up with him, right? Last time he'd cared. Last time he was furious.

He supposed this time was different though, civil. It happened that very night, right outside of Surfer Boy Pizza - Right after he'd given his speech to El. Yeah, he knew those really weren't the right words to say. 

El had come to him, crying. Not necessarily sad, more so just...Mourning. That's it. El was mourning the loss of their relationship. 

Mike remembered it so clearly. The bittersweet look on El's tear-stained face as she walked up to him, just moments after she'd somehow managed to get Mike to try pineapple on pizza. He remembered his heart falling at the sight of her, immediately knowing what was about to happen. A breakup. 

He cried lightly in the moment, but not because he didn't want to break up. He knew it was the right thing to do, and he knew they should've done it ages ago. Hell, they both knew. 

He cried because everybody was leaving him. Everybody was always leaving him. First it was Will. He called every single day while Will was in Lenora, for months. And not once did he get an answer, or a call back. Will had forgotten about him, which was a pain that Mike had yet to analyze. He simply buried it deep, pretending not to care. 

And then it was El. Of course, now he knows that El definitely wasn't leaving him. In a weird way, the two had been a hell of a lot closer since the breakup. It finally felt like they could talk to each other - Like they were destined to be friends, nothing more. It was relieving. But for a split second, as El broke the news to him that she in fact did not need him anymore, he felt her leaving. Drifting away. Maybe he was projecting, channeling, even - But it was scary. He didn't like it one bit.

"Mike?" The boy heard Will murmur, nearly making him jump as he remembered his current reality, snapping out of his thoughts as he turned to look at his friend, who has a soft yet stern expression on his face. 

"What's up?" Mike asked with a small, contained smile. He was far too happy at such a simple interaction - It was the first time Will had talked to him in what felt like an eternity. 

"I'm going to bed. Today has been...Tiring," Will murmured as he hoisted himself up from the couch, not an ounce of feeling or emotion behind his words. He seemed drained. 

Mike nodded, jumping up a tad too eagerly after Will, a smile on his face. 

He quickly realized how much of an idiot he probably looked like, his face dropping as he cleared his throat and smoothed out his shirt. What was up with him lately?

"Cool," He squeaked, his voice cracking slightly from nerves. Nerves about what, he didn't know. "I'll come with."

The Byers would be staying with the Wheelers until Hopper's cabin was nice and fixed up - Could be days, could be weeks. Karen Wheeler had more than enough hospitality to let them stay for however long they wanted.

The sleeping arrangements had all been decided between the adults. Joyce and Jonathon in the guest room, which was only big enough for two; El sharing a room with Nancy, seeing as she had a trundle bed; and Will in Mikes room. Probably on the floor, or something. They hadn't had a sleepover in a long time.

Will shrugged, not a care in the world as the two walked up the stairs, Mike still keeping a safe-distance between the two, for reasons beyond him.

Will quickly went to go take a shower, leaving Mike all alone in his room. Not like it made a difference, either way. He would feel alone regardless of Will being there or not. 

After changing in to a white tank-top and some plaid-blue pajama pants, Mike didn't know what to do. Should he just go to sleep, not caring about where Will was? Should he find something to occupy his time? 

So, he went with the in-between...Sitting at the foot of his bed, legs crossed and hands together, desperately staring at the door as he waited for Will to come back. Amazing. 

Mikes foot shook and tapped eagerly under his leg, chewing on his lip and he waited and waited for Will to come back. He didn't know exactly why he was waiting, but he thought it would be rude to go to bed without figuring out what Will's sleeping arrangements would be.

Finally, after what felt like years, there was a small twist of the doorknob, causing Mike's head to shoot up intently. 

The door cracked ever-so-slightly, as a bashful, familiar face peered through the door, not daring to make eye contact with the boy that sat before him. His hair looked different. It was damp and messy, not like his usual clean bowl-cut. It looked nice.

"Um - So, I kind of didn't bring any clothes...They’re all in California," He murmured, awkwardness filling up the room as he said so.

Mike's cheeks turned pink, as he quickly broke eye-contact and ran over to his closet to find some clothes for Will. He tried his best not to think about the fact that Will was either naked, or wrapped up in a towel - Because why the hell would he want to think about that, anyway. 

"Here, y-you can wear these," Mike offered as he handed Will a plain blue t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. 

Will creaked the door open a little bit more, revealing his full body, a rather small, white towel wrapped around his lower half. 

Mike could feel his eyes instinctively fall, so he brought them back up...and then they fell again, so he brought them back up. And again. And again. 

He couldn't help it! It wasn't in a weird way, or anything, he was just surprised. Will's body looked a lot...Different, than it had before. He looked more like a man now, more grown. Mike had noticed before that his shoulders had gotten more broad, and he'd definitely started working out, but it still surprised him. Sweet, little pre-teen Will had changed, grown. 

Mike had gotten a lot taller, but also somehow...Skinnier? His bones were so prominent, you could touch his skin and they'd probably break. He hated it. He hated the fact that Will's muscle mass had changed with his height. He hated that fact that he looked so good...It was just jealousy. Completely normal.

"Thanks," Will nearly whispered, clearly embarrassed and he grabbed the clothes and quickly ran back to the bathroom to change, before walking back to Mike's room for bed.  

Mike could feel his cheeks heat up yet again as Will walked into the room, for reasons unknown. He'd been getting heat flashes all day - Maybe it had to do with the upside down. It probably had to do with the upside down.

Mikes clothes were far too long on Will's body, but also a little too tight. They outlined his figure perfectly, the shirt clinging to his abdomen, the sweatpants doing what we all know grey sweatpants do when they're worn by men. Mike just tried his best not to look. 

"Okay, so-" Mike started to say, thinking they could start brainstorming a proper sleeping arrangement, before someone burst through the door without knocking. Mike didn't even have to look to know it was his mom. She did that a lot.

"Oh, perfect! I was hoping you two hadn't gone to sleep yet," She said with a warm smile, as she set a laundry basket filled with Mikes clothes down on the floor, next to his closet.

"Mike, honey, I want Will to sleep in bed with you tonight. Figured he hasn't gotten a good nights sleep in quite a while," She said calmly, immediately making Mike's eyes widen. 

Sure, the two had slept in the same bed before, but that was when they were kids! It was weird now...Right? 

"Mom! We're - We're both boys," He exclaimed, his tone hushing towards the end. Will stayed silent. 

Karen Wheeler raised an eyebrow. "Exactly," she said slowly. "Which is why it's okay for you two to sleep in the same bed - Mike, sweetie, can you just not be difficult for once?" She groaned. 

Mike rolled his eyes, completely shocked at his mothers preposition, before landing on a decision. 

"Whatever. Will, you take the bed, I'll just sleep on the floor," He murmured with a huff, before his moms arms started to cross and her eyebrow raised even more. Well, shit. 

"With your back problems? No way José, you two are both sleeping in that bed, end of discussion," She said firmly, making Will let out a small snicker from across the room. Mike sent him a glare, which didn't seem to do much. 

Mike sighed in response, before slowly starting to lean back on his bed, making Karen smile before she left the room and close the door.

"So..." Mike trailed, his heart racing. Probably just because of the upside down.

"Calm down, you big baby, us sharing a bed isn't the end of the world," Will teased as he hopped under the covers next to Mike, turning the light off as he did so. Mike smiled at the banter, hoping it meant things could go back to normal now. Like an icebreaker. 

"Whatever," Mike murmured as he got comfortable, nuzzling his head further into the pillow as he turned around to face his wall. The bed was small, too small for the both of them. Mike could feel Will's knee brush against his own, before quickly retreating.

"'Night, Will," He murmured, his eyelids heavy before he finally closed his eyes. 

"Goodnight, Mike," Will said back, his voice barely above a whisper, sending chills down Mike's spine as his warm breath made contact with Mike's neck.

And with that, the two drifted off to sleep. 

When Mike awoke the next morning, he was greeted with a warm, fuzzy feeling. The same feeling he always woke up with when he was a little kid, arms wrapped around his teddy bear as if it would float away if he let go. 

Wait, when did Mike start sleeping with Teddy again? He thought he got rid of it years ago...

The boys brow furrowed in confusion, his grip tightening nonetheless as he looked down to see what - Or who - on earth he was holding. 

He looked down to see a peaceful Will smooshed against his chest, a small smile on his sleepy face as his eyes laid gently shut. His hand was lightly pressed against Mike's chest, the other one on his shoulder. That observation quickly made it hard for Mike to breathe. Had the toxic air from outside leaked into his house? He threw a glance towards the window, which was tightly shut. No. That was just Will.

Mike panicked. It was wrong. Whether it felt like it or not, it made him feel...Dirty. Like there was something extremely problematic going on. 

Without thinking, he quickly sat up and jerked back, using his hands to forcefully push Will off of him, nearly making the poor boy tumble off of the bed as he gasped, his eyes flinging open.

"What the hell, Mike?" Will exclaimed worriedly as he jumped off of the bed, backing up so that he was far away from Mike, who's back was pressed against the wall, a mix between nervousness and anger on his face.

"What were - What were you doing?" He asked through a pant, scared and confused out of his mind and he cautiously stared at Will. His hair was all messy, his face bright red, and his eyes dark. Will still looked nice, even when he had just woken up. How strange. 

"I wasn't doing anything, you pulled me in like that the second you fell asleep!" He exclaimed, immediately making Mike's face fall expressionless.

Oh.

"N-No, I didn't," Mike pressed, his eyes quickly breaking contact from Will's as he stared down at his lap. Did he? Why wouldn't Will have pulled away? Was he too scared? Did he...Like the comfort?

"Jesus, whatever, I'm going downstairs," Will huffed as he roughly smoothed out his clothes, before quickly stomping away and out the door. 

Will looked mad - Furious. Well, the most of him did. But his eyes...His eyes looked hurt. Sad, even. Like he was on the verge of tears, and would pop at any given moment. 

Mike instantly felt a wave of guilt. Why would he react like that, anyway? What on earth would possess him to lay hands on Will like that, to be so rude? It's not like it was a bad thing to cuddle with your friends, right? So why did it make Mike feel like such a terrible person, like there was something wrong with him? What the hell was going on?

Mike sighed quickly - Honestly, it was more of a huff - Before he toppled over and out of bed, running down after Will to make sure he was okay. 

God, why did he do stuff like this? Why couldn't he just be normal for once?

"Will, wait!" Mike called after him, absolutely exasperated as he ran down the stairs to find Will. God, he must've gotten really fast, because that damn boy wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"I didn't—" Mike starts to apologize once he sees Will in the living room, but he quickly catches himself as he noticed Nancy and El standing there.

"Everything okay?" Nancy asks as she grabs her keys. Mike nods - A rather unconvincing nod - Because he doesn't want them to get involved. He knows they'd both take Will's side, which he just couldn't handle right now.

Sometimes he just needed to be needed.

"Nancy is taking me to the beauty parlor, to be pretty," El said with an oblivious, cheerful smile. 

Nancy shrugged, a small smile on her face as Mike turned to face her. "She just needs a break, before she, y'know...Saves the world," She explained with a wink, making Mike laugh. It was a little forced out, but a laugh either way.

"You always look pretty, El," Mike reassured the girl. It was true. She was a very pretty girl, and Mike definitely loved her...Just not like that. He didn't know why he wasn't in love with her, because obviously any guy would be lucky to have her, but...He just wasn't.

El smiled, her cheeks rosy. "Thank you, Mike," She said calmly, before opening the front door and walking outside.

"Okay, everyone else is out, so it's just you two," Nancy explained, making Mike's heart skip a beat. Alone time with Will is what he needed right now - He just needed to be with his best friend. And apologize.

"No funny business - I mean it!" Nancy said sternly, giving the boys a 'look' before walking out the door.

The two stood in silence for a moment, before Mike decided to try and crack a joke. That never went over well, but he always tried.

"You hear that, Will? No funny business," He said in an old lady voice, forcing out a pathetic laugh. Will did not reciprocate.

"What was that in there?" He asked, his tone and expression emotionless. He seemed so completely over it. Over everything. Over all of Mike's bullshit.

"I...I don't know. Look, Will, I'm sor—" Mike began, planning out a sincere apology in his head until Will cut him off.

"Oh, are you sorry? Is that all?" He asked snarkily, making Mike's face scrunch up in confusion. What was up with him?

"Do you not want me to be sorry?" Mike asked, his tone slightly raised. Mike got angry way too easily, that he knew. He also knew he deserved whatever he had coming - not that he could've predicted what was going to happen that day.

"What I want is my best friend back! It's like - It's like you forgot about me, the second I moved away. No, before that! The second El came back into your life last year, suddenly I'm non-existent!" He shouted, and Mike could tell he'd had this bottled up for a long time.

Mike's face fell into a tight look - Eyes scrunched, brow furrowed, lips pursed. 

"El and I broke up," He murmured, figuring Will would hear the news at some point. Will's face fell for a split second, before scrunching back up into anger. There was no coming back from this one - Will was pissed.

"Yeah? Well, good for her. You were a shitty boyfriend, anyway," He spat. Ouch. Mike knew it was true - Hell, everybody that had ever seen Mike and El together knew it was true. He was an asshole, a dirtbag. He never knew how to treat El properly, and it only ever made her hurt. But that doesn't mean that the truth didn't hurt him just as bad.

"Oh, like you know anything about relationships! Is that why you were trying to cuddle up with me, hm? So you could just take a break from reality, a-and act like some fuckin' queer!" Mike shouted. 

Instant regret.

He didn't even know where that came from, or why he brought it up. He didn't know why he was still hung up on the fact that he'd woken up in Will's arms, or the fact that he didn't fully hate it. He didn't know why he was such an asshole. He didn't know why he was a shitty boyfriend, and he didn't know why he was an even shittier friend. He just didn't know.

All he knew is that that was the wrong thing to say. He'd promised himself a long time ago that he would never treat Will the way that everybody else did. He promised himself that he would never use that word, or call him a fairy, or tease him for the way he dressed. But he'd just broken that promise, and now there was most definitely no coming back from them. Ten years of friendship, down the drain.

Will's eyes were filled with tears at that point, but he wouldn't let them fall. He wouldn't let Mike have that victory. He looked hurt, more hurt than he had ever been. And he was.

He was panting heavily, his breath catching as he just...Stared. Stared at Mike, directly in the eyes. Mike didn't have the self-control to look away. Mike felt like he couldn't do anything. No matter how hard he wanted to apologize and hug Will, he just couldn't make himself move. He was frozen. 

"I..." Will started to say, his voice breaking as he let out a small hiccup, holding his head high nonetheless. 

"I cant fucking believe you," He mustered, before his sobs broke through and he turned around to run out the door. 

Mike stood in shock for a moment, having never heard Will swear. He'd promised he wouldn't use any word stronger than 'hell', or the occasional 'ass', because he knew that his mom hated it. It reminded her of Lonnie. And Will wanted to be anything but Lonnie.

Without another word, Mike quickly snapped out of it and ran full pace after Will, who was currently in the garage trying to get his bikes kickstand up, so he could wheel away and leave forever.

"Will!" Mike exclaimed, reaching a hand out to grab Will's shoulder and turn him around. "Will," Mike murmured, his eyes glossy as he stared down at Will's broken face, tears streaming down his cheeks as he sobbed furiously. Mike did that.

"Don't touch me!" He shouted, his voice more high-pitched and squeaky, the way it was last year. 

Mike jumped back at the loud sound, his first instinct to cover his ears, but he refrained. 

"I wanna go - home," Will said through a pant, continuing to sob as he kicked the kickstand up, getting ready to mount Mike's bike.

Mike panicked, doing the first thing he could think of...Throwing his bike out of the way. It crashed onto the floor, causing Will to yelp as he jumped back.

"Home? Home? You don't have a home, Will!" Mike yelled, the anger rising back up to his throat, despite the obvious guilt and sadness he felt as a single tear dripped down his cheek.

"I want to go back...To Lenora," Will huffed, his sobs steadying out as he took a small deep breath.

Mike's brow furrowed. Lenora? He was choosing California over his home?! 

"People were - People were different there! The only reason I even wanted to come back is because...Because..." Will panted with a sniffled, trailing off towards the end.

Mike's brow furrowed. "Because?" He pressed, his tone aggressive and snarky, despite the fact that he had meant it to be nice.

"Because of you, Mike. Because I thought you were the one -" He points his finger, aggressively pushing it onto Mike's chest, causing him to stumble back slightly. "Person that wouldn't judge me, that wouldn't call me that. But I guess I was wrong," Will spat, before turning around and running out into the driveway, where it was now starting to rain.

And suddenly, flashbacks fill Mike's mind.

All so you could swap spit with some stupid girl?

Will had asked. 

It's not my fault you don't like girls!

Mike had spat.

Yeah, I guess I did.

That fight, the things he'd said...It kept Mike awake for weeks. He didn't know what would possess him to say something like that. Especially when he knew it wasn't true - Obviously it wasn't true. Of course Will likes girls. Just like Mike. Just like how Mike liked girls - Mike liked girls.

"Will - Shit," Mike muttered to himself, sucking in his lips before he followed after Will, who was now stopped in his tracks, soaking wet from the rainwater as he stood heaving, staring up at the trees in front of The Wheeler's house.

"I didn't...I know you're not...Like that," Mike stammered, before finally landing on his words. 

Will let out a short, bitter laugh, not even bothering to turn around and face the best friend that stood behind him. 

"Like that," He repeated, shaking his head as he repeated it once more. "Like that," He said, this time slower.

"I just mean that I-I shouldn't have used that word, okay?" Mike said through a sigh, not knowing the proper things to say.

"The one person in this town that didn't make me feel like a mistake for being...Different," Will mutters - Nearly whispers - To himself, a sense of familiarity in his words.

Wait, no. A lot of familiarity in his words. He'd said that exact sentence before, hadn't he? Was Mike going crazy? 

Sometimes when you're different, you feel like a mistake. 

But it was El who said that, wasn't it? Will was just...Repeating. Wasn't he?

"What...What did you say?" Mike asked, his tone hushed as he stared intensely at the back of Will's neck.

Mike didn't have to see Will's face to know that it had fallen - He'd realized his mistake. Whatever it was.

"Shit," Will whispered to himself, so quiet that Mike could just barely hear it. 

And then, rage. Again. Every time Mike thought he was finally okay, that he had calmed down, it just had to come back. All because of stupid fucking Will. 

"Will." Mike said sternly, finally getting Will to turn around, a look of pure terror on his face, his wet hair sprawled out all over his forehead, drooping over his eyes.

"Mike-" Will started to say, his voice calm and quiet, until Mike cut him off. 

"Did El commission that painting?" Mike asked through gritted teeth. Why would Will lie about something like that? What was the point?

Will's brow furrowed, his breath picking up the pace again, clearly on the verge of hyperventilating.

"What? Y-Yes! Of course she did, I don—" Will stammered, causing Mike's blood to boil. 

"What. The. Fuck," Mike spat, his tone legitimately scary. Even Mike didn't know what was happening, or what he was capable of, as he slowly inched closer to Will, who was practically pushed up against the fence at this point as Mike pressed two pointed fingers against Will's shoulder.

"So what, 'Friend’s Don't Lie' was just bullshit? Y-You just made me feel like she actually cared about me, even though you knew - you knew she didn't!" Mike snarled, pushing Will back lightly so that he was fully against the fence at this point, pure terror on his face.

"Friends? Can you even call us friends anymore?" Will asked, a hint of sass in his scared tone. 

"Don't change the fucking subject! You lied to me, Will. Why would you lie to me?!" He shouted, a small sob coming up his throat as he stared down at the terrified, crying boy. 

Maybe they were both crying at this point. It was hard to tell through the rain; Everywhere was soaked. Mike couldn't differentiate between his own teardrops and raindrops anymore.

"I didn't lie, okay, I didn't," Will pressed, but Mike didn't believe him. Mike was spiraling - Hell, he was always spiraling. But they never fought like this...He'd never fought with anyone like this.

"You didn't lie?" Mike repeated, his face twitching upwards slightly, as Will shook his head. "You didn't lie, but what, you just happen to feel the exact same way that El supposedly did in your little speech? Yeah?" He asked with a bitter laugh. At this point Will was biting his lip to hold back tears, his face turned to the side as Mike got closer and closer.

"No - I...It's complicated Mike, okay, I don't expect you to understand," He croaked, his voice sore as he turned to face Mike yet again, who had backed up ever so slightly. 

"Yeah? Try me," Mike spat back, his face still twisted up in anger as he pinned Will's wrists back against the fence. It took all of his willpower to not hit him - Not that he even knew why he was so angry.

So what, Will told a lie? Why did that hurt Mike so much? Why was he acting so crazy?

"I meant what I said, Mike, I meant...I meant every Goddamn word," He said through his broken sobs, his breath catching every few seconds.

"It just...Um," He continued, on the verge of a panic attack at this point. Mike was more than confused - About a lot of things. 

Confused about Will, confused about El, confused about himself. Confused about why he felt so warm and fuzzy while he was next to Will, despite the fact that he wanted to hit him so hard it would break something. He was just very, very confused.

"They weren't El's feelings, okay?" And suddenly everything was so very, very clear. And Mike was more mad than ever. 

Mad at Will for being like that, sure, but more mad at himself for...Not fully hating it. A small fraction of his heart felt like melting, and behind his grimace was a small smile, somewhere deep inside. The portion of his brain that he kept buried deep was pounding, and he didn't know what was happening. 

His breath was heavy and fast as he stared at Will's sad eyes, feeling more and more tears stream down his face, and Will's as well.

He didn't know what was happening.

"So what you just...Jesus, you just think that's okay?" Mike asked, his eyes wide as his grip moved from Will's wrists to the collar of his shirt - Well, it was technically Mike's shirt, but still.

"You just think that's fucking okay?!" He screamed, pulling Will by the shirt and lightly slamming him back again, making Will whimper as his eyes shut close, and his face turned away.

But the worst part? The worst part is that Will let him. He let Mike treat him like that, like he was worthless. Like he was a mistake. All for what? Because he liked Mike? Because...Because maybe Mike couldn't bear to think about the fact that he liked Will back? 

Will just sat there, defenseless, as he let Mike throw him around like a piece of shit. Of course he didn't think it was okay, but there was no point in arguing. Not when Mike was acting like this.

"Look at me," Mike commanded as his grip tightened and he pushed Will further, but Will didn't listen. He stayed afraid.

"I said look at me!" Mike barked, his hands not moving until Will finally turned to face him, slowly opening his eyes. 

And suddenly, Mike realized that what he was doing was very, very wrong. The look of pure terror on Will's face proved that. The look of pure terror that appeared onto Mike's face proved that. 

Will looked up at him, eyes wide, red and puffy as tears streamed down faster than Mike thought humanly possible. His lip was quivering, visibly quivering, as his nose sniffled repeatedly, his breath shaky and fast. 

Mike's grip immediately loosened, until he eventually dropped his hands, taking a few steps back in horror. He didn't know what the hell had come over him, what had possessed him to act like that, but it was very, very scary. He didn't know what was wrong with him. 

Mike's sobs built up slowly, until they were fully audible wails, whimpers, and blubbers; his shoulders shuddering as he stared down at his hands, then back up at Will. Then down at his hands, and back up at Will. Down at his hands, back up at Will. Down, up, down, up, down, up.

"M-Mike?" Will asked quietly, sobbing nonetheless as he stared up at the confused boy. Mike didn't respond. Instead his eyes looked back up at Will, locked on his big, glossy green eyes. 

"Mi—" Will started again after a minute, but Mike cut him off. What could possibly possess Mike to do such a thing was well beyond him, but he couldn't help it. He just needed to know what it would feel like - And then promptly beat himself up about it for the rest of his life.

Will flinched as Mike lunged towards him, but it wasn't what he thought it would be. 

Mike Wheeler was kissing Will Byers.

Mike Wheeler was kissing Will Byers.

It lasted for a mere two seconds, before Mike quickly pulled himself away, fully hyperventilating at this point. 

What the hell.

He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what was wrong with him. He didn't know why he did what he did, but all he knew is that he wanted it to happen again. He wanted time to actually think about what it felt like.

The two stayed pulled away for only a few seconds, brows furrowed and mouths gaping, until Will slung a hand on the back of Mike's head and pulled him back in.

It was aggressive. It was forceful. Mike kissed Will with pure hatred.

Not hatred for Will - Never hatred for Will. Hatred for himself. Because why the hell would he do that, how could he feel like this?! Why was this happening? 

The boy sobbed into the kiss, but he didn't pull back. He couldn't. He was addicted to it, addicted to Will. 

As the two moved in sync, lips parting for milliseconds every once and a while to change positions, Mike could taste the salt of Will's tears - Or maybe it was from his own tears. Maybe a mixture of both? He didn't know. All he knew was that he liked it. 

Mike's hand hesitantly lifted up to Will's face, before slowly cupping his cheeks, his other hand pinching Will's waist.

He could feel Will's soft, warm hands against his neck, and it was a feeling he wanted to cling on to for a long time. He never wanted Will to let go.

Their kisses slowly got more gentle, until Will finally pulled away to look up at Mike's sad eyes. He was now crying for than ever, despite the fact that Will's tears had calmed down.

The two were barely pulled apart, noses and foreheads still touching as Mike sobbed, and Will soothed. 

"I'm so fucking sorry Will," Mike hiccuped, as he ran his fingers through Will's wet, brown hair. It still felt soft, even in the rain.

"It's okay," Will reassured with a small pant, even though Mike knew it wasn't. None of this was okay. 

"Mike?" Will asked, turning his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Mike's golden-brown tear stained eyes. 

Mike nodded - Or at least tried to. He was a mess. His heart was racing, his head was foggy, and he didn't know what was happening. He felt so...Dirty. Like he was doing a terrible, terrible thing. Like he was just a terrible mistake, a glitch in the matrix. 

"I love you," Will admitted through his final sob, his breath finally slowing down. 

Mikes heart stopped. That wasn't okay...Was it? He knew it wasn't. He knew it was wrong. But it felt so right. Everything about this felt so right. He hated to admit that he felt like he was on Cloud 9, like he was finally home. Maybe Will was his home. Was that insane? Did Mike have a serious problem? 

"I love you too," The words slipped out before Mike could stop him, causing him to gasp at the sound of them. He didn't mean to say that. 

"Oh my God," Mike blubbered, his sobs coming back as he realized the severity of what was happening. 

He was so utterly confused.

"It's okay," Will cooed again, pulling Mike in for a hug, which Mike gladly accepted. He clung on to Will like he was the last person in the world, like he would die if he let go.

Despite the obvious height difference, Mike bent down to lay his head in the crook of Wills neck. He just wanted to feel protected. It hurt his neck, but he didn't care. He loved every second of it.

Their arms tightened around each other, Mike scared that he might suffocate Will if he wrapped them any tighter. 

The two sat there for a long time - Too long. People had probably walked by, people could probably see them. 

Just standing there, in the pouring rain, holding each other like their lives depended on it, as Mike sobbed into Will's shoulder, and Will whispered sweet nothings to make Mike feel better.

And at some point, between the hugging, the reassurance, and the small kisses that Will would place on Mike's head every once and a while, it actually started to work. 

Mikes sobs slowed down, his breathing evened out, and his eyes stopped feeling as sore.

Mike was okay.

#byler #byler fanfiction #byler fic #strangerthings #strangerthings fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #one shot #byler one shot #stranger things one shot #mike and will #lgbtq #gay #pride #mike wheeler #will byers #fan fiction #st4 #writing #book #story

[syncopein3d]

The Warm One Part 5: Would You Say No

Part 4: Silk

CW/relevant tropes: living weapon, lady whump, magic whump, traumatic restraints, implied past injury, off-screen whumper, off-screen emesis, servant caretaker, other species caretaker (Orc), pedestrian nudity.

The Wrath of the King awakens from a nightmare of pain, shivering with cold. This is not new. Her skin hurts all over, but that isn’t new either, and it’s not so bad now. What’s new is that she is on a soft mattress, loosely wrapped in a silk sheet, instead of in a pile of shoes on the closet floor. She definitely didn’t crawl this far. A sleepy fumble at the back of her own head reminds her that her hair hasn’t been brushed out. Now she remembers her Orc, her manservant for perhaps two months now. Aldo has put her here, patient with her fidgeting and complaints.

The room smells like hot oats. The weapon squints crusty eyes open. There’s a little table with a tray on it next to the huge bed. It looks like porridge and tea, with little pitchers of milk and honey and a sugar bowl. The oatmeal is still steaming.

“I thought it might be easy on your stomach,” says a now-familiar deep voice. Also enters her view belly-first. He always keeps his velvet tunics very clean and neat. She wonders if it’s because he’s self-conscious of how much fabric it takes to clothe him. One of his garments would make a tent for her.

“Shall I help you, Milady?”

The weapon scoots upright, reaching back to drag pillows behind herself. “I can manage,” she croaks hoarsely, arranging herself cross legged. “Thank you. Can you find my robe?”

He sets the tray carefully across her knees.

“Of course, Milady.”

She starts with the tea. It’s lavender and pineapple weed today. She wonders if Aldo is deliberately avoiding giving her the black tea the Master of Sorceries makes her drink on social occasions. Perhaps surprisingly, for someone yanked from the lowly vocation of carrying wood, he does seem to be getting on fine with the other servants. There’s no saying what he does or doesn’t know at this point.

She pauses to shrug out of the silk sheet and into the soft, worn gray robe. Aldo smooths her ratty hair out of the way and prevents the tea from spilling. The weapon shuts her eyes for a moment. Now that the worst lingering pain from sorcerous punishment has faded, the warmth of his hands feels very good, smoothing aches away.

“Mrem,” she says, or some articulate half-purr like that, and sips her tea.

“Shall I work on your hair after breakfast, Milady?”

The weapon nods, turning with the fragile teacup in her trembling hands to look at the big windows. The curtains are drawn back, admitting a weak light. Something about the paleness of it on the rugs suggests snow to her. It’s still early morning.

“Has it snowed?” she asks. They’re on the second story, and from the bed she can’t see the ground. The fire crackles quietly in the comfortable space between her question and his answer.

“Yes. No walk today, probably,” Aldo says.

“Even when I’ve been bad, he gives me the day after a Ceremony to myself,” she says. She snorts. “For practical reasons. He can punish me if I fall, but I might still tear something expensive. A lot of the clothes are two Wraths old.”

“Is that why they’re too big?” Aldo asks. She’s never told him to speak only when spoken to. He does it automatically when the Master can hear, she’s noticed, but otherwise he doesn’t seem bothered.

“No, that’s because they were altered from the last woman right after a campaign, when I was in better flesh,” the weapon says. “I think he chooses girls just so he won’t have to have new clothes made.”

“Are his new?”

“Of course they are. Silly Aldo,” she says. She can see him mulling over her remark about the campaigns as he carries the tray away. She ate about half the porridge with honey and drank all her tea plain. She turns her back to the side of the bed as she sees him return with the hairbrush. A careful hand stops her tipping into the indentation he makes in the mattress as he sits.

He begins untangling the knots with his fingers first, ever so gentle. She sighs, shutting her eyes. Nothing has ever felt better than this, she is certain, this feeling of big warm fingers working on her hair. Pleasure, gentle and harmless and undevouring, beguiles her for some minutes. Only when he’s done brushing and is braiding her hair loosely does the weapon rouse sufficiently to ask, her voice soft:

“Aldo, if I asked you to do something you didn’t want to do, would you say no?”

“I think I would,” he said. “But I also don’t think you would ask that, Milady.”

“If I asked you to rub my back and my neck, would you wish to say no?”

“I would not wish to say no.” There’s no particular hesitation.

“Are you afraid for your life?” she persists huskily, looking back over her shoulder and up at him. He gently pats her jaw to get her to look forward, and she obeys without thinking and afterward wonders why. His hands are steady with the brush as he answers.

“No, Milady. I don’t think you mean me harm. But if you were to be in so much pain the bracers didn’t work, if you were to strike me down by accident, I would not fear that end.”

“Why?” she asks.

“If you lie on your stomach, will that hurt?” he asks, instead of answering.

“Yes,” says the weapon.

“On your side, then.”

He helps her so that she doesn’t just flop down, easing her weight into the mattress. She slides her arm under the pillow where her cheek rests. The aching scar that covers the front of her torso is draped in soft wool. She loosens the robe’s belt a little more. “Why?” she persists, slightly muffled. She can hear him set the brush aside.

“I’ve lived well enough. Married, had a child, been to war.” His tone is thoughtful as the big hands come to rest on her shoulders, covering a lot of her shoulder blades. Warmth seems to radiate clear through her even through the robe. “I enjoy my life, but I would leave it without regrets. No one depends on me.”

“I have done only one of those,” she says. “I suppose I am glad to leave… no one alone…” The hands on her back begin gently kneading, careful. They stop at her little groan.

“Does it hurt, Milady?”

“It makes the pain less. Please don’t stop.” He resumes. The weapon is silent for a while, in thrall to the relief brought by touch and radiant heat. When a huge hand closes around her throat from behind, fingers stopping before they close around her windpipe, it doesn’t occur to her to be afraid. And she doesn’t need to be. His calloused fingers knead very gently, middle knuckle resting in the hollow at the lower back of her skull under her new braid.

She wonders, half-awake now, how long it will be before the Master threatens to take him away. She knows she’ll give in. She would go to the Ceremony again tomorrow if it meant there was a chance this could happen again.

“Aldo,” she whispers after a while.

“Yes, Milady.”

“You can go, if you like.”

“Are you cold?” he asks. He stops, but his left hand rests lightly on her shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Did I scare you?” he asks. It’s not a mocking tone. It’s almost neutral, but there’s something else there. She’s heard the Master try to do it. He just wasn’t real.

“No,” the weapon says. She laughs a little. “You’ll never scare me. But it’s wrong that I chose you. Wrong that I keep you here.”

“It’s less wrong that it’s me. I don’t mind keeping you warm,” he said. He doesn’t say ‘Milady.’ She notices that. Because now he isn’t answering as a servant.

“All right, then,” she says. “Help me get under the covers.” He does, as carefully as always. As she listens to the sound of him removing his shoes and belt, she says, “All of them think you’re swiving me.”

“You didn’t seem like you wanted that,” Aldo says, sliding in opposite her. He still has his velvet tunic and trousers on, and she still has her robe as she edges in toward him. He lays an arm around her under the covers as she burrows in closer to his belly. A bony knee curls up between them, protecting her scars. He pats her back reassuringly.

“I don’t,” the weapon says. “But I like this. I’ve never been this happy.”

“Even though it hurts?” Aldo asks.

“It always hurts. Until now I was alone.”

“Well,” Aldo says. “You’re not alone now. And neither am I. Go to sleep, Milady. Everything is all right.”

No one’s ever said that to her.

Everything is all right.

Maybe for a while, it will be.

Part 6: Spring Campaign

#whump #living weapon whumpee #living weapon #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #whumpblr

[umichenginabroad]

Swinging by Singapore (Week 4)

Hello from Singapore! Having always wanted to travel to Southeast Asia, I was ecstatic to learn that one of my roommates had a similar dream. I couldn’t believe it when we started discussing the trip just two weeks in advance, but I seized the opportunity to immerse myself in a new culture. My schooling at UNSW is split between the Summer semester which runs from Jan 2 - Feb 5 and term 1 which runs from Feb 11 - May 9. During the summer semester, I have been taking a single Ecotourism class which is entirely asynchronous until the end of January when the class takes a trip to the Great Barrier Reef! This meant that I could travel with no fear of missing class. After a 9hr flight, Lauren, Charlotte, Shaunak, Evan and I landed in Singapore and got right to exploring. The Jewel is a mall containing the world’s largest indoor waterfall located just outside the Changi Airport. As soon as we got off the plane and laid eyes on the beauty we were speechless. Luscious trees and shrubbery surrounded the waterfall and staggered up all around it. The light shone through the windowed ceiling and made me forget about any stress I ever had. We might as well have been standing in a jungle. The surrounding mall was just as exciting. Several minutes were spent wandering around the Pokemon store where I got a pack of cards in honor of my ever growing childhood collection. The chocolate croll I got at a little bakery stand was one of the best things I had ever eaten in an airport. After 2 hours of exploring, it was clear to me that airports in the US need to step up their game. 

Utilizing the very reliable train system known as the MRT, we made our way to our AirBnB located in Little India. For reference, Singapore is a melting pot of cultures with a 74% Chinese, 14% Malaysian, and 9% Indian population. This means that when you look around, all signage is in Mandarin, Malay, Tamil, and English. The fact that English is widely spoken across the country made transport and communication extremely easy and not something we had to worry about. After settling into our single room with just enough space for our beds and bags, we made our way towards Kampong Gelam which is Singapore’s Muslim Quarter and the site of the remarkable Sultan Mosque. Starving, we found a restaurant for dinner which was full of new foods and a particular favorite of mine – Kothu Paratha which I’d only ever had at my favorite Indian restaurant in Ann Arbor. We called it a night soon after that, but I was excited to be on a new continent and get right to exploring. 

The next day we hit all the major stops including Gardens by the Bay, the Cloud Forest, and Marino Bay Sands. The first two attractions, like the Jewel, emphasized the appreciation for nature that Singapore has as many of its major attractions are centered around greenery. 

Pictured first is Gardens by the Bay. Second is me in the Cloud Forest!

Nearby was a Hawker Center called Satay by the Bay where we got lunch. Hawker Centers in Singapore are essentially large food courts with countless stalls of diverse Indian, Chinese, and Malaysian foods and drinks for incredible prices. On average, you could get a whole meal for about $5 and a side drink for another $1 so needless to say I seized the opportunity to try as many foods as possible. That lunch I had chicken satay, my first ever stingray, carrot cake (a dish local to Singapore containing absolutely no carrot nor cake), and pineapple juice. I can’t even begin to describe how delicious everything tasted so I’m afraid you’ll just have to imagine through the picture below. 

Hawker Centers like that one are scattered all throughout the city, so we made it a rule to seek them out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. At Marino Bay Sands, one of the most unique buildings I have ever stepped foot in, we made our way to a restaurant called Lavo at the highest floor where we got drinks, incredible views, and a 20-layered chocolate peanut butter cake. We may have been exhausted from walking around all day, but we did not leave until that cake plate was clean, even if it meant spending the next hour there. 

Marino Bay Sands is the building pictured above followed by the equally-as-intimidating chocolate cake.

The next day we ventured to Sentosa Island where you could take cable cars across the island and see the beautiful beaches and various amusement parks. Though the weather wasn’t in our favor, it was nice to see what beaches look like outside of Australia since they reminded me of just how lucky I am to be living on Coogee. Sentosa was followed by Chinatown and Clarke Quay in the evening, both of which are full of rich culture and were a pleasure to roam in. Before our flight to Bali, we concluded our trip with the MacRitchie Treetop Walk where we were greeted by monkeys and even more beautiful greenery. 

Though we were only able to spend a few days there, I fully intend on returning to Singapore one day and making my way to those Hawker Centers. Until then, back to exploring Australia!

David Bayer

Biomedical Engineering

University of New South Wales in Sydney, Australia

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