#ANYWAY! there's so many ways you could go and it's a shame none of them happened

[jannacalendar]

Two character dynamics (that cannot coexist) that I've been musing over the past few days:

Buffy and Jenny as reluctant character mirrors who are unable to make peace with each other, but Dawn thinks Jenny is cool much to Buffy's chagrin.

Buffy and Jenny airing their grievances as they recognise themselves in each other and reach a tentative peace for the sake of the group, but Dawn never forgives Jenny for upsetting her sister.

[barnacles34]

Mr. Rager, Can I Tag Along?

Part I

Synopsis: Mr. Rager finally joins the birds in the skies. Dedicated to the song Mr. Rager by Kid Cudi.

tags: 8k, smut, so much romance, fluff, addiction, recovery, virgin Ryujin

Ryujin x Male OC

CHAPTER I: 

You might hear the birds singing flying around,

You never see them too long on the ground,

You wanna be one of them, yeah.

Cocaine toxicity. Solipsism finally vindicated. He was going to die—truly. That cloudy feeling of mind and body separation, as if the ribbons of heaven had finally let him grasp their reins, swaying him toward some version of forever happiness.

Mmmm.

He thought he’d care about dying right there in the nightclub. The shame of weakness, of collapsing with foam at the corners of his mouth—he’d truly thought he’d care more about it. But now, one worry gone, he was worriless. Life had its charm, but it wasn’t for him; he’d been walking on sticks until the very end. Now, the floor felt so right. His body sank into it, slipping slowly, as if turning to slime and merging back into the earth.

Each second, his grip over his fingers weakened, a constant slackening with every passing moment. His eyelids grew heavy, and the outline of the nightclub around him blurred. He couldn’t control his fingers anymore; he was truly sinking. When would heaven begin? When would this fantasy end? Mind-death, a complete and utter submission to the lifeless realm - he’d never recover.

The faint tingling of powder lingered at the rim of his nostrils. At least, he’d had a good high - a nice ecstasy haze along the fine columbian - before dying. Finally, his eyes closed, nerves shutting down, and he felt free, unchained from his body like a ghost.

"Stay with me!" A voice, deep and feminine.

Hm?

"Don’t close your eyes!" Again, that voice.

What?

Whatever. It was too late anyway.

"How many fingers am I holding up!?" Still images flashed through his fading consciousness, fingers held up just before his face, barely visible, though he couldn’t tell how many anyway.

"What’s your name?" He couldn't place a face on the voice, but it was distinctly feminine - separate from his inner voices.

They were trying so hard. If they’d responded any faster, he might’ve been forced to go back - to life.

Go back…

Did he want to go back?

Hell.

Mr. Rager - that’d be a good name, he thought. If he were reborn, given another chance, that’s who he’d be.

"Mr. Rager!"

What? Could the paramedic hear him?

"Mr. Rager! Come back! Fight back! Don’t go off on an adventure!"

—

Flash. Eyes open. He was alive - he was… alive.

"Mr. Rager. You’re okay; don’t make any sudden movements." A soft, padded palm rubbed his forehead with a gentle, compassionate touch. He looked up. A young woman, petite yet strikingly beautiful, looked back at him.

"What’s your name?" he asked, despite himself. Still a bachelor, after all. "My name is Ryujin." She was dressed in a way he couldn’t quite place, something different from what he expected. "I’m part-time, by the way," she said, noticing his confused look. "That’s why my clothes are different." He rubbed his forehead; it was pounding, but with a distant sort of ache, incongruous with a proper headache. “What the hell happened?” he asked, properly confused. “You went into shock, someone already administered naloxone to your body, thankfully; otherwise, you would’ve-” she abruptly bit her tongue, preventing herself from talking about a potentially sensitive topic that Mr. Rager was subjected to.

“And, by the way, this was my first call ever.” A subtle transition, a conversation starter.

He blinks, trying to relieve the soreness in his eyes, “God, I’m sorry, this is such a fucking shitty situation.” And the way he said it, that emotional self-deprecation.

She might’ve realized something, “Were you trying to commit suicide?” She asked, very bluntly.

“It’s none of your business. Thank you for the hospitality, I’ll be taking my leave now.” When he tried to take the IV fastened to his vein, Ryujin softly, with the firmest grip and tone, said, “You’re going nowhere.”

All Mr. Rager could think of were cuss words, cusses against the world, against destiny to be alive for the foreseeable future. 

A resolve to suicide is the moment the mind, at the cusp of mind-death, truly enters a dead mind. The inescapable rock-bottom, a self-fulfilling prophecy where one feels truly and utterly fastened to the floor - inhibited of all its freedoms, its happiness.

–

Mr. Rager, or better known as Min amongst his peers - not friends. At the hands of his peers, Mr. Rager sustained a traumatic head injury that tormented him with chronic migraines right from the start of it all - the drunk brawl, that he decisively lost in, at just the age of 17. 

See, Mr. Rager had not a single family member except his aunt who embezzled all the funds Rager’s parents left for him. And the last time he tried to talk with his aunt was when he sustained a knife wound on his forearm from her - a deeply tormented individual, she was locked in a home-made cage for most of her adolescence.

And, unfortunately, there’s not a single time where his life is measurably better than the year before - only getting worse until the overdose.

–

Ryujin didn’t inquire further, she was hoping somewhat that her presence might help Mr. Rager. She sat next to Mr. Rager, her hand still on the side of the hospital bed, feeling its soft fabric. Mr. Rager, still irritated, asked, “Why are you still here?”

“Cause I want to be here.” A joking undertone, perfectly acted out. In truth, Ryujin pitied him so much, her first patient, a successful businessman who tried to kill himself at the age of 29 - now that’s fucking rare, usually the cases accelerate at the age  of 50 or so.

“Why’d you take this job?” 

She replied, “Artistic inspiration.”

“Hm, fantastic idea by the way.” He was sincere about it.

“Thanks.”

“Do you have enough material now?”

“Oh. Plenty. Plenty enough.” She giggled.

“What if I don’t consent to my likeness being represented in your art - medium, whatever?”

“Mr. Rager, don’t you worry, I’ll refurbish it so much that it'll be closer to the likeness of… let’s say… me.”

“Quit the teasing,” he stated, straight to the point.

“I don’t want to.” She replied back, he was one of the few people where teasing seemed to genuinely improve their immediate well-being, and for someone like Mr. Rager - it’s huge. And, he was finally laying, no longer trying to plan an escape, on the flatbed, staring at the ceiling, observing the music player. “By the way, is this music player provided to everyone recovering?” He’s not one to mix words.

“You’re pretty smart.” She replies, a confirmation, fiddling with her torn skirt, presumably from rushing into her para-medic role.

“That’s what I owe you for?”

“Mhm.” Still fiddling, a pouty sort of face formed on her face, it was her favorite skirt.

“How do you want the debt paid?” He inquired, he’s one to never ignore the nascent attachment to his favorite items - thus, he understands: the exorbitant value placed on favoritisms. “I dunno. You’ll still owe me. Big Time.” She stared back, this time, their eyes entwined with a sort of friendliness that is almost, just almost, ethically wrong in hospital circumstances.

“Very well then.” His tired eyes kept pulling on his eyelids. Genuine sleep had seemed to completely take over his body, and yeah, that’s all the meds he’s under: naloxone, antibiotics, withdrawal medicine, and a lovely dose of morphine. “I feel new.” His voice was dozing as his intra-reflection began. As he nodded off, he felt the faint grasp of her hand, so small, yet filled with so much conviction. He’s tripping balls, but she’ll never tell him - presence was what was required of her.

And that was all the validation he needed: for sleep.

As Mr. Rager finally slept; Ryujin stayed for a bit, or about 4 hours. And, still, she’s sitting beside him - making sure that he sleeps and recovers. Just from the chance encounter of a paramedic call, she felt the compulsion to guard Mr. Rager. Poor girl, if she’d seen a dead body for her first call then she’d vomit a week’s worth onto the ground. 

After another hour, Ryujin finally decided it was time to leave. She wrote a thoughtful letter, of things that needn’t be said - obviously. But she also left a partition, finagling a creative way to demand what she’s owed. After, she let her boss know that she quit on the spot, that she’d also come back to the same room - a reservation of some sort. She left, leaving the stale, minty air of the hospital with a melancholy that wouldn’t be fixed until she saw him again. Because, when she was writing the note, she wished she asked more questions - Mr. Rager just seemed to lead on the conversation to a charming degree, that other circumstances were of lesser importance. 

Ryujin, outside, breathing in the fresh air of the summer, caught the last bus of the route. This route, passing by the road that she was taken on inside the paramedic van, also led to her apartment. Unfortunately, it’s an old, decrepit apartment where only the rudest sort of parties happen. Half the time, the floor above is vibrating thump, thump, thump from the heavy jumps, or the lower floor blasts some of the most needlessly, eardrum-breaking music.

At least she has solitude. Finally free from the dictates of those she didn’t get along with, finally separated from her friends who’d get too boring if she hung along for too long. Now, her family is charming - easy to get along with; now, her friends are always interesting - fascinating to be around. Distance is a marinating technique, or whatever.

Ryujin, the charming shut-in, finally arrived at her place, and began on her art piece. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to list that’s positive about her obsession with art. It’s the time where she vents her frustrations of being a failed trainee - rather, a placement that was restricted from becoming an idol; wallows in the misery of the color tone she loves the most: dark; and, to top it off, she gets bored of visual arts when she tries to make money off of it. Some dastardly sign from the man above, “Your hobby will stay a hobby.”

All that displeasure would be the paint upon the canvas: checkmate, mental turmoil turns to art, she thought. Swipe and swipe, the dirty colored watercolor painting had nearly no form worth thinking - almost entirely brown from the intermixing of the wet, damp color. Then the second layer, an apparition of segmentation, a deeper color, colors that entice and bite back. Then the specificity of the lines, things left unspecified were on purpose. But, this recurring thought, this pounding idea, that she left a man that fell in the depths of the void alone - really began digging into her soul. This thought unto Ad Nauseam brought her nausea that really can’t be eliminated with the will of her conscience. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve stayed” - the recurrent thoughts that never seemed to leave her. With a sad howl, she fell to the side, crying deep, ruining all her pretty into the sheets - a room so small that her chair was the bed.

–

“I’m still alive”, Mr. Rager repeated this to himself over and over after waking up - not sure whether to feel some sort of rendered triumph. For a moment, he was truly tip-toed in the void, almost encased into the endless hope, of unrendered reality and a horrible sadness; now, he’s alive, breathing, with a full control of his body.

Nothing had caught his attention, the environment, whether there were people around him or not, only life as he knew it - coursing through his veins. The feeble thumps of his chest - his heart, still persevering.

–

Several days of this sort of morning locomotion went on, it was also the time that Ryujin came over. Poor girl brought over new confectionaries - mostly of her favorites; brought lunch boxes she herself fully funded; found ways to amuse herself and Mr. Rager during the listless hours.

“What’s the interest rate of this debt? Surely, a person like me, fastened to the bed with belts (a pure exaggeration), wouldn’t be extorted with dubious rates?”

“Mr. Rager, you’ll have to declare bankruptcy by the end of it, seriously. You owe me. Big time.” She joked back, of course, she didn’t really expect much. By her own goodwill, Ryujin was looking after Mr. Rager, an exchange of her goodwill would almost sour all her community service - again, a flash of her trait, a blithely weak trait in modern society, a subtle revulsion to being paid for her services.

Mr. Rager, however, was the opposite. Rogue-man, Rager man, Mr. Rager, a name that fits him so closely, from the early onset of consciousness, an unruly rebelliousness coursing through his veins at all times, with flourish - with the crimonest red. He’s done it all, disowning his billionaire politician parents, who still relish the thought of meeting Mr. Rager one day; losing all his wealth, gaining it back the next; then, enjoying it all on a single roulette wheel, then forgiving the casino when they couldn’t pay his winnings; and then dying for a few seconds, under the angelic influence of the so-called hellish “nose candy”. But for his closure, his preference—he’s pastless, futureless.

That’s the dilemma, Ryujin hadn’t learned a single thing about Mr. Rager that was worth pulling a strand on. Contradictory statements only confounded her further, and a reply to her joke - of bankruptcy and debt - he’d say, “I’d have to find it buried somewhere.” And she’d think, “What? What the hell? What’s buried? What’s ‘it’ ?”

Often the thought was interrupted, never fully leaving its conception—Mr. Rager wanted to keep it that way. Ryujin, often on her phone, never leaving her eyes off Mr. Rager, spent her delicate hours in the breezy, spacious hospital room.

Mr. Rager, of course alarmed, would ask - every day - “why do you visit so often?”

Then, Ryujin, really not knowing an answer, would default to a bland answer of so and so - real political talk. This procession, of nothing happening, stretching on for days was repetitive. It also made them happy. She’d put on her makeup, with her artsy hands - quick and fast. The rapidity with which she approached this situation, so contrary to all the aspects of her life - seemingly, Mr. Rager had brought vitality to Ryujin.

And in comes the day of withdrawal, the hospital withdrawal - where Ryujin and Mr. Rager resided comfortably. The door clicked softly as the nurse entered; simultaneously, Ryujin and Mr. Rager’s hairs stood up - what are they alarmed for? It was not, the nurse, no, absolutely not, the nurse was jovial, happy, thinking that she was delivering happy news.

She didn’t know that both of them found their only sources of joy inside this hospital. The nurse thought that she was relieving them of a most ludicrous bill, by ending it as soon as possible - as this hospital in particular, charges in hours, yeah, real dystopian shit. And so, it was a surprise when both the people had an almost disdainful stare towards her - it’s just my imagination, the nurse thought.

–

“Are you sure? You know overdraft schedules cost significantly more?” The nurse asked, confused, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I just want to stay here for one more day.” Mr. Rager replied.

“But, but - do you have any ailment? That’ll bring down the price.” 

“None at all, I just want to stay here for another day more.”

Rich people are nuts, the nurse, still, complied, letting him stay, leaving him for another day.

–

As the day progressed, Ryujin came back, again, in the evening. “Your schedule, how do you do that?” Mr. Rager was genuinely impressed with how Ryujin utilized her time, imagine his surprise when she just says, “I just skipped some stuff.”

“Alright, well, thanks for coming.” And that got Ryujin thinking, was this his first time thanking me? Which, in fact, did make her day. And, she wouldn’t dare challenge this once in a lifetime behavior - that’d be a quick way for that behavior to be stashed away, forever. Again, as soon as she entered, the atmosphere changed. 

It’s about damn time they understand the euphoric peacefulness they rouse for each other. And, today was one of the moments where Mr. Rager gives a slight glimpse of his life - the confounding ones that really led to nowhere. “I think my aversion to alcohol comes from the fact that I had kids with this chick, married this chick, bought a mansion for us to live in - and, only too late, realized that it was really the alcohol that talked.”

Ryujin’s heart sank, “what? You have kids?”

“Not anymore, don’t have custody over them anymore.” He was so unbothered, utterly unbothered.

“I’m sorry for asking, just curious—what happened to them?”

He chuckled, “No more personal questions after this, alright?”

She nodded, her beady eyes on full alert. The pillow that she borrowed from the hospital bed, on her lap. She was intently listening from the comfortable armchair. 

“I let her take the kids, she didn’t ask for alimony or anything like that—just that, on the condition that I don’t contact them ever again.” He stared at the ceiling, sorting some of it out, not sure if it was some traumatic experience. Nevertheless, he continued, “she found me unbearable after a while, and I found her unbearable as well. I was never there too: too busy with money. She probably didn’t chase after alimony because she already had a sweetheart - with money - to get back to.” With so much ease, as if he’d been through too many lifetimes - too many he can remember.

“Oh,” that’s it, that’s all the reaction she can give.

“Oh, what’s with that reaction?” He chuckled.

“I-I’msorryIdon’treallyknow-” she paused, “Hey! You’re being so annoying today.”

“Sometimes, a flipped script - like teaser gets teased - leads to masterpieces.”

“Any examples?”

“Nah, I just made it up.”

From then on, the conversations continued; the deep introspective pauses continued, listlessly; and both began to feel the drowsy effect of the combination of warm light and black-out curtains.

And a tired Mr. Rager loves beauty. 

“Ryujin.”

“Hm?” She looked back, staring at him with her doe eyes.

“You’re like marijuana.” One can say he has a way with words.

“What?” Her brows stitched in confusion.

“You’re fucking amazing to have around. But, I swore to never, nev-” He fell into a deep sleep, so contrary to his habits: he’s never fallen asleep with his own mind’s permission.

Her doe-like eyes opened farther open. Her heart began beating listlessly, skipping beats. I’ve got to leave, before I-. Yet she magneted closer to the bed, where Mr. Rager slept so peacefully. Did I do that? He’s always complaining about sleeping, yet- yet he slept so easily. She was making up all sorts of situations, scenarios, theories - none of them healthy for the mind.

And, before she knew it, under the bright moonlight radiating into the room, gentle shadows across his face, she leaned closer, letting her soft lips touch the peak of his cheekbone, causing shivers across her spine, and she thought fuck, fuck, I’m really doing it - and when that wasn’t enough - then his forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from his forehead on her lips. But no more, that’d be too much, too much.

Under her own shame, her bright flush cheeks, her dilated pupils, twin pools of dark moons: she quickly left the room, carrying all her stuff such that it’d be guaranteed to fall in the middle of the hallway, a real mess she made of herself.

CHAPTER II: 

Keep movin' forward, keep movin' forward

I'm so-I'm so reborn, I'm movin' forward

Along the way home, the realization washed over her like a molotov flame - its gentle but fiery shimmer covering the entirety of her body. And the way her heart pumped, any performative act she could do to stop it was useless - ultimately doing nothing, nada, zilch. The sound of his roaring laughter from her jokes, the curve of his smile, the messy stubble, god, she was really losing it inside the bus. Her every thought, motion, every constriction of her body - pulse and all - was consumed by him. Her legs rubbed together desperately, and the slightest, faintest moan left her quivering lips as she let her imagination go wild. 

And the fact that… that an elderly lady was behind her, judging her provocative movements, just nudged her on further - full on deviant shit.

As soon as she’d be home, she’d have a towel under her.

–

Fortunately, past the hospital departure, they wanted to see each other again - platonically. However, it’s been days, and though that may seem quite short, they’ve never been separated for more than 12 hours. 

And these days, these listlessly long days, let Ryujin know of her sympathetic entanglement, and, seemingly intensifying it. Ryujin, with her sore body, stared at Mr. Rager’s phone number on her phone - the curves of the numbers kept reminding her of everything she thought about days before (the curves of the numbers some dubious correlation with Mr. Rager). She’s about to do it again, two fingers, knuckle-deep, into her folds until she’s a drooling mess on the bed. She was already a mess to begin with, a crook in her neck, half her bed unmade, sleep-deprived.

That isn’t to say that Mr. Rager wasn’t just as affected. He never succumbed to the pleasure of the hand, but the dreams, the wistful dreams. Imagining her close smile against him, moaning soft and goading phrases right into his ear - melodiously erotic. Her soft palms against his broad back, pressing deep - trying her best to not scratch up his back. You’re fucking me so good, mm- she’s whimpering, right on your ear, fuck, shivers throughout. Then, halt. It’s the fucking alarm.

Both awake, going through their groggy morning routines to finally meet again. Would it be as magical as it was in the hospital? Would it ever be so calm?

–

The time to meet was approaching quickly. Ryujin got ready, her perfect face, judiciously given with all her perfect talents, was colored with minimal effort, any more and she’d show off her inexperience with makeup - Mr. Rager would’ve lost it all regardless. Because, she was dressed in this tight dress, the type of dress that a girl like her deserves, expensive, ornate, sexy; but, she was a special case, she’d never worn something so ornate and so revealing, and the mirror would reflect a little doe desperately pulling on the hems that revealed her taut thick thighs, the cusp of her petite bosom, and any effort to cover was an ultimately futile effort, this was something she had come to terms with, before leaving her small studio.

And, as if she were in a Wong-Kar Wai movie, she entered the bus: all glammed out in a shitty environment. And the nervous eyes in the bus quickly looked away, intimidated heavily; still, some passengers hoped that they could get a glimpse with the spasm of their pupils to her direction - that’s how good she looked.

She sat down mindfully, crossing her legs - alarmingly aware of the stares. Her face adopted a natural blush - a face too beautiful to hide. Her eyes, set beneath her delicately arched eyebrows, stared at the reflection of herself from the wide glass. She’d never be able to understand her own beauty, too often enveloped in imposter syndrome, and the only person, Mr. Rager, would be the one, who could tell her the beauty of her cascading black hair; her large eyes, accentuated by a deep-set gaze; the beauty with which she carried herself, awkward, yet enigmatically, always, the most beautiful person in the room.

Mr. Rager, gaunt from the opioids, still looked herculean, a fitful combination that fit any clothing piece. With an androgynous face that was covered with sharp eyebrows, dark under eyes, high cheek-bones, and a sort of asymmetrical face that was almost better than the conventional symmetry: in summary, he was someone you couldn’t miss. This inherited comeliness comes with its risks, from the ease of life to the women, things that Mr. Rager succumbed to in violent fashion. Other than that, his preparation was pretty rapid, hopping into his entirely dark-tinted - for obvious reasons - car and set off into the gentle night.

Ryujin landed at the closest bus point to the meeting point. Her dress was unsuited for the weather, and her body began going frigid under a chilly summer day. That’s until a black car, a mercedes s-class, stopped ahead of her. It was nothing to be worried about, she’d just pass by it, acting as if she didn’t see it. However, the figure that exited the car was all too familiar: Mr. Rager.

“Ryujin.” Mr. Rager took a look, scanning her body - making it all too obvious with his pupils - instantly realized why he’s been thinking constantly about her - she’s just the most beautiful person.

And Ryujin, the way her knees slightly folded from seeing Mr. Rager, a slight spasm in her joints - she really missed him. And her hands crossed together between her loins, her eyes opened slightly larger.

“Don’t be so nervous.” He chuckled, that chuckle, that deep chuckle - Ryujin could feel the heat in her core. “Come in, you still have a long way to go,” she gladly accepted, entering into the car: feeling the soft seats, the fragrance of the unusual smell of vanilla and sandalwood (in a car?), and the overwhelming luxury around her surroundings.

“Be sure to dial the temperature or dial whatever you need, I’m sure you were pretty cold outside.” Mr. Rager said, aware of how Ryujin is not one to engage in something without permission - only if he knew what she’d done, the moment before she left, that day. However as he talked, all Ryujin could respond with was a chuckle, she was too focused on how the sentence sounded, how his eyes placed on her face, and occasionally, how it landed on her chest. And that was just the pinnacle for her.

He couldn't stop his gaze, this fermentation of a pending calamity was bounding closer and closer, and thrilled both parties to no end - they couldn’t even hide their own temptations behind the screen of a platonic hang out. By the seconds, the passing seconds, they got bolder, he got bolder. He let his eyes wander far down, her creamy white legs, her meticulous maintenance of it all. And Ryujin was wallowing in it all, his sharp gaze made her feel warmer, wetter - enticing her to dial down the temperature, a contrast from when she was so cold outside.

Still, they’d say nothing, despite it all. The silent hum of the tire scraping against the asphalt was all the credence, the distraction, they were allowed. The rest was this endorphin-filled, endorphin-crazed environment where both of them knew that they were pushing too quickly, given the fact that this companionship began from a suicide attempt.

Still, there’s this slip of time, where they could, possibly, love each other. Though, before these exponential entropic forces caused all sorts of calamity, they arrived at the spot. This run-down complex, that hid a quaint restaurant with private rooms, was a source of nostalgia for Mr. Rager. Ryujin followed, climbing the stairs, ascending just behind him, pulling down on her dress, sticking her thighs together as she climbed (a natural precaution). The restaurant was exactly that, quaint. They entered one of the tight-fitting cubicles, where they sat across from each other, a small sitting-table separated their bodies - unfortunately.

“Don’t be too worried about this restaurant, it may be run down, but it’s a great experience.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not worried about that, I frequent far more run down establishments than this.” As the words left her tongue, Ryujin cringed, frequent? What am I? A prostitute? Her eyebrows knitted.

“Relax Ryujin,” he chuckled, “enjoy yourself, I’ll pay for it all.”

“That’s the first step to the debt?” Ryujin grinned, loosening, gaining her natural confidence.

“Perhaps. Come on, go crazy.” There it is, that nice toothy grin, her cheeks ripple into some sort of whiskers - god, he’d do anything for that, again and again. 

The dishes came, oily dishes full of food, and Ryujin’s eyes glazed in excitement. After a brief, too quick, moment of eating, both of them leaned back - absolutely full.

“You got a bird’s stomach for your ambition, Ryujin.”

“And you’re a head taller than me, but you’re leaning as well!”

“Good point.” He chuckled, fighting indigestion through it.

“I don’t even like oily food.”

“Me too.”

This time, a collaborative laugh.

Mr. Rager paid the meager bill, leaving all the food to rot on the table - the plight of abundance.

–

“Anything you want to do today?” Mr. Rager asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“It’s really late, I really wanted to punish your wallet, you played your cards right going out so late..” Ryujin relaxed into the seat, fully comfortable, in-tune.

“Well, if you don’t have any plans. Mind if I go the reservation for us?”

“What reservation?”

“That’d ruin the surprise, Ryujin.” The ambient sound of the tires against the ground in combination with the dark night - the darkest night before morning - was an even more intense atmosphere.

This peaceful atmosphere, intense, yet peaceful, again, just like the hospital visits. This interesting continuation of happiness, so foreign to his life, was something that he could get used to. His forearm pressed against the storage compartment, letting his hand spill over; his other arm was loosely steering, as loose as the gentle dark night. 

As he trailed the road, occasional peeks at Ryujin showed her transition to sleep: drowsy eyelids that infrequently close for periods of time, then, longer periods, then, sleep. 

Who was this angel? This angel that wrought Mr. Rager all manners of hope, of happiness, of reflection. If he hadn’t been so stubborn about his affliction towards personal information, maybe, just maybe he’d understand her more, this girl - so beautifully clad in a flowery dress.

Is this love, this elusive feeling? How could it be so cruel? So cruel as to bring it to me at a time so random, and so heavily…

Again, he forgot his bad habit: speaking his thoughts out loud.

He realized too late, and he could feel her large eyes staring at him, confused. 

Yet, and yet, he felt the gentle warmth of another palm on his forearm - a reassuring grip.

“Min, I love you too.”

CHAPTER III: No Longer Mr. Rager

I want to kiss you on your space below your navalette

The place you keep so neat, so moist like a towelette

Ryujin, her beautifully beady eyes looked at you, as she lifted your forearm, planting little kisses all over it.

“Oh Ryujin.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that, Min.” A statement that left her lips as she continued worshiping his forearm.

Jesus, this woman.

He pulls into the closest parking spot, giving not a single fuck that there were a few cars there - all likely empty, anyway.

And, with all pretenses and courtesy removed, the forearm that was so judiciously worshiped, wrapped around her nape, pulling her into a searing kiss. That deep moan, that accepting moan as his mouth opened against hers. He almost forgot the most essential question - suddenly, slightly pulling away from the kiss.

“How’d you find out about my name, Ryujin?” Min asked.

“A woman doesn’t disclose her secrets, besides, how could my love not have a name?” Cheesy, feisty, what a woman.

“Good point.” Another searing kiss, dynamic, evolving, every step more depravedly romantic than the previous.

He was pretty sure that he’d break something, in the middle compartment, that separated you from total body connection. Again, you pull away, this time, it brought out a desperate whine out of her, her arms that wrapped desperately around you kept pulling you in - like a vortex.

She understood the memo as soon as he exited the car - love connection. This time, with a wider space, still constricted, was the best they could do, and they’d relish this extra space. Min, naturally assumed dominance over Ryujin, her body acclimated against his aggressive pulls and pushes - all for the pleasure of Ryujin, and she didn’t take it lightly, each breath heavy with the densest pleasure. Oh, oh, oh, keep manhandling me. She’d whisper. And he’d obey.

As Ryujin, with her tight dress, splayed against the seats on her back, took initiative to take off Min’s clothes, button-by-button. “Oh I’ll fuck you so good, Ryujin, so fucking good.” He’d repeat, over and over, and Ryujin would get more aroused by each iteration: “Yes, yes! Please.” Occasional soft bites were felt all over his collarbone, his neck, his earlobe. “Possessive little bird, I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed her head, making sure that he’d also mark her, a heavy hickey on her neck.

And Ryujin fucking loves it, she softly caresses him, soft grasps against his back, locking her taut legs around him, begging for continuations. And, Min would obey, in his own rebellious way, tightly grabbing her breasts - hidden behind the dress - then pressing kisses all over her neck, nearly all of them hickeys. 

“Fuck the reservation,” he grunted, it was an expensive reservation, but he doesn’t give a fuck: Ryujin’s right under him, begging for him to ravage her taut body. And she replies, “That’s right, that’s right, mister, master!” The end of her sentence was capitalized by Min’s heavy grasp on her breasts.

“That’s right, little bird.” Low grunts against her ears, his thick shaft, covered, grinded against her body, while his mouth assaulted hers.

And she cums, her head turns up, looking wherever - straining her neck - to release her pleasure. “Ngghhh!!!” A heavy whine, so enthusiastically human, straining against the seats that held her back. “Holy shit! That was so amazin-” enough talking, he’d motion, locking mouths together.

Silent moans, “mmmf..” hummed against his tongue, Ryujin was so turned on, and he’d love to fulfill all her wishes. Each rotation of his hip against hers were accentuated by Ryujin’s deep moan, squeaky moans, the moans that she couldn’t hide by covering her mouth. His hand, fixed onto her breasts, finally ventured below, feeling her lithe abdomen - the slightest abs - then letting his hand rest on her pelvis, just above her pussy. 

He finally released himself from the hypnotizing kiss, staring at her body - mostly still covered by the dress: now, that, won’t do. He pulled on the bottom hem of her dress, revealing her wet core, an embarrassed squeak along with it all. “You’re so fucking hot, Jesus,” he had a taste of what her body looked like, and he just can’t get enough. All precaution thrown out the window, the expensive dress was about to be ruined, and Ryujin - ever resourceful - seemed to allow it. He pulled the upper hem of the dress down, breaking the straps that could’ve been removed easily - this is a statement, I own you - Ryujin seemed to get the memo - all beady and begging.

Her soft breasts, creamy, smooth, with pink nubs spilled out from the tight dress. He pressed both his hands, all over her body, exploring the transitions from her taut skin to the scrunched dress, making sure to remember every facet of it all. “How badly do you want it?” He whispered, wholly focused on her body, subtly noticing her wet core, the outline of her pussy growing clearer by the second. And Ryujin didn’t even have to answer the question, locking her legs around his waist, frantically trying to get her hips on his covered shaft - yeah, she’s fiending for it.

And Min, ever the indulgent, gently moved and hovered his hand over her neck, waiting for that confirmation, that wink, that nod - and, Ryujin, calming down from the intense pleasure, nodded. That first grasp, tight, measuring her tolerance, measuring just the moment when the eyes go back to her eyes - and he seemed to completely pinpoint it, that slight spasm of her body, and her inner thighs are just soaked.

Finally, Min decided it’s time to give her sopping cunt some attention. Peeling the layer to the side, wet with the highest arousal, hid her bright pink core - and it, her core, was begging to be sated, pulsing, glistening, beautifully fragrant.

Firstly, he let a single finger prod, then entered. And Ryujin was already shaking, her eyes went straight to the back of her head, and her neck vascularized - all veiny - from the soft choke. It would’ve been too cruel to give her too much pleasure, so he took his hand off her throat, instead, patting her head - letting her know that she's doing so good, so good. 

In and out, motion of the ocean, slick covering his finger the deeper he went, earning the most virile moans out of her cute mouth. “You like that, huh?” He dug deeper, until his knuckle - a loud moan. She had never felt anything like this, her two fingers could never compare, and she’s a virgin after all, and she’s about to get deflowered in the backseat of a car - and, she loves it. 

In a swift motion, where Min continued his manhandling of Ryujin, he pulled his finger out - in a hook motion to agitate her g-spot, earning a girlish yelp - then, let Ryujin taste her own juices on his finger.

“You’re doing so good.” Min whispered, so overly joyed by Ryujin, how her petite body convulsed in pleasures beyond what he could ever imagine.

“I know.” Ryujin replied, defiant to the end. She knew exactly how this inspired him to be rougher - and she loves it. He gripped her waist, gripping harder, letting her firm abdomen mold against his grip, dug deeper into her cunt, placing his thumb over her engorged clit. One. Two. Three motions around her clit, three motions of his finger into her cunt - before she squirted onto the side window, far more girlish yelps, and desperate panting. This time, Min with his wet hand, spread it all over Ryujin’s face - the essence of her arousal, via his hand, spread on her face, where makeup was placed so thoughtfully, only to be ruined by her own squirt. She’s panting amidst all this, unable to process anymore than her overwhelming second orgasm. 

“You’re a fucking mess, Ryujin, cumming this quickly?”

“You made me this way…” She huffed, “you fucking brute.”

This time, all Min does is press against her pelvis - specifically, the pelvic bone, where just below is her g-spot, and the slight pressure, was absolutely deadly. All the while, he declared, “That’s right, little bird. I’ll press you against the seat, face-down, slam into your ass with all the force I can muster - then, when I’m deep, too deep, cervix-level deep, I’ll release all my cum into your precious little womb.”

“Nghhh~~!” And another squirt, where her legs closed together, toes curled, and her head hung back. While Ryujin was trying to recover, Min placed a quick and wet kiss on her lips, but that'd be the only romanticism that Min allowed her. Quickly, he let her sit up, pulling her by her thin wrists. Then, he pulled down his own pants - letting his shaft free from the restraints of his tight clothing, the painful onset of an early blue balls in its conception, that was only fuel to the fire to fuck Ryujin good, and hard.

“Sit on my lap facing me, Ryujin.” He demanded. And no matter how much Ryujin came, squirted, panted, and yelped - she’d always oblige in Min’s demands. She quickly hooked her other leg over him, in a hovered position rather than sitting. This time, he passed his fingers through her wet hair, letting it pass behind her ear, “safe word is Mimetic,” and he earned a soft nod from Ryujin, and consent to batter her sopping, wet, sticky, engorged pussy.

He slithered a hand around her waist, holding her in place; then, placed his other hand around her neck, just on the nape. He pulled her in for one last kiss. The last bit of eye contact before penetration, and all that could be seen in Ryujin’s eyes - beady and all wet from pleasure - was a fiending desire to be fucked silly.

Slowly, he let her descend, right up until his tip kissed her wet folds. She winced from her sensitivity, just from the touch. And that’s when it flashed in her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was ready, given the fact that she hadn’t told him about her virginity. Before she could realize her thoughts through speech, she felt the intense heat of something foreign entering - something so thick and large - and it wrought every emergency signal in her brain - all of them, positive. “Oh–OH, fuck…” is all that Ryujin squeaked out before he pushed in deeper, feeling her gentle pussy wrap around his shaft - all wet and moist. A constant sizzling whisper could be heard from Ryujin as he buried his cock deeper, until, halfway in, where she let out a deep moan. “Holy fuck,” she moaned again, deeper. Holy fuck is right, her body was so resistant, tight right at the start to the end, yet, the way it also sucked his shaft into its wet folds - Min was already addicted.

“Ryujin, you’re so tight.” He said as he kept nudging Ryujin to move farther down, waiting for her glistening pussy to completely wrap around his shaft - then, eventually, completely devour her in the backseats of his own car. Yet, as he went through it with her, he began clueing in on the note - Ryujin is very.. Too sensitive. Why Ryujin focused on getting herself down, skewering herself on his length - desperately breathing, her chest dilating in and out. Through it all, as Ryujin tried to, adorably, hide her inexperience, Min pressed a compassionate kiss right into her mouth. 

“I love that. The fact that you’re so horny for a virgin.” He whispered against her mouth, breathing hotly, immeasurably hard.

And Ryujin needn’t respond at all, all she needed to do - well, did - was reach out with her tongue for his mouth, with those prey eyes, begging to be taken, testing her fickle fate - a sign that he needed to kiss her, devour her, again and again until hell freezes over. And finally, during the desperate haze of a reunification of mouths, he finally buried himself straight to the hilt, in her pink, glistening, sopping, beautiful core. And slowly, the wet sounds of sex, so blatantly loud in this claustrophobic environment, reverberated inside the car; the wet sounds of her moans covered this hazy atmosphere, coming from her lips that detached from his mouth, streaks of saliva still connecting them both; and that feeling, this mutual feeling of utter bliss, how her back bent - contorted - into every pump.

They couldn’t stop staring at each other, two perverts, two soulmates who couldn’t go for a second without looking at each other. Even when Min pushed up harder, letting his full length pass through her virginal hole, they still maintained that sensual eye contact - that essential eye contact.

“You fuck me so good, Min.” Ryujin said as her two small breasts jolted from every pump, every contraction of his length leaving her one step closer to ruin - until her eyes went back to that dangerous place, that orgasm line. And the resulting pressure, that heavenly pressure, pressed against his shaft so strongly, that his tight-lipped mouth let out a few growls of pleasure, a sign that he’s close to painting her womb in baby batter. 

Ryujin, ever the caretaker, felt the convulsions, and began pressing desperate kisses over his face - anywhere she could reach, whilst patting him on the back. And Min would never admit he liked it, that he loved it, and he didn’t need to admit it, Ryujin already knew. 

And she knew exactly, that this was the final straw that she needed to break before she was filled with his essence, the catalyst of that final convulsion. Min immediately seized, grabbing Ryujin in a bearhug - one that could’ve bruised her - and pumped hard, that final wet sound of sex, before, rope after rope of release entered deep inside her, splashing against her cervix, filling her womb.

“FUCKKK!!” He growled, he hadn’t felt this good since ever. And the same for Ryujin, who cried a leaky yelp, where her last bits of squirt flowed down the slightest nook from their love connection. They were static for a moment, relishing in the deviant copulation they engaged in, where, almost, the condensation of their lovemaking was visible in the air of the car.

“I love you.” She kissed him again, staring all lovey-dovey, as if her pupils had gone and turned into hearts.

“I love you.” He stared at her, happy, smiling.

“I love you more.” She added, exaggerating her laugh, trying to tease.

“I concede.” He replied.

“Heyyy! You’re supposed to say it back!” “I’m more for physical demonstrations. Wanna see?”

“Uh no. Please. It feels like it's about to fall off.” She was mentioning her pussy, all swollen and gummy to the eye.

“I love it, it’s so beautiful.” He replied, fully serious, digging his mouth into her neck, he was absolutely crazy about her.

“Min, I gotta take a shower, you’re being gross-” that’s when Min pressed a finger onto her - still engorged - clit, and proceeded to say, “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

“Ngh! Stop! Seriously, it’s about to fall off.” Unfortunately, the collected accumulation of their love juices swiftly dripped down as Ryujin jolted back from him touching her clit.

“Isn’t this gonna stain your car until the end of time?” She stared at the significant puddle of who knows what.

“Let it. A commemoration of our intense copulation.”

Ryujin blushed, quickly grabbing the tissues that Min offered her, and wiping off all that she released, her entire lower half, essentially, was wet. And Min got aroused from watching Ryujin cleaning herself - her little winces when she slightly grazed her cunt only adding fuel to the fire. “Clean my cock.” Min demanded, but when Ryujin grabbed the tissues - ready to oblige - he replied, “with your mouth.”

To be continued...

Ahhh, I love cliffhangers. Enjoy waiting for 10 months! (just kidding!)

Honestly, I wanted to take months with this project, but I just can't seem to stop myself (from writing mid stuff).

[cherry-pop-elf]

Morning Classes

Severus Snape x Reader

Summary: You spent the night in your boyfriend’s bedroom, at the school he works at. The issue with sleeping in a dungeon, is that you can’t tell when it’s sunrise. You slept in, and decided to make it known to everyone that Severus Snape CAN get some bitches

Warnings: None really, besides implied sexual content. But none actually. Also teenagers being teenagers, and poor Snape ready to have a heart attack

“Sevvy?” You yawned, as you would lift up your head. There you were, in satin sheets. Perfect for the muggy weather that the dungeons collected. Breathe able, light, and soft. Made you want to never leave the ink and emerald covers, but you wanted to get some breakfast with your boyfriend.

Another yawn left you, as you climbed out of the covers. Quick to steal one of his dress shirts, and cover yourself up in. You loved how it was a dress on you. Made you feel so safe, and warm. Emotionally, anyway. Despite the muggy weather of a dungeon, it can change and become so chill. Just a matter of when Peeves wants to snuff out the fire places.

“Sevvy? I want us to get some breakfast.” You called, as you stretched your body. The cold stones sending shivers through your feet, and up your spine. “And cuddles. I want more cuddles.” You cooed, as you would force open the heavy door. The one to lead to his classroom. Took some effort, but you broke through.

“Sevvy, sweetie? Let’s get some br…” Your heart dropped, as you froze. Seems you slept in, because class was in session. The familiar smog of the potions brewing filled the air, but never enough to hide the faces of his students. Along with himself.

The way every student was jaw dropped, at the realization that someone was in Snapes bedroom. Not only in his bedroom, but clearly having spent the night there. They just couldn’t process it, and neither could Snape. That ever cold scowl vanished, to be replaced with the most brilliant of pink cheeks. Seems Hogwarts was just a breeding ground of making sure he got embarrassed.

“Oh….I….Apologies….It can be kinda hard to tell the time, when you are underground.” You gulped, as you rubbed the back of your neck. You tried to step out of the room, but your back came into contact with the door. No way did you want to turn around, and risk exposing your naked butt to a bunch of kids. That’s not only gross, but also very embarrassing.

“Damn, kinda hot-“ A student said, causing Snape’s head to spin so sharply. You are surprised that no bones were broken in the process. As if he had time to figure out who said that. He had a partner to worry about. He cursed himself for letting you sleep in.

“Not. A. WORD.” He warned his students, as he quickly ran to your side. Swiftly he would take off his ever present cloak, and wrapped it around you. Let you be covered, as the students still stared. Never did they think Snape could be human. Find love, have a romance, be intimate with someone. It was just kinda assumed he was an entity all on his own.

“I am so sorry-“ You quickly whispered, with shame in your eyes. Way to go. You had to humiliate him. A man that’s been burdened with such all his life. You just had to give him more trauma. Way to go. That’s reading on your face like a book, and he won’t have any of that. He will break the cycle.

“I should have left a note-“ He tried to whisper back, but failed. The classroom was so silent, from shock, so much as his own heart beat could be heard. Was Snape taking responsibility for his own actions, and not wanting someone to feel bad? Who is this imposter? That was getting the class rowdy now.

“Students-“ He warned, but the teenagers in them were over ruled. They had so many questions. Who is this person? How did you two meet? Did you go to Hogwarts with him? Are you from another school? Pure blood? Muggle born? Did you top?!

“I uh. Just better go get some pants on-“ You swallowed, as he nodded. He was quick to open the door for you, and you ran in. It would then slam behind you, but it couldn’t muffle the gossiping of the class.

“Children-!” He warned, but their curiosity overruled their fear. They had to know. Who the hell were you?! Why would you settle for him?! So many questions, so little class time to figure it all out. They needed to know!

You made sure to hurry up, and slipped on some random bottoms. Along with a cozy top. Just clothes to actually wear, as to go out there and save your boyfriend. It must be an emotional nightmare to deal with. A bunch of students ganging up on him, much like his childhood. You will save the day.

“Hey everyone-! Sorry about that-! So uh. Hi! Yes, I’m his romantic partner. No, we didn’t meet at Hogwarts. I’m a-“ You began to rattle off, as to try and settle everyone down. Along with give Severus a moment to breathe. Breathe, and process what is happening. So much for staying under the radar.

“Why him?” Someone asked. Damn, even you could feel Snape’s death glare towards the student. Stings, but you snuck your hand to tangle with his. Comforting him, with brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

“Oh where do I start? Handsome, smart, charismatic, playful-“ That got a brow raise at the remark. The moment you kissed his cheek? Everyone was gagging, and making mock throwing up noises. You swore you saw a smile tug at his lips, at such foolery. Had you giggle, as you nuzzled your head into his shoulder.

“Thank Merlin, the bell-!” A student shouted, as the clock tower rang. Everyone was quick to bolt, leaving behind cauldrons full of left over potions. That had him rubbing his temples, but you already grabbed your wand. Working on the first one for him.

“The talk of the school….again….” He grumbled, as he would work on another one. He never liked being in the spotlight. If he could hide in the shadows, he would. Impossible now. Given the ‘scary potion master’ now had a romantic partner. Someone could love him? Such horror.

“Oh hush. Bet they are just jealous that I’m the lucky one.” You soothed, as you would give his cheek another kiss. Make that, multiple kisses. Just peppering him, and not willing to lighten up. Not until he smiled.

Took a minute, but he did. Just for you. He smiled, and soon returned a peck to your own. Far softer, and quieter. Just how he was. Like a gust of wind, in the moonlight. One of the endless reasons you adored him.

“So…..no breakfast-?” You puzzled, before he handed you over an apple. He had made sure to grab you something, after he had his own. He kept you in his thoughts. Had you just beaming, as you happily took it. Taking a large bite, as you now sat on his desk. Eye candy, as he worked.

Maybe today won’t be so bad after all. He’s in good company.

[ang3lc]

Uhhhh I'll have some tipsy Soap flirting with reader in a pub for four-hundred, please, except she's having none of his yakety-yacking away, knowing what snakes these military guys can be, and he's desperately trying to convince her otherwise.

(Tell me why she starts to believe that, by the end of the night, he's different from the rest?) 🧡 🫡

oh you can have that for FREE, keep your money.

thank you for feeding my brain rot pooks <3

>> johnny x fem!reader, readers sassy and johnny's drunk, what could go wrong?

It’s just another Friday night at the pub. You’re tucked into a corner booth, drink in hand, halfway through your night out alone and perfectly content to keep it that way - until a man with a lopsided grin and a... rather obnoxious Scottish accent stumbles his way to your booth.

"Oi, lassie!" He grins, his words slurring ever so slightly as he props himself against the back of the seat opposite you. "Mind if I join ye? Seems a shame ye’re sittin’ here all on yer lonesome."

You raise an eyebrow, unamused. “And why’s that your business?”

He chuckles, moving to sit in the seat and lean on the table with all the confidence of a guy who’s had one too many. “Because, bonnie… yer the most bonnie one 'ere.” He says it with a drunken, pleased grin, like he’s just discovered the cleverest line known to man.

“Right...” You look back at your drink, expecting him to take the hint. He doesn’t.

He grins, not expecting a cold reception. “No problem, love. Just thinkin’ ye shouldn’t be drinkin’ alone.” He moves to stand but wobbles and stumbles back into the worn seat. “See! Even the Universe want me tae stay, Bon.” he says with a playful chuckle, “Ye’re gonna make me beg, aren’t ye?”

You lean back, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, but I’m about 200% sure begging isn’t on the agenda.”

He laughs, not at all put off by your lack of interest. He’s definitely had a few too many, but there’s something about his warm smile and blue eyes that almost makes you forget how over the top this all feels. “Ach, lass, no beggin’ here. Let m' introduce m’self. Name’s Johnny. And ye are?”

You stare at him for a second, trying to decide if he’s serious or if you’re about to be the victim of some smooth talker’s latest attempt. His eyes sparkle, like he knows exactly how much of a mess he’s making of things, but he’s enjoying it anyway.

“Not interested,” you say, but your voice softens just a touch.

“Aw, come on,” he says, with a laugh that’s a little too loud for the pub. “Ye won’t give me yer name? Don’t worry, bonnie, I’m no’ one o’ those daft lads ye’ve met before.”

“Oh really?” You cross your arms, amused in spite of yourself. “How do you figure that?”

He leans in, eyes gleaming with a tipsy sort of enthusiasm. “Because-" He taps his chest, struggling to find the words. “I’m a right soldier, I am. Not just some daft, smooth-talkin’ bloke. Special forces.” He gives a very sloppy, exaggerated wink. “I’m actually kinda a big deal.”

You can’t help the faint chuckle that escapes you. “Yeah, right. Special forces, huh? And what exactly do you specialize in—charm or making an ass of yourself?”

He raises an eyebrow at that, clearly amused. “Aye, both, lass. But ye’ll find my charm’s no’ the sort to wear off that quick.” He pats his chest, then waves a hand dismissively as if brushing off your skepticism.

You sigh, shaking your head. “Johnny, if you think a cute accent and a drunk pick-up line are going to win me over, you’re going to have to work a lot harder than that.”

Johnny shrugs, his cockiness fading just a little, replaced by something more genuine. “Aye, maybe I’m a bit tipsy,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “But even a bloke like me can tell when he’s met a right lass. I’m just here for a chat, and... ye called m'cute.”

You raise an eyebrow, not sure if you want to let him off the hook so easily. “You think I’m stupid or something?” The words slip out before you can stop them, but after a beat, you relent with a small sigh. “I called your accent cute. Not you.” You bite back a smile, watching him closely, wondering if he’s being honest or just playing the game.

Johnny looks at you, brow furrowing, his smile faltering for a moment. “No, I—” He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. His face flushes slightly, and you can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or the shift in tone. “Look, I get why ye’d think that. But I promise ye, lass, I’m no’ that guy.”

“Well,” you say slowly, “I’m still not sure about you.” You give him a teasing smile, trying to keep the mood light. “But you’re certainly more interesting than most.”

Johnny grins, the joy of a drunken man creeping back in. “Aye, I knew it! Just one drink, just tae see if I can win ye over?”

You roll your eyes, half-laughing, half-skeptical. “You’re something, Johnny. But don’t think this means I’m buying you another drink... Lord knows you don't need it.”

“Aye, just wait,” he winks, clearly undeterred. “I’ll win ye over yet, bonnie.”

As he leans back in the seat opposite you, looking pleased with himself, you, against your better judgement, signal the bartender.

mlist

[everydayyoulovemeless]

FO4 companions attempting to give Sole a haircut but they fuck it up really bad? I just got back from a horrible hairdresser visit and I need the cope

Fo4 Companions Accidentally Giving Sole A Bad Haircut

➼ Word Count » 0.8k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Platonic/Romantic, Hurt/Comfort? ➼ A/N » It's been a few months since you've requested this so I'm praying you're feeling better now!

You know MacCready messed something up when he begins chuckling nervously, rests a shaky hand on your shoulder, and starts talking way more than usual. He tries to stall you looking in the mirror for as long as possible but, when you eventually do, he’s biting his fist in awkwardness. He won’t lie, this is not his best work, but he never promised perfection. Nevertheless, he feels awful for what he’s done and will let you wear his hat to cover it until it grows back.

Nick will tell you flat out when he messes it up. He'll sigh apologetically, saying he should've just waited to have Ellie cut it or, I don't know, taking you to Kathy and John's Super Salon, right across the street from his agency. He doesn't do anything more to it and takes you straight to the salon to see if you can't salvage it. He feels awful about it, and will never touch your hair again.

Cait knows she isn't going to do a good job with it, but she doesn't tell you that and agrees to cut it anyway. Normally, when she wants to cut her hair, she'll just take any shape object she can get a hold of and start chopping away, and that's exactly what she does with you. She'll sit you down, pull out a pocket knife, and slice whole chunks off at a time. The worst part is that she's got no shame in it.

Preston will gasp quietly and cover his mouth with his hand. He refuses to move and will just stand there, completely still until you ask him what's wrong. He doesn't even know where to begin telling you how badly he's messed up and will instead, just apologize, rest his hands on the back of your shoulders, and rub reassuring circles into them with his thumbs. There are plenty of generals who don't have good hair! Nothing to fret over!

Codsworth will let out a silent 'Oh dear' and turn his buzzsaw off. Eventually, he'll begin reminding you of a separate time when you'd come back from the barber with you're hair all fucked, before explaining that he did exactly that. He tries to be light-hearted about it, but he's just as devastated as you are, possibly even more. He's a Mr. Handy, for Godsake! And he can't even do the basics!

Piper isn't even subtle about it. She'll just immediately begin comparing it to Atomites she's met through investigative journalism. She'll tell you that she's just giving you the 'wasteland special' and you shouldn't feel too upset about it. There are loads of people with this style! So, cheer up! It'll grow back!

Curie doesn't even realize she's messed anything up. In her opinion, any hairstyle any person has looks good. She doesn't quite understand the emotional attachment many people have toward it and just cuts it really short to help with mobility and whatnot. When you explain it to her, however, she starts to feel really guilty and will apologize nonstop.

Strong will just shave you bald. Now you look like him! What's there to be upset over? No support whatsoever from him.

Hancock will also just cut it with his knife, although, he's a lot more sympathetic than Cait. He'll hug you out of remorse and tell you it could be worse. You could be a ghoul and have no hair at all! Look at him! He can't even grow hair anymore so, don't feel too bad about it, alright?

Deacon will immediately fall to the ground in a squat, head in his hands as he simultaneously tries not to laugh or cry. He's cut his own hair so many times before with no issue - he cuts everyone in the Railroad's hair! - and it shatters him to know that he messed up on a craft he thought he perfected. He's supposed to be good at this! After a moment, he'll stand again and find you a wig in his collection for you to keep until your hair grows back. At least now the two of you can be wig buddies? Yay?

X6-88 will hum in defeat when he's messed it up before saying that he told you you should've gone to someone who actually knows how to cut hair. He can't comfort you for shit and probably just blames you for asking for help from someone who can't cut hair.

Old Longfellow knows how to cut hair. So, if he's messed it up, it means he was drunk. But, hey! Now you have a story to tell the folks at The Last Plank! So, he'll take you straight there so you can, hopefully, drink it off and laugh with the other regulars about it. No harm done!

Gage will tell you straight out that he's fucked it up badly, but he's not that concerned with it. If you seem upset, he'll just shrug and tell you it's not as bad as some of the other raiders in this place. If it bothers you that much, though, he'll get you a helmet for you to wear for the time being. It's safer for you anyway.

[sheepheadfred]

Ectoberhaunt Day 16: Bloom

Summary: Jack and Maddie Fenton have been growing a special flower in secret for months, finally its buds are ready to bloom! But why is Danny becoming more avoidant than usual?

Ao3 link

At long last!

This rare flower, thought to be extinct, is finally blooming after all their hard work gardening. Well, mainly her hard work. Maddie took care of the more delicate and meticulous side of things. Jack tries but they both know he's not good at that sort of stuff. She can be hyper focused on the minute details but Jack gets bored easily if its not something he can freely do and has little patience for botany despite his best efforts.

A flower long thought to be gone for good grown right here in the lab. Sure they had to make a special enclosure for it but they didn't want ghosts or the kids with their rebellious, 'pro ghosts' phase, to mess with it before it could be ready to flower.

Heck, they were unaware it existed until one day when they were going through old Fenton Family Photos- the way Jack says it implies it is all capitalized- where they found notes by a witch hunting ancestors buried at the bottom mentioning how they were used to trap spirits and keep them from helping their witch masters.

It is said they are a great danger to the supernatural but completely safe, even delicious, for human consumption.

If enough bloom, they can use it in more anti ghost defenses if the stories prove true. Might even make a new weapon to capture a specimen if they get that far. The possibilities are endless!

While the kids were at school, they put it to the test. All throughout the house the blossomed flowers were arranged in every room. Red blooms decorate the walls and windowsills and other various surfaces connected by their black stems twisting around each other. Unassuming to those not in the know. Just a beautiful decoration to most.

And who else would even know about them? Not many for sure.

No ghost can leave the zone from their portal when the house has these flowers! If they come, they'll be trapped in the lab!

She's making a snack for her and Jack for the taste test, too!

Well, that and that she has been at this all day and does need a snack. You can't study and fight ghosts on an empty stomach after all!

Jack is in the basement lab working on a new weapon incorporating these plants.

The kids will never be safer here at home!

There haven't been any ghost attacks all day.

None of the ghost alerts they had set up around town have acted up. Sure, those only register ghosts above a certain threshold to compensate for the ectoplasmic background radiation the town is soaked in and that no good Phantom can seemingly hide in plain sight, but this has to mean it works on some level!

Anything coming through their portal will be trapped in the lab even when they're not home!

Oh, this is fantastic!

The kids will be happy that those spooks wont get in the way anymore. They should be, anyway. She can never really read them anymore, especially Danny. A shame, they used to be so close, too.

Speaking of the kids, it's about time for them to come home about now. Or it used to be before they both got so busy. Well, Jazz at least tries to be around them and return her bags before going back out or locking herself in her room to study.

Danny, though, keeps skipping school and ignoring curfew. When he doesn't skip, he has detention! That boy and his poor priorities. Why can't he be more like his sister? At least this way he will have more time to devote to his studies for once with his school getting attacked less!

"Mom! I'm home!" her eldest announces once she walks into the door. Dutiful and making sure they know shes home. What a good daughter!

Maddie, who was working on the Fenton Finder again, as its glitches keep detecting Danny, makes her way out of the kitchen to greet her oldest child.

"Hey, sweetie! How was school today? It's quite late, did you get some studying done or was it tutoring?" She couldn't help but gush.

Maddie is sure Jack would be asking the same, albeit with more arm pulling and back breaking hugs. She loves that man but he really doesn't know his own strength most of the time. Or keep it in check. There is a time and a place for it, after all.

"Things went fine, mom. What's with all the flowers, though? Didn't take you one for home decor."

There she goes, always questioning stuff. Such a strong, scientific mind.

Not that Danny doesn't but he tends to not want to use it. From what she has simply observed and all.

If something was truly wrong, then he would tell them. Right?

"Oh, just trying something new. Do you like it?"

"Um, yeah. I guess? But, why so many? And... you put these in every room?"

"Can never have too many flowers! These are a rare breed after all. They have special cleansing properties to ward off ghosts!" Maddie is excited to share this good news! They don't have to worry about one of those nasty ghosties waking them up anymore!, "And don't you worry about your rooms! Jack and I still remember your lectures on 'privacy' and 'personal space'. I just left a vase full in both yours and your brother's room, nothing too obstructive, on your windowsills."

"Uh huh. How did you find out about these flowers? What are they called, anyway?"

"Blood blossoms! We found an old journal from one of Jack's ancestors, Jack Fenton-Nightingale that held fascinating records we couldn't wait to see if they worked. I'm so glad you asked! You're welcome to join us if you want, sweetie."

Jazz looked more unnerved than enthused, but she's always busy with her own passions rather than wanting to focus on theirs, much to their chagrin.

"That's great, mom!," Jazz's enthusiasm sounds strained, "I'll let Danny know about the new floral arrangements before he gets home. I need to go study, they gave us a lot of homework today and I spent all afternoon torturing. Call me when it's time for dinner." And she is rushing out, clearly done with this conversation.

For some reason, it stings Maddie's heart at how flighty and avoidant her kids are. She knows they are at that age but it hurts her to feel them drifting.

"Wait," Maddie stops her daughter before she could leave, "before you hole yourself up. Where is Danny? Do you know? He usually tells you nowadays. I just... really do hope this helps him."

"He's with his friends like usual, mom. They have a project coming up and he might be staying over with them tonight. How do you think these flowers will help him?"

Jazz is fishing for information but Maddie can't bring herself to care. She desperately needs to share this worry with someone else. She has Jack, but sometimes he doesn't get it in a way that she needs and her social circle is depressingly small. A sacrifice she was willing to make for her studies and passion even if it's lonely.

"Your brother," Maddie begins, hoping the explanation will be able to let her oldest know her worries for her baby boy, "is always so frightened and runs away whenever ghosts attack. He can't even handle a conversation about them. I'm hoping that these ghost warding flowers will give him some peace of mind. Make it easier to sleep and study and catch up on school stuff. Where his priorities need to be if he wants to do well for himself. I know he has done well when given the chance. A mother worries, after all."

Jazz gave her a thoughtful, pensive look, like shes warring with herself, before settling on a sad, small smile.

"I get it. I'll make sure to let him know about the Blood Blossoms so he won't be caught off guard at the sudden change."

"Thank you for understanding, dear."

"Who knows, maybe Sam might think it's cool. She does have an interest in nature and preserving rare species."

It's obvious that she's trying to change the subject delicately and Maddie appreciates her thoughtfulness and more than willing to change it herself.

"That is a wonderful idea! I will have to bring that up next time I see her."

Maddie's joy at such a suggestion made her almost miss her daughters face fall, when she thought her mom wasn't looking. Such a sad, fragile smile as she made her way to her room.

I can feel the gap between us widening, but I'm unsure why or how to fix it.

It's been days and Danny still hasn't come home, not even to say 'Hi.'. Always at a friend's place for one reason or another. Maddie has grown increasingly worried. Sure, sometimes he skips curfew and sometimes he's not in his room at night, but outright avoidance is unlike him!

And she knows he didn't just up and leave. He still goes to school and is seen around town. Just never comes around here anymore.

What did they do to make him outright shun them? Shun her?

It wasn't until he did finally come home and stay the night that she saw something.

He's always been a bit withdrawn, more so since the portal activated, but this was a whole new level.

He was pale and shaking for at least an hour of him being home and out of his room. He avoided any food with the black stemmed rose-like buds, claiming to not be hungry when he hasn't left his room all day. He just smiled shakily that night, pretending nothing was wrong and claiming to just be tired. But his head drooped when he thought Jack and Maddie weren't looking. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced and he seemed to get worse the longer the night dragged.

Danny seemed nervous and on edge like something would come out to attack him. Which is silly, with our new defenses no ghost has left through our portal since they made these changes.

But, for some reason, he's more hesitant and distant from us. Like he expects us to hurt him.

Ridiculous.

I miss my baby boy. We used to be so close. I thought this would help him but it seems to have driven him further from me. I don't know what I did wrong.

[writer-in-theory]

you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened. 

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him. 

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape. 

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy. 

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though. 

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it. 

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore. 

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior. 

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’ 

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months. 

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first. 

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past. 

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same. 

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony. 

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know. 

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home. 

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too. 

[sebastianswallows]

Hello! Could I offer you a prompt? I often see fics about Ominis experiencing sight for the first time, but how about Slytherin!MC being the one afflicted with a temporary blindness, and now having to rely on Ominis for guidance, 'seeing' the world from his perspective? Maybe as a result of some unruly student's potion experiment? Thank you for your time and work!

Hello, nonny!

Thank you so much for an Ominis prompt! I love to write about this sweetest boy. And sorry this took so long, my dear 💚

Oh my though, I guess I don't read fics with him often enough, because I haven't noticed that many where he experiences sight. Not sure how I'd feel about those, because it... takes away from his character, sort of. I don't know.

Anyway! I have a fluffy little fic for you 😘 Hope you enjoy it!

I wrote it that it was all Garreth's fault, because of course.

— PAIRING: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.8k

She cursed Garreth all the way to the Hospital Wing. The classroom was left in deathly silence after the Gryffindoor’s latest experiment had literally exploded in her face. Professor Sharp seemed… worried, but not very shocked. Clearly, things like that had happened before — especially since Garreth had started studying at Hogwarts. For his part, the boy seemed horribly contrite, or so he sounded as he fretted over her. She suspected at least half of his regret was due to the inevitably harsh detention he had to look forward to — perhaps something even worse, if the damage to her eyes proved permanent.

As she made her way through the castle, leaning on Sebastian and Natty — who both insisted to go with her, the sweethearts — she could think of nothing else. She couldn’t see anything. The last thing she had seen was Garreth’s smouldering cauldron where he was pointing out the way a particular piece of snail shell was melting, and then a great big flash of green, then blackness. She had thought for a moment that she’d fainted, but then she realised her eyes were open. By the time they reached the Nurse, her heart was still pounding at such a frantic rate she thought she was going to be sick.

“Well, she’s blind alright,” said Nurse Blainey after performing a few charms.

“What did you think? That I was lying?!”

“I will wring Garreth’s scrawny little nec—”

“Watch your tongue, Mr Sallow.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Natty in the most politely-frustrated voice she’d ever heard.

There followed a long discussion about what had caused it, which required them to bring Professor Sharp there — who, to his shame, hadn’t exactly been aware of what his students were doing — then Garreth — who also wasn’t sure what had happened with his potion, but he could at least list the ingredients he’d used.

All the while, she waited there in silence, hearing voices all around, footsteps echoing close and far, and tense, worried conversations. The Nurse had placed her in one of the beds in the corner while they decided what to do with her. Natty and Sebastian stayed by her side, quarrelling over what potions they could brew to cure her until she had to tell them to shut up.

By the time classes were done for the day, the Nurse had reached the conclusion that Garreth’s failed experiment, while exceedingly dangerous, would not affect her sight for long. Only a few weeks.

“A few weeks?!”

“Yes, two or three. Four if you’re unlucky.” She could hear the woman shrug.

“What am I supposed to do for three weeks? How can I study? How—”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re not our only blind student. I’m sure Mr Gaunt can be of some help to you during this time.”

She recoiled at hearing it. “I don’t want to be a burden to—”

“Nonsense,” said Sebastian from somewhere behind her. “Ominis would do it happily!”

“I would,” said the boy. A pause followed as everyone else realised he’d entered the room. From the sound of it, he was standing a few feet in front of her.

The Nurse was happy with this arrangement, which meant fewer responsibilities for her. Professor Sharp breathed a sigh of relief, after which he promised to write to her parents and inform them. Sebastian and Natty, meanwhile, were disgustingly supportive, trying all the while to cheer her up. She shunned all of them, and would only go back to the Common Room with Ominis.

“Do you wish to have dinner first?” he asked quietly as they walked out of the Hospital Wing arm in arm.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled. “…Wait, are you?”

Ominis chuckled. “Could send Sebastian out to the kitchens to bring us something… He would do it. Careful, stairs.”

They went down step-by-step, and all through the castle, and after what felt like too long they finally made it to the Slytherin Common Room. She knew she was slowing them down, and Ominis didn’t deny it, but he was supportive the whole way — and not in that fretful, exaggerated, compensatory way Sebastian and Natty were, and not in the anxious manner of Garreth…

If Ominis was worried about her condition, he didn’t show it. As cool and calm as the lake, as sturdy as the rock Hogwarts was built on, he was by her side from the first moment.

The first order of business, while Sebastian fetched them a late dinner, was for her to learn the echolocation spell Ominis used to walk around.

“No, don’t hold it pointing down,” he said as he guided her hand. “Straight forward is better.”

“But what if I stumble onto something?”

“The spell will detect it in time.”

“Well I’m not feeling anything yet…”

“Just… try to cast it harder.”

“Cast it harder? You’re terrible at teaching spells. I want Sebastian back.”

“Yes, well, Sebastian can’t cast it,” mumbled Ominis.

“What can’t I cast?” asked the boy as he dashed into the Common Room.

She could already smell ham and cheese and the salty-sweet aroma of cold sausages. Two plates clinked as Sebastian placed them on the table by the fireplace, where she and Ominis were standing.

“My echolocation spell.”

“Ah yes, can’t cast that,” he said, followed by the soft floof of him plopping on the sofa.

They didn’t make much progress on that first night. His wand was far more accustomed to performing it than hers — but the promise of being able to learn it helped her sleep that night, after an hour or so of crying in fear and anger.

Waking up the next day was disorienting. She felt herself wake, she felt her eyes open, but not seeing anything seemed so… unreal. She nearly panicked all over again. Being in the dungeons, there was no sunlight to feel on her skin to let her know whether it was even morning, but then she heard the other girls shuffling around the room.

Imelda led her to the washroom, and later helped her dress — and for once, she didn’t have a snarky thing to say.

“Must be quite a nightmare,” the girl commented in what she perhaps imagined to be a sympathetic tone. “Can’t imagine flying in this state…”

“Yes, well, thanks Imelda, neither can I…”

She was relieved to hear Ominis’ voice again when she came downstairs.

“Over here!”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, arms stretched in front of her in what she was sure must’ve been comical.

“You have a distinctive magical echo.”

“Do I…?”

“And Sebastian told me.”

“Morning,” the boy grinned from behind his friend.

Still, Ominis must certainly have been good at detecting where she was, because she felt his hand cup hers within seconds.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Just followed the sound of your voice,” he smiled.

“It all sounds the same to me…”

“You might think it does now, but eventually you’ll find it’s easy to tell distance by sound… The whole castle has very good acoustics for this sort of thing, in fact.”

“You make it seem so easy,” she smiled, her eyes tearing up at the sheer scope of all she had to learn to just survive the next few weeks.

“I promise you’ll find it easy too,” said Ominis, placing his warm hand on top of hers as she held his arm. “Open fields, now that can be an issue. But inside, here? You’ll get used to it in no time.”

Sebastian followed them for breakfast, but walked at a bit of a distance, letting Ominis explain things. Going to the Great Hall was a bit faster today than going to the dungeons had been the day before. She walked a bit more confidently already…

Breakfast was spent learning more about judging distance by sound.

“Here, now you try,” said Ominis, handing her a jug of pumpkin juice and an empty glass.

He’d just demonstrated how easily she could guess when a cup was close to filling by the sound the liquid made as it was poured — from a deep sound to a high one. She filled it just the right amount.

“That’s very good!”

“Really?” she grinned.

Feeling around the plate with the cutlery was done easily enough, but finding out what each pile of food held relied more on her sense of smell…

“Ah, I… wouldn’t recommend that.”

“What did I just pick up in my spoon?”

“What does it smell like to you?” asked Ominis with a little smile.

“Mashed potatoes…?”

“Well, I just hope you like parsnip porridge.”

And getting food onto her plate presented another difficulty… A few sausages rolled away before she gave up and picked them up with her hands rather than the fork, her knife kept slipping and clanging loudly on the plate whenever she cut into something, and her fingers landed in mustard sauce more than once.

After a little trial and error and a bit more cursing, she finally managed to get something she really liked. She moaned with pleasure, but it was cut short by Sebastian’s giggling.

“Whot?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Nothing,” he said with an obvious smile.

“What did you take?” asked Ominis curiously.

“It’s a seed cake,” she said defensively. “Just a little syrupy, that’s all.”

Sebastian laughed into his fist.

“What?”

“Nothing!” he said again. “Just… always thought you hated spotted dick.”

“Ewww!”

By the time breakfast was over, she was more angry than upset. Ominis considered it an improvement — at least she wasn’t on the verge of crying anymore. He supported her elbow with his hand as they walked out together. When the sounds of students passing by got louder, he felt her clinging to him more.

“Don’t be nervous…”

“Oh,” she said, her hand relaxing, “sorry.”

“It’s not just that,” he chuckled. “I could hear your breathing pick up, and your footsteps too, as if you were stomping on the ground.”

“It’s that obvious?!”

“It is,” he nodded. “For instance, how do you think I feel now?”

She sighed, feeling completely at sea as they walked together to class, in a direction she couldn’t tell, surrounded by noisy students — and Ominis was testing her.

“I don’t know… Calm, I suppose.”

“Why is that?”

“Your voice is low, and your arm is steady, and… and I can hear you smiling when you speak.”

“That’s quite good,” he chuckled.

What Ominis didn’t say was that he also felt worried about her, and worried about how useful he could be in these following weeks, how good of a guide or a teacher… He thought that it was obvious from his clipped tone and his lingering silences, but was glad to be proven wrong.

The first class of the day was, predictably, horrible. They had Charms, and the girl could scarcely follow the instructions on wand movements, had no idea whether the egg she was given had been shrunken and enlarged according to instructions, and was left feeling around for it awkwardly in order to tell where it was.

“How do you even know where to point your wand?” she sighed frustratedly.

“That’s where the echolocation spell will come in useful,” said Ominis from beside her. “It’s not just the direction, but the depth as well, how far something is from you.”

“We have to practice that more,” she grumbled, waving her wand uselessly. “Undercroft, after class.”

They ended up spending every break in their schedule that day in their secret room, with Ominis placing random obstacles in front of her while she tried and tried and… finally succeeded in making her wand cast the spell. It was just before they had to go to dinner.

“I did it!”

“Not bad,” said the boy — and she could hear his voice approaching, could hear his steps resounding in tighter and tighter echoes. “The cast is still pretty weak though…” She could tell he had his hand in front of her wand, judging the strength of the pulse for himself.

“It’s such a strange sensation… I can feel the shape of your hand in mine, through the wand, but it’s…”

“It’s a bit blurred, isn’t it?” he smiled.

“Yes, as if… as if through a fog.”

“Well, I’ve never seen fog,” Ominis chuckled, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

They went to dinner together and this time she walked on her own, holding her own wand in front. She grinned at being able to sense Ominis’ own echolocation spell, like rings on the face of a lake meeting each other.

“Can you feel people’s features with this spell?” she asked quietly as they entered the Great Hall.

“Not particularly… The size of someone, perhaps, but it is not so fine as to tell you what somebody looks like.”

“Can you tell the difference between, for instance, Sebastian and Garreth?”

“Naturally,” he laughed. “Garreth smells of toxic fumes. Sebastian smells of Confringo.”

Although that dinner was still speckled with splashes of sauce and spilt pumpkin juice, each meal got easier as the week progressed. Her echolocation spell, as well, got stronger. She wasn’t exactly confident enough to run through Hogwarts’ halls, but she found it easier to avoid running into people — and not get bumped into either, as her hearing became better at picking up all motions around her.

Attending class was easier too. She soon learned how to take notes on her own, although she wasn’t sure when she’d get the chance to read them. Ominis taught her a neat trick of holding onto the inkwell and use her fingers to precisely dip her quill in it. To tell whether she’d taken enough ink, she could test it on her finger first and see if the tip felt wet.

“You’re sure you don’t want a self-writing quill?” he asked.

“I want it,” she said, but first I want to do this on my own.

Ominis smiled. “And keep track of the parchment too. Find something as a placeholder for where you left off. Don’t want to write on top of what you’ve already written.”

With his guidance, she mastered a fairly simple system of holding onto the parchment with one hand, finger poised on her last line, and then cupping the inkwell with the other before dipping her quill.

What she still had trouble with well into the second week was spellcasting.

“How… just… how?” she hissed, smacking her wand up and down during a particularly troublesome Transfigurations class.

She heard a subtle laugh, and knew that it was Ominis. “Having trouble?”

“How am I expected to transform this damned ferret into a feather duster when the damned thing keeps moving?!”

Ominis had mastered the spell quickly, she thought, as she could hear no more animal squeaks from his side. About half the class had finished, judging by the mix of sounds from satisfied students and ferret trills.

She felt a warmth approach her from the side. Ominis took gentle hold of her wrist.

“Here,” he said, “maintain the location spell, and do the motions of the transfiguration spell from your wrist.”

She tried it a few times, his hand constantly around her wrist.

“Listen to where the animal is too, don’t lose track of him in case he runs away.”

She grit her teeth and frowned, ready to give up, but with Ominis’s help, she finally managed to do it just before the class was done.

“Bloody annoying,” she sighed, dropping her wand to the desk and wiping her sweaty palm on her robes. “Thank you, Ominis,” she mumbled. “Doubt I could’ve done it without you…”

“You could have,” she heard him smile. “Just would’ve taken you longer.”

To help calm her nerves, the boy suggested they go for a walk around the lake.

They walked and walked until the sun set. They could feel it as the air cooled all around them, as the evening grew loud with nightbirds, as the grounds became silent with all the other students gone inside the castle…

It felt strange to walk beside Ominis like that, without a word, without a touch, only the quiet sound of his footsteps in the grass. The water of the lake lapped on the shore beside them in lazy little waves, stirred perhaps by the creatures underneath or the light breeze. It set her senses on fire to feel how different it was to have that large, cold body of water on one side, and the warm shape of Ominis on the other — because she could feel it, could feel every detail. Even the wet earth underfoot and the grass, the dead leaves and dry branches, they all had a scent of their own that filled her mind more than the mere image of them ever could. Although she missed her sight very much, she could not deny that she felt more connected to everything around her in this way…

Her hand reached out and took Ominis’s arm — his right one, where he held his wand. Not even needing to ask, he switched it to the other hand and held her palm in his.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, but from his tone, she could tell he wasn’t worried.

“No,” she said. “Just wanted to feel your hand.”

“Well, there it is,” he chuckled. “Bit clammy… Sorry about that. Always gets that way when I hold my wand too long.”

“Mine too,” she smiled.

Their fingers interlinked as they kept their slow walk around the edge of the Black Lake. A thought kept swirling in her head, and she was torn between giving voice to it or keeping it to herself. She didn’t know if Ominis could tell, but —

“What’s on your mind?”

— of course he could.

“How did you know?”

“I swear I can hear you thinking sometimes. It’s the same with Sebastian.”

She laughed, but said nothing.

“So?” he asked again. “What is it?”

Her hand tightened slightly around his. “I was wondering if you might seem to the touch the same way you look. The face, I mean, and all that…”

“Ah,” he said, his tone teetering somewhere between amused and nervous, “you want to try to… ‘see me’ with your hands?”

“Could I?” she asked, her face turning slightly toward him as if she could better detect how he was reacting to all of this.

“Only if I could do the same,” said Ominis with a tight smile.

They reached as far around the lake as the grounds permitted and sat together on one large, smooth rock. Beneath them, they could hear the lapping of the water, quiet and gentle, and owls hooting far off in the woods. It felt almost as if she were floating on air, cross-legged, far from the ground, with nothing surrounding her but the cool night.

They tucked their wands in their pockets and fiddled their thumbs, both too timid to start.

“Well, you asked,” said Ominis after a prolonged nibbling of his lips, “so you go first.”

“Alright,” she sighed, her mouth pulled up into a nervous smile.

She stretched her hands before her gently and was almost startled when they reached his chest. His school uniform was much like hers, a little rough, but well tended to. Moving upwards, she reached his neck, and quickly skipped it until she felt the smooth line of his jaw with both her hands. For no reason at all, her eyes closed. Perhaps it felt more peaceful that way…

His chin was delicate and pointed, leading up in soft angles to his ears. Moving inward, her thumbs traced his high cheekbones, his temples, his arched brows, then dipped delicately over his eyes — his were closed as well. She smiled as she tickled the surface of her fingers with his long lashes.

“Well?” asked Ominis. “Is there a resemblance?”

“I think so,” she smiled. “You look the way you feel.”

“Oddly poetic of you,” he chuckled.

Her hands slid slowly down his face, framing his slightly long nose, falling then to his lips, soft and full. She gasped at feeling them, noting things she never realised before: how delicate they were, how defined, and slightly dry… She traced down to his chin again when she felt them part.

“Yes, I suppose that’s you,” she joked. Her giggles filled the tense air around them. She could feel him smile against her fingertips.

“My turn now,” said Ominis.

She squeezed her hands in her lap as she waited, and then the boy surprised her by cupping her face and slowly bringing them together, covering her like a mask.

He felt her from chin to forehead, taking in the full plains of her features, before he began to touch them each in part. He brushed her eyebrows upward, traced the shape of her eyes, ran his finger delicately down her nose to the tip, and brushed his thumb against her lips while his other hand caressed a broad path from her forehead to her jaw. She felt very thoroughly known after this…

They walked back to the castle in silence, hand-in-hand. As they did, she noticed in herself a feeling of… peace, of not caring anymore that she couldn’t see. She missed the colours of everything around, of course, the beams of light, the peaceful glow of the Slytherin dorms, the star-filled sky at night, but she didn’t feel like she lacked anything anymore.

That made it all the more shocking when, three and a half weeks into her blindness, she began to see vague shapes of light. Ominis’ thin face bloomed into a smile when she told him. She could see it in spite of the cloudiness of her vision.

She still used the echolocation spell to get around, and breakfast became easier, but the blending of shapes and colours so overwhelmed her senses that often she would close her eyes when she wished to concentrate.

It was probably for the best, as she fell behind on her coursework and had never gotten to practice reading Braille with Ominis. Her notes, she now could tell, were atrocious, and her fingers were horribly stained even now.

As the days passed, her vision gradually improved, and by the end of the fourth week, she was almost back to normal. Her eyes teared, unused to all the details.

“Come now, no need to cry over it,” said Ominis with an awkward laugh. They were returning from another visit to the Hospital Wing, where the Nurse had checked her progress.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffled. “How could you tell, anyway?”

“You mean aside from your voice being all choked up and your breathing irregular? Just a lucky guess.”

“I’m just feeling… too much, I think.”

Ominis took her hand in his. “I know,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll miss it too.”

And she didn’t need to ask what he meant.

[professionaldrider]

TAKING NOTES: ROB LUCCI X READER SMUT

REQUESTS OPEN ON MY AO3 : Dear_Oh_Dear

“Y/N!!!” Someone yelled out, startling a young woman who was sleeping right on her desk. Was she supposed to be writing a paper? Yes. Was she doing that? No- but Y/n couldn't help it! It was just so boring. Though, it was the only job that would accept her due to, well, utterly embarrassing herself and messing up every single job that she ever had. There wasn't a place in Water 7 that she didn't work at that she didn't already get fired from in less than a day. So this job- working as a journalist was her last shot, and sleeping on the job wasn't really helping her.

Y/n got up hurriedly to where the voice called out from- Her boss's office. Y/n hesitantly opened the door to see a stern face.

“Y/n. I have a job for you, and you better do it or you're fired.” He spoke, and he sure was quick to the point. Y/n nodded hastily, a look of nervousness painted bee face.

“Yes boss!”

“Your job is to interview Rob Lucci, I'm sure you've heard of him- he's quite popular among you girls. Anyways, he already agreed to answer any question you ask, and I've prepared some for you, most of these were sent in through the mail by some fans, so you better get them answered.” He demands, “But some more info that you'll be needing to do…” he trails off as Y/n mind wanders elsewhere.

Ah yes, y/n, a young and aspiring journalist, was sent by the Mizu Mizu Newspaper Company to spend a day at the Galley-La shipwright company to interview some of the shipwrights about their job and other burning questions sent in by many fangirls and boys.

“And your tour guide is none other than..”

“Rob Lucci?!” Y/n blurts out as her boss just explained her job to her. Most of her questions were for him anyways so wouldn't it make sense for him to be her tour guide, right? Well, it wouldn't be as bad if she didn't have to ask questions like “Are you single”, “Are you a virgin?” Which were the most popular questions sent in by the people of water 7, had they no shame?! Now Y/n had to go on her way to invade the privacy of Rob Lucci, who could easily get her fired for asking such weird questions!

But

Y/n had to do it, or she's living on the streets!

“Fine…” Y/n said in defeat, and her boss handed her a notepad with pre written questions on them like a fill in the blank Q&A sheet, and the questions were a lot worse than she could imagine.

Her boss smiles at her as she accepted the job, “Well? Go on now! They're expecting you in about…” her boss looks to the clock “Ten minutes at Dock 1!”

.

.

.

“TEN MINUTES?!” Y/n yelled, turning on her heel and sprinting out of her boss's office in a hurry- it was a 20 minute walk if she wanted to be there in time!!

Everyone in the office had their heads turned at the sight of little ol’ Y/n running at such a pace. Murmurs filled the room until their boss yelled, “GET BACK TO WORK!”

Y/n didn't have any time to lose! Her high heels were clicking like a ticking time bomb that goes faster and faster per second as she ran, pushing past people with a pen and notepad in hand. She raced up the paths as fast as her legs would take her and in 8 minutes, she made it to Dock 1.

Y/n found herself in the bustling workplace, surrounded by the sights and smells of sawdust, wood glue, and freshly sawn timber. until a voice called out, “HEY! What the hell are you doing here?!” A blonde man with slicked back hair yells, pointing in the direction of Y/N and then he stopped to get a good look at her- “A tight pair of shorts, a crop top.. A LOW CUT SHIRT?!” the blonde yells, “YOU TEMPTRESS! GET OUT OF HERE!” He continues, until a familiar blue haired man walks out with an attractive black haired male. It was Mayor Iceburg and… And Rob Lucci!

Sweat trickled down the shipwrights' noses, as they labored under the glaring sun, their brows and clothing damp with perspiration. Their limbs were sturdy and their hands deft, as they hammered, sawed, and nailed the ship's timbers together. Their faces were lined with determination as they worked in unison to complete parts of different ships in a timely manner. The only sound that broke the silence was the sound of their tools striking the ship's lumber.

Y/n stays silent in surprise, unsure of what to do until-

“You must be Y/n!” A high pitched voice says, making Y/n look around in confusion at where the voice came from.

“You know her, Lucci?” The blonde asks, a cigar clenched in between his teeth.

“Lucci?” Y/n thinks to herself, “there's no way that that high pitched voice came from him!!”

Y/n looked to Lucci and the voice spoke again, “She's the journalist who was sent to interview me” but wait..Lucci’s mouth didn't move… was it the..

“THE BIRD TALKS?!” Y/n exclaims in surprise

“My name is Hattori! And yes I talk!” It spoke again.

“God that's actually scary” Y/n said to herself

Iceburg stays silent then turns around and walks back into the building awkwardly, mumbling to himself on the way.

“Alright, I'll give you a tour while we speak” Hattori continued as Lucci motioned Y/n to come forth.

Lucci led the way, as Y/n followed like a duckling. Lucci pointed at different places while Hattori spoke about what the place was and what the shipwrights did there.

As they walked, they eventually made it to an area where no one else was around and Hattori spoke up, breaking the silence, “Are you going to ask any questions? I don't think it's your job to stay silent while you get free tours..don't take this into any offense though” Lucci cocked a brow as if he was the on speaking and Y/n just looked down and sighed and finally mustered up the courage to open her notepad and speak up.

“are..are you single..?” She hesitated to speak, but she had to ask these stupid, stupid questions!

Lucci stopped walking and snapped his head to her.

“What?” Hattori said, flapping his wings like arms. Both Lucci and Hattori we're caught off guard.

Then, it went silent.

After about 30 seconds Lucci then finally spoke,“I am. Are these questions written down or..” Lucci bends down to meet Y/n face as he smirks, “or do you have an interest in me?” He said in his oh so handsome voice, it was enough to make any girl swoon from a single word of his alone. Though, Y/n did pick up a hint of cockiness in his tone.. Did he like this?

“they're written down but…What If I did have an interest in you?” Y/n replied in a flirty tone, which was so unlike her, but it just slipped out!

“Now, why would a newspaper have such personal questions to ask? Are you sure these aren't written directly from your desires, Y/n?” Lucci continues, standing up right again. He was tall. Much taller than the average person, standing at around 7 feet.

His voice was low and attractive and the way he purred your name made your blush instantly, he was like a tiger with a roar that rumbles far and wide, making stomachs drop, but it made your stomach feel..different.. As if butterflies were in them.

Lucci looked around to make sure no one was near, then he looks down to Y/n and presses his lips against hers, catching the poor woman off guard. As he pulled away, a trail of saliva connected their lips while Y/n's heart started to beat into her throat.

“Got any more questions?” Lucci asks, causing Y/n to fumble with her note pad to get a better look at it…

Oh

‘Are you a virgin?’

Y/n stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to ease her anxiety, “Are you…a virgin?” she whispers the last part in embarrassment and Lucci cocks a brow. He moved his hand to lightly cusp Y/n’s chin with his index finger, his pointer, and his thumb. He leaned in close and whispered, “Maybe not, but if you are, I can change that..”

Oh my god..

Y/n's face turned redder than a strawberry and couldn't even speak.

“Well, Y/n?” Lucci smirks and cups her face, “If you let me, I will. We're all alone..” He added on and Y/n nodded profusely.

The enthusiasm really turned Lucci on.

Lucci hurriedly picked her up with her crotch pressed against his. Y/n could feel his dick hardening at the contact, so she wrapped her legs around him to press against him more. Lucci let out a small groan and slammed her against the nearest wall. It was broad daylight, so anyone could walk on the two of them participating in such shenanigans.

At this point, they both were breathing shallow and faster than they were before. Y/n was a hot mess, clinging onto Lucci like an animal, and while it turned Lucci on more- they both needed to hurry up and fast.

Lucci slammed his lips onto Y/n, making out with her messily, his hands roaming her body. His dick was bulging from his pants and it was very apparent.

“Let me down.” Y/n moaned out from in between kisses and Lucci did as she said. As Y/n got down from being pinned to the wall, she instantly fell to her knees and looked up to Lucci.

“May I…?” Y/n begs, looking up to Lucci with puppy dog eyes. Lucci nods with a slight smirk, “You may”

Y/n slid down Lucci's pants to reveal black boxers with “GALLEY LA” printed all over it. Y/n let's out a small giggle as she also slides the boxers down- revealing Lucci's 8 inch cock, which slightly curved up with a brownish base. He had pubes, but they were closely shaved like his goatee. The size intimidated Y/n but she wrapped her lips around the tip and started taking small bits of his dick inside her warm mouth while her wet tongue cushioned his large and thin cock. Lucci placed his hand on Y/n's head grabbing a handful of hair to slightly tug on as she went down on him.

Y/n began to start bobbing her head a little faster on his dick as seconds passed. She could only take a both 5 inches of him until Lucci started to slowly push her head down as she sucked him off, but not enough to make her gag or get her hurt (barely).

“Y/n..are you taking notes, surely this will answer some of your questions…” Lucci said getting closer and closer to his climax.

“Y/n I'm getting close..” Lucci added on and just then he released his semen onto her throat, and she swallowed every last drop.

“Oh my..i forgot to take notes..maybe we might have to redo everything so I can finally write it down?” Y/n said playfully

[fuck-customers]

Ok hi hello, how the FUCK are we supposed to reach the "goal" if we're literally not told what the fucking goal is? And wtf is this passive-aggressive bullshit?

So my work has one of those phone number scams where they make us bully customers into giving us their phone number to have in our computer system that does not benefit the customers in any way. No rewards. No discounts. Nothing.

SO I had assumed that the register system automatically kept track of how many signups we were getting and all that shit. Literally what's the point if it's not? I still don't know. All I know is last week, one of the managers said "we're going to start keeping track of signups again" and I was like you weren't doing that the whole time?? Why the fuck did I bother doing the stupid ass signups for all that time then?

ANYWAY

The point of today's story is this:

I go into the breakroom at work and there's a printout of all of us employees and our phone number percentages. (employee numbers only, at least we weren't 100% put on blast, but it wouldn't be that difficult to narrow down which number was whose) with the employees who were under a certain percentage highlighted with a passive-aggressive note written that these employees need to reach "the goal."

1. WHAT fucking goal? Nowhere on this stupid public shaming attempt does it have any indication what the goal is that were supposedly working towards. Are we trying to reach 50% signups? 60%? 70%? Fuck if I know.

2. Even if there WAS a numbered goal, there's no way for the cashiers to know if they're hitting the goal or not until the week's results have been printed out and posted, which it appears management intends on doing. It's not like the registers have a little percentage in the corner so we can keep track of our own progress. Literally only management has access. So we have to blindly hope that we're reaching this unspecified goal.

3. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever to post that information to shame us. None of us were informed that we were supposed to be working towards any goal at all.

And 4. Ok so let's say we reach this mystery goal....and? What? What is that going to do for us? Or we don't reach the goal? And? So what? Management has lied in the past about if our numbers go up, so will our hours and that was a fucking lie.

I cannot stress enough just how useless the phone number thing is. It is not a store credit card signup where customers have to get approved or anything like that. The customer gets absolutely nothing out of providing their personal information. If they want coupons or discounts or rewards, they have to download the store app onto their phone. We cannot access any rewards or discounts on the register. At first, managers tried to lie to customers to say that if they provided their phone number, they could do returns without a receipt.

Except...you can do a return without a receipt no matter what. It's the exact same process/policy for every single customer. Whether or not they provide their phone number, every single customer doing a return without a receipt will automatically get the lowest price for those items in the last 90 days back. Period. There's not even a way to pull up old transactions from a customer's phone number if they lost their receipt. It is 100% useless. I personally suspect there's something shady going on and the company is selling customer's personal information or tracking their spending habits for advertising or something sketchy.

So anyway, someone who definitely was not me wrote a note back telling them to tell us what the goal was or else we cannot reach it.

If you decide you want to fudge the numbers a bit here are some random numbers to use.

Buena Vista Water Sports 407-239-6939 Sky Venture 407-903-1150 Orange Blossom Balloons 407-239-7677 Kennedy Space Center 407-522-5911 Silver Springs 352-236-2121 Cypress Gardens 1-863-324-2111 Fun Spot 407-363-3867 Gator Land 1-800-393-jaws or 407-855-5496 Green Meadows Petting Farm 407-846-0770 Holy Land Experience 1-866-872-4659 or 407-872-2272 Orlando Science Center 407-514-2000 WonderWorks 407-351-8800 Ripley’s Believe it or Not 407-345-0501 Boggy Creek Airboats 407-344-9550 Orlando Museum of Art 407-896-4231 Central Florida Zoo 407-323-4450 Leu Gardens 407-246-2620 Old Town 407-383-6126 Daytona USA 1-386-947-6530 Wekiwa Springs State Park 407-884-2008 Richard Petty Driving Experience 1-800.BE.PETTY Jungleland Zoo 407-396-1012 US Astronaut Hall of Fame 1-321-269-6100 Magical Midway 407-370-5353 Citrus Tower 1-863-324-2111 Sky Coaster 407-397-2509 Scenic Boat Tour of Winter Park 407-644-4056 Orlando Helitours 407-397-0226 Star Flyer (located at magical midway) 407-383-6124 Dotties Orlando Comedy Theatre 407-226-3680 192 Flea Market 407-396-4555 Visitors Flea Market 407-396-0114 Maingate Flea Market 407-390-1015 Medieval Times Dinner Show 407-396-1518 or 1-888-WE JOUST Pirates Dinner Adventure 407-248-0590 or 1-800-866-2469 Sleuths Mystery Dinner Show 407-363-1985 or 1-800-393-1985 Capone’s Dinner Show 407-397-2378 or 1-800-220-8428 Arabian Nights 407-239-9223 Walt Disney World Resort 1-800-W-Disney or 407-824-2222 Hoop Dee Doo Review 407-WDW-DINE Wide World of Sports (407) 939-2040 Disney’s Polynesian Luau 407-WDW-DINE Sea World 1-800-327-2424 or 407-351-3600 Discovery Cove 1-800-327-2424 or 407-351-3600 Universal Orlando Resort 407-363-8000

[bluerose5]

Random Scene #50 for my Fenris Rook Playthrough

“Isabela!” Fenris made a beeline for her once he arrived at the Hall of Valor, picking up the pace as he approached. “I got your message. What's going—”

He grunted when, all of a sudden, someone crashed into him full-force, their arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

His hand twitched towards his greatsword, but he froze when he heard that familiar voice.

“Fenris, by the Creators, it's so good to see you!” Merrill exclaimed.

Isabela cleared her throat, both Fenris and Merrill glancing over at her.

“Kitten, remember what we said about Fenris’ personal space?”

“Oh, right!” Merrill shrank away from him, her ears drooping as she gave them a sheepish smile. “Sorry! It's just—” She gestured wildly between them, bouncing a little on her feet, her ears quick to perk back up again. “It's been so long!”

“A few years since we last met up, yes,” Fenris agreed. He had to admit, with everything they were up against, he was glad to see a familiar face, and now wasn't the time to let pride get in the way of that. “It's… good to see you, Merrill. Truly.”

She beamed at him.

“Well, you have Isabela to thank for that. She told me that—”

“There's a lot of stuff going to shit right now, and we need as many hands on deck as we can get," Bela interjected.

“Yeah, that!” Merrill nodded, her hands clasped together in excitement. “She said that you need experts on ancient elven magic, our artifacts, the Fade, so… Here I am!”

“Yeah, here you are,” Fenris sighed, “and you're welcome to join us. We'll take whatever help we can get for this fight.”

“Right. This fight. Our fight against the Evanuris,” Merrill stated. She took a deep breath, nice and slow, yet it did nothing to help. Her face fell. “Against the elven gods. Creators, how—how did it all go so wrong?!”

The instant her voice cracked, Isabela rushed forward to hug her, brushing her hair back from her face while she whispered to her.

Fenris averted his eyes when he heard her sob, not knowing the right words to comfort her.

Perhaps because there were none.

After Bela managed to calm her, Merrill's presence only sparked another question for Fenris.

He glanced between them, curious.

“Have either of you heard from…?” He trailed off, but he didn't need to finish the question for them to know who he was referring to.

Both of them exchanged a wary look, then shook their heads.

“Not for a while,” Isabela said.

“Last we spoke,” Merrill mumbled, “he was still searching.”

Scouring the Fade then.

Searching for Hawke.

“Shame,” Fenris huffed. “As much as I hate to admit it, we could use a Warden right now with his experience.”

“Unless the Hero of Ferelden picked him up again, give me some time, and I'll see what I can do,” Isabela promised.

Merrill clapped her hands.

“Can't believe our crew is going to be fighting alongside each other again!” With a wince, she grimaced, her brow furrowed. “Well, most of us anyways.”

They would have to make do.

[queenuchiha89]

Could you do like a Stu x Reader where Stu as ghostface sneaks into readers house and fucks her? (Awake or asleep)

Ask and you shall receive! Hope you enjoy! 🙃

*** NSFW ***

*** 18+ MINORS DNI ***

*** TW. DARK CONTENT ***

⚠️ WARNING: This story contains noncon, unprotected sex, forced cream pie, choking, knife play, and lewd language. Reader discretion is STRONGLY ADVISED!!! ⚠️

It was a cool spring night in the town of Woodsboro, and the majority of the town's population were peacefully asleep. All except Stu Macher of course. He had been stalking his target for weeks. Learning her schedule, her interests, hobies and routines. Studying her. Like so many nights before, Stu silently made his way into her house using the not so hidden spare key under a potted plant on her back porch. This night was not like the rest, however. His desire for her had reached it's breaking point and he could no longer resist the urge to take her.

After letting himself in, he makes his way up the stairs, down the hall, and quietly into Y/N's bedroom. He stood there for a moment, admiring her form as he watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. He crept up behind her patiently waiting until he felt the time was just right before jumping on top of her and forcefully cupping his gloved hand over her mouth tightly to muffle her screams. Y/N's eyes grow wide as she's forced awake by none other than Ghostface. As she beings to struggle against him, Stu aggressively presses his knife to her throat. "Try to scream and I'll cut your fucking throat... Understand?" Y/N's weeping eyes looked up at his masked face and nodded swiftly in agreeance. He slowly began to run the tip of the blade down her side to the line of her panties and with one swift movement, cut them away from her body. He yanked the thin lace panties off her, and forcefully shoves them into her mouth, gagging her. She writhed under him, trying to fight him off to no avail.

Stu looks down at Y/N's eye wide with terror, as he pins her hands to the bed over her head and drags the blade over her erect nipples. "I bet, if I touch you right now... You're already wet..." He says to her, and a faint red blush creeps across Y/N's cheeks. Stu smirks behind his mask at the shame clearly showing on her reddened cheeks, and he drops the knife beside her on the bed. His gloved hand trailed down her body to her warm center, and slide two of his fingers inside of her. Y/N gasped from the sensation, as he slowly removed his fingers. "See... You are enjoying this... Aren't you?" He laughs as he shows her how slick his gloved fingers are simply to humiliate her. Stu could no longer resist, he had to have her. He removed his throbbing cock from under his black robe, and forcefully pushed himself inside her. His sizeable cock stretched out her walls and she felt the burn from him tearing her upon entry.

Y/N whimpered in pain as Stu began thrusting mercilessly into her, taking her viciously. He reached over, picking up the knife once more and dug the tip into her chest, a small bead of scarlet forming as he broke the skin. Her muffled cries and whimpers only fueled his need to fill her up, and he fucked into her harder, hungry for release. "fuck, I'm going to fill up that pretty little pussy, slut... Isn't that what you fantasize about anyway?" Stu says in a low and sadistic tone. Y/N shakes her head back and forth violently, lying about all the times she's fantasized about Ghostface breaking in and taking her just as he was now. As hard as she tried to fight it, she felt her body tense, as her walls gripped around his cock, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge of her own climax. "Don't fight it slut... Cum for me." He demanded, knife pushed tightly against her throat. Y/N had no choice as her body betrayed her, and she shook as she came, her tight walls pulsing around him. With a few final thrusts, Stu's cock twitched and shot rope after rope of his hot cum deep inside her womb.

As Stu got off of her, she had no time to react, and she watched as he disappeared into the darkness, leaving her there to her own thoughts and fears. As she got up to walk to the bathroom and wash herself off, she found a note laying in the hallway.

"if you're good... I may come back one day, and give you a good fuckin'"

She blushed as she tossed the note into the small trash can, and looked herself over in the mirror. Y/N wouldn't be making any reports anytime soon....

[meabh-mcinness]

Cheating (KalegoxGN!reader)

Main Masterlist

As a teacher at Babyls, you had to go through and experience many things. Demon-eating plants on the loose, potion labs blowing up, and the many, many events that Babyls put on and almost always had something go wrong before you, the teachers, had to fix it. In the few years you had been there, you thought you had gone through it all, until now.

For the first time ever, you had caught a student cheating.

I…yea. Look I'm not a teacher, yet at least (I'm getting a minor in education and intend to teach both ESL and probably biology (which is my major) and palaeontology (which is my Master's/PhD's) but the amount of AI generated essays I've seen as an undergraduate writing centre tutor and is just grrrrrrr. Anyway have my little rant fic.

"Do you know why I've asked you to stay behind?"

A smile stayed on your face as you stared directly into the eyes of the student before you. As a human, you had long mastered the look of a hard stare while still appearing to be friendly. When the student, a fourth year by the name of Muzuki, had first come up to you after class, they had been cocky, confident. The absolute picture of unwarranted hubris if there ever was one. And so you sat comfortably in your chair, a nice soft leather from some poor Netherworld beast that Kalego had kindly bought for you, quietly waiting for Muzuki to answer your question as you continued staring at them. The longer you stared, the less comfortable they became.  

A shake of the head, purple braids swinging with the force of it. An eyebrow raised as the silence continued. "Really? None at all?" Your own head tilted to the side slightly, a smile still set on your face as you waited. Another more hesitant head shake followed. A disappointed sigh left you, and your body shifted forward so that you could reach a small stack of papers just off to the side and slid into their view. Their eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as they quickly glanced over the top laying paper, before freezing up a little. "Perhaps this gives you a hint?" 

They tried to subtly shake themselves loose and continue to hold up that faked confidence. Lower jaw set stubbornly, but you could see that fear was in their eyes. And that was all you needed to pounce.

“Tell me Muzuki, do you think I’m stupid?” They visibly startled at the question, body jerking slightly in surprise at they looked back you again. You could see their mind racing as they quickly thought up an answer.

“No professor,” they settled on. You hummed in response.

“Then do you think you’re exceptionally deceptive? I’ll admit it’s an admirable trait to have in the Netherworld. To con others into giving you what you want is a way to ensure survival after all. Until of course,” you paused smiling slipping off your face and eyes narrowing at them, “you try to con the wrong person.” You watched as their body froze up; terror evident on their face before they mentally shook themselves and stood taller.

It was evident to you that they couldn’t understand why they feared you so much at that moment. After all, even if you were related to the great Sullivan, you were just some no-ranker. Supposedly not even worthy enough to receive an alef badge much less heranking like the student before you. What a shame that the demon culture never understood that sometimes, a rank meant nothing in the face of what someone could do.

While you hated making a student fear you, you also understood that this message really needed to sink in. You couldn’t let students think you could be taken advantage of, not if you wanted to remain a good teacher. And you also couldn’t let them think they could get away with everything, there were so many beings out there who would do far worse things to them if they had been deceived.

“Con, professor?” they asked, trying to keep a smirk on their face but you could see the slight tremors moving through their body that belied how they really felt.

“Yes Muzuki. Con. In this case, defined as trying to trick someone into believing something that is not true. Such as you writing this essay.” Muzuki started to open their mouth, but you held up your hand to pause them. “Don’t even bother. I’m well aware that you didn’t write this. The tone and style are far too different from your usual works, and at least three of the supposed sources you gave me do not exist. At all. And believe me I looked. I even contacted different clans to see if they had heard of the books because I wanted to believe that you wouldn’t cheat. And yet here we are.” You gestured between the two of you, a look of fear creeping on their face and a disappointed one on yours.

“I didn’t cheat,” they blurted out suddenly. You raised an eyebrow at them.

“Oh?”

“Yeah! Those sources are real books! You couldn’t find them because uhm because they belong to the Naberius clan! Yup, you know Kalego-sensei. He’s super grouchy but he always helps us in the end if we ask. And since this essay was on the particulars of summoning runes, I thought he would be good to ask.” They ended this sentence with a firm nod. You blinked at them. Once, twice, and thrice again as you tried to comprehend what they just said. Were…were they serious?

“You asked…Kalego-sensei?” you parroted back at them. More violent nods were your answer. So, they were being serious. As far as backup claims went, you could see how it could come about. There were just a few obvious issues with what they were saying. For example, “Why didn’t you ask Robin-sensei? The actual familiar teacher?”

“Well…Robin-sensei is new. Like you are professor, and to be honest I feel more comfortable asking Kalego sensei since he used to run the class. It’s a habit to think of him as the familiar teacher rather than Robin-sensei. Plus, I figured with such an amazing familiar as Cerberion combined with his old and high-ranking family line he had to have something worth checking out.” You slowly nodded your head, mostly in disbelief rather than actually agreeing with what they were saying. If you hadn’t known already known that the Naberius family had no such books, you could see it as a liable thing happening.

What a shame that you knew it wasn’t true since Kalego allowed you full access to the Naberius library. When his family wasn’t home of course. No need to have to deal with the drama fallout that would come if his family discovered that Kalego had feelings.

“I see. Yes. Kalego-sensei is rather helpful, isn’t he? Always so ready to lend a hand to those willing to ask for it.” Muzuki nodded more, so fast that their braids practically whipped around in a frenzy. It appeared they were really going to fight you on this. You admired their tenacity and their bravery to involve Kalego of all demons. A grin lit up your face, “In fact, since this is clearly just a misunderstanding why don’t we just call him over here?”

You watched as their face went through a series of emotions. First pride and relief at believing they had in fact tricked you, before confusion set in before finally landing in panic mode as your words sunk in.

They waved their hand about, “Well I mean there’s no need for that is there? It’s just like you said it was simply a misunderstanding. I’m sure Kalego-sensei is really busy right now and I would hate to bother him for something so small.”

“Nonsense! It’s like we agreed earlier, Kalego-sensei is always willing to lend a helping hand, and it wouldn’t be too much to tear him away from whatever work he is currently doing just to confirm this. Between you and me he could use some more breaks and since this is such a simple thing, he can be in and out and still get a few minutes’ rest from it to get back to work with a fresher mind. A win-win all around wouldn’t you say?”

The grin on your face was downright feral and you knew it. Briefly you wondered how far they would take this. After all, Kalego would never tolerate being used in a lie for something so insignificant as this. Honestly, there wasn’t much Kalego would allow someone to lie using him. You liked to think he would lie to keep you out of jail but that was a 50/50 shot depending on what happened to cause you to be arrested in the first place. Perhaps best not to chance it.

It took only a second for you to shoot off a text to Kalego’s phone and lean back in your chair, hands clasping in front of you. A second for the student to realize what exactly had just happened and you watched their eyes. Pure panic was enveloping them. The predator in you purred at causing the feeling and you understood why Kalego acted so spitefully so often. It really was a nice feeling.

It was only a minute of you and Muzuki staring at one another before you heard the clunking steps of Kalego’s boots. Ah, he was not in a happy mood for you to hear him. You suddenly felt pretty bad for Muzuki considering what you were about to unleash on him. The door to your room was slammed open and in walked the demon in question. You could practically see the dark shadows of anger flowing off of him; his lips pulled into a snarl. Muzuki shrunk into themselves at his look but you could only just barely control yourself from rolling your eyes at him. If this were an anime you were almost certain there would be a giant sweat drop on your head at Kalego.

“What,” he snarled at you, teeth on full display. This time you actually did roll your eyes before crooking a finger at him. A universal command to ‘come hither’. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Muzuki stare at you in horror at your blatant lack of fear towards Kalego, along with your audacity to actually command him. To be fair though, Muzuki wasn’t the one courting the growling menace before you, and this allowed you leeway. A lot of leeway.

“Afternoon sunshine!” you greeted him with a bright smile, the answering glare he gave in return being as much of greeting as you were going to get with witnesses about, especially while he was in a mood. Ignoring his sour mood you gestured towards your student who was still staring in terror at you. Likely believing this interaction will result in your death. “Muzuki-san here and I were just having a little discussion here and we just needed you to confirm something for me.”

Kalego raised an eyebrow at you, head tilting the slightest bit in his curiosity, before his eyes narrowed again. “And this required me coming all the way out here? Are you not a teacher? Confirm it yourself rather than wasting my time.” Another roll of your eyes came out. All the way out here was literally down the hall. It was rather convenient having your classroom only a couple hundred feet from the teacher’s room. Especially when it came to annoying your favourite demon.

“Unfortunately, it does require you to be here as it involves you. Muzuki-san here claims that you lent them books to help with their project. Directly from the Naberius library.”

“I did.”

It took every ounce of control for you not to do a double take, but the smile on your face did drop. He did what?

“I’m sorry?”

“I lent them three books from the family library.” He turned his glare over to Muzuki, “Of which I have yet to receive back.” Muzuki quickly caught onto his meaning and immediately started digging around in their bag producing three books. Each one was wrapped in beautiful leather of varying colours with gold designs embellishing them. It took everything not to drop your jaw at the sight. On the one hand you were glad the books were real ones, on the other hand you now had to apologize for saying they made them up.

Watching the books as they turned slightly you suddenly realized something. A smirk grew on your face. “I see, my apologized Muzuki, for assuming that Kalego-sensei didn’t lend you books about summoning runes. This clearly was-”

“Summoning runes?” Kalego interrupted. You turned your head back to look at him, putting on the most innocently confused face you could muster.

“Why yes, that is of course, what the essay I assigned was on. Or rather more precisely the history of evolution and modern applications and interpretations of summoning runes. We had a slight misunderstanding that they cheated on their essay, since the writing was so different from previous ones and the sources they used were ones I couldn’t find. They’ve assured me that they do exist and that they came from your library. That is the books they asked for from you, is it not? Or at least somewhere along those lines?” You watched with hidden glee as Muzuki froze at your words and Kalego’s sharp eyes trained onto them like a hunting dog before its prey.

Gotcha.

“No,” Kalego drawled out slowly and you saw his eyes glinting with understanding, “it is not. These books are on potions, which has little to do with runes.” Which you knew, because you had read those specific ones before.

“Oh really,” you said, locking your own eyes onto the now terrified student. “What a surprise. Are there any other books they borrowed from you?”

“No.”

You hummed in understanding, slowly getting up to walk around your desk and lean against it with your arms crossed in front of your chest. “Muzuki, I think it would be best if you told the truth now. Don’t you?”

___________________

“An auto pen!” you shrieked as soon as the door shut. Muzuki had spilled everything before being reprimanded by the both you and assigned detentions for the next two weeks. They also had an automatic zero on the paper and considering it was worth 15% of their grade, well things weren’t looking too good in your class for them right now. “A pen that automatically writes essays for them! That does everything for them! If I hadn’t noticed the writing style and checked the sources who knows how many assignments they would have gotten away with! How many others are currently doing it? Delkira above I’m going to have to carefully go over each and every thing they’ve all handed in to me again. Just to make sure others didn’t do it!” You were a snarling mess, teeth bared in anger as you paced back in forth in front of your desk, Kalego sitting calmly on one of the student’s tables as you essentially lost your marbles over this.

“I mean seriously! Why did they think it was ok! It’s not like I asked for much! Three weeks to write 1500 words and they decided to have a stupid pen do it for them! I have so many students out there pouring their heart and soul into these papers, weeks of their time down the drain so that they can get what they feel is the perfect paper. Then people like Muzuki think its ok to wait till the last minute and just have something else do it for them! It makes me want to scream!” In fact you did scream, a small aggravated yell tore from your throat at the end of the sentence, hands thrown in the air.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? I thought you of all people would be spitting fire over…this.” You turned to face him properly as you once again passed right in front of the demon and faltered in what you were saying at the look on his face. To an outsider he would have been completely unrecognizable. His dark eyes were soft as they stared at you and his lips were turned up in a small smile. You felt your heart clench at the look and everything in you melted. Pale fingers reached out the short distance and hooked under your belt, pulling you closer to him so that you were so close you might as well be sharing breath.

His other hand lifted up and caressed the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “I love seeing you like this.” Was all he said as you leaned into the touch.

You couldn’t help the small snort of laughter at the sentence. “What? Angrier than a hydra whose nest had been messed with?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes in exasperation at you, “No you fool, caring about your students. You treat them like your own younglings most times but never let it stop you from doing what needs to be done. You’re so angry because you care about them and want them to succeed. If Muzuki had actually written that essay, you would probably be throwing around praises like no tomorrow. And I’ll be everything that when you see them next, you’re probably going to have them write an extra credit essay to retain some of that grade. Even if I do think you should let them sink.”

A flush rose to your skin at the feeling of being called out. “That’s because they’re good kids! They’re just a little…misguided in thinking at times. And I wouldn’t do it the next time I saw them! Just maybe… in a week or two…if it seems like they learned their lesson of course.”

“Of course,” He hummed at you, before smirking slyly. “Although that would mean I lose the bet.” He his hand suddenly slid from your cheek to the back of your neck and pulled you forward. Just a hairs breath away from your mouth was his own. “Which means I owe you everything.”

With that he connected your lips and you couldn’t help the sigh that left you. Your arms lifted up and wrapped around his neck, hands lightly playing with the short hairs that ended right above his capelet’s collar. The both of you pulled away after a few seconds and rested your foreheads together. It was rare that Kalego showed such levels of intimacy outside of the walls of your shared home, and you couldn’t help but soak in every second of it.

“I think your everything is a rather acceptable payment.” You grinned at him before going back and giving him another kiss. A rather acceptable payment indeed. 

[ask-codeearasure]

The Outer Realms -- Chapter 17

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—-----

Chapter Seventeen:

Opposition

—----

“You can’t escape the past. Right? Be a shame if I had to put them on again. Cast Irons… well, it’s hard to clean.” – Vander (Arcane)

—-

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” asked Error, confused.

Ink had just finished filling him in on the information he got from Edge. Error was right, Dream was not dead, but technically he was dying or in critical condition. Whatever golden apples that other skeleton threw at them back in Dreamtale were probably sick twisted copies of his friend’s soul, but it also implied they probably knew where Dream was.

“I don’t know, who knows where these… Outer-what-ever is at…” Ink shrugged, “I just want to check on my dads before we even begin trying to find it.”

Zephyrtop was the last AU in the lineup anyways. For Error, sorting through the code there would be a breeze while Ink caught up with Gaster, Aster, and his four brothers. And considering the former two were the technical creators of Zephyrtop altogether, the probability of it staying destroyed if they were too late was second to none.

Besides, with two of the very few creators left in the multiverse secure under his belt and held highly in his figurative heart, maybe they could help Ink find Dream. Error could only do so much with a being who had no code to his existence anyways.

“My guess is we’ll have to pick a direction and then just keep going until we find something.” Error huffed, cleaning his glasses with his scarf. He was already annoyed with the prospect of another AU he had to recode, remove another destruction code, and-or adding that blasted counter-command just to keep that weird copy of himself from destroying another AU.

“But what if we go in the wrong direction?” Ink asked.

“Then we can loop around. If they called this place the Inner Circle, then the best assumption we have is that everything is in a circle, we can loop around until we find your side-piece.” Error stated as if it were a simple matter. 

“Dream is not my ‘side-piece’, Error,” Ink hissed through his teeth.

The glitch rolled his eyelights. Though he had to admit, he was downplaying the entire thing. Who knew how many AUs were technically out there. It could be hundreds to millions, a good amount of said AUs likely being destroyed by the copy-cat and thus just being blank white nothingness. So if they made the wrong assumption as to how far they could go or not would mean they’d be searching for days to even years.

Even Error understood they didn’t have much time, but there really was not much they could do outside of participate in these fucking guessing games. At this point playing a game of Russian Roulette would get them closer to finding Dream. They could split up, but Ink and his memory problems were as untrustworthy as a pipe bomb with a broken timer the size of a tactical nuke. You don’t know whether or not you defused the damn thing, and even if you did, would you really trust your life with it? So he was stuck here.

Plus, there was that husk running around, that stupid fucking anomaly wearing Ink’s face without a single care in the world. If there was the copy-cat and the husk, that meant there was the likely chance that they both have a similar history to him and Ink. They likely both fought each other over the same reasons and since that anomaly was a pain in the ass to take down, that meant that the other glitch was also going to be a problem.

Either that, or the only things they had going for them was at face-value.

Or he was overthinking it.

He probably was overthinking it.

Definitely.

There is no way Error couldn’t kick BOTH of those impostors’ asses SINGLE HANDEDLY, NO SWEAT, NO FUCKS GIVEN!

Ink tapped him on the forehead, prompting Error to jump and swat their smaller hand away. His friend wasn’t phased.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

The glitch snorted. “Not much. Are we going to your weird parents’ place or what?”

“Awww, did ya finally wanna meet my old men?” Ink playfully rocked back on his heels, loosely crossing his arms behind his back. “It’s about time, they’ve been asking about you for ages!”

He’s…? There is no way they’ve been talking about him to their fucking parents…? Why would they?

“Uh huh. Sure they were.” Error clicked his tongues in repulsion. “No, I just want to get this over with then go back to my Anti-Void and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ink’s face fell, but at least they didn’t push the issue. They opened a portal to Zephyrtop’s motherboard and jumped in. Error followed suit, wishing that one day Ink would learn another way to make portals with literally anything else but paint. He hated the texture.

Both outcodes arrived, Ink pleasantly surprised at the fact Zephyrtop’s motherboard was actually decorated, and Error looking through every nook and cranny of the space to find the coding ‘screen’. 

The motherboard looked like a warehouse, storing blueprints and bullet point-filled cork boards, whiteboards only half cleaned, couches, coffee tables, a couple TV screens overlooking the main plaza, circus, and mansion where Ink’s fathers and siblings lived. It was obvious that through thick and thin, this universe was a well cared for outlier in comparison to the neglect all the others had gone through.

Knowing all this sooner would have made Error’s job so much easier in the past, but now that he’s thinking about this in the current day, any kind of prideful satisfaction the younger him would have gotten was nonexistent. Instead, the destroyer could only define one thing he felt from staring at the larger picture for so long.

Pity.

But of course, only Ink’s family would have given enough of a damn about their home to keep it this vibrant and alive, efficiently and effectively meeting the needs and wants of the characters inhabiting this universe.

It’s almost like being caretakers was a common theme in Ink’s family, and Error definitely didn’t fit the part. He didn’t even understand why he found this revelation so intriguing. It was unsettling, but Error had already been unsettled since before Ink made the portal.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, like they were being watched.

“I can’t find it,” Error set down the couch he had lifted and flopped on top of it. Since Gaster and Aster were still around and thriving, what was the point of going through this universe’s code? They probably had already thought of something to keep every creation of theirs protected.

“Maybe we should leave; take our chances looking for Dream without them.”

Ink shook his head, but didn’t look his friend in the eye and fiddled with the empty vials on his sash. It didn’t take rocket science for Error to tell he was anxious. The artist had been nothing short of distressed this entire time, both with and without sufficient doses of his paints.

“I can’t do that, Error, I need– I just need to see my dads, man. Maybe they don’t know what’s going on. I mean, they barely get out as is…”

“So what makes you think they’d know what to do?” Error sat up, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it, venting his frustration little by little into the carefully embroidered floral design in the fabric. “You just said they don’t leave as much. They don’t know the multiverse like we do.”

“Yeah, I know that, it’s just–... They’re creators, Error. They have access to some influence over all universes that we don’t!”

“So did XGaster, and look at what happened to him.”

Whatever train of thought Ink was trying so hard to uplift might as well have just crashed and exploded into a trillion pieces. The artist’s hands dropped from their sash, and they didn’t do much aside from stare at the floor. Right. Him. How could he forget?

“XGaster had… ambitions, I guess, but asking any help out of him would’ve been like pulling chicken’s teeth. Impossible,” Ink started. “I don’t really… know where that guy went either.”

“Oh, he's as good as dead,” Error’s tone lightened, using one of his arms to cushion his head and pulled a thread out of his eyesocket with the free one to fiddle with.

“Last I heard, he got killed by his own creations! If only I could’ve seen it myself, but when I went to XTale for any kind of entertainment, nothing was left.”

“Really?” Ink looked up, eyes wide. “Nothing left?”

“Nada!” Error twirled the string around his index finger, grinning to himself in amusement. “If anything did survive, maybe Dream or that BUG Core!Frisk got to them first.”

Maybe Ink should check the Omega Timeline for them later. He slightly recalled the XTale inhabitants primarily having a black and white color palette for their clothing, but because he had to juggle an overabundance of creators around the same time that AU was active, it’s not like he could go out of his way to give it any special attention.

Oh, how the tables have turned since then.

“Well if you don’t want to go, that’s okay, but I really want to.” Ink reached back for Broomie, but then the motherboard shifted. 

The both of them froze immediately, then whipped around to stare at each other. Ink cleared his throat and slowly took down his hand.

“Did uh… Error, did you do something?”

“You think I’d be quiet if I did???”

“Good point, good point…”

Suddenly, there were teal strings that quickly ripped through the ground beneath Ink in the shape of an ‘x’, the air was rushing towards the strange hole they made, dragging the artist with it. Error used his own string to ground himself as he grabbed Ink’s hand. The rushing air was unrelenting as if it was demanding Ink be dragged into whatever hell it had in waiting. Error could see that the window frame his string was tied to was starting to break, forcing him to make a choice.

Either he let go of Ink, or he went with them.

He undid the string and they both were dragged in.

The portal was unlike anything they had ever seen. It was like an endless hole of cubes that made reality. He could sense it was like the Anti-Void, but also not. This was nothing like his home, but it had the same energy as it. When they finally crashed into the ground, it was as if they had fallen off of a twelve story skyscraper.

As Error got up, he saw the ground was blocky and uneven, as if it was destroyed, remade and re-destroyed endlessly, glitching out like some awful video game that had been both incomplete and re-coded constantly.

He looked over to Ink who was rubbing his head and popping his neck, the impact obviously still affecting him somewhat.

Then he heard it.

A glitch-filled laugh.

“Really? I thought I was doin’ yous a favor ‘ere,” said the voice.

How the fuck did Ink mistake that guy for him? Color him insulted to the highest degree.

The glitch barely looked anything like him! In fact, there were more differences than there were similarities. The most prominent thing was the hood of the jacket. It was easily comparable to a large lion’s mane, almost like Mufasa got skinned after everyone left. Bright golden fur was so long that it reached the glitch’s knees. The jacket was black and lined with neon blue but also had teal diamond markings, showing where it had been resown together on the sleeves. Even his shorts had the same markings. He wore a dark maroon turtleneck and a gold and gray-indigo vest over it. There was also an odd neon blue animal skull on the side of the jacket, right below where the hood started. He also carried a similar colored sickle with a golden chain wrapped around his waist. Another thing was his left eyelight. It had the shape of an ‘x’ with several rings around it.

He didn’t even wear his Papyrus’ scarf.

If he did, then Error would at the very least believe Ink had some reason to mistake them for Geno. But no. Their stupidity truly outweighed the odds.

Maybe he should lend Ink his glasses sometime.

“Really, Error?” asked the glitch, “Yous just had ta follow tha idiot ‘ere?”

“And what’s it to you, of all anomalies?” Error himself straightened his posture, already reaching up to his eyesockets for more strings. In the corner of his vision, Ink was already on their feet, their grip on Broomie firm and ready for a fight.

“Oh nothin’,” the glitch hummed, he touched the corners of his own eyesockets but instead of summoning strings like the way Error himself did, they did come, but rather they stood straight like claws, “I was just gonna take ‘im out for ya as a little practice run for when I have ta put up wit’ an idiot of my own.”

Error heard Ink suck in a breath, the artist inching closer to him. Something about this new guy pissed him off beyond what he considered the normal annoyance, which is what every other anomaly had become to him these days.

But no. As far as the destroyer was concerned, this fucker’s intentions were clear.

He wanted to take his place. That very thought on its own made his marrow boil, his teeth baring to match his growing hatred.

“I see what you’re putting on the table, and my answer is FUCK NO.”

“Really think ya had a choice in dis?” the glitch asked when suddenly two large blocks of the land suddenly appeared and collided with Ink from two different sides. Sandwiching him before two teal strings cut right through them. “I was merely tellin’ yous what was about ta happen.”

Ink rematerialized next to Error, a portal painted below him. Broomie’s length was already chopped in half, and the artist’s hands were sporting new cuts, spewing his namesake out from between the joints, a stark contrast to the pristine white Error expected to see every time.

The guardian of the AUs blinked several times, his eyelights spinning several shades of red in different shapes before settling on a triangle and a target symbol.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR!? THAT WAS A TOTAL SUCKER PUNCH!!!”

“Awes, ya pretendin’ ta be mad at lil’ ol’ me…” the glitch cooed, calmly walking off to the side, not really paying much attention to them. This was his domain, and it was clear he was beyond comfortable and confident here. “It’s real cute that ya pretend ta have emotions, Inky-boy. But ya really shouldn’t be playin’ wit’ people’s emotions, things can get real messy.”

The other error’s new target opened his mouth to interrupt, but then shut it, the accusation taking him off guard.

“What…? I don’t do that!”

“Suuure ya don’t. Like the way ya don’t treat everyone around ya, like they ain’t people? Like they’re jus’ some characters in a book that ya can interfere wit’, o’ watch dem struggle in tha misery planned fo’ em. Like tha way you don’t see me an’ Error as people?” the copy-cat stated, he checked his claws for a second and shrugged. He paused and looked directly at Ink, “Ya only go around an’ play hero, an don’t even care if dey get killed off anyways. Horrortale, Somethin’ New, Dusttale, or the otha AUs’ my friends are from. Ya don’ care about anyone or anythin’ but ya own entertainment.”

Error squinted bullets at the other, his freakish New York accent was getting annoying, and really fucking quick too. He’s sounding a hell of a lot like Nightmare with all that YAPPING.

“Ink, he’s fucking with you.”

Ink went to answer, but nothing he could possibly say came to mind. He wasn’t guilty of whatever the Error-copy was getting at, at least currently, he was free from it, but where the hell did he get that information? Why use it against them now? Was their decision and work to change completely ignored?

Error shifted, looking at his friend from the very edge of his vision.

“Ink?”

“I know he’s fucking with me! I want to know why.”

“Am I now?” the glitch snickered, “Ink, can ya really say I’m lyin’ ‘ere? I mean, let’s look at yer history! Tha moment yous get bored wit’ an AU your first tactic is ta ignore it like a child does wit’ a toy they’ve grown tired of, an’ if it still ain’t entertainin’ enough you let it destroy itself. Isn’t that why ya let Error run around? Yous was bored with Underswap an’ so ya let him keep that Swap!Sans around and let him do whatever he wanted?”

“Hey- HEY- NO, YOU THINK I KNEW WHAT HE DID TO BLUE??” Realizing what had happened to his friend had devastated Ink back then, almost to the point he genuinely thought of killing Error like Blue already tried. Where the fuck did this guy get off on assuming he didn’t care!?

“No, but yous expected it.” the glitch frowned, “I mean, yous had every opportunity ta stop ‘im before an’ after. But instead, ya just ran off wit’ tha rest of tha AU, replaced ‘im tha first chance ya got because ya realized far too late that tha poor guy was too far gone. I mean, it’s not like ya leave Error alive because ya like him. Ya don’t even actually feel anythin’. If ya did then… well yous a shit friend. Constantly leavin’ ya friends ta die in horrific ways, be it a Killer bein toyed with by Nightmare, Error ‘imself destroyin their AUs, Horrortales being allowed ta exist, leavin Dream ta get shot by Edelweiss– Oh…” he grinned as he feigned it as a ‘slip of the tongue’, “Oh right… Ol’ Dreamy gettin shot and put on life-support. And yous… yous was nowhere ta be found! Talk about carin’ ‘bout yer friends!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW ANY OF THAT UNTIL CURRENTLY, I–” Ink’s ribcage rattled, an indication of his frustration, which would only continue to spike to higher heights as their opponent kept talking.

Before Error could catch onto what the artist planned next, Ink was already gone, having summoned a gray and black gaster blaster and shot after the other error.

Error raced after him, letting his strings fly to as many lengths as possible, mainly in hope of grabbing his friend and dragging him back, but Ink had a head start and was too far ahead than what the glitch had accounted for.

Ink’s blaster wasn’t used to shoot their new adversary out of the air, but to propel him forward to fight him head-on. He did feel! His emotions were his own! And if he had known sooner what happened to Dream, he would have tracked down whoever had him themself just so they could be at his side! Whatever he needed and it was HIS!

But soon enough, the only thing Ink began to see for certain was the blind red of unrelenting rage.

“I’LL MAKE YOU EAT THOSE WORDS!”

The glitch dodged Ink in an extremely odd way, Ink just…fazed right through him. The glitch patted his body down and grumbled, “So uncivilized…”

Error almost froze when he saw the scene. The glitch destablized himself. He turned himself into a string of code.

The copy-cat used his strings to grab Ink in a near identical way he did the first time when they met. But rather, they wrapped around his joints. "Oh what's tha matta Inky boy? I was jus’ sayin' tha truth! Ya neva thought we even truly felt pain, or despair. It was only until ya really started lookin' around that you toyed wit’ dat idea, and even then... can we really trust that ya learned yer lesson? That ya see us as people? Tell me, Ink, if ya really cared, then what would ya do on instinct if I were ta... order my friend ta kill that twerp Dream? Would ya even try ta care? Or would ya sit back an’ watch tha show jus’ ta see what’ll happen?”

They didn’t even answer, summoning bucketfuls worth of ink from between their joints, materializing bones and blasters to barrage the glitch with. 

Error blasted the other’s strings, freeing Ink for only a second before they were snagged again in his own contraption of electric blue strings, yanking them back to his side as he reached out for the code to this place, only for the singular thing for Error to hit was a barrier.

The glitch swerved his blaster sideways, ducking under a floating, disembodied wall he recognized as corrupted, carefully crafted code as well, but appeared in the form of organized rubble.

“Why didn’t you hit him too, Error? He wants to hurt Dream!” Ink pulled himself up and struggled against his bindings. Error only tightened them, which served to enrage the artist further.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

“WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, DUMBASS!” Error shot back, continuing to dodge and weave between chunks of rubble and ruin. He noticed all of them had a particular pattern, grays and whites, teals and reds, some gold here and there. It was like his prior-known ‘copy’ themed this Anti-Void after himself! 

As much as he hated other errors more than anything else, there was a certain danger that came from being in another glitch’s direct territory. Given two other errors had almost succeeded in wiping him off the census in the past, Error wasn’t about to risk his neck a third time.

“He wanted to get a rise out of you, Ink! He was manipulating you–” Error looked back as he made another turn, only to see the artist gone, and his strings cut through. 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?”

“He didn’t really think dat through, did he?” asked the other glitch.

Error screamed, spinning around to face the other error, the strings hanging from his fingers and eyes whipping forward to snag a grip on him, but all their intended victim had to do to avoid them was lean backwards.

“How rude of me, I didn’t even introduce myself!” the glitch snickered, “The name is Digital Klezmer! Nice ta meetcha. Though it really don’ matta, I mean ya probably gonna die ‘ere too. Speakin’ o’ which, why’s you helpin’ that guy anyways? I thought you wanted ‘im dead.”

A gaster blaster that had the skull of some animal, maybe some sort of badger, appeared right beside Klezmer, aimed right at Error, ready to fire. Error mimicked the threat, doubling the amount of blasters on his end off the bat. His voice began to mutate, the tone fluctuating and basic voice changing dangerously. Error’s blasters fired.

“MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!”

Klezmer’s blaster fired off its own blast but it had a secondary action, shielding Klezmer enough to escape, teleporting behind Error and sitting down on one of the pieces of blocky rubble, “Oh Error, don’ tell me dat ya think he’s ya friend! That he cares about ya!”

The fellow glitch cackled, “Oh, dat’s RICH!” He summoned several bones to impale Error, but Error summoned another blaster to take the hit, the bones going right through it before both weapons dispersed. 

Error bit his tongues. He wasn’t giving this freaking psycho more fuel to tend with. He already had more than enough to make Ink snap, and Error had to find that idiot squid before Digital Klezmer did.

He teleported back to where he and Ink were first dragged in, leaving Klezmer in the dust like he fucking deserved, only to find no sign of him there.

“IIIIINNNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!” 

Error’s voice echoed off the Anti-Void’s floating walls and ruins, and he took to scouring the area close enough to the ‘floor’, keeping all his senses geared for any and every fucking noise that might give away the artist’s location. Ink was so fucking DEAD once he found them. He was so tempted to POP THAT LITTLE HEAD OFF THEIR MIDGET BODY AND CHUCK IT INTO THE NEAREST HOTLAND LAVAPOOL.

—----------

Klezmer sighed when he saw Error teleported away. He shook his head and teleported to a deeper part of his Anti-Void. He really wasn’t going to get an answer to that question, now was he. He knew where Ink was, but what was the fun of going after the guy directly?

Nah.

Too boring. He wanted to see them squirm.

So he settled himself in his seat at his piano and began playing one of his favorite songs, Altale. Whoever wrote that song was more insane than Katagma. It was an oddly upbeat song. But it was also oddly fitting for this little moment between the two knuckleheads he dragged here, letting their hopes rise with the song. Now all he had to do was keep playing. Sure, he was leaving himself as an ‘open target’. But who said he didn’t know everything that was going on in his own territory? Not him.

And like magic, his bait had an impressive effect, and of course it was the Inner Realm’s husk that took it the quickest.

Ink materialized next to him, and could have smacked him upside the head with what was left of his ginormous paintbrush if he didn’t dematerialize into raw code a second before.

Klezmer summoned a gaster blaster that bit down on Ink’s torso, as he spoke, “Oh buddy, I really thought ya had more brains than my husk. I really did. Thanks for correctin’ me.”

Once again, Ink didn’t answer. One of their own blasters was summoned, chomping down on Klezmer’s own and yanking it back, dislodging Ink from its grip. The artist’s namesake dripped to the floor, showing the enemy’s blaster did in fact cut through parts of his ribcage, staining his colorful clothing, but he didn’t seem to care about the weight of his own survival.

Then finally, the shortstack spoke up, his voice shaking with emotion, dominated by an overwhelming layer of rage.

“How dare you.”

They looked second to an animal, a feral beast. More ink leaked out between their barred teeth, some trails dripping from their sockets as the red of their eyelights glowed brighter.

But one look at their sash made it clear every one of their regular vials had already been drunk dry, and it was several days ago too. So the only source of this extra power could only be one thing, and Digital Klezmer already knew well.

Sketch had tried to kill Error before, when both stooges were in the Doodlesphere, and Sketch’s defeat led to the loss of its backpack. That was the only extra source of power Ink had access to.

Ink dropped Broomie, the tool useless to him and broken beyond use. Not even the bristles were in functional order anymore. Everything the artist was using now came directly from his body, from his will.

“I don’t know what hurt you this badly in the past, dude, but whatever you’re after now isn’t worth it. Seriously.”

“What I’m after isn’t worth it?” Klezmer cackled, rubbing his face under his glasses, he stopped almost as quickly as he had started, “Just die.” Two spears made of his strings appeared right from under Ink, unfurling and lifting him up to slam him down on another platform deep in the Anti-Void.

“I wanna reverse all negative creation.” Klezmer growled, “All of it! No more of dis needless sufferin’ ya view as cheap entertainment! And unfortunately I need dat useless guardian alive ta do it! Yous husks are nothin’ but a nuisance! Ya don’t feel, ya don’t care about nobody but yaselves! Hell, if yous an’ Error were ta make some stupid deal, ya’d grow bored of it instantly and jus’ find some bullshit loophole ta find somethin’ you think would be more entertainin’ ta yous and only you!”

The ribbon spears dragged the still tied up artist into a wall of the blocky rubble.

“And yous think that ya know anythin’?! I’ve watched ya long enough ta know that you’re only playin’ wit’ everyone’s emotions ‘ere! How long till ya get bored of Dream an’ Error? What about dem Swap-folk? How long till dey just bore ya? A week?! You’d probably drag a Dust over dere just for sick kicks! At least what I do is merciful, unlike yous!”

He let go of Ink to see if he’s still breathing. Letting the cloud of smoke from the destruction clear.

“Never…”

The second thing he got was a rough cough, but as the smoke cleared, Ink pulled himself back up, the ink in his body surfacing to repair the damage done to his body. Some of the artist’s clothing had been torn off, revealing tattoos that looked like random scribbles covering his lower arms and ribcage, and other discolored, gray patches of bone. The rage in their eyes didn’t subside.

“I will NEVER get bored of them. Not any one of them.”

He met Digital Klezmer’s eye, a spiteful smile gracing his face instead of the twisted snarl the glitch had plastered on it minutes ago. 

“But of course you won’t believe that, since you already profiled me based on the other guy that tried to kill my FRIEND, right? Who’s the dumbass now?”

Ink coughed again, dispensing a pool of ink at his feet as his body struggled to cope again with the amount of damage this new error wanted so badly to remain in place. This guy wasn’t at all like Error, Ink knew this now.

He was worse, really, and that was from a mostly unbiased opinion.

“I don’t care what you assume of me. I would have been devastated if it succeeded, and I would have been devastated all the same if Dream died too!”

The artist stretched his arms out, the ink creating another Broomie right in his waiting hands.

“So fuck you.”

The glitch stared at Ink, almost as though he was seeing the words Ink spoke right before him in material form. Klezmer couldn’t help but mentally compare Ink to Sketch, chuckling. “I guess you’re right. Ya ain’t nothin’ like Sketch. Unlike Sketch, ya don’t just show off your emotionlessness, or selfishness… well, not anymore… And you are right, I don’t believe you’ve changed. Whether or not you have actually started to understand tha sufferin’ of those around yous or even have a speck of empathy. But you definitely ain’t anythin’ like Sketch.”

He summoned several strings and drew them back from a ring that circled them like a giant slingshot.

“Dis… might sting a bit.”

He let go. The makeshift arrow shot right through Ink, impaling him straight through the sternum and the vertebrae leading behind it, but before Klezmer could do anything more with it, a blast of energy snapped it into pieces at the midpoint, Error’s cobalt blue strings were flung about the immediate area, snatching Ink away.

If Ink’s rage was considered animalistic, Error’s was a different lifeform entirely. The glitch’s eyesockets were clogged with his namesake, binary code spinning in his skull like miniature supercells, collecting more and more power to properly launch the amount of destruction it considered a basic portion. The creature before the two other skeletons snarled, the glitching only amplifying the volume and distorting it beyond recognition.

It was debatable if Error could speak properly in this state, with his body barely keeping itself in one piece, but somehow he managed navigating his way all the way here from the other side of the Anti-Void. 

“yOU SHOuLD KnoW BEtteR ThAN TO BREAK mY ThINgs.”

Ink could barely tell what the fuck dragged itself by its arms out of Error’s mouth, or if it even came out of his mouth in the first place. Before he knew it, his friend began to clog the area with electric blue strings, drowning their perception of the area in wires tying them down. Ink couldn’t get a word in, his body creaking under the weight and the tightness of what was, hopefully, a very temporary prison.

The sounds outside were muted to him, but he could figure they were fighting out there.

“--- .... / .-. . .- .-.. .-.. -.--?” Klezmer didn’t even open his mouth, rather the sound – the morse code just emanated from him. He didn’t seem to be shocked, rather his reaction was one that showed he knew what it was like to be in the very state Error was in.

He didn’t even struggle against the strings, rather he destablized himself and kept moving. Now he was the one on the run. Whether or not he had expected it was unknown.

Error pursued him immediately, blasting through entire walls of code that blocked his way. If he was saying anything, emitting any noise at all, it was unintelligible to him. Meaningless. 

He used to destroy everything he hated to fuel his will to live, including minor glitches distantly related to the monstrosity he truly was. But at the same time, none of it made sense. None of the semantics surrounding his past were important. Only the anomaly attempting escape before his eyes, destabilized code bunched together in a being that only knew suffering and grief, abandonment and anger.

So much like him but at the same time so, so different.

It was PATHETIC.

The entity let out a deafening roar behind Klezmer, causing the code closest to him to glitch out momentarily, then proceed to function as it was a second after.

Of course, not all gods went through life unchallenged. There were rules to the madness they shared and pain they carried. Rules not even they understood clear as crystal. 

Klezmer used one of his strings to create a portal only for himself, a split second to get far from Error and to a higher ground, where he made hundreds of spears of his strings and even fractured bones. All with their own rings of strings like crossbows, all aimed at Error. With a golden smirk, he let them loose, each one doing thrice the amount of damage they did to Ink. All the while he made a crossbow for himself. One he could wield. But this one wouldn’t shoot a spear or bone. Rather the sickle’s chain that was previously tied to his waist and now having a small sharp knife made of his strings to ensure it went right through his target.

“Didn’t think I’d ‘ave ta use dis…” he mumbled to himself. “But color me surprised… bastard got a bigger temper ‘dan Wiess.”

There was a click in the Anti-Void as the hurricane of projectiles chased their target, just a shift in the layout code, like something just went missing. 

Then, it was like the ‘ceiling’ grew a corn maze of red bones, stretching half a horizon across the new, demented plaza, connected to a million more blue strings. The ground shook with another haunting scream, and the source of the challenge pulled down the floodgates right behind Klezmer’s projectiles, snapping some in two every which way, cracking down on the ‘floor’ and disembodied walls, splitting some into smaller chunks than they were initially. Dust and grime filled the atmosphere, blocking a clear shot of wherever the target was.

Laughter without a direct source echoed off of what remained of the walls around them, morphing the acoustics and Klezmer couldn’t help but laugh alongside Error. He took aim with his crossbow as several portals opened up with more shots of the crossbow-spears and bones.

He saw the game Error was playing and he’d happily play along, but this was his domain, not Error’s. Thus, he knew every inch Error ran through. Every spot he paused. Every weak point. And thus, he fired the chain. With a rattling sound, it took off and the strings extended and extended further and farther than it would’ve otherwise, dragging the blade with it right towards Error’s soul.

The sickle wasn’t anything that the two idiots had ever faced. It was an Outer Realms specialty. A weapon that specifically did True Damage. There were specific damage types in the Outer Realms, and True Damage was a specialty that Klezmer had thanks to the weapon, specifically only the weapon really. It could bypass all resistances, all armor and specifically target the soul of the opponent, even going as far as latching onto it if the opponent could survive the attack. Meaning that they’d have the weapon stuck onto their soul and out for Klezmer to attack directly. It almost felt like cheating, but it wasn’t his fault someone was stupid enough to stand still long enough to get hit by it.

—------------

Ink made progress centimeter by centimeter, trying to ignore the sound of destruction, screams, and even more destruction. He thought back to the decay of Underfell, the compounding collapse of reality itself before everything imploded into white. Pure white.

He shivered and pressed on, cutting more divots into his bones in the process so more ink could join with the ‘floor’ underneath him.

Then came Error’s roar, the ring of the sound breaking his nonexistent ears, and then the ‘ground’ rumbled. Ink felt something slip under them, and the cocoon around them loosened, but not by much. They were a sitting duck like this, and whether Error wanted his help or not, Ink was convinced he’d die out there.

He had gotten an odd feeling this other Error was vastly more powerful than initially given credit when he was dragged kicking and screaming into this version of the Anti-Void, He didn’t know whether it had an actual name aside from that, but it’s not like they could afford to care, not when so much was at stake.

He wanted them both dead. He made that message abundantly clear.

Ink felt the hole in his sternum and vertebrae mend, and he could finally dematerialize enough to slip through the dozens of layers of strings that bound him. They knew they were getting weaker, having lost more paint than any other fight they could recall, and the migraine had come pounding in when he was dragged in this place too.

Error was right. They really didn’t have the position to fight in confidence here, but they doubted his impostor was manipulating either of them. The things he screamed several minutes ago were in complete confidence and backed with indescribable pain.

Think, Ink, think!

The ground rumbled again, knocking Ink back down in a pool of his own fluids. Another scream, and in the distance, he spotted one of the biggest walls in the area come crashing down, glitching back into the air in far more pieces than it started out as.

Summoning a gaster blaster, Ink jumped on its head and sped his way towards the ensuing fight, ripping off a lock of Error’s abandoned string as they zoomed by.

—-------------

Pain was the one thing Error knew best, but this was too much in one sitting. The glitch ripped out one of the stupid arrows that managed to snag him and snapped it in half, not bothering to watch the material crumble as he went to tend to another spot right next to it.

No matter how much his STATs fluctuated, flying up and down the border of 0 HP and MAXED HP to cope with the sheer amount of stress he just put his body through, Error felt it wouldn’t heal as quickly as he wanted it to, and it was just his luck that his sight cleared just enough before Klezmer pelted him with another barrage of projectiles, overloading his body.

He didn’t want to die like this, but begging was so far out of bounds of the question at hand that it was practically nonexistent, even as Klezmer shot another attack right at him, one the blur of his vision could not keep up with, not even if it were slowed down to fit his needs. 

It was gold. Thin and gold and probably heavy, but boy did it look ugly either way.

It was already too late when Error finally registered the real weight of what was to come, if it were even possible for him. The glitch jolted backwards, a wildfire of agony igniting his body in response to its inability to move and its broken down state.

Then a dark blue blur of his own strings shot its way across his vision, wrapping around the attack. Ink entered the edge of Error’s sight, tugging the chain in his direction, ending up in pieces.

It happened far too quickly for anyone to truly realize what exactly the situation was. The crunching of bone or the splatter of thick globules of ink splashing on the destroyed ground. The most that the two glitches got was the horror on Error’s face and sheer shock on Klezmer’s own, but the thud of the body was heard and the moment the black and gray gaster blaster turned to a pool of ink in an attempt to save its master.

In that moment the two glitches realized exactly what had happened.

Ink had jumped in front of the attack to protect Error, sacrificing himself to the blade of the sickle.

“INK!”

Error jumped and tried to catch Ink but barely made it in time, catching Ink’s husk in mere centimeters before it hit the ground – if one could call it that, considering it still somewhat did. Ink’s husk was flayed, sliced clean in half, only leaving behind the rib cage and up. The last bits of ink from the blaster served itself to heal its master as much as it could but it wouldn’t reawaken him.

“Nononononononono—” Error’s glitching getting worse and far more unstable the more he spoke.

All the while Klezmer couldn’t comprehend the sight before him.

Ink had jumped in front of a fatal shot just to save someone that wasn’t himself.

He didn’t even dare speak. But all he could do was mentally argue with himself to try to comprehend the situation and what to do about it. He took a long deep breath and tore open a portal, bringing his chain back to himself.

“I’m gonna regret dis later, I jus’ know it.” he thought to himself. Out of the portal he got a vial of mixed oil paints.

Carefully he walked over to the fellow glitch, placed the vial and used a string to teleport Error, the vial, and the husk out of the Anti-Void without issues. He stood alone for a moment before sitting down at his piano and played a song he had received from Katagma who got it from some random game… something called Laura Plays the Piano. Whatever game it was, he was told it was depressing.

As if…

As he played though, he couldn’t get the image of Ink jumping in front of the sickle out of his mind. No, emotionless husk would do that. Sketch wouldn’t do it even if someone paid him.

No. That Ink did feel. And he felt a lot. He stopped playing and sighed, “Yeah… fuck me. I am tha dumbass ‘ere, I suppose.”

—------------

His soul raced a million miles a second, a trillion miles a zeptosecond, and no matter what Error said or how much he screamed, the body in his hands didn’t respond or move. Not an inch. Not a millimeter. Nothing.

And even then, as far as Error was concerned, nothing outside of him and what used to be Ink mattered. 

The multiverse could burn.

It was like Error’s vision was set ablaze itself, both with glitches and tears he never thought he’d cry again, those blue-transparent pearls landing on Ink’s face, brushing away bits of their namesake, their blood. 

Error felt the ground below them change to something softer, and air clearer, holding the weight of life, but what use was it if his friend wasn’t here? The one person who bothered to spend time and energy on him since they met, regardless of how destructive his behavior was by itself, was doomed, and the glitch knew exactly why.

Ink was low on paints, their literal fucking lifeforce, but he would have rather died instead of him, even if he didn’t truly understand how hard he’d be hit, or how many pieces their little body would end up in. 

The destroyer’s vision began to black out, and Error heard the crunching of grass up ahead of them. 

Danger. Danger. DANGER. He came to finish the job.

“G-GET AWAY FROM US— I’M WARNING YOU!!!”

The figure in the distance was colossal, bearing the slight reflection of light glasses would get from the sun at just the right angle, and it was just tall enough to be the threat at hand. It hesitated, then continued with another step forward, its voice ringing in and out of Error’s fried senses.

“Hell–..-? A|3 y0– 0;ay…—-?”

Its shape muddled further, the darkness closing in. Error knew he summoned something, some degree of magic in an attempt to scare them off, but he didn’t get to witness the result.

[hinamie]

Not trying to start anything but is there a reason why you want Yuuji to have kept his injuries so badly? /gen

a ! part of it is the fact that I spent so long figuring out how I wanted to implement yuuji's scars into the way I draw him, n now to have had all that effort be for naught is salt in the non-existent wound :'> there were so many of them that I was pretty proud of myself when I settled on something I was happy with,,,, not to mention they looked so cool cries i was ROBBED

but even from a non-petty non-aesthetic standpoint i have some thoughts on why i think yuuji should have kept the scars. SPECIFICALLY the right eye injury. don't get me wrong megumi having the facial scars that echo sukuna's mask does look cool it's nice and angsty he looks good i do Like it. HOWEVER. i think from a narrative standpoint, to have Yuuji be the one to lose the right eye or have a significant scar in that spot would have been Better visual storytelling. Not only does yuuji spend more time as sukuna's vessel comparatively but Yuuji as sukuna's vessel n foil is SUCH a key plot point (mans literally says "you are me" like>?>??????????) n i feel like the scars n what they represent in that regard are better suited to him. family resemblance if u will.

ik this isn't rly taking into account megumi's torso scars but personally i got no beef with those I think they make sense. he was punched out of sukuna, obv that's gonna leave a mark . "but by that logic couldn't you make the same argument for why megumi keeps the facial scars?", I hear you ask. and to that i say you /could/ but imo megumi's torso scars also carry a symbolism that makes it Meaningful fr him to have them. i'm mostly thinking here about yuuji being better able to Suppress sukuna's true form whereas megumi Couldn't and him having to wear the reminder on his body as a result. at the end of the day though my main gripe really just boils down to the fact that not only does megumi end up with /more/ sukuna-related scars than yuuji, but Yuuji straight up loses /All/ of his. As far as we know he has none now and that's SUCH a shame imo.

I think if megumi were to keep the torso scars + slits where the second eyes used to be (+ some other misc LEFT SIDE facial scars from the fight w gojo and the jacob's ladder attack), with Yuuji instead being the one to sustain the main right eye injury as a visual reminder of sukuna, that would be ideal for Me. Have megumi be an echo of the body, have yuuji be an echo of the face. That way there's good symbolism - the size/placement of their marks better corresponds 2 the nature of the time they spent as vessels + the weight of their respective relationships with sukuna. simple, effective, matching angsty bfs. AND they get to look at themselves and each other and be riddled with intense soul crushing guilt!!!!!

anyway scarred!megu nation we won but scarred!yuuji nation suffered for it and i'm not going to take that slight lying down.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Them reacting to seeing you do something weird

characters: Collei / Kuki Shinobu x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: none

a/n: I decided to try and write something for two of my favorite 4 stars again since I don’t get all too many requests for them.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Collei

Among the forest Rangers in Avidya Forest, almost no one could confidently call themself a bigger expert than you when it came to the wildlife inhabiting the forest. If there was an animal living in it, you knew it, if someone needed to know how it looked like so they’d be able to recognize it, you had sketchbooks full of detailed portraits at the ready and if there was anyone that wanted to learn about them, their best choice of action was to ask you.

That being said, you had a tendency to get lost when wandering around the forest alone, and so Collei was quickly assigned to helping you keep your sense of directions when out to research, the win-win situation of you having a helping hand while Collei got the opportunity to learn from the experts beating the prospect of having to search for you day and night everyday.

“I remember the first time I ventured out into the forest, I was what? Barely ten years old? My mother always told me how panicked my father was when I didn’t return at nightfall, you should have seen his face when he found me playing with a shame lion not far from home, he was so relieved you could basically see the weight fall off his shoulders, it was great… I did get into trouble afterwards, but that didn’t stop me from going back barely a week later”, you talked about your childhood while shoving branches to your side, trying to make a somewhat clear path for the two of you, all the while Collei listened to you as if put under a spell. 

You weren’t that much older than her, probably only a few years older, and yet you were already regarded as an expert in your old field. Collei couldn’t help but admire you and yet, when she heard how early you started to get interested in the animals living in the rainforest, she started to understand the reason for your success.

That being said, not everything in your stories seemed to make sense.

“Your father was relieved when he saw you playing with lions??”, you could hear the shock in Collei’s voice as clear as day and while her reactions seemed like the only plausible one when confronted with such a detail in your childhood story, the sheer and utter confusion on your face made her question if playing with lions wasn’t as abnormal as she thought.

“Lions? Oh Archon, no. Shame lions, those small green creatures that can change their colors depending on the background. I can show them to you if you need a refresher”, you offered, shooting her a quick smile before turning your head back forwards.

“Shame lions? …Do you mean Chameleons?”, Collei asked hesitantly, hoping she was on the same page as you and didn’t accidentally insult you by implying you didn’t know how to pronounce the animal’s name.

“...Chameleons? I-is that how you pronounce that? Heh, that explains quite a few of my weirder conversations actually”, you stated with a nervous giggle, your face growing red as you awkwardly scratched your cheek, only to eventually break out into full-on laughter, worrying your companion for a moment, before your laughing eventually infected the ranger.

“Thanks for telling me, I guess the others didn’t have the courage to correct me… that or they were far too confused to.”

Kuki Shinobu

For most of her days, Shinobu was surrounded by Inazuma’s brightest, watching their sober forms do things normal thinking people wouldn’t do after drinking a barrel of the strongest alcohol money could buy the same way a child would watch an animal in a zoo, and yet, she knew her colleagues long enough to not bat an eye, no matter how stupid the predicament they found themselves in.

Hanging around Itto and his boys made her appreciate the quieter moments in life as well as thank whatever deity was responsible for introducing people to each other that you were a part of her life. You knew how to hold a conversation, were kind and always thought about how your actions impacted others and hid a brain behind those eyes of yours… a welcome change of pace for her.

So when the two of you bumped into each other on her way home, only to decide to walk along the beach in hopes just being near the water would be enough to cool you down somewhat, considering the scorching hot weather, only for you to ask her to stop for a bit so you could cool your feet in the water, refusal wasn’t on Shinobu’s mind for even a second.

“Don’t you want to step into the water as well? It has just the right temperature!”, you happily asked after putting your hand in it for a second, testing the water before quickly readying yourself to step into it, pulling your pants up a bit so they wouldn’t get wet, only to stop when Shinobu called out to you.

“Your shoes.”

Without missing a beat, you hit your forehead with the palm of your head, an embarrassed look spreading across your face as you giggled to yourself. 

“Of course, I nearly forgot. Thanks a lot Shinobu!” Your shining smile coupled with hearing her name leave your mouth was enough to make her cheeks heat up, not enough for you to notice, considering her facemask, however, something she thanked the heavens for.

Just as quickly as you had stopped, you returned to pulling off your shoes before placing them on the sand and jumping into knee deep waters… your socks noticeably still on your feet, a fact Kuki didn’t miss in the slightest, her eyes widening at the sight of your drenched socks.

“Wha-?”

“Something’s wrong?”, you asked, completely oblivious to what caused the person in front of you to be rendered completely speechless. 

It took her a few seconds and about ten times of blinking her eyes in hopes it would all turn out to be a hallucination before she finally responded, trying her best to look away as to not constantly remember her brain of what was in front of her.

“N-no, nothing.”