#ANYWAY the idea that you can force your willpower over someone else and make them terrified with just a LOOK.

[shima-draws]

WAIT WAIT WAIT

DID LUFFY JUST USE HAKI FOR THE FIRST TIME???

[wanderersbell]

hi can i please ask for some scara angst to fluff? maybe like an arguement? anything is fine :) imgoing insane your writing is so good 💜💜💜💜

when you have an argument

wanderer x gn!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1312

a/n: hi thank you for the request! sorry if it's a bit messy, writing arguments is a little harder than i thought as someone who is very non-confrontational, but i definitely want to get better at it in the future (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ enjoy!

arguments don’t happen nearly as often as you might think. not full blown ones anyways, bickering is a daily occurrence between the two of you, but they’re full of empty words and sarcasm that has become an inside joke over time. 

however, even with all of the progress he’s made, the wanderer’s short temper is very much still an integral part of him. when those moments present themselves, you always find yourself at a loss. 

when those bad days happen, it’s like he’s an entirely different person. his usually empty threats seem to be full of venom, and he won’t engage in any of your typical antics with you. it goes left unsaid that it’s no doubt related to his past, but even that remains a mystery to you still, so you never know how to approach the situation. 

on one hand you know you can only do so much, you can’t force him to open up if he’s not ready and he has every right to want to be alone, but he won’t leave you alone on these days. he follows you around like a shadow, like he’s waiting for you to do something, but you have no idea what.

you know better than to take it personally by now, but it’s an exhausting ordeal all the same. 

“stop doing that.” he snaps, sending you a sharp glare. 

“stop doing what?“ your tone grows increasingly more frustrated by the second from trying so hard to grasp onto the loose ends that make up the wanderer, just to find them too short or entirely broken altogether. 

“acting like you understand,” his voice is strained and just bordering on a shout, as if it’s taking every ounce of his willpower not to yell. “just give it up already, quit trying to make me feel better. you can’t just magically fix what already happened.”

you inhale sharply at his words and dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to keep yourself calm, the dull pain just barely doing it’s job to clear your head and let you think. this argument has been building up for weeks, silently growing bigger in the background every time something from his past started bothering him and he became defensive when you tried to help. 

he’s been through a lot, has a past so full of pain and grief that you’d never be able to comprehend it, it’s only natural that it would be a touchy subject so you know it’s only partially his fault, but the issue lies in the fact that he’ll get equally as upset if you don’t help and give him his space instead. there’s no way to predict when these things will come up, and no way to predict which side of him you’ll see because of it. sometimes he’s receptive of your attempts at comforting him and lets himself be vulnerable with you, but the rest of the time, this happens. 

“what, so you just want me to stand here and ignore you every time you have a bad day?” you ask with more sarcasm than you intended, any possibility of this conversation happening peacefully being snuffed out on the spot. 

the wanderer scoffs. “isn’t that what you do anyways? you sure don’t seem to care most of the time.”

“you-“ the words nearly get caught in your throat as they rush out of you. “because you never tell me anything! how am i supposed to know how to help when you don’t want me to help?”

his eyes narrow as you say this and the intensity of the rage simmering in his irises sends a spike of fear down your spine for a split second. “i don’t want your help, so mind your own business.”

you can only watch quietly as he turns and storms off, probably to calm himself down or take his anger out on something else, and heave a defeated sigh at the whole situation. your heart aches for him as you walk back inside of the house and curl up on  the bed by yourself to wait for him. 

it’s hard to even be mad at him for lashing out like this, given it happens so rarely and you know he doesn’t mean it, but you also know that you don’t deserve to be treated like that so it leaves you conflicted and bone tired as the day fades into dusk while you lay unmoving on the soft blankets. 

when he finally returns a few hours later, his footsteps are light and apologetic as he walks through the door. his eyes are rimmed with red like he had been rubbing at them, and when he notices you laying in bed his face falls and he approaches hesitantly as you sit up. you stare at him wordlessly for a few seconds before finally breaking the silence. 

“are you okay?” 

his eyebrows shoot up like he wasn’t expecting the question and he blinks at you twice in surprise. “you’re… asking me if i’m okay?”

when you nod and tilt your head in confusion he brings his hand up to his forehead and exhales heavily. “of course i’m okay, are you okay?”

you hum affirmatively without even thinking about it and he clicks his tongue before setting his hat down and sitting beside you. “liar,” he says softly. he frowns down at his hands and you can tell he’s trying to sort out his words, so you give him a few moments to do so and cant help but fidget with your top while you wait. 

“i know i over reacted, and i'm sorry,” he finally starts. when he turns his gaze to yours his eyes are full of sincerity, but there’s a deeply rooted sadness behind them as well, one that gives away how fed up he is with himself. “why do you keep me around, even when i act like this?”

the answer comes to you so easily you aren’t even thinking when you reach out and grab his hand in yours. “because you’re important to me.” you respond earnestly, lightly squeezing his fingers. his frown deepens for a moment before disappearing altogether. 

“that’s foolish.” he sighs, trying to ignore the warmth in his cheeks from your touch. “what if i can never open up to you?”

“you don’t need to,” you respond honestly. the wanderer gives you a doubtful look but waits for you to continue. “you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, i just need to know what i can do to make it better.“

he gazes down at your joined hands with a twisted pout. “and what if i never get better?” he asks quietly and so hesitantly that you almost miss it and you can hear the centuries of hurt in the way his voice quivers. his eyes follow as you slowly lift his hand to your lips and press a soft kiss against his knuckles. “you will,” you whisper against his skin while the tension melts off of his face. 

instead of saying anything else, in a rare moment of him initiating physical contact, he lets his head fall forward until it lands in the crook of your neck, his arms snaking their way around your waist to hold your body against his tightly. you immediately relax into his embrace and rest your head against the top of his, arms curling around his shoulders firmly. 

“i’ll keep trying,” he mumbles against your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin. you can’t help but smile softly and hold him just a bit tighter, thankful to have him back home after being alone for most of the day. though things still remain unfixed, and many more arguments are sure to come as he continues to heal, you know with absolute certainty that you’ll get through it together. 

[herehavesomeheadcanons]

Hihi! I saw you were taking requests and so I was wondering if I could have Poe or Sigma fluff (and maybe angst if you're up for it, you don't have to!) hcs? Like where you are sick or smth and they take care of you? And possibly how they make you feel better? Can I also be 🍥 anon if you're okay with it?

Whew, back to writing requests. Sorry for the long wait, but my brain shut down after I finally finished that Christmas event. I'll try to get on with the requests still waiting in my inbox!

Anyway, fluff is absolutely my specialty, and these two dorks are the perfect characters to take care of a sick s/o! I had the idea floating around in my brain, so I added an accidental confession for Poe as well <3

Edgar Allen Poe and Sigma taking care of a sick reader~

As usual, snatched the images off Pinterest

Poe

🤎🦝 Poor Poe freaked out when he heard you were sick. He immediately rushed over to your house and insisted on taking care of you! It doesn't matter how many times you try to push him away and tell him he'll get sick too, he's determined to take care of you!

🤎🦝 The reason for this is that Ranpo gave him the idea. Poe wanted to know how he could win your affections, and Ranpo suggested that he should go and see if you needed care, since you called in sick that morning.

🤎🦝 So now you're being forced to lay on the couch while Poe spoon-feeds you soup that he made himself. I don't see why you would complain, except if you're one of those Akutagawa kinnies that won't admit you're sick until you're dead.

🤎🦝 Poe insists on doing everything for you. To be fair, he is a pretty big help, considering it feels like someone fucked with the Earth's gravity settings and turned them all the way up. Oh, and you're delirious with fever, so no amount of willpower is going to make you able to do chores.

🤎🦝 As you feared, Poe gets sick too. Somehow, he still managed to drag himself to your place, so now you're both lying inert on different couches with a bad flu. You have some absolutely hilarious conversations while you're both completely out of it with fever hallucinations. Unfortunately, you probably won't remember them.

🤎🦝 After a few days of this bullshit, you're starting to feel better. Poe isn't, but your head is starting to clear. One night, you wake up to him rambling on and on about something to Karl. As you listen, you realize he's talking about you.

🤎🦝 "Oh Karl... What am I to do?" *Karl noises* "Yes I suppose you're right... You're so wise, Karl!" *More Karl noises*

🤎🦝 If he didn't talk to Karl like this all the time, you'd probably suspect that the fever had addled his brain to the point of no return. You decide to speak up and see what this nonsense is all about.

🤎🦝 "Hey, Poe, what are you going on about?" "Y/N! You're awake?" "Obviously. Now what are you asking Karl about?" "Oh, I was just trying to figure out what to do about my feelings for you." "...your what?"

🤎🦝 It takes a moment for Poe to realize what he just said. Once he does, he hides under the the blanket for ages. He refuses to come back out and speak to you for the rest of the day. He won't even eat! He's going to need lots of reassurance after such an embarrassing mishap!

Sigma

🤍🎰 Sigma doesn't really have a lot of time on his hands, being the manager of the casino and all. So, when he hears that you're sick, he has an existential crisis. Should he take care of you? Stay? What if he gets sick too? Can the casino run smoothly without him?

🤍🎰 Seeing how worried he is, some of the people working directly under him (I couldn't think of a good word, ok? Leave me alone-) convince him to go look after you. They can handle running the casino in his absence.

🤍🎰 Let's get one thing straight: Sigma is a fabulous caretaker. He just has the instinct for it, I guess. You'll be perfectly fine under his care. He gets you any medicine you need, cooks for you, does chores, and anything else you need. He has absurd multitasking skills, and will keep everything neat and orderly to ensure your speedy recovery.

🤍🎰 He is an absolute sucker for you, so you could probably get away with a lot while sick. You want him to read to you? On it. You want him to sing you to sleep? He'll try his best. He won't do anything that could get him sick, though, so no physical contact. Sorry, but he can't afford to get sick too.

🤍🎰 He is rigorous about keeping your stress to a minimum. He sets limits on who can visit you, how often they can visit, and for how long. He's like your nurse or something. You know Madam Pomfrey from the Harry Potter series? Yeah he's like that.

[mymarifae]

i think for a lot of folks they see the SOUL as inherently bad bc they feel it ultimately doesn't matter whether or not it has good intentions, it still is possessing Kris and puppeteering them everywhere and basically upending their life, and Kris is pretty hellbent on removing it from them entirely (and considering what the SOUL does in Snowgrave... yeah honestly I can see why they'd come to "The SOUL is actually bad" conclusion. OAO)

right, i see where the interpretation comes from, totally. but the soul wasn't intended to be kris's puppeteer. whoever brought it in, most likely gaster, wanted to give it an empty vessel. like he, or whoever it was, promised the soul its own body that it could shape as its own. and then someone else entirely came in, threw that vessel away, and forced the soul onto kris. for whatever reason

the soul is just as much of a victim of the whole "your choices don't matter" schtick as any of the other characters

i've also talked about this loads of times before but our control over kris is pretty limited. someone in the tags of my more recent post drew a parallel to asriel and chara sharing the same body, when asriel says they had basically equal control. and that's a VERY good point and i think that's pretty much what's happening with us and kris

we tell them where to go, what to look at, who to talk to, and, rarely, what to say. but kris chooses how to interact with the objects we make them look at; they choose how to say the things we make them say; they are still in control of their facial expressions and body language. i really think they're okay with what's going on, generally speaking. perhaps some annoyance/amusement at some of the choices the soul makes, but other than in snowgrave, they have a more or less equal control over themself!

and. they have established that they have the ability to remove the soul whenever they want. it seems that they can't leave it out for prolonged periods of time and that moving around becomes extremely difficult, but they have an insane amount of willpower. they have just as much power over the soul as it has over them

which is why i wouldn't say they're hellbent on getting it out. like. if they really wanted to they could just tear it out and tell somebody. or if the soul is trying to do something that they just don't feel like doing - they could tear it out again, and either you relent and pick what they want to do or you softlock the game. (snowgrave is a special circumstance; i think the mostly equal balance of control gets upset there and kris can't exercise that ability to its fullest)

the fact that kris doesn't do these things when they have demonstrated they absolutely COULD tells me there's something else going on here. something that we are not yet privy to. they understand that this is a thing they must endure, even if it gets really scary. (the ralsei conversations... "...so that's why, kris.")

also, running with the idea that the soul is our real player character and our will ultimately reflects its will like. i don't think anyone is very happy when playing snowgrave. no one likes anything that happens there. if you do um. 😰 but anyway it's a curiosity that drives the completion of that route, a desire to see how it will affect the rest of the game. so like. the soul almost certainly recognizes that this is not a good thing to be doing. but it's curious

and when you can reset and reload and erase saves/timelines completely (supposedly. i mean considering what no mercy does to undertale, i'm assuming there will be consequences if you attempt multiple routes across the three saves. but we don't know for sure and we also don't know what they are 💖) like... what harm is there in experimenting 🤔 we can just fix it if we don't like the ending. (<- soul logic)

like... idk. i've thought a lot about this whole thing and i kind of refuse to accept the soul as a malicious entity. gaster was the one who brought it to this world, because he felt that it could give kris and their friends a brighter future. he could always be wrong, and in the case of snowgrave he Is, but. he loves these kids a lot. that much is apparent. i think he did his research, and decided the small risk was worth it. i don't think he would have brought in the soul if he felt it was going to be unpredictable and dangerous and Evil. to me the soul is

mostly

good ❤

[chironshorseass]

hello yes i’m OBSESSED with your writing so if you’re still taking prompts maybe “please look at me” bc i also have an unhealthy relationship with pre-tlo percabeth angst and live for pining percy

SYD U GAVE ME THIS AND I JUST HAD TO PUT ALL MY PROMPTS ASIDE!!! because how could i not!!!

for what i wrote, i kind of mention this clarisse one-shot.

anyway enjoy <3, since I sort of went crazy with percy being powerful :) like i always do :) and of course, pre-tlo percabeth :)

read on ao3

The waves had grown restless these past few days. Violent, brutal. The night was quiet, the moon hidden beneath darkened clouds, drenching the camp in heavy ink. Percy knew many demigods proclaimed it as the quiet before the storm. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

All he heard was noise.

He’d been like this—unsteady, overwhelmed—for some time, now. Everywhere he went, he felt like a ship sailing into giant waves, water crashing against his deck, threatening to bring him under.

Grover would’ve understood, maybe. But Grover, like the moon, had vanished. That only left a few of his other friends—and of course—Annabeth.

Percy couldn’t avoid her gaze, no matter how much he wanted to. She was always there, watching. Maybe she awaited the day when he’d sink to the power of those waves that plagued the beach, that plagued him. Maybe she anticipated with bated breath on the day when he’d turn sixteen and he’d have to make one decision that would change everything.

Nevertheless, she’d drift away from him. Then come back, again and again.

It drove him crazy, how much their relationship had changed with the times and circumstances. Only now, Annabeth wasn’t what bothered him.

His gut was.

It tightened and loosened, the same way the currents flowed to the rhythm of his rushing blood. He could hear that now, too.

His blood. The sea. The clashes against rock.

Everything was beating to a powerful symphony of drums.

But worst of all was his gut.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Percy knew there was a war. He had nightmares about it, in fact. Nightmares leading to frantic waking-ups from the feeling of lava burning into his skin. But he hadn’t sensed the war’s presence so strongly in all his three years of attending camp as he did now—and he felt it, because the source of conflict had to do with the sea.

The shadows of cabin three clung to his skin in a comfortable blanket, but he couldn’t ignore this dread. It had trickled patiently into his system for a week now, culminating to this exact moment. He couldn’t sit still. He had to leave. Now.

Not long after stumbling outside while shoving his armor on did he hear the conch horn ringing as a warning. The lookouts had seen something. His legs moved faster.

Doors of other cabins began to smash open, and with it came the spilling of panicked campers. He was already way ahead of them, though.

“To the beach!” someone cried.

Percy arrived just in time to see Chiron assemble with Michael Yew and Austin Lake. The sons of Apollo. They’d apparently been the ones on night duty. The centaur saw Percy before the others made out his heavy footfalls.

“Percy,” Chiron said. “Thank the gods you’re here.”

“There’s something,” he gasped, doubling over once he’d reached them. “There’s something out there,” he finally managed to say, gulping mouthfuls of air. “The sea.”

They already knew, however. The conchorns were signal enough. But what was more obvious was the glimpse of the giant tail, jutting out of the water like a spear cutting through flesh.

The breath he’d managed to find from his mad dash was stolen away at the sight of the monster.

“Yeah,” Austin said, swallowing. “There’s something out there, alright.”

Chiron eyed Percy warily. “My boy. We are dealing here with something I fear that you are only capable of stopping.”

“Yeah, well...it looks like a pretty big fish. I—”

A howl punctured the atmosphere—probably the same sea monster he’d seen earlier. Percy gasped, feeling a stabbing jolt in his stomach. He didn’t know why this sudden change of the sea was affecting him so, but he had to stay strong. So he stood up straight and concentrated on his breathing.

“Are you alright?” Austin asked, studying him.

Percy looked at Chiron, who met his eyes as well. You have to be, his teacher seemed to say.

“I...I think so.”

Michael chose the moment to turn his back on the sea, blowing the conchorn once more. He shouted at the incoming campers, “Greek fire! We need Greek fire!”

The rest of the multitude showed up right away, Hephaestus kids priming canons while others exchanged weaponry. Through all of it, Percy’s gut became a pressure cooker, a fist closing around glass, about to break. He cried out in agony just as a tidal wave shook the world. Falling to his knees, his arms encircled his middle, muffling that pain. He wanted nothing but to make it stop.

He vaguely heard a sound of surprise, coming from someone nearby, then the rush of hands holding onto his shoulders. They helped somewhat, a comfort to the madness.

The hands were warm and soothing. The voice of the person became clearer. He knew that voice. He knew those hands.

Annabeth appeared in his vision, all worry lines and pinched eyebrows. She said something to him again, but the words might’ve been ghosts; the stampeding blood behind his ears was too thunderous to make out anything else.

He closed his eyes and concentrated like he had earlier.

Sharp as a blade, his senses switched to the outside world.

“Are—are you okay?” Annabeth was saying. “You doubled over, and I…”

“No.” He opened his eyes to meet hers. They matched the storm that raged across the sea. “I—I’m not okay. I need to stop this, I need—”

“We were just discussing strategy,” she said. He was glad for the distraction she’d offered. “The Scolopendra isn’t just any ordinary sea monster.”

“The Scolo what?”

She helped him stand up, steadying him with her arms.

“The Scolopendra,” she repeated. “A child of Keto. It’s one of the biggest sea monsters in existence, and it won’t leave the camp border.”

“No shit.”

Annabeth ignored him, glancing backwards at where the monster had last been seen. “There’s no telling what it can do. There’s barely any recordings of it.” She swiveled back to him. “Chiron says that it can control the tide. It might be capable of drowning the camp if we don’t kill it.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I told Chiron that we needed to try my strategy first. As in, bombing it with Greek fire before we go with the last approach.”

“And what would that last approach be?”

He had some idea, but before Annabeth could speak, the creature shot out of the water, faster than lightning. He only caught a glimpse of the crayfish-like tail and rows of webbed feet before it disappeared again.

“That looks like a giant shrimp,” he declared.

A giant shrimp that was probably capable of crushing a decently-sized trireme. Shrimpzilla, he was about to call it, as a way to lighten the mood. But he thought better of it, once he saw the hard line of Annabeth’s lips as she watched the campers rev up the Greek fire.

The Scolopendra dared to peek out of the waves for the third time, giving the chance for Beckendorf to yell out an order. Instantly, canyons discharged the green substance directly towards the monster.

It roared defiantly, maybe in pain, maybe in anger. No one was sure, because as soon as the night sky lit up with green flames, the Scolopendra crashed against the water like a wrecking ball. For a moment, all was silent.

No one dared breathe.

Annabeth squeezed Percy’s shoulder. She looked hopeful, as if relieved that she didn’t have to go with the second plan.

Chiron’s tail twitched. Beckendorf held out a hand, urging the campers to wait. Some stood anticipatedly, swords ready. He saw Clarisse in the front line, her electric spear aimed at the sea and crackling with energy.

Percy sensed what was about to happen next before he heard it.

“Annabeth,” he said frantically. “Annabeth, we have to go. Now.”

“What? But—”

“NOW!”

He’d already separated himself from her, yelling at the rest of the campers to leave. They didn’t have the chance; milliseconds later, the Scolopendra appeared. It bellowed with the power of a thousand hurricanes. Many campers covered their ears.

To everyone’s horror, it had closed in on the shore, its back legs likely reaching the sand floor as it rose to its full, terrifying height. Lightning crackled, and with it, came another roar.

“No,” he muttered. “No, everyone get out!”

Too late. The monster had already spit out a million gallons’ worth of salt water.

Instinctively, Percy let out a yell and threw his hands out.

The water halted in midair, rippling like a broken mirror. It was as if time had slowed down, as if Kronos himself had been the one to interfere. But Kronos wasn’t interfering. It was all Percy—with nothing but his willpower. A bead of sweat rolled down from his temple.

Annabeth reached him just as he cried out and threw the water back to the sea with everything he had, forcing the giant shrimp to hide as well.

He caught his breath while Annabeth looked back and forth. From him to the sea, from the sea to him.

She shook her head at no one in particular. “The plan didn’t work.”

“No shit.”

Then she gazed at him again. “Thank you for doing that, Perce.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “No problem.”

“About the second plan...”

“I have to kill it, don’t I?”

“I...maybe. But we can help—”

“It isn’t a maybe. It is a certainty,” a voice said, strong and firm.

They both turned around.

“Chiron,” Annabeth said. “How can he possibly—”

“He’s the only one capable,” the horseman said. “You know that better than most.”

Her eyes flicked to Percy. Memories flashed through his mind. A quick, burning kiss. A promise. Then, the way fire engulfed him. The call of the sea. An explosion, strong enough to wake one of the most dangerous monsters of all.

When the bombard was over, he understood. He had to face this monster alone, like he had with the telkhines.

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay, what?”

Chiron nodded at him, ignoring Annabeth’s question. Without glancing back, he retreated to where the rest of the demigods were watching by the sand dunes as a precaution.

“I need to face him alone,” Percy told her, once Chiron was gone.

“No! Percy, that thing is bigger than—”

“I’m the only one that can’t drown, Annabeth!” He grasped her shoulders so that she was looking directly at him. “If anyone can do it, it’s me.”

“Don’t think I can’t see what’s going on with you,” she said, voice bitter and rough. “You’re distant, like, like the ocean is—”

“We’re both growing distant, ‘Beth. That’s not the problem right now.”

She pushed his hands away. “And that’s not what I’m talking about, and you fucking know that!”

Before he could reply, the monster's call came again. A reminder that this night wasn’t over.

“Please. Just trust me on this, Annabeth. I have to try. It’s our last option. You said so yourself: it may be capable of drowning the entire camp.”

She said nothing, not even sparing him a glance.

“And—and I don’t know why I’m like this! Maybe it’s because I can feel the ocean getting agitated, or because the war is getting worse, or—”

He realized it, then. Annabeth's tears. They were silent rivers, flowing gently down her cheeks and into her mouth. Flowing down to where everything ended up, to the sea.

“Hey,” he said, approaching her slowly. He took both of her hands in his, but she repelled away from his touch. “Please, ‘Beth.”

This time, he cupped her damp cheek, moving it in his direction. “Please look at me.”

And when she finally obliged, her gaze was fractured with glistening tears, like diamonds.

“I can’t lose you again,” she whispered.

Percy had yearned for too long; he let go of that rope tugging him in the opposite direction and instead let Annabeth in. They melted into each other, both shamelessly giving away the little warmth they preserved. It was the kind of hug that felt like a lifeline, the kind that made them both sway like the tide.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into her curls.

She held him tighter. “I missed you, too.”

“But I have to fight this one myself.”

Annabeth pulled away slightly—and when he saw the look on her face—he knew that she knew.

-

“HEY, SHRIMPZILLA!”

The Scolopendra reared its head, even uglier up close. Its nostrils flared with hairs, beady eyes staring down at him. When he charged, the monster bellowed and threw itself in the water, sending sprays taller than a house.

But none of it touched Percy.

He didn’t stop running, a plan in mind. Meanwhile, the sea churned around him in one giant mass of power, but it parted with each step he took, forming a trail of now exposed ocean floor. Water collided with the sky, flying with the salt in the air.

Hello, friend, it seemed to say. Or rather, hum. The sea was a song, and he was just there to dance to its melody.

The Scolopendra had disappeared again.

He didn’t look back, though he knew the entire camp was there, watching—maybe in awe, but he didn’t care enough to find out. He kept walking, alone, surrounded by a pool of green and blue. Was this how Moses felt, In those stories he’d heard? Bricks of ocean water, flinging up into the sky, just so that Percy could pass. The feeling distracted him from the objective.

That’s what he’d argue later, because Percy can’t explain how the monster managed to sneak up to him that easily.

The pool of green seemed endless. There was a moment where nothing moved, not even the water. But then something did tug him violently, up, up into the sky.

For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream out, the breath stolen from his lungs and the icy rush of air when flung into the sky nauseating. The only feeling he knew was of the Scolopendra and its death grip on his entire body.

With each second, the roiling waters grew farther and farther away. The Scolopendra’s growl, however, couldn’t have sounded closer. Sharp claws sank into his chest and arms. If he didn’t react now, he’d be eaten before the next flash of lightning struck the sea.

Somehow, he managed to uncap Riptide.

And with a scream, he stabbed, as hard as he could.

-

“Hey. Want company?” A soft voice said.

He craned his neck around.

Annabeth subconsciously made the world easier to look at. Especially now, as she stood behind him in the pier with the last vestiges of harsh sun striking her back. Her stance was stiff, hesitant. He understood why.

So instead his eyes bored into his lap. He shrugged.

That was a sign enough for her. She crouched next to him, pulling her legs under herself and then flinging them out to where the wooden planks ended and the open air began, toes nearly kissing the placid lake.

She sat next to him, quiet as the wind. It took a few seconds or minutes or hours before she decided to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

From his peripheral vision, he could tell that she’d been studying him instead of watching the reflection of herons flying above the water. Something he’d thought she’d been doing. Apparently not.

It also took him seconds or minutes or hours before he could respond.

“What for?”

She exhaled, “Letting you go alone. Being a part of the campers who…”

She didn’t finish that sentence. He knew why.

Being a part of the campers who abandoned you alone after what you did.

“S’okay. I get it.”

A lie. He didn’t get it.

“Doesn’t make it right.”

He stared at his hands. “Guess not.”

The details of the fight were yet to go away. The memories were still fresh—like his mother’s batch of cookies whenever he came home from camp. Teeth were ever-present in his mind. And those webbed hands. Those twisted sounds as a monster choked on its own blood.

Afterward, everyone had taken a step back. Even Annabeth and Chiron seemed to contemplate him as though he were doomed. Maybe he was.

“I wish Grover were here.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth sighed. She kicked her leg up, swatting at some mosquitos. “Me too.”

“He’d pull our shit together, fix everything.” He found himself sounding wistful, longing for a missing piece of himself all of a sudden.

She didn’t reply to that. They both missed their best friend. Now, more than ever. Percy tried to not dwell too much on the fact that Grover hadn’t responded to his Iris Messages or to his calls from their shared empathy link.

“I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“No, Percy. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Just look at me.”

He did the opposite, gazing at the trees to his left. They were a deep, mystical green. The colors looked like the ocean, where he’d displayed his powers for everyone to see. Worst mistake of his life. He realized that tears had begun to form in his eyes; he quickly blinked them away.

“Percy,” Annabeth insisted.

Her tone wasn’t hash or demanding—but rather, a light pink sky. A hand brushing his, sweet and tender. He noticed that it wasn’t just his imagination; glancing down, he found her fingers ghosting against his knuckles.

“Please look at me.”

This was eerily familiar. It hit him, then, that he’d said those exact words when she’d panicked about him going alone to fight the Scolopendra.

Hesitantly, his eyes focused on her face. Her freckles were there, golden like the rest of her. Only now, her eyes were rimmed with tears.

Something changed inside them both. She stared at him, he stared at her. Her face contorted, and the both broke down, crumbling like ruins with the slightest gust.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, clinging to his shirt.

“Me too,” he murmured back.

He held unto her as if she were a life force, breathing in her lemony scent. Tears were exchanged, mingling in the other’s hair. They held each other, an embrace that didn’t deserve to end. It only made him cry harder, while Annabeth held him closer.

“Why are you sorry?”

He couldn’t say it out loud.

I’m sorry for why we’re like this. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry for leaving.

Instead, he pulled away. He studied her, every single feature, from those grey eyes and that upturned nose to those curls that no longer appeared to look like a princess.’ They were just Annabeth’s.

“I scared you,” he said.

His arms loosened around her, just now realizing how long they’d hugged, but their hands stayed interlocked—like some sort of middle ground.

She regarded him, eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t ever be scared of you,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re my best friend, Perce.”

He looked away. “Everyone else was.”

“I should have gone to you after—I just...I thought you were angry at me.”

Their hands separated. “Why would I be angry at you?”

“Because I let you handle all of it alone. The monster, the campers—”

“‘Beth.” He took her hands again, cupping them with his. “I couldn’t ever be angry at you.”

“That’s not true,” she said wryly.

An observation, not an accusation. Still, that didn’t make it hurt any less. He recalled the shouting, the fights. The only thing they looked for in those moments was to hurt the other, twist and pull at any chink in the armor they could find.

She winced, remembering that, too. “Sorry.”

His mouth twitched. “You’ve said ‘sorry’ too many times. It’s getting repetitive.”

She hit his shoulder playfully. “Well, I mean it.”

He didn’t retort anything back. They found peace in this lake, once again gazing at the horizon.

“It’s not true what you said, either,” he said, his mind lingering on what she’d told him earlier. “You’re scared, as well.”

The sound of the incoming crickets carried on in Annabeth’s hesitation.

That is, until she said, “I am. Scared. I’m scared.” He glanced over. She was staring in his direction, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I.”

She laughed, breathless. “See that’s what scares me. What else can you do? Honestly?”

He shrugged, turning away from her.

“How’d you do that, anyway?”

“I defeated it, didn’t I?” It was better to deflect than to answer her question.

Defeating the monster should’ve been what mattered, anyway.

“Percy.”

“Annabeth,” he said, in the same condescending tone.

“All I’m saying is that you could hurt yourself. You don’t know what you’re capable of. And then when your birthday happens—”

“You think I’m going to destroy Olympus or something?” He shook his head. “I should’ve known that you’d side with the gods on that, too. You think that they should kill me?”

“What? Percy, I’d never—”

He whirled, facing her, and finally let go of all those pent-up thoughts that just like the sea, wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Just admit it, Annabeth! Admit that it freaked you out that I blood bended or whatever the fuck Chiron called it! Admit, that it freaked you out how I killed that monster! That I’m fucking cursed!”

“Percy Jackson, you are not—”

“Yes, I am. Why would my dad give me powers like that? Huh? Just say it with me: you’re scared—of me.”

Her eyes were red, face hard as stone. Just like her voice when she said, “Look. I just wanted to help. But if you want to sit in your self pity, then go for it! You clearly don’t need me.”

She made no move to leave, however.

Their eyes held, until the anger from both of them melted. He huffed out a breath, shoulders hunching. “We can’t ever stop fighting, can we?”

She sighed.

“Guess not.”

“I won’t do that again.”

She lifted her chin. “Why?”

“Like you said. Scared you.”

That made her purse her lips.

“You’re not cursed, Percy. You know that, right?”

She reached for his hand. It was becoming a strange routine. Finding comfort in hand holding and then dismantling it as if it never happened.

“You’re mostly right all the time, so.” He squeezed her hand. “I s’pose I’m not cursed, then.”

“I’m right most of the time?” she said, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “You’re right only sometimes.”

She opened her mouth in mock-offense. “Percy Jackson—”

He cut her off with his laugh, a laugh that fit with the music of the crickets. She rolled her eyes, something that he’d missed achingly, now that he saw her do it for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Scooting closer, she nudged him. “I could help you. Alongside Clarisse.”

His eyes widened. “You knew about that?”

“She’s my friend, too.”

“Of course she is,” he muttered.

Him and Clarisse...they might’ve had a rocky relationship when he’d first arrived at camp, but now, he didn’t know what he’d do without her help—without her friendship. They both understood the other in a bizzare, not very common way. She’d helped him hone in his powers, but it had yet to be something he’d wanted to admit to Annabeth. To everyone else, for that matter.

“I get why you didn’t want to tell me,” she said. “But...I do want to help. You’re my best friend, and, and I also want to spend time with you. If...that’s alright.”

“It’s alright by me.”

Annabeth gave him a look.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He tried for a smile. “I guess you could come along, then.”

His grin was shared with her, though her eyes were serious. “You’ll see. We’ll figure out your powers. What you can do, why you can do it, why the sea is affecting you…”

“All of it?”

She nodded. “All of it.”

They left it at that, though what they didn’t leave was the canoe pier. Not until the sun hid under the trees, spilling its ink of reds and oranges across the horizon.

The golden of the sun was replaced by the silver of the moon for the night, then it rose again for the day.

And in between, the waves lapped against the shore, constant and content. The ocean had calmed. For now.

[dumdumsun]

The Loveliest Lies of All

A/N: Accidentally made this the longest chapter in the entire story. Oops ❤️

Warnings: slight violence

Word Count: 5282

—————————————

Chapter Three: Schooltown Follies

“I don’t know who she is or how she is, or when or why she is

But as for where she is, she is where we will go

To Adelaide, to Adelaide

Come on and join the Adelaide Parade-”

“No-”

“Adelaide, to Adelaide

Let’s go to Adelaide’s house…”

Greg’s joyful marching melted into a simple walk at the flat ending of his song, glancing up at Scout with raised brows. “I need to fix that last part, but that’s the idea.”

“Yeah, of course.” Scout chuckled.

“So,” He pointed to each person as he addressed them. “Beatrice, you sing the high part. Wirt, you sing the really high part.”

Wirt raised a brow. “What?”

“And Scout will direct us.”

Scout hummed with squinted eyes. “Conduct.”

“Scout will conduct us. And-”

Beatrice sighed irritably, causing Scout to frown in confusion. “No one is singing anything anymore. And Wirt, keep moving.”

The group turned to said teen, who had stopped a few paces away to kneel down, tying the laces of his mismatched shoes. “But I-I have to- ugh. Alright…” He stood to his feet defeatedly and joined them again.

“But we have to do something fun.” Greg insisted.

“You know, we really don’t,” Beatrice shrugged. “We can just keep walking silently, you know? And- ugh. Wirt, let’s go! Come on!”

Wirt stood to his feet again. “Sorry, sorry!”

Scout’s irritation towards their winged companion only seemed to grow the more she watched Beatrice push her friends around. Personally, she was not a fan of Debby Downers, and Beatrice happened to be the downest Debby she’d ever met in a short amount of time. Greg tried to insist on the group having fun on their journey yet again, but the bird cut him off. “Greg, don’t you wanna be more like your brother? Just always doing what you’re told-”

“Huh-”

“Just a pathetic pushover who relies on others to make all his decisions?”

“Hey! What?! I’m not a pushover.”

“Hold on, Wirt. Let me get to my point.”

Wirt scoffed, unsuspecting. “Fine.”

“See, Greg? No willpower whatsoever.”

Embarrassed to have been so gullible, Wirt turned forward with a huff. Scout sighed and moved closer to the boy’s side. “Greg, don’t listen to her. I think it’s important you have fun on this journey,” Her eyes then snapped up to Beatrice. “And you shouldn’t discourage a child like that.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “He needs to learn from a young age that he can’t be like… this forever.”

“Like what? Like a normal, sweet, loving kid? A-And what do you even know about kids, huh?”

“What do you know about kids?”

“I know enough.” Scout crossed her arms and turned her head forward.

Sighing, Beatrice flew to the boy’s other side. “The world is a miserable place, Greg. I know it doesn’t sound fun, but life isn’t fun.”

Exhaling deeply, Greg frowned sadly. “Then I’ll do what I need to do, I guess…”

As Beatrice continued on whatever negativities she had focused so intently on, Scout felt a tug at her jacket. Glancing down, she saw Greg standing still, holding the tea kettle on his head, his frog lounging on top. Slowing her pace to a stop, she quietly joined him. “Greg? What’s wrong, bud?”

He grinned and took one hand off his “hat”, slipping his fingers between hers and leading them through an opening within the woods. “We need to do our part to make the world a better place!”

“We couldn’t have at least told Wirt? He’ll be worried about you.” She glanced over her shoulder, Wirt’s figure growing smaller the farther they ran. Greg hummed before shrugging.

“Wirt trusts you, right? He knows we’re in the best hands in the whole world.”

“Oh? You mean these hands?!” Scout mischievously grinned and scooped him into her arms, huffing as she struggled to keep the giggling boy up. Perhaps she had underestimated his weight. It had been awhile since she’d carried him.

Greg cackled, holding his frog close to his chest before his eyes caught something in the distance. “Whoa! What’s that?” He pointed forward. Scout’s laughter quieted as they reached a clearing. Stepping out of the shadowed wood, she moved closer to the small red house, a giant bell hanging above it to alert those around of the time.

“Ah, this, Greg, is a schoolhouse. The oldest of these date back to-”

“School?!” He scoffed. “Not today!”

Scout chuckled and set him down on his feet. “Well, I think we should check it out. If you hate school that much, go find a log to sit on and wait for me.”

“Yes, sir!”

He saluted before scampering off. She watched him for just a second to make sure he hadn’t tripped and fallen before turning back to the schoolhouse. From where they had just come from, she could hear Wirt’s calls. “Greg! Scout! Greg?!”

“Over here!” She called back, smiling softly as he and Beatrice emerged from the darkness. She pointed off to the side as they approached her. “Hey, so Greg went that way to find a place to wait. He’ll be fine. But I do wanna check out this place. You know, maybe find someone else to help us sooner than some rando lady with supposed powers?”

Scout ignored the glare Beatrice sent her way. Wirt only blinked at her, so she continued. “Anyway, we only need one person to go in. Which one of us should go inside and who should stay with Greg?”

Yet again, she received no response, just a blank stare from her friend. Glancing between him and the bird, the latter only shrugging, Scout rapidly blinked. “What is this? Why are you staring at me like that? Is this a game?”

…..

“Okay, Greg will be fine. Let’s both go.” She threw her hands up in the air before spinning on her heel and leading them up to the schoolhouse. “But you’re gonna need to talk soon.”

As if that had flipped a switch, Wirt nodded and strode to her side. “Right. Okay.”

Scout widened her eyes at him as they stood in the opened doorway of the house. Tearing her gaze from him, she settled it on the room inside. Standing in front of a blackboard decorated with delicate and cursive calligraphy was presumably the teacher, her cheeks red and rosy and the nest of chocolate brown hair was put into a bun at the top of her head. She looked something straight out of a children’s book. Before her was the… class.

They were animals. Literal animals in school clothes. Cats, bunnies, pigs, dogs, the likes, all dressed as 1800’s school students. In fact, Scout observed, every stop they made felt as if they had travelled two hundred years back. The attire, the lack of technology, the use of language. It was all a dead giveaway.

“Excuse me?” The teacher softly called. “Please, take your seat, children. You’re late. You know the rules, ‘Once the bell has rung, class has begun’.” She gestured to the saying on the board.

Beatrice snickered. “Oh, sorry, everybody. Sorry. No, this boy doesn’t have a brain. He can’t learn anything. Let’s go, Wirt. Come on! Here, boy!” She called and whistled to Wirt as if he were a dog. Scout fumed at the nerve of this bird, opening her mouth to tell her off before Wirt spoke up for himself.

“What? Did you say something? I can’t hear you because I’m too busy doing what I’m told.” He shrugged before walking into the room, taking a seat at one of the desks.

“Atta boy, Wirt.” Scout chuckled and took the seat beside him.

Beatrice hurriedly flew over to him. “What? What are you- No, no. Let’s go.”

“Oh, no. See, I’m a pushover, remember? I have to do what she tells me to do.” He shrugged. Beatrice widened her eyes and turned to Scout.

“Hello?! Knock some sense into his conehead!”

Scout quietly shushed her, her amused smile directed forward at the blackboard. “I’m trying to focus on class.”

“Wirt, your brother could be… in trouble somewhere!”

Tapping on the window just beside Wirt gained the trio’s attention. Greg stood outside, as happy as can be, waving at them with a smile. Then, in a mocking manner, he pointed to each “student” in the room before giving a thumbs-down. Scout lovingly shook her head as he giddily ran after his croaking frog, cheering and whooping as he went. Beatrice let out a deep and long sigh. “Bluebirds have a short lifespan. You three are literally killing me every moment I’m forced to spend with you.”

Scout quietly laughed when Wirt simply let out an “oh”.

“Young man,” The teacher sternly started. “I will not stand for such nonsense in my class room,” A shadow casted over her face as her expression turned gloomy. “I got enough nonsense from that no good, two-timing, low-down handsome man of mine! Oh, Jimmy Brown, why did you have to leave me so-”

Wirt and Scout glanced at each other as if to ask if this were actually happening.

“-And now with my father threatening to close the school and that wild gorilla on the loose, why, Jimmy, I just have one thing to say…”

What they hadn’t expected was for her to turn around with a bright smile and begin singing,

“‘A’ is for the apple that he gave to me, but I found a worm inside.”

Beatrice didn’t bother lowering her voice, “Ouf, that lady’s got some baggage.”

“What’s that?” The woman abruptly stopped her singing and pointed to a slim and tall box with one small opening in the corner of the room. “Young man, go to the dunce box!”

“Oh,” Wirt glanced down before standing to his feet. “Sure, okay! Sure!”

Scout watched her friend hum to himself as he situated himself into the box, closing the door to seal himself in. She furrowed her brows as Beatrice facepalmed. “And you’re not gonna stop him?!”

“No, he can do what he wants,” Scout shrugged. “This lady’s no help, anyway, so I’ll wait until he’s done here.”

“Now, where were we? Oh, yes- ‘G’ is for the gentleman I thought he was, when he first said ‘hi’-”

The young girl stood from the desk. “I’ll just wait outside. Tell me when the dunce is released or whatever.”

“Wait!” The bluebird called out. “Don’t leave me here with him!”

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

Greg and his frog found themselves amongst a racoon, a possum and a deer, all dressed in tattered clothing. Some of them were missing buttons, they had badly stitched patches, and their clothing was either baggy or too tight on them. They looked the part of unschooled street rats -- street… animals, and Greg had befriended them almost immediately. Currently, they were all sitting on a log, just as Scout had asked of him, as the boy rambled on and on to the verbally unresponsive animals. “So, my theory is hot dogs are not actually dogs, regardless of what they teach you in school. But you guys don’t go to school, huh? I’m gonna stick with you guys.” He whispered, laughing when his racoon friend picked up a black turtle and chucked it into the nearby pond.

“Hey, you found a log!” The voice of Scout caused Greg to perk up and crane his neck. The two shared a grin as she joined the group on the log, hesitating slightly upon noticing the company. “Who… are these guys?”

“Scout! These are my new friends!” The boy turned to the animals and gestured to her. “Gentlemen, this is Scout. She’s probably the smartest person in the world. Who needs school when you have Scout, huh?”

She snorted and set a hand atop his hat. “What is this, the Anti-School Club?”

“Huh… Yeah! That’s a great club name! Good job, Scout! And as founder of the ASC, I elect you president.”

“What an honor.”

“So, Ms President, what is your first order of business?”

Scout hummed in thought as she kicked her feet back and forth, tilting her head up to the bright blue sky. “Well, Ms Langtree is still singing her sorrows away, and Wirt is still being a dunce… So, I guess we just kill some time until he’s done.”

Greg nodded in satisfaction and snapped his fingers. “Perfect. And I know just the way to spend our killing time,” He hopped off of the log with a smile. “We play ‘Two Old Cat’! Me and Scout came up with it last year. It’s the best game ever created! Do you guys know how to play ‘Two Old Cat’?”

When the raccoon only blinked in response, Greg pulled Scout with him to a bush. “It’s fun. We’ll show you.”

“Be careful.” She warned and crouched down to help him carefully pull out a scraggly brown cat, surely blind in one eye. It meowed as the boy gently petted its dirty fur. Standing straight, she walked over to a tree and leaned against it to rest her throbbing leg.

A weak meow had her turning her head in the direction of the deer that had just picked up another cat. This one wore reading glasses and clutched a small walking cane in one of its paws. Greg frowned at this. “Wait. No. I think that cat is too old. What do you think, Scout?”

“Hm… Yeah, he’s too old. But we should at least feed the poor thing-”

“Hey! I think there’s one behind you!”

Scout twisted her body to peer into a bush behind her. She spotted a heap of dark black fur that rose and fell with raspy breathing. A pit formed in her stomach as she cautiously reached her hand into the bush. Just as her fingertips brushed the fur, the figure shot up to reveal itself as a gorilla. A pathetic roar sounded past its sharp teeth, yellow eyes staring into hers. Scout frightfully screamed and scrambled to her feet.

“Gorilla!” Greg waved his arms before he was being pushed forward by his friend.

“Go! Run!” She ordered, quickly leading Greg and the animals away from the gorilla that now began to chase them. “Keep going this way! I’ll distract it!”

Greg gasped. “Scout, no-”

“Just go! Go!”

The small group ran towards the schoolhouse, Scout huffing out a breath before turning back to the incoming gorilla. “Hey, ya big dummy! Come and get me!” She waved her arms wildly, darting off in the opposite direction of the schoolhouse. The gorilla growled quizzically before rushing after her. Despite the hot pain in her thigh, spreading past her knee, Scout managed to reach a tree, wrapping her arms and legs around it. She used her feet to hoist herself up, grabbing onto branches to pull her body farther up the tree. She cried out in shock when she felt a tug at her shoe.

Whipping her head around, she saw the gorilla trying to pull her off. Using her free leg, the injured one, she brought her knee close and then kicked her foot out, slamming it into the gorilla’s head and causing him to stumble back.

The tolling of a bell rang from above. Scout sat upon one of the branches and tilted her chin up to see Greg and the animals in the bell tower, swaying back and forth on the bell they desperately clung to. Her heart dropped at the sight. “What the- Greg! Get down from there now! S-Safely! Get down safely right now!”

Noticing the bell tower gang, the gorilla roared again and charged its way in their direction.

“No!” Scout wailed, quietly cursing to herself as she attempted to climb down the tree. Her uninjured leg slipped off the branch, eliciting a yelp from her as she clung to the wood, since her life quite possibly depended on it. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

“Scout!” She heard Greg call. Tilting her head back, her upside-down vision saw the gorilla chasing them towards the tree she dangled from. “We’re here! We’re here!”

“What the heck is even going on?!” She shouted as the gorilla rounded the tree over and over in the chase. Scout closed her eyes and inwardly wondered for a second if she were living in a cartoon at this point. Her body instinctively flinched when she felt scratching at her shin. It was the possum, holding a large, thick stick in his tiny hands. “Uh- hey. C-Can you help me?”

He blinked and stood on his hind legs, demonstrating a few swings with the stick before pointing down to the gorilla below them. Her eyes widened in realization. “O-Oh, you want me to knock him out?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” She let him slip the stick into one of her hands. Very quietly muttering to herself, she allowed her arm to leave the branch and dangle just above the gorilla’s head. Each time it ran near her, she would take a swing, but miserably miss just by an inch. Swing after swing, she let out little grunts and curses when she missed.

Sighing irritably, she moved her eyes up to the possum, who stared at her in exasperation. As if the solution were obvious, it used both its hands to demonstrate a very harsh swing, stumbling around to mock the gorilla. Inhaling deeply, she reared her arm towards her chest before bringing down the branch and connecting it with the gorilla’s head.

“Aah!” He groaned before falling to the ground, unmoving. Greg peeked from behind the tree and grinned up at her.

“Scout! You did it!”

She blinked. “I did… Hey! I did it! I did it- Aah!” She cried out when the branch broke from the tree, Scout letting go out of shock and barreling to the ground. When she landed on her back, the air was knocked out of her, forcing a choked gasp from her chest. She groaned in pain and rolled onto her side, her entire body pulsing in pain. She could hardly hear the hurried footsteps over the ringing in her head.

“Are you okay?! Scout?! Did you knock out all your memories and give yourself amnesia?!”

“Ugh… W-What…?” She rasped and let Greg help her stand. He watched carefully as she stumbled forward, holding onto the tree for support.

“Come on,” He put a hand on her back and handed the top hat to her. “We gotta go.”

After leading the group into the school and past Ms Langtree to the dining area, Greg slowly sat Scout at the picnic table beside Wirt. The teen frowned worriedly at his friend as she groaned. “Greg? What happened to Scout?”

The boy peered up at his brother. “She fell out of a tree after knocking out the gorilla.”

“She what?!”

“Are you okay?!” Beatrice widened her eyes.

“She’s like a superhero. But now she needs rest. I think she might have gotten amnesia. Oh! That means we need to remind her of all our good times, Wirt! Good times!”

Wirt gingerly touched the back of her head, flinching when she hissed in pain. “I-I-I-I’m sorry. D-Does it hurt? I mean- I mean… uh-”

“I’m okay,” She whispered, placing her top hat on her head. “I think I just need to rest…”

“Yeah! Get your energy! You’re gonna need a lot of it for the trip down memory lane!” Greg scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes and shoveled it into her mouth. Scout cringed at the bland tastelessness of it and took a sip of water. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s very bland. No taste.”

Greg hummed and assessed the room around him, watching the dismal and cheerless expressions of the animal students as they brooded over their plates of potatoes. He gasped when his eyes caught an object on the piano Ms Langtree currently played a melancholy tune on, no doubt feeding into the somber mood.

Wirt hardly noticed his brother shuffle away from the table as he picked up his spoon. “It can’t be that bland, can it?”

“Hey, nobody ordered you to eat yet.” Beatrice cut in.

“Yeah, but… Hm.”

Scout raised a brow at the pair. “Wirt, eat your bland potatoes.”

He sent a grateful smile her way. “Sure.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun…” She mumbled, scrunching up her beak at the forced smile Scout gave her. The trio jumped at the sound of wild, clashing, tuneless notes on the piano coming from Greg. Ms Langtree softly smiled and took over, playing a much more pleasant swing song. Greg’s face dropped his smile for a beat before giving a thumbs-up and climbing on a chair to grab the container of molasses. Bouncing to the beat of the song, he began to sing.

“Oh, potatoes and molasses

If you want some, oh just ask us

They’re warm and soft like puppies and socks

Filled with cream and candy rocks!”

As he sang, he pranced around the room, adding just a bit of molasses to each plate to add a bit more cheer to everyone’s hearts.

“Oh, potatoes and molasses

They’re so much sweeter than algebra class

If your stomach is grumblin’ and your mouth starts mumblin’

There’s only one thing to keep your brain from crumblin’!

Oh, potatoes and molasses

If you can’t see ‘em, put on your glasses

They’re shiny and large like a fisherman’s barge

You know you eat enough when you start seein’ stars!”

Absentmindedly, Scout tapped her spoon against her glass to the beat of the song. A wide smile spread across her face when she noticed Wirt doing the same. And as if on cue, the animals all joined in the song with their instruments. The sight and sound of this made Scout feel at home. Music was her life and band was a great part of it.

“Oh, potatoes and molasses

It’s the only thing left on your task list

They’re short and stout to make everyone shout

For potatoes and molasses!

For potatoes and-”

“That’s enough!”

The door to the dining area burst open along with the booming voice. In the doorway was a tall figure, decked out in a large black trench coat and top hat, much shinier than Scout’s. His pale skin complexion stood out against his all-black attire. His greying hair peeked from under his hat, his dark eyes were hidden behind his circular prescription glasses, and his thick lips were curled into an upset frown. “Is this what I’ve been paying for?!”

“Hey!” Greg defended from where he stood on the table. “We just wanted to have a little fun.”

“I didn’t invest in this school to have fun,” He then marched over to Ms Langtree, who cowered under his scorn. “I thought we were trying to do important work here, teaching animals to count and spell.”

“We are!” Ms Langtree whined. “Oh, please, Father, don’t close the school! It won’t happen again!”

But he only walked past her. “I should say it won’t,” As he passed the animals, he snatched their instruments from them, definitely not forgetting to send a glare towards the three human children. “This… this… and this are all coming with me. Now send them to bed!”

“You heard father,” Ms Langtree sadly motioned to another room. “Off to bed with you.”

In a single-file line, the children, human and animal, trudged into the room filled with well-made beds, one for three students maximum. On the way, they were each given a nightgown, Scout choosing to just throw hers on over her clothes along with her friends. “Wirt,” She whispered. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“Whatever you want, Scout. D-Don’t you need rest anyway? You look like you hit your head pretty hard.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” She climbed into bed with Greg, his frog nestling under the blanket between them. Scout took their hats off and set them off to the side, frowning at the boy’s pout. “What’s on your mind, Gregory?”

Said boy tore his eyes away from the saddened animal folk. “I just wanted to have fun, change the world, and make it a better place.”

“Who says you didn’t?” She hummed and began tucking him in.

“You probably forgot because of your amnesia. I just made everything worse, Scout. Look at them…”

Scout glanced over her shoulder at the animals who were now sniffling and sighing to themselves. Exhaling through her nose, she turned back to the boy. “You know, changing the world isn’t easy, Greg. And you won’t get it right the first time. But you know what?” She gently pressed her lips to his forehead. “You change my world for the better everyday.”

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

“So, you remembered our good times! You’re cured!”

From between them, the frog croaked, causing the two to giggle. From the bed beside them, Wirt softly smiled at the interaction, his heart warming as well as his cheeks. Beatrice watched him with narrowed eyes. “Okay, Wirt, I’ll admit it. You seem like a pushover, but you’re not.”

“Oh?” He shifted his gaze to her.

“Deep down in your heart… you’re a stubborn jerk! When are you gonna give this up?!”

Wirt stared forward with a determined look. “Maybe never. Maybe I’ll never give this up.”

Greg hummed before pushing the blanket off of he and Scout, the girl quietly groaning to herself. “Yeah! Wirt’s right! Never give up!” He cheered before grabbing his sheets and tying the ends together, throwing them out the window. “C’mon! Let’s go save the day!”

“Okay, if you say so,” Wirt left his bed, halting at his friend, who painfully sat up and turned to assist Greg. “W-Wait, w-what about Scout?”

Her head slowly turned to him. “What about me?”

“You’re hurt.”

“You know what? I order you to stop being such a Worry Wirt.” She playfully rolled her eyes. He sputtered for a second before giving in and following her out of the window.

After discarding their nightgowns, the gang wandered the blackened wood, the hooting of an owl being their only source of sound beside the three sets of feet shifting through the grass. Scout wrapped her arms around her sore body for warmth. From beside her, she felt Wirt fix her hat that had been leaning atop her head. She glanced at him with a thankful smile, sending heat to his cheeks and then to hers in turn. Clearing his throat, Wirt looked to his brother. “So, what’s the plan, Greg?”

“Plan?”

Scout tilted her head. “Yeah. You need to plan to change the world, bud.”

“Oh. I don’t know.” He shrugged.

Just then, a pitiful moan sounded from behind a bush. “Oh, who would’ve thought making a primer school for animals was a bad idea?”

Upon parting the bush, the three quietly gasped at the sight of Mr Langtree crouching on the ground, surrounded by the instruments he had confiscated, talking to himself. “My life savings, my home, everything I had went into that dear, dear school. And now I’m forced to sell these instruments just to keep it open,” As he continued, he removed his trench coat to reveal a quite scrawny man underneath the threatening facade, using his coat and a trumpet to act as a sorry tent. “All the while, that loathsome Jimmy Brown is off galavanting who knows where! Not to mention that wild gorilla on the loose. If only something would go right for a change…” He defeatedly sighed as he laid on the ground.

Soon, the sound of his snores filled the area. Scout hummed and shook her head. “Poor guy…”

“Yeah,” Greg nodded. “Okay, I think he’s asleep. Let’s go steal his stuff.”

Wirt, Scout and Beatrice widened their eyes. “What?”

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

As the sun emerged and the mildew leaked from the trees, Scout checked every last detail of the area before nodding to herself. Throughout the night, Greg, Wirt and Beatrice helped build a stage and notified anyone around of their benefit concert as Scout gathered the animal students to quickly learn a single song on their instruments. The work was tiring, but nothing she wasn’t used to. Rounding the front of the stage, she found Greg waiting for her, holding a baton for her. “There you are! It’s time to do what you were born to do! Do it for the world, Scout!”

“Alright, alright.” She chuckled and took the baton into her hand. Facing the band, she raised her arms in front of her, commencing the song. Her heart swelled with pride as the students played along perfectly. A joyful laugh bubbled in her throat as her arms waved and glided through the air to cue entrances and cut-offs. From the corner of her eye, she spotted people, apparently wealthy by their fine clothes and generous donations, trickling in from wherever they came from and dumping their purses and pockets clean into buckets provided. Her grin widened as they stopped beside the stage to stand and enjoy the beautiful music.

Her smile dropped when the students slowly halted their playing. “Guys, why’d you stop?” She raised her brows. Greg jumped onto the stage and pointed past her.

“Gorilla!”

That same pathetic roar from the previous day triggered the screaming of the audience. Scout spun around to find the gorilla she had knocked out was back and charging towards poor Ms Langtree. “Young man, do something!” Mr Langtree shouted at Wirt. The teen looked around uselessly before blindly running forward to do… something.

Before he could stop or hesitate, he tripped on his still untied laces and collided with the gorilla, sending them both to the ground. When they hit the ground, the head of the gorilla popped off and rolled to the side. Everyone gasped as Wirt scrambled to his feet. The headless gorilla sat up to reveal himself as a young man with silky, blonde hair and a handlebar mustache. “Finally.” His southern accent sighed out.

“Jimmy?” Ms Langtree gaped.

“That’s right, darlin’. I was the gorilla.”

“But… why did you do it…?”

“Got a job in the circus so’s I could finally buy ya that weddin’ ring,” He struggled to stand as Ms Langtree joined his side. “But when I got stuck in the dang suit, everybody was too doggone scared to help me out.”

Scout wringed her hands together in embarrassment. Ms Langtree cupped her cheeks in her hands as she swooned.

“Oh, Jimmy…”

“Darlin’...”

The two lovingly embraced, Greg shaking Scout as everyone cheered for them. Mr Langtree sniffled and wiped a tear from his eye. “I guess the world really is as sweet as potatoes and molasses…”

As if on cue, Greg plucked the baton from Scout’s grasp and turned to the band, starting his own song once again,

“Oh, potatoes and molasses.

If you want some, oh, just ask us!”

Sensing her work was done, Scout hopped off the stage and searched for her friend. He was leaning against a tree nearby with Beatrice perched on a branch above him. Giddily smiling, she shimmied her way over to them with a skip in her step. Wirt quietly chuckled as he watched her, raising a brow when she finally reached him.

“I did pretty good, huh?”

“You did great, Scout.”

She happily sighed and leaned beside him, their shoulders brushing at their closeness. Beatrice smirked at this. “Hey, Wirt.” She softly called.

“Yeah?” He glanced up at the branch.

“Tie your shoe.”

“Hm? Oh. Mm… okay.” He hummed and bent down to do as he was told.

Peeking over his cone hat, Scout spotted Beatrice glancing from Wirt, then to her, sending a wink her way. Scout widened her eyes and blushed furiously.

—————————————

Taglist: @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner

[slashingdisneypasta]

Jack Bass x Younger!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Bass's.

Notes:

I have no idea when this is supposed to be set. Just go with it.

I have two things to say about Jack in this gif, though. 1. Does he not know how to carry a tray. And 2. I love this statement, here. Its like 'Bart's Dead, Chuck. I can barely contain my joy, Chuck. Its taking all my willpower, Chuck, to keep a monotonous expression. Also Chuck I am carrying a tray, do you see this?'

Plot: Bart Bass decides to be his creepy fucking self (Not that Jack is exponentially better in any way but whatever) towards you, Chuck's best friend- but thankfully, Jack accidentally walks in on the scene and gives you a get out of jail free card.

Good old 'lesser of two evils' shit. I love stuff like that.

Warnings: BART BASS being predatory, and a bit of age difference (You and Jack. I'm going by actors ages though so there's only a, like, 11 year age gap between him and Chuck which is not that bad if you ask me). Sexual references.

~~~

Chuck looks from his phone, that's flashing Blairs name, to you and your big, wide eyes and lips mouthing 'Don't you dare', then to his father quietly tapping away on his phone on the couch a few feet away... then back at his phone.

"Charles- " You hiss, prepared to threaten his very existence but he cuts you off first- slipping off the bar stool beside you and heading for the hallway.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom."

Why am I friends with him again!? You think, but stay quiet and hope that Bart doesn't realise that you're back there despite having said hello to you earlier when he came in. You think, if you stay quiet like a mouse, he will forget your existence and keep texting until Chuck gets back- although, who knows how long he and Blair can go on for.

Depends what its about, honestly. If its about revenge or espionage... well, the conversation could last quite some time.

Should I just leave?

The impulse to run away is a strong one, as you sit there with your cheeks heating up and you start to feel nauseated. You never liked Bart Bass, from the moment you met him. Before that, actually. You had heard Chuck talking about him to Nate before you even became friends with them, and none of what you heard was good. And then you did meet him, one day when Chuck invited you over to do a school project. Or 'school project' as he so obnoxiously put it. You really did end up just doing a school project, though. Hence your friendship nowadays. Bart was creepy towards you even then, at 16 with terribly died hair and the wrong eyeshadow.

You've been very careful since then to never be alone with him like this. You would talk to him at parties if you were forced to, say hello to him when Chuck had you at his place and the man walked by, but that is the extent of your communication with the creep. Always, always, someone would be around. Chuck, mostly. But also staff, or Nate, or random fundraiser ladies, or Jack who Chuck the bastard never left alone with all willy-nilly like this, unfortunately, or Lily, or literally anyone else possible on the earth.

You've even hidden away in the men's bathroom, which is disgusting no matter how expensive the restaurant, with Nate before to get away from this man when Chuck once ditched you both at a dinner with him. And that's the story of how you got your first kiss, too, and it was from Nate Archibald. Hell yes.

That's how much this man makes you want to grab your bag and flee.

But you don't. You stay glued to your seat, super still, listening only to the tap-tap-tapping noises that Bart makes and the bump-bump-bump noises your heart is making right into your throbbing ears.

Until it stops.

Not the bump-bump-bumping, oh no. The tapping. And, nightmarishly, it's replaced by a groan and footsteps coming towards your turned back.

"Y/N," As soon as he says your name, his hands fall on your your shoulders and you literally jump under his touch. Shit- Shit- Fuck- what's happening- "I've been meaning to speak with you recently but Chuck- ah. Well you know him. He refused to share with me your telephone number. But I knew you'd turn up here at some point, so not to worry."

"Uh... right." You cant even force yourself to be your normal, cheery, polite self in this position. You just want him to get. off. of. you.

"Did you want a drink?" He asks, in that possibly cheery (But only because its slightly louder then his usual husk level) but mostly still scary voice he uses to convey emotion, letting go of you thankfully and rounding to the other side of the bar. You shake your head, though. He raises his brows, picking out a scotch for himself. "You don't drink? Shocking, seeing as you're friends with my son."

Oh I drink. You think, giving him a shrug. Just not in situations like this one. Also, what must he think of Chuck? Jesus Christ. For sure, your boy likes debauchery but what's wrong with that?

"Well, I like that." Bart pauses before pouring his drink, to appreciate you. "Mature."

Damn it. It makes your skin absolutely crawl.

"So... " You take a deep breath, tucking your hair back behind your ears rather then ruffling it back like you usually would to get it out of your face- lest that be recognised as some kind of extremely subtle form of flirting. God, fear makes you think weird things. "What did you want to discuss?"

"Oh- Just, your future. Where are you going to school? Will you be sticking close to us?"

Us? US? No, I'll be far far away, from you.

You don't really want to tell Bart where you're going to be going to school, because in your fear addled brain you know that that will just lead to 'Which campus?', or 'Where will you be staying?' and you really don't want it to go there.

You're just taking another, shakier deep breath, when the front door of the apartment opens and shuts loudly and set of feet trample down the hallway towards you. Immediately total relief plashes over you and you wipe your face. Oh, thank god.

Jack Bass appears in the doorway to the living room, looking as put-together yet somehow simultaneously still totally relaxed, as always, and forces aa polite smile onto his handsome face. "Brother. Y/N? Its good to see you."

You have no idea. "Good to see you too Jack. Uh- Chuck's in the bathroom."

"Thanks. For that... enlightening, information, Y/N. I needed that." You cheeks flare up in embarrassment, but ultimately you just roll your eyes as Jack flashes you a subtle wink, and turns promptly to his - much, - older brother. "Bart."

The older brother in question looks less then pleased at his baby brothers appearance in his home. Right now. And he possibly isn't thrilled about that little wink, either. Like you two are in on some kind of joke together. "Jack... What are you doing here?"

"Simmer down, bro. Just visiting." Even you know that that excuse is weak, but anything that comes out Jack's own monotonous voice right now is blessed where you're concerned so you certainly don't say anything. Or make any faces, which would be more appropriate. "Y/N, I don't think Bart-man here's too happy about my presence." Hm, no. You'd have to agree with that observation- not that you've looked up at Bart since Jack came in. You wont risk it. Jack glides through the room with the practised grace of a man who's lived 3 quarters of his life in suits and the other, happier quarter in board shorts, and ends up right next to your chair, an arm resting on the bench in front of you.

If you weren't already so nervous about Bart, you would blush about Jack.

"At least tell me you're glad to see me."

You grin, which is less forced then you thought it would be prior to trying it. Damn, he's good. You think, realising he just swepped in here and made you comfortable in less then 50 words. "Always, 'Uncle Jack'."

"Oh," He groans, like it physically pained him to hear you tease him like that. A tiny smirk even slips through his usually emotionless - well, not emotionless. He has one standing colour, that being sly, - stone statue of a face. "'Uncle Jack'- Please, stop. I'm barely a decade older then you."

That's enough to make anything else possible, inappropriate. Unfortunately. "Hey, I said I'm glad to see you." You wink, a bit sly yourself. "Count your blessings."

His grin widens a bit, like the dangerously charming Cheshire cat-type that he is. Genes that Chuck inherited, clearly, if his track record with girls say anything at all, but that Bart obviously missed out on. "You've got a point."

"She's a remarkable young woman." Bart pipes up, making your stomach tie itself up in knots again, and you immediately revert your gaze to your lap. Remarkable young woman... you want to barf. "Who, I was actually having a conversation with before you burst in here, unannounced." He takes a slow sip of his drink, then mutters. "And uninvited."

"Well that's great." Jack straightens up, clapping his hands together and finally showing his teeth in a smile. They're really freaken white, compared to his skin, deeply tanned by the hot Australian sun. "A visit would be kinda uncomfortable without a conversation; I'll join. I can converse with the best of 'em, Bart. I assure you."

"It was private." The old man sneers, thinking that he's got the upper hand on Jack, and all you can do is hope to god that he's wrong.

Jack turns his head back to look at you, and you meet his gaze tentatively. Your eyes scream, 'Please don't leave me alone with that guy'. He promptly looks back to Bart. "Well Bart why don't we ask the lady in the room what she wants? We are gentlemen here aren't we?" Then Jack makes a face, all crumpled up and unsure, for a moment. "Err. Well actually... 'gentleman' might be a bold faced lie. We'll ask anyway. Y/N! Do you mind if I weigh in here?"

"Not at all." You say quickly, flashing a tiny, thankful smile. He gives you another wink- this time actually subtle. So Bart didn't see it. Your smile gets a little bit bigger, relaxing. He's got you.

"Great." You watch him pull out the stool beside you, that Chuck - who has still not returned from his phone call with Blair. You assume some, likely cruel vengeance must be involved. Possibly involving that Humphrey guy, - had vacated and settles down in it. He then sets his arms firmly on the bench and looks up attentively at Bart, not breaking eye contact with him. Boy these Bass's like their stare downs. "So?" He prompts, expectantly. And a little arrogantly- a Bass speciality that you truly don't mind at all. "What's on the agenda, today?"

Bart glares heatedly, back.

~

Throughout the awkward discussion between the three of you, which your good friend Chuck has yet to return to discover - at this point you're resigned to him having climbed out the window and scaled the building probably, - , Jack constantly, skilfully changes the subject for you whenever Bart rears to close to somewhere uncomfortable. He makes jokes that make you laugh, he nudges you with his elbow at times - but never touches you any more then that, although you honestly wouldn't mind it if he did, - and takes the attention off you a lot. At times you truly thought you saw steam come out of Bart's ears.

When finally Bart gives up and excuses himself, saying he as an early dinner with Lily, you feel exhausted and relieved. After the door swings shut behind him, you cover your face with your hands and deeply sigh.

"So, what was that about? You looked like a trapped mouse. I recognise that look, I invented that look." You pull back slightly from your hands and glance over at him, to see him thoughtful for a moment. "Well, not by making it. By... causing... it... Either way, it was not good." He shakes his head, taking a sip of his own drink - scotch, - that he made Bart pour for him; Raising his eyebrows at you for an explanation over the rim of the glass.

Jack's always been great, like this. Even when he was horrible, he was the lesser of two evils between him and Bart. Good for a laugh and quality eye candy in a pinch- and that counts for a hell of a lot when it comes to surviving Bart Bass and the Upper East Side. And he had the power and pull of an adult, but knew what the hell was going on like one of you.

So he always made you feel at ease.

You ruffle your hair back, and sigh, straightening your back finally from their hunched over position they live in when you're uncomfortable and pushing back your shoulders. "He was just, saying some weird stuff... and Chuck disappeared to talk to Blair." At that, Jack nods in total understanding. Like ah, yeah. Got ya. Finally, you shrug. "He just makes me really uncomfortable. No offence, but I hate your brother."

As you watch Jack's eyes don't even flicker; He's totally on board with what you've said. Then he finishes the rest of his scotch in one gulp. "Ahh- I hate him too."

"As do we all." Chuck's voice suddenly pops up, as he appears in the doorway like Jack had earlier. You have to practice some serious self control so as to not laugh, at Chuck so coincidentally turning up again at the perfect moment to proclaim his hatred for his father. Jack grins back at Chuck coldly, nodding. Yeah. "Anyway, Y/N, I apologise but I'll be having to abandon you. Blair's waiting for me at her, empty, apartment." He pauses for a moment for dramatic effect, in perfect Chuck Bass fashion, and you roll your eyes, grinning. Jack smirks. "But you're welcome to stick around a while and help yourself to the amenities All on my tab, of course. Good to see you again, Jack." Then he pockets his phone and heads toward the door. The second Bass of the day leaves the building.

"Bye, nephew!" Jack waives as the elevator doors close behind Chuck then swiftly turns around back to you, to which you raise your eyebrows. "So, what do we do now?"

"I dunno." Shrugging you grin and turn your stool to angle your legs towards Jack. "When Chuck says those magical words 'All on my tab'," Those words, oh; You speak them with just as much raw, breathy sexual arousal as the man himself would. As the words demand. 'All on my tab'. Good lord, sex if they were words. "I tend to take advantage."

"An easy girl to please; That's what I like to see." Your cheeks flame up at those words out of Jack's mouth as he turns to look down at the room service menu. Yes, Jack Bass has toed the line, between platonic and flirtatious since the very moment you met the man... but that seemed a little bit more then toeing the line.

And you get a far different reaction to him doing it then you do the other Bass brother.

You don't even really mind the implications of his words.

"You're staying back with me?" You ask, feeling hopeful at the idea.

"Yeah well, I cant in, uh, good conscience," He makes a bit of a show to you, of pressing his hand to his chest totally earnestly as those words 'good conscience' come out of his mouth. "leave you here unguarded in case Bart comes back, can I? Besides, the way you said 'All on my tab'- man, you could sell moonshine at an AA meeting with that voice."

"Ha," You laugh, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. "Well, thanks."

"Oh. Don't thank me. You're just using what uh, your mama gave you. I actually encourage you totally, to do that more often- "

"No!" You exclaim, sighing in exasperation; But there is still a smile on your face you cant seem to shake. "For not leaving, today. When you walked in. It would've sucked if you had, not that I would've blamed you at all."

"Hey, just call me your knight in shining armour." He doesn't look up from the menu, flicking through it. Then turns to you with one of those beach boy/politician, toothless grins of his. "Besides you were automatically, my favourite person in the apartment. I mean, anyone with... uhhh- different, appendages to what I have, instantly gets a one-way ticket access to my rare bouts of chivalry. Now come over here, pick out what you want off here."

You just gape at him and that comment, making him stifle a laugh and return to the menu himself.

Bass's.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 21 - ao3 -

When he woke, Lan Qiren expected to find everyone talking about what had happened.

He might have even preferred that, despite the cost it would undoubtedly do to his personal reputation; instead, he found that the entire incident had been largely covered up, with even Lan Yueheng uncertain as to what had caused Lan Qiren’s injury other than that it involved some sort of dispute with his brother. That a mangled version of the story had not spread was as sure a sign as anything that He Kexin, whatever her faults or reckless willingness to act on assumptions with little base in reality, had in fact explained what had really happened, and that his brother had decided that he wouldn’t permit her reputation to be tainted by her actions.

Anyone might have expected the honorable Qingheng-jun to have apologized to Lan Qiren at that point for his own reckless assumptions, but his brother had not. On the contrary, he had left orders for Lan Qiren to be punished for breaching the rules of hospitality in striking an honored guest, and for violating several other rules not publicly specified. 

Lan Qiren could imagine which ones his brother had in mind.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” Lan Qiren said to his teachers, blankly staring down at the punishment order, written in his brother’s hand. He hadn’t even been given the courtesy of being told about it to his face, as anyone might have expected, nor allowed the opportunity to defend or justify himself; he had been summarily sentenced in a note. “I really didn’t.”

His music teacher and his swordsmanship teacher both looked uncomfortable and awkward, each one clearly aware of the breach of protocol taking place – and, given their position as sect elders and honored teachers, very likely the actual facts of what had occurred. They knew that the only thing he was being punished over was for having the misfortune of being selected as the tool for He Kexin’s scheme, and his brother’s order – vastly excessive for a breach of the sort listed as the reason, given the usual standard of punishments – was due only to his own embarrassment and chagrin, and maybe his jealousy that Lan Qiren had unwillingly gotten even a little of the attention he so greatly desired and could not have. And yet, despite that…

“He is your sect leader,” one of them, the latter, said, and if his voice was a little regretful, it was also cold and passionless. “He has issued punishment. Are you defying his order?”

Lan Qiren’s hands were like fists on his knees. “Where is my brother?” he asked. He didn’t think an appeal would be a good idea, even if he were technically entitled to it – it’d be futile, unless his brother abruptly realized how foolish he was being – but he would be fine with it if only the answer wasn’t…

“With Rogue Cultivator He. She has agreed to give him another chance.”

Lan Qiren bit his lip and looked down. He did not like He Kexin, and not only because she had so grossly transgressed against him in an obvious attempt to convince his brother not to like her any longer – an attempt that, given the extent of his brother’s love-madness, probably wouldn’t have worked even if Lan Qiren hadn’t been utterly repulsed by the idea of bedding his brother’s prospective bride – and the idea of her giving his brother another chance at this point, even after having done so much to try to make him go away…

Perhaps she liked men that fought over her, he thought bitterly. Or perhaps it was only that she appreciated how much of his love she had for him to treat his younger brother as nothing on her behalf - though if that was what she was thinking, she was sorely mistaken. 

“Something will need to be done about my brother’s behavior,” he said, looking up at them desperately. “You must know that this is not sustainable, honored teachers.”

“That is not your concern,” his swordsmanship teacher said, while his music teacher merely looked sad and helpless, as if what was happening was a force of nature that could not be quelled or diverted, and not merely a single man’s inappropriate behavior. “Will you accept the punishment? Or do you intend to defy the sect leader’s order?”

Lan Qiren shook his head mutely, and went to the discipline hall.

Afterwards, Lan Yueheng scurried in after him, shoving a healing pill into Lan Qiren’s mouth and holding his mouth shut until he swallowed it. “You should go,” he said, glancing around anxiously. “You don’t want to be here any longer than you have to.”

“You assume I don’t have to,” Lan Qiren said, still shaking from the pain. He’d never gotten that many strikes all at once, not in his life; he could barely stand unaided, and leaned on Lan Yueheng gratefully. “I’m supposed to kneel and meditate on my actions for three days –”

“You can do that somewhere else!”

Lan Qiren shook his head.

But for once Lan Yueheng was right and he was wrong. On the first two days of his punishment, he saw his brother pass by the discipline hall in an excellent mood, his ‘second chance’ with He Kexin going better than he had hoped – according to the gossip Lan Qiren overheard, apparently she did like it when handsome men fought for her and believed in her, and moreover apparently one of her friends had intervened on his behalf – but on the third day, just as he was about to complete his penance for crimes he had not committed, his brother returned suddenly in a fury over some setback. In a bout of bad luck and bad timing, he saw Lan Qiren just as he was making his way out of the hall, and in a fit of temper he had extended his order from one set of strikes to two, even though such a retrospective revision of punishment was contrary to both the letter and spirit of the rules.

He was the sect leader, though. According to the rules Lan Yi had set down so many years ago, as sect leader, he was entitled to vary the rules if he felt the need to do so.

This time, when the punishment was done, Lan Qiren hauled himself out of there, using the wall and sheer willpower to force his shaking legs to carry him, and stiffly announced to the teacher supervising punishments that he planned to meditate in penance in the Cold Spring instead of the discipline hall.

It was technically against the stricter interpretations of discipline, since he’d been punished to kneel, not meditate, but the Cold Spring was known to have recuperative and pain-easing properties as well as acting as an aid to cultivation; his teachers, which had overseen his punishment for the second time with tightly pressed lips signifying disapproval that meant nothing if they were unwilling to take any action to stop it, did not dispute him, and with a nod his freedom was assured.

Lan Qiren had a brief moment of disquiet when he got there and realized that he would have to strip off his clothing in order to bathe – he’d only had enough time to wash himself since the incident with He Kexin, and a quick scrub in the cold air did not leave time to worry about who might try to find him while he lacked a protective layer of clothing – but with a deep breath he reminded himself that he, unlike his brother, would not allow his life to be governed by He Kexin’s whims. Anyway, it would be unhealthy to wade in with all his clothing on; the wet cloth would serve only to make him feel colder and get less benefit out of the water’s healing properties. Even if his golden core was strong enough to resist most of the negative effects of catching cold, there was no need to tempt fate.

He put his clothing somewhere he could easily see it, tucking his access token into the clothing in such a way that summoning the token would drag along the robe as well, and then unsteadily entered the water, wincing at the bracing chill as he sank down until he was neck-deep in the water, settling himself in the proper position to meditate. Or, well, to sit blankly and wait for there to be a little less pain: even putting aside the severity, it was also the first time he’d ever been subject to back-to-back punishments in such a reckless fashion. Lack of treatment after a punishment was fairly standard if the sentence also included kneeling – technically, Lan Yueheng shouldn’t have given him a pill to encourage healing, and Lan Qiren shouldn’t have accepted it, although doing so was not a major breach. Moreover, given that the teachers had ignored it rather than adding on any additional punishment, it might even be seen as having been subtly countenanced.

Lan Qiren rather wished he had one now.

Or Lan Yueheng, for that matter. Or even Cangse Sanren, far away in Yunmeng, or Lao Nie, or someone, anyone, who would be friendly and take his side, even –

“Lan Qiren?”

Lan Qiren blinked, surprised to note that the angle of the light had changed considerably; he must have fallen asleep or otherwise drifted off. Or perhaps he was still asleep, because why else would he be hearing Wen Ruohan’s slow drawling tone saying his name in the middle of the Cloud Recesses?

“Ah, little Lan,” the man himself said, gliding out of the mist that surrounded the Cold Spring like a wraith. “There you are.”

Lan Qiren stared at him mutely. “You’re – here.”

It didn’t feel real. How could Wen Ruohan be here?

“I am,” Wen Ruohan said, his lips curved in his usual arrogant expression, the one that said I don’t care what you think of me. “Or am I expected to await your invitation in the future?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said, because he felt even less in control of anything to do with his sect than he had been when he’d been its second young master, even though he was now the presumptive heir. His vision of Wen Ruohan blurred and briefly doubled; he blinked to clear it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Even if it was true.

Wen Ruohan’s eyes briefly widened, and then he smirked, looking delighted by the admission. “So you missed me after all,” he said, his voice low and intimate; one might almost call it a purr. “Ah, my stubborn little brother…”

Lan Qiren briefly closed his eyes. Had his brother ever referred to him directly like that? He couldn’t remember if he had.

He wished that it had been some single moment in time, some rash act, that had driven his blood brother, born of the same father and mother, so far away from him. He even wished that it was something that he had done so that it could be something he might fix, might repair with apologies and penance, but he knew that it wasn’t.

When he opened his eyes again, he found that Wen Ruohan had come closer, prowling along the edge of the Cold Spring with his red eyes fixed on Lan Qiren. His pace, as always, was slow and steady – it felt inexorable, unstoppable, and Lan Qiren did nothing to stop him, watching blankly as he came forward, crouching down right beside the place where Lan Qiren was sitting beneath the water.

“Little Lan,” Wen Ruohan purred. “My little Lan…”

He reached out, his long-nailed fingers tracing down along Lan Qiren’s cheek, as light as snowflakes, and down to his chin, catching it in a strong grip and turning his face to look up at Wen Ruohan.  His thumb brushed against Lan Qiren’s lips.

Lan Qiren swallowed. It had been, he thought, too long since he had felt the touch of someone who wished him well, or indeed anyone at all; he had missed it more than he had realized.

Wen Ruohan noticed, and his smirk widened.

“I heard a rumor that you had been caught in attempted adultery,” he remarked. “I didn’t believe it, of course, and no one else did, either – but I had to come see for myself.”

“I didn’t,” Lan Qiren croaked. His voice felt strangled and inexplicably hoarse, and he found himself absently calculating distances in the back of his mind: Wen Ruohan must have left the Nightless City for the Cloud Recesses the very moment he received the report from his spies on what had happened in order to be here now. “I really – didn’t.”

“I believe you,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding cool and amused. “It didn’t really seem like something that my little Lan would do. My little Lan, who missed me so…”

Lan Qiren tried to turn his head away, not wanting to see the smug satisfaction in Wen Ruohan’s voice and face and manner – Wen Ruohan hadn’t won, he thought stubbornly to himself. Lan Qiren hadn’t given up on his conviction that such torture was wrong or that Wen Ruohan was wrong in engaging in it. It was only that Lan Qiren was tired and in pain, and willing to accept comfort from just about anyone.

Wen Ruohan wouldn’t let him turn away, though, and overpowered his weak movement easily.

“Don’t fret,” he said coaxingly. “I missed you, too.”

That sounded nice.

“I must admit, I tried not to. I thought to myself that if you were so foolish as to turn away from me, the consequences should be on your own head, nothing to do with me. But despite my best efforts, you were never far from my thoughts…”

Wen Ruohan’s hand released Lan Qiren’s  chin and drifted down to his throat, lightly pressing his nails against his skin as if examining how the color changed when he did. He moved closer, too close for Lan Qiren to see him clearly given the mist and the angle; his second hand fell upon Lan Qiren’s shoulder, while his first continued to drift down, skating along his collarbone, drifting over to his side –

His touch slid across one of the stray bruises left over from his punishment.

Lan Qiren flinched.

That was a bad idea, of course. The involuntary reflex moved his body too quickly, straining all his other cuts and bruises, and the spike of pain from that made him gasp and instinctively curl up. His vision briefly whited out, and he struggled to control his breathing, keeping it slow and shallow to let the pain pass over him.

After a moment that felt overly long, his vision cleared. When it did, he became aware that Wen Ruohan’s fingers were pressed to his brow in the place between his eyes, transferring warm qi to him in such a torrent that it almost hurt; Lan Qiren lifted up a hand to stop him.

Wen Ruohan was faster than him, though, and he pulled away his hand and caught Lan Qiren’s, pulling it up to examine the bruising that was already appearing on the back of his arm – stray marks, in the main part, since the majority were on his back, between his neck and thighs. “What happened?” he asked, voice sharp. “How did you get these wounds?”

Lan Qiren looked at him in bewilderment: was this not the same man he had seen twist human beings into shapes their bodies could not bear, burn them with fire and slice them into bits? Why would he care so much over a few bruises and cuts, the marks left behind by unyielding wood when it struck flesh, instruments of discipline used a thousand times over in every single sect? 

“You know already,” he said, unable to keep the slight tone of plaintive accusation out of his voice. “You said you believed me…”

Wen Ruohan stared at him, expression strangely blank, and then in a single gesture he pulled Lan Qiren up to a standing position, waist-deep in the water and choking on the pain of it, back bent forward like a bow, the worst of the marks now visible to Wen Ruohan’s burning gaze.

“What is this?” he demanded.

It wasn’t really a question that needed answering, and he wasn’t really asking, not anymore, but Lan Qiren responded regardless: “Punishment.”

Wen Ruohan’s hand was tight on his wrist.

“For what?” he snarled, and he sounded furious. Lan Qiren didn’t know if he’d ever heard Wen Ruohan sound this angry - he didn’t know if anyone alive had heard him be this angry, and if they had whether they’d survived the experience. “It is impossible that you actually bedded your brother’s lover. So what possible reason could they have for punishing you?”

“He’s my sect leader,” Lan Qiren said groggily. His head was starting to hurt; he had exited the cold water too quickly. “Does he need a reason?”

The hand on his wrist tightened still further. Lan Qiren would probably have bruises there in the morning as well, equally undeserved - but he minded these far less. 

At least Wen Ruohan was angry on his behalf.

“Qingheng-jun is daring indeed,” Wen Ruohan said, his voice as smooth as silk and as dark as a moonless night. “To think he can act with impunity to anyone he wishes, even going so far as to harm one with whom I share an oath –”

“…do you?”

Wen Ruohan stopped. “Share an oath with you?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said. His head lolled a little, and he found that somewhere along the line he had been drawn into Wen Ruohan’s arms, making it easy to rest his head on the other man’s shoulder. Wen Ruohan was overly warm, as always; his sect always preferred cultivation techniques involving yang energy and fire – it wasn’t a surprise, not really, but it was unexpected how pleasant it was. “Need a reason.” He shook his head a little. “You hurt people, too.”

“You are not just any person,” Wen Ruohan said. “You’re my little brother.”

“I’m his little brother, too.”

He felt Wen Ruohan’s hand, blazingly hot against his water-chilled body, come to rest on his hair.

“You were born with poor luck in brothers, little Lan,” he said, his breath warm against Lan Qiren’s ear. It was as if all the heat in the world was contained in his body, and Lan Qiren capable only of leeching off of it. “Not just him, but me as well; we each fail you in turn. I will not apologize for having bound you to me, for I do not regret it – but I will endeavor to make it up to you.”

Surrounded by all that warmth, Lan Qiren drifted off to sleep.

[dreamii-yume]

@shikigamiuwu said :

“Epel’s have a crush to y/n since they meet them and has confessed there love for y/n many times but y/n reject him. So since it was here birthday he thought of confessing again since he has birthday pass, but Y/n reject him again since he has a crush to Vil or Rook (whoever you want) to Epel’s demise, so Epel’s became so frustrated and angry that he just rape y/n and manipulate him on think y/n is not worthy to be with Vil’s so he can have y/n for himself.”

••••••••••

You, my good bitch, have sent like- four big-brained ideas for not only Epel but SILVER BIRTHDAY CRUMBS and I am ascending. Yume does not deserve this, I–

Warnings : Non-Consensual Touching | Non-Con | Yandere

“I like you.”

If it happened to be your first-time hearing Epel say those three words to you in such an affectionate manner, words that are obviously meant to be taken as a confession, it would’ve been enough to put you through a coma because of shock. You’ll be all flustered and probably stutter like a toddler learning how to speak for the first time, trying to figure out if it was a joke or not, despite the obvious signs. I mean...It was a confession from such a beautiful boy after all and you don’t really consider yourself as someone who can reach that level of beauty so, how can you not panic? If it were the first time, you wouldn’t know what to do, what words you should say, or which feelings you should prioritize. You’d be totally lost!

Except…This was no first time.

How many times had this beautiful boy confessed to you over the course of a few months? You weren’t counting, but you do know that you rejected each one of them respectfully and thoroughly. You didn’t why he kept coming back, he’s a lot more persistent than he lets on. “...How many times are you gonna tell me that?” You can answer him as differently as you want, but Epel would only smile at you and say the same thing every time.

“Until you can say that you like me back.”

The first time was as true as it could get, you were flustered, in the state of disbelief, plenty of eye movements going everywhere, grateful but unsure, and nervous sweat formed on your forehead. He loves you in a romantic sense, but even if he was someone precious to you, you just can’t see him as someone more than a really good friend, family even. “...But I keep telling you, I already like someone else.” It was your only excuse; it was a weak reason but at least it wasn’t a lie, Epel should know it more than anyone. It shuts him up, unable to say anything that could counteract your words and at first glance, it looks like a sign of giving up but soon, he’d just shrug it off like you never said anything in the first place.

It was troublesome, Epel wasn’t forcefully pushing his personal ideologies into you but having to tell you something that you already know is tiring to say the least. You wanted to be polite and even appreciate his honesty, but the more times he confesses, the more desensitized you get. Your rejections went from being apologetic to giving out an exasperated sigh and a shake of your head, just wanting to get it over with. It’ll just be the same anyways, the same confession and the same response, there was no point in sugar coating your words at this point.

“I like you.”

Epel might have thought that he’d get the response he wanted if he confesses to you on his birthday, but you could just shake your head in pity. No, you weren’t going to give in to the fact that it’s his special day and feel obligated to reciprocate his feelings because of it. You’d be lying otherwise, and you’re not about to build a relationship out of lies...Seriously, when is he ever going to stop terrorizing you with all these confessions, you’re starting to feel really bad about yourself here.

“Like I said a million times before, Epel.” You narrowed your eyebrows together with a stern and impeccable voice. “I don’t like you that way, I have someone I already like—“

“It’s Vil-san, right?”You widened your eyes as you looked back at Epel, surprised that he gave up a different answer than the usual. He was wearing the same smile as he does before, but up until now, you just can’t stand the fact on how empty it feels.

“H-How did you—“

“It’s obvious. Anyone could easily guess it if they observed you enough...Especially with how you constantly you look at him.” He said, his clear cerulean eyes burning holes into your soul. This made your cheeks flushed, quickly looking down...Do you really act that weird when it comes to Vil? It’s true that he makes your heart flutter and his presence was just something that you can’t turn a blind eye into but...You always thought that you were keeping your feelings cool and low. “What, don’t tell me you’re not aware of it yourself?”

Epel laughed, his hand covering his mouth like a delicate princess. “You’re really funny, charming even when your making such a dumb face too, hehe...” He said with a tinge of adorable red tainted on his flawless skin, rosy cheeks that you could only ever wish in your dream to have. You gulped as he looked back at you, staring straight into your unsettled eyes, making your body tense without knowing the actual reason as to why. “...But that’s only because I really like you that I’m willing to accept any of your bad characteristics. What do you think will I think if I were a normal person? If I were Vil-san?”

Your mouth closed and open multiple times, trying to find the words you want to say. Somehow, you began to piece together what he wanted to say and yet, you couldn’t actually stop him from saying it out loud. You knew it yourself; you didn’t need someone to pressure you into admitting something you already knew. Was Epel this much of a shrewd person before? Regardless, his pink polished lips twisted into a chilling smile.

“I’d think you’re disgusting.”

“You think you’re so smooth, following him around and eavesdropping every time he opens his mouth to talk just to hear his voice. You’re probably the type to steal some stuff from him too, it’s creepy!” Epel said, walking over to you as you kept your head held down, ashamed to be called out like this. “That makes you no different from a crazed fan, a stalker. Vil-san already gets plenty of those, he doesn’t need another one.”

You gasped as Epel grasped your chin, his eyes remaining as dark and cruel as you remembered them before, only that this time, he was no longer smiling. “…That’s why it’s disgusting. That’s not the kind of beauty Vil-san is looking for.” He said as you tried backing away, only for him to keep on stepping forward to stay close to you. “He’ll never acknowledge someone like you.”

You yelped as Epel suddenly pushed your shoulders down, tackling you down to the ground. Grunting, you landed in a not-so gentle manner with his beautiful face hovering above you. “...But I do.” He added, a small smile reappeared in his face, it was more like a pity smile if anything else.

You were getting scared, there was fear in your eyes alone as you try to search for your way out of this situation. Epel has a small structure despite being growing man himself, the different in size between the two of you are barely even noticeable! But with that cold, intimidating gaze, it feels as if you were forced to shrunk down beneath him. “E-Epel—“ Your voice calling out his name only became an encouragement for him to move his hands freely around your body. Even when you widened your eyes as he suddenly lifted up your shirt to expose your chest.

“W-Wait— no!” You can protest all you want, but even struggling against him as a fit resilience did nothing to reach conscience. Your breath was shaking as he merely swayed your flinging arms away, already weakened by your own will, and worked his way into freeing your mounds to be groped. His hand reached the underneath the skirt that you were wearing for his party and wasted no time in reaching for your underwear. Quavering lips turned into gasps of panic as he makes its way down to your erogenous zones, his nimble fingers able to send pleasures down your body. It didn’t take too long before the realization came to you, just how serious this is, that tears began to well up in your eyes.

He took no mind to it though, you plead and beg but you were met with cold, uncaring eyes as you felt a finger sliding in pass your folds. The way you squeaked like a mouse as he bit on your breast too, it was all too insignificant to really reach his ears at all…Looking deeper in the depths of those seemingly gentle eyes, it slowly occurred to you the emotions that he was hiding underneath there. Something that you’ve never noticed until now, or something that you never really bothered to look into, even if it was just for a split second.

All this time, Epel...was angry.

“S-Stop!” As if yelling out in a demanding voice can stop him, it only made him growl in irritation as he thrusted yet another finger inside you. Your willpower was incredibly weak, your stomach was already forming a knot ready to burst out any moment just by his fingers alone. With a scissor-like motion, it’s almost like he knew where to hit you, which places would feel good and would irk you even more, he even dug deeper down your entrance to explore undiscovered places.

An orgasm was inevitable, he was surprisingly skilled with his hands and your body wasn’t able to take all of that pleasure all at once and bursts right then and there. The toll on your body it took had you writhing on the ground, sobbing at the light-headed feeling spreading inside your brain. Epel seemed satisfied though, pulling out his fingers completely to marvel at how soaked you’ve made his fingers to be. “…You’re amazing.” He said, smiling down at you as he began to shuffle in between your legs, not even letting you rest for even a minute. “This is why I like you so much.”

“Please, stop...! W-Why…Why are you doing this…!?”

He leans in, wiping the tears off your cheek as he shook his head stubbornly. “Do you still…not understand?” He said, that chilling smile on his face was making it all the more terrifying for you as he comes and undo his pants. It’s not about whether or not you understood his motive here because you already had way too much time to do that, you were just in a state of disbelief that you’re just…doing anything you can to call off this reality your experiencing at this moment. “I said it over and over again, didn’t I?”

“I like you.”

Epel then chuckled, before shaking his head as if to correct himself from his own wording. “…No, maybe that’s why you couldn't understand.” He said, his smile becoming wider and wider. “Because it’s love.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

[bokugaos]

piece by piece.

pairing: kuroo x reader

length: 3.1k

tags — sex work/prostitution, semi-public sex, oral sex, alley blow jobs, rough sex, creampie, violence, abuse/assault, jealousy, possessiveness, angst.

summary: The first time Kuroo fucks you is your first ever. The second time he fucks you is also the last time.

The first time is in a dirty alley behind the bar, Kuroo’s pants around his ankles and you are fumbling awkwardly down to your knees.

He’s drunk and angry, too pissed off at the world to care who’s sucking him off in the dingy shadows beside the garbage bins. It’s not a bad blowjob by far—certainly not the worst he’s ever had—mouth warm and tight as he grips your hair and shoves his thick cock down your throat. You gag a little until your pretty eyes start to water, though you don’t try to pull away; you just let Kuroo fuck your mouth until he comes with a grunt, and swallows every drop before wiping your lips absently with a delicate hand.

Kuroo doesn’t look up as he tucks himself back into his jeans, though he can hear you get off your knees and lean against the wall with a sigh. The orgasm has taken the edge off his simmering rage, but he’s still drunk as fuck and anxious to get home and crawl into his lumpy bed. He digs into his jeans for twenty bucks and hands it to you without a word, and is surprised when you stuff it into your pocket and then grabs his arm before he can walk away.

“Do you…want me to do that for you again some time?” you ask, and look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes like he is the fucking Santa Claus. “I can meet you here? Or at your place?”

The words are on the tip of his tongue as he shrugs your hand off with a sigh; that he’s not picky about who sucks his cock and pretty much any mouth will do. Instead, he looks at your earnest face and the slightly desperate expression you’re trying to hide and finds himself saying the last fucking thing he ever expected.

“Yeah, here. Same time tomorrow.”

—

He doesn’t even learn your name until the fifth time you suck him off, still panting slightly after taking the load down your throat with a pleased smile.

“My name’s y/n,” you say, staring up at him through those lashes like you’re expecting a fucking pat on the head. He has no idea how he’s supposed to respond so he says nothing, shoving the money at you with a grunt before walking away.

He doesn’t need to know your name or what you do when he’s not around. And he does not spend any time wondering where you stay or why you’re out on the streets in the first place.

It’s none of his fucking business.

—

The first time Kuroo fucks you is also your first time ever, though he has no clue he’s dealing with a virgin until the deed is done.

You’re in his bed, and on your hands and knees, face pressed into the mattress and your hands clenched so tightly on the sheets. If he had bothered to, he might have guessed at the lack of experience; would have known from the wild look in your eyes and the nervous gnawing of those plush lips as you strip hastily and crawl onto the bed.

Instead, he’s too distracted by the show of your skin and his own painful erection to do much more than a perfunctory prep before he’s pushing in. you keen, high and wounded and clench down, and it takes every bit of his willpower not to just shove his cock all the way in and start thrusting his hips. As it is, he barely gives you a few moments to get used to being filled, before he starts hammering that pretty hole like his life fucking depends on it.

You groan, back arching against every thrust, sounding pinched and breathless every time he sinks in and bottoms out with a forceful grunt. You feel damn good around his swollen prick, and he finds that he can’t get enough of the way your skin bruises under his rough and calloused fingertips. It drives him wild when you grit your teeth and try so hard not to whine, which only tips Kuroo to haul his hips back and fuck you even harder.

He’s so pent-up that it doesn’t take long before he’s on the edge, and then he’s dragging you up onto your knees and spurting hard, biting down on a bare neck as he comes and comes inside that tight flesh. When he finishes he pulls out slowly, almost gently, though it still makes you cry out like you’re being punched in the gut.

“You okay?” he asks, as you just lay there on the bed, head cradled in your arms as you stare blankly at the far wall. “Did you come?”

“No,” you say, so quietly he can barely hear you. “I didn’t think I would the first time. Maybe once I’m used to it, and it doesn’t hurt.”

Kuroo stiffens, and slowly climbs off the bed. “What the fuck? What do you mean first time?”

You turn to look up at him and shrug, though your eyes are red and a little wet. “Everyone has a first time, right? This was mine.”

He pushes the bills into your hand hesitantly and leaves you on the bed.

He doesn’t see you again for a month.

—

Kuroo finds you there the week after, in the alley behind the same bar, in your usual spot at the usual time. But it’s obvious that you’re not waiting for him tonight, because you’re on your knees again in the shadows, sucking some other man’s dick like you were born for it.

His first impulse is to turn around and leave, to get away from the vivid image of your lips wrapped around someone else’s dick, licking and swallowing like you’re eating a goddamn ice cream. It’s followed by a second impulse to grab the guy and break his fucking nose, the rage welling up fast and violent when you start choking on the cock that’s being unceremoniously rammed down your throat.

Instead Kuroo just stands there and watches, frozen as the man in the cheap grey suit shoots his load inside your mouth with a satisfied grunt. You barely have time to swallow before you’re being hauled onto your feet and kissed within an inch of your life, roughly and messily like the guy is trying to inhale you. Kuroo is practically seeing red with the way he’s manhandling you like so much meat, grabbing and sucking and bruising you like his measly twenty bucks gives him the right to touch every inch of your body.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” the guy yells, when he finally notices Kuroo looming just a few feet away. “You her pimp? Or her next client?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t mind him, he’s nobody.” You interrupt, and Kuroo can’t disagree, even if the words stick in his craw like so much bile.

The tone of your words manages to surprise Kuroo, if not the invitation; he knows full well that you can’t possibly live off of the measly few dollars you make off of Kuroo alone. No, it’s the way you sound when he makes the offer—all fake happiness and a sultry smile, knowing exactly which strings to pull to get a man’s groin to pay attention.

There’s none of the vulnerability and shy air that you usually carry when you’re dealing with Kuroo, and it makes him feel nauseous, like he doesn’t know which version of you is the real one.

He watches as you follow the cheap suit guy to his small green car parked just a few feet away, ignoring Kuroo as you climb into the passenger seat. He continues to watch as the man grabs you by the back of your neck and crushes his lips to yours, like he wants to take you right there, spread your legs wide and fuck you on the fake leather seats. He watches until the car tears out of its spot and disappears down the road, leaving him standing in the alley alone, his mind filled with images of you on your knees.

Kuroo doesn’t sleep at all that night.

—

Four days later you show up at his apartment unannounced, sporting a split lip and red marks over your arms, and finger shaped bruises around his neck.

Kuroo lets you in without a word.

You flop tiredly onto the couch, pulling your legs to your chest with a sigh as he heads into the kitchen to fix you some food. When he returns, you take the plate and cup of coffee with a grateful nod and a quirk of your cracked and not quite bleeding lips.

“Really? Coffee? Do I look like I need coffee?”

Kuroo snorts. “Just do me a favor and tell me who that guy is.”

“It’s fine, I don’t really know him anyway,” you shrug, and start to wolf down the meal like it’s the first food you’ve had in days. Which is both a relief and a sting to his heart, because you don’t know that much about him as well, and neither does he.

So he doesn’t ask for any further details, and you don’t offer, though he does ask you to stay the night and sleep on the couch. He tries not to think too much about the relief that flashes briefly across your face, or what he wants to do to the guy who put his hands on you and made you look this way.

You are not on the couch when Kuroo gets up the next morning, and he tells himself that it’s just as well.

—

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

He doesn’t know why he asks the question; has received no indication from you that any inquiry into your affairs is either wanted or appreciated. But since you showed up at his place last week ago, bruised and obviously in distress, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what happened, and when—not if—it might happen again.

You arch an eyebrow at him and frown. “Why do you think I’m in trouble?”

Kuroo shrugs. “You’re not at your usual spot anymore, behind that bar. I thought…maybe you’re avoiding the guy that hit you.”

The smile that blooms across your face is wholly unexpected, those eyes bright with amusement and something that looks a little too much like softness.

“Yes, but it’s fine. I moved to a different spot and I don’t think he’s going to come looking for me anyway. Not after what I did to him.”

You are grinning now, practically begging Kuroo with the barely contained glee on your face to ask for details. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you do?”

You shrug, swallowing a mouthful of your food before you answer, “I waited until he fell asleep and took nude photos of him in his bed. Then I texted them to as many people as I could find on his contacts.”

“You did what—?” he starts, and then, “I’m quite pleasantly surprised. He’s such a good guy.”

“Right?” You say with a laugh, and then your expression changes, smoothing out into a mask of carefreeness that he doesn’t quite buy. “I left after that. But not before cleaning his wallet.”

—

“You can stay here, if you want,” Kuroo says to you the next morning, his arms around your waist as you lay together in his bed. “Just…I don’t know where you live but if you need a place to go you can crash here.”

You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, your face graced with a shy smile and asks, “Can I suck your cock in exchange for rent?”

“No! It’s not…I don’t mean you have to give me any…fuck,” Kuroo swears, as you tilt your head to the side in realization. “You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“Yeah,” You agree, “same goes for you.”

—

It takes Kuroo almost an entire week before he realizes that you have taken him up on his offer to stay, your comings and goings unpredictable and your actions often completely unexpected. There are days when you don’t leave the apartment at all; where you spend hours cleaning the living room and wiping furniture, or doing all his laundry. Other times you will disappear for an entire day and night, and return stinking of alcohol and covered in other people’s seed and sweat. Those nights, he watches as you limp into the bathroom and quietly locks the door, and spends hours in the shower, long after the water turns icy cold.

He never asks, but he never says no either, when you climb on him on the couch and unbuckles his pants with quick and steady hands. It’s not just lust that makes it so good when you lick him sloppily from root to tip; it’s also the shame bubbling just under his skin, watching you swallow him down with those perfect cock sucking lips. Kuroo can’t stop staring at your swollen mouth sliding up and down his cock; can’t stop bucking his hips and fucking your throat, relishing the noises you make when he shoots his entire load in your sinful mouth with a groan.

You always lick your lips after you suck his cock, like it’s the best damn thing you’ve ever tasted.

And you only smile afterwards when you do it for him.

—

One day, you come home in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, carrying shopping bags that you dump unceremoniously onto the floor. You’re wearing a brand new outfit that looks more expensive than what he makes in a week, gleaming bracelets adorning your wrists and a diamond necklace sparkling on your neck. Gone are your loose worn t-shirts and baggy, low-rise jeans; you look like a model in one of those designer catalogues, or the A-list celebrities going to get coffee in sunny L.A.

Kuroo hates it.

He hates it, because of how right you look in your expensive new outfit; like these are the clothes you’re meant to be wearing.

Like you belong in them all the time, and in a world far, far away from him.

He makes you take all your fancy jewelries off, and then fucks you roughly with two fingers until you come all over his couch.

—

You still show up at the apartment smelling like sex, with bite marks on your collarbone and your lips swollen from kisses.

But you also come home with bags and bags of groceries too, and make sure to stock the fridge full of his favorite beer.

He tells himself that he appreciates your thoughtfulness, and isn’t at all jealous of whoever the hell it is that’s giving you what he needs.

Giving you everything you deserve and could never get from a guy like him.

—

The second time he fucks you is also the last time.

You ask him to go out for dinner one night, to a place with neatly folded cloth napkins and dimly lit candles on the table, and you order the most expensive dish on the menu. You spend the evening devouring a mountain of food and making fun of the pretentious staff, and Kuroo pretends he’s perfectly fine with the fact that some rich asshole he doesn’t know is paying for this good time.

But he bites back the festering resentment and gives you a genuine smile, because he’s never seen you so damned happy and relaxed, laughing and smiling as you make your way back to Kuroo’s apartment. He lets you lead him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them, and grins into the toe curling kiss that follows as you move to the bed.

This time, when he’s got you naked on your hands and knees, he takes care to be gentle and thorough, spreading your legs wide and working you open. He slips his tongue and licks your wetness all over, and tastes every bit of that pretty cunt while you clutch the sheets and writhe and moan.

“Tetsurou,” you pant, as he slides in slowly, inch by excruciating inch. “F-feels so good! Oh, please, please fuck me, god I want to feel you, please..!”

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he says, groaning as you arch your back and clench around him. “Gonna make you scream my name.”

And he does, relishing every sound he can wring out of you as he sinks to the root, and every breathless sigh as he starts rocking his hips. Every stroke makes him want to push harder and thrust deeper, as he watches his cock disappear over and over inside that pretty pink hole.

He fucks you for what feels like hours that night, stopping whenever he gets too close to wring every ounce of pleasure possible from your sweat soaked bodies. He fucks you on your knees and then flips you over onto your back, and drives himself inside you like he wants to own him; be the one to break you apart and put you back together again.

“Is it good like this? When he fucks you?” Kuroo snarls, throwing your legs over his shoulders and sinking even deeper. “Do you tell them that you want them so bad? Beg them to ruin you too?”

You don’t answer, spurting all over yourself as he keeps drilling you into the bed. He follows a few rough strokes later with a groan, fingers biting deep into soft flesh, every part of him howling with possessive fury as he paints your tight walls with his come.

“No,” you whisper, much later, with Kuroo’s arms wrapped around you and his nose pressed against your neck. “It’s not like this at all.”

—

The space beside him is empty by the time he wakes the next morning, and there’s a neatly folded note on the nightstand.

He ignores it until he can’t anymore, and then crumples it in his fist and tosses it into the garbage can.

He’s always known that this is how it would end.

Still, he wishes he knew more than just your first name, or how your smile—the real one, soft and genuine—was the best thing he’d ever fucking seen.

He doesn’t see you again for a long time; days and months and years until there’s nothing left but a memory of you and a dull, aching hole in his chest.

[therealvinelle]

Hey,

What do you think the impact of being brought up as vegan would be on a vampire? I mean if you’re non vegetarian then it stands to reason that killing for food is normal (and humans are food for vampires) but if you’re raised to believe killing animals for sustenance to be a sin would that affect you when you turn? It doesn’t seem very likely with the way vampires act in Twilight where it seems empathy, for humans specifically, was just lost during transition (Carlisle seems to be an exception), but maybe it would?

I’m the person who asked the vegan thing.

I just realized that being raised vegan means that food was food to you so it really wouldn’t affect your diet much as a vampire. Humans were not acceptable to for both vegans and non-vegans but they both would probably end up eating them anyways as a vampire.

But what about people who changed from eating meat to abstaining because they grew up eating it and somewhere along the way realized that they were killing for it and decided to stop. In this case, the family and friends of this person were okay with meat but they decided to stop for the animals’ sake instead of a social norm. Would this kind of person be more likely to go for the vegetarian vampire diet because of their card for humans as well? How much of their personality would remain that they could still care about humans?

This here touches upon why Twilight vampires eat people in the first place.

Before I get into that, though, I feel I should point out that what people eat a is not so easily divided morally as vegans = recognize life has worth, vs. omnivores = don’t. Factors such as culture, income, class, social environment, education, health, politics, and priorities all play a part. There’s a reason why your average young and urban female college student is much more likely to be vegan than a rural male seventy-year-old factory worker, and it has nothing to do with an inherent sense of morality. Even then, someone could become a vegan for reasons that have nothing to do with animal welfare, such as protecting the planet, a special diet, or sustaining a superiority complex (this last category will of course never admit that that’s the real reason and you should unfriend them on facebook if you don’t want your timeline to be filled with guilt-tripping photos of smoking factory pipes and sad-looking cows).

But you weren’t asking about that, you were asking about vampires.

So, when a vampire wakes up, they are faced with this unbearable thirst. It’s different for everyone, or at least they describe it differently, but the whole point of this thirst is that it’s strong enough that you have to actively hold yourself back, at great pains, to keep from killing people over it. Some vampires, when especially hungry (newborn Carlisle when a herd of deer ran by) or confronted with a particularly delicious scent (Emmet when he met his singers) or just when caught off guard (Jasper at Bella’s birthday party), appear to lose their senses altogether.

Choice doesn’t really factor in it, not when you’re a newborn, and not really later on either.

Even if it did, we know that creating a vampire requires tremendous effort. There are two vampires I know of that were accidents, Carlisle and Garret. The vast majority of vampires were created as a conscious decision, and even if they weren’t, the Volturi have a law that Thou shalt not abandon thy newborn. And so this paragraph finally gets to its point: most newborns wake up with their creators nearby. And their creator will take them hunting, at a time when they’re not yet able to resist.

And so you have these people who wake up in completely new and foreign circumstances, their bodies not their own any longer, with this unbearable, constant pain in their throats they can’t escape. They can’t sleep, they can’t eat something else, they can’t tune it out with drugs. There is no reprieve. And yes, it does get better - but in those first few fateful months, they’re pretty much forced to kill people.

Carlisle was the exception, and while I don’t wish to lessen the incredible willpower and humanity he displayed when he resisted his thirst, he was in a unique situation that allowed it. His creator wasn’t there to force him to feed, he already knew what vampires were and as such was repulsed by his own nature, and he was sequestered away in a potato cellar, and therefore not in immediate proximity to humans. What he did was still incredible, but the circumstances allowed him to do it in the first place. Every other man-eating vampire in canon was not so lucky.

My point being, for newborn vampires eating people can’t really be called a choice.

Even as vampires learn control, I imagine the choice to continue eating people is a mix of several factors. In bullet points:

Sunk cost fallacy They’ve already eaten so many humans, why stop now? If there’s a heaven or a hell, they know which one they’re going to. Might as well get a good ride.

Humans aren’t people Vampires in Twilight are dismissive of humans more often than they’re not, often expressing surprise, incomprehension, or disgust at Edward falling for one. And I see why they would: it’s a coping mechanism, for starters, to stop seeing the people you’re tearing apart on a weekly basis as someone with thoughts and feelings. It’d be hard not to, when every interaction with a human is spent having to actively fight the urge to eat them. Men struggle enough with seeing women as people because we have boobs, vampires are the extreme version of that. More, a vampire’s human memories are fading, and what they do remember was so blurry and dull. With the sharpened and enhanced nature of the vampire, being endowed with vampirism will seem like more. Which makes humans less. (Relevant meta)

Blood is hard to resist The thirst is a huge problem. Even as vampires get better at controlling themselves, few of them seem to be particularly good at it. Keep in mind that the Cullens are all training to get to Carlisle’s level, they’re not representative of your average vampire. Most will fail when trying to create a new vampire, and they all balk at Carlisle being unbothered by blood.

Blood tastes amazing Siobhan’s reaction when she learns Carlisle has created a vampire of his own is, verbatim, “how tragic - to be deprived of the greatest joy in life.” (Midnight Sun, page I’m-not-sure) And I can’t blame her for it - blood puts out the fire in her throat, and is the single greatest pleasure in the world. Jasper, Emmet, and Rosalie all agree that it’s the thing a vampire craves more than anything. And living a meandering life where there are no milestones, no community, no home, no deeper meaning to anything, the intense pleasure of drinking human blood becomes the only constant and the only thing they have to truly live for and enjoy.

Then you have the fact that most of them have no idea that animals are an option. By the time they find out there’s a door number two, they’ve successfully dehumanized humans, have nothing else in life and the sunk cost fallacy is sky high. More, Carlisle is a crazy monk asking them to forgo their reason for living to go eat dishwater and be malnourished instead, all so that the mayfly humans can go die of consumption instead. I can see why they said “...no?”.

So, yes, Twilight vampires are terrifying demons who turn into psychopaths. But I can’t in good consciousness hate them for it, because they don’t really get a choice in the matter. Their very nature is designed specifically to turn them into this. Carlisle is a freak who makes everyone else look bad.

In other words, vegans are just as susceptible as others to becoming serial killers. If anything, vegans would eat those filthy meat-eaters to save the planet.

[broadstflyers]

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first ever fic! It's really just an idea I've had for months, and then wrote, and then couldn't figure out which hockey boy it fit, until some mutuals were kind enough to help. I settled on our boy Barzy! It's inspired by Taylor Swift's "Gold Rush", and I really wanted to do my best in reflecting the beautiful imagery this story creates for me. I hope I did it justice. It's a little terrifying putting my writing out there, but I hope people enjoy it!

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Two curse words, it's really just internal conflict within the reader

Summary: You're celebrating your dad's 50th birthday with some friends and family at a dinner party. You happen to land your eyes on a beautiful stranger, who you can't seem to get out of your head. You spend the rest of the night wondering, should you go up to him?

Or do you let him walk out the door?

___________

They say when you first lay eyes on your soulmate, time stands completely still. As you gaze into their eyes, it feels as though you’ve known them for multiple lifetimes. It feels like home. Is that even remotely true?

You start to take a sip of your drink and turn your head slightly to take in your surroundings. Your eyes dance around the room, until they stumble upon another pair of wondering eyes. Your eyes lock, and you’re instantly sucked into the mysterious yet intriguing twinkling grey-blue color that compliments his navy blue suit. Suddenly, your breath hitches in your throat, every part of your body stiffens, except for your lips that part slightly and eyes that widen. The drink is long forgotten, you’re even struggling to keep it from practically falling out of your hands and onto the wooden floor. The party is now just a blur, the noise? What noise? The world is muffled, as if someone stuck your head into a hundred pillows. Images stream through your mind like an endless movie reel wrapped in shimmery gold. Endless laughter on a first date over coffee. Him rubbing the back of your hand as you take a stroll through the park. Holiday mornings, exchanging gifts. Would he participate in the tradition of opening small gifts first, or would he want the biggest gift right off the bat? Ice skating and him catching you as you stumble on a pesky track in the ice. Him tossing you into the pool while you’re trying to put up a fight in a losing battle. A sweet and quiet proposal where he promises his forever love. A kiss at the altar in front of all your friends and family. Chasing after rambunctious little kids trying to get them to nap. All these gold dripping images of a pure love plow through your brain. Your heart is the unmovable object. They are the unstoppable force.

You and him only shared a look for what was probably half a second, but the thick air that seemed to only be affecting you made time feel like it stood completely still.

You burst back into reality with the help of a slight head shake. “Woah,” you quietly whisper. You blink a few times and finally get around to taking a sip of your drink to quench your parched throat. Did you just see a whole future...with a stranger?

“Hey, are you okay?” Stella asks. Her hand gently touches your arm as she cocks her head to the side. Her brows are furrowed in what can only be described as pure confusion. Did you really space out that badly as she was talking? What were you guys even talking about?

“Oh,” you say as you gently shake your head, “yeah.” You chuckle, “yeah, I’m just fine.” You wait a beat then say, “Hey, I’m going to use the bathroom really quickly, okay?”

“Sure thing,” she nods. “Do you need me to come with?”

“I’m totally fine, I promise,” you reassure with every bone in your body while giving her your drink. You really just needed to be alone to calm your racing mind that has now turned a complete stranger into a romantic interest with the power of a golden montage.

You make your way over to the exit of the dining hall and push the creaky open with your shoulder, and the amount of force you had to use honestly hurt. Your heels click down the tiled hallway of the golf club to find the bathroom door. The rectangular bathroom mirror framed in an intricate gold design holds your reflection. You slightly tilt your head as you take a look at your face. It’s like someone took the color of a clown nose and colored in your face with it. Jeez. You shake your head and sigh. This isn’t good, and deep down, you know that. You hate when you’re like this, all flustered over someone who just happened to lock eyes with you. His eyes. They were gleaming and just all around beautiful. What were you thinking again?

Oh, right.

Well, it’s pretty obvious he has this power over you, and you don’t like that. Now is your face going to become red everytime you see him? You check your phone. There’s still two hours left, plenty of time to possibly see him again. You can’t tell if that’s necessarily a good or bad thing.

You pace around the bathroom trying to reason with your begging heart. He was pretty good looking, which means that so many people naturally want him. Who was he even talking to, anyways? You gasp and stop in your tracks, blood running cold. “He was talking to a girl,” you mumble. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t sound completely and utterly crushed. In the heat of the moment, you completely failed to realize the blonde standing next to him. You lean over the counter, the cold marble feeling on your arms making your arms break out in goosebumps. You take one last stern look in the mirror at your face. “See, this is why we can’t allow ourselves to fall that hard,” you whisper angrily, “everyone wants him, and I just...I don’t like a gold rush like that.” You shake your head again and take one last deep breath to shake out any other thoughts. You can see yourself standing barefooted at the bottom of a hole looking astounded at how tall the walls have grown, and how distant the light looks. It feels like you soared lightheartedly into the sky, just to fall and crush every bone in your body.

You roll your eyes to yourself while slightly cursing yourself out. Pushing the bathroom door open, you step out into the hallway and make a beeline back for the dining hall. Your purse starts spastically vibrating, so you hastily fish your phone out to put an end to the obnoxious noise. Scanning the text, you read that your mom is asking where you went, as the cake for your dad’s birthday is going to be cut soon. You sigh as you text, “I’m hurrying back now.”

That’s all you see before you feel a slight brush tickle your bare shoulder. Your eyes don’t dare move from your phone screen. You reason that it’s not someone you know, as they would have said something to you. Your hands shake as you put your phone back in your purse.

“Oh, sorry,” the voice trails off as he continues to walk down the hallway after he brushed up against you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, without turning around, which is admittedly ridiculous.

As soon as you can judge his footsteps are far away enough, you make a quick glance behind to see if it really was him. And judging by the navy blue suit, it was.

Suddenly, the golden montage flows through your mind once more, showing an image of yourself wearing an old shirt of his, maybe one from when he was in high school for whatever sport he played, if he played one. Your feet feel the coolness of the wooden floor of the supposed home. The home both of you share? It’s so tangible, so real that you almost reach out to touch it. It’s right there...

Your head jerks yourself out of the vision once more, or rather the fact that you’re now faced with a white wall in front of you. You sigh a long frustrated sigh. I can’t believe I really walked by the entrance, how embarrassing, you think as you turn on your heels to backtrack. Why does this stranger have you so wrapped around his finger? No one else has been able to even come close to doing that. You feel your face with your hand, and it’s burning. I’ll go in there looking like a tomato, it’s fine.

You do your best to quite literally shake off those thoughts as you push open the dining room hall door. “There you are!” your mom says. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, we’re going to sing happy birthday to Dad.”

“Can’t wait,” you beam. After all, your dad only turns 50 once, and this night is about him, afterall. You follow your mom to a table with a white tablecloth resting on it.

Stella pops out from behind your dad to approach you and whispers, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You resist the urge to gently shove her in front of everyone. “Yes,” you pleadingly insist, “now stop asking me in front of Mom and Dad, they’ll think something is wrong.”

She side eyes you with an attitude. “Fine.”

“They’re my girls,” your dad says with a smile.

You and Stella laugh while leaning into him for a quick hug. “Hey dad,” you both say in unison.

The room completely dies down, people could hear a pin drop. “Ready?” your mom asks the guests. The room takes a collective deep breath.

And so the melody of Happy Birthday rings joyously through the hall, you can see the mystery stranger out of the corner of your eye. Heat radiates off your skin, it’s almost like you can feel his eyes boring into you. It takes all the willpower you can muster, but you resist the temptation to look over at him all throughout the song.

When the song is over, the room breaks out into obnoxiously loud clapping. You, Stella, and your parents share loving looks and warm smiles.

Eventually, everyone proceeds to return to normal chatter at the one rectangular table of two that they’re sitting at, and so do you, Stella and your parents.

You pull out your seat next to your sister near the middle of the middle of the table and sit, fixing your dress.

“Ahem,” Stella says in an ill attempt to cover her suspiciousness with a clearing throat noise. Queue whatever accusatory question she’s got.

“Let me just set something straight,” she starts.

“Go for it,” you say as you reach for some water.

“It’s definitely that guy a few seats down, isn’t it?” She smirks. She’s got you trapped in her little web, and she knows it.

You may or may not have fought back choking on your water or pulling a ridiculous spit take on the nice white table cloth.

You lean in and harshly whisper, “Well you didn’t have to say it that loudly.” You glance over at the mystery stranger and see his hand wrapped around his glass as he goes to drink it. He has a thick silver ring on his pointer finger?

“Hello?” Stella shifts her head to selfishly cut off your view of him.

“Okay,” you sigh in defeat, “yes it’s him. Happy?”

“Very,” she says, very satisfied because she finally pried it out of you and got you to admit it. Someone else has you wrapped around their finger. She didn’t even have to know all the details of the montages to know. She could tell by the way your eyes glossed over and how your lips would slightly part like you were in a hazy daydream.

And you were.

“Who is he anyway? And why don’t we know him?” You ask.

“I don’t know, honestly. A little strange, isn’t it? Why don’t you ask mom who he is?” She suggests, but her cheshire smile suggests that she will somehow find out, with or without your mom’s help.

“But mom’s going to absolutely harass me until I say something to him. Just you on my tail is enough,” you say with an eyebrow raised as to say ‘don’t test me.’ And Stella knows you’re right.

“Alright, fine,” she concedes, “But why don’t you, I don’t know, talk to him?”

“I did,” you nonchalantly float.

Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an “O” from disbelief. Did you really not talk to people that much?

“Really?” she practically squeals.

“Yeah, he brushed by me and said, ‘Sorry’ so I said, ‘It’s okay.’” Okay, now you get why your friends and family get mad at you for refusing to talk to people. But cracking this joke was one you could not pass up.

Her face scrunches up and she exhibits the biggest eye roll you have ever seen. She opens her mouth to start saying something, probably to scold at you, but you open your mouth to cut her off first.

“Alright no, I haven’t. And do you know why?” As you’re about to get your thought out, you’re interrupted by a fit of laughter down the stretch of the table. Your eyes scan but freeze on the stranger, whose nose is adorably scrunched up as he laughs with multiple, yes multiple, people about goodness knows what. And there’s that other blonde that you still don’t know, laughing with him. You tear your stare away and focus back on your sister.

“Look, that right there. That’s why,” you say, anger burning through your chest.

Stella raises an eyebrow in her own judgemental manner. “He talks to people? You know people do that right?”

Now it’s your turn to return the favor of a judgemental eye roll. “No, Stella, I mean just look at him and the people he’s surrounded by. It’s so obvious that everyone wants him. Just look at that girl with him. I’m not the only one who wants to love him.”

Silence ensues between you two. She picks up her phone and shoots a quick text. After a moment she says, “Well, I think if you just talked to him, you’d be pleasantly surprised with what could happen. I have to help mom with distributing gift bags. You stay here,” she instructs.

You can only assume you’re not being called to help because Stella graciously told your mom that you’re potentially working up the courage to talk to someone that’s not one of your three friends or your family. How generous of her.

A few friends of your dad stop by your seat to say goodbye before they head out. The noise slightly dies down enough to scarcely hear some other conversations. You hear nothing out of the ordinary, just a girl talking about getting into her dream school to some guy. Your ears slightly move as you pick up on a voice that sounds like the one in the hallway earlier.

“Yeah dude, but did you see the fake out on the goalie on the second goal? That had to have been the best part.”

Out of instinct you open your mouth to interject, but quickly shut it and put it under lock and key. You blink in disbelief. Hockey? Did this man just speak on hockey?

You circle the rim of the coffee cup and stare at the brown liquid. In a different universe…

In a different universe you would have actually kept your mouth open, and maybe even squeezed some words out, too.

“Actually, that seamless stretch pass down the neutral zone from the defenseman after a pretty difficult forecheck set up the play pretty well. I’d give him a lot of credit, too.”

He’d probably look a little shocked, as do most guys when you interject your two-sense about hockey. But maybe he’d break out into a small smile and offer a rebuttal. Yeah, that sounds nice. Maybe one day…

Maybe one day you’ll be sitting next to him on the couch, watching a game while cuddling and brushing the hair out of his face. Oh who are you kidding, you’ll be up and screaming at the TV. It’s your staple.

A noise of someone dropping something behind you slightly startles you and pulls you out of your once again golden daydream. You finally stop mindlessly circling the rim of your coffee cup to take a sip, but only to find it’s now ice cold.

This is why you hate looking through a pair of rose colored glasses. It distracts you from enjoying things. You glance over at your dad who’s still talking to one of his good friends that lingered after festivities. You’re supposed to be celebrating him right now, but instead you’re literally stuck in this cursedly pure golden daydream that is almost too good to break.

You can see him. He’s still there, at the end of the table, chatting away with some dude. The blonde left at some point, though.

“Well, I gotta head out, man, good to see you. My sister needs help with packing her stuff for college tomorrow, so we’ve got a busy day coming up.”

Could that girl have been his sister?

“Congratulations to her on getting into her dream school by the way,” the guy says. “I talked to her when she was here earlier, and she seemed super excited.”

A wave of cool relief washes over your body, remembering the conversation about college you picked up on earlier. It was his sister.

“Yeah she is, she worked really hard, and it also involved a whole lot of crying,” he chuckles.

Ain’t that right, you think to yourself.

The table shakes as he pushes out of his chair. Your eyes remain glued to your coffee cup no matter how much you want them to move. You just can’t gather the courage to say something, and you’re cursing yourself for it. You don’t want to sit here and dream about him anymore. You want to actually let these things happen, for once. You want to just unleash all these swirling and sickeningly sweet emotions from your body and drown him in it. You want so badly to leap up and say something, anything. Step on those voices taunting you and mocking you saying that it could never happen, it could never be so it will never be. He’s so inviting that you can’t resist any longer. You go to reach out to him, but the door shuts before you know it.

And just as fleeting as he came,

He’s gone.

Fuck. It feels as though a brick is sitting on your chest, suffocating you. You really let your worries control you, and this time it feels as though you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. You just can’t believe you let it happen when your mind was begging you to talk to him. You always do-

“Shit,” you mumble. In your frustration, you knocked over the remnants of the coffee onto the not-so-white-anymore table cloth. Tears prickle up in your eyes, your throat closes, and your nose begins to sting. You quickly swallow these emotions down your throat and begin to use a napkin to soak up the excess coffee. Drinks have really not been your friend tonight.

For the first time, you notice as you clean that it’s just you left in the room, besides a few people cleaning up on the other end. You’re not sure where your family has gone, but you haven’t received any texts prompting you to leave yet. It’s so silent that you can hear some muffled chatter down the hall.

Suddenly, you hear the same creak of the door open with an “oof” that doesn’t quite sound like your dad. Your blood runs cold and you freeze mid press into the tablecloth. You glance up without turning around to see a lone jacket hanging on a chair suspiciously close to the chair he previously sat in. Your eyes widen and dart around the room, but you dare not move, waiting to see what he does. Even after cursing yourself out for ten minutes while cleaning up spilled coffee, you still haven’t learned to make the first move. His presence feels like a forcefield, you can feel it heavily pressing into your back.

But he isn’t moving to grab the jacket, no.

A pointer finger with a silver ring taps your shoulder.

“Hey,” the clarity of his voice rings in your ears like a bell. Your heart is racing so fast that it feels like it’s going to burst out of your rib cage and run its own 10k. You slowly crank your head around to meet his eyes for the first time-- face to face.

And you must say, his face is really pretty when you actually talk to him face to face. Maybe you should do this more often. You take in his golden features, and struggle to hide a small smirk creeping up on your face. His messy hair falls perfectly into place on his head, and his kind face makes you feel as though a mess of metallic gold swirls are playfully swirling and dashing around you both. You’ve found him in this lifetime.

“I’m Mat, can I help you clean up before I grab my jacket?”

[pips-fics]

ask by @writercirrus / @sickiecirrus (be sure to check out her fantastic writing!) : Hi!! My favorite fic is the one where Han gets sick and calls Channie who runs over and helps him. Idk why but I keep rereading. Your stories are always well written!! I’ve never been like LET ME EDIT THIS PLZZZ like I do with most other fanfics!! I do have a request... Channie gets the stomach flu and doesn’t want to be babied or fussed over but finally gives in and lets his members take care of him (idk why but I feel like Channie would be like that)

big thanks to madeline once again for the lovely title! <3 and thank you to cirrus for the kind words and their request, it was a lot of fun to write :D

tw: vomiting, insomnia, overworking

take a rest, hyung –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“you are not allowed to leave your bed today.” minho had taken one look at chan and decided to lay down the law. behind him, felix cackled.

“chan stay in bed challenge!”

chan groaned. that was the thing about these two: he couldn’t say no to either of them. felix because saying no to him felt like bullying a small child; minho because he already knew chan disagreed and clearly did not care. chan tried anyway.

“i’m fine. you’re both just overreacting.”

jisung poked his head through the doorway, looking skeptical. “who’s overreacting?”

hope blossomed in chan’s chest. jisung would understand. “sungie! i just want to work on that one b-side, just for a bit. non strenuous activity, y’know?”

“oh,” jisung said, giving chan a quick once-over. “no.”

“what?”

“yeah, hyung, you look like you’re going to pass out. don’t move.”

it took all of chan’s willpower not to throw something in a fit of rage when jisung came over to check his temperature with the back of his hand. or it would have, except chan did feel slightly like he might pass out, actually. jisung whistled, and chan pretended like his head didn’t feel like it was splitting down the middle.

“he’s pretty warm,” jisung said to minho, who nodded as if he already knew that.

“well he’s been working non-stop recently and hardly sleeping,” hyunjin said from the doorway, quickly catching on to the situation. he took about three strides and crossed the room to press a glass of cool water to chan’s lips. chan sputtered.

“what is wrong with you all? i’m not dying, i can take care of myself.”

hyunjin looked at him skeptically. “you literally can’t, that’s the point i just made.”

rather than respond to that, chan got up and pushed his way through the small crowd that had begun to encircle him. he walked to the kitchen and then, without preamble, vomited into the sink.

after three quick, powerful, and unpleasant expulsion of his stomach contents, chan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned to see seungmin starring at him, open mouthed. across the room, jeongin choked on the water he’d been drinking. chan frowned.

“what? i feel better now,” he explained. seungmin’s mouth snapped shut, then opened again.

“what. the fuck.”

chan soon found himself being marched back to his bedroom by the two youngest members of stray kids.

he wasn’t stupid. chan understood that the other boys cared about him, and that they were just trying to help. he knew it would make them feel better, so he resigned himself to allowing their fussing - just temporarily.

chan would admit that the cool towels jisung kept putting on his forehead felt nice, and it was very sweet that the boys ensured someone was with him at all times - to prevent boredom, seungmin said. but then, that was the problem - chan wouldn’t be bored if they would just let him work, but as soon as he took his laptop out, minho confiscated it.

“this is so unfair,” chan complained. minho just smirked at him, seeming to take great pleasure in chan’s annoyance.

“you can thank me later.”

chan grumbled under his breath, but thought smugly that the joke was on minho, in the end. chan had his phone hidden under the covers, so he could work on writing lyrics using that. heck, he could even plug in his AirPods an work on producing with a mobile app, if he really wanted to. chan smiled slightly, feeling clever, and then sprinted to the bathroom.

despite minho’s annoying tough love, there was something soothing about having someone there to brush chan’s sweaty bangs away from his forehead as he emptied his stomach. this time the nausea didn’t pass quite a quickly, or as completely - even after a ten minute camp out filled with productive heaving, chan still felt woozy, and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. he hid them in his hoodie pockets as minho guided him back to the bedroom.

things were quieter after that. most of the younger guys were at the studio practicing the dance moves for their upcoming music video, and changbin, who chan hadn’t seen all day, was probably cooped up with jisung trying to pick up the slack from chan’s day off. chan was genuinely exhausted and was tempted to actually rest, but sleep didn’t come easily with guilt hanging over him. no matter how much he told himself it was better in the long run, the knowledge that someone had to do whatever he didn’t have time for was eating chan up inside.

so, after trying and failing to sleep for about ten minutes, chan slid under the covers and got to work on his phone. he tried to be kind to himself, but he wasn’t making much progress even while he was working on stuff.

when changbin barged in and suddenly threw chan’s covers off to snatch his phone out of his hands, chan was less than pleased.

“changbin! what the fuck!”

“hyung, you’re supposed to be sleeping!” changbin said, annoyance lining his voice.

“what, did jisung tell you that?” chan felt angry tears spring to his eyes and quickly wiped them away, but he saw changbin soften.

“of course he did,” changbin said. “he’s so worried about you that he can’t get a single thing done, hyung. so please, just rest? at least let your eyes take a break from your screens?”

in the corner of the room, minho checked his watch - or the place on his wrist where the would’ve been a watch, if he’d owned one. “welp, looks like my shift is up. changbin, babysitting duty is all yours.”

changbin frowned, but took minho’s place silently. chan refused to meet his eyes.

“hyung?”

“just leave me alone, changbin, please.”

it wasn’t anger, but it came off that way. it was shame.

the thought that chan had thrown jisung off, too, and now changbin was here taking care of him - chan hated it. they were all going to get in trouble for slacking at this rate, and it was chan’s fault about three times over. truthfully, chan felt like crying, but that would only make things worse, so instead he pulled out out a notebook. on accident, he met changbin’s disapproving gaze. chan’s voice came out sounding very small.

“bin, please.”

arms crossed, changbin breathed a sigh through his nose. he didn’t say anything, but his eyes slid away from chan and he clear didn’t intend to stop him.

the guilt settled heavier than ever in chan’s already upset stomach, but he hoped making some progress on work would help him feel better. unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. with every minute that passed, chan felt worse. he jotted down some notes, just vague ideas but most of his energy was being expended just trying to keep his stomach contents in place. by the time he admitted to himself that he was fighting a losing battle, chan could hardly move without risking making a mess.

he set his notes aside, and put a trembling hand over his mouth. his attempt to get changbin’s attention was cut off before he could even say “bin,” and it was all chan could do to swallow the sick in his throat back down. he wasn’t entirely successful, but thankfully, changbin had sprung up and handed chan the plastic bowl minho had left by his bedside.

things still weren’t pretty. chan had held the sick in for so long that once he stopped fighting it, it spewed forth with so much force that it splattered the bed - and chan’s notes. changbin scrambled to save them, but chan waved him off.

“throw them out,” he said dejectedly, right before coughing himself into another vomiting spell. at this point, chan was beyond exhausted, and the room wouldn’t stop spinning before his eyes. when he squeezed them shut, he felt even sicker and retched hollowly until changbin forced him to drink some water that chan threw up again almost immediately. chills ran through him so viciously that chan worried he might lose his grip on the bowl, and was relieved when someone else’s hands appeared to keep it steady.

by the time he was done, chan wanted absolutely nothing more than a hug. when he looked up with tears in his eyes, chan found that jeongin was the one holding the bowl and froze.

“are you all back?” it was one thing, he thought, to inconvenience changbin alone - he and changbin had been through thick and thin together, and despite chan’s guilt, he knew changbin would brush this off soon enough. he wasn’t as sure about the other members of his team. “are you okay?” chan asked, on second thought.

jeongin scoffed. “hyung, can you please stop worrying about the rest of us for one second and worry about yourself? or better yet, just let us do the worrying for you, for once.”

chan sniffled, and felt tears prick his eyes. his boys had really matured. the realization took the breath out of him for a second, and the tension went with it. he flopped back onto his pillows and nodded.

“yeah, alright, innie, i’ll give it a go.”

after that, it was a flurry of activity. tasks, apparently, had been delegated by seungmin, so changbin cleaned out the bucket, hyunjin grabbed more water, minho put the blankets in the wash, jisung brought new blankets, jeongin cleaned chan up - and felix was on immediate snuggle duty. as the others finished their tasks, they joined, one by one, until the bed was a pile of the people chan treasured most.

in the end, it was easier than he’d thought, falling asleep surrounded by love.

——

a very quick reader survey (specific to this fic!) to make me smile and celebrate hyunjin <3

——

feel free to send more asks! / rules

[piratewithvigor]

Romance Isn't Dead (Just Buried Alive) - Chapter 1

When faced with one of the most frightening emotions of all time, Undertaker turns to Goldust for assistance

(I have literally had this title yelling at me since like June without a plot to go with it. Have finally plotted it for the most part. Figure it'll be like 3 chapters or so. Beats the hell out of me when they'll go up. For now, enjoy some good old-fashioned sweet crack)

The star on the door is glittering almost offensively brightly. ‘Goldust’ is scrawled through the middle with an obscenely elegant script. It’s as bright and cheerful and dazzling as the man himself.

Undertaker feels sick to his stomach to be standing in front of the door.

It’s not fear. He doesn’t think it’s fear, anyway. Fear sits heavy when he does feel it, and it isn’t often. Paul’s reminded him time and time again that there’s not a single thing in the company more scary than he. But Paul doesn’t know he’s here. Maybe it’s the idea that he finds out that scares Taker. But he’s faced Paul’s ire before. It’s deeply shameful, but not scary.

And yet, something grabs his arm and keeps him from lifting it to knock at the door. Some invisible force he isn’t familiar with. Paul’s trained him long and hard in recognizing and overcoming any force, visible or not, mortal or otherwise. He’s not sure he’s breathing as he rereads the name on the door over and over. It’s something to focus on. Something to keep his mind occupied as he works to lift his arm.

Maybe he ought to just walk away. Could be for the best. It’s probably not a good idea anyway. Paul does the better thinking. Everyone says so. Ever since the fire, it’s always been easier to just listen to what Paul says and not make a mistake by disobeying him. He’ll walk away and forget the whole idea. He’s able to turn his head to leave before a voice comes from inside the room.

“Didn’t know zombies needed to be invited in. Thought that was just vampires.”

Words die in Taker’s throat. He didn’t know he had any in the first place. All he has is finally the willpower to knock. There’s a quiet groan from inside and a little shuffling the door opens. Goldust stands there, wearing a shimmering robe that nearly brushes the floor and most of his face paint. The rest was just about to be applied, judging by the brush in his hand.

“It was an invitation, dear. I doubt the door would be too heavy for you.”

“Didn’t want to be rude.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, but Taker’s looking for any reason to stall why he’s here. Maybe it is fear. He’s familiar with the emotion after all; having caused it plenty. Was this how his enemies felt? Frozen in place, hearts racing, breath a struggle to pull in?

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Almost as pale as your Mr. Bearer.”

“Can I speak with you in private?”

The request is strange enough to wipe the expression of eternal confidence off Goldust’s face. Taker hardly ever speaks to begin with. Paul does most of that for him. To speak in private with Paul nowhere to be seen? Unheard of.

Wordlessly, Goldust takes a step back to let Taker past him into the room. The whole place maintains the flair of Goldust himself, with garments hung up that Taker almost feels he needs to cover his eyes a little to look at. He doesn’t, of course. His mind is far elsewhere.

Goldust closes the door behind them, wringing his hands a little to quell the questions. He figures he’s not the one in trouble, else he’d have been decked on the spot when he opened the door, if not, chokeslammed or even tombstonned. But none of that had happened. Taker looked far more pale than usual. And he’d stood outside the door for 7 minutes and 15 seconds (not that Goldust was counting) completely motionless.

“Need a seat?” He offers, sitting back down in front of the mirror. Taker may need to speak, but Goldust is on in less than an hour and still needs to paint in all the black on his face and adjust his wig.

“No, thank you. I may need to leave in a hurry.” He keeps glancing back at the door, double- and triple-checking that it is most certainly closed and that there’s no way Paul can possibly see him from the hallway.

“Then maybe a glass of water? Honestly, Taker, dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you weren’t supposed to be here.”

“I’m not.”

“It can’t be against your Mr. Bearer’s rules to speak with a colleague. Especially if we’re going on together tonight.”

“It is.”

“Seems overly harsh.”

To that, Taker doesn’t answer. He’s watching Goldust apply the makeup with a skilled hand in the mirror. Perhaps it is a little harsh of Paul to keep him away from the other wrestlers, but Paul is taking his pre-show nap. Sneaking away was easier than Taker expected. All in the name of necessity.

“I need your help.”

“With what?”

Taker isn’t exactly sure. It all seemed to simple before that moment. As he snuck away from his own dressing room where Paul was sleeping. He’d request Goldust’s help and after a couple more steps in his brilliant plan, the burning persistent desire in the back of his mind would be fulfilled. What could go wrong?

Not knowing what exactly he was desiring, for starters. The thoughts and feelings had begun months ago and he was fairly certain he knew what they were, but there was always the chance he’d been completely wrong and would get laughed out of Goldust’s dressing room. From there, the laughter would spread and Paul would find some kind of way to punish him.

He’d been told to forget these feelings. Forget the fantasies of touching, perhaps even without his gloves on. They weren’t beneficial. They weakened him instead of strengthened him. But maybe Paul was wrong this time. It hadn’t happened yet, but it still could.

“I think I’m in love.”

Of all the things Goldust had guessed Taker might say, a declaration of love certainly isn’t one of them. The shock causes him to nearly gouge out his eye with the brush, but he stops short, only causing a few stray tears to leak out before grabbing a tissue to salvage the makeup and turning around to face his guest.

“I’m certainly glad to hear it. I wasn’t sure if you were able to feel anything besides anger.”

“I’m not supposed to.”

“That’s just foolishness. No one can make you stop feeling things. Especially love. Now, I want you to sit down and relax and tell me all about whoever captured your heart.”

Taker hesitates a little, but follows Goldust’s instructions. Most of them, anyway. He doesn’t relax. His heart is still racing with the worry of being caught. The worry of trying to explain his heart when he isn’t sure he still has one.

“He’s… another wrestler.”

“Do I know him?”

“Yes.”

“Is he here tonight?”

“Of course.”

“Who is he?”

Taker grows bright pink and turns away. Underneath his makeup, Goldust can feel the same happening to him. Words nearly fail him.

“Well, Taker… I’m… I’m flattered, but you know as well as I do that so much of what we say in the ring is… exaggerated. I suppose I would be willing to try-”

“It’s Shawn,” Taker blurts out, his skin almost as red as his beard.

“Shawn Michaels?”

Taker nods and Goldust breathes out a sigh of relief. His tastes may be a little out of the ordinary, but the idea of trying to be in a loving, committed relationship with someone who’s at least very peculiar and at most not human is a little too much. But dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight wasn’t exactly off the table.

“Does he have any idea?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you want him to know?”

“I… I don’t… I’ve never really…” Taker stammers over his words before finally finding the right ones after a deep breath. “Yes. And I want him to love me back.”

It’ll be a challenge, doubtless. But Taker came to him with it. Some might argue that he isn’t the locker room’s authority on matters of the heart, but he’s been trusted with Taker’s.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, my dear Deadman. Shawn’s driven around the block a few times, but it’ll be hard to get him to find a place to park,” Goldust muses, then notes Taker’s deeply confused expression. “It’ll be hard to get him to settle down with just one man,” he corrects himself.

“But you can make it happen, right?”

“You wouldn’t have come to me if you doubted I could. Anyone can win anyone’s heart if you employ the right techniques.”

“And you can teach me?”

“Undertaker, dear, if there’s anyone in the world who can teach a zombie the art of romance to woo the man he fancies, it’s yours truly.”

[icollectyoursins]

Jonathan Joestar x Reader x Dio Brando NSFW

Anon asked for "may i request a spicy jonathan x reader x dio sandwich 😳👉👈 extra kinky please omg,,, 🖤

In typical fanfic writer fashion, I looked up when lube was invented because well... there is no way you’re taking either of these boys without it. It wasn’t invented until 1904 (I think), but Vaseline was a common lube-like substance that was used instead which was invented in 1872. The more you know! I also looked up what kinds of toys they would have used back in the 1880s and... the history of sex toys is fascinating. 

While I’m rambling, this is going to be a long one, just to fit all the “kinky” stuff in, so bear with me. It’s been a while, I know, but it’s very long and I was on break for a bit trying to relax. Anyway, enjoy!

You had arrived at the Joestar household expecting a normal dinner with Jonathan and Dio, but things go a little awry after two of you share a drink. Whatever was in those glasses was, you certainly didn’t mind if it got you between the bodies of two very attractive men.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Making out, mentions of “drugging” I guess, something in the drink makes them very horny, but still able to consent, light riding, Jonathan is too big, so they move on, threesome, belts used as handcuffs, lube (not named, but it’s Vaseline), spitroast x2 (they switch), rough fucking, choking, face fucking, blowjobs, facials.

Word Count: 2578

     Desperate lips crashed together as you clumsily tumbled into the room backwards with Jonathan never breaking the kiss. The door closed behind him and you two gasped, hot breath tickling your faces. You weren’t apart for long and he quickly pulled you back, claiming your lips once again. A part of you questioned how this happened, but mostly you were consumed by his kiss.

     The evening had started relatively normal with you coming over for dinner, drinks were passed around between you, Jonathan and Dio. The next thing you know, you’re practically climbing on top of him, vehemently exploring his body while he did the same. Not wanting to embarrass yourselves, you quickly tried to run to a room so you could be more private.

     You both moaned as he made his way down your neck, gently pressing kisses into your supple skin. Now that you thought about the quickly finished dinner more, you realized someone was missing. Where was Dio? He sat at the table with you, ate with you and then once the drinks came around and your insatiable lust quickly flooding your senses, you lost sight of him.

     You ran your fingers through Jonathan’s hair, relishing in the way he shivered. Finally, you parted, swiftly shucking off your clothes before exploring each other’s bodies, basking in the warmth. It didn’t really matter where Dio was right now. You just wanted-

     “Jonathan.” You breathed, running your hands up his chest, enticing him into another kiss.

     “I know,” he said, panting heavily. His mind quickly raced with what to do, panicking. He’d never felt like this before, so... needy. “On the bed. Now, please.”

     You nodded once, leading him by the hand towards the edge. Strong arms lifted you up, switching your positions so he was lying on it with you on top of him, straddling his waist. You could feel his erection bumping against your behind as he got more comfortable. No more time was wasted and you quickly aligned yourself with the tip, taking a deep breath as you slowly slipped onto him.

     A cry bubbled up from your throat as just the tip stretched you. His hands massaged into your hips, trying to soothe you. You shook your head no. He was too big to take like this. He lifted your hips up again, pulling you close against his chest, whispering into your ear.

     “It’s okay, don’t worry.” Jonathan sat up, still holding you close. “We can do something else. Here, let me-” 

     He switched your positions again, crouching between your legs. Gentle kisses were trailed down towards your genitals, making the anticipation rise up in you quicker. Finally, he got to where you both wanted him. A final kiss was placed above your genitals, then-

     A cold laugh echoed from the door, making the hair on your arms stand up. You immediately started covering each other with various pillows and blankets, hiding from the hungry stare boring into you. Dio. A cool smile was painted on his face. Another hissed laugh passed over his lips, growing louder the hotter your face got.

     “Dio, we can explain!” You began. 

     “Ooh. I believe you, (Y/N).” You felt like you were falling in on yourself under his gaze. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

     “We’re fine!” Jonathan shouted defensively. He must have known more than you. It was an odd question, but you weren’t sure why he was-

     Dio’s eyes fell on you and suddenly everything felt different. Your mind started to quell its fear, focusing more on how soft his lips would feel against yours, how easy it would be to lift you up, manhandling you like you were nothing. There was a jump in the pit of your stomach. You wanted him. You wanted both of them.

     Suddenly you zoomed back down to earth. You were pressed up against him, already kissing any part of him you could. How did you get here? Did you care? He stared down at you with nothing but lust in his eyes. You were pulled closer to him, then one of his hands started to roam further and further down.

     “We don’t want to keep our little pet waiting, do we, Jojo.” Oh. Oh, god. Both?

     Jonathan shuddered while Dio brought you back towards the bed. Your lips were captured by his, quickly overpowering you. It made you melt how almost addictive his kiss was. Another set of hands danced along your back. The warmth between the two of them was lovely. 

     His clothes were quickly discarded to the side while the other fought for your attention, leaving sweet, but desperate kisses along your shoulders. His hands wrapped around to your front, teasing your nipples. You could feel his hard length against your lower back. Dio returned to you, pulling you away from Jonathan and into a rough kiss. 

     “Let me show you how to do it right, Jojo.” He seethed, bending you over the bed and lining his already erect cock with your ass. He let it slide between your cheeks a few times before he grabbed a glass jar that had previously been in his pocket. Your intended partner, however, made his way around to the front, looking down at you apologetically. 

     Without thinking, you wrapped your hand around his length, slowly jerking it. A shocked cry racked through his body, shocked by the touch. Jonathan had never felt as turned on as he did now. Whatever willpower he had before was completely gone now with the temptation of your lips brushing against the tip of his cock. 

     Dio lathered a slick substance around your hole, slipping one of his fingers in to test your tightness. Now, it was your turn to moan. God, even his finger felt big, you could only imagine what the rest of him felt like. The more his digit fucked into you, the more your mind was fogged over with lust, shallowly pushing your hips back to get more friction. With a malicious chuckle, he complied, quickly working you up to two fingers and then three.

     You couldn’t help the free moans that came out of you, much to his annoyance. His free hand slammed down on your head, forcing you to swallow as much of Jonathan’s cock as you could. Finally, your mewls were muffled. “Peace and quiet at last. Keep them like that, Jojo. Greedy whore.”

     The room was quickly filled with the sounds of Jonathan’s sweet cries as you happily lavished him, sucking in more and more. Dio soon got bored of fingering you and pulled them out with a smack to your ass, leaving a smear of whatever he used on your cheek. Then, he lined his tip up with you again, wasting no time plunging into you, almost to the hilt. You tried to cry out but were obviously stopped. Tears stung at your eyes when he started thrusting into you roughly, each one.

     Suddenly, your hands were pulled behind your back and tied together with some kind of rope that you assumed he had tossed on the bed while getting undressed. A shudder of excitement rolled through your body. Now, you were completely at their mercy, though you doubted one of them was capable of mercy and it wasn’t Jonathan. A particularly hard thrust had you seeing stars only made the answer more obvious. 

     Dio’s brutal pace only got worse, jerking you forward, making you choke on Jonathan’s dick more and more. Your eyes rolled back into your head as drool dribbled down your chin. Crescents decorated your thighs from where fingernails dug into your skin. A hand was brushed through your hair, gentle and soft. It felt so hot against you. The face behind it was flushed red, panting heavily. 

     Suddenly, he pulled back, almost collapsing into the set of drawers behind him. Despite your mouth being free, you fought to keep your moans quiet, not wanting Dio to think of something worse to shut you up. But, the feel of his cock hitting your sweet spots over and over again it was damn near impossible. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was grinning sinisterly over you, his gaze hot against your back. He doubled over, wrapping his arm around your neck into a chokehold, keeping you close to him while he practically speared through you with this new position.

     Jonathan meanwhile was trying to calm himself. You had felt so good. It should be illegal to feel that good. Oh, and your face, hot and sweaty trying to accommodate him. A moan slipped over his lips, shaking lightly from the exertion. He didn’t want to spoil you. Not yet. He wanted this to be nice for you, at least, before his adopted brother walked into the mix. 

     You were beginning to lose air, tapping on the arm around you, frantically trying to get him off. With a devious chuckle, Dio got up, pulling out of you all too quickly. You squirmed at the loss of something inside you as well as the lack of orgasm. 

     “Jojo!” He said boisterously. “Your turn.” With a hard smack of your ass, he walked away from you, letting the other man take his place. Jonathan did so tentatively. If just your mouth felt that good, what would other parts feel like? “What’s wrong, Jojo? Afraid you’ll break them?”

     “Dio!” He snapped. “Why are you so cruel?”

     A cold laugh echoed in your ears, making you shudder. Dio began to slowly jerk his dick, close enough to bring it to your lips. 

     They continued to bicker and for once you were thankful for the lust controlling your mind, easily blocking them out with thoughts that would make your grandmother blush. 

     “God, just stop fighting and fuck me,” you groaned, too aroused to think of anything but what you wanted. Jonathan looked shocked, but not turned off. 

     “Come on! Give them what they want.” Dio growled, pushing the tip of his cock forward. Immediately, you latched your lips around it, moaning at the residual taste left on it. You looked up at him, cheeks hollowing, creating a suction that drove him mad. He roughly ran his fingers through your hair, grabbing you tightly to hold your head in place, then he began thrusting his hips into you with the same pace as before. 

     Jonathan gently ran his fingers over your sides before lining himself up, praying that you had been “worked open” enough for it to be more pleasurable than painful. Slowly, he pushed himself in, unable to hold back a low grown as he felt your soft, warm walls clench around him. Just like before, the thrusts from the other man pushed you onto him slightly, making you take more.

     The stretch was incomparable to any other you’ve had (aside from Dio). You felt so full, there had to be some kind of bulge, right? If you could voice how good he felt, you would have. It was a long process for him to work up the courage to get to any proper pace, he was worried that if he took it too far, it would easily hurt you. But, you felt so goddamn good.

     Finally, he went in as far as he could, letting out another moan. Then, with the same slow, careful moves, he pulled out almost to the tip. It was as though your insides were pulling him back and he found himself sinking in quicker than he had originally intended. Whatever was making him like this soon took over, turning him into some kind of animal, spearing in and out of you without a sign of stopping. 

     Just as you suspected, you were at their mercy completely, feeling them see-saw you, like some kind of toy. God, you could have died like this and been happy, but you knew you were going to be much happier if you saw this through to the end. The three of you moaned in tandem, letting your pleasure take you over as the men picked up the pace. It was all so good, almost too good. Sweat dripped down your bodies, making your hair cling to your faces. 

     You could feel your orgasm building up in you again, unable to do anything to stop it. Their cocks somehow synced with each other and you swore that if they were any deeper, they might have touched. Your release quickly washed over you, making you see white just as they both thrust into you at the same time, stopping to let your body sort out itself out as you spasmed under them, cumming harder than you ever had.

     The first to pull out was Jonathan, slow and gentle. Then Dio followed, coming around to the other side of the bed. You faintly heard a “come on” followed by your name as you were lifted into the air, then moved to the middle of the room, where they set you on your knees. They crowded over you, one of them (presumably Dio) lightly slapped his cock on your cheek, indicating he wanted you to pick up where you left off. In your post-orgasm haze, you opened your mouth, sucking lazily.

     Gradually, you became more aware, picking up your pace. You used one hand to stroke the shaft that was in your mouth and with the other one, you reached out for Jonathan’s cock, doing the same to his. Their grunts and groans filled the room the more you jerked them. Lifting off one length with a pop, you moved to the other, looking up to see their faces, hot and twisted with pleasure. 

     It didn’t take long for someone’s seed to spill into your mouth with a loud cry. You swallowed every drop, before returning to the first one and finishing him off. Dio’s orgasm was not as intense as Jonathan’s, but when he did, he pushed himself further into your throat, making you choke while he shot his release into it. 

     You pulled back, panting heavily, a string of drool connecting you and his cock. A cruel chuckle filled your ears, making you smile almost drunkenly. You weren’t sure what it was, but something told you the night wasn’t done just yet. Dio pulled you into a rough kiss while Jonathan ran his hands up your sides, grazing his lips against your shoulders. These men were going to be the death of you.

[birdship]

(DISCO ELYSIUM SPOILERS)

Wrote this... thing? to sort of explore potentially writing an actual bit of fanfic for Disco Elysium. It's just a short scene set during the time Harry's drifting in and out of consciousness and Kim is taking care of him.

Anyway, here. Self-indulgent gay longing bullshit, but maybe someone else out there will enjoy it?

Very short teaser, since the whole thing is only like 1600 words:

PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand. YOU: Her hand…? PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in. You keep slipping away, Harry-boy. Back into that beautiful, dark sea. Where you came from. Where you belong. Even now it presses around you, pale and cold. You’re struggling so hard to keep your head above the water for these precious few seconds of aching consciousness. It would be easier to just… relax.

YOU: Hold on, what was that about a cat?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: There is no cat, you stupid fuck. Pay attention when I’m waxing poetic about the sweet embrace of death.

It’s hard to pay attention. Then again, it’s hard to do anything. Your breathing is shallow and ragged and you’re so, so tired. God are you tired.

PERCEPTION: You become gradually aware that there is a light pressure on your hip. PAIN THRESHOLD: The first small jolt of pain ripples through you, branching like lightning. PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand.

YOU: Her hand…?

PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

YOU: His hand…

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s warm, electric, somehow both familiar and new all at once. You ache to lean into it and ask for more, more. How long has it been since anyone touched you like this? INLAND EMPIRE: Has anyone ever touched you like this, really? Right down to the core of you? Feeling the wreckage of you, the sharp edges of your heart? Running their fingers so lightly along the cracks of your horrible little brain? ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I meant literally. His hand is on your thigh. PAIN THRESHOLD: Because there’s a fucking gunshot wound there. LOGIC: Come on, don’t make it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I’m not making it weird. VOLITION: You’re definitely making it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Look, all I’m saying is it feels pretty nice, doesn’t it? Being close to him like this. His hands on your body.

YOU: Yeah. It does.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: In the haze of painkillers and recent trauma, your sight becomes clear. Ironic. You’re finally allowing yourself to see something that’s been quietly blossoming inside you over the years. It’s been so hard to ignore, but the alternative is so much worse. You couldn’t look right at it. Didn’t want to. Didn’t think you deserved to. But now, in this moment, lying on a lumpy mattress in the dark, trying not to lose consciousness yet again, with him pressing his hands to your rotting body, desperately staunching the bleeding that never seems to completely stop… Now the world has finally wrung everything out of you. Whatever it was that you had left. And you can do nothing but take the path of least resistance. HALF-LIGHT: You’re keenly aware that you will soon make an absolute goddamn fool of yourself, but are powerless to stop it. The forces are already in motion. PAIN THRESHOLD: Another lightning bolt of pain, worse this time. Agony. You cannot help but gurgle a quiet “fuck.”

The lieutenant glances up at your face with calm concern, thoroughly unsurprised by your outburst. “I know it hurts,” he breathes. “You’ll get through it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, only half-processing his words.

PERCEPTION: His hand lingers ever so slightly, then suddenly it’s gone. The warm, comforting pressure of his company, gone. SUGGESTION: No! You’re going to be alone again! He needs to stay. You need him to be here. Next to you. For as long as possible.

You concentrate every ounce of willpower you have left on sending your right hand out to fish desperately for his before it’s gone.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION: Your hand slaps awkwardly against the sleeve of his jacket. You can’t quite get a grip on it, but your pathetic flailing is hard to ignore, and he stops to give you a quizzical look. VISUAL CALCULUS: That’s the best we could do. I don’t know what you expected from us. Your eyes are still closed.

“Detective?” he says to you. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine, but you need to get some rest.”

“Wait,” you mumble, “please stay.”

DRAMA: This is quite the sad display you’re putting on here, sire. It’s a crowded field, but this new late entry is a strong contender for the gold in the hotly contested “most uncomfortable moment” event at the Sad Old Sack of Shit Olympics.

VOLITION: Come on, you’re stronger than this. HALF-LIGHT: Don’t drag him down with you, you irrepressible fuck-up. What are you even trying to do? INLAND EMPIRE: He’s drowning. Desperate. Reaching for something, anything, to stay afloat. COMPOSURE: It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not anymore. There’s nothing to hold onto. SUGGESTION: Wrong. You have exactly one thing to hold onto right now, and that thing is Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi’s fucking hand.

Kim looks at you with a sort of detached concern for a moment, then gives you a small smile and sits back down next to you without another word. There’s nothing to say, and that’s fine.

EMPATHY: He looks exhausted. His eyes are ringed by dark circles and his shoulders have begun to sag with the weight of the case. The weight of death. The weight of you. He’s carrying so much. ESPRIT DE CORPS: He doesn’t want recognition or pity for it. He knows you’re bearing the same load. Don’t you dare apologize for any of it - this weight is shared. You’re in it together. SUGGESTION: Then why do you feel so guilty, watching him stare silently out the window into the impenetrable night, looking at nothing? You have to say something. Acknowledge his efforts to keep your sorry flesh sack shambling forward another day. VOLITION: No, stop. This is a bad idea. You don’t have to be the sorry cop anymore. In fact, please actively try to stop being that.

“Kim,” you say weakly.

“Yes?” he says, his gaze snapping back to you immediately.

“Thanks.”

“No need for that,” he says quickly.

VOLITION: Grateful cop, huh. Well, I guess that’s a step up. Very slightly less pitiful.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “alright. Sorry.”

VOLITION: Goddammit.

Kim doesn’t say anything. Just watches you with tired, searching eyes.

PERCEPTION: He’s sitting on the very edge of the bed, far away from you, his limbs tucked close to his body except for one hand, which rests lightly on the blanket. VISUAL CALCULUS: It’s still close enough that you could reach out and touch it without too much effort. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Get that sweet dopamine hit, baby! Human contact, the most dangerous drug!

Your fingers brush his hand. He jerks it away immediately, but it seems like an unconscious, automatic reaction.

“Ah,” he says, scooting over a bit. “I’ll give you some space.”

VOLITION: If your goal was to feel like a complete idiot in front of the one person in this shithole that you respect, well, pat yourself on the back. DRAMA: Congratulations, sire, you’ve done it! And what hill might thou plan to die on next? VOLITION: A much steeper one, hopefully. SUGGESTION: Ignore them, try again! PERCEPTION: Finally, your fingers manage to close around his wrist. You can’t see his reaction. Your eyes are closed. You can’t stand to look at the situation you’ve created. VOLITION: Coward. PERCEPTION: His hand is moving, changing position, but not withdrawing. It simply contorts in such a way that your grip relaxes and now it’s his hand that’s resting on top of yours. He is silent, but he’s there. Not moving away. You smell stale cigarette smoke and dry blood lingering in the space between his body and yours. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s too much. This hit, it’s stronger than you expected. It’s fucking devastating, a cold knife twisting its way through your broken body. It hurts. Why does it hurt? EMPATHY: Your eyes are still closed, but you sense that he too is looking elsewhere, similarly unable to look directly at the source of the overwhelming awkward - and quite frankly rather homo-sexual - energy you have brought down upon the room. CONCEPTUALIZATION: Every other human interaction happening inside the Whirling-in-Rags must be going very smoothly right now, because you’ve created a fucking singularity of awkwardness. There’s no more awkwardness left within a 2km radius, you’ve gathered it all right here.

Then, as quickly as the moment began, it’s over. He moves his hand and clears his throat. Probably cleans his glasses. It’s a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed this past week.

A few minutes pass in silence. Then: “Harry?” he whispers quietly.

You don’t answer. You have nothing to say.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this is the harder option. Maybe you’re not ready to look at it. Maybe you’re not ready to look at anything.

“Get some rest,” he says softly. “I need to get back to work.”

EMPATHY: He’s not going to mention this incident. Not now. Not later. Not ever. Not just out of concern for you, but himself. He has no idea how to begin to process it, so he won’t. He’ll tell himself it doesn’t matter, you were just lost in a cloud of drouamine and pain and grief. That you were so out of it that you thought you were reaching for someone else. That vulnerable moment of tenderness could not have been meant for him. But you know the truth. And maybe he does too, somewhere deep down. LOGIC: You are okay with this. You have to be. And so does he. CONCEPTUALIZATION: You’ve glimpsed it now, that radiant thing within you. That bright, unbearable light. It’s so beautiful, so heart-breaking that you can hardly stand it. Maybe a glimpse is enough.