#Because I Would Die. Fall on the floor completely dead.

[anikabooker]

Finish him. It wasn't her voice, but another, in the forefront of her mind. Whispers that turned into screams in her ears. The familiar echo of a sound she knew too well; a familiar ring to each scream, chanting to end his life. And a promise, she swore to keep. Her hands twitched and shook, when the last bullet found his skin and then the floor leaving bloody evidence of a barrel all lost on a beast she couldn't kill. A promise. she swore to keep, but couldn't. Not because she didn't want to, but because her hands did not feel like her own, and her face — numb and pale, did not feel like her own, and her heart slamming uncontrollably against a fragile cage, did not feel like her own. She'd never felt her body more alive; every nerve set on fire, skin hot to the touch. Before him, her heart was as fucked up as his was; black and motionless.

Anika couldn't remember the last time she let a beast walk away from her. The last time she granted somebody her mercy. Pity wasn't something she felt — not for someone like him, not for anybody.

Every man she'd ever met had been nothing but cruel. When was the last time someone pitied the woman who had to kill parts of herself to survive? When was the last time a beast showed her mercy?

Because it was monsters like him that had taken everything from her. And yet, her eyes were filled with sorrow for the dead man on the floor, squirming in agony, twitching violently, gasping for air. She only stood over him, with a gun long empty. The sharp blade of her self-hatred glided across her throat, threatening to rip at the skin with every moment passed that allowed him time to heal.

All those bullets meant nothing, when not one of them punctured his heart. Not one of them rid her of him. He was still alive, in the most monstrous way. Dragging himself upwards, struggling to keep his body straight, to become once again a worthy opponent, a punching bag for her to use and then dispose of. She was supposed to dispose of him, not the other way around. I regret you. No, no — not the way this was supposed to be. His fault. This was his fault. His fault, for giving an abandoned hound like her attention, because now she wanted nothing but.

She hissed through gritted teeth: "Good." What a terrible time to be given something she didn't want to lose. What a terrible time to be given something that would completely shatter her to watch turn to ash. What a cruel fuckin thing to give her, when she had decided a decade ago, that she would rid herself of wants and needs, and stupid things like finding comfort under someone else's covers, the only person she'd trusted enough to fall asleep next to, wake up next to — their own little fucked up, domesticated, mundane universe, in which she was blind and foolish, and he was alive and warm. And they were both free — of self-hatred, and pain.

She watched that world disintegrate, while it spat them out into the vast cosmos. And back so quickly, into a world familiar and dark, deadly and completely ravenous where he was a monster and she was his executioner. Only she couldn't swing the axe high enough to slice his head clean off, instead uncertain, trembling hands got the weapon stuck half-way — not letting him die, but not letting him live either. "That's your fucking problem now, isn't it? At least I didn't fucking know, but you did. And still — what did you hope for here, huh? What did you think would fucking happen?" bitter tongue spun cruel words into existence, fabricated them from lies to truths.

Cruel, and despicable things were her lies. Cruel and despicable like putting him on her path and expecting her not to fall for the touch against her spine that whispered safety, the brush against her arm that grounded her — offered her trust, the kind that urged her heaviest burdens, and her heaviest losses to spill out of her. The ones that twisted her, and bent her out of shape, that made her less mortal man and more his kind of beast. The kind of tenderness she hasn't known for years, and had to give up after only a moment. She couldn't mourn the loss, not when she could do something better, something familiar, that was very much her, the version of her that she'd built for years, only for him to turn into dust over a couple of months. It was him holding the stake over her, buried deep into a hollow chest. That sorry excuse of a heart that only he— Don't be fucking ridiculous, Anika.

She wanted his fury, and his hatred. Let's see how far that regret go.

Her hand swung at him, backwards with the sharp metal of the gun slamming into his cheek. Stop fucking talking. His head almost unscrewed itself right off. Burning eyes, like a forest on fire, screamed at him — to be seen, to be acknowledged for the raging disaster it was, "Fight back!" spat out, as if an order. Then she banged small, but mightily fists into him; across his chest, and over his face. Pushing him into the corner of the room, right against his door. "Fight back—" louder, like a beast. She wanted to take every broken whisper, every trusted word, every shared weakness and shove them down his throat. She wanted to fuck him over, like he had. Those kicks to the gut came quicker and harder. "I said— fight the fuck back." Anika would relish in his hate. He was right. It was better, easier— than to mourn the loss of his love.

Pain is always often sudden and unwanted. He'd known it had been the wrong thing to say when he'd fired his own bullet in their verbal tennis; competitive about match point, where he'd forgotten all his sensibilities. Entirely too ignorant to everything when there's the idea of insanity swimming around in his head. Foolishness takes precedent, kicking himself for never knowing that she'd been a fucking idiot — because regret stung like a needle puncturing his lungs; taking the breath he didn't need in a sudden flash. In those holes, blood fills the pockets of air, leaking in from the outside.

He soon knows it's the bullets ripping him open. One after the other, in a series of fireworks — bang, bang, bang — It's second nature to count them; to know how many are left in her barrel. It's almost a guessing game; how many can he survive, before one takes him entirely? But boy, does it fucking hurt.

Far more than the anguish in his chest now. No faux bullshit about weeping hearts, or how his soul is fracturing with loss. The bullets are tearing up his lungs, shattering his collar bone, and bleeding poison into all those organs that should be black and rotting. He doesn't get to say anything, other than release a sound of protest when he's kicked back. He thinks maybe, he deserves that as she peppers holes into him and sends him tumbling into the sunlight.

There's no longer discernible pain. It's simply everywhere because he's on fire. There's blood, and burning flesh. His boxers (god help him, the only thing he's wearing) are soaked in red as his skin peels away underneath the rays. There's no stopping the cry of agony as he fights to escape it, limbs aching, crumbling under the weight of a curse he's got no power over. He's lost the majority of vision, as he blinks furiously in dire hope he might find a shadow instead of the sun. Managing to roll to the other side of the apartment. He hits the wall adjacent to his bedroom; a charred, bloodied thing with bloodshot eyes. Muscles tremble as he stares at the blank of his ceiling. Tatters of skin crumble to dust where he's left them at the mercy of the morning light.

If he had any strength then, he'd have told her that he'd have known all about her tribulations because he knew her father; her story had been new, but not unknown. The fuck does he think it's going to mean shit now. Shaking and groaning as he feels the skin fight to heal; knitting over scalds and fighting off the verbena she's pummelled him with. A few bullets are in the wall behind him, clean shot through. Others, he can feel rolling around in his gut and scraping against his spine.

It takes too long for his vision to straighten, he's already flopping over, trying to push himself to his feet. Arms shaking on all fours, he manages to get to his knees, head rolling back to look at the ceiling. Exhausted, in the only way a monster can be; hungry and fighting; survival instincts want to tell him to do something. It takes everything within him, to contain it, to tell himself he isn't one of them.

You're pathetic. The voice in his head that once told himself that, is replaced by hers; it's going to be there, as his conscience, for a long time. He knows that. Weak. In more ways than Anika knows. But he's let her do this; allowed her, in his stagnant state, to land every shot without retaliation. He's said enough, before. And he's still healing by the time he plants a hand on the bullet-marked wall and claws himself up on unsettled, bloodied legs. He slumps against it, for support and whines a little too miserably as he fights for those bullets inside him, again.

He's not even looking at her, on the other side of the sunlight. Fuck you, Booker.

There's another two clatters, when he discards those bullets to the ground and remains defeatedly against the wall, hand pressed to his shoulder, one eye able to restore vision whilst the rest of him slicks over from its zombie-like decay of burns and gunshot holes. He should be dead. He knows, long ago — long after.

His question still stands; she can land non-fatal things, all day. But there's only so much they can take before it blows up in their face; as though, it hasn't already. What happened to 'I want you', Anika? You had your hand against my chest; you heard the absence of a heartbeat — he's unable to know exactly where she went wrong, in her blindness. In his, too.

It takes a while before he can speak and tolerate the pain without echoing sounds that equate to how pathetic he is. Nearly a hiss, when it's voiced: "I regret you too, don't worry." It's lingering on his head, the hope and the violent way it's torn away from him as quickly as one hand had been on a breast, to being stung in the sun. To how easy it was to kiss her after telling himself it was never his future; he didn't get to have things meant for mortal men. This is why. He's burnt his own heart and left it in need of a transplant; a waiting list, a century long. He'll never live that long. He'll never let himself. He's already dead a second time, long before ash breaches his fingertips.

The scoff is half cough, half bloodied. He spits a mouthful on the carpet next to him, tasting the copper and verbena soaking his insides, souring his system and making him desperate to lick the blood she's painted the walls with. Dignity says he needs to go to the fridge and act like she might not reload and empty another round in that goddamn fucking revolver.

He's not going to fight her. Don't be ridiculous.

"I've never hurt you," Never stabbed her (like she has to him), or left her wondering if he might. Never brought a knife to the bed, and let it get lost in the covers, like she has. Never let an unchecked hand wander, or overstep his boundaries. Like she has him. Hasn't gone through her drawers, or raided her room — like she has, to him. And for the unlife of him, he doesn't fucking understand how she can stand there, with an off-aim and tell him she'd never known. He can hear her words of twenty minutes prior; the drunken desperation; the consent, playing over in his head — the corridor when legs wrapped around his now reddened flesh, hands wandering, lips stealing —

Let it go. She cannot matter when his existence isn't for her. He doesn't endure for the sake of her, as much as he does his family. She's lying, if she doesn't understand that, he's certain. He's finding it difficult to push himself off the wall, tired muscles craving to be satiated, a raw throat as his body acknowledges that he's burned through (literally, and figuratively) the deer and the hare he's recently fed on. "As if I'm going to war with you now, Anika."

Is that what you want? "Or would that justify this for you?" Probably. He realises, as more pieces of her jigsaw puzzle slot into place. "Make it easier?" If he's the monster he guesses she wants him to be. It shouldn't make a difference to a hunter — actively committing an atrocity or not. A monster is a monster.

And he should never have truly let himself believe for a second, she'd ever see him differently. This, was inevitable.

But everything in her face and her gaze; appeared fresh again in his recalibrated vision. He swears tears bead at her ducts and the violence in her hues is burying something she never likes him to see. He always does. But that could easily have been a well-constructed lie too. He's tired of looking down the barrel of the gun, at her face; picturing how different it'd been before morning ruined them. Head lolling to the side, to survey her; he wonders how long she might stand there, waiting for a battle he doesn't want to give.

Who is the coward now, Booker?

[kanene-yaaay]

Oh, To Die By Your Hands

Kanene's notes: IT SEEMS SO SERIOUS WITH THAT TITLE KJUHYTFRGHUJK Nah, just your normal tickle fic with not so much normal characters. Fit and Pac have been living rent free in my mind since before Purgatory and after their date??? I am dead on the floor. Get a man who will declare his feelings for you in your native language for real for real.

Warnings: Lots of nibbles, tickly kisses and raspberries in this one. Switch!Fit and Switch!Pac. Around 6.500 words. Also! I tried to add the way that Pac calls Fit because of his accent written on the fic because I think it's lovely and cute. Hope it isn't too much confunsing or strange :D

[~*~]

“Thank you for coming, Pac. Ramón really likes when you sing him that lullaby.” His voice was rough but soft, just like his entire form and self when it came to his son, his beautiful baby boy. 

Pac smiled, also following his example and lowering his voice, closing the secured door of the kid’s room carefully before they both headed to the other room where they held their first date, a prep on his step. “It’s no problem, Fitch! Actually, I don’t know why he likes that one so much, it literally talks about how a Cuca, which is like… a kind of monster? I don’t know how to explain. But how she will grab, or better, uh, snatch the kid away because the parents are out working.”

A loud peal of laughter was pried from the mercenary’s lips, staring at the other with unbelief in his eyes. “Wait, wait, that is the actual meaning of the song?”

“Yeah, yeah! I don’t know why they made it so scary. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if someone sang it to me before putting me to bed.”

“Damn, brazilian lullabies are just at a hardcore level.”

“Teaches you to sleep with one eye open, right?”

“That is right, that is right.”

They shared smiles. Arriving at the place, the air was still light, but it wasn’t difficult to see the question itching Pac’s throat, wanting to jump out of his body. It was in the way that he walked closely by Fit side and how he kept sneaking glances at him, quickly deviating them to look around the room before going back to stare, keeping the cycle for a while. Each time his steps got closer and closer until their hands intertwined in a hold.

It made sense he would be like that, of course. Fit would be just the same if his boyfriend woke him up in the middle of the night asking him to come to his place to help to calm down his kid after a nightmare because he wasn’t able to. 

Still, he was glad that no questions were asked, not when Pac arrived - barely half a minute later after he sent his message, sleep and anxiety clinging like a shadow to his form - and not now, as the storm seemed to have passed.

Shame, however, kept flowing hot in his veins. He and Ramón had been alone since… always, really. They both had dealt with each other’s nightmares and night terrors more times than they could count. This one wasn’t supposed to be different. Shouldn’t be different. He should be there the moment his boy opened the door of his room with tears streaming down his face, sobs stubbornly escaping from his firmly pressed lips and hands open for a comforting hug that Fit should be able to give, a rare show of a child that his baby boy was, but refused to demonstrate most of time.

And yet…

Fit himself hadn’t been much better. Hadn’t been better for a long time, now. Because everytime he closed his eyes the threat from Madagio filled his mind and nightmares kept permeating his every night for the past two weeks, crowding his mind with horrifying scenarios that shouldn’t, but shook his core. 

Usually, he would just wake up, push all of it - the feelings, the fears, the screams begging for their life - deep down his chest and hope that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

Nevertheless to say, as all the things in life, it definitely did. 

Because that night, when Ramón looked at his face - and god knows what he saw there - he stopped right in his tracks and carefully signed his name. He had been crying, he had been crying and scared and tired and all Fit could think - because words simply didn’t come out, no matter how much he tried to spill, spit them to comfort his kid - is that he could kill him. So quickly. Easily, even, with a twist of his wrist, a swipe of his trident, a pull from his bomb stacks, he could kill him and suddenly he was frozen on the spot, unable to even get closer to his son. 

If Madagio had any power like the Federation, it could control him and destroy his most precious riches in a matter of seconds. It wouldn’t need to come to the island. It wouldn’t even need to pull Fit from it to make his life a living hell.

“There is something that we need to talk, Pac. Please take a seat.”

So, he called Pac. He deserved to know exactly what he was getting into (how many times would they have this kind of conversation?) and Ramón deserved a father who would actually get his shit together and get over it.

Pac gulped and looked at him slightly startled, knowing very well what the serious tune could mean, probably with a thousand of scenarios already running at light speed in his mind. “O-of course, Fitch.”

He then softly squeezed his hand - because there was no universe where Pac wouldn’t be perfect and strong and there but sometimes Fit seemed to forget that so he had to remind him - and let it go, sitting on the blue couch Fit recently added on the room and expectantly waiting for the other to do the same.

Which he promptly did - of course, because there wasn’t any universe where he would go and Fit wouldn’t immediately follow him. 

“Wine? What about wine? Do you want some wine?” The brazilian offered, pulling glasses from his well trusted backpack and a bottle from the refrigerator nearby. 

“Already wanting to take me to bed, Pac? Wow.” 

“No! Stop it.” Pac lightly shoved his arm, both chuckling for a bit before Fit sobered, taking a deep breath and a sip of the liquid. It was good stuff, probably from Aypierre’s vines. “Thought we were here to have a serious conversation, no?”

“We are.” 

Fit stopped, pondered how he would put it in words. It didn’t matter, there was no easy way to put it.

“Pac, would you kill me if it was necessary?”

The scientist sputtered, almost choking on the wine before turning in alarm to stare at the other, his gaze zig zagging across his body as if it would transform at any moment into an enemy, a monster in disguise pretending to be his boyfriend right in front of him. 

He didn’t doubt Pac’s abilities, even if Pac himself hardly believed in them. He was an extremely good fighter, going through monsters and battles with a calm demeanor and precise, strong attacks that ended the conflict as soon as possible. Fit was very skilled, himself. But he was sure that if Pac used one of his brilliant plans and his scythe, it would take a lot, but he would eventually come down.

But, for that, he needed to know if Pac would go through with the plan.

“Why, why that, Fitch? Did something happen? Are you feeling weird? Is it…” He got closer. Fit’s heart beated louder. If it was him… if it was him it wouldn’t be so bad. “Is it the Federation, again?”

“No. It’s… the other.”

Understanding downed in his expression. “Oh. Did he contact you again?”

Fit shook his head. “No. But it did say that it would hurt you if I tried to betray our contract and I am not planning to but, Pac, I need to know if you’ll do it. If I become a threat.”

Pac bit his lower lip, thoughtfully. Fit’s muscles relaxed, glad to know he was taking this as a serious worry, not just some unfounded fear.

“We will save you. Just like we did before, just like you did to me, Fitch. I, I will be there for you too, when you need and for as long as you need, if you’re gone we will bring you back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t, but, if I have to kill you, Fit… how will I tell this to Ramón? Or Sunny? WHo is going to be her bodyguard? And what about the morning crew? Are we supposed to just… stay?”

“You are all very strong and I am sure that-”

“No.” His voice was determined, sad. His hands gestured widely. “No, no, no. I am not leaving you behind, Fit. What about when I’m in danger, who will rescue me? Who will share the island’s fofoca with me? Or give me a refrigerator full of food on the first date? Or kill the eye workers when they attack or tease Tubbo when he goes on a date with Fred, or help us to take care of Sunny, or, or, or…” Fit held the other’s hands, squeezing it tight when he started to talk too fast, snapping Pac out of his thoughts, making him take a big breath. “No. You can’t go away, Fitche. Never. I won’t let them take you too.”

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah, that… that made sense. 

This was Pac, who the first thought when seeing his friend being drugged and controlled by the Federation was going under the same treatment so he could find a cure for it. The one who forgave Cellbit in a heartbeat when he told him he had changed. Who refused to kill him - even before the date, when Fit couldn’t even put in words his feelings for the other - during Purgatory. Who threw himself into mines and danger easily without thinking twice and would do all of it again an again if it meant keeping someone he cared about safe, even when the Federation kept taking his family one day after the other. He would do it in a heartbeat.

It made sense he didn’t want to lose another one. He was smart, strong, kind… Fit would trust him with his life into his hands in a blink of an eye.

But…

“If I hurt Ramón, Pac. If ever get close to hurt any of the eggs…”

“I will lock you, Fit. And I, we! We will find a cure again. None of them will die and you don’t need to die either.”

“Do you promise?”

Pac nodded, composure and eyes kept firm in their place, holding him down and reminding him he was no longer on this alone. “I promise, Fit. And if your boss cat comes here to hurt them… Then we will kick his butt, right?”

Fit snorted, if it was anyone else, he would doubt, throw their words away as a senseless attempt to comfort him, without true meaning. His boss was god, some kind of entity with power enough to pull him out of a world of literal destruction and throw him into a dimension where all of it never existed. However, this was Pac. Both he and Mike have proven over and over again that there was no place, no rule, no limit that they weren't able to overcome and laugh at their face when the managed to overcome it.

Maybe… If it was him.

He could believe it. Besides, Pac did promise that he wouldn’t let him hurt the children. They were always the priority, afterall

“Yes, we will. Thank you, Pac.” He took a deep breath. Since he already started, he could as well… 

Talk. About stuff.

“Sometimes I… worry about, uh, what I can do.”

(Kill. Maim. Destroy. Break it down piece by piece until there is nothing left. Watch in the shadows and continue his way quietly through all the screams.)

Pac understood what he meant. “Oh. It’s fair. I think, it must be hard, when you think about it…” He then squeezed his hand before letting them go, starting to count on his own fingers. “But, I don’t think you should worry about it, Fitch. You can do a lot of awesome things, too! You’re a really good cooker, you can make very cool bombs and explosions, you’re good at hide and seek, at saving me when I am down. You are also very good at hiking and training, which makes sense, right? With how muscular and great you are, also-”

“Pac,” Fit voice’s took a firm tune, pulling Pac from his rambling and immediately catching his attention, wide black eyes turning at him attentively. “Pac, I was made for killing. All of this is just…”

(It doesn’t matter.)

“Nah.”

Fit blinked once, twice, quite astonished at how nonchalant the scientist sounded. Stared at those beautiful, soft eyes that watched him with a playful light that somehow nothing on the Island had been able to destroy. Strong. “Sorry?”

“I don’t think you were made for killing, Fit. No one is only able to do one thing and everyone can change. Besides… it gave you a lot of skill, right? Surviving there. That is why you’re one of the best fighters on the island, Fit! The codes, the eye workers… even Cucorucho is no match for you. You’re so strong, fierce, cool, fit and,” Pac’s determined tune tripped a little bit as his words got faster and a tad more distracted, his eyes deviating from his stare, looking at his face, arms, torso… Fit would be lying if he said he didn’t like how it hovered for a little while on his chest and muscles, “and you’re good looking too! Awesome, ruthless, muscular, handsome...”

“Ahalright!” Fit cut him before his face melted from how hot it felt, the tip of his ears feeling like they were on fire. His voice seemingly broke Pac out of his mind and made him immediately attempt to hide his face on his hoodie, trying to jump away to hide and being stopped by the gentle hand still holding his, keeping him close. That didn’t prevent more embarrassed snickers from also filling the air. “Sorry, sorry, I got distracted.”

“Take it easy, big boy, take it easy.”

Fit only laughed harder when the teasy nickname made the other shout in protest, a light hit landing on his shoulder. It successfully distracted him enough so his head peaked again from the deepness of his blue hoodie, so Fit counted it as a win. Especially when a playful gleam took over Pac’s glare.

“Actually, Fitch, I think you were made for something.”

“Oh, you think so?”

Pac got closer, smiling, nodding in such an innocent way that could only mean trouble. 

“Yeah, for kisses.” He laid his head on his shoulder and Fit could feel goosebumps travel his entire body from the skin contact. His voice became lower, slower, certain. “Can I kiss you, Fit?”

Fit definitely didn’t bluescreen, half words and meaningless sounds leaving his mouth in a string of incoherency that lasted a couple of minutes before he finally managed to get himself together enough to shove an actual sentence, with a too high pitched tune, through his throat. “I-I mean, of course you can, Pac! If, ah, if you want to.”

Pac’s answer was a single kiss placed in his collarbone before the brazilian focused his administrations on his neck. Soft, warm lips leaving a trail of tingles and electricity whatever they touched. Fit could feel the care in each one and it felt… nice. 

Cozy. 

Warm. 

Tickly.

Ok, actually, it was very, very tickly.

Fit closed his eyes and turned his face around, trying to hide the beginning of a smile that grew bigger with every light - so, so, so light - peck grazing his skin. Not wanting to actually ruin the sweet moment between them, especially after Pac got the courage to ask for what the mercenary had been wanting to do for a while.

(Cuddle and kiss his boyfriend. Oh god, when did he become such a softie?)

The problem with his hiding tactic is that it only left more spots in the open for Pac to attack and bash in attention, not leaving a single patch of skin alone without a caring goodbye kiss, unknowingly breaking piece by piece Fit’s barriers.

He twitched when his boyfriend got too close to the line of his jaw, the warmth racing up to the tip of his ears in a way he hoped that Pac didn’t realized. The one with blue hoodie and attentive eyes stopped in a hitched breath. Waited.

Fit got his racing heart and tickly tingles under control. He was not going to lose to a few accidental tickles. He was not.

He squeezed Pac’s and drew circles on the back of his hands, turning at him with a teasy smirk and crooked eyebrows.

“Oh, is it my turn now?”

Pac giggled and shook his head. “Wait, wait, I still got…”

Without finishing his sentence he dived and placed a light kiss right under his chin, successfully catching the other out of guard and making one of various locked snickers wheezily flee from his lips, quickly being followed by others when Fit tried to cover his smile, turning around once again.

“Oh, god, I am doing this wrong, aren’t I?” Pac pushed himself away and grumbled, starting to search in his pockets for his warpstone, increasing the other’s snickery fit. “Ok, ok, that is it.Thank you so much for calling, I had an incredible time so now I am going to throw myself off the Cristo Redentor and then go to bed, good night, Fit. Tell Ramón I loved him and tell Richas to take a shower, bye.”

“No, no, Pac. Calma, calma.” Fit held one of his wrists, pulling Pac back to his place on the sofa, chasing his black eyes when they kept running away from his while the scientist kept shaking his head from side to other in a dramatic despair. Fit ended up resting his other hand on his cheek, guiding his look back. “I would never laugh at my brazilian boyfriend.” He tried to not grin smugly when that melted the other’s pout in a shy smile “The kisses just tickled me, that is all.”

That immediately brought Pac’s attention. “Wait, Fit… you’re ticklish?”

“It seems like I am, but I am not sure. Not a lot of chances for bonding and laughing when fighting for your life in 2b2t.”

“Oh, I see.” Silence, Pac’s wrist wiggled out of his hold and suddenly there were warm hands flying to his neck, fingertips dancing on it, blunt nails and wiggly fingers tickling the sensitive spot softly. “So, you’re ticklish.”

Fit huffed a laugh at the strange feeling, instinctively scrunching up his neck all while he tried to not pry Pac’s hands away. Same hands that now spidered their way up to his ears, tracing them and giving each one a few scratches, Pac watching in awe as their tips became more and more colored with each passing second.

“Oh my god, Fit, your ears are so red! Are you blushing? That is really, reeeally cute, you know?”

 Fit’s shoulders began to shake slightly with the effort to keep all the giggles and laughter trapped inside, the task growing more and more difficult as Pac kept his exploring. Fingers tapping their way down to the mercenary’s ribcage, making his torso twitch from one side to another as they started skittering up and down, tracing senseless drawings and forms on the spot. Another fleeing snigger escaped from his firmly pressed lips. There was no way such light, barely even touching touch could tickle that much.

“You can laugh it out, Fit. I bet it will feel much better! Besides,” the gleam in his eyes got sharper and Pac didn’t really lower his voice, but something in his tune changed, a turning point that made a shiver run down Fit’s spine. It didn’t feel like something truly dangerous but alerts began flashing in his mind when the touch became just a tad firmer. 

Fit had to push down the squirms that threatened to push the other away. “You can’t just keep all that laughter only for yourself, now, that wouldn’t be fair. No, no, not fair at all. Keeping all those giggles and snickers hidden from me. Trapped inside. They deserve to be free, you know? So everyone can see how cute they are.”

“Pac…”

But then Pac started digging and his barrier broke. Loud laughter immediately followed the hands vibrating in between his ribs, scribbling, looking for any special spot that would make Fit go insane. Not that he was very far from this, now, head being thrown backwards with how strong his crackles were, because nothing in the world could ever prepare him for the feeling that was being tickled, to have each nerve screaming but not in pain, to have each touch bring a new kind of electricity that traveled his torso and filled his heart with a warmth that made him want to jump out of the sofa and at the same time bring Pac closer.

A curious prodding in a spot in his highest ribs that was almost on his back and Fit slammed his body on the cushion, a snort being pried from his lips and quickly being followed by another and another when the fingers kept drilling and kneading on the spot non stop.

Then he heard it, low as a whisper. “Beautiful….” It came in an awed voice, and in between half lidded eyes Fit saw the one with black hair shake his head, as if getting himself together before slowing down the tickling, thumbs rubbing the remnant tickles as he stared at him. “Sorry, Fitch, I, caham, I got, uh, distracted. Are you okay?” He nodded, chuckles taking over his words and disappearing with any hope of saying something without descending in more of a waterfall of giggles. Still, he tried, the proud smile in Pac’s face erasing his embarrassment in how silly he sounded giddy like this. 

“I’m fine, just surprised that I am dating a tickle monster.”

The brazilian laughed, shaking his head and hiding his face on Fit’s shoulder. “Não, não, não (No, no, no). Mike is actually the tickle monster in our team. I just learned a lot from playing fights with him.” Pac trembled in an exaggerated shudder. “He is merciless.”

“Really?”

“Uh hum.” Pac hummed, thoughtful, before doing a little ‘pop’ sound, hands washing down to his sides, tapping senselessly there. “He had this kind of attack where he would be talking to you and suddenly he would start to tickle you and like, it would be really, really light so you didn’t actually, you know, like, died laughing? But at the same time it would be crazily ticklish! Following you around no matter how much you squirmed or snickered.”

“P-pac, come on…”

The other just hummed, still talking and hands still spidering in their resting position, taking turns in between drawing circles on his sides, feeling how his torso would shake with a new round of chuckles blossoming anew, and scratching the little dive of his hips to make them grow faster.

“Then he would try to keep a conversation going and complain like ‘are you even paying attention to what I’m saying, what’s going on?’ as if he didn’t know what was happening, can you believe?! And you couldn’t just… walk away or keep silly giggling non stop and not answer him, because you’re still in a conversation and that would be rude, right? So you’re just there, laughing and wiggling and it always drives me crazy!”

Fit nodded, knowing the feeling very well, in his opinion. His brain trying to pay attention to his words but getting totally distracted by his own attempts to not wiggle around so much because everytime his body trashed to one side, Pac would just dig his fingers on his sides and drum, which made him jump in the other direction only to receive the same treatment, creating a maddening cycle almost impossible to escape from. 

Once again, laughing began flooding the room, high pitches and wheezy giggles chasing around one or two squeals when a tentative squeeze grazed the spot before quickly jumping away, the unexpected playful attacks blending with the soft scribbles and somehow making him not being able to predict nor prepare for one or the other.

“And then, out of nowhere he would get bored and that is where it lies the danger, Fitch.” Pac’s voice took a turn to a lower tune, torn between a warning and a threat. His tickling came to a halt, fingertips just laying on his waist with occasional twitches. What was more strange, though, was how, even so, the janitor couldn’t stop the titters taking over his mind and body. He wondered if that was how he would finally die, undone and destroyed by his very lovely boyfriend. Pac snickered in mischief and amusement, breaking his mask for a couple of seconds before cleaning his throat and coming back to his persona, interlocutor voice back again.

“Because, when he stops it means that he is getting bored. You know that he is getting bored and he knows that you know that he is getting bored and that it is just a matter of time before he decided that is enough and something happens” he highlighted the word by spidering quickly across his ribs. His voice sounded like it was closer. “So you just stay there, quiet, waiting for the moment he will strike.”

Fit held his breath, eyes closed. His smile was so big that it traveled from one ear to the other. No more laughter was falling from his mouth, but his shoulders still bounced with the phantom tickles that freely pricked his skin and seemed to follow his every squirm. Pac’s hands felt warm - dangerous - where they touched and he was pretty sure that his entire face would melt at some point of this game.

He waited.

Waited. Nothing.

A kiss was pressed on his forehead.

He opened an eye, muscles immediately untensing and relaxing with the scene, even if adrenaline still ran without control in his veins, of Pac happily smiling, just a few centimeters from his face.

“Oi, Fitch.”

“Roi, Pa-ACK!”

Loud, uncontrollable and unstoppable laughter filled the room, Fit still tried to finish his sentence before giving up and succumbing to the snorts and wheezing that took over his laughter. Squeezes, drumming and prodding attacked his sides, kneading on the ticklish spot before scratching their way up to his ribs, burying themselves there and then keeping their way up to his armpits - poking and scribbling and making him lock his arms on his torso - until it got to his ears, changing the loud peals of booming laughter to a hysterical string of snickers only to make he go back to crackling when he attacked his sides again and again, alternating between each and every tickle spot so he couldn’t picture where he was going to tickle next. 

Fit could even swear that at some point he felt a squeeze in his knees that fished a chortle from his lips and an uncontrollable kick from his legs.

It lasted only a couple of minutes. All the electricity and tickly buzzing teased and made him laugh like nothing else mattered, loud and free even when, between his own amused giggling, Pac ceased his mean attack and watched with a giant grin as the other tried to regain his breath, a light blush dusting his face.

“You were saying, Fitch?”

Nonsense. That was exactly what Fit was about to say. Because his brain kind of became a mush after all that attack and the airy giggles that kept flowing from his throat didn’t exactly help him to gather his thoughts nor fade the hotness running still on his face.

“I, er, huh…” and there it was, the sentence got lost to jumpy snickers again. Fit brought a hand to hide them and try to gain at least save a bit of face, but a quick poke on his defenseless armpit made it go immediately down again. He glared without any real heat at his boyfriend, who lifted his arms in rendition.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m done for real, now.”

The silence was extended for a few pieces of time, stretching across them like a cat after a nap. 

Fit was the one who broke it.

“That is Mike’s…” He coughed, cleaning his throat “special tickle attack, then? I can see why you call him merciless.”

“Nah, actually that is my own technique. Mike prefers to catch a person out of guard and tickle while taunting them until they promise to make something for him.”

The surprised, amused huff of laughter that came out from the mercenary’s mouth didn’t have anything to do with wiggly fingers this time and Pac joined him. 

“You’re such a sneaky guy, Pac, you’re such a sneaky guy.”

“Thank you. Gotta learn from the best right? Maybe someday me and Ramón will team up and win the hide and seek against you.” 

“Hmm, you probably would. But maybe I can convince Richarlyson to help me?”

“It would be good. Richas is the best in hide and seek. He would really like to. Hey! We should set up a playdate with them in our Hide and Seek arena. We can even call Tubbo and Sunny, maybe even Philza with Chayanne and Tallulah, if they are awake. The more the merrier, right?”

Fit was sure that if he was shapeshifter like Tubbo, without even wanting to, his eyes would be heart shaped. It never ceases to amaze him how Pac could accept and love everyone - him - like they were and would always be a family to him. 

“But, so?” The brazilian wiggled his eyebrows, a smirk opening in his face. “How is it the experience of being tickled for the first time?”

Maddening. Tortuous. Able to make someone go crazy, he was sure. Surprisingly tiring and unexpectedly effective. Strange. Itchy. A lot. Hard to explain.

But also, it was extremely caring. Warm. Soft. Funny. Bonding. Weird. Extremely silly. He couldn’t stop his smile and thoughts about the gleam and shine in Pac’s eyes when he discovered a new spot or how - strangely enough - light and giddy he was feeling right now.

Besides, he never was self conscious about his laughter or anything but listening to Pac calling him… beautiful, in such an amazed voice… Well, his ego really couldn’t complain.

“It was fun.” He decided to go with that, a playful grin in his face, his hands holding Pac’s and intertwining their fingers. 

“Oh, I’m happy in hear that! Actually, I-”

“But…” Fit cut him, purposely deepening his voice in a tune that never failed to catch the other of guard, sending a cold shiver through his muscles. “I can think of something even more fun.”

“Y-yeah?” Pac’s blush deepened when he looked at the dangerous, sharp, determined shine in Fit’s eyes, his entire mind getting overcomed with a choir of excited screams, burning face at realizing how their intertwined hands was both a soft gesture and a restrain. 

Damn, he was really, really gay.

“Uh hm,” his tune now was almost like a purr of a predator watching his prey wobbly smile back and hold his hands tighter together, knowing very well his fate and still not even trying to escape from it. “It’s something that back on 2b2t we liked to call… revenge.”

With a swift move he pulled their hands and lead Pac to lose his equilibrium, falling backwards on his lap, one hand keeping his arms up and the other lifting his hoodie just the slightest bit, the actual perfect amount for him to immediately shove his face on his stomach and start blowing raspberry after raspberry, quick and ruthless.

“FITCHE!” The sound that came out of his mouth could barely be called a word, the high pitched shout being quickly taken over by a hysterical crackling that made his entire body shake with each laughter. 

His boyfriend just chuckled, lifting his head just enough that his next words would be audible to the other, each one buzzing on the ticklish skin and making tiny, tickly electric shocks dance freely across it. “Oh my, Pac, what a delicious belly you got right here. One of the richest, rarest delicacies I’ve ever seen.” 

“NONONO, FITCH!” He kicked and trashed, trying to roll away from his predicament but being firmly held in place by the other, which was kind of nice, since he wasn’t sure how to explain to Fit that he definitely wasn’t going to run away if he had the chance. 

Still, that didn’t stop the fast, airy and high giggles of painting every syllable of his pleas that began flowing like a stream from his lungs, becoming more and more intelligible with each protest. “Please, please, Fitch anything but that! I will do anything you want! Do you wanna know all Mike’s most ticklish spots? Eu posso te dizer! (I can tell you!) he has this place right under his knees that if you poke he starts making ‘wee’ sounds e é muito engraçado (it’s very funny) Fitche por favor, espera, espera, wait!”

“Sorry, Pac, nothing I can do. I just have to try a little. Raspberries are so delicious and I just… I just gotta, ya know? I just gotta try a little, the tiniest little bit.” He lowered his head once again, carefully and softly nibbling on the ticklish skin and doing a bunch of ‘oh nom nom nom’ sounds as he did so, smugly relishing in how louder Pac’s laughter sounded at this, random portuguese and english being mixed in a series of incoherent talking that he couldn't even hope to understand, even with the translator. 

The raspberries and nibbles began taking turns, dancing all across his stomach and sometimes even escaping to attack one lower rib or two in a way that usually drove Ramón crazy. It was kind of funny and endless endearing to realize that both of his boys were extremely weak for the same kind of tickle attack.

All the while Pac was simply dying. There was no other way to describe it. He was utterly and completely dying, losing every tread of.. everything that wasn’t thinking about how much it tickled and laughing both because Fit (Fit!!!!! His boyfriend Fit!!!!) was teasing and tickling him and also because as it seems he was the goofiest dork that ever existed in this world while doing that and somehow that made all the butterflies flying crazy on his belly and tickly electricity following his nerves one hundred times worse and ticklish and it was amazing.

Fit enjoyed a couple more minutes of the silly attack, fondly realizing how much more hysterical and loud the crackles got everytime he added more “hmmm” and “nom nom nom” sounds.

“There we go, big boy.” He lifted his head and got a glimpse of a gigantic, dazzling smile and a red face before Pac immediately hid it behind his hands, wheezes and snickers filling the room.

“Shuhuhut up!”

Fit grinned, but let go of the teasing and took pity on his brazilian boyfriend. He could quite understand why Pac seemed so happy in destroying him minutes ago. There was just a something that made his heart beat faster just in realizing that he was the reason why Pac was so happy and giggly.

Also, the way that the brazilian’s accent got stronger, especially while saying his name in between unstoppable, uncontrollable giggling… Fit thinks he could live with that, yeah.

“Oh my god, Fitche… and you call me merciless.”

The ex-mercenary chuckled. His eyes hovered over Pac’s face, making sure that he was still breathing and alive (he hadn’t taken too far, did he?) when suddenly his look got attracted to his neck, the memory of what started all of this popping like a flashing lamp in his mind.

“Pac…” It was the low voice again, lighter, but still there. Pac’s entire body froze still for a second and alarmed eyes turned to stare Fit, who seemed strangely fixated on his hoodie. “Is your neck ticklish?”

Oh.

Oh.

Pac 100% blamed the gay screaming in his head for his next words.

“YES!” The shout was as excited as it was loud, making both of them wince at it, Fit looking at the one with black hair with a faintly surprised, crooked eyebrows. “I mean, er, assim, uh, no!!! It’s actually not! NOt even a little bit! What even is ticklish, you know? I don’t even speak english, senhor Fitch eme ce, na verdade, essa é a minha primeira vez aqui na ilha, quem é você e… Não!” (sir Fit eme cee, actually, this is my first time here in the island, who are you and… No!)

The babbling was promptly cut when, once again, Fit chuckled in mischief and shoved his head on Pac’s neck. 

Butterfly kisses followed the line of his jaw, attacked that spot under his chin, tickled the place where the collarbone and the neck met, each patch of sensitive skin getting a kiss and a raspberry as a gift, making a series of snorts and high dazed giggles quickly follow the initial surprised shriek and jump around the entire room, Pac’s arms coming to rest on the other’s chest, partially pushing him away and partially holding him, legs kicking behind them with how much adrenaline and giddiness jumped across his muscles and filled his heart.

Pac hid his face on the crook of Fit’s neck, attempting to at least survive a few more seconds from dying of embarrassment, each snort and hysterical high pitched snicker sealing even more his fate and putting another nail in his coffin.

A few curious squeezes on his sides and a final, long raspberry and then Fit finally let him go, watching as the other got his breath again, forgetting for once to hide his blush and brilliant smile into his hoodie, looking completely lost in his own laughing fit. Adorable. 

Sometimes Fit wondered how could he be so lucky.

A loud click and a flashing light brought both of them out of their thoughts. Pac almost falling from the sofa when he turned around and saw Ramón quickly hid a camera behind his back while passing three copies of the pictures to Richas, who stopped making gagging noises to hide them on his protected backpack before the adults could take it.

“Richarlyson, Me dá essas fotos!” (Give me those pictures!) 

“Ramón, what are you doing awake? You should be sleeping. It’s late.”

Ramón had the sense to look at least a tad admonished, but the expression quickly disappeared when Richas began jumping on the same spot, wiggling from one side to another like he always did when he wanted to cause more mischief. The kids exchanged a look.

“Nenê (Baby), no. Don’t follow Richas’ example, he is a little demon.” 

The sandal that went flying across the room and hit the brazilian in the face - which actually led to him falling from the cushions - only further proved this fact. Still, Richas let out plenty of offended noises while getting his sandal back, showing off his tongue when Ramón shoved him and shook his head in disapproval. 

Fit tried his best to not laugh and sound serious. “Richas, do not hit your dad.”

“Don’t worry, Fitch.” Pac tapped his arm, getting up from the floor, tsking. “There is no other way, I guess. I’ll have to kill him. Yeah, it was fun to have a son for a while.”

The mercenary laughed, knowing very well how much of a weak heart Pac had for his little troublemaker. “Calma, calma, Pac. I think I have the solution. Since the kids are feeling so… energetic, we should probably tire them out before putting them back in bed, right?” 

He also got up and gave Pac a Look, pretending to not see Ramón pulling Richas’ sleeve and exchanging warning words to him, knowing very well what that playful, dangerous shine in his dad’s eyes meant.

Pac grinned, mirroring his own devilish expression. “I think you’re right, Fit.”

Richas once again wiggled around in energy, his dragon tail tapping on the floor while Ramón threw a flower at Pac (smart boy, Fit thought, winning the melting heart from the dad that would have more mercy, very smart) and jumped on the same place, smiling and nodding in excitement.

He then pulled Richas away, starting the chase. Pac immediately following behind with joyfuls “I’m gonna catch you!”.

Fit chuckled.

Maybe Pac was right. 

Maybe life - he - was more than just die and kill. 

Well… he rolled his shoulders and followed his family in their game, laughing excitedly. He would have to enjoy it while it lasted, then.

[gemissleeping]

Moonlight & Masks

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Newly turned Death Eater Theodore Nott is tasked with hunting down Harry Potter and the Order Operative protecting him. Only to discover the person he hunts happens to be the one he loves.

Length: 1.8k

Notes: Back from the dead (I am so sorry things are hectic and I don’t want to release a chapter I’m not feeling) with this little one from @thatdammchickennugget’s Hogmarch Challenge! Death Eater Theo. Use of the killing curse. Angst as always because we know I live for the drama. For those of you wanting more Veleveteen, in my head this occurs in the same story universe (which I know isn’t the same as an update pls forgive my sins). Not proofread, we have deadlines to meet.

The sting of lightning hung in the air as she weaved through the trees. The thundering footfall still pressing behind her. Lungs burning with need, she pressed on. Dizzied from the turbulent descent she and Mad Eye had suffered.

Alastor. He was dead.

She hadn’t even been able to take his body from the dirt where it had fallen. And the Death Eaters certainly wouldn’t afford him the dignity of a proper burial.

Tears clawed at her cheeks as she bounded over the tree roots twisting across the forest floor. Thinking only of Mad Eye, the way his voice had simply ceased when the curse had hit him. No cry of pain, no strangled wail. Only silence.

Her grip on her wand tightened as her tears ran hot. The taunting laugh of one of her pursuers echoing through the trees as they crashed after her. The darkness spinning endlessly around her. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Gone were the rules they had been taught to play by. Humanity sacrificed for power. Thoughtless with rage, she cast back her wand into the leering shadows. Letting the words fall from her lips before her heart could catch them.

Avada Kedavra

The green light felt as though it tore right through her as it ricocheted from her wand. Scattering through the trees and hitting its mark with a crack. Ripping at her chest with blistering heat, forcing her ribs apart until the spell dissipated. The laughter ceased. That same absence that had followed earlier resting through the trees. She was dragged to a still.

The force of the spell brought her to her knees. Bark breaking the skin of her palms, blood blooming as she fell forward in agony. She felt it being torn from her throat just now; some vital piece of herself. What she had given to cast the curse. The crack rung through her ears. Trailing her even as its ringing grew soft, faded into the background of the forest’s creaks and stutters. She could feel the heaving of her chest, dizzied by the absence that had been dug into her.

Before she could break upon the forest floor completely, the snap of a twig behind her brought reality rearing back. Whipping to face the darkness, she searched the teasing shadows that surrounded her. Nothing answered but the wind. She pushed herself up on bloody palms, staggering towards the nearest tree. Catching the glint of a metal smile hit by moonlight as she turned. But it was too late.

The Death Eater was on her in a second, wand jammed to her throat. One hand wrenching her head back by the hair. A mutilated snarl coming from the unmoving mask.

“Potter.”

She still had Harry’s face.

The figure towered before her, gloved hand pulling harshly at her hair as she strained against their grip. More tears pricking at her eyes as she faced the smooth and indifferent wall between them. Both of them were wearing masks really. But the thought brought little comfort to the nausea biting at her.

She was going to die someone else.

Wand to her throat, she closed her eyes. Preparing for the flurry of hot green light. Perhaps it was what she deserved, it could be a mercy. This way she would never have to truly face what she had done. There was no doubt in her mind that the person before her would finish the job. And yet she waited, but nothing came.

Opening her eyes once again she found him watching her carefully. Blue eyes clouded with something foreign, his silver mask lodged in the dirt at their feet. Looking at her with nothing but quiet restraint. She felt her throat close at the sight of him, all defences leaving her as she stared up at the boy before her.

“I asked something of you, when I saw you last,” Theo spoke lowly, wand still jammed to her throat as though he didn’t fully trust the person he saw before him. “Do you have an answer for me?” His voice fell flat against the forest air, low and heavy as his empty eyes.

His words sent another wave of dizziness crashing through her. The events of the past ten minutes threatening to bring everything up from her stomach. She wanted to fall into his chest and let his robes soak up her tears. To slice her palm clean across his cheek. Fall to the forest floor and not get up. Beg him to finish the job.

But instead, she did as she was told; she stayed quiet. Like the good little soldier they had taught her to be. Counting the freckles and moles that dotted the skin of his cheeks like they were her favourite constellations.

“Answer the question,” Theo snarled again, shoving her back forcefully. Back hitting the jagged edges of bark with an audible crack as a groan left her. Still she didn’t speak, blinking up at him as her head spun from when it had made contact with the tree.

“I’ll do it Potter,” he hissed lowly. His wand cutting further into her throat as she struggled to breathe under its pressure. He barely seemed to notice, staring down at her with empty eyes. “Don’t think I won’t just because you have something I want.”

She only watched him carefully, trying not to let herself give it away as she watched him. Staving off the clouds of memory that threatened to consume her at the sight of him.

“No?” He chimed, a sharp edge to his warm voice, “Very well.”

He drew a breathe, anger taking him in its burning grip. But just as the curse he had planned to cast was forming a whisper of air on his lips; she felt it. The rippling beneath her skin. Pulling and tugging and melting at the fibres of her. She bit her tongue as the pain of it ripped through her. Reforming beneath the skin as everything cracked and popped in and out of place. Until only she remained, swimming in Harry’s ridiculous hoodie.

Theo still had her pressed against the tree, all colour drained from his face as he watched the skin seem to melt and reform on her bones. His hands began to shake. She watched him with distant eyes, trying to hold onto what little restraint remained.

“What’s wrong?” She asked hoarsely, her throat aching from the potion’s due course. Theo’s wand still hesitantly pressed to the delicate skin of her throat. “Can’t do it anymore?”

It happened like the break of a dam. Her name fell from his lips in a rush of credence. Lips falling apart at the sight of her before him, what he’d almost done without realising. His wand dropped in a stagger, as though she had struck him. The darkness of the forest enclosing around them.

“You left me there,” he breathed suddenly, as though it hadn’t meant to come out. She blinked up at him as confusion swept her. But the lost look he carried only washed away as his eyes hardened.

“What?” she breathed.

“You left me there alone,” he spoke again, ignited with a sudden rage. His words were like kindling to her own. Her brow cracking with anger.

“No, Theo,” her voice shook, “you left me.” Theo looked to the ground, shaking his head gently in denial. He took a hesitant step forwards, as though to reach for her. But she stepped back, her spine hitting the tree. “Do you know how much I had to go through alone before I got out of there? Because you were too busy running off with Draco, or-”

He closed the distance between them with a blistering intensity.

“Do you know what it’s been like since? Without you?” It came out in a boiling whisper. “He wants your head almost as much as he wants Potter’s,” Theo’s eyes softened at the words, swept up in whatever memory they procured. “And I just have to sit there and take it, listening to the vile things they plan to do to you. Knowing there’s not a single fucking thing I can do about any of it, except for-”

He didn’t have to say it, the break of his voice said enough. The way his eyes fled from her own. He had meant to kill her.

“Why don’t you do it then?” She whispered, eyes brimming with more tears. Looking to the boy she had loved since she was too young to understand the word. “It would save me the-”

“Stop it.”

“I deserve it, don’t I? For leaving you. You said so yourself, in your letter. I read it you know.”

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“I know you’ve cast it before-”

“I said stop,” he bellowed, pressing himself against her in a flash of pent up fury. His body flush against hers as his chest heaved with the weight of his rage. “Even if I wanted to,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against her ear, “I can’t.” His hands tightened into fists, “He wants to do it himself.”

He peeled himself away from her, as though every inch of his skin that couldn’t feel hers was the worst form of torture. Drinking in every part of her except for her eyes, which he couldn’t bring himself to meet. She searched his, begging him to pull himself to meet hers.

“Is it that?” She breathed, fearful eyes rounded as she looked up to him. Searching for that thread that had always hung between them. His eyes grew tense as he saw what thoughts lay in hers, “Or is it because-”

“Stop.”

-you love me.

“Don’t,” he snapped, but even the sharp edge of his voice couldn’t distract from the despair swimming in his eyes. “Please,” he breathed, his head dipping towards her neck in defeat, but not daring to brush the skin, “don’t.”

He wanted to hold her, let his fingers trail across her cheeks, brush his thumb over her eyelashes. Just to make sure it was really her. Not some cruel trick made out to test his loyalty. But instead he let his breath fan across the bare skin of her neck. Knowing it was the only way he could allow himself to touch her.

“It was you I asked after,” his confession fell dead against the skin of her neck. He heard the breath she drew as though it was taken from him. Felt himself unravelling being so close to her now, after months of waiting and silence and searching.

Fuck it.

He’d be flayed for it, but everything could be damned. None of it mattered if he could feel her lips on his again. His hands flew to the delicate skin of her cheeks. Palms soaking in the remainder of her tears as his lips met hers. They parted effortlessly for him, welcoming him in as though she had been waiting just as he had. The softness of her lips balancing against his hunger. Her head tilted towards him, completely at his mercy beneath his calloused palms. Just as she should have been all this time.

[bvbygrl-writes]

Wrong House

Pairing: Stu Macher x Nerdy!Reader x Billy Loomis

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: A step into wrong house leads to a night of the right fun.

A/N: I was not supposed to upload this tonight but I'm too excited about it. I'm not proof reading this long ass shit either so if something is spelled wrong use your imagination to fix it, mwuah! <3

Warnings: reader has afab anatomy breaking and entering, knife play, homoerotic themes (they kiss but nothing more than that), mentions of murder, eiffel towering, loss of virginity, coercion and ultimatums, rope bandage, panty kink, and panty sniffing.

THIS FIC IS 18+!!! MINORS / ACCOUNTS WITHOUT AGE DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED WITH NO WARNING BUT THIS ONE.

(Y/n) was naturally an anxious girl but, with her parents out of town and the string of murders happening, she was on edge. She had every single light on in the house, the downstairs tv on, anything to make it seem as though the house was full of life. The reporters on the radio had told people to stay together and while most of the students in school had that option, she didn’t. Nobody wanted to be friends with the quiet girl who still wore Care Bear sweaters and could recite Star Trek lines from memory.

Nibbling the end of her pencil, she let out an exasperated sigh. She had been staring at the same math problem in her textbook for a good 45 minutes. “Focus, (Y/n/n), focus. If you do end up living through all of this, you’ll want to get into a good college.If you fail, mom and dad will make you wish you were dead.” she said out loud to herself, a sad laugh falling from her lips. At that same moment, her stomach began to grumble. When was the last time she ate? Reaching for the phone, she dialed the number to her favorite chinese food place. She loved it because the food was cheap and they were one of the only places that delivered something other than pizza after 10PM. 

“Alright, thank you!” she said, placing the phone back on the receiver. It’d be about a 20 minute wait, giving her time to focus more on her work. Sighing she sat back down in front of her textbook, staring at the page until the numbers started to blur together. “Well, that’s enough of that! I should get the money for the delivery driver seeing as it’ll be here in…” glancing at the clock on her wall she sighed, “Twenty minutes.” ignoring that face, she stood up, bunny slippers stomping over the carpeted floor to the piggy bank on her dresser. She pulled out a 10 dollar bill along with a 5 for the tip. But before (Y/n) could even get to her door, she heard a noise at the front door. 

“Th-that’s weird. There’s still nineteen minutes an-” she shrieked at the sound of the door bursting open. Every anxiety filled thought she had had since being home by herself was coming true. The blood drained from her face, her body growing light at the sound of the voices coming from the living room. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes as she turned off the lights and closed her bedroom door. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs put in perspective just how real this all was. She silently cursed her dad for never fixing the damn lock on her window. She might’ve broken a few bones from jumping, but that’d be better than being completely dead! Looking around her room she made the decision to jump in her closet, closing the accordion door.

She became aware of how loudly she was breathing, clamping her hands over her mouth. Her body trembled with terror. ‘Is this how I die? Alone, never experiencing friendship or love?’ Was this really the time to be feeling sorry for her lack of social and love life? ‘Well to be fair, this may be one of the last times I’m able to feel anything whatsoever.’ The sound of her bedroom door opening instantly made her mind go blank. The girl felt as though she was having a heart attack and honestly? She would have preferred that to whatever death she was about to experience.

“Are you sure this is the right house? This doesn’t look like Chelsea’s room.” A male’s voice remarked, the lights flicking on. She could see through the small slots on the folding door that there were two men. One had dark hair and a knife in his hand. The other one was taller with blonde hair and a backpack with god knows what inside of it.

“Yeah, dude! This is 345 Avalee Lane.” the other one exclaimed, an almost sinister grin on his face. The dark hair one made a sound that was a mix of a growl and a sigh.

“You fucking idiot! Chelsea lives in 348, we’re in the wrong house!” he pinched the bridge of his nose, kicking over the little trash can near her desk across the room. (Y/n) relaxed a bit. Maybe since they weren’t looking for her they’d just leave?

“Well at least no one’s home, we can just get out of here.” The blonde one rasped out, eating a piece of candy off of her dresser before tossing the wrapper on the ground. ‘Rude’ she thought.

“The lights and the tv were on. Someone’s definitely in this house. I’m going to go check the other rooms and you look around this one a bit better. We can’t take any chances.” The brunette exited the room and in the distance he heard the sound of different doors being opened. 

The blonde one began to hum, snooping around her room. He walked over to her dresser, opening up her panty drawer. A smile grew on his face as he held up a pair of white ones with a pink lace trim, shoving them in the back pocket of his baggy jeans. “Cute.” he said to himself (or so he thought). Walking over to her bed, he tossed the covers back before bending down to check under the bed as well. Next, he walked over to the cupboard of her collectable figurines, opening up the door. “Hm.” he shrugged before beginning to exit the room. She removed her hands from her mouth, placing them on the floor beside her as she let her body relax. However, before he could leave, she could see a lightbulb go off in his brain as he turned around walking towards the closet. The girl’s eyes went wide as she shook her head. As he opened the closet door, she couldn’t even manage to make a sound. A look of surprise made its way onto his face before he began to grin. “You’ve got cute little undies. Hey Billy!”

All (Y/n) could do was sit there in shock. She recognized this boy, he was in her art classes although he rarely showed up. Now that she could really see his face, he was quite attractive. Before she could delve into why she was letting herself think that, the other one (who she assumed was Billy) appeared right next to him. Although he had a scowl on his face, he was just as attractive. ‘Well, you always said you wanted a cute guy to notice you. There’s two! But you should’ve been more specific, huh (Y/n/n)?’ 

“She’s kind of cute in a dorky little way, ain’t she?” Stu commented as Billy used his knife to lift her chin. She didn’t dare stop making eye contact with Billy for fear of what he might do with that knife the second she did. He tilted her face around, examining it from all sorts of angles before he chuckled.

“She is. (Y/n), right? You’re the girl that’s always winning those sciences awards at school. We have AP English together.” he said in a calm tone. This was the strangest thing she had ever experienced. Why were they dragging this on so much when they could just kill her and get it over with?

“M-mmm-mhm!” she stuttered out, nodding her head ever so slightly so she didn’t cut herself on the blade. 

“Although I agree with my friend here, you still find yourself to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. See, I’ve got a plan and if I let you live, there’s a big chance you’re going to blab and ruin it for me.” he said, his words coming out through gritted teeth towards the end. “So unfortunately, your time’s up.”

“No, no please! I-I-I won’t blab and tell! I don’t have any friends or anyone to tell I won’t tell please! I promise!” she sobbed, begging for her life as he pressed the knife against her neck harder. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, which would also explain the sensation happening between her legs. Fat tears continued to stream down her face. “I promise please there’s gotta be a way!” she continued to plead for her life, waiting for something, just anything to happen. Whatever it’d take for this situation to be over. However, she was surprised when the knife suddenly was no longer pressed to her neck. Looking up, she saw the blonde one’s hand had moved it away and he was whispering something into Billy’s ear. Their eyes kept flickering to parts of the room and then back to her before Billy gave a singular nod. 

“It seems my friend Stu here has taken quite a liking to you so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a bit of fun with you and if we enjoy it, you live and we’ll be back to get you after we finish some…business. And if not, I’ll slit your throat right after we finish. Does that sound fair?” Billy said, tugging her from her sitting position to be in between the both of them. She nodded frantically, happy to have even a small chance of living. She knew they were probably going to kill her when they were done, but at least that moment was suspended for a bit longer.

“Wh-what do I need t-to do?” she asked, her heart racing as she looked up at the two of them. They were completely dwarfing her with their size, it was like being trapped between two incredibly hot trees. Stu grinned at her once again before stepping back a bit.

“Well you can start by stripping!” he instructed, phrasing it like a suggestion even though she knew it wasn’t. She nodded, taking off her cream colored sweater, sliding her Power Rangers pajama pants down right after. She began to hesitate slightly as now she was just in her slippers and underwear.

“Allow me.” Billy said, using his knife to snip off her bra. He started at the shoulder straps, taking a moment to stare at her breast before tearing the backband as well. She didn’t try to cover up, knowing her chances of survival would dwindle to none. He went to pull down her panties but Stu stopped him, shaking his head.

“Leave those on her.” he said, before getting down on his knees in front of her. Billy held her arms behind her back with one of his, peeking over the girl’s shoulders to see what his moronic friend had planned. What she didn’t expect was for him to bury his face into her underwear-clad pussy and sniff. Stu let out a low moan as he did, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He continued to sniff at her front, his nose nudging her clit through the fabric. “God that’s amazing. Looks like she’s enjoying it too.” he said, rubbing his finger on the wet spot forming on her panties. He gently pressed his fingers against the fabric causing (Y/n) to squirm a bit, a gentle moan falling from her mouth.

“Oh, that’s such a pretty noise.” Billy purrs lowly in her ear. Standing from the floor, Stu lifts his fingers up to Billy’s mouth and without thinking, he opens it. The girl watches in awe, her clit beginning to throb at the way the two men were interacting with one another. Stu slowly pulls his fingers from the man’s mouth, biting his lip as the other man licks his. “Did you want a taste?” he asks in a deep tone. At the same time, they both lean over and begin to share a passionate and heated open mouth kiss. Little moans and grunts fall from them, a gasp falling from her own lips as Stu grips at her waist, beginning to grind against her front, his bulge slotted between her slit. Billy mimics his actions, grinding his cock against her ass. She was glad the two were holding her up, because at the current moment she wasn’t sure if her legs would work. This was a whole new world for her. She had never been kissed or even touched by one man let alone two. The noises falling from her mouth were completely out of her control, the sensation of their rhythmic rubbing along with the scene of them kissing above her was all too much for her to handle. 

As though they could hear her thoughts, they pulled away from their kiss, turning their attention back to her. She hadn’t even realized that the knife was completely gone now. If she wanted to, she could’ve ran and gotten away. If she wanted to. Billy gripped her arms once more, beginning to walk her over to the bed. She felt her face grow warm at the collection of stuffed animals, causing her to look at the ground. “They keep me warm at night.” she defended weakly. Stu laughed, cooing at her before picking one up and turning it to face the wall, repeating the action several times with the other one.

Billy groaned, annoyed. “Seriously?”

“What? I know how the girls get about that sort of thing.” As Stu continued with his antics, the brunette reached for his friend’s bag. (Y/n) eyed him curiously, thinking he had changed his mind on their deal but was relieved when all he pulled out was a bit of rope. Wait, rope? He tossed it up and down smirking at her before positioning himself behind her as he began to tie her hands together. ‘This is better than whatever they usually probably use this for.’ She tugged at the rope, the friction causing a mild irritation from the action. He pushed her a bit, causing her to fall forward onto the bed. Her ass was in the air while the upper part of her body fell down due to having no support. She listened to the sound of belts and pants clambering before feeling the bed dip down behind her. At that same time, a pair of legs kneeled in front of her as well. She felt as a hand carded it’s way through her hair before tightening, lifting her face to be eye level with a cock. Peering up, she saw that it was Billy.

“Are you gonna open up or am I going to have to do it for you?” he asked, causing a bit of panic to flash through the girl’s (e/c) eyes.

“S-sorry. I’ve never done any of this before.” she muttered, causing a whistle from behind her. She could imagine the grin on Stu's face.

“A cute virgin?! How lucky are we tonight? Oh this is going to be fun. I haven’t popped a cherry in quite a long time.” Stu gushed, rubbing his hands together. “I can barely contain myself!” her panties were then pulled to the side, long fingers beginning to rub all along her slick covered folds. She let out a whimper, her knees trembling as he began to rub circles on her clit. As he slid a finger in, her mouth fell open which Billy saw as the perfect opportunity. Gripping her hair a bit tighter, he began to slide his cock into her mouth slowly. He stared down at her face, watching as her mouth began to struggle with the girth of him, tears falling down her face.

“You better stop with all those tears, I really don’t wanna cum this early.” Billy teased, beginning to rock his hips back and forth. He hissed in pleasure at her tight and warm little mouth, tossing his head back as he let out a guttural moan. Behind her, Stu had managed to work the third finger in, stretching and scissoring them around.Gripping her hip with one hand, he used his other to glide his cock along her lips causing them to both moan. “Hurry up, I wanna pick up the pace but I’m trying to make it easier for you.”

“I’m going!” and with that, Stu slid his cock in with one swift motion. His grip on her hips tightened at the same time her walls did as he fell forward for a bit, head resting against the small of her back. “G-god, oh fuck! You’ve got a tight little pussy, huh?” he said through gritted teeth, beginning to pound into her at an almost animalistic pace. Her pussy drooled around his cock as she continued to moan around Billy, choking as he also picked up his pace. Their thrust were alternating. As Stu would pull his cock out some, Billy’s would enter her throat deep, barely giving her a chance to get used to anything. She had already came around his cock twice, the feeling being overwhelmingly pleasurable. 

They were using her like a doll, holding her up and angling her just right. All she could do was sob and take it, the only thing on her mind was their cocks and her life. She didn’t even care if she was going to die after this, this was the best thing she had ever experienced in her life. 

“You look so helpless when you cry. God, Stu I wish you could see her right now.” Billy moaned out, staring down into those wet (e/c) eyes. Picking up his pace, he gripped at her scalp, full on skull fucking her now. His thrust had grown sloppy and so had his counterpart’s. 

“Tr-trust me, my view is just as good. I’m cl-close!” he whined out, reaching a finger down to rub at the girl's sensitive and swollen clit. (Y/n) screamed around Billy’s cock sending him over the edge. Pulling out, he coated her face and hair in a load of sticky white cum. Watching Billy stroke his cock over her face pushed Stu over the edge as well, causing him to bounce her back on his dick, whimpering as he came deep inside of her. 

The room fell silent and as (Y/n) came to her senses, the question of the hour came back to haunt her. Was she going to live?

“Are you satisfied, Stu?”

“More than, man.”

“Well..” Billy trailed off, stepping off of the bed. As Stu pulled out, she felt cold and exposed. Both men stood behind her, staring as the load of cum began to roll down the back of her legs. The brunette reached forward, grabbing her wrist rather roughly before untying her. “I guess you live. We’ll be back. In the meantime, get cleaned up.” the sound of the doorbell ringing caused the two men to look out the window, thinking she had somehow managed to get in contact with help. However, they both relaxed at the sight of the delivery truck on the outside of the house. 

“Make sure you save me some chow mein!” Stu said. The girl rolled over on her back, letting out a breathless laugh watching as the two quickly got dressed. Before they headed for the bedroom door, Stu took her panties off of her, sticking them in the front pocket of his jeans. 

“For good luck!”

[rottenpumpkin13]

sepiroth passes out from exhastion how does everyone react

Sephiroth stuns everyone by collapsing during a training session in the VR room, his body finally giving out after days of consecutive missions, training, paperwork, and unfortunate visits to Hojo. Angeal immediately takes charge, catching him before he hits the ground, while Genesis rushes to cast Cure. They refuse to take him to Medical—where he would inevitably fall into Hojo's "care"—and carry him back to his apartment instead, worried for him.

Angeal:

"Honor includes knowing when to rest, Sephiroth. This isn't honorable." Sephiroth is actively passed out during this lecture.

Immediately transforms Sephiroth's apartment into a recovery ward, complete with homemade remedies and an impressive array of healthy snacks that mysteriously appear every few hours.

Makes approximately 32 different types of soup because "proper nutrition is the foundation of recovery"

Fusses over Sephiroth in every feasible way. Gives him baths, insists on spoon feeding him, and even attempts to cuddle him at one point while holding back tears because "oh you poor thing!"

Sits on Sephiroth to prevent escape.

Keeps finding hidden paperwork around Sephiroth and confiscating them with disappointed sighs.

Has to physically block the door when Sephiroth tries to "just check on one small mission"

Has perfected the art of the disappointed father look, which he deploys every time Sephiroth so much as glances at his work laptop.

Somehow acquired a sleep materia and isn't afraid to use it.

Genesis

Shows off his medical expertise while pretending he isn't worried (he is) (he shrieked when Sephiroth collapsed and immediately started praying).

"If you die from exhaustion, I'll learn necromancy just to bring you back from the dead, and then kill you myself"

Mastered Cure materia at the ready, points it at Sephiroth like a weapon.

Manages to be simultaneously the most competent medic and the most dramatic nursemaid in Shinra history.

Has hidden Masamune somewhere "where your stubborn self won't find it" (in the cost closet) and keeps leaving elaborate threats about what will happen if Sephiroth doesn't stay in bed.

These threats primarily involve burning various items of clothing and replacing them with things from the Shinra gift shop. Has developed an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere the moment Sephiroth tries to reach for any work-related items, scaring Sephiroth half to death.

Keeps slipping sleeping powder into Sephiroth's tea. Angeal informs him that this is, in fact, a crime.

Sits beside Sephiroth and reads him poetry, and story books, an encyclopedia, and a novel, and the newspaper. Occasionally becomes a podcast and starts yapping about his opinions on anything and everything. Genesis has become Sephiroth's personal radio, and Sephiroth wouldn't have it any other way.

Zack:

Is on guard dog duty (guard puppy) and is posted at Sephiroth's door with a crowbar in case Hojo and his team try to come take Sephiroth away.

Sends hourly reports to Angeal via text, most of which are just variations of "still no Hojo! But I did see a suspicious plant..."

Tackles three different people who "looked suspicious"

One was just a janitor.

One was a food delivery person.

One was Lazard who came to check on Sephiroth.

"Angeal said to use the crowbar first and ask questions later!

Has somehow acquired a collection of chocobo plushies that keep multiplying in Sephiroth's apartment, each with a little note about rest and recovery attached to it.

Genuinely believes that doing squats outside the door creates a protective barrier against unwanted visitors. Not because of magic, but because "my thighs are so powerful, they send a message."

Sephiroth:

Tries to argue he's "perfectly fine" while barely conscious.

Attempts to escape through the window (on the 49th floor)

Keeps trying to summon Masamune but Genesis hid it. This upsets Sephiroth greatly.

"I just need to sign one form—"

Secretly touched by all the care and attention but would rather eat another batch of Angeal's medicinal Banora White and trout strew than admit it.

[system-to-the-madness]

Cherry Blossom Interventions 🌸 Fushiguro Megumi x Reader

Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: hurt/comfort – angst to fluff Word Count: 3 271 Warnings: SPOILER for up to chapter 253, suicidal tendencies and implications (Megumi), mentions of death and depression Summary: Megumi has drawn back from everyday life completely, so you intervene A/N: Sorry for the late post; life happened. Played volleyball with friends, went to eat sushi, went running with the same friends, went to Maces, and then to a foot Onsen.

Sakura Festival Masterlist - Masterlist

"Why am I here?"

You stopped in your tracks and turned around to Megumi. He was standing underneath a cherry blossom tree when a cool breeze of spring air swept through his hair, carrying pink petals that caught in his black strands. His hair was shorter than it had been in autumn; not by much but the difference was still noticeable. You wondered whether he had cut it to not resemble the version of himself Sukuna had turned him into.

“You know why you are here,” you answered him, ignoring the frown on his brow. “This is an intervention.”

“What kind of intervention,” he asked back, clearly starting to get upset.

“What kind of intervention do you think it is?”

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.” Megumi was already turning away from you again when you called out for him.

“We are worried,” you told him, almost shouting.

He just scoffed.

“Who is we?”

“Yūji, me, Toge, Maki, Yūta” you replied. “Panda, too, and Ieiri-sensei. Ever since December, ever since that last fight. Do you think we don’t know what's been going on with you? Do you think we don't know you've been skipping therapy and meals. We know you're just holed up in your room the whole day. We know you don't want to be here; you don't want to be with us anymore-”

“Then why can't you let me be?”

His shout made you flinch, but you had faced scarier things than an upset classmate.

“Because we care,” you shouted back. “We care too much to let you ruin your life like this! Don't misunderstand: We are not making light of the situation you were in - you are in. We understand that none of us could ever possibly imagine the things you have gone through, but you cannot ask us to let our friend die, who we fought so hard to save. You can't ask that of us!”

Megumi just rolled his eyes. “And what about what I want? What about the things I want,” he asked.

“For once, you don't get to say in this,” you shook your head. “It's not much we demand of you. We want you to eat properly. We know you haven't. We want you to step outside at least once a week, doesn't have to be long, just sit in the sun for a few minutes. That's all we ask. Or open your window, it's been barricaded since you moved back in in January. And go to your therapy sessions. We know you have them scheduled and we know you've been skipping them. You can't expect to get better if you don't go to these sessions.”

“And what if I don't want to get better?”

“That's not an option. I told you: For once you don't get to say in this.”

Megumi stared at you from between the falling cherry blossom petals that were carried down to the ground by the wind. You could see in his eyes that right now, in this moment in time, he thought he hated you. You just had to hope he didn't actually feel that way. If he did, you did you definitely would have been the wrong choice to have this conversation with him.

It had been quite a debate between the second years, Yūji, and you about who should talk to Megumi. You even considered asking Ieiri-sensei about being the one to talk to him, but in the end, everyone agreed it would be best if it were you. They were convinced you were the one he trusted the most, the one he liked the best. At least those were the others’ arguments. You weren't sure how true they held, now that he stared at you as if he wished you were to drop dead to the floor.

“All right,” Megumi sighed. “I'll oblige to your demands under one condition: Give me one good reason why I should continue fighting. But keep in mind: my mother is dead. My father is dead, killed by the man who raised me, the man who – although he is not my father – is the closest thing I've ever had to one, the man who I had to watch being killed by my own hands. My sister is dead, also killed by me. What do I live for? Give me one good reason.”

You stared back at Megumi watching the hatred in his eyes. It was obvious he didn't believe you had any idea what he was going through.

Truthfully, you didn't. Your situation was nothing like his, and you never had been in a situation like this before nor would you ever be, but that didn't mean you didn't know all the facts he just listed. His father, his mother, his sister, and Gojō-sensei, all the people he ever might have considered family, were gone, along with so many others. And in a large part he blamed himself for it.

It was not his fault, how could it have been his fault, when it had been Sukuna, who had possessed his body. But you supposed having to watch your own body commit such terrors, having to watch as your hands took life after life, unable to interfere, unable to save his friends and family, unable to do anything but watch them all being slaughtered… it wasn’t surprising he blamed himself.

“Gojō’s in a coma, one he might never wake back up from, and it's nobody's fault but mine. Do you really believe I can live in a world like that?”

You wanted to disagree with him, tell him that it was not his fault, that he was not the one to blame, that as long as you all stuck together, there was still hope, but you knew better than to do so. Instead, you started with what he had demanded of you.

“You want me to give you a reason to keep on living,” you asked. “Gojō-sensei is not dead. As you said he's in a coma. Ieiri-sensei has been working on him every day. As far as we know he might wake up any day now.”

Megumi shook his head. “You really believe that,” he asked, “if you’re really believing that, you are more naïve than I believed you to be.” He sounded disappointed.

“Not naïve,” you disagreed. “Hopeful.”

“Same thing.”

“But let's assume for one moment Gojō were to wake back up,” you continued the train of thought before Megumi could derail it again. “Wouldn’t you want to be there? Wouldn’t you want to see him again, talk to him again?”

“You’re dealing in probabilities; probabilities are not good enough. Give me something tangible.”

You blinked. You had really thought he would give in at Gojō. So, what were you to say now?

“A stary sky then,” you offered. “To go star gazing the way we did last summer. On a blanket, out in front of the school, sharing snacks and drinks.”

Megumi scuffed.

“Another sunrise,” you continued. “Pinks and reds and oranges dying the clouds, a new day with new possibilities-”

“New suffering? Not good enough.”

“A puppy’s fur under your fingertips, these sharp, tiny teeth burying in your skin.”

“And what for?” Before you could answer, he kept going. “All my life I’ve tried to form relationships, be close to people I care about, and all my life they left me. One after the other. So what good is another stary sky, another sunrise, a puppy’s fur underneath my fingertips, if I don’t have anyone to share it with? It’s not good enough.”

A part of your mind was still hung up on the thought that it was probably better for Megumi to blame the dead for being dead than himself, but you quickly answered.

“You have us,” you told him, taking a careful step forward. “Maki, Toge, Panda, Yūta.”

His ocean blue eyes glimmered as he fully turned towards you as if he was waiting for something specific.

“You have Yūji.”

His shoulders sacked, and he looked away.

“Not good enough. They’re all gonna leave eventually.”

“I won’t,” you disagreed. “I’m not gonna leave. I made you a promise when we entered Shibuya together, that I’d always be there, and I don’t plan on breaking that promise.”

Megumi shook his head, biting his lips, still not looking at you.

“You’ll be there,” he asked, sounding disbelieving. “For every stary sky, every sunset. Every meal, walk, therapy session.”

“Yes.” Your reply was unwavering.

“You don’t even know what that means,” Megumi sighed, finally looking back up to you, but now he seemed rather sad than angry. As if the scenarios he had painted were what he wanted but were too far out of reach to even attempt to grasp them. “I’m sick. My mind- I’m broken. Something inside my head is broken and I don’t know if it will ever heal again, and if it does, if it heals right. A promise like you’re offering… it wouldn’t just be for the next days or weeks. It might be months, years, hell, it might be decades of me trying to shut my self away, of nightmares, therapy, being unable to laugh or feel anything other than this pitch-black darkness. You can’t promise me you’ll be strong enough to be there. I don’t doubt that you have the strength to see me through all this, I know you do. But there will be times when it will seem as if I’d be okay, and you’ll be hopeful, but when I have a bad phase again- It would hurt you, and I can’t hurt any more of my friends.”

“And you think the way you’re behaving right now is hurting nobody? Megumi, I won’t promise that I’ll always be there. I can’t. I’m still a sorcerer, I still have to go to missions, and am in danger every time I go. But I will be there for you for as long as I can and for as long and often as you want me to be.”

“For every stary sky?”

“And every sunrise.”

“Every meal?”

“If that’s what you want, yes. And for every walk, and if you want me to, I’ll even wait outside the therapist’s office for you.”

Megumi averted his gaze, staring at a spot right in front of your feet.

“Why? Why would you do that? What do you get in return?”

Carefully you took a step forward. “Because I care about you Megumi. And even though it might seem selfless, getting to be there for you, supporting you, trying to help you to get back to your feet, getting to watch you fight to get better, being with you through all this, is actually a very selfish act.”

Megumi looked back up, his eyes scanning your face for a moment.

“Can you hug me,” he asked, voice quiet over the wind in the branches above you.

“Of course,” you smiled and slowly crossed the last distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. He seemed to melt into the touch, almost fragile, his body moving closer to yours until his whole front was flatly pressed against yours, his face buried against the side of your neck, his hair tickling your cheek and ear. You held him tight, not too tight, so he still could breathe without effort, but tight enough for him to feel how serious you were with everything you had offered.

“I’m just scared of ending up alone again,” he whispered. “And I can’t lose you too. You’re too important to me.”

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered back, rubbing his back through the thick fabric of his oversized hoodie.

“What if you die?”

“I won’t. And if I do, I’ll come back as a curse, like Rika.”

The sound of a small chuckle surprised you, but you quickly held Megumi tighter, hoping to engrave the sound into your memory forever.

Before you could say anything else, Megumi’s phone started ringing. You stiffened up, ready to pull away, but Megumi kept you close.

“Aren’t you going to answer,” you asked, hesitantly wrapping your arms back around him.

“No,” he replied.

“What if it’s important?”

“How important can it be,” Megumi shrugged. “Not more important than this, anyway.”

After a while the ringing stopped, and Megumi slowly loosened his hold on you. Carefully pulling away, you came face to face with him.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“What for?”

“Everything. I… I tend to lose sight of the good things in life and let the darkness swallow me whole.”

Taking a step back, you reached out your hand for him to take. Questioningly he raised his eyebrows at you but placed his hand in yours.

“Now you won’t get lost in the darkness,” you told him with a smirk, making him roll his eyes.

“That’s too cheesy for me,” he shook his head.

“Oh, don’t start laughing now, Fushiguro,” you cried. “I saw that! The corner of your mouth was twitching!”

“It wasn’t! That’s annoyance at how cheesy you were being!”

He only kept his expression in check for another second before he burst out laughing. Using your intertwined hands, he pulled you back into a hug, this one more casual than the first. When his phone started ringing again, both of you ignored it.

After you had calmed down from the laughter, Megumi’s eyes fixed themselves on your face, watching you as were catching your breath.

“Can I kiss you,” he suddenly asked, making you freeze in your motion.

Surprised you looked at him, your heart seeming to miss a few beats, but then you nodded your head, and a moment later his lips were on yours, soft, a little chapped, but gentle. It was a sweet kiss, nothing too extravagant, and still enough to steal your breath and make you weak in your knees.

It was perfect, you suddenly realized, kissing Megumi like his. Around you, cherry blossom petals were floating on a warm spring breeze, birds were singing in the branches above you, and Megumi’s arms were warm and secure around you while his heart beat a firm rhythm underneath your fingers, somewhat too fast for a normal heartbeat, but then again yours was probably racing too.

The perfect moment got interrupted by yet another ring of Megumi’s phone.

“I think you should answer it,” you mumbled against his lips. “It’s probably really something important.”

Megumi sighed but pulled away enough to grab his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s just Yūji,” he rolled his eyes, but before he could answer the call, the ringing stopped again.

He shrugged, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

“I got a question,” he suddenly declared.

“Ask away.”

“You said: another stary sky, another sunrise, and…” he hesitated for a moment before continuing. “a puppy’s fur underneath my fingertips. Where do you plan to get me a puppy from?” He sounded amused, but you knew him good enough to know that he would do hell of a lot to play with a puppy sometime soon.

“Okay, here’s the thing.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yūji and I were thinking, for a while now.”

“That can’t be a good sign,” Megumi sighed. “What crazy idea did you two come up with now?”

“I’m gonna ignore that low-key insult, and let you live” you announced, “But do you know Principal Yaga’s friend, the one who had all these dogs?”

Megumi nodded, clearly hesitant about whether or not he really wanted to know what Yūji and you had come up with.

“So, one of the dogs had puppies a few weeks back and we were thinking that it might be good to adopt one of them, for our year. We’ve been talking to the teachers and thinking things through and if all of us take turns caring for it, it won’t be too much responsibility all at once. And it would give us some sort of stability, having to go on walks on regular hours, playing, teaching it commands… but there’d also someone to keep us company when we don’t feel so good, someone who can’t give us advice, but also won’t ask questions either. Someone who accepts us as we are, no matter how good we are in school or whatever. So… yeah, the puppy is already old enough to be separated from its mother and is moving in next Friday.”

Megumi stared at you.

“You adopted a puppy,” he asked incredulously.

“We adopted a puppy,” you corrected. “Yeah.”

“And we‘ll share responsibility for it?”

You nodded, and Megumi’s eyes suddenly grew hard.

“I don’t know that dog yet, but I’ll fight you for custody after graduation,” he declared, making your eyes widen.

Graduation. That was still three years away, the furthest Megumi had talked about the future since November.

Swallowing your surprise, you shrugged. “That’s okay with me.”

“But wait,” Megumi suddenly stopped. “Before the puppy arrives, we need all kinds of stuff. It won’t be like with Shiro and Kuro, it’ll need a basket, and bowls and a leash! I think we’ll need several baskets, so we don’t have to carry them around all the time. And food! We need special-”

He was interrupted by the ringing of a mobile phone, this time yours.

“Yūji,” you told him, showing him the screen on which a picture of your pink haired classmate had popped up.

“Let’s answer it,” Megumi sighed. “He’ll just keep calling otherwise.”

You had barely pressed the green button to answer the call, when Yūji’s voice was already sounding from the small speaker, loud enough that you didn’t even have to put your ear to it.

“Megumi isn’t answering his phone,” Yūji all but screamed. “I’ve tried calling him dozens of times but he’s not answering! I’m really worried! We need to-”

“Yūji, Yūji, calm down!” Quickly you interrupted your panicking friend, pressing the speaker button so Megumi could listen in. “He’s with me, he’s fine, we were talking a walk.”

On the other side silence spread out.

“And you didn’t call dozens of times, you called three times,” Megumi added, leaning down to the speaker.

On the other end, a small “oh” was audible.

“So, what’s so important that you decided to terrorize Megumi via phone calls,” you asked, shooting Megumi a glance.

His eyebrows were furrowed, and it was not hard to tell that he had only now realized just how worried his friends were about him, how much they cared about him. Enough to send ever cheerful Yūji into something akin to a panic attack just because he hadn’t answered his phone for a few minutes.

“I didn’t terrorize him,” Yūji protested.

“You kinda did, but whatever. What’s going on?”

“You guys need to come to the hospital wing asap,” Yūji told you.

Megumi and you exchanged glances. The hospital wing? That wasn’t good. Megumi took your hand in his and started walking back the way you had come.

“We’re on our way,” you told Yūji, “What’s going on? Who got hurt?”

“Nobody,” Yūji sounded like he was running himself now, slightly out of breath. “Gojō-sensei’s awake.”

And with that he ended the call.

Megumi and you were both so surprised about the message, that you came to a slithering halt. Gojō was awake? Sure, you had told Megumi it was a possibility, that he might wake up soon, but you had not believed it to actually, really happen at all.

For a short moment Megumi and you looked at each other,f inding your own surprise and relief mirrored on his face. And then you took off running, taking the quickest way to the hospital wing, your hands intertwined.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Because it is currently hailing in my area, how would the main 10 skeletons react to experiencing their first hail storm on the surface?

( I know you are currently on Christmas break and I was planning on waiting till the 26 of December at least to ask but I am very forgetful so I had to ask before it slipped my mind hope you enjoy your Christmas though🎄)

Undertale Sans - He thought someone threw a small rock behind his head or something, but by the time he looks up to the sky, hundreds of tiny ice balls fell on his skull. Sans is confused and a bit scared and teleports back to his home where he feels safe. He immediately searches online about what the hell this is, and he's relieved when he sees it's normal. He's happy he didn't stay outside though. That hurts.

Undertale Papyrus - "MY CAR!!!!" Papyrus is screaming, trying to cover his car with his own body to protect it from whatever is falling from the sky. Well. That's not very effective, and his car still ends with a ton of impacts and now he's losing his mind, insulting the sky with all he has. Everyone is staring, wondering what the hell is that monster doing. He's so mad! He did nothing wrong, why the hell is the sky attacking him?!

Underswap Sans - It happened while he was chasing some criminal. Blue stops dead in his tracks, wondering if he got shot or something. ... How do you know if you're dead? Will he know if he even died? He was in the middle of an existential crisis when the hail started to fall for real, making him completely panicky. What's going on? Is he under attack? He's so confused. ... Wait, where's the guy he was chasing? Shit! He forgot!

Underswap Papyrus - He's not too sure what's going on, and he doesn't know if he really wants to know what going on. He crawls on the floor of his living room to his window and glances outside nervously. The floor is white like it's snowing, but everyone outside is screaming like they're getting murdered. Is the snow dangerous now? Should he block the doors? He decides to call his brother for help just in case.

Underfell Sans - He growls angrily and starts to look everywhere who attacked him. When his eyes fell on a random man, he grabs a rock and throws it at his face, pissed off. The guy turns around, NOT HAPPY, and asks what the hell is his problem. That's when it starts to hail and Red realizes he messed up big with a guy doing three times his size. Welp. He's out of here. He teleports the hell out of here.

Underfell Papyrus - He grabs Frisk by the head, lifts them above his head and runs for his life. He has no idea what's going on but if the kid has a scratch, Toriel will have his head and he doesn't want to die. He squeaks when he realizes he's covering himself with Frisk and that Frisk is taking all of the hits for him. Omg, he's so dead. He doesn't know what the hell is happening, but that thing falling from the sky just made a mortal enemy.

Horrortale Sans - He is standing still under the hail storm, kinda paralyzed and weakly asking for help. His head is full of ice. It hurts. He is scared to move to take it off in case it's something that will hurt him. He guesses he's just going to stand there and wait for someone to notice he's dying on the inside or something.

Horrortale Papyrus - He is offended. He was just singing to himself outside and apparently, the sky hates his singing so much it started to throw ice at him. He flips both his birds at the sky. No one will stop him. He will keep singing, and now he will do it even louder!

Swapfell Sans - He is standing guard while Toriel is taking cover inside some shop. She forbid him to go inside in case someone wants to kill her, so he is still under the hail storm, looking miserable. A random kid even finds him so pitiful they come to give him an umbrella and gently pat his hand to show some support. It's too late though. He's entirely wet and he's probably going to get sick for days by now. Stupid weather. Stupid queen. Stupid job. He won't stop complaining.

Swapfell Papyrus - He doesn't know what's going on but he was bored, not knowing what to do to piss off his brother today. He opens all the doors and windows and stares as the house slowly fills with ice, a big smile on his face. He can't wait for everything to melt!

Fellswap Gold Sans - He doesn't think much about this. It's just a weird weather. It uses to rain all the time in Waterfall and no one ever think it's weird. You're not special with your weird human weather. What will these ice balls do to him anyway? Wet him? Oooh, he's scared. That's so lame. Not ten minutes later, he's throwing a temper tantrum because there's a hole in the roof and he can't stop the hail storm just by screaming really loud.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He was thinking about some ice cream when a random ball of ice fell at his feet. Uh. He picks it up and licks it, then shrugs. Wait, does it mean he has a superpower now? That's so cool! He lifts his two arms in the air and screams "ICE CREAM" and suddenly it starts to rain ice balls everywhere! He was so happy at first, but then the ice balls started growing bigger and crashing on his skull and now he's just running for his life, apologizing for using his power too much to whatever entity gave it to him. He's sorry, please stop hitting him!

[alientee]

To Live Mauga x reader

I wrote this after reading a agnst Mauga fic it made me sad so I changed my past idea from slice of life to a fluffy moments with taking care of Mauga (gender neutral reader)

You didn’t ask Mauga a lot about his past, but you know it made him into the man he is today. As long as you’ve known him, he’s always had a carefree outlook on life. You’ve seen him angry, happy, horny, and even embarrassed.

But you had never seen him sad; nothing could wipe the usual smirk off his handsome face. To have a face of complete shock or dread was not something you were used to seeing. Mauga, the unshakable mountain of a man, was trembling, and you didn’t know what to do.

He came home distressed, covered in bandages. He took one look at you and instantly went to the bedroom, cooping himself up without saying a word. You made your way to the room to see the man you loved on the bed, slightly curled up, as if it would hide him from the world.

You went over to him and put your arms around him. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t even move. But somehow, you knew he didn’t want words; he just needed you. You continued to hold him, rocking him back and forth. And after an hour of that, he finally spoke.

“I almost died today." Your blood ran cold. Those are genuinely the last words you ever wanted to hear from him. You knew working for Talon would come with trouble, but being prepared for it was a whole different issue. You didn’t speak, deciding to wait and see if he’d continue.

“We had a mission to capture this dude. He owed Doom first a lot of cash. I should’ve known it would be bullshit when he sent the whole team. The guy we were chasing had us trapped like rats, trying to pick us off one by one. He had a lot of goons, too, until we finally caught up with him. The place was already torn down and still coming down on top of us. That asshole knew he couldn’t make it out, so he set himself off.”

You look at him, confused. “Set himself off?” Mauga nodded.

“He had bombs on his body, saying he wouldn’t give doom shit. He said he reached his goal, and he'd die knowing he did it with no regrets. I knew he was crazy, but I didn’t think he’d off himself before we could even capture him.”

Mauga leaned his head onto yours; he stayed quiet for a moment before placing his face on your shoulder.

“The whole building was coming down, and because I was the tank, I took the blunt hit off it. I was trapped behind the ceiling debris that fell. The whole building was falling apart; shit was on fire, and I was trapped. I thought I wasn’t gonna get out. When more of the ceiling fell on top of me, it broke open the floor. I fell through, but I had a chance. I had to crawl most of the way and use my guns to break whatever was blocking me off. I reached dead end after dead end, and I didn’t think I could get out. Shit was falling down on me, and I could barely breathe, and by the time I made it somewhere else, I thought it was another dead end until I dug through the debris and made it outside.”

You hugged him tighter, kissing his face all over. He had bruises all over his face. You kissed each of them softly, giving him an Eskimo kiss.

“I’m so glad you made it out, darling. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you. My poor baby."

Mauga leaned into your touch, snuggling closer to your warmth. He kisses your cheek, finding his way back to your neck.

“Wanna know the most fucked up part when I got out. They were flying away, and the only reason they came back was because Sigma saw me and started waving, and Sombra came to look. They left me for dead, and I’m not even fucking surprised.”

You scowled “I’m not surprised either; I really wish you never joined Talon in the first place, but I know that as a mercenary, you have to do what you need to.”

He nodded while kissing your shoulder. He pulled you into his chest, and you rubbed your fingers over his bandaged arms.

“For the first time in a long time, I was afraid of dying. I promised myself after the heart surgery I’d live every day like it was my last; I just never thought that day would come as quickly as that. I was actually fucking scared of dying. I didn’t want to die that way, trapped and alone."

You held him tighter, and if you felt your shoulder getting wet, you didn’t say anything about it.

“I thought about you, how I couldn’t leave you, and how I had to get back to you. All I wanted to do was get back to the one person who gave a damn about me.”

“And you did. I’m so proud of you, my love.” You run your fingers through his hair and console him. "You're so strong. I know I worry about you a lot when you go on missions, but I never doubted that you would always come back to me."

You both hold each other while sharing sweet kisses and longing looks. Putting your foreheads against one another, Mauga squeezes your hips, bringing you closer.

“How about we take a bath together? I could look at your wounds, and after that, I’ll warm up dinner for you.”

Mauga nods, kissing your lips softly. “I’d love that, baby."

You got to the bathroom and ran the bath water. You can hear Mauga behind you getting undressed. You turn around and help him take off his wraps. He runs his hands through your hair, kissing your forehead as you slowly remove his bandages.

You couldn’t help but flinch at some of his wounds. You lift his hands, kissing each one of his knuckles. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You both stepped in the tub, but this time you got behind him. You take the shampoo and conditioner and start with his hair. He growled when you scrubbed his scalp; he always loved it when you played in his hair.

He growled and leaned his head back. As you rinsed his hair out, he leaned into you, kissing your jaw and neck. You softly push him away. “Let me wash your back.” He turned back around, letting you wash him.

“Wanna wash all of me?” You roll your eyes at him while he snickers.

“I’m not washing your butt, you dork," he playfully splashes you, causing water to get in your face and all over the floor.

"Oops"

After you both finish up, you dry off his hair, then clean and rewrap his wounds. He holds your waist the whole time, not giving you much room to move. “Do they hurt really bad?”

He gives you a pout, nodding his head. "Yup, kiss em for me?” You laughed at his foolishness. “You know what? Yes, I will.”

You lean in, kissing every one of his bandaged wounds. Mauga runs his fingers through your hair. He brings your face up to his, bringing you into a slow, passionate kiss. Your tongues caress each other, and his hands cover your face while rubbing your temples.

You lean back and kiss his chest, where his two hearts would be. “Let me warm your food up, then we could watch a movie."

He nodded. You both headed downstairs, and while you got his food ready, Mauga didn’t let you go. You are used to him being affectionate, but not this clingy. You didn’t mind, though he almost lost his life. You almost lost him. No matter how long it took, you’d be by his side, spoiling him until he was comfortable.

“Common Mauga I promised you cuddles and a movie."

And that’s how you both ended the night, cuddled up in each other's arms, sharing kisses and light touches. Mauga hands never left you. He nuzzled himself into your chest, and you played in his hair. Laughing at his cute antics.

“Gimmie kiss,” you lean down, kissing his lips.

"Another.” You start laughing; the sight of the giant man pouting and giving you puppy dog eyes was so adorable.

When you kiss him again, Mauga bites your bottom lip, sucking on it. Once he lets you go, you can’t help but ask something that’s been on your mind.

“You’re not going back to them, are you?”

“Don’t know"

You sighed, not really liking the answer, but not questioning it.

“Just know you don’t need them to make a living."

He looks up at you, kissing your nose.

“I know; all I need is you."

And after that, you couldn’t help but give Mauga all the kisses he wanted.

[greyspirehollow]

Vesuvia weekly ; Watching the courtiers sleep!

Pairing : The courtiers x reader

Fandom : The Arcana visual novel

Warnings : none. Pure fluff.

You were simply walking down the corridors of the third floor of the palace, simply curious about what was there, since you had never visited before. However, you stumble upon their doors slightly ajar...

Valdemar :

You either see them lying on their back with their hands on their chest or on their side. The cover hides basically all of them except for their head. They lay down almost perfectly flat. They do not make a single noise ; if you didn't see their chest softly rising and falling you'd think they were dead.

They look shockingly peaceful and comfortable. You envy them.

They're actually a heavy sleeper (they have to sleep for three days like come on) but they would know if you were to even take a single step in their room and you'd die on spot.

But when they're awake they are like... Awake.

Vulgora :

You hear them before you even see them. They snore. Loudly.

S̷N̸O̴R̵E̶

They're sprawled out onto their bed like a star, either on their back or stomach. The covers are covering barely half of their body.

Ś̵̺Ň̶̲O̸͉͗Ṛ̶̛E̷̤̒

They're a heavy sleeper and move around a lot while asleep.

S̵̰̿Ñ̶͇̜͠Ö̷̞̲͘͝R̸̭͍̆E̴̖͋

They wake up before the sun ; because the sun is lazy. They are better than the sun. They're faster, stronger, brighter, and they have more gas.

S̸̞̹͠N̵̫̖̑͊Ö̷̳̳͊R̶̛̟͕E̷͔̜̓̈

Volta :

She's all curled up into a ball under her covers, like a little bird in its nest. Her breath whistles slightly in the night and she covers her ears with her blanket.

The little pair of wings on her head flutter here and there, and she does move around a lot, but tries her best to hide her face and ears for some reason.

Very light sleeper ; the sound of your breathing could wake her up

Tries to keep herself as warm as she can.

Vlastomil :

He, unsurprisingly, is snuggled up in his covers like a burrito. Reject humanity, return to worm. He wiggles around in his sleep sometimes, in a circular pattern, clockwise.

And when he's completed the circle, he wakes up.

Pretty average sleeper, goes through the normal phases of sleep and actually has pretty restful nights... If you forget about the moisture.

He sweats a lot, despite loving to be wrapped in his blanket like that.

Valerius :

Probably the most normal of them all. You find him sleeping on his back, one arm behind his head and his other hand resting on his chest, the covers up to his torso.

He keeps his hair in a bun for the night

Does have trouble falling asleep sometimes

Bonus! - Cuddling with the courtiers!

Valdemar :

1. Big spoon (to your great surprise)

2. Onto you weighed blanket style

Shockingly gentle yet firm grip ; they love the warmth and softness of you but will never admit it.

Vulgora :

1. Crushes you. Prepare to try not to suffocate. Sprawled out onto you as if they were sleeping normally.

2. The same but while holding you.

Firm grip, but will loosen it when they hear you can barely breathe. Loves your scent.

Volta :

1. Hold her close to you, envelop her in your arms and keep her safe. Loves your warmth too, and insists you're entirely covered in the blanket as well.

2. Small spoon, and clings to your hands.

Doesn't hold on to you, prefers being held by you to feel safe.

Vlastomil :

1. Coils around you worm style.

2. But likes to be held too.

Will profusely apologize about sweating too much.

Downsides : he takes the covers all to himself.

Valerius :

1. Small spoon. I rest my case.

Will act as if he is simply ok with it and doesn't enjoy it as much as he does.

You better not talk about this to anyone, he'll... Do nothing, he loves you too much.

[wherenymphsroam]

take me one more time

⟡ -- he saw himself in you. he took you under his wing. over time, he’s found his blade dulls in comparison to the wounds you inflict on yourself.

w/c: 2k

warnings: reader is a third ghost face alongside stu and billy in this plot line, billy calls reader a girl (silly girl) but no gendered anatomy is assigned to reader, reader is implied to have problems with people pleasing and self harm through putting themselves in purposefully harmful situations, reader and biilly are implied to have an on and off fwb agreement, cheating if you wanna think about billy still being with Sidney at this point in time but she’s not outright mentioned, reader has grown dependent on billy, he’s acting like a sweetheart but he’s still in fact a manipulative psycho!

a/n: I TOLD YOU GUYS HE PUT A WORM IN MY BRAIN !!!! anyways. fair warning — this is a sad, old wip I spruced life back into. not beta read because it’s 5am and I will die like a man. I am shamefully putting this out as I side eye comms I haven’t gotten to,,,,

music suggestion: sextape (deftones), exit music (radiohead), bleed for me - acoustic (johnny goth)

The bangs pounding against the door of the warehouse are almost drowned out by the sharp tinging of rain pelting the roof above, but Billy hears it loud and clear. It’s a foggy, dark November night, thoroughly sodden by a once in a blue moon rainstorm that’s settled over Woodsboro. Any other time, he’d scoff at the idea of getting up, but he knows that rhythm. Only you knock like that. With a growl under his breath, he pulls himself out of the armchair to cross the room, swiftly pulling the side door open.

He pauses, lips pursed, dark eyes taking in your drenched form; over your trembling lips and up to your dead gaze, all the way down to the water that had sodden your sneakers. He only gives one shake of his head before he sighs, stepping aside to allow you to slip past him. You choose to ignore how your sneakers squish under the weight of each of your foot falls, too numb to pay much mind to your waterlogged shoes as you stumble into the secret warehouse Billy coveted for… well, no one, really. Only you and Stu knew of this place, tucked away deep into his property. Surely, the police would have a field day with your little unofficial killers den. 

Closing the door behind you, he turns and slouches against the heavy metal with crossed arms, his eyes hard as they bore into your frame where you stand stationary, faced away from him. You know what he’s gonna say. You didn’t particularly want to hear it tonight. 

“And… let me guess. It’s right about now that I get to tell you I told you so, hm?”

“Shut up Billy. Don’t wanna hear it right now.” You grit out, stiff as a board, stubborn as a child in how you refuse to face him. With swift, soggy steps, you trudge dirt and mud across the cement beneath your feet as you all but stomp towards the set up he has in the middle of the room. 

It’s nothing too fancy, but not completely trash either. A large, fancy looking rug covered the floor, likely a piece Stu had snagged from his place. A simple, king sized mattress sat in the middle of the warehouse, a few pillows and blankets scattered about the area. A ornate, wooden table on one end of the rug, with papers and bottles strewn about the place, right next to a rather beat up armchair. Obviously lived in, giving away just how much time Billy likely spent in here, out here as opposed to back at the house with his father. Not that you could blame him. His dad had been a mean drunk ever since his mom skipped town, as if it weren’t his fault he couldn’t resist a bit of Prescott pussy. 

Billy watches as you throw yourself rather gracelessly into the armchair, strewn like that of a neglected doll over the arm when you slump your weight against it. There’s no way that position can be comfortable. He simply exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring as he stalks towards your limp form.

“It’s good I don’t care then, ‘cause ya gonna hear it anyways.” 

You only roll your eyes, despite the fact that you know he can’t see your face from where he stands with his hands leaning his body weight against the back of the chair. Lips itching to form a retort, you decide against it. You’re too tired tonight. It’s best to just let him lecture you and get this over with. 

“You’re so stupid. Why do you always go for the ones you’re too good for? Huh?” 

That catches your attention. The hell does he mean by ‘too good’ for? Your taste isn’t the best, and that’s hard enough to admit in of itself, sure. But he’s going a little far to say all that.

“I’m tired of this happening. You going after the rat face of the week and then ending up on my doorstep when they screw you over like they always do because-“ 

He lunges over the back of the ratty armchair, arms looking like that of spider surrounding its latest catch as he presses his nose into your hair, mumbling, “-you’re too fuckin’ nice, ain’t cha? Too sweet to stand up for y’self whenever they make you uncomfortable, whenever their hands get a little too friendly, huh?” 

Your breath catches in your throat. Was it from the feeling of his breath ghosting across the top of your ear? Or was it the malice in his voice that has your skin crawling with an unknown heat? You’ve only ever heard him talk like this to soon-to-be victims over phone calls. Not that you had paid specific attention to that aspect of your little trio’s killings. It was just… fun, listening to him taunt people. He was real good at it. Got you specifically riled up just in time to strike your set victim. 

His voice aside… He’s only telling you what you already know, so you surprise yourself when you flinch against his words. Closing your eyes, you press yourself deeper into the puffy, scratchy arm of the chair, as if it could grant you the mercy of not having to watch the consequences of your actions unfurl before you. With a groan, you bury your face into the bend of your own arm, pretending the chill permeating through your soaked clothes wasn’t bothering you. Maybe ‘cause you were never gonna admit to yourself. It sounds worse when he says it out loud, you conclude. You know he’s right, and that twists your gut to stew hotter in your own guilt. 

“Shut the fuck up, Billy.” you mutter, eyes heavy when they flutter open to stare straight ahead into the dim emptiness of the warehouse. You fixate on a specific steel barrel about 10 feet away — it has a bunch of scribbled papers strewn across the top and around it. They were likely a mix of drawn up past and current plans for victims — Addresses, phone duplicates, individuals schedules and whereabouts. Stu had no sense of organization when it came to his blueprints, but they got the job done. For as goofy as the guy was, he had a mean IQ. The brain of a killer. 

Billy’s lips quirk, satisfied with the reaction he’s pulled from you. You both know he’s fucking with you, giving into his sadistic tendencies just for one minute. Even so, it doesn’t prevent his words from stinging like salt in your open wounds. 

He sighs, long and drawn out as his head hangs, forehead pressing against your shoulder as his blunt nails dig into the armchair’s cushioned back. The sound of a button getting ripped from the material catches your ears, and you almost shrink away as he murmurs into your skin.

“I do hate seeing you like this. I really do. Why do you have to be such a pretty little masochist? Hm?” 

That almost has you chuckling. Ironic, right? A cold blooded killer — masochist by day, sadist by night. You know you can’t answer that question for yourself, let alone to him. Only the wisp of a shaky breath leaves your mouth as you allow yourself to fall back against the couch, looking up at him when his eyes come into your view. 

“I don’t know how to live without pain.” 

It’s simple. It’s like a drug at this point – like your own personal taste of hell every time you let yourself love someone. Just like how Billy attracts people and can’t shake them, you can’t seem to shake off those that feed on you and leave you an empty shell. And when you aren’t allowing some to crawl  their way into your chest, feasting on your still beating heart and sucking up your warmth like hungry cockroaches, you sink your knife into others by night. Hunger really is a son of a bitch in that way, always sitting and waiting for you to get ripped apart by someone else. Watching and waiting for it to eat away your empathy, your resilience, your patience, until you take it upon yourself to tear into them. 

Your statement hangs thick in the air as he gazes down at you. He knows exactly what you mean, doesn’t even look at you like you’re some freak who hates their life like others would. Instead, he smiles like that of a little boy as he leans down, slotting his chapped lips against yours. He isn’t gentle, not in the slightest, not waiting even a second to let you register what he was doing before his teeth are sinking into your bottom lip, greedy in how they drag and pull against your pliant skin. 

You accept his ministrations, a whine crawling into the back of your throat with how you have to crane your neck further in order to really reciprocate. However, he’s pulling away before you can attempt to adjust yourself against the couch, resting his forearms next to where your head lies craned against the back of the couch. 

“You’re so sweet,” he murmurs matter of factly. You only huff in response, turning your head away from his burning gaze and damned tuggable hair, opting to stare up at the ceiling. 

“And you’re not good for me. Can’t keep crawling back to you like this, Billy.” 

He chuckles as he circles the armchair, heavy boots echoing his footsteps around you before they come to a stop before you. He looks down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes, down his nose like he’s debating his next action. With a shake of his head, he only hums before reaching for your hands, drawing you up and out of the chair to stand against him. Like this, chest to chest, you finally get close enough to see it. The pity in his gaze, the undercurrent of… empathy that swirls in his honeyed eyes. You had grown accustomed to being looked at like this; like a kicked puppy he just had to entertain, had to hold close. He saw himself in you. And so, he treated you sweetly, softly. Gentle in how he collects you in his arms, dragging steps back to pull you across the rug. 

“You always say that,” he hums against your ear as he backtracks the both of you towards the bed. “And you’ll say that again next time.” 

He’s right. He always is. 

So you follow him. You indulge him, rather. Silent when he unzips and peels your sodden hoodie off your shoulders, down your arms to throw it somewhere into the darkness of the room. Still as a frozen deer when he reaches down to deftly pull your laces loose, swiftly tugging your soaked shoes off your feet, kicking them aside. Soft, pliant when he pops the button of your jeans and lowers the fly, carefully peeling the tacky denim down your cool thighs. He even goes so far as to smooth his warm palms down the goose flesh of them, tapping your right thigh to signal for you to step out of your jeans. A small gesture, but meaningful nonetheless, considering this was Billy you were dealing with. He’s silent as he lowers the both of you, down onto the end of the bed.  

You’re only shivering for a few more moments, just until he pulls the both of you up the length of the expansive bed, settling the heavy duvet over your bare legs. He had half a mind to strip you of your shirt, but you looked pretty like that. It was all in the simplicity of that v neck shirt, the hem falling just above the band of your panties. You were pretty like a doll should be. He couldn’t help but wonder for just a moment if your insides were just as beautiful. 

“Silly girl. You need me,” He coos as his arm draws up to drape against your back. His nimble fingers follow the dip of your spine all the way down to the lower hem of your shirt,  then back up to lightly drag his nails against the base of your scalp, right where he knows you like it. His eyes crinkle with amusement as he watches goosebumps rise on your skin, the hair on your nape standing on end. When was the last time someone held you so delicately? You should be held like this every night, he concludes then. 

“Don’t try and act like you don’t ever again.” 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb'ing :^)

[4thebedrockbros]

A Bedrock bros SUPERHERO AU WIP I need opinion on

____________________________

____________________________

Icarus, the boy that flew too close to the sun, burnt and fell.

He hadn't chosen this alias, though it ironically fits him well. When he inevitably falls, there will be no outstretched hands, there will be no saviours.

Tommy is Icarus. Tommy will burn. Tommy will fall.

And eventually, he'll die all alone, an unmarked grave as the only proof of the fact that he had once been someone, that he had once screamed, laughed and cried.

He's completely fine with that. ( He is a liar )

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

When he hears something falling loudly on his balcony, Technoblade knew it would be a long night.

When he chose to live near Logsteadshire, the district with the highest crime rates, he knew he would probably have to deal with robberies and other things of the sort. It had not bothered him, if he could he would've moved directly inside said district, but no, the Hero Committee and his father had to be rich dumbasses over it.

In his humble (and completely right) opinion, crime rate in Logstead’ would probably be way lower if the heroes actually came to patrol there instead of leaving the heavy lifting to vigilantes. Don't get him started on their vigilante policies.

Now he wasn't actually a hero, while the HC would probably like him (or force him) to be one. But with a father that's the number one hero and a power that is considered “ dangerous “ the brunette still has to listen to whatever they say or do whatever they order him to do.

Anyhow, Techno takes the baseball bat he keeps near the front door of his apartment and slowly makes his way to the balcony, hoping the robber was unharmed, he's not really in the mood to deal with guns or any other weapon, unsurprisingly.

He steps in front of the glass door of the balcony, opens it and stops his steps, breath halting as the bat in his hand, now forgotten, clatters to the floor with a -thud-.

In front of him a small figure, with a white and golden coat, black combat suit underneath, blue lens goggles along with a black mask covering the lower half of their face, and two golden mechanical wings that seemed a bit messed up. And blood. So much blood everywhere.

Fuck.

This ladies, gentlemen and folks of all other genders, is the vigilante Icarus, or Archangel as some people tend to nickname them. They've been fighting crime all over the poorer districts for a little over a year now without once being caught by the heroes.

And listen, Techno knows he should probably call the committee, his father or even the police. But–

They're probably the reason the kid (He refuses to believe that this is a grown man, they look so small) is in this state in the first place. And so, Technoblade does something that would probably make the HC snap and finally put him in Pandora, he slowly lifts the young figure off the ground, leaving the busted mechanical wings aside for now, and takes them inside before they end up bleeding out.

Is he risking his safety for a random kid in a suit? Apparently so.

Who knew ‘The Blood God’ could be so heroic.

–

The first red flag was that when Tommy woke up, he felt safe and warm, which doesn't add up since last time he checked he was very cold and dying alone on a concrete roof, or was it a balcony? Fuck if he knows. Did he actually die? Huh. He would try and say that it was surprising but it was really not.

However, he does feel pain all over his damn body. ' Man, the afterlife fucking sucks’ is his first thought.

“ You're not dead, kid . “ A monotone voice answer - and that was the second red flag. That definitely wake Tommy up, because, first of all did he say that out loud? Probably not, he knows better. Second of all if he isn't dead then, where the fuck is he. And most importantly who the fuck was that-

The vigilante immediately shot up to stare at the stranger. He's apparently in the living room of a small apartment, the unknown person standing in their kitchenette, above the shoulder brown hair and crimson eyes not bothering to look at the younger boy, the man is buff, has a few scar as well, way more than the usual civilian, and square glasses sitting on his nose, weird guy.

Crimson eyes meets his own summer blues. Wait a fucking minute what did pinkie pie just call him ??

“ Not a kid, bitch !” He signs rapidly, not bothering to check if the man even knew ASL. (Yes ASL, Purpled was the one who taught him and the guy was a fucking American so-)

“Well hello to you too, kid. You shouldn't move around so much you're still injured. Almost bled out on my balcony, and my couch.” The stranger answers before looking back at the food they were preparing.

Tommy flips the guy off before realising the predicament he put himself in. He's alone, inside a strangers appartement. Shit.

… oh Shit oh piss wait, the young blonde touched his face to see if his goggles and mask are still there, which surprisingly they are.

Huh. Double weird guy. He takes a moment to reboot his goggles, the digital eyes appearing in each lens. Once a criminal said he looked like a Tamagotchi. Tommy punched him extra hard for that one.

“You saved me and you didn't even try to u-n-m-a-s-k me ?” He asked, digital eyes displaying question marks (?.?), it was a very valid question. No one would pass this golden opportunity, either to blackmail him, reveal him to the world or other weird reasons.

“Seems like an invasion of privacy” The brown haired man answered as if it was common sense.

Well it totally is. Not a lot of people care about that though, especially when it comes to vigilantes. With them being illegal and all. Tommy signs so to the guy, trying to make him understand how stupid they're being.

“ Heh. don't really care about your identity. All I need to know is that you're a kid and you crashed on my balcony. “ Now that should be an immediate third red flag, but Tommy just concluded he was dead and ended up in heaven, which, congrats to him, didn't think he would make it there but he’s not about to complain. He’s still hurt though so that's less ideal. The tension in his shoulder is relieved a bit.

“By the way, my name's Techno, pronouns he and him“ the ever so monotone voice cut through his thought. “ What should I call you ?”

The younger immediately noticed the Techno guy didn't really ask for his name back, which he's kinda grateful for. But he is also Tommy Innes. So he signs:

“What kind of dumb name is T-E-C-N-O” Digital eyes displaying a childish expression to match the blonde's grin. (⁠*⁠^-^⁠*⁠)

“ T-E-C-H-N-O kid” The man sighs, hiding a smile at the kid's antics, with that mask, his size and the way they expressed themself ?

That was definitely a child. Coming out of the kitchen and putting a bowl on the table in front of them. “ and I don't know, I was young, don't let a nine year old choose his own name I guess “

Tommy makes a small chuckle that ends up being muffled by the mask, not really questionning the fact that Techno had to name himself, before staring at the food bowl. It seems to be for him. His stomach wails at the sight of a hot meal. But eating means removing the mask. And that puts him in danger.

“ I'm going to clean the mess of blood you made out on the balcony, don't eat too fast, don't throw up, don't snoop around” That's all Techno said before leaving, giving the young vigilante the opportunity to eat. And Tommy is not about to complain, or wait. He removes the lower mask and drinks the soup, trying to eat it as slowly as he can while trying to ignore his aching stomach. He only eats half the bowl before being full, he stares at it guiltily.

He hears the other man coming back after a while and quickly put his mask back on, putting the bowl back on the table.

Techno does his best not to address the half eaten food, the kid is skittish, he doesn't need to have an injured boy running away from him. “ Your wings are kind of broken, I think, I'm not an expert but you should bring them to be seen by whoever created them “

At that the vigilante or well the mask displayed a frowny face.

Tommy raised his hand once again to sign “ I made them, bring them to me. “

[ireadwithmyears]

a flight risk with a fear of falling

pairing: commander Wolffe / fem reader

|Visually impaired reader masterlist

Word count: two.4K

Tags/warnings: mostly fluff and hurt/comfort, but suggestive at times. Sketchy fair rides, fear of falling summary: you and Wolffe attend a local fair. You have a great time, all goes well, until you’re stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel and are pretty convinced that you’re about to fall and die. Notes: reader is implied to be visually impaired here. However, of course, that does not mean you won’t enjoy if you’re not. This was just based off of a real life experience I had, and I couldn’t imagine writing it and the fear I felt without blindness being incorporated into it. Title is based off of the lyrics of mine by Taylor Swift.

You aren’t afraid of heights.

And really, you think, it would be silly for you to be, considering how little vision you have to look down at the world as it whizzes beneath you as you fly by. 

You and Wolffe had eagerly scrambled to get on the roller coasters with the highest peaks with barely a second thought, been on the drop zone more than once in a row, and the whole time, you had only been screaming with delight and adrenaline fuelled anticipation, your commander only rolling his eyes fondly, unable to conceal the upward curve of his lips or the crinkle of amusement between his eyes as they gleam, bearing witness to your unbridled display of excitement with quiet satisfaction. 

“As much as I love watching you becoming a little speed demon, meshla,” he says lowly, tucking you beneath his arm as you stumble, slightly woozy and breathless after your most recent ride, “maybe we should take a break from these.” 

He indicates the line of brightly coloured roller coasters that stretch in front of you, loud Carnival Style music blaring from many of them, accompanied by the ambiance of constant shrieks as they speed above.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t love me if I threw up all over your new boots?” You ask with a pout, letting your head drop against his chest with a sigh.

“That’s not what I said,” he chides, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “But do you really want to share a speeder with me on the way home if I smell like that?” he gives you a slight poke, and you wrinkle your nose with a shake of your head.

“Fiine,” you say with a dramatic roll of your eyes. “Boost told me that a wolf plushy is up as a prize at one of the games. We should try and win it, to show some pride for the Wolfpack, you know?.” 

His lips pull into a slight smirk as he gazes down at you. “Aren’t you actually suggesting that I should waste our precious tokens on a game that is probably a scam to try and win it for you?” he huffs, folding his arms across his chest as he gives you a playful scowl with a raised eyebrow. “Because no offense, but I don’t think your skill set lies in aiming rings at bottles, meshla,” he remarks, brushing a slight kiss against the tip of your nose.

Your pout transforms into a full on grin. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant,” you confirm, completely unashamedly, with an enthusiastic nod. “You win the game, and I’ll be your personal cheerleader.”

“Hm,” Wolffe tilts his head, considering. “That would be more tempting if you were wearing the outfit,” he says, voice dropping, fingers lazily trailing down your side, idly making their path to your waist.

Your breath catches and you smack his arm playfully. “I don’t have a cheerleader outfit,” you announce, with a toss of your hair, placing a hand on your hip

You raise yourself up onto your tiptoes, leaning in and letting your own voice drop suggestively with a teasing smirk. “But, if you win the game, I’ll make sure that the night ends with my outfit scattered on the floor.” 

There’s a moment of dead silence, tension crackling in the air as Wolffe’s eyes rake over your form, both hands reaching out to settle against your hips.

Then, he unexpectedly hoists you up into his arms, causing you to squeak with surprise, steadying your self by grasping at his shoulders as your eyes dance. 

“Teasing little thing,” he hums, breath inches away from your ear as he speaks, making you shiver. “I’ll do it, then. But you better be prepared for us to lose all of our tokens on this, sweetheart.”

*

When he does actually manage to win, you’re pleasantly surprised. 

Not because you had any doubt in him, of course. But because you genuinely believed that all of the fair games were scams. Wolffe is ceaseless in his determination, though, as evidenced by the very limited amount of tokens you have left. He lines up each shot with as much precision as you imagine he does on the battlefield, his natural confidence in his abilities riling up the games supervisors, as with their increasing befuddlement, they try to make it harder for him, especially, in the end, when his confidence is proven to be not unfounded in the slightest.

“Here you are, ner cyar,” he says, easy smile on his lips as he passes you the very large, gray wolf stuffed animal.

“Thank you,” you say excitedly, wrapping your arms around the plushy and jumping up to give Wolffe a chaste kiss.

Your lips pull into a smirk, holding up the stuffed animal with pride. “Looks like I’ve got a new favourite cuddle buddy, Wolffe,” you tease. “You were great, but, I think I just found your replacement,” you chuckle, and are abruptly cut off when swiftly, Wolffe reaches out, effortlessly plucking the wolf from your arms and holding him high above your head.

“Don’t even joke about that, meshla,” he warns, tauntingly dangling him just out of your reach as you desperately try to grab for him. “Uh uh,” he tsks, look of mock disapproval settling over his features as he holds the plushy above your head by his ear. “You take that back first, and I’ll give him back to you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Lucky for you, the stuffed wolf won’t be able to replace you as the big spoon. So please, can I have him back?” 

“Good,” he says, smug smile on his face. Gently, he drops the stuffed animal, taking care to make sure that he lands in your arms without incident.

“We still have a few tokens,” you report, counting over the admittedly meagre supply. “We should go on the ferris wheel.” 

“I hope you’re not trying to put off us going home so that I don’t get as much time to partake in the other part of the winnings you promised me,” he quips, tilting his head quizzically.

“Of course not,” you defend, holding up the last ride tokens. “I just don’t want these to go to waste. Besides, I’ve never been on one before.”

Wolffe gives you a grin, suddenly mischievous, pulling your arm through his and bending his elbow almost out of habit, so that he can guide you.

“I haven’t either,” he admits, beginning to walk. “Let’s fix that for both of us.”

*

You are not afraid of heights. 

This, you are now reminding yourself, quite  sternly as the ferris wheel lifts you higher and higher by degree.

And maybe, you rationalize, that is still true. Because though watching the world blurring out of focus below you with your already limited vision is, unsettling, to say the least. It’s really the Ferris wheel itself, with one support bar around your waist being the only thing that stops you from plummeting face first Back down to the Earth below.

Being blind can alter or throw off your sense of balance and centre of gravity, and although this isn’t something you’re reminded of often, this is one of the times where it hits you full on, how unsteady you are, how close to teetering and falling all the way down you feel, even if, logically, you know the odds of that happening are small. You can’t convince your brain of that, so you freeze up completely, thinking that if you don’t move, that if you don’t even breathe, it’ll make it easier.

It doesn’t.

“What’s wrong?”

Wolffe is watching you, eyes intent, observant. At first, you’re not entirely sure as to what has tipped him off to your impending sense of doom. But then, looking down, finding that your hand has locked itself around his with an iron grip, you suppose it’s quite obvious. What’s more, your other arm is tightly wrapped around the stuffed wolf he won for you at the ring toss, your face hiding against its soft fur, eyes squeezed shut.

At your lack of response, he shifts, wanting to get a better look at you. Unfortunately, though, this causes the cart you’re into jostle, and even though the movement is slight and fleeting, you still let out a noise of distress, eyes going wide.

“Are you, scared of heights?” He asks, voice slightly incredulous and tentative.

You shake your head vehemently in denial. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s, I.”

You’re cut off as the wheel begins to move again, pulling you closer to the top before stopping. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you think that the sun must be about to set, and it must be a nice view, for those who can appreciate it. For those who don’t feel like they’re about to die right now. 

“It’s not how high we are, Wolffe,” you try to explain, hating the way that your voice comes out in more of a whimper as you stare down at the ground. “It’s just I just feel like I’m going to fall. It it would be so easy,” you point with a shaking hand at the support bar, distrustful. “And what if something goes wrong and I...” you trail off, eyes blurring with unshed tears, to your utter mortification.

“It it’s not like the roller coasters, Wolffe,” you try to explain, clutching at the stuffed animal in your lap with anxiety. “On those, I didn’t have time to think about falling.”

All sense of logic and rationality has fled your mind like birds, leaving you feeling unstable, each heartbeat that pounds within the cage of your chest convincing you further that the slightest breeze is going to push you off, send you falling down off this precarious ride and to your certain demise. 

A single tear tracks its way down your cheek and carefully, Wolffe raises a hand to gently wipe it away. “Oh, ner cyar,” he breathes, movements slow and deliberate as he reaches out towards you, keeping it cautious, predictable, so that you know exactly what he’s doing. “C’mere,” he coos at you softly, arm reaching around you to easily pull you to him.

His other hand delicately smooths over your hair, before settling to cradle the back of your head, securely tucking you against his chest.

Miraculously, the feeling of his body, protective as it curls around you, Creating a safe cocoon for you to nestle in, Immediately begins to ease the all consuming fear inside your bones. Somehow, you feel less unsteady, isolated, and on the verge of falling as soon as he’s safely tucked you in his arms.

“Do you think I’m gonna let you fall, ad’ika?” He asks, voice a low rumble as he looks down at you, the stuffed animal comfortably wedged between the both of you.

The feeling of his strong arms holding you securely against his broad chest, the way his heart is beating steadily against your ear, is much more reassuring than the seemingly flimsy support bar, and your intrusive thoughts. In spite of yourself, you find your muscles beginning to unwind, melting into him as one of his hands, large and warm, caresses over your back, pressing firm, grounding circles in between your shoulder blades.

“N no,” you say, unable to conceal the slight tremor that runs through you as the ferris wheel moves again. “B but what if.”

“Shh, meshla, focus,” he gently Chides, redirecting you’re over thinking mind back to him, giving one of your shoulders a slight squeeze of encouragement. “I want you to close your eyes, and breathe, and all you have to do is focus on me, alright? Nothing else, just you and me, right here,” he continues, voice a calm, steady stream.

You give him a small, shaky nod, before turning your face against his chest, relieved when you can no longer see the world growing smaller when you’re tucked against him like this. Slowly, hesitantly, you let your eyes close, and you’re surprised and relieved to find that the impending sense of dread is beginning to fade.

You’re rewarded with Wolffe lowering, a slight dip of his chin, peppering several kisses to the top of your head as he holds you tightly. “Good girl,” he praises, voice a quiet breath against your ear.

The ferris wheel begins to move again and before you’re given time to think about it, he speaks, derailing the panicked thoughts that begin to stir.

“Your hair is so pretty,” he remarks, slowly running his fingers through the strands. “And so soft,” he murmurs, dropping another kiss to your head. “How do you get it to be like that?” 

Somehow, your lips pull into a small smile. “With a lot of work,” you mumble with a slight laugh and shrug.

“And?” He prods, lightly poking you in the side. “I want details, meshla. Give me your full routine, with the products you use. Give me a step-by-step guide.” 

You know that he probably doesn’t actually care. You know he’s making you talk to distract you from the movements of the ferris wheel around you. In spite of that, though, you give in, beginning to speak and explain exactly how you maintain your hair. 

To his credit, he seems to be listening attentively to everything you’re saying, eyes never leaving you as you speak, always prompting you with questions when you seem to not know what else to say. 

Before you know it, the wheel has brought your cart to the ground, and an attendant is releasing the support bar from around the both of you, allowing you to get down. 

Wolffe clambers out first, getting down to offer you a hand, helping you down off the attraction. Taking one look at the expression on your face, he wordlessly holds out his elbow, beginning to guide you both towards the fairgrounds exit.

“Are you that eager to get us home so that you can claim your winnings?” You ask teasingly as he pulls you behind him with long, purposeful strides.

He stops, turns to face you and catches your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to look at him as he idly runs a calloused thumb over your bottom lip, causing goosebumps to rise on your upper arms.

“Hm,” he says, expression contemplative as his other hand grazes down your side, experimentally dipping beneath the material of your top to trace teasing circles against your hip.

“Truth be told, meshla,” he muses, the low baritone of his voice slightly husky with desire. “I think you’re the one who deserves rewarding tonight.”

Your face breaks into a smile, even as you arch against his touch, with your breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you start to say, finding you have to swallow several times as a blush creeps into your cheeks before you can respond properly.

“I certainly won

[yallemagne]

You know how I keep saying the audio medium of Re: Dracula really gives characters that otherwise weren't very appreciated before more characterization and really breathes life into them? Makes me love them more?

The opposite can be said of Mrs. Westenra, I have never wanted to murder the woman more than right now. So smug as she self-righteously declares: "no, you funny doctor, it was not you who cured Lucy. it was me, for I flushed all her icky medicine because it smelled bad to me. just look at her, she's so much better now". Cut to Lucy, mostly dead. (no shade at all to the voice actor, she did a lovely job. I'm sure the intent wasn't to make me want to murder a woman in cold blood, but hey, art that can call upon such vivid emotions is very good--)

anyhow anyway

Van Helsing cries heartwrenchingly about how they cannot correct her or she'll die! and I am just sitting here like "but really what is there to gain in letting her live? I call for DEATH PENALTY."

Call me a hypocrite but no, Jack falling asleep is not the same as this offence. He was about to drop anyway, and Lucy recognized it and prepared the adjacent room for him to sleep in because she knew he might still try to stay up if he stayed in her room. Was it a good choice? No, but he didn't really have a choice. His choices were *accept Lucy's offer* or *tough it out and eventually pass out on Lucy's bedroom floor*.

Mrs. Westenra threw out Lucy's flowers for no reason other than "I don't like the smell of them, so neither must Lucy even though she's sleeping soundly". It's like a fucking anti-vaxxer "I don't agree with medicine, so my sick daughter is not allowed to have it."

Sure they didn't inform her of the flowers but FUCK oh my GOD why would you go into a sick person's room in the middle of the night and throw away all their shit!! If it were really fucking bothering Lucy, do you think she'd be asleep?? Lucy's health and well-being are not as important to Mrs. Westenra as her own and that wouldn't be so egregious if she granted her daughter any form of reprieve from her controlling bullshit. If you're going to withdraw from your daughter so you don't have to deal with her illness, then fucking withdraw completely and stop fucking with her life!!

[fountainpenguin]

I got a wonderful comment on "Chalaza" today about how strong my Bdubs dialogue and his inner monologues come across!! :)

He's my favorite to dialogue for in the whole Pixels Imperfect series, so here's a compilation of Bdubs Bits I love in various 'fics of mine:

Martyn is dead, but unfortunately, no one's had the chance to tell that to Martyn. Martyn's in a fishbowl. Well, like… Martyn's soul is in the fishbowl- his skin fell in the Void. Or maybe got vaporized? Not sure. He looks like glowing blue smoothie stuff, complete with weird sprinkle colors, but Bdubs is pretty sure Etho would strangle him if he tried putting Martyn in a cup. Can you get drunk on real souls like you can on raw binary code? Huh…

Nobody in New Star Station's ever seen nothing like this. Or if they have, they sure haven't said that to Bdubs. Etho said the guy's trying to fight a system overload - Martyn; Martyn's trying (Etho says) - but it sure is violent. Geez…

"Chalaza" - Chapter 1

"Scar," Bdubs is saying, and Bdubs has his full wingspan on display. Saliva's dribbling from one corner of his mouth. His eyes are lanterns washing the road, electric green like lamps made of limes. "I love you. Oh, of course I love you… but it's not a full moon. That's our feed!"

[...]

"The hour's mine," Bdubs says again, trembling where he crouches on his hands and feet. His tail smacks once against the floor, wings flaring up. "I'm the devs' perfect killing machine. Aren't you scared?"

One and a Half Birds - Chapter 15

"Why… Why are we eating worms? Are we that low on resources already? I thought we had cows. Why would you do that?"

"Protein." Then, probably since Impulse still looks miffed and is getting miffed-er by the second, he tosses in, "Oh, quit complaining… The wheat is fresh! I just- Like, I just barely made it on the crafting table not five minutes ago. It's only got worms because I just pulled it from the dirt. Not because it's gone gross. It's got nothing to do with that. I don't eat old worms."

"You don't know how old those worms were."

"Babies. It's a new series, Impulse."

Scar, from the distance, "You ate a baby!?"

"Hickory (You Dick)ory Dock"

“Did you get the cobwebs?”

“Oh! Forgot. It was that witch, poking around here. She got me turned around.” Bdubs flapped his hand, already trotting off to get his sword. The sword should be a great way to pull cobwebs off the ceiling, right? You can twist ‘em up like cotton candy. If baby spiders are a thing, they probably crunch real nice on every bite. He checked back only once. And Etho stood there, shivering above a puddle on the floor. “Hey. You should strip. You’re gonna freeze to death.”

“S’okay. Spawn’s not that far.”

“All right… It’s your funeral. And if you die, I’m not burying your body in drippy clothes. That’s how you get mold. That’s how you respawn as a drowned or something.”

"Do Fish People Dream of Magic Gloves?"

"Um…" There's context here. Probably. Impulse pulls back anyway, exhaling hard. "I never had a flock before I joined the New Star portal hub. I had Skizz."

"You didn't have a flock?" Bdubs leans across the bed, eyes shining with invasive curiosity now. The mattress squeaks and dips. When Impulse tightens his lips, Bdubs throws his arms to either side. "Oh, no way! I was there when Skizz brought you to the station! They called me in to check you out! You were spawned beneath the full moon like me, right? 'Course you were; it shows. Only phantom hybrid I ever met whose wingspan beat out mine. 'Never had a flock;' Judas priest… I don't believe that for a second." He slaps the lower part of Impulse's back, which jolts them both as they briefly drain half a heart. They tick up again. Bdubs falls back on the bed with a whump. "Impulse, I was drooling over you and I wasn't even insecure about my status. You were captain material if ever I saw one."

"Like Newlyweds Do"

Getting Impulse into bed takes Herculean effort, and trying to cuddle him is a fight like you wouldn't believe. He's always so stubborn! For real, he acts like plopping his head down on actual pillows is an affront to nature and everything in it. And for what, huh? There's no way that makes him happy. Literally no way.

[...]

See, every relationship's gotta have that one guy who takes initiative. Otherwise, how are you gonna get anywhere? This is basic roleplay 101. He's the instigator; he'll break the ice. This is fine!

Aren't they supposed to be husbands in this game? Husbands should cuddle, probably. Bdubs pushes his shoulder again - shaking it, really - and whispers, "Hey… Are you still up?" in an attempt to get him to turn over.

[...]

"Shut up. Hey, come on. If you didn't want to roleplay married life with me, you wouldn't have agreed to be my husband. You're in love with me."

Impulse makes an excessively rude gesture over his shoulder with one hand, not turning over in the slightest. Bdubs sucks in a gasp, writhing up through the bed sheets, and shakes him back and forth again.

"Hey! You can't do that! What are you tryna say, huh?"

"You Can Sleep While I Drive"

Bdubs is the next to speak up, lifting his head. "Mom, we don't hunt in the Fox Dragon's territory. Scott's asked us not to leave the perimeter. So we don't."

"Your talents are wasted here, BdoubleO100."

"Not wasted." His hands are shaking, though. Martyn stretches out one foot, laying his ankle against Bdubs' own. I've got you, he says in the silence, and Bdubs relaxes his fingertips out from fists. He clears his throat. "I'm a proud captain. I hunt not only for my flock, but for anyone in New Star who can't. That's real noble."

"So it's about the sport?"

"It's about providing."

"Why is InTheLittleWood hungry?"

Another wave of silence crashes down around the table. Martyn's stare is on the numbers in his drinking glass. His hands are in his lap. Bdubs looks at Linda, then at Martyn. Then at Linda again. "Huh?"

Again: "Why is InTheLittleWood hungry?"

"Martyn's fine! He's got his own special hunting ground. He's fine."

"Mum's the Word"

"Why'd you come here in the middle of the night?" Bdubs asks, settling down on the bottom step. He folds his hands in his lap (in the wide, floppy hem of Impulse's shirt, which Etho is not looking at and certainly isn't jealous of). "Must be something big."

"Um." Etho didn't think he'd get this far. Maybe some part of him had still been operating on Yellow Etho instinct, because Yellow Etho wanders and bolts and flutters aimlessly around. He's grateful (maybe) that he opted not to put his chestplate on. He burrows his hands in the hem of his own shirt and kneads them together, much the way Bdubs is doing. "I just… need to talk. I'm having issues with my aggro. With Joel."

That gets Bdubs' attention. "Trouble in paradise? Oh, is this about the bite marks? I saw those. You know, I asked Joel at the pool party and he said you'd been hurting him just about every night. He seemed ready to kick you out. Take back his boat. Were those all from your aggro? He looked like he'd fallen in a pit of zombies!"

[...] "Um… I mean, I wouldn't say living with Joel is ever paradise… But I am having aggro problems. I can't… keep it down."

"I can go all night," Bdubs brags with a hand to his chest, and Impulse snorts on the landing above.

[... Etho] leaves down the hall to go clean. Bdubs follows him, leaving Impulse behind. As Etho starts scraping glass chunks together, Bdubs leans against the couch arm and shakes his head.

"I don't know why you get so worked up about it, Etho. Aggro's not gross. It's natural! We're all adults here; we've got needs! If Joel can't accept that, maybe he's not the right partner for you."

"I've been biting myself," Etho repeats, because Bdubs clearly got lost in the metaphor. Bdubs ignores him, tugging on the edge of his blindfold.

"Hey, there are plenty of salmon in the river. There are other husbands. I'll set you up. Grian and Scar are really going through it; do you like Scar?"

The glass makes a screeching sound as Etho scrapes it together with the broom. "Joel's not my husband." Etho doesn't know what relationship he and Joel are roleplaying. They're not roleplaying much of anything, which severely blurs the lines. Joel never did stop wearing Etho's shirt. He still does, and it's melded with the code of his current skin, and it's confusing and Etho never did ask. "He's my soulmate."

Bdubs shrugs, releasing the bandana. "If you're not comfortable… We could offer you a place to stay here. Impulse and I can put you up. You could join our polycule."

There's a shatter of glass in the kitchen. Followed by thumping palms on the counter, followed by an intake of breath. "Our. WHAT!?"

"Canadian Idiot"

The dogs. Oh, those stupid dogs. They snap at his heels as he tears through the pines as fast as his shoddy boots can take him. He lost one back in the river. He fell. Lost Impulse along the way- they're… they're separated now. Not in roleplay; not the marriage. The marriage is fine! Bdubs has the wedding oath clock on a gold chain around his neck, bouncing up and down against his chest with every flying step he takes. Impulse looked okay, though, like the 'maybe not drowning' kind of fine. He's not. Bdubs would feel it if he were drowning.

His crossbow bangs on every other tree trunk as he sprints across the snow. The dogs are freakin' everywhere. Is this all Pearl's been doing when they play? She never had a soulmate to cuddle up to, so she just kept breeding dogs? There's like a dozen of them, all with huge paws scooping the snow and flinging it behind them on every leap.

Gotta get outta the snow… Where's the- Where's this snowy forest end? I saw the drop-off just a second ago. The wolves prob'ly won't follow over the cliff. Bdubs has a water bucket. The dogs don't. And he'll let them fall. He will, maybe. He doesn't care- they're just stupid dogs. And he likes dogs, but these ones haven't been cuddly puppies in a long time. 

"Seeing Scarlet"

I don't need NOBODY'S social approval or permission. That's my husband. Still gets his tail wagging and everything, even if he doesn't show it. Gosh, isn't he a sweetie? He and Impulse don't always wear their rings, 'cuz it's not like that as often in the Between dimension now like it used to be, but it's… You know. It's still clocks and hugs and elbows in the chest, even if it's not all mwah-mwahs and low-roaming, backside-squeezing hands.

Well. Sometimes it is. I mean, why shouldn't it be? They both had fun. No one's mad at them for it. See, that's the lovely thing about Impulse- ain't he sweet? Bdubs can turn the roleplay on and off with him, and Impulse just goes along with everything. He's wonderful. It's a real shame there aren't more Impulses, because everyone deserves to hang out with him from time to time.

Bdubs tries to find a better place to stand where he's not getting pushed at and stepped on. Not that he can feel it, but it's the principle of the thing. Since he is one of the two shortest in their gang (though he's loath to admit it), maybe he needs a place near the front.

He pushes forward. Souls blur together, blue and overlapping, and the glowing doesn't help with the identity stuff like at all. He can pick out Tango (facing away from him) by the enormous white gash scarred down his right shoulder. Not pointing fingers, but that one's a Bdubs original. You're welcome for helping you look so cool, you're turning heads.

"The Man He Sets His Spawn With"

Impulse keeps breathing. His chest heaves, eyes unraveling Bdubs' entire code and piecing him together again. His gaze dips low, then lifts like a boat at sea. His fingers clench tighter around the sword hilt, which rattles like broken glass in his hand.

"… If I kill you, you just respawn… and I've broken the rules. I'll get in trouble. That's not what I want." Impulse recites it like he's explaining all of this to his first-year self. One hand claws through Bdubs' hair, feeling for… something? It pulls. He's silent. Bdubs keeps breathing too. Then Impulse dips the sword tip lower, against the bobbing spot of his throat. He's really leaning forward funny to get the angle. Maybe 'cuz he's a slime, he's sticky and won't fall. Maybe he's got perma-crouched benefits. Maybe perma-Swift Sneak. At least he's blocking most the rain. Then Impulse whispers, "I think this… isn't how I fix this. Maybe we can just… talk about what happened in 3rd Life? About the betrayal?"

Bdubs gawks up at him, bleeding horror out from every shake. "Can't you just kill me?"

Sparks dribble from Impulse's cheeks, mingled with lightning static and slime blobs and the rain. He's still clutching Bdubs' hair, the sword all too tight against his neck. "Just apologize for betraying me! We were Day 1 alliance in 3rd Life- You, me, and Cleo!"

"Yeah? And I was Cleo's dearly devoted husband back then, and you our 'secret girlfriend' who wanted to get under the armor of everybody on the server; what's your point, Littlefinger?" Bdubs jabs a finger up at him. "Do you want a Get Well Soon card or something? Maybe a care package? A subscription to the Mod of the Month club?"

Dog's Life - Chapter 19

Bdubs paces between them, pulling the throat of his mossy cloak over and over again. A classy gold clock bounces on his hip. "You… you can't do that! You outrank her! This is- Oh, this is gonna be big… This is gonna be the biggest thing people talk about for months. You're getting fed by someone you outrank… Oh, wait 'til BigB finds out about this. Heck, wait 'til the rest of the flock finds out! They're gonna be all over you!" He throws his hands in the air- "Is everybody breaking rules today?"

Aw, geez… Martyn bristles. Cleo shuffles out of the way. "I'm hungry." It's a statement, not a whine. Did he forget I needed food tonight?

Bdubs shoots him a look of pure disgust, his nose all squashed and lip hooked high. "So? Go hunt something. I hunted tonight, and I don't even have wings. Cleo too! It's not like it's hard."

"Bdubs-" Cleo cuts in, but neither looks at her. Martyn flaps out his wings, but Bdubs stays stubborn and glowering all the while.

"Are you gonna watch the eggs while I do that?"

Bdubs laughs. It's a cackle, edged with ribbons of the infamous phantom shriek. He throws back his head. "Freakin' no! I'm not putting in the work just so you get credit for it!"

Dog's Life - Chapter 21

And a bonus sneak peek of this jungle duo scene coming in Dog's Life Chapter 61 (Give or take):

“That’s okay. I’m proud of you for trying. Do you want more?”

Grian shakes his head, pushing his plate across the table. “I shouldn’t. I’m an omnivore; I can eat other things. Anivores eat first. Isn’t that proper?”

“You don’t have to eat it,” Bdubs tells him, pushing the plate back. “But phantoms, we say the souls of insects are for the birds. It’s your right as much as mine. All predators can eat the prey. It’s the abandoned things that get snapped up by phantomkind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t need it.”

“Does your hunger meter fill when you eat souls?”

“That’s not the point.”

Bdubs shrugs. He stabs his fork in another piece of soul, then brings it to his mouth. “More for me, then. But I’m serious, G… You should figure out what you want in life. Unlearn shame! Why deny yourself the things that make you happy?” He takes the soul, tines sliding past teeth, as Grian watches with interest from across the table, his head tilted to one side. Bdubs reaches out to take another piece, and Grian’s breathing gets a little stronger. By this point, Bdubs is standing just to lean, stretching over the table and taking scraps two or three pieces at a time with the stabbing trident tines. As he draws them to his mouth, fangs on display and saliva dripping, he meets Grian’s wide eyes again. So the trident stalls.

“You want it, baby?”

“… Yes.”

===

He is so ?!?? <3

[zenxvii]

character: kyung-jun x fem!reader

kdrama: night has cone

!!: thoughts are in italics

🫶🏻: lovers to exes, toxic relationships, su!c!de, depressi0n

-

-

“God damnit! I fucking hate you, oh how I wish the mafia would kill you next!” His voice echoed through the hallways and my heart shattered.

“Oh, I’m sorry..” I mumbled as I took few steps back before completely turning around and running away from everyones eyes with tears running from my eyes.

I ran straight to my room and slammed the door shut. I sat on the ground leaning against the door with tears just pouring out of my eyes.

Why did I go back to him. This happens every time.. somehow I can’t get away from him. Why do I let him walk all over me. Why am I so pathetic.

I heard a knock in the door and few voices. I wasn’t sure who was there because of my own sobs blocking my hearing.

- few months back -

“Gosh! y/n you really are so fucking pathetic! Nobody likes you and I only pretend to like you! Like why can’t you just leave me alone or die!” Kyung-Jun spat in my face and I felt terrified.

It wasn’t because of his loud yelling or angry face, it was because he was right. I’m a nobody, nothing. Maybe I shouldn’t live.

- more memories -

“Fuck you!” He yelled and punched me in my face. He had never ever before laid hands on me. This one actually was my fault. I had made an argument about his bullying. I never intended it to start a fight I just wanted to help him.

“I’m sorry.” I said and hid my face.

- back to present -

Of course there was tomes when he was romantic and loving. Like for the time we went to amusement park because I wanted to have a date there and he held my hand in the roller coaster because I was scared.

Or the time when he t up at my door with roses and apologized for the fight from the night before.

“y/n..please open the door.” Now I recognized the voice. It was Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won. “No.” I mumbled thinking they wouldn’t hear me.

I stood up from the floor and walked towards the window. Should I..

Why not, it’s not like he would care. He pretends to card but I know he doesn’t, at least not anymore.

I opened the window and sat down at the window. My legs shivered from the nights cold air. If I do this, I won’t turn like the others. Maybe this would be more peaceful.

“We’re coming in!” Was all I heard with a door opening before pushing myself off with my arms. “Y/N!”

I felt myself falling, It was peaceful. No worries to think about anymore. Just death.

-

“l/n y/n was executed by herself.”

“l/n y/n was a civilian”

-

Kyung-Jun pov

“l/n y/n was executed by herself.”

What the fuck..

“l/n y/n was a civilian”

I got up and walked away from the cafe towards her room. I noticed her door open and walked in to seen that mansa freak and her friend.

“What the fuck did you do to her!” I demanded to know. “N-Nothing!” Yoon-Seo said but I didn’t believe her. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER!” I yelled at them and grabbed Yoon-Seos collar. “Stop it!” Her pathetic friend said but I just pushed her away.

“Last chance. What did you do!” I said and shook her but then people cane running our way and peeled me off of her and held me back. “TELL ME YOU WITCH WHAT DID YOU DO TO Y/N!”

“She jumped herself.” The mansa said and went to Yoon-Seo. “No she wouldn’t have!” I said and tried to get out of my classmates grasp around me.

“She did and it’s all your fault.” Mansa continued and shook her head. “You are the ine who always manipulated her to love you and then hur her again. Ahe was a kind soul and a person, you destroyed her. You treated her like shit, like she didn’t matter. You made her think that her life was worthless and that she is worthless. You are the ine who kept complaining about her present and wished how she was dead. THIS is all your fault.!”

“You Go Kyung-Jun are the reason whg she is bow dead.”

-

I had got out of y/ns room and now I’n at the cafe. I locked the doors and sat down on a chair holding my head in my hands. Fucking y/n.

I never really wanted her to die, I just let my emotions out the wring way. If we’re being honest she was the first girl I’ve ever loved. I loved her but I wasn’t good at showing it. Screw it I was terrible at showing it. I was mean to her so she would leave because I knew in the end I wasn’t good enough for her and would end up hurting her.

And now I had done it. I had hurt her so badly that I actually hurt myself too.

-

sorry for the short fic I just wanted to do some angst but not too bad or I’d actually cry.

😞

[enemy-of-the-people]

Spike Spiegel death count

There's a running joke in Cowboy Bebop where Spike dies in one scene, and the next time we see him he's completely fine (sometimes he's comically bandaged). It's a conspicuous pattern, cause it happens a lot, and it never really happens to anyone else. I guess he doesn't really die in any way a life insurance plan would accept. But Spike seems to consider them deaths in a narrative sense: he tells Laughing Bull that he's "already died once before".

Remembering that Spike is sometimes associated with a cat, I was curious exactly how many times exactly Spike dies in the show. So here's the Spike Spiegel death count, by my best count:

Before the show, shot by the syndicate in the cold open. This is the death he tells Laughing Bull about.

Pushed through a window by Vicious in Ballad of Fallen Angels.

Bit by a Ganymede lobster at the end of Toys in the Attic. Death confirmed by Ed's narration.

Burns up in a shuttle in the atmosphere in Wild Horses.

Explodes at the end of his first encounter with Pierrot in Pierrot Le Fou.

Trampled by Andy's horse after their first encounter in Cowboy Funk.

Explodes at the top of a building in Cowboy Funk.

Explodes at the top of a building in The Real Folk Blues pt 2.

Falls down a staircase in The Real Folk Blues pt 2.

Well gosh darn it would you look at that. Just like a cat has nine lives, Spike dies nine times. Ain't that something. That's implies pretty heavily that Spike's death at the end of the show is final.

Except you could raise some pretty strong quibbles here.

First, death number 8, which you might not recall. As Spike enters Vicious' throne room, the whole floor explodes. But unlike other deaths, they keep going like nothing's happened after a few seconds. I choose to count it, because it apes death 7, before a similar duel with a Vicious cognate. But you could disregard it, for eight total deaths.

On the other hand, here are two potential deaths you could count.

First, there's a scene in the movie, where Vincent throws Spike from a train. I don't count it, because the movie is really a wholly separate entity from the show. Otherwise, it's a clear death.

Second, there's the scene from Asteroid Blues where Asimov chokes Spike. Katerina gets Asimov to release him, and Spike has the wherewithal to pickpocket him on the way down. That doesn't seem very dead. Jet seems to think Spike's just sleeping. Then again, sleep is the cousin of death (or sister or brother or whatever). And, I mean, look at him. He looks kinda dead.

The point is, Spike has eight unambiguous deaths. But there are three more you could count if you wanted to. I choose to believe in my list of nine deaths above. You could make another list of eight or even eleven deaths that's just as valid. How many lives Spike uses up is pretty much up to you.

So I guess the conclusion is: Spike definitely dies at the end of The Real Folk Blues. Whether he lives is up to interpretation.