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[business2bmart360]

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[mariacallous]

The Ocean Sciences Building at the University of Washington in Seattle is a brightly modern, four-story structure, with large glass windows reflecting the bay across the street.

On the afternoon of July 7, 2016, it was being slowly locked down.

Red lights began flashing at the entrances as students and faculty filed out under overcast skies. Eventually, just a handful of people remained inside, preparing to unleash one of the most destructive forces in the natural world: the crushing weight of about 2½ miles of ocean water.

In the building’s high-pressure testing facility, a black, pill-shaped capsule hung from a hoist on the ceiling. About 3 feet long, it was a scale model of a submersible called Cyclops 2, developed by a local startup called OceanGate. The company’s CEO, Stockton Rush, had cofounded the company in 2009 as a sort of submarine charter service, anticipating a growing need for commercial and research trips to the ocean floor. At first, Rush acquired older, steel-hulled subs for expeditions, but in 2013 OceanGate had begun designing what the company called “a revolutionary new manned submersible.” Among the sub’s innovations were its lightweight hull, which was built from carbon fiber and could accommodate more passengers than the spherical cabins traditionally used in deep-sea diving. By 2016, Rush’s dream was to take paying customers down to the most famous shipwreck of them all: the Titanic, 3,800 meters below the surface of the Atlantic Ocean.

Engineers carefully lowered the Cyclops 2 model into the testing tank nose-first, like a bomb being loaded into a silo, and then screwed on the tank’s 3,600-pound lid. Then they began pumping in water, increasing the pressure to mimic a submersible’s dive. If you’re hanging out at sea level, the weight of the atmosphere above you exerts 14.7 pounds per square inch (psi). The deeper you go, the stronger that pressure; at the Titanic’s depth, the pressure is about 6,500 psi. Soon, the pressure gauge on UW’s test tank read 1,000 psi, and it kept ticking up—2,000 psi, 5,000 psi. At about the 73-minute mark, as the pressure in the tank reached 6,500 psi, there was a sudden roar and the tank shuddered violently.

“I felt it in my body,” an OceanGate employee wrote in an email later that night. “The building rocked, and my ears rang for a long time.”

“Scared the shit out of everyone,” he added.

The model had imploded thousands of meters short of the safety margin OceanGate had designed for.

In the high-stakes, high-cost world of crewed submersibles, most engineering teams would have gone back to the drawing board, or at least ordered more models to test. Rush’s company didn’t do either of those things. Instead, within months, OceanGate began building a full-scale Cyclops 2 based on the imploded model. This submersible design, later renamed Titan, eventually made it down to the Titanic in 2021. It even returned to the site for expeditions the next two years. But nearly one year ago, on June 18, 2023, Titan dove to the infamous wreck and imploded, instantly killing all five people onboard, including Rush himself.

The disaster captivated and horrified the world. Deep-sea experts criticized OceanGate’s choices, from Titan’s carbon-fiber construction to Rush’s public disdain for industry regulations, which he believed stifled innovation. Organizations that had worked with OceanGate, including the University of Washington as well as the Boeing Company, released statements denying that they contributed to Titan.

A trove of tens of thousands of internal OceanGate emails, documents, and photographs provided exclusively to WIRED by anonymous sources sheds new light on Titan’s development, from its initial design and manufacture through its first deep-sea operations. The documents, validated by interviews with two third-party suppliers and several former OceanGate employees with intimate knowledge of Titan, reveal never-before-reported details about the design and testing of the submersible. They show that Boeing and the University of Washington were both involved in the early stages of OceanGate’s carbon-fiber sub project, although their work did not make it into the final Titan design. The trove also reveals a company culture in which employees who questioned their bosses’ high-speed approach and decisions were dismissed as overly cautious or even fired. (The former employees who spoke to WIRED have asked not to be named for fear of being sued by the families of those who died aboard the vessel.) Most of all, the documents show how Rush, blinkered by his own ambition to be the Elon Musk of the deep seas, repeatedly overstated OceanGate’s progress and, on at least one occasion, outright lied about significant problems with Titan’s hull, which has not been previously reported.

A representative for OceanGate, which ceased all operations last summer, declined to comment on WIRED’s findings.

[catfern]

lap dog.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader x abby anderson

music: master of none - beach house

word count: 2k

summary: abby and ellie are best friends, never more. when you come into the picture, competition bleeds into something else entirely.

warnings: porn, ellabs, sub-ish!abby, sub-top!ellie, dom-ish!reader, marijuana use, got high and watched challengers this is what happened

fern says ⎯ this one goes out to @heavenbloom & @atyourmerci the only two pookies keeping me going at this point! rawr!

it was innocent, at first. you suppose.

a pit sinking in your stomach at the all-too-looming feeling of a foreign school, the kind smile offered was an olive branch. white teeth, skin blemished only with the soft indents of a splattering of freckles and moles, it put you at ease. this definitively friendly tour guide.

“hey, m’abby.” the squeeze of her hand was gentle, but firm. practiced. her eyes on you felt like a studied gaze, a flicker over your body that made your ears burn, your name on her tongue a syrupy temptation. “i’m s’posed to show you around, so…”

you clung to abby, in your first few weeks. you would’ve felt bad, this dependence on your only friend growing, if she hadn’t returned the sentiment almost tenfold. 

hey

want coffee before class?

- abby

the blaring screen of your phone dunking on you like ice water, bleary eyes and a dopey smile typing a response in the early morning manufactured darkness of your dorm room. 

she’d show, fifteen minutes later, in all the gloried aftermath of her morning run, shoving the iced latte at you with easy conversation. she’d wait on your bed while you dressed, poorly pretending to be wildly interested in her instagram explore page.

ellie happened later.

“she hot?”

“i don’t wanna answer that.”

the ball hits the roof, before bouncing with a mean thwack into the tangle of abby’s hair. ellie pulls herself up on the bed, teetering on her tired forearms with a servile smile. “come on,”  the rasp in her voice gives her a malignant edge, “objectively, is she hot?”

abby looks at her, swallowed in her gaze even from across the room. she rolls her eyes before returning to roughly running a brush through her hair, “she’s nice.”

“fucking prude!” the palm of ellie’s hand comes down like a rough punishment, a sting on the sculpt of abby’s shoulder that rings a small wince. her laugh is complimentary, “what? she a secret or something?”

abby shakes her roommate’s sliding hands off her, fighting her languid, teasing embrace, “no, no, she’s just- i dunno.”

a light hum fills the quick silence in the air, ellie pulls away.

“i wanna meet her.”

“what? ellie —“ abby whips around quick, something akin to a firm, stubborn fear tracing her face, “no. no.”

you shift on the floor, the scratchy carpet under your ass stinging with a strange itch. the joint is hanging weakly between ellie’s lips as she holds the lighter to it, off-handed smoke swirling and ebbing in the close air of the room. abby is sequestered on her bed, trying her hardest not collapse in on herself.

you’re taking the joint from ellie, ellie. her iced gaze flickers between the both of you, something unrecognisable sitting, gnawing at her very soul.

“so,” smoke spills from your mouth, dripping from your lips like it never wanted to leave you. you hold the blunt, firm between two fingers as you trace your thoughts with your hand, “what is this?”

ellie laughs faintly, her eyes meeting the terror of abby’s briefly, before falling over the way you’re sat, cross legged, the thin fabric of pyjama shorts riding up your thigh. her laugh is dopey, saccharine laced with a bite, “what d’ya mean?”

you’re pinned, like a dead butterfly behind glass, inspected. abby leans forward, a pique of interest crawling up her spine, her elbows digging nasty red welts into her knees. they both, as if practiced, stare, like careful animals on the other side of a zoo exhibit fence. they know they cannot touch you, but they deign still to think they can try.

 you laugh, something elevated, untouchable, bringing the joint back to your mouth, “you two — you seem, close.”

a shared look of panic and something deeper sets between them, ellie stretching her legs to knock yours as she plucks the joint from you, shooting abby a teasing glance. she pats the battered carpet next to her, “come on abs.”

the nickname is a taunt, an echo of some wild, buried intimacy that ellie wanted — needed  you to know. she’s answering your question, in a way.

abby slides off the bed, scooting over at her roommate’s beck and call. she takes the blunt tenderly, leaning back and letting ellie hold the lighter to her, the movement eased, familiar. she shakes her head, “we’re friends.”

you smile, lopsided, a low-flying buzz hanging in the air. your body loose, uncaring, as you canvas the look ellie has on her face. pensive.

“right.”

“what?”

“nothing, i just - i don’t believe you.” 

“it’s true!” the laugh shared between them is something too close for comfort to be true, but abby persists, “we grew up together, we play tennis together, we’re friends.”

“well…” the soft abrade of ellie’s voice was a testament, a challenge. for you, it was a tantalising peak behind a curtain so well guarded, a piece of themselves so rarely shared. for abby, it was an unnecessary torment. she looks at ellie, she sees the competition in her eyes. abby knows the sting of shared desire, of the punishing hand of her best friend. the brunette pouts, studying her roommate’s look of resigned pleading, “come on! i think it’s a — it’s a cute story. abby had a little, teensy crush on me when we were kids.”

“oh fuck off!” the edge in the swell of abby’s voice demanded attention, commanded respect in the abhorrent violence of something unexpected. the closeness of the two sat thick, heady in the face of the thin layer of smoke in the air. ellie’s hand slips from her thigh.

a silence befalls the three of you, foreign and raw in the space of casualty. the air of times past is not lost on you, as you watch the humiliation creep through abby’s skin in red flushes. ellie’s advantage.

“i think it’s cute,” you muse with a misaligned shrug.

— a beat.

“really?” that changes everything, in a pathetic sort of way. abby has the eyes of a puppy, a tortured lap dog as she looks at you, wide and wild, tamed on your word. a certain honey of victory sits in her stomach.

“yeah, i mean -“ you laugh, such an ardent reminder of their own pursuits of you, fresh and recognisable. of who stands on their feet, and who kneels before them. “i just don’t intend to be a homewrecker.”

“we’re not together.” they choir together in rehearsed concordance, in defence of themselves. strange, how their voices melt together in a harmony so well matched.

you hum, as if to challenge them quietly, before standing. the stretch of your legs provides a curious path, their gazes dripping upwards of you like forlorn magnets, drawn to your body. you look down on them with a quirk of your brow, pulling your pj shorts to rest higher on your hips, before perching yourself on the edge of ellie’s bed.

they look at you as if they had just lost you, something childishly snoopy glinting, matched, in their eyes. your hands run along the scratch of ellie’s bedsheets, exploring, before you pat either side of you, gently.

in a scramble, they pull themselves to your side, infringing on your summoning. ellie pressed to your left, abby to your right, inescapable, the both of them.

you meet abby’s gaze, swallowed nearly in the startling kindness of the blue of her iris. she looks so meagre, so shrunken and teetering on the edge of your existence, a planet in orbit of a raging star.

gently, with the softness you label so deserving of her, your hands wander, pulling her in, letting the chasteness of her lips fall away into a fevered triumph, the taste of the salt of her lips and the bitterness of the weed a chaser to her touch.

ellie, sat so humbly, waits in a quiet, angry defeat, her fingers ghosting the edge of your bare thigh. oh, to be the only child, so unused to sharing. impatient and derivative, she almost whines, a soft call for your attention. you answer, to the surprise of both, abby’s taste still on your lips, something so familiar.

she’s more callous than the girl she so aptly loves and despises, her movements quick and domineering as she seeks to own you. abby, tasting you and wanton for nothing, slips down to the stretch of your neck, pressing her kindness into your skin with the pliant pull of her teeth.

ellie’s hands are needy creatures, pulling over you like the ebb and flow of a vicious tide, snaking up your shirt for just a taste.

“..fuck.” your heavy breath fills the room like smoke, a complying pass for her to tease the stretch of her fingers under the waistband of your shorts. control was just a fleeting delusion, your hand grabbing at the bone of her wrist, “come on, let her go first.”

ellie, once again left waiting; abby, so all consumed with the pulse of your neck, is despondent, desperate, her breath shaky in your ear as her hand slips beneath the fabric, a soft groan dripping from her lips at the velvet of your walls enveloping her.

she’s slow, languid and unpracticed with her indigent circles around your clit. a sweet intoxication hanging heavy in the air, you laugh, coy and soft and somewhat mean. you had thought abby bigger, more unobtainable than she really was.

here, she is human. here, she bares her unspoken inexperience.

you pull a desperate, evil ellie from the swirl of your tit, so keen to pull your attention away. your thumb mindlessly swipes along the hang of her bottom lip, her breath warm and savouring in your sunlight.

“y’know what to do?” ellie nods into the palm of your hand, eager to show off, to please. “teach her.”

leaning up on the back of your elbows, you watch through a half-lidded honeyed gaze as ellie slinks down, conflicted. a certain affection in her touch, deeper than that of anything else, she finds abby’s fingers in the heat of your legs, leading them along the strings of your impulse.

a shaky moan leaves abby’s lips, the callous of ellie’s fingers along her own a dream unfounded. she can feel the press of her chest against her back, her breath in her ear, her chin on her shoulder. this was not unlike of them, not a foreign feeling, but new, still. the need in ellie’s throat is rotted, estranged to her touch.

they assess you on the bed, like an experiment. the arch of your back is artwork along the ripple of the sheets.

“go slow, you see that?” ellie’s voice is low in abby’s ear, tracing the breathy moans you drip beneath them. “just like that — good, abs. good girl.”

ellie’s hand slips from abby’s, running your slick along her arm, your thigh, a trail up your stomach as she comes to palm your tits, her mouth finding your neck, biting down on your wicked pulse in such difference to the other.

abby is lost, chasing feelings that no longer belong to her. she watches you writhe under her touch, under ellie’s touch. something wanting sits in her throat, unknown to her.

ellie is her best friend. but this — mean competition abandoned, this is something else. something buried, aged, ready to rear its head.

the blonde brings her lips to the dip of your stomach, pressing a soft trail up the curve of your hips. unsure of what she wants, what she’s looking for on the crest of your body, she presses the crook of her nose into your naval, her fingers burning, picking up their speed.

ellie comes to her, drawn to her like to her a flame. pressing a kiss to the curve of your breast, she finds the cotton of her friend’s lips so easily, as if fated. messily, they meet along the plume of your ribcage, you, an instrument for their own aches. esoteric, their tongues swirl on your skin, on their lips, tracing each other as if they had never known the other at all.

like dogs tugging at meat with the bare of their teeth.

homewrecker, indeed.

⎯ kofi

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

[yellowjestertfs]

Altered State: Part 1

IDK if anyone on here will be interested in this story, its kind of a long and slower but thought I would post it anyways. More parts coming next week!

Most great adventures start with a call to arms, a quest from on high, a declaration of purpose to serve the greater good. Edward’s and Leon’s started with a question asked through a mouthful of chips.

“Wanna play this new game dude?” Leon asked words barely intelligible. He stood in the doorway of their living room, his fat frame blocking most of the light. In one hand he held a bag of chips and in the other, he held up an unfamiliar battered keep case, the type that held video game disks inside. The thing had a red and blue design that Edward didn't recognize. 

“I guess. What is that thing, will it work on my Wii?” Edward asked. He lay on the couch, long thin body taking up the whole thing but sat up and moved over to make room for his roommate. 

Leon shook his head “I don’t think so dude, it's like super retro.” He walked over to the TV and started fiddling with the row of older consoles that belonged to their third roommate Alvis trying to see if any could accommodate the game. "It was free though." He said as he found the right one, an extremely retro blocky thing Edward was surprised even accepted disks. Leon booted up the system, the familiar hum of the machine filling the space. “I got it from that comic shop down the street. This buff dude at the counter just handed it to me. Said he thought I would put it to good use.”

“Alvis would kill you if he knew you were touching that,” Edward warned, always the one to show more caution. 

“Fuck Alvis. If he didn't want it to be used he shouldn’t have bought it” Leon countered. Neither of the two were particularly big fans of their other roommate, but Leon especially hated his guts. He only let the guy live with them because it made the rent cheaper and because Alvis’ weird retro tech fit in with their decor of half-finished Lego sets, empty pizza boxes, and superhero posters, and because for the most part, Alvis left the two friends alone, spending all his time in the engineering building or fiddling with tech in his room.

Leon opened the case and took out a dusty disk, growing on it to reveal the title “Altered State” and the manufacturer HunkTech, neither of which either Leon or Edward had ever heard of. Leon put the game back into Alvis’s video game console and pressed play. The TV flickered for a moment, then exploded with color so bright it forced both of them to squint. Flashes of neon light, strange symbols, and spinning images seared into their eyes, leaving dancing after images. Neither of the friends could look away, their senses overwhelmed by the pulsating lights that burned into the back of their brains. And just as suddenly as it started, the TV went black and both friends came back to themselves.

“Oh shit" Edward muttered, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. "Your game just fried the TV!Alvis is going to kill you.”

Leon opened his mouth to defend himself but before he could a green holographic display blinked into existence, floating in the air right in front of him. Growing text marched across the living room floor reading:

"Welcome to Altered State.”

Leon’s jaw dropped. "Uh, Ed? You seeing this?”

Edward stood motionless for a moment too shocked to speak. “What the fuck” he breathed “What's going on?”

Both of their holograms shifted to display naked, pixelated 3D models of the two friends, hanging awkwardly in midair. 

“Eww, what the hell,” Leon said. He tried to avert his gaze but the images followed the motion of his head and stayed even when he shut his eyes. 

Neither of the projections was a particularly flattering sight to behold.  Leon’s short, heavy frame was rendered in painful detail—his soft belly, narrow shoulders, pudgy limbs, and average penis were all fully extenuated under the brutally detailed holographic projection. Edward’s model didn’t fare any better. Tall and spindly, his twig-like arms and knobby knees, paired with a notoriously ugly face, gave him the appearance of a scarecrow. Edward was not helped much in its attractiveness by the acne on his face, the greasy thin hair on his head, and the pitifully small penis between his legs fully visible in the naked light of the hologram. 

“Your the one with your dick in my face.” Edward shot back, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the display.  

The hologram flickered again, and new text appeared below both their models:

Analyzing subjects…

The text began to blink as new displays blinked into existence on the peripheral of both their vision, only really notable if focused on. Various menus that displayed statistics quests and a list perks were all there, though all were currently blank. The words level one along with an empty an empty progress bar beneath appeared at the top of their filed of view, though only visible to themselves and not the other. 

Neither of the two friends had time to examine the new features in detail as the words under their models shifted again.

“Analyzing Purpose: Class Selection”

"Class selected: Juggernaut.” Appeared under Leon’s character. 

Leon blinked. "Juggernaut?" he repeated, unsure what to make of the development.

Edward snickered, “I think that's the fantasy term for fatty.”

But before Leon could respond, Edward’s display changed too:

"Class selected: Snake Charmer.”

“What like I’m going to play the flute?” Edward asked.

It was Leon's turn to laugh. “No bro, the game just called you a homo.” 

It took Edward a second to understand. “Not funny,” he said swatting his best friend on the arm, blushing somehow harder. “This is seriously messed up. We need to go to the hospital or something.”

“Relax charmochondriac, don't you see what’s happening?” 

“Group psychosis?” Edward guessed.

“No dude, we are in a video game, and we fucking rule at video games.”

“Leon” Edward said warningly. Before he could say more though quests populated onto both their displays.

“Dude chill this is awesome. My first quest is easy too. I bet I can get level ten before you.”

Edward wasn’t as ready to accept this rapid series of unexplainable events but he also wasn’t ready to let his best friend think he was a chicken. “Fine. I’ll meet you back at the house when I kick your ass.”

Leon laughed and with that both boys raced out the door, shoving each other playfully to get out first. From there both took off to opposite sides of campus, towards their various objectives and their differing yet intimately intertwined destinies. 

-

Leon raced, or his version which was something between a fast walk and an awkward jog, across campus to his first quest. It seemed easy enough: “Go to the gym” it read. Leon wasn’t exactly one for physical fitness but he at least knew where the health center was from campus orientation tour.

Despite his slow pace by the time he reached it he was out of breath. For a moment he stood in front of automatic double doors, panting and intimidated. He stuck out like a sore thumb on this part of campus, dressed in the ratty strained Superman shirt and baggy shorts his protruding belly and wild unkempt hair stood in stark contrast to the muscular adonis in low tank tops and tall fit women in matching sports sets who brushed by him without a second thought. Mustering his courage Leon walked through the doors and into the gym. His ears were greeted by the sound of slamming weights, rhythmic grunts, and a small ding as he completed his first quest and leveled up. He watched as the experience bar filled fully, bumping his level up to two and filling his vision with notifications. The bar continued to fill until it had reached halfway to the next level. A notification appeared in a gray box with plain white blocky text.

You have reached level two. You receive attribute points based on your class: +3 Strength, +1 Charisma +0.3 Intelligence.

Leon grinned as he felt himself change. He couldn’t actually feel himself getting smarter or more charismatic. He wasn't sure if that was because those were more cognitive stats or if it was because the increase was marginal compared to his strength. Either way, it was a strength that Leon felt himself receive. It wasn't much. Leon didn’t suddenly become a hulk or a bodybuilder but he felt something shift. His shoulders widened slightly, his chest inflated a bit and his butt became less saggy. A single vein buried deep in the layers of fat in his arm engorged itself with blood and snaked its way to the surface, pushed upwards by growing muscle and diminishing fat. He felt physically stronger, faster, like he might be able to actually run a bit without throwing up. He didn't actually look all that different, a quarter of an inch taller, a few pounds shifted from fat to muscle, but inside he felt amazing, electric, like this is what he was made for. Leon suspected that feeling had to do with the other notification waiting for him just below the first.

“You have gained a class perk.”

“Gym Rat: as a juggernaut, you feel comfortable in all athletic spaces.”

Leon felt all his worries and insecurities about being in the gym fade away. He scanned his student ID and strode past the muscled jock at the front counter confidently, flashing him a smile and a slight wave. Leon felt just as comfortable in the gym as if he was at the comic book shop, no more, he felt like he was at home chilling with Edward, like he could do anything and give a damn about who judged him. Leon knew he should be concerned about how this game had physically changed his body and mind so easily but he was too invigorated, too electrified, and he had another quest to do. 

“Do a push-up.” It read simply. 

Leon hadn’t tried to do a push-up since 8th grade gym class but he felt confident he was capable of it with the boost to strength he had received. Leon weaved through the various machines and stations manned by the university’s resident hunks and athletes, some gave him dirty looks but most looked right through him. Leon found he couldn’t care less. He found a corner of the free mat and assumed the push-up position. Despite the recent slight boost to his athleticism, it was a task easier said than done. Leon went down as far as he could until he felt his arms begin to shake, about an inch, then pushed himself up with substantial effort.

To his disappointment, the quest still read as incomplete. He reasoned it must be due to his, form. He tried to go lower but ended up face-first on the mat, unable to push himself up. He went to his knees and did a push-up but that didn’t count either. Nor did a push-up with his butt out in the air, or one in which he rested on the ground for a few seconds in the middle. Leon was about to give up when he saw a guy around his age approach. 

He didn't have the same gorilla bulk as some of the huge men in the gym but his body was visibly lean and defined through his tee-shirt, maybe a runner. “Need any help there” he asked. Leon couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or mocking but his new total comfort in the gym provided by his “Gym Rat” perk made him not care. 

“I’m trying to do a push-up.”

“Just one?” The guy asked with a grin. 

“Gotta start somewhere,” Leon said humbly. 

“Your problem is your stance.” He said. He instructed Leon to assume the plank position and then went about correcting Leon’s form. His arms were too close together, his core was not properly engaged, back not fully straight. The man introduced himself as Cal and then instructed Leon to try again. Leon tried another pushup lowering his body slowly “Lower, lower” Cal called Leon and complied though his face turned red and he wanted to die. Cal didn't let him stop till the tip of his dick was practically touching the mat. Then he went back up, slowly and with more exertion than he had ever used in his whole life. 

He was rewarded with a ding and a slew of notifications. 

“You have reached level three. You receive attribute points based on your class: +3 Strength, +1 Charisma +0.3 Intelligence.” 

“You have gained a class perk.”

“Perfect Form: as a juggernaut, you instinctually know the proper form to maximize the performance of any athletic endeavor.”

Leon felt his body shift again from where it lay crumpled on the mat. His stomach deflated slightly, and under his man boobs pecs started to form. His legs lengthened a bit causing his shorts to only reach his knees instead of past them. The changes were as small as the first but Leon couldn’t help but feel amazed. He tried to do another push-up and found that his body now naturally assumed the perfect position without him having to think about it. With his new points in strength, he was able to push out another perfect military-style push-up, and two more before he flopped down onto the mat, fully spent.

“You're getting the hang of it,” Cal said smiling. If he had seen Leon's body change he made no indication. “good luck on your workout,” he called out as he left.

“Yeah see you around man” Leon called after him. He felt on cloud nine. At this rate, Leon would reach level 10 by the hour. On cue, two more quests appeared for him to complete. He wondered how Edward was doing, if he had even gained one level by now. Maybe once Leon had power gamed his way into OP status he could help his friend with a quest or two. 

-

Edward walked across the quad at a brisk pace. He would have run if his bony arms and legs didn't make him look like a chicken when he did. Edward wasn’t quite as sold on this whole bizarre real life video game thing as Leon was but he also wasn’t about to let Leon leave him in the dust. Edward's first quest was pretty simple if non-specific, “be within 50 feet of 30 or more people”. 

Edwards tendency to avoid large crowds gave him the advantage of knowing exactly where they often were. The coffee shop by the quad came right to his mind. At this time of the day, the place was packed with students either leaving or going to their mid-day classes. The place terrified Edward, the thought of so many eyes on him, judging him, mocking him, and yet Edward reasoned there was no harm in at least checking the place out, it not as if the quest required him to talk to anyone. 

As he walked Edward wondered at the game. Leon, true to self had accepted the game right away without question. If his friend was muscular instead of fat he might be called a himbo. It wasn’t that he was dumb, he was getting a degree in public health, but he also didn't have a habit of thinking things through particularly throughly. Their freshmen year Leon had built a glider out of the shower curtain and broke his arm jumping off the second floor of their dorm with it. And last year Leon had thought it was a good idea to subscribe to some shady porn website that had given his computer a virus so corruptive even tech wizard Alvis couldn’t remove it. 

Though they were inseparable best friend Edward was the opposite. He was much more cautious about everything, sometimes to irrational extremes. Last semester Edward had almost dropped out because he was too nervous to get approval for his classes from his sociology advisor. If he was scared of his sixty-five year old sweet as candy professor talking to guys he liked was surly out of the question, not that he would have any hope of success with his appearance. 

As Edward walked across the quad he avoided eye contact with students crowded onto the open green sitting and chatting or throwing frisbees. Edward felt drowned in the sea of people, though the lawn wasn’t nearly dense enough to fulfill the quest. 

The line for the coffee shop was out the door which made him want to throw up. He walked slowly forward waiting for the quest to complete. Finally, when he was only a few feet away, practically in line the quest was fulfilled and his experience bar to level two filled fully.

Edward heard a “ding” in his head and several notifications filled his vision startling him.  

“You have reached level two. You receive attribute points based on your class: +3 Charisma, +1 Intelligence +0.3 Strength.”

“You have gained a class perk.”

“People Person: Those around you feel your natural charm and are more likely to accept you in a neutral or positive way, potentially even striking up a conversation.”

Edward felt a strange itch on his brow and a pressure on his jaw but ignored it. He didn't know what to make of the messages. The stats seemed somewhat consistent with role-playing video games, and he supposed the break down made sense with his class. Still, he wasn’t sure how something like charisma would be incorporated into real life, nor his new People Person perk. As a sociology major Edward knew all too well how complex human interaction was. The perk seemed to imply that not only would the game be changing him but also the people around him and their perceptions. He wasn’t sure if that was even possible not to mention ethical.

“Introduce yourself to a stranger,” the next quest said popping up on the side of Edward's vision. That more than any ethical quandary made Edward scared. It was all well and good for the game to claim that people would react positively to Edward but he knew firsthand that wasn’t true. 

“Hey, are you in line” two girls who had walked up behind him asked. Edward froze, realizing he had positioned himself at an awkward spot half in line half not. The girls didn't seem disgusted by his presence but they also didn't seem particularly enthralled, they just wanted to get their coffee. 

Edward nodded his head, the best he could do with his crippling social anxiety. He moved more obviously in line and the girl went back to chatting. As the line crept closer Edward tried and failed several times to work up the courage to introduce himself to the girls. He came up with various scenarios in his head of how he could make an introduction, all of which ended with the girl calling him a creep. 

Finally, after ten minutes, Edward reached the front of the line. He realized in his attempts to complete the quest he hadn’t so much as glanced at the menu. 

“What will you be having today” a tall tan worker asked, his tattooed arms pleasantly stretching out the sleeves of his shirt. Edward just opened and closed his mouth like a fish, mind suddenly blank of every coffee drink ever, including coffee. 

The worker, whose name tag ironically read “Tag” saw his confusion and smiled. “It's a big menu I know. It's fall, so you can never go wrong with a PSL.” He saw Edwards look confused and he sheepishly clarified “Pumpkin spice latte.”

“I’ll do that,” Edward said, voice quiet but clear. He took a deep breath then before he could think about it blurted out “I’m Edward by the way”. 

Tag gave a handsome grin and wrote the name on a cup. “Thanks, Edward, I’ll that get you out for you right away.”

Edward heard a “ding” but ignored it and the notifications that popped up as he paid on the tablet Tag turned towards him. His hands shook as he selected the largest tip options and stumbled over to the designated area to stand while waiting for a drink and looked at the notifications. 

“You have reached level three. You receive attribute points based on your class: +3 Charisma, +1 Intelligence, +0.3 Strength.”

“You have gained a class perk.”

“Social Sync: You are naturally attuned to the tone and rhythm of conversation making awkward pauses and interruptions a thing of the past.”

New quests popped up as well, two this time. “Make someone laugh” and “Offer someone advice.”

As the messages appeared Edward felt the same strange pain in his face, like the soreness he sometimes got after smiling all day with Leon. He lifted a hand to his face and felt skin much smoother than his normal rough, dry, pockmarked complexion. His weak chin, which had always been a source of insecurity no longer felt totally concave but pushed out somewhat lending a strange sharpness to his jaw. Edward was about to take out his phone to examine his reflection when he heard a voice beside him. 

“He’s so dreamy, isn’t he,” a man said in his right ear. All his life Edward had been painfully scrawny, wrists the size of cucumber and ribs showing through his pale skin. This man was even more slender like he could break with a strong gust of wind. He held a coffee cup that had the name Trent on the side. The guy didn't seem to mind Edwards's silence and continued staring at Tag longingly. “The coffee here is so bitter but the eye candy is so sweet” he mused. 

“Yeah that guy is what I would call a full-sized candy bar” the comment came out before Edward had time to think. It was a mediocre joke, wordy and unoriginal to a fault, but to painfully shy and unfunny Edward he felt like he was a standup comedian. Trent smiled and gave a slight chuckle, though his quest remained incomplete, probably because the laugh was fake.

“He’s a Snickers, and let's just say I’m not allergic to nuts.” Edward tried again, this time eliciting a better reaction from Trent. A slight giggle was all it took for the quest to complete and Edwards' experience bar to increase half the way to level four. 

“Well both of us are going to go hungry. He’s straight.”

“Really” Edward asked. As a closeted gay until he was 19, when he had finally worked up the courage to tell Leon, Edward thought he had pretty good gaydar, and that Tag guy was anything but straight. “How do you know?” He asked Social Sync perk causing him to put the perfect pause between his declaration of doubt and his question without him even noticing.

“He used to date some girl” Trent responded with a touch of disgust.

“Maybe he’s bi,” Edward said and Trent’s face lit up as if he had never considered the thought.

“Oh wow, do you really think so” He asked excitedly. “Now that you say it he is kind of flirty when he gives me my drink.”

“You should just go up and talk to him” Edward advised sagely. “I mean what is the worst that could happen.” The advice was hollow seeing as how Edward had never even breathed in the direction of any of his crushes. Trent seemed to sense this and looked at Edward dubiously. The game system however didn't seem to care. It marked his “give advice” quest as complete and alerted him he had reached level four with a ding. At this rate, Leon didn't stand a chance of reaching level ten before him. 

“You have reached level four. You receive attribute points based on your class: +3 Charisma, +1 Intelligence, +0.3 Strength.”

“Sage: Your charisma gives you an innate knowledge of people's desires, both conscious and unconscious. Note: The higher your charisma the more attuned this sense becomes. Note: this effect is 92.22% more effective on people with a penis.”

Edward felt a shift both in his physiology and in his brain, like before he felt his face move, bones like continental plates drifting every so slightly apart into a more attractive configuration. 

Inside his head, he felt something shift far more drastically. The three +1 boosts to his intelligence had been so slight he barely noticed them, just a slight speeding up of his thoughts and a boost to his reasoning ability. This new change in his mind was drastic, impossible not to notice. A sixth sense emerged, filling his head with a source of knowledge he wasn’t quite sure what to do with. It was almost as if he had gained the ability to read minds only not so strong and without any words, only feelings. Suddenly Edward felt Trent’s desire, a sexual one, not just for the barista, but also for the group of frat boys in the corner of the shop and strangely enough for Edward. He felt others' desires too, though much less clearly. 

Two guys standing to his left both hoped the other would buy the alcohol for tonight's party. The other men in the shop only gave wisps of desire. Edward suspected that had something to do with proximity and his still relatively low charisma.

The women on the other hand Edward could barely sense, only receiving a small tingle like TV static instead of anything readable. Edward wondered at that strange 92.22% bonus towards men. Edward took a moment to reflect on the class he had been assigned. Could Leon be right? Could the name of his class be a gay joke, that he was meant to charm not venomous creatures in baskets but instead the snake in men's pants? It seemed somehow too vulgar for a video game though Edward knew that was illogical. If it was true it begged some concerning questions, like how the game had known he was gay and what exactly it was setting him up to do. 

“Would you go talk to him?” Trent asked suddenly snapping Edward back to the present. His sixth sense faded to the back of his mind, though he could still sense Trent’s desire. “Sorry I know that's a lot to ask but I think you would have more luck than me.” He looked at Edward with puppy dog eyes filled with earnest hope. “Be my wingman?”

A notification appeared obscuring a part of Edward’s vision. 

“Quest offered! Set up Trent and Tag romantically. Reward: XP”

A box under the quest notification had two boxes with “yes” and “no” options. Edward had no idea how to select either option. Out loud he said “I’ll do my best,” the notification disappeared and reappeared small in the quest part of his interface. 

Trent smiled “Really? I can’t thank you enough.” He felt Trent’s desire shift from lust to hope. “Just like using a pickup line or something. Don’t make it too awkward” he said suddenly nervous.

“Don’t worry I got this,” Edward said with about 1000% times more confidence than he felt. He had absolutely no business getting other people's tail when he was still a virgin himself. Edward just knew he was going to make an absolute fool of himself.

-

It turned out that the quests to advance to level four were not as easy as Leon had imagined. The first quest “run a lap” proved exhausting but doable. Leon made his way to the elevated track that encircled the gym and with perfect form, if less perfect endurance, ran the loop. Before the game, Leon would have had to walk most of it, but the two levels and six points he had gained in strength allowed him to push through with a slow jog. The quest's completion bumped him 3/4 of the way to level four. He had no doubt the other quest would get him all the way there if only it was possible. 

“Do a pull-up.” How hard could one pull up be? Extremely difficult it turned out. Dangling from the elevated bar Leon tried with all his might to heft his flabby body up. He only managed to lift his head halfway before the effort became too much and he was forced to give up. 

Leon knew it wasn’t his form keeping him from completing the exercise like it had been with the push-up. Instead, it came down to a plain and simple lack of strength. Leon didn't know what to do. He felt frustrated that he had hit a roadblock so soon. He looked at the experience progress bar, so tantalizingly close to the next level. Maybe he would have to do it the old-fashioned way. Train his back and his biceps extensively until he could do a pull-up on his own. Leon knew something like that would take weeks if not months but he was nothing if not stubborn.

Determined not to give up Leon found a set of dumbbells and began to lift with perfect form. The activity didn't provide the same instant gratification as leveling up did, but Leon was starting to understand how people could get addicted to this. As he worked his eyes wandered to the graphical display imprinted on either side of his vision. He found he could unfocus on the information and the display would blur unobscuring his vision. He focused again and the quest and progress bar came back into his field of vision. Leon couldn’t tell if he was imagining it but it seemed as if the bar was more full. He did a few more curls and watched the progress bar tick up the tiniest amount. He lifted the other arm and it moved again. He grabbed the largest weight he could conceivably lift and using all this strength curled it with both arms, the progress bar moved, still not much but more than before. Leon grinned. He was pretty sure he had just found an exploit.

Thirty minutes later a tired Leon prepared for his last set of leg presses to get him to level four. The “exploit” he had found wasn’t as much of a hack as he had originally hoped. Working out gave him experience to fill the bar but not nearly as efficiently as quests. He had to go from machine to machine loading up the maximum amount of weight he could lift, not much, and completing various exercises until that part of his body was completely exhausted. His “perfect form” perk ensured that he was able to complete each exercise to its fullest despite not knowing how to do any of the exercises. All he had to do was approach a machine or a set of weights and his body would suddenly assume the position.

Even with his perfect form protecting him from injury Leon was exhausted. The day's gym session was more exercise than he had ever done in his life. His hair was matted to his forehead and dark sweat spots had appeared around the collar and pits of his Superman shirt. His body felt like a sack of bricks like he could fall asleep and not wake up till his next birthday. Leon persisted and as he performed his tenth leg press he heard a ding. His legs slammed back to their resting position and he breathed heavily, feeling his body begin to change and notifications pop up. 

“You have reached level four. You receive attribute points based on your class: +3 Strength, +1 Charisma +0.3 Intelligence.” 

“You have gained a class perk.”

“Animal Endurance: The rate at which athletic activities tire you is decreased significantly while the rate of recovery is greatly improved. Note: the potency of this effect scales off of strength.”

Leon felt his muscles harden, his arms bulge, his legs bulk up and shift. His core burned as his abs shredded themselves and strengthened. The layer of fat on Leon’s body, though still present thinned. Underneath it his muscles went from average to distinctly fit, no great titan yet but also not a slouch either. His weariness from all the exercise it took to reach level four drained away thanks to his perk and Leon once again felt reinvigorated. 

He marched over to the nearest pull-up bar and with only a small amount of effort hoisted himself up with the power of his upper body. The completed quest brought him a third of the way up to level five. Two more quests appeared. “Bench press a third of your body weight.” And “exchange workout tips”. Neither seemed especially difficult. 

Leon looked around to see if he could find Cal to knock out the more social of the quests but the helpful runner was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Leon found a benchpress machine and went to load it up. Leon was shocked to realize he had no idea what his body weight was. Before Altered Reality, Leon had weighed 230 pounds, now though he could be anything. Leon squinted at the holographic display in the sides of his vision and found with effort he was able to bring up a stats page. 

Leon: 

210 Pounds

5’10’’ Feet

Strength: 11

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 8.9

When he played video games with his roommates Alvis was the one who focused on the numbers, min-maxing his character to be the strongest possible. Edward liked to talk to the NPCs, to understand the story, and Leon, well Leon liked to punch things and not worry too much about the boring stuff. Still, with his 8.9 in intelligence, Leon couldn't help but notice some changes to his body composition. There was the inch in height his body had gained from those three levels and the twenty pounds of weight he had lost. Leon suspected the total loss was more like 30 or 40 pounds of fat but that the added muscle made up the difference. His stats were interesting too. Leon hadn’t much thought about it but based on the quests and perks he had received the Juggernaut class seemed to be one that focused on athleticism. Despite that, he still received a marginal boost to charisma and intelligence at each level which he supposed were meant to keep him well rounded. Leon did the math, the current numbers would mean that his intelligence before the game had been eight, which seemed right, and his strength a two, also unfortunately right. The four in charisma seemed rude, but Leon supposed he had never had much luck with women for a reason.

Doing math once again Leon loaded up the bench press, factoring in the weight of the bar to reach seventy pounds one-third of his weight. He assumed the position under it, with perfect form thanks to his perk; then with substantial effort, Leon lifted the bar over his chest and with as much control as he could manage lowered it. That was the easy part, the hard part was pushing it back up. Leon clenched his toes, bugged his eyes, and pushed with all his eleven strength upward. His mind suddenly flashed to the bar crushing him, rolling down onto his neck and ending this game. Panic more than determination got the bar up and back to its starting position. The quest was completed and the progress bar to level five was filled in another third. 

Only once the bar was fully returned to its resting position could Leon see the girl standing over him, upside down from his prone view. 

“I was ready to pull that thing off you.” The girl said in something between a mix of condescension and admiration. Leon sat up.

“Umm, thanks.” He said nervously. He recognized this girl from his advanced biology seminar, although she didn't seem to know him. She looked very pretty with her high ponytail and tight yoga pants, which only made his voice stutter more. “I’m Leon.”

“Cassy,” she said.

An idea came to his mind. “Got any tips for this one?” Leon asked, hoping to knock out his remaining quest. 

Before Cassy could answer though a tall man in a low-cut tank top that showed off his ripped torso and cannonball shoulders approached and wrapped his mammoth vascular arms around her. “Cassy, why the fuck are you talking to this fatty?” He asked as if Leon were some flaming garbage outside his window, offensive to his sight. Leon recognized him as a member of Alpha Sigma, one of the best and most dickish fraternities on campus.  

“Fuck off Hunter” Cassy said rolling her eyes.

“Yeah fuck off Hunter” Leon repeated. He instantly regretted it.

Hunter's eyes went wide, and a vein on his neck began to pulse. Leon stared back at him with a level of defiance he knew defied both the social order and logic. Leon had always been brash, a trait now manifested in full force by the extreme comfort he felt in the gym due to his Gym Rat perk.

Cassy shot him a look asking if he was trying to get himself killed then turned to Hunter to defuse the situation. “Come on babe let's go.” 

Hunter heard none of it. He got right up in Leon's face so close Leon could smell the sweat on his body and the ZYN in his breath. “Listen here tubby, this is a gym. The McDonalds is down the street. Now fuck off or I’ll turn your happy meal into chicken tenders. Ya hear?” He stood up and started to walk away Cassy unhappily following after him. “And don’t ever talk to my girl again homo.”

Leon knew he should be scared but instead, he found the whole interaction funny, his “Gym Rat” perk really might be working too well. “Got any gym tips for me” he called after Hunter, wanting to still get something out of the interaction. He couldn’t wait till he was bigger than that arrogant prick and no one could talk to him that way.

The frat bro turned around “Eat a fucking salad” he called. Leon’s last quest remained incomplete. He wondered why for a second then realized it said “exchange workout tips.” 

“You should really get off the roids, it's killing the last two of your brain cells,” Leon called after him. Hunter moved to turn around, probably to beat the shit out of Leon but Cassy grabbed his hand and dragged him away. The quest completed and Leon reached level five. Not too bad for seven charisma he thought proudly. The now familiar ding sounded along with a wall of notifications. Leon began to feel strange. A biting ache began to thrum in the pit of his stomach. Doubled over Leon rushed to the bathroom, careful to head in in the opposite direction of Hunter and Cassy. 

He burst into the empty men's room and then into the nearest stall he could find. As he sat on the toilet the pain intensified. Something was happening and it hurt like all hell.

-

Edward had no idea why Trent had even started talking to him. That wasn’t something people ever did to ugly Edward, maybe point and whisper, but never strike up a conversation and surly never ask him for help. It must be his stupid charisma and perks scrambling everyone's brain he concluded. Edward was about to turn back to Trent and tell him he had made a mistake and that he actually couldn’t help him when he heard “Edward” yell from behind the bar. He saw Tag the sexy fit barista holding a steaming to-go cup and looking around the coffee shop for Edward. Trent gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up.

Edward felt as if he was moving in slow motion like he was making his way to the gallows. Tag saw him coming and smiled, extending the drink towards him. Edward reached out to take the drink, his finger ever so slightly brushing up against Tag’s hand in the process. He wasn’t sure if it was the touch or just the proximity but he felt his new “Sage” perk activate in vivid detail.

A picture suddenly flashed in Edward’s mind. A subterranean location full of flashing lights and loud rhythmic music, a rave Edward realized. He saw Tag standing alone in an open button-down shirt showing off sexy tattooed muscles. Edward flashed back to reality. His sudden vision had caused him to linger a bit too long grabbing his drink and he jerked his hand away awkwardly. 

Edward retracted his hand and gave a smile hoping to save the moment. “Hey, are you going to the rave tonight?” Edward asked as casually as he could “I think I have seen you at a few before. I heard the one tonight is supposed to be especially hype.”

Tag seemed surprised for a moment then reassessed Edward his demeanor shifting from customer service friendly, to peer in-group easygoing. “You mean sewer fest? I want to man, but all my friends are busy tonight and I don’t want to go alone.”

“Oh damn that sucks,” Edward said. He was mindful of the stares he was getting from the other students around him but couldn’t bring himself to care, this was going too well. “I wish I could go but I have a paper I have to write tonight. My friend Trent was actually just saying he was thinking about going though.” Edward pointed back at Trent who gave a little wave. 

“Oh, I know him.” Tag said when he saw Trent. “That would be sick man. I really don’t want to miss Sewer Fest. How about this,” he took a cup sleeve and started to write on it, “Give your friend my number and tell him to text me” he handed it to Edward. 

“Will do. You two have fun” Edward said as he walked away. Trent looked at him wide-eyed and was about to say something but Edward made a signal that they shouldn’t talk about it inside.

“This is for you,” Edward said as he handed Trent Tag’s number once they were outside. 

“No way. You're actually a god. How did you do that?” Trent asked amazed.

“Don’t get too excited,” Edward said sheepishly. “You're going to a rave, and it’s in the sewer.” 

“A rave? You know what, I’ll take it. I really can’t thank you enough.” 

“Oh, it was nothing. Honestly, you helped me just as much as I helped you.”

Trent ignored the cryptic comment. “Well I should go, I guess I have to find an outfit to wear to a sewer. Would all white be a bad idea?” He handed Edward his phone. “Will you put your number in my phone? I’ll text you how tonight goes.” 

The two exchanged information then Trent left. Edward stood there sipping his latte, which really was too bitter. He saw Trent typing out a message on his phone as he walked away.

Moments later Edward heard a “ding” as the quest was completed and he reached level five. Notifications sprung up in his vision, more than usual. Edward couldn’t read them, he couldn’t focus on anything. His mostly full coffee slipped out of his hand and spilled onto the ground as a golden nebula sprung up around him and his face and body were wracked with pain. He started to scream.

[moonsaver]

I cant help but think The Family and whoever helped actually construct the Dreamscape actually doesnt use it. I feel like they all stay far far away from actually hopping into the Dreamscape unless its for matters they need to attend to, just to keep up appearances

Like those influencers who advertise a product but never actually use it themselves? Something like that. The real dreamscape is falling apart at the seams, and is deathly unstable.

That was just a small thought. Next is my brain rot.

Imagine Yan!Sunday sleep deprives you. Very, very often.

You get cranky, irritated, annoyed at the slightest thing, and your jabs only get more and more personal as he keeps you continuously awake. Loud, vast spaces full of bustling people, bright lights, constantly forcing you to shove down caffeine-pumped drinks that are sometimes manufactured by The Family personally.

And for once, you are begging to go to sleep. To finally hit your head on a soft pillow in a quiet and dark room. And he lets you. You almost welcome the dream fluid, as he gently places you down into it (by his insistence, of course).

And you hadn't paid attention when he was talking – of course you didn't, practically delirious from whatever they pump into those energy drinks. The dream fluid in your private room is much more so different from the average one. Its almost a light gold color, and if you didn't hate Sunday so much, you would have told him it reminded you of his beautiful, gold eyes.

Although.. the dreamscape you end up in is more like a dream rather than another reality. And the dream itself isn't what you'd prefer. Every move of yours is calculated by the crafter, and someone else is in the scenario of the dream with them – you only practically live through their eyes. That "someone" is supposed to be you. You, as Sunday's most caring lover. In the dream, you're an idealized version of the relationship. You brush his hair out of his face, fetch coffee for the both of you, laugh softly when he makes a joke instead of staying quiet and letting it hang awkwardly in the air. And you know this.. simulation like the back of your hand. You've been forced to dream about it for roughly the 50th time. Sometimes the sentences rearrange, but they stay true to their message; do not bother resisting. Not even in your dreams are you free. Freedom tastes like the gold you bathe in. The gold that watches you doze off, and observes your every move. Gold that eyes anyone who even dares speak to you. Gold – as you've learnt – tastes quite bitter.

[ahockeywrites]

between the fog, i see you

pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader requested? yes rating: 18+ warnings: smut, oral (f! receiving), mentions of the devils lettuce, alcohol consumption, smut under the influence, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it) if you like it, please reblog :)

Sweat, alcohol and weed were all that you could smell as you made your way through the copious amounts of bodies who were in your way. Smoking may have been outlawed inside buildings, but it didn’t stop people from bringing their vapes into the club where you were trying your best to find your friends. Sophie said that she had found a booth where some of her brother’s friends were nursing beers after their game. You hadn’t watched it but were aware of the score. The Devils had won the game 8-4 and the captain had a hat trick.

You liked Nico, or at least you did before he ignored you the whole night when you went to one of the Devils’ charity nights with Sophie’s brother hanging off your arm. The pair of you were strictly platonic and you only agreed to tag along if you could bring her brother to your upcoming fashion show where you were showcasing designs to various sportswear companies and having an actual athlete there would help you out.

From that moment on, Nico did everything in his power to ignore you. You were buying a round of drinks? Suddenly he didn’t want one. You were hosting a party? Suddenly something came up and he was too busy to attend.

The crush you had on him when you first met had dwindled down but never disappeared. It was still there. You always found a way to watch the game when you weren’t in the studio and enjoyed when the social media team posted photos of their captain. The way he rallied the team to work in tandem with each other. His sweaty hair that you imagined running your hands through. The photos did something to you that you refused to admit, even to yourself.

Lights shone down over the table that Sophie was sat at and she was deep in conversation with Nico. His hair looked slightly more golden than usual, but you put that down to the lighting and haze at which you were looking at him with.

Jack was the first to notice you and jumped up to give you his seat before Sophie pushed a glass with some concoction in it towards you. It was a no-brainer for you to pick it up and down the rest of the glass.

The booth filled quickly with large hockey bodies and after a lot of pushing and shoving, you ended up three shots deep, sat next to Nico Hischier. The exact man you didn’t want to be near in any capacity, let alone slightly intoxicated.

Someone handed you another drink before Dawson brought you into a conversation about the new clothing you had designed. You loved talking about your work and it was your dream to continue designing clothes. It just so happened that your supervisor at college had a way to get you into working in sportswear manufacturing so following an internship at a manufacturing plant, you had started developing clothes for athletes. Having Sophie as a friend and her brother as an athlete, it made sense to start your research with him and then branch out.

It was after another round of drinks when you started becoming a little more loose lipped, talking about how your ex-boyfriend just wasn’t good enough for you and how you were considering going back into the dating pool. Just dipping your toes in, not looking for anything serious just yet. But you had Sophie to blame when she brought up, in front of everyone, that he had never given you an orgasm and that you’d never had one before.

Your cheeks flushed red, and you hid in whoever’s chest was beside you. You couldn’t be here for this discussion. When you resurfaced, you saw shocked faces.

Fuck.

Nico was the one who was sat next to you. Nico’s chest was the chest you had hidden in. Your eyes widened. You couldn’t be here anymore.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you announced, still looking at all the shocked faces. “I’ll be right back.”

You didn’t even wait for the guys to move; you climbed over them and ran to the bathroom. Fuck. You looked at yourself in the mirror. To the average person, you looked fine, great even. To yourself, you had fucked up royally.

The man who you had a crush on, the man who hated you, now knew that your ex had never brought you to climax, and parts of your highlighter were now on his fitted, black t-shirt. The one that exaggerated his biceps and allowed you to see parts of his tattoo. The one that he sometimes used to wipe sweat off his forehead with and then a slither of his abs were on show.

You turned the faucet on, waiting for the cool water to come out so you could put some on the back of your neck. There was no way in hell that you were going to splash some on your face because then that would make it look like you had been crying. Only a few tears had come out and due to the waterproof mascara, you put on before coming out, it hadn’t run. Yet.

Bass thumped through the bathroom you found yourself in, but it was quieter in there. it gave you time to compose yourself, pull yourself together. You waited to catch your breath before standing up and checking that your outfit was clean. Who knew what had gone on in this bathroom before.

A knock on the door threw you off and you walked over to it to see if it was another patron waiting for it. You heard your name being shouted over and over through the hard wood.

“If you don’t open this fucking door, I’m going to kick it down,” the voice commanded. Fuck, whoever that was knew how to control with words.

“Alright fine,” you conceded, unlocking the door and allowing whoever it was to enter the bathroom.

You were shocked when you saw Nico on the other side and even more shocked when he closed the bathroom door behind the pair of you and locked it. His eyes were dark and if you looked closely, you would have seen the fire behind them.

He was infuriated. How did your ex have a woman like you but never made you feel how he could. He had been infatuated with you from the moment he met you but thought you were dating his team mate so were naturally off limits. But when it came out tonight that you were single and looking to start dating again, all the reigns had gone from him. You hiding in his shirt was the last straw. Your head being so close to his cock made him turn feral.

One of his hands made its way to your shoulder and the other to your hair, bringing a loose strand of it behind your ear. Nico’s body towered over yours and he brought his lip to the shell of your ear.

“That bastard of an ex-boyfriend,” he kissed your ear between words, “never got you to come.” His kisses moved from your ear to down your neck, sucking occasionally. “Speak princess,” Nico encouraged you.

“No,” your voice wobbled as you spoke back. “He didn’t.”

“It must be a shame,” his hands moved lower to rest on your ass which was accentuated by your leather skirt, slowly grabbing the cheeks. “To never have a man make you come, want to make you come. Want to make you scream for him. Want to make you see stars over and over and over again.”

Your eyes rolled back as Nico found the spot on your neck that no other man had found so quickly. He sucked hard as your head lulled to the side, the feeling of heat building between your legs was impossible to ignore. You had to refrain from asking him to move his hands because you couldn’t look needy in front of Nico, in a dark club bathroom. Could you?

“Please,” you whimpered, the words barely audible over the music pulsating through the room. His gaze pierced yours as he moved a hand up the curves of your body, coming to rest on your bra-less chest. A bra wouldn’t have worked with the outfit, and you hadn’t expected to end up in this position.

Nico’s thumb ghosted over your nipple and a whine escaped your lips, asking for more.

“Please what, princess?” He asked with a smirk on his face. Nico knew exactly what you wanted, you wanted him between your legs; hand, cock, or tongue. He wasn’t picky at all, anything you wanted, he would happily give.

“Want you,” you got out through deep breaths.

“You’re in luck,” the Swiss man smiled. “Want you too.”

His lip collided with yours, his tongue tasting of the whiskey he was sipping on earlier. Nico took no time in pulling down the front of your shirt as the kiss turned heated, exposing your breasts to the cool, bathroom air.

“Been thinking about these since we first met, fuck,” his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking again. A moan escaped from your lips, but you didn’t care. You were too caught up in the moment.

Your hands finally found a place to rest, in Nico’s hair pulling and tugging every last strand. This wasn’t going to be the sweetest hookup you’d had, but it certainly was going to be the hottest.

Nico’s kisses began to head south, over your shirt until he reached the waistband of your skirt. It was short and tight, and Nico could have come at the sight. It wasn’t until he swiped two of his fingers between your legs that he realised you had no underwear on.

“A skirt this short and no panties?” The captain questioned with a cock of his head. All you could muster up as a response was a nod. “Once I get started princess, I won’t be stopping unless you say Islanders.” The smirk on his face was back as he made you repeat the safe word. All because he got his hat trick past the Islanders tonight. If you had a little more sense in you, you’d have rolled your eyes and walked out. But there was something about this side of Nico that you wanted to see more of. Needed to.

Two fingers pushed into you and the feeling was beautiful, the callouses on Nico’s fingers, the way his palm found your clit. The everything. He kissed with the same rhythm as he worked you open with his fingers, only stopping once to take his fingers out and lick them, tasting you on him.

“You’re delicious,” he whispered before lowering his head to between your thighs. “Just a taste,” Nico winked before diving into your pussy.

Turns out that just a taste meant bringing you on the edge of orgasm three times before announcing that when you were going to come, it was going to be on his cock.

“Just fuck me already Nico,” you complained as he expertly undid his belt then yanked down his trousers and boxers, exposing his hardened cock.

“Turn round, hands on the wall,” Nico commanded, flicking up the skirt over your ass. You obliged, realising that the wall was actually a mirror and you’d be able to see everything he did. Fuck, he knew what he was doing.

Kisses were peppered up and down your neck as Nico’s hands started massaging the muscle of your ass. It felt relaxing and you leant into his touch, egging him on.

A slap to your butt brought you out of that state of relaxation and you felt Nico’s cock sitting between your legs, collecting your wetness to use as a lubricant. It took everything in his might to not slam himself into you but somehow, he refrained, teasing you.

Your ass moved back onto his lower abdomen and started grinding, you needed friction, something to make this feeling go. It felt like you needed to let go, to have something push you over the edge. It was unusual but your body started moving of its own accord.

“Does my girl want my cock?” Nico teased, lining himself up with you. You nodded in response and twisted your neck so that you could get the right angle to kiss him again.

Nico pushed his hips up towards yours, sinking himself fully into you as he continued to kiss the moans you made as he stretched you out inch by inch. He was longer and thicker than your ex and as he started moving in and out you could feel him reaching areas that no one else had.

The stretch burnt beautifully and all you could do was let Nico piston his hips into you, leaving no mercy. Expletives left your mouth as though it was a prayer as he continued to snap his hips up and down. A hand moved around from your ass to grasp a nipple and he rolled the pert bud between his fingers.

You cried out in pleasure, not knowing what the feeling in the bottom of your stomach was. Your body felt as though it was on fire, tingling throughout. Your breath became shallow and sped up and Nico knew exactly what to do.

Continuing to thrust into you was the easy part, the hard part for the captain was getting you to open your legs that little bit more so he could find your clit once more.

“Princess,” Nico groaned breathlessly. You moaned as he stilled inside you. “Put your foot up on the basin,” his free hand pointed in the direction he wanted. It took you a moment to respond but a hard slap on your ass brought you back to earth and when he told you what he wanted you to do again, all you could do was oblige because Nico had you wrapped around his little finger.

“Good girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear before pulling your hair back to make you look into his eyes, and it sent shockwaves down your spine. No one had ever called you that before, but you liked it. You really liked it.

“Next time I’m fucking that ass,” Nico’s finger circled around your tight hole but moved it to your clit and started rubbing tight circles on the bud. When he started moving his hips again, that feeling of something building up started again.

“Fuck,” you moaned, head lulling to the side. “It feels like something is gonna break soon.”

He couldn’t come before you, not when he came into this bathroom to make you come. It wasn’t meant to be anything other than an orgasm but when he tasted you, he couldn’t help himself. Your walls tightened around him and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of release.

“Good,” Nico spoke with authority. “Relax and let go,” he commanded, and you listened. Your legs started to tremble, and you could feel your eyes start rolling into the back of your head. “That’s it, princess,” Nico coached. “Such a good girl.”

Something snapped inside of you, and everything went black for a split second. This feeling of euphoria was nothing you had felt like before. This was what cloud nine felt like, ultimate pleasure and relaxation. Everything and nothing at the same time. The pleasure continued in waves as you felt Nico continue to pound into you.

Deep grunts filled your ear, and you knew what was coming next. Your ex always reached orgasm but never got you there and Nico who had never even touched your arm had you coming on his cock at the first attempt.

Nico’s hips stuttered and you felt his warm release inside you.

Shit, you had come back to reality. Had you just fucked Nico Hischier in a club bathroom? Apparently so. Had the aforementioned man just given you your first orgasm? Yes.

You had to get out of there. Not just the bathroom, not just the club, potentially the city. You had to get back to your apartment.

The mirror showed a woman royally fucked and there was nothing you could do about it. Your hands moved to flick your skirt back down and you walked out of the bathroom leaving Nico speechless.

[eldritch-spouse]

Eating at my own fingers for some Berle smut 😫😫😫

[Don't worry, he'll eat your fingers for you.]

TW: Foodplay; Dubious consent

Berle's steps echo around the inside of the manufacturing area.

" Lollipop! My sweet little gumdrop, my tootsie pie! "

Oh he wants something.

Finishing helping a fairly depleted chocolate flavor into a vat, you seal the exhausted slime in there and shiver as you come out of the frozen rooms, rubbing some warmth into your arms. It's crazy to think how much it must cost to keep this place so cool in the middle of literal Hell.

" Yes? "

" There you are! "

He announces, so close to the skin of your back that it nearly frightens the soul out of your body.

" Come come come- I need you to taste something immediately! "

That's half of your job nowadays. Running around taking note of which flavors are depleting, take them to the vats, and put a variety of sweet ice cream novelty flavors in your mouth. You're really hoping there's enough magic in these things to prevent you from getting cavities. Or maybe that's why he's always buying you "the best toothpaste out there for humans".

Part of you thinks sometimes Berle isn't even making you taste-test new flavors, he just wants to feed you. Which is fine by you, less time actually working.

You're dragged to the front of the shop, sort of. More like the area where people can choose to have independent scoops of ice cream from non-living samples. A sort of tasting booth, to make sure you don't just call a slime-cream to your table, taste them, only to make a face afterwards. You'd feel mildly offended in their place.

The thing is, "free tasting", in Gluttony, is about three or four fat scoops on an already large cone. You've been living here for a while, and less than that would probably be considered insulting.

In turn, that is also what Berle regularly attempts to shove in your mouth.

The prince is behind the balcony, reaching for a fresh container and twirling an original brand spoon in his hand. More than the excitement in his eyes, his own tail seems to dance behind the demon.

" New flavor? " Your eyes widen.

Berle hums brightly. " Perhaps! Oh yes, maybe! But not yet, too much to test, too much to think about legally ahah, providers, but I wanted you to test it out for me just this once, okay? Really fast- "

It's only after he retrieves a spoonful that you can see the ice cream itself. It looks creamy, swirls of soft lavender and salmon blending together nicely, a sugary sweet scent to it. Berle has such a talent for making any kind of ice cream look appetizing. This gift of his has made you reconsider an embarrassing amount of bizarre flavor mixes.

" Open wide! "

You do. Probably wider than you should have.

But it's reflex at this point. Like most gluttons, he's got this habit of simply overfilling a spoonful. Loading it with so much that one would guess his intent is to make you choke. But no such thing, Berle insisted when you pried, he merely forgot your limitations. He loved you, so he wanted you to have more, always.

Recently, the prince has gotten better with dosing for humans, in no small part due to the growing popularity of his establishment, bringing in customer diversity. You however, have choked and coughed food back out enough times to trigger a brand new survival mechanism at the mere utterance of 'open'. Your jaws part as much as your feeble human anatomy allows them to, sometimes popping in the process, and your tongue hangs to further keep things unobstructed.

Berle is bad at masking what pleases him.

He enjoys that you've learned to do this.

Seen by the tint to his cheeks as he eagerly shovels the spoonful into your mouth.

Predictably, it's so much that it makes your cheeks puff humorously, but it's manageable. You don't choke, just shiver at the coldness and try not to bite down. You let it sit in the gradually decreasing warmth of your mouth, mulling on the flavor.

Sweet, incredibly sweet, but light all the same. The burst of sugar isn't long enough to let you get sick of it, fizzing away to a pleasant freshness. You can't tell the ingredients used in this. Funnily enough, you almost never can, aside from the most common flavors such as strawberry, chocolate and caramel, for example. Maybe it's just that you don't have the same complexity in your tastebuds as a glutton does, so your brain mixes and mashes signals into something unreadable. You're aware of lot of Berle's subtle work goes entirely unnoticed to your dull palate- That he keeps trying to provide new taste experiences for you in spite of knowing you'll never get as much pleasure from any as one of his own is a testament to the prince's morbid love.

" So? So? " He grins so incredibly wide that his cheeks strain, offering you a second spoonful that is slowly accepted.

He's graced with a response as soon as you're not nearly drooling. " Amazing, as usual. It's not as heavy, I feel like I could have a lot more of this one than anything else but... "

" But...? " The demon's malleable horns shift as he tilts his head.

" But, I can't really tell what it's made of. " He hasn't even told you the name of it either, so there's hardly a hint.

" Ah yes yes, I expected you wouldn't. See, it's more uhm- Synthetic, than my usual work. Not at all like me, I think you'd know that of all people, lollipop, ahah- But part of my work does involve branching out, constantly, right? I'd usually be against something so err fabricated, so... Implicative, but I just couldn't pass this up! You understand, right? "

While he blabbers, you begin to sense a slight increase in temperature. You know damn right that Hell would blink out of existence faster than the air conditioning in this establishment could fail, so something's clearly amiss.

" -Especially after they said it would be perfectly safe for human consumption! Of course, I can't just sell this willy-nilly without being sure that things won't devolve into a rampant mess, it could be weaponized I know this- But perhaps as an offer to couples who come here together on their cute little meet-dates, right? The effects then would be harmless, like now- "

It's getting really hot. You're sweating. Should probably take that jacket off.

Wait, what did he say just now?

" The what-? "

" Hm? " Berle pauses.

" You said... " A fog clutches the creases of your mind, massaging it into a fine, aimless pulp. God fucking damn it, what did he just make you eat? " ... Effects? "

" Mhm, right right! This type of ice cream is made using material from a person, causing whoever eats it to feel madly infatuated for said person, ehh needy, if you will- This means it has to be commissioned obviously, so there's a certain wait time and the material has to be handled carefully! It could be blood, I think most people will want to use their blood, but I personally used... " Berle's peppy expression turns into something much less innocent as he watches you squirm in place, trying to keep up with his chattering. Your eyes linger on his mostly bare form and satisfaction carves its way into those mismatched eyes.

" Something else, you know? "

There's a flicker of recognition in your gradually muddling brain. You manage to offer the royal infernal an annoyed, near frigid look, reminiscing about the unsavory part of your role here. Getting to taste-test flavors is a euphemism for being a bit of a lab-rat. And while you're sure that Berle wouldn't deliberately feed you something he thinks could genuinely cause harm, he's not above this type of scummy behavior either.

A pulse of want has your teeth clenching while your legs propell you to him, causing the prince to all but giggle loudly, putting the spoon and container away when you grab onto his stupid pink apron.

" Let me... " You murmur, fevered with the desire to have him. Any way, any part, you have a strange urge to get Berle into your mouth. Flashes of you kissing and biting and tasting every inch of his skin assault your mind.

Bizarre, as if out of nowhere, you developed an erotic oral fixation that was simply overwhelming in intensity.

" Oh hoo hoo, working well working well! How are you feeling, gumdrop? "

It starts with a searing kiss.

It's less genuine affection and more of a need to cram your tongue as deep into him as you can. A laughable objective, given Berle has a tongue that puts plenty of his own kind to shame. If that weren't enough, he's always enthusiastic, so you never had a semblance of a chance. He kisses back and, sensing your fervor, generously supplies more of that multicolored muscle into you. You choked aggressively the first few times he was stupid enough to do this to you without thinking, nearly threw everything back out, but your time inside this Ring has changed you in many ways. Not only have you become more voracious, it's as if your gag reflex is often muted in select moments. Given the thing dragging over all crevices of your mouth and throat, you should have started to flinch and panic, but all that's there is an unnerving breed of glee and mild oxygen deprivation.

Berle dominates, much to your slight frustration, pulling you back when the embrace simply becomes too gross to prolong. Not that you care if your chin is soaked, not that you care if the taste of all the cloying sweets he had today is now imprinted on your own taste buds.

A shameless hand darts down, feeling what it had hoped to.

Behind the rather thin fabric of Berle's apron protrudes the very thing you're sure he'll have no problem letting you stuff yourself with. Berle shares a concubus rib somewhere in his lineage, that's likely why he wears so little all the time, why he even thought of this flavor as an appealing suggestion. It's also the reason he somehow always seems to be able to tug you away for some quick tomfoolery.

There's no doubt he's the one pleasantly surprised when you drop to your knees and swipe that apron aside.

Berle's now throbbing length has the exact same coloration as his tongue, that borderline rainbow-like hue, like a pastel gradient of sorts. You've asked him before if he was born this way, as unlikely as it seems, but he doesn't ever provide a straight answer. Rainbow body parts are something you'd expect of a mermonsters and fey types. Not a demon, certainly.

Part of you believes he just got body modifications because it makes his cock look like some kind of rare candy cane. Somewhat of a dangerous gambit, given another glutton could get confused enough to bite him, with those infernal teeth...

But you're no glutton.

All you do is lick across the length of him like he really is no more than a rainbow twister lollipop, earning yourself a shaky gasp, before putting the very tip in your mouth and swirling around it. You have no idea why this is what you want so bad, why it's making you so happy, you just know you needed to feel him exactly this way.

For all his usual rampant excitement, all Berle can do now is grab onto the counter and watch you work a sizable portion of his girth into your throat. Another perk of your prolonged stay in Hell, you could say. The you from a few months ago could never swallow this much of a partner without crying and gagging real ugly.

" O- Ohhn- I do thhink maybe some alterations should be made -Ahahn- For humans specifically? Mmmm it seems to be taking you by stohh- "

You can feel Berle pulse within the walls of your mouth, lips flush against the root of his cock, kissing his slit. Normally, this would take some effort from your part, some warmup. A nasty noise follows as you slurp all the way back to the top just to chase that hint of tang. Berle's eyes roll back for a second and a choked moan escapes him. You're relentless, pumping him while catching your breath, only to dip back down with a dirty vigor, proudly feeling him hit deep spots within you.

Berle has learned not to fuck your mouth. All larger infernals must learn this sooner or later when they pick smaller partners, and the prince is no exception. But that doesn't mean he's not digging his claws into the counter for dear life and flexing his legs for control.

The only thing that makes you pop off his candy cock is when the confectioner's phone starts ringing, this jarring tune reminiscent of a festive jingle, breaking the mood. Berle himself looks annoyed, studying the caller ID before smiling and making a 'continue' motion.

Alright then.

He's talking immediately.

" Old friend! " Pause, one hand falls to the back of your head. " Yes yes yess- " That last one must have been for you. " I did get the sample, tested it already- Why, with a volunteer of course, I have my ways... "

His scummy ways.

Perhaps it's mean of you, but you take the opportunity to tease Berle and drag him across your lips like some pervert's version of lipstick. He nearly frowns, exerting some pressure to make you quit it. Whatever gargle of surprise you make is covered by his loud tone.

" Yes- Uhuh- Look though, we'll have to tone it down a bit. " He gasps. " No, it's just- My volunteer was human, and it really took them for a spin, y'know? No, I'm serious! Not even two spoons in, they were already under, that's fast! Very fast hhnoly shit- "

You would have laughed at that slip up, but all that happens is a devilish contraction around his shaft.

" N-No, it shocked me. " Berle coughs. " You should have seen-... I don't think so, royal lineage wouldn't make it stronger just on hhh its own. I think maybe you could make it a little less sudden, give it a little buzz period, y'know, hahahn Lords fuck- "

The person on the other side of the call appears to be blabbering just long enough that Berle feels confident in distancing the phone a bit and growling, making the most out of their rant by urging you to move faster with curt bucks of his hips. Sometimes he slips out of your mouth entirely, frustrating for the two of you yet desperate in a whole other dirty way.

When Berle pays attention again, the person must have been calling for him.

" Ah- Ahah, sorry yes I'm here- Excuse me if I sound muffled I'm always running around you know it's just how the job is it never stops please continue yes- " How does he fit that much air into his lungs?

It feels like he's close to cumming. Normally, Berle would be moaning and snarling about it, but he can't be nearly as vocal right now, so all you have to guide yourself is the oscillation of his composure and his tensing lower abdomen.

At some point, the prince throws his head back and appears to lean onto the counter as if to balance himself, blowing steam through his nostrils in a way the caller might mistake for exhaustion. His tail wraps around your chest loosely, getting to your neck and squeezing briefly.

That's the cue.

No mercy.

" Hrrhn... Nno no, it's perfectly fine, I know how it is with newer products. It's perfectly fine no one got injured at ALL- It's totally okay, I'm not disappointed no nooh- " He slams a fist on the counter, mad that the call is going on for as long as it has.

You've never actually seen Berle get angry from a lengthy conversation. It would be hilarious if you weren't so fixated on getting him to cum.

" I have a lot of faith in you guys I'm sure everything will work out and I'dlovetoworkwithyouallinthefutureokaybyebyegottagotoodles- " He launches the phone at some unfortunate wall. " My pretty pretty lollipop you're gonna suck the soul out of me like that- "

And you do. Because his usual yapping is cut short only a few seconds after, becoming nothing but senseless noises as Berle hunches and pants open-mouthed, giving you the rewarding rush you wanted. Much to his distaste, you pull back to get to taste it, regretting it when it's predictably too much and forces you to pull away. The prince makes a mess of your cheek and neck, ruining even the top you had picked, before you try to get the last of it on your tongue again.

And as soon as you swallow, the urge that had possessed you earlier releases its clutches, the cloud of need turning your vision pink fading suddenly.

You're left with sore knees, an aching jaw, and the moderately gross sensation of hot ropes on cooling skin.

" Couldn't you at least have asked before starting all t- "

You're interrupted by Berle's cumstained fingers wedging into your mouth. Not even this you're allowed to waste.

" But aren't surprises so much more entertaining? I really think they are, didn't you have fun? Besides, it'll be my turn soon, don't you worry lollipop, what kind of lover would I be if I didn't thank you for such wonderful feedback- "

You wonder who that supplier is...

[gambleofstars]

Electrician Reader as Vox's Assistant (Pt. I)

₍ ⌨ ᶻᶻᶻ gambleofstars is typing ... ₎

↳ ❝ [a/n: I actually left an ask of this concept in another writer's blog in here anonymously but I felt enough energy to write it now, so if you see some similar posts, that's why] ¡! ❞

Pt. II

⋆♡*  When you arrived in hell, the first thing going through your mind was: man that hurt like a bitch. Dying from electric shock was not the way you wanted to go but eh, fuck it. Not like your life was going anywhere far.

⋆♡*  Great news though: you're immune to electricity related risks!

⋆♡*  Soon enough, you got the hang of how things were run down here and it wasn't that different from the overworld (isn't that just food for thought) and adapted. You weren't above scheming and using people on earth, so why would you hold back on it in hell? There was a reason you were here, after all.

⋆♡*  You did some random jobs: cleaner, courier, the whole nine yards to scrape some money together and move out of the shitty hostel - of which you tricked the owner of to let you stay.

⋆♡*  After that, it wasn't long until you got into your groove again with the exact thing that got you killed - Electrical work.

⋆♡*  At first, it was just fixing little things, like TVs and phones for much cheaper than their manufacturer would. You knew it would bite you in the ass sooner or later because the big companies in hell (much like on earth) don't play nice when it comes to their money.

⋆♡* And the day arrived one hellish morning when you were promptly dragged to the HQ of Voxtech with not even a coffee in your system.

⋆♡*  Didn't take too long until you got a job here. Not any job, mind you; you were now the personal assistant of the most annoying CEO ever - Vox.

⋆♡*  You're pretty sure the reason was the fact that when he got into his usual hissy fits, throwing around monitors and overcharging every corner of the room, you had no problems withstanding the voltage.

⋆♡*  This manchild will look you straight in the eyes and froth at the mouth of how he hates the radio at least 5 times a day- oh- oh wait....... Make that six now.

⋆♡*  (Of course you signed an NDA, don't be ridiculous)

⋆♡*  Every day fell into a routine. You were out of the house by 7:00, signing in at the front desk by 7:32, by the coffee machine by 7:45 and standing with a double shot espresso in front of Vox's office by 8:00 sharp.

⋆♡*  He didn't shy away to let you know he appreciated the punctuality and if you were late in the future it would be showing accordingly on your next paycheck.

⋆♡*  The other Vees find you amusing, if anything. Maybe because you don't get intimidated by your boss' tantrums and stand unfazed, with a, now fizzy, coffee after them

⋆♡*  Valentino will pick you up like a ragdoll with all his four limbs and use you as a meat shield when Vox wants to bite his head off because of another PR nightmare he will have to deal with.

⋆♡*  (Of course he asked you to perform in one of his... movies, but the only answer he got from you was a dead stare and a loud sip of your coffee) (He did want to tear you apart after that, but you were called to Vox's office)

⋆♡*  Velvette, on the other hand, uses you as her personal mannequin whenever you're on your lunch break. Standing wearing the latest fashion items while eating your sesame bagel is a normal occurrence at this point. Don't spill anything though, or she will ask Vox to add after hour work for you (she has done it before).

⋆♡*  She does enjoy having someone to listen to her yapping when Vox doesn't want to (or when he's having a monologue of his own) even unwillingly.

⋆♡*  Finally, in the after hours, when the otherwise empty office is only illuminated by only your computer, you'll go out on the balcony, in the windy night of the pride ring city, light a cigarette and close your eyes for a bit.

⋆♡*  Just for a second, this feels like home.

⋆♡*  Better than home.

hihi, first time writing here and hopefully not messing up haha 💋

signing off, gamble

[maevesheart]

FOOLS - PART I

CORIOLANUS SNOW X CAPITOL!READER

note: continuing to use the mars family for reader, but different storyline than tolerate it.

PART I // PART II // PART III

summary: only fools would fall for coriolanus snow, and you’re the biggest fool of them all.

wc: 5.1k

tw: fingering, pet names, curse words

The sound of your blinds being torn apart pulls you from your peaceful slumber, and the now streaming sunlight causes you to rub your eyes and yawn.

Today was the announcement of the Plinth Prize, all of your fellow classmates would be seething when your name fell from the lips of Dean Highbottom.

The thought made you grin.

You had never once missed classed, and your grades were the very highest they could possibly be. The only thing standing in your way is Coriolanus Snow.

The boy who is just as intelligent and cunning as you are.

Rumors had been spreading for weeks as to who was going to win the lavish prize money, the most common names falling from lips were yours and Coriolanus.

It infuriated you.

The Mars family was the highest esteemed in all of the Capitol. Who deserved the prize more than you, of course, Y/N Mars?

Your Avox quickly left the room as you stood up from your massive ornate bed, feet lightly padding on the cold marble floors.

You made your way into your closet, where your long plum-purple colored dress hang. It was to your mid-thigh, a large bow sat on the back that draped to the floor. It was beautiful, made custom for you.

You slipped on a pair of thin tights and some black heels, allowing your Avox to meticulously curl your hair and do subtle yet elegant makeup upon your face.

You made your way down the marvelous marble staircase outside your bedroom, meeting your father and mother at the bottom.

“Here darling,” your mother smiled, placing her string of pearls around your neck, and delicately sliding in matching Pearl studs to your ears.

“Oh, mother, your pearls?” You smiled, your mother wore the pearls throughout the war and claimed they were what kept you all afloat.

In reality, it was your fathers expansive fortune and manufacturing company that produced the capitol’s guns and bombs, but the pearls were touching.

“Thank you,” you smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The ride to the Academy was short, and soon you waltzed into the building followed by your doting parents.

When you three entered the gathering room, where all of the Capitol’s brightest and richest stood, you father dispersed to speak to Serbo Plinth, and your mother found Mrs. Crane.

You quickly found Clemensia, your closest friend, and the two of you eased into simple conversation, discussing who you thought would win.

Clemmie assured you that the prize would soon be yours as the both of you made your way to fellow classmates Felix, Festus, and Arachne.

Arachne and you offered each other a quick hug before Felix and Festus were complimenting your dress and how marvelous it was.

“Thank you, boys,” you smile, loving the attention.

As you continue to indulge in their compliments, you feel a light touch on the back of your elbow, Coriolanus Snow now by your side.

“Finally, the Star pupil.” Arachne snottily says, looking down at Coryo’s shirt.

“Arachne,” he nods, smirking as he feels the annoyance radiating off your body.

“We were just talking about how lovely Y/N’s dress is, Coryo, don’t you agree?” Clemmie sets the bait. She has this feeling that Coriolanus and you have some deep set feelings for each other that have yet to reach the surface. You think it’s all just her imagination running wild.

But Clemmie doesn’t know about the few nights the two of you have spent together, in the back of your car, in your bed, anytime the two of you had been alone.

No one knows. And you plan on keeping it that way.

You feel Coryo’s eyes take over your figure, pausing briefly as he sets his sight on your cleavage peaking out.

“Yes, you look quite nice, Y/N.” He smiles, hand secretly toying with the end of your curls down the middle of your back.

Before you have a chance to react, Sejanus has found his way to your other side, offering you a slight peck on the cheek as greeting.

“Sejanus,” you smile, patting his arm.

The two of you were close, as you found Festus and Felix’s distaste for him to be rather childish and ignorant.

He was a nice, respectable boy. And your father and Serbo Plinth had worked closely during the war, your families were allied. Something that was especially so important now.

Coriolanus felt a tinge of jealousy as you leaned in to peck Sejanus’ cheek back. Everyone knew the two of you were close, yet it was still anger-provoking whenever he truly saw how close you two were.

Before Sejanus could fully join in the conversation, the familiar sound of Panem’s anthem began to play, signaling for you all to take your seats.

You sat between Clemmie and Coriolanus, eyes focused in front before you heard Sejanus offer a quick apology to Coryo, about something you failed to decipher.

Dr. Gaul’s sinister laugh boomed throughout the hall, and your eyes widened with shock.

She spoke of her responsibilities and how you all before her were the leaders of the new generation. You looked over to Coryo with confusion splayed on your face, his eyes wide and frantic.

Dr. Gaul stepped down from the podium and moved away for Dean Highbottom, who was once again drunk off morphling and slurring his words.

“I cannot believe they continue to let him speak in public,” Clemmie whispers, shaking her head.

“And here sit our own 24 top prospects, all waiting to hear the results of hard study in this prestigious institution.”

Your heart races as he continues to ramble on, “eager to learn who’s won that Plinth Prize, no doubt. And a golden future. However, I am here to tell you that there has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth.”

Clemmie slumps back into her seat, you hear Festus behind you suck in his breath. This was it.

“…the prize will now be determined by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Against your better judgement, you are reaching for Coriolanus’s hand, and intertwine your fingers.

You knew how bad he needed this prize. You were one of the only people who knew.

His eyes flicker down to your hands twisted together, and he offers you a slight smile, but you know he is freaking out to his core.

Dean Highbottom announces how he will assign the tributes, and soon comes to sit in front of you all when the anthem once again plays out.

“Coryo..” you whisper, he looks over to you and you shake your head, a silent apology. He nods, accepting it, and shrugs. What is he supposed to do but pray he gets a good tribute from One or Two?

You and Sejanus secure the tributes from District Two, most likely his fathers doing.

You untangle your fingers from Coriolanus and reach across to grab Sejanus. You give his arm a squeez, assuring him that you are there.

He continues to look straight, obviously torn by this revelation.

Coriolanus finds himself even more annoyed, watching you fawn over the boy next to him. You were holding him first…

He immediately snaps himself out of it. He was showing weakness. He reminds himself that weakness is a curse, and there is no room for that in success.

Finally, the runt girl from District 12, belongs to Coriolanus.

He looks to the floor, shaking his head. You refrain from taking his hand again, knowing he would most likely shoo it away.

You and Arachne giggle as the girl floods the screen, wearing a rainbow dress. One quick glare from Coriolanus shuts you up and forces your eyes back on the screen.

Soon, the girl is shoving a snake down another girls back, and Coriolanus is quick to his feet, watching with rapt attention.

She starts to sing, a somber tune that you had never heard before.

“Singing?” You question, Arachne quickly adding in, “is she out of her mind?”

Coriolanus ignores you this time, eyes straight ahead.

Her singing is enchanting, and you focus in, laughing when she screams profanities into the microphone.

“Well, she’s obviously mentally ill.” Arachne claims, Sejanus still staring straight ahead, and your eyes trained on Coriolanus.

All of you quickly disperse out of the hall, your fathers hands are on your shoulders, shielding you from the press as you make your way to the car.

Once safely inside, he is stern and stoic, unwavering in his stance, “no. You will not do it.”

“Daddy, it’s just one games. We meet with the tributes maybe once, never let them get too close.”

You were fighting a battle already lost, you knew.

“Absolutely not Y/N. I will not have you frolicking around with district.”

He is seething, obviously feeling deeply betrayed and upset with Serbo, how could he not have told him?

“Please? I know I won’t win the prize, but it’s good experience.”

Your father can’t argue there. If you are to one day rule his empire with your siblings, then he must allow you to get some experience under your wing.

“Alright. But as soon as something goes wrong, which it will, you are out of the contest. Understood?”

“Understood.”

You’re laid in bed, a book propped up on your chest, trying your hardest to distract yourself from the confusing day you’ve had.

A light rap on the door shakes you from your focus.

“Come in,” you say, body slightly turning to see who would come this late in the night.

The gold handle of your massive white door turns, and to your great contentment it’s Coriolanus who silently walks in, shutting the door tightly behind him.

It wasn’t unlikely for Coriolanus to come to your home, usually you two worked on homework or studied together, but he never came at night.

The sight of his deep eye bags made your chest sink. You knew how he must be feeling.

“The Avoxes let me in,” he murmurs, making his way over to your bed.

He sits down on the edge next to you, and you feel the mattress lightly dip to support his weight.

You sit up, leaning your back against the headboard, and place your hand on his shoulder, soothing it up and down his back.

His back was to you, lightly hunched over.

“I talked to Tigris,” he speaks after moments of silence.

You hum, “what did she say?”

You lightly crawl over to him, wrapping yourself around his back, hands snaking around his waist and pulling him closer to you.

His body was warm, but you could feel his spine lightly stick out his back and the thought made you want to cry.

You place your cheek against his shoulder blade, and close your eyes, his presence easing you.

“She told me I should get the girl to trust me. Saying she’s probably so scared and feels alone right now.”

“I would be too,” you hummed back, eyes flitting up to get a better view of his face.

From your position, you can make out the trace of his nose and his light eyelashes, the moonlight coming in through your large windows accentuating his features.

He places one of his hands over yours, entwined across his lap.

“You will win, Coryo,” you assure him, a small whisper falling from your lips.

You weren’t confident, but he needed reassurance, and who were you to deprive him of what he needs most?

He doesn’t say anything, the two of you sitting in silence for a few moments.

He then turns around, glossy eyes staring straight into yours.

“Oh, love,” you coo, taking his cheek in your palm, and pulling him into you, wrapping your arms tightly around his body, one hand on the back of his head.

Coryo didn’t cry. That was weakness, and Coriolanus Snow did not show weakness.

“I need this scholarship, Y/N,” he quietly peeps, head buried in your shoulder.

You say nothing, hand massaging his scalp, and the other lightly rubbing his back.

You let him compose himself before he pulls back, and you lightly tug his arm, scooting over and giving him room to slip under the covers next to you.

You curl around his body, him only wearing a white t-shirt and loose lounge pants.

You place a small kiss to the back of his neck, assuring him you’re there as you begin to hear his light snoring fill the room.

You wake up to an empty bed. The only sign of Coriolanus even being there is the lingering scent of his cologne on your bedsheets and the light indentation in your mattress.

You want to cry. Of all the times you had consoled him, held him, given him the most sacred parts of you, he up and leaves, like you mean nothing.

Obviously you had to mean something if he kept coming back, right?

You care for him, deeply, and despite your agreement to keep your sexual relationship hushed, you cannot help but to want to care for him.

You hastily get dressed and ready, and throw a few books into your pack, rushing down to the kitchen. You have Cook pack a blueberry muffin into your pack, knowing Coryo won’t have the means for breakfast.

You have the driver take you straight to school instead of your usual stop for coffee.

Entering the classroom, Coryo’s usual seat next to you is bare. He’s never once skipped class. Why would he start now?

The screen in your classroom brights up, showing Luvky Flickerman outside the monkey cage at the zoo, where the tributes fall into.

A bright red uniform sticks out, and you’re on your feet, prying for a better look.

Dean Highbottom is watching unimpressed, Sejanus on your other side shaking his head in disbelief.

You realize it is Coriolanus and a gasp falls from your lips, he is standing with Lucy Gray, his tribute, and watch as he places his Grandma’am’s precious rose in her hair.

You couldn’t believe him. He left your bed to go be with that… that district slut!

Distaste brews in your mouth as he takes her hand and parades her around to all the young children. Clemmie watches as a scowl takes over your features.

He smugly looks into the camera, and you feel as if he’s directly looking to you, as he gives his cunning responses to every question Lucky throws his way. You know Dean will be far from pleased.

Before you know it, Coriolanus is entering the classroom, and you give him the meanest stare you can conjure.

Sejanus starts to stick up for him as Coryo takes his seat next to you. You side-eye him as he sits down, wanting him to know how stupid he is for putting his life at risk.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t answer you, giving you a snide look before turning to the sound of Dr. Gaul entering the room.

She waltzes in, congratulating Coryo for his initiative. You scoff, and he looks down on you, eyes narrowing.

Dr. Gaul promptly leaves, and a silence engulfs the room.

Soon, your fellow peers are whispering to each other, trying to figure out how Coryo ended up in that cage.

Sejanus is silent, eyes on his shoes.

You stick your hand deep into your pack and pull out the muffin from earlier, not wanting it to go to waste.

Without another word, you shove the muffin into Coryo’s hands under the desk, and catch his eyes softening as he looks over to you.

“Dean? May I be excused?” You keep your composure, quietly slipping out of the classroom.

Clemmie watches Coryo, how he lightly shakes his head before shoving the muffin into his pack and jumping to his feet, rushing to follow you out the classroom.

He finds you in the library, your pack sitting at a mahogany table which gives you away.

He sets his down on the same table, and sets off between the rows of hardback books to find you.

This library was sprawling, three-stories of endless books, it could take hours to find you.

“Y/N?” He quietly calls out, hoping you’re nearby.

He hears a scoff a row over, quickly darting down the isle to find the one that the noise comes from.

As he rounds the corner, there you are, leaning against the wall at the end, arms crossed against your chest.

He thinks he sees a tear stain down your normally perfect makeup and complexion, and crosses over, hands falling on your face.

He turns your head in his hands, checking for signs of pain.

“What’s wrong?” He sounds worried, and you laugh, pushing him off of you.

His face twists in a mix of confusion and anger, hands falling to his sides.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you look up. You’re no longer upset, just majorly pissed off.

“You left my bed, to go greet your bitch from the districts.” You spit out at him, eyes narrowing as you watch him comprehend your words.

He knew you could get jealous sometimes, but didn’t realize it went quite this deep.

“Y/N/N—“

“Nope. I don’t want to hear it.” You hold your hand up, silencing him. You close your eyes, sighing.

But before you can open them back up, you feel Coriolanus’ lips on yours, molding together like they do so perfectly.

His hands grip your face, pulling you into him, your hands gripping onto his biceps.

The kiss is passionate, the air being sucked out of your lungs.

He only kisses you like this when he’s hungry for you, absolutely starving. When he needs you like a feral animal.

He knows what it does to you.

You use all your strength to pull back, hands resting on his chest to keep him from lunging back in.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, “you know I would never touch another girl. Especially one from the districts.”

You nod, knowing that while your jealousy was just, it was also a little exaggerated.

The familiar sound of lunch time’s bell rings out, and Coryo backs off of you, and the two of you head for the cafeteria.

You walk with him until you spot Clemmie, excusing yourself from Coryo’s side.

You follow Clemmie to your usual table, parting with Coryo, you two girls sitting with Arachne and Livia, who both have lots to say about their chances in the games.

You ignore them, peeking over to where Coryo sits, across the cafeteria. Sejanus is sat across from him, the two of them deep in conversation.

You watch as they pack up their lunches, and stand from their spots, rushing to the nearest exit.

You stand to follow, and Arachne trails after you.

You follow them all the way to the zoo, and you once again brew anger in your core.

Arachne kneels before her tribute and begins to tease her with the food, and you watch with the audience as Coryo gives his full lunch to Lucy Gray and Jessup.

You come up to his side and snake your arm around his, plastering the most sickly-sweet smile on your face that you can muster.

“And who might this beautiful girl be, Coriolanus?” Lucy Gray asks, a slight smile pulling at her lips as she eats.

Coriolanus is taken aback by your display of affection and sudden appearance at the zoo. You’re the last person he would have expected to show up.

“This is my classmate, Y/N Mars.”

The words my classmate falling from his lips when describing you does not settle right in your stomach. But you two haven’t established what you are… just that you want each other all to yourselves.

“Splendid to meet you, Lucy Gray. That dress is just gorgeous!” You claim, talking with your hands.

Coriolanus holds back from rolling his eyes, remembering the snide comments you made at the reaping about her dress and how she must be mentally unhinged.

“Thank you, Miss Y/N.” You watch like a hawk as Lucy Gray scarfs down her sandwich and then eyes your spectacular ruby ring upon your middle finger.

“Beautiful ring,” she compliments, Coryo’s eyes flickering down to the present you received for your 17th birthday.

“Oh! This old thing, it’s quite small, I believe. I think I’ll ask for a bigger one next year,” you smile, watching Jessup and Lucy Gray’s faces twist with slight envy.

“Right,” Lucy Gray slightly smiles, sitting down.

You and Coriolanus look over to Arachne, who is waving food in front of her tribute’s face, obviously taunting her.

You purse your lips, undoing yourself from Coryo’s side. “I’m going to tell her to stop it, she might get killed over there.”

Coryo nods and watches as you make your way down to Arachne’s side.

He doesn’t want you to get too close, knowing that Arachne and her tribute are a seam ready to burst at any moment.

Just as he’s looking back to Lucy Gray, he hears your shriek and spins around, immediately at your side.

Arachne is on the ground, choking on the loss of air, a glass bottle sticking out from her neck.

“Y/N!” He screams, next to you in seconds, trying to pull you away from the monkey cage.

“Help!” You screech, using your red Academy coat to try to stop the blood.

Coriolanus falls on top of you to shield you from the gun shots that ring out, heading straight past your head to the tribute behind bars.

“Oh, Arachne,” you smooth her hair down, your eyes teary and glossy, watching as she lays limp, no longer struggling.

Peacekeepers and Sejanus reach you two at the same time, Sejanus pulling you up off the ground, and into his chest, Coriolanus watching as the Peacekeepers escort all of you away.

Coryo seethes with envy, watching you tuck your head into Sejanus’ chest as he hauls you away, loud sobs falling from your lips.

He shouldn’t be jealous, Sejanus is just comforting you. You had just watched your close friend die, how could Coriolanus be jealous while you grieve.

As the three of you renter the Academy, Sejanus stops walking, halting your movements as well, coming face-to-face with your father.

“Mr. Mars,” Sejanus nods, and your father is quick to lift you into his arms, silent whimpers coming from your lips.

“Thank you, boys,” he nods to Coryo and Sejanus, and the two reluctantly continue their movement back to the cafeteria.

“C’mon darling, let’s go home,”

Coriolanus had gone back that night to visit Lucy Gray, to make sure she was alright.

“You must love her, Coriolanus,” Lucy Gray spoke, lightly smiling while shaking her head.

“What?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Your friend, Y/N. You shielded her body with your own. I saw the way you watched to make sure she wouldn’t get too close to Arachne.”

The wheels in Coriolanus’s head were turning, reenacting the events of earlier that day.

“And I gather she likes you just as much,” Lucy Gray finishes, “she sure doesn’t like you spending so much time with me,”

“Nonsense, Y/N is a close friend, that’s all.” He dismissed the topic like it wasn’t anything at all.

“Alright then, but I’d imagine she won’t wait these entire games for you to admit your feelings. That other boy, the one who held her, he seems quite keen as well.”

With that, Coriolanus felt his jaw tighten, angered by the idea of anyone touching you other than him. Especially Sejanus Plinth touching you.

With a quick nod, Coriolanus turned on his heel, and began his venture to your penthouse.

It was pitch black out, yet Coriolanus found himself scaling the outside of your building, finally rapping his knuckles against the pristine glass covering your window.

He sees straight in, you curled up under your silk sheets, hair around you like a halo.

He had snuck in through your window countless times now, and he lightly pressed on the bottom, and the window gave way, allowing him just enough room to crawl through and lightly pad to your bed.

He slipped off his shoes and opened the covers, sliding in and curling around you.

His finger traced shapes onto your skin, trying his hardest to calm both himself and you.

You lightly started to stir, and finally turned to face Coryo, he gave you a small tight-lipped smile, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Hi, Y/N/N.”

“Hi, Coryo,” you smile, nuzzling in closer to him.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

“I was so scared,” you murmur out, Coriolanus sensing the vulnerability in your voice, something you normally only let him see.

He pulled you closer into him, softly smoothing your hair.

“I won’t let anything ever touch you, Y/N.” He states like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Coriolanus had declared his feelings for you vaguely a few other times, usually only when he was buried inside of you.

This was different. You were barring your soul, showing him weakness.

“Do you mean it?” You whisper out, lightly pushing off his chest to look him in the eyes.

“More than I’ve ever meant anything else.” His eyes are stern, his face unwavering.

A smile starts to overtake your lips, and Coriolanus places his hand on your cheek, lightly bringing you down to his level.

You lightly move his curls out of his face, and the two of you lean into each other, lips meeting halfway.

This kiss is different than your others, it’s slower, not as heated. It’s a kiss that two people who love each other would share.

“It could’ve been you, Y/N. How could I have lived with myself,” he lightly huffs out, in between quiet kisses.

“But it wasn’t me, Coriolanus. It wouldn’t have been your fault,” you reassure him, hand finding his under the covers.

“My father is removing me from the mentorship. Highbottom is finding another student to take my place. Nothing can touch me now,” you smile, despite being deeply upset by your father removing you from the possible achievement of a lifetime. 

“I’m sorry,” he coos, genuine feeling in his words.

You fall back into him, lips connecting once more, his hands roaming, pulling you into his lap, legs going to either side of his hips.

The kiss is still the same, but now his tongue finds its way into your mouth, somehow bringing your lips even closer together.

His hands are all over you, groping your ass from over your silk pink pajama shorts, another hand gathering a fist full of your hair and wrapping it throughout his fingers, pulling you as close to your body as possible.

He had never been so vulnerably affectionate before, but the thought of losing you to someone else wrung his heart dry. He wanted you all to himself.

Soon he was pushing your shorts down, helping you quickly discard of them.

You weren’t wearing any panties, and Coryo felt himself getting hard at the sight of your bare mound.

“Fuck,” he curses, eyes dark and filled with lust. He watches as your tongue darts out over your bottom lip, and he pulls you back into him, sticking two of his fingers into you at the same time.

His lips on yours stifles your moan, and the sound of his fingers pumping in and out of your slick folds is the only thing to be heard in your large bedroom.

You start to squirm above him, the feeling of his fingers inside of you being immensely pleasurable.

He then uses his thumb to start massaging your clit, a pit beginning to form deep in your core, threatening to soon burst.

“Fuck, Coryo,” you moan, your head finding place in the crook of his shoulder.

He kisses up your bare shoulder, entwining his free hand with one of yours, “say you’re mine,” he groans, feeling you start to grind down on his fingers and slightly on his bulge.

“I-I’m yours, Coryo—“ you mewl, lightly biting his shoulder to stop from waking your parents.

“You’re mine only,” he quietly tells you, fingers picking up a faster pace as you become undone.

“I’m gonna come,” you pant, and with one last circling of his thumb, you come undone on his lap, spilling all over his fingers still deep inside of you.

He tenderly pulls them out, as you sink down into his chest, and bring the two fingers up to his mouth, sucking off all the juices that he could never get enough of.

You watch with blown pupils, he quickly reconnects your lips, and you taste yourself all over his mouth.

“I love you,” he says, pulling back, tucking your hair behind your ears.

Of all the times you’d been intimate with Coriolanus, he had never been this gentle and caring.

“Do you really?” You ask, refusing to believe his confession. You had only been waiting for those three words to leave his mouth for what felt like eternity.

“I do, really, how could I not?” he grinned as you smiled, pecking your lips. “I love you, Coriolanus. I’m yours,”

He grins at your confession, a sense of pride overcoming his being knowing that he’s won, no other man will touch you for as long as he lives.

“You’ll stay this time, right?” You ask, all walls down, barring the most vulnerable corners of your soul.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” he assured you, kissing your shoulder.

Only fools would ever fall for Coriolanus Snow and his cunning love spells. But you were the biggest fool of them all, weren’t you?

**

[astroboots]

Cherry Lips

Summary: Steven really likes your lipstick.

Content: Inappropriate use of lipstick, messy blowjobs because like L'oreal, Steven is worth it.

Word Count: 2.4k

Author's notes: Inspired by this beautiful piece of artwork by @guruan-is-not-here

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

The lipstick you're planning on wearing tonight is a striking shade of red. The shocking brightness of a stop traffic light. The bursting richness of pomegranates. Eye catching, alarming and dreamy all at once. It's your favourite and they stopped manufacturing it a while back.

Since you can't up and buy it anymore, you only pull it on special occasions. The last time you've worn it was at a close friend's wedding. You're not going to any churches or galas tonight, just the local cinema, which isn't an extraordinary occasion that justifies pulling out the old favourite shade. But it doesn't have to be the location that's special. Sometimes, what matters is the company you're with. And who is more special to you than Steven?

You're standing in front of the mirror that hangs over your hallway. On an ordinary day, when you're standing here on your own, the tiny hall can already feel a bit cramped, considering the size of your micro-studio of a London flat. Today though?

Today, the way that Steven is standing behind you, almost plastered to your back, you can barely maneouvre your hand far enough to apply the lipstick without jabbing your elbow into his eyesocket.

"Steven, shouldn't you be getting ready too?" you say, in a gentle attempt to goad him into moving into the main space of your flat. But Steven stays unmoving.

He can't hear you.

Mouth dropped open, jaw slack, he's staring at your mirrored reflection with wide-eyed attention.

You turn around and tilt your head in his direction to try to catch his attention. But even though he's staring right at you, he remains frozen. Trapped in some spell, his eyes are vacant. You have to repeat his name for a second and third time and even then the only physical reaction you get from him is a hard swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in the hollow of his throat. 

At this pace, you're going to have to break out the smelling salts to snap him out of it. 

"Steven, everything alright?"

"Red," he murmurs, and you squeeze your eyebrows in confusion at his lack of coherence. 

"Your lipstick..." he sounds almost dazed. "It's very... red–very pretty! It's very pretty I mean, it looks amazing on you."

You follow the line of his eyes and the way he's staring at your lips. His tongue darts out to swipe across his own bottom one, leaving it glistening in the dim light of your hallway. 

Steven is looking at you, like you hung each individual star in the galaxy and created every constellation discovered by NASA. 

You can't help but smile as lean up and press your red lips against his. Your hand cups the back of his neck and you pull him down closer until you hear that breathless little gasp you love so much escape between his lips. Until that soft noise melts into a deep moan that you can practically taste on your tongue. 

It tastes like hunger. 

It's wonderful to feel so deeply wanted by someone. 

You pull away, leaning back and Steven looks like he's been knocked senseless. Eyes shiny like glass. Kiss swollen lips made more prominent from the red of your lipsticks smudged on him. He's drawing up his hand, thumb brushing against the red. 

Whipping around, you realise that he's staring at himself in the mirror. He looks enamoured with it, the smears of red that are on him like a mark seared into his skin of where you've touched him. 

It becomes something of a thing between you two. 

Before every date night, you'll apply a thick layer of red lipstick on your mouth, the kind that will smear at the slightest touch. 

Then you watch in amusement as Steven spends the whole of the evening trying to act discreet (and failing) as his eyes will unfailingly find themselves flickering back to your lips. 

You'll watch as he tries to steady himself at a dining table at the small intimate and cozy restaurant sat across from you, hand gripping on top of his knee as you lift your glass and leaves a clear imprint of your lips on the glass. 

Hear the small little gasp that escapes from his throat when you lean close to his ear to ask him what he's ordering. 

Feel the whole bodyshiver of his as you press your lips to his cheek sometime between dessert and the bill. 

Sometimes you even wear it on your lunchdates between work shifts when you know he's having a rough day. Because Steven likes the attention and you like to give it to him. Love the way that fascinating blush blossoms across his chest, travelling up his throat and adorns his cheeks as you pull him into an unoccupied bathroom of your favourite cafe and you leave soft kisses like stamps on a love letter on his skin. Ink of red, pressed into his chest and collarbone and the corner of his mouth. 

He doesn't wash it off after either. Wants it to linger for as long as it possibly can. It's why you start to leave the lip stains where his clothes will cover them. Can't have Steven looking like a crime scene when he gets back to work at the museum. 

You'll wear it when he comes to pick you home from work. Watch the way his whole body is thrumming with excitement on the tube ride back to his flat. Eyes never leaving your lips.

Those are your favourite special occassions. When you get to leave your mark on him uninterrupted in the dim lighting of his home in privacy. When you get to take your time to peel off his tie like a beautifully wrapped Christmas present adorned with a silk bow and glossy wrapping paper.

You'l leave kisses on the softness of his stomach that has his hips hitching upwards. The insides of his thighs, that will has his legs shaking and trembling and gasping.

Tonight, you have him seated on his armchair,  trousers pulled down to his ankles, while you're down on your knees, caged in by his thick thighs. 

You press your lips to his soft skin, feeling him tense and rigid above you. Knees trembling next to you, and you pull back to admire your work, the perfect imprint of your lips on his golden skin. 

"Love, love -- I, please..." 

He's a shivering mess. Soft curls plastered to his forehead, white teeth biting into his full bottom lip as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. 

So fucking pretty this one.

You press another kiss, this time on the inside of his thigh and you smile to yourself as his hips hitch up, chasing after your mouth with a choked gasp.

"Please, what, Steven?"

Flicking your eyes to his face, Steven is struggling to verbalise much of anything right now. Maybe you're not being very nice, because you know exactly what he wants.

He's hard. You can see the hardened outline of his excitement straining the front of his jeans. If you leave him hanging much longer, you swear that the seams are going to split open.

"Yo--your mouth, I--I--" he manages to finally stutter out. "Please, please."

God, he even begs pretty. For all that you would love to tease him more, have him tremble, begging and crying underneath you until tears are running down that gorgeous face, you find that it's impossible to deny Steven.

Your hand comes to the rivet of his jeans, popping it open and before you even have the chance to ask him to lift so you can pull them down, Steven's hips are bouncing off the chair so fast and so hard you nearly tumble backwards on your arse from the force of it. Luckily you recover fast enough, steadying your balance with both your hands on his hips. Then you pull the restricting garment down his thighs, far enough that you can free his cock from the barrier of his boxers.

His cock springs up and bobs and nearly slaps your cheek with the momentum, and he's already repeatedly murmuring embarrassed apologies as he forces himself to sit back down into the chair. "Sorry, sorry! Did I--Did I hit you?"

The concern in his voice makes you want to snort with laughter. But whatever laughter you had in your throat dies as you see him. All brain capacity is rerouted to the sight of his cock standing up in full attention between his legs. Eager and twitching, in a deep ruddy dark pink. The tip of his cock practically glistens under the dim light as precome oozes down the length. It makes your tongue salivate. Makes you want to take him into your mouth and try to swallow as much of him as your gag reflex will allow.

Before your brain fully finishes that thought, you lean down, parting your lips and do. Everything inside you aches and burns as you taste him. He's so fucking thick, heavy and absolutely perfect as the weight of his cock throbs on your tongue.

But you'd be lying if you said it wasn't a struggle to fit all of him, can wrap your lips down halfway before you feel your throat protesting, lungs burning, and tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

Underneath you, Steven is having a hard time keeping still. Hips stuttering into your mouth as you try to adjust and swallow around him. He's trembling so hard he's vibrating against you.

"Oh god, oh god, love, I--I-- fuuuck," the last word comes out as a broken moan as he he slides up and deeper into your mouth. Not a shred of restraint or control left in him. You're sputtering, your own saliva escaping from your lips that are wrapped tightly around him and dribbling down your chin, making an absolute mess of both of you.

And god, it's intoxicating to have him this way, you think it'd be worth the asphyxiation and lack of oxygen to your brain and whatever semi-permanent damage it would cause to your brain functions to just keep going, if it mean you can prolong this perfect moment.

The air around you thins, your chest feels tight and despite your hesitance and your desire to keep going, you pull off, gasping for air as the hard girth of him no longer blocks your airways.

You swallow down oxygen, as fast and deep as your lungs will allow, as you try to catch your breath, feeling more than a little bit lightheaded as you do so. Your chin is sticky, and as you bring the back of your hand to wipe it off, there's a residue of spit, precome and bright red smeared all over.

Fuck, your lipstick.

You grumble as you stare at your hand, you instinctively want to wipe it off on your clothes, but if you do, it'll never come out no matter how much Vanish stain remover you rub into it.

"Sorry, sorry," Steven's voice comes to you from somewhere above, and you tilt your head up to him. Hands hovering nervously as he's reaching over the side table for a wad of tissue. "I made a mess of you, didn't I?" he continues. Then he's leaning over, his hand gently cupping your jaw to tilt you up so he can clean you up.

You're almost giggling at how genuinely sorry he sounds, even as his cock, as hard as ever, is nestled between his thighs, twitching and jerking as if to protest the temporary lack of attention.

Steven's eyes follow yours, ducking his head until you're both staring at his cock. Smeared with the red stains and imprints of your lips on him.

An absolute fucking mess.

Leaning up on your knees, you grab the tissues from Steven and move towards him to repay the favour, but he stops you.

"Leave it," he says abruptly. No stuttering this time. No longer the sweet apologetic tone he held before. It sends a thrill across your nerves to hear him like this. Curt, demanding... greedy.

Tilting your head up, you observe him. The darkened eyes blown wide as he stares down at the red smears you've left on his cock. He looks enthralled by it. It's that same look as that evening by the hallway. Dazed like you've cast some witches' spell on him.

It makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest as you watch him. Emotions swelling and expanding until it even blots out the throbbing heat between your legs.

God you want to indulge him. Give him everything.

"Steven, get my lipstick from my bag."

He blinks up at you, until you're jutting your chin in the direction of your purse behind him. Even in his daze, obedient as he always is, Steven scrambles quickly to comply and starts rifling through your handbag before he finally finds the prize and hands the shiny tube to you with shaky fingers.

You smile to yourself as you pull of the cap and twist the tube. Before Steven, you'd barely used an inch of it, having been so careful to savour it and make it last. Now the lipstick is down to its last gasping breath depleted almost all the way down to the base, and with what you have in mind, it's going to completely run out by this evening.

Bringing it to your bottom lip, you look up at Steven who's watching you attentively, as you drag it slowly and decadently across your lip. An unnecessarily thick layer, as you see his mouth drop open.

Worth it, you think to yourself. Definitely worth it for that look on his face alone.

You pull the cap back on, then set it down on the floor next to you, as you scoot closer to Steven, pressing your lips to the base of his cock and watch the length of of it twitch and jump at your touch.

Then you lean back to observe your work. The perfect imprint of your lips marked in a striking shade of red. The red signal of a stop sign at a traffic crossing, except you have no intention of stopping.

Your lips part, wrapping your mouth around the flushed tip of Steven's cock as he throws his head back with a torn gasp, hands cupping the back of your head as he pulls you down deeper on him. Your face tingling with the warmth of his hand on you, as you try to swallow him down deeper.

You must be smearing the perfect imprint of lipstick all over the length of his cock. But that's okay. It just means you have to do it all over again. And that's okay too.

After all, you only use this lipstick on special occasions and who is more special to you than Steven.

Dedications and credit:

Wrote this in honour of @guruan-is-not-here gorgeous, beautiful and insanely horny thot sketches-- in particular the one where she had covered Steven with lipstick stains and my brain just did that funny thing where it imploded and turned into this fic. You can find more of her artwork here and her SFW account at @guruan where you'll be treated to some of the most beautiful Moon Knight fandom you'll see. Also do drop by her ko-fi. A single art piece can take hours and days and weeks for artists to do, and this amazingly talented genius is sharing her work with us all for free!

As always, this is also dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss because she had to listen to my insanity, but also also ALSO!!! This insane clown has written the most horny-beautiful-angst-smutty goodness fic of what happens when Marc sees those very same lipstick stains and I may or may not have written this for the sole purpose so that you good people can see the mindblowing excellence that is that fic. ILUUUUUUU TWP.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

[thepromisesatsundown]

BELIEF | WENCLAIR

Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair

Description: When Enid's struggles with the aftermath of that night, all she needs is for someone to believe in her. Luckily, if there's one person Wednesday Addams could believe in, it's Enid Sinclair.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Crying, Soft Wednesday Addams (for Enid only), A bit of Canon-Divergence, Healing, References to PTSD

WC: 2.6k

A/N: Uh hi so this is the first oneshot I'm posting and bare with me, it is far from perfect haha I pumped it out really late at night but wanted to get something out there at least. I'm truly just going through as many random prompts I can find and writing oneshots based on them- if anyone sees this and has requests please send them my way. Anyway, enjoy!

Nevermore Academy bustled with a manufactured merriment that Wednesday Addams found entirely too fraudulent. Garlands in a shade of green that nature had never intended dripped from every railing, fairy lights winked with seizure-inducing frequency, and an enormous pine tree hulked in the corner of the common room like a many-armed monster playing dress-up.

The new principal, a man whose name Wednesday had forgotten as soon as she’d heard it, had decreed that festivities would continue until the very eve of winter break. Something about “breathing life back into Nevermore.” Wednesday thought the only thing Nevermore needed breathing into was sense.

Amidst the aggressive cheer, a lone figure caught Wednesday’s eyes. Enid Sinclair, lifelessly sorted through a box of baubles. When a strand of lights tumbled from the mantelpiece with a shatter of glass, Enid flinched, her entire body constricting inward.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. Enid’s enthusiasm for all things bright and jolly was constant, a northern star in Wednesday’s sky of black. To see her so dimmed, so diminished, sparked an unfamiliar ache in Wednesday’s chest. She could still see the gouges in the wall from that night, could still hear Enid’s howls of pain echoing through the woods.

Belief. Such a simple word for such a complex thing. Enid had believed in the fundamental goodness of people, in the magic of the holidays, in the power of a well-timed hug. And in one blood-soaked night, those beliefs had been shaken to their core.

Wednesday watched as Enid attempted to hang a glass reindeer on the tree, her hands trembling. The reindeer slipped, tumbling end over end before shattering on the floor. Enid stared at the glittery shards, eyes wide.

Without a conscious thought, Wednesday found herself moving toward the werewolf. She didn’t know what she would say, what she could possibly offer in the face of such quiet devastation. But she knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that she had to try.

Because in a world where monsters lurked in friendly faces, where the line between good and evil blurred like ink in the rain, belief was a fragile thing. And Wednesday realized, with a jolt that felt suspiciously like the ghost of a feeling, that Enid’s belief was something worth protecting.

Wednesday was already halfway across the room when the crack of a party popper rang through the air. It sounded like a gunshot, like the snap of bone, like a mirror shattering. Enid, who had been reaching for another ornament, froze. Her hand hung suspended, nails curled into claws.

For a moment, the world stopped. Enid shuddered. A full-body shiver that seemed to start at her toes and work its way up, leaving her shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, each one a serrated knife to Wednesday’s ears.

The common room fell silent too. Conversations died mid-word, laughter cut off like a guillotined head. Every eye turned to Enid, who stood in the center of it all.

Wednesday saw the exact moment the attention became too much. Saw the way Enid’s eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape. Saw the tremble in her lip, the heave of her chest. And then, like a startled deer, Enid bolted.

She moved with a speed that rivaled her wolf form. A speed born of desperation and fear. She was out the door before anyone could so much as draw a breath, leaving only a streak of blonde hair and the lingering scent of cinnamon in her wake.

Wednesday didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pause to consider the implications of what she was about to do. She simply moved, her feet carrying her after Enid as if they had a mind of their own. Behind her, the common room erupted into a hive of buzzing speculation, but Wednesday paid it no mind. Her focus had narrowed to a single point, a single purpose. 

Find Enid. Help Enid. Protect Enid.

As she ran, Wednesday’s mind spun, gears turning in unfamiliar patterns. Enid was sunshine personified, a beacon of unwavering optimism in a sea of teenage angst. To see her so shattered, so utterly undone… it stirred something in Wednesday. Something fierce and primal, something that snarled at the thought of Enid in pain.

Memories flashed through her mind. Enid, face matted with blood, running towards her despite the pain. Enid, her voice hoarse from exertion, insisting she was fine even as her body was torn in pieces. Enid, always Enid, putting on a brave front for the world while she crumbled inside.

Not this time, Wednesday vowed. This time, she would be the strong one. This time, she would be the believer.

She just had to find Enid first.

Her pace never slowed as she continued through the halls. She checked all the usual spots—their shared room, the greenhouse, the hidden alcove behind the staircase where Enid sometimes went to think. But each place was empty. Devoid of the warmth and light that seemed to follow the wolf wherever she went.

Frustration mounted in Wednesday’s chest. Where could she be? Where would Enid go when the world became too much, when the memories nipped at her heels like hungry wolves? And then, it hit her. A flash of insight that stole her breath. The library. Of course. Where else would someone go to hide from their own story?

Wednesday changed course, her strides lengthening, her pace quickening. The library was an oft-overlooked part of Nevermore, a labyrinth of shelves. It was the perfect place to get lost, to disappear into the stacks and let the world fade away.

The minute she burst through the door, Wednesday’s voice was a knife cutting through the gloom. “Enid?”

Silence. Then, a sniffle. A hitched breath. A muffled sob.

Wednesday followed the sound, weaving through the aisles. She turned a corner and there Enid sat, with her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried in her arms. She was shaking, fine tremors running through her frame like electrical currents.

“Enid.” Wednesday’s voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, nothing more than a mere wisp in the silence.

Enid’s head snapped up, her eyes swollen and glassy. “Wednesday? What are you doing here?”

Wednesday crouched down, bringing herself to Enid’s level. “I could ask you the same question.”

A watery laugh bubbled up from Enid’s throat, but it sounded more like a sob. “Hiding, I guess. Pathetic, right?”

“No.” The word was out before Wednesday could stop it. “Not pathetic. Never pathetic.”

Enid blinked. It was rare for Wednesday to be so vehement, so unequivocal. Usually, her words were measured, carefully weighed and parceled out like precious gems. But now, at this moment, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

“I just…” Enid’s voice faltered, her gaze dropping to her hands. They were clenched in her lap, fingers intertwined so tightly the knuckles had turned white. “I can’t stop thinking about that night. About the hyde. About… about Tyler.”

His name hung in the air for a beat. It was a name that carried the scent of betrayal, of shattered trust and broken promises. A name that tasted like ashes on the tongue.

Enid swallowed. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Not as he was at the end, as he was before. When he was just Tyler. When he was… when I thought he was someone you could trust.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, fracturing like a pane of glass under too much pressure. Wednesday felt something twist inside her. A sharp, unfamiliar ache. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name, but it burned like poison.

“I trusted him,” Enid whispered. A confession. A secret shame pulled from the depths of her soul. “I trusted him, and he… he…”

She couldn’t finish it. The sentence lodged in her throat, choking her, strangling her. Enid’s shoulders began to shake, more tremors that quickly escalated into full-body shudders.

“I can still feel it,” she gasped out. “The hyde. Its claws on my skin, its teeth. I can still hear the sound it made when it… when Tyler…”

Another shudder ripped through her, so violent it seemed to shake the very air. It was as if the memory itself was a physical thing, a malevolent presence that sunk its own claws into Enid’s very being.

Wednesday felt a surge of something hot and fierce burn in her chest. That same protective instinct, stronger this time. She wanted to reach out, to gather Enid into her arms and hold her until the shaking stopped. She wanted to hunt down every last one of Enid’s demons and banish them to the darkest pits of hell.

But she didn’t know how. Comfort, empathy, these were foreign lands to Wednesday. Uncharted territories with no map to guide her. All she had was the compass of her own heart, spinning wildly.

So, she did the only thing she could think of. She reached out, slowly, tentatively, and placed her hand on Enid’s knee. It was a small gesture, a tiny point of contact. Buti t was a start.

“Enid,” she said, ever so softly. “You’re safe now. I swear it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Enid’s eyes finally met Wednesday’s. There was a vulnerability there, a look she’d never seen on the girl’s face before. A look that spoke of sleepless nights and unspoken fears.

“I want to believe that,” Enid whispered, voice trembling. “I want to believe it so badly. But every time I close my eyes…”

She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. Wednesday could see it in the shadows under her eyes, in the pallor of her skin. The nightmares, the memories, they were eating away at Enid, stealing her sleep and her peace.

Wednesday’s heart clenched. She felt lost. These sorts of emotional situations were Enid’s strengths, not hers. But for Enid, she would try. She would reach into the depths of her own soul and find a way to be the rock Enid needed.

“Tell me about them,” she said, and it wasn’t a demand, but an invitation. “The nightmares. Perhaps… Perhaps talking about them will help.”

Enid hesitated, her lower lip caught between her teeth. For a moment, Wednesday thought she might refuse, might pull away and retreat back into herself. But then, with a shaky sigh, Enid began to speak.

“It’s always the same,” she said, lowering her gaze back down. “I’m rushing back into the woods, trying to find you. But the hyde… Tyler… he’s there. He’s coming for you, and I can’t transform. I can’t move. I can’t run. I can’t do anything but watch as he… as it…”

A sob wrenched itself from Enid’s throat, and Wednesday’s hand tightened on the werewolf’s knee.

“Sometimes I wake up nearly screaming,” Enid continued, the words tumbling out now, as if a dam had burst inside her. “Sometimes I don’t sleep at all. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, afraid to close my eyes.”

Wednesday’s heart ached harder. She knew what it was like to be haunted by the past, to have ghosts that refused to be laid to rest. But she’d always faced her demons alone, armed with nothing but her own stubbornness and wit.

Yet Enid… Enid was different. She was sunlight and laughter, warm hugs and bright smiles. She wasn’t meant for the shadows, for the cold embrace of fear.

“I’m sorry,” Wednesday said abruptly, though it felt inadequate, too small to encompass the depth of what she was feeling. “I’m sorry you must bear this burden. But you are not alone, Enid. I am here. Right here.”

Enid drew her eyes back up to Wednesday. “I know,” she sighed. “I know you are. And I… I don’t know what I’d do without you, Wednesday.”

The words hit Wednesday like a physical blow. She’d never been anyone’s anchor, anyone’s safe harbor in a storm. She’d never been needed like this, never been trusted with something so precious, so fragile.

It terrified her. It exhilarated her. It made her want to be better, to be stronger, to be everything Enid needed her to be.

Without thinking, Wednesday opened her arms. And for a moment, Enid hesitated, eyes wide and uncertain. But, with a sob that sounded like a release, Enid lunged forward. Crashing into Wednesday’s embrace, the wolf buried her face into the crook of her raven’s neck.

The Addams closed her arms around Enid, pulling her close. She could feel the girl shaking, could feel the hot splash of tears against her skin. But she didn’t pull away. She didn’t let go. She held her close, held her tight, as if she could physically hold Enid together, could keep all her broken pieces from flying away.

And slowly, Wednesday’s arms tightened around Enid. It was a strange sensation, holding someone like this. Wednesday was used to keeping people at a distance, both physically and emotionally. Touch, for her, had always been associated with pain or discomfort.

But holding Enid… it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel intrusive or uncomfortable. It felt… right. Like a piece of puzzle slotting into place, like a chord resolving after al ong, tense progression.

She could feel the rapid beat of Enid’s heart, the way her chest heaved with each shuddering sob. It was overwhelming, this closeness. It was scary and beautiful all at once. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into an unknown abyss.

But not once did she pull away. Not once did she let go. Instead, she lifted one hand and began to rub slow, smoothing circles on Enid’s back.

“Shh,” she murmured. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The words felt strange coming out of her mouth. Unfamiliar. Clumsy. Wednesday wasn’t used to offering comfort, nor being gentle. Her tone was nothing short of sharp and cutting. But now… now she needed to be soft. Now she needed to be the balm to Enid’s wounds.

Enid’s sobs began to gradually quieten, her shaking beginning to still. She seemed to melt into Wednesday’s embrace. It was as if all the tension, all the fear and pain, was draining out of her, leaving her empty and exhausted.

Wednesday held her through it. She didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more platitudes or reassurances. She simply held on. Even as time began to stretch and warp and seconds bled into minutes.

But finally, after what could have been a lifetime or a heartbeat, Enid stirred. She lifted her head from Wednesday’s shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. But there was something else in her gaze now, a flicker of something that looked like hope.

“Thank you,” her voice was hoarse and raw as she whispered. “For… for everything. For being here. For not… not letting me be alone.”

Wednesday’s heart swelled. It was a feeling she couldn’t categorize nor even identify, but made her feel light, made her feel as if she could take on the world and win.

“You are far from alone,” she said firmly. “You shall never be alone, Enid. Not for as long as I am alive and breathing.”

Enid’s lips trembled, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. But these tears were different. These were tears of relief, of gratitude, of something that might have been love.

“I know,” she said, and there was a new strength in her voice. A new steadiness. “I know that now.”

And it was in that very moment, with Enid in her arms and the scent of old books in her nose, Wednesday realized something. Something vast and horrifyingly wonderful, something that felt quite like the first flicker of belief.

Enid, she knew, wasn’t just something to protect. She was something to fight for. Something to believe in.

And Wednesday… Well, Wednesday was ready to believe.

[nightingale2004]

Arachne cabin hcs 🕷

Mos of the kids of Arachne cabin have long arms and legs, which make them very tall from 6 to 7 feet.

Most of Arachne's kids are tall, but it's not completely rare to find a normal 5-foot kid in Arachne's cabin, but it is uncommon to find them

These kids are arts and crafts masters. They are also insanely creative and intelligent

Their cabin on the outside is black with spider web decoration and their mother's symbol, which is a spider (obvi) , but the inside is filled with items they made from arts and crafts along with some greenery that makes it look a little bit like a terrarium

Some of Arachne cabin aren't just skilled in the arts and crafts department but are very skilled in engineering, design, architecture, and manufacturing

When you're a child of Arachne, your powers kick in very early in your life.

The children of Arachne's powers are similar to Spiderman. Web fluid coming out of your arms, the power to stick to any surface, super strength, stamina, agility and flexibility, and of course the spider senses.

Powers of Arachne's children also include communicating and controlling spiders. They also have the rare ability to see the future, which very few of her children have.

Once you're claimed by Arachne, the symbol of a spider will appear above you, but you will also gain extra sets of arms and eyes, which you can retract once you've trained your abilities, they also get fangs.

They don't like Athena's cabin at all due to the history with both their mothers

Most of the Arachne cabin is very flexible, like an expert in gymnastics, kind of flexible, including very acrobatic.

Believe it or not, some of them do like standing or hanging upside down on the roof of their cabin (it helps get the blood flowing in their opinion)

Arachne's cabin are very distant, with others in camp half blood who aren't a part of their cabin, so they tend to keep to themselves

Their spider senses don't just warn them of danger, but it can also sense another child of Arachne or demigod child. But their senses go crazy if it's one of the big three's children or if Kronos is around

Arachne cabin consider themselves great judges of character

The Arachne cabin also has a love for insects. Not just spiders

Since their mother was a monster before she was a goddess, the children of Arachne have a scent that can help them blend in with other monsters

Due to what they are and their abilities, some of the children of Arachne cabin don't have the best home life or even the greatest self-image of themselves with their extra sets of arms and eyes, but they do find comfort with their half-siblings since they all look freaky to each other and they're not alone.

If a child of Arachne bites you, their fangs are filled with venom, which can cause headaches, pain, swelling, cold sweats, minor hallucinations, nausea, difficulty breathing, paralysis, fevers, aches, and you'll pass out. It also lasts up to a few minutes up to an hour or two, depending on how much venom they injected in you with the bite.

They are also a bit on the emo side

Despite liking spiders and their mother's symbols, being a spider. They don't like blood at all and feel queasy and faint at the sight of blood or even thinking about blood.

The arachne children are also very light on their feet

(Enjoy)

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ POV: Jungkook

Jungkook has to take care of a few things, and he makes a mess.

Or, the one with Jungkook, a cocktail of drugs, a bandolier of kunai knives, and 15 dead men.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!

if you do not wish to perceive any POV that is not the main character, please feel free to skip this one!

🗡️Jungkook x a male stranger, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 8.5k

🗡️ mafia au, complicated relationships, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+

🗡️ warnings: discussion of drug use and manufacturing (mdma/ecstasy, methamphetamines, amphetamines); mention of homeless people being thought of as disposable; actual drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy laced with meth, all while drinking whiskey); use of molotov cocktail as a weapon; hand-to-hand combat; graphic knife violence & broken glass used as a weapon; killing 15 men; getting stabbed but not too badly; plenty of my annoying sense of humor.

🗡️ note: hello! welcome to the character pov chapters! these used to be locked behind a paywall but tbh i don't feel good asking people for money, so i am setting them free (cue Jimin.) this chapter is possibly my favorite written chapter for all of Collateral, and it is gory as all hell. i hope you love it!!!

🗡️ early draft beta read by @blog-name-idk - but it has undergone some pretty big non-beta'd edits

🗡️ posted feb. 2024 - originally sept. 2022 | read on ao3

The sounds of Jeongguk grunting while his fists repeatedly hit his punching bag are all that can be heard in his spacious home. So when Jeongguk glances up to find this morning's hookup standing against the frame of the hallway entrance in light blue boxer shorts, he startles, and, in a flash, pulls his gun from the holster around his hips. 

The man jumps and throws his hands in the air while Jeongguk sighs and shakes his head, recalling who he is. He reaches back and slides the barrel of his weapon into place at the small of his back.

"Why are you still here?" Jeongguk asks, returning to punching the red sand-filled bag that hangs from the ceiling of his mostly empty living room.

Sweat runs down Jeongguk's face and neck, sticking his hair to his forehead. He wears his hip holster, a pair of black basketball shorts, and nothing else. With each strike of his bare skin against the bag, his knuckles sting.

"That's no way to speak to the guy who sucked your soul through your dick this morning," the man teases, and Jeongguk grimaces as he looks at the man, who grins.

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, Jeongguk says, "I never even learned your name. It's not that serious."

The man opens his mouth as if to respond, but Jeongguk raises his hand and says, "I don't want to fucking know. Be on your way."

For a brief moment, the man just stands and stares owlishly with his mouth gaping open, and Jeongguk resists the urge to pull his gun on him once more. Then the man shifts around on his feet and mutters, "You drove us here," with a dejected frown.

Jeongguk sighs with vexation. He pulls his phone from his pocket, thumbs around through his contacts, and calls Hoseok, who answers after the second ring.

"Ggukie bun, to what do I owe the pleasure?" It sounds like Hoseok has his phone on speaker, which means he is most likely driving.

"Hyung, are you busy? I need someone driven home."

"I happen to be on my way back to the property now. Gimme ten? Gonna pick up Seokjin and then I'll swing by."

"Sounds good. Thank you, hyung."

Hoseok chuckles, says, "My pleasure, little bro," and hangs up.

Jeongguk shoves his phone back into his pocket and nods toward the front door, saying, "Your ride will be here in ten. You can wait outside."

With a huff, the man turns on his heels and walks back down the hallway to the guest room from which he came. Irritated, Jeongguk abandons his workout and walks to the kitchen for a glass of water. His house is a spacious and open concept with black countertops and silver appliances, all of which are pristine and practically empty.

Jeongguk pulls a tall, thin glass from the rack beside the sink, fills it halfway with water from the tap, and drinks most of it, only to dump out the rest. Then he rinses the glass off, sets it in the same spot it was before, and he returns to his punching bag, waiting for his guest to leave.

It only takes another moment for the man to appear in a black tee untucked over tight blue jeans. His hair is short, dark brown, and disheveled, and Jeongguk spares him a final passing glance before looking away. Some shuffling around is heard as the man puts on his shoes before the front door opens and closes.

Jeongguk grabs his gun from its holster and twirls it around his finger as he makes his way through the space and locks both deadbolts on the front door—not that the man would be able to bypass a retina scan and passcode to return inside. He heads up a flight of stairs beside the entrance toward his master bedroom and en suite to get ready to meet with Yoongi and Namjoon in thirty minutes, whistling some tune that is stuck in his head while the heavy, familiar weight of his glock grounds him.

Meetings make Jeongguk anxious. For as long as he has been part of Yoongi's family, nobody has given Jeongguk a reason for his anxiety; it is simply his natural state of being. He hates sitting and brainstorming, always finding himself spacing out and needing whoever was speaking to repeat themselves. He would rather be given an order and sent on his way. 

And with the new girl in the house, everyone has the habit of getting sidetracked and steering the conversation to her. Especially Namjoon and Hoseok.

It is not as if Jeongguk doesn't like having her in the house, but he is tired of having to pretend to give a shit about new people. And, after the debacle with Ryujin, he is not eager to watch his boss fall in love with an outsider.

If there is one thing this world has taught Jeongguk, it is that to love is to die.

In his standard-issued black button-up tucked into black slacks, Jeongguk checks his appearance, running a hand through his unstyled hair. The front is growing out, falling just below his eyebrows, and it is another thing on the long list of shit he does not want to deal with.

Jeongguk straightens out his rolex and heads out through his dimly lit bedroom, down the short hallway to the flight of stairs that leads right to his front entrance. He sits on the second to last step and puts on worn-out doc marten boots, taking care to double tie the laces, and he adjusts the gun holster on his ankle so that it sits comfortably above his right boot.

Not that he will need a gun to go to Yoongi's place, but he may need one for where he plans on going after.

Jeongguk's home is the second closest to Yoongi's mansion, so rather than drive, he gets on his trusty 7-speed mint green bicycle. Strapped to the handlebars is a light brown handwoven basket in which he tosses a small black duffle bag. Jeongguk straddles the bike, gripping onto the soft brown handlebars, and sets off down his driveway, waiting as his weight triggers the security gate to open and let him be on his way.

It only takes three or so minutes for him to pull up to Yoongi's front gate. There is a path that connects all of their homes and allows them access without leaving any security gates, but the road has a nice steep hill that Jeongguk can get some real speed on, and he prefers that to the private path that is much more level.

As the gate opens granting Jeongguk access, he spots Hoseok and Seokjin standing hand in hand on Yoongi's stoop. From the smell of it, they are smoking a joint, and as Jeongguk gets closer, the sound of his tires on the cement driveway calls their attention.

Jeongguk grins and flicks the small aluminum bell on the handlebars twice, ringing it playfully. Yoongi's head appears from behind Seokjin's broad shoulders, and he smiles his wide, gummy grin that always sets Jeongguk at ease. Hoseok lets go of Seokjin's hand, and he turns to greet him.

"Who was the boy?" Hoseok teases.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes and shrugs. "How did you get back here so fast?"

"He didn't live too far," Hoseok responds with his hands on his hips. 

Jeongguk knows the look in his eye—the squinted glare that suggests he isn't getting the information he desires and that he plans to pry more. 

Hoseok continues, "I'm impressed you let him stay the night."

With a sigh, Jeongguk says, "I didn't. Picked him up this morning."

"This morning?" Seokjin asks as he turns and mimics Hoseok's stance—whether intentionally or simply because they spend too much time together, it is hard to say.

This is the facet of being the youngest that Jeongguk hates; he is always subject to twenty questions about what and who he does despite him almost never sticking his nose into their business. They love to pick on him, and it drives him crazy.

"Yeah, this morning," Jeongguk grumbles as he gets off his bike, walks it to the garage, and leans it against the painted steel panel door. "I had pent-up energy and couldn't sleep, so I went to Paradise and found someone to fuck."

Yoongi scoffs. A crooked smirk tugs on his lips—nothing but trouble—and Jeongguk braces himself for what he is about to say.

"Pent-up energy from bashing a man's brains in?"

Jeongguk hums in agreement and pushes his hand through his hair. "As if I'm the only one," he grumbles, making his way to the stoop. Seokjin holds a joint up to his lips, and Jeongguk reaches out and snatches it, sticking his tongue out as his elder, who squawks in dissent.

"You're certainly not the only one," Hoseok responds with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Yoongi shakes his head as he chuckles.

Jeongguk takes a deep inhale of the joint, enjoying the faint crackle of tobacco that has been mixed in. Smoke fills his lungs, and he holds it in, then tilts his head upward and blows the small plume out.

"Shall we?" Seokjin asks as he wraps his arm around Hoseok's waist. They are both dressed in black suits with white undershirts, with their hair styled a little nicer than usual, and Jeongguk wonders what they may be up to, but he doesn't want to ask. Unlike them, he hates to pry.

Yoongi, however, can always be trusted to unveil people's plans. "You'll be back in an hour or so?" he asks, reaching to smooth the lapels on Seokjin's dress shirt.

Hoseok nods and gives Yoongi a soft smile. "Seokjin is meeting with a few brokers at House of Cards, so while he's busy wooing them, I'll return in time to meet with you and Taehyung."

"Perfect," Yoongi responds with a satisfied smile. He turns to Jeongguk and says, "Namjoon's inside. Shall we?"

Jeongguk hums and holds the joint out toward Seokjin, who holds up his hand and shakes his head. Seokjin and Hoseok wave their goodbyes and walk toward the black sedan parked a few feet away, and Jeongguk waves the two fingers that cradle the slowly diminishing joint and follows Yoongi through the front door.

As he kicks out of his shoes, Namjoon comes down the stairs wearing a stupid smile that makes Jeongguk's stomach turn. What he and Yoongi get up to is their own business, but after what happened in the past, he hates the thought that the cycle is repeating itself. He has always wondered why the two of them can't just be happy together without having to play house with a third. But it is none of his business.

Smoking weed is probably a mistake. As Jeongguk lifts his hand to pass the joint to Namjoon, he already feels a little spaced out and way too relaxed. He approaches the blue velvet couch, sits on the end furthest from Yoongi's chair, and leans into the corner of it with one arm up on the armrest and the other slung around the back. Namjoon sits in the other corner, as close to Yoongi as possible, and angles his body toward Yoongi like the obedient little puppy he is.

As expected, the meeting loses Jeongguk's attention almost immediately, and he spaces out, rubbing his fingertips along the velvet fabric of the couch to make it dark and rough, only to smooth it out again. 

Occasionally, Yoongi asks Jeongguk's opinion, catching his attention and reiterating whatever point it is he wants Jeongguk to weigh in on, and Jeongguk looks up, nods, and grunts.

The meetings always go this way. Everyone has a conversation around Jeongguk, and then they cater to Jeongguk's lack of attention in order to ask his opinion on trivial matters. He doesn't understand why this can't be done over text.

When they conclude the boring chunk of the meeting, and Jeongguk has grunted and nodded somewhere around eight to ten times, Yoongi sits forward in his chair—a movement that always catches Jeongguk's attention—then he angles his hips to reach into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out a small baggie full of pills.

There are about eight pills in the bag, and they are little pink semi-squares. Without having a closer look, Jeongguk knows that they are ecstasy pills pressed with methamphetamines that were shipped from California, but he picks up the baggie anyway, inspecting them for the Iron Man logo imprinted on the back.

"These are trash," Jeongguk says, tossing them back onto the table.

One of these pills will have the user grinding their teeth so hard they are likely to chip one. Jeongguk once woke up from a bender that included these and other substances, and the sides of his mouth were so chewed up and swollen, he could barely eat soup.

Since then, he keeps a mouthguard in his duffle bag along with his weapons. He will never understand why Americans so willingly settle for garbage drugs.

"That they are," Yoongi responds with a smirk. "But we have already begun to manufacture smoother MDMA that gives you the high minus the mouth grinding, and I would like your guys to try to emulate a pill that has those qualities, plus the amount of methamphetamines found in these."

Jeongguk rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "If you want an upper that doesn't have a negative effect on the user's mouth, meth isn't the way to go."

"What about drugs that are meant to treat attention deficit?" Namjoon butts in. 

Jeongguk tilts his head to show Namjoon he is listening and tenses his jaw to let him know that whatever it is, he better get to the point. Namjoon has a tendency to get long-winded, and Jeongguk finds it annoying. Namjoon seems unaffected and continues with a soft smile.

"Those pharmaceuticals don't often cause users to grind their teeth or get the other 'meth mouth' side effects. Perhaps we can find out how much meth is used in these pressed pills and test whether that same amount of Adderall or something similar would have a more pleasant effect. If your team doesn't still have Adderall or anything similar on hand, I'm sure we could get some smuggled in by the end of the week."

"Adderall isn't meth," Jeongguk mutters. "Amphetamines are a different class of stimulant, but...it might work. And I'm almost certain we have some on hand."

Jeongguk does not hate the idea. But he is not a scientist—none of them are. He has no clue if this idea will actually pan out. He does, however, have scientists under his employ, so he takes the baggie and shoves it into his pocket.

"Fine," Jeongguk says. "I'll talk to the team about it. Anything else?"

Namjoon shakes his head as if Jeongguk was directing the question to him, and Jeongguk ignores him to glance at Yoongi.

With a soft smile, Yoongi says, "Of course, we need to figure out who that Jae fellow is, who—"

"Already on it," Jeongguk interrupts, to which Yoongi sits up with a smile. "After some digging I found Jae and fourteen men who either knew about his plan or were helping him carry it out. I invited them all to a party at the private club. I'll pop by the warehouse on my way—kill two birds with one stone."

"Kill as many birds as needed," Yoongi responds with a dark, knowing gaze that sends an excited shiver through Jeongguk.

"You got it, boss."

* * * 

Jeongguk stops at a red light just outside the city, gathers saliva under his tongue as he takes the baggie of shitty pink pills out of his front pocket, and pops one into his mouth. He makes a mental note of where everyone will be in an hour or two, banking on Seokjin still being in town, knowing he will be in absolutely no shape to bike home. Then he runs a hand through his hair, gives the bell on his bicycle a celebratory ding as the light turns green, and takes off.

The air is warm, but the breeze that hits him as he rides at a slight incline feels nice and cool. It centers him—a calm before he kicks up a storm. 

So little of Jeongguk's life has ever been calm, and so he takes these moments whenever he can and holds them close to his heart. Driving would make everything go faster, and it would be much more convenient, and that is precisely why Jeongguk rides his bike instead.

Jeongguk's drug operations primarily take place in a warehouse district on the outskirts of the city in an abandoned area that has been left impoverished and ignored with intention. The syndicates like having dumping grounds—a place to make people disappear—and when Yoongi took over and extended his reign to this area, there were talks of cleaning it up to improve the quality of life, which he staunchly declined. 

In fact, the area seems to only have gotten worse. Ironic, perhaps, that some of Yoongi's most state-of-the-art equipment is housed in this very district.

There were homeless populations, but once the warehouses became more useful and Jeongguk employed a team of scientists to begin manufacturing some of their heavy-hitter drugs, everyone was pushed out or eradicated. Or, if they had their wits about them, they were brought onto some of the more disposable teams.

Jeongguk veers from the busy streets and begins an uphill journey that quickly turns to dirt and gravel terrain. The bike bounces as Jeongguk leans into each stride, and then he pulls up to a small concrete compound of four identical grey rectangles with steel panel doors and a few run-down cars outside. He thumbs over a key fob in his pocket to cause the steel door on the second building from the left to lift open, and skids to a halt in front of it.

Whether the drugs are slowly starting to take effect or Jeongguk is anxious about meeting with his team, he is unsure, but there is a tremor in his hands as he rides into the dark cement enclosure and taps the button over the fabric of his slacks once more to close the door behind him. 

Jeongguk parks his bike off to the side of the entrance, closes his eyes to take a deep exhale and shake out his limbs, then makes his way through the empty building to a set of steps in a far corner.

Two stories below is where the science team works, and Jeongguk takes the baggie of pink pills from his pocket, pulls one more pill out, seals the baggie shut, and rubs his thumb and finger over the plastic-covered pills as he makes his way downstairs.

* * * 

The phone rings thrice before Seokjin picks up, and Jeongguk rubs his hand over his nose, stifling a sniffle as cocaine drips down the back of his throat.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Jin-hyung," Jeongguk says in a tone that lilts on being ragged and unsure. "A-are you still in Seoul?"

Jeongguk hears Seokjin sigh. "Are you high?"

"Hmm...not yet. But I will be."

Jeongguk absolutely is high. It crept up as he was discussing Yoongi's idea with the science team, and he got so antsy that he needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Luckily, there wasn't much to say to the team in the first place; they are used to these kinds of requests and know more about the processes than anyone else, so Jeongguk had nothing to explain—he simply plopped the baggie onto a metal table, muttered their idea, and was out rather fast.

"Do you need a ride?" Seokjin asks, voice stern in a way that always makes Jeongguk anxious—like he is being spoken to like a child.

"Yeah," Jeongguk mutters. His mouth shivers and moves a little too slowly. "Yoongi encouraged me to go b-bird watching, and I'll probably overdo it."

"Bird wat—what did he tell you, exactly?"

Jeongguk giggles, realizing his mistake. Bird watching—how silly. "I'll be in your district. Gotta knock skulls together and find out who lost my pills. Might get messy."

"And you need a ride?"

"Yes, hyung."

"Did you drive?"

"Yes, hyung."

Another sigh. "Send me the coordinates. I can be there in about an hour."

"Thanks, hyung," Jeongguk sing-songs in a dazed voice as he pulls the phone from his ear and hangs up.

His bike tires crunch on gravel as he sits back on the seat, grips his handlebars, and begins to ride. Inside the wicker basket sits an empty duffle bag, the contents of which have been strapped to Jeongguk's chest, scratching his skin ever so slightly beneath his shirt.

The ride from the warehouses to the river feels simultaneously too fast and incredibly slow. Jeongguk's heart pounds as he continues to come up on the pill and ease into two too many tiny spoonfuls of cocaine. He wants a drink—something stiff as hell to take the edge off.

Tonight, in a private club near House of Cards, fifteen of Jeongguk's men are enjoying an evening of drinking and taking it easy in celebration of a great month of getting product onto the streets and sold. This, of course, is a lie; their month tanked once one of them pulled a significant amount of pharmaceuticals and ecstasy, and Jeongguk has gathered them all for easy disposal.

Namjoon and the lamb met with Changkyun to rough up a couple of men who spilled the beans about someone named Jae fucking with their supply. Afterward, Jeongguk put his ear to the ground and immediately started to hear whispers of other men who may have been working to help him. He found out who had been working close to Jae and who had been hanging out with him while off duty, and he made sure to extend invitations to all fifteen of them for a party at the club tonight.

Everyone who is actually worth a damn is currently in one of the warehouses having a lowkey shindig of their own, far away from the others, and none the wiser. They will all find out eventually, and Jeongguk looks forward to their loyalty being tested when they do.

The sun has begun to set, and a pinkish-orange glow colors the sky. Jeongguk likes to imagine the pink as a runoff of blood, picturing the stars above spilling the crimson liquid onto the earth, getting soaked up by the clouds.

He stands, straddling his bike, and stumbles it into a rack, feeling the dizzying tendrils of his high begin to wrap him in a tight hug. A valet worker walks over with a bike lock and begins to anchor the vehicle into place, then sends Jeongguk off with a deep bow.

"Mister Jeon," the buff security officer working the front door mutters with a bow of his head. He pats Jeongguk down as he asks, "What's on the menu tonight?" fingers tracing over pointed steel between his pecs.

"Teaching a lesson in loyalty," Jeongguk responds with a wide, sadistic smile. "Boss will send a cleanup crew; you just need to worry about keeping the men inside once the bartender leaves through the back."

The guard rubs his palm over the gun on Jeongguk's ankle, then stands and says, "Understood."

When Jeongguk walks into the small club, the men are all crowded in a circle, shouting over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Whenever these low-lives get thrown into a room together, all they want to do is fight. Jeongguk can barely see a tousle of bodies in the center of the group, but the sounds of grunting as hands and feet make contact with limbs and cheeks has adrenaline coursing through him.

The space is cast in a drug-induced fog, and Jeongguk's eyes slowly scan around and attempt to make sense of everything. There are no windows and only one exit, save for a secret door only staff have access to behind the bar. The building itself is solid brick with mahogany floors and deep red wallpaper. Lighting in the space is dim, appearing darker still since the scarce furnishings are rust red.

Jeongguk makes his way to the bar and orders a double whiskey neat—the shittiest they have on the rail. He likes to feel the burn as it travels from his lips to his chest—likes how every inch of his body responds in protest against something so wretched.

"You're off for the night," Jeongguk mutters, and the bartender nods, grabs a towel to wipe a wet spot from the bar top, and then walks into the back, abandoning his post.

Jeongguk pulls a vial of cocaine from around his neck, unscrews it, and begins to tap a small pile onto the sticky counter. He leans and sniffs as much as he can, first through one nostril and then the other, leaving the rest behind. 

Then, he pulls the second little pink pill from his pocket, takes a dizzy step back, and pops it into his mouth. He reasons that the only way to come out of the other end of a bloodbath without ruining his ability to sleep at night is to become relentlessly high.

With the remainder of his whiskey, Jeongguk washes back the pill and attempts to formulate a plan. One of the men approaches the bar, and Jeongguk turns to find him leaning against the edge and looking around.

"Where the fuck is the bartender?" the guy asks, glancing at Jeongguk.

Recognition hits the man, and his eyes widen, then he stands up straight, turning to Jeongguk with his head bowed forward. "S-sir," he mutters, "I didn't see you there."

Jeongguk's heart pounds as he undoes the top three buttons of his shirt, reaches past the fabric, and pulls out a sharp steel kunai knife with a hole on the end of the handle through which Jeongguk sticks his index finger. He twirls the small, heavy knife and takes a step toward the man.

"Are you having fun tonight?" Jeongguk asks with a voice that is far too steady for how he feels.

The man eyes Jeongguk's knife and gives him an ugly, toothy smile. His hair is greasy, his brown shirt is stained on the front, and he smells like piss. "So much fun, boss! Thank you for giving us the night off."

Jeongguk nods. "I wanted to give a special congratulations to Jae. Have you seen him?"

At the mention of Jae, the man's eyes open widely, and he nervously looks around the bar. Then he nods with his chin and says, "Red shirt. W-want me to get him for you, boss?"

Every inch of Jeongguk tingles. A hazy, thick euphoria embraces him tightly and makes him want to dance—dance and sing and slit all of these men's throats until the floor is sticky with blood.

Jeongguk opens his mouth, aware of how tense his jaw is becoming, and moves it around as if stretching it out. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rounded plastic container in which he stores his mouthguard, and he shakes his head at the man before him.

"I'll take care of it," Jeongguk says as he pops the container open, pulls out the clear guard, and shoves it snugly into his mouth.

"Oh—okay," the man says, taking a step away from Jeongguk, who continues to stare him down with his lips spread over the clear plastic covering his teeth.

Jeongguk twirls the kunai on his finger and takes a step toward the man. The man jolts as if startled by a jump scare, and he takes a clumsy step back, tripping into a barstool and reaching back with his hand to steady it. Everything seems to move too fast and too slow, and Jeongguk finds he can only process that which is immediately in his line of sight—everything else is a hazy wash of light and color.

This is the sweet spot. Any higher, and Jeongguk might not be able to perform.

Jeongguk spins on the balls of his boots, places his palms onto the sticky bar, and hoists himself up, landing surprisingly steadily on the bar top. Then he hops down onto the other side and straightens himself as he allows his eyes and brain to catch up to one another, scanning the bottles on the shelves. There are a lot of clear bottles, but only one of them is the vodka he desires.

"W-what are you doing, boss?" the man asks.

"Making a cocktail," Jeongguk shouts over his shoulder.

"Gin...close..." Jeongguk mutters to himself, mouth full of plastic and twirling his kunai. Fidgeting helps him focus, especially with methamphetamines coursing through his blood.

"W-what kind of cocktail, boss?" the man asks, and Jeongguk huffs an impatient sigh. He hates being bothered; why is this man bothering him?

"Ah, here you are," Jeongguk mumbles as he finds a nearly full bottle of Smirnoff 100-proof vodka. He pulls the bottle spout out and drops it to the floor—metal clattering on brick—then turns and searches the rail for a rag.

"Molotov," Jeongguk shouts as he takes the corner of the stained rag and begins twisting it into a small enough tip to shove into the bottle.

"What?"

Jeongguk has to use the kunai to slice part of the rag away, and he tosses the useless strip over his shoulder, then continues to shove the rag into the neck of the bottle, leaving a couple inches sticking out from the top. 

Satisfied with his work, he pulls a gold-plated zippo lighter from his pocket and flicks it open against his thigh in one swift motion, igniting the flame in the process. Then he holds the flame up to the rag and watches with delight as the end of the dirty fabric catches. He pops the lighter closed and drops it back into his pocket, then he sets the flaming cocktail aside.

With the kunai dangling from around his finger, Jeongguk pulls out his mouthguard, dribbling spit that has gathered around it down his chin as he says, "Molotov," more clearly with a grin.

The man looks on in horror, frozen in place, and Jeongguk shoves the guard back into his mouth, places his palms onto the sticky bar, and hops back up, onto his feet in a squatting position. Without warning, Jeongguk picks up the bottle, chucks it overhand toward the crowd, sending it high enough to hit the ceiling, and he smiles widely as the bottle explodes and rains liquid fire down onto the men.

Laughter rocks through Jeongguk, and he loses his balance, falling backward onto his palms against the bar. He sits flat on his butt and swings his legs over the edge of the counter, watching as men panic and scream.

Most of them will have minor burns. Several men run around flailing while their shirts and hair singe, and one man rolls on the floor, desperate to put out the flames. In the chaos, Jeongguk spots Jae off to the right, away from the fire, and he hops down from the bar to make his way over to him, pulling his mouthguard out.

"Yo, Jae!" Jeongguk shouts, and the man in red turns quickly and begins to run toward Jeongguk.

"Boss, you have to help us!" Jae shouts frantically, clearly drunk. "Someone threw fire at us!"

Jeongguk giggles and takes Jae roughly by the bicep as he mutters, "You, come with me."

Jae stumbles but compiles, and Jeongguk drags him several more feet away. Beside the bathrooms of this old building are thick pipes that stick out from the brick, and Jeongguk yanks the man close to one as he reaches into his pocket for some metal handcuffs, fumbles with opening one end of the cuffs, then locks it around Jae's wrist in a tight squeeze.

A shout rips through Jae's chest, and he attempts to get away but then throws a punch. Jeongguk takes the impact of his fist to the jaw and then slams his forehead into Jae’s face, knocking him backward into the wall. 

Jae's head hits brick, making him grunt, and Jeongguk manages to reach the man’s hand over his head and secure the open cuff to one of the pipes.

Adrenaline from absorbing the punch has Jeongguk's nerves singing to life, and he punches Jae in the stomach for good measure, then turns to find the man at the bar shaking while leaning against it with a look of horror on his face.

"Why so scared?" Jeongguk mock pouts.

The man shakes his head and whimpers, "Wh-what's going on, boss?"

"You know what's going on," Jeongguk mutters with a grin.

The man shakes his head again, this time more frantically.

Jeongguk cocks his head to the side, sending a dizzying wave through his body. "No? Because if you told me what happened, I would consider letting you live."

The flash of hope that widens the man's eyes tells Jeongguk everything he needs to know, and he advances quickly—crowds the man's space. A quick glance over his shoulder shows the rest of the group is still broken out into chaos with men attempting to help others put out the remaining fire and get to their feet. A few blurry bodies are on the outskirts of the crowd, but nobody appears to be approaching him.

"Tell me what happened," Jeongguk growls as he turns back to the man at the bar.

"J-J-Jae s-said if w-we cover for him, we'd get a cut."

"A cut of what?" Jeongguk asks.

The man screws up his face as if Jeongguk's question is ridiculous. "Money, s-sir."

"Money for what?"

The man shakes his head. He knows he is fucked—that he has already said too much—and he nibbles on his lip, which trembles. Jeongguk brings the kunai up to the man's throat and presses the tip against his jugular notch.

"Answer me."

"P-pills!" the man shouts. "Narcotics and party drugs. He t-took them off the last shipment while you were distracted."

"Distracted, hmm? Tell me, what was I distracted by?"

At this, the man begins to panic and twist as if hoping that he can get away somehow. So there is more to this story than them simply stealing from him to turn a profit. Interesting.

"Boss?" a voice comes from behind Jeongguk, and he grits his teeth hard and pushes the kunai into the man's jugular, turning his face away from the spray of blood. The man gargles and thrashes, and Jeongguk takes a step back and allows him to fall to the floor and bleed out.

One down, fourteen to go.

Jeongguk pops his guard back into his mouth, spins on the balls of his feet with a wide plastic smile, and finds two worried-looking men standing before him. He reaches into his shirt, pulls another kunai off the bandolier of blades strapped to his chest, and begins to twirl them both—one on each index finger.

The major downside of having to be this high to commit mass murder is that his aim is shit. The entire point of having so many knives strapped to him is to throw them at his targets without needing to immediately retrieve them. Instead, Jeongguk straps the belt around his chest as a means to ground himself—a tight, scratchy hug.

Jeongguk advances on the two men. One stumbles backward and begins to run back to the group while the other gets an angry glint in his eye and comes in swinging. Jeongguk guards his punch by driving the tip of a knife through the man's forearm, then punches his other knife into the man's neck. For good measure, Jeongguk kneels as the man falls and slices his throat open to quicken his bleeding.

Two down, thirteen to go.

When Jeongguk stands, stumbling as he finds his balance, he notices some men crowding around him while others attempt to escape. Jeongguk feels himself fly into a blind rage as he approaches the small group and begins punching and stabbing, absorbing hits that are nowhere near as damaging or lethal as the ones he doles out. He barely feels it when fists make impact with him, and he giggles wildly when one punch lands on the kunai under his shirt and slices the man's knuckles.

"You ruined my shirt, you fuck," he complains through his mouthguard as he punches a knife into the soft tissue and cartilage the man's face, still giggling like a madman.

A glance around the space shows Jae in his corner, three men at the door attempting to beat it down, and two men on the far-end wall huddled up. A couple men groan and crawl against the floor, and Jeongguk has no idea how many of them are dead or dying, so he advances on the three by the door.

Jeongguk takes a chance and flings one of the knives, and it whirs satisfactorily and hits one of the men in the shoulder. The man yelps and falls to his knees, clearly assuming something far worse has happened to him, and Jeongguk takes the opportunity to advance and take the other two out while he is down.

A knife to the throat here, a headbutt followed by a knife to the throat there, and Jeongguk is bending behind the last man, pulling the knife from his back and reaching around to the front of his neck to slice it open. Jeongguk gets to his feet, stretches his neck from side to side, and turns to survey the scene.

The two men who were by the far wall must have gained courage, and they come barreling toward Jeongguk. One slips on blood and falls back against the floor with a loud smack, but the other manages to get close enough to attempt to slash at Jeongguk with a piece of broken glass. Once again, Jeongguk blocks the punch with a knife to the forearm, then punches a knife into the throat, watching with a plastic grin as the man falls to the ground.

Groans and gargles fill the space, and Jeongguk catches his breath as the room sways and twists before him. His mouth is dry, and the smell of brassy blood is overwhelming, and Jeongguk wants to curl up in a ball and take a nice big nap. 

On the floor, the man who had slipped and fallen convulses, and Jeongguk wonders if his head has been pierced by broken glass. Nobody seems to be getting up, so Jeongguk surmises he must have fourteen down with only one left.

Jeongguk wipes the back of his wrist against his forehead, undoubtedly coating it in sweat and blood, and he turns back to Jae. Blood runs down Jae's wrist, and he shakes like a leaf on a tree—he has clearly been attempting to pull himself from the handcuff. Jeongguk pulls his mouthguard out, sucks in some of the saliva that has pooled, and shoves it into his pocket beside its case.

"Last man standing," he slurs as his high becomes unbearable. "You have three minutes to spill before I kill you."

The tangy scent of urine hits Jeongguk's nose, and he looks down to find a large wet spot on the front of Jae's jeans. He shakes his head and scoffs.

"It wasn't my idea," Jae whimpers. Jeongguk cocks his head and studies the man's face—is he crying? What a fucking wimp.

"Whose idea was it?"

"You know whose!" Jae shouts. "The same family that sent the man to fuck up your boxer! The same family who attacked your whore! They're sending people from all sides to throw you off your game and shake you up!"

"My whore?" Jeongguk growls as he grabs Jae tightly by the jaw. "Jimin isn't my whore, and speaking about one of my family men like that is a good way to get a knife shoved into your filthy little piss hole."

Fear visibly shakes through Jae, who thrashes in Jeongguk's hold. He even grabs onto Jeongguk's wrist with his free hand in a feeble attempt to yank Jeongguk's grip off of his jaw. Jeongguk headbutts him again and squeezes tighter as a dizzying quake rocks through him.

"Why did you accept her offer? Were you really stupid enough to think you wouldn't get caught?"

Jae scoffs and shakes his head, appearing to act tough with tears on his cheeks. "She has men on the inside."

Jeongguk squints, losing his ability to see clearly even as close to Jae as he is. "On the inside? On my team?"

"Well...she did. You killed most of them."

"Who are the others?" Jeongguk demands, and Jae laughs.

"You got everything from me that you could," Jae says. Jeongguk thinks he sees Jae's eyes flash to the side and back, but it takes him too long to process it before Jae mutters, "Kill me and be done with it."

Jeongguk takes a step back, ready to drive the knife into Jae's throat and move on, but an arm snakes around Jeongguk's torso and hot, piercing pain hits him on his side. Jeongguk drives a knife into the hand around his waist, piercing his own skin from the impact, and he yanks the knife away in time for another piercing pain to hit him between his shoulder blades.

Only as Jeongguk spins and finds one of the blood-soiled men holding a jagged, bloodied piece of glass does Jeongguk realize he has been stabbed. He grunts as he thrusts both of his knives into the man's guts and shoves the man back until he slips on blood and falls to the floor.

"Fuck!" Jeongguk shouts in frustration as he spins around and slices Jae's throat open in a broad, sloppy motion. He does not want to deal with stab wounds of all fucking things.

Jeongguk slowly steps back and looks around the room, swaying as he turns and attempts to survey the carnage left behind. Everything is a blur of reds and browns with hints of whites and blues, and Jeongguk stumbles toward the bar to sit down on a stool and catch his breath.

The pain in his side and back tingle-throb, and Jeongguk attempts to remember how to tend to a stab wound, but all he can do is grind his teeth and rest back against the bar top. When the door to the club flies open, Jeongguk doesn't register who approaches until he hears Seokjin's nagging shouts and feels him prodding at Jeongguk's torso.

"Yah, are you injured?" Seokjin shouts, fussing about at Jeongguk's side where his hand is weakly pressing against a wound.

Jeongguk hisses and nods, and then he giggles at the thought of any of these men thinking they could kill him. How stupid of them.

"Where did you park?" Seokjin asks as he gets Jeongguk onto his feet with his arm draped over Seokjin's broad shoulders.

"Front," Jeongguk mutters.

All the world is a blur of lights and colors, streaked and sloppy before Jeongguk's eyes. He steps into the cool night air, and the security guard says something he does not comprehend, and then he fumbles down the short set of steps, onto the sidewalk.

"Jeongguk, I don't see any of your cars," Seokjin says as he shakes him roughly.

Pulled to alertness for a split moment, Jeongguk hums and says, "Ol' minty," while flinging his hand in the direction of his bike.

"Wh—Jeonggukah!" Seokjin shouts. "You said you drove here! I asked you if y—oh, this is unbelievable."

"I dr—I drove my bike," Jeongguk slurs.

Jeongguk is led to his bike where the blurry valet attendant is bowed before him, and Seokjin gets him to straddle the small metal cargo rack above the back tire.

"Feet on the pegs!" Seokjin barks as he lifts Jeongguk's feet one at a time and places them onto small metal pegs that are screwed onto his back tire.

Jeongguk somewhat obeys—he has done this many times before—but his feet slip a few times until he is steady. Then Seokjin moves the bicycle away from the bike rack, tells Jeongguk to hold on tight, and once Jeongguk wraps his arms around Seokjin's ribs and leans his head on his back, they are off.

Seokjin smells nice. Like cigars and the expensive cologne that Hoseok insists he wears. He takes in a nice deep breath and groans happily before letting it out. The night air feels cool on his skin, and he smiles as Seokjin drives them home.

From time to time, Jeongguk hears an unintelligible grunt or groan, but he ignores it; he will undoubtedly hear it again once he has sobered up, so there is no use trying to strain the few remaining brain cells that are still working to try to make sense of it now.

The ride from the city to the property is usually around thirty minutes when it is just Jeongguk. He has no concept of how much time has passed as he attempts to watch a tree line blur by, and although the scenery is familiar and Jeongguk thinks he has some idea of how close they could be, he does not dwell on it. Instead, he closes his eyes.

When the bicycle finally skids to a stop, Jeongguk nearly topples over. Seokjin swears and mutters, and Jeongguk attempts to place his feet on the concrete driveway, but his legs melt like hot wax, and he sinks downward as the weight of his collapsing bicycle drags him to the ground.

Seokjin manages to get Jeongguk untangled from his vehicle and picks him up over his shoulder, carrying Jeongguk potato-sack-style toward a light that shines out into the night through some windows. He hears the mechanical beeping of the locking mechanism and then the door crashes open. The sounds of three particular voices gasping tells Jeongguk that he has been brought to Yoongi's house.

"Taehyung," Seokjin mutters. "I think he's been stabbed. There doesn't seem to be a lot of blood loss; I think he's delirious from being high."

There is some shuffling around, and Jeongguk hangs over Seokjin's shoulder, feeling sleepy and, frankly, completely unbothered by anything. 

So he may have gotten stabbed once or twice, so what? He found out more information, and he got to let go of some of his pent-up rage. His jaw aches, however, and he wishes he had not taken his mouthguard out.

Jeongguk is transferred to a different strong person, and Jeongguk wraps his arms around the different neck and hugs closely. After a split moment, he realizes by the clean smell of lotion and eucalyptus shampoo that it is Taehyung, and Jeongguk smiles as he carries him back outside.

"Stabbed?" Taehyung mutters curiously as the night air hits Jeongguk's cheeks and makes him shiver.

The walk to Taehyung's house from Yoongi's is short, and Jeongguk buries his face into Taehyung's neck as he mutters, "Mmhmm."

Silence falls, save for the crunch of dirt under Taehyung's shoe. Jeongguk thinks he begins to fall asleep, roused by the sound of Taehyung's deep, soft voice.

"Are the wounds deep?"

Jeongguk shakes his head, although, truth be told, he has no idea. There is a wet spot on his back, but it does not feel very big, and the one on his side is pressed against Taehyung.

"How many bodies?" Taehyung asks softly.

The sounds of Taehyung's feet crunching over gravel feels oddly calming to Jeongguk, and for some inexplicable reason, he feels the urge to cry.

"Fifteen," Jeongguk mutters with a tremble. He is cold, and he grips onto Taehyung tighter in search of warmth.

Taehyung tsks and chuckles. "So reckless. You don't have to do these jobs alone, you know? You can take one of us."

"Sorry," Jeongguk mutters, feeling defeated and miserable.

Another chuckle comes from Taehyung, instantly lifting Jeongguk's spirits and making him feel okay. "Don't apologize, baby. We just worry about you."

Jeongguk nods against Taehyung's neck and mutters, "Okay."

"I can't believe how mean you are to me," Taehyung whines in a mocking tone as he leans the two of them forward to punch in the password to his front door. 

Taehyung opens the door and switches on a foyer light, then makes his way down a short ramp into his basement, where his exam rooms and surgical equipment are. The fluorescent lighting makes Jeongguk groan and squeeze his eyes closed.

"First, Hoseok tells me you brought home some nobody to fuck," Taehyung continues to mock-pout, "and then you show up all cut and bruised. Starting to make me think you don't need me anymore, baby."

Jeongguk knows Taehyung is being playful, but he cannot stop himself from taking it very personally, and the sloshing of heightened emotions has him feeling incredibly sad. 

Taehyung means more to him than anyone in the world, which is precisely why Jeongguk tends to keep him at arms-length sometimes. Tears spill from Jeongguk's eyes.

"S-sorry, hyung."

"Awe, my poor crybaby," Taehyung sing-songs as he sets Jeongguk onto a leather exam table covered in a white paper sheet.

Jeongguk continues to hold onto Taehyung tightly until two strong hands wrap around his wrists and pull his arms down. He does not want Taehyung to see him cry, even though it would not be the first time—nor the last.

"Are you bored of me, Ggukie? Is that why you don't call me anymore?"

"D-don't want to bother you," Jeongguk whimpers pathetically, swiftly crashing from his high and feeling the full array of his emotions.

Jeongguk opens his eyes a crack to find Taehyung hovering over him and unbuttoning his soiled shirt. Taehyung chuckles at the sight of the blades and reaches around Jeongguk’s back to undo the belt and pull it free. Then he pulls Jeongguk's shirt away, making Jeongguk shiver, and he surveys the first wound.

"Not too deep," Taehyung says as he meets Jeongguk's gaze and smiles. For the first time in a while, Jeongguk can clearly see in front of him, and he thinks Taehyung is more beautiful than ever. Taehyung quietly studies his face. "You seem to be coming back to me. How do you feel?"

Terrible, Jeongguk thinks. He can't tell if he is fully coming down or if the second pill still has more high to give him, but he trembles and his bones feel restless in his skin, and he cannot keep his emotions from teetering from one extreme to the other, especially with Taehyung looking down at him the way he does.

"Shitty," is all Jeongguk says.

"Let's get you into a nice warm bath," Taehyung suggests with a grin that makes Jeongguk melt. "We'll clean your wounds, and then you'll show me what you did to that pretty boy who you picked up this morning. Sound good?"

Jeongguk will need a lot of cocaine to keep up with Taehyung, especially in this state, and he nods and attempts a smile, feeling his teeth clatter in his mouth.

"That's my good baby," Taehyung groans in a tone so deep, it makes a chill rock through Jeongguk.

There is only one person who Jeongguk lets his guard down for—lets do anything he pleases. And although Taehyung is absolutely terrifying and will undoubtedly be the death of him, Jeongguk cannot tell him no.

thank you so much for reading!!! i hope you enjoy these extras. i lament only writing from one point of view, so these have been a lot of fun for me. hopefully it's not too confusing plopping them into the story as early as chapter 10.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

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[aihoshiino]

chapter 140 thoughts!

Reminder: because of the content of this arc in genera and this chapter in particular I will unavoidably have to discuss CSA and topics related to it, including grooming, emotional abuse and sexual assault. I do not discuss them in great detail, but if you very understandably just aren't in the headspace for that, no hard feelings - look after yourself and I'll see you next time.

So a lot of stuff goes on in this chapter but weirdly, I feel like I don't have a lot of stuff to say about it compared to the last few. Partially because it speaks so strongly for itself but mostly because, sort of similarly to 137, this is just clarification and reiteration of some themes and information that's been floating around loosely for however many chapters and we are just now actually pinning it all down into something more coherent.

Or at least, 15 Year Lie is pinning this all down into something more coherent. We're definitely playing a bit more with like, presentation and diegesis in these sections of the movie than we were with previous scenes. With the B-Komachi scenes, we very rarely fully entered the in-universe diegesis of the movie and the scenes being filmed quite firmly remain scenes being filmed by actors who are having their own thoughts, feelings and character arcs both about and separate from the material.

By contrast, both this and last chapter lean more into presenting these scenes as full flashbacks, fully immersing us in the material that the movie's diegesis essentially overtakes and becomes the manga's diegesis. It not only creates a sense of immediacy but also one of authenticity - by removing all the reminders that this is something being manufactured, a piece of in-universe dramatized fiction, the reader is invited to accept it uncritically as fact.

And honestly? I think this is a very clever trick. While I do think the broad emotional arc and relationship beats we're being presented with here are probably more or less true, there's a big question still hanging over the movie's presentation of things: how much of this is true and why is it being shown to us? This is a movie about Ai's life supposedly, right? So if this is the case, what's with this sudden POV switch to Kamiki�� and how exactly did Aqua (and the rest of his 15YL collaborators in general) get this level of insight into 'Boy A'?

But I'm getting ahead of myself a bit…

Like I said up top, I think a lot of this chapter kind of speaks for itself, so all I'm gonna say is that this did a huge amount to really endear me to the HKAI dynamic, at least as 15YL is portraying things. It's just such a nice change to see Ai bouncing off someone her own age, squabbling and getting along and butting heads like a regular kid. It does a lot to really get across just what it was about this relationship that drew the two of them to each other. They have a good rapport and some cute chemistry and I'm finding myself rooting for them even in spite of knowing how it all ends.

The scene of them at the restaurant was honestly just a complete and total delight. It's been so fucking long since we got any content of Ai just being her likable goobery self so getting to see that again (and her and Hikaru's shocked and appalled reactions to the bill) was just so good.

The short exchange that follows is also so, so important, I think. Similarly to an early AQKN moment, we are shown Ai from Hikaru's POV - in which she wears a lovely smile and stands framed as the focal point of not one but two panels of brilliant light. This feels like a sort of answer to something I noted last chapter where HKAI's relationship seemed to be in the process of echoing both the AQAK and AQKN relationships - in Hikaru, Ai sees someone who has the potential to understand her. In Ai, Hikaru sees light. I'm interested to see if this will keep getting reiterated on as we get more scenes of them together.

god the more details we get about Airi's abuse of Hikaru, the more vile she becomes. The money she gives him rings eerily true to the way real life abusers of this nature really do use money and material gifts as a method of control over their victims. And it's also not hard for me to see her as using this to frame things as somehow transactional - to pretend Hikaru has any power in this entirely unbalanced dynamic.

I continue to be impressed with how OnK is portraying Kamiki's abuse. As I mentioned last time, I often find that manga is pretty tasteless and sometimes even downright exploitative and offensive in its portrayals of sexual abuse, framing it in a titillating way for the viewer to gawk at. By contrast, not only is OnK's portrayal a layer removed from the actual events, being in-universe fiction, but it gives us no lurid details to gawk it. We are forced to look only at Hikaru's pain and the emotional reality of the horror and exploitation he's experiencing and the story dares us to flinch and look away. Just like plenty of people do.

I also really appreciate that the story leaves absolutely no room for plausible deniability and just outright calls Airi exactly what she is: a pedophile. I was a little worried with last chapter that there was going to be an element of like 'oh Hikaru is just so cute even an adult woman can't help herself' but once again, the story pulls no punches in calling this abuse what it is and the perpetrator what she is. Harrowing as the material is, I'm glad that it's being handled well thus far and I hope Akasaka doesn't flub it.

that said i have to ask. where in god's name is the intimacy coordinator on this set.

The scene that follows is also very interesting for all the reasons I mentioned above. For Oshi no Ko as a manga, it's clear this material is here to challenge the reader and ask us to see Kamiki as human, to try and empathize with him despite his reprehensible actions. What purpose this monologue serves for the in-universe 15 Year Lie movie is less clear. But in both circumstances, I still have to ask: to what end, exactly?

After all, isn't this a movie overflowing with spite and hate? A script written for Aqua's revenge that will allow him to kill his father? If so, why are we being challenged to empathize with Kamiki? Why did Aqua write a script that portrays his father as a victim? And how, exactly, did he come to such a deep and nuanced understanding of this man he hates so much when it took Ruby three and a half mental breakdowns to start understanding her beloved mother?

This all raises a whole lot of questions about exactly what the final movie is going to turn out like and exactly what purposes it really serves and I'm tentatively excited to get some answers. I'm definitely still more than a little fatigued with the movie arc as a whole and a lot of my biggest issues with it have yet to really be resolved but I'm at least more interested than I have been before about where things are going to go.

Holy crap, no break next week… are we beating the biweekly allegations, gang???

[lonewolflupe]

The Frenzy After The Storm (One-Shot)

This is my entry for week 5 of The Clone Wars Winter Spectacular 2024 / @clone-wars-winter-challenge!

Summary: Clone Force 99’s cadets make the best out of a blizzard Rating: General audiences Tags: snowball fight, vode bonding, fluff, clone cadets, cadet batch Words: 924 Characters: Cadet Hunter, Cadet Tech, Cadet Wrecker, Cadet Crosshair Prompts: Hanging Chrismas (Light Day) Lights / Snowball Fight Read this one-shot here on AO3 week 4 < | ↓ | > week 6

Snowflakes came whirling down peacefully when the blizzard had finally died down. Even though there was still a crispness to the cold air, it wasn’t as windy as usual. There was a rare serenity to Kamino’s wintry atmosphere, lost to most occupants. But where most activities transpired inside the domed structures of Tipoca City, one landing platform was bustling with activity.

“Point three-six north, elevation 105,” Tech pointed out, just loud enough for his brother to hear, whilst readjusted the goggles he had manufactured himself quite recently. Without a word, Crosshair made the calculation, and with a smooth movement, threw his ammunition towards their hiding opponents. It was a direct hit.

A sly smirk slid onto Crosshair’s slim face when he heard Wrecker’s loud expressions of discontent coming from across the platform. “I like the new goggles,” he said casually to Tech, before grabbing another handful of snow and forming it into a ball. Tech blinked his eyes in surprise; it wasn’t often his snarky brother was in a good mood, let alone handing out compliments.

“Give me the next target. I want to hit Hunter in the face,” Crosshair shared with Tech, narrowing his eyes to obtain a better visual through the falling snow. Tech took another look from behind the crates they were using as cover, but before he could locate the target, a snowball hit him in the face with such force that he was blown backwards.

“Tech!” Crosshair shouted, the urgency in his raw voice begging him to get back on his feet, but it only resulted in a grunt from his brother's snow-covered face. He tried reaching his defeated brother, but was only met by an array of quickly succeeding snowballs. Suspiciously quick.

He grabbed Tech by his feet and dragged him behind the cover of the crates, where his goggled brother finally managed to sit upright, regaining himself. “Wrecker's strength is remarkable, but I must inform you that the velocity of the snowballs seem highly artificial to me,” he stated as he rubbed the snow from his face, taking his goggles off to carefully clear them from the substance.

From between two crates, Crosshair cautiously glanced to the platform’s other side, carefully examining his surroundings as he searched for their opponents. The falling snow was partly blocking his view, but he did manage to pinpoint Wrecker's location. His eyebrows folded in a confused frown when he watched how his brother was stuffing snow into some sort of weapon.

“Seems like you weren't the only creative one,” he remarked scornfully whilst pointing towards Tech’s goggles, the latter looking up in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask the meaning behind Crosshair’s sarcastic comment, when he was being shushed. “Let me hit Wrecker before he finishes reloading,” Crosshair quickly interrupted, readying himself to make the throw.

“Do I need to remind you to keep an eye on Hunter's whereabouts?” Tech warned his brother, putting his goggles back on and turning himself onto his knees, making sure to keep low this time. “He's right beside Wreck-,” Crosshair started with a huff, when a swift figure jumped over the crates and landed on top of Crosshair’s torso, making him stumble and fall to the snowy surface of the landing platform.

“Got you,” Hunter smirked contently as he loomed over Crosshair, who glowered at the smug expression on his brother's face. “I told you to not get distracted by any big guns,” he continued, before offering his hand to help him get back to his feet. With a scoff, Crosshair slammed it away before getting up without any help, wiping the snow from his outfit.

Instead, Hunter helped Tech back on his feet, shooting him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the goggles,” he said as soon as he noticed the snowy remains on it. Crosshair folded his arms, rolling his eyes before scowling at Hunter’s remark. “I would like to know what Wrecker was using to fire those snowballs,” Tech spoke intrigued, just when the fourth brother joined the batch.

“Got you good, Tech!” he laughed with a booming voice, slamming his goggled brother on the back with quite some force. A modified missile launcher rested on his broad shoulder casually, and when Tech regained himself from Wrecker’s forceful show of affection, he started inspecting the weapon. “Fascinating,” he exclaimed under his breath, lost in the customised device.

“Can we hang the Life Day lights in our barracks now?” Wrecker asked enthusiastically, his eyes glistening as if the Life Day lights were already being reflected in them. “We will, Wrecker. And according to our bet, you may decide where to hang them,” Tech answered practically when he tore his attention from the snowball launcher.

“Oh goodie,” Crosshair sighed in response, knowing too well he wouldn't be able to properly enter his bunk for the coming rotations. Wrecker sure liked filling up their bunks to shine a light on his brothers. Hunter shared his amusement with a low, soft chuckle, before briefly patting Crosshair’s shoulder in a silent understanding. It only resulted in another eye-roll before the cadets started their walk back to their barracks.

Wrecker flung the launcher from his shoulder, proudly turning it around in his hands as he inspected the weapon in complete satisfaction. Tech walked by his side, still in awe of it. His brother’s interest wasn’t lost on Wrecker. “I can show you how I’ve made it,” he beamed at his smaller brother, excitement radiating from his portly face. “I would like that,” Tech replied with a small smile.