#I should put together some kind of masterpost

[juchioris]

No Yandere Simulator: Undine Eisner

My entry for the No Yandare Simulator au by @quartztwst. I'm sending Undine out to play with the neighbours' kids!

repost from my reblogs under the templates, now as one Masterpost - you are welcome to comment and ask questions in the post's comment section :)

(excuse the traditional art, I don't have the digital drawing skill, lol)

Under the Cut: Role in the Plot, Introduction, Official ten Questions answered

Role in the Plot: Potential Rival

- will investigate murders and murder attempts (turns up after murder and failed attempt) - will try to protect everyone (after failed murder attempt: guards the intended victim, no matter who it is) - will intervene in fights if she comes across them (tries to stop the fight, so no one gets injured/killed) - will try to stop a murder attempt, if she walks in on it (fights the attacker and tries to capture them) - will sneak/run away, if someone has a gun (Undine knows what she's made of and that she can't win against that)

Introduction

In this AU, she moved with her family from Germany to whereever this school is, while her friends stayed back in Germany, so she is on her own at this school (still in contact with them though). Her family is actually political very right and hates foreigners, so they also hate to be foreigners, but one parent got such a great job opportunity here, you know: money. At any rate, Undine tries to be a "good" foreigner and "integrate" (assimilate). So, she prefers to get into fights (only with "bad guys" who "deserve it", of course) after school, to not be bad at school by breaking the rule against fighting there.

Other "values" taught at home are racism and queerphobia. With the bad influence of her parents instead of the good influence of her friends, Undine believes in these "values" much more. By mouthing off about her outdated and cruel points of view, Undine has ruined her own reputation at this school.

Her desire to be heroic and popular (even stronger in this AU) is constantly thwarted by herself. It's not just that she ends up discriminating students in her mindset to look down on differences to put herself higher, she also comes across as annoying, ignorant and patronizing when she tries to help people with little daily struggles (because there are so little big stuggles at this lame, mundane school).

While it is unclear, if Jade really has a romantic interest in Undine (as rumour has it), he is certainly interested in the contradiction between her heroic kindness and her villainous rude side and the resulting "entertaining behaviour". Undine is curious, if the rumour is true, but won't ask Jade outright. She wouldn't risk to get rejected by someone she doesn't even have a crush on. Goes against her pride.

In an AU, where she is not at a disadvantage with others having magic, but she herself not, Undine is pretty strong. She won't admit it, but her motivation to get stronger in the Martial arts club isn't just her wish to be heroic and save people, but also her less heroic lust for power (which physical strength is).

Her close friends call her "Dini" - but she doesn't have any close friends at this school. Undine has some kind of one-sided frivalry with Yuu Quinn (OC of @vvyvernicus), where they hang out together because most other people avoid them due to bad reputation, but they bicker and mock each other most of the time and Undine has the immature need to compete with Yuu Quinn over every little thing. But yeah, Undine does care about Yuu Quinn, so if anyone does something bad to her - it's personal and Undine will come for this bad guy with extra rage.

I hope Undine isn't too problematic with her discriminatory ways, but I thought if murder is okay, then her misdeeds should not be too hardcore for the AU. Undine can change and learn to be a better person - with some good-influence-friends, patience and learning from mistakes it's possible, even in this AU.

Undine Eisner No Yan Sim AU Q&A

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

Yes. Undine lives with her parents and has a good relationship with them. Her parents, followers of right-wing populism, are a bad influence, raising their daughter (only child) to be racist, queephobic etc. The teachers at the school step up and try to teach her to be more tolerant.

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

Quartz has an unusual skincolour, so... While Undine doesn't outright bully people with a different skin colour, her racism manifests in a casual form, by her avoiding them, being wary of them and being less kind to them. For example, Undine would help Quartz, if she sees another student bullying/attacking her (unless she knows of a context that justifies it, like... you know... Quartz trying to kill someone), but she wouldn't help her if she fell down or dropped some things, when she would help white students in such little scenarios. Since she is so distant, Undine isn't close to Quartz at all. She barely knows her. Undine has no idea, what she's up to. While Undine isn't crass enough to admit it out loud, she is more suspicious of not-white people, so she will easily suspect Quartz to be a criminal.

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Undine has no respect for guys who have a harem (which Azul has in this AU apparently, lol). Someone who can't choose and commit isn't worth her (romantic) interest. Normally, Undine stays away from Azul and his admirers. She has actually never met him alone until now and has never had a proper conversation with him. She only knows him from seeing him around and hearing other people's stories about him. She will protect him from harm and danger, but out of principle - Undine will try to save every student, whose life is in danger.

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

Crowley: If Miss Eisner gets sent to my office one more time for political incorrect commentary, I shall have her put together and hold a presentation about why discrimination is unacceptable and the benefits of tolerance at school. A recording of that will look good on the school's website - I mean it is good to share the resource with the public, so that everyone can learn from it...

Azul: Undine is easily one of the most foolish students here, very naive and narrow-minded. I don't like people like her.

Vil: Undine is a perfect example of someone who has neither skill nor talent in acting. Unfortunately, she tries to put up her nice-girl-act every day, despite that. It's so bad, that no one could fall for it...

Ace: Yeah, Undine is really way too nice. She just agrees to help me with everything I ask of her, as long as I don't want her food or ask her to go throw my trash away. I found out that her limit of taking requests from the same guy is two per day, then she catches on that she gets used as maid and gets snappy, hehe.

5. What grade/year is your OC?

First year

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Get good grades, do good, be heroic.

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Outrageous! Undine will prove her innocence and look for the real killer! If she knows who framed her, she can guess the killer is also Quartz.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

Yes.

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Undine doesn't skip class. She eats lunch in the cafeteria. She is either going through the school alone or tagging along with her frival Yuu Quinn.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Overall good, but nothing special. She's failing English, because she is too far beneath the first language level, that is taught here.

Undine outside of this AU

Link to Undine's Debut on my Blog

Link to my TWST Fanfic starring Undine and her friends

[madbard]

In this multiverse, the Stars have been around for a very long time. Stories of their adventures have spread from world to world over the centuries, cloaked in legend and myth.

Ink and Dream are both immortal. Swap wasn’t. When he died in battle, Dream swore to never recruit another mortal to the Stars. It was too dangerous, and Dream couldn’t lose another friend. Ink had other ideas.

Carefully, exquisitely, Ink recreated his friend. Not exactly as he was - that wasn’t possible, and Ink didn’t want to take any risks with this creation. They wanted this to work. So instead, he created a young child. This child would be bold like their friend - clever, resilient and kind. With care, he would grow into a magnificent warrior.

Just before Ink finished drawing, he looked at his creation and hesitated. Was he really trying to copy Swap? It felt wrong, somehow, to make such an exact replica. So in those final moments, Ink carefully drew on the scars Swap would have borne if he had survived that final blow, then brought the child to life.

The child, affectionately nicknamed Blueberry, was brought to an Underswap universe where Swap had died. Hesitant, but ultimately grateful to have his brother back, Swap Papyrus raised him.

Now, Ink couldn’t be there all the time. After all, they had their own duties as the God of Creation (and he had an unfortunate tendency to forget Blueberry existed). But he did visit, and every time he did he told the child of his adventures through the multiverse, of Dream and a legendary hero named Swap. Blueberry idolized the Stars and grew up dreaming of the day he would finally join them. Every day, he trained and sparred, imagining that he was facing deadly enemies. One day, Blueberry knew he would defend entire worlds.

This image shows Blueberry at age 13, 15 years prior to the current events of the story. This is the year Error attacked his universe.

Theme Song:

[redflagshipwriter]

The Proposal

This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.

Original post

Word count: 2718

Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.

Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?

He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.

There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.

There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.

“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.

He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.

He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”

It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.

Why was he doing that?

The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.

Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.

Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.

And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.

Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.

Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…

Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.

He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)

It could end now.

The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -

He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.

“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?

The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.

“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.

Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.

This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.

“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.

Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–

“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.

His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.

He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.

“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.

Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.

He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.

Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.

He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.

Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.

…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.

It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.

Why did he know this shitty recipe.

Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.

These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?

The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.

“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”

It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.

Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.

This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.

Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–

“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.

What the fuck? What the fuck!

He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-

“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.

Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.

He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.

Casserole. The answer was a casserole.

Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-

“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.

He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.

He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?

Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.

Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”

He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”

“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.

Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”

“I am NOT stealing from Alfred’s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”

Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”

A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.

Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.

He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.

“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.

Wow, weird.

“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.

Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.

Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.

Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”

Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??

Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”

Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.

“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”

Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.

“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.

Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.

Fenton looked at him.

Jason looked back.

“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”

“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”

“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”

Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.

Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.

Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”

[sweet-as-an-angel]

A Gift for Simon

Warnings: No Thoughts – Only Fluff, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Imagine you go up to Simon and you present him with an Altoid tin wallet. “I remember you saying your wallet broke the other day, so I thought maybe you could use this one until you got a new one :-).”

And you pass him a tiny little tin that, initially, leaves Simon both curious and confused. When he opens it, however, his breath catches in his throat, his heart stutters.

It’s perfectly furnished inside, tailored to his exact tastes based on morsels of information you’ve either discovered by accident or Simon has told you. You’ve made a little velvet pocket in the lid, the material Simon’s favourite colour, “So you can put your emergency money in there. I always put my coins in mine in case I need to get the bus home or buy some milk,” you tell him.

The idea of you doing something so domestic and, in some vein, humble, only endears you more to Simon. He should be taking you places; you shouldn’t be using your own money when you have him.

He says none of this, of course.

The other half is decorated with a quote cut out from his favourite book, stuck behind a fresh tube of chapstick and an elasticated hoop for him to put his house key in.

He wonders if you know his lips are chapped, whether you’ve looked at them as often as he finds himself watching yours whenever you accost him, privilege him with your time.

Regardless of how close the two of you are, whether you’re just acquainted neighbours or the closest of lovers, all Simon wants to do is wrap his arms around you and hold you as tight as you’ll allow. He wants to keep you all to himself, keep your kindness all for him, selfish in his endeavour to hide it from everyone else.

He knows it will be his undoing — this act of generosity you have bestowed unto him. But he can’t bring himself to fault it, even down to the idea that perhaps you expect something back from him. He’ll gladly give you anything you want if only you ask.

But you didn’t. You just smiled, bade him goodbye, and left to go about your day.

Not that you’d notice, but Simon held off on getting a new wallet for some time after that. Whenever you asked him, he’d tell you it slipped his mind, that the wallet you gave him is doing a good job anyway. Why put all the time you spent on it to waste, he thinks. And one day, he hopes he can say it, tell you to your face how his heart flurries, stutters whenever his fingers brush over that tiny tin wallet, whenever he holds it, Thumbelina in his behemoth hands. He feels your fingers there, painstaking piecing together a dream into this physical form, gossamer in its beauty, perishable in its disposition. Warm, warmth like he’s never known, and care. It’s visceral, palpable, and Simon holds it in his hand and never lets go. Not so long as he has breath in his body.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[the-winter-spider]

Say Don't Go | Part 5

Bucky x reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Angst, swearing, violence

A/N: I figured I should put part 5 out early because i feel bad for the mix up i did with the parts last night 🫶🏻

Masterpost

---

You sit in the quiet office, the faint hum of the rink beyond the door only amplifying the deafening silence in your head. Bucky’s laughter and the cruel words you overheard replay on an endless loop, cutting deeper every time. Your back presses against the desk, your legs shaky as you reach for the lock. The soft click of the bolt sliding into place feels like a feeble shield against the chaos threatening to consume you.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring blankly at the papers scattered across the desk. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you try to push back the tightness in your throat. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing, at shoving everything into a box in the back of your mind and sealing it shut. This moment will be no different.

With trembling hands, you grab the clipboard, flipping through the practice schedule as if it holds the answers to your unraveling thoughts. You move on autopilot, sorting paperwork, organizing tasks for later, going over all the shots you need for later, clinging to the routine as though it can steady you. The motions help, but only slightly. The ache in your chest refuses to ease, no matter how many times you tell yourself to breathe.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, the sharp vibration breaking the heavy silence. You glance at the screen, Steve’s name lighting up in bold letters.

S: Hey, gave Natasha your number. She just went to the washroom. Also, where are you? I got a couple minutes before I have to get on the ice—hurry!

You take a shaky breath and type back: Office. Almost done here.

The phone buzzes again before you can set it down. This time, it’s an unknown number.

Unknown: Where are you?

You know who it is without even thinking. Your fingers hover over the screen before you type: The office.

Unknown: OMW.

You exhale softly, the weight in your chest shifting slightly as you unlock the door just as Natasha steps in. Her sharp gaze sweeps the room, instantly locking on your face.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks, her tone more curious than accusing.

“Nothing,” you reply, too quickly. You shuffle papers around as though you’ve been deep in work. “Just catching up on some things. I’ll head out to the stands later to grab pictures for socials.”

Natasha crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Aren’t you usually out there for the whole practice? You know, for all the pre-action shots?”

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “I can miss one half of practice. I’ll just go out at the end for the important stuff.”

Her brows knit together, and she leans against the doorframe, studying you. “Everything okay?” she asks, her voice softer now, concern lacing her words.

“Yeah, totally,” you say, forcing a smile. It’s the kind of smile you’ve perfected over the years—wide enough to seem real but not enough to fool someone like Natasha. You pick up your camera, fiddling with the strap. “Nothing to worry about.”

She doesn’t push, though you can tell she doesn’t believe you. Instead, she walks over and perches on the edge of the desk. “Alright,” she says lightly. “But you know, if you ever want to talk, I know we barely know each other but I’m here.”

The sincerity in her voice nearly cracks the wall you’ve built, but you nod quickly, not trusting yourself to say anything else. “Thanks,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eventually, you shove the paperwork into a folder, eager to escape the suffocating stillness of the office. “You coming with me?” you ask, glancing at Natasha.

“Of course,” she says with a small smile. She loops her arm through yours as the two of you step out into the rink. Despite the ache still weighing you down, her warmth feels comforting. For a fleeting moment, you’re reminded of how rare and precious this budding friendship is. It’s always been you and Steve, and you’ll always be grateful for that, but this is different—something you’ve been missing without realizing it.

The sharp sound of skates cutting across the ice fills the air, grounding you in the familiar atmosphere of the rink. You immediately spot Bucky. His effortless movements, the way his broad shoulders shift with each turn, draw your eyes like a magnet.

Your breath hitches when his gaze meets yours. He offers you a smile, easy and warm, and the ache in your chest sharpens. You hate how your heart flutters, even now, after everything.

“Hey,” Natasha says, gently nudging your arm. “Snap out of it.”

You blink, realizing you’ve stopped in your tracks. Natasha tilts her head, her expression cautious but knowing. “Have you talked to him yet?”

You shake your head, gripping your camera tightly. “No,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Natasha sighs, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she sits beside you on the stands as you adjust your camera, focusing the lens on the team below. The steady click of the shutter becomes your anchor, each snap a momentary distraction from the storm swirling in your chest. But no matter how much you try to lose yourself in the task, you can still feel his gaze on you, burning through the lens, making it impossible to ignore the weight of everything unsaid.

---

Natasha stops just before stepping onto the stairs leading down to the ice, turning back to you with a sharp gaze. “You coming to wish Steve good luck? You always do. He calls you his good luck charm.” She smiles, trying to lift your mood.

Your stomach twists at her words. You stare at your shoes, your fingers gripping your camera strap tightly. “I think I’ll skip it this time,” you murmur. “It’s just one game—it’ll be fine.”

Her eyes narrow, and you can feel her studying you, her sharp instincts zeroing in like a laser. “Okay,” she says slowly, clearly unconvinced. “This is more than just skipping photos or not wishing Steve good luck. Did something else happen?”

The air feels heavier, your chest tightens, and your throat constricts. “Nothing,” you mumble, avoiding her piercing gaze. “I’m fine.”

Natasha crosses her arms, her jaw tightening with determination. “Alright,” she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. Before you can protest, she grabs your arm, not harshly but firmly enough to let you know she’s not letting this slide. “We’re talking. Now.”

She pulls you toward the girls’ locker room, and the sharp sound of the door locking behind her makes you flinch. The quiet of the room is deafening, and Natasha spins to face you, hands on her hips, her expression set like stone. “Spill.”

Your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths as you fight the lump building in your throat. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and no matter how much you try to push them down, they spill over. You take a shaky breath, your voice cracking as you finally say, “I… I heard them in the locker room.”

Her brows furrow, her expression softening with concern. “Who? What did you hear?” she presses gently.

“Bucky,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Their teammates. They… they were laughing about the picture.” You swallow hard, each word dragging out of you painfully. “He said I was easy. That it meant nothing. He laughed with them, made stupid jokes with them about me.”

Natasha’s eyes widen, the softness vanishing in an instant, replaced by a storm of fury. Her jaw tightens, and her fists clench at her sides. “What?” she snaps, her voice low and sharp. “He said that?”

You nod, wiping at your tears furiously as though erasing them could make the situation less humiliating. “I should’ve known better,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s Bucky. He’s been so kind all year, gone out of his way to… I thought he cared, I thought he was different, one of the good ones, god I'm so fucking stupid."

Natasha’s face hardens, and she looks like she’s ready to tear through the locker room door. “I’m gonna kill him,” she growls, already turning.

“No, no, no!” you plead, grabbing her arm with both hands and holding her back. “Please, don’t. It'll just make it worse.”

She freezes but glares at the door, her fury simmering just beneath the surface. “You have to tell Steve,” she says firmly. “He’ll want to know.."

You shake your head violently, your breath hitching as more tears spill over. “I can’t,” you whisper. “It’ll crush him. Bucky’s one of his best friends…He just picked him to be the assistant Captain.... I know he loved having a guy friend, I don't want to take that from him.....I just… I can’t handle this right now.”

Natasha takes a deep breath, running a hand through her hair as she processes your words. Finally, she exhales sharply. “Fine,” she says, her tone softening slightly. “Okay....but you can’t keep this bottled up forever, you know that, right?”

You nod faintly, clutching your camera like it’s a lifeline. “I just want to do my job,” you say, your voice trembling with desperation. “That’s all.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she brushes her hand over your arm in a comforting gesture. “Why don’t we stay here until the game starts?” she suggests. “I’ll be right back—I just need to wish Steve good luck.”

“Send my luck to him too,” you manage to say softly.

Natasha nods, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. Left alone in the quiet room, you let out a shaky breath and sit down on the bench, your body trembling as you try to collect yourself.

You pull out your camera, focusing on transferring the photos to your phone. The task feels mechanical, something to occupy your hands and drown out your thoughts. But no matter how hard you try, the sting of Bucky’s words keeps echoing in your head.

Your phone buzzes, breaking your focus. You glance at the screen and freeze when you see his name.

Bucky: Hey, where are you? Are you okay?

Your throat tightens as fresh tears well in your eyes. You stare at the message, your hands trembling as you fight the urge to respond. Instead, you cough softly, trying to clear the lump in your throat, and set your phone down beside you, ignoring the message entirely.

Focusing back on the photos, you swipe through them, editing as best as you can with unsteady fingers. But no matter how much you try to distract yourself, the ache in your chest remains, raw and relentless, as the weight of everything threatens to overwhelm you all over again.

---

The locker room buzzed with pre-game energy, the air thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline. Laughter and shouts echoed off the walls as the guys hyped each other up, their sticks tapping against the floor in rhythm. But amidst the chaos, Steve stood like a statue, his face set in stone. His mind wasn’t on the game—it hadn’t been for hours.

“Buck, a word.” he called out, his tone sharp and cutting through the noise like a knife.

The room fell quiet almost immediately. Heads turned, wide eyes watching the Captain call out his teammate. A few of the guys exchanged amused smirks, one even whistling low under his breath, but Steve’s icy glare shut them up fast. Bucky, standing by his locker, raised a brow but didn’t argue. He slung his stick over his shoulder and followed Steve without a word, his skates clicking softly against the floor.

Steve led him to the office and closed the door behind them with a firm click. For a moment, he leaned against it, exhaling sharply, as if trying to steady himself. When he turned, his hands were on his hips, and his jaw was tight.

“What’s this about, Cap?” Bucky asked, though there was a hint of unease in his voice, the usual cockiness nowhere to be found.

Steve didn’t waste time. “You saw the picture,” he said bluntly, his voice low and sharp. “You knew about it, and you didn’t do anything.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Steve, I didn’t even know about the picture until it got sent around today. I swear, as soon as I saw it, I’ve been trying to figure out who took it.”

Steve’s arms folded tightly across his chest, his blue eyes boring into Bucky. “So you just didn't try to find her? To talk to her about it? All day?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, guilt flickering across his face. “Look, I tried to find her earlier. She wasn’t anywhere, and I texted her, but she hasn’t responded. I didn’t mean for this to happen, Steve.” His voice softened, his blue eyes meeting Steve’s. “She’s not just some… one-night stand to me. You know that, you gotta know that."

Steve stared at him, his expression unreadable, though his hands had curled into tight fists at his sides. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath and pulled a chair over, sinking into it heavily. “You’re a good guy, Buck,” he said, his voice measured. “But she has baggage, a lot of it. And when she feel things, she feels them hard. This isn’t just about you. If you’re in this with her, you better be damn sure, because she doesn’t deserve to get hurt, not after everything shes been through already."

Bucky’s gaze hardened, his voice steady. “I’m already in it, Steve. I care about her.”

Steve leaned back, his expression softening slightly, though his eyes were still clouded with frustration. “Alright,” he said after a beat. “I’m gonna trust you. But if you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” Bucky interrupted firmly. “I swear.”

Before Steve could respond, there was a knock at the door. Natasha stepped in, her fiery green eyes immediately locking onto Bucky like a laser beam. Her presence filled the small room, her sharp gaze unrelenting.

“Steve,” she said, her voice tight with restrained anger. “Can I talk to you? Alone.”

Bucky, sensing the shift in the air, raised his hands in mock surrender. “That’s my cue,” he said, his voice lighter than the tension in the room warranted. “Almost game time, Cap. See you out there.” He slipped past Natasha, avoiding her piercing glare as he left.

The sound of the team’s laughter spilled into the room for a moment before Steve shut the door again, sealing them in quiet. He turned to Natasha, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Natasha crossed her arms, her posture tense as she leaned against the desk. Her fiery demeanor softened slightly as she glanced at the closed door, then back at Steve. It was clear she was weighing her words carefully.

“What is it?” Steve pressed, stepping closer. He rested his hands on her shoulders, his voice gentler now. “Nat, talk to me.”

She exhaled sharply, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Steve… I have to tell you something. Y/N told me earlier, i promised i wouldn't say anything, but fuck it you deserve, no, need to know.”

Steve’s stomach twisted, a sinking feeling spreading through him like ice. “What'd she say?”

Natasha hesitated, her green eyes flickering with something between anger and sadness. “When she got here before practice, she came through the office. She heard Bucky and some of the guys talking.”

Steve’s face hardened instantly, his jaw tightening. “What'd she hear?”

Natasha ran a hand through her hair, her frustration palpable. “One of the guys made some gross comment about her. Something like how they knew she’d have a nice rack. And Bucky…” She paused, her teeth clenched. “Bucky laughed. Said she was easy. That she practically begged for it.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed on. “Then he said it wasn’t even that good.”

Steve’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. “You’re sure that’s what she said? What she heard?" His voice was dangerously low, each word like a blade.

Natasha nodded firmly. “She’s too scared to tell you because she knows you’ll kill him.”

Steve stood there, frozen, the weight of Natasha’s words sinking in. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling as his rage simmered just beneath the surface. “She knows me best, because I'm going to kill him,” he muttered, his voice like steel.

Before Natasha could respond, there was another knock at the door. The coach stuck his head in, oblivious to the storm brewing in the room. “Game time, Rogers. Let’s go. Wrap it up.”

Steve didn’t move right away, his body tense with anger. Natasha stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “Good luck out there,” she said softly.

Steve nodded tightly, his jaw still clenched as he stormed out of the office. His mind was a whirlwind of fury and betrayal, but he knew the locker room wasn’t the place for a fight that's for the ice.

As he headed toward the rink, the team’s laughter echoed faintly in the distance, each sound like a knife twisting deeper into his chest. But Steve’s focus had narrowed to one thought: this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

----

The arena buzzed with the electric energy of the game. The crowd roared with each pass and shot, a wave of noise echoing through the building. You stood at your usual spot near the boards, camera in hand, your focus shifting between capturing the action and watching Steve. Something about the way he was playing tonight seemed… off.

Steve, typically a controlled and calculated player, was skating with an unusual edge. He was throwing his weight into every check, slamming opponents into the boards with a force that drew cheers from the crowd but left you uneasy. His movements were sharp, almost reckless, and you caught yourself flinching every time he collided with another player.

Your camera clicked away, capturing the intensity of the game. It was the second period, the score tied at 2-2, and you knew every moment mattered. When the puck found its way to Steve’s stick, he moved in like lightning, his eyes locked on the net. You held your breath, the camera lens trained on him as he wound up for the shot.

He fired, but the puck sailed just wide, barely missing the post. You could see the frustration etched across his face as he muttered something to himself. Before you could process, the rebound came flying toward Bucky, who was perfectly positioned in front of the net. With a clean slapshot, Bucky buried the puck in the top corner, the red light flashing as the arena erupted in cheers.

Normally, Bucky would skate over to Steve, their silent but familiar way of celebrating their teamwork. But this time, Steve didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he skated off, his jaw tight, leaving Bucky to celebrate with the rest of the team.

You lowered your camera, frowning. Something was definitely wrong.

As the period progressed, your attention kept shifting between the game and Steve. He was more physical than ever, throwing hits and barking at the refs. But what really caught your eye was the way Bucky kept glancing at you. Even from your spot on the sidelines, you could feel his gaze between plays, his blue eyes searching for yours like they always did. Normally, it sent butterflies fluttering through your chest. Tonight, it made your stomach twist with unease.

You weren’t the only one who noticed.

During a line change, Steve caught one of Bucky’s fleeting glances in your direction. His eyes narrowed, his face darkening. The tension was almost palpable, and you felt the shift in the air before anything even happened. “Hey Natasha?” You questioned as your eyes stayed on the ice.

She leaned forward from her seated position beside you. “Yeah?”

You swallowed, as you recognized the look in Steve’s eyes, the way his jaw was set. “Did you tell Steve by any chance?” She didn’t get the chance to answer.

Steve was skating hard, charging into the offensive zone when he veered sharply toward Bucky—his own teammate—and slammed him into the boards with a force that made the glass rattle. The crowd gasped, the sound cutting through the game’s usual noise.

“What the hell, man?!” Bucky shouted, spinning to face Steve as he skated past.

Steve stopped abruptly, turning back with fire in his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m not beating your fucking face in right now.”

“What are you even talking about?” Bucky snapped, his brows furrowed in confusion.

The referee’s whistle blew, signaling a stoppage, but Steve wasn’t done. He skated closer, shoving Bucky hard in the chest. “She heard you.”

Bucky froze. “Who? Heard what?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Steve growled. “Your whole little shebang with the team. Saying she was begging you, calling her desperate.”

Bucky’s face fell, the color draining from his cheeks. “Steve, let me explain—”

“Explain what?!” Steve shouted, his voice carrying over the ice. “That you’re a lying piece of shit? That you treated her like she was nothing? I just said I was going to trust you!"

The refs rushed over, trying to separate them, but Steve wasn’t backing down. He shoved past one of the officials and ripped Bucky’s helmet off with a furious yank, sending it clattering to the ice. “You’re done talking, and I'm done listening.”

Before anyone could react, Steve’s fist connected with the side of Bucky’s head, sending him stumbling back. The arena gasped in unison, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

Bucky recovered quickly, his eyes blazing with anger. He dropped his gloves, grabbing Steve by the collar of his jersey and landing a clean uppercut that snapped Steve’s head back. The two of them were a blur of fists and fury, blood splattering the ice as they went at each other like enemies, not teammates.

The benches cleared as their team skated over, trying to break them apart. The crowd roared, some cheering, others shouting in disbelief. By the time the refs and assistant coaches managed to separate them, both men were bleeding, their jerseys torn, and their faces etched with rage.

“Get them the hell off the ice!” the head coach bellowed, motioning for the assistants to escort them to the locker room.

As Steve was guided toward the tunnel, he twisted out of the one of the assistant coach’s grip just enough to turn back to Bucky. His voice was cold and venomous. “If you ever fucking look at her, go near her or talk to her again, you’re dead.”

[closetedgtaccount]

G/t Literature Megathread!

Hi! I've been a lurker in the G/t community here on Tumblr since around 2011-ish? I'm addicted to G/t literature, and I hoard it like crazy. I wanted to share this for anyone looking for something to read, or if they're new to the community. Feel free to reblog with any recommendations, or even to just promote your own stuff, because I'd love to read more!

Unstuck Together (@sizebrained)

A cute romance story between two pairs of human/borrower siblings! Lots of great fluff in this. I made sure to put it at the top because it doesn't get nearly as much attention as it should.

A Fraction of Justice (@ratcatcher0325)

Smal wannabe lawyer is (understandably) very angry at the world that treats him like an animal. Lots of amazing hurt/comfort in this, and the relationship between Alexander and Natalie is really sweet! Probably one of my favorite G/t stories out there!

The Walls Won't be There Forever / Cold Weather (@clumsiestgiantess)

I just linked to clumsiest's writing masterpost here, since I love most of their work! "The Walls Won't be There Forever" and "Cold Weather" are definitely some of my favs tho, since I probably have a preference for G/t angst lol.

Online Dating Can Be Hard (@duckit7)

I love Cam and Kate! There's roughly equal amounts of fluff and angst in this story, and I eat it up. Really like the worldbuilding too; it's a modern setting where smallfolk (Parvuses) are supposed to be treated equally to humans, but has a lot of the roadblocks you would expect. I feel like not enough stories use this kind of setting, which is a shame because it's prime for angst! As a heads up, this story is split up across Duckit's Tumblr and AO3; both of which are included in the link above!

One Shot (@narrans)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39455319

An amazing collection of G/t stories by Narrans! A lot of these stories contain some good angst, and Narrans is a great writer! I'd also recommend checking out their other series as well, such as A Tall and Small Collection. They also provide audiobook style readings of their works on their youtube channel (linked above), which has been very helpful for me when I'm at work or on walks!

[serverusslaype]

Shameless, pt. 16

Severus Snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

not another one... oh yes it is... and please, respectfully, strap yourselves in cos it's gonna be a ROUGH RIDE. and not in the way you're thinking, sorry, but get your minds out the gutters. gosh.

in other news, i hope you're all doing okay. part 17 won't be for a while as i'm back to work tomorrow and i'm going to be tired because i stupidly ruined my sleeping schedule the past few days. massive L.

i hope you've all had a brilliant day, and thank you so much for all the love and kind, sweet comments you left on part 15, it really made my day when i read through them this morning :') i'll reply to them all when i have some extra time this week!! <3 remember to take care of yourselves, please. and enjoy this. <3

warnings: swearing, slight altercation?, angst

A pair of cold hands grasped your scarlet cheeks, forcing you to look up and into their eyes in a desperate manner. "Bloody hell, Y/N," Remus whispered, his face twisting into an anxious mix of worry and concern. Gradually, you let your tearful eyes slink up meet his own, and another sob fell from your quivering lips. "I should have stayed, I'm so sorry." He sighed. You watched as his brows slipped together; hazel eyes flicking between yours as he brushed his thumbs gently against the apples of your cheeks.

"It's not your fault, Remus, please-" You shook your head viciously and squeezed your eyes shut, letting your head fall forwards. 

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Remus asked, his voice soft as a feather, cautious not to startle you.

"Yes- no, I... my shoulder, it hurts," You whined and winced as you lifted your head up to lean back against the cabinets of your kitchenette behind you. Another intense, piercing pain shot through your shoulder. "Fuck!" You hissed. Remus cast a furious glance in the direction of Ben's unconscious body.

"We're going to have to take you to Madam Pomfrey, Y/N," the professor sighed quietly, "I'm afraid Dumbledore will need to hear of this... matter." Instantly, your eyes darted to Remus and you sucked in a breath.

"No, I'm fine, honestly- please," you shook your head, "there's no point, I won't be here after he wakes up anyway." A defeated sigh left your lips as you let your eyes slide to where Ben laid, the burning words that he'd spat at you like vicious venom replayed in your head on repeat.

"What do you mean?" Remus frowned at you.

"He found out about Severus." A dry, pathetic laugh slipped from you. "He figured it out."

"What-" Though, before Remus could even finish his question, you interrupted him.

"He went through my drawers in my greenhouse."

"I'm not following." The professor offered you an apologetic, yet perplexed look.

You inhaled a deep, slow breath through your nose. "Severus had been leaving me notes everytime he'd taken something from my cabinets, be it asphodel roots or dittany.. so, in my pathetic way, I... kept them." You muttered, reluctantly glancing up at Remus, watching his eyes soften. You looked away, unable to stomach how he looked at you with pity. "In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have, but I was blinded by my feelings for him, and so... then when I had first started seeing Ben, he had also left me notes. But, of course, I didn't really care for him the same way I did Severus, so I shoved them at the bottom of my drawers, beneath..." You trailed off, unable to finish your thoughts. You felt so silly, pathetic.

"I see." Remus said softly, noting how you were struggling. His gentle voice silently soothed your racing mind.

You took a few seconds to speak your next words, still unable to understand the gravity of the situation you'd put yourself in. In fact, it felt like you didn't even want to acknowledge it. "Ben threatened to have me fired, and then blacklisted for every job in this area. So, Remus, I'm screwed, to say the least."

The professor paused for a moment, pondering on his thoughts. You were praying he'd speak soon before you went insane from the way your mind was beginning to chaotically brew up storms of worst case scenarios.

"Not quite," Remus's lips quirked up into a small, comforting smile. You could only frown at him in utter confusion. "It's not the most... erm, ...humane way of solving such a problem, however it is the only way." Your eyes widened at his choice of words.

"Remus, you're scaring me, what on Earth are you suggesting?" You whispered, eyebrows furrowing together in what could only be described as fear.

"We're going to need the help of another wizard, I'm afraid." He replied and stood up, groaning a tad. "Ever heard of the spell, Obliviate?"

The damp stench of the dungeons of Hogwarts was wildly familiar and a little emotionally testing for you as you stumbled down the corridors with Remus; his hand placed caringly upon your back. The amber glow of the lit torches illuminated the darkened path, and the quiet squelch of the wet, mossy floor echoed throughout the empty corridors as the two of you padded towards Snape's classroom.

"I'm sorry to have to put you through this." Remus mumbled from beside you, and you felt his fingers press into the back of you. "But Severus is the only wizard I know that's meddled with minds here at Hogwarts."

"It's alright." You swallowed awkwardly as the anxious and speedy beats of your heart began to pound in your ears once more. "He never liked Ben, so I'm sure he'll take great pride in performing such a spell on him." You joked dryly, earning a curt laugh from the professor beside you. A little smile formed on your lips at the sound of it.

"Even in dark times, your brilliant humour shines through." Remus hummed, offering a warm smile as he glanced down at you.

There was a moment of silence as you let yourself wander through the labyrinth of your mind.

"Do you think it will work?"

"Absolutely," Remus answered quickly, "though Severus and I have never truly seen eye to eye, I still acknowledge the fact that he's an incredibly accomplished wizard." He said, shrugging. "I haven't met many other wizards in my time that have come close to his abilities."

You let his words simmer in your brain for a moment, and suddenly you felt a little more at ease. Not that you doubted Severus, but from what Lupin had explained about the Obliviate spell, you were slightly worried. Would Ben remember something and come back with a vengeance? No, there was no way... right? He's not that... petty.

Before you could even finish your train of thought, three loud knocks from Remus's knuckles broke you from your daydream.

Almost immediately you wanted to run away from the door in front of you. But from the way Remus's hand was glued to your back stopped you from doing so.

The door to Severus's classroom creaked open, and all of the blood from your body felt as if it had drained away the moment the two of you locked eyes.

"Severus," Remus greeted quietly.

"Y/N." Severus muttered, his tone confused as his eyes snapped to Lupin beside you, and then down to his arm around your back. A short, sharp exhale of breath left his nostrils, and you knew that he wasn't too pleased about what he was seeing. "Lupin..." He drawled as he flicked his eyes back to yours, then to Remus's own. "What brings you here?" His voice was agitated, nothing new. You let your eyes fall away from the Potions Master, unable to look at him without having some sort of whirlwind of emotions stir up inside of you.

"May we come in? It's a matter of urgency." The professor beside you spoke with a serious tone that forced a curious frown to appear on Severus's pale face. Without saying anything, Severus moved aside in one swift motion and allowed his door to creak further open, silently inviting you and Remus inside.

Had it been just Lupin here, you knew he wouldn't have been so trusting.

Glancing up, you caught Severus's eye again, and that wave of gut-wrenching yearning had returned to your heart. As you looked away, you didn't see the way his eyes softened at you, wordlessly wishing he could return to the way the two of you had been.

Lupin guided you inside with his arm, earning another harsh glare from Snape as he passed by him. "Take a seat, Y/N." The shaggy professor mumbled, pulling out a stool for you to perch on. You obliged, of course.

"What do you so desperately need from me?" Snape drawled, sweeping his way towards you and Lupin; his biting glare quite obviously screaming at you to hurry up and talk. Wasn't it so kind of him to treat you like you were some sort of irritating insect, and not someone he cared about, albeit a little?

You clenched your jaw, swallowing as you opened your mouth to speak, but Lupin beat you to it. "Bluewater threatened to have her fired and blacklisted from every job in the area." Severus's black brows immediately shot together in confusion, then quickly softened, quite obviously realising why he'd demand such a thing. "If she is to keep her job and reputation, we need you to perform the memory erasing spell on him."

Of course, Severus would do anything for you, at this point, he'd kill for you. So killing the memories of a man he truly loathed was an easy ask.

"Done." The Potions Master cast a concerned glance at you, before looking back to Lupin. "Truth be told, it'd be my pleasure." Again, Severus looked back at you with his worrisome black eyes, staring, swiftly scattering themselves over your form; quietly trying to figure out whether you were hurt or not. 

You noticed his quiet inspection. "I'm fine." You mumbled, sighing softly as you avoided his eyes once more, shuffling in your seat - but as you moved, your face twitched into a wince as your injured shoulder betrayed you.

"Yes, clearly you are." Severus muttered sarcastically as he padded towards you, reluctantly lifting a hand toward your arm. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you blinked at him, your jaw ticking with either anxiety or anger - you couldn't figure out which. "May I?" He whispered.

You gave a nod and turned your torso towards him, allowing him to inspect your injury. The second his fingers touched your skin, it ignited like a wildfire. You inhaled sharply, your body freezing at the way he trailed them down to your shoulder.

"I'll be outside." Remus muttered, noticing that perhaps the two of you need to be alone. He shuffled his way towards the door, and slipped out of it, the quiet thud and click of the handle signifying he'd left.

"Did he do this to you?" Severus muttered through gritted teeth, brushing his thumb over the colourful blotch that was beginning to appear upon the skin he used to worship. He hissed at the sight of your bruised skin, it was like someone had ruined a beautiful painting and thrown some sort of hideous concoction onto it.

He should have known better than to abandon you like that. Bluewater had always been a wildcard. He should have stayed by your side, he shouldn't have let his emotions get the better of him like he always did. Maybe then you wouldn't have this... abomination painting your flesh black and blue. Severus would never forgive himself for falling into the foolish trap of his insecurities. He'd never forgive himself for ever listening to the deranged demons that resided within his mind, silently calling him into the darkness; their devilish, silver tongues persuading him to fade into the lonely void.

You and Severus sat in silence for a moment, and your eyes had been glued to the ground ever since the Potions Master laid his hands on you. If you looked into his eyes whilst he was so close to you, you weren't exactly sure if you could stop yourself from doing something utterly stupid.

"Where is he?" Severus suddenly mumbled, a burning hot fire of rage and vengeance was quickly spreading throughout his body.

"My chambers, but-"

"Stay here." Severus immediately began to storm towards the door of his classroom, his long black cape billowing behind him with a vengeance that matched its wearer.

"Severus, don't hurt him!" You cried out, leaning forwards to try and grab his arm. You gasped as your injured shoulder unleashed an unbearable pain across your back, making you squeeze your eyes shut in agony.

"Don't hurt him? Look at what he's done to you!" Severus whipped around, furious. "You can barely move your shoulder without wincing like a wounded deer!" He stormed back towards you, and for the first time in a while, the irate look in his eyes truly frightened you. If looks could kill, you'd be dead on the ground. Though, he was not angry at you, his anger was only focused on one man.

"I don't care! Think about what could happen to you if the Ministry found out you harmed one of their own!" You exclaimed, praying that Severus would see through his blinding anger and choose to not do something foolish to Ben, despite how fierce his wrath was.

Severus paused for a moment as if to contemplate your words - though his consideration of your opinion was cut short as he whipped around once more; that vicious fire exploding inside of him like a deadly inferno. He was truly devoted to the thought of inflicting more harm than necessary to Bluewater.

At this point, you couldn't stop him. There was no way you could follow him with your injury. You watched on helplessly as he sweeped out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him. There was only one other person that could help you.

"Remus!" You yelled, cursing your weakened shoulder as you stood, breathing sharply in a dire attempt to lessen the pain that was slowly burning its way through your torso. "Remus!" You yelled once more, and immediately the door swung open, his familiar face adorned with an utterly worried look.

"What's wrong?" He questioned, quickly rushing over to you.

"It's Severus, he's gone to find Ben, you need to stop him, please," You panted, desperately grabbing onto the the material of his suit jacket that sat on his bicep. "I don't want him to do something he'll regret."

"Merlin," Remus muttered and nodded, turning swiftly to rush after the Potions Master. "Will you be alright?" He stopped to ask, running a stressed hand through his hair.

"Yes, yes, I'll be fine, now, please just go!" You sighed heavily and leaned against a table beside you, hissing as your shoulder was now screaming at you in horrific pain. You were truly starting to worry now, had you fractured it- or broken it? Ben had shoved you quite harshly...

Your eyes darted around Severus's classroom, lingering on the potion ingredients that lined the wall. The only thing you could do was wait.

Or potentially brew a potion to help your agonising pain...

Severus's thunderous footsteps echoed hauntingly throughout the castle corridors as he stormed his way to your chambers; his fingers twitching at his sides, eagerly awaiting the chance to lay his hands upon Bluewater, the way he did to you.

That rotten bastard, Severus thought, he could kill him without a second thought right now. In fact, in the very back of the Potion Master's mind, he was truly considering it. The only thing Severus wanted to hear right now was Bluewater's bloodcurdling screams as he made him suffer through either physical or mental hell. All he had to do was lock the door, cast muffliato, and go to town. That was all too tempting for Snape. It was too easy. And that's what scared him.

As he neared your chambers, a stream of warm light began to pour out from underneath the door, and Severus deduced that Ben had awoken from Remus's spell. He quickly softened his footsteps and snuck towards your door, donning his wand in his hand. There was two ways he could go about this - he could barge in and surprise the bastard, or he could do it quietly. Perhaps the latter would be a little less idiotic.

Severus pushed your door open gradually with his hand, cautiously moving forwards as he pointed his wand into your chambers. A pained groan came from the floor, and the professor cast his eyes downwards and was met with an embarrassing mess shuffling around on it. Just the back of his head sent Severus into an blinding furious spiral, and he stormed towards him, grabbing the back of his top to hoist him upwards onto his feet. 

"Get th'fuck offa' me!" Bluewater drawled, still groggy from Remus's spell as he pathetically tried to fight the Potion Master's hand that had a hold of his flimsy shirt. Relentlessly, Snape dragged him through the room, the scratching sound of Bluewater's shoes scraping across the wooden floor and Snape's pounding footsteps filled the silence. He yanked the boy upwards and dropped him on his arse, watching in delight as a pained look flashed across his face.

"Watch your mouth, Bluewater," Snape snarled, poking the tip of his wand into his neck, earning a glare from the boy.

"You." Bluewater spat, his eyes narrowing into a glare. "You sonuva' bitch! You slimy fuckin' bastard, how dare you-"

"How dare I? How dare you lay a finger on her!" Snape bellowed at Bluewater, his teeth bared in a ferociously fearsome scowl.

"I never touched her." Bluewater's lips quirked into a vile smirk, and this only fuelled Snape's burning hatred for the boy. Without a second thought, he kicked the side of Bluewater, sending him tumbling onto his side, screeching in pain.

"Don't lie to me, Bluewater!" Snape growled as he fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him up to his towering height, the tips of his toes barely grazing the floor. 

"You miserable git," The boy hissed through gritted teeth as he had one hand glued to his throbbing side. "She'll never work again, Snape. All because of you."

"Don't push me, you foolish boy." Snape huffed, his chest heaving uncontrollably as his anger got the best of him.

"In fact, neither will you." Bluewater added, his tone cocky and ignorant. Snape couldn't control himself any longer, and so he threw the boy to the ground again rather harshly, forcing a cry of pain from him. He felt nothing. Nothing but hot rage.

"Severus!" Remus suddenly called out from behind him, panting. "Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand fell to the ground.

Remus felt his blood run cold as Snape turned to look at him with a face like a maddened bull. "Just... calm down, Severus, take a moment," The professor said softly, holding out a hand to try and defuse the situation. As he stared at the furious Potions Master, he was sure he could see red-hot steam pouring out of his ears. "You don't want to do this, Severus. Believe me." Snape's shoulders rose and fell rigidly as he looked on in disbelief at Lupin. "Y/N wouldn't want this."

Your name rolled off of Lupin's tongue like a bullet into Severus's chest.

"You must've drugged her," Bluewater spoke again, his voice making Snape's eye twitch, "there's no way in hell that she'd choose to be with you. She hates you. The amount of shit we used to talk about you, Merlin..." The boy knew he was getting underneath Snape's skin.

"Severus," Remus tried again helplessly. "Don't react."

"Silence!" Snape practically snarled at Bluewater as the seething blaze inside of him ignited once more.

"You don't deserve her, and you never will. You really think she'd fall for some ugly, pathetic and old git like you? Perhaps all that time in the potion classroom made you delusional." Bluewater spat, shuffling forwards on the ground. "You should ask her about what happened earlier, between us, I bet you'd-"

"Stupefy!" Remus yelled, aiming his wand at Bluewater, watching as his body fell limp once more.

Snape stared at Ben's unconscious body, his mind suddenly becoming a warzone after his last words before Remus had knocked him out. What happened earlier between you and Ben? Were his thoughts true? Was Bluewater right? Did you hate him?

"Severus,"

"What?!" Snape hissed, turning to face Lupin with a hideous look upon his face. Lupin offered an apologetic cock of his head, before nodding at Bluewater.

"The memories..." Remus muttered. Snape clenched his jaw at the words.

Memories. Right.

The Potions Master slowly padded over to Bluewater, pointing his wand at his temple. He paused for a moment, contemplating his next move.

"Legilimens." Snape whispered, shutting his eyes as he delved into Bluewater's memories. Snippets of him as a child, happy and screaming with laughter flashed before Snape's eyes, and so he continued deeper, watching the moment he met you in the pub, and when you spent the first night together. The professor hissed at the sight as a pang of hurt and jealousy struck him in his chest. He pushed through, skimming through more and more memories, finally finding the one thing he was looking for. It was you and Ben, sharing a glass of wine in your bedroom earlier on.

He'd stood up and stumbled towards you, clearly drunk. "I miss talkin' to you, Y/N." He sighed, taking his hand and placing it upon your cheek; carressing it with his thumb.

"Yeah." You'd replied. Severus felt his heart drop at this point.

Slowly, Ben crouched down until you two were eye-level, his hands slipping to your ankles. Severus felt his skin suddenly ignite with jealousy. "Ben.." You warned, sighing.

"Whaat?" Ben had whispered back, heavy-lidded eyes still glued to yours as his fingers began to trail up your calves. He began to stand up slightly, pushing his face dangerously close to yours, and so you leant backwards, your back gradually making contact with the bed. He shuffled forwards slightly, pressing a knee against the edge of the bed to balance himself.

Severus watched on in horror as you shut your eyes. Ben's fingers lingered along the backs of your soft thighs, pulling a breathy sigh from your lips. Slowly, you opened your eyes again as Ben's nose pressed into your neck, followed by his wet lips. You gasped as his hands found your torso, his fingers pressing into your flesh.

Immediately, Severus pulled out of Ben's mind. He couldn't watch anymore. He was right. Merlin, he was right. For a moment, he inhaled sharply, quickly regaining his composure. "Obliviate." He muttered swiftly, filtering through Ben's memories and erasing every single one that contained you or Severus.

"A job well done." Remus said awkwardly as he watched Severus sheath his wand. He frowned as he stared at the back of the raven-haired wizard, silently pondering why he hadn't moved. He stood there for another good few seconds, staring wordlessly at Ben's unconscious body. Then suddenly, he spun on his heel, storming past Remus and shouldering him rather harshly. He couldn't bear to look at anyone that reminded him of you, and unfortunately for Remus, he fell under that now.

He berated himself for even letting himself get so close to you. How could he have done this to himself? Of course you didn't just want him. He was just some sort of... twisted fantasy to you. And yet, he was still willing to help you get out of this mess. That's the undeniable power of love, he supposed.

Once you were free, he'd let you go.

As Severus walked away, he could hear Remus calling his name, but he turned a blind eye and focused on marching back to his domain, the one place he felt at home, even though it used to be your arms.

You coughed and sputtered as the smoke from the cauldron in front of you began to get a little too thick, lining your lungs with what felt like some sort of tar. Perhaps you added a little too much puffer-fish. It did smell a little... oceany. A defeated groan left your lips as you let your head hit the table - after all these years you still royally fucked up potions. Severus wasn't going to be too happy that you'd burned another one of his precious cauldrons.

Suddenly, the slam of a door caught you offguard and you jumped at the loud noise, whipping around to see a rather distraught-looking Snape. That was not what you were hoping for.

"Severus? Everything okay?..." You swallowed, watching as he slowly stalked towards you, completely ignoring the burning smell of the cauldron in front of you. He didn't answer you. "Did you manage to erase them? The memories?" You tried again.

"Yes." Was all he said, his eyes burning into yours with what felt like sorrow.

"What happened?"

"Why did you lie to me?" He suddenly asked, catching you offguard.

"What?"

"You were going to stay with him." He stated matter of factly, his voice quivering a tad as he tried to hide the indescribable hurt that was undoubtedly going to eat him alive.

"That's not true, Severus." You shook your head, your brows knitting together in a wild mix of confusion and hurt. His jaw clenched at your words.

"Do not lie to me!" Severus bellowed, sweeping away from you. You flinched at the volume of his voice.

"I'm not!" You cried out, attempting to follow him as he made his way to his desk. "Severus!" You cried again, making him whip around to face you, his eyes overflowing with hurt and misdirected anger.

"I do not have time for liars, Y/N."

"Severus, just please, explain what happened!"

"What happened between you and Bluewater earlier?" He inhaled with the same sharpness that pierced his chest as he spoke those nightmarish words. 

Gods, how did he know about that? Ben must have said something to get back at him. You cursed the little bastard, but at the same time, this was also your doing. You gave into the selfish pleasure.

"He just kissed my neck, that was it, I promise." You said slowly, praying he'd believe you. Severus stared down at you, unwavering, his eyes glossing over. Your heart broke at the sight.

Perhaps you deserved this.

Severus paused for a moment, letting his black eyes study your petrified face. Clearly, you were terrified of losing him. He could see it in your eyes. That broke him. But it did not break him as much as the hellish thing he saw in Bluewater's mind. "I can't trust you."

This was your karma.

It suddenly felt as if the floor had given way beneath your feet. Your knees went weak, and all trace of feeling in your body went numb like you'd been paralysed. "No, Severus- please, you have to believe me-"

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Severus turned away from you as he felt a wave of unruly sadness and betrayal wash over him - something he hadn't felt in years. You desperately grasped onto his arm, the rough, black material beneath your fingers felt so uncomfortably familiar - and now it was going to be something you could only remember. "Let me go, please." The crack in Severus's voice made you release your grip.

This was it. He was really ending things between you two, for real.

"No," You sobbed. The pain from your shoulder injury felt like a pinprick compared to what you were feeling now. "Sev, please." Your cries broke his heart, and all he wanted to do was cradle you in his arms, and tell you everything was going to be okay - but he couldn't do that. Not now. Not ever.

You watched as his head raised upwards, his back still towards you. "Leave me, now, Y/N." Severus muttered and a trace of venom lingered in his words.

Without another word you left, making a straight beeline for Remus Lupin, wherever he was.

angst is my middle name, guys, i can't get enough of it. HA

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[actual-changeling]

I was once again re-watching good omens, and I once again realized something incredibly painful, so welcome back to

Alex's unhinged meta corner.

I really need to make a masterpost at some point.

You see, the very first episode not only foreshadows their last argument, it also tells us exactly why it will happen and what problem/offer they will have to face.

We don't usually pay much attention to it because it's a) in the very first episode and then doesn't come up again and b) we know that Crowley would never accept it.

My realization is that Beelzebub's offer mirrors the Metatron's. Both Crowley and Aziraphale are given the same kind of opportunity—but one says no and the other says yes.

Let's have a look!

This is not going to be chronological but more of a go with the flow thing because the aspects are the same but they don't appear in the same order.

The most obvious part first: the job offer itself.

Beelzebub offers him a promotion and later on specifies that he can be a Duke of Hell, one of the few people in charge. I believe that if Gabriel and Beez' plan had been to run away together from the very beginning, ze would have offered Crowley zir own job as Prince of Hell. Still, being a Duke would probably put him in a standing similar to Michael or Uriel's.

The Metatron obviously offers him the job of Supreme Archangel, which is the highest possible position for an angel to hold, aka it's the same promotion, just different colours.

Both offers also stem from the exact same problem—Gabriel is gone.

Now, Beelzebub and the Metatron aren't stupid, they know that they need to convince them to take it, they have to embellish it and play with their wants and fears.

Beelzebub presumably makes the correct assumption that Aziraphale is hiding Gabriel or that the two of them are somehow involved (because they always are), and while ze uses it as a threat/warning, the Metatron takes what is now fact and uses it in the opposite way.

Additionally, ze trusts Crowley to not only deliver Gabriel back to zem but to take care of him until he's safe and sound with his partner.

'I trust you with him' -> 'He trusted you with himself'.

I will now do a little jump to the last part of Aziraphale's conversation with the Metatron right in front of the lift. Once again, they appeal to a characteristic Crowley and Aziraphale share.

'You know earth and that is a useful asset.' What has previously been punished and was seen as a weakness—what is he, he has gone native, you've been down here for too long—is now praised.

It's good that you know earth, we see that you are worth something, you are different but that is good now.

Crowley does not care about that at all, he gives exactly zero fucks about what hell thinks of him, but Aziraphale? Who has been trying to impress the Archangels for six thousand years and been humiliated by them during Armageddon? This is what he has been craving all along, respect for his job on earth and to be recognized as a Good Angel.

Well, that was the carrot, time for the stick: threats.

They remind them of their respective status—they're both traitors, personae non gratae, and they could still be punished for that. After the trial, they were largely left alone, but they drew attention to themselves again, they became a problem.

The Metatron is more subtle, as usual. He knows that Aziraphale lied his ass off several times, including directly in front of God. This is not a just compliment, it's a threat—I know who you are and I have the power to make you feel that

'You don't just tell people what they want to hear.' Again, they are sitting at this table and both know that the opposite is true, and the Metatron is both using it to threaten him and to establish the clear expectations he will have for him should he take the job. Also, by saying he thinks Aziraphale is those things, he gives him more praise, more respect.

Both sides know that Aziraphale and Crowley are each other's biggest weakness; they want to be safe and together. I think it is clear what kind of threat/danger Beez is presenting Crowley, but we rarely talk about the fact that the Metatron also threatens him, just not as explicitly.

Aziraphale will be destroyed if they find Gabriel with him, and Crowley cannot let that happen. However, contrary to heaven, hell has more or less known about the two of them for decades, and they never actually cared about the arrangement as long as the job got done. They punished Crowley when he did good deeds aka not his fucking job but the opposite.

'I know you care about him, he's at risk if you don't help me find him.'

The Metatron on the other hand makes it clear that HE specifically knows about him and Crowley, and Aziraphale did not know who exactly was privy to that information and if it reached the Metatron. Not just that, he emphasizes that he has been doing research on them, he can dig up whatever dirt he likes and then kill them both.

No one would be able to stop him.

This next part is going to be interesting because it is a parallel that Aziraphale doesn't and currently wouldn't be able to see, while Crowley does see it very, very clearly.

When the Metatron tells Aziraphale he can take Crowley with him to heaven and make him an angel again, that is good news to him! It is PERFECT! It would solve out of his problems, and who wouldn't want to be an angel, on the side of good?

Everything the Metatron did up to this point, from 'saving' them from punishment at the hand of the Archangels, over getting him coffee, to giving twisted praise, has had one primary objective: Get Aziraphale to trust him.

It worked. Consequently, Aziraphale does not question what he tells him now, and believes that he truly could take Crowley with him and make him an angel again. He has no concept of what falling actually means, and what it meant for Crowley in particular, so he cannot discern the threat within it.

Yet when he presents it to Crowley, who is horrified and rightfully so, we are once again shown that no, Aziraphale does not understand. Crowley does, though. That angel he was no longer exists, he cannot go back to it because they're gone, and he would not want to either. Everything they have built on earth their life, their existence, would mean absolutely nothing and cease to exist.

Do you see the threat yet?

Here is what Beelzebub tells him, and what we are told over and over and over again throughout the season.

Erased from the book of life, gone from existence, everything they were, had, owned, lived—gone.

Erased from the book of life vs. turned back into an angel that doesn't exist anymore, that CAN'T exist again.

Put the threat and the 'offer' next to each other, and Crowley sees the same fate in both: His existence will be destroyed. Aziraphale, like I said above, doesn't. The book of life is a threat, but turning him into an angel is a blessing.

Right now, it doesn't matter whether the book of life really exists or if a demon can be turned back into an angel. What matters is that they both BELIEVE those things are real and possible, because that is what they act on, belief.

Beelzebub sends him away with bad news, the Metatron pushes Aziraphale to tell Crowley good news. Same offer, same possible outcomes (either they get to live together or one of them/both get destroyed), but entirely different responses.

Crowley says no. Aziraphale says yes.

Aziraphale thinks Crowley should have said yes.

Crowley thinks Aziraphale should have said no.

So. We know what happens next and personally, combing through all of this in detail only made it hurt worse!! If it did the same for you—you're welcome, I love my job.

[allykatsart]

I dont know If you want to answer that , because ... Spoilers for further Comics/animatics but ...

What Kind of Relationships have you planned for Peccantum? Like , will there be (close) friendship, rivlary, dislike or even some kind of romantic feels with the Hotel residents ?

Greetings from Europe !

Who is Peccantum?

Hello Europe! LMAO

I don't mind at all! Peccantum's story told pretty hap-hazardly lol. I'm releasing comics in no particular order! Each comic should be stand alone, but connect together to tell a bigger story.

(and it'll all be in chronological order in the Masterpost in the end anyways)

Pentious would probably be the closest relationship he has throughout the first season. Peccantum and Pentious are both incredibly smart, but awkward when it comes to people. They'd probably have a little bit of a rivalry at first, but quickly get over it cause "Oh my god, it's finally someone who can keep up with me on this!"

Peccantum may even have caught feelings for Pentious at one point. But even if he did? Peccantum would never act on it, especially after episode 6. Just look at him here....

Pentious is obviously pursuing Cherri and Peccantum's heart fucking sinks. It takes awhile for him to be able to trust anyone, much less want to hold hands or be close to someone. So... he says nothing about it. He's just gotta push those feelings down and get over it.

He and Cherri may have a talk later about Pentious after the season finale. Both are left with unresolved feelings and it may help them become friends...

As for the others, I do have a few points, but I'll keep it brief.

Angel

Peccantum and Angel start off with Angel being hypersexual and Peccantum very much being flustered. Over time, Peccantum gets more immune to Angel's comments as Angel stops putting on a performance at the hotel. And when dirty jokes do come up, Peccantum is the "Why are you like this -_-" straight man to Angel's routine lol

Husk

Peccantum has a lot of respect for Husk, and a bit of jealousy. Husk was an overlord at one point and that gave him a lot of power. I think they're gonna have to have an argument before they can clear the air and start looking out for each other. They're both stuck with Alastor, after all, and neither wants the other to get hurt.

Niffty

Peccantum's wild experiments with Pentious usually leave a mess, which Niffty.... Doesn't seem to mind? Until she has to clean them up, in which case she gets manically obsessed with them. Peccantum appreciates it but is still kinda cautious around her. That is, until she kills Adam and he decides she's not so bad.

Charlie

Peccantum expected the princess of hell to be just as scummy as her people, or to at least have some sort of hubris. But nope, she's just.... Nice? A good person? A better person than him, certainly. He does get annoyed when she pities him, or tries to treat him like he's a guest in the hotel, but he doesn't hate her. He quite likes her, actually.

[broodybuck]

Shameful Dreams | Series Part 4

Series Summary: Steve and Bucky are each respectfully married to their wives, as any man should be in 1941. And yet, that doesn't stop Steve from having very shameful dreams about his married friend. Unexpectedly, things begin to happen outside of Steve's fantasies.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, no powers au, pre-serum Steve, top Bucky, bottom Steve, secret relationship, internalized homophobia, consensual infidelity, closeted characters

[Masterpost] // [ao3 link]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

Steve has experimented before. He knows how it feels to put a finger in his ass. But he stopped a while back, too ashamed of what he was doing.

It's odd how being with Bucky supplies equal parts shame and exhilaration. In some ways, Steve's become so uncaring about everything he used to worry about before. Currently, all he cares about is prepping for Bucky.

Bucky doesn't know what Steve's doing at home. But the thought of him finding out delights Steve in so many ways. He can picture the moment. Bucky's eyes will go wide, his pupils will dilate, and his whole body will tense at Steve's admission.

Steve continues to diligently work at fitting three fingers in his hole. To be honest, it's hard to find the time. The shower is one of the only times he has privacy away from Peggy. She starts to notice his showers racking up in minutes. She's begun teasing him about his longer showers, and Steve goes all red whenever she does. But not for the reasons she thinks.

Bucky is his deep, dark secret now.

While Steve preps himself, he has no idea when he and Bucky are going to fuck. They don't talk about it. Nights in the outhouse stay mostly the same with the addition of oral. They don't always blow each other because some nights they're kissing too much, get impatient, and just use their hands.

He deepthroated Bucky for the first time a few nights ago, and when Bucky told him he was getting so good at it, Steve preened over the praise all night. If Bucky is impressed by how much Steve can fit in his mouth, Steve can't wait to show him how much he can fit in his ass.

The way it happens is, Peggy makes a plan to visit her mother and doesn't ask Steve to join. He doesn't have paid leave anyhow.

The funny thing is, Steve doesn't even realize this is their opportunity. He's not thinking, he's set on the docks, meeting at the outhouse like always. But on the first Monday Peggy is away, Steve walks out to find Bucky waiting in the parking lot of his job. He's leaning against the side of his car looking all kinds of smooth.

Steve walks over to him, keeping an overt distance when he halts.

"Heard Peggy is visiting her mother," Bucky says.

"Yeah."

"So you got the house to yourself?"

That's when it occurs to Steve that, for the first time, they don't have to use the outhouse. And oh god, he's filled with too much excitement at once he almost gets dizzy.

"Meet you at home?" Bucky asks.

And that makes everything rush inside of Steve. It's the way he calls it home, letting Steve imagine it's theirs. That they have a real life together and aren't sneaking around. As if they don't have wives to cheat on.

Steve should feel bad about using the bed. It isn't just his, it's Peggy's too. It's where they make love.

But it's also the first time he's ever been allowed to make love to Bucky. And it is making love because they finally have a bedroom all to themselves. Truth be told, it feels like his wedding night all over again.

They're going to fuck, Steve is sure of this. Mainly because he'd die if they didn't. And he knows Bucky wants it just as much as him.

Still, it's sweet how shy Bucky is when they first walk into the room.

"Stevie," Bucky prompts.

"Yeah?"

"I know this is asking a lot but I was hoping you'd let me fuck you."

Steve bites back a smile.

"Let you? I've been prepping all week."

And there it is. The look, the one Steve was waiting for, the one he saw a glimpse of in the outhouse. Bucky's especially beautiful when he's overcome with lust.

They crash into each other, lips first. They're clawing at each other's clothes, already rubbing their hips together.

"I still need... time to..." Steve pants between desperate kisses.

"I know," Bucky says and pulls away trying to calm himself. "Let me help."

Steve has to admit, in all his fantasies and all his wildly inappropriate dreams about Bucky, he never pictured this part. Steve on his marital bed with his legs spread wide while Bucky opens him up with fingers coated in vaseline.

It's even better with Bucky's hand — everything is. And Steve has to stop himself from coming so many times. He resorts to pleading with Bucky that he's ready more than once but Bucky keeps telling him no. He's scared of hurting him and it would be sweet if Steve wasn't about to burst at the seams, his balls are so tight, he's clenching every muscle to stop himself from exploding.

Finally, Bucky decides he's ready and Steve breathes a huge sigh of relief. He relaxes momentarily while he watches Bucky slick up his cock and moves between his legs.

It's slow, painstakingly slow. Even with all the prep and vaseline, Steve still feels pressure when the head of Bucky's cock breaches his hole. His face must tense because Bucky stops with the tip in.

"You okay?" he asks.

Steve nods. "Keep going."

Bucky pushes in a little further, then stops again. He exhales shakily.

"Shit, Steve. You're so tight. I don't get it. I spent forever opening you up."

"You're too big, baby," Steve drawls and gets one of those deliciously heated looks from Bucky. "Keep going."

Bucky pushes in again, he's halfway now.

"Fuck," Bucky mutters right as his hips jolt and he thrusts forward, bottoming out in one push.

Steve groans, gripping Bucky's forearms aggressively.

"Shit, sorry. You okay?" Bucky pants.

"I'm good, good," Steve stammers, his eyes squeeze shut.

It's overwhelming, not just the feeling of Bucky's cock stretching him wide but the realization that he's finally inside of him.

Bucky leans down and kisses him, Steve's eyes flutter open. Steve nods again, urging him on. Bucky pulls back, pushes forward again. He slides in and out about three times before he slumps over Steve's chest and moans. A true, beautiful moan — nothing like Steve's ever heard before. He grabs his cock and comes easily too.

They don't move for a minute.

"Fuck, sorry — that was shit," Bucky apologizes.

Steve frames his face, pulls him down for another kiss.

"This is amazing," Steve says.

Bucky's mouth quirks into a smile. "I swear I usually last longer."

Steve laughs and kisses him again. "Me too."

"You feel too good," Bucky breathes. "It's nothing like..."

He stops abruptly and Steve knows he was about to mention Gail.

"I know," Steve agrees. "So much better."

Bucky blinks surprised like he wasn't expecting Steve to agree. Bucky leans down and kisses him for a long time. He's gone soft inside of him now and pulls out at some point but keeps kissing him long and slow. They roll on the bed until Steve's on Bucky's chest, wrapped in his arms.

They look over at some point and realize the sheets are already soiled with their release.

"Want me to get a rag?" Bucky offers.

"I'll throw it in with the laundry."

Bucky gives him a look.

"I'm someone who prepares, Buck."

"Oh, are you?" Bucky smirks.

"Of course. I knew we'd get here eventually. I didn't know how or when, but I knew it'd happen. So I learned how to do laundry."

Bucky lets out a laugh. Then he sighs.

"This is so much better than the outhouse."

"Fuck yeah, it is."

They, unsurprisingly, continue to meet at Steve's house all week Peggy is gone. Bucky grows more confident in fucking Steve. He doesn't move as slowly, he lasts more than three thrusts and Steve gets used to having a cock inside him.

Steve learns how to ride Bucky and fuck, they both like that. Bucky gets this unbelievable look on his face and always comes a lot faster when Steve's on top. Which is boosting Steve's ego more than it should.

They venture to other areas of the house. Something they both admit their wives don't approve of. They fuck in the shower, on the recliner chair, over the kitchen counter, on top of the coffee table.

One night, they fuck up against the front door. They don't plan it. Bucky just shoves Steve against it the moment they walk inside and opens him up right there. That was secretly Steve's favorite.

The week goes by too fast. On Friday, they're silent with the glum reality that Peggy will return home tomorrow.

They're lying in bed this night. They've fucked twice already. Tonight, their hands are intertwined, Steve's leg is hooked over Bucky's hip while his head rests on Bucky's chest. He can feel Bucky breathing, he can count every heartbeat. He's dreading the moment Bucky will have to get up and leave.

"Gonna miss this," Bucky says softly.

Steve actually feels his eyes well up so he refuses to look at him.

"We still have the outhouse," he says weakly.

"Yeah," Bucky chuckles, making Steve's cheek bounce with it. "But this was really nice."

"It really was."

"Hey, at least you have the reminders."

"You're not gonna remember?" Steve picks his head up, offended.

"No, of course, I will," Bucky says, cupping Steve's chin. "Sweetheart, I think about you every fucking night."

Steve softens instantly, the pet name affecting him a little too much.

"I meant reminders of all the places, you know? The table, the chair... it's probably best it's not my place. Sometimes, I go out to the shed and get hard."

Steve's mouth drops at the revelation.

"No, you don't," Steve mocks.

"I swear. Can't get any work done now."

"Well, I won't be able to do nothing if I get hard in every room of my house."

Bucky grins. "Yeah, almost got every room. Didn't we?"

Steve sighs happily, letting his chin fall back on Bucky's chest.

"We'll get the rest someday."

"I'm counting on it, sweetheart," Bucky says and lifts Steve's chin again for a kiss.

Steve looks at him as they draw back.

"This is the best and worst thing I ever did," Steve admits.

"I know," Bucky says. "You're the best and worst thing that ever happened to me."

[mysticwolfshadows]

Taken - Zutara - Part 49

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They make it to the Fire Nation with very little fanfare. It was shockingly easy, given how difficult it had been to get past the barricade when they went to Roku's temple. But there they were, landing harmlessly in a cave on one of the outer islands.

While Sokka lamented about how this was their life now, hopping from cave to cave, until the invasion began.

Zuko rolled his eyes, and shared a look with Katara and Suki. One of them had to talk sense into Sokka.

"We could try finding some new clothes?" Suki suggested, glancing at Katara.

"Zuko and I know how to blend in with the Fire Nation."

Aang was quick to jump in. "Yeah! Blending in is better than hiding out. Wouldn't having Fire Nation disguises be just as safe as hiding in a cave?"

"Plus, we can get real food out there." Toph punches a wall, making cave hoppers jump out, Momo diving after them. "Unless you'd rather eat cave hoppers in the dirt."

Sokka purses his lips, looking at Zuko as his last hope.

Zuko rose a brow, arms crossed. "We need to conserve as much of our supplies as we can. If we keep using our reserves when we don't have to, we'll run out before we reach the Black Cliffs."

Finally, Sokka caved. "Fiiiine."

They start by finding the nearest farm. There was a series of clothes lines, which they studied carefully for a moment. Aang wondered about the ethics of stealing for a moment, before Katara rushed forwards to snag a silk robe. Suki and Toph weren't far behind, and the boys soon followed.

They returned to the cave to get changed, Toph putting up walls to give them some semblance of privacy, while Sokka and Zuko scrounged together a wig for Aang to wear to hide his tattoos.

"What about your scar?" Aang whinged, as they tied the headband(?) around the wig to help keep it in place. "It's distinctive!"

"Burn scars are common in the Fire Nation," Katara said, as she stepped out. "While they aren't usually on the face, you'll probably see a lot of them, especially in outer islands with fewer resources and physicians like this one."

Zuko turned to say... He couldn't remember. As soon as his eyes landed on Katara, his mouth went dry and his head empty. She looked...

"You look great!" Aang said, beaming.

"Thanks, Aang," she said, moving to get a look at their handy work. "It looks good. Should hold for a day." She glanced at Zuko, and her own smile tugged at her lips. "You look nice."

He swallowed. "You... You too."

Over Katara's shoulder, Zuko could see Sokka making a gagging motion, as Aang watched on in confusion.

"So!" Toph called, as she stepped out of the barrier with Suki. "Where are we going for lunch?"

Heading into town, Katara and Zuko took lead, pointing out different kinds of shops. Katara hadn't had much time to explore the city when she'd been in the city before, but the signage was enough for her to give recommendations. Zuko was more straight forward with his answers, and helping steer them away from the more niche establishments.

Katara was so excited to be eating fresh and authentic Fire Nation cuisine again, she barely noticed Aang wondering off. She made sure to order something more mild for the others, giving a smile to the frowning waiteress.

"We just moved from the colonies," Katara explained, before gesturing to Zuko and herself. "We spent a good amount of our childhood her on the islands, though. We've missed it. If you could hold the spice on theirs, but maybe add a little to ours...?"

The waitress hummed, but made a note on her pad. Then she was off, and Katara felt herself begining to relax. The smells of the Fire Nation filled her. The warm ocean spray and the spices of cooking food. The feel of Agni on her skin, filling her with a pleasant warmth she hadn't felt in so long...

They ate in comfort, giving simple conversation and enjoying the food. She listened to other patrons, hearing about how lucky they were that the draft hadn't reached their island yet. Apparently, in the wake of Prince Zuko's 'death', the draft had been instated but not entirely enforced on outer islands. More prominent families, like Mai's, were voluntarily enlisting their sons as 'officers'. There was speculation, with only Azula as heir and there having never been a female Fire Lord, that the Fire Princess would need to marry, and her spouse become Fire Lord in her stead. Others thought that Azula would be skipped over, with Ozai being fairly young for a Fire Lord, and that her first son would become the true heir instead. Of course, Katara knew that Ozai would never pass on his throne willingly, much as Sozin and Azulon had before him, and that Azula would never let herself be forced to marry, much less be skipped over in succession.

As they were wrapping up their lunch that they heard about the local academy. A pair of mothers, talking about how the headmaster was cracking down on students behavior, as they passed by to their table. One was worried, as the school was so strict already, and her daughter On Ji was such a sweet and gentle girl, who had such a creative mind, and was worried that innovative thinking might get her in trouble. The other woman wondered if perhaps it was a good thing for her own son, Hide. He was becoming rather unruly and disrespectful at home, with his father gone on the warfront. Perhaps the headmaster's stricter rules would bring Hide into line.

A faint memory, of a young Zuko in a boys uniform, more militaristic than academic, tickled the back of her mind. But the FIre Nation was know for their similarities in uniforms. In the military, the main difference between a foot soldier and a captain was the more angled and spiked shoulders, with more gold accents. And Aang...

"Zuko," Katara whispered, as they were walking back to the cave. He blinked at her, inclining his head to show she had his full attention. "Do you remember what Fire Nation school uniforms look like? I only saw the Royal Fire Academy uniforms, but..."

For a moment, Zuko blinked. Then, his brow scrunched, and he cursed so venomously under his breath that a lick of flame was spat from his lips. Reaching out, he grasped her elbow, squeezing it.

"Make sure the others know we might have to run," he said, turning to look back down the road towards town. "I'll find him and bring him back. If his cover is blown, we'll need to leave immediately."

"Be careful," she said, as he let go. They shared a look, the air tense around them, before turning away from each other and rushing off.

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

[cantwritethetword]

A Good Distraction

Fic Descript: After what felt like a particularly poor performance training with your brothers, you're feeling pretty shitty. Luckily, your brothers know how to calm you down and get you back to your usual upbeat self.

~A/N  - Sorry this took a while ^^

Got a request for a spn fic:

(also I checked with them and they're ok for a gender neutral reader)

I know feelings on 'cheer-up tickles' often vary, but I feel like I've got a pretty solid way to make them work so that everyone can enjoy it

Hope it's what you were looking for ^^

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

For the most part, you absolutely lived for hunting with your brothers. It was your world, and you loved every moment of it.

But sometimes, that little voice of doubt would creep into your head and question whether you were really good enough to stand next to them.

This was one of those moments.

You were making your way down the halls of the bunker, having just finished a training session - covering the whole range of strength, cardio, accuracy, and combat - and for some reason you felt completely off today.

You had tired earlier than usual, your sprint times were significantly slower than last time, for some reason you struggled to concentrate on the multitude of homemade targets the boys had set up in their diy firing range, and to top it all off, Dean had landed a few more hits than usual when you were sparring together. None that properly hurt your body, just your pride.

To put it bluntly, you felt like shit.

And, your brain being the lovely brain it is, was taking your thoughts and running with them.

You're kidding yourself if you think you'll ever be half as good as Sam and Dean.

They only keep you around cause they have to, if you weren't related to them they'd have dropped you at the nearest motel and high-tailed it.

They wish they could just train properly without you.

By this point, you had accepted defeat. Tonight was a hide-under-the-covers-and-cry kind of night, and you just wanted to make it to your room before your mind had any other fun ideas to make you feel even worse. Sleep seemed like your only way out of this funk.

Unfortunately, as well as having a keen sense for hunting, your brothers also had a keen sense for when something was wrong.

"You good Y/N?" Dean called from behind you, right as you went to reach for the door handle.

You nodded silently without thinking, your attention currently preoccupied by holding back the tears prickling at your eyes, and pushed the door open.

You didn't have to look back to know your response only heightened Dean's worry for you. You were never quiet after training, even if you had pushed to the brink of exhaustion.

So, of course, a few moments after you collapsed onto your bed, Dean gently knocked on the half-open door.

You gave an unintelligible mumble to allow him inside, and he slowly made his way over.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" He said with a soft half-chuckle, laying a hand on your shoulder.

That was enough to break your resolve.

You shook your head, trying to keep your breathing steady as the teardrops slid down your nose. The room slowly filled with silence, Dean clearly looking for something to say or do to help you feel better.

Just to make sure he knew you weren't upset at him, you rolled over and wrapped your arms awkwardly around his waist - tucking your head under your arm on Dean's leg. It was a little difficult, with him sitting upright and you laying down, but he got the message.

"You wanna tell me about it?" Dean ran his blunt fingernails through your hair a few times, knowing that always relaxed you. "Maybe I can help?"

You thought about it for a minute, but before you considered if you should respond or not Sam's voice came from the doorway.

"Everything ok?" He asked, and you knew the exact look of concern that would be pressing on his brow.

As the bed creaked under a third body's weight, you knew you probably weren't going to get out of this without saying something to your brothers. They would never force you to talk, of course, and if you needed some alone time they'd oblige - no questions asked - but they certainly wouldn't stop looking out for you over the next while until they knew you were ok again.

How difficult it is having a caring family.

"I just feel like I was crap today." You admitted, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

Dean sighed sympathetically, moving his fingers down to gently scratch across your back. You released the last bit of air you had been holding and relaxed into his touch, silently grateful they weren't pushing more of an explanation and were just letting you calm down.

After a few moments though, Dean's fingertips strayed a little too close to the right side of your back. You were so chilled out you didn't even realise you had let a giggle slip as you flinched under his touch.

"Shit, sorry." Dean said softly. "Wasn't trying to tickle you."

"It's nice." You once again murmured - too relaxed to properly consider how embarrassing that admission would usually be.

"Are you sure?" Dean half-laughed in surprise. "You're ridiculously ticklish, and most people hate being tickled at the best of times."

Well, in for a penny in for a pound.

You nodded, trying to suppress the flush forming on your cheeks. "It's a good distraction."

Dean gave a single, silent chuckle, before continuing to softly scratch his fingernails along your ribs. Gentle giggles flowed effortlessly out of your mouth with each touch, your torso occasionally leaning to one side if he his a particularly ticklish spot. As Sam's hands joined in rubbing your lower back, your crappy thoughts dissipated leaving you to half fall asleep.

"Are you sure it's ok?" Dean asked again, breaking the comfortable silence.

You laughed in response, "If you worry any harder you're head's gonna explode."

That earned a gasp.

"I'm helping you you little shit!" Dean grinned, poking up your sides - this time with ticklish intent.

You squealed, hands rushing into position to protect yourself (but not actively working against Dean's just yet).

"Yeah, that's no way to talk to your brother!" Sam added. "Though now I'm wondering if you were trying to get a reaction like that..."

"Nohohoho!" You shook your head, giggles spilling out of your grinning mouth. "Screhew yohou bohoth!"

"Oh you're definitely asking for it." Dean chuckled, and was about to pin your arms above your head when you suddenly twisted away from his grasp and shot your hands under his arms.

The oldest Winchester cackled, flinging himself backwards onto the bed to escape your wriggling fingertips wreaking havoc on one of his most ticklish spots. And, never one to give up the opportunity to annoy his brother, Sam joined your attack by squeezing Dean's hips.

With the three of you wrapped in a tickly tangle, your worries of today's training session faded into the past. Thankfully your brothers would always be there to cheer you up.

[crsssie]

from one admirer to another : blanched?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as scrambled eggs // leon as christmas

Dear steamed scrambled eggs,

I'm so sorry it took a while to get back to you. I landed and immediately started working full-time again. Ugh, the modeling life does not let you down with bookings. My manager told me something about how I'd be busier from now on since I got to walk in Paris this year. My resume is popping... did I use that right. I can't keep up with all this young people lingo and I'm not even old.

I doubt your face card is that bad if what you brought up in our early letters is true. If nearly all of your friends wanted you to get into modeling, then surely there's a reason. It's not like your friends sound like typical models either, so I can only assume that they're actually higher-ranking models or whatever.

Oh. Yes, after this walk, it seems Ada's officially reached supermodel status. She's about to get so much busier... I miss when she had time to attend her local fan events. Well, maybe I'll be like that one day? Who knows. I'm not even big enough for fan events yet.

I'm also starting to have suspicions of who you are. So, if you end up with a stalker... sorry (for reasons this is a joke) but I do have suspicions. I bumped into that roommate of yours while in France. I could put two and two together, but I'd much rather just bump into you again. Surely you won't dodge me when I ask for your number again?

Which brings me to my next point. I did bring you to Paris with me. I had nearly all of our letters boxed up in my suitcase, and it drove my manager mad. My agent didn't care as much since he was seeing his girlfriend, but my manager was going through it. "You don't need a box that big." he said. Skill issue. That's why he's still single (I am too). Oh, oops. My internet persona seems to be seeping into the way I write to you now. Shame.

Which brings me back to the point. No gift this time? Seems I need to step up my game with you a bit. Mm... should get some help from a friend. Ah, right. Favorite flowers?

See you soon (threat) Christmas

It's not hard to put two and two together. If Ada had pointed out the letter with that kind of look in her eye, then there was definitely something she knew. Considering everything about her, it's not hard to deduce that he's been writing to you. You. Literally. From day one, the universe sent you right to him and he didn't even put two and two together until Ada had made it somewhat obvious. It's a little silly of him considering that he did graduate top of his class in the police academy with perfect grades for everything, but it's fine. He's just rusty, or something.

Well, he can't ask her for your address since you probably live with her, but he can most definitely ask someone else who happens to know the two of you rather well.

"Sancho!" Luis laughs. "Fancy seeing you here, eh?"

"Yeah." He hums, closing his eyes as the makeup artist touches him up. "I had a favor to ask of you, Luis."

"Oh, of me?"

"I'd like to send flowers to the model I walked with last time. Surely you can help me out?"

"By doxing them? I don't think so, sancho." Luis shakes his head. "Told 'em you had a crush on them, but they told me there was no way back then. Seems like I was right, hm?"

"Yes."

"Aye... shame. I can't help much. But, I can extend an invite to a certain something." He sends an image to Leon's phone.

"It's like... August right now."

Luis shrugs. "Invites went out a week ago. You'll be our guest of honor. I'll send you further details as we get closer. You can meet them there, sancho."

Leon doesn't have a particularly good feeling about it, but anything to scare you shitless, he assumes.

"Why are you so willing to help?"

"You're a nice man." Luis waves. "You owe me, though."

"Didn't realize we were keeping count."

prev letter : masterlist : next letter

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls Chapter 12 part 1/2

Masterpost

Call me when you’re free!!!!!!

“Geeze,” Danny muttered. “Calm down, Jazz.” Still, he did what she said. He hefted up his backpack, waved goodbye to his shift relief, and dialed her up as he jogged down the library stairs.

“I’ve found two solutions!”

Danny winced at how cheerful his sister’s voice was. “Great!” He tried to match her enthusiasm, despite feeling like something that had been peeled off the sidewalk. He’d ended up working the morning shift on Saturday anyways. “Should I come over?”

“No.” Jazz sounded a little shifty. “I think it’s best if you don’t come over right now.”

“I’m not nuts!” her roommate was faintly audible, as was some kind of repetitive thwap. “We are getting this place fumigated and cleansed and exorcised-

Jazz must have power walked away from poor Tiffany. Her voice faded out. “Ahem.”

Danny pressed his lips together tightly and tried not to laugh. There was a brief space in the conversation where he probably should have said ‘I’m sorry that I made her think your place was haunted.’ But honestly? In a very literal sense, it had been haunted?

“Danny,” Jazz said, in her quiet scary voice, “shut up.”

He shut up even harder than he’d been shutting up before.

She continued in one of her determined tones that meant there was no point in arguing unless it was a hill he was willing to die on. “I am not going to stay in your place because it’s small and scary.”

‘You’re scarier,’ Danny thought mutinously. ‘You’re scarier than anything in my apartment.’

Aloud, he said something else. “Then where?” He did his best to communicate, dummy, via his tone. “I don’t think this is a coffee shop conversation.”

More importantly, he didn’t really have much coffee shop budget. Jazz didn’t have that much either. They were both on scholarships and part time jobs.

“Of course not,” Jazz said practically. “The main Gotham public library is a mid-point and you can rent out a room there for hour blocks. I’ll reserve it online on the way there. I’m halfway to the train station now. What’s your ETA- you just left campus, right?”

Danny looked down at his foot incredulously as he stepped off the final cement stair onto the sidewalk. How did she know that? He looked around dumbly for a know-it-all sister spy plane or something.

“I’ll get a media room from 3-4 pm, that gives you time to stop and get us drinks and snacks. I’ll pay you back, budget of 10 dollars. That sound okay?”

“Fine.” Danny sighed heavily. “Yeah, I can get to that area pretty fast.” He hung up and resigned himself to pushing through foot traffic. He was a lot closer than Jazz was at the moment. He put his head down and ignored the masses of humanity for a little more than 20 minutes of walking. The high lifted roof of the city's main library came into view over the surrounding buildings.

There was a grocery store pretty close by. Danny detoured there and got wrapped sandwiches, chips, and coffees. He hid them all in his backpack just in case the library had a no-food policy.

Then he checked his phone. Jazz had sent him a text telling him the floor and room number in the library. He also had seven missed calls from his parents. That initially freaked him out until he noticed that Dad had sent him a link to an update on the family blog with a string of ghost and wink emojis.

Yeah ok. It wasn't going to be important in the slightest. He ignored his parents.

He jogged the rest of the way to the library and then up the ramp. Danny slipped in the doors and enjoyed the rush of air conditioning. He nodded to the librarian visible from the door and then took the main stairs at an easy pace up to the fourth floor. The rented media room was a straight shot to the back. His sister was waiting to pounce when he opened the door.

“Get back, beast,” Danny said, alarmed. He held his backpack out like it would ward her away.

“Open it!” Jazz demanded.

Holy cow. Uh. He scrambled to unzip it and hold out the plastic shopping bag in offering.

“Gimme gimme, thank you,” Jazz sang and she snatched the snacks from his hands. Danny blew on his fingers pointedly as if her speed burnt his fingertips. She ignored him and unwrapped the ham and cheese at lightning speed.

Oof. Danny kept his fingers a little closer so they didn't get bitten off and side-eyed his big sister as she all but inhaled the sandwich. He popped open the chips bag and ate a couple, feeling a bit freaked out by how ravenous she was. He opened his mouth to comment and then thought better of it.

“Are those for both of us?” Jazz swallowed her sandwich and pointed at the chip bag.

Danny held his hands up and let her take it away. “Geeze,” he said, quietly. He took his own sandwich out from the bag that Jazz had abandoned and ate it at a more normal speed. By the time he'd finished Jazz was content with the chips. He cautiously reached out and fished the bag back towards him. A glance inside showed that she'd left about half.

“So!” Jazz clapped her hands like she had pretensions of being a preschool teacher.

“That body language making you friends at Arkham?” Danny jabbed. He popped a chip in his mouth and crunched down.

Jass casually flipped him off. “Yes, actually,” she said primly. “Dr. Quinn was very complimentary-”

“Before she broke out?” Danny said dryly around a mouthful of chips.

“-and I have formed meaningful clinical bonds with many other patients. But I digress.” She gave him a version of her smug face. She, as always, looked like that meme of the knife cat. “I have two solutions for you.”

[whumpty-dumpty-doo]

We Are TroubleD – “Try to Forget Him” (Pre-capture) - Part 2

Written as a part of @whumperofworlds' WoW's Birthday Whump Event! 2024

Day 7 (my chosen prompts are bolded) - Bloodied knuckles / Wounded / "Is that blood?!"

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This is part two of a two-part short story! Part one is here.

Event page | My event participation masterpost | “We Are TroubleD” Masterpost | Previous | Next

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Content warnings: Alcohol, blood, drinking, emotional whump, heartache from breakups, injuries, jealousy, off-screen homophobia mention, off-screen violence (fist fight), pining after unrequited love, self-loathing, smoking, swearing

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

                Tristan descended the staircase down to the main floor and shuffled outside, figuring that Darius and Cici were most likely on the patio. As he rounded the corner, he spotted them, Darius lounging on one of the railings and Cici seated beside him at a table.

                The two were engaged in a conversation with one of the club’s drag performers, Steeple Towers- a very tall queen decked out in a gorgeous sparkly hot pink number, complete with a comically oversized bow on the back of her dress. Her cotton candy-esque wig was so poofy and enormous that it probably should have had a blinking light on top to warn airplanes to steer clear. 

                For a second, Tristan was too shy to approach. He had met several of the local drag performers before when they were their normal selves. Darius knew some of them from school and had even invited them over for dinner a time or two. They were all very kind, sweet guys and loved trading makeup tips and tricks. But man, when they put on their drag personas it was like they were different people. Fierce, confident, scary… not frightening, just scary in how incredible and otherworldly they were. It blew Tristan away how someone could be so well put together and perfect that they were intimidating.

                How cool it would be to have even a shred of that fun, unapologetically outgoing personality…

                He took a step forward but spotted something that he really didn’t like- between Darius’ fingers was a lit cigarette. With utter disdain, Tristan watched as the smoke curled up toward the sky. Ugh. Darius hadn’t indulged in that vice for quite a while.

                Cici had an equally disapproving look on her face, watching judgmentally as Darius took a long drag of it. She had been the one to spearhead the campaign to make him quit, and all of their friends had joined in the journey to help him along the path.

                Darius saw her staring and grinned innocently with the stupid object between his teeth.

                “I love you!” He tried, but Cici shook her head. He withdrew the cigarette and blew the smoke straight up into the air like a chimney, then snuffed the thing out on the railing without it even being half spent. “Fine, fine. Don’t give me that look…”

                Cici’s face melted into a satisfied expression, but she turned to Steeple and crossed her arms.

                “I told you not to enable him, damnit!” she chided. Steeple threw her hands up as if being accosted by a cop, but she was still playing her saucy character.

                “Arrest me then, officer! I’m only guilty of giving this cutie pie what he wants.”

                It was a funny scene. Tristan should have wanted to join in and play along. He should have wanted to take a seat and chat with them in the nice evening air. He should have been enjoying himself tonight… but he couldn’t get up the nerve to go over.

                He felt that same pang in his heart and tried to figure out why. Was it the pain of seeing Darius hurt himself again by smoking? Or was it once again seeing him with her…?

                ‘I love you!’ Darius had said in that cutesy voice that begged “Don’t be mad at me!”. He said stuff like that all the time to get out of trouble.

                But he had said it to Cici, and once, he did love her.

                … God, was he ever gonna stop?

                Tristan clenched his fists. This wasn’t healthy. He shouldn’t be thinking about Cici like that, like she was “the other woman” or something. Competition. She wasn’t.

                No… he wasn’t.

                There wasn’t a contest. He wasn’t in the running. He never had been in the running. Darius had been hers for years. Tristan had been fine with it then. Why was it now that he was suddenly so…

                So…

                … so fucking jealous?

                With a frustrated noise in the back of his throat he spun on his heel, turning and making his way back inside. He had to get out of there. He didn’t want to hate Cici. He didn’t hate her. He couldn’t. He hated himself. He hated himself and his stupid fucking crush and how he couldn’t ever, ever let it go. Why was it flaring up so badly tonight?! Jesus!!

                As he reentered the building, he heard that “Mr. Brightside” was playing. Of course it was. Tristan wished that it all would fucking end.

                If Darius could indulge in one of his unhealthy vices, Tristan would, too. He plopped down at the bar and ordered two Skittle shots. At least that was one surefire way to taste the rainbow tonight. He slammed the drinks back and shuddered at the vodka's sting, then took a long deep inhale through his nose and buried his face in his hands, trying to get a grip on himself.

                “Boyfriend trouble, eh?”

                Tristan peeked out and over to where the voice came from, a little way down the bar. A man sat there, a big burly guy jacked to all smithereens with close cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a sort of military look going: a tank top, camo pants, and big heavy combat boots. Man, what did this random older guy care? … But Tristan supposed he could chat with a stranger for a bit anyway. Maybe it’d help him calm down.

                “Something like that.” Tristan said miserably. “He’s not my boyfriend, though, just—” he sighed and lowered his head again, eyeing the menu on the table in search of his next drink selection.

                “Ya wish he was.” The man said knowingly.

                Tristan sat silently, now staring at nothing, but eventually he nodded smally.

                “Hey, it’s rough.” The man said. He had a country drawl that somehow disarmed Tristan. The guy could be spewing pure bullshit, but with an accent like that, it was hard to believe that he would be capable of saying anything unkind. “Some guys ain’t worth the heartache.”

                “I feel like he is.” Tristan picked at the hair tie on his wrist. “It’s stupid, but I’d go to the ends of the Earth for him if he needed me to.” He took a beat, his dewy-eyed expression dissolving back into full on sorrow. “Love is stupid. It’s so fucking stupid and unfair. I hate it.”

                “You should stay away from him.”

                “What?” Tristan couldn’t help but look back up at the guy. That advice felt like it came out of left field.

                “You're only gonna get hurt if ya don’t.” The man said.

                Tristan frowned. “He wouldn’t do that intentionally.”

                “Of course not. But is he tryin' to hurt you now?”

                “… Well, no…”

                “And are ya feelin' hurt anyway?”

                Tristan dropped his gaze.

                “Trust me kid, cut ties now for your own good. It’ll be a lot easier on you that way when he’s not around anymore.”

                ‘When he’s not around anymore’? Geez, that was pessimistic. The drawl didn’t cover up bleak sounding things after all. This dude must have seriously been burned by past relationships to instantly assume that someone would leave, not could. Darius wouldn’t just up and disappear someday… right? Their friendship was solid. Even if things got awkward, they could work it out.

                Perhaps the guy meant something else though… Darius not being around in the future… it hurt to think about, but they were nearing the end of college. Despite both being from the same town, they probably would have to part ways eventually for their careers. That didn’t mean the friendship needed to end, but things weren’t going to be the same once they moved out and were no longer roommates.

                ‘When he’s not around anymore’… Ugh… How would Tristan handle that? It would be a sad goodbye, that’s for sure. He hoped that they’d keep in touch and maybe see each other a few times a year if they were lucky.

                Tristan scrunched up his nose, not wanting to think about it anymore. Hopefully that was a long way off in the future still… No need to dwell on it now. Darius wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. They’d just have to make the most of whatever time they had left together… to live it up while they still could.  

                The man seemed to notice Tristan wrestling with that idea; his face gave it away.

                “Look, you're an innocent, nice fella.” The guy said. “You don’t deserve to be hurt.”

                Tristan lightly chuckled at that. This stranger didn’t know him at all, but it was nice that he still wanted the best for him.

                “Thanks.” Tristan said quietly. He had no intention of cutting Darius out of his life, but hey, free advice was free advice, even if he wasn’t going to follow it. The guy only seemed to mean well.

                The man tipped his head and went back to nursing his beer. Tristan sat quietly and stewed in thought.

                Suddenly there was a commotion from outside: a high-pitched shriek, a loud and angry yell, the sound of a scuffle, then more shouting and screaming. Tristan sat up and craned his neck to get a look, moving to hop off the barstool when Darius stormed through the front door clutching his face with one hand and waving Cici and Steeple off dismissively with the other.

                “Are you fucking insane?!” Steeple shrieked, her heels clicking loudly against the wood floor as she followed him. “You could’ve been killed!”

                “I got your fucking bow back, didn’t I?!” Darius snapped.

                “He was an asshole, Dair! Just some fucking loser! I much rather would have preferred for him to walk off with it than for you to get hurt! How could you be so stupid?!”

                Cici ran over to the counter and frantically asked the bartender for a first aid kit.

                “What’s going on?!” Tristan exclaimed. Cici turned and relief flooded her face when she noticed him.

                “Tris! Oh, thank God! Darius, he… Stupid idiot! There was this guy—”

                “Is that blood?!” Darius had finally gotten close enough for Tristan to see him in the dim light. His roommate blew past on the way to the bathroom, too distracted to see him.

                “Some jerk on the street was harassing us… Darius went after him and there was a fight, and, and—” Cici was tearing up, the fright suddenly catching up to her. “I didn’t know what to do! It all happened so fast, I—”

                Tristan caressed her upper arms and tried to calm her down.

                “Hey, shh, hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, Cici. I’ll go help him.”

                Cici threw her arms around him, and Tristan felt like a complete idiot. All night he had been vilifying her and feeling horribly jealous as if she wasn’t like a sister to him. She loved and trusted him, and now she was vulnerable and scared and chose to come to him for comfort.

                How could he have been so heartless?

                She was trembling. Tristan returned her embrace and gently rubbed her back, lingering in the hug for longer than he originally intended, hoping that she’d feel better. She needed this. Maybe he did, too.

                Cici straightened with a sniffle and handed him the first aid kit that the bartender had slid over.

                “Thanks Tris… You know how he is… I just—”

                She worried. So did he. They had this conversation before as two of the people who knew Darius the best. The guy could be bullheaded and impulsive, rushing into almost anything—even something dangerous—to help someone that he thought needed it. A self-sacrificing dumbass who occasionally leaped before he looked.

                Again, Tristan felt so foolish. He had shared many late nights with Cici where they had deep, heartfelt talks, even without Darius around. She was one of his closest friends, too; that was how he knew exactly what she was feeling and thinking in the moment. Boy did he feel terrible.

                “It has to be you. I can’t go in there.” Cici sobbed. Almost on cue, Darius shut the men’s room door behind him.

                Tristan stood and the world swayed. Fuck, the shots! Not now… not now! What a horrible time for them to kick in! He steadied himself against the barstool and flashed Cici as confident of a smile as he could muster, praying that he looked sober enough that she wouldn’t worry. He focused extra hard on walking straight and hoped that he was nailing it.

                In the bathroom Darius sat on the sink counter looking pissed off and ill-tempered as Steeple patted at his wounds with a wet paper towel. Darius shoved her hand away.

                “Knock it off! I’m fine. You’re gonna get blood on your outfit.” he complained.

                “I don’t give a shit, Darius. Shut up and let me help you.” she pulled the bloody paper towel away and tossed it in the trashcan.

                “I’ve got a first aid kit.” Tristan announced, holding up the supplies. Steeple gave him the same look of relief that Cici had. Darius must have been giving her a rough time.

                “Oh, thank God! I think it looks worse than it actually is, but still, let’s get him cleaned up.” Long manicured nails be damned, the queen dug into the box and ripped open a hand wipe, then reached for Darius’ face again, dabbing at a cut. Darius flinched away.   

                “Fucking stop it! That hurts!”

                Steeple looked exasperated and opened her mouth to snap back at him, but her thought was cut off by a tinkling melodic alarm.

                “Shit!” She reached between her fake bosoms and pulled out a cellphone, then shut off the alarm and checked the time.

                “The show’s about to start. I’ve gotta run… will you be okay?”

                Darius looked terrifying with the streams of red trickling down his face, even more so when he fixed Steeple with a deathly serious stare.

                “Get out there and be fabulous.” It was a threat. An encouraging one, but hostile all the same. “Do it for me.”

                Tristan gave the queen a proper answer. “I’ve got him. Thanks Steeple.”

                “Thank you Tristan.” Steeple turned and punched Darius lightly in the arm. “Don’t. be. stupid! And don’t be mean to this nice boy! He loves you just as much as I do! We’re your friends, you dick!” She rinsed her hands and grabbed her bow.

                Tristan’s throat bobbed. Just as much as Steeple loved him? Oh, no. No. Tristan loved him more. Far, far more.

                “Good luck. He’s still riled up.” Steeple whispered to Tristan, then set off to head backstage.

                Once she was gone, Darius deflated and bent forward, his defensive walls tumbling down. It was just him and Tristan now. He didn’t have to act tough and put up a brave front anymore.

                “Motherfucker…” he groaned. “Fuck, that hurt.”

                Tristan put a comforting hand on Darius’ knee.

                “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

                Darius peered up at Tristan, his face ragged and tired, though he forced a wry smile.

                “You should see the other guy.” He laughed darkly.

                Tristan scoffed, then took a moment to assess Darius’ condition. He was pretty roughed up. Blood trickled down his face and cemented clumps of his flowing black mane to his temple. Gently Tristan swept those out of the way, but the strands flopped back down again.

                “Here,” Tristan said, slipping the hair tie from his wrist. “put your hair up.”

                “My friend the Boy Scout.” Darius teased, taking the elastic and pulling his hair into a ponytail. “Always prepared…”

                “Shut up.” Tristan lifted a towelette, then carefully reached up to go over the cuts on Darius’ face and hands. Judging by the injuries, it seemed like he had been forced to the ground either from being pushed or punched.

                “What happened anyway?” Tristan asked.

                “We were sitting outside talking and some homophobic asshole came by and started slinging slurs.” Darius sucked in a sharp hiss with the sting of the wipe, but didn’t pull away. “He ripped Steeple’s bow off and started running, and I went after him. I don’t know who threw the first punch. It’s kind of a blur…”

                Tristan finished cleaning Darius’ wounds and pulled out a few band-aids. Luckily Steeple had been right: he wasn’t as bad as he looked, head wounds just tended to bleed a lot and look really dramatic.

                Darius watched Tristan studying him when he took a step back.

                “Is it bad?” Darius asked warily.

                Tristan tsked, his voice gentle.

                “I think you’ll live, idiot.”

                ‘Idiot’. He didn’t have to say anything more. The corners of Darius’ mouth pulled up slightly in a tiny, knowing smile. That one word expressed everything that Tristan was feeling regarding the whole situation. Darius knew him well enough to figure that out. ‘Idiot’, meaning something more along the lines of ‘How could you be so reckless? You care too much. You shouldn’t have put yourself in harm’s way, even if it was the noble thing to do for a friend.’

                Tristan was slow with bandaging up Darius’ hands, his movements a little unsteady. Darius took notice, especially when Tristan started swaying.

                “Are you okay?” he asked.

                “Yeah, I just… alcohol…” Tristan admitted. The multiple drinks were finally fully hitting him.

                Darius’ thick dark brows pulled into a frown. “How much more did you have?”

                “Two more shots… I’m fine…”

                “Yeah, okay. Come up here and have a seat with me.”

                The blonde finished dressing the wounds and sloppily tucked the remaining supplies back into the first aid kit. Clumsily he hopped onto the countertop next to Darius.

                “Thanks Tris.” Darius said, a pinch of embarrassment in his otherwise grateful tone.

                Tristan nodded heavily. “I agree with Steeple.” he replied. “Don’t be stupid.”

                Darius chuckled. “I try not to be as a general rule.” but they both knew that wasn’t always the case.

                Without looking at him, Darius leaned over wearily and rested his head on Tristan’s shoulder in an appreciative gesture. He must have been crashing from the adrenaline rush. Tristan tried to keep cool and bite his tongue, but the liquid courage in his system was making him… well, courageous.

                What would he even say in a moment like this? 'I love you, don’t you ever scare me like that again!'? 'Hey, could you stop flirting with your ex? You’re kind of killing me.'? 'Please promise you won’t ever leave me.'?

                Instead, he pressed his lips together and simply rested his head on top of Darius’. The two of them sat there for a moment in silence to recover from the chaos.

                The moment lingered on.

                And on…

                It was weirdly peaceful.

                “You know we can’t stay like this forever…” Darius finally mumbled.

                Tristan didn’t realize that he had closed his eyes until they were open again. Had he just taken a three second nap? His heart beat faster, his half-asleep, alcohol impaired mind trying to figure out what Darius meant. They couldn’t stay like this forever? What was he saying? Darius must be about to dump him as a friend. That was the only explanation. The guy at the bar was right. Tristan was convinced. In the span of a millisecond, Tristan spiraled. It was over. Their entire friendship was over. It had to be.

                “I’m not staying the night in a dirty club bathroom.”

                The flurry of paranoia swirling in Tristan’s brain stopped on a dime and his panic dissolved. Darius was right, this place wasn’t fit for them to stay in at all.

                “Mm…” Tristan nodded in agreement and groggily sat back up.

                “I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve had enough clubbing for tonight. You wanna head home?” Darius asked.

                “Uh huh.” Tristan was woozy. It was a nice buzz, and his heart wasn’t aching as badly, but he was definitely done with the evening. Darius hopped off the counter, then helped him down, supporting him until he could stand better. Tristan collected the first aid kit and they moved toward the bathroom door.

                “You’ve gotta tell Cici you’re ok.” Tristan uttered. “She was really worried about you.”

                Darius' face fell. “Yeah… Well, that’s partially why she left me... Too scrappy. I sure did a great job of proving her point tonight.” His tone was bitter as he reflected on his own actions. Perhaps the breakup hadn’t been as mutual as Tristan initially thought.

                “You still love each other.” Tristan said. It was a statement, not a question.

                “Yeah, as friends.” Darius answered.

                “You mean you’re not trying to get back together?”

                “No. Of course not. What makes you think—”

                “Flirting.” Tristan blurted out. “You’ve been flirting with her all night.”

                Darius looked perplexed. “I’ve been flirting with everyone all night. Even you.”

                What little shred of sanity Tristan had left broke at those words, and temporarily he was speechless. His dumbstruck expression must have read, because Darius gave him a weird look. 

                Tristan wanted to ask a thousand questions- ‘How seriously were you flirting?’, ‘Was it just for fun, or are you actually romantically interested in me?’, ‘Is this a joke to you?’, ‘Are you trying to lead me on?’, ‘Do you know how badly something like that could destroy me?’ but all that came out was one simple word:

                “Why?”

                Darius shrugged.

                “Because I love you, Tris.” he said it so nonchalantly, like it was simply a matter of fact. There was no sense of gravity to the thought. It was light. Airy. Easy.

                Tristan was silent. Dead freaking silent.

                As a friend. Darius didn’t say it, but somehow, Tristan knew that was what he meant. Darius loved him as a friend. Nothing more. Clearly, he was still completely clueless as to how Tristan felt. He had to be. He wouldn’t just speak that sentiment so casually otherwise.

                All the same, Tristan’s insides felt warm.

                “I—”

                ‘I want to be with you.’, ‘I need you to know just how much I care about you.’, ‘I don’t ever want to leave your side.’, ‘I wanna ruin our friendship, we should be lovers instead.’

                … Careful, Tris.

                “I love you, too, Dair.” Not even Tristan knew what level of intensity he was putting behind those words. He would never force something on Darius like that, no matter how badly he wanted it. It felt nice just to voice the thought out loud either way… to officially release it into the universe. 

                They loved each other. It didn’t matter in what capacity. At least now they both knew. 

                Darius beamed and wrapped an arm around Tristan’s shoulders to keep him steady.

                “I’m glad. Now let’s go home.”

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This is part two of a two-part short story! Part one is here.

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Thank you as always to @risahraun for beta-reading! <3

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Tag list: @dutifullykrispyland, @fleur-a-whump, @gala1981, @generic-whumperz, @risahraun

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Tag list (continued) : @morning-star-whump, @defire

[aurekiwi]

Thank you so so so so much if u end up doing this tarot reading. Also this is the post I saw

https://www.tumblr.com/k-tarotz/739078253264896000/could-you-please-make-a-post-on-how-sunghoon-would

Since ur readings are more detailed im rlly interested in ur take!

Thank u again💜💛💛💛💜💜💜💜💛💛💛

Thank you so much for requesting a reading from me! If you're interested in receiving a reading from me, please visit my ko-fi.

𝔢 𝔫 𝔥 𝔶 𝔭 𝔢 𝔫

How will Sunghoon (the Chosen One) behave around his crush and pursue them?

𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐞 | masterpost | support kiwi

Wheel of Fortune, Two of Swords, The Empress, Eight of Cups Rx, The Tower, The Devil, Ten of Wands, Ten of Cups

Sunghoon will figure out ways to meet up with them whether it be through mutual friends or social gatherings. He will want to try and cross paths whenever possible and constantly remind his crush of his presence. What I'm sensing that they will have many "unexpected encounters" when really, it's just all Sunghoon's doing. He plans out how he wants to present himself to his crush. He wants to seem like a good person and become someone that the crush feels they're lucky to have got to known and be around. Around his crush, he will be shy and also seem a bit confused, conflicted, and/or not put together. You know those male leads who try to act all likeable and mysterious yet they do something that ends up showing that they're actually feeling really nervous and excited inside? That's what it feels like when it comes to Sunghoon when he is around his crush.

I also sense that he will generally be a very loyal and caring person. He might not be the most expressive and he might even try and act all cold as if he isn't interested in them at all, but he will always be the first one to show his support for his crush, talk to them, learn about their interests, maybe even try to match his style or show that he is really interested in everything they have to say about themself and their thoughts. I see him buying things for his crush for their birthday that he put a lot of thought into, maybe some heartfelt conversations and making fun of his crush while being careful not to upset them by mistake.

I think the "conflicted" energy from him that I mentioned earlier is tied to his position as a Kpop idol. He might face a lot of internal conflicts once he starts liking someone and the feelings grow bigger than expected or desired. He doesn't know if pursuing his crush will be something worth his reputation and career and he also doesn't know if the relationship with his crush will actually work out. He would also have to first have his crush reciprocate his feelings first which can feel a bit intimidating sometimes. He might constantly think "Do I want to go after this person or not?" "Do I actually really like this person?" "Should I try and go for something more than what we currently are?" He's a very cautious person and I for some reason just felt a HUGE surge of Air energy from him wow. Not really the type of person to be tied down by emotions it seems. If he decides he will move on, he will move on. If he goes for commitment, he will settle down and very serious.

When he actually decides to pursue his crush, he might become kind of paranoid about it. There's not much coming through about how he will pursue them, but much more of "After I pursue this person, then what?" "How are we going to make this relationship work?" "How do I make this work out?" I think he generally tries really hard to keep everything just at the talking and attraction stage because there is so much to risk in terms of his career. He views the consequences of the relationship as The Tower- there is a building on fire, there are people screaming and running around. He feels that if he does enter a relationship, that would be the ensuing chaos if he were to be exposed by the media about his relationship. He also feels that the relationship can turn into something really toxic. He really likes attachment within a relationship, but he also is the type of person to really prioritize his work. He has goals he wants to work for. He doesn't want his partner to become dependent on him and expect him to prioritize them over his work. He doesn't want his relationship to clash with his work ethic. He believes that pursuing his crush or a general relationship will strip him of his security/freedom in a way as an idol and also just a general person. He might also be worried about that Kpop idol to fan dynamic or something similar to that.

In the case he decides to pursue someone, this would mean he worked through all those fears. This is why I said if he were to commit, he will settle down because once he works through those feelings and he realizes that this relationship is actually one that will be healthy, balanced, and also one where he can feel truly loved and at ease, he will go for it. Inside, he holds a lot of loneliness in his heart. I think his fans refer to him as the Ice Prince, and I do really think that it relates to the kind of person he is. He is a Prince from the distance. He keeps to himself and it's cold and so isolating. Deep inside, he wishes a future where he has a nice, welcoming, and loving home where he lives peacefully with his spouse and children. Where he is genuinely happy and his heart is filled to the brim with warmth and love. Right now, when I connect to him, it's like he heart is frozen and full of spikes. I don't really know what he went through, but I think he more than anything wants some form of support in a way- it's just that he knows there will be consequences and doesn't want to risk it.