#a few hinted spoilers but i tried to avoid them

[vickyvicarious]

some scattered lucy thoughts from today...

Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a good deal to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the last Pop.

Aside from the 'oh this is all so boring' joke, this list of activities definitely points to Lucy being a very active person. Later on she also talks about other things she likes to do which support this. I think Lucy is a bubbly and outgoing/active person who usually has a lot of energy.

He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you have never tried it.

@dathen has a great more heartwrenching take on this line which I just reblogged, but in a more lighthearted direction I just love the image of Lucy making faces at herself in the mirror. I want so badly to see someone make cute art of it.

I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore. That is slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day.

Lucy doesn't care much about fashion. I kind of wonder if her mother cares more and always tries to ensure Lucy is in the latest fashions or whatever, and it's something she's lightheartedly complained about with Mina before. It feels like a familiar reference.

Also, Lucy seems like the type of person to have fun being caught up in new interests that people she likes enjoy. She finds it really fun to imitate Arthur's slang, and gets kinda proud about the idea of being an interesting psychological study, and that sort of thing. She is probably a really good listener. (And now I'm picturing Mina excitedly infodumping to Lucy as they walk along holding hands, Lucy listening with great interest. 10/10 date.)

But oh, Mina, I love him; I love him; I love him! There, that does me good. I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the letter, and I don't want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all.

I have some thoughts about Lucy and speaking freely. I didn't notice how much emphasis is put on it, but when you're thinking about it specifically in those lines there is a lot going on here. It isn't just Mina who wants to be with Lucy where they can talk freely. Lucy feels the same. The way she starts the letter very politely avoidant about how much Arthur matters to her is probably much closer to how she speaks to most people about him, or even most things. She talks about trying to tell Mina how she felt, about not knowing how she's even saying all this, that she should stop, that she doesn't want to, she's writing this in a quick burst of emotion/courage. And sure, it could just be the overwhelming newness of her romantic feelings, but I think Lucy has a tendency to hide how she really feels if it would rock the boat or upset/worry people - regardless of the situation. You know, she acts like she is fine and happy even if she doesn't feel that way. And (vague hinted spoilers) the ability to speak freely specifically is something that has later relevance for both women, so I find it really interesting to see aspects of it in both their first letters.

I also think it's part of why she likes Arthur speaking slang (and later on another man speaking a different sort of slang) so much. It's more relaxed and individual and gives her a little thrill to deviate from more polite and proper scripts. It isn't something she does on her own, but if someone else initiates it's easier to join them. Or at the very least to enjoy listening to.

[another-lost-mc]

I would like to imagine that my MC recently got a reversible octupus plushie she got from human world when she visited home. The demon brothers notices the new plushie in MC's room but did not care about it until they saw it changed to the angry face.

Now, everyone of them is frantic, including Luci but his prideful self decides to keep it cool.

Who in the Devildom made MC mad? Asmo and Levi is crying. Mammon is pacing around the common room. Luci, Satan, and Belphie are seething. Beel lost his appetite.

They did not notice anything while at RAD, or when the residents from Purgatory Hall visited.

Was it because Beel ate MC's pudding, when she specifically said that she's keeping it because she will eat it as a midnight snack?

Was it Levi when he *asked* MC to watch new anime season installment, for 3 nights in a row?

Or Satan when he spam messaged MC with cat pictures?

Spoiler- It was actually Solomon who switched it to angry just to troll the demon brothers and MC though that it was not a big deal anyway 🤣

a/n: I want one of those plushies too, they're so cute.

when mc has a reversible mood plushie | the demon brothers

0.5k words| sfw | gn!reader

cw: a bit of mischevious sleep/dream stuff in belphie's section.

They freak out when they see your plushie is turned to the angry side and assume you're unhappy. One day they peek in your room to talk to you. They spot the little octopus plushie laying on your bed and it's flipped back to the happy side again. Yay! But wait, what did they do to make you so happy in the first place?!

Lucifer thinks that you liked all the extra time you spent helping him with some student council business this week. You complained at the time, but was that a ruse to hide how much you enjoyed his company as much as he secretly enjoyed yours?

Mammon thinks you're his good luck charm and wouldn't you know it, he just hit it big at the casino. He has a few outstanding bills to pay off, but first he's gonna buy you something nice!

Levi gave you some extra gacha capsule toys he had duplicates of. He wasn't even sure if you liked that anime, but maybe he guessed your favourite character by accident. (After this, he's going to give you a lot of little gifts featuring a particular character whose name you don't even remember, but he looks so excited to give them to you that you can't refuse.)

Satan thinks about the books he's lent you recently and assumes curling on the sofa with a good book solved all your problems. He loves those particular books and now he's certain that you love them too. Of course you did, who else knows your taste in literature or anything else better than him? He can't wait to talk to you about them in more detail later.

The only thing Asmo can think of is that you realized a selfie of you two together on Devilgram started trending before he even noticed. Well, he's going to be taking your picture a lot more from now on. It's adorable how camera-shy you are, but he promises to keep most of them private for only the two of you to enjoy. ♡

Beel avoided a meltdown last night when the buffet he took you to threatened to cut him off. He tries really hard to keep his hunger in check when you go out together, so you must be really proud of him! Maybe he'll pick up a few dozen cupcakes at Madam Scream's as a thank-you gift...

Belphie could tell you were feeling stressed last night. His brothers just don't know how to leave you alone, do they? They bother you with their foolishness and you're too nice to say no (even though he knows your grumpy little octopus friend is a warning to them all if they don't get the hint). If he made you a little drowsy after dinner so you could go to bed early and get a good night's sleep, that's his business. He thought he was careful not to leave a trace when he visited your dreams last night too, but maybe you knew he was there all along? Well, he's happiest when he can spend time with you, awake or asleep, so it makes sense you feel the same way.

[no1bookgirl]

Wild Goose Turkey Chase

Synopsis: Every year, since Tobais Hawthorne discovered Nash’s fondness for turkeys, Hawthorne House has set up a pen full of turkeys somewhere outside of Hawthorne House. In 2024, 27 years after the first turkey pen had been set up, a certain Hawthorne *cough* Xander *cough* forgot to lock the pen correctly. The turkeys put their brains together and hobbled out of the pen, now having free reign of Hawthorne House, tormenting its occupants with a haunting gobble.

POV: 2nd from you as Grayson’s gf!!

Pairings: Grayson x Reader, Avery x Jameson, Libby x Nash, and Xander x Max!

wc: 9.8k

a/n: Thanksgiving fic!! one of my first actual character x reader things. I was going to do a halloween themed one cause halloween would be crazy at hawthorne house, but thanksgiving was much more festive! (this might also be a day or two after thanksgiving 🙄🙄) Warning!! one y/n usage that I really tried to avoid… I hate having to write y/n it’s so icky to me ☹️ MINOR GAMES UNTOLD SPOILERS!!!

Now, I present: Wild Goose Turkey Chase

Wednesday, November 20th, 2024

When you are the girlfriend of Grayson Hawthorne, former heir apparent of philanthropist Tobias Hawthorne, you were bound to have that big, fancy Thanksgiving that you felt you could never get used to. You were also bound to getting caught in the antics of his brothers. And their girlfriends.

Yeah, Hawthorne Thanksgiving was good, lavish, luxury, chaotic especially, but you couldn’t help but remember your fondness for your grandmother’s mashed potatoes. Or your mom’s turkey. Those quiet, comfortable, small Thanksgivings. The ones where you’d actually have time to go around the table and share something you’re grateful for.

Trying to take your mind off of your need for your grandma, for your mom, just for your family again, you walk down the art gallery, staring at the walls of endless works. Your eyes fall upon one exhibit, a large amount of turkey-hand paintings ordered by year. There were four rows of them, each containing around eight paintings. The top row was Nash’s, the hand feathers becoming more defined as the years grew on. It was cute to think of the Hawthorne brothers squishing their hands in paint, pressing it against paper, and decorating it was silly items like top hats and monocles, a cowboy hat and a lasso, or sun glasses and a glass of wine.

You’d done the same project when you were a child, running home from the bus stop, paper fluttering in the wind, slamming the door open and proudly displaying your artwork on the fridge. Gentle hands would rub your back, cheek kisses were also common, soft words would encourage your art.

Before actually meeting the brothers, you never would’ve been able to imagine them doing that from what you had seen. It would feel too forced, like they just didn’t fit into that picture of childishness. But maybe that was one of their plans all along, Grayson’s plan. He needed to be that mature business man, always trying to keep himself steady, others steady too, including you until you saw through that facade, breaking him open to see who he really could be.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Grayson’s voice came from behind you, the now audible clicking of his shoes becoming louder.

“Yeah,” you laughed. Turning around, you found one of those rare Grayson smiles plastered on his face, warming her heart. Maybe it was the holiday spirit, or maybe the fun memories of the turkey hands.

He looked down, like he was nervous, but you could still see the hint of the smile. “It’s you,” he said as if reading your mind, “that’s making me smile like this. Even after being together for three years, it’s still so foreign.”

“Well, I’ve gotten used to your smile.” You took a few steps closer to him, closing the gap as you wrapped your arms around him. “Gray?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to know something I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving season?” you asked innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

He cocked his head. “Friends?”

“Close…”

“Family?”

“Closer…”

He chewed on his lip, in actual thought. “I give up,” he said, mock defeat in his voice.

“This Thanksgiving season, I’m grateful for…” you paused for dramatic effect, your mouth staying in a wide open-mouthed smile. “You.”

Grayson’s brows shot up, even though you had told him this millions of times before. “Really?” he asked, his arms finally wrapping loosely around your torso.

“Forever,” you sing, rocking you and Grayson back and forth, “and ever and ever and ever.”

The two of you sit there for a moment, taking in each other in the silence, wrapped up all nice and cozy compared to the outdoors. But everything with Grayson was warm. Swimming was warm because of summer. Grayson was warm because he was your sun, the thing that brought that smile to your face, the sun that faded down into a calmer, more comforting figure as the day dragged on. Grayson was the warm person you would wake up to in the morning, pressing yourself against his chest or his hair or wherever you happen to be.

Grayson leaned down into your ear, his breath warm, heating you up even more. “They’re setting the turkey pen up soon,” he commented. “Do you think it would be fun to watch?”

“Grayson,” you cock your head at him, “we do this every year: You come up to me, butter me up and all that jazz, then ask if I want to watch them build the pen, which we end up doing no matter what I say.”

He chuckled at you, at all the other turkey pen watching times you’d been together. Reaching around his back, he grabbed on of your hands, giving it a gentle kiss. “Shall we?”

You gave one of those small, flustered smiles even if he had done this so many times before. “Why, yes, prince charming.”

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The pen was always a grand thing, more than enough room for the turkeys. There were about seven or eight turkeys in there, not at all knowing they would get slaughtered in only a matter of days at the hands of the greedy, and hungry, Xan- Hawthornes.

“I feel bad for them,” you said, letting your head rest against Grayson’s shoulder as a frown deepened on your face.

Grayson’s head cocked gently. “Why is that?”

“Because they don’t know they’re going to be eaten,” you began, even more empathy creeping in now that you actually expressed your sadness. “They just think they’re getting out in a new fancy home.”

“Well, all things have to come to an end at some point, and sometimes that end might not be when you’d expect or want,” said Grayson, his voice soft and steady, keeping you down.

You nodded absentmindedly, continuing to stare at the helpless turkeys. “I guess you’re right. But when are you not?” you murmured, hopeful that he didn’t hear the last part. But by the small smirk that he somehow couldn’t suppress, you could tell he did hear it.

“Who’s all coming for Thanksgiving this year? It’s approaching faster than I’d like.”

“There’s a few new people coming this year,” Grayson said, a half sigh in his voice. “I know Gigi and Katrina will be joining us this year.”

Your heart dropped at the mention of that cat. Lord did it scare you. Not that you were scared of cats, but the way the leopard sized cat would stare at you from Gigi’s arms, it’s pupils shrinking as it looked like it was planning you to be her next meal. Grayson always made sure to keep a safe distance between you and Katrina whenever Gigi decided it was her turn to barge into your room. Whether it be holding Katrina or letting her sleep on him, he’d separate you two.

“That damn cat,” you breathed out.

“Knox may also be here this year, maybe not. Lyra’s having Thanksgiving with her family. All the rest of the normal people will be there: Avery, obviously, Jameson, Libby, Nash, then on,” he said.

You blew out a long breath, wishing you could see it in the air. If it wasn’t cold enough to see your breath, it wasn’t Thanksgiving yet. And Texas had a long way to go. 70° F was no where near what homes temperature would be around this time of month. Now, coats would start to be pulled out of the basement. A sweatshirt wouldn’t be enough to keep you warm. Hats wouldn’t be out for a while. It always seemed that something, just one thing, was just off enough for this place to not feel like home.

Even if you came here almost every break you got in school since you met Grayson three years ago, it still never felt right. Too hot. Too stuffy. Too many people. They didn’t know what you meant when you called certain things differently. You’re offered sweet tea instead of lemonade on those hot summer days. It was never enough. And you felt bad. Grayson always tried to make you feel at home here, safe, secure. You tried to make yourself seem happy, but Grayson could see right through it.

A whirring sound came from somewhere around the corner. Grayson’s arm instinctively went to wrap around you, holding you closer to him. A… figure emerged from the corner. It was Tiramisu… in a child sized Jeep?

Without having to see who it was, Grayson called out, “Xander.” It was silent before Xander popped out from behind you and Grayson, his arm tightening even more around you. You yelped, clinging on to Grayson.

“Greetings, fellow residents.” Xander gave them no time before he started to ask questions. “How has your day been? How do you like Tiramisu’s Jeep? How about the turkeys? Are they interesting this year? Should I dye them purple-“

“Alexander,” Grayson commanded, stopping Xander in his tracks. You’d almost never seen Xander stop talking this quickly, but he was silent. “There is no need to dye the turkeys, or anything for that matter, purple.”

Xander’s lip puffed out in a pout. “But that’s the best part,” he whined, knowing full well that he would do it anyway. And temporarily dye Grayson’s hair to get back at him.

Contorting your face, you look to Xander. “I don’t think purple is very festive…”

Xander looked up, taking that into consideration, and nodded. Tiramisu panted from beneath you, wiggling against whatever was keeping him in the toy car. Xander bent down to pet him, earning wet dog kisses to his hand.

“We better get going,” he said, “Tiramisu Panini Hawthorne, you’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Your brows furrowed. “You training him for the Macy’s day parade or something?”

“Similar to that. Hawthorne style,” he said with a grin that greatly reflected Jameson.

“Do not suspend him from a helicopter like you did with our last dog? That did not end well for Wilhelmina,” Grayson scolded.

What happened to Wilhelmina?

Xander huffed out a long sigh, groaning and whining like a little kid. “You always ruin my plans, little Graybe-“

“Don’t even try that with me, Alexander.” The full name again. What was up with him today?

Xander turned around, pulling out a remote control to have Tiramisu slowly follow him as he sulked away. But Tiramisu’s smiley little dog face was the opposite of Xander’s, tongue out and panting.

“Xander?” you called. He slowly, dramatically, turned around to face you again. “Who’s feeding the turkeys?”

“We’re going in an order. I’m first, then Jamie, Grayson, Nash, Avery, Libby, and last Oren,” he mumbled, still keeping his sad face on.

He turned back around, pulling out a remote control to push Tiramisu around as he wobbled away. Beside Xander, Tiramisu was the opposite, his face all smiley, tongue out, tail wagging, and panting.

When they were far enough away, you looked up at Grayson, your best attempt at a mad face directed at him.

He noticed your expression, arching a brow—those weirdly perfect brows. No, it was actually weird—and cocking his head. “What’s that face for?”

“That was really mean, Grayson. I think you should apologize,” you declared.

Grayson gave you a look, one that you knew meant that you both mutual understood something, but you were deciding to act like you didn’t. “He’s going to be okay. I know he’s going to be okay. And the look he gave me just means he’s going to do that, but ten times worse.”

“But you called him his full name. Twice!” You’d almost never heard Xander be called by his full name. Not even by Nash. It genuinely took you a second to realize that Alexander wasn’t an inside joke between Xander and Grayson.

“Trust me, he’ll be okay,” he said, finally, squeezing your arm and giving you a kiss on the top of the head. “Now, how about we go back to our gallery walk?”

The smile reappeared on your face and the two of you turned around, making your way back into Hawthorne House.

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Thursday, November 21st, 2024

Somehow, on this fine evening, every just so happened to be eating lunch at the same time, small talk filling the table as they passed plates around, piling food on top of other food that you knew were not goin for taste good once all mixed together. But for some strange reason, Avery and Jameson made it a competition to see who could stack their plate higher without a single thing falling. They were both well off their plates, at least six inches of food each. You and Grayson shared the same disgusted look. Yeah, your family wasn’t as fancy as all these people, but at least you had manners.

Suddenly, with dramatic effect, Xander burst into the room, a panicked look that you had never seen before on his face. The bang made Avery jump, knocking over everything on your plate, mingling with all the other food. Her hand flew over her mouth at the mess. Not only did it topple over and mix everything, it splattered everything everywhere, on everyone, and Tiramisu was more than happy to clean up the floor.

“Xander!” Avery screeched. Her face softened when she saw Xander’s. “Xander..?

“They. Are. Gone.” He punctuated each word with a force you’d expect out of Grayson.

Nash swiftly stood up, getting into his ready stance. “Who is gone, Xan?”

“The turkeys. When I went to go check and see if they ate all their breakfast, there was only one left. I didn’t close that pen right, they’re all gone,” his tone was frantic, more than you had ever heard from him before.

Grayson followed Nash but his stance was much more protective, aware. “That just means that they are on the premises, not exactly inside of Hawthorne House.”

Xander shook his head violently. “They are inside. The seven that got out. And they are out for revenge,” he panted. You finally made the connection that he was probably running from them.

Oren started to talk to someone on his radio, giving them instructions on what measures to take next. Xander sat down at the table, swiping his finger through Avery’s fallen mix of ham, cheese, mayo, grapes, and some garlic sauce. Xanders face twisted, then loosened, and continued that pattern. Grayson had migrated over to Oren, trying to go through everything they had to do.

The rest of the lunch was silent, doors locked, waiting for the anticipation of the turkeys.

“So everyone-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

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It wasn’t long before one of the turkeys tried to claim its first victim.

Can turkeys fly?

Yes, turkeys can fly, but only short distances.

Speed

Wild turkeys can fly at speeds of up to 55 miles per hour.

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Help me.

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You were aimlessly roaming Hawthorne House, trying to find something to distract yourself with. Thundering footsteps came from down the hall, screaming accompanying the steps. It was a familiar shriek. Avery. And then you heard it, what she was running from. The gobbles echoed through the endless halls, not allowing you to know where it was coming from.

You looked around for any kind of escape, anything high enough that you could still climb on. You time spent with the Hawthornes and built you an expertise in climbing, even when there was almost nothing to climb. There was the tiniest ledge, just enough to fit your foot, so, you began your climb. Arm moving up and over, feet bracing against the wall.

On top of the ledge, your legs shook, almost taking you down to the ground. Avery’s footsteps grew louder as they approached you, the flapping of wings following. She shrieked again, the slapping of her shoes against the ground growing closer together, her legs moving faster.

“What the fuck!” she screamed, her arms pumping as she rounded a corner, coming in to view.

Suddenly, she ran into something. She faced the turkey, its speed slowing. They were at a standstill. Avery versus the turkey. Avery stood proud, trying to cover her obviously shaking hands and legs, her breathing ragged. She licked her lips, staring down the turkey. Taking her eyes off for only a second, she looked up at you, pleading in her gaze.

“Are you just gonna sit there and stare? Help me!” she called out, disturbing the turkey. It gave an aggressive gobble, taking a step toward Avery and flapping it’s wings. She moved backwards, slightly stumbling.

Under you, the wall shook, knocking you off balance. You almost fell, but narrowly caught the ledge with your shaking fingers, her hands almost too sweaty to hold you up. Without any warning, a loud crack came from under you. Avery instinctively ducked down, her arms covering her head. The turkey fell over, it’s body still on the floor, a small hole behind where the turkey had just stood.

It felt like your legs moved without any signals from your brain, nothing was telling you to move but you were.

“Avery!” you said, rushing over to her. You knelt beside her, your hand rubbing up and down her back. “It’s okay, shh, you’re okay,” your voice was gentle. Her body shook as she pulled herself up, wrapping her arms around you.

Footsteps echoed from behind the two of you, and you turned to find Jameson holding one of the Winchester rifles. How fitting. Then, you connected the dots. Secret passage way.

“Avery,” Jameson breathed out, falling down beside you. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” Similar to Xander earlier that day, he looked more panicked than ever, scooping Avery out of your arms.

“I’m fine,” she said shakily, her breathing still uneven.

“Fine and okay aren’t the same thing, Heiress,” Jameson said, a small, soft, trying-to-be-comforting smile on his face.

Avery took one more deep breath before sitting up, untangling herself from Jameson. “I’m okay. I promise.”

The two sat for a moment, just staring at each other.

“We should probably clean that up,” you commented, loosely referring to the dead turkey a few feet away.

“Yeah,” they sighed together.

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After Oren had come and cleaned the turkey up, you traveled back to you and Grayson’s room, flopping down on the bed next to Grayson and his laptop. You gave a dramatic sigh, finally able to breathe fully.

“What’s that for?” Grayson asked, starting at her collarbone and tracing a finger down your arm into your hand.

“One turkey down,” you began, “six to go.”

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Friday, November 22nd, 2024

Some nights, when even you couldn’t get Grayson to fall asleep, you two resorted to the few other people Grayson felt——not necessarily safe sleeping in a room with——comfortable to sleep in a room with if you were their too. Grayson’s eyes drooped, and you felt so bad. He hadn’t slept much before you had arrived back at Hawthorne House from Harvard, the place where he had betrayed you and left. He didn’t really betray you, just had his own shit to deal with. But, still, it hurt. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever, shadowing his pale face. You also came to the realization that his heightened irritability—Xander’s first name, the purple turkeys—was due to Grayson’s lack of sleep. Poor thing.

You wrapped one of the millions of blankets Xander had in his pile that he called a bed around Grayson, tucking him in snuggly.

“Good night,” you whispered against his ear, giving his cheek a soft kiss.

Xander was also somewhere in the pile, probably cuddled up with Max or some of his stuffed animals.

“Good night to you too, Xan,” you whisper called, a waving hand appearing somewhere underneath the blankets.

Xander had a strange habit of forgetting to close doors. Anywhere he went. Any time. But he especially did when he went to bed. You always assumed he didn’t have much of a night time routine. Well, until Max came around and forced him into a nightly skincare routine. Or maybe Xander just liked to have that small nightlight, just a little childlike comfort.

Lying behind Grayson, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arm draping over him side under his arm. You tried to sleep, you really did, but with the events from today, you couldn’t help your open eyes. Grayson’s hair twirled around your finger, his light snoring, Xanders not-so light snoring, Max wiggling around in her sleep. Everyone in the house was peaceful, but you just couldn’t focus. And when you tried to sleep, you only thought about not sleeping, keeping you awake even longer.

So quiet. So eerily quiet. Nothing like what you were used to sleeping through in Cambridge. Or, at least, your first year when you were required to live on campus. Since then, and kind of to apologize for leaving, Grayson got you a nice house not too far from campus. It was nice and cozy—2 bed, 3 bath, nice finished basement equipped with a bar!—just what you were looking for. It kind of reminded you of the heaps of blankets you were in right now.

One game you enjoyed playing in Xander’s room was Dig In His Weird Blanket Pile And See What You Find! It was kind of like a blind bag: you never know what you’re going to pull out.

You dug your hand in, feeling around until you found something. It was cold, despite the warmth of the blankets, circular, felt like glass. You wretched our hand out of the pile, holding up a small, glass ball. A Fushigi ball? Hawthornes and their weird talents. You put that one back down, digging around for something else. Your fingers caught in something else, pulling out a crochet hook, a single piece of yarn connecting it to a half finished crochet dog that vaguely resembles Tiramisu.

You continued to dig around, finding new random things, some you didn’t even know existed. When your hand was touching the bottom of this pit, the room got lighter, and lighter. The door was creaking open. But Nash wouldn’t be up, he probably would’ve woken Libby up. And why would Jameson or Avery be coming in here at this hour? That left only one thing.

The fucking turkeys.

You froze, your arm still in the sea of blankets, unable to move. Beside you, Grayson shifted, rubbing his head around, his brows furrowing when we couldn’t find your hand.

“Mm,” he whined, his arm reaching to feel around. Your free arm roughly grasped his wrist, stirring him more. “What are you doing…” he trailed off when he saw the panic on your face, the utter fear. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He sat up fully, grabbing your hands. You looked back up at the ledge of the pit until he followed your gaze. He must have noticed the weird amount of light streaming into the room.

Then the gobble came. And another. Were there multiple? Here? Right now?

Like some sort of sleeper agent—literally—Max launched up from where she was sleeping, bringing Xander’s arm with her. Xander stirred too, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

“What the fuck was that?” Max whispered, her eyes locked forward as if she wasn’t able to move, that if she did some monster—the turkeys—would come out and attack her.

There was a figure peering over the ledge now, casting a shadow on Max. It’s sickly long neck, that stupid beak, the feathers down the rest of the body. You were only just realizing how terribly inaccurate your hand-turkey drawings had been. It gobbled again, flapping its wings, and jumped down. Max screamed, scrambling out of the pit. You followed, confused and disoriented, the lack of sleep catching up to you. Grayson rushed up after you, his arms going around you.

Xander continued to look around confused. And then he began to, very slowly, climb onto the ledge, wobbling across his room to somewhere by a desk of some sort. “Don’t freak out, you guys. I have something for this.”

Of course he did.

He adjusted the screws or bolts of mechanical things you didn’t understand, paying very close attention to the turkey’s position. He pulled a small lever back, and then let go. It was another one of his weird machines, the ones that take too many steps. The thing ran almost all the way around his room: on the walls, the book ridden ceiling, the floor, even. Only seconds after that lever was released, a ball, in your mind a canon ball, launched from a corner not too far from you, hitting the turkey square in the head.

That drew a gasp from you, Max, and Grayson, all still standing huddled in a corner.

“There,” Xander said, grogginess roughening his voice, “are you better now?”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

You and Grayson laid on the floor of Nash and Libby’s room, Max curled up next to you. The door was locked securely, making sure to pose no danger to the sleeping people inside.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Saturday, November 23rd, 2024

When your eyes finally opened, they met Nash’s, Grayson standing beside him.

“Mornin’,” he said, patting your shoulder. The surface under you was comfortable, squishy, compared to the floor you, Grayson, and Max had chosen to sleep on last night.

When you finally collected your mind, you focused on where you were, what you knew about the turkeys now. I’m in Libby and Nash’s bed, I think, and two turkeys have been taken down. That leaves only five more, that could be done in a day, right?

“Are you feeling any better?” Grayson asked, his voice soft and quiet.

You completely ignored the question. “Where is Xander?”

A small smile pulled at Grayson’s lips, warming your heart. Your face also heated up thinking about the fact you most likely looked like you crawled out of a dumpster five seconds ago.

“Xan slept in his own room. He’s okay, too,” Grayson assured, running a hand through your hair, getting caught in the knots near the bottom.

“Mm,” you hummed in recognition. You stuffed your face back into one of the pillows, trying to drift off again. Grayson’s hand ran down your back, stopping just above your hips and tracing back up.

It was nice, having him there with you, something to keep you steady in the midst of all these turkey troubles. Your mind drifted off, dreaming of pool what and hot summer days, cameras and candid polaroid pictures, Grayson’s violin and your piano matching in just the right places.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

The next time you woke up, the room was more familiar the things you had dreamed of: playful strings of photos on the wall, his violins hanging with them. It was nice to have that feeling of home in at least one place here.

It was so quiet. Quieter than you had ever heard it. Even in the dead of night you could here Jameson and Avery scurrying around, Grayson taking a swim, Xander working up late on his next project, the steady strum of Nash’s guitar, used to put the babies to bed. Everyone had probably locked themself up in their room, including you. But then where was Grayson?

Deciding it was time for your next quest, you got up, wobbling over to the closet, and then the bathroom, finally getting ready for the day. You didn’t feel like doing much today; just a simple sweater, jeans, and a pair of fluffy socks you pulled out of some looks of clothes you were hiding from Grayson.

After leaving the bathroom, you opened the door to the balcony, the cold air washing over your body. You peered over the railing, the pool water still leaving no sign that Grayson had been there. Strange. Guess the next stop was the music room.

The hallways were especially empty today. Not even a cleaner or security walking around. That’s why the hallways were so quiet. It was eerie walking through the halls, the ceiling too tall now, the walls too close, the hall too long, a shiver creeping up your spine. Your steps quicken, trying to looking for any signs of Grayson. But it was like he just disappeared, gone.

Standing outside of the empty music room, you felt weak, tired too, your lack of sleep finally catching up to you. Then, your ears caught the beginning of a note, followed by another, and another, each played flawlessly, tuned perfectly. Maybe the music room wasn’t so empty. But piano wasn’t exactly Grayson’s forte. Your head peeked in, catching a glimpse of a figure at one of the pianos. A cane leaned up against the bench gave away who it could be. The sound of your steps light, you entered the room, trying not to disturb Nan as she listened to the piano.

“I know you’re there,” she said, her voice as gruff as usual. “You ain’t sneaky.”

Now caught, with no escape, you walk over to the piano, standing on the other end of the bench.

“Sorry to disturb you,” you said. Nan looked over to you, and you were just now realizing where Nash had gotten his many faces from. “Mind if I sit here? I won’t make a peep,” you promised.

“Fine,” she huffed.

You took a seat beside her, gentle to not knock over her cane of the other side. Sitting silently, you watched as the piano keys pressed themselves down, the music following with them.

“You play?” she asked, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You nodded slowly. “Sorta. I’m rusty though,” you admitted. You placed your hands gently on the piano keys, thinking up a song to play. Her fingers pressed down the key, moving in a familiar rhythm. The occasional press of the wrong key would stop you, making the song choppy. But you couldn’t help to think that those mistakes, the things that might slow you down, just added character.

Nan swayed to the music beside you, matching the rhythm. She seemed to recognize the song, know how to play it, pressing down a key or two on her side when it might have seemed too far from you. It was nice to have this moment. Most of the time, and what had been described of her, Nan wasn’t gentle, she was gruff, she was snorted laughs, she was bored huffs. Or maybe, just maybe, Nan was just Nan.

“You’re good,” her voice seemed softer now, calm “Y’know that, right?”

You nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her finger rested against one of the lower octave note, playing a simple pattern, switching between notes. Her head turned the slightest bit toward you, you could feel it.

“C’mere more often. I can get you to learn some of my favorite songs,” she said. A smile grew on your face, returned with a not so happy look. “Don’t make that face. You’re starting to look like Xander.”

Pad-pad-pad

The hell?

Pad-pad-pad

You leaned over, trying to see on Nan’s side, find where the padding feet were coming from. Riding up next to the two of you, an animal came in, bobbing its head as it walked. The turkey.

“How are you in here?” Nan said at the turkey, and the way she said it made it seem like she actually expected an answer from it.

Gobble

She stared at the turkey, like the stare-down Avery had had with the first turkey. Her hand reached over for the precariously balanced cane.

Poke

“Get.”

Blank stare.

Poke

“Get.”

Blank stare.

“You’re really going to make me up, aren’t you, bastard,” she huffed, standing up and using the piano as leverage.

Her cane swung aimlessly in the air, only hitting the turkey a few times. “Scram!” she shouted at it, watching as it scurried away in her presence.

Bonk

The turkey slammed right into the wall.

Thud

Another loud sound as the turkey hit the ground.

Similar to Nan, you just stared at it, motionless.

“One more turkey down,” you grumbled.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Sunday, November 24th, 2024

Waddling into the kitchen, you jumped up to sit on the counter beside Libby’s chocolate cupcakes.

“Libbbyyy,” you said.

“Yeeeeesss,” she dragged as she carefully frosted a cupcake.

You put on your best puppy eyes, looking at her like a little kid. “Can you make me something for lunch?”

“You’re twenty-two,” someone drawled from behind you. “You don’t need Lib to make you lunch.”

You flicked your hand at Nash, not even turning around to look at him. “Shoo.”

“Excuse me?” Nash said, his voice now right behind you.

Nash walked around the counter, a baby balancing on his hip, taking a ball of cookie dough off of a baking sheet nearby and popping it in his mouth. “I think,” he said around the cookie dough, “you should make your own lunch and let Lib breathe.”

“Thank you, Nash, but I think I can take care of myself.”

The baby was placed on the counter next to you, looking up and smiling at you.

“Hi, there, baby,” you squealed, picking her up and placing her on your lap, moving her arms around to fake punch or lifting them up and down, making her dance. She giggles and squeals, looking around, until her face dropped, looking at the entrance to the kitchen. Following her gaze, your eyes landed on another one of those stupid turkeys.

“Another one?” you whispered, drawing the attention of Nash and Libby.

“Another what-“

The room froze, everyone’s eyes on the turkey. Everything in the room was still, just staring. Until the turkey screamed its battle cry.

“What the hell,” Nash muttered, watching as the turkey ran in circles around the kitchen.

Libby jumped onto the counter watching as the turkey made a b-line toward her. She screeched, grabbing that pan of cookie dough and throwing it, hitting the turkey right on the head. Her hands flew to her mouth, covering it in shock.

“I just killed that turkey,” she mumbled. “I just killed that fucking turkey,” she repeated, her eyes wide.

Across the room, Nash stood staring at Libby. “Good job, Lib,” he said proudly.

“Usually, the turkey in the kitchen is dead,” Jameson said, entering the kitchen. Avery soon followed behind, probably startled by all the commotion.

“Libby, what’s wrong? What was that bang? And most of all, why are you on the counter?” She gave no time to answer any of the questions.

Libby’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to form words.

“Are those turkey cupcakes?” Avery asked, looking to the tray of cupcakes beside Libby.

“I was stress baking!”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Monday, November 25th, 2024

It was quiet again, the hallways. They weren’t empty this time, though, just quiet. Sitting on one of the many benches placed around Hawthorne House, you were reading a book, still too distracted by the turkeys which defeated the purpose of reading. Or what reading was supposed to be doing right now. Your book just wasn’t interesting enough. It couldn’t grab your attention like so many others had before. You thought it could be an escape, but it failed, miserably. Every sound, the rustle of a tree, the audible explosion of one of Xander’s creations, the faint shriek of Grayson’s violin, it all made you jump. When was the next time you’d be accosted by a turkey?

Bark, bark, bark

“Tiramisu!” Xander screeched as he ran after Tiramisu, both of them moving directly toward you.

Tiramisu jumped on the bench beside you, sticking his nose in your nose and then licking all over your face, sending you into a fit of giggles.

“Xander!” you said, choppy through your laughter. “Help me!”

Once Xander had gotten to the bench, he opened his arm, scooping up Tiramisu. “I told you to stay by me, missy,” he said, “I said you had to be the Oren to my Avery!”

“You’re using Tiara as your bodyguard?” you laughed in disbelief, the concept of Tiramisu, so tiny next to Xander, being his bodyguard was comical.

Xander head nodded proudly, placing Tiramisu back on the ground. He flopped onto the bench, blowing out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s like this dog doesn’t even know English.”

You snorted. “Xander, you’re not gonna believe what I’m about to tell you…”

A smile grew on his face, looking over at you. “Aren’t you ecstatic to have Katrina here? I know you love her so much.” One of his long, skinny fingers approached you, poking your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you huffed. “I don’t know. At least Gigi will be there.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” said Xander. Tiramisu jumped up on the bench, lying on her back and spreading across your and Xander’s laps, all smiling and panting. Your hand instinctively went to his belly, petting him.

Suddenly, a thought came to your mind. “Who takes Tiramisu on walks?”

Xander stared blanking at the cleanly lined trees across the path, his smile fading. “That’s a very good question.” He cocked his head, genuinely lost in thought.

“Oh, my gosh. I don’t know who walks Tiramisu,” he admitted. “I don’t even know if she gets walked.”

The two of you sat, contemplating Tiramisu’s daily schedule, trying to find any space where a walk could fit it.

“She has her morning bath at 8, then she has breakfast at 9:30, every other week at 10:30 she has her manicure,” Xander said. “12:00 she has lunch and then goes to play.”

“Maybe that’s when she gets walked?”

“But that’s play time, not walking. At 12:45, she’s tired and takes her afternoon nap in Libby and Nash’s room, and joins Nash for a doggy guitar lesson and then a doggy piano lesson at 2:00 and 2:30.”

“How does she even play guitar or piano? It’s not like she has fingers,” you asked, thinking of all the possible, stupid, ways that Xander could have come up with.

Xander shot up, intrigued by the opportunity to share his creation. “Okay, so it’s one really big piano, like, each key is a foot wide, and it’s like those ones that you can step on to play it and it’s really fun.”

“What about the guitar?”

“That’s one isn’t really her playing, she just kind of paws at the strings and Nash’s hand…”

“Oh.”

More silence. Tiramisu panting. You pull your phone out, checking the time. 12:19 Perfect timing.

“Perfect timing,” you voiced. “It’s play time.”

Tiramisu shot up, jumping off of your laps and spinning in circles, waiting for you and Xander to play with her.

“Should we play with the long sword today?” Xander joked, standing up and aggressively rubbing Tiramisu’s back.

“For sure,” you said sarcastically, getting up from your own position, closing your book not caring about where you were.

Tiramisu trotted next to you as the group of you walked to one of the many expensive fields scattered around the Hawthorne property. There was actually an area dedicated to Tiramisu, a bucket of toys and beaten up sticks near the entrance to the fenced off land.

He fake threw it a few times, finally letting it go and watching Tiramisu launch after it, a bolt of brown, curly fur.

“We really need to find a time to get her walked,” you sighed.

“Or just ask Nash if she goes on walks.” Xander shrugged slightly, taking the returned stick and catapulting it again. You were surprised that Xander didn’t have a machine for this yet, but you guessed he just really wanted to spend some time with Tiara.

“Christmas is also coming up, maybe we’ll do something fun again like the other year,” reminded Xander.

You rolled your eyes at the thought of having to do Hawthorne Secret Santa That’s Not At All Secret Santa. “Crazy how me and Tiramisu got each other. She couldn’t even get me a present!”

“She did get you a present,” Xander pouted.

Shooting a glare at him, you crossed your arms. “I proper present. Not a pigeon he found on the driveway.”

A minute passed and Tiramisu still hadn’t returned. She couldn’t have gone far, but surely it had been far enough for you to not see her at all.

Another minute.

Tick, tock

Another minute.

What’s taking so long?

“Tiara?” You called, your voice echoing through the wind. “Tiara? Tiramisu!”

Nothing but trees rustling.

“Tiramisu Panini Hawthorne!” Xander shouted, starting to walk in the direction Tiramisu had last ran to. “Where are you?”

Trudging up the hilly part of Tiramisu’s play area, you peeked to the fall of the hill, two figures running around at the lowest point. You could easily recognize Tiramisu being one of them.

“Tiramisu!” you repeated, running down the hill. Watching as the hyper dog ran around after something, she finally caught up, pouncing on it.

“What is that?” Xander muttered, following you down the hill.

Approaching the writhing animal and Tiramisu, you recognized the long neck, the feathered body, the distorted squabble.

She got another turkey!

You scrambled over to her, rubbing and petting her. “Good girl, Tiara!”

“Yay!!” Xander whooped from behind you, pumping his fists in the air and jumping up and down. “Tiramisu’s a hero!” he chanted.

“Tiramisu’s a hero!” you joined in, jumping around as Tiramisu ran in circles around you.

Two turkeys left. Which, based on this pattern, two more days.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Tuesday, November 26th, 2024

Gigi’s arrival was scheduled for today. And Katrina. Ugh.

Avery was always the one to greet people at the door, as she owned Hawthorne House and didn’t want anyone doing anything for her. With the events of the last five days, Avery had to, reluctantly, bring a whole new group of bodyguards to the door.

You decided to join them, thinking that it would save you from the turkeys that seemed weirdly attracted to you. Your meet up spot was far from the entrance—in some random meeting room one the third floor of Hawthorne House. Maybe turkeys couldn’t climb stairs? It’s only other method of getting to the third floor would be elevator which wouldn’t work very well for them.

“So, Avery,” you said, sidling up into the beside Avery, “how do you think Thanksgiving is going to go this year? Seems pretty eventful already.”

“Not good.” Her head was balanced in her hands, elbows in the table. “Everything has gone to shit because of those stupid turkeys.”

Reassuringly patting her back, you leaned back in your chair. “I think it’ll be fine. Thanksgiving—scratch that, any holiday—here is always a little eventful. Like secret santa the other year.”

“Oh, my god, that was hilarious. Libby got out so fast,” she let out in a laugh.

“Oh! Not really a holiday, but from what I’ve heard of Nash’s bachelor party,” you said. “You know what?” Avery hummed. “I should get Grayson a pair of fresh leather pants for Christmas this year.”

Avery let out a strained giggle, trying to hold it in, before she exploded, throwing her head back and leaning in her chair, almost tipping it over.

“Ms. Grambs,” one of the new bodyguards said, his voice commanding. Your laughter quickly subsided, leaving you and Avery silent. “Ms. Grayson will be here soon. I recommend starting to walk to the entrance in order to get here before she does.”

Avery nodded, standing up from her chair, stretching, and walking over to Oren. You followed her like a lost puppy, standing awkwardly on the side as she tells Oren what the other bodyguard had just said to her.

“Shall we get going?” she offers.

“We shall,” Oren replies flatly.

With what seemed like an entire army of bodyguards behind you, Avery, and Oren, you started your journey, through the windy halls and passageways.

Truly, you were excited to have Gigi over, thrilled, but it was that cat. Katrina. Katrina Katrina. Now, she wouldn’t do anything to you—couldn’t do anything. It was just that hunger way she looked at you, her eyes forming into slits as she glared at you from perched beside Gigi.

“I can just tell you’re thrilled to have Katrina over,” Avery said, practically reading your mind.

“Me and Grayson already had this conversation,” you huffed, shaking your head at the ground.

Avery just laughed, following your gaze to the ground. “It just,” she paused. “Katrina isn’t even scary.”

“It’s not that!” you burst. “It’s not that she herself is scary, it’s just that way she looks at me like I’m her next meal. Like I’m one of the turkeys!”

Avery seemed very amused by your argument, just smirking that smile that told you she had spent one too many hours with Jameson.

“Maybe you are her next meal,” Avery teased, poking your ribs.

“You’d just let me get scarfed down by that cat?” you scoffed. “Wow. What a fake friend.” You crossed your arms, dramatically turning away from Avery and picking up your speed.

Avery just skipped after you, jumping on your back and holding your sleeve to keep you close by. “I was just kidding, jeez,” she laughed, watching as a smile broke out on your face. “See! You aren’t even mad at me!”

You joined her giggling, knocking into each other as you walked through the halls, laughing over stupid stuff that probably wasn’t even funny.

“Oh, my god!” Avery jumped up. “There’s something I have to tell you about! Okay, let’s set the scene, I’m in my room, it’s an unusually quiet night. Jameson isn’t back yet and his curfew, set by me because we had an event early the next morning, was way behind us. Hours behind.”

“Damn. Grayson would never. Could,” you corrected.

“I know! I’m getting tired, it’s like twelve and I’m just planning on going to bed by myself, cold and lonely,” she continued.

You wrapped your arm around her shoulder, pulling you in. “You could have just cuddled with me,” you said with a wink.

“Aww,” she shimmed her shoulders against you. “Okay, back to my story! The lights are off, I’m almost asleep, until the door finally creaks over, Jameson standing in the doorframe. To be funny, I pretended to sleep, waiting for him to shake me awake or something. But all that happens is that Jameson crawls into bed next to me— Oh! I forgot to mention he was drunk. Yeah, so, he crawls up next to me and just whispers in my ear,” she lowered her voice into a whisper, “‘I have a secret…’”

You recognized that, something Avery had mentioned one time when she was talking about her mom. “Doesn’t that have something to do with your mom..?” you guessed, shrinking away in case you were wrong.

“Yes! At this point, I’m intrigued, waiting for Jameson to whisper whatever this secret was into my ear. And what he said is un-fucking-believable. He says: ‘When me and Nash and Grayson and Xander were younger, we tried starting a band, and we uploaded a bunch of videos to YouTube—it was a private account—but someone hacked in and made it public. So, somewhere on the internet, you can find video of all of us dressed up real funny and singing a bunch of shitty songs.’”

Your mouth drops open, trying to picture a younger Grayson on some makeshift stage at Hawthorne House, performing some pop or rock song.

Avery just laughs and smiles at your shocked expression. “That’s exactly how I felt on the inside,” she giggled, clearing her throat to continue her story. Again. “Like any sane person, of course I go in my computer the next day, and search up their little band. It wasn’t difficult, even if I didn’t have a name, and lord was it funny. Jameson on electric guitar, Nash playing some regular guitar, Xander on drums, and Grayson for vocals.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m not!”

“She isn’t!” a new voice pops in. In front of you stood Gigi, Hello Kitty suitcase almost exploding, mostly like being packed with cat toys. Katrina was sitting next to her, way too professional for a cat.

“So?” Gigi lifts her eyebrows. “What is she not kidding about?”

You and Avery grinned at each other, slowly turning to Gigi. “Your brother and his brothers’ attempt at a boy band,” you both said.

Gigi gasped dramatically, a smile stretching across her face. “You’re kidding!”

“She’s not!”

“I’m not!”

Not too far, as you’d expect, was Oren, the smallest hint of a smile in his face. He noticed you staring, gesturing a nod toward Avery. “She isn’t lying. I was there.”

Through the commotion of laughter and conversation, it would’ve been hard to hear anyone, anything if something went wrong. Or if you had a visitor.

“Ow!” Gigi winced, placing a hand on her hip and rubbing it. “What was that?” She jumped again. “Ow! What the…” She looked down to her left, finding the perpetrator.

“A turkey?” she asked, her voice a mix of shocked confusion and fear. And then full fledged fear as she realized that there was a turkey trying to get her. “It’s a turkey!” she squeaked, running over and trying to climb Oren like a jungle gym.

Noticing her alert, he gets right in to bodyguard mode, looking around for the threat. He landed on the turkey, reaching somewhere on his hip.

“You two, move back. Now,” he ordered, not wasting a second once we had. Just like the first turkey taken down, a loud bang rang out, the turkey thudding on the floor after.

A new commotion broke out after the shot was fired, filling the foyer with a sound too loud for you. Quiet was something you were used to now. It wasn’t too nothing, it just was. But this, it broke all of that quiet.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Wednesday, November 27th, 2024

There was one last turkey. One final turkey before this was all over. Like you had the day the turkey war began, everyone was gathered in one of the dining room to eat lunch, but instead, it was a meeting.

“Okay, everyone!” Avery commanded from the head of the table, standing up from her chair. “I have brought you here today to discuss our game plan to take down the final torturous turkey. I have devised a role for each of you.”

A list appeared on a screen that seemed invisible until now.

Avery and Y/N: Gamemasters [;)] - Will create solutions and test products alongside our Builders.

Libby and Nash: Healers (Lots of baked goods…) - Helps in case of emergencies.

Jameson and Gigi: Fuel - Food, drinks, whatever. Most likely working beside our Healers.

Grayson and Oren: Logistics (of sorts) - Thinks about how our plan may actually work, what might go wrong, and how to fix it.

Xander and Max: Builders (you’ve got this, Max!) - Builds our solution if needed, tests it too.

Oren’s Men: Capturers - searches for the turkey and relays messages to Oren.

Tiramisu & Katrina: Our Last Resort Weapons - If all else fails, we have them to use.

“Working in these teams will help our plan work better. Each of us being alone may cause too much stress or tension. Having multiple people on a job will also move things alone faster,” Avery states. “Lots of these roles will work with other roles, example, Gamesmakers will often work with the Logicians and Builders. Because of our collaboration, we’ll need a method of communication. Phones may be laggy and are very reliant on battery, which some of us don’t value.” Avery shot a glare at Jameson. “So, each of you will be given a walkie-talkie.” She looked to Oren, motioning for a box on the floor ten feet from the table. He lifted the box, walking around the table and distributing one to each member.

“Now, shall we spread out? Our Healers: Libby, Nash, and our Fuel: Jameson, and Gigi in the kitchen. The Gamemakers, Logistics, and Builders follow me. Capturers spread out and look for the turkey. Our final weapons will also be with our healers and fuel. Go!”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Nothing was working. Each plan failed by just a little bit, and when you tried fixing it, it failed again. Everyone was tired. Sitting there for three hours trying to think of something, trying it , and failing. No matter how much food and drinks you were given, that adrenaline from before was starting to fade. We also haven’t got any word on where the turkey could be.

You lay on the floor, head resting on Grayson’s chest, his hand running through your hair, down your back, and back up.

“We can’t give up,” Avery said, sitting up from her defeated starfish on the floor.

“But there’s only one more option left,” you groaned.

“Katrina and Tiramisu.”

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

“Oren,” a distorted voice came from his walkie-talkie, “we’ve got’em. In Alexander’s Wing. He was standing out front of Alexander’s room, almost got in. Couldn���t find him for a while; place’s a mess.”

From across the room, you watched an exaggerated frown form in Xander’s face.

“Time to move out,” Oren ordered, leading the way.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Luckily for you, every hallway of Xander’s wing was filled to the brim with weird trinkets and big machine pieces. Hidden behind a long table which was most likely used to hold fancy decorations at one point, everyone crouched, covered by the new less fancy things piled on the table.

“Xander, you’ve really got to clean up your mess,” Nash said, that mother hen coming out of him.

Xander waved a dismissive hand in his face. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll make Grayson do it then.” Xander’s worst fear: someone possibly messing up his perfectly messy set up with their perfectly clean organization skills. Which Grayson excelled at.

Xander’s head turned slowly toward Nash, his eyes narrowed. “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.” He punctuated every word, but it was difficult to take Xander seriously sometimes.

“You know damn well I would dare,” Nash chuckled, meeting Xander’s eyes, steady and even, not even a hint of intimidation.

“Enough with the bickering,” Avery demanded. “Do you guys remember the plan?”

Avery’s head spun around, looking at everyone, landing on Libby and Max frantically shaking their heads. With a sigh, Avery explained the plan. Again. “We send you in as bait,” Avery pointed to you, “and wait for the turkey. Once it tried to attack, we jump out and attack it. If nothing else works, we send out Tiramisu and Katrina. Now do you got it?”

The silent agreement was enough for Avery, sending you out to take your place across from the turkey. You felt like Avery or Nan, staring down the turkey, waiting for any movement from it. The tension built, heart racing under the gaze of everyone, everything. This probably looked so stupid: you, standing in front of a turkey, practically have a staring contest, while everyone else was scattered around the room hidden behind piles of shit Xander needed to clean up.

You knew that even if the turkey did attack you, which was what this plan relied on, you’d be safe. Each person was equipped with a weapon of their choice. Gigi was keeping Katrina back, Oren had his gun, Avery held her knife, steady in her fingers. Jameson had a finished bottle of wine, Xander held Tiramisu back, Max had been nervously gripping her wrench before, Libby had a baking sheet, Nash had a whole goddamn guitar, and, lastly, Grayson firmly held one of the long swords. None of these people would let you get hurt, even if it was by accident every single one of them would feel bad, like it was their fault.

But now, standing in front of the turkey, you have to put all that behind. Face this stupid thing head on.

It finally made a sound, a distorted gobble. You braced for impact at the sound of a squeal coming from somewhere in the room, but it never came. When your eyes opened, a streak of light brown blew past you. Was it the turkey? It was only until that same distorted squabble cried out that you realized that either Katrina or Tiramisu. Based on the fact that Katrina would probably enjoy seeing you being eaten by a turkey, you expected to find Tiramisu wherever the flash had gone to. On one side of the room, the opposite side, you heard a whine. So it wasn’t Tiramisu.

The sound of something being dragged across the floor drew your attention back to the other side of the room. Katrina moved slowly toward you, dragging the turkey in mouth toward you. She dragged it to your feet, stopping, sitting very professionally, looking up at you and flashing one of those strange smiles that cats can pull off. She nudged the turkey with her nose, sitting back up a pawing at it.

“Katrina!” Gigi shouted, her voice a mix of anger and admiration. “What was that? You weren’t supposed to go until I told you to!” she scolded, picking Katrina up.

Katrina looked up at her with those innocent eyes, nuzzling in Gigi’s neck. Gigi huffed out a sigh, giving up on trying to lecture Katrina into listening.

“Well,” Avery said, her voice holding a confusing emotion, “that was the final turkey. It’s over.”

The room broke out into a cheer, even Oren was smiling, but the only one standing still, in the middle of it all was Avery. Weaving through everyone, you walked up to Avery, taking one of her hands.

“You okay?” you asked, trying to catch her gaze.

She shrugged. “Sure.”

You gave her that look that Nash always gave you (you were still trying to master it), cocking a brow at her (another thing you’d learned!). “What’s wrong? You sad there’s no game anymore?”

Avery stayed quiet, swaying with you when you wrapped your arms around her. “I guess,” she said shamefully.

“I swear you’re starting to sound more and more like Jameson every day,” you teased, poking her in the ribs this time. “Now, come on, turn that frown—“you flashed a smile”—upside down.”

Taking both of her hands, you forced her to dance with everyone else, swaying around the room until she finally gave in.

⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆ ⁑ ❂ ⁑ ⋆

Thursday, November 28th, 2024

There was a singular turkey on the large table, making it look small. Everything else was normal, and you knew damn well that with a snap of her finger Avery could have a thousand more turkey and make this year’s turkey amount normal. But she didn’t. And it felt like home. Watching everyone argue over how much turkey everyone would get, fighting over the last pieces.

Your hand searched around under the table, meeting Grayson’s and wrapping your fingers around his, leaning your head against his shoulder. A smile, unknowing smile grew on your face, watching everything, so perfect.

Maybe now you would try a little harder to make this place feel like home.

a/n: WOOOOOOOOO!!!! this took, like, over a week to write it’s actually insane. and the end still seems sort of rushed 😣😣 but i’m gonna leave it and maybe come back to it later. because of the rush, i don’t care if there’s any mistakes, this isn’t proofread……..

[lloydfrontera]

i don't buy that lloyd would get over his fear of the restoration of fate that quickly. he was doomed by the narrative for years and now he's supposed to shake it off in less than two weeks? absolutely not, he literally tried to kill himself in order to avoid it, ain't no fucking way he just stopped being scared about it in a couple days i don't believe it

anyway. this is my way of saying that lloyd refused to cross dimensions until he made javier swear that he would kill him with his own hands if there was even a hint of the restoration of fate starting up again. he wouldn't consider going back if it meant putting his family and home in danger again even if it meant being left behind in a place he would've rather died than stay at.

and they both know that javier would fall on his own sword before hurting lloyd but they also know lloyd would take his own life before allowing him to do that or to let his existence put his loved ones in danger again. they know lloyd doesn't really need javier to kill himself, not if he's really committed to it. he's done it before it after all.

him asking javier this is. a warning. of what he's planning to do if the restoration of fate starts again. it's his way of telling javier that he cannot promise things will be okay if he comes back. that he must be ready to lose lloyd again if necessary because lloyd won't allow anything else.

it's also maybe... an indulgence on lloyd's part. he's felt himself die so many times now. and so many of his deaths were painful or terrifying or surrounded by his enemies and sometimes all three at once.

but he remembers a sunset, a coat over his shoulders, shaky yet reliable hands holding a sword. a quick, peaceful death on his own terms, done by someone lloyd trusted with something far more important than his life.

and he knows it's selfish, he knows it's cruel, but if he has to die, for real this time, can't it be at the hands of his best friend? if he has to be killed, can't it be done by someone lloyd knows cares for him? if he has to close his eyes and never open them again, can't the last thing he ever sees be the face of the person he loves enough to die for as many times as necessary?

and javier agrees because. what else can he do. he spent so long hoping lloyd would finally trust him enough to tell him what he was planning so javier could help him in anyway he was able to and now. now lloyd is asking this of him.

he desperately doesn't want to say 'yes'. but he cannot say 'no'.

what else can he do.

what's the point of being the most powerful human on the world if he can't even protect the one person he swore to protect above all things. what's the point of him if the only thing he can do is promise to kill his best friend because he has no other way to protect everything they've worked for.

how can he promise lloyd that everything will be okay, that things will work out, that if needed javier will die for him before letting anything happen to him, when he already failed before.

what else can he do

anyway. i don't think any amount of end spoilers and confessions to the jewel of truth are enough to soothe the terrified, paranoid and utterly traumatized part inside lloyd's chest that goes tight any time anything goes even remotely wrong for a good while. it takes a couple months, maybe a few years even, before lloyd stops going cold every time there's even a hint of trouble around him. before he stops reflexively looking to javier's sword to calm himself down whenever things don't go perfectly right in every way.

it takes a while. but it does happen. and things aren't perfect, that's not how life works, but they're good and even when they aren't, lloyd can finally face them and believe they're not his fault. that his existence is not an obstacle for the happiness of the people he loves.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Adoration | Mark Imagine #7

Title: Adoration

Genre: Tooth-rotting fluff

Warnings: none really :)

Word Count: 612

Author's Note: Lol this idea came to me after seeing a clip of Mark on a video call fansign, where he was telling the fan that he's currently watching Queen of Tears. This made me so happy because I've also been watching the drama and feel so passionately about it. Anyway my mind started to wander and this little scenario came out of it. I tried my best not to include spoilers of the show in the story though. Thank you for reading and hope you like it ^ ^

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Frustration brewed in your eyes, as heat rose to your cheeks, while your heart was pounding. Your fingers curled further into your palms, as unkind words traveled to the tip of your tongue. Yet, before they could be vocalized, the dark-haired man on your left said them instead.

“No, but why did he do that though?!” Mark yelled, throwing his arm out in a gesture to the screen.

A part of you wanted to laugh at your boyfriend’s reaction to the final scene playing out on the television before you. Since the premiere of Queen of Tears, you and Mark have been avidly following the series together. However, you were a few episodes behind due to Mark’s busy schedule and your commitment to watching it together. It took considerable restraint to avoid looking at spoilers on Instagram or YouTube.

On the other hand, the equal measure of anger within you overpowered any sense of amusement. A louder-than-intended sigh slipped past your lips.

“Ugh, I hate Yoon Eunsung so much for trying to ruin Haein’s family,” you fumed, gripping the remote. “I swear, I just knew he was going to use that tactic to sabotage them too!”

Mark leaned back on the couch, echoing your dissatisfaction. “I know right? You were so on point though with predicting that it was gonna happen.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean I’m happy that I was right!” you exclaimed, sounding as if you were almost about to cry from annoyance. 

Any hint of exasperation Mark was feeling simmered down, as you continued to vent about the episode. Now that he observed you passionately recounting every prediction you made about the characters’ actions that had had occurred in the episode. Your hair was slightly tousled, and your hands gestured animatedly, emphasizing your frustrations. This was a rare sight from someone who was usually so composed and reserved.

Your shoulders slumped when you caught the distraction in his eyes, prompting a look of confusion from you. “Mark, are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

“No, I am babe,” he reassured with a chuckle. “I’ve just never seen you this fired up before.”

Your expression softened, and the flush on your cheeks transitioned to one of embarrassment. His comment brought to mind your tendency to get overly passionate about certain things that provoked you.

“Sorry, I just got so worked up,” you mumbled, sheepishly brushing a loose lock of hair out of your face.

However, Mark was quick to pull you into his arms. “Don’t apologize, I think it’s endearing.”

His embrace was so warm and loving, it felt like he was wrapping you in all the adoration he had for you. Yet, it made you just want to hide your face in his hoodie because you were still flustered.

“Well I’m grateful you’re more reassuring than Baek Hyunwoo is,” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Seriously, I’ve never seen so much miscommunication in a relationship before.”

You felt your boyfriend smile, pulling back slightly to stroke your hair. “And I’m glad you’re not as closed off like Hong Haein.”

“Hey, she has every right to be—” you started to protest, before catching yourself.

Mark nearly convulsed with laughter as he crashed you into another hug. “Ah, cute!”

Feeling embarrassed once more, you lightly smacked his shoulder, though it did nothing to stop the boy from gushing over you. But you couldn’t help but smile too, finding warmth in the moment. Both of you knew that the upcoming episodes of this drama would only bring more stress. However, at least you could share your frustrations openly, while all Mark could think about was how infatuated he was with you.

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previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[throneofsapphics]

poly!ruhnlidia headcannons (sort of?)

warnings: mild violence, drinking, light sexual content, oral (f!receiving), minors dni!

a/n: I tried to keep this spoiler free for hofas, but read at your own risk! I have so many more ideas, please let me know if you'd like to see a part two!

going on a date

They’d never been on a picnic before, and you decided it was an absolute travesty, a crime, really.

Picking the park closest to your apartment, you filled a wooden basket with everything you could think of. 

Ruhn, of course, was delegated to carrying the snacks. Lidia’s fingers intertwined with your own, her hand warm and steady. You’d chosen to leave before dawn, although they protested getting out of bed, you wanted to avoid as many crowds as possible. 

Finding the area you'd scoped out earlier in the week, half hidden by a few trees, you spread the blanket, placing the basket in the center.

You held a grape between two fingers, glancing at Ruhn sitting opposite you.

"Catch," you grinned, giving him a few moments to process before tossing it in the air, slightly off to the left. His hand darted out, palm closing around - somehow not crushing it. "With your mouth," you clarified.

Lidia observed for a few moments, watching the two of you throw them further and further away from each other, diving across the blanket, knocking over random things. Eventually, she decided to join it. Turns out, she was very good at it - better than the two of you, and held it over your heads. 

“Do you want a trophy?” his tone had a bitter edge, but his mouth curved into a smirk. His fae senses weren’t quick enough to keep the next grape from hitting his temple, courtesy of Lidia.  

As the sun crossed the horizon, Lidia leant back against Ruhn’s chest, your head propped on her lap, her fingers running through your hair, nails putting the perfect amount of pressure into your scalp. 

moving in together

The three of you took things slow, the decision to move in together taking several months. But, once you did, they encouraged you to customize the space, to add your own touch to it. 

You looked at the wall adjacent to the window, still bare - no art or decorations. 

“What are you thinking?” Lidia’s arms wrapped around your waist, her chin propped on your shoulder. You covered her hands with your own., 

“We could add a painting up there,” you murmured, hesitantly, judging her reaction.  

She gave you a light squeeze, “I love that idea.” 

The next day, Lidia came home with an assortment of paints and brushes. You glanced between them and her, eyes wide. “Worst case,” she shrugged, “we cover it up.” 

ruhn taking you to get your first tattoo

“You’re certain about this?” He asked, for the thousandth time. 

“Yes,” you groaned, squeezing his hand. Somehow, he thought he was a bad influence. It made no sense to you - you’d wanted a tattoo for ages. 

‘Calm down,’ you cast out to him. The artist looked a bit on edge, given Ruhn was bristling next to you with each dig of the needle, each slight wince of pain on your face. You watched him force his shoulders to relax. 

“Why don’t you get some food for us?” You said, aloud this time. It wasn’t really a suggestion. His brows flicked up, but he left, with a warning look at the artist. Your eyes rolled. 

‘I saw that,’ his voice flooded your mind.  

‘Good.’ 

A low chuckle came through, hinting at a promise of something else later that night. 

later that night 

Arms wrapped around your legs, warm hands spreading them open.

“Tell me what you want,” he kissed the inside of your thigh. 

You squirmed, ignoring his teasing laugh. “You know,” you breathed. 

“Tell me,” his eyes met yours, a hint of that damn Fae dominance that always sent shivers down your spine. 

“You," your hands tightened around the sheets. "Gods, Ruhn. I want you.” 

“And how do you want me?” 

“Put her out of her misery,” Lidia drawled, “or I'll do it.” 

Ruhn took the challenge, his tongue running slow, painfully slow, strokes, driving you to the point of madness - nearly to the point of begging. You felt the pressure, then two fingers inside of you, curling up to hit that spot, just as his lip ring ran over your clit. 

Fingers threading through his hair, you screamed loud enough the neighbors could probably hear. 

an hour later 

“Official Aux business,” Flynn grinned, eyes darting between the three of you. Lidia leaned against the counter, looking thoroughly unimpressed. 

However, your face turned red - already having an idea of what it was. 

“What is it?” Ruhn grunted. 

“We got a call,” Flynn sounded too pleased by this, “sounded like a female screaming. They called for a welfare check.” 

Ruhn's hands pushed against his chest, shoving him out the door and slamming it in his face. Footsteps and laughter trailed down the hall. He picked up his phone, dialing a familiar number. 

A too-cheery female voice answered, “yes?” 

“Next time, I’m calling the 33rd on you,” he snarled. A beep and he disconnected. 

getting into a fight 

You were pissed. Beyond belief. 

This male wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, and you knew your temper would start getting the best of you soon. A journalist, probably, given he couldn't stop badgering you with questions about Ruhn and Lidia.

They weren’t exactly overprotective or domineering assholes, they’d taught you how to defend yourself (more than you already knew) and respected that you could handle most situations on your own.

“Leave. Me. Alone,” you snarled, shoving the male's chest. He, rather dramatically, flew back a few steps. Maybe you’d put a bit more force than necessary into it. 

“She hit me,” he yelled, attracting a few glances from people nearby. The bartender looked at him, then you, and rolled his eyes. You shot a tight smile back. His mouth parted, a look of alarm on his face, but the alcohol dulled your senses enough you didn’t see the punch coming in time.

The situation was taken care of rather quickly, the male thrown out of the White Raven none too gently, and you were led upstairs by another one of the bouncers, your friends trailing behind. You shot them an apologetic look when the rope snapped in place, keeping them downstairs.

‘I’m fine,’ you mouthed. 

You slumped into a seat, a different bartender, someone you knew from school, sliding two fingers of whiskey in front of you. 

“I give it five minutes,” he joked. 

“Four,” the female working the other end called. 

You grasped the cold glass, tilting your chin to let the cool liquid burn down your throat, leaving a comfortable warmth in your chest. 

“I’d say three,” you finally added, glancing at the clock. 

Sure enough, about three minutes and seven seconds later, thundering footsteps came up the stairs, preceding both Ruhn and Lidia. 

Riso had probably called both of them before the conflict even occurred, he always had a sixth sense for trouble. 

Lidia’s hands gripped your cheeks gently, turning you to face her. You felt the purple bruise blooming on your temple. “Let’s go,” she murmured, her hand gripping your arm gently, tugging you to your feet. You swayed slightly, gripping the counter for balance. 

“Lidia please,” you pleaded, but her arm wrapped gripped behind your thighs, effortlessly throwing you over her shoulder. 

At least you took the back exit out, Ruhn’s shadows obscuring your group, saving you from some public embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” She asked, after you'd made the few blocks trip home, sitting you down on the couch. Ruhn already had an ice pack wrapped in a towel, holding it up to the side of your face. 

“Fine,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“What happened?” She pushed gently, one hand resting on your thigh. Ruhn moved with you as you threw yourself back, flinging your arms over the back of the couch, and snorted. He responded to Lidia’s glare, indicating she did not find this funny at all, with a shrug. Her lips pressed in a tightline, but she turned her attention back to you. "Tell me," her voice was soft, sweet. A tone she usually only used with you or Ruhn, and one that worked on you every time.

“He wouldn’t stop asking questions about both of you. A journalist probably.” 

On instinct, you switched your gaze to Ruhn, spotting the brief flash of guilt. 

“Don’t start,” you pushed one finger into his chest. He wrapped his own finger around it, tugging your hand to rest in his. “I knew this would happen," you insisted. It was true, as soon as your relationship went public, everyone had questions, and too many people felt entitled to answers. 

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles instead, his other hand still holding the ice pack steady. 

“I won’t. Who was it?” 

“It’s been taken care of,” you said quickly. Sure, he’d annoyed you, but you didn’t want him to bare the results of two overprotective vanir. “He looks worse,” you added. 

“Oh I’m sure,” Lidia caught your attention, a look of approval on her beautiful face.

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

Curious about this: What’ll happen to Tiff?

Also I love the AU!! Keep up the good work!

Guys I strongly suggest you read the first few chapters of The Knightmare's End for context... (it won't make sense).

I also want to take this chance to say:

The story is not only about Kirby becoming a Star Warrior, it's him growing up wanting to be one as well.

I guess you could consider this a continuation of these two previous posts: Post 1 & Post 2

Also wanted to do a Dame Morgan updated mask reveal (and being a little troll)~ Still don't know who I'm gonna put in the Kirby OC Tournament.

And spoilers ahead if you choose to keep reading.

@shibuya-toast

When I first wrote the story (a few years ago), I struggled to make Tiff a part of the story...

When mixing anime & game lore (of the Kirby series), it was difficult to find a purpose for Tiff & Tuff... especially after MK's reveal. I didn't want to just regulate them as support y' know. The role of Kirby's love & supporting guardian is no longer Tiff's.

What's the point if they're just going to stand around and make commentary? How do I make them in this story meaningful?

And when I came back to the story I realized something "Why don't I make that the conflict!" (Something to conflict with Kirby... the emotional conflict of the story.. let's make it meaningful."

Tiff & Tuff, in a sense, represents Kirby's "childhood" period in the series; Kirby grows in the series, and slowly, he realizes more of what he wants in life. I didn't set up the conflict with the cappies for nothing. The events of anime & the Knightmare's end carry.

It makes him realize how much of an outsider he is from the cappies. (and wanting to kick him out at the end of the series along with all the times they bullied Kirby too...)

They (the cappies) know it... and Tiff (being the problem solver she is) tries to fix it... which goes terribly! (And the whole: Kirby overhearing Tiff admitting she never wanted to be Kirby's guardian doesn't help the situation at all...)

This comes across as dismissive of Kirby's feelings... ouch! There are no more monsters to fight & Nightmare's gone... why are the problems still here. Making Kirby feel more isolated from everyone in town... (was it just him...)

This is why he opts to be with Meta Knight & his crew... more avoiding the (problem)... This is where basically Meta Knight reveals his (MK) past to Kirby. (Him being the cursed star & finding Jecra, Garlude & Team Halberd- the OG crew)

MK: Thought I was going to be an outcast forever... But I found my people you'll... find your people one day too.

Kirby: Poyo- Ka-bi's people?

Kirby re-establishing and growing a stronger bond with MK. And, of course, the new threat arrives... Dark Matter!

Throughout the series, Kirby does meet (his) people who seem to understand him better & know what he's going through. Through the madness, gaining a set of friends who know how to support him:

Kirby's People: The Star Allies - Highkey, the Star Allies (unintentionally) become Kirby's emotional support group.

Tiff & Tuff don't really trust Kirby's other set of new friends (the former baddies that tried to take over Dreamland... namely King Dedede, and Marx...). But this is what (sadly starts the drift (which I have hinted at in Marx's arch).

But by the time they're kinda let back into the loop and they forgive each other but it's never the same as it was. (Fall out during Marx's story& they make up before Planet Robot). (And have completely forgiven the former villains... KD & Marx)

They feel so out of place with Kirby's new fantastical friends who seem to fit in & understand him better... where does that leave them (Tiff & Tuff)? The group seems to have their own dynamic, with their little set of inside jokes... and Kirby's changed tremendously... It's almost as if Kirby's outgrown them...

And it's this unlikely rag-tag of reformed villains to friends that make him realize, "Hey, I really do want to be a star warrior... travel around the world, see distant lands, learn about other places, meet new people & make new friends, and help the lost become the better versions of themselves but..." He doesn't want to be Dreamland's hero...

One day Kirby has a big announcement! Inviting everyone to Dreamland & Star Allies, to share the news. Kirby is excited to share the news.

(After Kirby & the Forgotten Land... I made Star Allies the finale.)

Kirby: Guys, the galaxy council recognized Star Allies as an official group and we've been given a planet to make our own base!

Knuckle Joe: ALL OURS!?

MK: That's right *pats Kirby's head* "Brehmuhm" (the planet that was given to Kirby), and all Star Allies it's be considered almost another branch to the GSA. That's lead under Kirby!

Kirby:* shows the set of plans to everyone* It can be our own personal quarters that you guys can visit & stay whenever you want.

Adeline: Wait, we can live there too?

Kirby: Yup, it's set up in the part of the galaxy where everyone can access it, and it's right next door to the GSA base... Of course, I'll be overseeing the plans with Meta Knight there-

Tiff: Wait Kirby I-

Magolor: Hey, I thought you were gonna stay with us in Halcandara for a month?

Kirby: I still am I just have to check in with MK at the GSA HQ at the end of each week.

Tiff: Hold on-

Marx: Come on~ MK WHY YOU GOTTA TAKE CHECK-INS ON THE WEEKENDS AT LEAST MONDAYS-

Tiff: WHAT IS GOING ON!~

Bandee: Me & Kirby plan to tour around for about a year before uh-oh

Tiff: Before what?

Kirby & Bandee had planned to take a tour around the galaxy. And the first place he's planning to stay is HALCANDRA BABY (Marx & Magalor)! Then next month Ripple Star (Adeline & Ribbon), then Floralia (Taranza), and ending the tour with Patchland (Prince Fluff) and dropping Bandee home. (Basically where all the Star Allies live... I did not want to list all places but you get the idea.)

This tour was to help establish diplomatic ties throughout the galaxies for the GSA (but lowkey, it was just an excuse to buy Kirby a year-long vacation).

Then Kirby formerly planning to move into the Star Ally base with Meta Knight and the rest of his crew and start his formal training with the Star Warrior in the GSA headquarters. (Becoming a cadet.)

(This was before Meta Knight became leader... and they didn't know that he was going to become the leader of the GSA, so yeah they were gonna have to move there any way either way~)

Kirby does pass the baton down to King Dedede (who has grown to be a true king and defender of Dreamland). Which I did hint at here: (sorry for my second blog that doesn't get much attention due to the spoiler nature of it due to it being a prelude of the future....)

So Kirby was planning to officially step down as their hero and hand it over to King Dedede, announcing his departure from Dreamland in two months, and then go on tour with Bandee the week after.

Needless to say yeah they're not happy about Kirby suddenly announcing his departure... But what specifically happens to Tiff well... it's Morgan-related but that's for later~

This is basically a water-down version of events, so if it doesn't seem like it makes sense, it does (there are just a few things in the middle I wanna keep a surprise...) but, it all makes sense in the end, I promise.

(I may want to change up how happens, but yup this is the gist of it!)

Brehmuhm is actually a reference to the fairy tale: The Town Musicians of Bremen by the Brothers Grimm. It's just the pronunciation of "Bremen" spelled out for~ (If you know the fairy tale you know why I chose to name it Bremen :3)

[l0stfoster]

PLEASE what do you think the gang’s reactions would be when they find out that Paul and Bob were like Darry and Sodapop

I need the ANGST

OK OK, SO We talked about this., kinda. Only 3 people were discussed and the rest haven't been sorted out, so for now you can have those, and I'll either reblog or edit this in the future to add the rest. As usual for big blocks of text, all below the cut!

JOHNNY:

- First one to find out funnily enough; obviously on accident. - On Dia de Muertos Johnny gets something like the Coco treatment, but it’s more or less just he can see all the spirits instead of full skeletons. He doesn't interact with them so they don't know that he - He finds out purely because Bob's ghost does not leave Paul's side once during the entire day. Lingers with him the entire time - Johnny maybe expected Bob to be around Cherry, but Paul?? Not the expected outcome. It's what gives him the hint and as he looks back on a few things the dots connect. - Johnny apologizes about Bob's death after that (more for the fact that yk it wrecked people as it did, he won't apologize for doing it when he though they were killing his best friend though.) - Paul realizes he figured it out fast L - Paul's tryna avoid letting on that the apology does kinda heal a part of him and Johnny just being like “you don’t need anyone’s permission to mourn him yk” - Johnny's very emotionally mature in this au, if you can't tell - Paul elects to ignore him either way - Paul, holding back tears after Soda’s smile looks a little too familiar: We weren’t even that close - Hit Johnny with a "He wasn't my brother at all" and gets a simple response of "I never said he was" - Self-callout right there, Johnny doesn't bring it up much after that- mostly because it's the kind of thing he can't exactly bring up publically. - He has sort of mixed feelings; obviously, it's weird to find out this guy who's kinda your friend now cares so much about someone who hurt you, but at the same time, he's able to understand that his own feelings about Bob don't change the ones that Paul once held for him.

DARRY:

- Finds out second, and once again on accident. - Paul has an accident with his magic; spell requires a LOT of it but his back sigil is having a flareup of sorts, and it's making him short out a lot. He tries to force his magic through it and, long story short, the scar rips open as if it were freshly carved. - Darry gets to hear that scream from inside the house L. He's the one who patches Paul up bc bro will NOT fuckin' calm down enough for literally anyone else besides Darry to get close. - The only difference between healing as a kid and healing now is that Paul doesn't have a six-year-old Bob whining about piggyback rides. - Paul's so delirious and fucked up on whatever painkillers he's on that this fact breaks the dam. Darry finds him sobbing and the only answer Paul gives him is a weak "I miss Bob" - Darry asks him about their relationship after that; Paul is unfortunately not conscious enough to avoid the questioning, so he yaps. - Paul has a heart attack when he realizes Darry knows btw LMAO. Wdym he told his boyfriend that the guy who tried to kill his kid brother was one of the most important people to him?? Where is the breakup he knows it's coming - (Spoiler alert it never happens) - As I said in the post about Bob and Paul, Darry understands. He knows and he gets it. Sure, there's a part of him that wants to be a little more conflicted; but with their history, Darry probably met Bob on a couple of occasions and he knew how the guy could be when he isn't drunk and angry at the world.

PONY:

- Pony finds out on accident but very similarly to Darry; and by that I mean he overheard one of the conversations Darry had with a very delerious Paul. - Dude is NOT fuckin happy. And because Pony is also a dramatic little shit, he would just stop all attempts at bonding with Paul - The second Paul even knows that Pony heard and he’s like yeah. There goes that. There’s a reason he was doing so much to try and hide it. - Darry's there like "Can you try? For my sake at the very least?" Pony is stubborn as all hell and just goes "No." - Paul doesn’t even try to push things; which probably makes Pony even more petty bc teen logic. I found out something you purposefully tried to hide because it would ruin things and you’re not trying to fix things even though I’m making it clear I don’t like you?? The audacity - Pony doesn't use his head, like at all. (I fear I'm not a Ponyboy fan and that may be a little obvious) - Johnny and Soda are even like "Pone, that's the dumbest thing I've heard all day" when he explains it to them. - Darry and Johnny try to get them to talk by locking them in a room but Paul brute forces that open with his magic (yeouch to the back bc he's still healing) because god forbid he have to try to figure out what Pony wants from him. - Even Pony doesn't know what he wants, he's just a petty teen. - Pony doesn’t know what he wants and Paul thinks he wants him to apologize, but Paul is NOT going to apologize for missing the version of his little brother that he knew; Let alone the fact that he’s actively been trying to keep this hidden because he knew it wouldn’t work out well. - Pony snaps at him one day and yells about how he can't understand how Paul could love a person who tried to kill him and Johnny, especially after becoming close with them and the gang; Paul's defense is an equally loud response about how Pony has no clue who Bob is beyond what he and Johnny perceived him as, and that if Pony can like Dally despite Dally being also not really a good person the least he can do is silently miss his brother. - It leads to a long argument that progressively gets less loud, eventually, they're sitting next to each other and quietly talking. - Paul may be crying but they will not acknowledge that - They do not tell others that Paul was crying or that they re-bonded, The gang only knows when Pony rolls up to lunch like “The west side is playing Paul Newman :hehe: “ and Paul just sighs and goes “Let me finish my food.”

After all this Paul ends up being even more quiet about Bob bc god forbid this happens again he’d rather die, Two of the Curtis’ + Johnny knowing is enough for him. Stops wearing Bob’s ring and avoids anything that reminds him about it However, he does maybe talk to Darry about it a little bit every so often. Mostly when he's drunk.

Darry: "This is your sixth beer in an hour, what’s got you so upset?" Paul, muffled: "Bob would’ve been 20 today" Darry: :bro: “Oh-“

Glad that the other writers amuse my habits

[physalian]

Writing Tone in Fiction (Or, Pacing your Story, Part 2)

See this post all about pacing and as the two go hand-in-hand. If you read that, I may repeat myself a little here. Tone, and how abruptly you change it, how radically you change it, and how you break it whether on purpose or on accident says a lot about your experience as a writer, and how well you planned out your plot.

**Trigger warning for mentions of mature themes**

What is Tone?

“Tone” is the maturity of the work, signaling whether or not your characters have to censor themselves for young readers. It’s also restricted by the genre, whether this is a comedy and what kind – slapstick or gross-out humor – or a scary movie about ghosts, but not graphic body horror. It sets expectations about the amount and degree of romance readers can expect, if the scene will fade to black before anything happens or if you’re in for a raunchy sex scene, or somewhere in the middle. It also helps audiences gauge whether or not characters can die in this universe, and how graphically if they do beyond Disney’s tried and true “villain falling ambiguously from a tall height” deaths.

OSP recently did a piece on Tone Armor, a device similar to but less obvious than Plot Armor where the established tone means that, no matter how dire the circumstances, your hero won’t actually die, the world won’t actually end, and a happily ever after is on the horizon. Red also discussed what happens when you break your established tone with the shocking death or mistreatment of a character, but more on that later.

How to Decide Your Tone

Depending on your genre and intended audience, content for younger readers demand quite a bit of censorship (though can get away with many, many things worse than death). In the US at least, movies go through the MPAA rating system to determine what’s permitted by the rating given – how many swear words, whether you can show blood, topless women, graphic assault, graphic violence, if and how characters can be killed or how gummy and resistant to damage their bodies are.

If you’re writing for children, you both have less freedom to write violent carnage, and more freedom to get really creative within the limits of your tone box. I can expect the kid protagonists of my fantasy adventure to murder countless monsters that dissolve into gold dust, not bloody carcasses. I can expect the villain to perhaps die from a stab wound, but probably not get decapitated, disemboweled, or drawn and quartered, at least, not ‘on screen’.

If you’re writing for adults, adults do still expect a warning for how graphic anything can be, whether that’s sex scenes, fight scenes, murders, assaults, bloody battles, garish injuries, dead pets, dead children, etc.

Unless you’re already planning to break your tone, you need to know fairly early on whereabouts you want to set those expectations. If none of the characters even allude to sex and you write in a graphic assault, your audience is going to be pissed, and horrified. If none of your characters even allude to sex, and you hint that one was assaulted off-screen, you will still upset your audience if you don’t give them time to prepare for the possibility.

You can soften the violence and graphic content you’ve previously established and few might complain about it not being gritty enough, but going the other direction puts you in a very precarious position. Choosing more mature themes will inevitably alienate younger readers, those with triggers, and those that just want to have a lighthearted good time. The trade off? You’ll invite readers with a work that’s exactly what they’re looking for.

Establishing a Tone

I’m writing this post today because I finally sat down to watch Game of Thrones. One can’t avoid spoilers for a series as massive as that, so I was prepared for the graphic violence, all the gratuitous sex, the infamous Red Wedding, murdered kids, horribly bloody battles, and the like. GoT, the TV adaptation at least as I can’t speak to the books, establishes exactly what to expect in the very first scene: Three people happen upon the site of a graphic mass murder, limbs and body parts strewn everywhere, kids among them, who come back to life as ice zombies to kill them.

That episode continues with a beheading, incest, more incest, attempted child murder via defenestration, a brother selling his little sister into marriage, rampant nudity, and… I’m sure I missed something.

**Spoiler Alert for Season 4**

What I was not at all prepared for was the graphic death of Oberyn Martell (Pedro Pascal). It’s quick, it’s violent, it’s graphic and gruesome and incredibly well-acted… it was also far more horrifying than the Red Wedding, at least to me. Murder is murder but the way this character went out almost had me quit watching right then and there. Google at your leisure.

It wasn’t necessarily outside the realm of possibility, but most everyone else died via stabbing, arrows, beheading, burning, falling, eaten by wolves, crushed, etc. This was deeply unsettling, particularly because it’s live action, not a cartoon like Invincible.

It did its job, and it’s the only moment to feature in nightmares and make me lose my appetite, so… well done? In the following Previouslies (correct me on the actual word) they don’t even show it, cutting around the actual moment because it’s just that horrible.

This was four seasons into an eight season show and nothing like it had happened before. In a tone already as dark and explicit as TV can get, poor Oberyn pushed it over the edge entirely. It broke the established tone.

Amazon’s The Boys treads the same very thin line, only these people have superpowers for a whole new level of deeply disturbed body horror.

So, when you’re establishing a tone in the realm of “less graphic than Game of Thrones but still terrible,” you can go one of two ways: Horrify your audience straight out of the gate, or slowly creep up to it with allusions and hints until they’re fully prepared for it when it hits.

If your characters have free reign of every swear in the dictionary, start with the “f*cks” and “sh*ts” as quickly as you can as part of their vocabulary, whether you intend to use the words sparingly or after every other word in their dialogue.

If you’re writing a multi-series work that intends to ramp up the rating as it goes, you don’t have to cold open with a murder, but establishing that characters do at least die in this world is a start. Establish that assault happens in the background, that killing happens, or animal cruelty. Your readers with triggers will thank you for it and read something else.

Unless you intend to shatter the tone and shock your audience with it later.

Breaking Tone via Killing Characters

The most effective tonal breakage I can think of that wasn’t even graphic, just dark and incredibly well done: Disney’s animated Mulan. The movie had been your standard Disney musical complete with grand animation for its sing-along song. Soldiers singing, dancing, laughing as they march off to war, all for a girl worth fighting—

The singing stops. The score stops. Their smiles drop. Cut to the scene before them that has murdered this Disney musical in cold blood and it’s a decimated battlefield, the snow-covered and burned bodies of their far better trained and more competent fellow soldiers, and the love interest’s father.

Mulan only briefly reprises one track in the climax, but otherwise, this happy-go-lucky sing-along has rudely and horrifyingly become a war movie. It’s still Disney, so it doesn’t get violent or graphic, but they shattered the tone in glorious fashion.

Breaking tone happens all the time, for minor events and major character deaths. It doesn’t become an issue of “you just alienated your audience” unless the tonal breakage is the aforementioned sudden graphic assault or other sensitive triggers.

Major character deaths are a whole separate monster to tackle and I’d like to, but for today’s purposes I’m talking about killing major characters when the possibility of any of our heroes dying was never established.

For anyone who never read Lord of the Rings and didn’t know the curse of anyone played by Sean Bean, losing Gandalf to another ambiguous high fall was one thing, but Boromir straight up dies in battle. Sure the story is surrounded by death and darkness but you expect heroes in a world like this to have some pretty hefty plot armor – and Boromir had so much room left to grow. In the grand scheme of the story, though, Boromir’s death was as far from shock value fodder as possible.

Sirius Black is another heartbreaking loss, but not entirely outside the realm of possibility – killing off Ron or Hermione would have been. Any mentor figure is automatically doomed with rare exception, especially ones in fatherly roles.

Bianca di Angelo is a different matter. She’s not the first death mentioned in Percy Jackson but she’s a brand new character and despite all the dangers the heroes have already been through and the warnings from the prophecy, actually killing her off for good broke the tone. Suddenly this war was real and there were lasting consequences.

Game of Thrones’ “Red Wedding” didn’t just shock audiences because a bunch of people died, it was which people that died. Robb Stark, eldest son and heir to Sean Bean (so of course he’s dead) and one of the siblings of the “hero” family had been leading a war effort to rescue and then avenge his father. He gets betrayed and murdered, along with his mother and a fair chunk of his army, caught by surprise at a wedding, because he broke an oath and married for love instead.

I knew of the scene and knew that Catelyn Stark was there just from the one time I’d seen the clip years ago, and as it got closer I worried it was Robb’s wedding, but I still wasn’t prepared for the death of the hero of the show. Jon’s off in the north doing his own thing and so is Danaerys. This was the bright-eyed usurper, the avenger, the never-lost-a-battle upstart. No author would ever kill that hero.

They’d established that anyone can die, similar to the Walking Dead in some ways, but this was a whole new level of boldness, killing off Robb. At the time of this post, I haven’t seen past season 4, but I know more deaths are coming.

Deciding to murder your hero, in any other story, would not go over well with your audience. Killing any major character is a decision that should be made with a deep understanding of the consequences or else you end up like Walking Dead after they killed Carl for shock value and never recovered their audience viewership.

—

It’s not just dead protagonists, it can be worldly tragedies, the heroes actually losing a battle, or the war, a uniquely horrifying monster or cryptid or villainous act. Or it can be a character beginning to contemplate self-harm and possibly attempting to end their own lives. It can be the reveal of an abusive relative, or an incestuous relationship. It can be mental health problems, sudden and un-curable disease and disability.

It can be less-dire things too, but I’m not much for writing comedy.

Tone, like pacing, doesn’t have to remain consistent throughout the entire story. If it’s a lighthearted comedy, let it stay a lighthearted comedy if you want to. You can change tone progressively, with hints and near-misses, or drop a bomb on your audience with a big reveal. What you do and how you implement it is entirely dependant on the story you’re writing.

Most audiences expect a book that isn’t written for elementary schoolers to mature over time and most genres come with set understandings. But hey, I hear Animorphs can get incredibly dark with a bunch of mature themes.

In general, killing a character just for shock value is rarely worth it in the long run. In general, writing in triggering subjects without warning to an audience that wasn’t prepared for it also isn’t worth it in the long run — save it for a different book.

If fanfiction authors leave author’s notes everywhere warning about the subject matter ahead, published authors can do the same, in my opinion. Content warnings should be a thing and it doesn’t have to spoil the surprise. Include it as a forward to your book, letting potential readers know that such and such work they’re considering spending real money on contains mentions of, or explicit depictions of, any and all mature and sensitive themes. You never know who’s out there picking up your book expecting a good time. Do right by them and give a little heads up and you might gain a fan you wouldn’t have otherwise.

[newtthetranswriter]

hii, hope ur doing well !! saw that requests are open :] can u do a reader x nacht where they're having an argument and nacht snaps at reader? that's all, thank uu !! <3

Word Count: 1673

Pairng: Nacht Faust x gn!reader

Warnings: Slight spoilers about Nacht and Morgen, mentions of death, blaming people for things out of their control, self depreciation, Nacht wishing he was the one who died, I think that’s it but let me know if I missed anything

A/n: Hi, thank you so much for the request. I love Nacht and writing for him makes me happy even if this is like the second time I've done it. I will say I couldn’t think of a citation where Nacht snaps at the reader so I flipped a little bit. Anyways I hope you enjoy and as always remember to hydrate or diedrate.

    Restoration after the Eye of the Midnight Sun’s last attack took quite a while. But eventually with all of the Magic Knight Squads working together, we were able to restore most of the Clover Kingdom. Once it was decided that the Squads could return to their regular routine, Yami allowed the Black Bulls to all take a couple of days off to relax. For me the mini vacation period was greatly welcomed and allowed me to complete a tradition that I had to miss due to the previously never ending battles.

   Normally I would make this trip around the beginning of May, but taking the trip in the middle of June was better than never making the trip. I sighed as I approached the familiar graveyard. It hurt to think that at only 29 I would be visiting a friend at a graveyard. Approaching the grave I had sat in front of numerous times, I fought to repress the memories of the first time I stood in this spot. Instead I focused on the purpose of my visit.

   I knelt down whipping off the layer of dust that had built on top of the headstone, smiling gently at the name carved into the granite. “Hey Morgen, I know I’m late but you won’t believe what has happened the past year.” I said as if I was having a normal conversation. It was a personal tradition to visit Morgan's grave and update him on all the happenings in my life. I always tried to visit close to his birthday but again things had been crazy lately.

   It was probably about twenty minutes into my one sided conversation when I felt a familiar presence behind me. While most people would be alarmed to have a person suddenly appear behind them as if out of the shadows, I was used to it. Even after six years of no contact, Nacht’s mana felt exactly the same. “Welcome back to Clover, Nacht just visiting or are you here to stay?” I asked, turning to glance at the hooded figure standing only a few feet behind me.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice was monotone, not hinting at his feelings. It wasn’t a surprise really, Nacht has always been cold. But what was a surprise was the slight glare he gave as he made eye contact with me.

   Trying to ignore the glare, I turned back to Morgen’s grave. “You know just updating Morgen on the eventfulness of the last year or so. Back to my question, are you finally back from your mysterious mission or are you just stopping by before disappearing again?” I asked, trying to hide the feelings that surged forward after remembering how he left six years ago.

   “Why do you feel the need to update Morgen on anything? He’s dead.” Straight to the point just like always. Nacht has a knack for avoiding questions.

   I sighed standing up. “He may be gone, but that does not mean he isn’t looking out for us. Plus I needed someone to talk to after my boyfriend up and disappeared without explanation. So I figured I’d visit his twin and keep him updated on my life. At least I know where Morgen is at any given moment.” I explained, failing to hide the venom behind my voice. “Now care to tell me why you’re here Nacht? Cause I doubt it has anything to do with Morgen.”

   I was greeted by a moment of silence before hearing footsteps approach. “So you come speak to my dead brother because I was sent on a mission that I couldn’t tell anyone about? Why not just move on with your life?” 

   For some reason my natural response to the question was to laugh. “Why not move on with my life? Really Nacht, really. Don’t act like you know what I’ve tried to do over the last few years. Moving on is easier said than done, especially when any shadow that moves reminds me of you. And I don’t care that you couldn't tell me about the stupid mission. What I care about is the fact that you could have at least broken my heart before you left so I wouldn’t have had the hope that you would return to me someday.” The laugh had quickly ended. In its place tears began trying to escape.

  Nacht remained quiet for a moment before speaking. “Why would you have hoped for me to come back? I left no evidence that I planned to return.” He was remaining monotone, and for some reason his calm tone only left me more upset.

  “I hoped for you to return because that’s what you do when the person you love disappears. But now that I think about it, you're right, why would I have hope that you would return. It’s not like you cared for me in the first place, afterall if you had you might have actually found a way to let me know you were alive these past six years.” I’m not sure if I even believed what I was saying. I think I just wanted him to react more. The look on Nacht’s face said I struck a nerve but he was too composed to actually let out his emotions, so I figured I’d take another jab. “What no defense? I’m not surprised the last time you truly cared for something, it was too late before you realized it. Now look where we are. Standing on his grave, the grave you put him in.” As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted it. If there was one thing Nacht would never forgive himself for, it was Morgen’s death. And I knew that better than anyone, having spent many nights assuring Nacht that his brother’s death was not his fault.

   Slapping my hands over my mouth I tried to think of how to take back what I had said, but the damage was done. I watched as Nacht’s calm face morphed from surprise at my words to what could only be described as dispare. “Thank you for the reminder of my failings. Thank you for the reminder that my lust for power and praise lead to my brother’s death. And thank you for reminding me that it should be me laying six feet under.” If I didn’t know him, I would have thought that he was fine. But I had heard that tone so many times, and I hated that it was brought back because of me.

  “Nacht no, it’s not your fault. I was upset, I just wanted you to actually talk to me. Maybe finally tell me why you never tried to reach out in the six years you have been gone.” I tried to reassure him. Hoping that he would believe that I didn’t mean it. I quickly whipped the tears from my face and stepped forward. I reached out to him hoping that physical contact would help comfort him, but he just backed away. “Nacht please, I never meant to hurt you. I just got you back. I can't lose you again.” I pleaded, no longer caring about the tears that rushed down my cheeks.

  Nacht turned to face away from me. “No, it’s fine. We both know it’s true that had I not listened to my parents, Morgen would have never been killed.” I could tell he was hurting as his calm mask cracked. “And to finally answer your question, I figured if I left without warning you would forget about me and live happily with someone who didn’t kill their own family. I had hoped that at the very least you would resent me for abandoning you.” He may have been facing away from me but I could almost hear the tears he was holding back. “From the sounds of it I was right, and you do have every right to be angry with me. I’ll be going now, I was also here to visit Morgen but when I saw you I had to know what you felt.” He explained, summoning his grimoire preparing to slip into the shadows and out of my life once again.

  I surged forward in panic, summoning my own grimoire. I summoned a large flame in one hand and grabbed onto the back of Nacht’s cloak with the other. If the flame didn’t cast enough light to prevent him from slipping away then he would take me with him wherever he was trying to run off to.  Realizing I had acted to stop his escape he dropped his grimoire and glanced over his shoulder at me. “I could never hate you. And I sure as hell could never forget you Nacht. I was upset for so long and I thought I was over it but seeing you again. All that anger and sadness came back. I’m sorry for taking it out on you like that. I should have tried to have a civil conversation like adults.” I apologized hoping he would accept. “Please just don’t leave me again.” I pleaded, releasing his cloak and extinguishing my magic.

  He turned to face me again. “I’m sorry for leaving and I’m sorry for not checking in. If you would be okay with it I would very much appreciate having a civil conversation.” And Calm Nacht is back. “I would also like to make it up to you for leaving, if you’ll allow me to.” He finished while gently resting his palm against my cheek. This was the Nacht I remember, mostly calm and collected but willing to allow his emotions to show through small gestures.

  I just nuzzled into his hand for a moment enjoying the contact I missed for the last six years. “I will allow you to makeup for leaving, as long as you promise to never say it should be you who’s laying six feet under again.” I said resting my own hand on his cheek.

  He nodded before placing a kiss to the palm of my hand. “I promise.”

[macabremayhem]

Hot take & kinda bitter pill: The main reason for the death of fandom is censorship within fandom. "This pairing is good and it's okay, but this pairing is bad and we will attack you if you ship the Wrong Pairing™ instead of the Right Pairing™".

And I have seen this many times with my own eyes. This is what people do. But what if fandom is just a fandom and pixels are just pixels? And someone is just here to HAVE FUN instead of the Morality™ Lessons? And maybe someone is even... mature enough to decide what they're like?

It's so funny to see when my posts are faved by people with "anti-proship" in their profile, because... wow, isn't my favourite OTP someone like you has claiming as proship, lol?

But not funny when you, say, look for some favourite content by relevant hashtag and see tons... of content you dislike and NOT RELEVANT, just because authors added all the hashtags for force-feeding. Thank you. But no. When I search for my favourite content on the special hashtag, I want to see my favourite content on the special hashtag. Is that a complicated concept?

Also not funny when you find the artist who draws such good stuff with your OTP and... discover that this artist has left the fandom because someone decided to be a "ship police" and attacked this artist. Thank you for that shit.

But please, can someone answer my question: why do you think your OTP is better than mine? And why do you think you can impose your opinion on me or anyone else? Are you the shining paladin in the white robe? Who do you think you are to judge us?

What can I say? Oh, I have so much to say, really. Maybe as a person who doesn't like the evil characters in the sugar syrup. Maybe as a person who makes a very clear distinction between reality and fantasy. Or, for that matter, as a person who has an opinion about common tropes in fandom and disagrees with them, based on my experience (has anyone here heard of the concept of interesting literature and why it is usually interesting? The smallest hint: it's interesting because it has realistic, well-drawn characters, even in fantasy). And for some reasons I know: even my relevant experience does not forbid to someone to have their own fantasies. And that is not even what I want to achieve.

Again. I'm not here to forbid anything, I'm here to say: leave us alone. Don't bother the creators, don't force-feed your creations to someone who doesn't share your vision.

Spoilers: NO ONE HAS TO BE LIKE YOU. People are... different? They love different things, and who are YOU to shame them? As long as it doesn't hurt anyone (really hurt!). But before you contradict me, I'll repeat: I have some personal opinions and some real background to contradict YOU. And I really don't want to start a holy war.

But why, a few months ago, I was talking to a person about the Valdemar headcanones, and they, in between, careful expressed their opinion about intersexual human!Valdemar (not AMAB, not AFAB!), to avoid conflict with others — who had never been in our conversation. WHY?! You call yourselves "an open and friendly community" and someone even friendly attacked creators like: "you can't ship Valdemar with %charactername%, they're aroace! How dare you erase the aroaces!!?" (sorry, I have problems with socialising, is that what friendly people do? *sarcasm*) and... what do I say? People with a slightly different opinion are trying to be careful! I see the artists who did NOTHING wrong, but were forced to leave the fandom. I see the artists who have been forced to publicly apologise for their art, or even delete their art. How dare you and who you are?

Don't tell anyone what to do with their fanart. Because I have seen it so many times and it is disgusting. Where someone tries to justify their headcanons like "it's ok, aroaces can be in relationships! (but only with my MC of course)", someone was forced to leave the fandom just because another someone saw themselves as the morality police.

And there were many REALLY GOOD ARTISTS. With beautiful art styles, interesting art, unusual headcanons. But all I see now... is what I see.

And I really need to say a lot more than I have. Many of these things come from my own experience (and, my fellow children, you couldn't even handle a person with a personality disorder, I guarantee it), you judge the practices you know nothing about (like BDSM), or you tell aroace creators what aroaces have to do. And if anyone should say that, it should be me. Why does the person with no empathy have more empathy than you? Why my only goal is not to forbid someone to create their M.C., even if I don't like the whole concept, but... idk. Maybe make someone think about it. Don't even defend another creators, because it's too late.

Fandom is dead because people are acting as moral police. But let's guess, what happens when I try to tell you something? What if I said: "Yes, aroaces can have a relationship with someone, but they will most likely behave differently than you imagine"? Who will be the first to accuse me of "YOU'RE FORBIDDING US TO DO WHAT WE WANT! IT'S JUST A FANTASY!"? Even if I tell you only from my own experience. Even if I repeat ten thousand times: "I can't forbid anything, my opinion is my opinion", someone will be mad about it. But it's me, the person who doesn't have the content of amazing artists because they LEAVE the fandom. Me, but not you. Because people take it too seriously or something. And why do you think it's a funny joke to leave comments like "oh, how dare you, Valdemar is mine!" or "Julian is mine, bitch, stay out!!1"? Should I bombard you with the same comments like "what a bitch with Valdemar, I don't like it, stay out!1!1"? Should it be funny? Will you laugh at it? And why don't I want to do it, even if something happens to me? Should I give a person a dose of their own medicine? Or will someone cry and not find such joke funny when it turn around?

So many questions and no answers. And for several years now I see it in the fandom. I'm tired. And I know why many people have left the fandom, and most of the time I see no content I like. But what do I see? People who don't like the content of Dorian. People who want something different and who have fucking standards that don't include attacking people who don't share their vision! People who have standards of writing quality, who want to improve their art, just to make favourite content for themselves! I see people who just want something interesting. But I see NOTHING but the original NixHydra routes, especially the first three. Or something rare, some pieces that miraculously survived. And I am not even talking about the attacks on the NH members. There's nothing special for their burnout. So, enjoy the Dorian.

Because if the fandom is sterile — this fandom is dead. Dixi.

[koco-coko]

When the World Exploded - - Vincent x Jean - Ikemen Vampire Fic

-> His eyepatch was off, and yet the world didn’t end. In fact, it began anew.

Tags/Warnings <--> Angst then Fluff, Lots of Cuddles and Kisses, Soft and Slow, Bad Cooking, Hidden Relationship, Beginning of Relationship, HEAVY SPOILERS for BOTH suitors, Main POV: Jean D'Arc, HEAVY Exploration of Depression, Passive Suicidal Ideation and Religious Guilt.

Word Count: 5,005 (Around 12 pages)!

A/N <--> this originally started as super fluff but boy oh boy I forgot how messed up these two were. Still super fluff but wow I may have gone a little overboard. So please don't force yourself to read this if you're really sensitive to these things, promise I won't be hurt by it <:)

i think they might like this: @azulashengrottospiano @natimiles @weirdwriter69 (lots of interaction with the jean x vincent posts so i thought i'd tag sorry if you didnt want to be)

Jean never expected to be here. Jean didn’t expect to be alive. Jean didn’t expect much of anything, really.

So imagine his surprise to remember that a blonde painter had arms tightly wrapped around his waist and kept drawing him closer into the scent of dry paint and sunflowers, a hint of pancake batter mixed in there, too.

Jean tried to move away, only to have the arm around him tense and pull him further in. A small hum came from the sleeping painter, his head resting on back of Jean's neck. He couldn’t help it when an uncomfortable shudder went through him. His lips were so close to his ear, the beating of his heart right against his back…

Sure, they agreed beforehand but he never expected this. A part of him wanted to escape. It was all too much, too new. Yet Vincent wouldn’t let him get away, and maybe that was for the better. Despite the blank face and cold demeanor, he was sensitive to many, many things. A case of touch-starvation didn’t help the fact. After a momentary inner conflict, Jean let out a deep sigh and dug his face into the pillow beside him. He could do it. He fell asleep like this once tonight, he could do it again.

He came to learn that there were a lot of firsts when being revived as a vampire.

It was the first time he ever felt attracted to someone, let alone a man.

It was only when Vincent started painting outside more often that Jean started feeling… things. Tingles in his stomach whenever he saw the man paint a dark night sky with swirls of light. Shakes when he caught glimpses of a notebook filled with anatomy practice and fencing positions, all suspiciously bearing a resemblance to Jean. It could be argued that a few were Napoleon, though. The lines were messy enough. These sensations started following him around the mansion, too. At the dinner table, he always felt lighter when he heard Vincent giggle at something Arthur said. Eventually, a simple greeting smile sent a shiver through the poor soldier’s body and all he could do was scuttle off into the piano room. 

Vincent was too radiant for a sinner to handle, he deduced. It seemed logical at the time. Jean’s chest was always empty and Vincent always had light to bring to someone. The world was a better place with Vincent in it and it was worse with Jean. That was just how things were. Jean was ready to accept that over… Well…

“Can I paint you?”

It was the first time anyone ever asked… that. Jean had been avoiding Vincent, more than usual, but one late night out of his room for a bottle of Rouge led to them meeting again. Vincent was already coated in paint, perhaps from a late night project, filling one of his paint cups with fresher water.

Jean was a frozen statue for a while, but when Vincent’s smile slowly faded, he suddenly came to. “Why me?” he asked, quietly.

Vincent looked to the side, the enthusiasm of the initial question trailing off. “I’ve never seen anyone like you?”

So unclean, full of sin and guilt?

“So… pretty?” 

Jean shifted on his feet uncomfortably, staring at the painter in front of him with wide eyes.

Vincent was quick to catch his mistake. “In a manly way! Very male-orientated. But beautiful and elegant, too! So, um, beautifully handsome? Does that make sense?”

Not at all. Jean felt his entire mind and body shut down, then come back, then shut down again. 

Beautiful? Handsome? Was this some sick joke?

“You didn’t drink that, did you?” Jean asked, shyly pointing to the paint-stained cup in his hands.

Vincent glanced down at it, then backed up. “No, I don’t believe so,” he almost chuckled, “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t seem in your right mind,” he responded. “I’m none of what you have described me as. I would suggest getting your eyes checked in the near future.” Jean turned to make his exit, bottle of Rouge in hand.

Vincent’s lips went ajar, blinking in disbelief. Then, he laughed. Jean froze. It was almost insulting to hear that. “Well, I don’t think so. I don’t know you too well, sure, but you seem nice.”

Those words sent butterflies through him.

Whenever Jean looked in the mirror, all he saw was a husk of a living being. He couldn’t say human anymore. He was ugly, inside and out. He longed for life, for warmth, comfort, yet every time it faced him, he ran away. God put him on this Earth to suffer in an endless cycle, yet he couldn’t break his piety to such a cruel deity. 

It was something he’d slowly started to accept– the emptiness was a part of his life. If death came to face him, like a fool, he’d fight it, only to realize that victory meant waking up to another day, only after the fact.

Then, an angel descended upon him. It smiled with bright light, with hair as gold as a halo and beamed at him with kind, blue eyes.

“I guess I’ll just ask again,” the angel asked, “Can I paint you sometime?”

Who was he, a mortal man with sins too heavy to weigh, to deny the messenger of God?

It was the first time he ever ‘modeled’ for someone. 

He never stopped by Vincent’s room for the specific purpose of sitting in a chair for hours on end (when they did try, it was so unpleasant that Jean almost fainted), but he visited on occasion.

Instead of modeling, Vincent would simply follow Jean around at random times with a sketchbook in hand, capturing moments of life in a still, pencil-drawn image. At the end of the day, when the stars twinkled in through Vincent’s window, Jean was invited in and the two chatted about the scenes the blonde had drawn.

“That’s not me,” Jean would say each time, “That man is too pure to be me.”

And every time, Vincent would shake his head and chuckle. “You should really start being nicer to yourself.” Vincent would then quietly whisper to himself, “Rich, coming from me of all people, but the advice still stands.” 

Jean never tried to respond to his extra comments, until one late evening– “Perhaps we both should.”

Vincent’s expression was unreadable as he silently flipped to the next page.

It was the first time someone tried to cook for him. Keyword: tried.

Everyone in the mansion began to notice that the most polar opposites of the mansion had so suddenly gravitated toward each other. Napoleon was surprised when Vincent first appeared at their sparring matches as a regular guest, but now? Why, now he was surprised not to greet him.

Mozart was the most confused, of course. A soldier and a painter? Really, what would they ever want to do with each other? Jean was such a recluse, too. What did Vincent say to him that made him stray from his hideaway room and weapons shop? Theodorus seemed to share this sentiment, trailing behind his older brother like a guard dog.

Still, it didn’t surprise anyone when Vincent wanted to make something for Jean’s birthday.

It did surprise Sebastian that same morning to find the kitchen in shambles. Vincent stood in the middle of it all, a fire blazing inside the oven. Apparently, he had tried to make a batch of macarons. 

It took the help of half the mansion to salvage what they could. When Jean was presented with burnt yet somehow undercooked macarons, he just… stared at them.

“How did you know I liked these?” he asked, trying to ignore the smoke coming from the kitchen area.

Vincent’s smile was drenched in embarrassment. “Ah, well, whenever we go to your shop together, I always see you looking at the macarons in the window displays. So, I just assumed you liked them. Glad you do! I would’ve looked silly if not…”

“Thank you.” Jean practically cut him off before he could say anything else. To show his gratitude, he took one from the pan and tossed it in his mouth. Vincent cringed.

The soldier’s eyes burst open with shock. It was so… mushy and crunchy and… How in God’s name could something like this even be created? It was a crime against pastries everywhere. 

“Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, “I’m not really a sweet’s fan, so…”

That was all it took to convince Jean to push through, swallowing the macaron (could you even call it that?) with much strain. 

“Don’t be. It’s the thought that matters,” Jean said, taking the tray from Vincent. “I… I’ll cherish this forever.”

Jean was looking down at the floor shyly, but he swore he saw a pink color grow on Vincent’s cheeks.

Later that night, he found a portrait of himself waiting by his door. In his critical eyes, it was too divine to look anything like him, but the distinctive stroke style made Vincent the clear painter. A note was attached to the bottom, reading:

“Happy birthday! Sorry for the macarons this morning. Maybe after you close your shop tomorrow, we can go to a bakery and get some non-burnt ones! We could bring them home for a tea party, if you’d like!

Also, I think I finally had enough sketches of you to make a painting, so here’s the finished thing! I hope you like it. I’d like to make more, if you’re comfortable with that

– Vincent Van Gogh”

Unfortunately, Jean wasn’t the most literate. He enjoyed the fact that with paintings, written words were unnecessary. It was a walk of shame to bring the note to Mozart so he could read it for him.

It didn’t completely miss him, though, despite his usual density. Vincent wanted to paint him more. An invitation for more time spent together.

When the fact hit him, Mozart had to double-take the smile he saw on his friend’s face.

It was the first time he ever kissed someone. 

Now, granted, he didn’t remember that until the next morning’s hangover passed. 

Jean was known to be insanely lightweight, so why he was given a glass of wine- no one knows. Unfortunately, his drunkenness often made him very… touchy. So when the mansion had a banquet drawn long into the night, Jean was practically laying on top of Vincent (much to Theo’s ire).

So, Vincent offered to bring Jean back to his room. His strength was only one factor in it, but Jean’s touchy-feely state made it a slight struggle to bring him into the room without losing his balance and being blinded by Jean’s clinginess. 

Vincent has an arm wrapped around Jean as they make their way into his empty room. “Jeanie!” Vincent yelped, “I’m trying to put you to bed!” Through his struggle, he was laughing. Drunken Jean thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. It also didn’t help that Vincent was feeling a bit tipsy, too. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling at the absurdity of Jean’s actions even when he was worried for him.

When Vincent finally managed to get Jean into his room without tripping over his feet for a fourth time, he was content to call it a night. Unfortunately, Jean did not. He latched onto his arm and wouldn’t let go. 

“Wait,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Please stay.”

Vincent couldn’t tell if it was the wine getting to him or not, but something made his cheeks grow red.

It was hard to remember the rest. Vincent tried to coax Jean into bed, but he refused, instead wrapping his arms around Vincent and locking him in an embrace.

It was a stupored dance, rocking back and forth as the painter tried to keep the soldier on his feet and not knock the two of them over. Not that he minded, though. The closeness was… oddly welcome.

“C’mon, Theo is going to worry if I don’t go back soon! I promise we’ll see each other tomorrow!” Vincent said, taking steps towards Jean’s bed.

Jean pulled back against him, his head leaning on Vincent’s chest. “But I want you here now.” 

How could the pure angel say no to such a shy request? It’d break poor Jeanie’s heart to force him off!

The swaying continued, Jean moving closer and closer, until…

What was it Arthur said? ‘Drunken words were sober thoughts?’ Did that translate to actions, too? 

The mens’ lips met, for just a brief second, but long enough for Vincent’s to turn into a living cherry. 

They stared at each other for a moment, lust and liquor made Jean’s gaze cloudy, just as it fogged his mind. Vincent was more aware, but maybe he was hazy, too. 

Jean went in again, losing all semblance of balance, leaning all his weight onto Vincent as his knees bent and only the tips of his toes remained dragging on the ground.

If he was a sinner, so be it. He couldn’t take it anymore– the strange pulses of his heart whenever Vincent smiled in the sunlight or told him he was beautiful. He was looked down upon by Heaven’s eye, so what was the point in searching for salvation any longer?

The devil named ethanol overtook Jean, but maybe it claimed Vincent’s heart, too. He didn’t even stumble, catching Jean’s weight and slowly easing into the second kiss. And the fourth. And the seventh.

When the eleventh finished, Vincent suddenly gained consciousness again and forced Jean into bed, running off soon after. Jean was too drunk by then and passed out before he could realize what he’d done.

When day broke the next day, Jean was alone in his bed. No memory came to him until 10 A.M. 

What in God’s name had he done!? What sweet temptation overcame him? He was never drinking again, surely! His heart beat out of his chest with images and sensations flashed by him. With Vincent? He had stooped so low as to share affections with a man!? An innocent one, at that! He couldn’t believe he had even dared to touch the painting angel, tainting him with fault and impurity. God almighty, damnation was all he would receive. He’d turned his back to God thousands of times, but this had to be it. The Holy Spirit would claim him at any moment, banishing him to the pits of hell. Forgiveness was fully out of reach. Why did he have to be revived? He should’ve suffered on that stake, right where he belonged.

Jean locked himself in his room for weeks, only answering when Mozart came to drop off a bottle of Rouge. The pianist would try to speak, only for the door to be slammed in his face. The few glimpses residents did catch of him weren’t all too uplifting, either: Jean, knelt over his bedside with a rosary, muttering the Hail Mary over and over as if he would face judgment at any second. He only left to go to the weapons shop. Jean would avoid Vincent like the plague, or in his case, a harsh blaze. 

Vincent didn’t fare much better. He was more shy and nervous around the mansion, his paintings became more chaotic and surreal. He tried to ignore it, push down every bit of emotion that started to rise in his chest, but… the unfinished paintings spoke for themselves. Lilly fields, the brandish of a sword, a fire burning sweetly in a fool’s chest.

Vincent felt his hands shake when he flipped through his sketchbook, only to find the same thoughts circling him. His chest felt like it would explode. He didn’t think anything of it when they first grew close to each other, but things were different now.

It was the first time anyone ever told him that.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The sword fell from his hands with a loud clatter. Jean was a statue in the middle of the weapons shop while Vincent stood by the door, his hand on the knob.

The store was closed, but Vincent had been gifted a key a while ago. Vincent brightened any room he stepped in with such a radiant light that Jean felt blinded by it. Except… Even with the sunset behind him, illuminating him like an angel, Vincent appeared to him as a normal man.

He was impure, too. He sinned. He felt. Vincent wasn’t a big fan of that last one. 

“You’re mistaken, monsieur.” Jean’s words cut like a sword; through the air and through Vincent’s heart. Vincent clutched his chest. “Whatever… this… is, it is not love. Lucifer is tempting us. We must not give in.” Jean picked the blade from the floor and placed it back on the rack, his brows knit. He kept his back turned to Vincent. He couldn’t even stand to look at him anymore. He was trying to resist the call of lust, after all. “There is nothing to love about me. Do not let the devil fool you, Vincent.”

Vincent’s head was filled with new feelings, but he knew this one too well: Hurt. It felt like Jean had just struck him in the heart with no remorse. Jean had always been blunt, a bit cold and dense, but this was cruel! Vincent’s fingers curled in, his fingernails stabbing the palm of his hand.

“Why not?” Vincent demanded. Jean wasn’t used to a harsh tone from the painter. “I-I…” Vincent practically trembled as he tried to force the words out. “Why do you get to decide what I’m feeling?”

Jean swallowed hard. He… He never thought of it like that. God was the only judge, why was he deciding for the painter? He opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent cut him off as he stepped closer.

“I love you, Jean. And, sure, maybe I don’t have the best grasp on feelings yet, but I know I love you.” Vincent’s declaration was made and there was no going back. It was a bit scary, pouring the beatings of his heart in front of Jean, but it had to be done. “You’re not going to convince me I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Jean was… silent. His violet eyes were wide, but there were unreadable emotions going through him. Vincent couldn’t bring himself to gaze at Jean for more than a few seconds. Not yet. He had no idea how the soldier would react. He was always so cynical, so shrouded in mystery, but that only made Vincent want to show him the sun even more.

“Why?” Jean parroted Vincent’s previous question. “What is there to love about me?” His voice cracked. As much as he tried to hide it, tears were being forcibly choked and swallowed to save his pride.

Vincent’s shoulders slowly slumped as the tension melted. Oh, what wasn’t there to admire. “Well… You’re strong.”

No I’m not, his mind argued.

“And you’re very kind. You’re always so thoughtful and thinking of others.”

It can’t be true.

“I can only dream to be as selfless as you, really!”

That was a blatant lie. What kind of game was he pulling? Only then did Jean’s thoughts stray. Vincent would never lie so openly. Was there truth in his words?

“I like spending time with you, too. You’ve always got something fun to say, when you do talk. And I like it when we go places. You keep talking about that field of lilies, so I think we could go there next!”

His mind’s voice couldn’t think up a retort in time.

“And… Well, I said it when we first met, right? You’re beautifully handsome. That’s something to enjoy, too,” Vincent giggled nervously, “Not as much as the other things, though! More of an added bonus.”

Vincent peeled his eyes off the floor to meet with an unseemly sight. Saint Jeanne D’Arc, staring him right in the face, with a hand over his mouth and tears rolling down his cheeks. It was sacrilegious to watch.

“Hey, don’t cry, Jeanie,” Vincent whispered, moving right in front of Jean to wipe his tears with his thumb. His hand lingered on the man’s cheek. 

Jean felt as if he couldn’t breathe right away. Love? Nonsense. It wasn’t for him. He wasn’t even supposed to be alive! How could someone so gentle and considerate say all those things about him? This had to be some sort of trick or illusion. A dream, even.

Jean’s fingers intertwined with Vincent’s, not letting the painter’s delicate hands leave his face anytime soon.

He was just waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting patiently. Waiting… and waiting.

It never came.

When he opened his eyes, Vincent was still there, sky blue eyes lovingly locked on him. 

Vincent’s smile was soft. Anything harsher would blind Jean. “We’re vampires, Jean. I think God has bigger things to worry about. Maybe he can let this one slide.”

It was overwhelming to be blanketed in the holy light and Jean’s tears kept falling. This time, with a shy smile on his face.

It happened naturally. The gap between their faces drew shorter and shorter, their bodies fit together perfectly, and Jean’s hands felt comfortable on Vincent’s waist.

It was reserved, at first. Neither had any idea how to navigate a kiss with the other, but it was more natural than Jean had expected. It was… warm. Vincent’s thumb ran his across Jean’s eyepatch. Involuntarily, he drew back. They both used that as a minute to breathe.

Surprisingly, Jean was the one who initiated the second kiss, and this one was much more passionate. Their tongues collided on this one, messily and sloppily. Neither had any clue how to do this, but that was part of the enjoyment. It was slow, sensual, simply taking their time to explore each other. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. Jean and Vincent backed away from each other entirely content, their foreheads pressing against the other. A dopey grin enveloped the soldier’s red face. He was certain the blonde could hear just how loudly his heart pumped in his chest.

It was the first time he felt so happy.

The days at the mansion were almost tolerable now. When no one was around, a chaste peck on the cheek or forehead would be shared. Usually Vincent was the one to find Jean alone in the library, but occasionally Jean walked by his room and left a kiss on his cheek. 

Theo and Mozart noticed how they would disappear together first. Soon enough, everyone else caught on. Most of the mansion went to Arthur and Sebastian for answers, but both refused to tell. Sebastian out of not wanting to admit the amount of intel stored in his Oh no– They Didn’t! journal, and Arthur because he thought it’d be more fun for everyone else to figure it out themselves. Being the detective he was, Vincent sighed in relief when he heard he hadn’t told anyone. These feelings, this relationship… It’s all so new and they needed to take it slow. Being outed so soon would only spell disaster, especially in this century. Besides, Jean was already suffering from the judgmental stares from his little brother across the dinner table.

So, for the meantime, tea parties were kept in lonesome meadows and their most intimate moments were behind locked doors.

It was the first time he had a picnic. 

They promised to go to the lily field, when they had the chance. Vincent was captivated the moment he saw a sea of white petals blowing in the wind, glowing under the light of the moon. Jean didn’t interrupt his pause, allowing him to absorb the beauty around him. 

A blanket placed under them, a stiff breeze moving Vincent’s blonde curls in such a way that Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away. His head rested on the painter’s thigh while he sketched the field in front of them, grinning as his mind’s eye was put to paper. 

He looked down at Jean, breathing softly as he admired him. Vincent chuckled as he ran his fingers through his partner’s navy hair. “This is nice,” he whispered, not wanting to interrupt the still of the night.

The moonlight hit Vincent in such a way that he looked as if he descended from heaven, his features chiseled by God himself. “It is,” Jean responded, closing his eyes to properly enjoy the sensation. 

“We’re really lovers, aren’t we?” the blonde vampire asked softly. “It’s hard to imagine it in the mansion, but here… It feels real.” A pause hit Vincent before he continued, a romantic sigh leaving his lips as he took the moment in. “We should go see the sunflowers next.”

Jean’s eyes fluttered open and he watched Vincent attentively. There was a distinct longing in his eyes as he stared over the waves of flowers.

He couldn’t help himself. Jean cupped Vincent’s cheek in his head, bending awkwardly to plant a kiss on his lover’s jaw.

It was the first time he said those three words.

“I love you.”

It was the first time he took his eyepatch off in front of someone.

It had taken a full year for Jean to open up to the idea of taking his eyepatch off in front of Vincent. When they said they were taking it slow, they meant slow. Molasses envied them. They both had a lot of issues within themself, so moving too fast would only cause even more problems. This was far more safe and comfortable, and for them, that mattered more than anything.

It was a planned event. Theodorus wouldn’t be home for a few days on a business trip and Mozart was completely overtaken by a burst of creativity. Melodies filled the air each night, perfect for the inexperienced lovers. The stars had aligned for them to finally have a chance to sleep together and maybe sleep in, if they were lucky. 

Sitting on opposite ends of Jean’s mattress, Vincent observed the empty room around him with slight dismay. The many paintings gifted to his lover were the only decorations on the walls. Otherwise, the place looked like a jail cell. At least Vincent's cell had a nice window and some paint stains on the floor. This was a topic for another day, though. 

Jean sheepishly cleared his throat. A fabric eyepatch sling was laid across his open palm, extending it out for Vincent to take. He feared if he held it any longer that he’d put it right back on. 

Vincent was instantly enamored with Jean’s face. He came to know of Jean’s execution, of how he covered himself so thoroughly to hide the scars that coated him from his feet to his face, but finally being able to see some, the dead skin surrounding his blind eye and the burns that brushed his usually glove-covered hands… He was so beautiful. 

Jean was self-conscious under his gaze, actively forcing his left hand not to cover his eye. Fortunately, Vincent reached out and traced the burnt lines of his face before Jean could. His breath hitched, a short quivering running down his shoulder. “Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, now caressing the side of his face. “I just… I should paint you like this sometime. If you’ll let me.” Briefly, Vincent’s eyes wandered to his torso, before gazing back at the head of his lover. He held his cheek so tenderly.

Jean’s bashfulness melted under the tender gaze of the older Van Gogh. He took his wrist in his hand and planted delicate kisses against his palm. Vincent giggled coyly. Ah, that sound was more beautiful than any hymns the angels could conjure up. “I’ll think about it, monsieur.” He was thankful the attention to his scars ended there, although slight brushes and kisses against his eye were common as they laid next to each other. Any comments on its state would’ve left Jean a mess of regret and self-hatred. Vincent was careful about that, as Jean was with Vincent’s emotional status. It was an equal trade.

The evening was quiet, lulling the two to sleep easily. At first, they had fallen asleep with their hands locked together, not all too close to each other. Vincent knew just how overwhelming physical affection was for Jean, even after a full year in this relationship. Jean was the one who set the pace when it came to touch. He didn’t mind that. 

Apparently, his unconscious state did. Jean awoke in the middle of the night to Vincent’s head tucked against his neck, arms around his waist and his back pressed against the painter’s chest, their fingers still intertwined with each other. His face dug against the pillow under him, hiding the scar from the dark nighttime. 

Sometimes, he could feel the eyes of God staring at him, judging him for every sin he’d committed. When that happened, he’d spend several days in the city church, ultimately failing to build up the courage to enter the confessional. He was sin incarnate, no Father could offer repentance for that. 

The urge to run overcame him. To be so close to another living being was too much… but the scent of paint and sunflowers granted miracles to Jean. His muscles slowly unwound and he found himself falling into the arms of rest once again. The strong arms around him kept him tied to reality and away from the dark thoughts of his wandering mind. 

Every time Jean fell asleep, he dreaded the coming morning. The cycle of a torturous, unwanted, wrongful existence continued. 

But with Vincent here… Things were different. A small flicker grew in his heart. If he could make it to tomorrow, he’d get to see Vincent smile. Oh, and perhaps he’d get to spare with Napoleon, and then play with Cherie… then he could… And then...

Suddenly everything felt worth fighting for, if only for a day.

He had taken his eyepatch off, and the world still turned.

[nekoma-not-lee]

TickleTober 2024 Masterlist

Here’s a new masterlist! And yes, once again I will be adding my self insert into a few of them bc I can’t resist. Also these are spoiler-free until you click the links that will be added eventually. On fandoms I’ve gotten through so far, there will be spoilers, but I will usually mark them as spoilers when I finish them and know for sure. So be careful to avoid spoilers (unless you don’t care)!

1. Anticipation

Honkai: Star Rail - ler!Caelus, lee!Dan Heng

Caelus was in a lee mood and was giving hints about it to Dan Heng. When Dan Heng finally get’s fed up, Caelus is surprised to find he won’t get what he wants so easily.

2. Chase

Genshin Impact - ler!Kinich, lee!Neko

After Neko finally got Kinich to join their party, they were in high spirits. But then they remembered the rules…and bolted. How will this game of chase end, I wonder?

3. Prank

Hunter x Hunter - ler!Gon, lee!Killua

Killua pranks Gon, chaos ensues!

4. Hide and Seek

Assassination Classroom - ler!Karma, lee!Nagisa

Nagisa wanted to see if he could beat Karma in a game of hide and seek. Let’s just say…he definitely lost.

5. Boo!

Ogus’s Laws - ler!Su Yuan, lee!Fu Yu

Su Yuan tried to scare Fu Yu by tasing his sides. Let’s just say that more than just a loud shriek left his mouth after that.

6. Cuddles

Vengeful Weapon, Tears of Poison - ler!Amelia, lee!Noam

Amelia and Noam are cuddling and then when Amelia’s hand brushes Noam’s side by accident, she finds out something new about him.

7. Fidget

Blue Exorcist - ler!Yukio, lee!Rin

Rin won’t sit still, so Yukio tickles him to expel his energy.

8. Nuzzles

Delicious in Dungeon - ler!Marcille, lee!Falin

This one is based on an image I found! Falin has a soft and warm tummy with feathers, so of course Marcille can’t help but bury her face in it.

9. Wake Up!

The Beastly Count After Dark - ler!Violetta, lee!Theobald

Theobald is refusing to wake up, so Violetta has resorted to…“drastic measures”.

10. Spidering

Your Turn To Die - ler!Sara, lee!Ranmaru

Ranmaru wasn’t paying attention to what Sara was telling him, something about Joe and Ryoko. So Sara tickles him to get his attention.

11. Hug

Genshin Impact - ler!Neko, lee!Ei

Neko is happy that Ei finally came home to join their team, but remembers the rules mid-hug and chaos ensues.

12. Mischief

Genshin Impact - ler!Aether, lee!Kinich

Aether finds out Kinich is ticklish, chaos ensues.

13. Win

This World Is Mine - ler!Charlize, lee!Wooyeon

As Charlize’s reward for winning a bet with Wooyeon, she tickles her.

14. Lose

Maria the Telepathic Animal Healer - ler!Maria, lee!Eins (minor ler!Glick)

Eins (surprisingly) started a tickle fight with Maria, and let’s just say he’s definitely lost this fight.

15. “Are You Ticklish?”

Demon Slayer - ler!Tanjiro, lee!Muichiro

Tanjiro get’s curious if Muichiro’s ticklish, and when he finds out the answer, let’s just say he’s more than pleased.

16. Cackle

Your Turn To Die - ler!Keiji, lee!Sou

Keiji finds out Sou’s ticklish, and let’s just say Sou’s laughter is absolutely adorable.

17. Raspberries

The Little Princess and Her Monster Prince - ler!Anthea, lee!Blake

Anthea wanted to cheer Blake up since he was sad, so wholesome tickles ensue.

18. Tickle Fight

I Woke Up As a Notorious Troublemaker! - switch!Christina, switch!Rufus

Siblings normally have tickle fights, right? So it made sense for these two, who weren’t fully related, to have one…right?

19. Secret

Obey the Flower - ler!Floria, lee!Cartel

Floria finds out Cartel is secretly ticklish and exploits this “weakness”.

20. Tease

Genshin Impact - ler!Neko, lee!Kaveh

Neko got a little angy that Kaveh refused to join their team. Come on! Their fashion sense is amazing! So they decided to wreck Kaveh…but not like he’s used to it from Alhaitham.

21. Costume

Omori - ler!Mari, lee!Sunny

Mari finds Sunny’s costume adorable, and can’t help but tickle the little guy!

22. Role Reversal

Witch’s Heart - switch!Ashe, switch!Noel

Ashe started it, and let’s just say Noel more than finished it.

23. Sweet

Genshin Impact - ler!Kaveh, lee!Alhaitham

Alhaitham keeps eating all the sweets, and Kaveh is less than pleased.

24. Joke

Genshin Impact - ler!Aether, lee!Lyney

Lyney tells a joke to Aether, Aether has one up his sleeve as well.

25. New Discovery

Baldur’s Gate 3 - ler!Shadowheart, lee!Draconis

Shadowheart didn’t know their partner was ticklish…or that Dragonborn could be ticklish like other races, so she clearly had to thoroughly explore this discovery.

26. Ticklish Kiss

Watch Out for the Dream Demon - ler!Yi Kui, lee!Lin You

Yi Kui tries to give Lin You a kiss on the neck, and finds out he’s super ticklish. He never knew humans could be so sensitive.

27. Non-Human Parts

Voltron- ler!Keith, lee!Neko

As soon as Keith discovered Neko was part Galra, he’d always wondered how their galran ears would feel. Today he found out, and let’s just say those fluffy kitty ears were more than just sensitive.

28. Spooked

Duchess’s Lo-Fi Coffeehouse - ler!Loanna, lee!Hartwin

Loanna accidentally scared Hartwin when going to his napping spot. So to calm him down, she tickles him!

29. Magic

Cultivator x Contract Spirit - ler!Tong Xi, lee!Zhi Yi

Tong Xi thinks he accidentally hurt Zhi Yi with one of his electricity attacks, but found out it just tickled…and of course he exploits it.

30. Trick-or-Treat

Your Turn To Die - ler!Kugie, ler!Kanna, lee!Sou

Sou is not pleased in being dragged along for trick-or-treating, Kanna and Kugie change his mind.

31. Aftercare

Your Turn To Die - ler!Reko, lee!Nao

Reko wrecks Nao pretty good, but now we get to see the lesbians cuddle afterwards.

[ppomumgranatum]

eyes don't lie.

Chapter 1

more on Ao3 and Wattpad

Sebastian x fem MC

summary:

To Sebastian, Kali was more than just a friend- she was someone who challenged him, inspired him, and made him want to be a better person.

Formerly inseparable comrades, Sebastian and Kali now stood apart, their once-strong connection fractured by silence and pain. Sebastian struggled with the idea of whether their bond could ever be repaired or was their friendship doomed to fade into memory

With each passing day, the weight of uncertainty grew heavier on Sebastian's shoulders. Would he find the courage to confront the rift between them?

-

Disclaimer: The story may also include Hogwarts Legacy spoilers and the use of explicit language. Reader discretion is advised.

Sebastian's image source: credit to whoever made it I'm so sorry I cannot find the OP.

Word count: 2.3k

-

chapter 1.

It’s been a couple of weeks since the incident in the catacomb and everything that has happened with Ranrok finally settled. Though Ominis and Kali decided to protect Sebastian and not to turn him over to authorities, it did more damage than good to their friendships– especially for Kali and Sebastian. After the first couple of months prior to the event, they somehow grew apart. As if Kali was avoiding him. 

It left Sebastian with an extremely unpleasant feeling in his gut. He found himself replaying the events over and over again in his mind, searching for answers, searching for a way to mend what had been broken. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to find a solution. Now that Anne had also left, Kali's distance only served to deepen the wound, leaving him feeling more alone than ever before. 

When they met in the hallway, she’d just passed through him as if he was invisible. She no longer allowed herself to sit next to him in any classes nor the Great Hall, and she never showed up to the Crossed Wands anymore.

As more days gone by, Sebastian felt himself slipping further and further into despair. He had lost not only his best friend but also a part of himself in the process.

You know asking her would help you better than sulking like an idiot, Ominis once advised

Sebastian rolled his eyes at first, but he knew Ominis was right. So he sent an owl to Kali, asking her to meet in the undercroft. And she did come.

As she entered the room and walked towards him with heavy footsteps, Sebastian's heartbeat grew faster. She stopped about a few feet in front of him, clearly attempting to keep the distance she’s been reeling.

Fuck, he thought. He clearly didn’t think this through– as if he ever did with anything. But he truly had no idea what he wanted to say to her.

“Hi,” was what came out of his lips. Kali’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest. It was flat and cold. “How are y–”

“What do you want, Sebastian?” She cut him off before his sentence could find its ending.

Cold. She was so damn cold.

Kali isn’t the most heartwarming person you could ever find, surely. She can be a bit cynical at times, she’s bold, ambitious, and daring, but cold– cold is not supposed to be on the list. Not towards Sebastian at least. 

And truly it terrified him a little bit.

Sebastian felt a lump forming in his throat, making it difficult to speak. Kali’s unwavering gaze bore into him, demanding an explanation.

“I.. I just wanted to talk.” He stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

“Alright.” She crossed her arm in a defensive posture that mirrored the emotional barricade she had built around herself “Go ahead.” 

“What?”

“Well you’re the one who wants to talk. Not me. So, please, go ahead.” Sebastian could see the tension in the set of her shoulders, the way her jaw clenched ever so tightly.

“Exactly. Why aren’t you talking to me?” He asked.

No response. Silence was the only answer Kali provided him. He searched her eyes for any hint of emotion, sadness, anger, anything at all. But her expression remained impassive.

“Kali, please.”  Sebastian pleaded with desperation as he took a step towards her. But instead of closing the distance between them, she retreated even further, putting another two steps of distance between them.

His heart sank as he watched her pull away, the sting of rejection cutting through him like a bloody knife. 

Sebastian's mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions: regret, longing, and a gnawing sense of despair. He wanted to reach out and hold her. He wanted to simply understand why he was losing the person he cares about the most, yet again.

"So that's it, then?" he spat, voice laced with bitterness. "You're just going to shut me out like I don't even matter? After everything we've been through together?" 

Kali scoffed, “You mean like how you shut me out?”

“Excuse me? I shut you out?” His response came quickly.

The girl shook her head in disbelief as Sebastian’s response shattered her impassive expression. He’ll always be such an insufferable stubborn after all. But Kali’s intention remained unwavering. She had no wish to speak to him nor to seek resolve. 

She turned her heel and walked towards the door.

“Hey, stop!” Sebastian was quick to chase after her and grabbed her arm.

Enraged by his action Kali turned to Sebastian once more “No! You stop, Sebastian. I’ve had enough of you.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Me? What the fuck is wrong with you, Sebastian Sallow, that nothing could go through that bloody thick skull of yours? Nothing can help you comprehend the amount of stupidity– the amount of pain you have caused me. Because how stupid are you to have asked me that?” Nose flared, eyebrows furrowed, gaze stung, and words as angry as mongrels– Kali finally reached a level of rage Sebastian had never witnessed before. His grip loosened around the girl’s arm and fell to his side.

“You never once came to sort things out with me the moment everything ended. Not once you showed any hint of remorse. Not even a single ‘thank you’ came out of your fucking mouth.” She continued.

“Hey, I do feel awful about everything” Sebastian's voice held a note of pleading as he attempted to justify his actions. He spoke with an urgency born of desperation, his words a last-ditch effort to salvage their fractured relationship. “And I did come to talk to you.”

“Starting the conversation with a lame fart joke is not the way, Sebastian.” She said through her gritted teeth. Her patience wore thin as she struggled to contain her anger.

“You can’t seriously be mad at me because of that. I–”

 “You didn’t even ask me if I was alright.” She cut him off.

And there it is. The crux of it all.

Sebastian's defences crumbled, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. It felt like the air was suffocating him with a sense of guilt and remorse. 

He remembered that day before he rushed to Feldcroft to look for his sister, Ominis and Kali assured him that they wouldn't turn him in. They swore that his secret will die with them. 

That trip took him about a week and when he returned to Hogwarts, he heard words that Kali had just defeated Ranrok. Not that he’s surprised, but he’s always believed that Kali would be able to do it.

He tried to find her, and when he did, it was as if Sebastian was looking at a completely different person. He didn’t know how to approach his best friend. 

And when Kali didn’t even give a single response to his comedy during Professor Sharp’s class– it just made everything felt worse.

But now, as he looked into Kali's eyes, he realised that he had failed to see the toll that the ordeal had taken on her. He had been so focused on his own concerns that he had overlooked the pain and trauma that she had undoubtedly endured.

“I thought I was gonna die fighting that spiteful goblin. I didn't think I was going to make it and all I could think about was how I just wanted to go back to school.. to go back to you–” forced herself to stop and sighed “But you didn’t even seem to care about me.”

“Kali, I–”

“I know what you went through, and for the love of Gods, Sebastian, I understand that. Even after everything you’ve said and manipulated me to do, I still understand you.” she continued, voice filled with anguish. “The funny thing is I would’ve done it all over again if I could. I would’ve still fought my way to help Anne even if you didn’t somehow push me into it. I really like her.”

Sebastian’s mind racing and searching for the words to respond to Kali’s words. How awful it must've been for her. 

He had always valued their friendship, cherished the bond they shared. But now, as he stood before her, he realised that he had taken her for granted, and had failed to see the depth of her pain until it was too late.

And so, he stood there in silence, his heart heavy with regret as he watched Kali struggle to come to terms with the loss of their friendship.

“I did not just lose Fig in that fight, Sebastian.. I’ve lost you, too..” Her voice was trembling, fighting the urge not to drop a single tear in front of the brunette “And I am trying to find my peace with it.”

“No.. don’t say that.” Sebastian carefully took another step forward, and another until he finally reached the shorter girl in front of him. He took Kali’s hand and intertwined their fingers together. “You can never lose me.”

Kali's gaze dropped to their intertwined fingers with a heavy sigh escaping her lips. It seemed as though time had run out, the damage irreparable and the chance for reconciliation slipping through their fingers.

With a sense of resignation settling over her, Kali shook her head slowly. There was no use dwelling on what could have been or trying to mend what was broken beyond repair.

“Then how come I did?” Her eyes met his, their gazes locking in a silent exchange filled with unspoken words and lingering emotions.

As she released his hand and began to turn away, Sebastian's heart clenched in his chest. The thought of losing her, especially after everything they had endured together, was unbearable. With each step she took, it felt as though a piece of him was being torn away, leaving him hollow and incomplete.

But no matter how he pleaded, Kali remained firm, walking away without looking back. Sebastian stood there, feeling lost and helpless, as the echoes of her footsteps faded into the darkness.

As Sebastian watched Kali's retreating figure disappear into the shadows, a sense of defeat washed over him. He stood rooted to the spot while feeling the weight of his own helplessness crushing down on him. 

So this is it, then. The bond that was so strongly forged over blood and spells just perished before his own eyes.

Slowly and reluctantly, he turned away from the empty space where Kali had stood moments before. Each step felt heavier than the last as he made his way back to the familiar comfort of his room. The journey back seemed longer than usual, the corridors stretching out endlessly before him as if mocking his despair. Sebastian's mind raced with thoughts of what could have been, of the rift that now lay between him and Kali. 

They could’ve been providing comfort for each other, he thought. And maybe all of this would’ve felt easier to get by.

When he finally reached his door, without a word, Sebastian pushed it open. Ominis was reclining on his bed and prepped for slumber. Sebastian stumbled inside, collapsing face-first onto his friend’s bed with a heavy sigh.

"Would it be right for me to assume that your conversation did not go well?" Ominis started the conversation.

Sebastian mumbled sadly into the bed, "She hates me, Ominis."

"Why wouldn't she?" Ominis replied, matter-of-factly.

Sebastian groaned in frustration. Why did Ominis have to be so annoyingly right all the time?

"Look," Ominis continued, trying to be comforting. "Give her time. Maybe she'll come around."

"And if she doesn't?" Sebastian's voice was muffled, but Ominis could still hear the despair in it.

Ominis shrugged, "Move on?"

Sebastian let out another loud groan. Ominis knew that Sebastian was hurting, grappling with the aftermath of a strained relationship and the weight of his own burden all due to his own reckless and selfish doings.

The room felt quiet, except for Sebastian's occasional groans of frustration. Ominis wished he had the right words to make everything okay again, but for now he’s just thankful that his friends are safe.

“She seemed so cold, like she had no emotions left,” Sebastian added, while turning himself to face the ceiling.

“Can you blame her? After everything she went through,” Ominis sighed heavily,  “You should’ve seen her when she came back. I could feel her weak pulse, her shallow breathing, and the pain– I thought we were going to lose her.”

After Ominis's heartfelt words, the room fell silent for a moment. Sebastian's heart clenched at the thought of Kali's suffering. It felt like his own guilt gnawing at him as he replayed the events in his mind.

“I’m glad you were there for her while I was gone.” Sebastian's gratitude towards Ominis swelled within him. Despite his own struggles, Ominis had been there for Kali when she needed him most, a fact that filled Sebastian with both relief and a pang of guilt.

"I know it’s difficult. But just give her what she wants. It's really the least you can do to make it up for her." Ominis added.

Sebastian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration "Fine. But you're taking me to Three Broomsticks tomorrow to cheer me up."

"I can't tomorrow," Ominis replied with a hint of hesitation.

"Why not?" Sebastian's tone was puzzled, though Ominis could feel the tension in his friend's voice even without seeing his face.

Ominis hesitated for a moment before responding. "Kali is helping me with potion studies." he said carefully, bracing himself for Sebastian's reaction.

Sebastian's response was immediate, his voice filled with surprise and disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Ominis could understand Sebastian's reaction. "What? She still likes me," he explained, trying to diffuse the tension. "And you know I'm falling behind in that God-forsaken class."

Sebastian's frustration was evident in his next words. "You still get to hang out with her and I don't? That's unfair."

“Hey, that’s on you. I never called her ignorant nor took her efforts just to satisfy me for granted.” Ominis responded with a slightly accusatory tone, aiming to provoke Sebastian's emotions. “If anything, I treat her very well.”

“Oh fuck off, Gaunt.” Sebastian stood and stormed out of the room. As he reached the doorway, Sebastian flashed a middle finger to his blind best friend as a dramatic exit.

“Hey! I can sense that, and fuck you too!” He shouted as Sebastian disappeared behind the door.

-

more on Ao3 and Wattpad

[previousloversandmuses]

FREQUENCY: Episode 7 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY: A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 7: “Dead Man Walking”

WORD COUNT: 6033

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader

WARNINGS: (NSFW) SMUT (spoiler sorry) (finally) P IN V UNPROTECTED SEX (pls use proper birth control in your everyday life) Mentions of suicide, depression, drug & alcohol use. Violence, stalking. Homelander and SB being themselves. Offensive slurs.

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns.

PLEASE DISREGARD SPELLING ERRORS AND FORMATTING ISSUES SOMEONE BROKE MY COMPUTER AND I HAD TO FINISH WRITING AND UPLOADING THIS ON MY PHONE. I WOLL EDIT THIS WHEN I GET HOME TMRW ON MY DESKTOP BUT I WANTED TO GET IT UP ASAP ILY

Masterlist | Taglist

Sure, he could have ventured downstairs and harassed Vought Security by now, but no. He wanted the satisfaction of guessing this. He wanted to know how well he knew her. He wanted her to know how well he knew her. That he would appear on her doorstep like a knight in shining armor. But right now, he’s convinced he doesn’t know her much at all.

He started with her birthday, which he didn't know, but neither does she-- at least, he didn’t think she did. He’s not sure when his birthday is either, and they were both raised in the lab, so. That makes sense, right? He tried her favorite color, which he thinks may be green? That would make sense? She likes the forest? But it also could be pink because she is a woman after all, and all women love pink. Celebrity crushes? Him, of course, but that doesn't work either. And he thinks he doesn’t have the emotional security to even try another name.

“ILoveJohn…”Johnandme”...“John123”… “john1234” … ”homelander” … ”ilovehomelander”...”green”...”green123”...”password”... “frequency3” … “frequency123”... “freak+john”... “freakandjohn”... “ilovepink” …

She has her real name too, not “Freak”. Her real name, her given name, her birth name-- which he's sure is beautiful and suits her well. He just has no idea what it is. He has scavenged every computer file attached to Vought for years trying to find out even a hint. It has always come up dry. Without a lead. He has brutally assaulted security personnel over it.

“How fucking hard is it to find a fucking name? A registered supe name?” He would scream.

They would stammer, and quiver, and beg for their lives. Saying some Vought files are strictly kept on paper, so they could avoid the possibility of a cyber attack. That, of course, was never good enough for him.

“And you can’t even tell me the location of the fucking file, at least? Are you that fucking incompetent and mentally retarded? How the hell did you idiots even get a goddamn job here?”

Then he would raid storage rooms all round the city. Data centers from here to DC, which contain the most sensitive information. Of course, he’d threaten them too.

The worst part of it all, the only person he’d met that knew her name, was her. And of course, she never, ever told him. She taunted him with it. He begged like a dog salivating over raw meat.

He works at it for a few more hours until he goes for help. He must've just spelled something wrong, or is having some sort of brain fart.

When he enters the security room, the intern from the other day is already there. She had the night shift tonight, he's assuming. Although he hopes she isn’t on the clock as she snores onto the keyboard in front of her.

He clears his throat, looking around awkwardly--which does nothing. He then grabs a pen from next to her, and pokes her with it. Still nothing. He rolls his eyes, then claps so hard her hair flies back in a gust of wind. She jolts awake. Disoriented. She grabs her ears in pain.

“What the fuck?” She cries.

“Move.” Is all he says as he pushes her out of her swivel chair and takes her place. He hands her the computer from over his shoulder like it's a piece of paper. She grabs it reluctantly.

“What is this?” She asks, rubbing the side of her head to self-soothe.

“You have eyes. I need you to unlock it for me.” He mumbles, peeking down at his cuticles.

She inspects the computer, then sets it on the table next to him. She squats down onto her knees so she doesn't have to bend over. Grabbing a cord from the computer, she connects it and then waits for her main system to boot up.

“I need you to move a little, please…Sir.” She grimaces, moving over his shoulder to begin working on unlocking the computer.

He sighs, craning his neck over to the left so she could squeeze in. She begins to type, pulling up some system he doesn't want, or care to know about. She taps her hand impatiently on the mouse until-

“A-ha,” She says smiling, leaning back over to the laptop and typing in the information. “There you go.”

She hands the open laptop back to him. He inspects it with hesitance. Almost nervous to see the contents inside.

“What was it?” He asks, trying to be nonchalant.

“What was what?” She asks, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“The password.” He presses, glaring at her.

“Oh, um,” She pulls at her collar. Was it getting hot in there? “It was uh, fuc….”

He tilts his head towards her in a feigend attempt to understand what the fuck she just said.

“I’m sorry, in fucking english please.”

She swallows the lump in her throat.

“It was, uh, fuckyoujohn…nicetryasshole…” She grimaces.

He nods his head. Right. Of course it was.

---

When a maaa-aan loves a woman

Can't keep his mind on nothin' else

He'd trade the world

For the good thing he's found

The club had gotten significantly more packed as the night went on. The two of them are squished together, her back to his front. He nestles his face into her neck as he sings along to the songs blasting through the speakers. They are both wasted beyond belief. Ama and Asher had bought everyone a round of drinks after the long awaited makeout.

If she is bad, he can't see it

She can do no wrong

And turn his back on his best friend

If he puts her down

This was it. This is everything he needed to feel better. It was like he was floating. Her smell was intoxicating. He had never been this close to her skin before. It radiated a bouquet of roses and vanilla, even through the sweat and cheap liquor. He would never admit it to her, but he thinks he was pining for her since the moment he saw her. Like a mirage. It was one of those moments where the breath is stolen from your lungs. Where you’re taken aback by the sheer intensity of the moment.

When a man loves a woman

Spend his very last dime

And trying to hold on to what he needs

He'd give up all his comforts

And sleep out in the rain

If she said that's the way, it ought to be

When a man loves a woman

He begins to think in his foggy, mashed potato brain, that maybe, just maybe, everything he ever did, everything he ever experienced, was to lead him straight to her. That his time hidden away, chilled to the bone, was the universe crafting her especially for him. Like she was a hot summer day, and he was a piece of ice thawing out on the hot pavement. That he got to spend thirty years in hell to reflect and remember and regret, so he could be ready for her.

I give you everything I've got

Trying to hold on to your precious love

And baby baby please don't treat me bad

When a man loves a woman

Deep down in his soul

But he could just be drunk. Lovesick after what felt like eons of being starved of affection. Maybe he was more drunk off the scent of her than the liquor. He used to be able to hold it much better than this. But as she sways, and sings, and keeps her sweet feet planted on the ground, he can’t help but imagine that this was all he was ever made to do. Gee, when did he become such a sucker?

On the other hand, she definitely doesn’t have the capacity to even think in abbreviations, let alone full, complex, and poetic run on sentences about how they quite possibly had been made for each other. She was so drunk, she almost called him John a few times now. I mean, like father, like son, right?

Ah- there it is. There’s the thing she was so eager to stow away into the deepest parts of her brain the moment she even began to feel an inkling of attraction to this ancient man.

Her hand flies over her mouth- she thinks she’s going to be sick. What a way to ruin a great moment.

She goes stiff in his arms, he doesn’t notice at first until he looks down and sees her clawing at Ama.

Her eyes are wild, nervous. She hates being sick like this. Vomiting was no fun for someone who not only was a germaphobe, but experienced the five senses tenfold. A simple puke in the toilet became something of midevil torture when you considered the sights, the tastes, the smells-

Ugh, why the hell did she take that last shot?

Ama holds onto her shoulders, cocking an eyebrow, visibly confused. That is until she sees just how cartoonishly green she is. Her skin is completely rid of all colors. Her legs giving out on the dance floor.

Ama yanks over one of the other girls from the res and peels Freak out of Ben’s vice grip.

“What the fuck?” He shouts over the music, watching as the two girls float her out of the crowd.

He follows them out, tripping over Amas heels.

“I was in the middle of using that!” He shouts.

Ama pushes Freak and her friend into the bathroom, and whips her head around to him, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, well that can’t hold its liquor and is about to spew chunks all over the place. So I’d recommend going back with Asher.”

“What?” He asks, trying to push past her and into the ladies room. “Is she alright? Let me through.”

“Oh no no no,” she says, stepping in front of him. “You can happily wait out here.”

A club goer leaves from the bathroom, her flaming, flamboyant gay as her accessory. She looks Ben up and down, scoffing.

“Pervert.” She sneers.

Her gay friend, who is wearing more makeup than she is, glares at him even harder. Ben watches them in shock as they go back out onto the dance floor.

“Was that a girl or a guy?” He grimaces.

Ama cocks an eyebrow, scoffing.

“Please go listen to NPR, or put on CNN, I’m begging you. For the good of the world.” And with that she shuts the door in his face.

Ama walks over to the stall Freak is currently knelt in. Their friend holds back her hair as she dry heaves into the toilet.

“J-John-“ she groans incoherently.

Ama and the girl look at each other.

“Who is John?”

She puked again. Coming back up for air, “John- he’s John…”

BLEH

The two girls turn back to freak, cocking their eyebrows.

“Right…John…” Ama says, reaching down to pat her back.

Freak pulls herself away from the toilet, wiping her mouth off, trying to turn around to them.

“No j-john… he- Ben..”

BLEHHH

The girls grimace as she hurls into the toilet again.

“Freak, what about Ben?”

“He’s his dad…”

“Who is who’s dad? What about Ben’s dad?”

Freak grips on to the sides of the stall now, trying to bring herself up to her feet.

“H-homelander,” She grumbles.

Now that’s a name they know. And a name they know that she knows very well.

“Wait, Homelander is Ben’s dad? How would that even work?” Asks the other girl.

Ama glares at her, then turns back to Freak.

“What about Homelander? Does he know you’re here?!” Ama is worried now, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her towards her face.

She looks half asleep. She doesn’t answer, just smacks her lips and feels around for some sort of water source.

“What about Homelander??” Ama cries.

“He-“ She hiccups. “Homelander is Ben’s son.”

Amas eyes widen. She lets go of freaks shoulders and steps back, hitting the door of the stall.

“I forgot- I feel like a pervert.”

Ama rubs her head, “No, no, you’re not a pervert.”

She squats down to get onto freaks level.

“He- I don’t know. This may change things. How angry would Homelander be if he knew you were going to screw his dad?”

Freak smiles, her eyes glossy and heavy. It’s a goofy smile, one that makes Ama grimace. There’s no way this girl had only four drinks.

“Let’s just hope,” she hiccups. “That Ben doesn’t find out I screwed his son.”

And with that she passes out onto the grimy tile floor.

-----

Her computer is exactly what he thought it would be like, organized and hard to maneuver. He didn’t understand her filing system, and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask the intern to figure out any more of her offensive passwords.

As he looked around in the files, he noticed that almost everything had been wiped clean. All the folders were empty, just leaving the titles of what could have possibly resided in them before. Bringing his eyes up to the top of the screen, he sees the history tab. He thinks there is no way she wouldn't have cleared it, but it's at least worth a try. He brings the cursor up, and selects.

Yahtzee.

She cleared everything else but this. Quite possibly the most valuable information of all. Her search history.

He begins to scroll down, taking note of the last visited websites. Wikipedia, and mapquest. He goes for the mapquest link first. It takes him to coordinates that look to be in the middle of nowhere in upstate New York. No buildings for miles. He sighs. Scrolling back up to the top of the screen, he then selects the wikipedia link. The color drains from his face. He looks like he's seen a ghost.

“Soldier Boy”

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

----

A picturesque morning. The birds are chirping. The sun is shining in through the cracked windows. A stream crackles along in the distance. The smell of coffee brings her out of her slumber.

Ah, what a beautiful day.

She sits up slowly, stretching out her sore limbs. Cocking her head to look out the window, she is greeted by sun rays--only then to let out a rough groan, grabbing her head in pain.

Fuck, she thinks. What happened last night.

The memories flood back like a scrapbook. More like images than pieced together scenes. She can see hints of the night, the important parts obviously sticking out like a sore thumb.

She drops her hands into her lap, looking down at her palms with shame. Was that- is that blood? No, no. It’s lipstick. Okay, just lipstick.

Turning her head cautiously, she checks the other side of the bed. It wasn’t undone, so it obviously wasn't slept in. She nods, applauding herself for not doing anything too stupid. Peering down at her body, she notices she’d been dressed in her own pajamas. That’s also a good sign. She knows for a fact if Ben undressed her, he would've just put her into bed stark naked.

From what she can ponder through the ringing in her ears, and the relentless pounding of her head, she doesn’t think she regrets the acts of the night before. She knew the moment she stared into his eyes last night that she had obviously felt something for him the whole time. She wonders if it's the mutual trauma bond. Similar to the one she and John share. John…his son. Bleh, and there is the warranted nausea. She doesn’t even remember how the hell she got home.

Did Ben carry her? Did Ama and the girls drag her down the road by her hair? Judging by the Sinatra playing from the kitchen, there really is only one way to find out.

She stares at the door in deliberation, stretching one last time. Why is her heart racing? Taking a deep breath, she pulls herself out of bed and through her bedroom door.

He sits on the sofa, coffee in one hand, the paper in another. She squints her eyes at him, dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry- are you reading the New York Times?” She gapes, cocking her eyebrow.

He turns back to her, taking a quick intake of breath. He smiles softly, setting his coffee down onto the table in front of him.

“I made coffee too.” He says smiling, like it was some huge feat

She looks around with her eyes, wondering what was so impressive about that. He notices her aloof response and sighs.

“I haven't made coffee in thirty years…and that one has a computer in it.” He crosses his arms.

He refers to the digital screen on the Keurig.

“Ohhhhh,” She says, grasping the importance. “It’s not a computer you idiot.”

“A small celebration for you and an all encompassing victory for me.” His ego was visibly bruised by her indifference.

She smiles at him softly. She thinks something would have been different. That maybe he would have lifted her off her feet when he saw her. Spinning her around and placing hundreds of little kisses all over her face. Enveloping her in their beautiful slow burn love story--unless last night was really just the heat of the moment. I mean, he was the player of the century after all. She looks down at him from her spot in the kitchen, and he meets her with the same eyes he always has. A sharp pain rings out in her chest, her heart sinking down into her stomach.

What a silly little girl, she thinks. A silly little girl to think something like that wouldve really meant something to him. The guy was out of his mind on any substance the facility had to offer last night. Nearly a gallon of liquor, for starters.

She looks down at her feet, then bends down to pick up one of her earrings she assumes fell out during her wrangle inside. She stares at it, turning it over in her hands. Her eyes are bruning. Are they- is she really welling up with fucking tears right now? Because she thinks some prehistoric asshole wouldn’t be willing to give her the time of day? She huffs, turning around and making her way into the bathroom.

“I’m taking a shower.” She calls as she closes the door behind her.

He sits on the couch with a confused expression.

She looks in the mirror. God she looks awful. Her makeup smeared, her eyebags sinking deep into the pits of the socket. Her cheeks hollowing out. She looks grotesque, and gross. Obviously someone who is planning on being gone within the next few weeks.

Right, she forgot about that. The activities with him from the night before distracting her from her imminent demise. A distraction, right. Thats all he is. She doesn’t need to be wasting her time on a man anyway. The future was what was really important. Her end goal being the greatest win of all. The most satisfying feat.

She steps in the shower, letting the warm water cascade down her hair and skin. She cups the water, bringing it up to her face, rinsing off the night before. She sticks her hand out of the shower, grabbing her toothbrush from the counter. She makes quick work of her teeth, also making sure to properly cleanse the impurities from her face and body. She sticks her arm back out to place to toothbrush back on the counter. A hand wraps around hers, grabbing the toothbrush. She jumps in response. How the hell did she not hear him come in there?

He takes the toothbrush and sets it back down on the counter. She rolls her eyes at him.

“A knock would be nic-” And before she can finish her sentence, he rips the shower curtain wide open.

She jumps again, her wet body fully exposed to him.

“Ben-” She begins, going to cover her breasts.

“Don’t,” He says, stepping one foot into the shower, fully clothed. She stammers, objectively confused. He shakes his head, looking down at her figure, and then back to her face, caressing her pretty cheeks. He then leans in. She's reluctant at first, her eyes staying wide open. She still has her body covered. But he takes his arm and wraps it around the small of her back and she's putty in his hands. She melts into his embrace as her eyes flutter closed. His mouth and hers mold together as the kiss becomes heated and sloppy. She can taste the fresh toothpaste from her mouth inside of his. The waster rushing in between them making it hot, wet, and messy. The water is hard, tasting vaguely of minerals. She doesn't care. She pulls back a little, but his mouth follows the flow of her face. She takes in a quick breath, gasping for air.

“Your clothes,” she starts, through broken peppered kisses all over her mouth and face.

“So take them off.” He mumbles like it was obvious.

This was a new one for her.

His clothes are heavy and fully drenched. She goes to lift off his skin tight shirt but struggles. He just reaches up and pulls at the collar, the whole thing ripping in two from the middle.

She looks down at his now exposed torso, brining a delicate hand up to rub up the ridges of his stomach. He looks down at her with gritted teeth. He hadn’t been touched like this in a very, very long time. He thinks he feels his skin burning. He sucks in air into his parted lips. Her mouth is agape, admiring his chiseled torso. She drags her hand up to his chest, her nails digging into his skin. Bens eyes roll back into his head. She’s not sure what to say.

“I,” she starts, chasing the rest of the sentence.

He looks down at her through heavy eyelids, bringing his hand up to her jaw and gripping it tightly. He holds onto her awed expression. Searching her face for any sort of reluctance. He sees nothing, although she is hard to read. Such an intense gleam of bewilderment.

He takes her hand from his chest and moves it down to the front of his pants. He lets out a deep groan. She looks up at him with the innocence of a girl gone untouched for years. She palms him gently, trying to elicit some sort of verbal response again. She enjoys the sounds he’s made. No sex had ever felt this intimate before.

She grips onto him harder, wrapping her nimble fingers up and around the button of his jeans. He watches as her hands make quick work of the top of his pants, beginning to drag them down the length of his legs. She follows them down to the floor of the shower, now ending up on her knees. She stares up at him through her eyelashes, staring directly at his rock solid package, begging to be set free.

He steps out of his pants, she grabs them and throws them out of the shower. They plop into a puddle on the floor. Her reaches down and grabs her chin again, pulling her up to meet his lips. He slips a strong arm behind one of her knees, hiking it up around his waist, never once breaking eye contact. Their lips graze, never touching. He reaches his hand behind her and grips her ass, kneading it like dough. She tilts her head back, letting out a small gasp. He leans into her neck, leaving a trail of nibbles from her clavicle all the way up to under her ear. She writhes under each one, her body struggling to stay upright. He doesn’t mind of course, this was light work for him. She was light as a feather.

He drags his other hand up her chest and around her supple breast. He toys with her nipple, pulling and twisting at it. He watches her pleased face from the crook of her neck. Then moving his mouth down and wrapping his lips on one of her stiff peaks. He sucks on it, nibbling slightly on the top. She watches him from her spot on the tiled wall. Her hand moving up and into his hair, scratching up and down his scalp. She swears he’s moaning more than she is. His eyes have gone white, making a new home in the back of his head.

He pulls back, now hiking both of her legs up and around his waist. He pins her against the tiled wall. Their noses brush, their lips grazing over each other. Her womb aches, begging to be filled. She had never felt this way with John.

“I’m rusty,” he whispers.

“If this is rusty I’m scared to see you well practiced.” She laughs breathlessly.

He smiles into her, kissing her gently.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“Better now,” she coos.

He chuckles, planting a kiss on her cheek. His hands massage her ass, pulling apart the skin. Grazing his fingertips around the spots she so desperately wants him to fill.

“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression this morning.” He starts.

She rolls her eyes, leaning her head back into the headboard.

“Is now really the time for small talk?” She asks, cocking an eyebrow.

He laughs again, moving one of his hands around to her front. He cups the soft skin of her pulsating heat. Teasing his digits around her swollen bud.

She moans, which in turn, elicits a big goofy smile from him.

“I didn’t realize you wanted me so bad.” He toys.

“I didn’t either,” she starts, arching her back off the wall. She gets in closer to his ear. “If only the V worked the same way on you. The only thing I could smell last night was how much I needed you.”

He groans into her neck, slowly inserting a long, thick finger into her dripping cunt.

“You feel that?” She asks.

“Fuck, do I?” He breathes.

He starts his slow assault on her pussy, rubbing his fingertips up and around inside of her. Massaging his augmented digits around until he can hear himself reaching the right spot. With her long, strung out moan, he can tell he’s gotten there.

From that, he inserts another, and begins to pulsate his hand in even, steady beats. She writhes against the wall, her stomach pushing into his. He kisses at her neck, biting and nipping, sure to leave a mark. All this talk of V has him forgetting how fragile she really was.

He pulls his hand out, and drops her legs. He steadies her as her feet slip around on the wet shower floor. He rips the curtain open. His hard cock standing at attention. Her mouth waters at the sight.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.” He motions his hand out for her to take.

She looks at it reluctantly, then he leads her into the bedroom.

“I’m soaking wet,” she starts, yelping as he picks her up and tosses her on the bed like a ragdoll.

“Mm, that’s an understatement.” He smirks, crawling up the bed and nestling himself between her thighs.

“What if I told you I need you inside me right now?” She asks, pleading with him to fill her up.

He smiles, leaning down to face her pretty slit.

“Then I’d tell you you’d get it right after I had myself a quick taste. I’m starving you know?” He rebuttles, only then licking a thick, wet stripe up her dripping hole.

She tosses her head back, mewling. Her legs going to clamp around his head. He grabs her knees, spreading them apart, and pinning them down to the bed.

“Keep these open.” He mumbles.

He dives in feverishly, like he hasn’t eaten in years, and all things considered, he hasn’t. He starts on her clit, drawing circles with his tongue. Going back and forth between kitten licks and long thick stripes. He makes audible slurping noises, lapping up her juices from her hole, only to spit back into it making it even sloppier.

She is writhing back and forth, shaking as she fights to close her legs. Not that she even wanted to. Her body and brain were disconnected in this moment. Her muscles constricting and spasming. Her altered touch sense doing a number on her reproductive organs.

She tries yanking him up by his hair. Obviously he doesn’t budge. Still going forward with his assault.

“Ben,” she moans, giving up on physcial methods. “Ben please, I want you.”

He mumbles what she thinks is a “you have me”, but she isn’t too sure. Either way he doesn’t stop.

“No,” she whines. “I want you inside of me, please. Need it so bad.”

He lets out a deep groan, rubbing his hard cock into the mattress. Doing everything he can to relieve the intense pressure.

He sticks his head back up, his face glistening with her sweet juices. She moans at the sight. Sticking her pointer finger up, she beckons him towards her. He crawls on top of her until he’s hovering over her mouth.

Their lips barely touch, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. She wraps her hands around his torso, digging her nails deep in his back. He sucks in air through his teeth. He lifts her knees up and over the bend of his arms, pushing them down onto the mattress. She watches from under him as he lines his angry, red cock right up to her slick entrance.

He sucks air in through his teeth as he sheathes himself inside of her hot core. His eyes roll back into his head. Fuckin A, he thinks. He feels like an addict getting their crack fix. He feels like a caught fish being thrown back into water. This was it. This is everything. Now he remembers why he was such a fiend back in the day. When good pussy was his only kryptonite. But pussy never came like this, he thinks. Pussy with personality, and similarities to himself, and beautiful eyes, and darkness, and light, and human. For once something he dips his cock in really feels human.

“Fuck me,” he groans, beginning to move into her slowly.

Her mouth is wide open, nothing coming out but strangled grunts. She takes it like a champ. Savoring every second his big meaty cock massages her deep, tight ridges.

He watches her face in awe, bringing one of his hands up and brushing strands of hair away. He kisses her lips, keeping his mouth there as he begins to speed up, hiking her legs up higher, and plowing into her sopping wet pussy.

The room is loud. Wet sounds and muffled moans fill the space. It’s hot, and humid. He swears the windows have begun to fog up. The two of them are ravenous. He tries to hold her down but she’s able to lift her hips up to meet his in a fit of impressive determination. This girl is a dream.

He readjusts, hiking her legs up onto his shoulders, admiring her smushed, fat pussy glistening under the flourecents. He watches himself disappear into her juicy folds, hugging onto him like a warm coat. Like a life vest. Squeezing him like a fucking blood pressure monitor.

He’s relentless now, pounding into her, and leaning down to suck her perky tits into his hot mouth. She gapes, her face contorted in pure ecstasy. No sounds leave her lips. Having the breath fucked out of her.

She regains it, letting out a shallow, strangled breath.

“Just like that,” she gasps. “Please, God, don’t stop.”

He smirks at her, wrapping a secure hand around her throat. Not squeezing, just simply for his own leverage. He goes harder, her poor legs definitely will be bruised by his fingertips tomorrow.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He shouts through gritted teeth.

His head flies back as he spills himself into her. She milks him for all he’s worth. He thrusts into her a few more times before collapsing on top of her chest out of pure exhaustion. He takes deep breaths, trying to catch his breath, which never happens to him. But this took everything. Something so pure and raw and good. A craving that had finally been satisfied. She rubs her hands into his scalp as he lays his head on her sweaty chest. He leaves cute, and quaint little kisses. This is it. He thinks. This is every reason to stay.

If only she felt the same way.

——

He stalks up to Ashley’s office, an unreadable look on his face. He barges into a meeting with her and some other Vought executive. Both of their heads flying up in surprise.

“Homelander, what a nice surprise.” She exclaims.

“Shut it, Ashley,” He presses, turning to the executive. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The executive looks at Ashley, and then scrambles away out the door. She watches him in horror as he leaves the room, the door slamming behind him. John doesn’t take his eyes off of her for a second.

“Why didn’t you tell me that the CIA had Soldier Boy's body?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

He gets closer, staring down at her with an intense gaze.

“I-,” she starts. He holds a hand out to stop her.

“And why the fuck didn’t you tell me that he had been fucking kidnapped from the bunker in upstate New York?”

She stumbles over her words as he glares at her. She can’t bare to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, first of all, we were under the impression that he had been eliminated.”

“Well, obviously he hadn’t been fucking elimated, Ashley!” He bellows.

She trembles, finally turning to face him. His nostrils are flared, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Let’s slow down. How do we even know he’s still alive? How do we know that he’s even escaped?” She searches for the right things to say. The way she knows to console him.

“Are you really fucking questioning me right now?” He scoffs.

She just stared up at him with big eyes, unsure how to continue.

He sighs, beginning to pace around the room. If Vought found out about Freaks' plan for the summer, they would surely kill her, which he didn’t want. Killing him? Obtaining Soldier Boy? That was fine. He’d happily fly him into the arms of the military and let them do whatever the fuck they wanted to him. But she was off limits. Anything that would happen to her would be in his own hands. He decides to not push it. Maybe just letting Ashley know about his disappearance was enough.

“You know what,” he lets out an ominous chuckle. “It’s fine. It’s fine! I’m sure he’s gotten himself out and is halfway through South America by this point.”

Ashley looks around, nodding her head. Anything he says goes. She'd rather keep her head than question what the fuck he had to say.

“Forget I even said anything.” And with that, he walks out of her office.

He’d take care of this himself.

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[smiles-ocs]

Some concepts and ideas for Castor and Ronan’s story called Starchild. Some of these are… hard to get to drawing, specifically Ronan’s younger siblings, might redesign them, but they’re all very young. Ronan left to join a crew so he could make money for them while his parents physically can’t work, and he made sure that his 12-year-old brother is very helpful. Then some random character ideas. A first mate on Castor’s pirate crew, two important characters named Rigel and Esther, castor as a young boy, and random scene ideas I have.

There’s a lot of crap I’m rambling about under the cut so go there if you want to know more about the characters, lore, and spoilers

I also have an idea of a deity or something of the sorts. It’s bascially a “Star God”, something with incredible power that was given to them from the heavens, and it is responsible for the starchildren that have shown up around the world, hence why this series is called Starchild. The whole thing around the Star God is a mystery, but people do know it exists thanks to the star children. This is a little dark but some explanation on Starchildren:

Starchildren are born every few hundred years or so, it’s unknown how often a starchild is born, but people believe that starchildren are the star god’s children, and that when they reach a certain age, they are sacrificed to deal with all the problems the world is having. They believe that if a starchild is not sacrificed, demons from hell will arrive to destroy the world. I hinted at this on my last post, but starchildren turn into strange creatures, the main one being the Leviathan. There’s also the Kraken and the other one who’s name is so complicated I’m not even going to bother with it dhskdbsk.

Long story short, the whole thing is a lie. Starchildren have incredible power when they become adults and are “awakened” as Starchildren. They remember the person that gave them that power (the Star God) and their purpose, which is watching over the people. However, centuries ago, someone in high power believed that Star children were too powerful, and out of fear, he came up with an excuse to kill starchildren before they grew too powerful, because no one should be more powerful than him. So they killed starchildren when they were young and weak, hiding behind the excuse of it being a sacrifice to the world or something, using the blood to cleanse the world and keep the demons at bay. That way, if the starchildren escape, and inevitably take on the role of “deities”, people will believe that the demons have arrived to punish them for failing, and will try to kill the awakened starchildren.

Starchildren cannot escape their fate, however, because they cannot hide unless they are far away from people. They have blue hair that shines in the darkest fog, blue hair that cannot be hidden, and a star birthmark somewhere.

I suppose there’s no reason to hide this now, but Castor is the starchild of this era, originally called Orion, but he changed his name for safety. He ran away when he learned that he was going to die, trying to escape on a boat. The people almost caught him, but the kraken appeared, seemingly saving his life. As Castor tried to hide from people, he tried to hide his blue hair, but it constantly shines through whatever he hid it in. The best he could do was to wrap it up and put a thick hat on, which helped, but even so, you can see in his wrapping the blue hair. He tried to dye it, hide it in mud, even shaving it, but the blue cannot be covered up, so hiding in plain sight was nearly impossible to him. He left to sea to avoid people, but accidentally became captain of the pirate crew. He’s a very jaded man who is intimidating and skilled in sword fighting. People respect him as a captain, so he is in high status on his ship (obviously 💀). Problem is, there is a very, VERY high bounty on the star child’s head, so even the most loyal crew members may turn on him if he is found out.

Castor trusts no one, but he seems to have a soft spot for Ronan for some reason. Even when he eventually finds out that he is the starchild, he can’t bring himself to kill him. He’s just a boy…

Obviously, Esther and Rigel are starchildren as well. Rigel is an ancient starchild, who lived a good life before the starchildren sacrifices. He roams the ocean, punishing anyone who threatens the innocent or disrespects the ocean. There were a lot of starchildren too, but the creatures of starchildren were hunted and killed, leaving Rigel, Esther, and Castor the last three starchildren. Esther was a starchild who escaped the sacrifice, who is far more cruel and jaded than Castor, and when Castor is “awakened”, she goes after him to use him to punish everyone.

Rigel is that turtle Whale island thing, Esther is the kraken, and Castor turns into the Leviathan.

The star god is no benevolent being, and is not a god at all. He’s a regular human who got magic from some meteorite, idk, there doesn’t need to be any specifics lol, and he grew immensely powerful. He resides away from the ocean, but he is not a good person. He’s greedy, selfish, and does nothing to help the innocent starchildren he “created”. He would love to have the starchildren to do his bidding, but if they die, it’s no matter, cuz he doesn’t need them. Idk maybe he’s not greedy lol. Either way the star god is not a good person, but I kinda want the star god’s role to be similar to Davy Jones in pirates of the Caribbean. There must always be a star god.

Anyways I hope that all makes sense 💀💀 Ronan is just there, being roped up into this nonsense, but he’s a good boy with a good heart and wants to help the starchildren, and he and Castor grow close.