#and it's enough to ruin otherwise excellent fics for me

[the-witchhunter]

Question for the DPxDC crowd

what do you guys actually consider liminal? Like, I genuinely don't know anymore

because early on it was pretty much just Jazz having grown up with ectoplasm in the house for years and in her food, which makes sense, and it was an extremely rare thing

then it got expanded to Sam and Tucker

Then members of the Bat crew that got resurrected by a Lazarus pit(and Dick for some reason? He's never canonically died guys...)

Now it seems to be the entirety of Amity Parkers, All the Bat clan, half of Gotham, Half the Justice Leage, the entirety of the League of Assassins

is it just having come into contact with ectoplasm/Lazarus Pits? Prolonged exposure? Because it's starting to feel like everyone is liminal besides the guys in white for some reason

Like you guys have started using Liminal to basically replace the word "Ecto-contaminated" There is a canon word for the thing you guys have started using liminal to describe

[heliopauseentertainments]

Painful Recollection

Part of MegOp Week 2024 Prompt - Day 1: Memory/Gift Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime

Characters: Megatron, Optimus Prime

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Vignette, Ambiguous Relationships, Electrocution

Summary: In which Megatron fails to jog Optimus’s memory.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

“Yes, that’s right,” Optimus agreed, “The Battle of Sherma Bridge.”

Prime had forgotten.

Megatron could hardly believe it; he had led with an obvious lie so that it could be refuted. Yet Optimus had forgotten.

Shock quickly gave way to a resigned disappointment as he stood there, arms spread wide while he was secured within the variable voltage harness.

Of course he had been forgotten way back then, when they had first crossed paths. He had been no one, just another low caste laborer tossed in a cell to be beaten. Even if Optimus hadn’t cared for the treatment Megatron had received, that didn’t mean he had stuck out in Orion Pax’s mind as anyone more than another unfortunate spark.

Megatron refused to let his feelings show on his face, aside from a meaningless scowl; Prime didn’t deserve to witness that level of weakness.

That and the fact that if he so much as twitched wrong, he would suffer an agonizing death by electrocution. The pain didn’t frighten him so much as being dead would get him nowhere. His plans hinged on being alive to actually carry them out.

And Optimus had the utter gall to stand there and blink at him stupidly while the proverbial guillotine blade hovered overhead.

“Sherma Bridge,” Megatron said flatly. “We first met on Sherma Bridge. In battle.”

The cold metal encasing his arms and hands felt almost like it was squeezing him, like it was goading him to struggle against it and summon his fate.

“That’s right.” Optimus put his hand to his chin, or rather his battle mask, which concealed the smile that Megatron could practically hear. “The battle itself stopped to watch—It feels like it was so long ago.”

Optimus chuckled, unaware of his mistake, as though he didn’t have Megatron prisoner in what was unequivocally a torture device.

If disconnected from power, he could easily have broken free; the materials were hardly novel and would rend like flimsy foil should he put his mind to it. It was the current the harness was hooked up to that Megatron had no interest in toying with.

He had put himself here in this situation, for a purpose, even if Optimus believed otherwise. Surely Optimus wasn’t so foolish as to think Megatron had just, on a whim, gifted himself to the Autobots.

The harness around his waist forced him to remain upright, a compulsory ruler-straight posture that would make weaker mechs tired in short order. If he slouched just the slightest….

Luckily, Megatron knew he was strong enough to endure the pain and discomfort in furtherance of his goals. Torment of the body was one thing, but torment of the mind was rather another.

“It was so long ago,” Megatron conceded, “No wonder your memory is failing.”

“Failing? That’s ridiculous. What are you talking about?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” It took self-control to tamp down on the growl building in his vocalizer. “I guarantee you won’t care for what you hear.”

Prime wouldn’t understand, no, but he would likely as not take the bait, loathing not knowing something that Megatron knew.

“Try me.”

Excellent, an opening to push Optimus into the proverbial yawning hole he had dug for himself.

“We met long before that bridge was even renamed for Senator Sherma and his unorthodox lying—or rather hanging—in state. And you can’t even be bothered to recall?”

Optimus’s optics spiraled wide in surprise, like he hadn’t expected Megatron to ruin their “cozy” little trip down memory lane. He stepped backwards, as though the extra space would give him a verbal buffer zone, a shield from Megatron’s words.

It took every ounce of Megatron’s self control to not try in vain to reach out and shake some sense into his old “friend.” If he so much as flinched, he would be dead before he could even regret it.

The hydraulics in his limbs seethed behind the armor plating, restless in their static positions.

“Tell me, Optimus, do I have that right? That you can’t be bothered to recall when we first met because it wasn’t a dramatic battle for you to martyr yourself in?”

“Now, Megatron, listen. Please.“ Optimus lifted his hands up, palms out in an obvious attempt to assuage Megatron’s offense. “That’s not what I—“

“I have been listening to you this entire time. Ever since you strapped me into this dubiously legal contraption.”

Megatron couldn’t even afford to take a deep ventilation to calm himself. That would be too much movement. He hadn’t even been certain if he could get away with raising his voice, but so far verbal venom and shouting appeared to be permitted.

The entire rig was intended to inhibit his capacity for physical violence.

Yet it didn’t sheathe his tongue.

Perhaps, he thought, he ought to do so of his own volition. Lest he tempt the machinery holding him to enact consequences for his “hubris.”

There was a small chance that he could shame Optimus into granting him a brief reprieve from this confinement.

“But I suppose… now I have nothing but time. Not that these accommodations are making me particularly amenable to listening to your sermon.”

“For awhile, yes, I know—Such… barbaric measures are unfortunately necessary.”

Yes, of course, Prime would distance himself from any responsibility. Yet if their roles were reversed, Optimus would probably think of the perilous confinement as another form of penitential self-flagellation.

Megatron only had to make it to Cybertron and Omega Supreme would take him right there, at the exceedingly low cost of his dignity and comfort. It would be easy. If he could just remain patient… and let the Autobots think they were taking him far, far away from the remnants of his army.

He merely gave Optimus a frown as he tried to let the anger recede; he could use it later after all.

“You’ve given us good reason, time and time again, to take these sorts of precautions.”

Of course, deflecting blame.

Optimus approached once more, standing but a few paces away from the device. Perhaps to release him.

“I haven’t always,” Megatron countered, keeping his voice down. “If you care at all to recall.”

“Well, no….” Optimus coughed, clearing his vocalizer like he was about to lecture a recalcitrant subordinate, to instill them with his vaunted “wisdom.” Bah. “As long as I’ve known you, you’d had a, let’s call it a… volatile streak.”

Ah, the benevolent condescension. Of course.

The restraints were tight on his arms. These fragile “chains” wouldn’t hold him forever.

However, instead of reaching for the controls, Optimus left his arms to hang uselessly at his sides.

No reprieve, it seemed, was forthcoming.

Megatron scowled, clenching his jaw all the while. The pain in his mouth was grounding.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. We didn’t meet before that battle on Sherma Bridge; I’m sure I would have remembered—“

Megatron let out a slow ventilation, the air hissing as he tried to keep as still as possible.

“Of course you’ve forgotten. I had been just another unimportant prisoner, beaten by your guards as an amusing diversion.”

It had even been recorded in his damn manifesto, the foundational work of his entire revolution, a work read and recited by millions, and Optimus had the gall to not remember?

“I cannot believe—“

Hot anger surged up in his chest again, foiling the efforts he had put into suppressing it for later use.

His joints began to ache from want of freedom.

“Megatron, please, calm down before—“

Caution was the furthest thing from his thoughts as he swung his arm forward on reflex, cracking the cuff wide open.

Cold and hot all at once, a paralyzing buzz shot down his still trapped arm towards his core.

The world became blackness.

--

Optimus watched, arms crossed, from the glass-walled viewing platform as, down below, medical staff examined Megatron’s unconscious, still smoking frame as it dangled limply from the broken, unpowered harness. They needed to ensure that he would be safe to move and confine in the medical bay.

He hadn’t died, thankfully, but Optimus had been hoping to avoid having to actually test the variable voltage harness. He didn’t want to actually hurt Megatron, not like this. The measures to contain his risk of violence had been extreme, yes, but, given this reaction to something as simple as a lapse in Optimus’s memory, evidently necessary.

Optimus hadn’t intended to provoke his old friend to anger, hadn’t intended to put him in this kind of danger. He had hoped that Megatron’s rigid self-discipline would have held out.

Omega Supreme’s voice echoed in the viewing platform room.

“I will not kill again.”

“So he could have died,” Optimus mumbled, not really expecting an answer. The answer was obvious. Omega Supreme had interceded, preventing a fatality. Guilt, familiar and rancid, weighed upon his spark as he dug through his memories.

The face of the mech below being cautiously lowered to a medical gurney finally matched against something, something older than the war, something older than his penpal correspondence with an idealistic poet-miner. He hadn’t even recalled beginning that friendship, as though it had just always been there.

A prisoner, a bystander caught up in a barroom brawl with some soldiers. A draft polemic, confiscated by the intake crew that had landed on Captain Pax’s desk.

It all flooded back. Megatron was right; Optimus had forgotten where their paths first crossed, where they had first exchanged words and hopes.

“I will not be a weapon again.”

The metal of Megatron’s armor was scorched where the harness had touched him.

If Omega Supreme hadn’t interfered… there would have been no chance for Optimus to apologize. One day. When he found the right words.

“Thank you; you’ve done me—“ No, that was too personal. “You’ve done the Autobots a great service by standing by your convictions.”

[custardcrazy]

A Ted jealous fic pleaaaase! reader and/or him being jealous, or both, whatever you prefer :)

tenaciously uptight

summary: for the longest time, you thought you were the only jealous one. but soon, you realize your feelings for your best friend might not be so unrequited. (gn!reader)

wordcount: 4.3k

A/N: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT OH MY GOD. thank you for requesting. im so sorry. please let me know if there's any glaring errors i barely beta-ed this

You were aware that your best friend wasn't the most observant guy, but seriously; he was completely and utterly unaware of anything even slightly related to romance. 

After all, he never noticed whenever anybody sent longing glances in his general direction. He never picked up on any hidden intentions when people batted their eyelashes at him or asked for his phone number. And he certainly didn't understand the fact that most, if not all of the people who wanted to hang out with him or just spent time with him in general found him attractive. How could they not? A tall, broad-shouldered golden retriever who didn't have a mean bone in his body was repulsive to few. 

However, you knew him very well and his self-esteem … was in the gutter. For many reasons, most of which were a certain individual parent who you preferred to leave unnamed. And that was mostly the reason why, even though he could pick up on whenever someone was flirting with someone else, he couldn't get a clue when somebody took interest in him. 

Even though you were very patient with him, and appreciated him dearly, sometimes you wished that he would just get a single clue. You were used to being the one who watched from afar as he was flirted with -- as girls shamelessly looked him up and down and pretended to be interested in Van Halen or Kiss (pun not intended) in order to segue the conversation to more intimate topics. It wasn't anything new, but you still couldn't stop the thing with claws and fangs which tore at your chest whenever it happened.

You knew that you couldn't do much else, even when you had felt something for Ted since the sixth grade; which was funny to look back on, because he was always asking for a spare pencil from you, and somehow, when you were twelve, that was cute. Ever since he hit his growth spurt, you'd been dealing with the immeasurable amount of jealousy that came with having feelings for a boy who was sometimes oblivious to the extent where it seemed he was blind. 

There had been a couple hints here and there over the time that you'd known him. That maybe he reciprocated all of the mishmash of stuff that you harbored for him. It wasn't enough, though.

(Were you really going to ruin everything you had over an awkward hand brush that one time at the movies?) 

Nowadays, you both worked at the Pretzels 'N' Cheese booth in the mall, which was an excellent strategy for being able to hang out while simultaneously earning money. And it was true that your clothes always picked up the smell of cheese and stayed that way until thrown in the wash, but it was worth it. Way better than working at American Eagle, which always attracted the catty middle-aged ladies. At least you could pacify them briefly with an excessively salty pretzel. 

Since it was summertime, there were more than enough mall-goers looking for unhealthy snacks to waste their money on. 

Occasionally you saw people you vaguely knew from high school, in various states of panic or otherwise. It was weird at first, but you'd gotten used to it. Today was no exception. 

Tyler McClellan (who had somehow been in all of your English-related classes) hadn't changed much. He was still blonde, mullet-ed, and smiled too much, but it was better than him just being plain rude, so you didn't mind. 

What you did mind was the way he was leaning over the counter towards you, acting as if Ted wasn't there at all. 

"So, uh," he said, grinning like he was being real smooth. "Been a while. You come here often?" 

"I work here," you answered politely. "Are you going to order anything?" 

He ignored your question. "Y'know, you haven't changed in the slightest." 

"Oh, cool." You tried again. "Can I get you anything?" 

Yet another failure. "Kinda sucks that we're both bumming around San Dimas, huh? I've been thinkin' about heading down to the beach." Tyler ran a hand through his hair for the third time in the span of roughly two minutes. "Catch a few waves. Weather looks good." Wiggling his eyebrows in a move that would've only worked in a terrible romantic comedy, he leaned even closer -- if that was possible. "It'd be pretty dope if you could come along." 

You snuck a look at Ted, seeing if he was possibly going to intervene or anything before you shut Tyler down; he met your eyes before quickly glancing away. 

Huh. 

Well, he'd never liked confrontation. 

"I'm not interested." Keeping your tone clear, you sincerely hoped that Tyler and his hopeless baby blue eyes would go somewhere else and maybe flirt with Hannah who worked at Claire's instead. "Please. Do you want a pretzel or not?" 

He looked at you for a moment, but you held your ground. 

And finally, gradually, to your relief, his shoulders sagged, and that ever-present smile slipped off his face. "... Okay, okay." He straightened up, stuffing his hands back into the pockets of his jeans. "One pretzel. No cheese or salt. Please." 

He paid in a couple crumpled bills, and slouched off somewhere else; not even bothering to say a simple 'thanks'. 

Ted was still quiet. 

"Um." Awkwardly, you looked over at Ted again after putting the money in the register and making sure you didn't give Tyler any extra pennies. "You okay? He's gone now, I think." 

Your words seemed to shake him out of whatever reverie he'd entered while you were talking with Tyler. "Oh! Uh." His hand automatically flew up to scratch the back of his neck. "... Sorry, dude. Yeah, I'm good." Another weird thing -- he was religiously avoiding eye contact, where he'd normally be focused intently on what you were saying. You were skeptical at best as to if he was telling the truth, but didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

So you dropped it. "Alright."

For the rest of your shift, Ted was … tense? Stiff. He eventually eased up a little, once you asked him about his and Bill's progress on marathoning all of the low-budget slasher movies they'd rented, but there was still a hint of something there, in the way he kept fidgeting with his hands. Again, you didn't mention it. Maybe he was just uncomfortable because of Tyler's presence. 

You couldn't blame him. 

But later, when you were both making sure neither of the machines had leaked cheese onto the floor; he brought up the topic again. 

"Dude, stop me if this is weird, or boundary-pushing, but… " He gently rolled his shoulders, as if he was shrugging off a jacket. "Did you actually wanna go hang out with that dude?" There was something in his voice that you were, unfortunately, familiar with. Vulnerability. But, unlike the other times, you couldn't exactly place why. 

"Y'know, just wondering," he added.

You squashed your curiosity down in favor of a disgusted expression. "Ew, no way. I barely know him -- or knew him at all." Dismissively, you waved a hand. "He's not my type, anyway." The exact opposite of it, actually. 

"Oh." He paused. 

"I'm … gonna go wash my hands." 

And with that, he practically darted off to the tiny employee closet, too fast for you to mention that there was no trace of anything on his fingers. 

You stood there for a moment, bewildered at his sudden escape. Maybe he just wanted space or something -- but, still, you had absolutely no idea what was going on. It wasn't like he was hard to read. But you just didn't know why he was acting so … skittish. 

Thankfully, when he finished "washing his hands", everything looked like it was going to go back to normal. He laughed aloud when you cracked a joke about that one time Bill spilled a metric ton of cheese on the floor. 

About two minutes later, you were both sitting in the van. It was a short ride from the mall to your apartment, which you "shared" with an acquaintance who was basically never there. You didn't know exactly why, but you got the gist of it from the fact that she always came back either inebriated or hungover. At least she did her laundry. 

Noticeably, Ted wasn't strained like before. Seemed like your admission concerning Tyler made him less nervous. He let you fiddle with the radio for a little while before settling on a channel. 

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot you liked this kind of music, dude!" He beamed, having to shout over the sound of the wind whistling through the window; the air-conditioning had been busted for the longest time. "Stellar!" 

It wasn't too long until the van pulled up outside your apartment complex. Making sure your keys hadn't fallen out of your pocket, you hopped out. Just before you shut the van door, you offered a smile to Ted. 

"Thanks for the ride. See you later." 

"Wait!" 

You paused. "What?" 

He still had a hand idly on the wheel, but you noticed he was clutching it a little tighter. " … We're still on for tomorrow, right?" 

Right. Every Friday since forever had been movie night. He didn't often clarify it with you, since it was an unspoken thing. Even if Ted's memory wasn't the best, he always remembered. 

You gave Ted another curious look. "Yeah. Of course."  

"Cool." 

There was an awkward pause, before you filled it in again. "Cool. Uh, yeah, see you." Shutting the van door, you didn't linger long before walking up to the door of your apartment complex, mind whirling a little faster than usual.  

If you claimed that you didn't think about Ted's behavior later in the evening, when you were shoving some leftovers in the oven or when you were getting ready for bed, then you'd be a huge liar. 

The next day was uneventful at best for the most part, since it was your day off. You were usually a bit antsy before hanging out with Ted, nothing out of the ordinary for sure. But this time, there was something else alongside the typical restlessness. Not being able to specifically pinpoint what this something was made you even more restless, which wasn't fun. 

At around seven, the familiar van pulled up. You'd already been waiting -- summer evenings in San Dimas were nice and cool, unlike the unrelenting heat that arrived in the afternoon. 

Bill waved at you from the driver's seat, rolling down the window. "C'mon!" 

He was maybe a bit more of an aggressive driver than his taller counterpart, but the route to their apartment hadn't changed. As per usual. 

"Dude." Drawing out the 'u', he smirked. "Listen. Ted rented a bunch of these cheesy forties movie musicals --" Bill snickered to himself, " -- can you believe it? Never in the history of mankind would I have expected a genre such as that one to be selected for our movie nights, much less by Ted." 

"I mean, it's kind of a nice change from the terrible gory flicks you guys watch all the time." You were mostly indifferent as you watched houses and other assorted buildings cruise by through the window. "Well, yeah, still kind of surprising, though. But it's good to have a change of pace, right?" 

Your mind abruptly conjured up an image of Ted dancing in a smart black suit and matching top hat, a la Fred Astaire. 

"True," was Bill's thoughtful reply. 

Luckily, just like the drive to work, it wasn't too long to Bill and Ted's apartment. The second you stepped in the door, you were engulfed by an aroma of incredible, delightful, microwave popcorn. Ted waved semi-wildly at you from his comfortable seat on the couch, already sinking into the horde of different, brightly-colored pillows. A large bowl of what you'd smelled earlier was sitting in his lap. 

Without any fanfare, you walked over and plopped down next to him. He smiled brightly. "Hey!" 

"Hey yourself." You reached over his lap to grab a handful of popcorn, and he moved the bowl a little closer to make it easier for you to do so. 

A long sigh drifted over from Bill's general direction. "C'moon. Why do I always gotta be the one to put in the tapes?" 

"No one said that you had to, dude." 

"I don't see you getting up to help." He shot a look at Ted, who grinned innocently. 

"I'm totally stuck under this most hefty bowl of popcorn." 

Bill narrowed his eyes at you next; you just shrugged in response. 

"You both suck," he declared, but moved to get the tapes anyway. 

A bit later, all of your eyes were glued to the small screen, and all of the popcorn was pretty much gone. The first movie to be chosen was about halfway through, and still, the tune of the catchy titular song was stuck in your head. You had assumed that was the point. 

"Do all babes fall for dudes who help them turn off the lights?" Questioned Ted aloud. 

"It has to be more complicated than that," insisted Bill. "I have learned from experience that the process of woo-ing is not just. Like. Being able to reach up to switch off a chandelier or whatever." 

"Right, but who knows?" You chimed in. "Some people really like acts of service." 

"Acts, plural," came Bill's defiant assertion. "Nobody's that easy." 

"I dunno, dude," chirped Ted. "I would be totally flattered if somebody turned off the lights for me." 

"Well, yeah, you become deeply infatuated with various babes on sight," shot back Bill. 

You were suddenly glad you had an excellent poker face. 

"That's different," pleaded Ted. "You know, everyone has those sorts of things, right? Little crushes?" He sounded embarrassed. "Well, you can't really use that as an example! That is totally underhanded of you."

"You cannot deny the intense attraction and infatuation you feel for certain babes on sight," recited Bill solemnly. Suddenly, his focus was on you. "We both know that for sure. Right?" 

"Uh." You faltered. It was the truth. But something inside you refused to accept it, which was both infuriating and yet another validation of your feelings. 

"Yeah, I guess," you settled for. But you quickly added, "he's kind of matured since high school, though." 

"That's what I'm saying!" Burst out Ted, and you were glad that the bowl was nearly empty, as he would've sent it all flying in the air. " 'Sides, Bill, weren't you the one makin' eyes at the sales lady at the record store the other day? You sure looked infatuated, all from the fact that she helped you to find that Ozzy record -- " 

" -- even you admitted you found her cute -- " 

"Dude, shut up!" 

You let them bicker for a little while longer, until you couldn't hear the dialogue over their petty arguing. And then, an intervention was necessary. 

"Okay! Okay." 

They both fell silent, and you were glad. "Who cares if you're both easy or not. I think, personally, I would also be at least kind of flattered if someone helped me out with a chore or something. It's polite." 

Bill just pouted, looking back at the television. Ted turned slightly to face you, looking curious. 

"So … If a dude helped you with your laundry or something, would you take interest in him?" 

You didn't interpret it as anything other than a genuine question. 

"I mean, since laundry is boring, I'd definitely get a good opinion on him. It takes more than that for me to, like, seriously consider dating a guy." Like maybe always remembering your birthday, and giving you little special homemade gifts he made himself. Or like listening closely to everything you said. Or maybe giving you his jacket on a chilly day; disregarding himself even though you could see the goosebumps on his gangly arms, or … 

Man, you had it bad. 

Ted nodded in that distinct way of his. "Gotcha." 

"Would you find it attractive?" You asked, surprising yourself. 

He didn't seem bothered, though. Just a little sheepish. "I suck at doing laundry, you know that. So yeah, I'd probably be. Like. A little interested, at least." 

"Yeah." 

The movie was pretty good for the rest of its runtime, and there wasn't much conversation that passed between the three of you. By the time the credits rolled, you heard either of them stifle a yawn. 

For a moment, all of you just sat there. Then, slowly you and Ted turned to look at Bill. 

He threw his hands up in the air. "Are you kidding me?" 

The rest of the night passed in a near-blur, and before long, Ted was rummaging through the cabinet of their tiny bathroom, looking for the spare toothbrush. Bill was probably already fast asleep; around one, during yet another dramatic tap-dancing scene, he'd dozed off, and it had taken a bit of effort to wake him up and get him to bed. He'd always slept like a log. 

"So," you said, from your perch near the sink. "What'd you think of the movies? Better than Cujo?"  

"Oh, dude, that particular film is an experience." He was crouched on the floor, but looked up in order to make eye contact with you. "But, I don't think I can compare 'em. They're too different -- all-American movie musicals versus B-movie slashers." 

"True." 

A few seconds later, Ted let out an 'aha!' as he found what he'd been so doggedly searching for. "Think fast!" 

You fumbled for the neon green toothbrush he tossed at you, but managed to not drop it. "Thanks." 

With a bit of effort, he got to his feet, then stretched; you politely averted your eyes from the way his old tee shirt rode up his stomach. 

"What'd you think?" 

Pausing from where you were squirting toothpaste onto the bristles of your toothbrush, you thought it over for a moment. "Pretty decent and enjoyable in general. Obviously cheesy at some points, but that's kinda the novelty of it all." You smiled. "It's not called the Golden Age for nothing." 

"I agree wholeheartedly," he replied. 

Strangely, he was lingering. Usually he just left you to do whatever you needed before you settled down on the couch, but even after you finished splashing water on your face, he was still by the doorway. 

"Something up?" Turning to face him, you leaned back on the counter, ignoring how it dug into your back a bit uncomfortably. "Still thinking about that little debate with Bill over easiness?" You couldn't help but tease. 

The combination of the late hour and the fact that it was just you two, in relative close proximity, made this feel intimate, almost; like you were the only two people on Earth. Since the apartment wasn't in the more populated areas of San Dimas, the only occasional sound outside was the revving of a car engine or the rare hoot of an owl. 

"Well, kinda." Averting his gaze for a moment, his hand found a familiar place on the back of his neck, "but, um, not really. I just … " 

You waited patiently, and he eventually picked up the sentence again. "I just wanted to, uh. Ask you another question." 

"Why didn't you ask me earlier?" It slipped out before you could stop it. 

"I … I didn't want to," he said, and you thought that was it, but then; "not in front of Bill. He would probably never let me forget it." 

"Oh?" Both interested and nervous, you looked at him imploringly. 

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Um. Yesterday, you mentioned that dude wasn't 'your type', and then like, a couple hours ago you said you liked acts of service, right?" He kept barreling forward. "So I'm just, like, curious -- " 

"What is your type?" 

Your first instinct was to find it funny. All that build-up, for a simple question like that? But then, the truth hit you; you couldn't be completely honest when answering it. And normally that wouldn't be a huge problem, but guilt was slowly creeping up on you. You never had lied to Ted, and you didn't want to start now, just to protect your own dignity or whatever. Disregarding the fact that Ted had somehow remembered a one-off comment you'd made, you hastily put together an adequate response. 

"Well, uh," you started, "you know I'm not too picky, but what I really look for in a relationship is being able to support each other, no matter what. Always being there for one another. Always being able to remember what makes them happy and what doesn't." Exhaling slowly, you felt oddly … Exposed. "And being able to make each other laugh. That's all. " 

He didn't respond for a few seconds, but then, 

"Did you find him funny?" 

You were caught utterly off-guard. "What?" 

"Tyler." 

Another case of avoiding eye contact, and you were worried. 

"What? No!" Dumbfounded, you didn't notice that you were repeating yourself. "Ted, I told you that I wasn't interested in him at all. Why're you bringing him up now?" 

"I just wanted to know," he said, shrinking in on himself a little, "you know, you could've said yes, he's real good-looking -- " 

"Why does that matter?" Cutting him off, you shook your head. "I'm gonna answer that myself. It doesn't! He was being a huge creep, there's no way -- " 

" -- I know you'd like to go to the beach, dude -- " 

" -- no, I didn't, that'd be really inconvenient, you -- " 

" -- you didn't have to feel forced to say no just 'cause of stupid outside factors, I saw you considering it -- " 

"I wasn't!" You exclaimed.

Seeing the expression on Ted's face, you hurriedly reeled yourself back in, dropping your voice to nearly a soft murmur. "... I wasn't. Why don't you believe me?" 

The silence was so thick, weighing upon your shoulders like a heavy blanket. 

But instead of being comfortable, it was suffocating. 

A beat longer.

"Sorry, sorry," he finally mumbled, "sorry, I got… Ahead of myself. Sorry. I do believe you, I swear." 

"No, no," you rushed to fill in the gap, "no, it's fine, it's alright." You'd stopped leaning back, now at full attention. 

Ted peeked at you from underneath his bangs, and you took that as your cue to continue. 

"I'm just … I'm just confused. Why…?" 

Your voice trailed off, but before you could pull yourself together enough to clarify what you meant, he spoke up instead. 

"I'm sorry, just -- " your heart broke; you heard the emotion warping the edges of his voice, but before you could say anything once more, he interrupted. 

"Just forget … all of this. I - it's nothing. Sorry. I screwed up, that's all." He turned away, but not before you could catch sight of his trembling hands. 

"See you in the morning, dude." 

No. Not like this, you couldn't let him shuffle off to bed like this. You'd known how many times he'd done that already in his life. You'd witnessed it firsthand; the way he always bottled it all up, acting as if nothing happened while that was anything but the truth. You couldn't let him turn away and act like everything was normal the next day. 

You reached out, wrapping a hand around his wrist. 

He stopped immediately. 

"Please. I can't forget this, and I know if I try it'll just keep getting harder not to." He was still facing away from you, but you didn't let that stop you. 

"We've never hidden anything important from each other, Ted. You know I'm always here for you." Maybe there was a hint of desperation in your words -- but you were, and you were on the edge of begging. "Please, I hate fighting with you. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

He didn't speak for a little while; but he didn't pull away. 

Then, eventually. 

"I thought I could handle it, like before, but this time I just couldn't."  

Now, he was facing you, your hand still around his wrist; and now, your hand was in his. 

You couldn't speak, but that was fine, because he was still talking. 

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, dude. But seeing him looking at you like that -- " His breath caught in his throat. "... I never could be so forward, especially not with you. But I think I gotta." 

Was this really happening? You felt light-headed all of a sudden. Did you fall asleep during the movie?

But his touch was grounding. 

You could feel the calluses on his fingertips. 

"I'm," he began, voice trembling. "I've been. In love with you. For a really long time." 

Floored. 

Maybe you were dreaming. Your Ted wouldn't be looking you directly in the eyes, professing his feelings to you, the blush on his face clear as a bad vocalist underneath the ugly fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Your Ted wouldn't be still holding your hand as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Your Ted didn't see you as anything other than a great pal. 

… Right? 

Wait, no, your Ted was still talking. 

"A - and I know this is really sudden and you're not obligated to return anything because obviously it's kinda awkward because we're best friends and it's gonna change everything -- I like everything, but -- " 

If he could be so brutally forward, it was probably your turn to do so too. 

"Ted." 

His mouth snapped shut. 

"Ted," you repeated, face flaming. "I love you too." 

There. Years of feelings all expressed in Four. Simple. Words. 

For a moment, he looked like a fish; mouth opening and shutting uselessly. 

Then, you were pulled into a bear hug. 

Nothing unfamiliar, but this time, it was somehow so much different. Automatically, your hands were around his neck, and his around your waist, and together you stood there for a while. Rocking a little. No words necessary to convey what you were both thinking. 

Finally. 

[the-restricted-section]

Bracing for Impact

Gen. 2,697 words. During the holidays, Professor Sharp and Professor Fig discover a gift left by the player character (Dylan Fairchild).

First Hogwarts Legacy fic! Hope you enjoy~

Christmas at Hogwarts was always an extravagant affair, usually involving more merriment than sense. Three times this week Sharp had been forced to quell illicit brewing in his class, with twice as many attempts popping up during lab times. A stolen fwoop feather was one thing, but attempting the complex Amortentia underneath their cloaks? Plans to slip a bit into a crush's drink, with dreams of an early holiday gift dancing in their heads? Honestly, when he wasn't keeping his students' limbs intact he was bemoaning their lack of decorum, to say nothing of overall sense. Sharp couldn't remember the last time a student had truly impressed him.

No... wait. That wasn't quite right anymore, was it? Their newest fifth year may have only been with them a few months, but already they'd made quite the name for themselves. Sharp had entered the faculty room back in September with the intent of subtly bragging to the others that he'd finally found a potions prodigy - or at least someone with enough diligence and critical thinking skills to make use of his instruction. He'd been more than a little surprised to find the others already singing their praises: competitions won in Charms, duels in Defense, the delicate handling of plants in Herbology, and excellent flying skills to boot, if their little joy-ride around the castle was any indication.

Well, at least he wasn't the only instructor the cheeky brat was inclined to disobey.

Then, of course, there was the matter of their mysterious arrival and the rumors surrounding the journey. Dragons, ruins, even a death...

Only one other person was aware of the truth. Luckily for Sharp, he appeared determined to hound his every step tonight.

"Do you really intend to follow me all the way to the dungeons?"

Fig smiled, taking leisurely steps that somehow managed to make it look like he wasn't slowing his pace to match a limp - a talent Sharp's pride was disgustingly grateful for. He took a moment to look up at the garlands strung across stone, brimming with white and red flowers. Raising his wand, Fig added fairy lights with a murmured incantation, successfully brightening the otherwise gloomy journey. He turned to Sharp with that same smile still in place, eyes softer than they had any right to be when looking at a bitter, grizzled ex-Auror in a perpetually grumpy mood.

"Come now, Aesop. Can't I accompany my colleague on a late night stroll? Wish him the tidings of the season?" Fig's smile grew. "Perhaps weasel a nightcap out of his personal stash?"

Sharp snorted. "You know damn well I've only cheap liquor. Do you prefer dust, or spider webs as an additive?" He'd grappled with his fare share of vices over the years, no doubt about it, but drink had never been one of them. Sharp had learned early - and brutally - what could happen to an Auror perpetually inhibited by drink and he'd sworn, all the way back in his training days, that he'd never travel that path. Not even the pain of his leg had driven him to go back on that promise.

Speaking of the blasted thing... Sharp hid a grimace as they descended another flight of stairs, the fake snow that fell from the ceiling doing nothing for his precarious balance. He must have lost some of his subtly alongside his reflexes because Fig's smile dropped. He vanished the snow with another sharp wave of his wand, pocketed it, and offered Sharp his elbow.

To the man's credit, he weathered Sharp's glare like the expert he was, only dropping his arm a long moment later. He huffed.

"A drink would mellow you, my friend," Fig muttered, but there was no bite in the remark. If anything, Sharp's shoulders relaxed. Better that then pity. "I stand by what I've said. Why should I need an excuse to visit you? Especially during the holidays?"

"But...?" Sharp prompted dryly.

Fig sighed. "But I thought it prudent to take this time to discuss our rather... illustrious student. While the others are busy making merry, you understand."

"I see." Sharp's eyebrows rose. "You will tell me all?"

"No. But I will tell you enough to help. Hopefully."

He didn't like it. Old instincts urged Sharp to draw his wand and level it at Fig's throat, demanding information in the name of a civilian's safety. But the sad reality was that he likely would have lost such a threat - yes, even to a professor of theory - and, far more importantly, this was no Dark Wizard playing games with an innocent's life. If Fig thought the information too dangerous to offer up, even to him...

Sharp swallowed the bile that wanted to rise up his throat. Perhaps he'd need a drink for this conversation after all.

"Whatever you can offer," he grunted, knowing it was the best he was going to get. Fig's inclined head spoke of his gratitude.

The final stretch to his classroom - and the quarters beyond - were particularly uncomfortable, despite the warm glow of the torches and the companionable silence beside him. Sharp had been cataloguing his student's... oddities for weeks now, from their tendency to arrive in class sporting a number of worrisome injuries, to their uncommon proficiency in Wiggenweld. The potential combinations of the two -  a series of wounds so deep and frequent that the potion couldn't fully heal them, or else a life filled with such danger that they simply forgot to rid themselves of the occasional burn or bruise - was what had kept Sharp up late into the night lately.

He knew both experiences too well. No fifteen-year-old should be grappling with such things, no matter how talented.

He'd just set his mind to pressing Fig after all when they opened the final door and found an unexpected obstacle blocking their way. Sharp's wand jumped into his hand, still eagerly loyal. Fig merely blinked from behind his shoulder.

"Another decoration?" he asked.

Sharp shook his head. There, placed neatly in front of his classroom door, was a box. Wrapped in silver with a green bow, 'present' was likely the more accurate term, though someone leaving him a gift was a laughable theory. Even his colleagues knew better, Fig included, and a dozen possibilities had run through his mind by the time Sharp had finished his first detection spell, from a prank of Peeves' to far darker possibilities. The diagnostic came back clean though. As did the second, and the third. He'd worked his way through a number of lesser known charms taught only to The Unspeakables (he'd had his connections back in his youth, carefully nurtured and then exploited) before he finally noticed Fig leaning against the dungeon wall, looking annoyingly amused.

"I don't know which impresses me more," he said. "Your spell repertoire, or your paranoia."

Sharp shot him a glare. "It's not paranoia if it's warranted."

"And is this? Warranted? A gift at Christmas time - how mysterious!"

"You would be wary too if the last gift you'd received was when top hats were still in style."

Fig's smile fell. "I know I can be a bit scatterbrained at times, but do remind me to fix that. Well, if you're so sure you're not the recipient, why not prove it by looking at the card?"

...fair enough.

With a sigh Sharp levitated the package and brought it into the classroom. It was with a wave of self-recrimination that he realized he should have done that from the start: the wards up around the student's tables, woven to contain all manner of foolhardy mistakes, would have stopped all by the darkest of magics - certainly any schoolyard pranks. With a shake of his head and a promise to train come morning, Sharp cleared a space and separated the card, unfurling a surprising amount of writing.

His eyes narrowed. He knew those quill strokes.

"Ah," Fig murmured, that blasted smile coloring his voice. Sharp ignored him, instead turning his attention to the slightly sloppy handwriting - evidence of a teen still learning their way around a quill.

Dear Professor,

Happy Holidays! I don't know what you celebrate, if anything, so please accept any and all tidings of the season.

By now you've no doubt noticed the gift I left (...Of course you have. Not sure why I wrote that) and I just want to begin by saying that I am offering this with the upmost respect and intended goodwill. I assure you, this is not a prank, or an insult, but if after opening the package you decide to light it up with a particularly vicious 'Confringo,' I'll understand. Just know that I only ever wanted to help. Truly.

See, coming to Hogwarts after growing up in the muggle world has given me the opportunity to compare the two and I've come to the conclusion that wizards tend to over-complicate things. (Please don't ever tell Sebastian I said that. I'll never hear the end of it!) What muggles lack in magic they make up for in innovation and I honestly believe that if we spent a little less time feeling smug about our supposed superiority, we'd notice how much their world has to offer.

For now, I decided to bring a piece of that world here. With some modifications, of course. We can't be too simple.

I hope it helps, Sir.

With love and season's greetings,

Dylan Fairchild

"Would someone please explain to me," Sharp murmured, "why this child seems to be under the impression that I will flay them for their attempts at a gift? Have I truly acquired that heinous a reputation?"

Fig chuckled, though there was little humor in it. "Frankly, my friend, I would pay more attention to the trust they've placed in you. Or do you think them so careless as to mistakenly mention their knowledge of a restricted curse?"

Sharp's gaze honed in on that "Confringo." Yes, he'd noticed that too. "You did not teach it to them?"

"Certainly not. Nor have I encouraged a merging of their muggle and magical lives, though in retrospect perhaps I should have."

At Sharp's nod Fig had taken the top off the box. Inside lay a... contraption of sorts. At first, Sharp didn't know what to make of the thing. It appeared to be a mess of buckles and strips of leather, forming two vertical lines with a connection on each side, bendable through a hinge. Worn and clearly second-hand, it was nevertheless well cared for. On the side of each buckle was a small, metal medallion with WF embossed in the center.

Fairchild. A former possession of a family member, perhaps?

Though interesting in its oddities, what truly drew Sharp's attention were the enchantments. The piece thrummed subtly with magic and at Fig's urging he cast a quick modification of 'Revelio,' similar to what a mediwitch would use to catalogue past diagnoses. Above the box in a golden script of his own handwriting appeared a list of charms, each more impressive than the last: durability, lightness, cushioning, self-cleaning. There was spellwork to gently nudge away a person's notice, another that - oddly - appeared to have traces of 'Levioso' in it. Sharp let out a soft, frustrated breath when he came across the strings of 'Protego.' It wouldn't block a curse as an actual shield would, but this thing would withstand more damage than the average garment. Perfect for an ex-Auror still stumbling into trouble.

"There's no way the child did all this on their own," Sharp muttered, eyes scanning the list. "What is the blasted thing even for? I--"

He stopped, settling on the final enchantment, woven in last for prominence: a modified 'Eliminata.' Unbidden, the definition from old textbooks reasserted itself.

Eliminata. Charm. Colloquially known as The Numbing Spell. Capable of eliminating mild to moderate discomfort for short periods of time. Though it provides momentary relief for the sufferer, it is not a substitute for healing. Seek out a licensed mediwitch after using.

Sharp's leg gave an answering throb.

"They didn't do this on their own," he repeated, knowledge of the gift's purpose settling over him. It was easier, really, to lean into the horror of that. His student discussing his private, degrading affairs with another professor. Or worse, some outsider just as likely to run to the gossip rags. Sharp could feel the angry flush worming its way up his cheeks as he pictured it; the itch of his wand hand, very nearly succumbing to temptation and blasting a cathartic hole in the wall--

A hand on his arm stemmed the tide before it could overflow.

"Think carefully now," Fig said, fast and low. "Remember the worry in their letter? The trust? The intent? I'd wager Hecate had a hand in this - I'd know that spell signature anywhere - and you are aware that she guards others' privacy even more diligently than her own. Besides, does Fairchild strike you as the type to go about this thoughtlessly?"

Sharp swallowed. Shortcuts only ever lead to shortcomings. They were one of the few who had truly taken his advice to heart.

No sooner had he remembered that then the letter burst into flames. He flinched, already on high alert, but all the parchment did was curl in on itself, no doubt timed to self-destruct once it had been read. Sharp watched the fire take with it all evidence of who had left the gift - and what it was for.

A gift. He'd very nearly forgotten that part.

"I'm not fit for mentoring," he sighed, lowering his wand. Sharp rubbed at his eyes a moment, the action more punishing than soothing.

Fig gave his arm a final pat, pulling away. "The only thing you're unfit for is gauging your own flaws. I assure you, a cautious nature and desire for privacy are not it."

"Oh? What then?"

"Trying my patience, for one. Are you trying this thing on or not?"

After some lighthearted teasing about that privacy, Sharp retreated to his quarters to shed jacket and trousers, now faced with the daunting task of getting it on. In the end though, that complex spellwork came to his rescue. It moved like one of Gladrags mannequins, twisting and then gently tightening until one band was secured around his thigh, the other around his calf. The hinge still allowed his knee to bend, but there was a... resistance now.

Sharp tested the new feeling. It was odd, but not unpleasant. In fact - he realized with mild shock - he was able to put more weight on his leg than usual, despite it being the end of a long, tiring day. The combination of support, featherlight charms, and the mild, soothing tingle of Eliminata accomplished what all his rare research had failed at.

He wouldn't be running after Dark Wizards anytime soon, but Sharp was undeniably standing easier than he'd been a moment before. Did it matter then that the picture remained as ugly? The cavern in his leg now dressed in an absurd muggle contraption. Sharp sneered briefly at his reflection, usually something to avoid.

"What am I going to do with you?" He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself, or Fairchild.

When Sharp finally returned - the gift now hidden beneath the pants of his suit, its outline only noticeable if you knew what you were looking for - he found that Fig had entertained himself by adding garlands to the cupboards and berries to the cauldrons. He met Sharp's halfhearted glare with a shrug and didn't even blink as he re-donned his coat, their conversation postponed.

"Where are you off to?" he asked, smile infusing his words. "Climbing more stairs at this time of night?"

Luckily, Sharp was already out the door, his own smile hidden. "I'm off to find our wayward charge. If they have the time and talent for this, clearly I haven't been challenging enough in their assignments."

A laugh followed him down the dungeon corridor. "Be kind now - it's the holidays!"

Kind? Rarely. But Sharp understood pride and he was willing to dole out a hefty portion tonight.

Giving into the smile, Sharp traversed the halls with a limp and a spring in his step, ready to walk the whole castle, if necessary, before the night was through.

Fin.

A/N: The brace is based off of Edward's in Our Flag Means Death. If you haven't watched that gem of a show pleeease go do it. Also, apologies if these two come across as OOC. They've got hard voices to nail, especially when it feels like I haven't spent much time with them yet 😬

[iantimony]

TRIUMPHANT RETURN OF THE TUESDAY

first tuesday again no problem instead of tuesday again (problem) in a while

listening: twilight mirage! the TM soundtrack was my study music as well so twilight mirage all the way around. i just finished miracle of the mirage and have moved into the transition eps to the new system. my friend told me he listens to shostakovich's festive overture before exams and i thought about trying that but idk if im powerful enough for it. also shostakovich is gym music. to me. and i dont want to ruin that association

reading: this locked tomb fic was ... i think reblogged by someone i follow? it's not bad. i feel like the characterization of camilla is a little strange but also it's a perfect lyctorhood + 700 year time skip au so it's not a huge deal. large portion of it is very horny, for some reason the nsfw sections were not hitting, i did skim most of them, otherwise excellent distraction from studying.

i also found this very charming. i'm not normally a DC superhero person but i think the conceit of a normal ass person who is incapable of being killed and is acting in a believable way about it is very cute and fun.

watching: some misc youtube videos, evan and katelyn etc. nothing substantial otherwise.

making: oh i be making! my pottery stuff is all coming along, i really hope some of it gets fired before i leave sunday...no pictures really of those guys at the moment but rest assured. there will be images when the glaze fires are done

yesterday after my final (well, after the nap after my final) i started working on the print block that i've been rotating in my brain for weeks

might be girlbossing a little close to the sun with the numbers on the dial but we'll see....

i also went to life drawing yesterday, the 5min poses and my first attempt at the long pose were flops but my short gestures and second attempt weren't bad

i wanted to spend more time on the cloth but i was just using. a mechanical pencil with hard lead. and it was a huge pain in the ass.

misc: after weathering a weak of giga-antibiotic (fine) and a steroid treatment (bad), i am reluctantly probably going to get little tubes put in my eardrums like i am a child. it will be. fine. im excited to not feel dizzy and uncomfortable any more. enormous pain in the ass though. basically a full month of bad ear hell has really not made the end of this semester any easier.

on the plus side, my monday final (8am, lmao,) is done! goodbye quantum!!! no promises til i get my grade back tomorrow obviously but my gut feeling is that i probably passed the class. he really asked some ass questions (all semester ive been like "there's no way he asks us to derive clebsch gordan coefficients WELL,) but it's over. so. hurrah. next tuesday again no problem will be at home with a puppy >:D

[darthsuki]

Lets go with 6, 7, 12, and 19!!!

6. What is your favorite type of art/fic? What genre/flavor/style?

I am a sucker for anything domestic, such as an established relationship where the reader/character and the dca already know each other really well—romantic or otherwise! Friends to lovers just hits the spot in that way!

Oooootherwise I really really love fics and art that explore a more slow-burn kinda thing, with some good tension here and there with obstacles for the reader/character to overcome—the realization that they have feelings, how to deal with those feelings, ect. Maybe just a touch of angst!

That said my overall love is quite broad, I’ve seen so many wonderful projects

7. What’s your favorite AU?

I love a lot, truly, though my overall experience with the broad range of bigger AUs is somewhat limited—in general I adore merfolk, vampire, and post-ruin domestic AUs a LOT

As for specifics, I cannot recommend enough the Fae AU/setting of @solar-synapse’s fic Star-Crossed. The writing is excellent and there’s a lot of complexity to the characters that warrant a re-read to get a full appreciation for the layers that are still going into it! Heed the tags and prepare for feels right to the gut, it’s excellent!

12. Thoughts on Eclipse?

I love him. I adore him. He deserves good sweet things and I will personally give him a hundred hugs a day.

Hilariously my first exposure to him was the Ruin DLC appearance, and the common fanon interpretation came AFTER, so in my mind he’s just a sweet bot with maximum malewife potential

19. Do you think you’d actually get along with the dca if they were real?

I like to think I would, but Sun would probably accidentally set off my social anxiety like, every day. Given that he is ALSO an exhausted customer service worker however, I like to think we’d at least have an excellent relationship as coworkers or buddies c:

Moon however? Wish me luck to not immediately burst into flames because he’d clock my crush a mile away

[jupitermelichios]

8, 9, and 10 if you want to! :)

8) a character you think did nothing wrong but fandom demonizes?

I know exactly enough about homestuck to know saying vriska here would be a funny joke, but not enough to actually know who she is or what she did or didn't do wrong, lmoa

Memes aside though, Scott McCall is innocent and I am prepared to defend him in court if necessary.

I do get why fandom didn't latch onto him the way they did other teen wolf characters, he's the platonic ideal of a highschool boyfriend and that's not the kind of character that usually appeals to people Doing A Fandom, but people hate him So Much, and I don't get it. He's just a little guy, he's a little birthday boy. Why are you hitting him when it's his birthday?

I especially don't get the 'Scott is a bad friend' take that's so common it has a canon AO3 tag. Him and Stiles have a pretty unhealthy co-dependant friendship, absolutely, but it's very much mutual, and Scott is just as ride or die for Stiles as Stiles is for him. They're just a couple of weird little guys who have had no one else to talk to but one another for years, and have ended up with a freaky psychosexual mess of a friendship, we've all been there.

(also 90% of all female characters from kids cartoons, but that's a wider issue than just fandom taking a dislike to a character. the fact that there are people who think mable pines committed any crime worse than 'having the emotional maturity of a 12 year old while being literally 12 years old' is baffling and terrifying in equal measure)

9) a character that did a lot of things wrong in canon that you think fandom woobifies?

Loki, obviously. I've done my time in the MCU fic trenches, and oh boy some of the Loki takes I've seen...

Stiles Stilinski, the counterpart to the demonisation of Scott. They are basically the exact same level of problematic in a very believable teenage way in canon, but in fanon Scott becomes a monster and Stiles becomes a woobie.

Every single member of the Batfamily, but most of all, Alfred Pennyworth. He's a fun character and an excellent valet, and he loves Bruce and the kids, but my god was he a shit parent. How does anyone look at Bruce Wayne and conclude Alfred was a good parent? It baffles me. 'I raised master bruce'. you ruined a perfectly good orphan is what you did. look at it. it's got anxiety.

(There is one exception to this, and that is the Alfred from the Gotham TV show, who has done nothing wrong in his life ever, and does stuff like hug Bruce, and tell him that he loves him, and actually talk to him about his trauma. 100/10, best Alfred, don't @ me)

But the big one, the one that will result in me just blocking people so I don't have to see their takes on my dash, is John Constantine. And this isn't fully fandom's fault, recent DC TV and animated movies absolutely also do this, but the result is just this horrible oroborous of bad takes as TV writers who think they're too smart for comics inform the opinions of fans who don't want to engage with moral ambiguity, and then the writers respond to what those fans enjoy by making him even more toothless, and around and around it goes until you get this character who is utterly unrecognisable as John, and cruicially, feels fictional, which is the absolute worst thing a version of John can be. If the fact that multiple Hellblazer writers have reported meeting him irl doesn't feel at least a little bit plausible, that's not John.

(and if this is your first time hearing about that, yes multiple otherwise apparently sane writers of a vertigo comic book have claimed to have met the character they created in real life, and the fandom just accepts that as a canon part of his mythos. comics are wild.)

10) what is your favorite “problematic” fandom?

I guess it depends how you define problematic.

I made the decision not to engage with it anymore when jkr lost her mind, and also because I just lost interest and moved on to other fandoms as I got older, but I'm not going to pretend I didn't have a lot of fun in the harry potter fandom when I was a teenager. It was my first real fandom, and I'll always have some nostalgia for it for being my gateway drug into this community, despite everything.

The Fannibals are some of the most talented and creative people in fandom, the art and fic for Hannibal is absolutely incredible, definitely the highest average standard of fic I've encountered in a fandom. Plus it's nice to have a fandom where you know people are capable of engaging critically with dark content. I won't say there are no antis in the fandom, they seem to turn up everywhere these days, but they're easily drowned out by the people who actually remember stuff like SLS and YKINMKATO

I have a weird soft spot for Twilight, something about it just hits the so bad it's good groove in my brain just right, and the recent twilight renaisance has been very fun to watch, but I haven't really engaged with the fandom all that much beyond reblogging some memes (and writing an 8,000 word not!fic about how much better twilight would be if bella swan was polyamorous that one time)

And despite the whole ackles tapes conspiracy theory, and the prevelance of tinhatting, and the dumb shipwars, I'll always have a special place in my heart for the supernatural fandom. it's a fucked up place to live, but I had a lot of fun there, and i still visit on occaision.

[roselightfairy]

Legolas/Gimli Recs: Vignette Series

It’s me, bursting my way from the ether with another unsolicited fic rec list! This one was prompted by the fact that some of my favorite – and, in my opinion, underappreciated – fics of all time still hadn’t made it onto my lists yet, so I had to find a category that at least a few of them fit into. So in this case, the list is vignette collections: fics written as a series of moments in Legolas and Gimli’s lives – some a description of them coming together during the war; others spanning their lives together – each bringing them closer in a new way and tying together into the overall theme of the fic. I’ve divided them into two sections: during the war/the course of the trilogy, and those that reach beyond into their shared lives.

…

During the war:

Journey by Moirai

Summary: They started out as uneasy allies...

…

This is one of my favorite fics, and a particularly underappreciated one since as far as I can tell, it’s not up on many of the main archives and requires a lot of combing to find. This fic is so alive with tenderness that it gives me butterflies, and follows the bittersweet beauty of Legolas and Gimli’s journey into love. The moment of their confessions is one of the most gorgeously intimate bits I’ve read.

Roadways of Searching by @katajainen

Summary: To notice a well-made pair of hands is appreciating. To keep noticing them is distracting. To befriend the person they're attached to... is complicated. Or: where Gimli has very nice hands and Legolas is increasingly flustered and confused because of them. (It all works out in the end.)

…

I know I’ve put this on another reclist, but it wasn’t like I could leave it off of this one. This is such a wonderfully intimate exploration of Legolas and Gimli coming to love one another, following the journey of the trilogy but inserting those shared moments between them in where we dream of having them – and all through the wonderful lens of Legolas’s admiration for Gimli’s hands . . . and then so much more of him.

in contrast with the love by nsmorig

Summary: Legolas blinks up into the sunlight. "It has been some time since we were strangers," he says, as thought he is only just realising this. "Just this morning you called me your friend."

"I did, and I will not recant it unless given a good reason."

"Good," Legolas says, with a startling fierceness. "Good. And— you are my friend, too."

"Poor fool of an Elf, you've gone and done it," Gimli says, and it's light-hearted but he means it. "No getting rid of me now."

…

This story is a lovely look at a falling-in-love – at two people coming together in ways they never could have expected, and yet in ways they could not imagine wishing were otherwise – in nsmorig’s gorgeous, gripping prose.

Bound to You by Angela

Summary: Legolas does not think the way other elves do. He does not do things the way other elves do. He does not want the things other elves want.

And as for Gimli - well, Legolas doesn't know what to think or do or want where Gimli is concerned.

…

This is not only a wonderful vignette series, it’s also an excellent exploration of Legolas – leaning into his description as a “strange elf” and allowing him to defy much of the fanon that has built up around him. It’s a story of curiosity that becomes friendship that becomes something more – but not all in the order we would expect – and it’s a story of two souls coming to recognize that they never want to be parted again. Angela is one of my favorite LOTR writers, and this story is such a gem.

After the war, exploration of shared lives:

Of Rowan and Ruin by Thundera Tiger

Summary: The story of a friendship one hundred and twenty-two years in the making.

…

This fic is probably on every gen Legolas&Gimli lover’s radar – and probably on a lot of shippers’, as well. It’s one of the most beautiful, bittersweet fics I know, and it so gorgeously and achingly describes the way that Gimli and Legolas cleave to one another throughout their lives – and how that might ultimately draw them further away from their own people. This story seized hold of my heart and has never let it go.

(Don’t You Dare) Let Go by @notanightlight

Summary: For a five word prompt "Dont you dare let go!"

Over a life time, you may use a phrase many times. Gimli remembers some of them, all in relation to Legolas.

…

This is a simple enough premise – exploring the same idea through many different moments in shared lives – beautifully executed. This story moves through so many emotions, from fluff to suspense to angst to, of course, the gut-punch of the last few lines, in the unavoidable but beautiful tragedy of this ship. This fic is such a wonderful bite-sized read, and I highly recommend it.

From Forest to Sea – Angela

Summary: Gimli's journey with Legolas started in the forest of Lorien and went all the way to the sea.

This story is written as a series of drabbles and double-drabbles that highlight important (and sometimes less important) moments in their life together.

…

I don’t ever want to actually have to narrow down top-anything fic lists, but if I did ever (heaven forbid) have to choose a top-five list, this fic would likely be on it. It is one of the most gorgeous things I have read, and a showcase to Angela’s ability to distill emotion into the most densely-packed language. It follows Legolas and Gimli through the War of the Ring and beyond in tight drabbles that say exactly as much as they need to, and the whole thing practically sings with intimacy and tenderness and longing and the bittersweetness that must follow them all through their lives. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

…

My usual reminder that this list is in no way comprehensive – I am always limited to what I can think of when I’m compiling these – but a starting point for a wonderful premise that I know other authors have done and will continue to do. As always, please leave the authors a comment if you do stop by to read the stories, and you are welcome to prompt me for more recs if you can think of a trope, genre, or premise you’d like to find fic for!

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

My Best Friend’s Brother (Virgil/Remus/Janus/Patton fic part 2/2)

Part 1

Word count: 2193

Rating: teen

Pairings: Virgil/Remus/Janus/Patton (intrumoxeit?), logince

Warnings: minor swearing, suggestive language (mostly from Remus), minor contortion

~~~START~~~

“WAKE UP, THOT!” Roman startles awake as his door hits the wall with a loud bang. Remus stands in the doorway grinning at him.

“Remus, what the fuck?” Roman groans. He wants to pull the covers over his head and just ignore his brother, but if he does that, he won’t have the slight advantage of being able to see whatever Remus is about to do. So he settles for just glaring. 

“We’re going out to breakfast with all of our boyfriends!” Remus declares. “You’re going to be nice to my boyfriends, and I won’t make unsolicited comments about your boyfriend’s ass, dick, or mouth!”

“I hate you,” Roman groans. 

“Love you too, Roro!” Remus clutches a hand over his heart before turning to leave. “Get dressed or I’ll drag you there in your pjs!” He calls behind him. 

Roman throws his pillow through the open door, but Remus is already gone. Instead of chasing his brother down, Roman gets dressed because Remus will drag him out in his pajamas otherwise. 

There’s two texts on his phone when he pulls it off the charger.

From Crofters Slut @ 6:15am: Virgil Knight is a student in our year. He won that art competition last year that Remus was in. I’m surprised you don’t know who he is. 

Even with the hint, Roman has no idea who Virgil is. He vaguely remembers the art competition, but mostly, he remembers being salty that his piece hadn’t even qualified for it, and then being salty again when Remus didn’t win. There is absolutely nothing in his memory about who won, what they looked like, or what piece they’d entered. 

The second text is:

From Padre Puffball @ 7:54am: Hi Roman! I hope you slept well. I was hoping that you’d be willing to get breakfast today? You, me, Logan, Remus, Janus, and Virgil? Please? I know you don’t like Janus and Virgil, and you’re not happy that I’m dating your brother, but I really like them, and I think you would too if you’d just give them a chance (maybe not as much as I like them, but enough to be friends?) I’ll text the others too, but I do hope you come! Love Patton 💖🐶

And honestly, even if Remus wasn’t going to forcefully drag him to this breakfast, there’s no way Roman could ever say ‘no’ to Patton. So when Remus comes back, Roman is fully dressed, and in the process of applying his eyeliner. 

“C’mon, princess, let’s go!” Remus insists, but he does resist the urge to pull on Roman’s arm and ruin his makeup and possibly cause Roman to stab the pencil into his eye. 

“I have to finish this first! Logan’s going to be there and a prince has got to slay!” Roman replies. 

Remus rolls his eyes. “You just got back from spending two months sharing a room with him! He’s definitely seen you without makeup before.”

“Noooo, I woke up earlier than him specifically so he’d never see me without my makeup!” 

“Roro, you are the most pathetic thot I’ve ever met. And I’m including myself. How early did you have to wake up to be up before him?”

“...four-thirty am,” Roman admits slowly, refusing to meet his brother’s eyes in the mirror. 

“Excuse me while I go barf!” Remus giggles. “You woke up, at ass o’clock in the morning, so that Nerdy Wolverine wouldn’t see you without your makeup?”

“Yeah, well I’ll bet you showered daily while I was gone!” Roman shoots back. “In fact, you’re smelling pretty fresh over there. Did you perhaps shower already this morning?”

“I’ll admit to nothing!” Remus screeches. “Hurry up, we have to pick up Jan.”

“I have to be in a car with that freak!?” 

“If you ever call any of my boyfriends ‘freaks’ again, I’ll rip off your nipples and shove them so far up your nose they’ll lodge inside your brain!” Remus yells, angrier than Roman’s ever seen him. “Assuming you even have a brain.”

“Why you-!”

They pull up to Janus’ house forty-five minutes late. 

“I don’t know why I trusted you to pick me up on time,” Janus comments as he slides into the backseat. “You’re always so punctual.”

“Hi JJ!” Remus greets chipperly, completely ignoring Janus’ annoyance. “I told Roman to sit in the back but he refused.”

“I was here first!” Roman insists stubbornly. 

“He also called you freak,” Remus tattles. 

“I didn’t mean-!” Roman turns to Janus quickly while he tries to explain himself, but Janus just smirks. 

“Well I suppose being able to do this makes me a little bit of a freak.”

Remus doesn’t even have to look to know that Jan dislocated his shoulder and twisted his arm around his head unnaturally, Roman scream tells him everything he needs to know. Remus has to pull off to the side of the road because he’s laughing so hard. 

It takes them almost fifteen minutes to get to the cafe, which is longer than it should take to get there from Janus’ house, but Remus had needed time to calm down from his laughing fit. Roman hadn’t spoken the entire drive over, and Jan was looking pretty satisfied with himself. 

So, coming into the cafe over an hour late, it’s not that hard to find his boyfriends and the Dork (hehe, whale penis). They’re in one of the semi-circle booths with Patton sitting between Virgil and Logan. It looks like Virgil and Logan are in the middle of a conversation, which is good, until, ya know, Roman has to go and ruin it. 

“EMO NIGHTMARE!?” Roman screeches at the top of his lungs. It causes the whole cafe to come to a screeching halt as everyone stops to stare at them. Virgil stiffens, shoulders coming up to his ears and he quickly throws his hood over his head. Logan sends Roman an unimpressed look. 

“Wonderful. Excellent. Thank you, Roman,” Janus mutters, already making his way over to the others. 

“Indoor voices, Roro.” Remus nudges his brother as he passes. 

“You’re dating Emo Nightmare!?” Roman hisses, quietly enough that Remus is the only one who can hear him. “Actually, back up. You know Emo Nightmare? Emo Nightmare has friends?”

“His name is Virgil, Roman,” Remus says, not bothering to dignify Roman’s questions with an answer. “And you promised to be nice.”

“I was startled,” Roman answers petulantly. 

Remus doesn’t dignify that with an answer either, instead he ignores Roman and goes to join his boyfriends at the table. Janus has already reached the table, and has his arm wrapped protectively around Virgil’s shoulders. Remus slides into the booth next to Janus, leaving the space next to Logan open for Roman. 

“You’re late,” Logan informs them once Roman’s taken his seat. 

“Only by like an hour,” Remus replies cheerfully, grabbing a menu and perusing the breakfast options. 

“We already ordered,” Patton informs him gently. “You’re getting the breakfast sausage platter, Janus is getting a veggie omelet, and Roman’s getting pancakes with a side of eggs.”

“The sausages look like dicks!” Remus said, quietly enough that only the table next to them send him weird glances. 

Virgil snorts from under his hood, so Remus counts it as a win. 

“Charming,” Logan says, years of being friends with Roman have rendered Remus’s antics to little more than background noise. 

“So, Nerdy Wolverine, why Roman?” Remus asks, after all, that’s what this breakfast is for, right? Grilling Logan on why he has such bad taste in men? “He’s sooooooo… ugly.”

“WE HAVE THE SAME FACE!”

“BUT I WEAR IT SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU!”

“Stop yelling!” Virgil hisses, finally leaving the safety of his hood. “We’re in public!”

“Besides,” Patton chimes in. “That’s mean! You’re both very handsome!”

“At least I don’t have a fuzzy caterpillar on my face,” Roman mutters petulantly, but any further argument is thankfully cut off by the waiter bringing out their food. 

“Thank you!” Patton calls as the waiter leaves

“Well,” Logan sighs. “After that little display I have no idea why I like Roman.”

“What!? No! Logan!” Roman whines. Logan just rolls his eyes and kisses Roman on the cheek, effectively placating him. 

“I am more surprised by you, Patton,” Logan continues, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “When we left, you were still afraid to be within thirty yards of Janus. I’m surprised you got over your fear so completely in such a short amount of time.”

“Logan!” Patton yelps, hiding his blush in Virgil’s shoulders. It doesn’t work out too well since Virgil’s shoulders are shaking from laughter. 

“Patton, I’m so insulted that you’d be afraid of me,” Janus drawls. “I was trying so hard to seem nice and approachable.”

“I’m so sorry Janus!” Patton apologizes from his place hiding in Virgil’s shoulder. 

“Don't apologize, Pat,” Virgil assures him, patting the side of his head awkwardly. “He wants people to be afraid of him. He was so happy when he realized he got a scar from flgmmn!”

Janus clamps a gloved-hand over Virgil’s mouth quickly, pulling his head against his chest to stop his struggling. 

“Nothing!” Janus hisses quickly. “Absolutely nothing. Nothing to see here!”

Virgil bats his hands at Janus’ head, but the angle makes it hard to land any solid hit. 

Remus laughs, and Patton just grabs one of Virgil’s hands and kisses it apologetically, neither of them try to help him. 

“Janus won’t let Virgil tell anyone how he got his scar,” Remus explains between giggles. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Janus says dismissively as Virgil goes limp. “Are you trying to bite my hand?”

“Kinky!”

The rest of breakfast continues… somewhat normally, of course Janus has Virgil pinned the entire time, and as a result, neither of them end up finishing their food. Roman’s determination to pout lasts all of twenty minutes, but then Janus started quoting Shakespeare and well… maybe Janus isn’t so bad after all. 

“Romeo and Juliet isn't a love story,” Janus argues, he’s still covering Virgil’s mouth even though it’s been half an hour, and Virgil has long since stopped struggling. “It’s about two stupid kids that make dumb decisions and get the people around them killed.”

“You take that back!” Roman gasps, clutching his chest as though he’s been stabbed. “Romeo and Juliet is a story about star-crossed lovers and overcoming life’s obstacles!”

“What obstacles did they overcome Roman? They both died in the end.”

“Sorry to interrupt, kiddos,” Patton butts in before their argument can get any more heated. “But Jan, do you think you can let Virgil go now? He hasn’t eaten yet.”

Janus glances down at Virgil consideringly and the emo just gives him his most innocent expression. “Fine.”

Janus releases Virgil but continues to watch him suspiciously. In turn, Virgil just starts shoveling omelet into his mouth. After a moment, Janus seems satisfied and returns to his argument. 

“And their own deaths could have been avoided if Romeo had just-”

“JANUS FELL OFF HIS BIKE!” Virgil blurts out suddenly. 

“TRAITOR!”

This starts a scuffle between the two that has Remus cackling like a madman. 

They get kicked out of the restaurant.

Well… Janus, Virgil, and Remus get kicked out of the restaurant, Patton, Roman, and Logan get told that they can stay if they don’t cause anymore scenes. 

In the end they only stay long enough for Roman to pay for everyone’s food (because he’s a gentleman… and because he’s rich, but mostly because he’s a gentleman), and Patton to get the rest of Virgil and Janus’ omelets in a to-go box. 

Remus and Janus are clearly having some sort of argument when Roman and the others make it outside, but the only part Roman manages to catch is Remus saying “calm down Peewee Herman!”

“Patton is officially my favorite boyfriend,” Janus pouts, maneuvering himself so that Patton is in between him and their other two boyfriends. Patton doesn't seem to mind, planting a kiss on Janus cheek that majorly undermines his edgy facade. “You two are dead to me.”

“Only on the inside,” Virgil responds sagely. 

“You love us Janny!” Remus crows, outmaneuvering Janus’ human wall by pulling both Patton and Janus into a bone-crushing hug. 

A funny feeling develops in Roman’s stomach as he watches the four of them interact. They all clearly like each other, and Patton seems so genuinely happy trapped between Remus and Janus. Maybe Roman overreacted last night. 

“Well?” Logan asks quietly, slipping his hand easily into Roman’s. 

“I was wrong,” Roman answers, finally dragging his gaze away from his brother, his best friend, and their boyfriends to look Logan in the eye. Logan is giving him that soft smile that makes Roman’s heart thud. “They’re cute together.”

“Patton seems happy,” Logan agrees. “Though I do believe that, objectively, we’re the cuter couple.”

“Yeah,” Roman agrees as Janus lets out an indignant squawk. 

Turning around, Roman finds the Virgil had obviously tried to join the group hug and ended up toppling them over, leaving Janus on the ground with Virgil sprawled over his back, Remus and Patton lying in a heap next to them, all of them laughing.

“Objectively.”

~~~END~~~

Whoo! Finally finished the second part, I’ll probs post this on AO3 tomorrow

There will be more in this universe (currently working on a Virgil!centric one that deals a little bit more with them getting together

Taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @the-sunshine-dims @taylorxoxo22 @oatmealoatmealoatmealoatmealoatm @captain-otis-dante @007ardra @fandomfan315 @sophiexteresa @smolemopotato @contemplativespectrum @theyluna-womoon @queer-chair @your-gay-enby-highness @sanderssides-angst @idont-freaking-know @marshymoop @imlovethomassanders @sourshadowling @frogsandcookies @aricana8 @cute-and-angsty-princess

[starofroselight]

Title: He Calls You Theseus (Now Call Him Odysseus and Welcome Him Home)

Chapter 1: In Which Technoblade's Narrative Crumbles    

Summary: Technoblade's language is the art of combat and weaponry. Tommy doesn't understand, so Technoblade speaks in a way they'll both understand. Or, Technoblade’s been having strange visions while taking care of Tommy.

Tags: Technoblade, TommyInnit, SBI fic, Introspection, Flashbacks, Found Family, Brothers, Trauma, Alternate Universe, References to Greek Myth, Sleepy Bois Inc. as Family, Sleepy Bois Inc. Angst, Chat as Ghosts, Rose AU

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28786947

Author’s Note: This is my baby. I’ve worked for this on a while, and it’s about 5.1k words. I hope you enjoy the first chapter, I plan for around five in all.

A flurry of snow buffeted the snow banks around Technoblade's retirement home. 

Technoblade had decided teaching Tommy the art of arrow fletching was important. He had come to immediately regret that decision. Tommy’s loud mouth and shaky hands were something manageable in the best of times, but when the time came for work to be done they became hindrances. Liabilities.

Technoblade didn’t take in liabilities. 

“How’s this, big man?” The tooth-gaped teen asked smugly, holding up a shoddily constructed arrow as if it were made of gold.

Technoblade briefly considered how much easier this would have had he cleaved Tommy’s head clean off in the hole under his house.

> You can’t!

> The most efficient way to grind out arrows is village trading. Make one of your downstairs hostages a fletcher, trade sticks, build rapport, then trade in for arrows.

> Tommy pog

> would’ve been funnier if you did

“Chat, do you see what I’m dealing with?” He mumbled to himself. 

“Oi Chat! Hey Chat, do you think Technoblade is a big bitch?”

“Tommy, you’re giving me a headache.” That wasn’t all that was giving him a headache: voices, the thousands of voices which were riled up by his every interaction with another living soul. Each voice was vying for a spot to influence his words, to have any effect on the outside world like they once were able to.

And the voices really liked Tommy.

“All I want’s an answer.”

He wouldn’t get one.

"How am I better at this with hooves?! Here, let me show you one more time.” Techno squatted beside where Tommy was sitting on the stone brick floor. “Two ties on each side over the flint. Three sharp cuts into the wood. Feather goes in between. Look, perfectly functional arrows! What part of this aren’t you getting? It’s not that difficult!”

Tommy picked up the tools from the fletching table. He took one look at the sticks, then picked up a fistful of feathers.

“Right—”

“Okay, that’s enough, I’m not going to let you keep massacring my feathers like this. What even is this?" He picked up a feather from the floor. It hung limp between the heel of his hoof, frayed and torn. "These chickens died for nothing!"

“What am I supposed to do while you do all the work if I can’t help?” Tommy was pouting, his face so full of vibracity and energy it looked as if he was choking.

That was it. Techno's face twitched. 

“Maybe if you sit down and stay quiet for a minute, I can come up with an idea!”

Surprisingly, Tommy did. His face flushed red with embarrassment. 

And Technoblade realized he had screamed at a scared, struggling sixteen year old child covered in scars. 

> do you feel powerful now

> OOOOOOO

> You should kill him

> Betray Tommy!

> betray tommy

He dragged a hoof over his face. The gesture was easier with hands.

"Look. . . Tommy. You're clearly not good at fletching arrows. Why don't you go lay down in your racoon hole?"

Technoblade’s plan had been, surprisingly, one of altruism. He wanted to teach Tommy how to make arrows so he could value the ammunition. He had a tendency to complain about. . . well, everything, but specifically running out of supplies. Techno hoped this would teach him how valuable they were. Not in resources, but as assets. In the heat of battle, every shot mattered.

After Tommy had made a quiverful of arrows, Technoblade planned on taking him out to his practice range. Inexperienced hands nocking an arrow were shaking and quick to flinch. Archery hurt. It was a difficult skill to master; the art of shooting an arrow required the fletching to run through the archer’s fingers. If their hands were smooth and uncalloused, the projectile would cut through their fingers like a blade in water. His hands (and hooves) were roughed up to the consistency of leather from arduous repetition. Tommy hadn’t had that experience.

Technoblade had made leather gloves for that exact reason.

And now that plan was ruined.

While his retirement home was the definition of picturesque, Tommy had come to ruin that as well. The foundation had made Techno's house uneven. The ground was unstable and it had started to sag north. 

Tommy had literally dug up and unsettled his life. 

Somewhere in there was a metaphor and a moment for some much-needed introspection. Technoblade ignored it. 

Snow had sloped onto the roof heavy, the sound of monsters outside crunching feet of the stuff. The cold had choked out the will of any invaders at the cost of isolating them together. The house’s floor was insulated with stone, then covered with wood. The chimney doubled as a source of light, warmth, and a way to heat the floor. Technoblade had learned how to make heated floors from Chat. The quality of life improvement was immense.

Tommy hadn’t understood how, but he did enjoy it. Too often he had slept in his boots, curled up into a jacket or blanket or whatever he could find. But this? This was a luxury that could lull him into a rest like no other.

And Tommy needed a good sleep after Logsteadshire.

Still, his spirit reignited despite his body's protests. He stretched his arms upward in attempts to hide his yawn. 

He stomped his foot. 

"I'm not tired! We need supplies, we need—We need to get back the discs."

That was going to be a hard habit to kick. The kid needed a break; his eyes were ringed in black. He sat hunched over with awful posture, looking pitiful. Technoblade held back the urge to call him a racoon again.

Despite the warmth, Tommy was shivering.

Exhaustion. Techno knew it all too well.

The Piglin man took off his cape, folding it over his arm. It helped increase his bulk, his size when intimidation was necessary. When he was home its purpose became a blatant unnecessity. Still, he often found himself falling asleep in it, curled up in a tiny pile against the wall where no one could hurt him. 

It was important.

And he tossed it to Tommy. 

"We'll get back the discs after you go to sleep. If you fall asleep in the snow you'll freeze to death and die."

Then he stoked the fire with an iron pole, minding Edward's head. He couldn't be bothered to kill the creature just yet. The flames roared up, consuming the cold air in the room and up the chimney. 

Tommy held the crimson cloak in his arms. He stared for a second, then twisted to wrap it around himself. It was enormous, swamping his thin figure in fabric and comfort unknown for weeks in exile. He pushed himself further into the corner with the fletching table, close to his hiding box.

"The 'and die' is kind of redundant, 'innit?" Tommy muttered, head poking up from the fluff of the cloak’s collar.

Technoblade sighed. 

They were going to keep talking in circles. He would make a general statement, Tommy would overload him with non sequiturs and nonsense sentences until Technoblade tuned him out with Chat. However, he couldn’t ignore Tommy here. If he did, the boy would never go to sleep, and the cold of the night didn’t need a cold shoulder on top of it. A cranky Tommy and an annoyed Technoblade was a recipe for disaster, overthrowing governments or otherwise.

There was only one way he knew how to talk in times like this:

“Let me tell you a story.”

It was an offer more intimate than Tommy knew. 

Naturally, he rejected it.

“What if I don’t want to hear a story?” Said teenager shifted in his cozy corner. 

“Too bad.” He pushed the crown up from where it was slipping off his head. If he was going to coax the world's most energetic child to sleep, he needed to let down his guard. 

“Why do you even wear that thing?”

“What, the crown? It’s not like I use it in combat or anything, it's just for fun. Fun is banned? You're banning fun now?" He laughed. "Good luck getting anyone on your side."

“I don’t have a side. Or rather, my side is your side? Now you’ve gone and got my head all confused.” Tommy’s voice had grown softer. 

Techno couldn’t have that.

“There’s no ‘our side’. We are not a team.”

Tommy huffed. “Until we get the discs back.”

“Will you let go of the discs for a minute? They’re not going anywhere.”

“Could go into a fire.”

Techno huffed heavier. Puffs of true flame curled out from his snout. Not the metaphorical risk clouding Tommy’s mind. He was already headed towards the pitfall he wanted to avoid. It was time to change the subject.

“Considering your limited knowledge of Greek classics, you wouldn’t happen to know Homer?”

“Who what now?” 

A solid ‘no’ would have sufficed, Techno thought.

“You probably haven’t heard of Odysseus, then.”

“With a name like that, I reckon I should of. Wait, this is one of your myths again, isn’t it?” Tommy kicked himself up, back against the wall to look at Technoblade as they spoke.

“I like a certain section of stories. Is that so wrong?”

“Is this story about you?”

The Blade tutted. “No, no, no. I don’t have any family. Orphans killed my parents. Family is useless, it slows you down unless you’re exacting revenge. In that case, family is excellent. Nothing better than dead family.”

"That doesn't make any sen—"

"Keep interrupting and I'll make you sleep in Carl's stable."

Tommy pouted. His hair stuck up in every which way, active as he was.

“Odysseus was a king of his own island. He lived in peace with his family on Ithaca, and he was known as a wise man.” It had been a while since Technoblade had told a story like this. His rhythm was lacking. “He was the favorite of Athena, the goddess of battle and wisdom.”

“Gods aren’t real.”

“You’re looking at one.”

Silence. “Yeah, right.” 

"Moving on.” He wasn’t willing to indulge Tommy in that story when he was preoccupied with telling another. “While Odysseus was a king, he wasn’t the chief king. At that point Greece was broken up into various city states, other little countries that refused to be conquered. While it was all Greece, there was a difference between a Spartan and an Athenian. Too many fights for power and the geopolitical landscape had torn them apart. Odysseus had his friends, though it would be more accurate to call them his allies, his country with whom he had sworn an oath to fight alongside. Each of those kings would be headed out their own separate way.” That felt right to Technoblade. “They were brothers in arms, finally called to war for the sake of their nation. But Odysseus ended up alone.”

“Why?”

“The people around him broke the rules. They went up against the sun god, and so they were punished.”

“What’d they do?”

“Oh, uh. Ate his cows.”

Tommy gasped.

“No!”

“Okay, so you get it. The Pet Skirmishes but on a much, much bigger scale.”

“Where’s Sapnap?”

“Tommy, it’s a myth, it’s not about your friends. They’re gods.” 

“Dunno why you’d tell a story about a bunch of boring, stuffy gods. Hey, why’re you such a bad storyteller?”

That was it. "I'm trying to monologue here! Chat, Chat see how impossible this is?"

“Tell chat that you’re a pussy! And I’m the coolest! TommyInnit is the coolest, got it?” Tommy’s eyes, which had held the murmurs of sleep, were now alive and vicious.

Undoing all of Technoblade’s work. And proving he didn’t understand Chat.

“Bruh.”

“I am!”

“For the third time now, if you will let me talk, I’m trying to tell the story.” 

“Right, right, sorry.”

“Odysseus was the only one who knew the warning signs. He had encountered the gods before, and he would rather starve to death than offend them. Because sometimes, Tommy, not offending people is a good thing, and making needless enemies makes the situation ten times worse.”

Tommy bit his lip. 

Techno continued.

“But no one ever listens to Odysseus. That’s one of the ironies of the story, Tommy. Often being right lets the hero escape with his life. Doesn’t mean he can save anyone else. Most of the time he doesn’t even save himself.”

“What?”

“I mean, I tried telling you. Heroes are doomed the moment they call themselves heroes. Odysseus never did, he was smart. It was the people that came later and told the story that did that. A hero is born through the crossing of the stars, something divine. Special. For all of his worth, the burden of expectation is put on his shoulders and then he battles with his pride. The Greeks had a word: hubris. It’s the hubris that strikes the killing blow. It’s never the beast or the gods themselves, it’s someone the hero has wronged. Odysseus wronged a monster, a cyclops, but even that was too far.”

Tommy was quiet. All of his focus was pooled into Technoblade.

“Odysseus played the part of warrior. Now it was time for him to be a survivor. See, it didn’t matter what the gods put him through, the trials or the tribulations or the meaningless delays. He had a mental image of what his home was. Ithaca. It had stopped being a real place. Instead it was an idea. A concept.”

“Oh.”

“And even when he was gone, trapped by witches and beasts, he kept that vision of home in his head. Because he was going to get there no matter what. It was all he had left of the world he knew. Even when he was offered another life, another world in what might have been a better place, he turned it down. Because it wasn’t what he wanted. He learned what being a hero meant, and now what he wanted was the opposite: to go home. To be normal. But the thing is, life doesn’t wait around for us to come back.”

Tommy glanced down to his neck. The lodestone compass shimmered in the dim light. His Tubbo.

“The world doesn’t care what your aspirations are, your nation, or your ideas. It doesn’t even care about your friends. The world doesn’t care if what you want does not want you. It doesn’t care, period. It’s cold. Survival is survival.”

-

"I want to be a hero when I grow up!"

"Oh, you do?" The man chuckled, furloughing his spade to sit down on the steps beside him. 

"What's the point of having a name like Technoblade if you're not a hero?" He shut the book in his lap, face beaming.

The young man's mouth opened before a scream rang out from inside the house, followed by shouting and yelling. 

The blond haired man sighed. He smiled back, then rolled his eyes. The man reached out and tousled his hair.

Techno laughed as the man’s voice echoed:

"How are ÿ̸̻͓́̑͐́͗̽͝͠ö̶̝͖̱̫̈́̑́͌͒̋ǜ̴͍͖̝̑̋ ̴̢̛̛̮̼̲͖̠̻̼̝̥̗̻̩̲̼̂̽͌̾̇͂̈́̾͐̅͘̚t̷̤͔̥̤̫̫̟̀̐̈́̿͐ḧ̴̡̘̦͔̠͎̰̬̼̜̺̮͎͚͛̈́ͅȩ̵̦̦̠̬̼͔̰̩̯̻̍̈́͐̌̓͆̀̉̑͗ ̸̪̤̣̏͒̚͜ͅm̸̗͇̘̮̥̮̪̤̯̤̞͉͗̾́͜ą̸̡̖̭̣̭͉͎̥̫̝̑̿̅̄̓͐̽̊̂͂̆͠͝ͅţ̶̮͚̰̂̀̈́̐͆͑̍͆͗͝͠ü̶̢̻͔̼͓̹͖̺̯͙̅̂̔̊̐̅ͅr̴͔̐̾͛ẽ̴̱̰̣̀̓̉̀̆̓̈̄ ̸̛̱͇̺̂̿͑̏̍̋͊͊͗̋̇̆͝o̴̬̙͚͇̳͎͆̇̌̐̿͂̓̄͛͝ͅn̵̨̈́̈́̂̋̐ͅe̷̛̟̱͖͙͙̩͆̊̆̓̂͒̈̍?̸͖̟̺͇̬̗̰̭̺͇͆͐̀͊́̄̍̀̅́͜

-

> home. 

> Tommy's still looking at you, you haven't spoken in a minute

> do you feel sick?? whats going on i just got here

“Blade?” And there was Tommy, with a drop of concern in his voice.

Technoblade shook his head. Late joiners. The memory crumbled to dust. 

He continued. “The Isle of Ogygia. That was where Odysseus’s survival took him. He stayed there, in the lull of the witch Circe, who wanted him for herself—”

“That’s sexist.”

“W-What?”

“The witch!”

“You think the witch is sexist?”

“No no no, the hero! He gets called upon—lured—by this woman just because he’s what, the hero?”

He could not believe this. “Tommy. I didn’t write it.” 

“I’m just saying!”

“The Isle of Ogygia. Or Atlantis, some people think it could be Atlantis, it honestly depends on what version you’re reading but that’s not important. Odysseus spent countless years there, safe but soulless. His heart was gone from his body, kept at bay with thoughts of home. Of family, of kinship. He was out of his body and mind for seven years. He was at the gods’ mercy, but fortune smiled upon him and he escaped.”

Techno took a moment to return his attention to his listener.

Tommy was transfixed, eyes wide.

For some reason, that made him smile.

“He made his way to one of his allied kingdoms. The gods, though, had shifted his appearance. This was to know how he still stood in their eyes. When so much time passes, relationships and bonds fade. Only his dog recognized him. The home he’d wanted for so long was plundered, practically destroyed. His wife—”

“He had a wife? That’s unrealistic.”

Technoblade repeated, annoyed: “His wife and his son didn’t recognize him. Only the dog.”

Tommy continued to ignore his point.

“Well dogs are good like that. I reckon dogs are better than most people."

Moving for the first time since the beginning of the story, he took a step towards the corner.

“Tommy, I’m trying to tell you that even though he won—He got everything he wanted, he got to go home—He didn’t win. His home was different. And he wasn’t the same man.”

“That’s—That’s sad.” 

Tommy stood up and Technoblade crossed his arms.

“It’s not a happy story.” 

"Then why are you telling it?"

“Forget about it.” If Tommy didn't understand, he wasn't going to waste any more time explaining. 

Tommy moved, shifting the cloak on his shoulders crooked. He opened the spruce doors, a strange expression on his face. Like a mixture of horror, fear, and anger. Technoblade recognized the anger first. Tommy looked back, stepped into the snow, then shut the door.

Techno thought, what? He’s going to throw a tantrum because a story doesn’t go how he wanted—

-

A white substance flitted down through the air like snow. Small, unburnt hands grasped upwards to try and catch it. They had only seen snow, never this new, fluffy, off-white plume.

The boy coughed up ash. 

“Hello? D̸̫̦̳̰͐̉ã̸̲̦̞̺͆d̶̗̒̐̕̕?”

-

Technoblade grabbed the edge of the box, stumbling. 

The memory—No, vision—was incompatible with reality. How would he have gotten to the Nether as a child? And Techno never had a father, never depended on anyone, never needed—

Before he could even begin to understand the implications, he was thrown back in.

-

He was lost. 

He was alone. 

And he couldn’t have known that enough inhaled ash will scar your lungs, burn your skin, and bury you beneath a mountain of suffocating fire the moment you stop moving. He couldn’t have known that the Nether contains biomes of this stuff.

Ash has suffocated him. It burns, searing his skin and cooking him alive. It’s like the fall of Pompeii. He read a book on Pompeii once. Perhaps in some distant time an archaeologist will discover the hollow shell of his remains and theorize what happened here, or a traveler, a survivalist happening along the same paths years later when he’s just a mound.

He read another book, once. About a volcano. It’s similar to that pyroclastic flow, a mix of awful molten core and heat. There’s no way to swim in lava, not truly. It doesn’t stop a thirteen year old boy from scraping for the surface in a pit.

He was going to die here.

It’s his coat that saves him. Handcrafted and made with love. The bottom half tears, and he loses a precious gift but gets to keep his life. 

Everything is burning. Is he screaming? His clothes are torn and he’s burning, he’s burning—

-

As quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Technoblade was instantly brought to the sensation of cracklings coals. He jumped at the sound, then looked down at his hands.

Hooves, right. Hooves.

This was too much to process.

Techno looked up.

He watched Tommy waddle to the front of the house in front of Carl’s stable, trudging through the snow the most inefficient way Technoblade could imagine. He was wiping his face.

For some reason, he thought it was something his good friend Philza would have a laugh at.

> PHILZA!!!

> Philza Minecraft?

> Philza would love it here

> The child is annoying, I hope he freezes to death

> I miss Philza

> Countdown to Philza visiting!

“Chat, you’re screaming into my ear right now.” He needed clarity, not a thousand voices in unison chanting for a friend.

Even from here, he could see that tears were pooling in Tommy’s eyes.

Technoblade didn’t bother with a coat. He ignored the sounds of the fire and how the heat made him feel uneasy, instead opting to climb down the ladder and go out the front door. Tommy was muttering to himself, a hand petting Carl.

“‘s not a happy story—What’s the point of telling a story if it’s not happy? I reckon he’s just one big downer. Downing all the time.”

It was then Techno decided to speak. 

“I’d say talking to yourself is a bad habit but since I can’t really do that without coming off like a hypocrite, I’ll tell you that being quieter usually means people can’t overhear sensitive, secret information.”

Tommy didn’t jump, but his shoulders hitched.

“I don’t care about secrets.” Tommy crossed his arms.

“Everything’s a secret when you can’t understand basic information people are telling you.”

“You don’t tell me anything!”

“I’m trying to tell you why people tell sad stories.”

“If I were his family, I would have recognized him.”

“No you wouldn’t have! That is literally the point of the story. You’re like five now, you think you’d recognize someone you saw as a baby?”

It happens a third time and Technoblade’s world spins.

> Recognize recognize recognize

> Is he finally remembering????

> idk, not yet?

> Ugh, someone get me when something interesting happens

> your dead, whats stopping you from watching all the time?

> It’s actually ‘you’re’

> where

> where?

> WHERE DID I ASK—

-

There is a house on a hill in the forest. It looks familiar, with a basement, a middle floor, and a top floor with stairs leading up from the outside.

There is a house beneath a hill in a fierce tundra. 

There was a house on a hill in a forest. It was a home too, once.

Both can theoretically exist at the same time. The house on a hill in the forest is perfectly ingrained in his memory, enough for him to replicate it bit by bit.

There is a boy with a beanie, taller than him. He wears a scowl.

There is a boy smaller than him with a bandage on his cheek.

Sunlight flows through the curtains like honey, oozing in warm delight. There is something resting on the bridge of his nose, and his fingers fly to adjust it.

He laughs.

The tiny freckled boy smiles and it shows his tooth gap.

A deep, tenor voice calls from downstairs and they rush to where storage is, the chests the dining room.

Their father is tired. There are bags under his blue eyes, but his smile lights up the room like the honey-light and like his brothers’ faces. He takes off his hat to sit at the table, a cape swishing behind him.

They’re singing at the table. Four humans with perfect harmony. They sing together all the time, how could he forget?

 The candles on the cake are flickering, and it’s a world away from the fires of the Nether.

“Happy birthday T̶̡͆̋́͝—”

-

Nothing else but static noise and Chat going wild.

“I’m sixteen! I am an adult man!” Tommy’s fists are balled as he stands, beating against his chest to each word and anger burns in his eyes until he sees his hero’s face. “Technoblade?”

His heart pounded.

-

The boy that Technoblade has been seeing through the eyes of is not an adult. Now he is a teenager. He is taller, the clothes more unfitting than before. There are stitches to fix the jacket, now forced to be a half-coat that tucks into his shirt.

He looks like the mockery of a man.

Actually, he doesn’t look like a man at all.

-

Technoblade remembered this part.

The rest had to be a daydream, the machinations of a tired mind. Separating his identity from his mask is impossible.

Literally.

-

He has forgotten what snow feels like. He has forgotten snow. There are many things Technoblade has forgotten, but the name of snow sticks. Snow. It sounds like a dream, like the deranged ramblings of a piglin who lost his mind, and like a fairy tale all at once.

He liked fairy tales, once. 

Now they’re just unrealistic.

The piglin group he is trailing turn to look at him. He’s been following behind them, scavenging whatever food they decide to discard and bartering whatever he can get his hands on. Their eyes are vacant, white. His eyes are present, despite his appearance. Alert. He has to be, it’s one mistake and death. 

The Nether is not forgiving.

He notices when their behavior shifts.

The piglins decide to attack. 

Technoblade sighs.

He doesn’t want to attack this one. There have been too many packs, too many attempts at communication, too many tries at a family.

Technoblade has no tools. He’s forced to work with his fists and some metal the pigs scrapped, which with enough tempering he’s made into knuckles. Netherite knuckles, but that knowledge will evade him until years in the future.

He busts one of the pigs’ heads open, then shoves another’s head into the netherrack wall. Blood spills on his boots. A tusk is embedded in his hand; he puts pressure on the wound then yanks it out, stabbing it into the head of the third. The fourth pushes into his back, and Techno slams his head back into its skull until it fractures.

The fifth runs off. 

And all at once, an uproar, a chant from a place and group he cannot see or hear.

It sings that Technoblade never dies.

-

All at once Chat was unanimous:

> Technoblade never dies.

> TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES

> technoblade never dies

> blood for the blood god!!!

> Techno never dies

> Technoblade never dies!

He nodded in agreement.

“Technoblade.”

Tommy laughed.

Techno realized he had convinced the child he was fine.

“Is that how you get the girls, Blade?”

“I’m not interested.” The art of combat and potato farming interested him more than girls. Or anyone, for that matter. 

“Are you crying?”

“No.” Tommy sniffed. 

“Here, let go of Carl.” Technoblade pulled Tommy away.

“But I wasn’t—”

“I killed everyone that ever touched that horse.”

“Okay, fine.” Tommy doesn’t move.

Techoblade can’t sigh because he’s already sighed too much and anything that exacerbates the situation will give him a headache. Instead, he picks Tommy up and lifts him over his shoulder. He chooses to say nothing in response as Techno headed inside and down, down, until they were both in Tommy’s little nest of shiny things and stolen goods. 

Tommy struggled to stay on the bridge of consciousness. Technoblade takes his hand and walks him all the way there, staying down in the pitiful hole until Tommy has tired himself out from the sound of his own voice.

It was hours before he risked stepping away from the bed.

Snow fluttered down. It was cold and wet, but it was snow; a miracle all the same. 

Technoblade stretched out a hoof. It was not the hand of a small child that was trapped in the Nether. It was a Piglin beast who had believed he'd never feel the cold again. 

Technoblade glanced out the shutters. Tommy was inside, falling asleep. The silence of the home told him as much. 

He pulled his hand back inside. 

The fire of the top floor crackled. Techno dipped his head forward. His hands clasped around an invisible buckle, hidden underneath his hair. 

As easy and simple as changing clothes, Technoblade the human stood in his retirement home. His height was the same, scars still present, but now a long unkempt braid of hair trailed down his back. It was ill-maintained, tangled and disgusting. A liability.

Without thinking twice, Technoblade took his sword and slashed the braid off.

-

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?!” Dream yells. It feels like the ground is shaking beneath them.

Techno stands firm. He’s towering above him, sword at his side.

“Nope. I’ve been told it’s one of my best qualities.” His voice is monotonous as always.

The green fiend stood hunched over his stomach, shoulders rising and falling to the tune of his ragged breaths. He knew that they didn’t need to breathe. It was all theatrics, even in the middle of a fight. Still, Dream’s voice was frantic, jittery, shaking, and loud; something Chat assured him they altogether had never seen in their combined existences.

Technoblade felt smug.

Technoblade made the grave mistake of hubris.

In a flash, the god is behind him. The god that can see the straps of his mask, the god that slices it off with a well-placed swordstrike and grabs him by his braid.

“Y’know, I really didn’t want to kill you. I’ve heard about you, a little bit. I just didn’t care.” He whispers into Techno’s ear as the pain tears into his scalp.

It only took a half-second for him to find a solution.

Dream was guarding from the left, expecting another hit to his mask. 

Technoblade swiped at the right.

In a flash, he’s cut off his braid of pink hair and freed himself from the clutches of his enemy.

He smirks, and pulls out his axe. He doesn’t need the mask to fight, it’s already a part of him.

“C’mere, Dream.”

-

That one. That memory is real and he has all the proof he needs of that. He turned over his hand and pushed up the brass knuckles to see the gashes along his finger from where he held the grip. He sets the hand-to-hand weapon on the crafting table as he massages his hands.

Soaking his fingers in instant healing should alleviate the pain. Even for a moment. 

Dream hit hard. The wounds never left. 

But Technoblade hit harder.

A burned hand reached out to the snowfall. 

The snow didn't burn back. 

"He's not me, Chat. We're keeping it that way."

If there was one thing Technoblade was good at achieving, it was his goals.

[stxvercgersslut]

Missing you

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Description: You’re away on a business trip for three days and Ransom just can’t take it anymore.

Warnings: filthy! Insanely filthy! Practically porn with a little plot.

Three days! Three whole boring days without your boyfriend of 2 years Ransom Drysdale. Honestly you couldn’t think of anything more excruciatingly painful to sit through. Nothing would ever compare to being away from him.

Of course you missed cuddling up to him at night, watching tv with him or even just sitting on his lap whilst he occasionally planted kisses against your neck and whispered the things that he wanted to do to you in your ear. But oh how you missed the mind blowing sex with your former playboy. God did he know what he was doing in the bedroom. He’d definitely ruined you for other men. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling of being filled to the brim with Ransoms huge cock whilst he slammed in and out of your an impossible pace, or how sometimes the two of you would just be so exhausted from your days that you’d just sit down on his cock and cuddle into him whilst he occasionally moved his hips up, thrusting sloppily up into you. Point was you missed Ransom.

Which was why you were currently dressed in nothing but his extremely soft cream cablenet sweater, sitting on the floor with you back pressed against the edge of the bed and your legs spread open wide whilst your phone camera pointed straight at your soaking wet pussy through the body length mirror. Recording as you slowly played with your swollen folds, purposely missing your clit, head tilted so far back in concentration that you were almost a hundred percent certain that you weren’t even recording. Thankfully you were. Once you’d been positive that was enough of a show for Ransom you quickly pressed the big red button in the middle of the phone screen. The video was around 15 seconds long, only showing as much as your soaked fingers running through the slick of your pussy. Opening your folds for him every few moments to really give your boyfriend an all mighty show.

Once you’d watch the video a good few times and had actually approved of the quality of your small little ‘performance’ for Ransom, you opened your contacts. Soon pressing his name before attaching the video with the caption ‘Clearly I’m missing you a bit too much tonight daddy’ adding a winkie face to the end of the message before pressing send as quickly as physically possible, ensuring you no time to change your mind.

Shockingly the former playboy was still awake at 11pm on a Sunday. He most certainly must have been looking through your previous sexts for a little relief of his own since the second you sent it he instantly saw it. However, nothing could have prepared you for the message, well rather video, that you received in return.

‘You’re already soaked for me baby? I’m not even there yet your pretty little pussy is drooling for me. Can you see how hard you got me?’ Attached to the message was a rather intimidating video, include a extreme close up of his hand lazily stroking up and down his large erect cock. He really wasn’t lying when he said he was hard. His cock was practically screaming for you to suck it. And oh how you so wanted to be there in front of him, down on your knees with your lips wrapped around his gorgous cock.

Ransom clearly wasn’t in the mood for just nudes right now, since he didn’t even give you enough time to respond to his message. His name popping up in big bold letters, signalling that your extremely sexy boyfriend had called you.

Wasting no time what-so-ever you quickly answered his call, pressing the phone to your ear in one quick swoop before your lef hand began playing with you breast through your (well his) cablenet sweater, your thumb and ring finger wrapping around your nipple and giving it a harsh pinch causing a low moan to leave your lips before he could even speak.

“I would ask if you’re wet for me baby but that video left nothing to the imagination, you’ve got such a pretty pussy pink y/n. Can’t wait to get my mouth on that little clit in 2 days. Gonna make you cum so hard you won’t be able to walk for at least a week. Even then I’d be letting you off lightly.” He purred into the phone, every so often pausing to let out a low growl of pleasure, his hand was still greedily wrapped around his cock stroking slowly as he tried to prevent himself from cumming almost instantly from the little present you’d given him. Oh how he loved receiving videos from you. Especially ones as detailed as this. Although he would have preferred a little bit more then just your fingers toying with your pussy. In fact, what he longed for was to be there with you. His mouth latching onto that little bundle of nerves and sucking harshly as you moaned below him. But you were a whole different state away from him for another 2 days. This just didn’t seem fair to him. Not in the slightest.

Clearly he was expecting you to just mewl, moan and cry in response to his dirty talk. But what happened next surprised the both of you. You weren’t exactly the type of girl to dirty talk, especially when Ransom preferred to do most, of not all, of the talking during sex. Yet tonight all of that was about to change.

“Daddy....are you stroking your cock for me? I miss you so much. I miss how well you fill me with your cum. Wish you were here with me right now. I really need to cum daddy, won’t be able to sleep otherwise. Please make me cum..need you to make me cum. Can’t do it on my own” you begged, your left hand sneaking down to the hem of you, his, sweater and pulling it over your head. It was getting way too hot to wear such a thick sweater. Besides, Ransom preferred you naked anyway. Even if you were a whole state away from him, it was good to know that you followed his rules even when he didn’t tell you to. You were just way too good of a girl for him. The growl you heard on the other end of the line would have been enough to make you cum right on the stop if it wasn’t for your surprisingly excellent self control.

This was new, you hardly ever spoke like this, even during rough sex Ransom could barely get a sentence out of you. Yet now? Now that you were away from him you were filled with a wave of confidence. And to say he was excited about that would have been an understatement.

“Awe my poor baby” he began, lowering his voice a couple decibels without acre in world before continuing “can’t cum without daddy’s help can you? My pathetic little baby. Well then Princess go ahead and stuff that tight little cunt with three fingers for me.” He didn’t have to tell you twice. Because the next thing you know your following his orders, wasting no time at all in letting your hand go straight down to your heat, running a finger through your folds teasingly one more time before pressing each finger in one at a time until three fingers were inside you, causing a loud needy moan to erupt from inside of you.

“Doesn’t take much to make you moan does it baby? Your fingers feel good huh?” He teased, half expecting you to retaliate with a new found confidence like you had before, yet all he got were moane and whimpers in return. “Oh come on baby you can do better then that, where my confident princess gone? Thought you wanted me to make you cum? Can’t help you if you don’t tell me how it feels y/n. Now I’ll try again. Do your fingers feel good inside of you?” This time you mustered up enough courage to once again reply.

“Y....yes they do daddy....so good”

“Good girl....As good as my cock?”

“No daddy, wish my fingers were your cock”

“Thought so. You moving your fingers?”

“No” oh you knew better then to start fingering yourself without his permission. Had it been any other night you probably would have tested your luck by beginning thrust your fingers inside of you already, but you wanted to cum. And the only way that was going to happen was if you were a good girl.

“Wow, daddy’s proud of you princess. Following his rules without him even having to remind you. When you get in I’ll reward you for being so good. How’s that sound baby? You want daddy to eat your little pussy until you’re begging me to stop? Go ahead princess, finger fuck my pussy and make it cum.” He questioned, once again taking breaks in-Between every other word to moan or groans through his teeth. At this point he was fisting his cock at a much faster pace, desperate for release. You didn’t answer, but he didn’t expect you to. Not when he’d just given you permission to start moving your fingers.

At least he got to hear your little moans and crys of his name as you got closer and closer to your peak with every stroke of your fingers. Right now, more then ever he really did wish you weren’t so far away. If he could then he would have made his way straight over to you with it meant he could bury his face in your cunt and lick up your sweet nectar. It was no secret this man loved your pussy. Not that you were complaining.

“You close yet baby? You gonna cum for your daddy? Let him listen to your soft little moans? Come on baby I know you’ve got it in you. You can cum for daddy can’t you?”

“Mmmm” was all you could response with. Too caught up in the feeling of your fingers inside of you combined with your thumb strumming at your clit.

“Go on princess, I’m right behind you. Cum baby cum!” Was all you needed before you slipped over the edges, practically screaming in ecstasy as you squirted all over your fingers and onto your wrist. It didn’t take long before Ransom was growling into the phone, signaling that he had finally cum too.

What a way to relive stress and remind each other how much you loved the other.

Tag list: @et-lesailes @jtargaryen18 @chuckbass-love @cevans-fics

[darthmelyanna]

Darn it, I’ve been waiting since the start of the month to send you fic in celebration of your five-year check-up being all good, and in the end, I missed it because of work deadlines keeping me away aha. But congratulations on the excellent news!! And have some fic in celebration!!!

Nope, you are right on time - today is the actual anniversary!

And now, the fic:

1. As soon as he wakes, John knows something is wrong. Firstly, because the bright lights of the infirmary greet him when he opens his eyes, and he is very confident that he wasn’t in the infirmary when they had initially shut. Secondly, because as awareness trickles back in through his mind, so too does a large amount of pain across his body. Most importantly however, is when he glances to his right and sees a stressed-looking Lorne next to his bed rather than the usual sight of Elizabeth. 2. ‘’ere is she?’ he croaks out, pushing himself upright with shaky arms. Lorne thrusts a glass of water under his nose, clearly stalling for time as he waits until John has managed to drink without spilling everything over the covers. ‘How much do you remember?’ he asks, instead of answering, and John’s impatience begins to grow. ‘Enough,’ he says shortly. ‘I remember us visiting M8G-753, I remember Elizabeth coming with us, I remember us having endless boring negotiations with the locals.’ 3. The memories are there, but coming back slowly, pushing though the fog that seems to hang over his head. ‘Well, the negotiations weren’t as boring as you thought,’ Lorne says with a sigh. ‘You were ambushed a few hours ago on your way back to the gate. They clearly targeted those of you carrying weapons, to remove the threat, although in the end it appears as if they were going for a non-lethal approach.’ At this, John looks more closely around the infirmary. ‘The team?’ 4. ‘Bruised but otherwise fine,’ Lorne reassures. ‘Looks like you took the main brunt of the injuries.’ And abruptly John can recall exactly why – can remember how they were cleverly divided under the attack, lured forwards by enemy fire. How Elizabeth and the civilian scientists were left behind, as if that was safer, yet all the while a trap was being set specifically to catch them. He remembers her screams as she and the others were dragged away, and how he couldn’t reach her in time. 5. His feet hit the floor the very next moment, and then Lorne is there, clutching his arm as he attempts to stand upright. ‘No way,’ Lorne shakes his head. ‘Carson will kill me if I let you escape from here.’ John shakes off his support, and manages a slow shuffle forward. ‘Major,’ he says. ‘I am leaving this infirmary and going to get my people. And you can either worry about what the doctor says, or worry about civilians who have been left in hostile territory.’ His tone leaves no argument. 6. Lorne has the good grace not to mention how John is studiously avoiding saying a specific name. Instead, he hesitates for a moment, and then nods his agreement. ‘You might want to change your clothing, Sir, before you embark on any rescue missions,’ he says simply, indicating at the hospital gown with the semblance of a smile. ‘I’ll go ready a team.’ He leaves abruptly, no doubt wanting to avoid any potential confrontation if Carson were to appear. 7. John is grateful for the privacy – it makes it less humiliating as he walks slowly back to his own quarters, trying to put as much distance between himself and the infirmary as possible. His brain is stuck wondering what has happened to Elizabeth, and reflecting on how he failed to keep her safe. He barely notices the numerous bandages across his body as he pulls on more suitable clothes, and by the time he splashes cold water on his face, he can at least move a bit more easily. 8. He still isn’t quite sure how he makes it back to Control however, never mind gearing up and stepping through the Gate. He knows at some point he gave Lorne the nod to go ahead with leading the team, but mostly he focuses on keeping the encroaching darkness at bay from the corner of his vision. The world is slightly hazy, but he needs to remain upright. Elizabeth would be appalled if she saw him, he knows, but the point is that she CAN’T see him, because she isn’t there. 9. The other side of the gate is eerily silent, and it is impossible to know if they are being watched, and if so, by how many. John sidles closer to Lorne. ‘Let’s head towards the town first,’ he says quietly, and Lorne nods in agreement before gesturing to the others. Before they’ve managed to go move however, there is a loud explosion to the left of the gate, and a large plume of smoke begins to rise from the not-too-far treeline. John wordlessly points in this new direction. 10. Fifteen minutes of unrelenting marching later, and the smoke has begun to settle in around them, making it difficult to see. And then, up ahead, figures begin to emerge from the trees. ‘Don’t come any closer,’ John commands, managing to find his voice properly at last. He waits, gun in hand, team at his back, for the response. ‘John?’ someone familiar asks, and suddenly Elizabeth is there, leading a group of dirty, tired scientists towards him. 11. There is a definite limp to her step, and a large cut down her left cheek, but she’s smiling brightly by the time they stand toe-to-toe. ‘You kinda interrupted the rescue mission,’ John says, trying to sound casual and unable to stop a matching grin spreading across his own face. Elizabeth laughs in response. ‘Never underestimate a scientist’s ability to blow something up – including doors,’ she gestures over her shoulder towards a sheepish-looking young woman. 12. ‘After that, it was just a matter of removing the guards.’ Her hand is holding tight to a table leg, he realises, and then with a quick glance around to the rest of the group, sees that they all have various weapons. ‘Leading a violent uprising,’ he notes. ‘I’m impressed.’ Elizabeth nods, and there is weariness to her movements. ‘I will admit that diplomacy is not always the best option,’ she says lightly, but her fingers release the makeshift weapon and it falls to the ground with a thump. 13. They need to move back towards the gate as quickly as possible to avoid another ambush, but then he feels Elizabeth’s forehead drop to his shoulder. His arm comes up to rest on her back, and he allows them to breath for a moment, as around them, the other scientists are being ushered away. ‘OK?’ he asks softly, for only her to hear. ‘OK,’ she confirms, her voice muffled against his chest. ‘You?’ He nods in response, despite the aches shooting across his body. 14. ‘Let’s get you off this planet and to see Carson,’ he says instead, shifting so she can use him for support as they begin to shuffle back towards the gate, whilst still keeping his other side clear for his gun. She snorts quietly in response, even as her gaze rests on the uneven ground as she tries to stay on her feet. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed you should be in the infirmary yourself,’ she throws back. He groans, not from pain but from suddenly picturing Carson’s reaction on his return. 15. ‘Can we just pretend he cleared me for this mission?’ he asks pitifully, keeping her distracted whilst subtly trying to speed up their pace. He refuses to be caught out again by an ambush, and the faster they make it back to Atlantis, the faster she will be safe. ‘Nice try,’ she tells him as the gate looms ahead. ‘But maybe we can be in neighbouring beds – I’m sure he’d prefer you focus your boredom on ruining my concentration instead of his when you invariably get bored of your stay.’

16. They reach the gate just as Lorne dials for Atlantis. John keeps holding her upright as they travel through to Control, and all the way down to the infirmary, where they are separated only by Carson’s demanding hands (and furious words). And when he wakes up from his own hospital bed the next morning, Elizabeth’s face from the neighbouring bed is indeed the first thing he sees.

*

GAAAAAAHHHHHHH, so good. As always, SO GOOD. Thank you so much! I love it!

[life-0r-death]

(so this is technically two different templates, but I couldn’t resist the part two. shoutout to @the-kings-of-games and @asix-oud for inspiring me to do this)

Character Profiles:

Jack Atlas - 20, blonde, 6' (anime height I think) “No one loves like Jack Atlas!”

Yusei Fudō - 18, raven with gold highlights, 5'7″ - “Jack it’s alright--”

How it happened:

Growing up together in the same orphanage under Martha’s care, both Jack and Yusei developed a bond of brotherly affection toward one another that they also shared with their third brother, Crow. However, as they got older, Yusei started to realize his feelings for Jack were anything but brotherly. With his growing adoration, he slowly tried to feel out how Jack felt, slowly implying that he had more love to give. It took Jack well after the Fortune Cup, and deep in the WRPG to realize that Yusei had affections for him. And that he returned them. Unintentionally, the two kissed and the rest was history.

Showing affection:

Both Jack and Yusei take initiative when it comes to affection. However, Jack is more of a wild card on whether or not he wants to provide verbal affection or a physical one. Often, Jack will either smirk at Yusei and tell him he’s a dream or he’s his knight in shining armor (This tends to turn Yusei quite red). Or, Jack will pull Yusei into a hug no matter where they are, just to hold him in his arms.

Yusei is all about non-verbal affection. He holds Jack, kisses him, gets him things, or just takes care of him as he needs to. Yusei finds that he never has the right words to tell Jack of how he feels, so a kiss and a hug are his better applications.

Handling Conflict:

More often than not, many of their conflicts revolve around Jack. Whether that be to duel, go out and visit Martha, or the strain of Jack’s worries on Yusei’s health and his own flighty nature, Jack is usually the most vocal on his distastes. He’s one to yell sharply and angrily before taking time away to cool down. He has a fight or flight response and his motions are to verbally fight and then flee. Yusei understands Jack’s needs to just be alone. He is not one to give chase (unless he absolutely needs to).

Yusei is the most neutral. Depending on the fight, he can range from just listening and helping to resolve it, or he can be just as stubborn as Jack, silently seething and also removing himself from the source. 

They usually come back to one another eventually, though, and kiss and make up.

Dealing with jealousy:

Both Yusei and Jack are prone to jealousy as both are quite popular in their inner circles. Jack is often seen by his fans who love to latch onto him and ask for his hand in marriage. Yusei’s jealousy certainly spikes, but he doesn’t let it overtake him. He usually just requires a bit more attention after the source departs, whether that be cuddling or Jack just being in the same space while he works on a duel runner.

When Jack becomes jealous, he’s just as eccentric as he normally is. He’s loud and in faces, grabbing Yusei and practically dragging him away or making sure that Yusei knows he’s there. There are no if, ands, or buts about it. Yusei will give him the affection he deserves and whatever the source may be, alive or inanimate, they will feel his wrath. 

Relationship Attitude:

When it comes to their relationship, Yusei holds it near and dear, performing all sorts of PDA and making sure Jack knows just how much he loves him. To Yusei, he spent too much time hiding his feelings, playing it safe, and watching Jack run off to become King all alone (when Yusei wanted nothing more than to be his Knight). He had to watch as Jack never understood his advances, watched as Jack would be harmed from the forces that came after them. Yusei had even gotten to the point that he would always appreciate Jack from afar, but know he’d never have him in his grasp. But once Jack admitted feelings for him too, Yusei made an oath to never hide his feelings again. So he devotes everything to Jack, understands Jack’s own fears and anxieties, and puts their relationship above all other projects. A duel runner can be fixed another day. Jack’s tears? Those need to be attended to now.

Jack is just as devoted to their relationship. Hell, he thinks about marriage at times. But he doesn’t perform as much PDA nor does he express how important it is to him as much as Yusei does. He does this for two reasons; one, Yusei obviously initiates it all. Jack doesn’t need to start any PDA since Yusei will begin it on his own. And Jack doesn’t need to overthrow Yusei with adoration since Yusei seems happy enough to give it mostly to him. The second reason Jack is a bit more reserved is because he has a hint of anxiety for their relationship. He’s always been a flighty man, ducking out when something was getting too much. He fears if something should go wrong, then he’d need that escape path to make sure Yusei doesn’t crash and burn. 

But both of them are rather happy in their relationship, usually talking about their fears and loyalties in the dead of night.

Attachment:

Each person toes the line depending on their emotions. But they are quite heavily attached to one another. Jack is not overly-protective nor is he hyper lax, and he does value his independence a bit more. This goes back to his flighty nature that should he need to run, he needs that space to get going. But this doesn’t mean he doesn’t adore Yusei.

Yusei doesn’t mind indepence or clinging. He’s just happy to be in Jack’s bubble or to just be in his thoughts. Yusei is, however, quite protective of Jack. Watching his man be flung from his duel runner too often has boosted this feral need to just keep him safe, as well as make sure Jack is never taken advantage of again. So Yusei is pretty quick to do research on events, offer up to go with, and generally make sure Jack is going to be okay.

Things to elaborate upon...

First to confess - both sort of did it at the same time. Yusei never really outwardly confessed until Jack sort of gave him this notion and feeling that they felt something similar. So they both openly told one another than they loved each other.

More popular/charismatic - both are held in high regard, Jack with his fanbase and Yusei with their inner circle as with the City for being the King (since he de-throned Jack).

Sick caregiver - both are pretty on even ground to take care of one another. Jack makes Yusei soups and foods, making sure he stays away from the duel runners to actually rest. Yusei pets Jack, gets him water, and is a constant by his side.

Does the cooking - Jack does it all. He’s a baker, having honed the skill while under Godwin’s foot and locked within his penthouse. When he wasn’t dueling, he was committing his time to something that distracted him long enough to feel alive. So he’s known as the chef in their household, and everyone loves his food.

Does the cleaning - since Jack does all the cooking, Yusei takes it upon himself to do the cleaning. He’s pretty good at making sure all of his tools are set and ready in the garage, so he makes sure those habits follow him into the house (and Jack isn’t too messy to begin with, he’s actually quite organized and proper).

Does most of the speaking - Not that Yusei doesn’t talk, he just lets Jack speak for him. Especially when he’s hands deep in a duel runner. Jack knows what’s on his mind, or knows what he likes to eat or drink, so he lets his man take care of him in his own ways. Plus, Yusei is pretty lax on requested subjects, like what they’d wear to some party. Jack cares about that stuff, so Yusei lets him talk for both of them.

Designated driver - Now, Yusei is deemed this because he is also overprotective. He doesn’t want Jack crashing, so if they have to go somewhere and both don’t have to have their runners, Yusei will be the one to drive and make sure his King makes it in one piece.

Has good penmanship - Jack knows cursive from his time with Godwin. Martha taught both him and Yusei a lot in the orphanage, but cursive and clean writing weren’t the top priorities. Just know how to read and write were. So, Jack honed this skill not only because he wanted to, but because he had to. In order to appear like he was actually from the Tops, he had to be able to write signatures elegantly.

Has more experience in a relationship - neither do. They’ve only ever pined for one another, or never thought about romantic interests or advancements. So this is their one and only relationship.

Sensitive to subtle changes in partner - both are excellent at this. Yusei is already hyper aware of Jack constantly. He knows when he’s feeling a bit more agitated or when he’s on edge. Jack isn’t as honed as Yusei, but he knows what each facial expression and silent grunt means. He’s studied them for a long time, and honestly, Jack and Yusei never have to use words to communicate how they are feeling.

The one who proposes - Yusei will want to, will plan for it and will be sure its a fanfare (as by Jack’s request). But the world will decide that he’s now allowed to, either making him too busy or stealing his attention away constantly at the perfect moments (or more enemies appearing out of the woodwork to ruin his plans). So, in the end, it will be Jack who sets up some sort of extravagant world around them, getting down on his knee and holding Yusei’s hand with a simple yet beautiful wedding band ready to slip on his finger.

(if you want specifics on part 2, send asks! Otherwise, thanks for reading! You can find a lot of these dynamics in my fics on AO3 <3)

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Can we get angsty fic of Yvette and Vuz-ass make a deal for curse removal? Yvette isn’t aware of the catch. Vuz took MC’s humanity away at the same time as Yvette’s curse removal. Mc joins Vuz and make deal with demons for powers.

Written by @an-awkward-ghost

“It is always a pleasure to see you, my child.” The greeting was raspy, amusement coating it like honey. Vuzgamad never felt truly threatened by Yvette, no matter what she did or what she said. It was all a game to her, like an owner who didn’t expect their dog to bite them, and only watched fondly as it growled and whimpered and barked.

But Yvette did know how to bite, and she would draw blood when she did. It was only a matter of time.

“You said you wanted to make a deal.”

Years of experiences had taught Yvette everything she needed to know about deals. It was similar to a battlefield, where each party needed to plan their movements and proposals to the full extent. They couldn’t allow their opponent to have an unfair advantage. Quite ironically, however, they were willing to go to any lengths to cheat the other party to gain said unfair advantage – so long as they weren’t caught, anyway. Yvette wasn’t planning on letting anything slip past her, because there was no doubt Vuzgamad wanted to cheat her.

The day the demon did one thing even the slightest bit truthfully, would be the day hell froze over.

“Straight to the point,” She hummed, making a small tsk sound right afterwards. “That impatience will do you no good, girl. Don’t you want to chat a little?”

Yvette gave her a fulminating glare, blue eyes glinting dangerously. “If it doesn’t regard whatever deal it is that you want to make, I have nothing to say to you.”

“So ferocious. So brash. Well, it is to be expected, I suppose…” Vuzgamad finally, finally turned to look at her, a small smirk playing at the edge of her lips. She got the gesture and movement right; if Yvette hadn’t known she was a demon, if she hadn’t been able to see marks and the hollow eyes, she would have thought it was just another human, if a little awkward.

Vuzgamad had learnt too much about human behavior recently. It set Yvette on edge.

“Simply put, your curse has reached its peak. It’s about time to remove it.”

“…Excuse me?”

She must have heard the demon wrong. She fought to keep her breathing steady, to avoid giving Vuzgamad the reaction she wanted, but she could feel excitement bubbling inside her all the same. She schooled her expression – no, no, she couldn’t dare to hope. She couldn’t dare to believe her, not when she had been the one to curse her in the first place.

She couldn’t let her emotions override her logic. She needed to keep her yearning in check. She needed to. She needed to. The disappointment would crush her otherwise.

For a second, Vuzgamad’s eyes flickered from her expression to her hands, scanning for the slightest twitch. Her smirk stretched.

Then the demon feigned disinterest, turning to whatever she was writing. Yvette felt eerily like a child that had stumbled into their parent’s office and interrupted their work. The sensation made her shudder with disgust.

This demon was not her mother. She would never be, because Yvette had left her real mother – and any chance she had at a normal life – behind when she had decided to run away from home.

“The power your curse provides can be harvested, so that’s what I will do. Take it away.”

Her heart leaped. Yvette worried for a second that Vuzgamad could hear it. She cleared her throat, trying to crush her rising hope. Focus. She had to focus. “There must be a catch of some sort.”

“Isn’t there always, dear?” Then, silence. She was enjoying this – perhaps she wanted to see Yvette fidget? She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She wouldn’t – couldn’t – play right into her hands.

“I do not trust you, Vuzgamad. I will not accept your deal.” She intended to say this with conviction, but her voice wavered. Vuzgamad huffed, rolling her eyes.

“I have not finished speaking, child.”

“Could have fooled me…”

“Oh please, it was a dramatic pause. You know all about those, don’t you?”

“You were doing an excellent job at getting straight to the point.”

“Ah, so you are the only one who can have a dramatic flair?”

Yvette’s scowl deepened. “Stop. Wasting. My. Time.”

“So brash! Where did your manners go, child?” Another tsk sound. Vuzgamad turned the paper over so she could continue writing. “Yes, yes, there is a catch. The energy I harvest from you – your curse with it – will be used to bring about the end of the world. You must have known that already.”

“I hardly doubt you could destroy the world with-”

“Do you honestly think I’d have wasted years for a plan I wasn’t quite sure would work?”

Yvette bristled. With a quick movement of her hand, her cane snapped into existence. She twirled it artfully, a warning. “I do not accept.”

“Really.” The demon’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Do keep in mind there is no other way for you to get rid of that curse, save for that girl’s ability to love. We both know you won’t choose that option,” another brief, amused look, “or you could kill me, but I hardly doubt you’ll have much luck this time.”

There it was, that overwhelming desire. To be free. To be normal. To have the one thing she’d wanted almost all of her life. And it was locked behind a word and a sense of duty to her Assassin Title. If Yvette accepted, then…

Then… what?

Vuzgamad was sure her plan would work. Yvette knew it would fail.

Whatever it was that Vuzgamad believed, her curse didn’t feel powerful enough for the feat she was suggesting. Yvette was quite used to keeping the energy in check, after all. She would know better than anyone if her curse was truly at its peak.

Now this was the perfect opportunity to cheat her opponent. Yvette put on an act, refusing at first, to keep Vuzgamad from realizing what she was trying to do, before she finally agreed.

She could shoot two birds with one stone.

…

“Sounds like quite the big catch, though. Are you sure about this, Yvette?”

“I’m aware of the danger. Vuzgamad doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Vinca gives her a sidelong glance, wary. “Is it tonight?”

“It is.”

“And I probably won’t be able to talk you out of this.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Does the pipsqueak have a better chance?”

The corners of Yvette’s lips quirk upwards at the mention. “Not any better that yours.”

Vinca moves to touch her gloved hand again, giving the interaction with Vuzgamad a few days ago another look. “I guess it’s worth a try. If she does anything, we can just gut her.”

“Assuming we’ll manage this time,” Lazareth mumbles, looking just as uneasy as Vinca is. Yvette ignores them both, fiddling with her phone to get in contact with MC. She can’t wait to share the news.

…

“You brought company,” Vuzgamad notes, drily.

“What is it that you always tell me…? The more the merrier, was it?”

Vuzgamad laughs. It’s an awful sound, like a claw scrapping metal, inhumane and atrocious. Yvette winces. Vinca glares daggers at the demon, hands twitching towards the tiny knives on her dress, though she grits her teeth and makes no other movement. Lazareth casts the room a quizzical look, obviously on the hunt for a hint regarding whatever ritual Vuzgamad was going to use.

MC stood beside them, the very definition of calm. Yvette smiled to herself, knowing MC had taken her lessons about how to school her expression to heart. Having everyone by her side meant the world to her, emboldening her, giving her the strength she needs to face Vuzgamad and emerge victorious.

The thing is… nothing went as planned.

The curse removal was less painful than she expected it to be. Energy swirled out of her and into a device Vuzgamad had prepared, a small gray stone which quickly turned into a bright, pulsing orange. It was an odd sensation, not having to subconsciously keep the curse in check. Yvette felt almost hollow, but she quickly shrugged the feeling away.

She felt cold. For the first time in ages, she felt cold.

The chill of the wind bit into her skin like tiny knives laced with a numbing substance. Vinca moved to her side, watching her worriedly, her hand hovering over Yvette’s elbow and sending a shock of warmth through her system.

The curse had been blindingly hot, never warm. Yvette half-expected it to be scalding, but this warmth was soothing. Yvette found herself unconsciously leaning into it.

Smiling, Yvette looked up to meet MC’s eyes. And her whole world shattered when she saw none of the loving support MC had always given her, just stony indifference.

MC then walked towards Vuzgamad, who gave her the stone without a word.

Lazareth bristled at the sight. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

They glare at each other, the tension skyrocketing by the second. Yvette blinks. Blinks again. Blinks once more, trying to comprehend what’s happening, trying to understand why MC is standing beside Vuzgamad and not her. It doesn’t make sense. It is unexpected, and for a second Yvette feels a different kind of cold – it descends on her with a rush of panic

Vinca steps in front of her like some sort of human shield. Yvette can’t see the blonde’s expression but she can easily imagine it, all furrowed eyebrows and stormy blue eyes.

"You have one minute to explain before I gut you out. Both of you."

Vuzgamad chuckles. She turns in MC's direction with a maniac grin. "Yes MC, do explain to my child and her friends your decision." The glint in her eye reminds Yvette of the day she has first meet the demon, when she had ruined her life with the curse. She looks at it now and immediately understands her life will be ruined yet again.

MC shrugs. "Helping you was kind of pathetic. I decided to join the winning side."

"Pathetic?" Vinca repeats, her voice like acid. "I don't know if you hit your head or something, pipsqueak, but the only pathetic thing around here is your existence. Are you trying to shy await from that fact? Or are you just too delusional to-"

"MC." Her voice wavers, but it still rings sharply through the room. Vinca stops talking, choosing to seethe in anger while Lazareth gives them both one long, worried look. Yvette ignores everything - Vuzgamad's amused stare, MC's own disgusted one - and focuses on the woman she remembers MC to be. The woman she fell in love. The bike mechanic in front of her is a stranger, an illusion. "It's a lie. S-some sort of joke in very poor sense. It must be."

MC smiles. "The only joke around here is you."

Everything she is feeling is replaced by anger. Anger at Vuzgamad, anger at herself, anger at the world. The thing she desires the most slips through her fingers once more, as it seems destined to do.

The person she trusted above everything else. The person she can't believe is turning her back on her like this. The person she had given everything for, standing before her, letting all those precious, precious memories rot at the edge of her consciousness, not showing any remorse at all.

Yvette's first thought is that she is possessed. One look into her eyes confirms she is not.

The cold is but a distant memory, her pure being enveloped by the heat of her frustration.

Vinca gasps, taking a few steps back. "Yvette, your eyes!" Her eyes open wide, "your curse!"

Lazareth brandishes his weapon, bewildered. "The ritual was a hoax."

Vuzgamad bats his words away with a hand, still chuckling. "Hardly. I merely gathered enough energy for the curse to weaken, not to break. Yvette's conflicting feelings have strengthened it beyond comprehension." She pauses to bark a small laugh when Yvette's eyes snap towards her, blazing. "Child! What did you take me for? Did you think I didn't know your curse wasn't ready for harvest yet? It would have taken another decade, probably, but this little event speed the process up. Isn't it glorious?"

Yvette took a deep, calming breath. She could feel the curse's energy replenishing, fueled by her anger. It wasn't close to its usual amount, but Yvette could feel it nonetheless. The curse was stronger. One slip and everything would burn.

 "Where are the tears, Yvette?" MC asked. "I was expecting some serious waterworks from you! Too bad."

“Oh, that is it!”

Vinca’s knives flash. The realization MC has turned into an enemy – an enemy she will have to fight – locks Yvette in place. She can only watch as the knives soar through the air, directly towards MC’s shoulder. Ah, Vinca wants to paralyze her. Maybe so they can focus on Vuzgamad first. Yvette can get behind that plan, she wants to interrogate MC further.

But her thoughts quickly dissipate when the knives stop in mid-air. MC smirks, tapping the side of her head with a lazy, confident motion.

Lazareth grunts. “Telekinesis?”

“Isn’t it cool?” She asks. A flicker of her wrist, and the knives turn.

Yvette summons her sword with a trembling hand. Its weight offers some semblance of comfort, of control, but a quick look around reveals they are at a disadvantage. Eyeless demons are pouring out of the shadows in one big, crazed mass of bodies. They could probably take them on with little to no problem, but Yvette doesn’t think she’s in a good emotional place to endure the fight.

Her concentration spills into reality, turning it into a distraction that won’t last more than a couple of seconds.

It’s enough time to escape.

And so, she meets Vinca and Lazareth’s questioning gaze and orders a retreat, gritting her teeth, wondering how and why everything turned out the way it did.

She should have never assumed she could cheat Vuzgamad.

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 1

Hello all, I come before you with another chapter of Midnight Striga. Just to let you know, this chapter will mark a shift in the tone of the story. While this shift will not apply to every chapter, and certainly not every scene, things will now move a bit differently. Thank you.

With a sigh, Amity Blight, scion and heir-apparent to Blight Industries, tied back her hair into its usual short tail. And at that, she had officially completed her preparations for today, the day of the Covention. There, she would be presented by her Tutor, Emperor’s Coven Head Lilith, as a standard of excellence. While normally Amity didn’t particularly care to be used as a living advertisement, for a position as prestigious as the Emperor’s Coven, it honestly brought a small smile to her face, a sign that her skills were being acknowledged. Nothing like her mother’s annoying “Private Sales” she had to put up with.

A ding caught her attention. Turning to her scroll, she read off the new message.

Hope it goz great!! Gonna be watching, you rule!!! ~Skara

Amity allowed a soft smile to cross her face. She was surprised, pleasantly so, how much hers and Skara’s relationship had grown. A girl she had originally written off as a mean-spirited bully actually had a lot of depth to her; sure, she was catty, she could be bratty, and was an absolute gossip machine, but she was bright, funny, and always willing to help her. If Amity knew of a way to head back in time, she’d probably try and talk herself out of pushing away Skara. She frowned. Maybe if she had been a better friend to Skara, or at least tried to be a friend at all, Skara wouldn’t be so broken up over Boscha.

Amity scowled at the thought of the three-eyed Witch. She had never had a high opinion of the other girl, she honestly had a high enough opinion about herself for the entire city, but that day, any respect she may have harbored for her died in flames. She snorted at the thought, remembering those strange flames Boscha had been throwing around that day. She had heard the story from Skara, that Boscha wasn’t in her right mind; frankly, Amity didn’t care. Boscha had always been a certain level of difficult, but Skara owed the girl nothing, and still defended even her worst actions.

Boscha was lucky she had been avoiding everyone for the last few days; otherwise, Amity would’ve personally informed her of her… displeasure. Still, today was an important day for her future, no reason to ruin her mood thinking about painful things. Yet, Amity couldn’t help but have her mind wander back to that day; she had humiliated herself, acted rashly, and most likely ostracized herself even further from Willow, and she offended someone she had never even met before because she couldn’t control herself.

Amity’s eyes narrowed. That human girl was an oddity; her kind were not from the Demon Realm, so how did she get here? How did she stop Boscha’s rampage? Amity needed to know. The next time they met, while she would certainly apologize for her conduct, she wasn’t walking away without a guarantee to get answers.

Chomping down on her lighter’s flame, and wasn’t that still a weird thought, Boscha languidly ambled along, having gotten up and ready early so she wouldn’t have to interact with her parents. The Covention was today, one of the biggest events of the year, especially for Hexside Students. Boscha scoffed. She had never really gotten what the big deal was; before, her future was set on the image of being a professional Grudgby player, so the whole Coven thing was an annoying distraction at best. Even now, when she felt lost inside, she didn’t get the full appeal.

Although… she would admit to being rattled from her confrontation in the rain. A shudder crawled up her spine as she recalled the Owl Beast, it’s Witch-like face twisted into an animal’s leer. If something like that came to those who defied the Coven System, not that she necessarily believed it, then she would try to toe the line a bit, at least in public. But, when she recalled that fight, the way her blood pumped, her heart raced, the heady scent of fire filling her nose, she couldn’t fight the feral smile that crawled across her face.

Boscha wanted to fight again. It was something she just knew she had to do. Just thinking about it, the threat of violence and the clashing of strength and skill, made her feel so alive!! But… the screaming would come back if she fought for real, she knew it. She could even hear it now, the screaming, the accusations. Boscha slapped herself, forcing her mind away from the thoughts that were coming.

Still, it was a new day, something she should make the most of. She should probably check out the Covention today, if only to keep word spreading that she was a no-show. She couldn’t help but feel worried though. Would Willow be there? Would Amity? ...Would Skara? Biting her lip, Boscha trudged along, lost in her thoughts, heedless of the eyes in the shadows tracking her every move.

Eda sighed, bored out of her Titan’s damned mind. Business was slow today, but she couldn’t risk the possibility of missing out on a sail, even if it meant having to put up with Luz and King reading those Titan awful books. Seriously, that flowery language was a disgrace to magic!! But… she couldn’t ruin their fun, not after that night. She had just gotten the house all back together, to Hooty’s relief, and Luz had been making sure she had her potion taken every morning before she did anything else. It was sweet of her, if annoying.

Now if only she had something to get through this stupid BOREDOM!!! She let her mind wander to her newest tenant, one who had been rapidly worming her way into Eda’s jaded heart. She wasn’t sure how, but the kid had managed to eek out a soft spot with her, much to her bemusement; maybe it was the little hints of something not being right, the way she clammed up about her past, the oddly large collection of magic books and texts, or the strange injuries she had that, while healed over, seemed to weigh on her at times. 

The kid had secrets, and had shared barely nothing about them, but Eda wasn’t one to pry. But if those secrets got her hurt, then even if it made Luz hate her, she’d pry them out and do everything she could to keep Luz safe and hearty. ...Titans, she was going soft!! Better prepare a crime to keep herself nice and tough.

Hello, it looked like they’d have a customer after all! If she wasn’t mistaken, it was that one kid, the human fanatic that came around every so often, what was his name… Goops? Whatever.

“Welcome!” She cheered, putting on her most customer friendly voice. Her eyes scanned the two, taking note of the details, specifically the lack of uniforms even though it was a school day. A chill ran up her spine. “What can I interest you two fine Witchlings in today?” Maybe she was hamming it up a little, but she needed something, dang it!

“Um, actually, Miss Owl Lady,” The girl, a stout thing with a friendly look to her, a noticeable amount of fearful respect in her eyes. Normally, Eda would’ve found it amusing, if she didn’t now have a better understanding of WHY Witchlings looked at her like that. She was going to have words with Lily next time they met. “We actually came to see Luz?”

“Yeah! I would normally LOVE to buy one of your treasures,” The Goops kid said with his usual enthusiasm, if not tinged with disappointment. “But we really have some awesome news to share with Luz!!” He certainly rebounded quickly, Eda would give him that.

Eda opened her mouth to reply, only to close it as Luz came walking up, King trotting at her heels. He was doing that weird breathing thing again, something that helped with those crazy spells of his, and wasn’t that a thought! “Hey, Hexsiders!” Luz smirked cheekily as she walked up. “Willow, Gus, what brings you two here? Isn’t it a school day?” She asked.

“Nope, not today!” Willow cheerfully said, Goops nodding along beside her. “The Covention’s today!!” Ugh, that thing!? No wonder the market was abandoned.

“What’s a Covention?” Luz asked, looking confused, and just a bit bored. Eda was never so proud to see a child wilfully dismissive of authority before!!

“It’s when the Covens put on a big expo to show everyone what they can offer!” Gus cheered. He settled down a bit for his next. “We were wondering if you wanted to come with us?”

And there was the moment Eda needed to start intervening! “Oh no!! No tenant of mine is ever going to set foot in that den of conformist propaganda! Coventions are for people who have no ability to question their lot in life and blindly accept whatever crap that authority spoon-feeds them.” She stated firmly. At the affronted looks of the two kids, and Luz’s own flat look of disapproval, Eda huffed, but relented a little. “No offense to you two.” Hey, she wasn’t going to completely back down!

The girl, Willow, Eda thought, shook it off. “Well, maybe coming will help convince you to find a coven to join!” She said trepidatiously, giving a hesitant smile. Now, ordinarily, Eda would’ve used a spell to mess with her for saying that, but after learning what she had about her reputation… she decided to go with a gentler touch.

Eda sighed. “Look kid, there is no possible way I will ever join a Coven. Even if they forced me, I would literally rather die than be in one,” She stated bluntly, steadfastly ignoring the shocked looks her statement provoked. “I don’t know exactly what you kids have been told about me, not fully at least, but there is nothing a coven can offer me that I might want.”

“B-but a Coven gives you a place to belong!” Goops exclaimed.

“Already got one, it’s called my house.” Eda replied, checking her nails.

“It helps you make friends!” Willow followed up.

“I can do that without a Coven, and the kind of people who would be friends with me wouldn’t care if I was in one or not.” Eda said, summoning a file.

““B-But, But!”” The kids stammered.

“Look.” Eda snapped lightly, trying to hold in her temper. “I don’t need to be in a Coven. I am happier without one, and I always will be happier without one. I’m not gonna force my beliefs onto others, however much I might want to sometimes, so the least you two could do is respect mine, okay?” She finished softly. The two meekly nodded.

“I think we should go.” Luz offhandedly mentioned, piping up for the first time since the back and forth started.

“””What!?””” The three shouted, Willow and Gus in glee, Eda in shock.

“Yeah, we’ve got nothing better to do,” Luz shrugged, gesturing to the abandoned market around them, before continuing, “And it gives me an opportunity to check out more of the Isles. And Eda, are you seriously gonna pass up the chance to shake down a bunch of Coven Stands for everything you can get?” She grinned, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

“Using my pride against me, eh?” Eda mused, before snapping her fingers. “Ah nuts, you sold me. But,” she drawled, shooting a look at the two Witchlings, “Absolutely no talk of convincing me to join a Coven, got it?” She said gravely, getting rapid nods from the two. Eh, Eda was willing to milk her worse-than-realized rep for as long as she could.

As the group set off, they were utterly ignorant of the rustling in the trees behind them.

A bloody scream ripped through the Guard’s throat. Why was this happening!? He was just doing his job!! Did these psychos not realize who they were challenging going after a guard like this??

“Quiet.” A gravelly voice, like stone shattering and scraping against steel, drawled from the dark, twisting the knife stabbed into the guard’s ribs. He screamed again, only to be cut off by a hard slap against his mask, so strong he felt his jaw loosen. “We don’t want to hear a peep from you unless it is to answer our questions.”

“DO YOU NOT REALIZE WHAT YOU’RE DOING!?” The Guard demanded, fighting through the pain. “I am a member of the Emperor’s Coven!! If my body turns up with obvious signs of torture like this, the Coven will rip you to shreds for trying to challenge them!!” There… maybe that would get them to comprehend their position!!!

The shadowed group paused, as if in contemplation of his words. Then, one of them snickered, then another, and another. And the entire crowd, a veritable army really, started laughing to the heavens, as if what he had said was the funniest joke in the world, fit only for the Titan’s ears.

“Gilihihihihihi!!” An oily, sickly voice laughed from the shadows. “As if any of these backwater weaklings could challenge us?” A note of hysterical madness crept into the stretched out figure’s voice, when suddenly, his long thin arms darted forward. For a moment, the guard didn’t realize what had happened, until a familiar wetness dripped down his palm. He screamed. Giggling, the figure stretched his hand out of the shadows; resting in his palm, were four of the guard’s severed fingers, ripped directly off his hand. The figure lightly tossed the digits up and down… and threw them back down his gullet, a sick laugh ripping out of his throat after he finished swallowing and chewing the bits.

“Now, now, we need him alive to answer our questions, gentlemen.” Another voice peaked out of the dark, this one smooth, polite, and as cold as the coldest nights on the Knee. “We wouldn’t want him to feel stubborn enough to deny us, now would we?” The cold voice chided, getting solemn nods from the other two figures nearest to the guard, almost like children being scolded by their parent. “Now, my good man, we’ve been at this for hours! You’ve resisted our attempts at bribery, even spat into the faces of my soldiers. Why, we even had to remove that left eye of yours to make you realize we weren’t bluffing!” He proclaimed, holding up the eye in question, the guard’s own familiar tawny coloring staring back at him. The figure bent down, smirking. “Now, just tell us what we wish to know, and your suffering will come to an end, okay? Otherwise…” he sighed, gesturing to the chuckling figures behind him, many hoisting up cruel instruments, such as hooks and skinning knives, all aimed towards him. “We’ll have to use you as a message for the next guard.” He finished ominously.

“N-next!?” The guard whimpered, finally realizing they were willing to kill him, to torture him to death for what they wanted to know. And just like that, all the wind left his sails, his resistance crumbled. “I’ll tell you.” He whispered. “Anything I know. Ask away. If I know, I will tell you.”

“Good.” The figure smirked. As he rapidly rattled off his questions, gesturing to his cohorts to record the guard’s answers, his smirk grew more and more as the guard answered in detail. About the Covention. About the special guest. About all the people who came to see it. About what it meant for the Emperor’s Coven. “Thank you, my good man.” He sincerely stated. Then, without preamble, he slashed his dagger across the guard’s throat, relishing the shocked horror and betrayal as the life fled his eyes as his blood poured down his front. He could even divine the question. Why? “I said your suffering would end.” He whispered to the soon-to-be-corpse. “I never said you would live.” And with that, a look of utter despair coated the foolish guard’s eyes… and they turned lifeless.

Tossing his knife to the figure who had eaten the guards fingers, ignoring the sound of the blood being licked off the blade, he calmly ordered his men to move, the large group mobilizing around him. As they exited the dilapidated castle they had appropriated from the recent demise of that rotten Octopus, he grinned in satisfaction as strategically placed flames went off, consuming the structure, and any trace he and his organization were ever there. ‘We shall devour this world.’ He thought, chuckling darkly. ‘And not even their precious Titan and Emperor will be able to stand against us.’

[murdersexual]

So about that part II to that LeoPika fic? 👀👀👀

WTF, BOI THIS IS TRASH! Stop torturing me, my writing is t r a s h.

🚨Warning!🚨

-Rated MA.

-Sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Gambling and Gun Violence.

-NOT PROOFREAD! (Like I write shit on a tired 3am brain...)

-NICKNAMES: Koi Fish/Fishie/Fishy: Leorio. Smol Ram or whatever else I used: Kurapika.

-Sorry for any potential OOC bullshit- 🤣🤣🤣

-Sorry but not sorry for Melody- 👀😤🤣

Part II: The Whims of Fate:

Melody didn’t know how to feel, her eyes grew to the size of saucers as she saw how fast Leorio was moving. She backed away, now hanging her phone up, she tries to make her escape via the glass door elevator. Her tiny chubby hand desperately clicks onto the up button. Her own heart played a melody of guilt and fear. But that’s what you get when you snitch.

‘I-I gotta get outta here!’

“MELODY!”

The way Leorio’s voice projected echoed across the entirety of the sixth floor. Hearing him yell like that shook her to her core in more than just one way. She drew a shaky breath and her eyes flicker to the angry hazel eyed hunter and back to the elevator that seems to be moving in slow motion.

“Come on... C-Come on!”

Impatience coats her voice as she now stands directly in front of the door.

“I KNOW YOU HEAR ME!! HOW CAN’T YOU?!”

His voice boomed once more, his soft hair now waving over one of his eyes only for him to use his left hand to push it out of the way. Now he’s even more pissed... Why?

Because she ruined his ‘SURPRISE MOTHAFUCKAH’—in other words, his grand entrance.

Yet because she absolutely is f o n d of Kurapika, she’d do anything to protect him. How adorable. Maybe there’s something else that lingers in her actions...

“Why are you here, Leorio?!”

Finally, she projects her voice even though that nervousness is still present. Just as she asks that, Leorio steps in front of her. The elevator clicks open and he takes her by her collar and shoves her into it.

“WHY?!”

Obviously, she avoided the question. He KNEW she knew why he was there otherwise she would’ve given him a friendly greeting and not snitch. Her onyx orbs bore into his icy gaze. She could hear the anger emitting from his heart and she ended up closing her ears and shutting her eyes.

“Be-Because you shouldn’t be here!”

Her answer made him wonder... Yet, he didn’t release her collar. His hold can be compared to that of a death grip.

“Urgh! That ain’t tellin’ me shit! I oughta throw your ass in the fucking fountain for snitching!”

Leorio’s hands are rated E for Everybody. Meaning he WILL absolutely drop a woman off if necessary.

“I... I-! My lips are sealed! Now unhand me!”

The infamous saying that typically gets passed about when classified information is detailed to anyone that’s within a Mafia. Upon hearing that, he roughly shoves her away, the back of her head slightly bouncing off of the elevator railing.

“Ow...”

A hiss of pain left Melody, a glare is given to him as she now reaches inside her tuxedo jacket for her brand new revolver but she stops just as she places her hand on the handle.

“Do it if you’re bad...”

The entire scenario played in her head had she shot him. Her eyes blinked multiple times—seeing her death being played out in several different perspectives. Lowering her head in defeat, she adjusts her fedora and finally tells him...

“8th floor, Roulette Table number 403.”

Huh, does that number ring a damn bell?

Pressing the fancy gold button with the bold number 8 on it, a scoff emits from the fish as he now stands to the side with his eyes forward. Putting his hands in his pockets and standing coolly, he sighs while tapping his foot impatiently.

“Hmph... Ya could’ve just told me that shit from the beginning and I wouldn’t have to damn near rough you up.”

Staring at her shiny black small heeled Oxford tux shoes, she blinks while taking a second to realise that there’s always an easier way to do things. Why didn’t she play it cool? Could she have lied about this? Did her feelings cloud her judgment?

“And that I could’ve but had the circumstances been different? Then by all means. You really... REALLY shouldn’t be here...”

Nothing annoyed him more than to hear those words without no fucking why to follow. Deep down, he believes she’s probably the only one concerned about the type of trouble he’d get himself in. That or maybe there’s a hint of jealousy?

“I will only say this for the simple fact that your heart reflects impatience and curiosity: It’s for your own good. If you get mixed with any of the other families? Who will be there to save you? Nobody.”

A smirk curves onto his face, now recalling how he’s caused a lot of inconvenience on the second floor all the way up. He softly chuckles, his head dropping for a second. The doors chime and open as they reach the eighth floor. Walking out first and turning to face Melody, he gives a shrug before backing away.

“Who’s to say that I haven’t already stirred the whims of fate~?”

Melody’s breath hitches in her throat, her eyes widening only for her to smirk and watch him with softened eyes.

“You’re dressed like a really handsome Devil tonight, that told me enough, Mr. Leorio~”

Looking over his shoulder briefly, he waves his hand.

“Just call me Leorio! But don’t think I’m gonna forget that you’ve snitched! I’m letting you off easy because I gotta conserve energy for this fucker!”

Momentarily, she found herself chasing after that Angel in Disguise. Shaking her head quickly with a soft blush, she clicks the number six and heads back to her post.

‘I always find myself attracted to those with charisma that’s relative to that of the Devil himself~ I must say, had my looks never been deformed, I’m sure I’d play him a melody that even he would have a hard time forgetting.’

The doors closed and she was gone.

Finding himself standing just before the entrance. His hazel gaze softened as he felt some feminine hands reach up to his shoulders.

“Welcome~ Shall I take your coat sire~?”

Glancing behind him, he sees a ginger bunny babe with the sweetest of smiles. He took out his favourite pocketknife and placed it in his blazer’s inner breast-pocket. He already has his wallet and keys in his pants pocket. Slipping out of his heavy winter coat, he carefully hands it to her.

“Hello there~ And why I thank you. You’re too sweet~”

She winks now sauntering away. His eyes instantly found those well rounded and pale ass cheeks of her’s. He gave a nod of approval while reaching for a cup of vodka topped with cranberry. He sips it and stuffs his freehand in his pocket.

‘Hmm...’

“Where should I start~?”

Mischief rang as he asked himself aloud. Proceeding to walk forward, he sees the blue and violet ambience, the music is A1–fun and enticing. Hell, everything all the way down to the alcohol is excellent. His eyes found the slots and just as he did on the second floor, he walks on over and leans over an older man with salt and pepper hair. He appears concentrated...

“Say, excuse me, fine sir?”

Looking to the tall youngster, he tilts his head while taking out his fancy Cuban cigar.

“What is it, Young Buck?”

With a pleasant smile he gently leans down, taking his hand out of his pocket he points to the slot screen.

“Watch the last two reels... Those move faster than the middle ones... Why do you think it’s so hard to hit the jackpot?”

With a smile, the man nods and daps him up. He adjusts his suspenders and pulls the lever.

“Thank you, son! How can I ever repay ya?”

Shaking his head no, Leorio stands straight and chuckles.

“Oh no, there’s no need, it’s what I love to do, especially as a birthday gift to myself.”

Raising both brows at his benevolence, the old man pulls out a wad of cash and calls over some of the Bunnies.

“Well I’ll be damned! Happy Birthday my boy! Ladies! Treat this young man to the finest of drinks, on me, Don Magnifico!”

Two of the girls hook around each of Leorio’s arms, his eyes instantly finding their perked up breasts, he smiles and looks back at him.

“I won’t forget your kindness, Don Magnifico!”

Don Marcelo Magnifico, age 52, standing at 6’2, still maintaining his muscle, he is one of the many Mafia Leaders who aren’t fond of other families. He’s widely known within the Underground community for his foreign cuisine and weapons import. The man has literally built a ‘Little Italy’ within Yorknew. He sees something within Leorio and he hopes to potentially get to him. Maybe he can find him a spot amongst his ranks?

From the sidelines, there are a familiar set of eyes that’s seen the entire exchange. With a dreaded sigh, the usually lax blondie found himself making tracks to the bar. Was his mind truly prepared to deal with the aggro fish?

Partially...

He gives a few taps to one of the ladies, he whispers for her to take his place momentarily at the Roulette Table. With a nod of confidence, she hopples over to take his place. Now Kurapika’s off to meet Leorio at the bar. Caution bells tolled in his head the closer he came and just as their eyes met?

The cheery and flustered face of Leorio’s instantly darkened. His lips wore that angry pout. He took one of the shots down without never taking his eyes off of him. Nearly stopping for a second, those light grey eyes momentarily averted. He could sense that rage...

“Well, well, well... Look what the cat dragged in...”

That came out so dark...

Sitting beside the angry fish is a quietly sighing Kurapika. He leans into his left hand and uses his right to snag a shot glass only to trace the rim of it.

“So what’s the fucking excuse this time? Huh?”

“There are none...”

Taken back by his honesty, those hazel eyes searched around as he hums for he’s in thought.

“Oh that’s fucking funny because I could’ve sworn you were gonna say that ol’ excuse you always say! I was expecting that shit! Did you purposely fucking forget or what?”

The idea of being chewed out never sat well with Kurapika. Most of the time, his words were hitting him in the side of his head. Finally taking that shot down and turning to face him, he scoots closer to the edge of his seat.

“Well, go on...”

He was setting himself up to actually get hit this time around. Perhaps he genuinely saw how hurt Leorio is. Why not give him what he’s always wanted right?

“I would never forget any special occasions and I would never miss anything important... I’m honestly tired. I’m sick of the lies, I’m sick of being the one trying to hold on, I’m sick of fucking trying to be the good fucking friend... At this point, I think I’m being taken for fucking granted and I ain’t got time. I’m here to tell your punk ass that you wanna do shit alone? You wanna be okay on your own? Fine. Fine. FINE! I’m done caring...”

Hearing these words made Kurapika wonder... Is he saying this out of complete anger? Or does he truly mean it? Either way, guilt was going to eat at him. Before he could combat his words, Leorio shook his head no.

“Save your petty fucking apologies... I don’t want them. I don’t need to put up with this shit. I know it’s gonna sound bad but how the fuck are Gon and Killua better fucking friends and their younger than the both of us? Fucking children. Ya hear me? Both of them called me and told me happy birthday and they’re always checking up on me... And what the fuck are you doing? Pretending that none of us exist! So you might as well lose my fucking number. This is the last time I’m gonna ever see that pathetically sheepish face of yours.”

At the moment, the fact that any of this is being said kept anything from conjuring—thoughts, retorts and anything else. That usually stoic face started to finally falter. One of his fears was this happening but he would never come to say it.

“Oh yeah? Don’t think I won’t pass up the opportunity to knock your ass into next week!”

Cracking his knuckles then drawing back his arm, he quickly cocks it, totally not caring that he may get shot, he will land that punch.

Or so he thought...

His fist was caught! Those ombré nails instantly dug into Leorio’s soft flesh. The slightest of hisses had emitted.

“At first I felt bad, but the fact that you had the absolute audacity to question my loyalty made me retract that privilege. All you do is bitch and I don’t want to hear it. You ask too many questions... Questions that if I answer may or may not put you in danger. So sorry if I’m choosing to be distant but given my position, I don’t particularly have as much free will like you do. Am I making excuses? No, I don’t make any and never will... I hate explaining myself... but because you obviously need a frequent fucking reminder, it can’t be helped.”

Leorio felt his eye twitch. He can’t find himself agitated!

“Let me—!”

Holding a finger up with his free hand, those light grey eyes had a faint red glint. But never did they leave those icy hazel ones.

“No, you’ve had your time to speak. One thing that always irritates me is how you up and assume that I don’t fucking care... When I do! So answer me this...”

Those nails pressed further and further into his skin, he even started to bend that fist of his back. Leorio did his best not to flinch.

“What time is it? Because on my watch I have... 10:21...”

Finally releasing his fist and blinking his gaze closed for a second to recenter himself, he leans back into his left hand before slowly looking to him. Leorio saw the claw marks and he couldn’t believe he was bleeding.

“...Meaning that your birthday isn’t over yet... But since you’re here, there’s no need to text nor call... So... Happy Birthday.”

That icy gaze of his warmed up instantly. He looks away for a second, his eyes appearing to search for the words he wanted to say.

“Ahem... I... One thing I’ve hated about your ass is how you gotta explain shit to me like I’m not detail oriented! But it still sounds like you’re making excuses... I don’t care what you say! Despite you didn’t apologise, you’re still giving yourself a fucking gateway to do the same old goofy shit. Time and time again, you don’t know how frustrating it is... Hence why... I just don’t care anymore. Sure, you’ve given me the words I wanted to hear, but it only takes less than a minute to fucking text. And no, I don’t give a fuck about you’re little ‘position’.”

Downing a shot before sliding over his birthday drink in front of him. Leorio rolls his eyes dismissively, now stirring his straw before sipping it.

“Hell I could be Prime Minister for all I give a fuck and it wouldn’t stop me from checking on my friends... Buuuuuttttt I guess I’m the only one who feels like that huh? Oh correction: ‘who FELT like that’...”

In all honesty, what could Kurapika say? Was Leorio really about to give up?

Recognising his silence, that hazel gaze narrows at him. His lip turns up, a look of unimpression decorates his face. He shakes his head in pity.

“Thought so...”

Facing the still upset fishy, the blondie sees his face and wonders how will he cope without seeing or hearing from him again? Slipping out of his chair, he softly chews on his bottom lip while thinking of something that he could do or say... These kinds of situations aren't his strong suit, obviously.

“Before you leave and never come back, there is something I’d like to show you... It’s not that impressive but hopefully it’ll show you that I don’t turn a blind eye to any of your advances.”

Raising an eyebrow, Leorio saw what he thought he’d never see and that’s...

That he’s genuinely afraid of losing him.

🚨🚨🚨

Okay so that’s it for part II. 😞😞😞 I really such at writing. But it’s an escape for my creativity. Hope you guys find it slightly entertaining! Thanks for reading and remember to stay hydrated and wonderful! 🥰