#anyway there's still another strip of them but my hands were so tired and this take me forever so idk if that one will ever get finished

[kopifurann]

read from left to right ⤍

Francis, i think it's hard to take ur world seriously when ur cradling my face so lovingly but maybe it's just me

Saying 'i love you' it's so embarrassing, plus when you're a nation, that kind of words can be quite a heavy burden for both parties since they need to put their people first over their existence and feelings as a 'human.' At least that's what Scotland believed. He called himself Alasdair for fuck sake, he mean to protect his people.

But proclaiming 'you're willing to die for them' was a different story especially if you're a nation. Well, even humans sometimes wouldn't really mean it and take said words as figures of speech anyway. Not every human would be in a dangerous scenario where they need to sacrifice themself for their beloved.

Nation can't die.

And so Scotland thinks, there's nothing wrong to proclaim his feelings in such a way, especially to a boy who already has many suitors who have said the same thing and even had themselves really died just for him.

Yet when he finally gathered his courage to confess, rather than being basked with a warm laugh, he was faced with a scowl.

(ScotFra is honestly probably the only France ship (that I incredibly adore) that I can't entirely ruin with horrible toxic relationships. So anyway, they're very in love but have no idea how to properly communicate. Well, they're just teenagers after all. It's expected for them to be clumsy, especially when the two of them were quite aware how different they were. Alasdair was intimidated by Francis' beauty and his experience with people and love. While he wanted to be more than just an 'alliance' in politics, he feared he couldn't really reach Francis in a way he wanted it to be. Because of how easily Francis would come and go with his lover, he feared that if he ever finally stepped into the boundaries, he would never be able to mend everything back together and even ruin it. Francis thought Alasdair never really liked him, at least not in a way Francis wanted him to. As a nation, he seemingly always put his people first than himself, so he thought the alliance was simply just another political shit the humans want them to have. After all, as sweet Alasdair can be, it seems the he is always keeping distance between them. What does he really mean to 'die for him?' Did Alasdair think he's way too weak to be a proper ally?? Is it why he seemingly always acts quiet when he's with him? Did he think he's that repulsive that death would be an only escape?)

[kmt123whatsthetea]

No books for a prankster

George Weasley x reader

Requested by: @adinamayb2

Request gist: “5 foot Ravenclaw bookworm and George have hardcore sex”

A/N: Thank you for the request! For this fic, I decided that George would try to take the reader's mind off of books because he's jealous, if that makes sense (it will make sense when read). I don't know why it's taken me longer than usual to write fanfics (I think I'm just going mad yk). Two book related fanfics one after the other, I hope you guys like books lol.

T/W: Unprotected sex, Hardcore sex, Very jealous George, mentions of bondage (but no bondage), Teasing, Underwear gag, Creampie

George hated books.

Sure he didn't mind reading every now and again, but when those books took his girlfriend’s attention off of him, he hated them. When he suggested a date, it was always “Just another chapter, Georgie, I promise” or “This new book I got is so good, let me tell you all about it”.

George was happy that you had a reading hobby, but he missed your attention. Sometimes he felt guilty for being jealous of your books, until that horny little devil on his shoulder reminded him that the more you read, the less time you were in his bed.

He could feel his patience slipping every time he saw you with a book. He missed those days where he would sneak into the Ravenclaw common room and kidnap you for a date without having to worry about you losing your page in your newest reading material (he knew he was being dramatic, but he could help it).

One evening, he snuck into the Ravenclaw common room and found you sitting in front of the fire with your nose stuck in a book. He edged his way closer until he was sitting on the sofa next to you.

“Reading again, love?”

You were, but his breath on the shell of your ear made it difficult to move on to the next word.

“Georgie, you know I like reading. What are you doing here so late anyway?”

“I missed my favourite girl. I sleep better when i'm next to you…or inside you”

You turned your attention back to your book, hiding your blush within the pages. George adjusted so that he was laying down, his head on your lap. His eyes travelled up your chest and to your eyes, which were still avoiding his.

“I came all this way to see you, baby, are you just gonna ignore me?”

His teasing pout, like the one he was wearing at that very moment, could either be very cute or very. George took matters into his own hands and took the book from you. He stood up from the sofa and put the book down before reaching his hands out to you.

When your hot, horny boyfriend offers you his hand, would you really decline it?

You take his hand and let him pull you up, his tall frame towering over you. Dating a boy who was a good foot taller than you came with serious advantages. If you wanted a book from a high shelf, all you'd have to do is ask. If he was tired, he could easily lean his head on yours like a boney pillow.

George pulled you up to your dorm room, having familiarised himself with the route from his countless visits. Once you were both inside and the door was shut, you were his.

His hands pulled at your school shirt, grunting when you reminded him not to break the buttons again. When he managed to strip you down to your underwear, he picked you up in his arms before quite literally throwing you onto the bed.

He pulled his own shirt over his head before moving his hands to his belt. His eyes stayed on yours, a predatory grin painted on his face.

“You waste all your attention on those silly books. They can’t make you feel as good as I can, baby”

George pushed your legs apart and got in between them. He brought his hand down to rub your clit through your underwear. With every moan and squirm, his smile grew wider. His other hand presses on your stomach, stopping you from squirming anymore.

When you kept squirming, he brought his hand down on your thigh in a sharp slap.

“If you keep squirming, I’ll tie your hands to the bed posts. Are you gonna be a good girl and stop squirming?”

“I’ll be good Georgie, I promise”

He gave out a satisfied grunt and pulled your underwear down your legs. George pushed his boxers down enough to pull out his cock. He pushed his tip against your clit, smearing his precum on the throbbing bundle of nerves.

George pushed his tip in before pulling back out. He always enjoyed teasing you.

“On second thought, maybe I should leave you with your books”

He grinned when you whined. It's not like he would just leave you high and dry now, he loved being inside of you too much.

“Please Georgie, I don’t want those books, I want you”

George loved hearing how much you loved and needed him (even if he did use teasing as a leverage to hear it). He thrust his cock inside you fully, his hand covering your mouth when you let out a scream in pleasure.

Instead of removing his hand, he looked down at your underwear on the mattress next to your thigh and got an evil idea. He picked the discarded underwear up and removed his hand from your mouth.

“Open up, baby”

You opened your mouth obediently for George, letting him push the fabric into your mouth. When he knew that no sounds would slip past the fashioned gag, he pulled out and rammed his cock back in. His hips slammed against yours with each thrust, marking your skin red.

His hands gripped your ankles, pushing them up against your chest and folding you into a mating press. His thrusts didn’t relent, pounding into you with an animalistic passion.

His fingers came down to pinch your clit, rubbing it in messy circles.

“Does my baby wanna cum all over my cock?”

The gag muffled your pleas. The most you could do was nod like a woman possessed.

“Alright then baby, make a mess on my cock and I’ll cover that sweet little pussy in my cum”

That bad snapped, and you came hard on his cock. Spots filled your vision and your screams somehow surpassed the fabric gagging your mouth.

“Such a good girl for me, looking so pretty with my cock deep inside you”

George pulls his cock out, pumping it with his fist. After a couple more pumps, his cum sprayed over your swollen folds. He moved his hips a little closer, his tip dragging along your mound and leaving a sticky trail.

His hand reached towards your mouth, pulling the crumpled underwear from your mouth. His other hand came to cradle your cheek, a tender touch after a hot and heavy session.

“You always do so well for me, my pretty baby”

[billieshrry]

NEEEEEDDDDDD angst rn i can just tell you write angst that’s so good 😛😛

Okay heres a lil blurb for ya

Your face went hot when you opened up your phone, seeing the 9 missed calls and 14 texts from Billie, all begging for forgiveness from you. Riddled with apologies and pleas to just call her back, you read them all before shutting your phone back off and getting up to wash your face.

After what she did to you, after the lying and the cheating and the horrible things you heard her say about you, say TO you, she didn’t deserve forgiveness.

And you deserved a lot more than an apology.

So as you washed your tear-stained face, scrubbing at your cheeks that burned from the salt and your eyes that hurt to blink, you stripped and hopped in your shower, hoping to be able to wash away the feeling of shame and embarrassment.

Embarrassment because you believed her. Shame because you fell for her lies and made yourself look stupid.

You should’ve known she wasn’t just “out for dinner with friends!” on tour, you should’ve known she wasn’t “in the studio late” every Tuesday night. You should’ve known not to trust her just because she was so sweet to you when you were with her, but so distant and unloving when she wasn’t.

So, when you heard Billie’s signature knock on the door 2 minutes after you turned the shower off, you should’ve known not to answer it.

But you did anyways.

“What are you doing here, B?” You say immediately, not even opening the door all the way. You couldn’t bear to look at her face. Not after the video of her cheating on you with her best friend circulated Twitter. Not after you ghosted her instead of confronting her. Not after blocking her on everything but iMessage, because a little part of you wanted to know she cares.

“Please, please let me in.” She slurs outside, obviously drunk, high, or both. Your heart sinks and you gulp, opening the door a little bit wider so she can squeeze in. You turn around, still unable to look her in the eyes, and walk straight to your kitchen to grab her water as she stumbles to your couch.

“I- I’m so-” she hiccups in between her words, the taste of alcohol probably bubbling in her throat, “so sorry. You h- have to beli-” another hiccup cuts her off, but you speak before she has the chance to continue.

“You hurt me, Billie.” You say sternly as you walk the water over to her, finally catching a glimpse of her in this state. Her eyes were bloodshot, with light mascara stains running down her cheeks. Her hair was tousled under her bandana, you could tell. Her bottom lip had marks from her teeth, where you assume she had been biting them out of anxiety and anger, a bad habit you tried to get her to quit.

She looked miserable. Almost as miserable as you had been for the week you had gone without speaking to her.

“I waited, Billie. I waited for you to explain to me what happened. I waited for an excuse, anything, because I wanted to hear you out. I wanted to believe you, I wanted it to be a lie. I waited and waited.”

She sips her water, her hand shaking as it brings the cup up to her lips.

“You weren’t there for me at all. For our entire relationship you saw me twice a week, you lied about where you were, who you were with, what you were doing. How am I supposed to forgive you? You broke my heart, Billie.”

You sigh, trying to speak softly but your emotions get the best of you, your voice raising in volume and pitch. You feel your eyes start to water and you swallow, trying to keep the tears from falling.

Billie examines you, her watchful eyes scanning over each feature of your face. She can tell you’ve been distraught. Your nose is red, your eyes puffy and tired, your skin pale and cold. You were a mess with her, and a mess without her.

“I’m sorry. I know, y/n, I know that I hurt you. I know that, okay? I don’t know what else to say. Please don’t leave me. I need you, I’m here because I need you.”

She begs you and goes to grab your hand, but you quickly retract it and walk around to stand in front of her now.

“You can’t even see how much you’ve hurt me, Billie. You have no idea what I’ve gone through. The DM’s, the tweets, the texts. Even your family has apologized for your actions before you did. I can’t even look at you. Not tonight, not when you’re drunk and saying shit and I’m a wreck.”

You stand your ground as you watch her face fall with defeat. You don’t know what she was thinking, coming in here apologizing like it would make you forgive her. Like you’d run into her arms and everything would be okay again. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she grabs the water, finishes the rest of the glass, and slams it down onto the table. You’re unsure if shes angry with herself, with you, or both.

She stands shakily, holding onto the arm of the couch for support. You almost reach out to help her. Almost.

“This can- this can’t be the end. I’ll come back, I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll come sober and ready to talk. I’ll make this work for you. For me. For us. I lo- I love you, okay?”

She’s cut off by a couple more hiccups before she can fully get her words out. Her eye contact with you is unwavering. You walk toward the door, leading her out.

“Please let me figure this out. I’ll fix it.” Billie promises, now standing in the hallway of your apartment.

“I don’t know how I can ever trust you again.” You say quietly, watching her head fall before shutting the door in her face, double locking it, and walking back into your room to finish getting ready for bed.

Its messy sorry but love u :p

[thepenultimateword]

Always

Villain tried to shut the door, but Henchman was too fast, catching it by its edge before the gap could fully disappear.

“Found you," they said, half threat, half croon. They shoved into the house, knocking Villain back a few steps.

"What are you doing here?" Villain said, catching themself on the coatrack and nearly pulling it down on top of themself.

Henchman reached over Villain's head to steady it and then stayed there. Peeling back the nonchalance plastered over their shame. Taking in their altered form.

"Where have you been?" they countered, soft, knuckle raised gently against Villain's cheek before abruptly dropping again.

"Here. There. What does it matter? You found me." Villain ducked under their arm and hobbled slowly to the couch. Henchman's heavy step traveled in the opposite direction, followed by the click of the door closing, then the steps tramped back toward them. By the time Villain had plopped down on the couch cushion Henchman was kneeling in front of them. For an instant, it was like nothing had changed. Total fealty.

Villain stopped their hand short before they could touch Henchman's head. It felt wrong when they were so utterly weak. There had always been a balance, Henchman so physically intimidating, and Villain thrumming with destructive power. The upper hand, the reason for such devotion, had been crystal clear. Now, Villain could wither and scatter under Henchman's expectations.

"You completely disappeared." Henchman laid their head in Villain's lap anyway. "You were hurt and I got worried. But you didn't answer my calls. You didn't tell anyone where you were going. It's taken me 8 months to track you down. It's like you were trying to avoid me."

Villain sighed, dropping their rigidness and succumbing to the urge to stroke back Henchman's hair. It was just as soft as they remembered, thick and fluffy like an animal pelt. They twirled a piece above their ear, but avoided Henchman's watching eyes as they responded, "I was done for and everyone knew it. It was better to step down and disappear than wait for someone else to assassinate me."

Henchman reached up and took loose hold of Villain's wrist. Why was their gaze so earnest? Didn't they know? Didn't they feel the difference in them? Shouldn't that past awe and adoration be visibally dying at the sight of them?

"I would've protected you," Henchman said.

"I didn't want you to. I have too many enemies. You would have been hurt."

"Then you should've told me. I would've come with you."

"I didn't want that either."

Henchman flinched, and Villain was struck with a stab of guilt. That wasn't entirely true. Of course, Villain had wanted Henchman with them. Of course, it was agony knowing they couldn't even say goodbye. But anything but a clean break would have been worse. They couldn't just ask Henchman to give up their position, goals, and standing for life of nothing. No, more than that, they couldn't bear to see Henchman's devotion grow into disdain. The loss of their powers was the loss of their worth. Henchman would've clung to the threads of their memories but ultimately, Villain would have failed them.

Henchman dropped Villain's wrist but huddled in a little closer. "And...now that I'm here?"

Villain's heart panged. "You should go back."

Henchman hugged tight around Villain's legs, almost like a lifeline. "Why?"

Moment of truth. Time to make this permanent. “I’m not going back.”

“I know.”

“I can’t. I’m ruined. Those heroes took everything when they stripped me and left me for dead."

"I know."

"And even if I wasn’t. I still wouldn’t go back. I was getting tired. Losing focus. That's how they got me in the first place."

“I know.”

Why did they keep saying that? Obviously, they did not know if they could be so casual. This was the rest of their life!

“Henchman, I can’t give you anything anymore. I don't have the influence or power to protect you. I can't bring about a bright new world. I'm spent. A pathetic shell. You should find another person to serve. I'll never be able to give you what you want."

Henchman turned their head up at them. "Why would I want any of that?"

Villain choked. "Don't you?"

"Maybe when I was a kid. Things change over a couple decades." They lifted their head and sank back on their heels. "Your powers were amazing. It's true that they drew me to you. But I never stuck around for that. Or for the status. You're just so..." Henchman broke off, face crinkling as they searched for the word. Finally, they shrugged. "I don't know; it's too big. You spent so long taking care of me. Looking out for me. Giving me chances I didn't think I deserved. Let me do the same for you." Henchman took their hand in both of theirs, hesitantly kissing one knuckle. "Just let me be with you."

Villain flushed a little. They'd always been close. Close enough for feelings. Close enough for both to recognize it in the other. But there had never seemed to be a right time to acknowledge them out loud.

"Do you really not want me here?" Henchman said at Villain's extended silence.

"You'd be ok with a normal life?" Villain pressed. "No powers, no schemes, no money, just me?"

"It's always been just you."

Villain slid off the couch and onto the floor in front of Henchman. "Of course, I want you here."

They couldn't keep their voice from cracking in the middle and the next thing they knew they were folded up in Henchman's arms. They melted immediately. All the shame, fear, and frustration seemed to fade right out of them.

"I love you."

Henchman jolted a little, but as they pressed their head to Villain's, Villain saw a smile tugging at their lips. "Good. Then I'll always, always stay."

[i-arch-my-backula]

Immortal Lovers: Lestat De Lioncourt x Male Reader x Louis Point Du Lac

This is for the IWTV show btw. I haven't finished season one as of writing this but I just know that I needed to write something for these two gay vampires.

Content includes: No warnings I can think of

New Orleans, 1923. You just came here from up north no more than five months ago, trying to escape what happened to you there, hoping and praying that being this far from home will grant you the ability to start life again. You got yourself an apartment, not a great one, but a livable one. Your previous work with making clothes afforded you a job with a tailor, making enough to start saving and live off of. 

You’re by no means living it large and super rich, but you’re making it somewhat, which is better than what happened where you were before. So here you are, leaving your new job as a tailor at nine pm, the sun having set a little over an hour ago. 

‘Let’s hope the rain isn’t too bad tonight. I can’t handle any more leaks in my ceiling.’ You think to yourself, locking up the shop and walking down the street, putting your hat on and your hands in your pockets. You hear the bustling nightlife of New Orleans, all the speakeasies hidden in the city muffling the sounds, but all other nightlife areas still bustling with everyone partying. 

But all you want to do is get back to your apartment, get in bed, and sleep these past couple of days off. You pass by several people on your way home, so when you pass by a black man and a man with blonde hair, you don’t pay them much mind. 

‘They look like a handsome pair.’ You think to yourself, glancing at them as you pass them by, not paying them much else mind. You hear them speak to each other, something you can’t quite make out, but it’s none of your business anyway. It’s a good idea to keep a low profile here. You don’t want the wrong kind of attention on yourself. If the wrong person finds you here and spreads the word around that you’re a homosexual, you’ll have to pack up and leave again. 

You pass by that restaurant near your house before finally getting back to your apartment, not even bothering to turn on the lights. You take off your shoes and suit jacket. You strip yourself down to your boxers and just get into bed, too tired to anything but sleep.

Your alarm goes off the next day and you shut it off, rubbing your eyes and sitting up in bed. You get ready for the day and take your wallet out of your pants pockets from yesterday. You open your wallet and find your business card missing, strange. But maybe it slipped out last night, no big deal, you’ll pick up another one tomorrow when you work again. 

After getting ready for the day you’re about to settle in to read a book when there’s a knock at your door, you open it up to find your boss, Mr. Westwood, outside waiting for you. 

“Ah, I’m glad your home Y/N.” He says, pulling a cigarette out of his suit pocket and lighting it up. “I have a very wealthy client coming in late tonight to get fitted for a new suit. He’s the top paying client I have, so I’ll need some help. Can you make it around 10 pm or so?” He asks, taking a drag of his cigarette. You nod your head and smooth over your hair. 

“Yes sir I can. You can count on me.” You give him a small smile and he smiles back at you. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” He says, patting your shoulder. He takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Is this a client I have met before or do I have the pleasure of meeting another wonderful person here in New Orleans?” You ask, smiling softly at Mr. Westwood. He’s an older man, all of his hair gray and slightly thinning, but he’s still there, kicking it and making a living.

 “He’s someone you have yet to meet. Lestat Lioncourt, a Frenchman. But I’m glad to have you on board. I’ll see you at ten.” And with that, he leaves. 

You arrive at the tailor shop at 9:50, ten minutes early to meet your boss there. He’s getting his supplies ready when he notices you. 

“Ah there you are me boy.” He says, patting your shoulder in a fatherly way. “I hope you’re ready to help me with this. Mr. Lioncourt isn’t a difficult customer, but I like to make him feel at home anyway.” You help Mr. Westwood prepare for this customer, and soon enough, when the clock strikes 10 pm, in walks Mr. Lioncourt. 

To your surprise, he’s the blonde man you passed on the street yesterday. He gives you a smile and you smile back, but you don’t mention what happened earlier. 

“Ah, wonderful to see you Mr. Lioncourt.” Mr. Westwood says, shaking his hand. 

“Wonderful to see you too Mr. Westwood.” He says with a French accent lacing his words, shaking his hand back. “But you can call me Lestat.” He turns his attention towards you, something glimmering in his bright blue eyes. 

“You must be Mr. Westwood’s new assistant.” Lestat says, shaking your hand. You nod your head and smile back at him. 

“Yes I am Mr. Lioncourt. I’m Y/N L/N, I just started a couple weeks ago. I’m very happy to help him here.” Lestat smiles and looks you up and down before returning his attention to Mr. Westwood. 

“Now, as for my new suit, I was hoping for something with a lighter color pallet, and brown buttons.” He says as Mr. Westwood takes off Lestat’s suit jacket. 

Mr. Westwood hums and nods his head. You take Lestat’s suit jacket from him and carefully place it on a coat hanger. 

“Yes I think that would work nicely with the upcoming season. Something light in color but still warm enough to be functional.” Mr. Westwood says. Lestat raises up his arms and Mr. Westwood starts to take his measurements, calling them out to you as you write them down quickly. “Very well built I must say Lestat. If only all of us could have your body type.” 

‘He is quite handsome.’ You think to yourself. Lestat chuckles and lowers his arms. 

“Yes, well I am a lucky man to have the right diet for this body.” He says, his accent peaking out a bit more.

You work with Mr. Westwood for an hour and a half, showing Lestat different fabric swatches and button styles. Showing him the different popular styles of suits coming straight from fashion designers themselves, going deep into the process with him. 

“We have a lovely new swatch of a lining satin that would look wonderful on the inside of your suit. Give me just a moment to grab that.” Mr. Westwood says, leaving you and Lestat alone in the room together. 

‘He’s even more handsome now that I’ve got a better look at him.’ You think to yourself, busying yourself with writing down the preferences for Lestat. He chuckles and looks over at you. 

“I don’t believe you’re from around here.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest. You look over at him, a little surprised, but you understand he just wants to make some kind of conversation with you. 

“Oh yes I’m not from around here. I’m from up north in New England.” You explain, setting down the pen in your hand. Lestat hums and smooths his hands over his button up shirt. 

“Why move here? Very far from home aren’t you?” He asks, that accent of his still there, making your stomach feel some kind of way. 

“Oh yes it is. I didn’t have much going on for me up north and I had heard so many promising things about New Orleans that I had to come see it for myself. I guess I just got lucky.” You explain, keeping a smile on your face. 

‘Even his voice is handsome. I envy the woman he’s married to.’ You think to yourself again, looking down at his hands, noticing he’s not wearing a wedding ring. 

“Yes, well I understand wanting to leave home. I left France a while ago, but I quite enjoy it here. A great bustling nightlife, wonderful food, good people. I can see why you’d want to move here.” Lestat says, giving you a smile. 

‘You’re quite handsome yourself mon cher’ You hear his voice say in your head. Your back straightens and you look around the room. But Lestat has turned away from you, focusing his attention back on the fabric swatches for his new suit. You know you heard his voice say that, it’s not like your inner monologue or some kind of memory of his voice. Maybe it’s just the late night you’re having. There's no need to worry at all. 

Mr. Westwood soon returns and you get on with fitting Lestat for his new suit without a problem. At around 12:30 in the morning he leaves and so do you, letting Mr. Westwood close up shop for himself. You walk back home again, passing by that same restaurant, a couple of employees cleaning up after close. 

You get back to your apartment and notice a letter taped to the front of it. You take it off and open your door, stepping inside and turning on the light. It’s too late for the mailman to be here. Maybe your landlord needed something from you. Opening it up you find the familiar hand writing of your friend Mary Ann. You sigh a breath of relief and read the letter as you take off your coat.

‘Hello Y/N. I know that it’s terribly late but I wanted to stop by and schedule a time for us to speak. I was around your apartment when I noticed a man already there, knocking on your door. He looked somewhat like you, I assume he’s the brother you’ve mentioned before. 

Because of how you described your relationship with your family I’m not sure what he was doing there, but I bet it wasn’t very good. Now if you’ll meet me for dinner tomorrow at that restaurant near here, Autumn dreams I think it’s called, at around seven I’d greatly appreciate that. I do miss you dearly.

-Much love, Mary Ann’

After letting her words sink in you find your chest tightening, your heart beating faster than before. Your brother, coming here to look for you. After the words your parents exchanged with you after they caught what you were doing with your friend William, you know that it can’t be a good reason that he’s there. 

But you’re not going to let this anxiety consume you tonight, you’re going to go to bed, get some important things done tomorrow, and go have dinner with Marry Ann. So that’s what you do, you get ready for bed, and try to fall asleep. But that nagging feeling in the back of your mind won’t leave you alone about your brother and what he could have wanted with you. Or maybe it was someone else. After all, your family is all the way up in New England.

Your family isn’t rich enough to hire some kind of private investigator either. You shouldn’t worry about a thing, you shouldn’t worry at all. If something happens, you have a gun in your apartment. You’ll be safe. And with those consoling thoughts in your head, you drift off into sleep. 

The next day, around four in the afternoon you’re busy washing up the dishes you’ve piled up in your sink when you hear a knock at your door, then a voice calls out. 

“Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Y/N do I have a story to tell you!” Mary Ann shouts. You dry off your hands and let her in. She quickly walks inside, holding a small traveling case in her hand, no doubt full of things to get ready with for your dinner tonight. “So I was standing on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette, and waiting for the right time to cross the street when a man in a motor car comes up and parks in front of me.” She says, her creole accent poking through her words. 

“So he starts telling me about how this motor car is far better than any horse carriage that money can buy and he wants to take me for a ride.” She sets down her traveling case and slides off her long coat. “So I tell him to go kick rocks because I’m not interested in taking a ride with him. But he doesn’t want to take no for an answer. So as soon as I see a clearing I toss my cigarette at him and say ‘catcalling gets you nowhere!’ and I leave. He shouted something at me but I didn’t care to listen.” She walks over to you and gives you a French kiss on each cheek, you doing the same to her. 

“You’re over here early.” You say, giving her a smile. “And you did something with your hair.” She nods her head and gives you a spin, showing off her new, shorter hairdo. 

“Oh yes. I went to the salon the other day and the woman who worked with me gave me a permanent wave hairdo. Now all I have to do is wear a silk cap at night and go back to the salon every month or so for upkeep. But I tell you I look like one of those beautiful performers on stage.” She says, setting her coat down on your kitchen table. 

“You’re already beautiful as it is Mary Ann.” You compliment, taking in her hairstyle again. It really was something wonderful. You’ve seen it become more and more popular over time, but now it’s really starting to take off. 

“Did you find out anything about the man I saw at your apartment yesterday?” She asks, pulling a cigarette out of her cardigan pocket. You shake your head and walk back over to your sink. 

“Nothing. I’m sure it was some kind of door to door salesman. Trying to sell me some kind of motor car or insurance.” You say, drying off some of your dishes. 

“Well if anyone gives you any trouble I’m here to help you. Now, I’m getting ready here, I hope you don’t mind.” She says, opening up her traveling case. You shake your head and set down the plate you just dried.

“Not at all. Always happy to entertain a friend.” So as Mary Ann got ready, you did too. Both of you struggling to use your bathroom mirror. You trying to shave and her trying to apply her makeup. It’s a little hard keeping up with all these new trends for women, but Mary Ann is always happy to explain. 

“What happened to corsets?” You ask, buttoning up your shirt. 

“Girdles are more popular now. They’re like corsets but they don’t use steel. They’re new and exciting. Besides, dresses today are so loose you couldn’t see the work of a corset if you tried.” She says, tightening up her girdle and adjusting the slip dress underneath that. 

You put on your cufflinks and smile at her.

“I don’t know how I’d keep up with the world without you Mary Ann.” You say putting on your suspenders. She grabs her dress and slides it on. It’s a beautiful loose dress, ending just above her ankles. You also notice how the waist of the dress is very low, but that’s just the style nowadays. 

You two spend another 20 minutes getting ready before you put on your coats and leave for the restaurant. You two get a table outside, the night not being too cold and chat once you’re there, the sun having already set by the time you’ve gotten your food. You’re in the middle of sipping your drink when you hear a French accent cut through all the noise. 

“Monsieur L/N?” You look over to the sound and see Lestat standing next to your table with another man at his side. You smile and stand up, holding out your hand for him to shake. 

“Oh, Mr. Lioncourt. How wonderful to see you again. I’m just having dinner here with a friend.” You say, looking over at Mary Ann who’s now standing up too, holding out her hand for him to shake. 

“Oh I’m out with a friend too.” Lestat says, shaking your hand, his cold skin making the hair on your arm stand up. The man next to him holds out his hand for you to shake. 

“Louis Pointe Du Lac.” He introduces himself. You take his hand and notice how cold his skin is, just like Lestat’s. 

“Y/N L/N. I met Mr. Lioncourt recently at my job. Your suit will be ready soon.” You say looking back over at Lestat. He chuckles and nods his head. 

“You can call me Lestat Y/N, and thank you.” He says, Louis looks between you and Mary Ann in a casual manner. You’re able to get a closer look at the two of them now. 

‘They really are a handsome pair. If only.’ You think to yourself. Lestat and Louis give each other a look for a moment. 

“Are you French, Mr. Lioncourt?” Mary Ann asks, moving a hand to fix one of her earrings. He chuckles again and nods his head. 

“Yes I am. J'espère que tu ne sors pas avec lui. Parce que nous le voulons pour nous.” He says, clearly showing off his knowledge in front of you two. 

“S'il vous plaît soyez prudent. Vous savez que beaucoup de gens ici parlent français.” Louis says in French back at Lestat. You and Mary Ann look at each other, both enjoying the sight. 

“Notre ami ici ne parle pas français, je vous l'assure.” Lestat says back, patting Louis on the shoulder. 

“Would you two like to come over to our home later in the week. We always enjoy entertaining guests.” Louis says, paying careful attention to you. 

‘I need to tell her.’ You think to yourself. ‘Maybe I can get lucky’. Lestat smiles a little wider. 

“We’d love to. How about tomorrow evening, that works for you, right Y/N?” Mary Ann asks, looking over at you. You look back at her and nod your head. 

“Yes, tomorrow night is great.” 

“Then tomorrow night it is.” Lestat says, something sparkling in his eyes. 

‘You will enjoy yourself. I assure you.’ You hear Lestat’s voice say in your head. You smile despite your confusion, just another case of your mind playing tricks on you. 

[kiiwiigii]

The Red-Eyed Boy pt. iii

Pt. One | Two | Outtake

Alec x Swan!Fem!Reader

Summary: Alec returns and shows you how sorry he is. *wink, wink*

Warnings:

Smidge of angst

Smidge of bondage

Straight up smut

Word Count: 3,130

A/N: Today I learned that suck at writing smut, but please enjoy anyways. As with all my Alec fics, he is aged up. Also, I am fucking obsessed with this gif.

Tags: @rosedpetal, @lack-lust-3r, @badass-daisy-22

Alice and Bella eyed me warily from their spot on the kitchen table as I padded around the kitchen. It was my turn for dinner tonight and I was working on a new recipe.  

"Please stop looking at me like that. I'm not about to keel over dead and I'm definitely not about to poison Bella right before she gets married." 

I grinned when Bella scrunched up her nose in annoyance. 

"You're not gonna die because you're tied to Edward through a piece of paper, Bells." 

"Says you." She grumbled. 

"Have you heard from him?" Alice asked softly. 

"No." I pursed my lips. 

It had been nearly two weeks, and I hadn't heard a damn thing from Alec. I had called and texted only to be ignored and left on read. I knew he'd be mad, but for the love of God, he was taking this too far. I just wanted to strangle him. I had spent the first week moping before trying to shake myself out of it. I refused to let myself fall into the state that Bella had after Edward left. 

Although it was really hard not to. I still had my moments, usually in the evenings when I was alone. 

I paused in the middle of chopping an onion, looking over my shoulder at Alice. Her visions were the only thing I could really count on right now, unless I had a vision of my own. Unfortunately, sleep had been avoiding me, and when I did sleep nothing came to me. 

She shook her head sadly, indicating that she hadn't seen anything. Yet. However, she also hadn't seen anything different from her previous visions, so nothing had really changed, and that gave me hope. 

"So, Y/N, we have your first dress fitting tomorrow." Alice, thankfully, changed the subject.  

"Ooh yay! Do I get to see Bella's dress?" 

Bella groaned before plonking her head onto the table. She was so easy to tease. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't want to marry me." Edward entered the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket. 

I smiled watching them all together, happy to watch the little scene from afar. Eventually I had to turn back around, doing my best to hum a tune in my head, both to distract myself from the situation with Alec and so Edward wouldn't pick up on my depressing thoughts. This should be a happy time. 

Somehow, I don't think I was fooling anyone. 

It was official. I hated weddings and anything to do with them. I was almost positive that had I not been in a house full of vampires, Rosalie would have stuck a few pins in me on purpose.  

It was dark by the time I finally arrived home, and all I really wanted to do was shower and pass out on my bed. Keeping up a relatively happy façade almost 24/7 was exhausting. 

The house was dark, and I suddenly remembered that dad was out on one of his camping trips with a friend. Well, at least I would have the house to myself, and I could be as depressed as I wanted. 

I went straight to my room to gather some pajamas and a towel. I almost felt too tired to even shower, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to make sure I do some basic self-care. Throwing my bag onto the bed, I began to strip. 

"You should keep your window locked." 

I jumped and let out a scream, quickly covering myself, dress already hanging half off. 

It was Alec, propped up on my bed, another book in hand. How had I not seen him?? I even threw my bag in his direction. 

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I wheezed at him, trying my best to get my racing heart back under control. 

"Not particularly." His eyes roamed over me, from head to toe, his eyes lingering on my neck, where my pomegranate seed necklace hung. And then the dangling straps of my dress. "You look beautiful, tesoro." 

I blinked rapidly, trying my best to figure out what the hell was happening. I hadn't heard from Alec in nearly a month and here he was, just sitting here. In my room. On my bed. As if nothing had ever happened.  

"Where have you been? Why have you been ignoring me?"  

He simply eyed me before closing the book with a thump.  

"I was extremely… angry. There was a while where I did not really have control of myself. I even scared Jane." He admitted. "I didn't want to take it out on you. Or for you to see that side of me." 

I glared at him. 

"So, you just disappear without a word? Didn't bother telling me that you were okay and that you just needed space? You're aware that I've had visions of you since I was like, six years old, right? I've seen you angry." 

"Not like this, you haven't." He said quietly. 

"Do you know what I thought? I thought you had left me. Despite whatever Alice's visions tell her, I know that they can change at the drop of a hat. I was just sitting here waiting, praying that you wouldn't change your mind." 

Fuck, here come the tears. 

He was next to me in a heartbeat, hands cupping my face. I tried to back away, but he kept his grip firm. 

"I would never leave you, Y/N." He said softly, wiping the tears away. "Ever. I have never been good at relationships. I have always kept myself at arm's length, but you, you are different. And when I saw you on that field, after the battle, I had never been so scared and angry in my life." 

He paused for a minute, searching. "Had I lost you, I would have burned the world down." 

My breath hitched in surprise, and I could feel my heart skip a beat. He kissed me then, and I allowed it, wrapping my arms around his neck as he reached for my waist. His kiss was soft and controlled, while mine was bordering on desperation. 

"Don't you ever do that to me again." He whispered against my lips, a warning. 

Why did that turn me on and piss me off at the same time? 

"I'm sorry, what was that? Because it sure didn't sound like an apology, Alec." 

He pulled me flush against him, nipping at my collarbone in reproach. I hissed in pain, but he quickly soothed it over with his tongue. 

"Then let me show you how sorry I am." He whispered. 

He pulled me in for a heated kiss and I couldn't help but gasp. Alec took the opportunity to dip his tongue into my mouth again, and the moan that worked its way up my throat had him growling possessively. 

I could already feel my nipples tightening and the wet heat between my legs. 

I grabbed him by the collar to pull him closer. He gladly obliged and before long, he had me pressed into the bed, right underneath him, his lips giving slow languid kisses anywhere he could reach. 

"Alec." My voice was caught in my throat. 

Goddammit. He hadn't even gotten me out of my clothes before he had me begging. Hell, he had barely even touched me.  

And I was supposed to be mad at him, dammit! 

He paused, lips at the swell of my breast. Finally, he lifted himself up so he could look me in the eye, searching my face. 

"Do you trust me?" 

I nodded my head furiously. 

"I need to hear you say it, Y/N." 

"I trust you." 

I was practically panting. 

Alec produced a long strip of gauzy fabric and slowly tied my hands together, gauging my reaction, before putting them above my head. 

"Did you come prepared with that?" I gaped at him. 

"No. I took it from your bag." He smirked. 

My bag? Since when did he have the time to go through my bag? I looked at my tied wrists again, trying to wrack my brain as to why I had a long ass strip of- 

'Oh my god.' 

It was the sash to my bridesmaid's dress. I know I hadn't put it in there. The last time I had seen it- Alice. She fucking knew. She had to. She had a vision and didn't even tell me. Granted, if this was a part of her vision, I would be highly embarrassed to hear her explain exactly what she saw. 

"Now." Alec put my hands above my head again, and then trailed his own hands down my arms to my collarbone, thumbing over the mark he had placed on it earlier. "Your hands stay put above your head until I say otherwise. If they do not, I stop. No matter what I am in the middle of." He warned, pausing to make sure that I understood. "Are you okay with this? If not, we can stop." 

I shook my head back and forth frantically. 

"Y/N, I need you need to say it out loud." 

"Yes." I breathed. 

"Good. If you become uncomfortable at any point you are to tell me." 

"Yes sir." It was out of my mouth before I even realized it and I blushed furiously. 

"Are you sure you're a virgin?" He teased. 

"Why don't you find out for yourself?" I teased back, a little breathless. 

Alec's brows raised before he smirked, leaning in closer, mouth right next to my cheek. 

"I think I am going to enjoy this very much." His hands began to make their way past my collar bone to cup my breasts through the fabric of my dress, his thumbs flicking slowly back and forth over my nipples.  

My back arched in a gasp, and he let out a hum, pleased with my reaction. Soon I felt more and more skin being exposed to the cool night air, his cold lips and tongue following right behind it, licking and nipping his way until, aside from my bra, I was fully exposed from the waist up. I blushed as he sat back, admiring the view. 

"You are truly beautiful, mio cara." He breathed.  

His cold hands caressed every inch of exposed skin, purposely avoiding the spots that I wanted him to touch the most. I pouted up at him and he swiped a thumb across my lip. 

"I must admit Y/N, I like seeing you like this. And I think you like it too." 

Slowly, I gave his thumb a long lick before sucking it into mouth. His eyes darkened even further, and I could practically feel the rumble of possessiveness in his chest. 

"Careful, amore." His voice was now husky and strained. 

I released his thumb, edging my teeth along the sides and cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought you were supposed to be apologizing." 

His eyes were now pitch black. 

"I think you forget who's in control here." 

I let out a squeak as he moved aside and ripped my dress the rest of the way down, leaving me in just my bra and panties. He settled himself between my legs, to nip and kiss his way along the inside of my thighs. 

I sucked in a sharp breath when he placed a kiss right over my covered mound, and then nuzzled into it. My hands jerked and he looked up at me, remaining still. 

"Hands, amore." He chided. 

I immediately put them back in place, wriggling my hips in anticipation. Finally, he slid my panties down, revealing my inner most self, glistening and wet just for him. 

"Perfect." 

It was the only thing I heard before his mouth was on me and my back arched off the bed yet again.  

Keeping perfect eye contact with me, he gave me long slow licks, delving into me with his tongue. And then he found my clit. I couldn't help it, I cried out, my hands immediately coming down to lace themselves through his hair. 

This wasn't an apology; this was fucking torture.  

He paused with a growl. 

"Hands, amore." 

"But- but-" 

He lifted himself up slightly, a warning look in his dark eyes. "Hands." 

"Alec." I whined, wriggling my hips again and trying push him back down. "Please." 

"You know the rules, principessa." 

"Did you just call me princess?" 

He just smirked. "You're learning. Now, hands. If I have to tell you again, I will tie you to the bed." 

'You just may have to do that.' I thought. 

He watched me for a moment more before slowly lowering himself back down, wrapping his arms around my thighs to keep my hips level. He began his slow assault on me yet again and I did my absolute best to keep my arms above my head. It was working so far... barely. 

Before long I could feel a warm heat beginning to build low in my stomach.  

"Oh god, please don't stop." I chanted. "Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." 

I wasn't entirely sure what was happening, all I knew what that it felt good, and he absolutely had to keep going. Otherwise, I was sure I was going to die right then and there. 

And then the bastard stopped. 

"Alec." I let out a low whine. 

He crawled back up to me, placing a kiss on my lips and I groaned at the taste of my arousal on him.  

"No cumming just yet, amore." He swept his tongue along my lips. "The only cumming you will be doing is on my cock." 

I almost choked. "Have- have you always been this dirty?" 

"You have no idea." He bit my earlobe and I squirmed at his words. “And this is only just the beginning.” 

"Well, it looks like won't be doing much of anything, since you're still dressed." 

"That can easily be remedied." 

My eyes widened as he slipped off his shirt. I had always known he was muscular but there was a big difference between feeling it and seeing it. Next came his pants and underwear, and I’m pretty sure my brain stopped working. 

How was that going to fit?? 

"Like what you see?” 

I simply nodded my head, my mind still trying to process the situation I was in... and the fact that his cock was rather... large. 

He leaned over and began untying my hands. I raised a brow at him. 

"I want you clinging to me when you cum." 

Oh fuck. 

My hands immediately went to explore his naked chest when he caught my hand and kissed my fingertips. 

"Are you still okay?"  

"Alec, I swear to God if you don't fuck me-" 

He cut me off, crushing his lips to mine and I suddenly felt him nudging at my entrance. He sat back briefly, rubbing himself in my juices, preparing. 

"Eyes on me, amore." 

I swiftly looked back up at him. I don't think I could have taken my eyes off him in that moment. 

Finally, finally, I felt him enter me ever so slowly. I let out a hiss of pain, my hands clutching desperately at the sheets, and he stopped, letting me adjust for a minute, all the while never breaking eye contact. This, this was something else. I had never felt so full.  

"Fuck, you're tight." 

I let out a whimper. 

"It's okay, mio cara." He kissed away the tears from my face, I hadn't even realized that I was crying. "I'm going to move now." 

And boy did he move. It took a few thrusts before the pain subsided and then I felt as if I was flying. He kept his thrusts steady and deep, his hands roaming my sides before cupping my breasts and placing gently kisses along the edges. And then proceeded to close his mouth on one of my nipples through the lace.  

"Alec." 

He didn't reply, deciding to suck harder and scrape against the sensitive buds with his teeth instead. If he kept this up, I wasn't going to last long, and I think he knew it. He sat up again, but this time he angled my hips up and I was suddenly seeing stars. He was hitting my sweet spot now and I couldn't contain my moans any longer. I could feel it building, and building, and building.  

"Don't you dare stop." I panted. 

"Eyes on me, darling." He ordered, grabbing my face, and making me look him in the eyes. "I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you come on my cock." 

Oh, God. He was speaking to me in Italian, and I didn't have the slightest clue as to what he was saying, but it was hot. 

"Alec, please. Make me cum. I want to come." 

"Fuck, so tight for me." He thrust harder and I could feel the walls of my pussy starting to tighten up. "I want to see you come undone around me." 

"A-Alec!" 

He forced me to look up at him again as I came hard, legs wrapping around his waist as he nearly collapsed on top of me. If I was seeing stars before, now I was suddenly seeing a whole fucking galaxy. 

"Fuck." He kissed me deeply as I felt him spasming inside me, cool liquid coating the walls of my pussy. 

He hovered like that for a long moment, his kisses turning into soft, languid ones, his hands roaming in even softer caresses. Finally, he pulled out of me, and let his eyes wonder over me. I'm sure I looked a mess, but he seemed to like what he saw, judging by the smirk on his face. 

"Come, amore. Let's get you cleaned up." 

"I don't think I can walk." I closed my eyes, doing my best to breathe and not die from great sex. 

"I can definitely help you there." 

I nearly yelped as he lifted me from the bed bridal style. 

"Is this your way of saying you want shower sex?" I wriggled my eyebrows at him. 

"I had not really thought of it, but if you insist." 

I laughed and snuggled into his chest. 

He paused a moment, really looking me over now. "I am truly sorry, Y/N. For everything." 

I placed a hand on his cheek. "Apology accepted." 

NEXT - (Outtake)

{Masterlist}

Translation (Done via Google): Tesoro: Darling/Treasure  Mio Cara: My darling.  Principessa: Princess 

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[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 1 - The International

Summary: The year is 1969. The place, The International Hotel. Aspiring young singer Valerie Pedretti has a chance encounter with Elvis Presley in an elevator that will changer life forever, for both good and bad. Author's Notes: You guys, I am incorrigible. I know. Constantly going back to old fics to reread and retool them. I think I finally got it right this time. If you will indulge, please read from chapter 1 again. I think you'll like it.

To me, 1967-1971 EP is kind of peak Elvis, and so I wanted to write a fic with him smack dab in that time period. In the 1969-1970 period, especially, Elvis was probably the most handsome and alluring man in the galaxy.

Lots of anachronisms and historical inaccuracies in this one, but just roll with it because it's fun! For example: Elvis in real life did not eat seafood but in a later chapter, we find out not only does he eat it but he has an allergy to it. It's for the narrative, I promise. :-)

I based Valerie, in a sense, off of a mixture of Kathy Westmoreland - who I find immensely dry and boring IRL but who had a cool meeting story with Elvis, as well as Joyce Bova and Linda Thompson. Kathy met the real Elvis for the first time in an elevator, and that really inspired this work. Priscilla exists in this universe but she and Elvis get a divorce far earlier than in real life. Theirs, in some ways like real life, is a marriage of convenience and an "arrangement." Lisa Marie does not exist in this universe.

Vegas hit me like a slap in the face with a rhinestone glove. The kind of place that promises you the moon and delivers green cheese, but damn if you don't want to believe in it anyway. My cab rolled down the strip toward the International Hotel, and I pressed my forehead against the window like a kid at a candy store, watching the greatest show on earth scroll by in technicolor.

It was July 1969, just days after Neil Armstrong had bounced around on the moon, and the whole world still felt drunk on the idea that anything was possible. We cruised down the Strip, past Caesar's Palace with its Roman statues standing sentinel in the desert heat, past the Flamingo where Bugsy Siegel’s ghost still lingered, straight toward the International Hotel where my own small shot at glory waited.

I didn't know it yet, but I was about to have what my mother would call A Significant Moment. The kind that divides your life into Before and After, like a vinyl record with its A and B sides. But right then, all I knew was that I was tired, my clothes were a disaster, and I was woefully unprepared for tomorrow's audition.

The audition. Good lord, let's not even go there yet.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching sequined showgirls and sailors on shore leave blur past in a kaleidoscope of color. The radio was playing "In the Year 2525," and somewhere in the city, Frank Sinatra was preparing for another show. The same Frank Sinatra I'd be auditioning for tomorrow, assuming I didn't die of nerves first.

The cabbie jerked to the curb in front of the International. "That'll be four-fifty, miss." I handed him a wrinkled five and stepped out into air so hot it felt like opening an oven door. The scene that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks.

The place was absolute bedlam. Not your usual Vegas chaos either – this was something else entirely. The International Hotel lobby looked like Elvis Presley had exploded all over it. You know those old Bible pictures of saints with the beams of light shooting out of them? Picture that, but with pompadours and rhinestones. His face was everywhere - posters, cardboard cutouts, even pins that said "I ❤️ ELVIS" in letters that could probably be seen from space.

Crowds of women with hair teased higher than their hopes pressed against velvet ropes, many of them clutching signs that said things like "Elvis We Love You" and "Marry Me EP!" Some were crying. Actually crying, their mascara running in black rivers down their cheeks. Security guards with arms like Christmas hams tried to maintain order, while vendors worked the crowd selling everything from buttons to teddy bears to – I kid you not – little vials of water supposedly blessed by the man himself. 

That's when it hit me. This wasn't just any weekend at the International. This was the kickoff of Elvis Presley's big comeback residency. Ground zero for Elvis-mania.

"Well, shit," I muttered, suddenly feeling like the universe's favorite cosmic joke. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, I had to walk into the one where the King was holding court.

The lobby was even worse. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and Aqua Net, and somewhere a speaker was playing "Love Me Tender" like it was heavenly muzak. I'd never quite understood the hysteria around Elvis. Sure, he was handsome in his own way, but what was it about him that made grown women act like teenagers?

I caught my reflection in one of the many mirrors and winced. My dark curls had gone feral in the desert heat, my mascara was smudged, and the coffee stain on my blouse looked even worse under the chandelier lights. I looked exactly like what I was – a girl who'd spent six hours trapped on a delayed flight from Chicago, stress-eating Oreos and reading the same magazine until the pages wore thin.

The blonde behind the check-in desk was reading Variety when I approached. Her name tag said BRENDA but her expression said DON'T BOTHER ME.

"Checking in?" she asked without looking up. "Name?"

"Reservation should be under Deena Lovelace."

That got her attention. Her penciled eyebrows shot up as she gave me a head-to-toe assessment that left frost on her glasses. "You're Deena? The one auditioning for Sinatra tomorrow? We spoke on the phone, remember?"

I gritted my teeth into what I hoped passed for a smile. "No, actually. I'm Valerie. Deena's friend. She's sick, so I'm filling in."

Brenda's look could have frozen hell over, but she handed me a key. "Room 2806. If you need anything, ask for Hector."

A bellhop materialized – Hector himself, I assumed – reaching for my bags. I waved him off with what turned out to be misplaced confidence. "I can manage."

The thing about the International Hotel was that it had been designed by someone who believed strongly in giving guests the full maze experience. Every corridor looked identical, with the same gold-flecked mirrors and deep crimson carpet. The crowds thinned out as I wandered deeper into the building's heart, the sounds of Elvis-mania fading to a distant hum.

My feet were screaming bloody murder in my go-go boots. My arms ached from dragging my overpacked suitcases. And my chances of actually finding room 2806 seemed about as likely as Elvis himself appearing to give me directions.

I ended up in a quiet hallway that felt different from the others. The carpet was thicker here, the lighting softer, the wood paneling probably worth more than my car. Even the air felt expensive. I should have realized I'd wandered into restricted territory, but by then my dogs were barking so loud I couldn't think straight.

The elevator, when I found it, was elegant in an understated way – all dark wood and soft lighting. No bright brass or mirrors like the tourist elevators. I was too tired to question my good fortune. I kicked off my boots, letting my screaming feet sink into that plush carpet, and started humming without thinking. It was an old lullaby my mother used to sing, the kind that lives in your bones and comes out when your guard is down.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding. I dragged my bags inside and slumped against the wall, already dreaming of a hot bath and a soft bed. The doors started to close and I was finally alone. Or I thought I was. Then a hand shot out—a big hand with rings that could double as brass knuckles—and stopped the doors.

Remember what I said about Significant Moments? This was mine, walking into that elevator in a black suit that probably cost more than my yearly salary, with a pink silk scarf at his throat and eyes bluer than a Minnesota winter behind tinted glasses. They looked at me and saw everything.

Elvis Presley. The King himself.

Time seemed to slow down, the way it does in dreams or car crashes. The man who stepped into that elevator made the air change – made everything change. You know how people talk about electricity crackling between two people? I'd always thought that was just romance novel nonsense. I was wrong.

He wasn't alone—a redheaded man built like a brick wall stood beside him, hand resting on what I was pretty sure was a gun. But it was Elvis who filled that elevator like smoke from a Tennessee cigarette, making everything else fade into background noise.

You know how sometimes you think you understand something, but then you realize you didn't understand it at all? That's how it was with Elvis's fame. I'd never been one of those screaming fans, never understood what all the fuss was about. But standing there in that elevator, watching him smile at me like he had all the secrets to the universe tucked behind those perfect teeth, I got it. Boy, did I get it.

"You've had a long day, honey.” His voice was pure Memphis nightclub, smooth as whiskey and twice as intoxicating. It seemed to bypass my ears entirely and go straight to parts of my anatomy that had no business responding to a stranger's voice that way.

I said yes and no and then yes again. My heart was doing double time, and I could feel my pulse in my fingertips. Every nerve ending seemed suddenly, acutely aware of his presence.

He smiled then, and it was like watching the sun come up. My knees actually wobbled. I finally understood why they put velvet ropes between Elvis and his fans. That man was a lethal weapon.

"The beds here are good," he said. Even the way he leaned against the elevator wall was poetry, all controlled power and casual grace.

I looked at the ceiling because I could not look at him. My stomach moved in ways it should not move. The elevator felt smaller somehow, the air between us alive with possibility.

"Pardon my manners," he said, and even that slight motion sent another wave of his cologne my way. "I'm Elvis, and this here's my pal Red. Who might you be?"

"Valerie," I managed, my voice barely more than a whisper. I was achingly conscious of how close he was, how the silk of his suit caught the light when he moved.

"Val-e-rie." He drew out each syllable like he was tasting them, turning my plain-Jane name into something rich and strange. The way his mouth shaped the sounds made my stomach flip. "A pretty name for a pretty little songbird."

The pet name caught me off guard until I remembered – the humming. He'd heard me humming while I waited for the elevator. Heat crept up my neck. His eyes hadn't left my face, and I could feel that gaze like a physical touch.

"I got ears like a well-tuned radar dish," he said, as if reading my mind. Each word seemed to hover in the air between us. "In town for a show?"

"An audition," I admitted, trying to ignore how my skin tingled every time he shifted position. "For Sinatra's show. I'm... I'm filling in for a friend."

Something flickered in his expression. "That right?" His gaze swept over me again, slower this time, more deliberate. It felt like being touched by velvet. "And what will you be singing for Ol' Blue Eyes?"

I gave him my prepared answer about standards and medleys, trying not to let on that I barely knew the material. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but made my stomach drop like I'd missed a step going downstairs.

"A classic set list. You'll do great, honey."

The elevator slowed to a stop. Elvis moved past me toward the door, so close that the fabric of his suit jacket brushed my arm. That brief contact sent electricity skating across my skin. His cologne – something spicy and smoky – wrapped around me like an embrace. He paused in the doorway to look back at me and his eyes were dark and full of something I did not understand but wanted to.

"Knock ‘em dead, songbird."

Then he was gone, leaving nothing but that spicy scent and the memory of blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. I sagged against the elevator wall, my knees finally giving up the fight against gravity.

Now I understood. God help me, did I understand. All those screaming girls, all those tears and Elvis-induced hysteria – it made perfect sense. The real thing, in person, was like staring into the sun. No wonder women fainted.

I made it to my room on autopilot, barely registering the route. Inside, I face-planted onto the bed, my mind spinning like a 45 on a turntable. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him – the way he'd looked at me, the curve of his smile, the way he'd said my name like he was savoring it. The memory of his cologne lingered in my nose, and my arm still tingled where his jacket had brushed it.

I'd come to Vegas to audition for Sinatra. I'd come to maybe, finally, make something of myself. I hadn't come to get turned inside out by Elvis Presley in an elevator.

That night, I lay on the bed and thought about his eyes and his voice and the way he moved. I did not want to think about these things but they came anyway.

I knew then that Vegas would be different than I had planned. The elevator had changed everything. But that is how it is with elevators and beautiful men who wear rings and pink silk. They change things. And you can only ride up or down and see where they take you. Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone @eapep @elvispresleywife @that-hotdog @landlockedmermaid77 @sissylittlefeather @kawaiiwitchy

[h0n3y-b33z]

Wrote something from what a friend said.

What said friend said was this:

Ink or Blue: “Dream! We need you to help save the multiverse again!”

Emo Dream: “YOU’RE NOT MY DAD, I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU. *EMO MUSIC*”

So I wrote a fanfic off of it. Or is it considered a one shot???

The sirens are blaring, there's dust every where, knives and bones in many piles off dust. The feeling of the place is suffercacting and dark, like being trapped and water boarded.

It felt like if hell had frozen over.

"ugh booossss! You said we'd have fun!" Killer complains like an impatient child. Nightmare, to whom the assassin had been talking to, taps his foot impatiently, where are they? Those damned stars should be here already. "Shut your damn mouth Killer." Nightmare angrily demands of his servent. "You said we'd get to fight the stars! An' I don' see 'em!" Killer continues on, Murder and Horror walking up to the two now. The swirling sound of a portal opening catches their attention, a sadistic grin returning to Killer's face. "Finally! been itchin' for a fight." the assassin says as he and his teammates ready themselves.

The golden portal forms, opening and letting the Bad Sanses see their enemy

Wait it's just Swap?

The skeleton who resides in the au Underswap steps through the portal, his hammer at the ready and eyebags under his sockets. His expression holds irritation. "Underswap Sans, to whom do we owe the pleasure?" Nightmare greets the short but surprisingly chubby skeleton with a dark voice. "all alone? Did your 'friends' finally leave you?" He chuckles darkly, his singular eyelight never going away from Swap. In response to this, the star sans looks at Nightmare then at the portal. "one second...." he says and quickly rushes through, leaving the Bad guys confused.

Swap returns, helping Ink drag Dream out of the portal. Dream, dispite usually the brightest, looks unbothered and irritated, wearing a red and black stripped hoodie, ripped jeans and army boots. Another detail that can be noticed is that he has heavy black makeup applied to his eyes. Dispite what many may think, the guardian of positivite emotions is infact heavy dispite his small stature and body. The bad guys can hear Ink trying to convince Dream to fight.

The guardian mumbles, not truly caring. "speak up Dream! We cannot hear you" Ink says, tired and yet energetic. Swap nods, annoyed. The negativity was delicious in Nightmare's opinion. Dream shoves his friends away and stands up, irritated. The bad guys wonder what the hell is going on with the usually joyful Dream. "i said: everyone's gonna die anyway so what is the point?"

Oh.

Oh no.

Ink gasps dramatically, his hand to his chest. Swap sighs and turns towards Nightmare. "Could ya give us a minute? I'm so sorry"

He says. Dream groans. "don't apologize to them."

He says, his arms crossed. Killer now notices that dream is in gosh darn Gucci. What the hell is going on. Horror is so confused and Murder is just staring as Ink begins to lecture Dream on safety and kindness.

"you're not my dad! So don't act like it you soulless slime." Dream says, taking his headphones off his neck and putting them on, the music being so loud that the bad guys can hear it clearly.

Swap groans "Well I technically am so help us or so help me I will take away your make up and make sure you do not go to sephora or whatever it's called!" he says, taking away Dream's headphones. Killer burst out laughing, this was the beat sht he's seen all week, well maybe besides Nightmare falling into glitter. "oh my gosh! Dream's turned emo! This is funking gold!" Ink nods "yeah! And Swap is terrible at being a dad!"

Swap is about to snap back when Nightmare yells out "WHAT THE FUNK!?" It was safe to say that Nightmare was royally shocked, or pissed. Could be either with the guy.

The groups were silent, except Killer whom was still dying from laughter as this was comedy to him. "Sephora?! Why the *hell* would you allow him to go to that hell dump!? I'm am absolutely disgusted in you Dream! You're supposed to be the better twin!" Dream looks at his brother, and with zero expression says this: "why are you an anime sex genre?" silence. Absolute silence.

[cl0udy3]

𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒

five hargreeves x fem!reader no warnings (language?) a/n: THIS IS GOING TO HAVE LIKE FIVE MILLION PARTS SO HERES A TEASER/SNEAK PEAK SOME WHAT I LOVE YALL MWAH

“How long does it take to kill one cranky, old man?!” You whine quietly as two of the Commission’s agents stand in front of you. Your Louboutins tap against the grimy carpet of the drab motel lobby, the dull rhythm the only thing keeping you from snapping.

Cha Cha adjusts her tie, her face blank but her voice tight, “We’re working on it.” She sounds a bit annoyed, but still trying to keep her calm. Can’t piss off the boss.

“Work faster. Or I’ll send both of you back to pushing paper.” You snarl.

The pair exchange a glance, annoyed but silent. They know better. Without another word, they step outside. You follow behind, heels biting into the pavement as you walk to your car. Once inside the vehicle, you grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. You press your forehead against it, letting the weight of your rage settle.

“I’ll kill him with my own hands if I have to.” You mutter.

The car roars to life as you twist the keys inside the slot, then drive off to get a drink. Or maybe coffee.

----

You sit at the bar of a donut shop, drinking coffee (which probably couldn’t even be considered coffee because half of the drink was milk and sugar) and eating a donut. You were so lost in thought while sipping your drink that you didn’t notice the doorbell ring. The waitress smiled as the person walked in and took a seat next to you.

You ignored them and took a bite of your donut. Jelly-filled. Disgusting, you thought. You ate it anyway. 

You glance at person who sat next to you, and it seems to be a child who feels vaguely familiar. His freshly pressed uniform suit reminded you of a certain crotchety old man: Five. You ignore the feeling and keep eating your nasty jelly filled donut. 

“I’ll have a coffee. Black.” The kid asked

His order rings a bell. It was like he was a mini version of Five. Hilarious. You thought.

The waitress gives him a tired smile and wraps her aged fingers around the coffee pot as she pours some of the liquid into a cup. The woman hands him the mug of caffeine and he quietly thanks her.

The unidentified boy glances in your direction and notices the way you ordered your coffee. He scoffs and shakes his head.

“You call that coffee..?” You roll your eyes, snapping a bit, “What’s your problem?”

“It’s not coffee. It’s dessert.” He responds.

You turn your chair to face him, a false smirk plastered on your lips,“So…?” 

“So, it’s pathetic.”

You grip your mug tight, the ceramic cooling your skin, “Why don’t you fuck off?” 

You want to flip him off and leave so bad, but you keep yourself calm and leave it at a fuck off. But you don’t feel satisfied with that, so you lift the mug to your lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip, daring him to say something. You can feel his eyes burning into you, but you won’t give him the satisfaction. You swear his eye twitches, but he holds his composure and turns back to the bar, sipping his black coffee. 

Silence settles in, and you take a moment to review everything that has happened up until now: You’d been happily working your job as a field agent for the Commission, when the Handler stuck you with that old geezer, Five. Five’s sarcasm and arrogance grated at your nerves, but you tolerated him enough to get missions done. Until that day by the grassy knoll when he had the bright idea of going AWOL and using his ‘powers’ to get ‘home.’ His little stunt dragged you into his dimension. You went from a mature, seasoned agent to a fifteen-year-old kid, stripped of everything – your authority, your experience. Every glance in the mirror still makes your blood boil. You wanted to kill him right then, but his calculations hadn’t accounted for a second person. So, you ended up in the middle of a forest in who knows where. 

The Handler had to have you extracted, and when you gave her the details of what had happened, you could almost see a vein bulge out of her neck, but the calm look on her face was somehow worse. One misstep and that calm would break. You’d seen it happen before.

She had you send out some agents to get rid of him (Hazel and Cha Cha). You thought they were incompetent. You should’ve been the one to go after him, not those idiots, but the boss’s word was final.

Now, here you were, stuck in your prepubescent body, at a coffee shop. The shop was almost as rundown as you felt– peeling linoleum floors, flickering neon signs that buzzed like an annoying fly. Even the air was stale. It was a place for people who had nowhere better to be, which, unfortunately, included you.

You toss a crumpled bill on the counter and walk out, leaving the kid alone with his black coffee. The air outside feels heavier, the weight of unfinished business pressing down on you. You slide into your car and start the engine, the growl of the machine mirroring the growl in your chest.

You’ll find him. You’ll finish this.

If they can’t kill him, you will.

[dozing-marshmallow]

Hello omg i LOVED your yandere fics so much! Is it alright to request for more yandere Chris content? Not really sure abt on what but probably with a reader whos a part of the show/after the money?? Or anything you would like or see fitting really!

HI THERE!! Thank you so much, and of course it’s alright! I appreciate that you love my (yandere) posts! 😊💗 I hope it’s no different with this one!

YANDERE!CHRIS MCLEAN HEADCANONS (PART 2)

“(Y/N)... You...really mean a lot to me, you know that, don’t you, (Y/N)?” his mad eyes thumping pink, over you.

You sigh,“I do, Chris...I do.”

Another beautiful day. One more to spend alone with him again.

Earlier on, he stripped you of all your possessions, your clothes, your phone, your dignity.

Yep.

Going behind your vulnerability, sitting on his bed, your back on his chest, his arms around your stomach, he kisses your neck.

His hair could scratch you for hours. His hands that trapped you could move up and down for days. You want out.

You want out.

You hate yourself for being born. Was this what you were made for? For this sadistic reality show host to leave as many hickeys as he wanted on the skin you worked hard to keep healthy?

Healthy... The grass is stepped on everyday, yet can still stand high.

That’s why you’re not permanently confined to the suffocating indoors. You were given chances to go outside on the beach and take a breath of anything else other than Chris. He never needed to worry- he lived on a literal island with surveillance cameras situated everywhere.

He never needed to worry.

Chris’d only give you suitable clothes if he had arranged a place to go with you, a date, a trip.

Just when you were feeling you had a belonging again, Chris would take the outfit off you the second you got back to his home, locking himself up in the bathroom and staying in there for a while.

He’d grunt your name and sigh really loudly.

The only thing more you wanted to add was that when he did come out, he’d be clutching the garments, face all red and drool from more places than one.

Yuck.

On special days, he put a collar on you. A shock collar.

No particular reason.

Just to zap life into you.

And laugh.

Of course, he still had his job to attend to after forcing you out of yours so he would keep something of you to compromise the work separation.

Not a photo. Anyone could get a photo of you.

That’s why Chris prefers paintings to hang, and small statues to greet. 

Now that couldn’t be found anywhere else.

Not one museum, one art gallery, one household.

Speaking of household...

With the phone he confiscated from you, he’d occasionally have it on his person to play any voicemails they left you, sneering, chuckling at your attempt to hold onto the cliff.

“Come back, (Y/N).”

“We’re all waiting for you.”

“Where are you, my baby?”

Understandably, you let go. You wished you didn’t, not in front of a monster like Chris who only chortled at you.

You want to go home.

“If they wanted you to come back, they would.” he slides down next to you. You never knew if he purposely fed off your pain, or if he was that socially deaf,“All they can do is play helpless and hope for a miracle. Because that’s what they want to do.“ he affirms, taking your crumpled, wet face into his hand, the other strokes the side,“See how no one really cares about you, asides from me? I’m the only one that can see how much gold you are. You may be all to me, but I’m guessing your family is all to you, even if they’re worthless. All of them. See how kind I am, (Y/N)? I’m not a monster after all! A real monster would never have let you hear their voices again. Don’t you just love a family guy?”

You wanted to reject everything he said. Reject that hand, his remarks, the love.

But you’re too tired.

It was gonna end the same anyway.

You’re forced to use the same toothbrush as him.

Not even a warm bath bubbled a smile.

In soap waters, he’d still hold you in his slippery arms as his head goes back on the edge of the tub.

You’ve seen his body over and over.

He’s seen yours over and over.

Purple and purple.

Less than human.

A party hat strings around your jaw.

Chris blows the party horn and cuts the cake.

You also share a plate.

...And a mouth.

A celebration? Ah, right. 

Commemorating the year that dripped since he took your happiness.

For his.

[theboywithburninghands]

Okay. Executive decision. Posting the first chapter of my two-parter here, because I'm loaded with caffeine and I want you guys to see what I've been up to all week. Uh it's pure Funnybunny, so sorry if you wanted some Ragatha romance stuff... Uhhhhhh also like... it's a bit long? And character driven rather than romance driven. Hope you like it anyway! Oh and I'm linking the AO3 if you'd prefer that. T/W: Mild cartoon violence, self hatred, a sex joke

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55822147/chapters/141729268

Like Rhinestones, Falling From the Sky (Part 1)

he grounds of the Digital Circus had two states. Daytime and sunny, nighttime and clear. It was a constant that no one bothered to disturb. Caine could grant a lot of requests around the circus, but rarely in any way the asker might want. Ask for a few wildflowers to add some color on the grounds? Congratulations, now there was an entire field of flowers, flowers that smelled like cheap, nose-tickling perfume and grew so thick and snared that it was impossible to walk around outside. Ask for a cool, dim day because you wanted a nap? Hey presto, now the entire circus was engulfed in an impenetrable fog that made Silent Hill look like the Aouzou Strip. The performers all followed the same motto when it came to the weather:

If it’s already broken, don’t break it any more. 

Due to this motto being in place, it was a complete mystery as to why all the performers were shaken awake early one morning by a skull-rattling crash of thunder. 

Kinger was the first out of his room, bursting through his door with a melodramatic wail.

“They’ve finally arrived! The harvest has commenced! They want ALL of our garmonbozia!!!”

Zooble was out of their room next, screwing their head back on their torso and limping over to the eldest performer.

“Relax! Chill the f#%@ out, old timer, it’s just thunder.” they snapped, still not quite awake. 

As if on cue, another rapturous tremor of thunder tore through the air, Ragatha emerging from her room and staring worriedly at the ceiling before joining the group.

“Are you guys okay? That’s some crazy weather we’re-“

Ragatha let out an “eep!” as Kinger seized her by the front of the dress.

“Ragatha! We’re under attack! What’s Morse code for SOS?!”

Ragatha gently took hold of Kinger’s wrists and guided them off of her dress. She smiled and her voice took on a warm, fuzzy tone. 

“Hey… no one is attacking us, Kinger. It’s probably been ages since you’ve heard a thunderstorm, hasn’t it? There’s nothing to be afraid of.” she cooed.

“Unless that’s what they want you to think.” came a slippery voice from behind her. Jax leaned against the wall, one foot flat against it. He sported a tired but nonetheless smug grin. 

“Jax, quit it. Can’t you see he’s scared?” Ragatha chided, but Jax continued as if she hadn’t spoken, walking right up to Kinger. 

“Who knows, maybe they’re after your bug collection, Kinger, or- OW!”

Zooble silenced Jax with a single, well aimed punch to the cheek. 

“Can you shut up? It’s too early for your schoolyard bull#%&$.” Zooble drawled. 

Jax massaged his cheek and gave a petulant “Jeez…” under his breath. Pomni was out of her room next, stirred from sleep like the rest of them. Her black eyelids hung over her eyes like an eclipse, and she dragged her body over to the others as if it had weights tied to it. 

“Hey, morning, Sunshine!” Jax smirked, a hand still on the cheek Zooble punched.

“Go #%&$ yourself…” Pomni mumbled, staring off into the void. 

“YEESH, everyone is crabby this morning. I can’t even say hello withou-“

KRK-BOOOOOOOMMMM!

A peal of thunder like a boulder tumbling into a dump truck shook the air again, everyone instinctively covering their ears (or where their ears should have been.)

“Okay, we should see what’s going on! Maybe it’s part of a new adventure..?” Ragatha proposed as soon as the rumbling subsided. 

“Wait! Where’s Gangle?!” Kinger cried.

There was a soft click as the door to Gangle’s room was opened just a crack, the ribbon girl peering just one eye out and trembling like a leaf. 

“What’s happening…?” she mewled. 

Zooble pressed their foot on top of Jax’s to keep him from speaking up. 

“It’s just a storm, Gangle… We’re gonna go see what’s going on. You wanna come with?” Ragatha smiled and approached Gangle’s door, offering a hand. Gangle gulped and took Ragatha’s hand with one of her ribbons.

“Okay…” she whimpered. 

Jax made a “gag me” motion but remained quiet. 

The six performers headed out into the main room, nearly tumbling onto the chessboard floor from another apocalyptic boom of thunder.

“Does this sort of thing ever happen out of nowhere..?!” Pomni shouted, her crabbiness from lack of sleep bubbling over.

“Didn’t you hear Caine when you first got here? ‘THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS IS A PLACE WHERE ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN!’ Chaos is sorta par for the course.” Jax replied. His impression of Caine was actually pretty good, and might have made Pomni smirk a bit if she wasn’t so irritable. 

“Jax is right,” Ragatha chimed in from further ahead. “Around here you have to expect the unexpected, and prepare for what isn’t there.” 

“Yeah, but the way I said it wasn’t stupid.” Jax replied. 

The six of them reached the tent’s exit. It was zipped closed, but quavered feverishly. A small pool of rainwater oozed through the bottom of the flap, occasionally lit bright pearly blue by unseen flashes of lightning from outside. 

“Okay, so it’s definitely storming. Now we know.” Jax drawled, crossing his arms. 

“See Kinger? No one is coming, it’s just bad we-“

Another tremendous crash of thunder interrupted Ragatha, and a half-second later, all of the lights in the tent sputtered and died. The only light left was the heavily censored sunlight from outside filtering under the tent flap. 

“I f#%&$ng hate it here…” Zooble sighed. 

“Okay, no one wander off. Let’s all stick together and find our way back to our rooms…” Ragatha began.

Gangle jolted with a yelp. “Someone grabbed me!”

“Jax!” Zooble growled.

“It wasn’t me! I’m all the way back here, Hodge-Podge!” Jax retorted from the darkness. 

“It was me, Gangle! I grabbed your hand…” Ragatha interjected. “I’m sorry, I thought you would need a hand to hold.”

“Tha-That’s not my hand-”

The performers squinted as a corona of light bloomed in the middle of the room. From the center of the ring, Bubble appeared, glowing with an iridescent, rainbow colored light.

“And God said, let there be LIGHT!” he announced, his squeaky voice echoing throughout the tent.

“DON’T BE RIDICULOUS BUBBLE! IF ANYONE’S GOD AROUND HERE, IT’S YOURS TRULY!” Caine floated down from on high, emitting his own faint light, just enough so he could be seen clearly against the backdrop of darkness. 

“There is no God here…” Zooble muttered.

“Amen.” added Pomni.

“SO MY LITTLE SUPERSTARS! IT SEEMS YOU’VE ALL BEEN MADE AWARE OF OUR INCLEMENT WEATHER!” Caine unzipped the tent entrance. The sky was charcoal black and arcing with threads of lightning. Rain slashed across the grounds in great sweeps and the howling wind eagerly pushed its way into the tent, bringing in a spray of raindrops that doused the six performers, who covered their faces and demanded Caine close the tent again, which he thankfully did after just a few seconds.

“BUT NOT TO WORRY! WHILE I FIX THIS BROUHAHA, YOU ALL-”

He paused for another crash of thunder. 

“-YOU ALL WILL BE ENJOYING AN ADVENTURE!” 

“La dee da.” Jax drawled.

“SO, PLEASE ENJOY YOUR TIME IIIIN-”

Caine snapped his fingers. There was a moment or two of silence before Caine looked down at his fingers and snapped once again. Then again. 

“Huh. That was supposed to open a portal.” Caine said sheepishly. 

“Did you try turning it off and on again?” Bubble asked, squinting one eye.

“Havin’ issues there, Caine? It’s alright, it happens to guys your age.” Jax said with a grin. Pomni felt the corners of her mouth raise, despite herself. 

“I DON’T APPRECIATE YOUR INNUENDO, JAX!” Caine declared, brandishing his cane with a trembling hand. He tried a few more futile finger snaps. 

“So, we’re stuck here..?” Gangle asked, wringing her ribbons together. “In the dark..?”

There was an ill-timed crash of thunder that made her jump and squeak a little too loudly. She covered up her mask as bright pink blush marks formed under her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m with Ribbons, Caine,” Jax said, jabbing a thumb at Gangle. “Everybody knows monsters like the dark since it’s easier to hide.”

“Okay, cut the Twilight Zone bull$#!%.” Zooble scoffed.

“As someone who’s actually seen The Twilight Zone,” Ragatha piped up. “The quote is ‘There’s nothing in the dark that wasn’t there when the lights were on.’ So we’re fine, Gangle. It’s just us.” 

“Nerd.” Jax replied.

In the midst of this whole exchange, Caine had snapped his fingers a good two dozen times before clapping his hands to his face/teeth and bellowing in frustration. 

“Excusemeforjustonesecond!” he spat before disappearing in a flash of light and some confetti. Bubble looked around, barely managing a “Bye-!” before popping, dousing the light and plunging the room back into darkness.

There was a moment or two of silence before another peal of thunder shook the tent. Gangle let out a quiet, uneasy groan as everyone tried to get their bearings in an almost total absence of light. 

“I’m going back to bed.” Zooble announced flatly. The only indication that they were leaving was the sound of careful footsteps receding into the black.

“Wait, can you find your way there?” Pomni asked. 

“I’ll figure it out.” Zooble replied, nothing but a voice from the darkness. Pomni listened to their receding footsteps before she began to pace back and forth. 

“I can’t believe it, he just left us here. Not even a flashlight! Isn’t this place supposed to be magic?! How does the power even go out?!”

“It is the first time I’ve ever seen this happen since I’ve been here…” Ragatha admitted. “What about you, Kinger? You ever seen anything like this?”

“Right now I don’t see much of anything…” Kinger replied matter-of-factly. 

Another roar of thunder, Gangle making an unhappy noise and clinging to Ragatha. Since it was dark, Jax couldn’t see, and thus couldn’t tease her for it. Ragatha patted her on the mask. 

“I don’t want to go off by myself… What if something happens?” she whimpered.

“Come on, Crybaby, you’re not seriously worried about monsters, are ya?” Jax drawled. 

“You’re the one that put the thought into her head, Jax.” Pomni replied. 

“I was joking .” Jax snarked, as if it was the most obvious fact since “water happened to be a little damp.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

“Yeah?” Jax’s tone darkened. “Well unfortunately, Clownface , the funny guy-”

They were interrupted by a dry, metallic scratch and a spark of orange light. Kinger held a silver lighter in his hand, which supported a tiny yellow-orange flame. 

“…That’s my lighter.” Jax said after a moment. “Where did you get my lighter?!”

“Wait, Jax, why do you have a lighter at all?” Ragatha interjected. 

“None of your business. You need to stay outta my stuff, Hoo-Hah.” Jax took a few steps towards Kinger. 

“I only found it.” Kinger said, taking an equal number of steps back.

“Bull. I don’t leave my stuff layin’ around. Hand it over.” Jax stuck a gloved hand out. 

Kinger looked down at the lighter, then to Jax, who put his hand forward more insistently. Kinger snapped the lighter closed, smothering the fire and disappearing into darkness. 

“Hey! Where’d you go?!” 

“Kinger, wait! We need the light! Don’t go!” Gangle begged. 

There was a grunt and a crash somewhere in the dark, the thunder replying in kind. Another dry, metallic scratch and Kinger reappeared, illuminated orange and standing over by Gangle and Ragatha. 

“What was that?!” he cried, stiffly holding the flame out in front of him. 

“It was me, you moron!” Jax’s irritated voice called out from somewhere in the void. “I couldn't see my hand in front of my face! Now hand over my lighter before I-”

Kinger yelped and snapped the lighter closed again.

“Both of you, stop it!” Pomni shouted. “Jax, I don’t give a $#!% if it’s yours or not, it’s all we’ve got for light right now, so quit acting like a p&!€# for two god&@#% seconds! Kinger!” 

They heard the jester take a breath and soften her voice. 

“Kinger. We need the lighter to see. Can you please turn it back on so we can at least get back to our rooms?”

There was a pause, another rumble of thunder, and at last, a metallic flick as the lighter sparked again. Kinger’s hands shook. 

“Thank you…” Pomni said with a weary smile. “Lead the way, if you don’t mind.”

The five performers made their way towards backstage, slowly and methodically in the cavernous tent. They passed an overturned pile of brightly colored shapes, Jax delivering a well aimed punt to a mint-colored cylinder, which sailed off into the darkness and landed out of sight with a drumroll of thuds. 

“Was that the thing you tripped over?” Ragatha asked, her smile audible in her voice. 

“Felt like kickin’ something.” Jax replied tartly. 

After a few minutes of careful maneuvering amidst peals of thunder, the five of them made it to the corridor backstage.

“Well… what do we do now..?” Pomni asked.

“Do we have to do anything?” Jax replied.

“Well… not really. But I think it might be fun to have a slumber party!” Ragatha said brightly. 

“No offense, Ragatha, but I don’t know if any of us are really in a party mood…” Pomni said, rubbing her left arm with her right hand. 

“No, no, it doesn’t have to be an actual party. We can all just hang around in my room! I’ve got some candles we can light so we can see, and I’ll teach you guys how to make a blanket fort-” 

“You have candles?” Pomni interrupted. “Oh, that’s really good news… Now we don’t have to sit around in the dark. How many do you have, Ragatha?”

“Oh gosh, um…” Ragatha rubbed her chin with her hand. “30? No, 40!” 

There was a period of silence. Kinger held the lighter out so she was illuminated. 

“What?” Ragatha asked, putting her hands on her hips defensively. “I need to de-stress every once in a while too, y’know!” 

“If the tent ever burns down, we know who to blame.” Jax quipped. 

“Oh stop it!” Ragatha flapped her hand dismissively.

“Can… we have a few? Just to have a little bit of light around here…” Pomni asked, touching the tips of her fingers together. 

“Yeah! Absolutely, come on!” Ragatha led her fellow performers to her room, unlocking the door with a bit of flourish and motioning them inside. “After you!” 

The four of them entered her room, Kinger leading the way with the lighter. Ragatha’s bedroom was… on brand. In the dim light, they could make out some plastic furniture that would have been right at home in a dollhouse. A pink, squat tea table surrounded by some plush and frilly cushions. The table came complete with an old fashioned white China teapot and cups, a glazed pink and yellow flower painted on the side of the pot, and the rims of both the cups and pot were lined with gold leaf (or at least a serviceable imitation of it). In the opposite corner, a CRT television sat within a yellow floral patterned hutch, and a game console was hooked up to it. Her bed sat neatly made on the far end of the room, a canopy like Pomni’s, although striped with magenta and cotton-candy pink rather than red and blue. At the food of the bed sat at least a dozen stuffed animals, a teddy bear, a camel, a tiger, and more, all in a neat pile. While they should have looked cute and inviting in the light, in the near dark, they looked uncanny. Their shoebutton eyes caught the flame’s reflection in such a way that made them look insectoid, and their vacant, pleasant expressions staring off into nothing gave off the impression of someone who had lost their mind gazing into the abyss. 

Ragatha hurried over to the hutch, opening a drawer and taking out a brand new white candle. 

“Here’s my stash,” she chuckled, rummaging around in the drawer a bit more. “I have a couple that are scented too. Do you guys like… apple cinnamon or toasted marshmallow more? I’m more of a sandalwood gal myself…”

Jax made a noise of disgust. Kinger stared intently at a stuffed elephant, as if waiting for it to blink. 

“Nanny cam…?” he whispered to himself. 

There was a crash of thunder and everyone jolted. Gangle covered the top of her mask with her ribbons and Kinger fumbled with the lighter, managing to keep hold of it. 

“Good thing you have that, Jax. I just ran out of matches…” Ragatha sighed, setting up a neat cluster of candles 

“Okay, um, I think we should use a couple to light the hallway, if it’s okay with you…at least until Caine fixes things.” Pomni said. “Um, and if I could borrow one or two for my room-”

“Me too please.” Gangle chimed in, raising a ribbon. 

“I need to get my camping stove…” Kinger muttered, still engaged in a stare-off with Ragatha’s stuffed elephant. 

“K-Kinger, you have a camping stove?” Pomni asked. 

“The h@!! do you need one of those for?” Jax also asked, crouching beside Kinger to see what was so interesting about that and stuffed animal. 

“…In case the power goes out.” Kinger replied after a moment.

“This is the first time the power has ever gone out…” Ragatha admitted, but she smiled anyway. “I’m glad you’ve been thinking ahead though.”

Ragatha then gasped. “Oh! We can make tea! I have the best recipe I need to show you guys! It’s perfect for a day like today!”

“I’d like some tea. Something warm to drink would really hit the spot.” Pomni said with a faint smile. Gangle also nodded. 

“Hey, I got a suggestion too.” Jax called, raising a finger. 

In one swoosh, Jax snatched the lighter out of Kinger’s hands, closing it with a clink and extinguishing their one source of light. 

“Jax, hey! I can’t see!” complained Ragatha.

“My lighter, my rules. I’m heading back to my room.” he said.

“What…? Jax, you’re kidding. We need the lighter for just a little longer, then it’s all yours.” Ragatha insisted. 

“It’s already all mine. You stole it. So now I’m keeping it.” Jax replied from somewhere in the dark. 

“Jax, come on!” Pomni shouted. “Everyone could have light again if you would just-”

“Everyone will have light again when Caine gets the electricity working. Just be patient.” 

“But… But Jax…” Gangle began, her voice quavering. “I’m… I’m scared of the dark, please just let us light a few candles…”

“Nope. Your eyes should adjust soon enough.”

The sound of Jax’s retreating footsteps and the open and shut of the door were muffled by another churning rumble of thunder. Ragatha sighed from her place in the dark. 

“Well, don’t worry everyone. We can have a slumber party even in the dark. It’ll take a bit more time to set up and we can’t do as much, but-”

Everyone jumped at a sudden angry yell and thunk. Pomni punched the wall, then felt her way towards the door, throwing it open and stomping out into the hallway. 

“Pomni’s very angry.” Kinger said in a hushed voice. Ragatha set her candles down on the hutch, a few of them rolling off and clattering to the floor as she carefully made her way to her door in almost complete darkness.

“Pomni? Pomni, where are you going?” she called out into the hall. 

It wasn’t too difficult for Pomni to find Jax’s door feeling around in the dark, it was right across from her room, after all. Her right hand aching from punching the wall, she banged on his door with her left. 

“JAX! GET OUT HERE!” she bellowed. 

“Pomni, hey, it’s okay-!” Ragatha insisted, alarmed at the newest member’s sudden explosion of rage. 

“NO! No, it’s not okay! I’m sick to death of him acting like this! It ends right the #%@& now, you hear me?!”

Pomni shouted all this as she feverishly twisted the handle of Jax’s locked door. After several mighty turns, she scoffed and took a few steps back. 

“You wanna hide like a coward? Fine!” 

“What’s going on?!” Zooble’s voice shouted. They had poked their head into the hallway after hearing the racket outside. 

Pomni took another couple steps back until she was almost touching the opposite wall, then ran forward, barging Jax’s door with her shoulder. Thunder roared. 

“Pomni!” Ragatha cried, her voice cracking. “Pomni, what are you doing?! Are you okay?!”

Pomni took the same number of steps backwards and ran forward, smashing into the door again, eliciting a splintery crunch from the jamb. She backed up once again, both her right shoulder and right knuckle ached now, but she barely felt it. Truth be told she couldn’t pinpoint just one reason why Jax’s behavior had enraged her so badly. She was angry from lack of sleep, she was angry that Jax was being such a selfish bully for no reason, she was angry that he had the capacity for kindness and yet chose to act like this- 

Her rage burned blue-hot as she charged at the door, bracing her shoulder for impact. The impact never came. She sailed right past the point where she should have met hard wood, stumbling forward into a boneless somersault. She tumbled over herself and ended up in a sitting position. 

Jax’s room had incredibly faint daylight filtering in from his window. The sky was still the color of a dusty tire, mostly black with flecks of lights. Flashbulbs of lightning popped from within swollen thunderheads. 

Pomni heard the door shut behind her. In the faint light, she saw Jax turn the lock on his door before turning to look at her, arms crossed.

“You almost broke my door, newbie.” he said with almost parental condescension. 

Pomni didn’t say anything in return, only glaring. Anger prickled down her back. Thunder boomed. 

“You know what? Take it.” Jax took the lighter out of his pocket. It shined in the stormlight. “If you��re gonna throw such a hissy fit about something so tiny, you might as well have it so you don’t embarrass yourself more than you already have. Go on. I don’t want it anymore.” 

Jax held his hand out, the lighter on his palm. Pomni reared back and slapped his hand away, the lighter bouncing off the wall with a weighty thud, doing a few midair loops and finally skittering to a stop a few feet behind her.

“What the h@&&?! I gave you what-”

“SHUT UP!!!”

Pomni barked this order with such ferocity that Jax immediately fell silent. It seemed to have shocked the jester herself, as she took a moment to find her voice afterwards. 

“…Why? Why did you do that?” was all she managed to get out.

“I don’t like people touching my stuff.” came Jax’s reply. Despite his shock at being yelled at, he managed to keep his tone cool and even. There was a millisecond flash of lightning. Thunder rumbled.

“Not that. Just… why do you always..? I know you’re capable of being kind. I’ve seen it firsthand. They don’t do anything to you, Jax! So why do you just keep picking at everyone?”

“Because they let me.” 

Pomni felt her anger froth to the surface again. 

“Oh. OH. That makes perfect sense! So you’re cruel because you can be! Nice to know you’re just a sadist then! Ha! That saves me a lot of time, then! We’re through. Get outta my way.”

Pomni snatched the lighter off the ground and pushed past Jax.

“…I’m not a sadist.” he said without turning around. 

“You just said you’re cruel to people for fun. That’s the definition of a sadist!” Pomni unlocked the door to his room and placed her hand on the knob. 

“It’s not for fun.”

Her hand slid off the knob. There was a rolling growl of thunder. 

“So what is it then?!” Pomni turned back to Jax, walking up to him and poking him in the chest. “You keep changing your story! First it was ‘I want them to hate me instead of their situation,’ now it’s ‘I do it because I can.’ So what is it? Tell. Me. The. TRUTH.”

“You want the truth, huh?” Jax said. Half of his face was silhouetted in shadow, his tone steeped in frosty ire. 

“YES. Or you can forget about us. About all of this. It’ll be like we never met.” Pomni asserted. 

“FINE.” Jax hissed. He turned to the window, looking out on the maelstrom of clouds and wind and rain. Another blinding flash of lightning and grumble of thunder.

 “I… I hate myself.” 

For a good 10 seconds, the only sounds were that of the rain on the digital grass and the wind buffeting Jax’s window. 

“S-S-Say again?” Pomni finally asked.

“I hate myself.” Jax repeated, not taking his gaze off the storm. His affect was neutral, but his eyes were distant.

“You… hate yourself?” Pomni echoed. 

“Yeah.” 

The jester chewed on one of her gloves. A flicker of lightning and a softer, yet prolonged burble of thunder rolled across the grounds. She removed her glove from her teeth.

“How do I know that’s not a lie too?” she asked, looking intently at the floor. 

“It’s not.” Jax immediately replied. “I guess, just, believe me.”

Pomni continued chewing on one of her gloves. She jumped a little at an especially loud crack of thunder, but otherwise remained rooted to the spot. An excruciating minute passed.

“…Okay. You hate yourself.” Pomni finally conceded, throwing her arms out and letting her hands slap against her hips. “So?”

This query got Jax to turn towards Pomni. The icy glare on his face could have shriveled flowers. “The £@€# do you mean, ‘so?’” 

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Pomni shot back.

“So? You hate yourself so you treat everyone but me sometimes like trash?! What kind of excuse is that?”

The corner of Jax’s mouth twitched. She had prodded a nerve with that one. He turned back to the window, looking out on the storm-swept grounds. 

“Get outta my room.” he ordered.

“No.” Pomni said with a humorless laugh. “You seriously think I’m gonna go ‘Oh you poor baby, I didn’t know; all is forgiven?’ just because you said you hate yourself? It doesn’t work like that! I hate myself too and I don’t act a FIFTH as awful as you do!”

“What do you mean, you hate yourself..?” Jax demanded quietly. 

Pomni took a deep breath. Well, he had been honest with her. She waited for the latest boom of thunder to quiet down before continuing. 

“I don’t remember everything about outside… but I remember that before I came here I… I was alone. I never went out drinking or dancing; I had no one to go with. Hadn’t kept in touch with my college friends and didn’t associate with anyone at work. How could I? I never had anything to talk to my coworkers about, I never reacted right to anyone’s jokes, I only went to team building exercises if they were mandatory… But it wasn’t like they didn’t try! I got invited to dinner or to birthday parties, and I always said no, I was busy. You wanna know what I was doing?”

“Pomni-” Jax began 

“No! Ask me what I was doing!” 

Jax didn’t reply. Pomni finally shrugged after a moment and answered her own question with a phony smile.

“Nothing. £@€# all. I was doing sudoku, or watching a movie I had already seen, or scrolling on my phone in bed. And I hated myself for it! I would cry into my pillow, I was so lonely! I would tell myself how stupid, stupid, STUPID I was, and how I was an idiot who didn’t deserve friends! I had every opportunity to get out of the hole I dug for myself, and I didn’t, because I was scared they would hate me even more than I thought they already did.”

Pomni felt her anger rise once again.

“Uh huh. But guess what? I never picked on anyone. I never made anyone else feel worse! I hurt so badly some days I wanted to DIE and I still tried my best to smile and treat everyone around me like a PERSON! You hate yourself? SO F#%&ING WHAT?! That doesn’t give you the right to make everything around you worse!” 

Pomni panted, doubling over to catch her breath. She braced herself for some sort of projectile Jax might throw at her. Instead, he only stared at her before turning back to the window. Thunder rumbled. 

“I’m… sorry you hate yourself. Really. It’s the worst feeling. But it’d be so much better if you just… didn’t hurt people. Let them in and helped you heal. It’s what I needed, and now that I have friends…”

Pomni stopped herself. She stared down at the floor again. She hated eye contact already, eye contact after an argument was like staring at the sun.

“So… why do you hate yourself?” Pomni asked after some more silence. 

“What does it matter?” Jax replied. 

Pomni scoffed. “Don’t give me that. Has it occurred to you that I actually care about you? If I didn’t, why would I even be asking? Why would I have kissed you after you made me salmon a few nights ago? I like you, Jax. But you can be a real p&!@% sometimes, and that isn’t okay, even if your pain is real. Why do you hate yourself?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jax said firmly. 

Pomni let out a protracted sigh, chewing on the finger of one of her gloves and looking down at the floor one last time before looking back up at Jax. He was looking out at the storm.

“Okay. Thanks for at least giving me a real answer. I’ll bring your lighter back in a bit.”

Pomni headed for the door once again. She felt a hand touch her shoulder and she practically jumped out of her skin with a sharp gasp. She whirled around and took a few steps back, Jax pulling his hand back in shock. 

“W-What?! Don’t… don’t touch me!” she snapped reflexively. 

“…I’m…” Jax began. 

Pomni crossed her arms and waited, looking everywhere but in Jax’s face. 

“…I’m…” he tried again. “I’m not being… I’m not just being difficult. I don’t remember.”

Pomni quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t remember what?” 

“Why. I don’t remember why I hate myself. It’s just gone. Poof, right along with my name.”

Pomni licked her lips. She was thirsty from all the shouting. 

“You’re… being serious right now? You aren’t just trying to weasel your way-”

“No. No, I’m- I’m totally serious.” 

Pomni managed to look into his eyes for a moment. They were big, but his pupils were tiny despite the extremely low light. Just the way he’d looked after she had seen him have a nightmare. Scared. 

“…That’s horrible.” Pomni said, looking away after she began to feel itchy. “I… can’t imagine how horrible it must be to hurt and not know why… like a pain in a phantom limb.” 

Jax didn’t say anything, looking back out at the window. Lightning flashed, a bright pink-white splinter across the clouds, and there was a tremulous rumble of thunder that followed. 

“But… you shouldn’t take it out on people. Even if it makes the pain stop. There are other things you can do…” Pomni added. “And… And I’m willing to listen to you whenever you’re hurting. Even if I’m hurting too.” 

Jax looked back at the jester, who immediately stared down at the floor. 

“Why? You barely know me. You said it was so hard to make friends back in the real world. What makes me so special?”

Pomni swallowed. She really needed something to drink. 

“I know. That it’s bizarre for me to like you when I’ve always had such a hard time. But… I want to help you anyway. Isn’t that weird?”

She managed a smile and to look him in the eyes again. Jax gave a short “heh…” and looked away this time. 

“Thanks, Pompom.” he said.

“Anytime, Bunny-Boy.” 

The two of them shared an awkward chuckle. Pomni cleared her throat.

“Um… do you want to come with me? I’m gonna go have tea with Ragatha and the others…”

“I think I’m okay…” Jax replied. 

“Jax, come on. It’ll be fun… Please?” 

Pomni offered a hand. 

“Alright, alright. But only ‘cause you said please.”

Jax took the jester’s hand, Pomni sparking the lighter and leading the way back to Ragatha’s bedroom.

[olympushit]

Keeping up with the Olympians

#kuwto

Episode 2:

Preview:

Hera's statement for a divorce shakes things completely on the unholy mountain. Hermes has a promise to keep, while Aphrodite proves to be a helpless drama queen. Dionysos is okay and still partying.

----------

Scene 1: (Hermes and Apollo)

Hermes' confessional:

I had in mind to take Apollo to a strip club. I interrupted his orgy with the nine Muses so I have to make it up to him. I know, I love him too much!

Apollo: What is the surprise you have been talking about?

Hermes: Get dressed tonight! I have something very special for you!

Apollo: What is it! I'm dying to know! Please!

Apollo's confessional:

I love surprises but on the other hand I hate them. I don't like waiting! Exhilaration kills me!

Hermes: Dress slutty, that's all I'm saying!

Apollo: Oh.....

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

Scene 2: (Hera and Zeus)

Zeus confessional:

I'm still shaken by her behavior. I can't believe her! All that is for me to acquire better sex knowledge to please her even more in bed! Why can't she see that? Ungrateful wife!

Zeus: Are you serious about the divorce thing?

Hera: Absolutely! And don't try to change my mind!

Zeus: I'll promise I'll change!

Hera: LIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR! YOU FUCKING LIAAAAAAAAARRRRRR! (Slams the table)

Hera's confessional:

Of course I'm sick amd tired of his behavior! The goddess of marriage can't stand being cheated on! But don't worry guys, I won't divorce him. I want him to come crawling back to me, and of course who wants to lose the title of "Queen of Heavens?"

Hera: It's final!

Zeus: Think about it again! You won't find another man as gorgeous as me!

Hera: That's the spirit! Someone who is not you!

______________

Scene 3: (Aphrodite and Ares spending some time in Ares' private pool in Thrace)

Aphrodite's confessional:

Thrace is a nice place! There's sea, sun, and naked Ares!

Ares: Do you like it babe?

Aphrodite: You know I love being spoilt in every way!

Ares: My beautiful woman!

(Kiss scene)

Ares confessional:

Spending time with this woman is amazing! I just love her! And of course I like getting naughty with her! (winks at camera)

(Ares lifting Aphrodite)

Aphrodite: Ares I don't wanna get wet!

Ares: You'll get wet anyway babe! Just enjoy it! (Throws her in the pool)

Aphrodite: MY DIAMOND EARRING!

Ares: What about it?

Aphrodite: I lost it! In the pool! (starts crying)

Ares: Aphrodite, there's people that are dying!

Aphrodite: It costs 75000$!

Aphrodite's confessional: (crying)

Those were the earrings Ares gifted me on our anniversary! We were celebrating the 678 time we had sex together!

Ares: You lost that earring!

Aphrodite cries aggressively.

_____________

Scene 4: (Hestia and Demeter)

(Both shaking their salads and proceed eating them)

Demeter: So did you hear about Hera's divorce?

Hestia: I did, and I don't feel surprised anymore!

Demeter death glares at Hestia

Demeter's confessional:

Did she just say that Hera deserves it? She is our sister! Such a backstabber!

Hestia:I didn't say it serves her right, I meant him!

Demeter: That wasn't very well-put to me!

Hestia: But I explained it!

Demeter: Unacceptable!

Hestia's confessional:

I don't wanna create drama around there, but Demeter's behavior is just not it!

____________

Scene 5: (Hades and Persephone in the Underworld)

Persephone: You were a rapist, you don't deserve Elysium! To the Tartarus!

Minoas looking at Hades

Hades: Whatever you say, your Honour!

Persephone: Did you just call me your "Honour"?

Hades: Yes Majesty!

Persephone: Oh my god Hades! Not there! You turn me on!

Minoas: Excuse me bro!

Hades death glares at him

Persephone: You excuse?

Hades: And I'm not your bro!

Hades' confessional:

This woman is a complete turn-on! I wanna do bad things to her!

Persephone's confessional:

Hades is a total sex slave and he likes it! I like willing men! I like the role play and he just understands the assignment!

______________

Scene 6: (Poseidon and Amphitrite)

Poseidon: I'm thinking about Triton's wish!

Amphitrite: Let lose for once honey! It's not that bad!

Poseidon: I think I'll just do so!

Poseidon's confessional:

Triton is at this age that boys think about one thing. And he asked me to be his mentor. I made up something to tell Amphitrite, because if she finds out that Triton wants to be a pornstar then the whole humanity will drown!

Triton: Dad! What do you think about what I told you earlier?

Amphitrite: We think it's okay!

Triton: YOU TOLD MUM?

Triton: AND SHE AGREED?

Amphitrite: I think I miss something?

Poseidon: Yes Triton! I'll buy you a kitty cat!

Triton's confessional:

Thanks goodness he found an excuse! My career is gonna take off! Mum will understand my abilities and will finally accept it!

____________

Scene 7: ( Apollo and Hermes at the strip club)

Apollo: Is this your surprise?

Hermes: I felt bad for interrupting your fun the other day!

Apollo: Let's get wasted!

Dionysos: Ohhhhhhhh! My bros are here!

Apollo: Wow! It's amazing!

Apollo's confessional:

What is better than 9 Muses? A whole fucking strip club!

Apollo: Shake that ass babe!

Hermes: Booty jiggling!

Dionysus: Best night ever!

Hermes' confessional:

I'm glad he liked it! But I have lost him for 2 hours straight! What do I do now?

____________

Scene 8: (Artemis and Athena)

Artemis: You wanna join today's hunt?

Athena: I'd love to but I am needed in Athens.

Artemis' confessional:

I love my sister but her ignoring me is outta my range of liking!

Artemis: So you don't wanna spend time with me?

Athena: I didn't say that!

Artemis: Can't you cancel it?

Athena: No! They're my devotees!

Artemis: Family is always first!

Athena: I didn't say otherwise!

Artemis: Ares might wanna add something to this!

Athena's confessional:

She plays a game she will surely lose! What a bitch!

Athena: You use my own spells against me Potter?

Artemis: Maybe Ares is right! You are so above anyone that it has blinded you!

Athena: I TOLD YOU I HAVE SOMEWHERE TO GO VERY POLITELY!

Artemis: You know what? JUST LEAVE! You are the least interesting person in this family afterall!

Athena's confessional:

That hurt and I don't have a big idea about myself! I just have a little appreciation for everyone who's dumb!

Artemis' confessional:

Such a bitch! She can't get away with everything!

________________

AND THAT'S EPISODE 2!

What do you think so far? Leave a comment below!

IT MUST REALLY BE A REALITY SHOW!

Till episode 3!✌️

[corishadowfang]

Some cut content for The Age of Fairytales (And Other Assorted Myths); while it didn't work out for today's chapter, I wanted to share it, anyways, since I still liked it overall. Throwing it under a read more, since it's a bit long for a Tumblr post.

            Once, a very, very long time ago, there was only Darkness.  It stretched across the universe, dipping into even the furthest corners.  There was nothing else, and no one—only shadows, and the vast silence of space.  And so it was, for eons upon eons.

            But an eternity is a lonely thing, and in time Darkness grew to crave something new.  “I will create another,” it decided.  “Something like myself—something that can speak, and think, and reach the same places I can.  We will fill the silence with our voices, and spend an eternity together.”

            With that thought Darkness parted; it pulled away bits of itself, slowly slinking back from the edge of the world.  And as it moved, something took shape—the first gleaming bits of stardust, left in Darkness’s wake.  Darkness nurtured those fragments, and allowed them to gather and grow, until they had formed a small, glimmering little child.  Darkness named this child Light, and loved it with all it had; it would cradle the child when it grew tired, and laugh as Light danced across its shoulders, painting it in bright colors, and whisper soothing stories that made the little one glow all the brighter.  And Light grew, and it spread, and its parent was proud.

            But Light was a curious thing—bright, and adventurous, and ill-content with sitting still.  It wanted more than the conversations Darkness would offer and the games they would play; it would travel far and wide, trailing across the universe, dripping small sparks of itself all across its parent’s body.

            Darkness grew worried, and after a time, it approached Light.  “My child,” it said, “why are you restless?  Have you not enjoyed our games, or our talks?”

            “I have,” Light answered, “but we have played all the games we know, and told so many stories there are none left to tell.  I need something new; something that can keep my spark burning, and that can give us new stories to tell.”

            Darkness said, “Then I will create something for you, so that you may experience the same joy I did when you were born.”

            Darkness reached inside itself, and wrapped its hand around its very heart; it pulled, and pulled, and as it did, it came ever-closer to its child.  Light stretched around the still-beating heart, and asked, “What is this?”

            Darkness answered, “It is my heart—and it is yours, my child, as it has always been.  Take it; you may shape it to your will.”

            “I cannot take this,” Light protested.  “What if I hurt you?

            “You could never hurt me; you came from me.  You are as much a part of me as my heart.  Let yourself shine bright, and create something that reflects who you are.”

            And so Light took its parent’s heart, cradling it with great care.  It was hesitant at first, cautiously curling around the heart and illuminating its every surface.  It could see the shadows shifting, and the small veins that split them, and it felt, almost, like the heart would tease apart in its hands.  “This will not due,” it decided.  “I can’t risk hurting this precious gift.  I will create a shell—something to protect it, and keep the heart safe while I work.”

            And so Light took strips of itself, and wrapped them carefully around the heart.  It hardened them with the warmth of its body, and when it was done, an impenetrable shield existed around the heart, keeping all of its pieces in place.  But as Light looked at the hardened shell, it realized it was very plain.  “That will not due,” it decided.  “If this is to contain my parent’s heart, then it deserves to be beautiful.  I will give it the same colors I have given Darkness, and they will make it shine.”

            And so Light waved its hands, and from its fingertips scattered bits of stardust.  They sunk into the shell, and coaxed by Light’s warmth, they sprouted, growing into beautiful trees and flowers and other plants, painting the world in beautiful colors.

            But Light was not satisfied.  “It is all the same—beautiful, but boring.  It would be better to make certain places one way, and others another, so that they will always provide something for us to enjoy.”

            After a moment of thought, Light dipped its hands into the oceans of space.  It dripped the water onto the shell, and carefully pinched and molded it, creating mountains and valleys.  Water pooled into crevices, creating small streams and puddles, and Light enjoyed the way that it reflected off the water.  It created more spaces for it, filling in ponds and lakes and seas, and breathed across its surface to stir the waves.  It grew in inspiration, and in boldness, and created tundras and deserts and more, weaving storms into existence and clouds to chase across the sky.

            The act of creation brought Light much joy, and it whiled away eons as it worked, shifting the world into its perfect shape.  And yet, Light was still not satisfied.

            “What troubles you?” Darkness asked one day.  “You have created something beautiful—and it grows more beautiful still as you work.  Is that not enough?”

            “There is something miss,” Light answered.  “It is beautiful, but empty; it does not have the same spark you gave me.”

            “You were created to be like me—to talk and think.  You are my child; it is what sets you apart.”

            And with that knowledge, Light glowed brighter.  “That is what it needs, then,” Light decided.  “Something like me—like us.  Something to walk through the forests, and explore the oceans, and create stories that even we have never thought of.  Then my work will be complete.”

            But Light was not like Darkness; it had no hidden things inside it.  It could not pull out a part of itself, and watch as it was given life.  And so it thought, and thought, and after a moment, it reached down and took some of the earth between its fingertips.  Carefully it molded it into a small creature, with long ears and a bobbed tail, fingertips fashioning little divots along its body.  And when it was finished, it dripped stardust into the creature’s eyes, and breathed into its lungs.  The creature breathed with it, and it blinked, and Light found that it almost couldn’t breathe with the joy of it.

            Light did not stop at one.  It filled the world with creatures, fashioning mammals and birds and insects and more—great things and small things, furry and scaled, flying and swimming.  It stretched the very limits of its imagination, and created a creature for every habitat, so that the world may always be filled with life.

            And as Light grew tired, its power slowly waning from the energy it had used to create the world, it decided to create one last creature.  “A being truly like us,” it decided.  “A child of my own—to experience the world, and change it.  And one day, perhaps it will take care of my heart, and shape it into something new, as I have done with my parent’s.”

            Light reached down, and molded its final creation carefully, pressing it into shape until it was pleased with its form.  And Light breathed into it, and the first person took a breath, and looked at the world around it in wonder.  “What is this place?” it asked.

            “This is the World,” Light answered.  “I created it so that my parent and I may have something to enjoy, always, even when we run out of games to play and tales to tell.  And I created you, and the animals, and the plants and other creatures that populate it, so that you, too, may enjoy its splendor.”

            “And who are you?”

            “I am your creator—your parent, as Darkness is mine.  You came from me, and I will love you, always.  We will talk to each other, and teach each other new things, and explore the world together, for eons upon eons.”

            The newly-created person accepted this, and Light stepped foot onto the World to explore with its child, carefully handing its creation back into Darkness’s waiting arms.  And together, Light and its child walked, traversing mountains and oceans, creating new things and discovering new creatures, all under Darkness’s watchful eye.

            But there was a flaw in the person that there was not in Light.  It had a solid body—one that could not stretch like Light and Darkness, and that grew damaged and weary as time passed.  It cracked and creaked, and though Light could shore up those cracks, it could not erase them entirely.  It wept bitterly, realizing that its child would not be able to spend the eons with them; that one day, its body would fall apart, and return to nothing but clay and stardust.

            “Don’t cry,” its child said with a small smile.  “You can create others, and populate the World with many like me.  You will have children long after I am gone, and will never have to worry about being alone.”

            “But they will not be you,” Light answered.  “My first-born.  I was to entrust my heart to you, as my parent did to me, and you would create many new things to transform the World.  How am I to move on, and spend an eternity without you?”

            Light’s first-born simply smiled again.  “I came from you,” it answered, “and when I die, I will return to you—and so, too, will the others.  And perhaps one day, when you have molded new bodies for us, we will be able to return to the World, and walk with you again, and create new stories for you to enjoy.”

            Light grieved, and railed, and tried to fix what it could—but it was inevitable, in the end, that it could not spare its child.  Eventually, its body crumbled out from underneath it, and Light wailed—and for a time, it disappeared, sinking back to its parent’s arms in its grief.  “It is alright, little one,” Darkness said.  “Cry for as long as you must; I will shelter you, until you are ready to try again.”

            “Will the pain be forever?” Light asked.  “They are gone—if I create more, will I simply lose them, too?”

            Darkness did not know; it was ageless, and so was its child.  It was not used to loving mortal things.  And so it simply held its child, and allowed it to rest there, tears dripping like falling stars.

            Grief was not a familiar thing for Light; Light was bright and happy and curious, and did not know what to do with such a heavy emotion.  It waned, dimming until it was little more than a spark, and even Darkness began to grow afraid that it might lose its child to this terrible circumstance.

            But as Light flickered, a tiny voice came from somewhere inside it—familiar as its own, from the years they spent traveling together.  “Don’t cry,” whispered its first-born.  “I told you that I would return to you, and here I am.”

            “How is this possible?” Light asked, voice so quiet as to be a whisper.  “You are gone—I watched your body fall apart, stardust scattering where you stood.”

            “You were not able to give me your heart,” its child said, “but I could return mine to you.  Here I will rest, and even if you cannot hear me, you will always know that I am close.”

            “But you are still gone—whatever I create next, it will not be exactly as you were.”

            “No,” its first-born agreed, “but that does not mean it won’t be beautiful.  Did the animals not amaze you, or the oceans, or the flowers?  Was the joy of spending time with me not worth it, even if it was only brief?”  Warmth filled Light, then—a warmth that was not entirely its own, and it cradled it close, like it could hold its child again.  “Create more people.  Fall in love with their antics, as you did mine—and when their bodies fail, you can gather them up, and they will stay here with me, so you will never lose us.”

            The words soothed the ache in Light’s heart, and slowly it began to uncurl, untangling itself from its parent’s embrace.  “My child,” it asked, “are you alright?”

            “Yes,” it decided.  “I will be.”

            And so it was.  Light reached down to the World, and it breathed life into another person—and then another, and then another.  It created more, so that when one passed, many would still remain to ease the ache of that loss.  And it gave them the ability to create their own children, so that they may know the same joy.  Light loved them as fiercely as it had its first-born, and it spent as much time as it could among them, telling stories of those that had passed before them, and marveling at the things that its children created.

[jestersmonsters]

[Plush Doll]

"Alright, I think..... I think I got it right. Try it on." Donnie said, gesturing to a figure in the swivel chair next to him. Sitting there was a life-sized plush replica of Mikey. It had uneven stitching and button eyes, but the anatomy and proportions were pretty spot-on for someone who mainly specialized in robotics. Right now, the doll was lifeless, limbs hanging limply and head lolling off to the side. He would have looked crazy like he was talking to the thing if it wasn't for the ghost on the other side of the room. Mikey's ghost had been waiting for this new body for a long time. "Right! " he beamed, gliding over. In a moment, his golden light filled the plush doll. Limbs that had previously hung low now tensed and raised as Mikey shakily got to his feet, using the desk as support. The expressions on the doll were odd. The mouth had been stitched on, so there was no opening, but the fabric would stretch and shift to change expression. And the button eyes glowed with light that would shrink to thin horizontal strips when he blinked. Mikey laughed, staring down at his new body and the stitches holding him together. "How does it feel?" Donnie asked, curious. "Muffled? I guess. I can feel again! But.... less." Mikey explained, balancing himself so he could stand upright only to be immediately met with Donnie reaching over to pinch his arm. He squeaked and jerked away. "Did that hurt?" he asked, to which Mikey paused, thinking it over. He blinked a couple of times. "Not really. Hold on, try again. Hit me." he requested, spreading his arms out. Donnie furrowed his brows but eventually sighed and shrugged, clocking Mikey square in the chest. The plush turtle stumbled back a bit but otherwise hardly even flinched. However, there was a slight squeak that came from his chest as it was hit. "Did you put a squeaker in me‽‽" Mikey exclaimed, shocked as he started patting himself down, earning a laugh from Donnie, who simply replied, "Of course. But don't think I'll tell you where they all are." he said, amused. Mikey gasped. "No way...." he said, searching. Four squeaks. One in each hand, one in his neck, another in his tail. There could be more, but that was all he found. "Anyways, have fun looking for them all. I'm going to get some rest." Donnie announced after watching his younger brother squeeze various parts of his body for over a minute. "Wait!" Mikey interrupted. "I thought you didn't need sleep anymore?" he asked. Donnie shrugged. "It's complicated. A lack of sleep won't kill me like it would when I was mortal, but I still get tired. Just not as quickly as I used to. It's why I was able to stay up so long, making that for you." he explained, gesturing to the plush. "Well, if you're going to sleep anyways, why don't we make it special and help me test out my new body? I'll call the others over for a turtle pile!" Mikey cheered, running off before Donnie could protest. He sighed. Yeah, sure...... it had been a while since they'd all been happy together after all.

[TCEST DNI. I'LL BITE YOU]

[viilpstick]

╰┈➤ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔: Ruggie & Vil, Monique & Daisy and 3 others Twisted Wonderland ocs

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Oc x cannon

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: Fluff, crack/comedy (ig), action (? I REALLY DON'T KNOW) and if you squint your eyes angst

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: too lazy to do it now, but it is long.

𝒂/𝒏: i actually got the idea of double date sooo (monique in here is vice-perfect, bc in my head Daisy is the main character) + I TOOK A LONG TIME TO WRITE, BLAME MY WRITING TEACHER, taking my creativity away :,))

Laying on the bed, both of Monique and Daisy looked over some polaroids taken by them, with some light laughing, they smiled at the picture, not enough to wake Grim up in the other room? It wasn't until late, they turn to see Grim coming inside with a pout. With his stripped pajamas. 

"Why you both laughing? Shouldn't be in bed by now?" He talks like a tired mom, who had to change rooms for sleep and still didn't worked as much as he though it would.

"Why, don't be so serious now." Monique chuckles a hand covering her lips. 

Daisy on her side nods with a smile, as she sit straight up in the bed. "After all, tomorrow we won't have any class." 

"Still, I need my beauty sleep!" 

"Oh, Grim, you need more than just sleep."

Monique jokes with an amused smirk in her face and Daisy in her side couldn't contain her laugh. Of course, Grim doesn't take her jokes as an offense, yet, he couldn't help but pout.

"Hey! I am very handsome, thank you very much." 

Huffing and angrily stopping on the floor, Grim says, making Daisy opens her arms for Grim lay with both of them.

"What is so funny anyway?" Grim asks looking over Monique's shoulder on Daisy's lap who held the pictures.

He could see some pictures where Vil and Ruggie's face was blurry and the next one a clear overblot of someone. 

"Our first double date." Daisy says showing him the picture of them together.

Vil was holding Monique and Ruggie holding Daisy. 

That could make any single person sick.

"What is that one?" Grim points at the one where someone was with an overblot issue. 

A woman with skin purple pale, long eyelids and really skinny, the ink dropped on the restaurant's floor, as an guy on the side screamed loudly (for what the picture showed), he was buffy, almost like Ashton, yet couldn't seem to defeat the purple woman, who's looked to be around Leona or Sam's age. On his side, another slim guy screaming at the overblot, this one didn't seemed as able to defeat the woman.

Both of the girls flinched at the memory before sighing.

"Oh, that woman..." Monique sighs deeply, that one where you can feel the air running and going out your lungs.

"She was certain an experience, but, can we really blame her?" The blond one comments. 

"Well?"

Awaiting Grim says, they raise their one eyebrow confused by what the cat-like creature asks.

"Well, what?" The brown haired girl asks Grim.

"Are you really going to keep as an inside-joke?! Nuh-uh! You will tell me what happened." He sits in their waiting for them to start.

Both look at each other before chuckling. 

How does it all starts?

"Here they are." The model attention was snapped back as he pronounced his words, looking to Ruggie and Daisy, who approached them.

Monique waves at them both, smiling brightly, as Daisy did the same. With a small greeting, the silence was installed. Ruggie and Vil, they were clearly someone to have a neutral opinion about each other.

Ruggie didn't knew Vil.

Vil didn't knew Ruggie.

This was an unlikely duo to be in a double date. Well, but, they girlfriends knew each other, so, they might just pull up with it.

Ruggie came for a hug, Vil for a handshake. They stare into each other. Vil comes for a hug, Ruggie a handshake.

How cliché.

"Well, shall we go inside?" Vil asks, as the girls nods. Ruggie only followed by since Daisy was dragging him.

If Ruggie were to lie, he wasn't a bit amazed to be in a double date with THE Vil Schoenheit. He just never talked him before... It felt like he meeting Leona for the first time. 

The first whatsover thing that happened once they enter the small restaurant was hearing a teenager complaining.

The guy, tannish skin, black hair and ebony dark eyes. A red jacket and a REAL bad taste in clothing. If Monique were to have the guts, she would already had talk a GOOD talk with him.

"A table for four?" The man, just as tall as Vil in his high heels asks. His skin was a lighter tone of tan, with long black hair, his uniform purple and yellow.

As the two couple makes their way to the table they still hear the teen complaining with a beastwoman with cat ears and tail, a long purple hair and indigo tired boring eyes sighing at each word the young man said.

"So," Vil started trying the attention to go off of the table on their side. "What you all thinking of ordering? It's a pretty basic, but, Monique enjoys it, so, thought of calling you both over to here was the best."

Ruggie and Daisy nods before getting a look at the prices on the menu: "BASIC?!" was the first thought of Ruggie's mind. 

He shallows the dry, usually him and Daisy will hatch the bill. But, how does Vil and Monique work? Do they do the same? Would Vil mind to pay everything and then Ruggie can pay them later.

Daisy puts a hand on Ruggie's shoulder. Reassuring to let everything go as it should, and not worry too much with it. Yes, a simple touch in the shoulder like that meant it all.

"Well, I think just a steak... For me. Uhh... And you, Daisy?"

"The pumpkin soup with garlic bread, sounds just fine." And then, Daisy looks to Monique.

"Just some pasta." Monique closes the menu, turning to Vil. 

The silence felt uncomfortable, even Daisy and Monique would talk alone, but the fact Ruggie and Vil was in there, made weird?

"Yagya! I told you I don't like pinneaple! Change it." The teen with ebony dark hair says crossing his arms. He looked to be around fifteen or so...

The quartet turn to the supposedly Yagya, awaiting for her response. With her pale skin. "Sir, with all respect, this has been your fourth change."

The boy could only glance.

"Sir?"

"He looks younger than us." Ruggie head goes to Daisy in shook.

Vil clears his throat, he doesn't want to gossip in the moment, it felt inelegant. "Ruggie, you are from Savannaclaw... Do you like-"

"Vil. I know you are about to ask. Don't." Monique puts a hand in his arm, trying to stop her boyfriend.

"-Have a special conditioner for your fur?" 

"No?"

"I thought so."

Monique sighs putting her head in the table. Vil is a little too strong head when it comes to meeting people, yet, she didn't want this to end in a mess.

"Oh..." Ruggie panics as he looks to Daisy who, again, with only a look reassures him, that is all fine. And with the other two, Monique glances at Vil as if telling him to not go so far off. “How was the uhm… Battle, thing- Or whatever. You had with Neige LeBlanc? Did you-“

Ruggie felt a squeeze in his arm, turning to face Monique and Daisy who were begging him to stop talking with only their eyes.

“You mean the one I lost and overblot?” 

Oh no, the silence. 

Bitting his lip, Ruggie for the first time prayed for everyone need his help with anything else at the moment. For an extrovert, Ruggie was sure quiet. Vil was holding back a frown, he opened his mouth to speak, but then again…

“That wasn’t what I asked!” The table of the four teens groan, the boy goes again to complain. “What? She is getting my order wrong.”

“Kaizer-“ The boy with long hair, or, Kaizer. Clear his throat. “I mean, sir, this was exactly what you order.” 

“But, that was fifteen minutes ago. I want something else now.”

The other group of teens watch him with an unamused and shocked face. The tall waiter steps to their table. “My name is Kenji, everyone. I will be taking your orders.” 

Vil was about to speak up, when Kaizer is the one to speak… Again.

“Kenji! I want you to take my order first, now.” Kaizer says looking over his nails. 

A lot would said that, Vil’s head turned to Kaizer. But no, it snapped. “Oh, sevens, no.” Vil crosses his arms, and Ruggie couldn’t help to do the same. 

This guy was getting into their nerves, blood boiling and a strong deep breath, was necessary to survive. Daisy wonders if that have happened before, but, it wouldn’t make sense, specially for Vil, bring this headache to them all.

Monique notices Ruggie confused glance as she shrugs. Clearly, this never happened before.

"You know what? DAD!" He calls out, and immediately Yagya's face falls into a despair one.

When least or most expected, a bigger guy comes out of the kitchen, but, his face was the softness itself.

"I swear, this never happened before when we were here." Monique whispers to the other two and Vil could only nod.

At this point the whole restaurant had their heads to the table where Kaizer was. Not that it was a full place, it had at least three or four other tables with people on it. But the noise and the lack of politeness was louder than anything else, unbearable to ignore.

"Yes, son?" The tall bearded man, just as tall as Malleus, if not taller asks with a sweet kind face.

"Fire Yagya, she has nothing but trouble."

"Excuse me?" The blonde girl over the other table asks shocked, turning to her boyfriend.

Everyone was just speechless as the two couples, how can someone believe this is how things work? The consideration was probably burned in the kitchen and thrown out of the window. 

"What a terrible excuse!"

"If Leona had that excuse, I would be already thrown out of NRC." 

"I wish a had this excuse against Neige." The three teens turn to Vil with an unamused look. "I wish I had but, I don't."

"Hey! I can hear you all." Kaizer pouts, after all, they were the closest to the table where all the drama is.

"Good!" Both Ruggie and Vil said a bitter tone and with a slight frown.

Yagya head turns desperately to Kaizer's father, pleading for him not to do as told.

"I am really sorry, Yagya. But, you are fired."

The silence was only broken by Yagya falling on her knees her ears and tail down, with Kenji rushing to her side, making sure she was alright.

Daisy felt nothing but pity, and shattered heart like a crystal into pieces. Her eyes winded once taking a look at her wand, how long has this woman been dealing with this? It was the point where her enough, was overuse her magic and let her hatred, sadness, or whatever she was feeling was her magic wand getting the worse of her.

"I did everything I could. I don't understand what I am doing wrong. I was polite. I did everything I possibly could."

"Well, if you want to feel better we can give you a resume to your next boss." Kaizer gives Yagya a damn smirk, as if he didn't just humiliated her infront of everyone. "No hard feelings?"

He extends her hand to her.

But, she slaps away.

"Oh no..." Whispering, Daisy knew exactly was going to happen. Even if she wanted, how could they avoid what was already happening?

"You aren't going to get your resume like that." Kaizer pouts.

As everyone stands up, they see a rush of ink crawling around Yagya, her feelings were mixed in the dark place, the lights flickered, people were starting to understand what was about to happen.

"I am DONE!"

Yagya long dress decays into a longer one, her hair goes to the back all spiked up. Her big eyelashes turning into pure ink, the pale skin into a paller purplish tone and a big over collar.

"No, because, she's kinda slaying-"

"-Not the time, Monique!" Daisy takes Monique away from her thoughts by pulling her arm.

"She has a point, thought!" Vil yells hiding himself, throwing the table on the floor to hide.

The others left the restaurant in a heartbeat, meanwhile, the quartet stays behind a table using it as a shield, awhile in the other table is seen.

"Why when there's trouble is always you two around?" Perplexed at the thought, Ruggie asks the girls who shrugged.

"Pretty people must suffer, Ruggie." Rolling his eyes, Vil answered.

"Poor Daisy, you must been through a lot then." Ruggie snickers.

"Are you four seriously FLIRTING?!"

Kaizer asks behind the other table, with his father and Kenji. The older man scoffed, standing up going to Yagya's front.

"What are you all so afraid about? It's not like she is that powerful-" Kaizer's dad ate his words, literally, since he was turned into a chicken by her powers.

The six teens stare in shock as the poor chicken runs away for his life. With a side shocked look, Daisy turns to Ruggie. For all the time she had dealt with overblots she knew how to defeat them, now, this was just a random woman. She didn't knew nothing.

"Alright, who is Yagya's friend?" Ruggie asks the other two guys.

As Kaizer was about to raise his hand there was a union when all of them said: "No!" And then he lowers his hand.

"Well, I could try." Kenji stands up, as if about to say... "Listen to me, Yagya, this isn't you! Stop!"

He actually said it. Oh, my sevens.

Facepalming, Vil turns away, almost having a break down at the stupidity. But instead, Yagya eyes soften and as everyone thought they were saved-

Yagya turned Kenji into a cow.

Perfect.

They stand up, awhile Kaizer stays behind the table in fetal position awhile repeating the words: "Happy thoughts, happy thoughts", over and over again.

"Hey, guys, now that I've been turned into a cow. Can I go home?" Kenji asks the most serious and honest question anyone could ever ask.

"You are excused." Vil says opening the door to Kenji, who runs away.

Pulling their wands out, Vil and Ruggie tried to contain Yagya until they founded a way to stop her. Meanwhile, Daisy could see Kaizer trying to run away, but he is immediately stopped by Monique who cross her arms.

"You know, exactly what to do."

She forcefully turns his body to Yagya's pity form. Where inside the anger it was a cry for help, it was a pain inside her chest, seeing inside her deep blue eyes, all of that was written.

Step forward, doing the right thing, Kaizer face-to-face looks to Yagya and speaks up. Who was ready to throw all her rage at him.

"I am sorry. I actually like pineapple. I am sorry, I actually tried to test you for my amusement. I am sorry, I made you believe you are bellow me just because you are my assistant. I am sorry, I am wrong." The eyes covered in a blind revenge, soften up. "I know, I shouldn't push you that much. I know, and because I know, I am sorry. Yagya, I am sorry. I now understand-"

Her eyes turn back into anger, blood boiling. "You don't understand!" The silence falls down. Even the chicken stays quiet from doing any movements. "You don't understand how tiring, my life is. I am a servant, I have to keep it quiet! All the damn time!" The head of the hyena turns. "No one understands."

The ink flows on the place, in a way to cover them to see her sadness. A cold feeling rushes through Ruggie, as he silently takes a step forward.

"I do." He shows the arm who hasn’t recovered after Leona’s issue. "I really do." Yagya looks at him silently. "We always think for all, we aren’t enough, for our family, friends. Anything. And we are judge when we want to take care of ourselves."

Surprisingly, Yagya gets on her knees. Feeling weak. "Yes… We do, don’t we?"

"Hard-work is not that respected, Yagya. But, it’s not an issue we should take ourselves as the one to blame."

The ink starts to disappear, Daisy smiles brightly to her boyfriend, awhile, Monique noticed the chicken with two buffy arms.

Yagya calmed herself, the overblot energy going away. As Daisy approaches her to check if everything is okay.

"Don’t think, you are just what you work for."

The purple haired beastwoman nods, holding Daisy’s hand to stand up.

As Kaizer’s dad shows up in their front, back to normal.

"I am apologise, Yagya, for everything." Kaizer's dad said with a shinning smile "You still fired thought." He says his sympathetic tone tuning into a deadpanned look.

"I know." Yagya smiles as she used Daisy as a support for her height, she was a bit too weak to stand by herself.

"Why are you smiling then?"

"To not break your face-" Daisy hits Yagya with her elbow.

"Excuse you?!"

"To not overblot again." Both girls nod with a smile. Kaizer's dad leave and the purple haired one sighs deeply. She looks to Ruggie and Daisy. "Truly, thank you. Please, I am so sorry for every mess caused."

"Don't worry, we saw what you went through. Don't always lower your head."

On the other side of the same place, Vil some money in the table, before huffing. "I didn't even liked this place." He takes Monique's hand before glancing into Ruggie and Daisy's eyes. His frown turn into a smile, a genuine one, even tho the circumstances. "Daisy, it's been lovely time with you, truly. We should go out more often. And Ruggie..." Shallowing, Ruggie waited for the absolute worse, but instead... "You are a great guy, I appreciate your personality. But remember, break Daisy's heart, I break your neck."

"Understood, sir." Ruggie smirks, he knows Vil was just a diamond heart in the rough, could he really blame how he acted?

"We will be outside, for us to take a picture, this moment has to be remembered." Heading outside, hand to hand with Monique who had a lovestruck look.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Ruggie turn to see the face of his girlfriend.

"I am proud of you."

"For what?"

She makes him turn his head to Yagya, someone who had a tough life, just like him, smiling, just like him.

"For this." Daisy kisses his cheek, her hand going to take his. "Now, let's go take the picture."

He smiles back, following her outside.

Back to the present, the story had came to the end. Daisy feel asleep by Monique telling the moment they lived, head on Monique's shoulder, like older and younger sister.

"But, how you both took the pictures."

"It wasn't us, it was Kenji, he gave it to us a day after he turned back into a human. The only picture we took was the after fight." Monique puts everything in a safe place, called under the bed, awhile, Daisy's head fell into the pillow.

"Soo, what happened to Yagya? She still got fired."

Grim asks as Monique turns to him. Smiling sweetly, the brunnette one answers. "We showed her that Sam was needing assistants in his shop, and she got the job. She seems way happier, and even more relaxed."

"And Kaizer?"

Before answering, she thinks for a while. "He learned to be a better person, after another accident, apparently, Kaizer turned to a Llama with a poison accident. He showed up three weeks ago apologizing to me, Daisy, Ruggie and Vil." Pausing, she puts a blanket over Daisy. "Probably, he apologised more to Yagya afterwards."

He hums, hoping from Monique to Daisy's side, comfortably laying. With a smile, Monique turns off the lights, closing the door. There was a small smile in Daisy's face of that save feeling, for there she is.

It felt a calm rushed through Ramshackle. Cold breeze was calming, the brightest star was shinier than ever.

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓: @midnightmah07, I love your Oc x Canon, a lot (I guess it is obvious lol) so, this is kinda of a (shitty) gift for the 200 days celebration of Daiggie!! 𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕: My dog was adopted (no, I gave birth to him/j) in Peru, so, by that we named him Cuzco, because of the Kuzco from the Emperor's New Groove movie. Who was Keizer twisted version, at the start of the movie Kuzco is an asshole, so, in this fic he was an asshole at the start as well.

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST IN OTHER MEDIA MY WORK viilpstick © copyright 2023

[hauntedjpegcollection]

poor broke ugly

wc: 2946 au: band au ch: lark, matilda, benji

Lark doesn’t usually drink.

He’s not opposed to one or two beers, especially when they’re free (Lark Tanaka has never, in his life passed up something free), but he also doesn’t drink really. Not with the intention to get drunk and never because it tastes good—because it doesn’t, and people are lying when they say it does. Alcohol makes his throat burn, sours his stomach, turns his face unpleasantly warm. It darkens his cheeks pink, which he’s always found unflattering a look and neither bar or club lighting does much for his complexion to begin with.

That’s why they’re outside.

That’s the excuse anyway. Outside, for the cool night air and not outside, because then it’s just them. Lark had suggested it (“Do you want to come outside with me?”), when they’d both gotten that free second or third or maybe fourth drink from the bartender. She was a fan, liked their underground grass roots style, had a tattoo of a lyric that Benji had written when he was only eighteen years old—and Lark for what’s it’s worth, had tried so hard to pay attention. He was good with fans, he cared about fans, not the way some lead singers did because it bolstered their ego or put them on a pedestal.

The band didn’t exist without the fans. But…even when she was talking, when she was mixing Matilda’s cocktail and she was asking Lark about something (what was the bartenders name? She had said it to him when he’d leaned over to shake her hand), all he could do was stare at Matilda. She didn’t look bad under the wavering neon lights. He didn’t think she could look bad.

They’d dipped out the exit door behind the bar seconds later into cool night air that instantly made Lark feel just a smidge more sober. It was a sweet hole in the wall sort of place, the kind of venue that Benji really loved. There’s a twinge of guilt that Lark isn’t inside with Benji—they don’t have to stick hip to hip and usually don’t. That was always the best part of Benji and Lark; that they could be Benji and Lark, not something squished together. They could have their own moments of peace completely unconnected to the other, no matter how much starting a band together had solidified they were together forever now.

Maybe he just feels guilty, because it was so obvious how badly he wanted to be alone with Matilda. Maybe he feels guilty because he’s still unsure of their new guitar player or he feels guilty because he’d not done his best this show, because he was tired and hungry and his phone had twelve missed phone calls.

Matilda and Lark fall into an easy, if not safe, conversation. Did you like the opener, your mic was too loud, I almost tripped, Benji broke another stick tonight, someone asked me to sign their hand—it isn’t the sort of stuff he wants to be talking about. It’s just the sort of conversation that happens between…coworkers, he supposes. The thought makes the entire night feel duller.

She’s sipping her cocktail, the straw between her fingers, when they pause in front of a dark antique store on the strip. It’s well past midnight. The sign is flipped to close.

“That says poor broke ugly,” Lark says, pointing to a shoddy made zen garden with a wooden stick sign, something obviously not vintage at all. Matilda laughs so suddenly and so hard that she spits a bit of the cocktail (Goddess of the Underground had been the name, and its an ugly sort of purple color that smells too much like vodka). She’s wiping at the little spill on her chin with her thumb when she leans closer to look at it. Lark has to struggle not to pay attention to the spill of her hair over her shoulder. He keeps one hand in his pocket, the other holding the glass of beer he shouldn’t have been allowed to leave with.

“My sister was always better with Japanese,” he comments.

“How come?”

“No idea,” Lark laughs. “I dunno—maybe she just gets languages better. Japanese is hard enough even people living in Japan can fucking suck at it.”

“American’s aren’t that great at English, either, if you haven’t noticed.” She takes another sip of her drink. Something hangs in the air between them. A moment that is either going to pass, or going to be taken. Matilda fiddles with the straw in her drink, casts him a sideways glance as they stand in front of the fake antique shop.

Then,

“My brother too. Like the language thing, but not by being bilingual. He was just always better in every dinner conversation—or networking thing we had to go to. Always knew what to say, or when to laugh.”

“Not at a funeral.”

“What?” Matilda laughs then, steps closer, lets her shoulder hit the glass window. He knows he’s drunk because the outline of her is fuzzy and soft, ethereal and distant. If he lifted a hand and touched her shoulder, they’d just disappear right into each other. Lark tilts his head back, smiling up at the night sky. There’s too much light pollution in this shitty city to see the stars, but that’s okay. He closes his eyes briefly, sighing.

“I laughed during my grandfathers funeral and almost got kicked out.”

Matilda lifts a hand. Her fingers take the zipper of his jacket. She toys with it.

“What was so funny?” She asks, head tilted. The sound of the zipper is agonizingly loud. The wind touches the hollow of his throat as it’s exposed. The hint of her tongue behind her teeth every time she speaks is purple, just like the drink.

“Nothing,” Lark replies truthfully.

—

“Oh my God, fourteen?” Her laugh has gotten louder the longer they walk. She’d drained the rest of her cocktail and placed the glass on a low brick wall to forget about—and then they’d shared his beer together. Taking sips, passing it back and forth. Now, they’re drunk. No longer in the middle of sobriety and tipsy. They are both drunk, walking back toward the bar, as the night ends somewhere between pleasant and surreal. Lark is smiling at her, hands deep in his pockets so he isn’t too tempted to take one of hers.

“I don’t have a good excuse.” Lark shakes a palm through his messy hair, trying not to continue smiling. He shouldn’t be grinning ear to ear, talking about his juvenile record like this. Only, that was the game they were playing. Trading little vulnerable secrets, because the night felt immortal like that. Deeply intimate and only for them. “It wasn’t even a nice car. It was a Honda.”

“You have shit taste.”

“It was unlocked.”

“That’s like—that is so much less impressive, then? I’m not impressed anymore.”

“You were impressed to begin with?”

He watches her roll her eyes. Some of her eyeshadow has started to rub away. Mascara sticks in little dots underneath her eyes as well. He wishes the bar was further away.

“It’s your turn,” he reminds her. He dares to nudge Matilda with his elbow, glancing up at her once more. Every time he does, he’s distracted once more by a strand of hair that continues getting caught in her lip gloss by the occasional gust of wind. She’d once applied it, standing beside him in a shitty bar bathroom. He was trying to not poke his eye out with an eyeliner pen and she was laughing—and then taking it from him and making him lean against the sink counter and doing it for him. She’d imitated the popped mouth look that girls always wore when applying make up to their eyes.

Fuck, he’s drunk. He wants to kiss her.

Then remembers the notorious disaster of his ex boyfriend being their guitarist for their first EP.

Matilda swings around to stand in front of him, pausing them on the sidewalk. She drapes her wrists over his shoulders—not really touching him but, not not touching him either.

“I was a cheerleader in high school,” she confesses. It makes Lark laugh immediately, head tilting back. One of his hands leaves his pocket, without thinking. It closes in around her hip. She’s wearing a satin textured top that drapes all over her upper body. Her skirt is tight though, the material stretching around her more square shape. He likes the look of her, the silhouette she creates when the lights are on her in the dark, on the stage.

“That’s adorable.”

“Wow, adorable?” She sneers, her lip curling. “That’s not how most men react to cheerleaders.”

“Ew.” Lark says it without meaning to. Then he blinks, feeling stupid and caught off guard. “Sorry—I just mean, if any guy hears that and is immediately thinking anything other than ‘wow that’s so cute’, he’s probably a fucking weirdo.” Matilda is silent in her observation of him. Her wrists are still sitting on his shoulders, their chests closer than they’ve ever been. Lark hasn’t moved his hand from her hip.

“How come Benji never calls you Elias?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” She presses a bit closer. One of her hands has suddenly moved to the back of his head. Her long keyboardist fingers capture a few strands of his hair. The idle movement, the soft playful tug makes something dark and hungry unfurl in his lower stomach. He blinks more than a few times again, looking down at her exposed collarbone.

“I hadn’t started my transition when I met Benji. I mean, I had, but—I hadn’t figured out a name yet. I went by Lark on the website we posted our samples to. It was a nickname Xavier had given me.” Not for the first time, he wishes Xavier was more than just a part of stories he’d occasionally tell to everyone. He wishes Xavier was there—had even a shred of musical talent so he could be part of a band, instead of part of the U.S. military industrial complex he’d accidentally sold his soul to at seventeen. Matilda would like Xavier. He feels sure of that.

“Anyway—Daisuke is hard to pronounce. No one gets it right on their first try.”

“Daisuke,” Matilda says confidently.

“I just said it.”

“Doesn’t seem that hard to pronounce.”

“Okay, but I just said it—I meant every teacher I’ve ever had has pronounced it wrong reading it off an attendance sheet.” She’s grinning, a little mischievous, a little mean. Her eyes are two bright sparks in the dark. He realizes she’s teasing him. And he realizes how much he likes it. It only makes that hungry arousal in his stomach worse. Lark snorts and squeezes her hip, a bit harder than maybe he would have if he was entirely sober. She shifts a bit closer.

“When I finally picked another name, I had just been going by Lark for so long. I dunno, it doesn’t bother me. Half the time Benji is calling me dickhead and I’m telling him to shut up.” They both laugh then, which makes the heat in Lark feel less like a devouring need to press her against a wall and more like—more comforting. Fireplace warmth. He can feel himself sobering up. Something about Matilda liking Benji so much made Lark like her even more than his obvious attraction.

“Can I call you Elias?” she finally asks, chin tilted down so their eye contact is direct and severe. Maybe he isn’t that sober. Her words feel like a wax drip over his sensitive skin. He licks his lips—something in her expression suddenly looks a lot less practiced. She’s staring at his mouth now. He almost wishes it was cold enough to see their breaths mingle in the air. He wants to know how close he is to her, in a measurable distance like that.

“Yeah,” he finally concludes and then promises to hate himself for it later. Because then Matilda is grinning again, pushing their chests together in one quick shove. And then she’s gone. Dancing forward on the sidewalk toward the parking lot of the bar. The crowd has mostly thinned to nothing.

“I was lying, by the way!” She calls, head tilted over her shoulder. The streetlights make her look like something painted in watercolor. “Like, I’d ever be a cheerleader.”

“You lied?” Lark huffs. “Now I have to guess what else you lied about! I told you I stole a car!” Her laughing begins to mix with the sounds of cars starting in the bar parking lot, people still lingering and talking, not the kind that would want their attention, and he’s thankful for it.

He rushes after her, but still doesn’t take her hand.

—

Lark opens the back of the beat up white van that carries most of their shit and crawls inside. It smells like cigarette smoke, sweat and burnt plastic. Somehow it’s one of the most comforting things in the world, considering Lark doesn’t smoke and hates being close enough to people he can smell them and the burnt plastic means something probably got unplugged wrong when they broke down their set. Someone will get yelled at for it later, but in that moment he doesn’t care about anything.

Instead, he finds a curled up body on a blanket covering amps. Benji sleeps with his knees tucked up, one hand pressed underneath a cheek and the other arm somehow holding his legs closer. He looks angelic like that, in the dark, shoulders rising and falling calmly. Lark shouldn’t wake him up—Benji doesn’t ever sleep enough.

But Lark is already crawling over top of him without thinking. He thought he was sober before, but the second Matilda parted (at the entrance to the bar, still smiling that slightly mean-sweet grin, telling him she’s not sleeping in a car, thanks for the offer) he felt drunk all over again. The alcohol he doesn’t usually drink swims in his blood stream and clouds all thoughts—her lips had been stained dark by whatever had been in her drink.

“Ge’off me,” Benji snaps, suddenly awake. His rough hands curl around Lark’s shoulders, fingers dug in. Suddenly not angelic looking, but snarling mad and ready to fight for his personal space back. It only takes a second for Lark to blink, both bleary and innocently, for Benji to melt back. “Fuckin’ hell, don’t just do that. Alright?”

Instead of answering right away, Lark continues his path up Benji. He slides his way between the wall of the van and the drummers solid back. Benji has the lingering faint scent of a cigarette after all—means he’s not as good about quitting as he keeps claiming he is. It’s such a wildly familiar scent that Lark doesn’t mind it at all. He wraps arms around Benji’s stomach, pulls them in close.

They used to have to sleep like this a lot on the road. After a gig, they’d take the night in the van because hotels were expensive. And sometimes when they weren’t expensive, they’d just walk out to their van having been broken into anyway. A guitar stolen, or something vandalized. It was almost safer to keep themselves tucked into the back like this, but Lark also thought a part of it was indulgent. It felt realer this way. Like they were a real pair of musicians, trying their best.

Benji is still grumbling under his breath, but he adjusts to get himself comfortable again.

“Are you tired?” Lark asks.

“I was just fuckin’ sleepin’, yeah?”

“No, I mean—are you tired of trying to do this? Make this a thing?”

It was better, now. They were going places, now. Matilda had connections that were taking them farther—they were getting in touch with agents, with potential record deals, with bigger venues, better vans, maybe a tour bus. Maybe hotels that could be comped here and there. Lark resists the urge to squeeze Benji, just to remember he’s real and has been there since it was—

Since it was skipping food afterward because they needed to afford gas. Or eating ramen five nights in a row until they were both sick, but at least it was food. Since his ex boyfriend almost ruined it, since Reno almost ruined it, since Lark almost ruined it once before because his parents wouldn’t stop trying to get him to come home (and that was all he’d wanted since he was sixteen, but he knew that come home meant, help us with Akari).

I just want t’play drums, mate.

I just want to sing, man. Lie, because when he looks at Matilda, he wants more and…

“You’re ticklin’ my hair every time you talk,” Benji replies instead.

Lark leans around a shoulder and blows air against Benji’s ear, which makes him bark out a sound. He rolls onto his side, taking Lark and shaking him until they fall onto the floor of the van, in a terrible wrestling match that has them both laughing like rabid hyenas.

The shaking van and their loudly rough and playful sounds do not dispel the rumor that Lark and Benji are sleeping together, which is a rumor that has thrived since the conception of the band. And yet, the next day comes and Lark takes the first leg of the drive and Benji tells him;

“Just ask her on a date, already. Like, after this stint. Just go to a fuckin’ movie or somethin’.”

“She likes horror movies,” Lark replies, because she’d told him, just the night before.