#bad sentence. you may throw rocks at me

[scary-yuri]

what if instead of t45 power armour it was called tgirl power armour

[neostrayteez]

SOMEONE WITH SECRETS

PAIRING. lee jeno x female reader

WORD COUNT. 6.9k

SUMMARY. you have detention thanks to your temper and unfortunately, so does jeno, the boy you hooked up with last summer.

WARNINGS. smut, profanity

PLAYLIST. “gangsta” by kehlani

YOU GOT ME HOOKED UP ON THE FEELING GOT ME UP SO HIGH I’M BARELY BREATHING

The library was quieter than usual. There was almost an echo to the old clock on the wall, ticking by the seconds that felt like hours. A minute may as well have been a day in here.

You were - humiliatingly - two minutes early. It wasn’t that you were eager to serve your sentence, but political science finished a bit fast and you were actively avoiding your peers after the scene you made during lunch that landed you in here.

Their looks of scorn, adoration and worst of all, pity, were uncomfortable.

The library was empty. A perfect place to lay low and hide. You picked a seat at the second table a respectable distance from the front. Mr. Kim waltzed in, looking perturbed as ever, and called you by name.

“A whole week, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

He bobbed his head.

You were lucky not to be suspended for the outburst, but your squeaky clean record up until this point had swayed the principal in your favor.

Mr. Kim checked his watch. For a moment, there was a tiny sliver of hope that you would have the library all to yourself, serving detention alone. But then, five minutes late, Jeno strutted through the door.

“What’s up, Mr. Kim?” he asked gruffly.

You wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

Jeno noticed you, his eyes locking onto you like a sniper’s scope, and pure mischief spread across his face along with a grin.

“You’re late, Mr. Lee!”

“Well, well, well,” Jeno taunted, as if he’d not heard him, cocking his head and sticking his tongue out at you. “What do we have here?”

“Fuck off, Jeno,” you grumbled.

Mr. Kim chided your choice of language and barked, “Mr. Lee, take your seat.”

“Of course, sir,” Jeno said silkily, dropping into the chair directly behind yours.

You rolled your eyes. Of all the tables and chairs, he positioned himself there to be a nuisance to you. You expected nothing less.

Jeno leaned forward. “You know, ‘fuck off�� isn’t what you said to me the last time we were alone together,” he whispered in mocking. “It was more like, ‘Fuck me, Jeno. Ooh. Ahh. Fuck me.’”

You flushed with embarrassment and your heart dropped into your stomach. You didn’t need to be reminded of the ridiculous shit his dick made you say that night.

To your relief, Mr. Kim spoke like he didn’t hear the filth rolling off Jeno’s tongue, “You’ve both got an hour in here. No talking. No running about. Just sit and contemplate your bad decisions.”

You and Jeno fixed him with equally blank stares.

“But since I know you won’t, just study or nap. Whatever. I don’t care.” Mr. Kim pointed his finger squarely at Jeno. “Just no funny business that could get me scolded by the principal. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir,” you and Jeno said in sync.

Mr. Kim gave a nod and left, adding that he would be checking in every once and a while to ensure nothing scandalous occurred on his watch.

The moment the door closed, Jeno stood, flipped his chair around and straddled it. Overlapping his arms on the back, he said, “Never thought I’d see the valedictorian in detention.”

“You know why I’m in here,” you hissed, leaning back, trying not to let him get under your skin. Of all people, to be stuck with Jeno? This was an extra serving of penance you didn’t sign up for.

It’s not that you disliked him. Not entirely anyway. It’s just that Jeno had the ability of seeing right through you. You couldn’t fool him or sway him, like you could everyone else. Jeno had you completely mapped out after one night.

And what a night that had been.

Jeno chuckled. “I must say, watching you fuck Kylie up in the cafeteria was not on my bingo card for this semester, but it was a thrill. The judo-style throw to the ground was immaculate.”

He was tempted to add that you had permission to throw him like that any time you so desired.

You snorted, but said nothing. You didn’t feel guilty about fighting Kylie - the bitch had it coming the moment she crossed you - but fighting wouldn’t look good on your pristine record. And although you’d already landed a coveted spot at an Ivy League school plus a hefty scholarship, you were in no position to jeopardize either with your temper.

Jeno scooted his chair toward you noisily. “Why’d you fight?”

Folding your arms across your chest, you turned to finally look at him and snapped, “How many languages can you say ‘none of your business’ in?”

“Three. Now, come on.” Jeno whined your name. “We’ve got an hour in here together. Plus five extra minutes, in my case. Tell me why you leveled her.”

You clamped your lips shut.

Jeno was nothing but persistent. “Did she plagiarize your essay? Did she make fun of your clothes?” Jeno lowered his voice and asked, “Did she steal a certain boy from you?”

A bolt of anger went rushing through you like lightning. Whipping around to face him again, your eyes shone with emotions you went to great lengths to hide. “You know?”

Jeno nodded.

“Everyone knows. Don’t they?”

He nodded again, but this time, the mischief was gone from his face.

You hung your head. There was no way to adequately describe this feeling. You wanted to cry and would probably feel better if you did, but you dared not shed a single tear over a boy that didn’t love you.

The saddest part was you thought he could. It stung the most. Like getting bit and feeling the venom slowly poison you for days afterward until you finally succumbed. The bite itself was bad enough, but to languish in misery and pain? That was cruel.

Jeno got up from his chair and took the seat beside yours. He stretched his arm out on the table and propped his head in his hand, trying to search your face, but you were well-hidden behind your hair.

You didn’t say anything when Jeno tenderly tucked some of the strands behind your ear.

“Don’t lose sleep over Mark Lee.”

“I won’t,” you said roughly, lifting your chin high and forcing out the breath you’d been holding, along with the tears you successfully stifled.

Jeno smiled. Then, seeing you were no longer on the verge of crying, resumed his teasing. “I never thought someone like you would fight over a boy. It’s beneath you.”

Your lips parted in disbelief. “I wasn’t fighting over him,” you exclaimed. “I fought her because she disrespected me.”

You were telling the truth. The moment Mark betrayed you, your feelings for him evaporated into thin air. Jeno was right. You would never chase after a boy. The betrayal still stung though.

Jeno smirked and licked his lips. “Well, you definitely got your respect back, baby girl.”

You grimaced. “Don’t call me that.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we hooked up last summer. Didn’t we?”

“That doesn’t mean you can slap a dumb pet name on me.”

“Not the only thing I slapped, if memory serves,” Jeno murmured darkly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The heavy smack of his hand landing on your naked ass echoed in your mind. The memory was still fresh, like it happened yesterday, and it made you press your thighs together.

That was what frustrated you most about Jeno - your body craved him, remembering how good he made you feel.

Satisfied by your reaction, Jeno sat up, slouching in the chair. He spread his long legs, his knee brushing against your thigh, but you didn’t move away. You didn’t want to give him an ounce of submission.

If you gave him an inch, he would turn it into a mile.

You sized him up. Jeno looked a little too good with long hair, dark like his eyes. The leather jacket fit him like a glove, as always - he never left home without it, and his jeans looked ripped from use and not that he bought them that way.

Jeno marched to the beat of his own drum. He didn’t give a shit what people thought about him, but they knew better than to voice any opinions either way. Jeno lived in detention for bending people into submission with force. He didn’t tolerate disrespect on his name.

Apparently, you had that in common.

It took you a moment to realize you were eyeing him. Who could blame you? His thick thighs in those jeans warranted at least an extra second or two of staring.

Jeno was enjoying it. He smirked. “Like what you see, baby?”

“You look good,” you said shamelessly. You had history together. You knew he liked to be complimented on his body and looks. And if you fucked someone, didn’t that give you license to flirt with them later?

“Thanks. So do you,” Jeno replied, eyes lingering on your cleavage.

You started to grin and quickly turned your head to hide it.

That didn’t matter. Jeno knew you were pleased. And he wanted to lewdly elaborate that you looked mouth-watering. With your pretty black skirt and v-neck tee. Your body was strong from volleyball, where you spiked the ball almost as hard as you socked Kylie in the face for stealing from you.

Rumor had it you crushed on Mark Lee for months and his oblivious self had no fucking idea where to buy a clue. You finally had the courage to make a move on him - as much as it killed you to be the one to initiate - but after one perfect date after another, you thought there was a future between you and Mark.

Which was dashed the moment Kylie flaunted the hickies on her neck and the bruises on her thighs Mark had left behind at a party.

Jeno frowned. Mark didn’t deserve you. You needed someone worthy that could match your fire and energy, not staunch it. Someone that would protect your heart and worship your body.

Kylie would have never been able to take Jeno away from you. He was as loyal as he was fearless. Any disrespect showed to you, was disrespect shown to him.

But… you weren’t his, Jeno remembered.

His mind wandered, back to the summer. Jeno could still smell the salt of the sea as it wafted on the breeze through the open windows. He could still hear how you moaned his name and sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could still feel your fingernails dragging down his back as he fucked you in the backseat of his car.

Mr. Kim walked in then, whistling as he did. He saw Jeno’s new position beside you and the look of sheer annoyance on your face, and quirked a brow, but nothing else was amiss so he didn’t care. Jeno gave him a wave, you offered an awkward smile, and Mr. Kim returned to his office with a half-hearted warning to behave yourselves.

As Mr. Kim’s footsteps echoed further down the hall, Jeno slid his chair closer to yours, but this time, he crowded your back.

You felt the heat of him first and you shivered when the scent of him really hit you. His cologne was something earthy and clean, but curiously, he smelled like strawberries, which caught you off-guard. That was when you noticed he was chewing gum.

Jeno blew a bubble that burst with a loud pop.

“Strawberry?”

“Mmhm. Want some?”

“No thanks.”

Jeno raked his eyes up and down your body. He so badly wanted a taste of you, no matter how small it was. If you only knew he would do anything you asked of him for a kiss.

He closed the rest of the distance between you, which wasn’t much, and brushed your hair to the side slowly, leaving your neck exposed for him to begin trailing soft kisses up the column of your throat.

“Jeno...,” you said, your tone full of warning, but you didn’t tell him to stop.

Jeno slipped an arm around your waist like a snare, shifting you toward him. He was logging away every second that you didn’t push him away. “Hm?”

“If you get me in trouble,” you mumbled, but your actions betrayed your words. You tipped your head back, giving him even more access to your neck, and you reached behind to slip your fingers into his long hair. You’d been wanting to run your hands through it since you laid eyes on him.

Damn it. Why does he have to feel so good?

Jeno chuckled darkly. You were falling apart in his arms, just like you did last summer. He kissed and suckled the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and tightened his grip around you until your shoulders were flush against his chest.

There was definitely a connection. Jeno’s heart didn’t race when he saw other girls, even the ones he’d hooked up with, but any time he caught a glimpse of you, his heart went wild, taking his pulse with it.

You hummed, eyes fluttering closed. His kisses grew louder and wetter, nibbling aggressively beneath your jaw. He was turning you into mush. You could feel yourself getting weaker, running your hands over those burly arms, imagining them around your naked waist as he drilled you from behind.

In an instant, you were back in his car, feeling it rock underneath you with Jeno’s rough movements. He filled you so deeply - so completely. You felt a pleasure and release more than you’d ever known before.

Jeno was the best sex of your life; a crown no other boy had come even remotely close to taking from him.

You remembered where you were (which was not the backseat of his car, unfortunately) and why you were there in the first place (because of a stupid boy that broke your heart), and you unwound Jeno’s arms from your waist and shook free of him.

Jeno studied you, cocking his head coyly. His eyes, though clouded with lust, were also twinkling with affection. Like you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“We can’t,” you said weakly.

Jeno purred your name. “You can kiss me. There’s no one here, but you and me. Just you and me.”

You wavered. He had never looked so kissable than at that moment.

What the hell was this emotion sitting heavily on your chest? Had you missed Jeno? You would never voice that though. You were no fool.

Jeno reached for your waist slowly, giving you every chance to draw away from him or bat at his hands, but you didn’t. He steered you toward him again, this time face to face, and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

That makes two of us, after all.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” you told him, a little stern, your expression sour. “You could have asked me out.”

“Pfft.” Jeno scoffed dramatically. “Yeah, the deadbeat and the valedictorian. Very Beauty and the Beast of us. What would your friends say?”

You’d never seen him so bitter. It almost knocked you back. “You think my friends have any say over who I date?”

“Yes, because that’s why you wanted Mark as bad as you did.”

You bristled. Did he really think that little of you? Or was that jealousy talking?

Jeno kept going, pretending to swoon. “Perfect Mark Lee. Top athlete. Class president. Headed to an Ivy League, like you. Rich parents. He’s the whole pretty package.”

“I liked Mark because he was kind. Not because of what he had,” you said in a small voice.

“Sure, babe.” Jeno rolled his eyes.

Your first instinct was to get annoyed, maybe even offended, but instead, you saw right through him. As Jeno shifted away from you, you moved closer to him and asked, “Do you wanna know why I slept with you last summer?”

“Because you were horny?”

“Because you asked me to dance with you.”

Jeno paused.

You chuckled fondly to yourself, thinking back to that night. You and Jeno never crossed paths at school, but fate must have been at play then.

“I was so tired and burnt out and stressing over every goddamn thing in my life that I had to get right, and I was wondering what the hell I would do if I failed. If I screwed everything up and let everyone down. My whole family is counting on me to make something of myself.”

Jeno listened, looking at you a little differently.

You smiled as you said, “You approached me at that party. You made me laugh. You got me to dance for the first time in years. I used to love dancing. You made me forget how fucking exhausted I was for a night.”

A grin spread itself across Jeno’s lips. “And exhausted you in other ways.”

You nodded, fighting a laugh.

Jeno reached for your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek, and whispered, “Aren’t you just full of surprises, baby girl?”

This time, you didn’t correct him on the pet name. It was starting to grow on you. You bit your lip, wishing you had the courage to admit just how badly you wanted him to touch you.

Jeno confidently pulled you into his arms again, reading your mind, and brushed his lips over your cheek before kissing the corner of your mouth. You made the softest sound, like this one gentle kiss had completely ruined what was left of your resolve.

Sound beyond the door made you part from each other, sitting rigidly in your chair to avert suspicion. Mr. Kim peeked his head in, asked if either of you needed to use the bathroom, and when you both declined, he left again.

The door closed and Jeno reached for your hand. You let him, watching curiously as he surveyed the bruises on your knuckles. There were a few jagged cuts of broken skin that the nurse disinfected after the fight. She said they would heal faster in the open air, but you could bandage them later if you felt it necessary.

Jeno pressed a kiss to your bruised knuckle, then the other, carefully avoiding the cuts. It turned him on; you being strong and vicious, so hell-bent on punishing disrespect shown toward you. You had that in common with him.

It was sick and twisted, Jeno was well aware, but that was part of what made it even more attractive and arousing to him. Kylie stole Mark, not because she wanted him for herself (she wasn’t the least bit interested in him, much to Mark’s shock when he realized he lost two girls in one night with one fuck), but because she wanted to take something away from you that you really wanted.

You sucked in a breath when Jeno’s lips and tongue drifted to your wrist. He really was determined to seduce you and you were getting closer and closer to surrender. You glanced at the clock. Detention was half over now. He was running out of time.

Between kisses, Jeno said, “I don’t think Mark would know what to do with you if you had him.”

Your brows stitched in confusion.

Jeno glanced up, fire flickering in his eyes. “You’re way too powerful for him.”

That made something inside you snap. In the next second, you crashed into Jeno, locking your lips to his in a kiss that put the others to shame.

Jeno was ready to catch you, getting his arms around your waist and lifting you into the air like you weighed nothing. You held his head in your hands, tangling your fingers in his long hair, and made a noise when he set you down on the table, popping your legs around his hips where they belonged.

This boy was yours. There was no doubt in your mind. The way he kissed you and the way he held you to him, there was nothing on this earth he wouldn’t do for you. To have you.

You slipped your tongue into his mouth and Jeno kneaded your hips, his hands rough as he roamed them over your body. There was a catch in your breath when his fingers slipped under your shirt, desperate to touch your bare skin.

“Fuck,” Jeno groaned between kisses, his jeans getting too tight. He settled his hands on your thighs to anchor himself to you and thrust his growing bulge against your clothed sex, feeling your warmth.

You lost track of time. And everything else. Fuck it all. There was only you and Jeno, just like he said, kissing and touching. Reckless and hungry, one for the other.

The sound of the door sent adrenaline prickling through every inch of you, but you were too drunk on his kisses to give any thought to self-preservation. Jeno reacted much faster than you did, dragging you off the table and clumsily to your feet. You managed to throw yourself into the nearest chair while Jeno - for whatever stupid reason had popped into his head - dove under the table.

Mr. Kim poked his head inside and upon seeing only one of two criminals, came marching in. “Where is Mr. Lee?” he exclaimed.

You smoothed your hair back, desperately trying to catch your breath and get just the tiniest bit of composure. Mr. Kim would raise hell if he knew you’d been making out when you were supposed to be dying of boredom.

“He, uh,” you stammered. Fuck! “He went to the bathroom.”

Mr. Kim narrowed his eyes. He was not convinced.

Your eyes, on the other hand, widened.

Jeno’s hands were running up your bare thighs, pushing up your skirt.

“Are you sure?” Mr. Kim pressed.

No. He’s between my legs. Your heart was racing out of control. Your lungs were going to combust. Jeno’s hands were on your hips and his head was between your knees. You could feel his warm breath on your inner thighs.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Positive, Mr. Kim. He’ll be right back,” you said hurriedly.

Jeno lifted your skirt a little higher, knowing you were hidden from the waist down by the table, and smirked at the sight of your pink panties. And buried his face in your clothed pussy.

“Fuck,” you squeaked out in a high-pitched whimper.

“Language,” Mr. Kim chided once again. “Tell Mr. Lee he now has to stay an additional ten minutes for taking a stroll!”

You threaded your fingers into Jeno’s hair, trying frantically to slow him down, but he was kissing your sex with the same passion and intensity as he’d kissed your lips - like he was trying to make you scream. And you weren’t far from that.

Nodding rapidly, you said, “Yes, Mr. Kim. I’ll tell him. I promise.”

Suspicion was clearly written all over Mr. Kim’s face, but you knew Jeno giving you head underneath the table was not on the list of possibilities going through his mind. Thank god.

Jeno kept a punishing grip on your hips, kissing and tonguing at your folds, tasting your arousal despite the panties in his way. He couldn’t wait to peel them off and make you beg.

When the door closed, sending a loud slam echoing through the library, Jeno quickly slipped out from between your legs, knowing exactly the reaction he was going to get.

You reached under the table, swatting at his head as best you could. “Fuck you, Jeno,” you yelled. “Fuck you!”

“You will in a minute,” Jeno retorted, grabbing your knees and spreading you apart for him again.

You fell back against the chair, gasping at how he manhandled you. “Oh shit,” you moaned as he yanked your panties to the side and dived back in.

Jeno steered your legs onto his shoulders and found your clit with his tongue. He soon grew frustrated with your underwear, which seemed to be intentionally trying to block his way. Winding his hands through them, Jeno tugged sharply, ripping your panties with ease and letting them fall to the floor.

“Not fair,” you whined, pulling on his hair in retaliation and earning yourself a moan that made your toes curl.

Jeno kissed the inside of your thigh and said, “All’s fair in love and war.”

At first, you kept your eyes worriedly on the doors, but soon, your eyes were winched closed, your head tipped back. You writhed on the chair, arching and squirming, because it had been a while since someone ate you out, but mostly because Jeno was kissing your cunt like a man starved.

Jeno slipped his tongue into your hole and lapped at your slick. He was a lucky bastard to be burying his face in your pretty pussy. You weren’t exactly an easy girl to bag. Boys were lining up around the building to fuck you, but only Jeno had scored last summer. You’d told him as much.

Had you been saving yourself for Mark since then? It would seem so, given how sensitive you were to Jeno’s mouth. He was going to unravel you in no time.

You bounced into his face, covering your mouth to muffle your sounds, your other hand cupping his head. Jeno reached under your shirt, under your bra, and palmed your breasts, which were shuddering with the rest of your body. He kneaded them and pinched your nipples, teasing his fingers around the nubs until he felt them stiffen.

Jeno shook his head between your legs, your thighs clamped tightly on him. Your pussy was fucking addictive. He knew he should stop - that he needed to stop - but he just couldn’t. He wanted to suck every drop out of you until one of you passed out from exhaustion. Or orgasm. Whichever came first, because Jeno was so hard in his jeans there was a strong chance he was going to come untouched in his pants.

“I’m coming,” you cried out, your lashes fluttering as he played with your nipples and your clit. Your mouth was dry from panting. “Jeno… Jeno, please!”

Fuck, he loved how you said his name and how you begged for him, on the cusp of euphoria. But Jeno made a disapproving sound and gave one last kiss to your perfect pussy.

Your eyes went wide, just like they had when he first started, as you watched Jeno come out from beneath the table. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” He played clueless, much to your annoyance, and he nonchalantly swiped your ripped panties off the floor and tucked them into his back pocket.

“Why are you stopping?!” You sounded desperate, because you were. Climax had been right there, close enough to taste. You were experiencing the most powerful tunnel vision of your life, thinking only of how you could get him between your legs again to finish what he started.

Jeno came to stand over you. He sure did enjoy watching you lose your mind. He cocked his head for the millionth time that afternoon and just smirked down at you. “Who have you fucked since me?”

“No one.”

“Should I believe that?”

He did believe it actually. Jeno just liked toying with you. And with how badly fucked out you were already, the edge of your orgasm slipping away with every passing second, you weren’t exactly in good shape to lie to him.

His hesitation infuriated you, as it should. Was he implying you’d been whoring around? You got up, shoving him away from you, and whined, “You bastard, I hate you!”

Jeno grabbed you and stole a kiss in the time it took you to blink, before you could even react. But it didn’t matter. You folded into him like you had not a shred of self-respect left to your name, like he was the only thing you wanted.

“Fuck me like you hate me then,” Jeno growled, watching you expectedly. You were still reeling from the kiss. “If you wanna come, baby, you gotta do it on my dick.”

He made you crazy. You didn’t know whether to suck him dry or slap the shit out of him. He would enjoy both. You glanced down, seeing the hard bulge in his jeans, your mind filling with memories of that big cock and what it could do to you.

Jeno raised a brow. “How about it?”

You scowled. He truly was annoying as all hell in addition to being stupidly good-looking.

Jeno watched as you turned away from him, reaching for your bag and rifling through it hurriedly. And he chuckled darkly when you pulled out a condom packet and slapped it into his hand. Sex Ed gave them out by the bucket full, after all.

Delight filled Jeno’s face. “Always full of surprises.”

You squeaked when Jeno took you by the hand and started rushing toward the back of the library, dragging you behind him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides, but you couldn’t stop giggling. The excitement in your chest threatened to burst you at the seams.

It should have been a crime to be this aroused by someone. The chemistry between you and Jeno was off the charts; highly destructive and flammable, consuming everything in its path.

Including both of you, together, engulfed in flames of your own design that burned hotter in your midst.

Tucked away in a nook behind rows and rows of old books, where the blinds were shut on the windows and the soft lights overhead gave a warm yellow hue, Jeno spun you around in his arms and sealed his lips to yours.

It was a passionate, almost rough collision of teeth and tongues, like two cars racing toward each other at breakneck speed. The kind of kissing reserved between two people desperate to bring one another to ecstasy.

You whimpered into Jeno’s mouth when he shoved you against the wall, forcing his hips between your thighs to rub his clothed cock against your sex. Jeno could feel the wet heat of you and thrust his bulge on your folds, hungry for friction. His tongue slipped between your lips just as his fingers prodded at your entrance.

A pitiful sound escaped you. Two long thick digits curled into your pussy, finding that spot inside you without hesitation and stroking, crooking, making your hips rock into his hand.

You wrapped your arms around Jeno’s neck and broke from his kisses to stare into his eyes. His pretty irises were almost gone, dilated to black. He was so turned on he couldn’t see straight and you weren’t faring much better.

“I thought I could only come on your dick?” you stuttered, his fingers thrusting faster into your cunt.

Jeno nodded and nipped at your lips. “Just kiss me and let me prep you, yeah?”

You did, kissing him hungrily. Every now and then, you moaned or cried into his mouth, those fingers hitting you just right, but you wanted that cock and so you kept reaching down to palm at him.

Little by little, you got his leather jacket and his shirt in a pile on the ground, letting you brush your fingers over his nipples and the sharp lines of his abs. Then, you unfastened his jeans, but couldn’t get them past his muscly thighs at this angle. Not that you cared. You were fisting his cock, pumping it with the same speed he fucked you with his fingers.

Jeno panted and moaned in the crook of your neck. “Shit,” he snapped, finally breaking.

He spun you around, pinning you to the wall, but drew you toward him by the hips harshly. You tried to find purchase on the wall while Jeno tore open the packet and rolled the condom down his length, his cock so stiff it twitched with need at the sight of your glistening pussy. You wiggled impatiently, shifting your weight as you readied yourself for the stretch, glancing over your shoulder to salivate over that big dick.

You bit your lip as he steered the head of his cock to your folds, arching your back, bracing your hands on the wall. Jeno curled an arm around your waist, pressing his palm into the lowest part of your stomach and drove in deep, pulling out of you to thrust back in, a little deeper each time.

Sucking in a breath, you were about to moan at the top of your lungs, but a hand swiftly clamped over your mouth. You cried out Jeno’s name, muffled against his palm, and rocked back with his movements, trying to take more of him. All of him.

“Open up for me, baby,” Jeno whispered into the sore sensitive flesh of your neck, where he kept biting because he needed an outlet for just how good the hot vice of your cunt felt around his cock. “Tight fucking pussy.” Jeno groaned, sneaking a hand under your shirt to hold onto one of your breasts.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Jeno was dancing on the line of pleasure and pain. His cock was so hard and thick, bottoming out and making you see stars. You held onto his arms, shivering at how your walls burned and stretched to accommodate him, already screaming for more.

Jeno’s hand fell from your mouth to wrap around your neck possessively. You moaned softly. He was being surprisingly gentle, though you knew him as the opposite. It was very telling how tightly Jeno held you against him, how slowly he dragged his cock back and forth inside you.

But once Jeno was satisfied you could handle him, his pace started to build until he smacked his hips into your ass, your soft flesh heating up beneath his hands as he brought you down to meet his thrusts, slamming that cock into your sweet spot.

“Like that, baby,” you begged, desperately trying to keep yourself in place to get every inch of him. “I can take it.”

I know you can. Jeno brushed his parted lips up your neck and kissed your jaw. He’d give you anything you wanted if you kept begging for him. He stuffed you full of his dick a little harder and hissed, “You’re so fucking good. So wet for me.”

You bounced your hips, matching his rhythm. It annoyed you; the two of you could have been fucking each other’s brains out this whole time had you not been cowards last summer.

Jeno glanced down, watching you throw it back on him, and grabbed the nape of your neck, pinning you to the wall.

“Jeno… fuck!” You gasped as he fucked you hard and fast. You winched your eyes shut and squirmed, but you were nothing compared to his strength.

Jeno shoved himself balls deep in your cunt and stilled, groaning with pleasure. Before you could catch your breath, he pulled out of you, making your arousal slip down the inside of your thighs and flipped you around to face him impatiently. He smashed his lips on yours just as you opened your mouth to complain and lowered you to the floor underneath him, sucking on your tongue and thrusting his cock back inside you. You spread your legs and drew him into you by the hips, watching Jeno hook your knees in his arms.

“This is mine,” Jeno said, his voice raspy and dangerous. Both of your mouths were open, lips brushing, panting for breath.

“Yours,” you said without missing a beat, drifting your hands down his back to his ass. “Whenever you want it, it’s yours, baby.”

Jeno rewarded that with a kiss and a hard thrust of his hips.

The desperation took over both of you. There was only you and Jeno chasing the high, stealing pleasure from each other’s bodies as hard as you could. Jeno crushed you into the floor with his weight, his hand tangled in your hair, the other covering your mouth, because you couldn’t keep quiet. He was so rough, starved for you, and all of the unspoken, unresolved feelings between you coupled with him taking you for all you were worth made you break.

The orgasm began like waves between your thighs. Your body went tight, your back arching like you had no control over it anymore, and you screamed into Jeno’s palm as your walls pulsed and squeezed his cock.

Jeno felt you unraveling and swore, his hips stuttering at your pussy sucking him in. He hurriedly got ahold of your hands, pinning them to your sides, and thrust in as deep as he could go, emptying his load into the condom.

You blinked to clear your vision, watching Jeno close his eyes and moan, shaking with his own pleasure. Hooking your legs through his, you grinded into him, milking his orgasm, smirking at the total euphoric daze on his handsome face.

Jeno finally lowered his head, meeting your eyes, and you both chuckled at the same time. You smiled when he didn’t hesitate to kiss you, his cock still buried inside you, his hands still pinning you to the ground.

“Any boy you fuck that doesn’t deserve you…,” Jeno whispered, his breath hot on your lips. “I will kill him.”

You wilted. It shouldn’t have aroused you, but it did. You felt your body tighten on him one last time for it. “If you want me so bad, why don’t you ask to keep me?”

“Would you say yes?”

“Ask me and find out.”

Jeno lost himself in your eyes, staring, burning. He inevitably surrendered, hands falling away from your body, soft cock slipping out of your core.

You watched him rise to his feet and peel off the condom, and you sat up, adjusting your clothes as he threw it away. “Don’t tell me the guy who doesn’t give a fuck is scared of rejection like the rest of us,” you taunted, wanting to goad him, because you wanted a reaction.

You needed a sign that he was capable of loving you.

“Fuck off,” Jeno snapped, zipping up his jeans.

You took that in stride and stood, sucking in a sharp breath at the soreness between your thighs. “‘Fuck off’ isn’t want you said to me last time,” you retorted, using his own words against him. “It was more like, ‘Please, baby girl. Please let me fuck you. I’m the only one good at it.’”

Jeno wanted to laugh at your impression of his voice, but he was too busy deflecting. He fished his jacket off the floor and clocked you a glance. “Am I?”

You rolled your eyes. “You are so fucking obnoxious.”

“We have that in common. Among other things.”

You snorted. Why he couldn’t just talk to you after you’d had sex was a mystery. How could he be so intimate with you one way, but not the other?

Jeno saw the sadness forming on your face and he reached for your hips, bringing you flush against him. You smiled in pleasant surprise, content to be in his arms again, and closed your eyes when he graced a quick kiss on your lips.

For a moment, Jeno studied you, like he was committing you to memory. Jeno anticipated this would be the last time he would ever hold you or touch you again.

“Maybe I don’t deserve you either,” he whispered bitterly.

You frowned. Your whole body tensed with it. “Then… no one does.”

Jeno’s eyes widened. You would be the first and only person to have ever found any worth in him. Jeno wasn’t ready to accept that yet. It was such an utterly foreign feeling to him.

You said, “No one deserves anyone, Jeno. It’s about effort. Do you feel something for me or not?”

“Do you feel something for me?” he shot back, his heart on the line.

You forced out a tiny laugh and worked your hands up to his face, cradling his cheeks. “This is how the night ended between us last time. We’re both too scared to do anything with this.”

Jeno bobbed his head. “Yeah.”

You sighed. Mark was supposed to be safe. That was why you really wanted him. He was kind. He was reliable. He was cautious.

But he crumbled at the first gust of wind.

You looked at Jeno. He was passion and fire, made of steel. Much like you. He kissed your wounds. He would destroy anyone that tried to hurt you.

Nothing would break Jeno. Loving him would be risky, you knew that, but you accepted it, because in his arms would be the safest place in the world.

The two of you resigned yourselves to this little stalemate, though the tension dissipated. Both you and Jeno knew there was something worth fighting for between you.

Jeno held you by the hand, mindful of your wobbly steps as you returned with him to the tables. To your relief, Mr. Kim was nowhere to be seen.

He appeared five minutes later, announcing the hour of detention was over, but Jeno had to stay an extra fifteen minutes. You gave your lover a smirk of amusement as you gathered your things.

You told Jeno and Mr. Kim goodbye, the latter already out the door, but Jeno grabbed your wrist as you began to leave.

“How long did you get detention for fucking up that bitch?”

“A week,” you replied calmly.

Jeno laced his fingers through yours, bringing your battered knuckles to his lips to kiss. “Hm. I guess tomorrow I need to get myself sent here again.”

You chuckled with a shake of your head.

“And the day after that. And the day after that too.”

“I’m sure you will,” you purred, taking your hand back and grabbing him by the chin, stealing one final kiss.

Jeno grinned as you walked away and propped his feet on the table, overlapping his hands behind his head like he was sitting on a beach somewhere.

By the last day, he would find enough courage to ask to keep you.

END.

[victoria-grimesss]

Ghost Headcanons ~SFW & NSFW~

masterlist

->Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

->Warning: MDNI pretty please!! smutttt, some fluff, romance, etc.

->A/N: giggling and kicking my feet

SFW:

He's a quiet, stoic, and serious man but somehow you worm your way into his heart and although he may have been annoyed at first, he had a feeling you were going to be an issue when you first met.

It was an intensely slow burn built up to your relationship filled with passed glances, touches that you wish were longer, and the sound of his commands lingering in your mind for longer than normal.

Eventually he asked you out, unconventionally. He marched right up to you after training, still drenched in sweat and asked you flat out. You accepted and from there grew something as incredible as it is intense.

100% scary guard dog privileges.

Walking at night is never scary when he’s next to you. His stare is enough to deter any wrongdoers, he walks on outside of the sidewalk.

He's quiet but don't mistake that for aloof. He's observant as all hell. Always watching out for you when you're out together. An absentminded action he says.

Not a big fan of PDA but he always has a hand on you at all times. Ushering you through a crowd he's got his hand on the small of your back guiding you.

He enjoys being seen with you, having you next to him and just being in your presence is all he needs.

He denies he gets jealous but when a guy who shows a little too much interest in you enters into conversation with you he'll come over just to puff up his chest and throw a heavily tatted arm around your waist. "A bit jealous Simon?" "Don't know what you're talking about love."

He has an insane amount of those mask that are strewn about everywhere, and they are all in a disarray of washed and unwashed.

He thinks it's cute when you put them on and mimic him, especially if you're not British and you mimic a butchered Manchester accent. It gets a laugh out of him.

Others adore the two of you, especially the rest of the 141. He has literal heart eyes for you, through his rough exterior he really does love you.

His love language is words of affirmation and actions. You'll wake up to some flowers and painkillers on the side-table after a particularly shitty day.

Even if he's in a hurry to get out of the door he will never miss the chance to give you a hearty kiss and tell you to have a good day.

He listens to classic rock, there's usually some form of it playing in the house, he doesn't like the silence due to the tinnitus from the field. The vibes are great in the house.

You can’t tell his mood over text AT ALL. He texts in short brief choppy sentences. He prefers phone calls.

Ex:

You: “don’t forget to take the meat out of the fridge when you get home, maybe swap the clothes from the wash to the dryer if you have time. I’ll be home around 6pm traffic shouldn’t be too bad. Insert story about your day.”

Him: 👍

Aggressively British, sometimes you don't even know what he said. You just stare at him. "Did you hear me love?" "I was questioning if those were actual words that just came out of your mouth."

Sometimes you wake up at 3am for water to see him eating a big portion of fries in just his boxers with just the dim light of a football match as a light source. You usually make eye contact once but say nothing then retreat back to the room. The first time you saw that you were convinced it was a fever dream.

Sometimes his jokes are worse than Price's. You laugh out of sympathy nonetheless. You're his #1 fan.

Speaking of Price, if you're on the team he won't let your relationship get in the way of his career or mission. You are on the team because you're capable and can handle the job at hand but he does keep close eyes on you just in case on risky missions. If you get hurt he blames himself. You reassure him it's just part of the job.

There was a visible tension between the two of you that was visible to the rest of the team before you got together. I mean Ghost stared at you a majority of the time when you weren't actively working. So when they saw the two of you coming out of the same room one morning it was a definite relief. "Oh for fucks sake it's about time!" "Shut it Johnny."

He either sleeps completely silently and still to the point you think he might be dead, to which to check on him and he just opens his eyes right away. You almost shit your pants. OR he snores like a train, this option is usually when he's safe at home with you and can relax.

He loves it more than anything when he can fall asleep on your chest with you combing your fingers through his hair. He swears he's never been more relaxed.

You never discussed children but you get small glimpses into dad actions when Soap is over to help Simon fix something that takes two. "Johnny are you daft? Hold the bloody flashlight straight I can't see fuck all with you shining it in my eyes." Soap is hysterical seeing him upset over a sink leak. "Yea yea sure LT." You just watch from afar, giggling.

NSFW:

He's intense, alluring, and dominant. He can last many rounds; he enjoys taking you every which way he can.

His voice.

He loves the effect it has on you, how he can pin you against a wall and simply stare down at you, drawing it out by raking his gaze from your lips and around your face not saying a work and just toying with you until he would utter a few simple words and have you weak in the knees. His ego is huge because he knows you find him irresistible.

Will come up behind you when you're in the kitchen, voice low and creeping right to your ear, low enough to hear the gravel. His hand would snake around you securing around your waist. All of your clothes end up on the kitchen floor, they look better down there anyway he said. "I'm a bit famished love, care if I take a bite?"

Confident in the bedroom, especially if you're vocal. He likes to hear how he makes you feel. In return he'll tell you exatly how you make him feel. "Gods love, you..fuck-fucking hell you're doing such a good job."

Sessions in bed are messy, hot, and sweaty. He plays dirty but matches what you give him. He won't degrade you, he respects you. But he is a tease.

Will tease the tip of it until you're begging and withering. "You want it say badly yea? Go ahead, tell me how badly you need it pretty girl."

His favorite positions would be doggy, missionary with your legs up around his neck or your ankles in his hands. He loves to see your reactions.

He finds himself sometimes lost in the moment, silent as he works on you. Eyelids heavy as he tries to commit this moment to memory, hands gripping you with fervor. His breath hot on your skin when he lowers his lips to your neck to leave his mark. "You're my good girl, such a good girl for me. Say it."

He may be dominant in bed but he lets you call the shots. If you need him and you're out at the pub just grab his arm and take him to the bathroom. Out on a late night date? His car is in the back of the parking lot, he's grabbing the keys and reclining the front seat. You've had sex in a supply closet once out of sheer desperation once.

Hates hates military galas, will really only interact with the 141 and some others if he has to but loves to see you all dolled up. His favorite part is smearing your makeup on the pillowcases afterwards though.

Shower sex is also an option, seeing you all soapy and wet really gets him going. Makes for easy cleanup afterwards too.

If you like his uniform he's more than happy to just bend you over and unzip the front of his pants. You’ve don’t it with the mask on more than once.

Gets off on going down on you. Could die doing it and die a happy man. He'll definitely get himself off while getting you off.

Enjoys a good blowjob every now and again, let’s you take the lead not a big head pusher unless you ask. He’ll do whatever you want.

Eye contact is a must. Missionary with your legs around his neck, and a hand around your neck making sure you know who's making you feel like this. "You love this don't you? Dirty girl."

If you're being a brat and he's had enough he'll just have you ride him, he'll put his hands behind his head and have you do all of the work until you get too tired to continue. You'll have to admit defeat. To where he'll take the reins by grabbing your hips.

If you have long hair he enjoys hitting it from the back and wrapping a majority of your hair around his fist and pulling just enough for you to make noise for him.

Definitely a mirror in your shared bedroom where he can sit you on his lap and you can both watch as you work yourself on him.

His eyes roll back in his head when he cums, his grip leaves marks. He enjoys finishing inside you, the closeness and intimacy makes his stomach burn in a good way but he’s all for pairing your ass or tits too. He’s not a picky man.

Aftercare king, although he likes to bask in the afterglow for a bit with you. You lay on his chest trying to catch your breath, the room is stuffy and warm and your heart is racing but you've never felt better. But after he cleans you up he'll come back with a good cup of tea to end the night.

tag: @chiharuthecatmom

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hello, twerp.”

Kayla grunts at him. She is focused, intently, on something small enough to be covered up by her hands and curtaining hair; Nico decides it is likely some kind of explosive. There is a reason she, Banned From Arts ‘n’ Crafts For Criminal Reasons, is sneaking into the Hermes’ cabin’s time slot and hiding behind Julia.

Instead of confirming that she is, indeed, planning to blow up at least one of her brothers’ bunks in their sleep tonight, because of Plausible Deniability, Nico swings a leg over the picnic table bench, settling in next to her. She spares a second of attention to blow a raspberry at him, seemingly unprovoked. Nico reaches calmly over, plucks a pair of scissors from Connor’s hands, which he allows because of who he is as a person, and snips a piece of her hair. In response she pulls a notebook from her pocket and puts a little tick mark next to Nico’s name.

“So,” Nico says, choosing to ignore that. “I have a Question.”

“Ten dollars.”

“I’m not paying you, you little shit.”

“Then wonder in silence.”

Nico digs two wrinkled fives from his shoe and slams them on the table, scowling. Kayla pockets them.

“Proceed.”

Nico glares at her, noting her twitching mouth, and remembers that he does, in fact, need her help, and her brother is, in fact, his best friend, so challenging her to a duel to the death is a bad idea on both counts.

(Nonwithstanding the part where she has deadly accuracy with any projectile from almost any semi-reasonable distance. And he has, like, a sword. So.)

“Your brother,” he starts, and he does not need to clarify which one, “is always trying to…feed me.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “he is internally a seventy year old Southern woman. He does that.”

“Fruits.”

“Hm.”

“Oranges, specifically. Like, every single meal.”

“…Ah.”

It is a very knowing ah, Kayla’s little noise, and in fact she sets her project aside. (It is, in fact, an explosive.) She turns slightly on the bench to face him, lips pursed, hands folded. She blinks at him for several moments. Nico holds her gaze, remembering he is out ten dollars.

“My dear brother,” she begins, “my lovely, kind-hearted, smiley, morning person brother, is neurotic.”

Nico waits. This is, apparently, the end of her sentence, as she does not continue.

“I am aware,” he says slowly. “I have been present during every rant about Hollywood inaccuracies about medical sciences.”

She nods sagely. “This is true. You have. You are, however, by virtue of his cripplingly low self esteem and fervent belief that his mere existence is a Literal Actual Curse, spared from much of his most…colourful…contingencies.”

“Contingencies,” Nico repeats.

Kayla nods again.

“Yes. You see, dear future brother-in-law —”

“Cease,” Nico snaps, reddening.

“— our lovely William, also known as your Special Guy, according to Nico With Severe Blood Loss.” continues Kayla, not ceasing, “is under the impression that you, like all people, have a Limit.”

“…A Limit.”

“Yes. A point or level beyond which something does not or may not extend or pass.”

“I know what a godsdamn limit is, Kayla.”

“You seemed confused.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Openly snickering to herself, she moves on.

“He feeds you oranges because he regularly paces around the cabin in the middle of the night stressing about your vitamin levels,” she explains, finally. “He doesn’t know how to tell you that like a normal person because he’s afraid he’s going to weird you out. Ergo.” She makes a flippant gesture with her hands. “Citrus.”

“Why is he so godsdamn cute,” Nico mutters to himself, then remembers to throw out a hasty, “Thank you,” before scrambling away from the table, ignoring the gathered snickers, and beelining for the the Demeter cabin. “Gods.”

It is empty, thankfully, when he strolls in, except for Miranda in the front gardens, who holds up a finger as he gets closer and whispers to a struggling seedling.

“Hey,” she says after a moment, smiling up at him. “What’s up?”

“I need,” he starts. He purses his lips, rocking back on his heels. His hands make some kind of motion. He’s not sure what, exactly, he didn’t give them permission. “I need.”

Miranda, thankfully, has had years of experience communicating with non-speaking entities, and as such is relatively fluent in Nico. She dusts off her hands, patting the spot beside her. Nico sits as indicated.

“Try a deep breath first,” she instructs. “When your brain is back up and running, try again.”

“It’s running. It’s running a lot.”

“Oh. In that case, might I suggest a small shout of frustration?”

“You may.”

He clears his throat, resting his hands on his diaphragm to Maximize the Output, as he has been previously instructed, and yells. A passing satyr jumps a full five feet in the air and flees. Nico grimaces, calling apologies after them.

“They’re never going to like me,” he grumbles.

Miranda pats his head. “There, there. One issue at a time.”

“Solace,” he says at her invitation, gesturing again. “Oranges.”

“…Ah.”

“He is. You know. Right?”

“I must confess I do not.”

He takes a moment to collect himself. Or, well, he tries to. He’s had an easier time trying to wrangle errant souls surfing along the Styx, but whatever. He literally owns his brain. It Shall submit to him, or he’ll get a new one. Watch.

“Will is…intensely thoughtful.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Miranda agrees. “Once he brushed past me on the way to dinner and felt that I was going to get a cold, so he took the food I got and exchanged it for soup and veggies and Gatorade and stuff. He forgot to actually tell me that I was about to get a cold, at the time, but it was really nice of him in hindsight.”

Nico makes another loud, strangled bleating noise. Thankfully, no satyrs are harmed.

“He is so!”

“There, there,” Miranda says again. “You’ll get to full sentences soon, I’m sure of it.”

He takes a few moments to have a minor crisis in the peace and tranquility of Friendship. It’s this new thing he’s been trying. Will tells him it’s usually called ‘trust’ and ‘vulnerability’. It is mortifying for the most part but in small doses is kind of cool. Mostly.

“Who takes care of Will?“

“He doesn’t really get sick. Apollo genes and all that.”

“No, like. Emotionally.”

“Oh.” Miranda frowns thoughtfully. “Um. Chiron, maybe? I’m not actually sure.”

“It needs to be me,” Nico stresses. “He always takes care of me, and I want to, like, repay him. Not transactionally,”Nico rushes to clarify, “but, like, mutual care-ily.”

“I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes,” Miranda says sagely. “You must Show Him. That you are Invested in your Relationship.”

“Yes!” Nico cries, gripping her by the elbows. She meets his gaze head on, eyes wide and wizened. “Yes, exactly. Relationship Investment. You’re so smart.”

Miranda preens. “Thank you.” She stands, brushing off her jeans — fruitlessly, she’s got grass stains on top of grass stains on every piece of clothing she owns — and offering Nico a hand. Together they stand and observe the various shrubs, trees, and vines surrounding the cabin, hands on their hips.

Nico narrows his eyes. “Should I just get him oranges?”

“I still don’t fully understand the orange thing. But Will likes peaches.” She leans up and plucks one off of the largest tree, holding it out to Nico. “They make him think of home.”

Nico takes the peach and inspects it. It is, of course, impeccable — thick and heavy, skin soft and unblemished, full enough with juice and flavour to be fragrant even from the arm’s length Nico holds it. This is the kind of peach that wins fairs. This is the kind of peach that sits, prized, in a market, watching as mothers and hipsters claw at each other. This is the kind of peach that immediately upon first touch strikes within you such an intense urge to chuck it at the nearest hard surface and watch it splat into a beautiful explosion of Squelch that Nico has to, hastily, set it down and out of immediate reach.

“It’s perfect,” he declares.

“Don’t throw it at him,” Miranda advises, eyeing the fruit herself.

“Shan’t,” Nico promises, and it doubles at a warning to his brain because he can’t lie to Miranda, obviously, so his brain better Check Itself. There will be no peach throwing. Peach holding, only, and peach giving.

He waves goodbye to Miranda as he hustles off, headed for the bustling infirmary. There have been no great emergencies today — there would be a lot more of Will’s echoed screeching if this were the case — and many people who have walked in have walked out, minutes later, scowling, so now is a good a time as any. He could of course wait until Will is done his shift and they meet by Cabin Seven, like usual, but this is a Pressing Issue. Will can no longer continue to believe that Nico has a Limit, as Kayla had so unhelpfully explained. Nico is Limitless. He is a sine function. He is an eternal abyss. He is the final end of Chiron’s patience, if the horse is to be believed.

Also, the peach is really really tempting and Nico honestly does not have all that much control over his brain. It usually kind of does as it pleases. That’s why he has so many Situations.

“Solace,” he shouts, banging open the screen door loud enough to make everyone inside jump, “GET the hell over here.”

“I. Am.” Will holds up a patient’s arm, which has been hastily butterfly-clamped closed and is now being stitched. “Um. Is it urgent?”

Nico snaps his mouth shut. “No.” He stalks over to where Will is sitting, still bewildered, on his favourite stool, and stands with his arms crossed behind him. He nods at the injured camper, clearing his throat. “Proceed.”

“…Okay.”

Because Will is a Professional, his gaze remains focused on the gaping wound he is fixing. Because no one else at this camp is, everyone else chooses to gawk. Nico lets the fires of Hell enter his eyes, like Father showed him, and glares them all into subservience.

“Alright,” Will says, several minutes later, patting the patient’s knee with a smile. “I’m gonna wrap this, Jen, and you gotta keep it dry, okay? Have ambrosia twice a day like I told you and come see me at the end of the week.”

“There’ll be no scar?” the young girl hedges.

“Not if you follow my instructions,” Will promises. “Although you’ll be just as beautiful with a scar, kiddo, I promise. Ask your mother.”

Jen looks at him doubtfully, but Will is one of those people who’s unbelievably hard to distrust. It’s infuriating, if you’re Nico and committed to the whole goth/emo lifestyle. Probably comforting if you’re a normal person.

She leaves, and it is abruptly very quiet in the infirmary, which is crazy because it is abruptly never quiet at camp unless people are dead, usually, but no one is dead, and people are too godsdamn nosy to flinch away from Nico’s glare, or maybe they’re not scared of him anymore, and hey, isn’t that something. The world is so busy, all the time. Things keep happening. Who’s fault is that, again?

“Nico?” Will asks, rocking back on his heels. His hands are suddenly clean of blood and grime and his scrubs have been swapped out. They stand, also, at the other end of the infirmary, right outside of the on-call room. He looks up, and conversations have resumed, and Will is watching him, intently, bright eyes slightly too wide, front teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, Ace bandage winding, unwinding, winding.

“This is for you,” Nico blurts, and shoves the peach at him.

Will blinks. “Oh.” He stares at the peach, a moment, before a smile erupts on his face. “Oh! Thank you!”

He takes the peach, gently, from Nico’s hands, and holds it close to his chest, wide hands gentle so as not to bruise, smile gone close-mouthed, giddy. The rocking gets every so slightly faster, and the slight breeze from the open screen door ruffles his frizzy hair, and his nose is scrunched, just slightly, enough to wrinkle his dotted feathers, and Nico’s mouth is very, very dry.

“I do not,” he tries, and it grinds along his paper-parched throat, near silent, “I do not have Limits, William.”

The rocking stills. Nico mourns it.

“…Sorry?”

“Limits,” Nico repeats. “I do not have them. I am Limitless. Purge the thought.”

“You have limits,” Will says, alarmed. “Um, we had that talk, right? About pushing yourself and why that is generally regarded as a bad plan.”

“That was you shouting at me in between nectar shots and frantic mothering, actually, but that’s not what I meant.”

Will doesn’t answer, only tilting his head.

“You’re neurotic,” Nico attempts to explain, and as could be expected by literally anyone with a brain this goes poorly, and he rushes to amend. “I mean! Well, you are neurotic — but! There is a but! Stop looking at me like that! You are neurotic but!”

“This is a very bad friendship break up if that is what you are trying,” says Will in a small voice, and Nico resolves to kick his own ass later tonight to Atone.

“I like it,” he hurries to explain. “You and your — neuroses. All of you, I like it. There is no Limit. Capital L. You’re groovy. On — point. Fleek? What do the kids say. I don’t —”

“Oh,” Will breathes, thankfully putting Nico out of his misery, “oh, this is about the oranges.”

Nico nods miserably.

“The oranges are —” Will cuts himself off, staring down at his shoes. “Um, scurvy freaks me out.”

“…Scurvy?”

“It — collagen synthesis is an active process? In your body? And scurvy makes it degrade really quickly. Which kind of tears your body apart by reopening scars. On top of other things. And you — were on a ship, you know. For a while. And you sweat a lot. And you don’t take the multivitamins I give you.”

“Because they’re gross,” Nico says, breathless, “and I’m not — sweaty.”

Wherever sunlight touches Will’s skin he tends to glow, slightly, and his freckles fluoresce the longer his hand takes to traverse the space between them, past the open window, resting, lightly, on Nico’s wrist.

“You are,” he says, gently. “You have — really low magnesium and potassium levels. Just, all the time.” He glances down at the inside of Nico’s wrist. “Right now, actually. Will you eat a banana if I go get you one?”

Will will go get a banana, and Nico will follow him, and they will sit, somewhere, probably the big rock by the lake, as Nico eats it, and Will will eat his peach, and Nico will watch his throat bob, and Will will talk, hands gesturing, peach juice everywhere, and they will stay there, probably, way past sunset, right till curfew, and then they will sprint, as they usually do, to avoid the harpies, and they will go to Nico’s cabin, first, because they always do, and Will will snag an orange as they run past the fruit trees by the Demeter cabin, and he will press it into Nico’s hands, firmly, smiling as he says goodnight, and running back to his own cabin. Where he will, according to Kayla, pace, and worry. Where he will rant about Limits, and how close Nico is to approaching them.

“Will,” says Nico seriously, grabbing his hands. Will’s eyes snap to his, wide, wider than usual, and they are so blue, so so blue, are things usually this blue? He’s startled by it every time. “Will, I am a sine function.”

“I don’t understand,” he admits.

Nico nods. “That’s okay! Just — peaches.” He reaches out and pats the fruit, curling Will’s fingers around them. “For you. Okay?”

Will glances down at the peach. He glances back up at Nico. He looks down, finally, at their hands, twined around the fruit, and holds there, one, two, three seconds.

“Oh,” he says, finally. “Oh, you don’t — oh.”

“Peaches,” Nico repeats, “oranges.” He pulls one hand free and draws a line between them. “You get it?”

“I get it,” Will says, softly. He looks up and smiles, small, private; too-big front teeth just barely peeling out. “You never reach your approached value.”

“I really don’t even get that close.”

“I’m kind of losing the metaphor, here.”

“Okay.”

Nico squeezes their hands together. Will squeezes back, shifting his weight.

“I’m still gonna — you still gotta get your vitamin C.”

“More oranges?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He rubs his finger over the backs of Will’s knuckles; he shivers. Nico meets his eyes and he smiles, widely, hurting his cheeks, and Will smiles back, and he rocks, and Nico is an abyss, and he is falling, falling, falling. “I like oranges.”

[milkbreadandtadpoles]

soup and stars

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆｡°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒｡⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆｡°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒｡⋆୨୧˚

snip: you keep sukuna's favorite after workout drink in your fridge. and no, you don't frequent that store. sukuna looks at you like you hung the moon and painted the sky yourself when you're either on the brink of death or not paying attention (it's only with his eyes, though. he's a certified rbf). the two of you have been hooking up for over a year with little conversation outside of snarky comments and emojis he doesn't get.

and he sometimes takes care of you when you're sick for five hours only.

warnings: suggestive language, sukuna being a parallel of this guy i used to hookup with who was srsly emotionally constipated and really milked my daddy issues, reader being dumb (lol me), probably a lot of run on sentences and weird descriptions but i am not srry ab it, no Y/N here, a lot of parentheses for some reason

authors note: omg hey. i have this a03 and i thought i'd put a tumblr to pair it together cuz i had an old tumblr but i was kinda done w her (may she rest in peace!) anywayyy my name is lillie, hi again. hope u enjoy this!! luv me some sukuna who reminds me of all my bad flings.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆｡°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒｡⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆｡°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒｡⋆୨୧˚

Since when did you get sick like this?

This time, not that time you lied to your boss, you have an actual stomach bug. Stomach thing. Food poisoning from bad sushi. You don't know.

What you do know, however, is that everything smells bad, you can’t stomach anything other than a handful of saltine crackers. You couldn’t even finish your coffee yesterday morning; you’re just coming down from a fever. Everything is hot and cold, nothing feels right on your skin. Noises are too loud, but the silence is making your ears bleed. 

Curled up into the sheets, you shiver. It rocks over you, feeling cold despite your body burning off whatever infection is brewing in your gut. Your skin feels crusty yet damp, scalp itchy and pulled back into two haphazard buns. Stray strands lay over your forehead that twinkles with cold sweat.

Vampire Diaries plays in the background, volume loud enough so you can hear where you’re at within the series but quiet enough to give you grace if you wish to take another four hour nap. You don’t even want to get on your phone, ignoring the occasional, silent buzzes and flashing light that draw your eyes away from the fuzz of your blanket.

Time passes in a druken haze, not knowing whether you slept or not, not feeling entirely there at all. You fail to count the amount of times you got up to throw up or sit on the toilet, thankful the walls are snug enough to rest your head on the wall of it to contemplate if it’s worth passing out before you gather your wits and crawl back into bed.

There’s a rustle in your sheets, a distant sound of intro music for the vampire show.

“You still watchin’ this shit?” A gruff voice sounds from above you.

Your brows furrow in your sleepy haze- you don’t have energy to fight an intruder, pulling the sheets over your head that throbs from lack of everything. Horribly big hands paw at the clothed dip in your waist. And you let out a mixture of a whine and huff at the realization that your little fling (if you could even call it that) picked a horrible day to play.

“Sukuna,” You murmur, drawing the blankets higher above the crown of your head before he has a chance to yank it down and see your very unprepared self, “Not a good time.”

Sukuna, an occasional fuck and lackluster addition to your friend group, scoffs a laugh, muttering something about you really being a freak, something about thanking your dad for giving you all these issues that only he can handle as he gropes the flesh of your ass.

And it would feel so lovely if you weren’t on the brink of death.

“Eggroll. All the eggrolls.”

He groans, lifting his hand away from you in agreement to the safe word (because that one time when the two of you didn't have one and you reacted that way actually scared the shit out of him). 

“I’m sick.” You add quietly, urging your body to morph into a tighter ball. If Sukuna were his younger brother, or his younger brother’s friend, you’d ask either of them to cover you with another blanket. Or to refill your water bottle. Maybe even run to the store down the road and grab you some soup. But this is Sukuna, and-

There’s a harsh tug at the blanket covering your head, and you try to weakly grip the fabric in place.

“That’s why you didn’t answer my text? ‘Cause you’re all disgusting and shit?” He questions, giving one more quick tug to reveal your messy hair, the tint to the apples of your cheeks. The way his gaze feels makes the very top of your gut churn, and you scrunch your face as you decide whether or not you need to puke again.

“Mhm.” You nod, begging for the fabric back with a soft tug. Sukuna relents, snorting as you cover your head back up.

His body weight makes your bed frame squeak as he repositions himself to slouch next to you, and you peer at him through the crack of the blanket. He pulls out his phone, typing on it lazily. Through your bubbling stomach, confusion festers simply because he isn’t moving.

“Thought you not replying was you trying to be cute ’n shit.” A hand makes its way onto your lower back, the weight of it making your eyes bulge in silent surprise. With all your strength, you shake your head and whisper a soft sorry. He tuts, like all weirdly immature but mature, rude but nice and confusing older brother types do, dismissing your apology with a little pat on your back.

Another pat, and you’re snuggling into the blankets and letting your eyes close, mapping the way his hand feels and ignoring the way your stomach cramps. You hear the distant sound of a picture being taken, only being able to mutter a humiliated groan. There's a vibration where your phone is, and you know that the group chat has been notified of your predicament. 

“You eat? Take a shower?” Sukuna asks, mastering the art of making his concern dismissive. The silence on your end answers everything he needs to know, humming in acknowledgement. You’re a stubborn little shit who likes to suffer in isolation, he’ll give you that.

He synchs a basketball game to your TV, adamantly rotating between patting and rubbing your back until you’re snoring and curled up next to his lap.

When you wake up, you’re still cold, still sweating off your fever. You peers towards the bed, noticing the empty spot but the basketball game still softly playing on the screen. For a moment, you let your head slump back into the mattress before you force yourself out of bed to pee.

The weight in your body is too overwhelming to be horrified by your appearance when you emerge to make your way into a shared bathroom with your roommate. They’re all gone for work, and you don’t have the wit to ask where Sukuna got the time off to come fuck you in the middle of the day. Or why he was looking at your location. 

“I forgot how much of a bitchy face you have.” He comments, voice a note softer than you would usually hear, as you pad towards the bathroom. You grumble a quiet fuck you, slinking towards the bathroom.

You fix your hair to the best of your ability- standing up too long made you throw up. Your abdomen feels like it’s gone to three HIT classes in a row, hardly having any reserves to help you stand and brush your teeth. So you do it knelt over the bathtub, making sure to lock the door to make sure that stupid person of interest doesn’t see you so weak.

Rinsing your mouth out knelt over a tub is a new low, spitting the globs of toothpaste and water into the drain before you turn it off and brace the sides of the tub to stand and wander back out into the kitchen. Your bones feel like brittle, a bowling ball in your stomach forcing your posture to look horrifyingly old. It's been two days but you've aged thirty years. 

“Hi.” You greet weakly, rubbing your eyes before putting your arms back down as swiftly as you can. When was the last time you shaved?

Sukuna nods back, digging through a plastic bag. It’s only a few seconds before you’re sitting on the floor. The tile makes you twitch, and you wonder how you’re going to get up without looking like a hobbling mess. Maybe you’ll just crawl.

Soup and some electrolyte drinks are set out on the counter- along with your favorite candy. For a moment, your brows furrow, and then your lip wobbles in realization.

“Did you get that for me?”

“Can’t fuck you if you’re all pitiful and disgusting.” Is all he says, but his lip twitches into a bewitching smirk as your eyes well with tears and you sniffle out a sweet thank you. "Of course you’d cry over stupid shit like this." He adds, shaking his head. 

His shoes click bluntly against the floor, and he peers down at you with that devastatingly handsome, horribly mean face.

“You could just go fuck another girl.” You murmur sappily, lip jutting into a pout. And it’s true, you know it. The two of you have established that. He throws it in your face, too, when you tell him you’re busy or you’re too sleepy. Or when you simply don’t want to deal with his attitude.

His laugh tickles your heart, staring at him with wide, watery eyes as he bends down and gathers you into his arms. You squirm, or try to, holding any pride and ego close to your chest like a rabid animal as you let out a faux uncomfortable noise. There’s a familiar tap to your ass that urges you to stop, and you sink into Sukuna’s terrifyingly comfortable embrace as he carries you back to your room. The two of you have hardly cuddled before, the absolute most being him begrudgingly letting you cling onto him after one particularly rough night- only to shove you off five minutes later, giving you a pat on the head as if to say good job, thanks for the head, before leaving.

So this is new, awkward, when your semi friend with semi benefits sets you down with the upmost genteel fashion and retreats back into the kitchen. He comes back with an armful of products moments later. Soup, your favorite cup filled with mystery get well liquid, a straw and a big spoon.

“I don’t like big spoons.”

“That’s too fuckin’ bad because that’s what I got- stop pouting like that, it's disgusting.”

Sukuna sets everything down and defiantly does not grab another spoon for you. You make a noise in the back of your throat when he reaches over and urges you to sit up with a silent look that you’re expected to figure out. He lets you maneuver a pillow behind your back, lets you curl a blanket around your body and change the TV back to Vampire Diaries- he does not let you feed yourself.

When you reach for the bowl of soup (your favorite- chicken and stars), he uses only a percentage of his strength to swat your hand away, giving you another demand to stop sulking like a little kid before he’s crawling (crawling!) across the bed. Bowl of soup and too big of spoon in hand, he sits across from and in front of your view from the show.

He leans forward in a sort of endearing way, brows furrowed in a certain concentration as he scoops the perfect spoonful of soup and stars, holding it to your mouth. And he watches when you open your mouth with furrowed brows, lips closing around the dipped metal so that nothing drips down your chin. The broth warms your mouth, your stomach in an instant, making your face relax and your back slump into the pillow that supports you.

There’s a prickle of humiliation on the apples of your cheeks, something Sukuna would likely make fun of if you weren’t half asleep by the time he finishes spoon feeding you. And yea, there was one singular instance of him swiping away fallen liquid away with his thumb. And yea, you’re going to remember that forever. And most definitely are you going to internalize this as something more between the two of you than just friends who fuck (friend being a huge overstatement).

“I don’t like you.” You find yourself murmuring as Sukuna thrusts your clunky, metal, pink water bottle in your face. Obediently, as you always are, you sip at the liquid, swallowing down any grimace as he stares right at you while you swallow.

“You’re not my favorite, either.” He grunts, picking the cup up as soon as you set it down and representing it to you with a face.

“I’m at least second to your video game console.” Your grumble with pursed lips, taking another measly sip. When Sukuna raises his brows, you take a few more.

“Third. Second is pot. And it’s a PS4- fucking nerd.”

The part of your stomach that isn’t cramping to shit flutters, your fever probably rises, and you smile to yourself as you take a big gulp of the electrolyte solution. You swallow before he says the softest atta girl and takes the cup to set it back down.

Sukuna helps you shuffle under three big blankets, gives you your phone and goes to wash the soup bowl. You text Satoru with sick enthusiasm, to which he reiterates it in your (other) group chat where everyone just starts sending silly fangirlish memes. Shoko isn’t phased, Suguru isn’t pleased, either. But there’s an icky smile on your face, the thought of when it’ll end and Sukuna will go back to, well, Sukuna, gnawing at the back of your throat.

But you’ll pretend for today, like you do everyday.

“Are you leaving?” You ask when he comes back into the room, question answered when the bed dips once more.

He grunts a no, to shut up and sleep as he synchs up another sports game. You don’t mind, turning your head so you’re facing him. His back rests against a pillow with a floral case, one of your weighted stuffed animals squished between the weight of his back and the metal bed frame.

You stare with lidded eyes and hot cheeks, tracing the musculature of his shoulders and the sharpness of his face in the same pattern you do after he’s done making you quiver and shake and cry. The plush of the blanket is a perfect excuse for the sheen of sweat on your face, your stomach still molten lava and convulsing.

But it’s just a little more than a dull ache with Sukuna here, bored face and all.

For a moment, before you fall asleep for a third time today, you feel his fingertips, hard and gruff and soft, brush against your cheek, your chapped lips. You’re too tired to hide or quip at him in the static-like fashion that makes him laugh.

You swear you see his lips twitch when you hum affectionately. There’s a text waiting for your friends, a mental scoreboard to update. Smile number two. Four days apart. From holding a sparkler and ogling at it like a child at Satoru’s New Year’s Eve party to laying in bed sick, purring like a cat as he pets you.

“Stop looking like you’re going to die.” He all but requests, covering your face with a sliver of the blanket and looking back at the game. Grabbing the remote, he turns the volume up a few more notches to ignore your itty bitty, very sleepy laugh.

Seconds away from sleep, Sukuna uncovers it- you. His lingering gaze tingles your nose, all the way down to the tips of your toes. Your infatuation with him might as well be the cure to cancer from the faintest spark of energy it gave you.

He’s not there when you wake up. It could have been a fever dream for all you know if it wasn’t for the refilled hydro flask and oddly neat note scribbled for you to ‘drink the fuck up’ on one of your Sanrio sticky notes. There's a brief look of horror on your face knowing that he looked through your drawers to find one. 

You drink it all and take a gruesome looking picture, sending it to him with a silly caption- your way of saying thank you. Sukuna doesn’t respond, but the read receipts are on. And he doesn’t talk to you for awhile, as if he curates the perfect way to make you stay by letting the bubbling like for him simmer into nothing, only for it to come back in full force when asks if you’re awake three Thursdays later.He asks if he can still use the key you gave him to come by after the gym to shower because his little brother and friends are over and he doesn’t want to hear them blubber while they figure out their alcohol tolerance (or lack thereof).

A pearly, well built increment of yourself hopes it’s so he’ll check up on you, too, after he slinks into your room and fucks you just the way he likes- because he knows you like it, too.

And you say yes, like you always do. Tell him about this new body wash you got that he can use, that you just so happened to get his favorite drink from the store he get his protein powder and supplements from when you went grocery shopping.

you don’t even like that store lmfao

found a new prebiotic there! Saw it on Pintrest

sure

Sukuna is not immune to exploiting your obvious cartwheels to please him. He’ll never say thank you, and you won’t ever ask him to. You do it for all your friends, you tell him. Shoko’s toothbrush brand is in your bathroom cabinet when she sleeps over. Satoru’s moisturizer and favorite tooth-rotting snacks. Suguru’s blanket because he gets cold at movie nights. But Sukuna knows he could have whatever he asked for within the hour.

He’ll never address that he took care of you when you were sick. Both times. Or that there's a packet of your favorite gum in the console of his car. And he'd rather be dead than you, shit, anyone, find out that there's a hidden album of little you's in his phone. 

i’m just a good friend  *ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆

we’re not friends.

It doesn’t hurt your feelings. Because you know he’s emotionally constipated, that no one’s ever really cared. Except Yuji, but little brothers always care. That whatever affection and consideration thrown his way will be burnt to a crisp, that he’ll only ever look at you like you hung the stars when no one’s looking, or only think about you at night when the weed isn’t helping him sleep. 

uh huh, we sure aren’t. see you later! make sure to stretch before you lift!!

stop texting me, it's fucking up my music

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

?

[unicorn-virus-syndrome]

Felt a little bored so here are some incorrect quotes! (Mostly about the Jury of Nine because I’m going insane about them lately. Could take place either in Mystreet or Minecraft Diaries.)

———————————

Zane: Time for plan G. Jeffory: Don’t you mean plan B? Zane: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties. Ivan: What about plan D? Zane: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago. Janus: What about plan E? Zane: I’m hoping not to use it. Katelyn dies in plan E. Ivy: I like plan E. Katelyn: >:/

——— Zane: Posts a super low-quality image to the group chat Janus: If I had a dollar for every pixel in this image, I’d have 15 cents Zane: If I had a dollar for every ounce of rage I felt in my body after I read this text, I would have enough money to buy a cannon to fire at you! :] Lillian: Actually I did the math, Janus would have $225, not $0.15. Janus: Fam I’m right here…. Katelyn: If I had a dollar I would buy a can of soda. Jeffory: while you’re there could you buy me an apply juice please? Katelyn: Sorry I only have a dollar. Jeffory: :[ Iavn: Hey I just realized Lillian is right, Janus would have $22,500 because it's a dollar for every pixel, not a cent. Katelyn: If I had $22,500 I would buy a can of soda and an apply juice. Ivy: You can buy anything you want with $22,500? Ivan: Yeah and they want soda and apply juice. Ivy: Apply juice to what??? Katelyn: Directly to the forehead Zane: Great chat everyone.

———

Jeffory: I've got a weapon, and I'm… admittedly VERY afraid to use it!

——— Ivan: eh, I don’t go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me first.

———

Jeffory, skipping rocks on a lake with Katelyn: It’s such a beautiful evening. Katelyn: Yeah, it is. Katelyn: whispering Take that you fucking lake.

———

Ivy: Okay, can we all stop saying stupid shit for a moment, please?! Zane: Alright. Ivan: Hey, I- Ivy: SHUT UP! Ivan: I HAVEN'T EVEN FINISHED MY SENTENCE!! Zane: It was bound to be stupid.

———

While planning to break in somewhere Janus: Hey, let's do "Get Help!" Zane: What? Janus: "Get Help." Zane: No. Janus: C'mon, you love it! Zane: I hate it. Janus: It's great! It works every time! Zane: It's humiliating. Janus: Do you have a better plan? Zane: No. Janus: We're doing it! Zane: We are not doing "Get Help!" A Minute Later Janus, carrying Zane: Get help! Please! He’s dying! Help him! throws Zane at guards, knocking them out Janus: Ahh, classic! Zane: gets up I still hate it. It's humiliating. Janus, laughing: Not for me, it's not.

———

Jeffory; Isn’t it a bit dangerous? Ivy: Jeffory, please. We’ve in a lot of unexpected predicaments before and we always escape unhurt. Jeffory: … Ivy: Okay, we sometimes escape unhurt. Jeffory: … Ivy: Alright, we escaped unhurt once… Then we hurt ourselves on the way home.

——— Katelyn: I wouldn’t wish that upon my worse enemy! Katelyn: Unless of course. . We’re talking about my enemy, Ivy. Fuck you Ivy, you know what you did!

———

Zenix: Hey, check out my Spongebob umbrella! Zenix opens his umbrella while indoors Sasha: Zenix, that’s bad luck… Jeffory: Chill out, dude!- Ghost Janus, kicking down the door: WHO SUMMONED ME?!?! Zenix, Sasha, and Gene: SCREAMS

———

Lillian: What's with the new hat? Ivy: Oh, this? It's nothing. Janus: It's the loudest nothing I ever saw. Katelyn: Ivy, you just can't mosey in here with a brand-new hat and act like you're not wearing a brand-new hat. Ivy: Look, I'm trying something new, okay? Just take it easy. Ivan: She’s right, guys. Come on, let's not go down this path. It's ugly… Kinda like that hat– Ivy: I got this from a nice store! Ivan: What store? The one before you exit the Al Capone Museum? Zane, entering the room: Good Evening— Ivy? Did you just finish Bling Ring-ing Bruno Mars' closet? Ivy: I'm being brave, okay? You guys are sheep. You may want to take a long, hard look in the mirror. Katelyn: Better us than you. You look like a park ranger from a cartoon. Ivy: Jeffory, do you think the hat looks bad? Jeffory: Oh, uh, me? Um, I… I wouldn't say it was bad. Like, I think it's just different, like something you would wear in Indiana… Jones and the Temple of Bad Hats.

———

Janus: Dude, we can get mythical animals! Maybe I’ll get a penguin! Lillian: Penguins are real. Janus: That’s the spirit, Lillian! They’re real to me too!

——— Ivy: I feel awful about killing you. Katelyn: … Ivy: Even though technically you never even died, so I don’t know what you’re bitching about.

——— Jeffory: You know you can die from that, right? <:[ Ivan: smoking a cigarette. That’s the point. Katelyn: drinking alcohol. We’re trying to speed this up. Lillian: Eating raw cookie dough and nodding.

———

Zane: So uh, for this party and everything, do you, uh… Lillian, sighing: You don't know how to dress for this, do you? Zane, panicked: WHAT IS CLOTHES??? Ó_Ò

———

Katelyn: Respect my trans homies or I’m gonna identify as a fucking problem. Janus: :] Ivan: >:D Lillaim: ….Slowly gives a thumbs up.

———

Ivan; Lucinda has no idea I’m high. Lucinda: ..You’re high? Ivan: Oh, I’m sorry. Ivan, leaning over to Lillian: Lucinda has no idea I’m high.

———

Zane: What’s your greatest weakness? Lillian: Interpreting the semantics of a question, but ignoring the pragmatics. Zane: Could you give an example? Lillian: Yes, I could.

———

In the Early Days of The Jury of Nine Katelyn: Fight me! Ivy: gets on one knee and pulls out a ring Ivy: Fight me for the rest of our lives? Katelyn: 0///0 Jeffory: …Well this can’t be healthy. Ivan: Oh absolutely not this can only go down in flames.

———

Ivy: Tell them to eat shit, Lillian. Lillian: Tell them yourself. Ivy: Eat shit, asshole. Fall off your horse.

———

Ivan, handing a balloon to Lillian: I have no soul. Have a good day! Lillian, walking off: I don't have one either.

———

Lillian: What's wrong with you? Ivan: Off the top of my head, I'd say low self-esteem, a lack of paternal affection, and a genetic predisposition for anxiety and depression.

———

Zane: My favorite thing about big dogs is that when you push them over, they're all like "Oh, I'm lying down now! Someone might scratch my stomach! I might nap! Endless possibilities!" Zane: …whereas, when you push little dogs over, they're all like, "Vengeance! Death before dishonor!" Lillian: Is this just your way of describing Janus, the tallest in our friend group, and Ivan, the shortest in our friend group? Zane: Yes.

———

Ivy: Aww, what's your dog's name? Aph: Celestia! ^^ Ivy, yelling to Lillian: TRY CELESTIA! Lillian, on the computer: DIDN'T WORK! Ivy: … Ivy: What's your favorite number?

———

Jeffory; Uhh.. Zane just asked if we want to… Jeffory: ”Fell the mighty before their time and display their carcasses in our homes?” Lillian, not even looking up from her phone: He’s asking if you wanna cut down Christmas Trees. Jeffory: Oh, that makes more sense.

———

Jeffory; I have a problem. Katelyn: Kill it. Ivy: Kill it. Janus: Kill it. Ivan: Kill it. Zane: Kill it. Lillian: Kill it. Jeffory: …Can you all chill for like, two seconds?

———

Zane: Where's Janus? Ivy: Don't worry, I'll find them. Ivy, shouting: Zane sucks! Janus, distantly: Zane is the best man to ever live! Fuck you!! Ivy: Found them.

———

Zane: The ritual. To preform it requires a sacrifice… Lillian: Sacrifice? I nominate Ivan. Ivan: Wait, what?! Janus: Because you're little, you'll fit on a pentagram. Ivan: I'm 5'9, that’s like the average height in Ru’an! Zane: Its not that kind of sacrifice guys!!!

———

Ivy: Janus learned how to fold origami penguins from Lillian the other day. I told them, “I feel a little bad for the penguins, it’s hot here”, and the next day he put the penguins in the fridge.

———

Katelyn: Look, Zane, it's the third time this week you had a mental breakdown and its Monday.

[poetry-i-live-for]

Lyrics of Starseed by Catie Trainor

I don′t know how to be anything other than honest

I have lived in Nashville four years now come this summer

Which means I have not spoken to my brother in almost six

Time sure does fly while rearranging kitchen drawers to make new spoons fit

I Venmo'd my dealer last week for some weed to help finish this poem

How many licks to the center of a hypocrite

All the same, I have been dropping masterpiece after masterpiece

I put out three over the course of one year

When California asks, I tell her I′ve been stitching together poems so big

They could be thrown over entire countries to keep them warm

And I could give a fuck about a trend

I want to be the word so universally healing

That generation after generation will keep running back to them

Because ever since I was a child

I had always felt like there was somewhere I needed to be

So when I'm feeling burnt out in an industry that is anything but gentle

I think back to my youth

Libraries as lunchrooms

I throw my soul to her fountain and wash, rinse, repeat

And I've been told some of you are wondering, and yes

I just keep on getting better at resuscitating memories with words that run like water

twenty years inside the books, now I shall never be alone again

By noon I′m ruling Rome, I built my own up from the ashes

They mistake me for the apple without knowing I′m the seed

As in which any earth I'm planted, fruit is harvested around me

And it′s funny the way they will treat you once they realize your mind is worth money

Sand dollars are found out past the break of every wave, but that is also where the sharks are

Cracking under pressure, too much liquor, forgetting all my words at slam

I promise you this, I will never again allow that shit to happen

But after all, I'm only human, only flesh and blood imperfection

And you′re bound to hit some turbulence when a bad bitch is about to shatter through a glass ceiling

Keep your eyes on the credits of the rock charts, your girls' name is about to be all over them

That′s why I never tell them what I'm doing till it's done

And the only name you′ll ever catch me dropping is my own

They say imitation is flattery, but I say it′s thievery

And sympathy is bitter depending on which pair of fangs you taste it from

If you sip on my stars, I will swallow the sun

You are limited only to what I have already done

Some see me as competition, but I see them as all my children

Because as writers, we must hold our immortality with the greatest reverence

The holy crack in the spines of our books, forever embedded in their memory

Just like Stephen said, approaching every pen in any way but lightly

So your cadence may be mildly entertaining, but what are you actually saying

That's the thing about the quiet of a page. you can′t hide from it

Strip away the smoke and mirrors of performance, let us see the quality of your sentences

So mark my words, my children and my children's children

Will never again know the weight of this brokenness

It ends with me here, so let us be this

A love letter etched into an old notebook

Tucked away on a bookcase

A collection of soul rearranged, inked into words

In hope that someone may read them

Find healing in the shape on a page

Memories found in palms I will never trace

Once I finally lay at the feet of rest

We will soon be an echo, so

Let this page be proof that I have lived

And I have loved, so good

[demetria-wayne]

Kidnapping?

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Demetria was very dizzy, she can't see anything, her face is covered with a blindfold. There's a bad smell in the air, her body is tied up with something tight and it's hurting her a little bit, a chain maybe. She's trying to regain her senses but is kinda difficult, try to keep herself calm, focusing on whatever she can hear. There's no voices or even sound of someone moving, but she can hear water noise. Maybe she is in a sewer? Not sure each, her mind is not working properly.

How did she even get here? If she thinks a lot about it, she can remember what happened.

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

Phone in the one hand, messaging Alex, talking about the movie they did watch yesterday.

A: You did sleep at the end of the movie, will you even want to watch the second today?

You: Yes, you can tell me later what happened at the end of it.

Demetria replies and then puts her phone in her pocket, she just left a store after buying somethings for her since she is in that days. Carrying a bag and walking through Gotham's streets, there's not a lot of people in the street, not unusual, maybe she should see Harley? Haven't visited her in some days. Lost in thoughts until she hears a scream.

"HELP! PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP!" A girl voice, sounding very young, she's scared.

Demetria decide to follow where the voice coming from, putting on her hood and hiding her face a bit, she may not be in the best disguise, but she won't pretend to be deaf and blind to what's going on. Leaving the bag on the ground, she sees a man probably in his 40s trying to silence a girl, she's seens like 10. Demetria observes the scene to see what exactly she can do about it, there's some small rocks near her on the ground, this may serve to draw his attention, she grabs some rocks, positioning himself and then throwing them at the man's head, a little hard to maybe try to pass him out. The man hisses when the rocks hits him directly in the head, letting go of the girl, the little girl then hits the man right in the balls before pushing him and running away, Demetria smiles at the reaction, watching the man grunts in pain while now in the floor, she will not let him there of course, not without a little threat.

The teen grabs a shard of glass that was on the ground, approaching the man from behind and soon grabbing his hair pulling hard and holding the shard close to his neck, deepening her voice slightly. "Tsk Tsk... You're luck it was me and not someone else, what you were trying to do, certainly was utterly disgusting. I could just kill you right here, Gotham doesn't need more people like you." Her voice is serious while just etching the shard on the man's neck, making it bleed a little. The man seens very scared by it not saying a word. ".. But, i'm not a judge and can't give you a death sentence as much you deserve it. I'll give you a chance to do better but if you try to do it again, there's no kindness coming from me." Her voice is more calm but still threatening. Then she hears soft steps coming from behind her, when she was about to look around whoever it was, pulls her hood down and shoves something in her neck, getting something inside her body. Demetria pushes the man away and using the shard she hits the person, making them bleed, Putting a hand on his neck where he had felt something pointy being placed, maybe it was poison or something to make she sleep, she doesn't have time to check before running away from there, whatever it is, definitely not safe. Throwing the shard away and grabbing her phone, she can feel herself slowly or rapidly falling asleep, typing too fast her password, not getting it right, it's infuriating! She keep trying, sometimes looking back to check if they decided to follow, honest she didn't pay attention to where she went, but certainly was a more darker area of Gotham. When she finally unlocks her phone before she can even type something she ends up hitting her head in a wall, the phone flys A little far away and she falls to the floor, her vision is dizzy and her head is hurting, there's someone giggling approaching her. Why did she decided to be the hero? Stupid idea.

Demetria slowly closes her eyes, her consciousness going away.

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

Demetria scoffs after remembering what mostly happened not exactly everything but what mattered. 'Stupid way to get caught, i' m a vigilante and a former assassin! That's such a shame. Father will be dissapointed. ' She mentally reprimands herself. The teen is waiting for the sign of her kidnapper, they are not here each, why? In that free time, she should try to get free.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

[wellthebardsdead]

To deny godhood part 1

———

Shamat: *wakes up on the wooden floor of a cell, the room slowly rocking side by side making him think he’s drunk* hnuh?… h-huh?… where? Kaidan?… y-yaksha? Inigo- *remembers what happened before blacking out… he’d ignored Kaidans warnings of leaving the city alone having seen strange figures eyeing him up after an even stranger encounter with Indoril nerevar in the whiterun market. And went to go check on the homestead outside the city after hearing about a giant bothering the nearby farm, only to be grabbed from behind by several figures, a funny smelling cloth over his nose, and he was unconscious* …where am I?…

*Creaking of wood as the door to the room opens, allowing a golden armoured figure to enter*

Indoril Nerevar: *holding a tray of food, quietly inspecting the dunmer in front of him* you’re awake… *sighs* I’m sorry it had to be this way, Voryn. *places the food in the cell*

Shamat: *backing away slowly from the bars and against the far wall* l-lord nerevar p-please I’m begging you I-I’m not Voryn Dagoth y-you have the wrong person.

Nerevar: Believe me my friend. I really don’t… *sighs* no matter. You’ll remember soon enough… please eat, and cooperate. I’ve been lenient with you but the temple priests may not extend that kindness to you. I have responsibilities to my name and rules I cannot bend even for you… *stares at him through the bars* I’m sorry to keep you caged like this, it must bring back bad memories of your past…

Shamat: y-you know of my sentencing?…

Nerevar: I do. By the time I’d found out about it though, you were long gone… last I heard you’d sailed for skyrim, so I followed.

Shamat: why? Why me? I’m the dragonborn I can’t be dagoth ur. How could I have his soul in me and the soul of a dragon-

Nerevar: *laughs softly not believing him* very funny Voryn, you’re not going to trick me into letting you go. *turns and walks to the door* eat… we’ll be arriving home soon enough, the guards will be in to dress you in your house robes. The 6th house will be honoured again with your arrival.

*a few hours later*

Nerevar: We’re home at last… are you ready to greet your people?…

Shamat: *flanked by two guards and standing behind Nerevar, dressed in long and heavy dunmer ceremonial robes inscribed with the insignia of house dagoth, long enough to hide the shackles binding his feet and keeping him from running* … *looks down silently*

Nerevar: *gently takes his face in his hand* you’re mad at me now. But you’ll be thankful soon, Voryn. *looks his arm around his and walks with him off the ship with his men to see the streets leading to the temple lined with dunmer waiting to see Nerevars return, and the leader of the 6th house reborn*

Shamat: *looking visibly afraid, steps back a little*

Nerevar: it’s alright… they’re waiting for us… just walk…

Shamat: *swallows a lump in his throat and walks beside him past the crowds, all of them suddenly cheering out for the nerevars return. Members of the 6th house suddenly dropping to their knees and grovelling in the dirt as they pass by, but beyond all the celebration several more voices screaming death threats and promises of violence to the one walking as the sharmat*

Heckler: OI! SHARMAT YOU CUNT! *throws a rotten ash yam*

Shamat: *looks up thinking he said Shamat* huh? *looks in time to see it coming only for it to be blocked by nerevars shield*

The crowd: *suddenly falls very silent*

Nerevar: *looks back at his men* …Execute that man. *continues leading Shamat to the temple as his guards disburse into the crowd grabbing the man and anyone holding rotten food or rocks*

The crowd: *all start cheering helping the guards grab the attacker and his accomplices, all of them working into a frenzy*

Shamat: n-no wait- I’m- he- it’s not worth his life! *winces as nerevar pulls him along ignoring his pleas* nerevar please the insult isn’t worth their lives- *looks around as the crowd gets louder and the sound of the drum like heart beat pounds in his head making everything seem dizzy as the temple doors get closer and closer* ENOUGH!!!

Everyone: *hits the deck as a ball of flame erupts from the Dunmer’s throat, a dragon shout*

Nerevar: *let go of him in surprise. Recognising the voice that escaped from the up until then very soft spoken elf, but still not understanding how he breathed fire* Voryn, calm down… *looks to his guards and gestures for them to let the hecklers go* Are you happy now?…

Shamat: *unable to answer, the drum too loud he can hear it in tandem with his heartbeat, just shakes his head holding his face as the birthmark on his forehead begins to sting* no- im- I’m not- I’m not- I’m not- him.

Nerevar: *sensing dagoth urs presence slowly taking over shamats body* …you will be. In time. *takes hold of him and leads him inside, closing the temple doors behind him*

[cass1x1]

💋 (sonia/miles)

send  “💋”  for four times my muse thought about kissing yours, and the one time they actually did. 

i.

It's so late by the time they make it to Sonia's apartment. The night is cool and still and extremely private, as though they are the only two people left awake in the entire city. Despite the hour, and despite the fact that she'd worked an entire shift before Miles picked her up, she isn't even tired. No, she'd become energized spending time with him. She could've danced-danced-danced all night.

"So..." Miles says, not finishing the sentence.

Sonia rocks back on her heels. "So...thanks for walking me home."

"Yeah." The word hangs between them, waiting for one of them to do something.

For a moment, Sonia does. She thinks--she knows--that from the outside, this looks like the end of a date. It certainly feels like one. She rocks forward slightly, and then thinks better of it. "So..." It feels like they have gone in a circle, now. "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

Miles answers slowly, like he didn't realize she was speaking. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."

She turns and puts the key in her door, and doesn't look to see if he watched her go.

ii.

It is, Sonia tells herself, a mistake she makes because she is tipsy. She is warm and the edges of her world have softened, making them something she can hold. Tonight, she does not feel too childish or pathetic for believing in love--how can she, when it is all around her? And so, with her defenses down, when she sees Miles walk in, she hops up, throwing herself around him.

"You came!" she cooed into his neck, where she has buried her face. His hands come up to hold her back. "I'm so glad you came."

Miles chuckles, and she can feel it against her whole torso. "Of course. I wouldn't have missed it."

There is something in his words, a tone that her off-kilter brain can't process, and so she leans back to read it on his face. The mistake; not only is Miles notoriously hard for her to read, but at this angle, she knows she could just--

Something brightens in his eyes, and she sees herself reflected in it. Catches herself. Pulls herself back down, the unnamed decision still swimming in her brain. "I'm so glad you're here," she reiterates, as though that might explain her behavior. "Come on back! We've got tequila and....hmmm rum, maybe? I forget."

Miles chuckles and allows himself to be pulled over to the makeshift bar. If he noticed her little almost slip-up there, he doesn't say anything.

iii.

Sonia wants to kiss Miles. Both in the general sense--she has for a long time, no matter how hard she tells herself not to--and in the specific sense. Right now, right here, in front of all the diners and her coworkers, Sonia wants to kiss Miles. It is an urge that has struck her so hard, so suddenly, that she finds herself leaning down toward him, despite every reason that she has held this desire back for months.

It's something about the way his face looks this morning. Kissable. He looks so kissable, that it has clearly knocked the sense out of Sonia. His mouth is relaxed, the shape of his lips not quite forming a smile. His soft, pillowy-looking lips. His jaw isn't set like it is on a bad date or straining like it is when work isn't going well. It's just relaxed. His forehead, his eyes, he seems so at peace, and Sonia wants desperately to kiss him.

She may well have, if he hadn't spoken up when he did. "Hey, you, uh..." He reaches up to brush something off her arm. Sonia didn't see what, but the moment shatters around her, and she feels heat rise in her cheeks. She hopes, perversely, that what he'd shooed off was a fly, so that she has something to be embarrassed about.

"Thanks," she says. "You need a refill?" She glances at his cup, only about half-drunk. "I can get that for you." She turns away, forcing herself to take measured steps back to the kitchen.

iv

She loves this feeling, being wrapped in Miles's arms. He's so warm, and she can feel the soft beat of his heart against her back. She can hide when the on-screen action gets too scary. She can be as close to him as she wants, and pretend for a moment that she doesn't want it to be something it's not. In a way, she doesn't. Being tucked into him like this is perfect, exactly as it is.

The only problem is that it has been a long week, for both of them, and she can feel him start to lull above her. It's not a problem for her comfort, per se, but it feels more intimate, if he is asleep. She doesn't know why; it just does. For a moment, she considers pretending not to notice. But guilt nags at her, and eventually, she realizes she must do something.

It's not clear to her exactly what she's going to do--just that she's going to do it--when she twists to face him. It is, apparently, enough on its own. Miles stirs. His eyes flutter open, so strikingly blue that it hits her in the gut again. He mutters something too soft for her to hear. Sonia tilts her head up to listen, and then realizes how close they are. There's barely any distance between them. If she arches her back up slightly, there would be none at all. Face to face. Skin to skin. Lip to lip.

She turns away almost as soon as the realization hits. Almost. She gives herself a moment to relish that feeling, to memorize what it's like to be in his arms and know that she can close that distance. And then she twists back to facing the TV before sliding herself out from his arms slightly. An immediate chill slides through where his body was, a moment ago. "I should probably be heading home," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "It's pretty late and I have class in the morning." It's a lie--she doesn't have class until late in the day--but it saves him from having to apologize for falling asleep on her, nearly literally. "Good night, Miles."

"Night," he whispers back, so bewildered that it fills her with confidence that he has no idea what happened.

v

Miles lights up a room when he is animated. Well, Sonia thinks he always lights up a room, but never more so than when he is animated. She can feel energy radiating off of him as he describes the new design technique, the way the solar panels can be inlaid to work seamlessly into the roofing. He is is own sun in these moments, absolutely glowing with energy.

She listens for a moment before she feels that same stir inside her, that dangerous feeling that she has fended off so many times before. She has told herself every lie in the book--that she is just lonely, that she's out of practice having friends like this, that everyone feels this way about their friends sometimes. That she doesn't want to kiss him.

Whatever lie she is about to conjure for herself begins to bubble up when a realization stops her. She doesn't need to do this. Instead, she cups a hand on his cheek, which does stop him talking for the moment, leans in, and catches his lips with hers.

It's a gentle kiss. Miles is not much for PDA, but he leans into her, kissing back. There's no tongue or hands, just a sweet press between them, and when she pulls back, she is almost laughing.

"What was that for?" he asks.

Sonia smiles, knowing full well that she is flushed despite how soft the kiss was and not even caring. "I don't know, I just wanted to."

[thecottageinthedark]

#so saying moogle casually threw aside a large rock#had me in the first sentence but yes this is a big reason i don't really ID as a proshipper anymore#the other biggest one being that the proship movement/community has over time become self-selecting for its own callous; reactionary#anti-intellectual purity politics; which are detached from reality; and throw the entire party line behind NO ENGAGEMENT WITH FICTION CAN B#SHITTY EVER EXCEPT MISTAGGING SOMETIMES; SO YOU SHOULDN'T TELL PEOPLE TO KILL THEMSELVES OVER FICTION#instead of like. going. okay yes sometimes people can in fact be shitty about how they engage with fiction. to varying degrees.#you still shouldn't tell them to fucking kill themselves over it#and like. about how to build community norms + infrastructure that encourage grace and good faith; that's neither 'no bad actors can exist'#nor 'you wrote something kind of hurtful; and therefore if you grovel publicly you might get harassed less when we stalk you for years'#and also the idea that *criticism itself is not above criticism. the way in which you Have a Problem with Something can do harm.*#and that that can be the case with the best will in the world; and deserves grace as well even if the correction is not sugar-coated#and building community infrastructure that says okay how are you going to keep people safe if they *do* face harmful criticism that the#discourse du jour leans in favor of harming. how do you plan to protect marginalized ppl from being concern-trolled by racists and fatphobe#and transphobes and biphobes and people who try to kill survivors for writing abt their experiences. what are your safety measures for them#and more! and instead any kind of conversation about that gets shut down in favor of lovebombing antis' victims so that they're terrified t#so much as say 'i think [media] handled this abuse trope in a shitty way' or else face mass dogpiling and harassment and ostracization for#'anti rhetoric'; because then they will be excommunicated from the only community they have that doesn't want them fucking exterminated

#proshippers may not generally suicide bait you; but their communities are rampant with violence and abuse; bc someone dares have an opinion#about their blorbos they don't like. so yeah that's a big fucking reason. but also antis are the gamergate of transformative fandom and a#thousand times worse and more urgent to deal with; for many reasons including that they are a major arm of conservative ideals + legislatio#people like to say they're just a trickledown but they are ACTIVELY HUGELY ENABLING that legislation and making sure the way is paved for i#antis are why we're at the point where we've got fucking KOSA looming overhead bc if the internet had been up in arms en masse years ago#instead of not just shrugging at the net being tightened but actively cheering it on/enforcing it; i *know* shit would not have got this fa#just. yeah. i think 'antis' is important not to let fall out of circulation bc it is vital not to forget where this angle of attack started#but 'proship' does not encompass what's at stake here or the scale of it; it keeps the focus way too small. the iranian yogurt needs to be#thrown out because it's a problem that it's rotting and becoming a health hazard; keep trashing it; but it's not The Problem#antis cw#the salt files#harassment cw#current events cw

not proshipper not anti but a secret third thing (person who has a career in the media and, through covering legislative politics, has watched "associating with problematic fiction or entertainment is an indicator of moral degeneracy" rapidly become a mainstream GOP position that they are encoding in legislation to target the queer community under the guise of protecting children, thus coming to the conclusion that positioning the "can people enjoy things that would be immoral IRL in their fiction" debate as a proship v anti fandom debate is akin to pretending that "should we have the death penalty" is a discussion that only matters in Death Note discourse — the extent and manner to which fiction affects reality is an issue that is immediately relevant to today's US politics, and to summarize my opinions on the matter in fandom terms would be to diminish the ways this debate is affecting america Right The Fuck Now. and i have stopped taking "this person is bad for shipping the wrong anime thing and being horny about it" in any sort of good faith ever since I saw it literally used as part of a GOP smear campaign against a transgender state legislature in an attempt to defend the right from backlash after they used their supermajority in the Montana house to prevent her from speaking on the floor. Anyway I think everyone on this site, especially Americans, could benefit from ceasing to think in proship v anti vocabulary and instead developing coherent political positions on the nature of fiction that do not directly align with current fascist political tactics)

[thesinglesjukebox]

BON IVER - "S P E Y S I D E"

"Speyside is not a place; speyside is a person that you get stuck with; speyside is a pain that you cannot erase." - /r/boniver

[4.77]

Tim de Reuse: For Emma, forever and ever, ad infinitum. A tedious spiral of Emma, on and on, rhyming "good" with "could" with "stood", rhyming "me" with "sor-Ry," wallowing in unspecific folksy grayness, cashing in on his own bubble fifteen years too late. For Emma, an ourobouros. [2]

Taylor Alatorre: Leaning into it, playing to type, giving the people what they want -- there's something about hitting age 40 that brings out public displays of commitment to an inescapable bit. As with Vampire Weekend's latest offering, "S P E Y S I D E" is built on the idea that what has been deconstructed can be reconstructed again, using the master's postmodernism to bring Ithaka back to its pre-violated state, or something like it. The title and artwork are fake-outs, as is the producer credit for Jim-E Stack, whose role is to engineer the kind of quarantined sparseness that's traditionally cast as the arch-enemy of artifice. It never was, but it's still fun to pretend, and Vernon's lyrics retain their power even when interpreted as a self-conscious bid for authenticity. If you've ever sent a decade-late apology letter to someone, you know that honesty is a fool's game there, that every attempt to avoid trickery will lead to it popping up in some other sentence. "I hope you look" is not a good enough reason on its own to hit "send," but if you can turn a good phrase and do a good falsetto, it sometimes can be. [7]

Alfred Soto: Satisfied with their 2023 Pitchfork Music Festival appearance after years of mockery, I sat down, linen napkin folded on my lap, awaiting tastier goodies. "Tasty" is right, or, rather, "tasteful": acoustic guitar and strings! This isn't for me, but I'll note that "What is wrong with me/I'm so sorry" shows a humility absent from his passive-aggressive peers. [6]

Andrew Karpan: Described by Mr. Iver as “an apology to a couple of people he loved and hurt,” the idea conceptually brings to mind the indy rock generation’s version of Em’s Recovery.  [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: smh I can't believe another white electronic pop artist is pivoting to mid acoustic folk music in his late career. what happened to integrity? this Justin Vernon guy is such a culture vulture.  [5]

Nortey Dowuona: Bon Iver's plaintive, taut guitar playing seems at first to provide wrenching emotional bloodletting, but the lyrics quietly cloak it behind metaphor: "as I fill my book, what a waste of wood," "I can't rest on no dynasty, yeah, what is wrong with me?". The gentle string arrangements from Rob Moose weep where his words are not allowed to. The 4/4 line verses feel more and more apologetic as they go on, but the apology is still cloaked, hidden despite the light, frail feeling of the music. The deeper you dig into the words, the more they scarper, the more they obfuscate, until you throw up your hands. It is a message for someone, but that might only be you if you were offered a parley at a quay with someone who just kept retreating from you the closer they got. [6]

Jel Bugle: I have to admit that I got chills when the guy started singing -- not good chills, to be fair. I just can’t get into this country music that isn’t country music, I’d rather listen to Brad Paisley or Zac Brown, someone who could sing this kind of thing with a bit of pep, a bit of sparkle. The wail of modernity is just not for me, the new shoegaze, staring inconsolably at your shoes and airing your most miserable of thoughts. [2]

Mark Sinker: Bon feeling sorry for himself, me not feeling even a bit sorry for him. Yes I do interpret “Speyside Quay” to mean he was on a whiskey-fuelled bender and did something unacceptable. The words are bad, and so is the treatment on his voice. [2]

Aaron Bergstrom: If Justin Vernon has a little dial that goes from "Haunting" to "Haunted," this may be the furthest into the red that he's ever pushed it. [6]

Dave Moore: Docking a point for the annoying stylized spaces between each letter. Not as bad as "L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N." in title formatting or sound -- inoffensive somber busker shit -- but not much to recommend it, either.  [4]

Ian Mathers: Hi, it's me! I'm the guy who didn't pay much attention to Bon Iver until something made me check out 22, A Million, and it kind of blew me away. I'm a real person, and I exist! Then "Hey, Ma" had none of that record's weird power, and I stopped paying attention again. Is this what he sounds like these days? It's pretty, and the lyrics are decently moving, but it's kind of boring. [5]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Instrumentally direct like For Emma, Forever Ago, lyrically direct in a way Justin Vernon almost never is. Perhaps not distinctively Bon Iver, but still well-crafted. [7]

Katherine St. Asaph: 2:00. That's when you realize that this surprisingly stately grown-folks folk was Bon Iver all along. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[goodnightmemes]

TIKTOK SENTENCE STARTERS PART FIVE

some of these are quotes from tiktok creators, and some are from various other forms of media that were popular audios/trends on tiktok  

❛ My dad’s always asking me “what are you on?”...probably the spectrum. I don’t know man, I just act like this. ❜

❛ The smoke is just when I start the car. Don’t worry. It’ll go away soon. ❜

❛ It’s not gonna happen, but that seat has been fully ejected from the car a couple of times. So just make sure you’re locked in. Okay? ❜

❛ I don’t like watching normal sports where they throw the ball. I like watching sports where the car go really fast, and turns. IT’S SO FAST! And look it! He turns too! ❜

❛ Tacos and sushi! Tacos and sushi! Tachos and sushi and anti-depresants! ❜

❛ Saaaaay ten! …oh my god, Satan! ❜

❛ Action man? Who the hell is act- oh my god. No. It’s John Wick. ❜

❛ Open the door or I’m gonna throw rocks through your window you dumb whore. ❜

❛ Ma’am, this is an elevator. ❜

❛ Tis I! For when the hour of the midnight munch doth descend upon me, I must embark upon a noble quest to the 7th of the 11th. ❜

❛ If you ever have - if you’re ever having a bad day just…just…just remember that - just remember that there’s a, uhhh, a brighter side, uhh, it may not be that day or the next week or the next month or the next year or the next, it may, uh… ❜

❛ And look! Very nice box! For my trinkets. Another box for my trinkets! What’s going on? It’s trinketville! ❜

❛ Girlfriend really just came out here, came onto the field, she dug a ditch and then she buried the bar. Cause honestly, I could not have gone any lower. ❜

❛ Motherfucking, where is it?? Where is it?! I swear to god - you laughing? You trying to laugh? Is this funny? ❜

❛ The sign says ‘no weenies allowed’ and buddy I’m sniffing a weenie. Get out. ❜

❛ I’m over here dissociating and you want to walk over and say ‘hi’, and just remind a motherfucker that they exist? That is rude. How dare you perceive me, bitch. ❜

❛ Buy your own apple. I’m a peasant person. I don’t have any money. ❜

❛ The flame calls to me, not by its warmth or its pumpkin-spiced aroma, but by its desire for calamity and destruction. ❜

❛ The high ground means nothing. We are squabbling one v one on asphalt. ❜

❛ The dust is a part of the ambiance. ❜

❛ Oh shit! It’s fucking Mambo #5! ❜

❛ I’m on a benedryl and a red eye right now, which I like to call: the sober speedball. ❜

❛ So let’s get one thing straight and two things gay… ❜

❛ You’re supposed to wait an hour, some people wait more, if you’re not afraid of death come back in 20 minutes. ❜

❛ If my reputation in this town gets out that I’m woke then I will be ruined and I won’t be able to sell fire extinguishers! ❜

❛ They call me West Virginia because I’m always mountin’ mamas. ❜

❛ Everyone be careful because I just found a needle in my kids candy and also seven different sized allen wrenches. ❜

❛ We are not getting distracted by nonsense today, we are laser focused. Okay, that being said, I need more chicken knights. I’m forming an army! ❜

❛ I’ve got about 10 more minutes until 40 mili-vanilly-grams of this adderall kick in. Let me tell you something, I’m feeling pretty intelligent right now. ❜

❛ Good thing I’m wearing my safety crocs. ❜

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Don't touch him.

This idea just wouldn't leave me alone so here I am lol

Content Warning: Cursing, implied sexual themes, Adam is his own warning, so is Val. Adamsapple

Adam was many things, the first man, Dickmaster, the first human soul into heaven, likely the world's biggest rock fan and overall amazing fucking person in his opinion.

What he was NOT was a fucking mind reader. He has been at the hotel for a while now but that didn't mean he knew where everything was in that shit hole.

It was like Charlie just expected him to know. Stupid bitch. Adam has a vague memory of her explaining everything to him but that doesn't fucking matter, he shouldn't have to do this community service bullshit to begin with. How in the fuck were peeling potatoes going to get him home to heaven?

For the last twenty minutes Adam had been looking for the stupid peeler. He swore they moved it around on him just to be a bunch of little assholes. He slammed the drawer shut and stomped out of the kitchen. "Charlie! Where the fuck are you?" He yelled out. He hated having to fucking ask her where shit was but he'd be in the all damn day. It took him a whole afternoon to figure out the can opener and he's still pissed about it.

Adam heard voices coming from the lobby. Of course little miss princess was off having a nice relaxing time, probably with her bitch girlfriend. Adam ground him teeth together at the thought. He deserves relaxation too!

Adam angrily made his way to the lobby. "Charlie, where the fuck is--" The sentence died in his throat when he came into the room. This was bad. Standing over Angel Dust who was on the couch curled up in fear was a moth like looking man. Valentino, Adams mind supplied. One of the few people Lucifer and Charlie told him to stay the fuck away from.

Now Adam would never back down from a fight, but he wasn't a complete idiot. The look Valentino gave him when his red eyes locked with Adams golden ones made a sick pit feeling in his gut. He should leave, NOW. "You're not Charlie, I'll go."

"Not so fast." In a blink of an eye the moth was directly in front of Adam. "What's the hurry? Adam, right? First man, angel turned sinner?"

"Val, leave him alo-" Angel Dust chimed in.

"Shut up cunt!" Val roared, eyes flashing with malicious intent. Angel winced.

Now, Adam and Angel weren't exactly friends, but hearing this fucker talk to him that way didn't sit right with Adam.

"Hey! Lay off of him twat stain." Adam growled. The only regret was now he had Val's full attention.

Val took a long drag off of his cigarette and blew the red smoke into Adams face. Adam coughed and tried to shoo the smoke away. Adam has never smoked before, cigarettes didn't exist when he was on earth and they didn't have any type of drugs in heaven.

Val circled him like a shark as he spoke. "I could make you a huge star you know? You are a very attractive man, you'd make it big. Maybe as big as Angel Dust over there." He chuckled darkly. The smell of the smoke was making Adam dizzy, but he kept his glare in place. Val stopped in front of him again. " You may look the part of a sinner, but your eyes," he leaned in closer to Adam. "Give you away, they are heavenly."

Adam thought he was going to throw up. His heart beat hard against his ribcage. He was so fucking angry but he knew this guy could kill him before he even got his first in the air.

"Hmm~ Yes a fallen angel, that's bound to be somebody's kink~" Val stroked Adams jaw line with the tip of his finger until in rested under his chin, smile cruel and hungry.

It was as if lightening had struck down, that is how fast Lucifer was there to be in-between Val and Adam. Not only did this surprise Adam, but Lucifers full demon form was out on full display, horns and all. He had one hand on Adams chest keeping him out of Val's reach while the other was fisted in the moths ugly sweater. "Yeah? Well my kink is smashing bugs, roach." Lucifers voice was even full demonic.

Val started to shake a cower, the gravity of the situation hitting him. "Y-your Highness! I had no idea you had interest in him."

"My interest in him is none of you're fucking business. If you know what's good for you, you'll never come back to this hotel and forget you ever saw him. CLEAR?"

"Y-yes my king." Val squeaked when he was dropped and fell on the floor. When he cleaned himself up he cast a look over to Angel Dust. "I'll see you Monday." Then he was gone.

The next thing Adam knew he was being pulled down the hall and into his room. Before he could get a word out, Lucifer pinned him to the door. "What the-"

Lucifer smashed their lips together in a bruising kiss. Adam returned the kiss, his arms snaking around Lucifers shoulders. The king picked him up by his waist and Adam wrapped his legs around him as Lucifer moved him from the wall to the bed.

Adam moaned into the kiss when the king gripped his jaw. Not painfully, just firm.

Lucifer broke the kiss and left a trail on Adams neck who sighed contently. Lucifer pulled away to look Adam in the face. "What in the hell were you doing near that piece of shit?"

"I was looking for Charlie! I had a fucking question."

Lucifer growled, "You smell like him."

"What?"

"That prick, you smell like his nasty cigarette smoke. You should only ever smell like yourself or..." He trailed off but Adam knew what he meant.

Like him. Luci only wanted his scent on him.

Adam smirked, "jealous much?"

"Oh sweetheart, when I'm done with you there will be no mistake on who you belong to." Lucifer traced his finger along Adams jaw line, this time a pleasant shiver went down his spine.

Potatoes would have to wait.

(Then they fucked and it was awesome lol)

What about someone outside the Hotel shamelessly flirting with Adam and Lucifer getting jealous and putting them in their place?

Oops, he touched him

[eepy-pleepy]

It’s Not Everest (No Vacancy)

The neon “NO” is hidden behind an overgrown shrub, so Dean pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot before they can see that it is, in fact, lit.

“Awesome.” Dean says in a tone that clearly doesn’t think so, and whips the car around to pull back onto the dark road. They immediately hit a pothole and Sam’s head bumps the ceiling.

“Ow, wait, Dean, we didn't go check with the office, maybe they just left the sign lit because they can’t freaking see it–”

“No, Sam, every goddamn motel in this godless town is full up and I don’t particularly feel like walking into another musty fucking office just to have them tell me I need to learn how to read. It’s too damn late, I’m too damn tired, I’m just gonna find a pull-off where the cops won’t feel the need to be our 5AM wake-up call and we’re sleeping in Baby. Fuck it.” He emphasizes the last sentence by throwing the car into park, all seventeen feet of shiny black metal successfully hidden behind a bank of tall, scraggly shrubs off the shoulder of the road. Dean kills the engine and the early summer evening rises to fill the silence with the musical stylings of several hundred crickets.

“Dean.”

“We’ve done it before, Sam.”

“I know we have. What about Cas?”

Dean looks over at the passenger’s side. Sitting shotgun, Cas looks back at him, his eyes just a dark glint in the moonlight.

“I can just... keep watch outside.” He says.

“Bad fucking idea.” Dean snaps. “I wake up in the middle of the night and see you out there lurking, I might shoot you between the eyes. You’re staying in the damn car.”

“Dean, there’s not enough roo–”

“Look, Sammy, passing out is passing out, sitting or lying down. This is a molehill, not Everest. I just need my four hours, damn.”

Dean crams up against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his bent knees against the back of the seat between himself and Cas. He’ll worry about bootprints on the leather upholstery when he isn’t so fucking exhausted.

“Jerk.” Sam mutters from the backseat, almost inaudible.

“Goodnight, bitch.”

“Goodnight, Dean. Sam.” Cas murmurs.

“Don’t make it weird, Cas.”

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam."

Dean gives a little huff through his nose. Cas folds his hands in his lap and turns his head forward to watch the fireflies.

Dean doesn’t like it when Cas watches him sleep. Cas knows this.

But if he doesn't want eyes on him, he shouldn’t be drawing so much attention to himself. This is the fourth time inside of an hour that he’s shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with his sleeping arrangement, six feet of full-grown man trying to figure out how to make three feet work for him.

It's clearly not working out.

Dean's head has fallen against Castiel’s arm. He’s snoring gently, Cas can feel his breath warm through the sleeve of his trench coat.

He shuts his eyes. Pulls his focus down to just this, the upper lefthand side of his body. Feels the weight of Dean's head, the unyielding shape of his skull, the softness of his cheek. Cas turns his head towards him, just to better assess the situation. Not at all to feel the soft tickle of Dean’s hair against his nose and lips. That’s just an... accidental consequence.

Cas feels too big for his own skin. It’s something a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent should be entirely familiar with, but this isn't the feeling of cramming a Chrysler building into a 5-foot-11-inch frame.

This is bigger than that.

The slump of Dean’s body across the seat means that his head is the only thing supported, and it has his neck at a bad angle. If Dean's an angry sleeper, he's even worse with a crick in his neck and Cas doesn't love the idea of being stuck in a car with that tomorrow. He can't pull Dean more flush against his side without the risk of waking him and sending him into a conniption of bruised heterosexuality, so instead, he carefully lifts his arm. It works perfectly: Dean slides forward, falling to lying down with his head in Cas' lap.

The effect is immediate. The uncomfortable pinch between Dean's brows smooths away and he takes a deep, slow breath, settling against his new pillow and sinking into an easier sleep.

Cas hasn't realized he's smiling, yet. It's a tiny, soft thing, the one he gets when he's looking at something precious.

He is.

The moonlight catches the sweep of Dean's eyelashes, the top of his cheek, the shell of his ear, gilding them silver. His lips are parted, plush and dark in the contrast of the pale light. He's slightly curled up on the bench seat and Cas knows it's to fit the small space but that doesn't mean it's not the most fucking endearing thing he's ever seen.

The short hair over Dean's ear is mussed from the way he was slumped like a grumpy turtle past the collars of his shirt and jacket. Delicate, Cas brushes it right again.

Dean shifts, pressing up into his ghost of a touch. Cas draws back, afraid he's been caught doing something definitely not on Dean's approved list of Things Just Friends Do, but Dean doesn't wake. Cas' hand hovers.

He shouldn't. He should return to looking out of the front windshield and prepare the diffusion for when Dean wakes up to find himself sleeping in Cas' lap. That's what he should do.

The trouble is, nothing short of a fucking catastrophe could pull his eyes away from this. Dean is so beautiful, so calm and easy in his slumber, and he's right here, safe and close and warm. Literally right in his lap.

Cas pets Dean's hair, feeling that dangerous constriction again, something so huge and profound it might very well burst him. Dean sleeps on.

"You should tell him."

Sam's voice from the backseat is so quiet it's barely a whisper, but it startles Cas like a gunshot. He turns his head a margin to find Sam watching him, head and shoulders against the back driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did you say something?" Cas tries, matching Sam's barely-there whisper.

"You heard me."

"Tell him what?"

"You love him."

Cas turns his head further so he's not just looking at Sam out of his periphery. There's nothing accusatory in Sam's tone, quiet as it is, or in his posture, cramped as it may be. He looks back at Cas with nothing but the same easy camaraderie he's always shown him, like they're discussing a good book or the lovely weather, not a complete paradigm shift.

In his lap, Dean tucks one hand under Cas' thigh and nuzzles his face deeper against the fabric of his pants. Cas looks down at him again and feels ready to explode into several new galaxies.

"I can't." He breathes.

"Why not?"

"You know your brother, Sam.” Cas says, unable to stop himself from stroking light fingers through Dean’s hair again. “And I’m happy. I refuse to risk losing him in pursuit of something I don’t need from him.”

“You’re right, I do know my brother. Probably better than he’d like to believe.” Sam says. “And I think he might surprise you, given the chance.”

Cas looks back at Sam like he wants to argue, but then just closes his mouth, his jaw bunching. Sam gives a little shrug and sits forward, reaching behind himself for the door handle.

“Just some, uh… food for thought.” He says. “I’m gonna hit the head. I’ll take my time. No particular reason.”

“Sam.”

But Sam’s already unfolding out into the night air, the car rocking as his weight shifts. The crickets are suddenly much louder, invading their little bubble of quiet. In Cas’ lap, Dean twitches.

Sam shuts the car door and Dean sits bolt upright. His gun, dropped in the footwell before he fell asleep, is in his grasp in a blink.

“Sam's just gone to relieve his bladder.” Cas says next to him. Dean squints at him and sniffs, wiping at his groggy eyes, then flicks the safety back on. The gun hits the footwell again with a dull thunk.

"God. Like a damn cashew. You'd think with all that height there'd be more... storage."

Cas is carefully looking forward, and not at the red mark on Dean’s cheek that’s the same shape as the warm spot rapidly cooling on his thigh. Dean rubs at that side of his face.

“Was I…?” He clears his throat. “Uh.”

“Asleep? Yes. I thought that was the idea.”

“Lying on you.”

“You needed to stretch out.”

Dean gives a frustrated sigh. “No, Cas, man, that’s your personal space. You should have shoved me off.”

“It was easier on your neck.” Cas says, still looking straight ahead. “You weren’t bothering me.”

“That’s not the point. You gotta have boundaries.”

“What’s mine is yours, Dean. I have no qualms sharing everything I have with you.”

Dean scoffs, leaning forward over the steering wheel and tilting to pop his spine. “Jesus. You ol’ romantic.”

Cas turns his head to look at Dean. The slightly uncomfortable smirk slowly slips off of Dean’s face. His eyes drop to Cas' lips before he catches himself, and he makes a weak attempt to laugh the charge out of the air between them.

“Man, you gotta figure out your levels. Last person who looked at me like that had me thinking marriage."

“Dean, why do you say things like that?”

Dean’s shoulders shove up under his ears. “You turn eyes like that on some innocent girl she’s gonna up and devote her entire life to you, Cas, I’m just letting you know you gotta tone it down!”

“Why would I turn eyes like this on some innocent girl?”

“Because you’re doin’ it to me like you think it’s a normal thing to do!”

“Dean, maybe you need to figure out how to receive a signal without assuming the other person isn't aware of what they're broadcasting." Cas snaps, then subsides as something like fear flickers across his face.

Dean’s jaw hangs uselessly for a stunned moment.

"Cas. You–"

Cas watches him in the manner of a gazelle waiting for a sudden deadly movement. Dean's gaze flits to Cas’ lips again.

"You. Uh." He says eloquently, and his tongue darts out in a nervous motion. This makes his lips impossible to ignore, shiny and wet in the moonlight.

“It's not Everest." Cas whispers.

"It kinda fuckin' is." Dean says, hoarse.

“Forget it. You should go back to sleep.” Cas says, reaching towards Dean with two fingers. It’s his fighter’s instinct that makes Dean grab them before they can touch his forehead, but it’s something else entirely that bunches his other hand in the front of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. Cas tumbles gracelessly on top of Dean, and Dean doesn’t give either of them time to think.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips, Cas melts. A tiny sound escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, and he’s grasping Dean’s shoulder like it’s the only thing preventing him from falling into the footwell. Their mouths part with a soft, wet noise and Cas meets Dean’s eyes, almost too close to focus on.

His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest from his fall. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, galloping like an outlaw with the sheriff on his tail, and he understands the feeling.

“Dean.” He croaks.

“Yeah.”

“Do that again.”

Dean nuzzles their noses together, nudges Cas’ mouth in a barely-there brush of lips. Cas touches Dean’s face, dizzy with it, feeling stubble rough on the skin of Dean's jaw. He presses forward, holding Dean’s face like the beloved thing it is, and kisses him reverently. Dean sinks against the door until he’s lying across the seats and shoves his arms up under Cas’ suit jacket, encircling his back.

The crickets play them a love song. It’s entirely lost on them.

When Sam returns, approaching the Impala with caution, he finds his brother asleep with his angel hugged against him like a large, man-shaped teddy bear. Cas glances up, clocking the motion of Sam leaning over to peer through the driver’s window, and there’s a smile on his face that Sam’s never seen on him before.

If happy was what he had been, then this? This is pure, unfiltered bliss.

Sam slides carefully into the back seat and shuts the door as gently as he can.

“I’ll save my I Told You So, but only because you look so cute.” He whispers.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Read on Ao3

[puckrph]

FLORENCE + T HE MACHINE’S ‘ DANCE FEVER ‘ SENTENCE STARTERS

taken from the 2022 album. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

KING

‘ we’re always arguing about whether to have children, about the world ending, and the scale of my ambition, and how much is art really worth? ’ ‘ how much is art really worth? ’ ‘ the very thing you’re best at is the thing that hurts the most. ’ ‘ you need your rotten heart. your dazzling pain, like diamond rings. ’ ‘ i need to go to war to find material to sing. ’ ‘ i am no mother. i am no bride; i am king. ’ ‘ i need my golden crown of sorrow, my bloody sword to swing, my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology. ’ ‘ a woman is a changeling, always shifting shape. ’ ‘ just when you think you have it figured out, something new begins to take. ’ ‘ i never knew my killer would be coming from within. ’ ‘ i was never as good as i always thought i was, but i knew how to dress it up. ’ ‘ i was never satisfied. ’ ‘ it never let me go, just dragged me by my hair. ’

FREE

‘ sometimes, i wonder if i should be medicated. if i would feel better just lightly sedated. ’ ‘ i can’t control it. ’ ‘ i’m on fire, but i’m trying not to show it. ’ ‘ i’m always running from something. ’ ‘ i push it back, but it keeps on coming. ’ ‘ being clever never got me very far. ’ ‘ it’s all in my head. ’ ‘ you’re too sensitive. ’ ‘ “you’re too sensitive,” they said. ’ ‘ okay, but let’s discuss this at the hospital. ’ ‘ for a moment, when i’m dancing, i am free. ’ ‘ is this how it is? is this how it’s always been? ’ ‘ is this how it’s always been? to exist in the face of suffering and death, and somehow still keep singing? ’ ‘ don’t you wanna call it off? ’ ‘ there’s nothing else that i know how to do but to open up my arms and give it all to you. ’

CHOREOMANIA

‘ i’m freaking out in the middle of the street. ’ ‘ i don’t know how it started. i don’t know how to stop it. ’ ‘ something’s coming. ’ ‘ i danced myself to death. ’ ‘ this is the end. ’ ‘ do they speak to you? cause they speak to me, too. ’ ‘ you said that rock and roll is dead. but is that just because it has not been resurrected in your image? ’

BACK IN TOWN

‘ i’ve never really been alive before. i always lived in my head. ’ ‘ sometimes it was easier to be hungover and half-dead. ’ ‘ i’m back in town. why don’t we go out? ’ ‘ why don’t we go to that ninth street diner? ’ ‘ why don’t we go out to that ninth street diner and carry on slowly, torturing each other? ’ ‘ i came for the pleasure, but i stayed for the pain. ’ ‘ if you get spat on, that’s just your big city baptism. ’ ‘ why don’t we go out and never go to sleep? ’ ‘ we’ll throw our dreams out, let them pile up on the streets. ’ ‘ i thought that i was here with you, but it was always just an empty room. ’

GIRLS AGAINST GOD

‘ when someone looks at me with real love, i don’t like it very much. it makes me feel like i’m being crushed. ’ ‘ is this something that you would like to discuss? ’ ‘ it’s good to be alive. ’ ‘ it’s good to be alive, crying into cereal at midnight. ’ ‘ if they ever let me out, i’m gonna really let it out. ’ ‘ oh god, you’re gonna get it. ’ ‘ you’ll be sorry that you messed with this. ’ ‘ remember being in that basement? ’ ‘ everyone treated us like little pets. ’ ‘ tell me it’s not over yet. ’ ‘ in my darkest fantasies, i am the picture of passivity. ’ ‘ i’m suppressing all my private rage. ’ ‘ when i decided to wage holy war, it looked very much like staring at my bedroom floor. ’ ‘ i may not look like much... ’ ‘ i met the devil, you know. he gave me a choice: a golden heart, or a golden voice. ’

DREAM GIRL EVIL

‘ did you miss me? ’ ‘ did you walk on water just to kiss me? ’ ‘ come and get me. ’ ‘ drag me out, destroy me. ’ ‘ i’ve been expecting you. ’ ‘ i’m ready. ’ ‘ deliver me the bad news. ’ ‘ am i your dream girl? ’ ‘ do you think of me in bed? ’ ‘ you could never hold me. ’ ‘ make me evil, then i’m an angel instead. ’ ‘ at least you’ll sanctify me when i’m dead. ’ ‘ did i disappoint you? ’ ‘ do i just remind you of every girl that made you mad? ’ ‘ make me perfect, make me your fantasy. you know i deserve it, so take it out on me. ’ ‘ i am nobody’s moral center. ’

PRAYER FACTORY

‘ all the things that i ran from, i now bring as close to me as i can. ’ ‘ why don’t you give me a call? ’ ‘ yes, i’ll take it all. ’ ‘ all this work has gone to waste. ’ ‘ you made me climb, and then you shut the gate. ’

CASSANDRA

‘ i used to see the future, and now i see nothing. ’ ‘ they cut out my eyes and sent me home packing. ’ ‘ i pace around the kitchen for scraps of inspiration. ’ ‘ i used to tell the future, but they cut out my tongue and left me doing laundry to think on what i’d done. ’ ‘ i used to move into the future and bring it all back. ’ ‘ they put crosses on the doors to try and keep me out. ’ ‘ can you see me? ’ ‘ everything i thought i knew has fallen  out of view. ’ ‘ can you hear me? ’ ‘ there’s no one left to sing to. ’ ‘ all the gods have been domesticated, and heaven is now overrated. ’ ‘ you can take your complaints straight to the lord. ’ ‘ i try to still look with wonder on the world as the roses bloom, though the riot van is still plainly in view. ’ ‘ take me back. ’ ‘ if i run fast enough, could i break apart as empires crumble and cathedrals flatten in my heart? ’

HEAVEN IS HERE

‘ bring your cigarette. ’ ‘ heaven is here, if you want it. ’ ‘ heaven is here. ’ ‘ bring your boy. ’ ‘ bring your bottle. ’ ‘ i went to the water, drank every drop. ’ ‘ i’ll turn your sea into a desert. ’ ‘ yes, i’m your girl. ’ ‘ if it glitters, i’m going. ’ ‘ time stretches, endless. ’ ‘ you know i always get my man. ’

DAFFODIL

‘ i couldn’t help it. ’ ‘ i let it get in: the helpless optimism of spring. ’ ‘ the world’s bent double from weeping, and yet the birds begin to sing. ’ ‘ i’m not bad. i’m not good. ’ ‘ i made myself mythical, and tried to be real. ’ ‘ we practice resurrection every night, raising the dead under the moonlight. ’ ‘ you’re a perfect pearl hung in the sky. ’ ‘ there is no bad, there is no good. ’ ‘ kiss my face and tell me that i’m the chosen one. ’ ‘ a generation soaked in grief, and now we’re drying out and hanging on by the skin of our teeth. ’ ‘ i never thought that it would get this far. ’ ‘ sometimes, i see so much beauty, i don’t think that i can cope. ’

MY LOVE

‘ i was always able to write my way out. ’ ‘ now i find that when i look down, every page is empty. ’ ‘ there is nothing to describe, except the moon still bright against the worrying sky. ’ ‘ tell me where to put my love. do i wait for time to do what it does? ’ ‘ i don’t know where to put my love. ’ ‘ when it came, it was stranger than i had ever imagined. ’ ‘ all my friends are getting ill. ’ ‘ my arms emptied, the skies emptied, the billboards emptied. ’

RESTRAINT

‘ have i learned restraint? ’ ‘ am i quiet enough for you yet? ’

THE BOMB

‘ you said this could have been the best thing that ever happened to you... so you decided not to do it. ’ ‘ you come back every summer like a carnivorous flower, and i stare at your hands in the heat, and i think they are the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen. ’ ‘ if i was free to love you, you wouldn’t want me, would you? ’ ‘ unavailability is the only thing that turns you on. come here, baby, tell me that i’m wrong. ’ ‘ come here, baby. tell me that i’m wrong. ’ ‘ i’ve blown apart my life for you. ’ ‘ break me, shake me, devastate me. ’ ‘ i don’t love you. ’ ‘ i let it burn, but it just had to be done. ’ ‘ i’m in ruins, but is it what i wanted all along? ’

MORNING ELVIS

‘ they dressed me and they put me on a plane. ’ ‘ i pressed my forehead to the floor and prayed for a trapdoor. ’ ‘ i’ve been here many times before. ’ ‘ if i make it to the morning... ’ ‘ i should come with a warning. ’ ‘ if i make it to the stage, i’ll show you what it means to be saved. ’ ‘ i told the band to leave without me; i’ll get the next flight. ’ ‘ i’ll see you with elvis if i don’t survive the night. ’ ‘ after every tour, i swear i’ll quit. ’ ‘ the call, it always comes. ’ ‘ i’m still afraid. i’m still crazy. ’