#boy I hope I don’t accidentally spoil anyone but I think this is vague enough

[kimikaami]

merry christmas! here’s some angst from @iusedtohavesixtoes ‘s fic, Blossoming, bc it makes me. feel everything at once.

[whumpqin]

Day Five: Put in a Tank

Oof, this one struggled a little bit, but I managed to get it out! I’m happy with how it turned out, too! Hope yall enjoy <3

Masterlist

Tag list: @spiffythespook @lonesome--hunter (if you want to be added just message me!)

CW: Stuck in a tank, near drowning/struggling to get air, rope burns, begging/crying, salt(water) in wounds, trapped in the dark, freezing, conditioning, vague dehumanization, slight emetophobia warning, sickness mention, and maybe some other things I forgot! feel free to send me a message to tag something else!

Word count: 1,563

He shivered in the cold, unrelenting northern waters. Darkness poured everywhere, blinding his view from within the small box that he had been placed in. It was so cold, so dark, he couldn’t figure out whether or not he was even upright beyond the ability to breathe-

Nereus hissed as he brushed an arm against his rope burns. Every coiling mark against his skin ached as the saltwater seeped in, dirty and disgusting from the fish that lived in it. His throat ached as its overuse made itself known, not even letting him keen from the pain and instead forcing him to bang his head against the side of the tank.

He doesn’t remember how long he’s been here, but it felt like an eternity already.

After the crewmen had left him alone, stuck in the net trap Eilif had set, he had cried and screamed his voice raw, hoping that someone would have enough compassion for him to let him go. After that he struggled, nearly choking himself in the process, before being forced to lie still until the evening.

At some point the door to the Cabin had opened, and Eilif had walked in. He was a large and burly man with a crazy look in his gray eyes. Nereus had heard tales of when some of the crew had angered him, and they were tossed overboard and never seen again. In that moment, staring into his eyes, he knew that all of the rumors spread about Eilif were true.

In typical, wordless fashion, Eilif untied Nereus from the ropes that bound him. He tried to thank him, but before he could Eilif got a fistful of his shirt collar and looked at him with a hard, furious gaze that made all the words in his throat die.

He was dragged above deck, into the prying eyes of the crew members who exchanged money behind Eilif’s back. They laughed and mocked Nereus as he was dragged to the nets and boats that they used to go fishing with, as Eilif opened up the lid to the tank where they kept live fish to eat later.

Nereus had apologized over and over, even knowing that it fell on deaf ears. All he got in return was Eilif’s fury, and a promise.

You’ll be sorry when I’m done with you.

Then he was thrown into the tank and the lid was closed.

Nereus had made himself as comfortable as he could. He pressed up against one of the slimy corners and waited, taking breaths in tune with the gentle rocking of the ship. Sometimes the water would sway his way and cover his face, but after it had happened a couple times, he figured out how to hold his breath though it. Thankfully he was tall enough to just barely be able to stand in the tank, able to breathe if he angled his head just right. 

Then the cold set in. Then the burning from his raw skin began. Then something brushed up against Nereus’ leg and he let out a startled yelp followed by a whimper, unable to remember if they had caught small fry or hungry carnivorous fish that morning. 

You’ll be sorry. The thought repeated over and over in his head, the only thing he could really cling to in the presence of nothing.

“I am,” he croaked, his voice sounding like he was stepping on gravel. “I am sorry, please, please let me out! I’ll be good, I swear it! Please…”

The ship rocked back towards him again, and he got a mouthful of water. Nereus coughed and sputtered it back out, retching at the disgusting fish and salty taste of it. He tried to press himself further against the wall in an attempt to raise his head above the water, but his fingers slipped, ruining all his effort.

He gasped for air when the ship finally rocked the other way, panic rising out of his throat before he could calm himself.

“Help me, please! Someone! Anyone! I’m sorry, I’ve learned my lesson!” he cried, ending it with a coughing fit from the water he’d accidentally breathed in. 

Like always, no one came to his rescue. Instead he was left alone in the cold dark, forced to gasp for air just to survive. A part of him felt exhausted, but Nereus knew very well that if he were to fall asleep he’d be as good as dead.

After what felt like several eternities wrapped into one, when Nereus was beginning to wonder if anyone would find him here while he was still alive, the lid finally opened back up. 

“Hey. Still alive down there?” Eilif’s voice echoed into the tank. Nereus made a small sob in response, relief and fear flooding through him at the same time. Was he going to shove him under the water, finish the job he started? “See? Still kickin’ around. I was going to come back for him later.”

“Like hell you were. Fish ‘em out,” another voice commanded, higher pitched and pissed, but one that Nereus recognized. The Captain. 

He struggled to get his sluggish limbs to move to where the lid was, looking up like some washed up fish struggling to breathe. The Captain was staring down at him with a hardened gaze that softened when their eyes met. It was replaced by fury when Eilif sighed.

“I ought to throw you in there with him,” the Captain hissed. “What were you thinking, huh? You going to leave em in there all night with the fish, hoping he didn’t drown on you?”

Eilif didn’t say anything and instead reached a hand down to Nereus. He reached upwards like it was God himself, clinging onto the thick arm with desperation. He was so light that even sopping wet it hardly took any effort from Eilif to lift him up out of the tank. 

Nereus collapsed to the deck, shivering and wet and sobbing. His fingernails dug into the wood of the ship, not even really feeling the sting in his nails over the euphoria of being freed. After all this time he could finally move and see, even if he didn’t have the strength to do it.

“Boy’s a lot stronger than you think, Captain. He woulda lasted the night,” Eilif said simply. 

“Well, I hope you’re satisfied.” The Captain took a foot and rolled Nereus over, watching how he moved limply. “My trophy ain’t gonna be swabbing the deck anytime soon like this, thanks to you. Guess we’ll have to find someone else, huh? Don’t suppose you would want the job?”

“Captain, he was snooping around where he shouldn’t! You’re lucky I didn’t leave the sharks to deal with ‘em.” Eilif shot a mean glare over to Nereus, and he pulled away with a pitiful whimper.

“You talking back, Eilif?” The Captain gave him a venomous look. “You could’ve just beat the thing. He learns well enough from that. Doesn’t take potentially spoiling the whole crew’s food supply to teach Roo here a lesson.”

“Well, it’s like you always said. Humans got thick heads on their shoulders. Wanted to make sure this lesson stuck.”

Warm hands found their way to Nereus’ shoulders as the Captain bent down. He grabbed his chin to force his barely-conscious gaze over to him, light blue eyes scanning him. Nereus raised a hand up to hold his hand close, even knowing he likely shouldn’t touch the Captain without his express permission. He was just so warm…

He could have sworn he saw the Captain swallow.

“Have you learned your lesson, Roo?” he asked. Nereus nodded instantly. He had. He learned. He could be good now. He’d never go snooping again, even if he hadn’t meant to. “Good. As for you.” The Captain turned his gaze over to Eilif. “He’s not the only one with a thick head around here. You’re taking swab duty until he’s fit to work again. Do I make myself clear?”

Eilif watched the two for a moment, an indiscernible expression on his face. He was always too hard to read.

“You better watch yourself Captain. The crewmen might think you’re going soft on the boy,” he muttered.

“Do I make myself clear, Eilif?”

Eilif swallowed, glancing to the side. “Crystal.”

“Good. Now go the fuck to bed while I deal with your mess. We don’t need sickness running rampant on the ship because of this.” The Captain drew Nereus into a sitting position, and didn’t bother pulling him off when he clung to him.

Nereus heard the sound of footsteps disappearing off to somewhere. He curled closer to the Captain, readily taking advantage of the rare closeness to draw as much heat as he could, sobbing hopelessly into his coat.

“...Alright, get off. You’re coming with me back to my quarters.” he muttered angrily, unhooking Nereus’ hands from himself.

He looked up, eyes going wide out of fear of the unknown. There was no telling what the Captain might do to him for being so awful, what might go on behind the closed doors of his cabin room. Nereus wasn’t about to find out himself, either. “Captain, Captain no, I’ll, I’ll go down with the crew. I can be good, I’ve learned my lesson - nono, please!”

His cries went unanswered as the Captain picked him up and put him over his shoulder.

[fyrapartnersearch]

Historical long-term roleplays anyone? M/M or M/F

Hello my new friends!

You can call me Katariina, or any shortened version of it you'd like. I'm 24 and from Europe. And as you might have guessed, I'm very much on the look for new roleplays. So, first things first, I'm looking for mostly M/M roleplays, though I am not opposed to M/F if you find yourself more comfortable with it. I prefer to play the submissive/bottom role, but I promise you my characters are not your usual cliche "useless maiden in distress, will sob and cry at every little thing" type of characters. What I mean to say is, I prefer my boys (or girls) with some actual character and complexity. I do enjoy having my boys crossdress, but if that's not your thing, just let me know. As for smut - yes please. I do not do roleplays that are solely or majorly focused on sex, but smut is always welcome as a part of the plot. Also because of this, I only roleplay with people over 18 years old. And one last thing before we get to the good part: I write several paragraphs. I hope you will be able to do so as well, because I get bored if you only give me two or three lines. I can write anything from 400 words to 1000+ words per reply. Okay! So, if you're still with me and interested, let's see if our interests check out. Themes I enjoy: - Historical (I'm a huge history nerd) - Romance - Arranged marriage - Secret lovers - Drama (Lots and lots of it) - Fluff, but also angst in a lovely balance - Magic/Mythology/Supernatural (be it gods, sorcerers or werewolves, I'm up for it) - Enemies to lovers - ABO dynamics So, basically, yes - my plot ideas will be in a historical setting. I'm not opposed to a modern setting if you have a good idea though, but for now I'm mostly looking for historical settings. A thing worth noting, I'd say, is that I do not require extreme historical accuracy. For me it's enough that the biggest things and the feeling of the era are right (so, no "taking showers every day" if you play a pirate character or whipping out smartphones in ancient Egypt basically). Right now the eras I'm most interested in are as follows, though in no particular order: - Ancient Rome/Greece/Egypt - Medieval - Renaissance - Victorian - Vikings! - Any fantasy setting based on the above mentioned In the plot ideas I've used "he" pronouns for my character, but could just as well be a she if you want to. Plot ideas: (YC = Your character, MC = My character) 1) Ancient Rome. YC's people, barbarians, were killed by the conquering Romans some years ago. YC and a few others were taken as slaves, ending up in the arena to fight to the death as gladiators for the amusement of Romans. YC thought he's the only one who's survived this far. He's become the champion of his ludus. He's forgotten his past life - until a surprising acquaintance shows up. YC's master purchases a new slave, MC. MC and YC used to live in the same town as free men. Now MC is little more than a simple pleasure slave, which YC comes to find when the master of the house sends MC to the champion, YC, as a reward. Has YC let go of thoughts of freedom like he thought he had, or does MC manage to ignite something rebellious in him again? 2) Ancient Greece. MC is the spoiled youngest son of a prominent and wealthy family. YC is the slave appointed as his bodyguard, so to say. They both know nothing should happen between them, but the attraction is much too strong. Do they risk being found out, or is MC ready to leave the comfort of his current lifestyle to run away with YC? 3) Vikings. MC is a prince in England. YC is a viking warrior, perhaps the son of their leader. They've been raiding England for quite a while now and one of the kings proposes a truce, an alliance of sorts. MC is offered as hostage for the vikings, so they know the alliance will not be broken. YC is appointed to look after MC. The longer MC spends with the vikings, the more his interest in their customs and gods grows and the closer he grows to YC, but what will happen when it's time to return to his real home? 4) Renaissance. YC is one of His Highness' most trusted men. MC is a spy for the kingdom YC's country is at war with - and MC knows exactly how important YC is. In his quest to get closer and learn information from YC, MC accidentally develops feelings that were never supposed to be there. Is he going to keep lying, or is he going to tell YC who he is? 5) Medieval. Marrying someone he doesn't love was never something MC could see himself doing. No matter how important that marriage would be to his family's status, he couldn't do it. So he ran away and didn't know what to do with himself, until he ran into YC. YC is a pirate, young and full of ambition for life, and just so happens to need a quick replacement in his crew. It was obvious MC had never worked a day in his life, but he would do until they get to the next port and YC has time to find a proper replacement. News of MC's disappearance spread, and so did rumours of seeing him on a pirate ship - "held as hostage", after all it was the only explanation, right? What will YC do when he learns who, exactly, MC is? 6) Ancient Rome. MC, a good Roman citizen, finds YC injured and near death's door. It's obvious YC is a barbarian, but MC nurses him to health nonetheless. Romance blooms between them while YC is recovering, but it seems the Roman life is not one for YC - he slips away into the night, to travel back to his people, and MC wakes up in the morning to be heartbroken. Years later YC's people have raided a Roman village and among the people they've taken as slaves is MC. Will YC show him the same kindness MC showed years ago? 7) Renaissance. MC and YC's wedding date has been set. Their marriage was decided on by their fathers, to seal and secure a long and prosperous alliance between their royal families and kingdoms. The problem is... our characters don't really like each other much. YC has a lover he thought he'd be spending his life with. MC isn't in a hurry to get married either. They both try their hardest to stop the wedding, but the wedding day rolls around regardless. It seems they will have to try to get along on some level if they are to spend their lives together - and maybe a perfect time for bonding is when they have to run away and escape together as an elaborate plan to usurp their royal families begins to unfold in front of their eyes. What better way to forge a bond between two people than to plan their revenge and take back the kingdoms rightfully theirs? 8) Ancient Egypt. MC is the lover of the pharao, soon to be wed to him, though perhaps not of his own free will. YC is the eldest son of the pharao. The pharao was a jealous man, not one single man other than himself was allowed to as much as touch MC. What could possibly go wrong when a celebration ends in a drunken tryst between our characters? 9) Ancient Greece. YC is a young Greek god, banished by Zeus from Mt. Olympos and forced to live in a human body with the mortals until he proves himself worthy once more. MC is one of these "lowly mortals", though perhaps not an ordinary one. He has never known his father, but he must have been someone important with how tightly his mother has guarded that secret. Little does he know he is a demi-god. YC can sense it on him, but doubts himself at first; after all, MC doesn't exactly shine with the glory of gods. When YC's final trial is presented to him, however, he finds an unexpected ally in MC to help him clear it. But... will he want to return to Olympos anymore? (This could also be done with Norse gods!) Okay, those are what I had for now. Feel free to give your own ideas and I've left them somewhat vague after the initial idea so we can plot and think about it together more. These plots aren't set in stone, so if you like one part but not another in one of the ideas, we can always fix things :) Or if you have a plot idea of your own, don't be shy to ask me! I roleplay via email or google docs, and prefer not to use Discord etc.

Please do mention in your email whether you'd like to play M/M or M/F.  Send me an email at: Katariina_A@outlook.com Hope to hear from you soon ;)

[rwbyremnants]

TRIGGER WARNING: Racism and abuse.

NOTE: Merry Christma... well, Boxing Day! Sorry this chapter isn't exactly the most festive it could have been. Hopefully you enjoy it anyway!

=Chapter 9

That early evening, Weiss felt content in her knowledge that she and Yang were on good terms, and that they had already logged some study time to help Yang improve her grades. Things were going well. Now, she only had to solve one other new problem that had presented itself.

“Search me,” Pyrrha sighed as she gently stirred her milkshake with the straw, gazing into the far corner of the malt shop. Weiss had elected to have only a cherry phosphate, not wanting to spoil her dinner since she was eating at home tonight. “I’m an only child.”

“I might as well be,” Weiss admitted. “Whitley is a pill, and a boy anyway, and Winter’s been gone away to college for a couple of years now. Father won’t even tell me if she calls or writes since he’s so disappointed in her career choice.”

“But the WAC is a noble field! I’ve actually been thinking of enlisting myself, if I don’t train for the Olympics…”

Lowering her voice, Weiss whispered, “I think he expects it to turn her into a lesbian. Since the army is ‘men’s work’ to him. Which is pretty ironic, isn’t it? Worried about the wrong daughter.” Then in a more normal tone, she added, “Plus, he wanted her to take over the company reins. I’m not as well-suited, even though I want to - and Whitley is completely useless, the selfish little toad. But it’s too late; she’s even more stubborn than me, and won’t change her mind for anything.”

Pyrrha nodded to herself as Danny And The Juniors came on the jukebox. A few of the kids in the far corner got up and started to dance, even though it always made the elderly man behind the counter roll his eyes. Privately, Weiss thought that if he hated modern music so much, he shouldn’t provide it for the clientele.

“Well… are you sure you want to take over the business?”

“Huh?”

“It’s not set in stone. If you want to do something else with your life, I think you should. We only go around once, don’t we?”

“Thanks,” Weiss snorted as she patted Pyrrha’s hand. “You’re a peach, Pyrrha. But no… I do think I’d like to take over Schnee Communications. Really do something big with it.” She noticed her other hand was tapping the stem of her soda glass, and she smiled. “Did you want to dance?”

“Hm? Dance? Me? To what?”

“To ‘At The Hop’, you dunce,” she giggled.

“With you?” An instant later, she blanched and followed up, “N-not that there’s anything wrong with that! I just m-meant… well, we’re in public, a-and I’m not like you are, a-and-”

“No one cares if two girls dance together, Pyrrha. As long as we don’t start necking in the middle of the malt shop, it’s fine! Besides… maybe we’ll get asked to dance by boys.”

Still flushed, Pyrrha glanced over shoulder at the crowd. “You really think so?”

“I do. And who knows? Might get your mind off a certain Jaune Arc.”

“Shhh!” she hissed, but even while Weiss was giggling she slid out of the booth and grabbed her by the hand, dragging her just far enough from their booth to dance.

Neither of them were very good at it, but at least enough to keep time with the music and avoid knocking anything - or anyone - to the floor. Weiss had to admit she was impressed with Pyrrha’s jitterbugging, and even herself for not falling on her behind even once. She did see out of the corner of her eye that a few of the boys were watching them with slight astonishment, but she made up her mind not to care; if she projected confidence, showed that she didn’t care in the slightest, they would eventually go back to their own dance partners. And she was right; a couple of other girls did the same, and even two boys, laughing at the absurdity. Maybe they would start a trend!

When “All Shook Up” came on next, she couldn’t seem to help herself; she really thought Elvis was the most. Pyrrha took a step back and let Weiss put on a show by herself, mostly just swaying and snapping her fingers. Neither of them minded much, and she got a few cheers when the song ended. Vaguely embarrassed, she curtsied and moved to sit down.

Then someone put in another dime and cued up “Lollipop”. Pyrrha kept dancing, but Weiss decided that it was time to put on a show of a different kind.

“Call my baby lollipop, tell you why,” she belted out in time with the Chordettes, earning her wolf-whistles and thunderous applause from all but the elderly soda jerk. “His kiss is sweeter than an apple pie! And when he does his shaky rockin' dance, man, I haven't got a chance!”

Everyone started singing along with the chorus, and Pyrrha laughed and clapped louder, clearly enjoying herself. Weiss was, too. For some reason, she had always thought it too unseemly to dance in public anytime other than an actual school sock hop. Singing was another matter, but her father expected her to keep her performances to operetta and hymns. As much as she liked popular music, it was discouraged and seen as “pedestrian”, so she had never owned any records of her own.

Finally worn out, the two of them finished off their drinks and then made their way home. If they settled in quickly, they could study for an hour or so before suppertime.

However, as it turned out, life had other plans.

“Weiss!” her father called out as they passed through the living room. “May I speak with you a moment?”

“Yes, Father?”

He glanced pointedly at Pyrrha. “Alone?”

“Sorry,” she whispered to her friend. “I’ll be up in a minute?” Pyrrha nodded, waving at Mr. Schnee as she headed upstairs. He did not deign to acknowledge her.

“Good. Sit.” He motioned to the couch before reclaiming his armchair. Weiss obeyed, sitting primly on the edge of the cushion. “I was hoping you would be able to shed some light on certain information that has come into my possession.”

“Sorry, what information is that?”

“Apparently, you have been consorting with known delinquents.”

As she stared at her father, the bottom dropped out of Weiss's stomach. Someone had seen her with Yang. Who?! They hadn't been very discreet so it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise that they had been caught - and yet it did. She was completely gobsmacked. Still, there was no reason to cop to everything right away; maybe he didn't know very much, and she certainly didn't want to accidentally volunteer information that wasn't necessary to volunteer.

“What?”

“Don't play coy with me,” he went on with a slight sneer that lifted the corner of his mustache. “Whitley saw you sneaking out of the house in the dead of night. What could you have been thinking?”

It was worse than she thought. Of course her father would believe Whitley, that little toad. “W-well, I only went to retrieve a school book I loaned out.”

“To that Chinese girl, hmm?”

“Yes. I'm helping her with math and-”

“You expect me to believe that the only reason you climbed down the side of our home was to retrieve a book? Just what sort of fool do you take me for?”

“The best sort! Wait- I mean, no fool at all, Sir!”

Shaking his head, he crossed his legs and leaned heavily against one elbow. “All the money spent on tutoring, already wasted when you insisted on going to a public school instead of a private academy. Your mother made the inane decision that if it was what you wanted, it was worth the sacrifice. And now look where we are! You’re running around Vale with some kind of… opium fiends on motorbikes!”

“Opium…” Weiss rolled her eyes when she made the connection. “Just because she’s half-Chinese doesn’t mean she’s ever even seen opium, Father. And as far as I know, she hasn’t!”

“Oh, really? You have enough experience with the fruit of the poppy that you can tell the difference?”

It was very difficult for her not to get upset with him. “I’ve literally never spent a moment thinking about her being Chinese. She’s being raised by her mother, who’s from America.”

“Hmph. The fact remains, she is not the sort of friend you ought to be keeping company with. I forbid you to see her anymore.”

“You what?” Blinking up at him, she waited for him to elaborate, or to rescind his edict. He did not. So she burst out, “You can’t do that!”

“I just have.”

“But she’s-” It took quite a lot of effort to suppress some kind of ill-conceived confession of love. “Father, she needs my help in school, a-and we’re good friends! And you won’t tell me I’m not to see her!”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “Watch your tongue, young lady. This is my house, and what I say goes.”

“NO!”

“Excuse me?”

“Not this time!” she snapped, leaping to her feet. She knew this wasn’t a spectacular idea, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself; it was as if the anger pulsing behind her temples was taking over her body, separating her from being able to command it any longer. “All I ever do is what you tell me to! I’m a good student, I practice my singing every day, a-and I’ve even been keeping up with tennis! With Yang! So why… I mean, how can you forbid me to see someone you don’t even know? That isn’t fair!”

She could have predicted he would say “Life isn’t fair” before he even formed the words, and was only further angered to hear him say them after all.

“So what?! That doesn’t mean you have to be unfair along with it!”

Jacques Schnee shot to his feet and snatched up her bicep, jerking her forcibly toward him with an iron grip. His cold eyes stabbed down into her own and her heart stopped beating to see his barely-concealed rage.

“You will stop speaking to me in this manner, and you still stop associating with the Chinese girl. My decision is final. If you continue to disobey me, there will be further consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

“No.”

“Try that again,” he growled, shaking her arm.

She didn’t know why she said it. Her father had already proven he had no interest in what she had to say at all. Perhaps it was the fact that Yang had become a lot more important to her than she ever thought possible, and that connection was too precious to be severed for no reason other than Yang’s race and the fact that she wore a leather jacket. Something within her was glowing white-hot and could not be cooled down until it burned something else.

“Or what? You’re going to hit me? Again? Like you hit mother when you think we’re not looking? Like she hits Whitley when he smarts off? Is that just what this family does? It’s pathetic! You are pathetic!”

His eyes flicked to her scar, and Weiss felt the dark thrill of a very unsatisfying triumph. A rough shove sent her falling against the couch, grasping at the arm to keep from winding up in the floor.

“I knew it was a mistake to entrust my company’s future to a woman. You never see the bigger picture. Whitley may be a low-grade moron, but at least he understands loyalty. All you care about is your sock hops and giggling with the girls - now including some foreign wok-woman. Squandering your potential. There’s too much of your mother in you.”

“I don’t care,” she lied as the tears began. How desperately she wished they wouldn’t.

“You will. When I’m disciplining you until you straighten up and act in a way befitting the Schnee name, you’ll care.” Smoothing the front of his suit, which had barely been disturbed at all by shoving his daughter, he grunted, “Get up and stop that blubbering.”

Weiss obeyed. Back straight, she stared him down, even as her cheeks glistened.

“Better. Now, you will sever all contact with the ruffian girl, and you will focus on your studies. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear.”

“Do you promise to obey me?”

Teeth clenched, she hissed, “Never.” His hand came down hard across her face. “AH!”

“Do you promise to obey me?!”

Furious in a way she didn’t know she could be, Weiss turned and screamed, “NEVER! I’ll never obey! You can slap me, you can kick me, y-you can chop me into pieces and feed me to the birds! I don’t care! I’m never going to let you tell me who I can and can’t be friends with, EVER!”

For a long moment, he regarded her and the angry red throbbing on her cheek. His face was completely impassive, even though he was breathing hard. Then he turned to stare into the unlit fireplace.

“That’s ‘with whom I can and can’t be friends’. Clearly, she’s already having a detrimental effect on your grammar.” The sigh was weary, as if this were nothing more than a tedious board meeting. “Very well. I’ll take care of the matter myself. And don’t think there won’t be further consequences.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“You’ll see.” Turning back, he glared down at her. “You are dismissed. Go and study. Do something useful for a change.”

After a few seconds of huffing and puffing, Weiss managed to growl out “I hate you!” before she fled from the room and stomped upstairs.

She had fully intended on going to her room. Pyrrha was probably worried about the screaming, if she hadn’t somehow missed all the noise. Halfway there, she changed direction and burst into the drawing room, fists vibrating at her sides.

“MOTHER!”

Willow Schnee was draped over the piano bench, an empty bottle of red wine dangling in her loose grip. This was sadly a standard state of being for the woman; it had been for many years. Weiss had some hazy memories of a glamourous woman who didn’t fall to pieces so often, who could resist the pull of strong spirits. Hazy, distant, and with no impact on the present day.

“Wha…?”

Sinking to her knees beside her, Weiss sniffled and whispered, “He hit me again! H-he promised he wouldn’t, and he did, a-and I… Mommy, I need you to come back! Come back to us!”

The skin between the woman’s perfect eyebrows crinkled as she tried to think her way through the fog of alcohol. “Hm?”

“He slapped me! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Oh… no, no he didn’t. He said no more… only me.” She groaned and pushed a hand into her face. “Winter, stop the train, Mommy needs to lie down…”

Of course it was useless. Sighing, she took the bottle and set it aside, then managed to heave her mother to her feet and guide her to the chaise lounge under the window. The setting sun was just starting to pinken the sky, and she thought the view might help.

“Please don’t go,” Mrs. Schnee murmured. “I… want to… you were always so sweet, Weiss…”

“At least you got my name right that time,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Leaning down, she pressed her lips into her mother’s pale forehead. She and Winter looked the most alike, and she definitely had their mother’s gentle eyes. But Weiss had her nominal stature and her angelic singing voice, which were nothing to sneeze at. “Mother?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“Mmm…” Her hand came up to rest on the side of Weiss’s neck. “Love you, too, sweetheart. You’re my little…”

Before she could even finish her sentence, her arm flopped to one side and she began to doze. “Snow Angel,” she finished for her. That was most likely what she had been about to say. Weiss decided to leave her there and simply sneak back out of the room. Compared to that mess, her life was entirely tolerable.

When she regained the safety of her own room, she found Pyrrha twisting the hem of her long poodle skirt in her hands. She looked panicked. Seeing her friend in the doorway, she stood, eyes full of fear as she whispered, “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Edging the door closed, she approached her desk in the corner and rested a hand on her books. “Let’s just… do our homework.”

“Your face…”

“What about it? Am I really that hideous?”

Pyrrha put her hands on her friend’s shoulders and held her fast. “Don’t do that. He… he shouldn’t be allowed to…”

Suddenly, Weiss needed to be alone. She wouldn’t tell Pyrrha to leave, but that didn’t prevent the desire from rising up powerfully within her. The desire to disappear. The desire to be anyone but a Schnee. “Nothing happened. Do you understand?”

“I don’t,” she whispered in a tight voice. “I can’t pretend this away, Weiss.”

“Then try. Try really, really hard.”

Then arms were around her, holding her as close as was possible. Even though she hated herself for it, would have given the entirety of her trust fund away to stem the flow, the tears started pouring forth in earnest. And they didn’t stop for some time.

[yoongspd]

The Deal

Genre: Fluff, Drunk!Hoseok, Friends to Lovers

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Author’s Note: Heyy, this is my first time completing a one-shot and I have no fucking idea what i made. I just wanted some J-hope and I hope I killed this. The title was also made on the spot. I’m not so sure it relates to the whole story haha this is getting really awkward. Here goes nothing.

Disclaimer: I wrote this without proofreading on my phone so there probably will be A LOT of typographical/grammatical errors im so sorry. __

“Where are you?” you cut him off sternly. His reply is sloppy and incoherent from the apparent alcohol. “Where. The. Fuck. Are. You. Jung. Hoseok.”

“I’m at Squire Pub. I m-miss you so much.” He stumbles on his words. Fucking prick. He was your best friend, but if you could choose, you’d wish you didn’t know him during times like these. You grab your keys and wallet now, rushing to get to your car. Fucking asshole.

You expect the driving to calm your head, but once you get to the bar, you fume again. He’s there slumped on his stool, alone and resting his weight on the counter. You give the bartender a glare. “How many fucking times have I told you not to give him fucking drinks you fucking bastard!” Hoseok’s head shoots up weakly, and the bartender only cares to give you a shrug. “Ahh, Y/N I’ve missed you so so much,” he rambles, trying to reach out to you. You ignore Hoseok’s mutterings. He’s always like this when drunk, pretending he hasn’t seen you for years when you two did have lunch the past day.

You make your way to him to sling his arm over your shoulder, ready to take him to your place. Hoseok hugs you once you’re close. He reeks of alcohol and you hate him for it. “Let me kiss you please,” he tries to touch your face, but you smack his hand away.

“Please, Y/N, I just want to kiss you.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok.”

“But I want to. Why can’t I kiss you?”

“You’re not kissing anyone tonight, especially not me. Shut up,” you scold him the way you always do when he gets like this.

He slumps even more. “If I can’t have you, I want another drink now.”

“Hey, that’s a new line,” you say, quite amused. He nods excitedly.

“However, you’re coming home now, you spoiled brat. My place.”

Hoseok falls asleep, and you drag him to your car.

On the drive back, he mumbles again about how he has missed you and the alcohol. You turn up the radio to block out the noise he makes.

When you settle him on the couch, he holds your hand in desperation. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispers.

“I won’t, you fucktard. God, you’re so drenched in alcohol. Let me take off your shirt.”

“Mhmm, sweetheart. Anything for you.” You kick his shin for that.

He continues to pester you with questions like “Why must you be so mean to me?” while you struggle to take off his coat, his polo, and his shirt. Hoseok is now left half-naked in your living room. You go to your room to get a shirt from the stack of clothes he has left in your apartment. It’s as if he knows this will happen on a regular basis. Damn, is that boy right. Why did you have to be such a good friend??

“Come here.” you say while you are near the comfort room. “I won’t dress you up until you empty your disgusting self.”

He follows as best as a drunken Hoseok can. You help him to the toilet. You then start rubbing his back in circles for him to puke. You’ve always hated the stench of vomit, but you couldn’t, for the love of your conscience, stop patting his back and holding his hair away from his eyes.

Once the puking was over, he says thank you. And you immediately fill the glass atop your medicine box with water for him to gargle. “Don’t swallow this.” you warn before handing it to him.

He willfully does the things you ask him, gargle, brush his teeth, and change his jeans to your oversized sweatpants, and you now proceed to clean him up back in your living room with a damp towel you got. He didn’t talk much anymore now. You could tell he had a bit of sense already.

You start wiping his face gently. Over his eyes, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his mouth, his chin. “Seriously, Jung.” He meets your eyes. He looks a bit different now from how he had been earlier. “I’m getting really really impatient with you drinking so much then calling me. I’m not your fucking nanny. And you know what, I might just die of a freaking heart attack once you do this again. You get me so fucking riled up. Like what the fuck, how dare you mess with my sleep. I’ve actually put these thoughts in vague coherence, you know?”

You stop for emphasis. Hoseok only looks at you. You take some drinking water for him and wet the towel more. You ask him to drink, and he does. After settling the glass down. You start working on his jaws and down to his neck. He flinches a bit. You sigh.

“You know what the line I thought of was?” You search his eyes for any sign of interest, but he seems lost in his thoughts. “I thought that, the best time to plot murder is when someone wakes you up from a good sleep.” You smile triumphantly from what you deemed as a poetic phrase you created, but it seemed that the only time he paid attention was when you smiled. “Seriously this boy.” you mutter.

“You know what, you’re so beautiful, Y/N.” he says casually. You snort. “Of course I am,” only confident enough to give a response like that to family and close friends. Also, you think that if you had not known Hoseok, you would have seriously thought he had this big gradeschool crush on you whenever he was drunk. But he didn’t. That would be the greatest joke of your life. “Get some sleep, Jung. You’re not even listening to me.”

He does what you say, and you run the cloth throughout his chest and back in an attempt to get rid of the horribly mixed smell of alcohol, sweat, and vomit. You put the shirt on him, and guide him to your bed. You knew how much pain it would cause to sleep on the couch. You’ve accidentally tried it before when you fell asleep watching a movie. Thank you very much.

“Stay on your side, or I won’t hesitate to push you off this bed.”

He molds himself to the side you don’t sleep on and you walk around a bit to make sure the door to your living room has been locked and all the lights have been turned off.

When you leave for work the next morning, you leave the sleeping Hoseok a note telling him where you went and that he owes you big time.

You don’t get a text from him all day, and once you get back to your apartment, you find the note gone.

You go through your routines the whole week, save for your weekly lunch with him. You waited, but when he didn’t arrive after fifteen minutes, you ordered food and ate on your own. No texts, no calls. And you’ve also decided not to contact him first. This was the prat’s problem.

When he did knock on your door after three weeks with peach orchids which were alive and beautifully potted, you burst into cold anger. “You fucking ungrateful bastard.” He says nothing.

“How long has it been, huh?”

“A month,” he mutters, still, the door frame lies between the two of you.

“So why are you here?”

“I just wanted to say sorry and that I want to marry you.”

The words don’t register. “What?”

Hoseok puts the plant to the side. He drops on one knee and pulls out a small box, opening it to reveal a thin strapped golden ring hugging a small diamond in its center. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

You raise an eyebrow, and hoist him up. “Come here,” you open your arms to welcome him into a hug. He holds you tight, one of that tight Hoseok hugs. But now, there’s this different warmth in them. “You ruined the mood,” he says onto your neck. You stay frozen. He steps back to look you in the eyes. “I’m not joking around here, Y/N.” And you notice that he was dressed quite formal right now. That white long-sleeved polo you always said was your favorite, grey slacks, and brown coat. His hair was even neat today.

“Then we have to talk, Jung Hoseok,” you say professionally, just like how you would do it at work.

He nods and you direct him to your sofa. Hoseok begins, “You remember that deal we had when we were seventeen?” The memory comes back in a calm tide, but you panic. It laid only on the frays of your mind now, but you remembered it well. “You were in your crippling-depression-state-of-loneliness-my-cats-will-eat-my-all-alone-rotting-corpse-in-my-house-when-i-die-because-i-have-no one,” he recalls mockingly. You laugh. This was true.

“Your prophecy will almost be granted,” he says without the usual enthusiasm he used to always carry. You nod, that was also true. “But shouldn’t we consider each other an option once you turn thirty and still have no one?” This is where you shy away and say nothing.

“Well, I’ve thought this through the past few months. And please remember that I’ve dated quite a handful of girls before.” He says.

You chuckle. “Ah, this really saleable boy.” He laughs.

“But, no one has ever made me feel more alive than you do. No one fucking does, you know? You don’t even do things, but you have no idea how greatly you affect me.”

You hold his eye contact now, trying to understand the truth of his words. Things were surely flipping in your stomach, but you keep your walls up.

He closes his eyes, as if deep in thought. He opens them to look back at you. “I love you. And I don’t know where the line between friendship and romance is anymore with you, but I have never been more certain of this choice.”

You remember everything you’ve gone through together. You and Hoseok shared almost every meaningful memory together – both good and bad.

“I stayed away after what happened a month ago because I wanted to clear my head. I don’t know. Uhm, it just hurt me so much that you never gave me a second look. You had your birthday two months ago, and all I could think of since then was that deal.

"But you continued to act normal. You made it clear you had no interest in me. Then I got stupid and drank a lot. I’m so sorry for that. Really. I’m so sorry. I was probably really obvious then.”

“‘I really want to kiss you right now,’” you mock him and he laughs. “That was probably really true back then,” Hoseok only looks at the floor this time.

You turn his face to make eye contact and there is a bit of fear, or maybe longing, in his eyes. “How about now, Jung?” He blinks, taken aback.

“Fuck it. This better not be a joke,” and you kiss him full on the mouth. After a while, he reciprocates and slows down the pace.

Hoseok makes sure to savor everything in his movements, holding you gently as if you were to break any minute now but also with a definite steadiness as if you might just disappear without word. You pull back, overwhelmed by how it felt. Nobody has ever kissed you like that.

Hoseok interrupts your thoughts, “I haven’t kissed anyone like that.”

You grumble. “Now, I want to kiss you.” You say with a hand smacked on your forehead.

“Jagi, you were the one who kissed me first,” he fulls on laughs at you now.

“Pompous jerk.”

“Presumptuous but beautiful woman.”

You laugh again. This wasn’t a normal relationship. “Hmm, I’m not sure you’re playing the right cards, Jung,” you tease.

“Hey! I’m serious here.” He puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Wow, what did I do in my past life to deserve you? Are you really sure about this? I have a horrible temper. I can’t dance with you. My voice sounds terrible. I might put my work over you. Etcetera etcetera. And I’m behind so many leagues of your ex-girlfriend’s body.”

He shook his head through all the negatives and chuckled. “I know you, Y/N. Probably better than yourself. You’re perfect in your own weird way.”

“Thanks a lot. Very reassuring.” You say. “You know what, Jung. If you’re sure about this, I’d definitely choose you over anyone even though your sense lf humlr sucks.”

He smiles at you and your pajama-clad self. “Was that a yes?”

Your expression shifts to pissed off, and you stand up to take the potted orchid from outside. You playfully scold him before that, “If you can’t take the hint, can you even call yourself my friend?”

Hoseok quickly retorts, “I want to be called your husband.”

“I hate you, Jung Hoseok.”