#but if I made him a twink just for my own sake I would never forgive myself

[gigizetz]

Antinous sketches

I will redesign him a bit for Wisdom saga because his old design looked too much like Kaeya from genshin impact. Still keeping the eyepatch though, that's my favorite part of his design.

For his design I was mostly aiming for this intimidating, vain, kind of brute hunter aesthetic. I'm not really used to drawing manly men so he'll be quite the challenge to animate.

[shikariiin]

HIII HELLO I would like to apologize for disappearing a-lot for this past few weeks??? I had some issues going on and momentarily fell into depression where I went to the hospital for a while??? But uh urm yeah I'm okay now!!!

Going off number because in order to upload Henry's I need to explain the classes and how they work, but for the sake of continuity I decide to release James! With a new concept art format and him being a biological class, RAMBLES BELOW!

I made James as an imported engine from indonesia set to work for Sodor, It's more of my bias and I kinda see him with the ethnicity where I am from, his story might be close to home for me.

James is a vain, arrogant, petty and an absolute pissbaby cringefail of a man.

He's A biological class, meaning he is made like how humans are made (yes I will feature his baby photos in the future), he's only 2-3 younger than Henry and Gordon. This also means he have a family back at his country, a (late) father, a mother, and 2 Younger brothers, both of which have one year difference to each other.

He's the primary cook in Tidmouth's shed, his Top-notch culinary skills can be thanked by his father used to teach him cooking when he was little, after his father died he treated cooking as something personal to him, I think James would be the type of person to when they have something they like, they would grow personal to said things.

Batik is also one of those hobby he have, making new patterns for future projects or just something he does to bide time, during this he would be out of character-ly quiet. Though Keeping all of his original personality I would just add that when he likes someone he tends to be more gentle to them, and more caring (difficult with his high standard).

Never touch his coat. <- this is important

Old uniform! Yes I based it on indonesia's most common uniform leave me alone HAHA

When he first arrived he was getting used to new surroundings, also funfact, he's multilingual!

Language he have learned :

Indonesian, English, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Russian, and Spanish !

He used to be a-lot slimmer, used to be a twink if you may, but now he's Sodor's most famous Himbo, why he bulk up is, by his own admission, to withstand whatever shenanigans he would get into, basically becoming his own human shield to any dumbfuckery he put himself in.

Also to my indonesian followers, yes I laughed my ass off when giving his last name, thank you for asking.

Lmao okay bye 🤭🏃‍♀️

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

4,10 and 19 ? 👀 (did I do it right ? Or do I have add something to it ?)

4. You know I'd do anything to keep you by my side right? Anything.

10. Let me call you mine just for tonight.

19. Never scare me like that again!

Nope you did it right! Lol Thank you for sending this in ☺️

Hope you don't mind if I use the prison au, it has me in a chokehold 😫 Au belongs to @rius-cave

Lucifer pulled Adam along by the collar of his jumpsuit back to their shared cell. He was fucking pissed at the ex-officer, how stupid can you be?!

Adam was sporting a freshly made black eye, given to him by one of the V gang members. He didn't say anything as he was pulled along, he did what he did for a reason and he'd do it again.

Lucifer all but threw Adam into their cell slamming the door behind them, he waited for the click to be sure the door was locked. Adam sat down on the bed and just waited for the ear full he knew he was in for. Lucifer came up to him and gripped Adam's jaw, making him look Lucifer in the eye. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!! Do you hear me? You could have fucking died!" Lucifer roared, his voice sounded angry, but it was laced with concern.

Adam rolled his eyes which earned him a stronger grip on his jaw. "Like you give a shit." He ground out.

Lucifer glared, the nerve of this prick! "Look," he started "I know you were only trying to get that V asshole off of Anthony, I agree the guy could use a shit kicking for what he does to that kid. But putting yourself in harm's way like that? Val wouldn't think twice about shanking you."

Adam and Anthony or 'Angel' as his street name was, have grown close in the clink. So when Adam saw that fucker smacking his friend around, it set something inside his soul on fire. So he stepped in and shoved the prick into his equally weird friend. That had earned Adam his black eye when Val stood back up. Apparently, he had more in mind than just blackening the ex-officers eye.

Lucifer had stepped in at the last second and stole the shank away and had embedded it into Val's ribcage.

Adam felt his eye throb at the memory. "Well, if you'd have let him, your job here would be done now wouldn't it?"

Lucifer was taken aback by this, but he recovered quickly. "Are you really that stupid? I take my deals very seriously. For as long as I own you, you will not be harmed as much within my power."

Lucifer got closer to his face, his blue eyes boring into Adam's dark brown ones, this close he thought he could see flecks of gold. "You know I'd do anything to keep you by my side, right? Anything." He growled out. What did he have to do to drive the point home?

Adam felt his breath hitch in his throat. Somehow this felt different, like something between has changed. "I don't know, do I know that?" Sure, there had been lingering touches, they showered together for fuck sakes and even shared a weird kiss but they had never done more than that.

"I don't like people touching what belongs to me. You're my bitch, only I can touch you." Lucifer trailed a hand, the one not holding Adam's jaw, down from Adam's neck to the buttons of his jumpsuit toying with them. He undid the top button and smiled when he felt Adam shiver. "Let me call you mine, just for tonight." He whispered against Adams lips.

Yes, he owned this man's ass but he wouldn't force him into any unwanted sexual situations. Lucifer wasn't a monster.

Adam swore the temperature in their cell was turned up to a suffocating degree, he was hot all over. He knew the blonde twink wasn't going to let him fuck him, Lucifer was planning on fucking him. Adam had never been with a man before. He always thought that if he did try to sleep with a man one day, it sure was shit wasn't gonna happen in prison.

Beggers can't be choosers he supposed.

"Okay." Was all he said before Lucifer's lips attached themselves to his own, stealing the air out of his lungs. Adam felt himself being pushed down into the bunk bed, Lucifer crawling on top of him. He felt his jumpsuit being unbuttoned.

Even if this was a mistake, a choice made in the heat of the moment with emotions running too high. Neither could deny afterwards how fucking great it had been.

[mintyfrostyart]

HELLO EVERYONE

Oh boy you know who it is my favourite boy <33 I've gone into detail about his character below the cut >:}

Reginald strikes me as an odd character since his personality is formed around insecurity; the slave of his own mind, and that of his own people.

You see, royalty is a special case in this universe. Despite the name being “medieval AU”, its more magical and foreign. The Copperbottom family is a line formed from two royal houses, and has prospered for 5 generations. What makes royalty so special is that they’re gifted in many ways.

Magic

Magic is an odd case study, since its formed, quite literally, in the blood stream. If a royal had a cut, their blood would be speckled with magic. The colour of said magic is also visible within the lower half iris on a royal’s eye, and all magic casted by a royal will be of that colour. However, royals are only hosted to one power each. These powers are special, however. They usually consist as the ability to conquer a specific object, or set of objects, out of magic. King Galeforce, for example, posses magic in the shade of green, and has the ability to create any weapon of his choosing. Prince Jullian (an OC) posses magic in the shade of pink, and has the ability to create mirrors that can reflect either the true, best, or worst version of people.

These powers are said to be a gift from the stars, and can only be matured through the greatest pleasure in life: laughter.

For most royals, this is not a problem. As babies, there is a lot to laugh about, is there not? Most royals develop magic very easily from a young age.

2. Height and Strength

Royals have more power than your average citizen. Most royals range in height from 6’2-7’. They’re usually built (and trained) to handle any kind of weaponry, with their body type usually reflecting whatever magic they happen to possess. This, perhaps, is how they were able to get themselves into power; for who could take down someone who had the strength of 10 men?

..

The Copperbottom has a long history of strong, powerful rulers who have never been apposed, even when facing war. Hense, what made Reginald’s life so, er, fundamental.

He was the last of the Copperbottoms to survive. His parents met a tragic fate when he was a young boy, and he is the last left. But that was the thing about it, he wasn’t a traditional royal. At his full height as an adult, he barely reached 5’1, and he had not a scrap of magic to his name. Believe me, ladies in waiting and carers for the prince when his parents passed did everything they could think of, but nothing came to light. People speculated that the passing of his parents didn’t allow his magic to develop correctly, but nobody knew. Reginald was simply a quiet child who never spoke a word.

He wasn’t like other royals, he was *different*. Terrifying, I know.

Reginald was taken under the care of Admiral Dmitri Johannes Petrov, who very much cared for the boy as his own son. Dmitri had lost his wife and son in childbirth (eyup bi-Dmitri lets gooo). The kingdom didn’t have a ruler at the moment, and since Dmitri was indeed admiral, he offered to take care of him until he was of proper age to rise to the throne.

In the current day, Reginald is 25, and very mysterious as it is. Terrence was his parent’s regent, and he accepted taking the throne in their late becomings. Terrence’s character is a whole other can of worms to get into, and I’m going to go into heavy detail of his origins in another post, but for now, Terrence remains the king as of now.

But why? Well, its half Terrence’s fault and Reginald himself. For the sake of brevity, I’ll simply talk about Reg here.

Reg is 5’1 and powerless (and a Twink). The two things that make royals, well, royal, he doesn’t have. No one *knows* why, that’s just the way he is. Reginald’s quiet, he had a stutter growing up, and he’s freckled across his face. Royals are a simple of good manners and good behaviour, and for a royal who can’t speak nor represent his family, then who even is he?

But at the same time, the castle is terrified. Reginald is the *last* of his family, and everyone who lives and serves the Copperbottom family wants to keep him safe. The walls around the castle were put In place to ensure no harm could come to the prince. Terrence is an easily swayed man, and if someone gave him a reason to tear down those walls, he would. But no one has. No one wants to risk him getting hurt. 

From Reginald’s perspective, he feels unworthy of the throne. Reginald feels as though he must do everything in his power to make up for himself. He is the last of his family, and he’s a *dud*. He’s a royal that lacks anything royal looking, and so he feels eternally guilty. His unhealthy habits of drilling himself into work are of his own poison; he believes it owes it someone. He believes he had to put in more work than anyone at the castle because of the mess he has made of his family.

For if he is powerless and lacking of power, then he had to make up for it somehow, right?

Reginald does not have resentment for his upbringing; its been told to him about what he *should* have been, but he just isn't. He is a quiet fellow, but kind. Not many can form an opinion about him since he's a mystery. He's either doing work or out in his gardens where he's usually lost in thought. But in conversation, he does try his best to please crowds.

For someone who has never been outside, no one knows his face, only his name. A lot of commoners assume he is powerful, and that the castle was hiding him for his protection. Commoners are scared of him; if he is such a mystery, then he must be greatly powerful, yes?

..

Reginald’s character is complicated. He’s genuinely a very kind and sweet soul, but it’s very overshadowed by his crumpling self-image, but he sincerely tries to make up for it by pushing himself to the very limits. His first action of doing something for himself was making an escape from the palace, which is the beginning of the main series.

What I adore about Medieval Copperright is that Right teaches Reg that indeed has to learn to love himself. Right sees beauty in every single feature he has, and Reginald is blind to it. Right drills in the fact that Reginald doesn’t owe anyone anything for simply being himself. Their relationship is really slow, and I love that, because Reginald learns to love himself and love the things about himself through someone who views him as him. It's only when Reginald learns to care about himself that he begins to develop feelings about Right, as he can finally see himself as worth being in someone else's life.

The first person that sees Reginald as himself makes him realise that he isn’t simply an object for the throne, but as someone with a dream to be alive.

Right again is another story entirely, but I hope you’ve enjoyed this ramble !! <33

If you guys have any questions, please hit me up! I would love to go into more detail :D

[backdraft-bimbo]

i’m so glad this season is described as “just vibes” with less spiderwebbing plot-lines. the only part of GO i was interested in (and this might just be my Gay Agenda talking) was crowley and aziraphale. i had little interest in any of the other characters just because the relationship between those guys and actors was so strong and well crafted; it made anything else seem mundane. i skip through the whole adam and anathema and witchfinder arcs during rewatches just because they’re not all that interesting; not in comparison.

i’m so excited for this season because they Know what we want as fans and are willing to put it to screen. and personally i can’t wait to see michael and david explore intimacy in a way that we not only didn’t expect (queer media trauma is real folks) but also just assumed we’d never actually get. most people were used to the bare ass minimum until indisputable and thoughtful queer media started coming out.

this sounds so cheesy but it shaped me into a better person, getting to see queer people be intimate on screen. it normalized something i’ve been trying to manifest my entire conscious life (no literally) through fan works and especially fan fiction.

additionally hollywood loves thin and traditionally attractive people. ofmd and good omens have totally turned that on its head and i feel like there’s a greater appreciation and acceptance of normal bodies being represented on screen. this is just speculation but i suspect michael sheen and rhys darby specifically never had a fandom advocate so hard for them at such a life stage. and i feel really happy that they do get to experience that as a demographic (older people) that often gets told that they lose their value because they’ve aged, and thus become less marketable.

you see this when people draw the boys all skinny and hot and young; something i’m not gonna write to the president about but it’s clear that people depicting them to fit the hollywood standard is a reflection of their own perception of beauty. so i don’t care for all this talk about “oh that outfit is so ugly!” or “his beard is weird” because LMAO my outfits have been ugly! if i had a beard, i would make questionable fashion choices! (personally i love crowley’s looks, they’re goofy and fun and fit the vibe of the show, i think it’s pointless even arguing about their personal aesthetics so long as they fit the context and their characters. david tennant can’t always be a smoking hot twink, guys. let him be silly and goofy for my heart’s sake please).

i guarantee if crowley and aziraphale end up kissing and it’s not the most Perfect queer standard camera angle, folks are gonna complain about it, because everyone on screen must be Pretty and Profitable but also Realistic and Relatable. bit of a double standard, no?

that’s why i love that david and michael get to be praised for their physical appearances and i’m no middle aged man but it feels like a door has opened in a way? in myself via the barriers of insecurity and dysmorphia, as well as in some widening sectors of queer society, because it shows that nontraditionally attractive queer people (aka people without abs or a perfect jawline, aka me lol) are fully capable of loving and being loved and being HAPPY and accepted. it makes me so so so joyous. anyway there’s my rant; y’all know i ain’t sleeping till s2 drops tomorrow. i’m HYPED!!!

[sincerelyjxyy]

Gold Rush - Eight

Invisible String - Gold Rush

Chapter Eight - Palms Pressed Together

Song Of The Chapter - Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus

✧ friendship is the most underrated relationship in our lives. it remains the one relation not bound by law, blood, or money - but an unspoken agreement of love. — hanya yanagihara, relying on friendship in a world made for couples ✧

Summary: The pogues have to deal with the consequences of getting themselves involved with supposed square groupers. But what happens when John B's theory about is dad is proven to be true, and Big John sends them on an adventure unlike any other?

Word Count - 11.1k

Gold Rush Masterlist

AFTER BEING NEARLY KILLED BY THE COMPASS HUNTERS, THE POGUES CRAMMED INTO THE TWINKE AND LEFT THE CHATEAU. John B had urged their departure as soon as he was certain the men wouldn't be returning. It was obvious that a plethora of ideas were running through his head, as he tried to make sense why his dad would engrave Redfield into a compass.

Josie, however, was more focused on recovering from their near-death experience. As the group made their way to wherever-the-hell John B had concocted and offered their own theories on the compass, she kept relatively silent.

She sat sideways on the back bench, next to Pope and across from JJ, knees pulled up as she jotted her thoughts down in her journal. Taylor played lightly on the radio, courtesy of the duo up front. Josie knew Kie had fought for it for her sake, and John B abnormally relented without argument.

As if it wasn't bad enough she'd lost her most prized possession, but she also had to deal with conflicting feelings about her boyfriend's absent-minded confession of love. Then, she had to witness a woman get beaten by a couple of scary men. And then, those same men threatened her and her friends' lives for the second time within twenty-four hours.

They also caused the death of her favorite rooster. So, Josie felt more than entitled to a moment of mental solitude in the backseat.

"I mean, it's obvious, right?" John B inquired. "A family heirloom. I mean, what better place to hide a message? He had to know it was gonna get back to me, right?"

The brunette sounded sure of himself as he rattled his thoughts off to his friends. Josie couldn't help but feel a bit bad. Everyone dealt with grief in their own way, and John B had always been skeptical about admitting that Big John had really died at sea.

How far would her friend's subconscious push him to deal with his grief that way?

"Yeah. It's possible," Kie agreed from the passenger seat. However, she sounded like she was trying to reassure John B more than she actually believed his father was trying to contact him.

"It could also be possible that you're concocting wild theories to help, y'know, deal with your sad feels," Pope added for argument's sake as he fiddled with the compass.

John B shook his head and sternly used the boy's name to voice his disagreement. Kie glanced back at Pope and shook her head to scold him.

He shrunk back in surrender, making Josie humorously scoff and eye the eldest pogue in amusement. "Did you really just say feels unironically?"

"Bro, y'know how I process my sad feels. Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies, that's how I do it," JJ stated as he shrugged.

Josie groaned in disgust and scrunched her face at him, shaking her head to silently demand he never say something like that again. His honesty was not appreciated.

"I'm not concocting, okay?" Denial and insistence bled through John B's voice as he spoke up. "My dad's trying to give me a message." He turned his eyes to scan them all with confidence, but everyone remained firm with their own doubts.

Josie's lips pursed sympathetically as she turned her gaze to the back of his head. The revelation of his father's survival would mean the world to him—she knew that.

"If it helps you believe, John B," Kie started softly, but John B frustratedly interrupted her.

"Look, I-I don't need a therapy session, okay? Look, I'm not trippin' out."

"It's okay to trip, bro-" JJ added, causing John B to turn and assertively cut him off.

"Look, my dad is missing, okay?" He turned back around. "Missing. You don't know what it's like to have the closest person to you vanish, and then have no idea what happened. Just wake up every morning, wondering."

Josie thought about JJ just vanishing out of thin air. Never hearing from him again, and no one having any real answers. She thought about never hearing his laugh again, never seeing his bright blue eyes and laughing at his stupid attempts at jokes. Her heart broke at the mere thought.

Her best friend, gone forever.

"It's been almost a year," Kiara reminded softly as she stared at John B.

It was wild, the amount of time that had passed. Nine months ago, life had been completely different. Josie and Kie weren't even around to comfort their friend when his dad disappeared.

The reminder caused guilt to slowly build its home in Josie's chest, and she had to physically shake the feeling away before it became too much.

"Hey, he could've been kidnapped," JJ offered. "That's definitely a possibility." He looked over at Josie for her support, and, despite being unsure, she shrugged and hummed in agreement. She wanted to believe that Big John was alive and trying to reach out to his son for help, but it felt so far-fetched that she felt silly for holding onto hope.

"Yeah, could be in a Soviet sub getting interrogated by the KGB somewhere. Or in a European lab getting tortured," Pope added. Narrowing her eyes at him, Josie set her journal on her bent thigh to reach out and smack the back of his head. His backwards cap fell forward onto his face, satisfying Josie.

"Absolutely. Uh...or Atlantis." JJ nodded toward Josie. "Or Libertalia. Probably found all that gold that Avery dude hid."

It was doubtful that Big John had been able to locate the lost colony. There was so much more research and digging that needed to be done to even get close to the treasure. And Josie was confident that she knew things about the treasure that only a couple of people alive knew. None of those people included John B's father.

Avery's treasure was a legend for a reason.

"JJ," Kie reproached, glancing at him weirdly before turning back to John B. "Look, what do you think the message is?"

"Redfield," John B answered easily. As he did, they passed a sign that displayed the exact name he'd mentioned. "Redfield Lighthouse. That's my dad's favorite place."

"Did you just say lighthouse?" Josie questioned cautiously as she looked up from stuffing her journal into her backpack. Kiara winced, staring back at her best friend in pity.

It wasn't lost on any of them that the last thing Josie would want to do after witnessing abuse, watching her favorite rooster die, and almost dying herself, was climb to the top of a tall structure. In fact, Josie could think of almost nothing worse. It was dreadful. Horrific.

She gave out a simple huff and harshly zipped up her bag, glaring daggers into the back of John B's head. JJ tried to make her smile by poking the skin of her thigh, but she bushed him off and crossed her arms.

Shortly after, the Twinkie came to a halt in front of the fence that surrounded the lighthouse. All five of them clambered out of the van, and Josie's eyes drifted upward to follow the height of the building.

She had to stop herself from throwing up at the mere sight. The thought of her and her friends climbing up it had already made her feel dizzy.

"Right, here's what's gonna happen." John B turned to address both JJ and Josie. "You're both gonna post up and look out for bogeys, okay?"

"Wait...why me?" JJ asked as he pointed to himself.

"Because you're not coming," Pope answered obviously. Josie glanced at him, unimpressed, but remained silent as the boys conversed.

"Why?"

"Look, JJ, there are independent and there are dependent variables. And you're an independent variable. We don't know what you're gonna do!" JJ frustratedly argued with Pope as he spoke, yelling at him to shut up.

The girls watched on, impatient with the boys' inability to do anything without fussing about it. Josie was sure they were going to start calling each other names, when John B interrupted the argument.

"Just listen to me for a second, just listen. Jose isn't going up, so JJ, you're staying down. Pope, you stand lookout with them. Okay? If we get split up, we meet back at JJ's house."

"Great," Kie agreed. She turned to squeeze Josie's shoulder in parting.

Josie returned the gesture to her arm, glancing back up at the circular building. "Love you. Please be careful."

Kiara sent her a reassuring smile and nodded, before turning to hop over the fence. John B stared at JJ as the blond continued to defiantly look at him. Josie groaned and grabbed his shoulder, tugging him backward by his shirt.

"You're lucky this one's my favorite." JJ shook his head and threw his thumb over his shoulder toward Josie, glaring at John B with no real malice. John B dismissively waved his hand and parted to follow Kie.

Josie chuckled at the small pouty attitude JJ sported as their friends left. She mockingly pouted her bottom lip out at him and let out a teasing hmph, laughing when he shoved her shoulder. She reached a hand up to ruffle the hair atop his head, which led to a smacking contest between them.

"I'm gonna work on my merit scholarship essay, and I'm trying to keep felonies down to a minimum."

Josie snapped and pointed her finger at Pope in agreement. The brainy duo shared a smile, before her attention was drawn to amusedly watch as JJ began to play keepy-uppy with a pinecone.

"Alright, would you just shut up already?"

Josie rolled her eyes. "Oh c'mon, Sunny. You'd really rather be up there climbing all those stairs than down here keeping lookout with me?"

JJ shook his head, and he looked up at her as if she'd just said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "No. I think you and me should go up there and make the others keep lookout."

Josie laughed, her eyes following the path of the pinecone as he kicked it back and forth between his feet. "First off, this is literally John B's thing, so we wouldn't go up there without him. Second, there's no way I'd ever climb up that thing. Not even with you."

He stopped to offendedly stare at her, and he let out a huff when she raised her brows at him. He knew he couldn't argue the point further, so he resigned to doing his keep-uppies.

He mumbled something under his breath about Josie going up there if it was Max, and she ran her tongue over her lips in annoyance. She really wanted to work on the pogues' relationships with Max. It was clear which one would be the hardest to establish if JJ stuck to his stubborn dislike of her boyfriend.

Which really sucked, because he was the person she was closest to.

Without warning, he kicked the pinecone in the air toward her. She struggled as she lifted her leg and tried to catch it like she'd seen him do. It was an absolute fail, as she stumbled on one foot and missed the object.

JJ laughed and observed Josie as she tried to balance, before she completely fell and just barely caught herself. She narrowed her eyes up at him in a failed attempt to scold him. She blew out a breath as she stood and dusted herself off, while he grabbed another pinecone from the ground.

"D'you want me to teach you?" He chuckled through his question.

Josie went to agree, when the bag on her back started ringing. She held up her pointer finger and brought her bag around to dig in it and find her phone.

When she caught sight of the caller ID, she winced and sheepishly glanced up at her companion.

He scoffed, already aware of the meaning behind her expression, and tilted his head down to break their eye contact. In an effort to appear nonchalant, he focused on kicking the pinecone up and ignored her as she hesitantly turned away.

A part of her urged to let it ring through, just so that she could avoid the frown set on JJ's features. But the incessant bussing in her palm reminded her that doing so wouldn't be fair to herself or Max. JJ's hatred of kooks couldn't affect her relationship.

So, with a sigh and one last glance at her friends, she made her way around a tree before she answered. "Hello?"

"Well, hello, beautiful. For a second there, I thought you weren't gonna answer." Max's greeting was full of enthusiasm and fondness. It was as if he hadn't completely ditched her that morning after dropping the L bomb out of nowhere.

She briefly wondered if he'd even remembered that he'd done it.

"Oh, hey, baby. How was golf?" Josie tried her best to sound as polite as possible.

She completely missed the offended scoff JJ shot in Pope's direction. Pope shrugged, narrowing his eyes at the blond to inquire why it bothered him so much. "Dude, it's her boyfriend. Of course they're gonna say gross crap like that."

JJ shook Pope's statement off his shoulders, straining to listen in on his best friend's conversation.

"It was good; thank you. The boys and I went to Rafe's afterwards, just to catch up and stuff." Max let out a small chuckle as he reminisced on whatever must've happened at the Cameron house.

Josie went to ask about it, but refrained when she realized that she'd probably get annoyed at whatever he told her. She simply hummed and nodded even though he couldn't see her, throwing a few glances back over her shoulder to make sure the boys were dying or fighting.

"You know..." She could make out the teasing lilt of her boyfriend's tone. "Rafe couldn't help but ask about you a couple times today. I think he might have a crush on you." He tsked and grinned at the uninterested scoff that left Josie's lips. She crossed her left arm over her chest in defense.

It wasn't a secret to Max that Rafe and Josie had history, if one could even call it that. Rafe had been her first kiss when she was eleven and played a dumb game of seven minutes in heaven. That mistake had followed her to every corner of the island ever since, mainly in the form of said boy being an absolute jackass to try and gain her attention.

But one thing was very clear: Josie had never been interested in the Cameron boy.

"Trust me, he doesn't. No one buys into the whole 'kook versus pogue' thing more than him, except maybe Topper." Josie scrunched her face at the mention of her antithesis.

"Yeah, but you're a kook," Max pointed out with a humored sing-song. Josie scoffed but didn't refute him, because he was technically right. "But that's beside the point. You got any plans for the rest of the day?"

Josie felt a tinge of bitterness and irritation grow at his question. The audacity he had to have to ditch his girlfriend during a date, and then call her hours later and ask to hang out.

Yes, they were in a relationship, but why did he make it seem like she was disposable to him? Her plans didn't revolve around when he was free and when he felt like being together.

"I do, actually, yeah." Josie sighed and leaned against the tree. "I ended up calling Kie this morning to come and get me. And since I assumed you'd be with your friends the rest of the day, I told her I'd spend the day with her."

As a car door shut on the other line, a sarcastic laugh came from behind her. She glared back at JJ, suddenly aware that he was eavesdropping on her conversation. Pushing off from the tree, she walked further away and shot a middle finger back behind her.

"No, I get it; it's okay." The lack of argument on his end was appreciated by Josie, who was too tired to engage in a lovers-spat.

For the next few minutes, Max went on a rant about his golf round and how he'd absolutely demolished Topper and Kelce. Josie tried to pay attention; she truly did. But she couldn't help the uninterested hums that escaped her as he told her all about how he'd practically perfected his back swing.

It was when Max had finished boasting that he finally took a breath. He contently sigh as Josie picked at the skin of her middle finger with her thumb. She peeked behind her and smiled when she realized that Pope had joined JJ's pinecone game; only now they tossed it for JJ to catch in his shirt pocket.

"Well, I don't want to take up any more of your time; Kiara probably wants to kill me already. Just call me later, and we'll figure something out." She could hear the soft smile behind his voice and stopped herself from outwardly cooing.

"Will do. Talk to you later."

Once the couple bid their goodbyes, Josie stuffed her phone into her back pocket. She turned to trek back to the boys, who both unsuccessfully tried to act like they hadn't been intently listening in on her long conversation.

She rolled her eyes and crossed both arms over her chest. "Y'know, usually when someone walks away, that means that they want the conversation to be private, not public for nosy best friends to listen in on."

She raised her brows at Pope, who actively avoided her fierce gaze. Her eyes narrowed at the lack of a sarcastic comment from him, and her gaze turned curious as it swung between a tense JJ and an awkward Pope.

"What'd you mean when you said you ended up calling Kie?" JJ accused, lips pressed together as he bitterly stared at the pinecone he continued to kick between his feet. Josie shrugged and scuffed her shoe on the ground. It was annoying that he'd somehow turned the conversation into an opportunity to question her.

"Did you guys hang out? Is that why you were dressed so pretty this mornin'?"

The acidic tone of his voice caused Josie to glare at him. Her irritation passed from her boyfriend to her blond best friend, and she completely avoided the petty compliment he'd paid her.

She opened her mouth to spit out a remark but decided against it.

The last thing she wanted to do was admit to both boys that Max had ditched her. Because deny it as much as she might, it was embarrassing and wounding to her pride that her boyfriend could so easily do something like that.

Besides, she didn't feel like hearing the lecture concerning her choice of partner that JJ would no doubt give her.

He glanced up at her expectantly, but she only continued to stare back with her arms crossed. JJ opened his mouth to make another jest at her boyfriend, but he was stopped by the sound of sirens that blared from behind them.

Through the trees, the flashing red and blue lights slowly became easier to make out as they got closer.

"Oh, shit!"

The trio stumbled as they all scrambled toward the Twinkie. JJ hurriedly opened the passenger door for Josie, practically shoving her through it. Once she was in, she reached over to start the van as JJ slid over the hood and climbed into the driver's side.

They barely had time to register Pope shutting the sliding door before JJ peeled away and headed in the opposite direction of the approaching cop cars.

"Any bright ideas on what we do now?" Pope breathlessly asked from the backseat.

Josie turned to look at JJ, who shrugged. He stared at Josie as if she were the one who made the calls, and she sighed.

"Okay, guess we're going to JJ's."

☼

It wasn't long after they'd fled the scene that the trio were informed by John B and Kie that they'd been detained. It also wasn't long after that when Josie had received her own private text from Kiara. One that had Josie demanding JJ drive and drop her off at the Wreck.

pink parrot

When Josie was eleven and had her first kiss, the first and only person she'd wanted to tell was Kiara. But Petunia had been monitoring Josie's phone conversations, and, to an eleven-year-old, nothing was worse than having her mother find out that she'd kissed a boy. But she had no way to tell Kiara why she was so desperate to talk to her without spilling the beans.

So, the duo created a set of safe words for any case of emergency. Pink parrot was the one that stuck, loosely translating to: We need to talk asap; find me immediately.

After receiving said text and forcing JJ to drive her with no explanation, Josie all-but-sprinted through the doors of her workplace and raced up to the bar that Kiara sat behind. The brunette spackled the wall that had been damaged during Hurricane Agatha, but Josie couldn't care less about the cracks. She obviously had more pressing matters to attend to.

The redhead was noticeably out of breath as she reached her destination. She stood with her palms pressed to her knees as she bent down to catch her breath. After a few heaves, she looked up at Kiara with eyes wide and full of curiosity.

"What's up? What's going on? What's so dire?"

Kie shushed the frantically breathing Josie, who squeezed her eyes shut as she remained bent down. The older girl grabbed at her chest, letting out a groan as she inhaled more air. She fleetingly wondered if it was okay to be that out of shape for her age.

Kiara grabbed Josie by the elbow and pulled her up, leading her through the kitchen and into the walk-in freezer. The motion drew Josie away from her lack of oxygen and toward the uneasy look on her best friend's face. "Jesus, it must be serious if you're dragging me into Antarctica."

"If I tell you this, you have to promise you won't freak out," Kiara scolded.

Josie scoffed as she crossed her arms. She was almost never the kind to flip her lid; she was not a very angry person. "Please, I'm as cool as a cucumber."

Kiara stared at her skeptically. Josie watched the silent debate dance across her eyes, before she pushed herself across whatever mental threshold she stood behind.

"John B kissed me, at the lighthouse."

It was a ringing—a very loud, very prominent ringing—that sounded through Josie's ears. Like someone had banged a set of pots together right beside her head, and she was still recovering from the aftermath. Like someone had used her head as the clapper of a giant bell, and her head was still ringing with the noise of it. Her vision seemed to grow blurry; little black fuzzies surrounded the outer portion of her vision like a tunnel. She could feel bile make its way up her throat.

She stared at her friend in paralyzing shock.

"Jose? You okay?"

She couldn't believe it. She couldn't fucking believe it. There was no way. There was absolutely no actual way that it was true. Who the hell did John B think he was?

When Josie got her fucking hands on him.

"He...he kissed you? Like on the mouth?" Josie was flabbergasted. It was like someone had written P4L on a piece of paper, crumpled it up, and threw it into a fire. Her skin itched, and her stomach ached. Her body trembled, and she couldn't tell if it was because of the temperature or Kie's confession.

Two of the most important people in her life...kissing.

"Yes, Jo, on the mouth." Kiara almost sounded embarrassed. And while it wasn't obvious, Josie could read her best friend like a book. She could tell in the way Kie avoided her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek. Josie wondered if it was as mortifying for Kiara as it felt for herself.

The redhead really did feel like her best friends had just broken something sacrosanct. "Wow, I...I, uh, don't really know how to take that, if I'm completely honest."

Josie looked down at her shoes, scuffing the toe against the floor and picking at a fray on her shorts. She tried to find the right words—tried to keep herself from saying something that would offend or upset anyone.

But all her brain could focus on was the red tint the world seemed to fade into. She knew it was dramatic to feel that way, but she truly couldn't help it. Her tongue stung with a resentment so bitter that she held the urge to physically spit it out.

Why had she placed the rule on a pedestal if John B just got to choose to undermine its very principle?

"It's just...you know how I feel about No-"

"No Pogue-On-Pogue Mackin', I know. That's why I wasn't sure if I should tell you, but..." Kiara sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I could never keep something like this from you."

Josie nodded, understanding what she'd meant. While she was not at all fond of what had happened, she was grateful that Kiara trusted and loved her enough to seek comfort in telling her. They'd been best friends for seven years. It was natural for them to discuss things like that, however hard it may be.

Josie puffed out a breath, collecting her thoughts, and swallowed down the pride that clawed its way up her throat. "You're right, you're right. I'm not here to judge. I'm here to provide you with any support you may need." She held up her index finger. "However, I cannot say the same for John B. And as soon as I see him, I will poke his eyes out."

"I don't doubt it." Kiara laughed and grabbed the girl's hand affectionately, leading her out of the freezer and back into the main restaurant.

Josie made herself comfortable at the counter, pulling up a stray chair as Kiara went back to the cracks in the wall, and made her explain the whole ordeal in detail. Josie let her talk, providing moral support as Kiara vented every thought and opinion she'd had whenever she needed to. Eventually, Josie was given a drink and a bowl of fries to snack on as they conversed.

It was a few hours later when Pope strolled into the Wreck. Once he saw the girls together, he gave a nonchalant wave of his hand to beckon them to follow. "Come on, guys. John B says he has another plan, and guess who's getting roped into it."

Josie stared at him blankly, and she sipped on her lemonade straw unbothered. Kiara informed him that she wouldn't be tagging along with the rest of them.

"What? Why?"

Kiara shrugged and motioned to the wall, where she continued to spackle. Josie chuckled at the lame excuse, but she watched on with a smirk as Pope gave in. He clearly wasn't in a mood to argue with an annoyed Kie.

He turned to Josie, who shrugged as she leant into the counter she sat at. "Think I'm good right here."

Pope glanced back and forth between both girls, his confusion and frustration clear as he silently questioned why they wouldn't come. But they both remained silent, unsure if John B had spilled the beans and unwilling to cause any unnecessary stirs—yet.

The silence only made him more irritated at their complete shift in attitude since their earlier tirade. He huffed at the stubbornness of his girl friends as they continued to silently refute him. He marched out of the Wreck and mumbled something about taking back his statement from yesterday about needing the girls.

Not a minute later, their familiar brunette best friend strolled in, a nervous twinge to his voice. "Um...hey, uh, what-what're you guys doin'?"

Josie jumped up from her seat and immediately blocked his path toward Kie. "What does it look like?"

He looked down at her weirdly and stopped in his tracks. His gaze bounded back and forth from a preoccupied Kie to a glaring Josie, who narrowed her eyes up at him.

"Look, spackling can wait, guys. We're-we're about to make history."

"Are you concocting again?" Kie asked, walking past and away from the duo.

"Yes, yes, I'm concocting. I'm concocting more than I've ever concocted in my life." John B tried to follow her, but Josie sidestepped to block his path.

She smugly stared up at the very confused boy, before realization crossed his features. His eyes widened as he peeked over at Kie, frantically looking at both girls. "She told you?"

Josie scoffed at him in disbelief. "What, did you think she wouldn't?" She raised her brows as frustration simmered in his eyes. He looked quite nervous, to be fair, running his hands through his hair as his gaze continued darting between the girls.

Without another thought, Josie took her index and middle fingers and harshly jammed them at John B's face and directly into his eyes.

The boy grunted and leaned back as he raised his hand to rub his watery eyes. "What the hell was that for?"

"What do you think, dumbass?" Josie sent him a look that asked if he thought she was stupid. "You're lucky I didn't gauge them out, Oedipus."

He sighed and shut his eyes once again, before opening them to shoot another glance at Kie. She stood by a far table to watch the interaction. John B looked back down at his auburn-haired friend, who crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, peering up at him expectantly.

"Look, RJ, I get that you're angry with me, I do, and you have every right to be. I was stupid, I know."

Josie's shoulders dropped, tongue pressed to her cheek. She tried not to let his apologetic tone and reddening eyes get the best of her. He'd broken the most sacred rule. The rule that was there to make sure nothing as trivial as crushes on each other would tear them apart.

He looked back at Kie and tried to pass Josie once again, only to be denied. The older girl motioned to imply that he could still speak to their friend, but from a distance.

"And I know that you're just being a good friend and not trying to enable me in my delusion, and that your dad doesn't want you to see me." He motioned his head toward the back, where Mike prepped food. "But please. You are my best friends, and I need you both right now."

Damn him. Damn him for knowing that the best friend card was Josie's weakness.

She sighed and uncrossed her arms, rocking her head side-to-side and weighing her options. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she contemplated relenting on her tantrum. Eventually, she moved to let John B approach Kie. Josie followed as he dragged Kie away from where she stood and toward the back door, huffing childishly when she realized her pouting was coming to an end.

"Look, I'm sorry about the kiss thing. That was super weird, and I feel awkward about it, and it's even more awkward now that Jo knows, but listen, I need you, and I'm begging. I'm begging you. I am begging you. And I just want to talk for-"

"Oh my god! Shut up!" Kie interrupted, and John B shook his head in stupor.

"What?"

"I get it," Kie firmly stated as she quickly glanced at the newly amused look on Josie's face. In the redhead's opinion, accepting John B's frantic apology was worth it in the long run. Her admiration for her friends would always outweigh any anger that boiled in her stomach.

Kie stepped up to place a kiss on John B's cheek, a sign of good faith to calm John B's racing heart. "Friends?"

He immediately nodded. "Friends. Yeah." The duo shared a pogue-shake, a relieved sigh leaving his lips. "Back in the friendzone."

Kie went to let her parents know she was leaving, and Josie turned to meet John B's anticipatory look. He raised his brows at her, sticking out his hand for her. "Wha'dya say, RJ?"

She approached him slowly, eye contact unbreakable as she pressed her pointer finger into his chest. "You really understand why I'm angry with you, right? It's not just some rule that has no meaning, okay? This-" She paused to motion between the two of them, before pointing out to where she assumed the Twinkie was parked and to where Kie disappeared.

"This is the most important thing in the world to me, and I'd never let anything tear it apart. Sure, now it's just a kiss, but what if it was more? What if you guys started dating and then it didn't work out? We'd never be the same, B. The pogues would never be the same."

Josie could feel the waterworks, and she inhaled to keep them from releasing. "I love you both too much for that shit to happen."

"I know. Trust me, I know." John B nodded in agreement, but the look in his eyes made it seem like he had so much more to add to Josie's statement. Like he knew something about her that she didn't.

Josie sighed and stuck her hand out, finally sharing a pogue-shake with the boy. They turned at the sound of Kie calling to follow her, and the younger girl smiled at her friends' reconciliation.

"Love you too, by the way." John B tugged her head back with a yank of her ponytail as they walked. Josie slapped at his hand, shoving his shoulder and causing him to stumble to his right.

Kie scoffed and rolled her eyes at their childish behavior as she made her way out the door. The duo followed behind her while they continued their playful shoving.

As John B pushed her out the door, she finally made eye contact with her favorite blond, who sat in the passenger seat of the Twinkie. His blue eyes shone with elation at her presence, but all she could focus on was how the setting sun perfectly complimented the oceanic color.

Their shared gaze was broken when Kie opened his door. "Out, you know the rule."

Once shotgun is called, it applies for the entire day—unless stated otherwise.

Josie smirked as he put on a dramatic show of rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out at Kiara. He climbed out of the van and watched as Josie shoved John B's shoulder. She shared a smirk with JJ when John B tripped down the last step because of it.

The brunette speedily recovered and retaliated, spinning to shove Josie's shoulder as she also reached the gravel ground. JJ raced to make sure she didn't stumble and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hitting John B for her in return.

"What're we kickin' his ass for?" JJ inquired. He ignored the roll of John B's eyes as they made their way to the opened sliding door. He also refused to acknowledge the fake gag John B mimed as they did so.

"He's a dick." Josie shrugged, and she giggled at John B's audible offended scoff.

JJ laughed as he waited for her to enter the van first, before climbing in after her and shutting the door. He then climbed over the backseat and into the trunk area.

Josie grinned at him as she nestled onto the bench next to Pope and returned to her position from earlier that day. She leaned back against the side, right knee bent up as it leaned against the back of the seat. She let her head fall backward as her eyes shut for a well-earned rest.

As John B started driving, she could make out the sound of JJ clicking his lighter. Josie peered to her right to see JJ taking a hit from a newly lit blunt. Immediately, she poked her bottom lip out in a silent plea, smiling when the boy easily gave her the blunt to puff.

After passing it between them for a few minutes, he finally spoke up. "You mind if we just relax on this one? It's been a long day, and a lot of weird stuff's gone down." He motioned toward Josie, who'd looked the most eased she'd been all day.

The weight of everything that day sat heavy on her shoulders, and all she longed for was a nice bath.

"We're just gonna lay low. Oh, did you want a hit of this?" JJ held the blunt out toward Pope. Josie breathed out a laugh.

"I keep the signal clear."

"Dude, okay. Do you understand that your problem is that you don't get creative? If you got creative then-"

John B interrupted JJ's lecture. "Look, I know I was wrong about the lighthouse, alright? And pretty much wrong about everything else going on, but I was right about one thing. Okay? My dad is trying to tell me something."

Josie opened her eyes as she took the blunt from JJ's hand. She inhaled a hit and returned it, before moving to sit on the seat behind John B. She placed a hand on his shoulder and shared a knowing look with Kie.

There was a part of her that encouraged her to believe in what he was saying. It was the same part of her that believed that hidden treasures and maps to lost cities existed. The part of her that swore that there was a possibility that John B's ship-hunting father was sending last-ditch messages to his son.

"Then let's find out what it is."

After letting John B drive them around for a bit, they eventually found themselves at an old cemetery. One of the very few on Kildare.

Josie was instantly intrigued, the newly darkened sky adding a bit of eeriness to their adventure. They all piled out of the car, passing out flashlights or, in JJ's case, a headlamp. They then joined John B in his confident trek toward whatever they were looking for.

"Come on, hey. Hey, come on," John B anxiously commanded Kie behind him, desperate for his friends to follow without interruption.

"I'm coming. This place is scary." Kie walked closely behind him, followed by Pope, as JJ and Josie took up the rear of the group. Mainly because Josie didn't trust a high JJ not to trip over a gravestone and break his nose.

Josie squinted and pointed her flashlight at different headstones to read the names and dates, trying to place people at different time periods in history. World War II fighters, people who read Little Women when it was first published, women who could've been flappers, and people who marched in civil rights protests.

So many different lives lived, all in one space together.

"John B, what are we doing?" Kie questioned, flashlight moving around as she checked their surroundings.

"Okay, so, you know how you try to remember a song and you can't remember who sings it?" John B asked, and Kiara agreed as Josie let out a hum of confirmation.

"So, Redfield. This whole time, I thought it was a place, right? But it's not a place." John B led the group to a crypt, lifting his lantern to show the name carved at the top.

Redfield.

"It's a person."

"Voi-effing-la," JJ stated. He elbowed Josie and nodded in pride at his French, to which she rolled her eyes and shoved his elbow away with her own. She stepped up near John B, eyes scanning the concrete structure as she inspected it.

"See, my great-grandmother Olivia. Redfield, that was her maiden name."

Josie examined the crypt and tried to decipher what time period it was probably built in. "Did you guys know crypts used to mainly be under churches? Technically, this is a mausoleum, which gets its name from King Mausolus's tomb, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World."

"Still creepy." Kie smiled despite her claim, and Josie nodded. Creepy, but fascinating.

"Alright, help me with the door. Come on," John B instructed. Pope agreed and followed to help move the door out of its spot. "One, two, three." They both let out strained noises as they struggled to push, but the door refused to budge from its hold.

"Are you pushing?" Pope strained.

"Yeah, I'm pushing."

Josie nudged JJ toward the door, and he squeezed himself in between the boys to help. "Here, I got it." But the door stayed put.

"Come on, this door's like seven hundred pounds, man. It's not gonna budge," Pope grunted.

"We didn't come this far, to get this far, alright? We got this." JJ's encouragement and the boys' failure were interrupted by a loud hiss that emitted from the small opening of the crypt. Josie noticed the black head of a snake straightaway, and she jumped forward to rip JJ back by his shirt.

"Woah, woah, woah." Sounds of fright escaped everyone as they moved away from the newly grounded snake.

"That's a moccasin, alright?" JJ shuffled to follow the snake. Kie pulled at Josie's upper arm as the latter closely watched the blond. "Ye old Dr. Cottonmouth. Death in tall grass."

Josie couldn't believe it when JJ started barking at the snake. Instantly, the group offered harsh commands for him to shut up as he tried to intimidate the snake. Josie turned away in incredulity and rubbed her forehead, anxiously looking around to see if anyone could hear the noises he made.

"You're gonna wake the freakin' dead, man." Pope pushed at his shoulder, causing JJ to stop and look up at them, confused.

"Dude, they're afraid of dogs. Everyone knows that, man." JJ turned to Josie, who shrugged in an exhausted response. John B went to examine the door again, but JJ pulled his shoulder to hold him back. "Wait, hold on, hold on. If there's one, there's probably dozens."

Despite Josie's title as resident scaredy-cat, if there was one thing she wasn't scared of, it was snakes. After living with the kind of person that Naomi was, she'd seen it all. Mice, snakes, lizards, cockroaches, spiders—the whole lot. So, while JJ's warning spooked Kie and Pope, Josie just rolled her eyes.

Kie grabbed Josie's hand, pulling her friend closer to her side as she flashed her light at the tomb. "Can you stop? You're scaring me, bro."

JJ proceeded to bark at the crypt, and Josie had to contain her laughter at how ridiculous he looked.

"Stop barking at the snake!" John B rebuked. It then caused a domino effect of arguments as the boys fought about whether or not it was smart for JJ to bark at snakes.

Josie dragged Kie toward the hole that the snake had slithered out of. After getting a good look at it, Kie quietly pointed out that it was a crack from where the boys had just barely been able to move the door. It was just big enough for one person to squeeze through, if they were short enough.

Josie tried to determine exactly how sober she had to be to climb through successfully.

"Look, we're not gonna get in there, alright? It's not budging," Pope stated. None of them paid any attention to the girls. "We should probably just go."

"One of us could probably get through," Josie offered. She and Kie flashed their lights up to the left of the door, where the hole opened a bit more.

"What? No, no, no, no. You think you-you're gonna fit through the hole? That hole?"

Josie playfully glared at John B, coking a brow in question as he stuttered to backtrack on his statement. She pursed her lips and nodded teasingly, while JJ hit him on the shoulder for his indirect inference. She good-naturedly giggled at his embarrassment, and glanced back at her female best friend.

"I would, but I'm not gonna get through without breaking something. This one, however..." She trailed off and expectantly stared at Kie, who shrugged.

"Look, this is about your dad." Kie was firm in her statement, looking at John B. "And honestly, I really don't believe in it, but you deserve to know the truth." There was a moment of understanding between the two of them, reaffirming that they all would do almost anything for each other. "I'll do it."

Josie nodded in agreement and sent John B a tight-lipped smile of encouragement. She motioned toward the twigs and vines. "Alright, get this out of her way."

She, Pope, and John B began pulling on them to clear the hole for Kiara to climb through. Unsurprisingly, the task was more difficult than one may have predicted because of the amount of time those vines had probably been growing there. The plants had a tight hold on the door, and the trio had a bit of a struggle to pull them aside.

"Jay, help her up."

They held them back as JJ leaned back against the stone with his fingers clasped in front of him. "I'm gonna boost you, alright. I've seen it in the movies several times." Josie laughed at the blond's assurance and gave Kie a supportive smile. "Ready?"

"Remind me what we're looking for," Kie wondered as she looked at John B for answers.

He nodded. "You'll know when you see it."

She then hesitantly turned to Josie, who nodded. Kie was easily one of the strongest people she knew; she could handle a little bit of grave climbing.

"Hold my flashlight." She passed the light to Josie, who happily stopped helping hold the twigs as she held one light in each hand.

Kie prepared to stand on JJ's hands, but Josie quickly stopped her with a hand to her arm. "Wait. I love you and don't die, but if you do die...can I have your board?" Kie scoffed, hiding her smile as she shook her head and gently shoved the girl away from her.

"Alright, so put your hands right there," JJ instructed her to grab his shoulders. Kie adjusted where her foot needed to be in his hold, and Josie cringed and prayed that he didn't drop her.

"Alright, on three. One-"

Without needing the countdown, Kie grunted and boosted herself up, shimmying into the hole. "Okay, never mind. Just forget about three."

As soon as Josie heard Kie's feet hit the ground, she stuck her hand in to pass the girl her flashlight. "Here you go. Be careful."

"I will," Kiara reassured.

Josie couldn't help but pull her middle finger to her mouth and chew on the short nail bed. The idea that Kiara might encounter multiple snakes at once, or something else entirely, caused the anxiety in Josie's chest to build slowly. Every possibly dangerous outcome ran through her head within a millisecond.

What if the building collapsed on her?

"You alive? You got, like, a-a heartbeat and everything?" John B asked, concern for their friend clear.

"So far."

Josie pressed herself to John B's side and closer to the hole to peek through and keep an eye on her friend. "Please don't actually die, Kie. I can't deal with these idiots without you." A nudge was given to her left shoulder, and she turned to see an offended JJ staring down at her.

She just shrugged, doubling down on her claim, and turned back to listen to her friend. "I'll try not to, but I need some more light."

"Yeah, yeah, here. Yeah, I gotcha," John B confirmed. Josie moved back slightly so he could pass the lantern into the crypt.

The silence that followed was deafening, and Josie's anxiety began to crawl up her throat when nothing was relayed from her friend. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her palms grew clammy against the rough stone of the door. She pushed against John B to peek in, where she saw Kiara staring at something. But she couldn't make out what it was.

"Kie, did you find anything?"

"Is there gold?" JJ quickly added. Josie gently smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand, eyes unwavering from Kiara.

"Oh my god."

"What, what? Kie, are you okay?" Josie scrambled to get a better look inside. She hoped that the lack of urgency in her friend's voice meant that she wasn't in any imminent danger.

Kie pulled what looked like an envelope from a crack in the wall. She passed it and the lantern out to John B and climbed out, with the help of JJ and Josie.

"That's not gold," Pope admonished disappointedly.

"Holy shit." John B astonishedly looked down at the writing on the envelope, For Bird written neatly on the front. Josie furrowed her brows as he looked around at all of them, confusion written across her features.

"This is from my dad."

Her confused frown quickly morphed into a stunned smile, and she was incredibly relieved that John B would finally get some type of answer to his mystery. But before any of them could celebrate or share their support, they were interrupted by the click of JJ's lighter and a warning from the boy.

"Code red, code red. Square groupers, square groupers." JJ immediately turned to push Josie along as he ushered everyone behind the stone building. "It's the guys that robbed your house." Once everyone had passed him, she grabbed his hand to pull him along with her.

"Turn off the lights, guys."

Josie quickly smacked her flashlight off, and everyone struggled to turn off their respective lights. Pope flicked the light on JJ's forehead off and scolded him, while the blond focused on putting his blunt out on the wall. John B fumbled to turn his lantern off as Kie scolded him.

Josie could make out the faint sound of a golf cart, which was quickly accompanied by the faint voices of whoever drove it. Kie tapped her arm, pointing toward where the voices sounded from. "Do you think it's them?"

She shrugged and tried to pull JJ back, a bit closer to her, as he peeked around the corner. "Homie's got a gun."

"Screw this," Kie stated through a shake of her head. She grabbed Josie's elbow and tugged her up as she bolted toward the cemetery gate.

Josie pulled JJ along by the hand, following after Kie and John B. Pope trailed closely somewhere behind them. It was only a matter of seconds before the leads were making their way over the surrounding wall.

"Okay, Jose, c'mon." She barely had time to think about the height predicament before she stuck her foot into JJ's clasped hands and let him boost her up over the stone.

Kie and John B were quick to assist her down, and JJ followed a millisecond after. "Go, go, go!"

They all went to sprint toward the Twinkie, when they realized Pope had gone over the gate and not the wall. And in the process, he'd gotten himself stuck in quite the predicament.

"Guys, guys! I'm stuck," Pope panicked. Josie ran over to help him down, followed by Kie, as she choked down her giggle. Her best friend's conundrum was surely something they were going to find hilarious in the future.

"Pope, come on, man!" JJ ushered before jokingly pulling the gun from the back of his pants. "Alright now, Pope, don't move, okay?" Josie didn't have time to reprimand him before John B roughly pushed his arm down, trying to grab the gun from him.

Josie and Kie urged Pope down as he viciously argued with the girls pulling him toward the ground. The sound of seams ripping could be heard, but Josie couldn't care less. The state of his shorts, or decency, was not more important than avoiding being shot at again.

"P, you just have to let the shorts die; it's not worth it! I'll buy you a new pair!" Josie and Kie gave one final tug to bring him down from the gate. That time he followed, but his shorts did not.

Josie cackled as they raced for the Twinkie, carelessly stumbling as she continued to laugh at an underwear-clad Pope. Through her smile, she feverishly apologized to him.

"Nice, c'mon, dude. It's a little Tootsie Roll," JJ jokingly poked fun at Pope. Josie shoved the back of his head as Kiara opened the back door for them to climb through.

The brunette girl climbed into the front seat, laughing and calling Pope stupid, as he ran with his hand cupped to cover his manhood. Pope clambered into the back, and Josie impishly slapped his butt as she climbed in behind him.

"Gun it! Gun it!" She scrambled forward to repeatedly hit John B's shoulder as JJ climbed through and shut the door behind him. The whole group couldn't help but heartily laugh as John B peeled away from both the cemetery and Pope's shorts hanging from the gate.

☼

Once they'd made it back to the Chateau, JJ had insisted that he was in need of nourishment. Pope had insisted on finding something to replace his shorts. And the others had insisted that they shut up and stop complaining.

Josie, Kie, and John B sat at his dining table as they stared down at the envelope. JJ made himself a sandwich as Pope went to throw on pants. Josie couldn't help but glance at John B every few moments, aware that there must've been a complex range of emotions racing through his head.

The desperation in his eyes was the clearest of them all.

JJ spread peanut butter on the bread he'd found in the back of John B's cabinet. Josie tried to keep herself from vomiting at the fact that it was definitely past the expiration date, choosing to let him deal with that consequence.

"That bread had mold on it three days ago," Pope criticized as he exited John B's bedroom, sporting a pair of sweatpants. He lifted a lantern and joined the others around the table.

"Yeah, I'll just pull off the bad parts," JJ answered nonchalantly. "Plus, mold is good for you. It's just a natural organism."

Josie shuddered at the logistics of his argument, glancing over her shoulder at him. "JayJ," she called.

"Yup, yup, yup!" He raced to stand behind her chair, with the moldy sandwich and a Sprite in hand. "Hot damn! Let's do it!" He placed the soda down in front of Josie, and she fleetingly shot him a grateful smile.

John B tore off the seal of the envelope as JJ took a bite of his sandwich. Almost instantaneously, the boy behind her gagged and spat the food into his hand as Josie grimaced. Her eyes flickered between John B opening the package and JJ moving to throw away the part of the sandwich he'd spat out.

She silently begged for him to trash it, only to be disappointed when he instead chose to just peel at the mold.

John B unfolded the piece of paper he'd pulled out, laying it on the table to reveal it to the rest of them. It was a map of the coastal North Carolina region, but scribbled on it were markings where Kildare rested on the Outer Banks.

"Holy shit," John B graveled as he flattened the map.

"Well, X marks the spot." Pope leaned down to point at the obvious marking on the map. The group attentively watched as John B confirmed that the coordinates jotted down on it corresponded with the X.

"Maybe there's something else in there," Josie suggested. John B nodded, and he reached in to pull another object out of the envelope.

"What's that?" JJ asked once John B held the device, and Josie scoffed humorously as she looked up at him.

"It's a tape recorder, dumbass," Kie answered. The offended look he gave their friend made the redhead laugh, and JJ gently swatted her shoulder in retaliation. She swatted back at him, briefly starting a swatting fight over her shoulder, before Kie reached out to smack both of their hands and effectively stop them.

They all waited with bated breath as John B hit play on the device.

"Dear Bird," Big John started, but was abruptly interrupted by JJ.

"Who's Bird?"

"That's what my dad called me," John B answered. Josie reached her hand out to rest on his forearm and gave him an encouraging squeeze. She nodded for him to continue the tape.

"I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so. And you doubted your old man. I suspect at this moment, you're filled with guilt and self-loathing over our last fight, but don't kill yourself just yet, kid. I didn't expect to find the Merchant either. You were probably right to call me out, wasn't exactly Father of the Decade. What can I say, kid? I could smell the barn. And hopefully, we're listenin' to this in our brand-new sugar-shack down in Costa Rica, livin' off passive investments and pulling on permits. If not, and you find this for less-than-optimal reasons, well, that's what the map is for. There she is, the wreck of the Merchant. If somethin' happens to me, finish what I started. Go for the gold, kid. I love you, Bird, even if I didn't always act like it. I'll see you on the other side."

The recording ended, and a silence blanketed the group as John B let out an audible gulp. The energy in the room was heavy, and mere milliseconds ticked by as they sat in their disbelief. John B rose from his seat, gently removing Josie's hand from his arm, and turned to walk toward the kitchen.

But before he could get very far, he collapsed against the doorway with a sob.

It was instinctual for Josie to quickly rise from her seat and rush to her friend, wrapping her arms around him from the side. Her right hand rubbed up and down his back as he leaned into her. Tears dripped onto her arms, which caused her own to fall into his hair.

She hated seeing her friends cry.

"Holy shit, he did it! Big John, h-he found the Royal Merchant-" JJ's cheers were quickly shut down by Kie, who placed her palms on her head and annoyedly pointed at him in disbelief.

"Can you-can you please?"

"Yeah, sorry."

Josie continued to console John B as she whispered reassurance in his ear, but there wasn't much more she could do. Hearing his supposedly dead father's voice was obviously quite a lot for him, as it would be for most people, and Josie didn't know what to say to make something like that better.

So, all she could do was offer him comfort and remind him that he was loved and validated through his pain.

Kie slowly walked toward the duo and tucked herself into John B's other side. The both of them let him find solace in their embrace.

Josie leaned into the boy's shoulder to try and hide the tears that freely fell down her face. At some point, she reached around to squeeze Kie's hand on his back as she bit her lip, desperate to keep her own empathetic sadness from audibly spilling out.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there, comforting him. But sometime after, John B decided that he'd needed air.

The five of them all moved to settle on the dock as thunder rumbled in the distance. There was a grief that hung in the air after what was basically confirmation that Big John was dead, but there was also an anticipation from the implication of looking for the gold.

Josie watched as JJ skipped rocks and Kiara softly played her ukulele. The girls shared a spot sat atop the side of the dock, and Josie used the younger girl's shoulder as a pillow as she rested her head against it. The plucks of the familiar strings lulled Josie into a sense of security, and she would occasionally chime in to hum along with the melody.

"How much was it again?" JJ asked as he tossed another rock into the marsh water.

"Four hundred mill," Pope answered, and Josie shook her head in bewilderment. Sure, her family had money. But she couldn't even begin to imagine what that amount of money would even look like.

JJ sighed through pursed lips. "Alright, let's talk the split." He threw his last rock out, before turning to face the group directly. "Now, before we say 'evenly,' may I remind you that I am the only one who can properly defend us from those groupers who were after us." He held up the gun for emphasis. "Protection? Not cheap, okay?"

Josie rolled her eyes at the insinuation that he was some all-mighty protector.

"You haven't trained. You've done zero training," Pope pointed out disapprovingly.

"YouTube, bro. That's at least a five percent bump right there." JJ's claim caused Josie to snort out a chuckle. She moved to lean her forehead against Kie's shoulder, which shook with her own chuckle.

"You haven't-" Pope tried to argue, but to no avail.

"Any objections? Didn't think so."

Josie, Pope, and Kie all raised their hands at the boy's question, but they were promptly ignored by his refuting statement. "I didn't hear any, so..."

Kie rolled her eyes, deciding to ignore JJ as she turned to Pope. "What're you gonna do with your 80 mill, Pope?"

Josie chuckled and glanced over at Pope, intrigued. He thought about it for a moment, slightly nodding his head. "Pay for college in advance. And also, textbooks. Those are expensive."

"What about you, Kie?" Josie gently asked. She raised her head from the girl's shoulder to nudge it with her own, earning the same movement back.

"Yeah, what does a socialist do when she's rich?" Pope smugly chimed in, making Kie chuckle and shrug.

"Just wanna make a double album. About OBX, the pogues. Y'know, the way Catch a Fire is about Kingston." She paused to bask in the imagination. "Record it at Marley Studio, this one on backing vocals, Peter Tosh producing." Kie nudged Josie's shoulder as she mentioned her, but she rolled her eyes.

"Peter Tosh is dead-"

"Peter Tosh is dead. I know that, Pope. Sprit of Peter Tosh will never die." Kie lifted up her beer can at him for emphasis, and Josie smiled at the happiness radiating off of her female friend.

"Actually, I know what I'm gonna do," JJ butted in. His gaze moved to meet Josie's as he spoke. "I'm gonna get a big ass house on Figure Eight and go full kook."

"You're gonna go full kook?" Pope asked skeptically, earning a nod back from JJ.

"Yep. Gonna get a marble statue of myself, and then I'm gonna get a koi pond. Put a bunch of those fish-"

"I'm never visiting." Kie chuckled at her friend's idea of luxury.

Josie tried to imagine what that would look like. JJ in those shorts and polos that everyone on that side of the island wore, hair slicked back so perfectly that not a strand was misplaced. He'd sport a constant smirk that implied he thought he was better than everyone else. He'd be accompanied by a set of golf clubs that probably cost more than his bike and wristwatches he could pay a house payment with.

He'd also have some platinum blonde woman that he met in Barbados, or somewhere like that, on his arm. She'd have a big ass rock on her finger, and they'd pop out a few bratty kids.

She loathed the thought of him like that.

"What about you, Jo?" Kie asked softly, gathering the girl's attention, as she sat the ukulele down on the wood beside them. Josie pursed her lips in thought.

There were so many things she could do with that kind of money. Obviously, she could fund her exploration of St. Dismas. Hell, she could probably buy the whole campus grounds and just hire people to search it. Or she could leave the Outer Banks to go treasure hunting off the coast of Africa and never turn back. Or she could follow Pope's steps and pay for college.

But, despite all of that, she was sure her answer was not the one any of her friends were expecting.

"I wanna help my dad go to rehab—get him off drugs. Pay for Naomi and my niece to go to college. And maybe get a dog, a really big one." Josie sighed with a soft smile and picked at the skin around her nails. She forced back the tears stemming from her complicated emotions.

"Buy a place of my own. So I never have to be around my mother ever again."

Kie sighed and stared at her friend sympathetically, moving to gently intertwine their fingers together. The brunette squeezed Josie's hand lovingly, and Josie squeezed back just as emotionally.

After everything she'd gone through with her dad, after dealing with the never-ending weight of her mother's expectations, and after fighting her own personal demons. After all of that, at the end of the day, she had her friends. Her pogues.

And that would always be enough.

"What're you gonna do, JB?" Pope asked the abnormally quiet boy, and the four of them turned to stare as they waited for his answer.

He stayed in his thoughts for a few moments, before he nodded and turned to smile at the rest of them. "To going full kook."

They all stood to toast their cans, laughter and smiles prominent. "To going full kook!"

⋄ ⋟⋆ june 20, 2020

as benevolence fell apart in between my fingertips, I was reminded in that moment of just how beautifully human we all were. as the cracks in his heart broke evermore with the songs of his missing piece, I was reminded that even those that shone in the light had a dark shadow threatening to swallow them whole. and as our laughter danced through the night sky afterwards, I took the opportunity to look at my friends when I was met with a graceful thought. that the idea of being loved relentlessly, for a split moment, no longer seemed impossible. it was there. in the delicate grip of palms pressed together and gazes sharing a sense of overwhelming serenity, there was irreplaceable love. and there I sat, grasping that love and holding it with my hands unscathed.

- josephine grey ⋄ ⋟⋆

[restapesta]

Piercings. 5+1 ficlet, but with piercings. I have a problem.

1.

Ian thought he knew pretty much everything about his husband. He knew him, inside and fucking out.

How could he not? Ian's pretty much been with him for a better part of his life, and they've had enough late-night talks to share all their demons with each other, however hard it may have been. They knew each other.

There was no doubt about it.

But, well. Ian should have known Mickey kept secrets.

He also should've known that one of those secrets was bound to put him in the grave one day with the inscription on his tombstone saying that he died from horniness.

Because one of these days, he would. There was no doubt about it.

It wasn't the most conventional way to go, but Ian didn't mind it.

Because, holy fuck, Mickey just admitted he used to have his ears pierced.

"Sorry," Ian balked at his husband who was standing in the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror, a pair of black studs in his right hand. "Did you just say you had your ears pierced?"

"I probably still do." Mickey grabs an earring and places it against the healed-up hole that is so faint, Ian needed to come impossibly closer to see it. Mickey had pointed it out to him after he initially said he was getting his ears pierced again. Right after Ian was left with his mouth wide open, staring widely at him, not trusting he heard him right. "And if not, I'm just gonna reopen them."

How did Ian never notice it? How did he never see Mickey, the love of his life, with earrings in his ears? With little patched-up spots of skin that were so plainly visible to the eye, now that he really looked at it.

Mickey grimaced as he pressed the needle against the hole, pushing and prodding against the uncooperative entrance. He eyed Ian in the mirror, eyes narrowing. "What are you staring at?"

Ian was stunned speechless. Of course he was. Of fucking course Mickey was about to bust out some crazy thing two years into their marriage that would make Ian finally break. Like having his ears pierced, making every single yet-undiscovered fantasy come to life.

He couldn't help but imagine Mickey with a nose ring, now. Tongue piercing. Eyebrow piercing.

Nipples.

Holy fuck.

Blood was rushing straight to his dick, and goddamn it, this was it. Ian was about to die.

Because holy fuck, the earring went through.

So did the other one.

And now, Ian was staring at Mickey, who was sporting black studs in his ears. Two dark diamonds that were obviously fake but could've not been, because this wasn't Mickey anymore. This wasn't the Mickey who rolled his eyes at anything gay—except getting pounded, obviously.

No—this was Mickey with earrings.

Ian's mouth was dry. It was dry as Mickey turned away from the mirror to face him. He stood in front of him, a determined look on his face as if waiting for Ian to call him out. Him, in all his fucking glory.

"Did you, uh," Ian finally stammered out. "sterilize the needles? I don't want you to get an infection."

"That really all you gotta say?"

Ian swallowed. "How come I never saw you with," He pointed at Mickey's ears, unable to even say the word. "those?"

"I was really young. I got 'em pierced when Mandy did. Took them out fairly soon, 'cus, you know." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Ian knew.

He gripped Mickey by the shoulders pulling him closer. His eyes were on Ian's, but Ian's were on the earrings, and Ian never really knew he had a kink for jewelry.

Well, there was the wedding ring, but fuck, this had nothing to do with their relationship, and yet Ian was still sporting a raging hard-on Mickey had yet to notice.

"I love them." He said truthfully, mentally noting to get Mickey real studs once he got the chance. Not the cheap grocery-store ones, but actual diamonds that he wouldn't mind spending money on. Not when they would look so good on his husband.

Mickey blushed, pushing Ian away immediately, not getting away far, arms practically out so Ian could pull him back in. And he did, squeezing him tightly against his chest, careful not to place too much pressure on the newly-reopened piercings.

Mickey mumbled something against Ian's shirt, incoherent.

"What? I didn't hear you"

"I love you."

Ian smiled. Pulled Mickey away so he could stare into his eyes.

"You know you gotta let me fuck you with those on. Pretty sure it will be the best orgasm of my life."

Mickey only smirked, eyes lighting up immediately at the suggestion. He looks fucking amazing, Ian thought.

"Lead the way, hotshot."

Ian was right. With the earrings and the smugness—

It took him less than a minute.

2.

When Ian saw the photo, he was pretty sure he was going to die.

No, not pretty sure. One-hundred percent sure. Death was awaiting him now, ready to pull him in. He was already feeling faint, ready to just slip away into unconsciousness. He was going to die, for sure.

Or maybe it was just the loss of all the blood that was heading way down south that was making him feel this way, because holy shit.

Holy shit.

When Mickey took the earrings out after a few days of usage, claiming how they sucked, Ian thought that was it. Mickey was never going to do anything that reminded him of being gay ever again. He had probably been embarrassed and wanted to take them out, and Ian was feeling at such loss when he saw his ears vacant that he was ready to throw hands.

But, oh God.

Ian was now staring at a picture of Mickey—a picture he posted on goddamn Instagram for everybody to see—and it was him.

Him with a fucking nose piercing.

Ian checked the comments first. It would've probably been saner to call his husband and ask if he actually got a nose piercing and if he was ready to be a widow because Ian won't be lasting much longer, but there were a bunch of comments on the photo, and fuck if Ian wasn't going to leaf through them all. This could be a joke for all he knew.

Some sick joke to get Ian's hopes up, just to get them crushed down until he never had any hopes in life ever again.

Mickey with a nose piercing. Mickey with a nose piercing.

Carl said it looked 'fuckin' sick'. Lip was putting 😲 emojis all throughout the chat, sometimes even adding the 😏 one, probably a reference to Ian (at least Ian hoped it was). The other comments were just about how good Mickey look, which was really no surprise, but holy shit, did that mean this was real?

Mickey was out running some errand. Said he had some shit he needed to. That sneaky bastard. Ian didn't care if he was in the middle of the goddamn line at the Costco aisle or in the middle of a drug run.

He facetimed him.

When Mickey's face came into view, the nose ring present and very much real, Ian was lost for words. Mickey was biting his lip to keep from smiling and once he noticed Ian was just going to continue and stare, he scoffed.

"Man, it's just a piercing."

"No," Ian said. "This is much more than 'just a piercing'."

Mickey chuckled. "Well, I figured since I didn't really like the earrings, I could do this. It felt right."

This was the Mickey Ian knew and loved. The Mickey who wanted to try new things, get to know his own style. Mickey, who was finally confident enough in himself, and hopefully comfortable in their marriage, that he didn't even consider this a big deal. Ian was filled to the brim with emotions, and he was ready to explode.

"You need to come home now."

They met each other's eyes through the screen, blue glimmering in mischief. Mickey smiled. "Why?"

"Because."

"This piercing shit really gets you going, huh, Gallagher?"

It did.

It really did.

"If you're not home in ten minutes, I'll get the whip. So better be fucking home." With that he hung up, getting up to ready the supplies.

Mickey was home in eleven.

Ian knew it was fucking intentional.

3.

Ian might've been getting used to the fucking hotness that Mickey Milkovich with a nostril piercing was, but that didn't mean others were.

In the end, it probably didn't even matter that Ian was one million percent down for any types of piercings Mickey wants to get—he might have even been pushing him for a nipple piercing, but the why of it was for another time—what would eventually decide whether or not the earring stayed in was the reactions of somebody other than Ian.

It was unfair, really, that others would be able to affect Mickey's decision to finally do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, despite his ever-growing confidence. Still, Ian had a way of making sure that nobody made him feel shitty for doing something he wanted to do. Something for himself, without fearing the judgment of others like he had his entire life.

He was an arsonist, for fuck's sake. Let them try and eye his husband the wrong way.

Ian perhaps expected it from old, batty women at the grocery store who didn't have a clue what century they were in or Karens who were homophobic pieces of shit—but he never would be guessed it would be his own family poking fun at something that probably took guts to do. Because it took guts to actually get something like a nose piercing if you were a Milkovich with a past of growing up in a homophobic household.

"So, uh, you gone full gay now, Mickey?"

"Watch out, Ian, I think he might out-twink you."

"You look like Sandy now. Don't be surprised if I jump you."

"I think you look cool, Mickey."

"Uncle Mickey, what's that in your nose? Can I have one?"

Mickey didn't seem to really care about the Gallaghers' opinions. It was mostly just him flipping Lip off at the twink comment and winking at Franny for that last one. Ian, on the other hand.

Ian was the one who was getting fucking offended.

What if Mickey decided that all the teasing and sideways glances aren't worth it and he takes the nose ring out? What if Ian's deprived of sexy, liberated Mickey because of assholes like his own siblings?

It didn't matter how selfish it sounded. There was no way in hell Mickey was ever going to feel conflicted over something he didn't need to feel conflicted about.

So, the second Mickey was out of the room, and the Gallaghers were still unrelenting at the teasing, Ian knew what he had to do.

"Okay, that's enough," He said simply after the eight-hundredth joke about how the ring looked like a booger in his nose—what the actual fuck, Lip?—his voice stern.

"Come on," Lip said, despite the others clearly relenting, palms going up with sheepish expressions on their faces. "We're just joking."

"Well, enough jokes. You could be more like Liam. Tell him he looks good."

Lip snorted. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I asked you to?"

"He knows it's all jokes. He doesn't even care."

"I do." Ian narrowed his eyes. "I care whether or not he feels like he's done the wrong thing because you won't shut the fuck up after the joke's not even funny anymore."

That was what made the smile on Lip's face thin. He lowered his head sightly, as of bowing it down in shame. Ian knew he had finally caught on. Finally understood that, sometimes, even jokes could hurt people's fucking feelings.

Maybe Mickey wasn't at all touched by this. Maybe he really didn't give a shit about what Lip or some old-ass grandma at the store thought. Maybe it was only Ian who gave a shit.

But fuck it, he could give enough shit for the both of them.

If it meant Mickey would always feel comfortable in his own skin, then fuck yes he could.

"Okay," Lip said simply, and Ian smiled at him, thankful.

And when Mickey reappeared with a slight frown on his face and a, "what, no more jokes?" followed by a wide smile, Ian knew he had done the right thing.

Because Mickey looked good.

And the ring stayed on.

4.

"What is it with you and the goddamn nipple rings?"

Ian bit at his lip. Okay, he may have gone a little overboard. With all the research and the reference photos and all the places you could get one... But fuck, he had a fantasy, and he needed to see it come true.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Come the fuck on.

"Babe, listen," Ian started, moving so he was positioned against the headboard of their bed. It was almost midnight—what better time to lay it down on Mickey that he would look really fucking good with piercings in his nipples and that it would be Ian's dream come true. "They'd look so good."

"Then why don't you get them?"

Ian made an incredulous face. "Because they wouldn't look good on me. They would look good on you."

Mickey swiped at his nose, diverting Ian's attention once more to the perfection that was his black nose ring. How could Ian not see all the possibilities with multiple piercings when Mickey looked like that with just one?

"Come on," He said again, the image in his head even more vivid than before. "I googled it. It doesn't even hurt that much."

"I have a feeling like that is a very obvious lie."

Ian rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe it was.

He pushed himself back down onto the comforter, shifting so he could have access to Mickey's chest. He trailed a finger from his neck, then slowly down so it rest in between his nipples, laying out his palm so it could feel the beating of Mickey's heart.

"Imagine the sex," He whispered, trying out a new technique. Seduction. It had to work.

"Probably not until it's healed up and stops hurting," Mickey scoffed. "Also, I really don't think I'd like it. I'd look like a bull."

"You'd look like a very sexy bull. Oh, by the way, septum piercing." Ian wiggled his eyebrows. "Don't you see it? Don't you think it'd look awesome?"

Mickey looked like he was on the verge of either laughing or punching Ian straight in the dick. "I think," He began. "that I've created a monster."

"A monster who is extremely horny for your ass."

"Why do you have to have a kink for this? Ian, out of all the things. Just look up porn with a bunch of jewelry on the guys if you need to get off."

Ian frowned at the imagery. "It's not the jewelry, Mick. I've had hookups who wore a shit-ton of jewelry and it never made me all hot and bothered."

Mickey smiled at the hot and bothered part. "Dork. Then what is it?"

"Well, fucking obviously it's you."

Mickey's face lit up. "It's me?"

"Ugh, Mickey, we've been together for a while. Don't make me feel shy over this."

The exasperation made Ian's cheeks pink. Suddenly, Mickey was leaning in and pressing his lips to the heat, smiling all the way through it.

When he pulled away, there was a wide grin stretched across his face. Ian was a sucker for that grin. That grin was everything he needed in life. Nothing more.

"I won't get a nipple piercing."

Sadness. All Ian felt was sadness.

"But maybe we can check out other options." It was Mickey's turn to wiggle his eyebrows. "Tongue piercing float your boat too?"

Happiness. All Ian felt was happiness.

5.

Eyebrow piercing. It ended up being an eyebrow piercing.

And God. Ian was done. He was completely done with everything. This was it. This was all he ever needed to see in life. Now, he could die peacefully.

He was married to the hottest man alive. Ian could pride himself in that fact. Mickey truly was the hottest person Ian had ever laid eyes on.

Especially now that he had a nose and eyebrow piercing at the same fucking time.

Ian knew there would never be another man to get his attention again. Never anybody else to make Ian feel like he need to avert his gaze. Not when all eyes went to the Mickey with the hot body, amazing ass, great face, and perfect piercings.

"Maybe you should get some piercings, too," Mickey said as they sat together at the table, munching on cereal. "I mean, if you act this way over my shit, who knows how I'll act over yours."

Ian smiled. "I can't pull anything off like you can."

"Bullshit. You're hot as fuck."

Ian's cheeks pinked. "Shut up."

"No seriously," Mickey said as he got up to get more coffee. "Hottest guy I know."

Ian licked his lips, slowly running his eyes down his husband's body. "Well then, guess we both got lucky."

Mickey smiled and the piercings come into view again.

Ian really was a complete goner.

+ 1

"No," Mickey said once he saw Ian come into view. "No. No. No."

Ian grinned widely, tilting his chin slightly so he could showcase the tiny diamond—actual diamond—studs in his ears. "You like it?"

Mickey knew then that this was what heaven felt like.

He barely stopped himself from tackling Ian onto the floor.

Oh, who the fuck is he kidding.

He didn't stop shit.

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

Anonymous said:

Once i saw a video on youtube explaining a certain "anime character type", and it compared Akechi with Nagito. (I dont remember the other characters the video mentioned) what are your thoughts about it? Do you think they're similar?

You know, Anon, the dumb lizard brain that governs my every impulse wants to point at them and say: “mentally unstable twinks with great hair and a Very Heterosexual rivalry with the protagonist” and call it a day. Here’s the thing, though: my feelings about Akechi started strong and stayed that way throughout my Persona 5 experience, though the nature of those feelings has changed drastically since my first impression. (And I quote: “Who’s this Light Yagami-looking motherfucker? No, I don’t trust him. That smile is the last thing someone saw.”) And I want to talk about him. I also never don’t want to talk about Nagito. So you know what? I’m gonna. 

 Spoilers, by the way. 

    ---

 In short, I do feel they fall into a very specific character archetype. Namely: the morally ambiguous foil to the main character. Not a villain, not a hero, but rather somebody who follows their own moral code. With a dash of insanity, of course, because anime gonna anime. 

 For me, their most intriguing similarities run deeper than a trope, however, and it all starts with this inflated sense of self-importance they seem to share. I know what I said, just go with me on this one. 

 Nagito, at a glance, seems to have the very opposite of an ego. Forever putting himself down, calling himself all kinds of worthless, and willingly throwing his very life at every cause that comes his way. But herein lies the contradiction that defines him as a character. For all his espousing that the hopeless may never be hopeful, he still leaps at the chance to become worthy. He wants so badly to be more than he is, that he struggles to see a world outside his own perception. He is, of course, compassionate and empathetic; but, unlike Hajime (or even Joker), whose talent with people comes from their respective abilities to remove themselves from a situation and see it as someone else would in order to make a moral judgement, Nagito cannot fathom a world that doesn’t conform to his ideals. Hope and despair, good and back luck -- and there he sits in the eye of it all, defeated yet somehow untouchable. He can’t watch someone trip three feet away from him without assuming his luck has played some role in it. 

 Akechi is much the same way, though he owns it a little better. He sees all things as means towards his ends. He has his idea of how the world and it’s people work, and therein lie his issues with Joker. Because he plays by his own rules, which are fundamentally incompatible with Akechi’s. Much in the same way as Nagito becomes fixated on Hajime, the Ultimate, talentless, worthless, most shining beacon of hope there is; Akechi sees how Joker is consistently beaten down by life and yet strives to carve his own path, and is unable to cope with either the jealously or the admiration he feels, never mind any combination thereof. Moreover, he, too, desires to rise above and be more than he is: the hero of his own story, despite taking rather unheroic steps to get there. 

 I would, of course, be remiss not to mention the similarities in their upbringings that lead to these insecurities. Nagito lost both his parents at a young age, and from there, we’re given no indication of any long-term adult influence in his life. Quite the opposite, he seems to have been demeaned and shunned by his extended family at large. It is also implied at times that his parents were not very loving, though there is some debate around that, so take it as you will. Akechi was abandoned by his father who deemed his mother beneath him because she was a sex worker, and was left with a seething hatred for the man because of it. After his mother’s suicide, he was passed from institution to institution, likewise having no long-term positive influence in his life.

 Both were left to, essentially, raise themselves; glean their own image of the world and build their moral compass around lives that were unimaginably cruel, ruthless, and unfair. Thus, it’s likely their worst behaviours could have been avoided, had they stable home lives. Of course, this is no excuse, plenty of people grow up in unstable environments and don’t go on to harm others, however, it places them a step above senseless. In fact, they also share an incredible intellect, charm, good looks, and quite the way with words. If you’ve played both games, you know what I’m talking about. 

 Furthermore, they have this habit of standing on the outside, looking in. Nagito spends much of DR2 implying heavily that he would like to spend more time with the others as their friend, but does little to actually reach out to them. Viewing himself below them, and seeing no reason why such incredible people would want to hang out with trash like him. Akechi also keeps the Thieves at a distance. There are many times when they reach out to him, offer to help him find his way -- and he almost seems to want to. Yet it is as if he doesn’t know how. He has no idea what, besides hatred and spite, could possibly fuel him. Nor does he really know what there is for him to gain from forming genuine bonds with others, or why he should want them. But he does, that much is clear. They each crave acceptance, while accepting it as a lost cause, even as the protagonist of their respective games has their hand out to them. And this, once again, can likely be traced to their equally terrible upbringings, and lack of any real understanding of the world as it is, rather than as they see it. 

 I could absolutely go on all day down this path. And, hell, at some point, I might. But the overall theme I’m getting at here, is this delicate balance these two characters walk. Being soft and charming, and deadly and dangerous. Intelligent, yet profoundly ignorant. Eccentric and borderline reprehensible, but at the same time, deeply relatable, and extremely likeable. They aren’t psycho for the sake of it, and I’ll argue that to my grave. But moreover, what we have here is the ultimate products of the worlds they were made for. Parallels are drawn constantly between Nagito and Hajime, Akechi and Joker, in a “there but for the grace of god go I” way, and it falls the same every time. Joker forged a home among friends, and people he considered family. Even after being hurt, he found the strength to be vulnerable for someone, and that someone happened to be the right someone; and though these people, he became stronger still. Likewise, Hajime took risks, took responsibility, and became respected and loved through hard work and compassion. He faced his own fear of worthlessness, and in the end, he didn’t fold to it the way Nagito did. He built his own purpose in life, and it was as full of hope as any Ultimate’s. These are feats beyond comprehension to our antiheroes, who may well have turned out to be the heroes after all if they’d only been shown the same support and care. And that’s why I think this character type appeals to so many people, and why these characters become so beloved. I think we become invested in their stories, and we want to show them compassion. There’s a reason why Nagito and Akechi are frequently shipped around, why they exist in so many fix-it fics. At the end of the day, we know the difference between bad people, and people who do bad things. It’s that, the latter may not be beyond saving. 

 And finally, can I...? If you’ve played the third semester of Royal, they really just make Akechi Like That, huh? In the original Japanese, he was apparently supposed to just come off as tired and not particularly wanting to mend any of his relationships or mistakes since he knew his death was looming, so I’m not sure why they took one look at this complex character development and said, “Hm, let’s just make him balls to the wall, shall we?” but hey. I’ve got to give it to his VA, I had to put down my controller several times because holy shit. Just. Holy shit. Give that man all of the awards. All of them, every single one, please. 

[filthfichunter]

Might i request underage, incredibly tight someone being trained to fuck by Vesemir/Eskel/Geralt. Maybe Vesemir training every boy in "fencing". Or Geralt and Eskel training Lambert or Jaskier. Belly bulge, cum inflation, overstim and any others you'd like. Breeding bench is hot af.

Dub-con into fuck yes more - con is good. No fully non-con tho please.

Okay okay, so we've established that I wouldn't know a short fill if it fell into my lap and introduced itself right??

CW for: I think I only managed to fit underage (Jaskier the year before he heads off the Oxenfurt, so however young you'd like, musical savant? Rebellious barely legal teen? Up to you), and training an incredibly tight hole, inflation, distended belly, punishment inflation, anal beads, coercion, dub-con and spanking... But everything else is totally in whatever imaginary coda I hope this inspires for you of what happens next!

Geralt wakes the bard by sliding his cock into Jaskier's mouth, pushing his hips forward until his white wiry pubic hair hides that cute nose. The kid is practically choking on it before he even fully wakes up and realizes what's happening. Startled sleepy cornflower blue eyes meet slitted cat eyed pupils. 

There is a brief pause. Geralt hilted waiting to see if he'll need to reinforce the lessons he's been teaching the bardling the last two weeks. For Jaskier that brief moment slams forward with a burst of adrenaline  as he finally wakes all the way up. A gurggle, gasping in air through his nose, as he desperately tries to get a deep enough breath, spots starting to form at the edge of his vision.

He's woken up this was every morning since the first. 

The now familiar taste and smell and discomfort calms him, and he forcefully reminds himself that it's all part of the deal he struck even if he didn't know all that he had apparently agreed to.

Geralt's hips forcefully rock, disrupting his airflow, triggering the gag reflex that hasn't quite been trained out of him yet.

The young man's eyes start to tear up even as he relaxes his throat and begins sucking.

"Good, work. Your throat is golden, the perfect little fuck sleeve." Geralt chuckles at his own joke and begins fucking his  bard's face, enjoying the way the kid's throat flutters, spasming around his girth. It doesn't take him long to come, it wasn't an over exaggeration, Jaskier's throat is tight and wet, tongue flicking over his length. He hauls Jaskier up out of his bed role when he's finished, kissing him filthily, licking his own cum out from between slick friction swollen lips.

Agreeing to let the bard follow him along the Path has been one of his smarter decisions of late. When the gangly youth, cocksure and so very pretty, had approached his table Geralt had decided to ruin him.

"I speak Elder, can juggle, play any instrument given to me, crowds have wept to hear a song from my golden throat, and  I am willing to both sing your praises and provide entertainment on our journey, should you allow me to but follow you on your nobel path this season!"

Jaskier had taken a bit of an unauthorized gap year.

"You decide to run away from home then? Someone looking for you no doubt" the Witcher had asked for forms sake, assuaging what little moral reluctance he still held, having already decided that he'd be taking the lithe twink up in what he'd offered and also what he hadn't. 

"Hmmmm"

It had been easy to see that Jaskier wasn't an actual bard or performer, not dressed in the expensive but sedate clothing, only a small rucksack  and case holding his belongings, and presumably his lute.

"I didn't run away from home sir Witcher! I am merely gathering inspiration and experience before I start my formal bardic training in the Fall!" 

"Which isn't to say that I am untrained now, merely in search of material to fule my enterance audition, you are the inspiration I seek!!"

Jaskier had thought it was a grand plan. 

Now he found himself naked gummy eyed from a fitful uncomfortable rest, breath stale from sleep and cum, reluctant to acknowledge that this hadn't been the plan. 

His cock was half hard from morning wood, jaw sore, belly still uncomfortably full from the previous evenings training, starting another morning with his Witcher.

Less time limping along after Roach was always welcome.

"Give me a show bard!" Geralt smirked, "You still haven't held up your end of the bargain and we can both agree that I have been attentive in your training, let's see if you'll disappoint again this morning"

"Thank you Geralt, for being so patient." Jaskier always tried to apologize early on, it saved him from dealing with a red bruised ass all day if he could keep from having to be corrected until at least after their lunch time stop. 

Geralt smirked enjoying the insincerity. Jaskier had started out so reluctant, and confused about his role, but after that first two hard days acclimating had learned to at least give the appearance of acceptance.

He's been working on Jaskier, getting him ready to service all of the appetites of a Witcher."Hands and knees, spread your legs wide, hump the ground, let's get you spent and loose"

Already used to such instructions Jaskier dropped getting into position. Geralt enjoyed seeing that ass jiggle infront of him as the boy dropped down into position for their morning lesson.

"I've been patient, little buttercup, but maybe what you need is a push." A solid clap, more noise than real violence echoed the clearing, Jaskier's hips rolling more fluidly, the fingers of his hands dug into the sod above his head beyond the bedding as Geralt's hand fell down twice emphasizing his threat.  

The lightly furred cheeks of the boys ass looked like a perfect peach, round, lightly furred with a hint of dewy sweat as Jaskier chased the coarse friction of the bedroll beneath him. His cock  hung vulnerable between his thighs thrusting hard  down drawing frustrated grunts.

His belly was taut and swollen beneath him, sloshing from last night's lesson training him to take more volume into his guys.

It was just plump enough that Jaskier couldn't get enough stimulation on his straining erection.

 It was never enough alone to get him off. "Hm. Your little hole is winking at me again!" The pads of Geralt's finger ran over the dry dusky starburst, "feeling shy this morning?" The rim clenched tightly around the thick rope that disappeared into a swollen hole. The friction and lack of moisture after having worm the training device all night causing the whimpers and thrusting to gain a bit more desperation.

The rope ran deep into the boy's asshole, connected to a series of graduated beads. The last bead large enough to retain the heavy expanding potion Geralt had funneled into Jaskier to aid in his training the night before.

Jaskier wasn't allowed to remove them, or empty his straining belly for the day until he'd come first.

It was his own fault.

His virgin hole had been so tight that Geralt had to punish it for refusing to cooperate. 

That first lesson, dispensed only an hour after they first met had done double duty.

Geralt forcing three of his fingers into Jaskier's mouth finger banging the back of his throat to help him get used to satisfying the Witcher with his mouth, and then those slopping spit slick fingers had reached back and smacked down on his hole, three quick spanks, then back into his mouth.

They had repeated the activity until Jaskier stopped thrashing and had eventually cum frosting against Geralt, held prone over the Witchers lap for the first time.

His hole had been too tight, from fear and anxiety the first time Geralt tried to fit the head of his cock inside. No amount of pressure was going to work, so instead of casting him aside Geralt let him know they'd work up to him fulfilling this role in their party through regular training.

There were only two anal beads that first night, liberally greased up with some salve from Geralt's pack. The beads had been small, easily thrust in and out of his asshole. 

He had cum so hard that first night he had blacked out, waking up warm, and sated Geralt's spend coating the inside of his thighs where he'd taken his own pleasure from Jaskier's unresponsive body, pinked up thighs splashed with white seed.

Every couple of days Geralt would add more beads, bigger beads getting Jaskier ready to take his cock, making do with the boy's mouth, hands, and his thighs as they worked to stretch his hole large enough to be able to take Geralt.

Attitude just brought more discomfort so it hadn't taken long for Jaskier to give in. Geralt was very handsome, and his cock was intimidating enough that he'd been grateful not to have had to take it without all of the prep work they had done together

There are a dozen heavy carved stone beads up Jaskier's ass. They bump against each other clacking and vibrating, a property of the mineral they are made from.

 With little tugs to the rope Geralt is able to peek the surface of the largest bead out of the younger man's hole. "Looks like a hungry mouth Jaskier, gobbling up almost everything, who knew my boy had TWO such hungry mouths, bear down, gape that tight little pucker" 

The bead pushes further out of his hole, stretching the rim as it starts to push out. Jaskier rim looses color under the strain a white band of stretched muscle straining.

When Jaskier isn't able to push it any further himself he earns a quick series of slaps to the meat of his ass, cheeks bouncing hard and going even pinker.

They've been working at stretching Jaskier out every evening. First on Geralt's tongue, then moving on to any number of other tools that the Witcher happened to have on hand.

The night before Jaskier had been placed on his back, nearly folded in half with his knees near his ears arms wrapped around each ofnhis own thighs holding himself open and exposed. Geralt used a funnel and inflatable tubing to deposit a potion into Jaskier. 

The tubbing had been made from pig bladder, and while it had only started out as thin as one of his own fingers it had expanded, filling him so deeply and fully that his own belly had soon blocked his view from his awkward position. 

He'd been so relieved to have the tubing pulled free that he hadn't known to brace for the potion itself expanding. An intimidating amount of slimy lubricant had filled him. 

Jaskier had passed out last night with his distended belly rocking back and forth jostled by Geralt thrusting to completion once again between his thighs.

Today's position was equally uncomfortable but at least once Jaskier came he'd be able to rest his sore belly.

Geralt rearranged the prone figure infront of him. Pushing Jaskier's legs even further apart tilting his pelvis back, putting a deep curve into the bards lower spine, everything is on display.

It only takes a little pressure before Jaskier's hole opens up and he can push his middle finger in deep, pushing the anal beads deeper. He gently pets around Jaskier's rim, barely pressing the tip of another finger in, stroking the skin around it with his other ones.

Geralt moves up to a second and third finger quickly. Picking up speed, jostling the anal beads, setting them to click against each other and vibrate up against the boy's prostate. Agitating the liquid locked behind.

As soon as it feels like Jaskier is close, walls fluttering erratically, Geralt yanks his fingers and then the beads out.

The rim of Jaskier's ass blooms and clentches rapidly as each bead is wrenched free, the thick lubricant sealed behind them exploding out. 

Jaskier tripped over into a punishing climax, overwhelmed, spent and lax after all of the stimulation.

Jaskier's unconscious body twitched and his hole spasmed.

Geralt fed three of his fingers back into the unconscious body.

Even as the sound of rhythmic squelching filled the clearing the Witcher was applying the slick dripping from Jaskier to his reawakened erection.

There's enough slimy lube that the bardling feels wet inside, like a pussy but, even after their first grueling session of the day, so much tighter.

But finally not too tight.

He'll wake Jaskier up already impaled on the thick girth of his cock. Geralt can't wait to fuck the hole he's had so much fun training. He could have had the kid bouncing on his cock the first day, but after having lived as long as he has he knows the value of drawing pleasure out. 

He can't wait to further bruise that peach ass by slamming into it with his hip bones, finally hilted deep all the way into the space he'd painstakingly carved out for himself.

Jaskier doesn't know that he won't be starting at Oxenfurt in the fall. 

Geralt is extending his boys gap year and taking him with him back to Kaer Morhen for the winter.

He did after all promise to bring that years entertainment for his fellow Witchers.

[inessencedevided]

Oh yeah, titles are totes valid. I like yiling patriarch cos when you think about it it doesn't make sense. He didn't create the town of yiling, and he technically doesn't even live there. He sould be called burial mounds patriarch or smth.

Anyway, enough about titles (also if I have made a mistake due to translation error or misunderstanding, whoops). Which OG sect leader do you think was the worst, and which one was the best? And which next gen sect leader is best and worst?

I dislike jgs most, cos yikes. Wrh might have been a tirant and war criminal, but at least he wasn't as big of a dick as jgs. Can't really decide who the best is, cos they all had issues, you know?

Worst next gen would have to be jgy, not cos I dislike him as a person but because he definitely commited war crime and genocide. Idk best here either cos once again, *slaps top of cgl* these cultivators can fit so much trauma and issues. I do like imagining how the now sect is run. One twink mastermind and his hunk retinue? Love that for them

-the axe cultivator

Argh, 🪓-cultivator (there's an emoji! :D). I'm so sorry! I'm terribly behind again in answering you. I promise, I like your asks but I want to give them proper attention and the holidays were surprisingly busy this year.

That question is very creative! And hard ^^ I had to think about all my answers, even the seemingly easy "worst sect leader of the OG". Because while jin Guangshan is definitely a pompous ass and overall shitty person who is more concerned with sleeping with every woman in Lanling than his duties and who didn't step up during the sunshot campaign and then decided to use the power vacuum afterwards to his advantage, he at least, you know, did some sect leading. Which is not something that can be said about one Qingheng-Jun. That guy just left his brother and eventually and increasingly his teenage son in charge. Now what is worse? Bad sect leading or no sect leading at all? I don't know if I can decide ^^

Ah yeah and Wen Ruohan ... 🤷‍♀️ obviously he wasn't great, but he's also the least three-dimensional "villain" so I never really bother with him ^^

The best og sect leader? Does lan qiren as an acting sect leader count? ^^ obviously he too has issues, as you said. I believe lan qiren, as a leader, as an uncle and as an educator was deeply influenced by the things that happened with his brother. I can only imagine how deeply it must have hurt him to see his brother abandon both his people, him, his brother and his own children for the sake of one woman. Whatever your opinion on qingheng-jun, I believe we can all agree that his actions must have deeply hurt and disappointed lan qiren. We don't know what he was like before those events, so we don't know just how mich of his extreme rigidity is due to those events, but I do believe that they hardened him and made him more inflexible. Maybe he was much more of a free spirit before. Maybe he was a lot like Lan Wangji, but instead of loosening and expanding his understanding of the relationship between morality and rules, the events that shaped him let him to harden them. We don't know. But we do know that he picked up the pieces his brother left him. My point is, you can think about his style of leadership and teaching what you want but you cannot deny that he is devoted to the people in his care and that's not something you can say about a lot of the leaders of his generation.

Now, to the next gen leaders:

This is, in a way, even harder to decide ...

I wouldn't call jiggy the worst sect leader so easily. His record, imo, is very much mixed. The watchtowers, if I recall the novel correctly (it's been 6 months since I last read it ^^), were a pretty good way to get help to people who usually fall under the radar of the cultivation sects. So while he definitely sacrificed a lot in his rise to the top, he seems to have tried to help the common people (something that cannot be said about his two predecessors).

But ... who then? I thought a lot about it and I think I'm inclined to say Nie Huaisang. Don't get me wrong, I love him as much as anyone, but I also remember the part in the novel where, when wangxian investigate the "man eating bunker" (i wonder how accurate that translation is) a town's person sais that they don't expect help from the nie sect because ever since Nie Huaisang took over nothing gets done and they neglect to help the people within their territory. Now, we know that Nie huaisang cultivated a reputation of general incompetence so people wouldn't suspect him to scheme against jin guangyao, but in doing so, he obviously neglected his duty to the people under his care. Which is, imo, pretty consistent with his character. Nie Huaisang us ruthless when sufficiently angered and has no qualms to cause casual damage to achieve his goal (see Mo Xuanyu's suicide to bring wei wuxian back). His revenge was his first priority and so he placed being a good brother over being a good sect leader.

Best? Is also dificult. I honestly can't decide between Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng? There are so many factors to consider here! (There were already woth the ones above, really): what actions count towards the assessment of their leadership? What makes good leadership at all? (Which is funny because I'm doing my masters in political science rn and that's one of the biggest questions in political theory. But I only really know "Western" political theory. Chinese philosophy i have only ever graced the surface of) which is to say ... I can't really decide.

Jiang cheng put his sect above all else. While there's a lot of debate about whether that was morally right, it's certainly what helped him rebuild his sect as quickly as he did. He is brash and sometimes cruel, but his deciples clearly trust him and admire him.

Lan Xichen is an incredible diplomat. He is calm, fair (i.e. when he decides to listen to wangxians accusations against the sworn brother he loved and investigated them himself) and proactive when he needs to be. (I know, he is often accused of being too passive within the fandom, but I don't think that is necessarily the case. In a world where most leaders seem to base their judgement on rumor and hearsay more often than not, he withholds judgement until he listened to all sides. That is not a flaw in leadership) Now, in the end, he seemingly follows his father's footsteps by going into seclusion. I would argue, that still doesn't place them on the same step leadership wise. A. The situation with Jin Guangyao and madam lan, imo, aren't equivalent. It's hard to judge madam lan because we don't know what let her to kill the lan teacher, but I think it's unlikely she deceived qingheng-jun in the process. Jin Guangyao actively deceived kan xichen for years. When lan xichen learned this, he decided to investigate and was badly hurt in the process. The outcome, seclusion, may be the same, but the reasons are different. Also, the novel heavily implies that lan xichen will eventually emerge and take up his duties again.

All of this is to say... I can't decide ^^

I'll answer the other putstabding ask tomorrow. It's past midnight now and I should really sleep. Thank you for being so patient 💙

Btw, happy holidays, if you celebrate 🥰

[geekxgoddess85]

Very Bad Things

~PROLOGUE~ How It Began

“Are you sure a-about this Armin?”

“Of course, I’m sure. You trust me, right?”

Eren bit his lip, giving his childhood best friend a worried look. The two were currently on summer break from Trost University, going into their senior year. For Eren, junior year was a nightmare. If he was to be honest with himself, he had been slacking for the past two years so, when junior year came, he had to buckle down and keep his nose in the books in order to be able to pass the necessary courses to complete his credits. For college, staying an extra year on the count of not passing a course or lack of credits was more normal than one would think. But for Eren, he wanted to make sure he graduated the same time his friends did.

It was one week into summer break and Eren still felt the stress from taking his finals. It was the reason Armin was in his bedroom at the moment, making an account on—on behalf of Eren— on an adult live cam site called Strip ‘N Chat. Eren didn’t know how to feel about it. It was one thing to watch porn videos, but to actually interact with a person via webcam was kind of unnerving. Armin mentioned it was a great way to let off steam and when his best friend brought the idea to him, Eren was a bit…perturbed about it all. It was ironic, though. During their entire lives, Armin had been the conservative, stick-in-the-mud prude who used to balk at the very thought of sex, while Eren was the extroverted, loudmouth rebel. Three years into their college career and look at how the tables turned. Eren was still…well…Eren, but he found himself as the prude. The crazy thing was, Armin lost his virginity their freshman year during a frat party to Jean, of all people, while Eren was still a virgin. After his little tryst with Jean (and a couple of times afterwards), Armin began to blossom and open up in all ways, including sexual. He was openly gay and sexually active. And fucking proud of it all too.

The shit was crazy.

“Okay. Done.” Armin smiled and sat back in his chair. “You’re all signed up and I got ya’ logged in. Here’s your username and password.” He grabbed Eren’s sketch pad and began writing the information down. “Username is SlickxJagger and your password is Sk8terB0i30.”

Eren raised his eyes. “Slick…x…Jagger?”

“Yeah, corny, but cool, huh?”

“No!” He argued. “I sound like a washed up 90’s porn star!”

Armin shrugged and blinked his eyes innocently. “It’s a porn site, Eren. Everyone’s username sounds like a washed up 90’s porn star. Now, you’re all set! I loaded up that pic of you at Krista’s pool party.”

Eren sighed. He knew what picture Armin was speaking of. He posted it on his Instagram and had gotten a ton of likes. He didn’t think it was anything special. It was just him, with his red and white swim trunks on, holding up the hem of his shirt with his teeth, exposing his abs and various fake tattoos. He had grown his hair out—almost to his shoulders—and was a damp mess of a bird’s nest. Because of that and his long bangs, his face was pretty much hidden, though the sun light had shone just right on his sea green eyes, which caused them to sparkle and almost glow. “What do I do now?” He blinked owlishly.

Sitting forward, Armin clapped his hands onto the top of his knees. “Fill in your profile and filter out what you’re looking for. Then you can pick which Cam Model you like and subscribe to them. Every time they go live or post a pic or video, you’ll get a notification. Remember, some of that shit, they charge you tokens. It’s usually the more risqué stuff. The amount is based on their own discretion. And if you want one-on-one’s, you definitely have to pay out the ass with tokens.”

Biting his lip, Eren looked at his profile. He filled in the basic information about his age, height,  and build, and his likes and dislikes. He answered everything to the best of his ability and honestly. The only thing he lied about was his name. Instead of his real name, he decided to use ‘Jagger’ as being his first name. He didn’t provide a last name. His preferences came next. He started clicking the various boxes. “Um….okay, I like brunettes. Height doesn’t really matter to me. A muscular body would be nice. Don’t care about ethnicity…..” He continued to click away, with Armin helping him on certain things. “Is that all? Did I miss anything?”

“Yes, you sure did,” Armin replied, with a devilish grin. “And I know exactly which to pick out of Twink or Daddy. Click on Daddy.”

Eren winced. “Ew!”

Rolling his eyes, Armin sighed. “Not that kind of Daddy, Eren. Duh! Daddy kink.” He watched his buddy blink cluelessly at him. “I can’t believe you don’t know what that is. Even I know, dude. It’s when a younger male twink is enticed by an older male ‘Zaddy’. That’s the gist of it. If ya’ wanna know more, google it!” Standing, Armin slapped his hands down on Eren’s shoulders, before wrapping his arms around Eren’s neck, hugging him from behind. “I gotta go. Mikasa asked me to fill in for her at the Café. Did you talk to Annie about your schedule?”

Eren raised his own arms up and behind him, awkwardly wrapping them around Armin’s waist…or trying to as much as he could while sitting in his red and black gamer chair. “Yeah. I have the same schedule as you now so that I can catch a ride with you.”

“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Armin kissed the top of Eren’s head, before taking his leave.

Eren gave his buddy a lazy wave goodbye with a lopsided grin. When his bedroom door closed, his smile died down and was followed by a heavy sigh. He still didn’t know about this whole cam thing. But he was always up to trying new things. And if Armin liked it, then maybe it couldn’t be that bad.

Over the next hour, he had gone through dozens of pages of so-called Daddies. That process was a little more frustrating that what it should have been. Eren was picky when it came to who and what he found attractive. Not that it was a thing with him anyway, but he didn’t pick based on looks. He couldn’t because all models were required to wear masks for anonymity sake. He thought that was kind of neat. It gave the models a sexy, mysterious look to them. He had to go off based on their profiles and preferences. He had to weed out a lot of douche-bags but narrowed it down to two: The Captain and Dr. Pain. He was kind of skeptical about Dr. Pain. He looked to be into BDSM and while Eren didn’t have anything against it, he had never done anything like that. But Dr. Pain was 6”2, with impeccable styled blonde hair and chiseled features from what he could tell through the mask. They had a few of the same likes and dislikes. Overall, the guy sounded pretty normal, despite liking ‘a little pain with his sex’ (his own words). The Captain…well…there was something about him. He was a shorty, standing only at 5”3. Eren was a full five inches taller than he was. Not that it mattered. He didn’t think their was a height requirement to being a Daddy, but when he googled it, the norm was the Daddy was always taller and bigger than the Twink. They shared a lot of the same likes and dislikes, but what struck a chord in Eren’s heart was The Captain’s eyes. Even through his white, red, and black mask, Eren could see a pair of piercing blue-gray eyes. Almost a light cobalt. They pulled him in as if he were in a whirlpool, being sucked into the abyss.

‘What the hell?’

Blinking back into reality, Eren shook his head and walked to the kitchen. His stomach was roaring at him angrily to feed it. “Mikasa, are you hungry?” He called out to silence. Armin was gone to work, and it seemed like Mikasa had left to go some place too. So, he was alone.

Sighing, he kicked his door closed with his toes and plopped down on his bed. A sandwich and soda sounded real good right now and that’s exactly what he was chowing down.

It was a couple of minutes before ten when a notification sounded out. He thought it was his phone, but when he checked it, he saw that it wasn’t, he furrowed his brows. “Hm—oh! My laptop!” Scrambling off the bed, Eren rushed to the laptop and pressed on the ‘enter’ key to wake his system up. Checking his email, he saw one new message and blinked slowly. “It’s from Strip N Chat.” Biting his lip, he cautiously opened up the notif; reading every single letter that made up all the words.

“The Captain is now online.”

Swallowing hard, he clicked the link that took him straight to The Captain’s page. It was a simple page. There was a large blank box in the middle of the screen that said ‘The Captain’s Quarters’. The chat was at the bottom. There his stans already there talking to each other, waiting for The Captain to show.

And when he made his entrance, it was pandemonium.

“Hello Darlings, it’s your Captain speaking. Did you miss me?" Leaning forward, resting his chin on the backs of his fingers, he winked on cobalt blue eye. "Have I got a story for my horny little Ship Mates tonight.”

Eren watched a grin spread across his face, which he couldn’t see much of it. Like all the models on the site, The Captain wore some kind of masquerade looking mask that covered majority of his face. Only his eyes, hair, and his lips and chin were seen, as far as his face goes. His body…well that was another story.

“Wow….” Eren whispered, mesmerized by the guy’s body. His shoulders were broad, and his arms were toned. And as bright as day, he sported a winged tattoo on his chest, with what looked to be a matching one on his left hip. “That’s so hot,” he whispered. Eren had a thing for tattoos. He wanted some of his own but was too afraid of needles to get any. But fucking A if this guy didn’t look hot wearing his.

“…but first, looks like we got some virgins in the house.” He smirked; a pink tongue coming out to wet his bottom and top lips. “Come on.” His voice deepened, dropping one octave. “I don’t bite.....unless you beg me for it.”

Those very words and the way he said them sent a shiver down his spine and an electric shock to his dick.

“Crew, say hello to our newest Shipmates RainMan95, PoisonedL0v3r, and…SlickxJagger. Mmmm….hey Slick….just how slick is that tight, little hole of yours?”

“Fuck. Me.” Eren’s eyes went blind. He was caught. Hook, line, and sinker or whatever the fuck it was called. The guy had him. Him and his aching dick that was standing on end, making a tent in his sweatpants.

“Speaking of holes mmmm, wait until you hear this one. It about a cute, little Twink with a bubble butt that I ate. All. Fucking. Night. Long. When I was done with him he had a…Slick…hole too, Jagger.” Captain grinned widely. “Wanna hear the story, Crew?” He lowered his voice and his tone. Sitting back in his chair, he reached into his pants and pulled out his enormous, leaking cock and began to stroke it lazily.  “Get out your dicks, my lovely little perverts. Come stroke with me down memory lane.”

‘Oh no…’

Eren was fucking hooked.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Bullet Wound

Follow-up to this discussion with Angel. They ended up doing the surgery in Angel’s room instead of the bar because SOMEBODY forgot that was where we agreed to meet. (It’s me I’m somebody.)

Alastor

Knock knock knock, guess who. It's Doctor Alastor and Nurse Hentai, here with their trademark "surgery with a smile" service.

Angel

He opened the door with one of his tertiary hands. The couple others were busy pressing a pink-stained... _something_ to his shoulder.

" Oh nonono, I ain't drunk enough fa THIS, YET. " Angel knocked back the remainder of whiskey left in the bottle he had before trudging to his minifridge for another. " Is Hentai, uh, gonna hurt? He slimy or some shit? How drunk I gotta be? " His eyes were beginning to lose focus.

Alastor

Alastor's gaze landed on the pink stain. Aha. There was the wound, no doubt. "It'll hurt about as much as you'd expect for something the width of a coffee stirrer to squeeze into a wound and yank a bullet out. I can dull your ability to feel around the injury."

Alastor tilted his head to peer into the minifridge, checking to see how good Angel's stash was. "I think you're quite drunk enough already! Unless you want to sleep the next two weeks." He held up the one bit of surgical equipment he'd visibly brought with him: a bottle of Everclear. "But I'd planned to use this to clean the wound."

Angel

" Oh, ya can?? " he responded with uncharacteristically dulled excitement, " Thank _fuck!_ I would'a gone fa a hit but, uh, _Bolivian Ma'chin' Powder's_ all OUT. An' I gotta... uh, show. Even if just ta say I can't work so I can get my standa'd issue ass kickin' an' come back. "

Angel then stumbled to his chair, flipping it around so he could lean forward off the back. " Just... go nuts. Fuck th' rug. I could get a Daddy ta get me a new one if it gets fucked up. Uh... youse can use th' bench if ya need to. "

Alastor

"What, sending a self-E of the bullet wound isn't a good enough doctor's note?" Alastor tutted.

He unscrewed the bottle; for the moment, he was still standing so he could remain taller than Angel. "Now, this IS going to sting—but I've got to clean you off before I can numb the area. I'd warn you to bite the bullet but—hah—we'll have to fish it out before you can do that, won't we!" And here comes the sting.

Angel

" Nah... he's gonna think I photoshopped it... " he groaned with a reach for a throw pillow to scream into.  He would've laughed a little more whole-heartedly if not for the anticipated _agony_ that tensed him so hard he could've bit off his own tongue.

" _UGH THIS IS WHAT I FUCKIN' GET!_ " he muffled into the plush pink, now growing darker from the entrance wound, " Why's good shit gotta HURT so bad? It's so fuckin' _DUMB._ " Angel smothered a few more whines and hisses before getting a handle on his breathing again. " ... Can ya do the numbin' thin', yet...? "

Alastor

Ignore the studio audience laughing at your pain, it's nothing personal.

Alastor lightly brushed off what few drops of fresh blood the alcohol hadn't washed from Angel's fur. "Now I can!" He decided owing a small favor to a prince was worth it so he didn't have to drag a miniature apothecary out of his trunk, looked around for a pen or marker—ah, of course, makeup everywhere—and grabbed a tube of black lipstick. "You don't happen to have any bad blood with Prince Gaap, do you?"

Angel

Angel groaned, metaphorically biting his tongue to hold back any amount of quips or name-calling he would've fired at the hip for the sake of not pissing off the demon that was about to start poking around in him.

" Prince a who? " he asked with an instantly regrettable twist to see what Alastor was doing, " I ain't ever known any _legitimate_ royalty... I don' think... "

Alastor

"Then I'll take that as a no." He scrawled Gaap's sigil on Angel's shoulder around the wound—not his most artistic work, given how fuzzy his canvas was, but Alastor was on good enough terms with enough nobles that they wouldn't nitpick tiny errors in his work. "Now, this will make the area around your wound feel temporarily hale and hearty—but it's only a feeling. You're still just as damaged. Don't jump up and do cartwheels." He finished the double circle around the sigil and the lines started to glow green. Good. "Working yet?"

Angel

Angel took a deep breath as the nerves began to cease fire until finally, he no longer felt the need to scream or cry. Well enough to turn his head, he gave himself a peek in the mirror.

" Yeah... like I wanna do cartwheels, " Angel giggled, " Tell Prince Gaap I said thanks ~ " _An' ask him if he's single,_ he chuckled to himself as he stretched his limbs more comfortably about his chair. " Ya gonna stir me like a cup a coffee, now? " he joked.

Alastor

"I'll pass on your gratitude! Just don't tell him you owe him one if you happen to cross paths with him, he'll take it literally and then we'll both be paying him for the anesthesia."

Alastor huffed. "Once I clean the wound a little more. I don't know if you've noticed, but you've got quite a lot of fur around it." He looked around for some sort of towel that wasn't completely soaked in blood, poured a little more alcohol in it, and finally sat on the bench as he started carefully cleaning the wound itself while trying to avoid disrupting the sigil.

"You don't strike me as the type to get shot in the back," he mused. "What happened here—somebody take you by surprise?"

Angel

" Oh, he's _that_ type, " he commented, deciding on whether or not he should offer a razor. He was already going to be getting a temporary bald spot. May as well...

" If ya needa clear it some, there's clippers off th' side a the mirro- " Angel's arms and legs tightened around the chair as he sank his chin _deep_ into the pillow. _When_ was the last time...? Without the sting to distract him, all there was to focus on was the touch and it made his head swim. He didn't know how to process it, so he reverted to his go-to distraction. " _Funny how I still ended up on th' twink ma'ket cove'ed in all this peach fuzz, ah?_ "

He chuckled bitterly as his eyes swept to the ceiling. " Yeah... somethin' like that... Was a _surprise,_ alright... "

Alastor

"Most nobles are. Out of the ones that bargain with humans, anyway." He grabbed the clippers and very carefully started clearing a patch around the entry wound. "You know, between you being called one and *me* being called one, I'm beginning to think that 'twink' doesn't actually mean anything."

Alastor leaned around Angel's side to give him a vicious grin. "So, tell me about this surprise! You didn't think I was doing this without hoping to get a little entertainment in return!"

Angel

" _It means ya never get ta eat **shit,** that's what it means-!_ " he grumbled.

Then a sudden **gasp.** How the hell he manged to scare him despite being the forefront of his attention was beyond him. " _Fuckin'-_ " he groaned with a turn of his head in the opposite direction, " Was an ex... an angry one... That dramatic enough fa you? "

His claws clenched his skin as he tried to replicate the buzz of the razor into his brain. Sure would be nice if he could uncap his skull and do some doodling in _there._

Alastor

"... *Does it.*" There was a little bit of info Alastor was going to file away and never let go of.

"An ex! Oh, yes, *quite* dramatic enough! What did you do to *him?* That is to say—" One freshly alcohol-soaked claw brushed dangerously close to prying into the wound, "—was this earned, or an overreaction?"

Angel

" Earned. Def'nitely earned. Uh... " Angel pondered. He'd already vague-blogged about the incident. Any opportunity to avoid any scandal was already blown.

" She. I let her 'and it to me. It was th' _least_ I could do. "

Alastor

"*She!* That brings up some questions, doesn't it?" He dropped his impromptu wash cloth on his lap and said, "Now, as much as I'd relish prying this story out of you one detail at a time, unfortunately I won't be free to talk for a bit." He summoned up his cane. "Ready to have an alien abomination pry a bullet out of your back?"

Angel

Angel braced himself. Salt in the wound felt well deserved to him. Even if subconsciously, he'd allow every opportunity to pay for what he did to her. Being pried through by an alien abomination, sitting through a mortifying interview, and being shot point blank was a good enough start.

" Wouldn't be the _first_ time I 'ad tentacles in me ~ " he replied cheekily with a thumbs up, " Just don' let 'im get _too_ carried away, yeah ~ ? "

Alastor

"Oh, I plan to guarantee he won't!" A dark blot, small as an ink stain, opened in the air between them, and a single thin tendril wiggled out. "But while I'm giving him instructions, I won't be listening to closely to you. So!" He swung his cane around in front of Angel. "Take Mic here and let him know if you need me to stop, would you?"

Angel

" _Plan_ ta guarantee...? " He snorted, then crimson eyes flickered. He'd voluntarily _hand_ him that thing? " Yeah, ok ~ " Angel wiped off his bloody fingers and gently took the rod. " Can't feel a thin'- " _Liar._ " -so prolly won't need to. "

" Heyyy, Mic-y, how ya doin' ~ ? " he asked sweetly, turning the instrument about and inspecting him curiously. " Al give ya routine polishin'? Ya just, chill in th' other dimension 'til he calls ya? " Like a set of keys given to a toddler, he was sufficiently distracted.

Alastor

"Oh, I can't complain! It's not allowed in my contract!" The cane rolled its eye. "Naaah, who needs polishing? When I poof off, the dirt doesn't come with me!" It gave Angel a wry look. "Or d'you got another reason for asking how often Al *polishes his cane?* Eh?" Mic's humor was somewhat lowbrow compared to Alastor's usual standards. Usually Alastor would scold it for getting saucy. But right then, Alastor's brain wasn't entirely present.

He couldn't actually give his tentacled "friend" orders, per se. They were too different, too alien for normal person-to-person communication. What Alastor COULD do was broadcast a signal that let him slip into a fragment of a tentacle's mind and pilot it directly; but when he was doing so, when he was making sense of the world as the alien beast saw it, he wasn't exactly able to, say, process language.

If Angel happened to turn around, he'd see that Alastor's eyes had gone blank and filled with static. But he probably shouldn't turn around, since that was when Alastor managed to seize control of the noodle-thin tentacle that had wriggled through and fed the tip of it into the wound.

Angel

" Hehehe! I getcha, I  getcha. Talk back get smacked, ah? " Angel couldn't can more giggles, but he did feel the need to do some scolding in Alastor's place. At least, as much as he _assumed_ he should.

" Buh-BUH! Shouldn't ya know better than ta be talkin' deer dick? At least, _more than me_? Ta at least keep it in th' context a dick seasoned up real nice on a silver platter? " He snickered deviously, remembering certain debaucheries he'd engaged in both before and after death. " I _like_ ya, though! Wonder how much fun ya'd be _outta_ contract ~ "

Gently tapping the deep red surface of the back with a pristinely manicured claw, Angel had a sudden urge to seize an opportunity he might not get later. " Hey... can ya do that radio thin' ta _my_ voice? "

Alastor

"You can't have slapstick without the stick! And what'm I if not a stick? You ain't gettin' me outta contract, though. That's not how it works."

(Alastor, meanwhile, has slithered the tentacle in deep enough to reach the bullet. Pardon the weird feeling as it wraps around the intrusion, and then prods briefly past the bullet to make sure it didn't penetrated Angel's lung. Whole new can of worms if it did.)

"No can do! You wanna get your voice broadcast outta the radio, sure, I'm the Mic for the job, long as Alastor's authorizing the broadcast. But if you wanna GET the radio voice? Uh-uh. Only way to sound like the Radio Demon is to BE the Radio Demon."

Angel

An eye twitched as he took a breath and felt that internal pinch. Sans the pain of one, the sensation reminded him of an air bubble he'd have to spend several minutes patting out until he could finally take a deeper breath again. He shallowed his lungs and stayed still as he could with a held breath until the tendril retreated. A deep, testing sigh of relief, then he shook his head with a glance to the mirror. Alastor sure was getting _busy._ He trusted he was in good hands.

" Nah, I don't wanna do _that._ Just wanna give ya singin' a lil' try. Not _everyday_ ya passed off t' another demon, am I right? Specially not a _talented_ one like yours truly ~ " Angel pouted and pursed his brows. " C'mon ~ Just this once! I promise I'll _do ya right ~_ "

Alastor

"Ya wanna sing, then sing! But I can't give you the voice any more than I can give you deer antlers. It ain't transferrable. It's *his.*"

And there was the bullet being slowly dragged backwards out of the wound it had caused. Carefully. But they probably weren't going to completely avoid doing a little extra damage.

Angel

" 'Tis almost th' season, Sweetie, I can give _m'self_ antle's if I wanted to ~ " He then rolled his eyes and relented, followed by some sensational weirdness in his shoulder cavity. Checking in wasn't his first instinct. It was, of course, to _play._ He'd never nail Alastor's southern belle, so he let his register drop as he casually snapped and tapped his own beat with Mic dramatically in hand. ( At least, theatrically as he could while being an obedient patient. )

https://youtu.be/eAiMOTlUVv4

Alastor

Bullet retrieved. Alastor's eyes snapped back to normal as the tentacle withdrew into its portal, dropping the bullet as it did. He caught it, but waited until the end of the song to speak up. "Not bad." He held the bullet over Angel's shoulder. "Do you want this little troublemaker?"

Angel

" Hehe! _Thanks ~ !_ " Angel took the bullet in a free hand to inspect it for shatter. Thankfully, it was all in one piece. Hentai wouldn't have to do any further digging. " What I owe ya? This thin' gonna last 'til it heals, or should I get ready ta go Vicodin huntin' _now?_ " he asked with an experimental roll of his shoulder and another check in the mirror.

Alastor

"Go Vicodin hunting. And also bandage it up, change the bandage twice daily, check for infection, et cetera et cetera." He stood, stretched, and his cane poofed out of Angel's hand and into his own. "As for what you owe me... Give me the rest of the story about this ex of yours and if I think it's interesting enough, we'll call it square."

Angel

" ... Ya ain't gonna be reco'din' it, are ya? " he asked solemnly, " Ah fuck whatever... " Angel threw himself into mercy and rummaged around his drawers for bandages.

" I 'ad a squeeze t' get the Outfit off m'back, " he began, " Drew it out as long as I could but uh, _women's_ a pretty hot topic wit' th' boys. Older I got... y'know. _Family._ They's wantin' _kids._ Big ol' fuckin'... Italian _famiglia_ ta' keep th' bootleg business goin'. "

Was it the pain of the memory or the pressure of the wrapping? Angel was thankful for it. He even dabbed at himself a bit forcefully to override any involuntary bodily response to the whole ordeal.

Alastor

"You have my solemn vow that I won't start recording." That wasn't a promise that he wasn't already recording.

Alastor could guess where this story was going; his grin widened in anticipatory schadenfreude. "Go on."

Angel

As Alastor's grin widened, Angel's eyes narrowed. He tucked his bandage and leaned back against his vanity.

" She's was _-IS-_ like you. I was about as inta her as she was inta anyone else. At least, when I wasn't mistakin' 'er fa a guy. We's was dumb kids, grew up t'gether in the same mafia network. We knew th' game an' we knew we 'ad ta play it. So we _made a deal._ "

" I broke it in, uh... 1944. "

Alastor

Now there was a twist Alastor hadn't been expecting. He'd anticipated a young bride doe-eyed with love and a young groom miserably trying to pretend it was reciprocated. But a mutual ruse was far more interesting.

And far more relatable. It wasn't very far off from his own parents' arrangement—except that theirs hadn't involved the Mafia.

"Let me guess. Get handcuffed together, play the happy couple in front of the family, ignore each other at home? Something like that?" And the one point that actually concerned him—"Were children involved?"

Angel

" No. We were very close, very convincin'. She was m' best frien'. Like Cherri, I didn' deserve 'er. E'ryone thought we was wildin' in the sack, but it never happened. No sex, no kids, just... two murderin' peas in a pod playin' th' most convincin' game a pretend... 'til I couldn't anymo'e. "

" _Could_ say we 'ad kids involved, though _THEM_ fuckin' wild childs could 'ardly bc counted. They was lil' monste's from the Forty-Two. Loved 'em like m'own. Some's prolly down 'ere. "

Alastor

Good—if they'd gotten offspring involved, that would have just been distasteful. Outside children that Angel actually liked were a different matter entirely.

"So, what did the grand breakdown look like? A big blowout fight and a demand for a divorce? No—Catholic, I presume—attempted murder?" He cocked an eyebrow. "*Successful* murder?"

Angel

Angel actually bursted a laugh. " Nope! Wasn't really... a _single thin-_ ok, it was, but uh, said _breakdown_ was less of a _single act_ an' more of a... "

His eyes searched the air for dates, encounters. It didn't help he didn't remember most of it, but he shrugged thinking that was enough indication in itself.

" _Buncha dragged out climaxes_ fa th' next... three years a so. Then I died an' left 'er ta face th' music all 'er own. Hence... " He then tapped at his shoulder and shrugged as if violence was the logical answer to beginning to level a half century-long grudge.

" She's workin' fa Rosie now. Keepin' th' fucks off 'er turf. I was one a them, " he snickered.

Alastor

Well that was the least subtle euphemism Alastor had ever heard. "You mean the prenuptial agreement for your marriage of convenience didn't include provisions for you to sleep around?" Alastor shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. "I can forgive her for the lapse—it takes multiple lessons to learn that you sexual people aren't exaggerating when you say the allure of sex is irresistible—but *you* ought to have known better!"

But never mind that, there was a personal connection now. "Well, it's a small underworld after all! If she's working for Rosie, then *I* might know her! What's her name—down here, I mean?"

Angel

" That was fa show! " he burst defensively, " We was bound by nothin' but laws an' laws is fake! " Angel pouted with a quadruple arm cross. He hadn't even _intended_ that innuendo as much as he meant to convey the feeling of being constantly at the edge of your seat for years. That'd drive _any_ sane person wild.

" She didn't _care_ who I fucked with! If ya ask _me,_ it's her _own fuckin' fault_ I went off th' 'andle because she had ta fuckin' PLAY WINGMAN AT THE MENAGERIE! "

He ignored Alastor's question of her identity at the moment. He was much too offended and much too defensive to let any shaming go unchecked, untouched by the oblivion of his violent self-assurance.

Alastor

Alastor laughed at the outburst. "Well, if she didn't care who you were crawling under the covers with, then what in the world is it you did in '44 that constituted such a great break from your 'agreement'? You didn't try to kill her, by mutual agreement you weren't cheating—what's left? Beatings? Framing her for infidelity? Eloping with a rival don's son?"

Angel

He clamped his jaw shut, gritting gold grinding into a horrid sound that soundtracked his anger. Angel didn't want to tell him any more than Alastor was surely not going to be letting it go. Should he just lie? Was that better than letting this asshole in on what was arguably _the_ most defining moment of his life?

" I already told you. I died. I left her alone when we were supposed to get through the fucking SHITSHOW together. '44 was just the year I _started..._ dying. "

Alastor

Alastor was silent for a moment as he processed that—and Angel's atypically somber tone at the announcement—and then, at last, said, "Some betrayal. Most people can't help dying—even the people who do it to themselves." Well, it didn't make for an exciting conclusion to the story—he could vaguely imagine the drama and trauma of the story in action, but the retelling left most of it out.

Still—a sham marriage in the middle of mobster family politics; it was a good enough story. "But, very well! Consider your surgery paid for. And I suppose if the two of you think that was reason enough for her to shoot you—HA!"

Alastor suddenly slapped Angel's shoulder. (By sheer luck, at least it was the uninjured shoulder.) "Have you ever heard that joke? 'My ex-wife still misses me—but her aim's getting better!'" Studio audience laughter. "I guess she doesn't miss you!"

Sometimes Alastor kills himself.

Angel

He _almost_ wished he had slapped his injured shoulder, just so he'd have a more solid reason to hit him back. Nonetheless, he managed to dodge _that_ bullet so Angel figured he could call it a day. A day to start dealing opioids.

" Yeah. She didn't miss, alright. " The corner of his mouth could only twitch. He wasn't consciously _stifling_ a smile, but his every deep-seated instinct to self-destruct at the slightest brush with self-awareness took more effort than he had to deal.

" Bel. La Donna. Like th' poison. She's like yay high an' redder than ya fuckin' mop before ya treatment. A spider. Like me. "

Alastor

"Oh, come now, that was funny and you know it."

Alastor's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh! *Bel!* Yes, we're acquainted! Not *well*, but well enough we'd be obligated to say hello if we passed on the street. My, my, it really *is* a small underworld."

Angel

" Aw _fuck,_ " he groaned, " Best _keep_ it that way. This place is already starting to feel like Double Hell. Last thin' I need's YOU TWO tag-teamin' me... "

Angel then lazily fished for his phone and hit up a dealer. " I'm gonna head out fa meds. Youse- " He hesitated. " ... gonna need anythin'? I'll replace ya everclear. "

Alastor

"Don't you worry! We don't talk much. Anyway, if she's gone this long without spreading the news around Rosie's inner circle that her ex-husband is Hell's biggest porn star, I doubt she has any interest in discussing it now."

He shook his head; he got the story behind the bullet, he had his payment. "It wasn't my bottle, I got it for this."

Angel

" Heh heh... that's the funny thin', " he confessed, " _She ain't known I was goin' by Angel Dust until t'day._ " He picked up a jacket and shrugged through the sleeves. " She always knew how ta cover my tracks. I _don't know_ how generous she's gonna be _now,_ but... here's hopin' she's satisfied with gettin' me penetrated by an alien named Hentai. "

He snickered, returning some to his usual self. " Thanks anyways. Ya didn't have t' be helpin' me out. "

Alastor

"And what's she going to do if she doesn't feel generous? Tell people that the famed porn star Angel Dust married a beard when he was alive? I hardly think that would cause a scandal down here!"

He waved off the thanks. "I'm perpetually bored and bullet wounds are almost always interesting."

Angel

" Oh you'd be surprised ~ Though. I don't think she's the type. Prolly just shoot me again fa hidin' from 'er all these years. "

He snickered and shot Alastor some fingerguns. " If she does, I'll let her hit somethin' interestin' fa ya ~ "

Alastor

Alastor tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes, that... does sound like her.” He didn’t know a lot about Bel, but he knew THAT. How had Angel described himself and her, murderous peas in a pod or something of the sort? “See if you can’t persuade her to avoid the lungs and the bowels. Those are a pain to deal with. For me. But I imagine they’d also be a pain on the receiving end!”

Angel

" _The heart it is then ~_ " he sang with a wink, landing a heavy hand upon Alastor's shoulder on his way towards the door, " If ya see 'er aroun', be good ta her, ah? I should be back in time fa late dinner. "

Alastor

"A classic! How symbolic."

He gave Angel a farewell nod as he headed out himself. "I'll set aside some leftovers for you." *Never get to eat shit,* his ass. Not on his watch.

[punkscowardschampions]

Charlie & Ronnie

Charlie: You said you were coming to this thing

Charlie: can I send your apologies instead now?

Charlie: 👍

Ronnie: you wish

Ronnie: ill be there like i said

Charlie: Time management was never one for the CV

Charlie: but you’re already more than fashionably late, dear

Ronnie: &

Ronnie: invite came from mckenna and he dont care

Charlie: It’s not his dinner party

Ronnie: no shit

Ronnie: its not yours either calm down like

Charlie: I’m just saying, you’ve wrangled an invite as is

Charlie: you’re gonna make it more awkward because?

Ronnie: if shes not got you working the door now as another favour why the fuck are you so bothered is what im just saying mary

Charlie: They’re nice kids, whatever beef you’ve got with your brother and the rest, I don’t see why you’ve got to involve them, is what I’m saying

Charlie: they’ve not got fuck all to do with your family drama

Ronnie: err he ll be made up dont you want me to be a boss big sister

Charlie: the kid clearly has his own issues

Charlie: I could spot codependent and toxic before you could walk, don’t lie to me, like

Ronnie: cant walk now so stall the starters or dont

Charlie: For fuck’s sake Veronica

Ronnie: you wanted the truth bitch

Charlie: You can’t show up here high

Charlie: they’ll be terrified, might call the cops

Ronnie: showing up sober is what i cant do

Charlie: don’t you think you should take a break from him

Charlie: whatever you decide to do after, you need to calm it down

Ronnie: it was you who said not to act like he werent about

Charlie: yeah, you can’t pretend it hasn’t happened obviously

Charlie: but that was before you shot him up

Ronnie: and after you told me to look after him

Ronnie: make up your fucking mind baby

Charlie: What would be preferable is you not fucking doing it

Charlie: really should go without saying

Ronnie: it fucking wouldnt

Ronnie: you cant hack living with me on gear how do you reckon itd be with me off it

Charlie: I meant dosing a kid, ‘cos there’s no way it happened the once

Charlie: and there are options for you, for free on the glorious NHS for now

Ronnie: you meant both 🖕 he werent a kid when you wanted to fuck him

Charlie: Not the same is it

Charlie: someone can be old enough for sex and not old enough for you to ruin their life

Ronnie: love ya for the flattery but his life was fucked before he found me

Charlie: was he using

Ronnie: youre the only cunt i know who reckons hes above it even B uses 💊

Charlie: yeah because there aren’t levels to it

Charlie: come off it

Charlie: the 💊s he takes aren’t on the level of smack, at all

Ronnie: mckenna aint never gonna let you daddy him you can stop pretending to give a shit

Charlie: I give a shit because you’re a mess

Charlie: more than usual

Ronnie: i dont usually have to babysit any bastard half brothers like

Charlie: you’re choosing to come tonight though

Ronnie: i owe him after that call centre bullshit

Charlie: and that’s it?

Ronnie: what the fuck else would it be

Charlie: You tell me

Ronnie: i just did

Charlie: Alright then

Ronnie: [show up so he can judge the absolute state of you IRL and have to make allowances for that and how rude you are]

Charlie: [we all know how this goes, feel his shame and judgment in how much work we have to do to cover up your behaviour]

Ronnie: [how offended and upset she would be that he's ashamed of her is killing me because how could he not be babe]

Charlie: [oh honey, like what else could we be lol]

Ronnie: [the real question is have you picked up on the jealous and intense incesty vibes yet boy or what do you think is happening lol]

Charlie: [If anyone would pick up on it, we know you and your possessive energy]

Ronnie: [yeah that was my thought cos he knows her the best and they have their own weird history and vibe so]

Charlie: [he’s obvs not going to talk to you right now because mad and also like !!! but feel free to do some if you wanna]

Ronnie: [gonna have her try and talk to him when Jamie is talking to Joe for obvious reasons lol but before we’re bleeding]

Ronnie: you can lord it you were right but lets bail yeah

Ronnie: charlie come ed soft lad

Ronnie: what you ignoring me for 🖕💔

Ronnie: fucks sake

Ronnie: [after the briefest pause because he won’t immediately reply to her just gotta go into graphic detail about that OD she had in Margate before Joe got there cos he can clearly see all the self harm that’s going on but she wouldn’t have told him about this until literally now]

Charlie: [just a look like DON’T that cannot be overstated]

Charlie: why would you do that

Ronnie: can we fucking go now

Charlie: you can

Charlie: don’t use your self-destruction to hold me hostage, you’re beyond too old for that now, Jesus fucking Christ

Ronnie: [this makes logical sense to be where Sophie pops up with the kitchen roll etc and then bathroomgate so all of that is kicking off]

Charlie: [just out here doing the most to cover for you]

Charlie: what the fuck are you doing

Ronnie: [because they are doing the most in that tiny bathroom LOL you can have a reply once she’s left]

Ronnie: leaving

Ronnie: youre welcome

Charlie: yeah, you did me such a solid there, tah

Ronnie: you too florence dead caring

Charlie: you can’t hack a kid’s dinner party?

Ronnie: fuck you

Ronnie: you know whats wrecking my head

Charlie: yet you can’t leave him alone

Charlie: how the fuck can I do anything if you won’t do that

Ronnie: you werent gonna do fuck all end of

Ronnie: youve not

Charlie: you aren’t a kid, I can’t force you to sort your life out

Ronnie: yeah cos being like you will save me

Charlie: I’m not OD’ing with strangers

Ronnie: 💔 everyone liked you better when you were using

Charlie: you did

Charlie: and that isn’t a good enough reason to be a junkie forever

Ronnie: no shit i did

Charlie: well I’m so sorry your majesty

Charlie: God forbid I sort my life for me

Ronnie: nobody but you gives a fuck you stopped snorting lines out of every twinks arse crack

Ronnie: god forbid you shut the fuck up about it and this recovery bullshit

Charlie: you clearly give a fuck, Ronnie

Ronnie: you give more of a fuck about mckennas flatmates than you do about me

Charlie: that’s bullshit

Charlie: you only came to ruin their night, you got mad when it weren’t going your way

Charlie: you expected me to help?

Ronnie: i dont give a shit about these teenagers

Ronnie: im losing it and you reckon theyre on my mind

Charlie: Is ruining his life going to fix yours

Charlie: no

Ronnie: youve never had to hack this dont fucking tell me how to

Charlie: because you’re the only one who has family issues

Charlie: fuck you, you know I’d give anything to be in your spot

Ronnie: if i could swap our places i would

Ronnie: i dont wanna fucking be here doing this with him & you aint even tried to get your head round that

Charlie: in what world does it need to be like this

Ronnie: the world im living in where the fuck is your head at

Charlie: why can’t you just fucking

Charlie: cut him off or actually try

Ronnie: this is me trying

Ronnie: i didnt hang myself off the back of their bathroom door

Charlie: then you need to stop

Charlie: I’ll tell him to leave you alone now

Ronnie: hes gonna do that now without you flouncing in

Charlie: I’m still doing it, you ain’t here to stop me

Ronnie: hot but you still aint his type

Charlie: not funny

Ronnie: not joking

Charlie: don’t be tapped, I wouldn’t go anywhere near him now

Ronnie: stick your dick where you like i dont give a fuck

Charlie: yeah well I’m slightly more discerning, tah very much

Ronnie: these days

Charlie: yeah, where we live now

Charlie: I’m not trying to relive my worst years every weekend

Ronnie: yeah such a grown up youre having dinner with kids

Ronnie: save this little speech to pull the wool over the eyes of whatever wool homo youre gonna try and pull at the weekend

Charlie: I never said I was there yet

Charlie: better than the state of you

Ronnie: 🖕💔

Ronnie: state of me yeah after whats just happened youve seen fuck all yet soft cunt

Charlie: that’s the sound of me being unimpressed

Charlie: grow up

Ronnie: shut up properly by getting out of my fucking face

Charlie: I’m going out

Ronnie: with your new bezzies

Charlie: what’s it to you

Ronnie: youre not a junkie and youre still the most selfish cunt i know have a word with yourself

Charlie: because I’m not jumping to do exactly what you want, no matter how dumb or shit an idea it is

Charlie: yeah, I’m the problem, alright babe

Ronnie: you reckon you wanna be in my place so bad but you cant even hack it from there

Ronnie: since when have i gotta beg for help off you

Charlie: I wouldn’t act like a dick if anyone from my family reached out

Charlie: and what help? You haven’t asked for help, you wanted me to help you shit on some random kids to make you feel better for 10 seconds

Charlie: if you actually told me anything seriously, if you wanted help and not just someone to get high with

Ronnie: i wanted to fucking leave & cos i didnt its pure fucked now

Ronnie: i am my head is worse than before and you dont give a single shit

Charlie: what did you do

Ronnie: like fuck are you getting the gossip

Charlie: gossip are you serious

Charlie: ‘cos this either is and I’m the shittest mate in the world or it isn’t and it’s ‘gossip’

Ronnie: shittest mate is right weve established it

Charlie: what did you do

Ronnie: fuck you its your fault

Charlie: then tell me what I did bitch

Ronnie: i told you we shouldve gone

Charlie: okay, we should’ve gone

Charlie: go on

Ronnie: you were there

Charlie: yeah, and I was covering for you

Ronnie: yeah well done

Charlie: you say that like I’m meant to know what the fuck you were doing, is my point

Charlie: i was a little busy sorting your mess

Ronnie: you had a cob on over that mess and the one im in after it is loads fucking worse so theres fuck all you can sort for me now

Charlie: calm down and stop being dramatic

Charlie: just tell me and we’ll sort it

Ronnie: fuck off

Ronnie: thank christ i dont need you to calm down

Ronnie: [gonna go get messy obvs so she probably won't reply but if you wanna try go ahead hun]

Charlie: yeah, smack has served you SO well thus far

Charlie: what a great idea

Charlie: come on

Charlie: oh, the silent treatment in return, really

Charlie: very mature

Charlie: I’ll see you when I get home

[thehollowprince]

Plec really can't hold a plot. I remember when she had Grams mention that "Nature has a plan" as if Nature itself was gonna deal with the vampires but that went nowhere lol. And just... vampires themselves. They're this affront to nature but still exist. Also, roll my eyes whenever witches are referred to as servants of nature because it's more like "black witches are servants of the nearest yt, but white witches have freedom"

Julie Ppec couldn't write a cohesive and comprehensive plot if you paid her.

I know that sounds mean, but it's the truth.

And it's not list her. Pretty much everyone involved in the direction of the show sucked at telling a story that made sense based on the foundations that they themselves laid out. Not just Plec, but Narducci and Williamson and Dries and MacKenzie. All of those big wigs who decided which characters would die and which villains would show up and which plot twists would determine the future path of their shows, they all sucked!

First thing that pops into my head (because I'm fresh off of finally watching the last two seasons) was the whole "when a vampire becomes human again, their compulsion wears off". That was very clearly thrown in there at the last second to complicate an already convoluted plotline just for the sake of th Drama™. Where was this reverse compulsion when Elena or Tyler or Katherine became human again after being a vampire? We had an entire season of human Katherine running around and none of them remembered the things she compelled them to do or say? And what about Alaric in season six? Wouldn't him reverting to human have erased the compulsion he placed on Elena to remove her feelings for Damon? Did we really have to sit through a whole season of Elena "falling in love" again when the compulsion should have just gone away?

And speaking of Alaric becoming human again, let's talk about that bullshit with the anti-magic barrier. A vampire crossing that threshold reverts back to their state before their transition. Does Plec really expect us all to believe that a giant piece of wood being shoved through a person's heart is easier to treat than a girl who drowned for a minute. One of these things was easier to fix than the other, and it wasn't the one they chose for the show.

And don't get me started on the whole "Nature has a plan" bullshit. Maybe that was just something that Grams believed in, but they kept repeating it over and over, about how Nature knew what it was doing or that witches were Nature's servants, until, as you pointed out, those witches were white. There were practically no serious consequences to Esther or her family for "violating nature's laws", aside from the fact that vervain burned them and they couldn't go out into the sun for a few days, until once again their mother found a witchy workaround for that, too. But Bonnie, uses magic for personal reasons once, and suddenly everyone turns against her.

It's not a season of The Vampire Diaries unless Bonnie Bennett suffers!

And, of course, that brings us to the whole, Nature vs. Spirits thing. We're told that its Nature that keeps the balance, but then we see that it's actually the Spirits of the dead witches trapped on the Other Side who make up all the rules that they selectively follow depending on the witch in question.

This is just something that happens over and over, with the narrative constantly contradicting itself because they wrote themselves into (what they perceived as) a corner and they backtracked and retconned fo get out of it. The biggest one I can think of was the whole "vampires can't be witches" spiel that they repeated over and over, only to completely overturn it and introduce the Heretics, who are able to be both through a set of circumstances that naturally no one heard about before now. Or the whole thing with Kol and Rebekah and Finn possessing witches and having their power, despite their spirits being that of vampires, as evident of their later resurrections.

It's like they couldn't make up their mind about what they wanted to do, and the story suffered for it (at least for me) because their glaring contradictions were constantly being thrown in my face.

The biggest whoopsie was the Mikaelsons (or really any big bad) themselves.

Elijah, and then Klaus and then the mysteriously named "Originals" were mentioned in season two (way too early, IMO) and they went on to have not only a huge impact on the Mystic Falls Gang, but have such a monumental history too them (could have been better, if we're being honest. Taking creatures from the books that were alive since the Stone Age and reducing them to merely a thousand years old was a huge disservice to the source material). But back to my original (ba dum tsh) point, in that when we first hear of Klaus, his name is whispered with absolute terror. The mysterious first among vampires, the vampire that the great Katherine Pierce herself was a afraid of, and he turned out to be a British twink with daddy issues that literally everyone else knew about. How the Salvatores managed to travel the world with their various pitstops in Mystic Falls (conveniently the very home of the Mikaelsons) and not here about them is stupefying. I mean, they were both in New Orleans only twenty years after Mikael drove Klaus and his siblings out of town, and yet they've never heard of them? They didn't run into Marcel at all? They both knew vampires way older than them (Lexi and Sage) and the Originals were never mentioned? Hell, Sage was an Original groupie and the subject of Finn never came up?

It was like that over and over. The Originals are all mysterious and no one's heads of them, except for this entire city that was founded by them, and these various groups of people and minions that work for them. Then it happens again with Silas. No one's heard of this uber powerful psychic immortal until suddenly everyone's afraid of him because he's pure evil and will bring about the end of the world. Wash, rinse, repeat with the Heretics, then the Sirens, then the Devil himself (conveniently a black man), then the Hollow.

It was ridiculous.

Their own narrative was constantly destroyed and rebuilt to make-up for their constant need to one-up what they did before with no consequence of the groundwork they already laid out. That's like trying to build a skyscraper atop a foundation meant for a log cabin.

I don't even want to think of how bad it is for Legacies.

[phantomphangphucker]

Phango - Not So Strangers In The Night

(Swagger Bishie + Identity Reveal + Ghost King)

Dash wants many things but there’s two he’s sure he just can’t have, Danny meanwhile, doesn’t think ‘can’t’ is an actual word.

Dash sighs mentally, eyeballing Danny out of the corner of his eye. There had always just been something about how lithe the guy’s body was, the way his clothing would occasionally cling or hang off him giving away the skinnier body underneath. Personally, he would never wear oversized clothing himself, but it was more than a little attractive on people with petite frames.

Watching Danny stretch his arms over his head and yawn in a way that was almost cat-like. He doesn’t know when Danny’d gotten his teeth done like that, the fangs, but they added an even more slender and sharp edge to his face. Moving his gaze up the other teens' jawline to mentally trace out a sharp line all the way past the tapered ears. Everything about Danny’s face was sharp, defined...and incredibly attractive.

Glancing back to Danny’s arms just before he lowers them, the oversized sweater just thin enough and just heavy enough to give away the ever so slight hint of defined muscles underneath. Dash has no clue how that happened and he was honestly a bit hurt and dismayed when he noticed Danny bulking up. How could he not notice? It was so very obvious every time he grabbed around the now practically rock hard biceps to drag the kid off for his daily beating. Or when he snuck a peek down Danny’s shirt, as he always did, when pinning him up against some locker. He knows attacking Danny is pretty stupid, but Dash knows he’s not a smart guy. And really? A jock with a loser? A freak? Never. He’d be a social pariah. So he gets his hands on his secret little crush the only way he knows how. With rough hands and a strong dose of aggression. He does relish the closeness too though with that strange muscle Danny’s built, he does wonder why Danny never truly fights back. He honestly wouldn’t mind getting rough up by the lithe teen. That was half the reason he loved football after all, and working out. The bruises, the cuts, the sore muscles. Pain was a pleasure and carried a feeling of power. Knowing just what your body could do and take. And he’ll admit to testing Danny’s limits sometimes. Seeing just how much pain he could take, which honestly just left him feeling very impressed...and attracted.

But back to why Danny’s muscle growth had bugged him. In the beginning, it did anyway. See Danny had always been skinny, there was a daintiness to him, yet lithe. It’s not like Danny never had muscle, no, it had just been muscle potential hidden away. And wondering just what he could do if that potential developed was a bit exhilarating. Just like getting a new teammate on the field. But his fellow jocks were all rather brutish in their muscle and psyche, which Dash firmly did not have an interest in. And sure, maybe he had gone a little blind, thinking that the only real options were skinny, beefy, or fat.

So imagine his hidden horror with that mindset, when Danny -with the perfect femboy bod, with all the sharpness needed to have a somewhat pixie look- seemed to be transitioning into the beefy category? Over time that worry was quelled, Danny’s muscle was so different. He never seen such a lean tight kind of musculature, Danny even seemed to become more sharp; sharper jaw, the ears, even his eyes had a sharpness. It was, dare he say, exotic. Which if anything, only added to the femboy pixie look. Which okay, sue him, he liked cutesy shit; definitely explained his taste in men. Not that anyone actually knew that. Dash Baxter, number one football star and the example of masculinity, being interested in anything ‘cute’? Never. He had an image he had to keep.

That was one thing he was insanely jealous of Danny over. Danny’s freaky family made it so that it didn’t damn matter what he did or how he acted. Nothing was unexpected behaviour from a Fenton. And he was already a social pariah. Danny could literally transform into a dog or some shit and no one would really be all that surprised. He might get a few new insults hurled at him but that’s it. But Dash? The slight wrong move and goodbye scholarships or dealing with a furious father. ‘Cause don’t let it fool you, regardless of what the colleague heads said publicly, they absolutely did discriminate. Especially in sports. And bi in football? Bi and hocked up with a cute little thing who was a social outcast of the lowest most mocked kind? Surely his life and future would explode right in front of his face.

And of course there was the issue of if Danny would even be interested. Because finally owning up only to get rejected? By said lowest of the low twink? That would beyond worse. So yeah, the risk wasn’t worth it. And he wasn’t quite dull enough to not realise that Danny probably did not like him, the ‘bullying’ and all that. So even if Danny did swing that way, well, Dash’s chances were pretty well nothing.

Making a damn point to jeer mockingly and with a level of intimidation at the weirdo trio as he passes them on his way to class, firmly making a point to not react to picking up on Danny clearly not being fearful and even smirking slightly. It honestly pleased him immensely that Danny didn’t seem to actually fear him. Again, it was something like hidden strength. That was one thing that had always separated Danny from the other skinny kids, he wasn’t fearful. He was bold and loud. Even if that only really showed if you looked for it or caught him on more of his more mirth filled days. Simply put, Danny had never been pathetic. Never been weak. Even back when he was physically very much weak -Dash had to give him fitness training for peats sake- he had never been mentally weak.

Sitting at the back of the class next to Kwan, sneaking glances at Danny here and there. This was something he liked to do in the less important and boring classes, recently anyway. Sure he had always admired Danny with glances here and there but another one of Danny’s changes was just too intriguing not to watch.

Danny often slept in classes, that was boring and honestly made him worry some which is why he went easier on the guy on the days he seemed to be napping more often than not, but when he didn’t and it was one of these more useless classes? He’d go between looked over the other students and scanning the town through the window next to him. The sharpness to his eyes was most noticeable then and there was something about the way he looked over the rest of their classmates. It reminded Dash of how people talked about how gods and angels would gaze upon humans. Like they were impossibly and unimaginably above them yet fond and even protective. It really added to that pixie aesthetic Danny had, made him seem just that more ethereal. ‘Ethereal’ that’s a new one, maybe he got more out of Lancer’s crappy poetry babble than he thought. That thought makes him wonder if Danny would like fancy words and that poetry stuff. All the fae in his moms' romance novels -which yes he did secretly read- seemed to love that kind of stuff.  And sure, he’s pretty sure Danny’s human, ethereal aspects aside, but a guy can imagine can’t he? Dash quickly brings his attention back to the teacher as Danny’s watchful yet distant gaze travels to him. At least he isn’t a blusher, Dash is more than a little thankful for that.

Dash is laying on his bed, quickly turning his head to the side as an explosion sounds. Promptly springing up and sticking his head out the window at spotting Phantom zip by, “WOOOO! Go get him Phantom!”, he can’t help but beam as Phantom glances back and sends him a little wave with a cocky smile.

Dash sighs and flops back against his bed, his crush on Phantom was another dirty little secret. Sure he may pass himself off as ‘his biggest fan’ and he certainly wasn’t nearly as bad -or delusional if he’s blunt- as Paulina, but he definitely was a part of the Phantom Crush Club in spirit. Since of course no one knew about this crush either. Queer thing aside, Phantom was a ghost. Which yes, was part of the attraction so sue him, again the whole ethereal thing. Man that word’s becoming a personal favourite.

Phantom’s glow combined with the white of his hair and skin, that definitely qualified as ethereal. The powers were whatever really, cool and probably really fun but not where Dash’s attraction is based. And really, if anything made Dash’s type clear it was his two crushes. Both of them had the lithe pixie feel to them. Sharp in all the right places and brimming with hidden strength. Though Phantom’s might be much more literal. But honestly, Dash preferred Danny’s less showy nature. Phantom demanded attention, the skin-tight jumpsuit definitely did not help reduce that, and he was loud in a way that could border on obnoxious. Danny was a sleek black cat with piercing knowing eyes, Phantom was a mighty dragon always coiled for a fight.

Blinking at the ceiling, “I’m getting all fancy, man I really need to sleep”. Turning over in his bed only for his hand to brush against the corner of a book, “hurgh?”, pulling it out towards his face and squinting. Staring at the little scrap paper used as a bookmark, “probably a bad idea”, but flicking the book open anyway; a bit curious where he left off.

“I wondered if my head and heart would ever reconcile, or whether I'd just cursed myself to relive this moment for the rest of my years, half assured I'd made the only choice available to me, half always whispering if only, the whole of me filled with bitter regret“ ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash blinks and grumbles, “you didn’t have to call me out like that”. Deciding to flip around to a random page.

“Are you in love with me?" I blurted out.

A terrible silence followed. Rook didn't turn around.

"Please say something."

He rounded on me. "Is that so terrible? You say it as though it's the most awful thing you can imagine. It isn't as though I've done it on purpose. Somehow I've even grown fond of your - your irritating questions, and your short legs, and your accidental attempts to kill me."

I recoiled. "That's the worst declaration of love I've ever heard!” ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash chuckles but sighs, “fate hates me”. Deciding to try once more, flipping closer to the beginning.

“My cheeks warmed, and a wistful pang plucked a sweet, sad chord in my stomach. It was simple, really. He didn’t want me to forget him once he’d gone” ~ An Enchantment Of Ravens

Dash blinks, he did always rather like seeing the slight busies he left on Danny. Which now that he thinks about it, they didn’t seem to form anymore or stay for long. Which, okay yes, bugged him, not like he knew why really. Guess it was kind of obvious now. Maybe Danny would See those bruises and remember him. Was that stupid? Likely. Snapping the book shut and sticking it more securely under the mattress, before making a point to force himself to settle down to sleep.

He finds himself waking up way too early for a school day, turning his head to look at the little football-shaped clock, it’s red light glare at him reading ‘3:42’. If non-ghostly objects could be malicious, he’s sure every alarm clock would be. The early morning leading to him thinking back on his current book, the story of a fae royal and human falling in love. Forbidden love that would cost the fae his reputation. Sounded a little familiar huh?

Twenty minutes later and his mind’s still on that damn book, so he throws the blankets off and decides to get dressed. Thankfully sneaking out was relatively easy in his house, normally everyone was so loud that quiet noises went completely unnoticed. So just walking out the front door was a perfectly fine thing to do.

Five minutes later finds him wandering the sidewalks of Amity. If he’s being totally honest, even if Danny wasn’t some social peasant or whatever, he still wouldn’t go for it; even if he was a girl. Why? Hitting on girls like Paulina was easy, expected even. There was no risk. Even if girls like we rejected him, that’s what they were expected to do most of the time. But someone he was actually interested in? That was risky. The thought of trying to take it was thrilling, attractive, fun. Actually trying? Nope.

Kicking a rock down the gravel as he enters the park, eventually bumping into to something or someone. Snapping his head up and cursing his luck -or maybe he should be thanking it?- at seeing it was Danny he ran into...literally. Watching as Danny steadies himself quickly, his hood fällig down in the process. Dash has to make a damn point to not stare and change his face to a scowl when the moonlight practically glows of Danny’s pale skin. Why did he have to be so, um, right, ethereal? “Watch it loser”.

Danny squints at him, then throws Dash through a loop by responding with, “no one wanders around at four am for good reasons”.

Dash blinks a bit at those watchful blue-eyes, losing a bit of the fake bite that Danny hopefully passes off as tiredness, “then why are you here?”.

“Why would I tell you why?”, with that Danny turns back to look over the rest of the park from the little bridge thingy they’re on.

Dash scoffs, “whatever Fentwerp”, joining in looking over the park. The two settle into silence, though it doesn’t take long for Dash to glance at Danny’s back; the dark grey hoodie was arguably in horrible condition but it just looked like a style choice on Danny. Everything probably looked good on him. Flicking his eyes away to avoid Danny possibly noticing, because really, there was no one else here so any staring from him would be rather obvious. That gets him thinking though, when had he ever been just one on one with Danny? With neither of their friends around or teachers? Never. It had never happened. Dash didn’t do lonely, he also didn’t do silence for that matter, and Danny’s friends were practically attached to him. Honestly, he’s pretty sure both of them are crushing on Danny; Valerie definitely still had a thing for him, everyone knew the goth did and the techno-geek had a thing for everyone. And yet none of them were going for him...why? They didn’t really have anything to lose and Valerie already had once. Right, even Paulina had dated him; even if she claimed it was to piss off the goth. Maybe there was just something about Danny that made him easy to crush on but impossible to love? Maybe it had something to do with how he was, what was that word? How could he have forgotten it already?....oh right, ethereal. Or maybe it was because he was ethereal. It was pretty obvious people are, um, put-off? -That sounds right- by things that seem inhuman. What with all the horror movies about such people, and that was a pretty common theme with human/non-human romances. Personally, he didn’t get it. Sharp, predatory, the thrum of potential power or danger, the otherworldliness -he’s pretty sure he’s read it described with that word once- he liked that.

Flicking his eyes back to Danny watching as he opens his mouth to sigh almost soundlessly, fangs dragging across his lips. Yeah, shit like that is going to be the death of Dash. With the silence officially be too much for the jock, Dash mutters, “four am is a stupid time”.

Danny snorts, “perfect for you then”, before pushing off the railing and eyeballing Dash. Smirking slightly, “you still keep a collection of teddy bears?”.

“Oh screw y-”, Dash cuts himself off, there’s not really anyone here to play pretend for. “Yeah, so what I like cute shit, what’s it to ya Fenton”. Including cute shit like you, being left unsaid.

Dash doesn’t miss how Danny’s eyes seem to glint while Danny tilts his head at him before those eyes glance around a little. Dash isn’t sure what he sees or is looking for, while Danny hums before speaking, “so often you aren’t quite what you seem, huh Dash?”. Then walking a bit to stand side to side with Dash, hands in his pockets, “you allow those around you to dictate who you are. Stop that, it’s stupid. You’ll never find what you want or who you fit with that way”.

Dash turns and watches Danny walk off. In some way it almost feels like Danny was never actually here.  Looking back tot the bridge and touch where Danny’s hand had been to find it cold. Was he tired enough to actually be imagining Danny being, well, Danny? He’s not sure he’d even be able to imagine the sharpness of Danny’s eyes. Sighing a bit and not sure if he wished the maybe Danny had stuck around or not. Before deciding to walk some more, the air smelled nice at least and no one was around to give a damn how he acted.

Turning and walking off the bridge only to nearly shriek from some blonde-haired guy just suddenly being there. He doesn’t look friendly and the scar over his face doesn’t help that, yet Dash finds himself frozen in spot. He knew he could move, kinda wants to, but something just feels like he shouldn’t. Maybe it was the piercing blue eyes, how even with the strong moonlight he had no shadow, or the cruel-looking smile that somehow felt kind.

Swallowing a bit thickly as the man approaches, the clicking of his purple walking stick being the only sound. The stranger looks up at him slightly, “restless soul, looking for something in another land. The kind heroes and villains dance upon. You think you know your path best, and yet, are just a vagabond too fearful of quicksand to walk from the desert dunes to find an oasis of blues and greens. You are parched dry from your ways, yet refuse to chase waters deeper than you know”.

Dash blinks, catching the moonlight glint off the strange gear cog collar pins, “what?”.

The man chuckles, “you hold tears of the potential of judgment. A soul of man, whose fading light will one day be at its end. Seeking to paint your existences canvas with the lord of graves. One who you’ll grant find in time, one way or another. Painted soot or painted snow. Regardless. Would you not rather run your hands through the textures while you can enjoy it and endeavour it while having a pulse to half match under your skin?”.

Dash’s brain is pretty well mud right now, “who are you?”.

He shrugs, “I’m a tale of time, that history has lost. I see, I guide, I exist. And you, you are a bird that thinks it’s a boar”.

One thing Dash can always do is pick up on insults, and that was an insult, even if he has no clue what that was supposed to mean, “I’m not a meathead”.

The stranger holds up a finger and smiles, his eyes have an oldness to them that is honestly unpleasant, “precisely. You fear not the dark nor the monster with in, you fear the light and things far weaker than you. The boar charges and fights the bull, the bird lives alongside it. You feign your charges, act the boar, even as your flyer eyes see that the target is something to walk with, not against. You do this so others think you are a boar, why would you want to? boars die foolish. Be glad your bull is more of a lording cat, one that won’t strike you down”.

Dash blinks and steps back a little bit, “er, whatever you weird old man”. To make a point, Dash walls forward and around the stranger, but not too close because seriously, what the fuck?

The stranger doesn’t move but follows Dash with his eyes, speaking again just as Dash walks past, “you may find your lithe cat will enjoy your feathers quite fine. And one more thing”, Dash glances back and the stranger winks with a grin, “it’s not time that’s stupid, it’s what you do with that time”.

To say Dash is confused, as he walks the gravel path feeling slightly paranoid, would be an understatement. Lancer’s weird poetry crap made more sense than that. But the weirdos' last words sounding so much like Danny’s is giving him a weird gut feeling that the guy was somehow talking about Danny. Officially deciding he needs to back to sleep, he must be having awake fever dreams or something.

Dash walks through the school doors, firmly glad he got more sleep. Part of him wants to confirm seeing Danny wasn’t some weird fever dream, the other part is a bit distracted when, in his taking in of Danny’s lithe form, he notices the small gear cog charm hanging off his chain belt. It looked exactly the same as the weird guys' pins, has Dash just walked into some strange fantasy story or something?

Looking away and storming through the halls like he owns them, which he does, when Danny looks to him. Catching Danny’s eyes seemingly becoming sharper for a second and his hand brushing the charm on his belt. Why did he feel like Danny noticing where he was staring was somehow...what was that word? Some that started with a ‘c’?whatever, it was somehow a strong play.

Danny just suddenly appearing and stepping out of a bathroom stall, that Dash is sure was empty, during lunch rather confirms his thoughts. Looking Danny over through the mirror, his head was titled and he quickly locks gazed with Dash through the mirror. This was that sharp edge really showing through, and god damn if that wasn’t stupidly attractive. Snapping at him, “what you being creepy for, you freaky weirdo”.

Danny scoffs and rolls his eyes, “it seemed rather timely”.

Dash blinks a bit at Danny almost jarringly quickly snapping his gaze back to Dash’s face in the mirror. The first thought to worm into his head is that this seemed like a cat stalking after a bird. Then basically getting dropped kicked in the brain by Deja Vu. Muttering at the mirror, “what is it with that bird shit”.

“What, someone give you a weird birds and the bees talk?”, Danny snickers, “thought you were too old for that”.

Dash squints at the mirror, was that what that guy was going off about? Honestly anything seems possible. Looking Danny over, if there was one thing everyone knew it was how used to strange he was. How part of it he was, because of his family. But Dash knows there’s more to it than that, that he was something different and strange all on his own. He’s also sure that’s not just his interest in the ethereal boy talking. Deciding to go out on a limb, not like anyone would judge him for using a Fenton to figure out some weird shit, “maybe? Who knows what’s up with weirdos”, turning around and looking more directly at Danny, who’s looking at him with critical sharp eyes, “some guy going off about drinking ‘oasis’ of blue and green. That my cat will like my feathers”.

Danny smirks knowingly and moves to wash his hands in the sink, “sounds like a riddle if I’ve ever heard one. Maybe think of who you associate with blue and who with green”, chuckling and shaking his head a little, locking eyes with Dash in the mirror again, “and who you think of as a ‘cat’. Otherwise, sounds like someone’s telling you to stop holding yourself back and chase after what you want”. Danny walks out leaving Dash just kind of staring at the sink.

Dash spends the rest of the day casting glances at Danny a fair bit more often than he usually does. Pretty well sure the boy knew what the strange guy meant but was just letting Dash figure it out himself. He finds he can respect that a bit, even if he’s definitely annoyed. The fact that Danny is seemingly brushing up against him in the hallways doesn’t help, or maybe it does. Because fine, yes he likes it. The fantasy of Danny being forward towards him in an attracted way won’t stop circling in his head. But it isn’t until the second to last class that something clicks. Watching Danny suddenly stiffening, like he often did before running off to the bathroom mysteriously, Dash could have sworn Danny’s face twisted in anger and eyes flashed green for a second as he stands and speed walks out of the classroom. Leaving Dash blinking and getting slapped by Deja Vu again. ‘Blue and green’, blinking more at that making other things click in place. Everything about Danny was lithe, he’d even described him as cat-like. Was weird dude telling him to get with Danny? The hell? How did weird guy even know that?

He guesses that’s one way for the universe or whatever to say something’s fate or some bullshit. But real life doesn’t work like that...right? Well okay, ghosts are real so there is some make-believe that’s real. But then Dash, Hell no one, would ever describe Danny as a bull. A bull that’s a cat, that doesn’t even make sense. Shaking his head as class ends.

Walking out thinking of soot and snow, and didn’t that guy also say something about heroes? Soot was black right? Googling away to find that yes it was, as he makes it to his next class. Of course snow was white. So black and white. Well shit, that was Danny and Phantom’s hair colours; and Phantom was a hero. Danny had organised that rescue mission, so could he be labelled ‘hero’ too. Not really, it was a one-time thing after all.

Groaning and hitting his head into the desk only for the teacher to snap at him about paying attention. Mentally shoving all this crap away, basically mentally screaming at it to sort itself out.

Seeing Danny after last class across the hall and walking towards Danny with a glare, because he absolutely needs to take out his romantically frustrated aggression and, if he’s honest, mentally frustrated aggression -because thoughts of that weirdo just will not leave him alone- on someone.

Dash grabs him and slams him into the lockers, speaking without a whole lot of power behind his worlds, because he’s more than a little preoccupied and Danny’s eyes glittering with mirth and knowing does not help, “you know, I kinda feel like making you eat locker, weirdo”.  

Danny speaks with a smirk, “weirdly cute you mean”. Dash sputters and promptly drops Danny, turning on his heel and speed walking off. Though he does throw a glance over his shoulder back at Danny, who looks more smug than anything he’s ever seen before; making Dash blush furiously and then feeling annoyed at blushing.

Dash decides that night that if his head’s just gonna be stuck in a pit of ‘just ask him, you know you want to’ and weird mutterings about painting with the lord of graves -whatever the heck that means- then he might as well finish his book. Well, his mom’s book but still. It seems suiting enough.

He flat-out drops the book when he gets to the point where Gadfly -an ageless fae who can see the future and all the twists and turns it might or might not take- functionally admits to setting up Isobel with Rook. The mortal with the inhuman prince, who -as Dash finishes the book with a fair amount of shock- comes to stand as the King of all fae. The lord of fae. The lord of graves? Was Danny some kind of ethereal prince? King? Or something? And heck! Gadfly was even blonde too! The Hell? And didn’t weird guy go off about Dash painting or something? Isobel’s a painter. Officially finding this a little too weird, Dash closes the book and tucks it away. Looking out the window and deciding that another -not really early enough to be morning but too early to be night- walk might get him more answers.

Somehow, Dash thinks as he watches Danny fiddling with a dandelion puff from afar on the same bridge as before, this isn’t surprising. Shaking himself off and making a point to shove down all the weird stupid feelings, before walking over with his hands in his pockets. “So you’re out here again”

Danny speaks without looking to him, “so are you”.

Dash scoffs and looks at his shoes a little, something tells him Danny wouldn’t be out wandering the night because of a book and some weird guy. The boy would probably handle it without being fazed much at all, “what? do you just wander around in the dead of night for fun?”.

Danny chuckles and side-eyes him, “maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Under the moonlight seems like a great place to be, don’t it?”.

Dash leans against the bridge railing, “it is ethereal I guess”.

Danny laughs and it’s a bit loud, “ethereal, that���s a big word for you. Now I wonder what could make you learn a word like that. Something so applicable to the strange and otherworldly”.

Dash bites his lip slightly at that, feeling incredibly called out, though ha! ‘Otherworldly’ was a word used for it. For people like Danny. Dash scoffs, “whatever, it’s got it’s uses”.

They stand in silence, both looking in opposite directions for a while. Until Dash blushes slightly at Danny humming, recognising the tune as Strangers In The Night.

Now Dash isn’t that much of an idiot, he’s not smart but he’s not dumb. He can recognise a blatant call out when he sees one. Danny knew. And...wasn’t being a dick about it, much. Wasn’t brushing him off. Dash isn’t sure if he’s confused by that or not.

Turning his head slightly to look at where the strange man had been last night before blurting out, “you’re mean”.

Danny laughs loudly at that and looks at Dash, who firmly avoids turning his head further to meet the gaze, “oh yes, says the bully. But you know what they say, ‘he only hits you ‘cause he likes you’”.

Dash jerks a bit and gapes, maybe he underestimated the boldness of Danny. While Danny sighs after a while of furthered silence, “it’s a darker night out hmmm? The darkness always holds something, a secretiveness to it. Where you can watch without being seen or act without being watched. In every story it crawls with monsters, things of depravity. Things people think are wrong, shouldn’t see the light of day. But those things are free in a sense that those who secluded themselves to daylight can never be. Monsters and those who hide, yet even they need to be brought into the sun sometimes. Wouldn’t you say?”.

Dash’s brain had stalled on the monster comment. That weird guy had gone off about monsters too. The whole him not fearing monsters or something? Danny was clearly weird, different. Didn’t people get called monsters in all those mutant movies over being different? And Phantom, well, the Fenton’s literally shouted that he was a monster. This was turning into some beauty and the beast shit. That makes him practically pitch forwards and face-plant into the ground.

Danny catches him and mutters, “geez, are you so repressed that the idea of not being so makes you want to eat the ground you walk upon?”.

Dash just blinks at him as he stands in front of him, because the whole thing with beauty and the beast was the beast transformed. Could look two different ways. And Danny’s eyes were green. Phantoms eyes were green. Danny raises his eyebrows at Dash sputtering at him, “that’s, it’s not, that ain’t”, Dash blinks, this explained a lot and Phantom was so bold, he took what he wanted, yet here he? -They? However it works- was seemingly waiting for Dash to make some kind of decisions thingy. Muttering, “have my cake and eat it too”.

Danny scrunches his face up and laughs, “I never imagined Dash would genuinely confuse me-”, getting cut off by Dash just saying screw it and kissing him, hard.

Dash pulling back but promptly hugging the weird ethereal creature, “I am so many levels of confused”. Danny just chuckles and pats his back, “yet maybe less in some way. Though you know, you really should ask first”.

Dash jerks and basically holds Danny by the shoulders away from him, Dash wasn’t that dumb of a guy but he was definitely a little stupid.

Danny rolls his eyes but smirks, batting off Dash hands before grabbing his shirt collar and kissing back, “you’re an idiot”.

Dash mutters, “you’re a weirdo”, as Danny backs off. After a bit of silence Dash looks at his feet and sticks his hands in his pockets, “so, uh, now what?”.

Danny shrugs and goes back to leaning on the railing, “I dunno, you work through your confusion I guess”, glancing at Dash, “just know that I am never a confused person anymore”.

Dash looks out across the park, well that was as blunt as anything. Why though? “I’ve literally beat the crap out of you for years. And,”, Dash worries his lip a little, blushing slightly from the unusual coldness on them, a coldness from Danny, “and you could have fought back anytime”.

Danny gives him a knowing look before smirking a little, “so you figured that out too huh?”.

Dash doesn’t give him a chance to say anything more, “as of two seconds or whatever ago. My head is mud”, Dash barely cuts himself off from saying ‘congrats’ or ‘thanks’. Who the Hell says that to some who just kissed them?

Danny screws up his face and it honestly looks like something out of a bad movie where the characters make some great discovery. When he chuckles and shakes his head, “so that’s what you meant by the cake thing”, squinting at Dash a little, “now you know I have to ask this, but knowing isn’t why you did that, is it?”.

Dash doesn’t know whether to nod or shake his head because both would be a lie, “I just figured out my two, um, interests, were smashed into one. Excuse me for not being myself, or whatever, enough and pleased, to have some self-control”.

Danny smiles at that, shoving Dash’s shoulder lightly, “lucky you I guess. Who’d you like more?”.

Dash sputters, Danny was a little much, always was, but that’s part of what he liked about him. The fearlessness, the hard sharpness, and he was cutting Dash the Hell up, “you”, Dash keeps talking as Danny raises his eyebrows, “Danny”, continuing when Danny raises his brows further, “Fenton. The weird lithe kid with sharp edges and the whole pixie thing going on”. Dash looks around some, ignoring the slight smirk on Danny’s face.  

Danny bumping shoulders with him, “oh fancy words Dash. You know I love words with meanings, that I love to give out nicknames. Maybe you should be Teddy Bear”. Dash blushes more than a bit furiously at that which just makes Danny laugh, “oh yes, that will do wonderfully”. Danny sighing after a while of Dash blushing and staring defiantly into the distance, “not that we have to be public about... whatever this is”.

Dash looks back to him at that, nodding slightly, “that is...why I never would have tried normally. Weird dude threw me through a loop”, smiling a little and shoving Danny lightly, “I think I’m glad he did though”.

Danny nods, “if there’s anyone who can understand secrets Dash, especially for safety’s sake, it’s me”, gesturing around, “night seems to suit us. It’s always been something of mine. There’s not really anything wrong with hiding in the night, if you care to join me in that anyway”.

Dash gapes a little, that felt like a stupid question. Why would he question if Dash wanted this to be a ‘thing’. Dash should be the one worried about that, “yes. That is- why would you even ask that?”.

Danny chuckles and gives him a smile that’s got a sadness to it, which Dash is officially having none of and feeling more like his rather brazen self, just kisses him again before he can respond. Dash then saying, “it doesn’t matter”.

Danny chuckles and shakes his head a little, “you sure watch me a lot huh. Like what you see?”, Dash forced down his blush this time while Danny smirks and glances around with that searching look before looking back to him, “care to see how I own my night?”.

Dash just nods a little before going slightly slack-jawed at the near blinding ring of light and Danny suddenly being Phantom and just floating around to be away from the bridge slightly, holding a hand out to Dash, “well? I could rip off superman and say I promise not to drop you or you can stop holding yourself back”.

Dash barely wastes a second before grabbing Danny’s hand and letting him pull him up off the ground. Dash asking the only other question he really has or that’s still bugging him as Danny wraps his arms around him and just...goes up, “so weird guy also said something about king of graves?”.

Danny laughs and shakes his head a little, “that cheeky bastard”, before looking down at Dash’s face, “Ghost King, Dash. Something beyond what any ghost or mortal could be”.

Dash again feels slapped by Deja Vu, he’s never going to be able to look at that damn book the same again, “you know, I was reading a book where...”.

Dash winds up explaining his ‘girly’ book interests as they fly around, oddly unfazed and comfortable with the whole fly thing. While Danny simply exists as the strange ethereal being he is, face glowing brightly against the night sky; leaving Dash feeling like he just caught a star in a wishing bottle and think that maybe poetry might be a good idea.

End.

[leupagus]

A Long, Lonely Time

So @whetherwoman and I are writing a bunch of Assassin’s AU snippets because we’re really terrible people, and I wrote this for her tonight; I’d say I was sorry but I’m extremely not.

*

Patrick watches the gallery for a few weeks; longer than he would for a mark, but the Ghost isn't a mark, can't be reduced to something so banal. He takes slow ambling walks down the sidewalk, gets coffee from the small shop across the street; once he even poses as a buyer on a day he know the Ghost won't be there, walking through the gallery with his hands jammed into his pockets to stop them from shaking. It's all real, the Ghost is real, and after almost ten years Patrick is here, so close he can taste the copper on his tongue.

He should have known that it wouldn't be so easy—that the Ghost would see him, too.

There's a exhibit being put on (of course the Ghost is meticulous about his cover the way he is about everything else, arranging exhibits, displaying truly hideous artwork in his gallery, meeting with buyers) and Patrick slips in, swirling amongst the crowd. He's out of place in his suit jacket and tie, but he's trained himself to fade out of sight anywhere, and it's remarkably easy to do here, people's gazes sliding over him to find the more interesting person to his left.

Ronnie keeps trying to drill it into his head: don't get cocky.

"I was wondering if you'd show up," says a voice behind him, high and warm and a little amused, unfamiliar with a familiar tone. Patrick turns; he can't believe he left a blind spot open, but of course the Ghost would've found it, would've slid into it without any trouble.

The Ghost is David Rose, thirty-four, son of preposterously wealthy parents who do something in entertainment, some college, some drug arrests, some modest successes in his career and some spectacular failures in his personal life. Patrick had skimmed over the biography because it was such a ridiculous cover, something out of the old DnD sessions he and his friends would have with elaborate backstories to make up for whatever reality really was. Standing in front of him, the cover feels like a shield, like armor, like Patrick might be the only one in this whole room—this whole city—that can see the chinks.

Whetherwoman: This is the best thing that’s happened to me all day. All month.

Gus: hahah that's really sad for you

David Rose—the Ghost—holds two champagne flutes; they're not the tall thin things Patrick sees in the movies, but beautiful curved pieces of crystal. He offers one, and Patrick wonders how many people this man has killed with a shard of glass in his hand. He takes it.

"What made you wonder that?" he asks, watching David take a sip. David watches him not take a sip, but Patrick's not about to be poisoned in the middle of SoHo on a Thursday night, no matter how much an honor it might be to get the personal attention of the Ghost.

But David just smiles. It's not a smile that reaches his eyes, which is only to be expected; what's odd is the ripple of disappointment he can feel. He's been waiting to kill the Ghost for a third of his life, there's no reason to want his good opinion.

"Mm, I keep track of everyone who comes in," David says, finishing off his champagne. "And you struck me as someone who's looking for something."

"I am," he replies, almost relieved; of course the Ghost saw him, knew what he was. "But I'm not here for them."

"What are you here for, then?" David asks, tilting his head, still smiling that not-smile.

"I'm here for you," Patrick says, and puts the drink on a nearby table. He's got his hand at the button of his jacket, the Sig warm against his side, when the Ghost touches his elbow. Not to hurt or incapacitate, and that’s almost as much a shock as the touch itself.

"Um," David says, and it's such a strange thing to hear, to think that the Ghost could be... what, concerned about his guests? The Ghost once set fire to a c-suite, thirty people burned alive. But Patrick looks at his face and he's looking around, clocking the exits and pulling at Patrick's elbow, leading him through the crowd and up a stairway. The gun in Patrick’s hand feels rude, somehow, more rude than not drinking the champagne.

Whetherwoman: BUT WILL THEY FUCK

David pulls him into a room with a door, closes it with care, locking it deliberately, and Patrick had a dozen chances to shoot him in the head or the neck or the back or the stomach on their way up here, has a dozen more chances now, as the Ghost turns back toward him and—

"Oh my God, what the fuck?" David yelps, scrabbling at the door with all the grace of a coked-out whippet, his eyes wide and horrified. "Okay, so this isn't some sort of—am I seriously being robbed by a hot twink at my own gallery? This is, oh my god, fine, here's my wallet," and before Patrick can shoot him David's thrust his wallet into his other hand. "This is unbelievable."

"I'm not here to rob you," Patrick says, feeling a little insulted.

"Well you're not here to fuck me which is what I thought was going to happen, and also? You have a gun," David points out, looking way too annoyed for the situation, which is... what is the situation, exactly?

“I’m here to kill the Ghost," Patrick says.

David blinks, squinting at him. "Aren't—okay, please don't take this the wrong way, person with the gun, but aren't ghosts... dead? Normally?"

Patrick rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean. The Ghost. You."

"I—okay, we just went from meeting each other to me thinking this was some nice anonymous sex situation to me thinking this was a robbery to... oh my god you're going to kill the Ghost, who's me, apparently, and can I just—would you mind not? Doing that?"

"Sorry," Patrick says, and finds that it’s kind of true.

"Right," says David, and squeezes his eyes shut. Patrick lifts his gun to David's forehead—

He's too close, easy reaching distance; the Ghost has disarmed people who came at him exactly like this. Broke fingers before shooting his attackers, flipping the gun around still in their hands and squeezing the trigger, lashing out with a foot or a knee, making short work of someone stupid enough to get close enough to smell the cologne he's wearing, see the tear at the corner of his eye, hear the shaky inhale of breath.

Patrick lowers his gun. "Where were you on March 30th, 2006?"

David squints one eye open at him. "I—what?"

"March 30th," Patrick repeats, "2006."

"I don't know!" David's hands flail, knocking against the wall. "Ow. It was after I dropped out of college so probably I was here—I mean, not here here, New York here, getting wasted with people who weren't actively trying to murder me. Which may sound like a low bar but after tonight I'm going to appreciate it a lot more." David hesitates. "Why?"

"No reason," Patrick lies. "So you're—"

"I'm not Ghost, or the Ghost, or whatever," David snaps, looking extremely wronged. It shouldn't be funny, shouldn't be making Patrick smile, but he's smiling anyway and David catches him. "Excuse me, are you laughing at me? Might I remind you that you're the one who’s about to assassinate the wrong guy?"

Explaining that it technically wouldn't have been an assassination would take too long, and Patrick should probably get out of there and regroup—the Ghost lead Patrick here, which means somewhere along the line he got very comprehensively duped, which means Ronnie's going to be pissed. But something about David makes him want to... apologize.

Instead, he says, "I'm not laughing at you, David Rose. And don't be too mad; maybe one day someone will assassinate you for your own sake." He reaches out, some part of him still expecting the Ghost to lash out and break his arm, but David Rose just swallows as Patrick moves him away from the door, looking glassy-eyed, which Patrick's never found attractive before. "Sorry about the mix-up, though."

"So that's a no on the anonymous sex, I guess," David says, clapping a hand over his own mouth after the words come out, and Patrick laughs—feels it reach his eyes, reach his whole body.

"Rain check," he says, and kisses David on the cheek. He's bristly with stubble and there's a faint sheen of sweat and he's warm. Patrick slips out and shuts the door behind him, and disappears out into the night before the police sirens get too close.

At a restaurant a few blocks from his safe house, Patrick pulls out David's wallet. It's expensive, kind of ugly, with seven different credit cards, all in his name; his drivers's license has been expired for three months. There's a couple of punch cards for some yoga place, a library card, dozens of business cards from various people who have titles like "Brand Invigorator," and tucked into a small pocket—

Whetherwoman: WHAT. WHATS TUCKED INTO THE SMALL PCIKET

Tucked into a small pocket is a picture from one of those photo booth strips, four people in bathing suits mugging for the camera: a man and a woman, the man with eyebrows to rival David's, the woman with expertly coiffed hair and a small smile Patrick recognizes. The little girl is sitting on her father's lap, her tongue sticking out and squinting against the light, her left hand raised in a peace sign. The little boy is about seven, with a riot of curls on his head, laughing at something, looking so happy that Patrick's heart seizes, thumps wildly in his chest.

He puts the picture back in the wallet, puts the wallet back in his pocket, and takes the long way back home.

Whetherwoman: Okay I did not request feelings

Whetherwoman: Do you take returns

Gus: no sorry

Gus: all sales final

Whetherwoman: I’m giving you a one star yelp review

Whetherwoman: “MADE ME FEEL THINGS, WRITING IS TOO GOOD, V ANGRY”