#but ill try doing it gently and twist it a bit because i want to wield my fears and doubt positively

[windydrawallday]

WIP and teaser, YEAH I doodle the dinos and even finished a colored artwork-ref but-- I need to keep going slow because I got sick during the weekend orz what a way for the month to kick me AGH

[loomiseater]

Pissed (no this does NOT have any pee kinks)

warnings: smut ofc!, fem reader!, mean and toxic Rafe, dub con, Dacryphilia, choking, and, p in v. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: I’ve written fics before but it’s only for my notes, so this is the first fic I’ve written that’s being published. Criticism is appreciated! I would love to know how I can improve on my writing. Would you believe this took me an hour to write?

request page

This definitely isn’t repost worthy 😭 but if you do please give creds. @Loomiseater (Tumblr).

Written: April 21, 2024

Published: April 21, 2024

Summary: Rafe is pissed that you were hanging out with the Pouges. 

“I go on vacation for a week! One fucking week! just to find out you were hanging out with those pouges?!” You could hear Rafe’s voice echoing from downstairs along with the door slamming. His footsteps were starting to get louder as he ran up the stairs angrily. 

You cover your face with the bed sheets to pretend like you’re asleep. The doorknob twists as Rafe comes rushing into the bedroom like a maniac. “Get up! I know you’re not sleep” He announced while yanking the sheets off of you. “I know you heard what I said downstairs!” He shouted. “Why are you so pissed that I wanted to hang out with my friends?” You say softly. When Rafe is angry, it’s best to speak to him in a calm, gentle voice so you don’t piss him off even more.

“Why am I so pissed?” He repeatedly uttered to himself like he heard the most unbelievable thing ever. You got up off the bed to try and calm him down but he pushed you right back down. “This is what I get for trying to fix a broke bitch” He said in a chuckle to himself. Your heart shattered at his words. Rafe has always been mean during arguments or when he’s upset but he’s never spoke this ill of you.

“Are you serious?” You asked as tears began to appear in your eyes. “You’re an ungrateful little bitch, you know that?” He started off with a pointed finger. “I buy this big house for not only me but you too, I give you a weekly allowance so you don’t have to work, AND I took your ass out the Cut!” He yelled. It’s like his voice gets louder each time. “And this is how you repay me? Hm?” He questioned as his face got closer to yours. 

You tried your best not to cry but the tears started flowing and the sobs got louder. His hand wrapped around your neck and the oxygen for you was running out. “You are MY wife, understand?” Rafe questioned as you nodded your head. You tried to move his hand off your neck but he only tightened his grip. 

“I only do this because you’re not safe when hanging around Pouges” he explained as his eyes softened while moving some hair out of your face. Your chest was starting to hurt from all the pressure Rafe was putting on your neck. “P-please, let me go” the words struggled to come out of your mouth and Rafe finally released his hand from your neck. Nothing but choked sobs could come out as Rafe immediately apologized.

His face was filled with nothing but regret…this was the first time you’ve ever seen Rafe genuinely sorry. “I’m so sorry baby!” he expressed while moving his forehead against yours. “It’s okay” you say that but you didn’t really mean it. Deep down you’re terrified of Rafe. You know what he’s capable of. What he can do to you and get away with it.

“I just got into argument with my dad and- I took my anger out all on you” he explained anxiously. “No, really Rafe- like I said, I’m fine” you said while wiping the tears that were still falling.

“Y/n, don’t lie to me!” He said sternly as you jump a bit. He noticed this action and gently grabbed your hands. “Let me make it up to you” Rafe says while placing kisses down your neck. You weren’t really in the mood after what just happened. “Rafe. No” you say, unsure what’s about to happen next.

“Shut up, I’m making it up to you” he said while pushing you down on your back and leaving trails of kisses down your neck. It was like he didn’t care, but it’s always been like this. What Rafe wants, Rafe gets. He started places kisses to your exposed chest, you were in nothing but a bra and shorts. 

You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to do this but your body was telling you something else. The tension was thick between you and Rafe and your body was heating up. Your bra was being unclipped, he then threw it to the floor, not caring where it landed. He gently grabbed one of your breasts and started sucking on your nipple softly while looking you in the eye. You didn’t break eye contact with him, it was turning you on even more. Soft moans flew from your mouth as Rafe kept sucking.

“P-please” You choked out as Rafe let out a dark chuckle. “Please what? You want me to fuck you, huh?” He replied with that stupid smirk he always has. He slowly slid off your shorts and felt you. “All that resisting just for me to feel how wet you are” he laughed. He was right, after what he did to you, you were somehow soaked.

Rafe flipped you onto your stomach and left a hard smack to your ass. You hissed at how hard the slap was and it’s like he somehow got even harder. His dick was straining under the sweats he had on as he was pressing against your ass. You could feel kisses being placed on along your back along with a groan Rafe let out. He began take his clothes off and get on his knees behind you as you felt him shove himself in. It caught you off guard, resulting in you letting out a loud moan.

“Shit you’re so tight!” He expressed as he through his head back. He didn’t even wait for you to adjust, he began thrusting inside you like a mad man. The room was filled with nothing but the squelching sound from your pussy and grunts from Rafe’s mouth. “Fuck!” You muttered to yourself. You didn’t want to giveaway how much you were enjoying this but you're pretty sure your wetness spoke for itself. 

He pulled out and slammed back into you as you tightly grabbed the sheets beneath you. The familiar feeling was rising in your stomach. Rafe grabbed your hair and made sure your back was fleshed between his chest as he spoke into your ear. “Pussy so good, make me wanna put a baby in you” he grunted as you came all over his dick from just his words but that didn’t stop him. That was probably the loudest moan you’ve ever let out. 

“I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” You shout as tears flow from your eyes from the overstimulation. Rafe looked down at the mess you made on his dick and it made him whine, almost cumming at the sight in front of him. He pulled out and turn you back on your back. With no warning he put your legs on his shoulders and began thrusting. “Rafe!” You moaned as he was sliding in and out of you. Yours nails deeply scratched his back which led him to slower his thrusts. 

“Your so perfect” He said lowly. Nothing could come out from you except for sobs. “It’s too much Rafe!” You whined from all the stimulation. "You look so pretty when cry" And when Rafe saw you crying he let out a groan while cumming inside you. He began kissing you and rubbing your clit until your legs were shaking. It’s like he knew the exact moment you would finish. He pulled out as you squirted, letting his dick get covered in it while he began to thrust himself in his hand. This time, painting your thighs white.

“You did so good, baby” He says while placing a kiss to your forehead. You passed out on the pillow from your recent activity as Rafe got from off the bed and cleaned you with a wet hand towel.

[bunniekittiee]

Bi-Han x Fem. Reader (as well as general headcanons)

Alright alright the Bi-Han headcanons was a success so ykw I’ll bless you all again. Also this is my depiction of Bi-Han so if you think I can tweak it and make it better then by all means let me know!

CW: mentions of eating problems, anxiety, illness, chronic illness, a little nsfw, nothing too crazy

Hair combing is an intimate ordeal.

He does not let anyone else touch his hair besides himself and you. He trusts you completely to comb his hair and even put it up for him.

He thinks you do it better than him, but he can manage it himself if needed.

He sighs with relief when his hair is let down, feeling his s/o’s fingers gently massage his aching scalp. It feels so good to him, he loves it.

Bi-Han does like the quietness. Especially after a long day of Grandmaster duties and irritation.

So if it is quiet during this time, he can close his eyes and almost fall asleep as you caress his hair and take care of him.

Sometimes he has fallen asleep when you are doing this.

If you were to ask Bi-Han to bathe together, he would silently go insane for a second and then agree.

Despite seeing you naked more than often, it still gives him butterflies in different scenarios that isn’t inherently sexual. Such as bathing.

He thinks you are beautiful, do not ever be negative about yourself around Bi-Han because he will immediately worry.

If you are worried about gaining weight, he is already overthinking that you will stop eating.

So instead, Bi-Han gently encourages you to train with the other Lin Kuei if you feel that you want to lose weight or prevent yourself from gaining weight.

No, he does not think you are fat at all, do not twist his words.

But Bi-Han is the type of man to give you solutions to help you but not in a rude way.

He just tries to encourage and give you options.

He will also suggest yoga with Kuai Liang. Kuai Liang usually meditates, but he will divulge himself in yoga for you if you are interested.

He does not like to see you sad or upset about your self image. It makes him feel helpless.

Bi-Han can handle a physical threat because he can eliminate it, but when it is a mental threat such as self image issues, depression, etc., Bi-Han finds himself unable to see straight.

Out of his brothers, I see Bi-Han struggling with some anxiety.

Like I said in my previous headcanons, Bi-Han worries for his s/o because she is his weakness. If anyone were to take her away from him, he would practically engulf everything in a blizzard.

I see Bi-Han having anxiety about his brothers as well, whether they are safe or going to be okay.

As much as Bi-Han shuns Smoke, he still worries for him. Smoke is the ‘baby’ of them all, and if he were to see him in any form of pain, he is already wanting to murder the person who inflicted it upon him.

That being said, if you have any sort of health issues that will literally send Bi-Han over the edge.

He is constantly having the medics check you over and he will be riddled with so much anxiety he will stop eating and sleeping well.

God forbid you have a chronic illness or anything at all, at that point Bi-Han will just have an aneurysm.

As tough as his exterior is, Bi-Han can be sensitive.

Please do not call him names, he doesn’t even do that to you and it will hurt his feelings.

He will distance himself and feel melancholy until you apologize. He doesn’t like it when you are rude or mean to him.

As I mentioned in my other previous headcanons, he does get snappy himself so he knows that he is a bit of a hypocrite.

If you were to communicate your feelings to him, whether it is your frustrations, sadness, or anger, he will understand and try his best to relax you and make you feel better.

You do the same for him, so it’s time that he repays that favor.

Bi-Han can be extremely busy with his duties and he knows you hate being cooped up for so long.

So he will allow Smoke and Kuai Liang to take you out, whether that’s for a walk or to Madame Bo’s, Bi-Han just wants to make sure you are happy.

I don’t know where people got the “jealous of my brothers being around my s/o” belief from, but Bi-Han trusts his brothers completely.

He has to, they go into battle and on quests together, they have to deeply trust each other and have a strong bond with one another.

So he lets his brothers take you out, he does not get jealous of that. They would never do anything to you, and Bi-Han knows it is completely out of character for them to do anything in the first place.

So yes, he lets you go out with his brothers and enjoy your time together when he is busy.

Again, he knows you get cooped up and he wants you to have some freedom.

His brothers love that you have somewhat changed Bi-Han but in a good way.

He is somewhat nicer to Smoke and refrains from telling him he is not part of their family. Last time he did, you gave him the absolute worst glare that even Kuai Liang felt his stomach turn.

Bi-Han is gentle as possible with you. His hands have killed and hurt many, he would hate to inflict the same pain on you.

You are like a flower to him, a delicate and precious lively being.

You have softened Bi-Han in many ways, and many appreciate what you have done.

[moonstruckme]

On Thin Ice

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

This was requested by anon, but I'm not including the request because I'm going to write at least one more part and I don't want to spoil anything. But thanks so much for requesting, anon my love! I'm really having fun with it :) Also, just a disclaimer that I know next to nothing about figure skating, so while I tried to look most things up, there may be some inaccuracies

summary: when your usual figure skating partner Regulus is injured, you're forced to prepare the most romantic routine you've ever done with Sirius Black. You've known Sirius since you were little and have always found him irritating, but as you spend more and more time together, your feelings towards him start to change

cw: mention of injury (no details), Sirius Black is a relentless flirt

Figure Skater!Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 3.3k words

You want to be kinder to your friend, but you’re a bit angry with him. You’re not great at hiding it, either.

“It’s not like I can fucking help it.” Regulus rolls his eyes, and you do your best to undo the petulant pout of your lips. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I know that. I’m sorry, it’s just, seriously? Why can’t Coach give me someone else?”

“You know why.” 

You blow out another huffy breath, because you do know, but that doesn’t make you like it any better. Sirius is our best bet, your coach had told you, firm and impassive to your protests. He’s great on the ice, he always scores well, and Reg can teach him the routine while they’re at home. If we used anyone else, we’d lose time while they learned it. You’d sulked, and he’d given you a stern look. So suck it up. 

And you’re trying. Kind of. You wouldn’t ordinarily consider yourself an ill-tempered person, but Sirius Black brings out the worst in you. Always has. He’s Regulus’ irritating older brother, always around to pull your pigtails when you were little and make fun of everything you and Reg enjoyed as you got older. And in everything you love about your best friend, Sirius is the opposite. Where Regulus is restrained, Sirius is brash; where Regulus is content with a few close friends, Sirius needs an entire posse around him at all times; where Regulus has a quick, quiet wit, Sirius seems to feel a joke isn’t worth telling if everyone can’t hear it. He’s loud and facetious and insufferable, and now he’s your partner in the most intimate routine you’ve ever done.

“I know,” you groan again, falling back onto Regulus’ bed. “I just wish I could change it. Who do I have to bribe to get you a miracle recovery?”

Regulus scoffs, but he lies down beside you sympathetically. “The doctor said it should be better by next season, but a fractured ankle doesn’t fix itself in a couple weeks.” His voice turns bitter. “Trust me, I asked.” 

You wince guiltily. You’re not the only one suffering from Regulus’ incapacity. You’d both been practicing this routine for weeks. It was one of the most challenging and showy either of you have ever done. You were both supposed to have the chance to really shine, showing off your skills with complicated jumps and throws, some of which you’d never attempted before. But now Reg wouldn’t get the chance.

Ironically, it had been a fairly simple routine that had taken him down. One of your go-tos. You’d been performing it together for years, but maybe that sense of security was dangerous too. It’s too easy to land wrong, and one tiny slip had fractured Regulus’ ankle right in the middle of competition, forcing your coach to come help you get him off the ice. 

You’d cried more than he had as the on-site medics had inspected it, completely unhelpful but unable to bear seeing your best friend’s features twisted in agony. It turned out that was nothing compared to the look on his face when they’d told him he wouldn’t be able to skate on it for months. 

“How does it feel?” you ask, more gently now, and Regulus’ scowl softens in response. “Does it still hurt all of the time?”

“Not really, only when I walk on it. And they said I should be able to do that without much pain soon, just no jumping or anything.” 

Your heart aches with sympathy, and you have to resist the urge to reach over and touch his hand, his hair. Regulus has never much liked being touched, which you understand, but it makes him a difficult person to comfort. You resort to your method with the highest success rate: distraction. 

“Well, at least the cast is a fun accessory,” you say, forcing levity into your voice. “We could draw on it, it’ll be like having tattoos.” 

“Pass,” Reg replies disinterestedly. “Tattoos are more my brother’s aesthetic than mine.”  

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes, unable to stopper your irritation at the return of the conversation to Sirius. “Do you think Coach will let me have a new partner if I kneecap him?”

“If you’re going to kneecap someone,” comes a cool voice from the open doorway, “it’s probably best not to ponder your scheme so loudly in their house.” 

You raise your head to find Sirius leaning against the door frame, arms crossed insouciantly in front of his chest. He looks at you with the eyes he shares with his brother, but where Regulus’ tend towards cool grayness, Sirius’ always seem to waver between gray and blue, like the sky during a storm. They’re flashing now, amusement mingled with cunning, as you meet them with a glare. 

“Maybe I’m just giving you a red herring,” you say smoothly, “so you’ll never see my actual plan coming.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you, shortcake,” Sirius replies, grinning when your face goes hot at the nickname, “but I think I’ll start wearing protective gear just in case. Reg, think you could revoke this one’s key until after the competition?”

Regulus pretends to contemplate this, staring up at the ceiling. “No, she’ll only start coming in through my window again.” You grin at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches in response, remembering all the cuts and bruises you used to have when you were younger from climbing the old tree outside his window, late at night when you were both supposed to be asleep. The first few times you’d tried, rotting branches had broken and fallen from beneath you, but you’d kept at it until you’d plotted a safe course. You’re sure Reg would have snuck downstairs to let you in the front door if you’d asked him, but better you get in trouble than him. “Anyway, it’ll be entertaining to watch.” 

“Whatever happened to brotherly loyalty?” Sirius feigns hurt, but gets past it quickly. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to keep in mind that if I can’t perform, there won’t be a performance. I’ve already learnt half the routine, and I think you might struggle to find someone else skilled enough to catch up in time.” He winks at you, and you scoff, pointedly unaffected. “So I’ll see you at practice on Monday, sunshine,” he gloats, and disappears down the hallway. 

You wait until you hear the click of his door to lay back down, passing a hand over your face exhaustedly. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with that all of the time,” you moan. 

Regulus chuckles wryly. “Welcome to my world.” 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Y/N,” Coach calls frustratedly. “You have to let him throw you, not jump.” 

You’ve almost just followed in Regulus’ footsteps for the upteenth time today, which isn’t exactly in line with your plan of getting Sirius injured, but you figure will do in a pinch. The truth is, your focus has been off all day. Switching to a new partner is always hard; you’re used to Regulus, you’ve spent years learning how to skate together, to anticipate the other’s movements, and finding that rhythm with another person takes work. But learning how to skate with Sirius is more challenging than even you had expected.

He’s distracting, for one thing. He keeps smiling at you, making faces when you mess up, and whispering obnoxious little pointers when you’re in the middle of a complicated move. And his own movements are bigger and more elaborate than you’re used to, lacking Regulus’ control. You can see, objectively, how it works for him. It gives his performance that extra bit of artistry that Regulus has often been accused of needing, but it makes him more difficult to anticipate. He’s stronger than Reg, too, so he throws you higher, flings you farther, grips you tighter. It’s a lot to learn, but your coach doesn’t seem very sympathetic to your plight. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve wasted almost an entire day of practice and are undoing weeks of hard work learning the choreography with your repeated mistakes. 

You nod at him again, moving to reset, but Sirius slides in front of you. 

“Hey,” he says, “I can feel you tensing when I go to throw you. Is something wrong?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, breath still puffing into the air between you from the exertion of your leap. “No,” you reply shortly. “I’ll fix it.” 

And really, you should have been able to fix it a dozen tries ago. You’ve practiced throws with Regulus for years now. You’re supposed to push down on Sirius’ shoulders, use the momentum of your spin to give you a little boost, and let him do the rest. But you can’t seem to manage the last part. Sirius’ hands on your waist had discomposed you from the first try, and you keep finding yourself trying to jump off the ground before he has a chance to lift you. It doesn’t work, you know it’s never going to work, but it’s like some fight-or-flight instinct takes over every time Sirius’ hands get close to you. You suspect it’s because you’re so used to Regulus’ touch aversion; this routine is meant to seem romantic, but between the two of you, it had always felt chaste, more about the mechanics of the movements than the meanings behind them. Sirius loves to be touched, though, probably too much. He teases you about how cold your hand is in his, the tentative way you touch his shoulder when you’re supposed to grip it, how you jolt a little when he rests his hand on the small of your back. You’re on edge every second he’s around you, which by the very nature of the routine, is often. 

And so you keep jumping, which causes Sirius’s throw to be stunted when he can’t get a good grip on you, which causes you to fumble your landing. Every. Time. 

“You can trust me, you know,” Sirius persists, looking half earnest for once in his life. “I’m not going to launch you too high or anything. Just let me do the work.” 

“I’ve got it,” you growl, and Sirius raises his hands in mocking surrender, moving out of your way. You glide back into position, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You don’t need his advice, you’ve been doing just fine without it for years. You’ll get it on your own. 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Why is it,” Regulus drawls, coming into your room, “that when you mess up at practice, it’s still my problem to solve?” He sits on the edge of your bed, careful not to disturb the open bottle of nail polish you’re using. “I’m not even your partner right now, but both Coach and Sirius are complaining to me that you can’t sync up with him.” 

You keep your eyes on your fingertips, sweeping the brush across your nails in careful, measured strokes. “I’m working on it.” 

“What’s the problem?” He sounds more puzzled than frustrated. “Sirius is annoying, but he’s not actually an asshole. He won’t sabotage you.” 

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” you say. “I just…I can’t get it right. I don’t know. He’s so different to you, and I can’t figure out how to make it work.” 

“Well, you’d better figure it out soon,” Regulus replies, not without sympathy. “There’s only a couple of weeks until comp, and it seems like the both of you will need all the practice you can get together.”

You know he’s right, and that’s exactly what you’re dreading.

☆ ☆ ☆

The next practice goes about the same, the only difference being your coach’s mounting exasperation. Actually, no, there is one other change: Sirius’ movements become smoother, more sure, as he grows increasingly familiar with the choreography. 

So basically, he’s getting better while you’re getting worse. 

Though you all know there’s no time to waste with the competition coming up, Coach ends practice early in his irritation, letting you go with strict instructions to get your shit together before you meet again tomorrow. You promise him you’ll try, though you’re both coming to know that won’t be enough. 

You take your time unlacing your skates, shrugging on your jacket and stopping to buy a hot chocolate from the vendor up front before going out into the brisk autumn air. You’d started this new routine after your first practice with Sirius, stalling so that he’d have a head start and you wouldn’t have to walk home in the same direction, but you take two steps outside before you realize your plan has been foiled. 

“Coach will kill you if he catches you with one of those,” you say, and the cherry of Sirius’ cigarette burns orange as he takes a drag, eyes lighting with playful defiance. 

He blows the smoke away from you. “You won’t tattle on me though, will you, sunshine?”

“Reg won’t like it either.” 

“He knows,” Sirius says, as though Regulus’ opinion is of little concern to him. “You took your time in there. Ready to go?”

You don’t try to keep the suspicion from your face. “You were waiting on me?”

“I figure we could use some extra practice.” He drops his cigarette, stamping it out half smoked. “If you’re not too tired, I mean.” You give him an indignant look, and Sirius grins. “C’mon, it’s too cold out here for those leggings.” 

You follow him reluctantly, sipping at your hot chocolate because damn it, he’s right. The wind had been cool when you’d gone into practice, but nightfall has stolen the little bit of warmth the sun provided. You wouldn’t be surprised if you woke tomorrow to find the trees prematurely bare of their leaves. 

The Blacks’ house isn’t far, and your eager pace gets you there in a hurry. You’re thinking you’ll go to Regulus’ room as soon as you get inside, ditching Sirius and whatever humiliation he has planned for you, but when you approach the house, every window is dark. 

“They’re at my aunt’s for dinner,” Sirius answers your unasked question, unlocking the door. “I begged off because of practice.” He laughs as you follow him inside. “Try not to look so happy about it, shortcake.” 

You roll your eyes, starting up the stairs that go to the bedrooms. “When will Reg be home?”

“Late.” Sirius’ voice is close behind you. “You’re welcome to wait for him, of course, but we may as well make use of the time.” On the top step, you whirl, relishing the opportunity to look down on him for once. 

“Fine. What are we doing here?”

You don’t know if you’d hoped he’d be intimidated, but Sirius appears as unbothered as always. “Like I said. Practice.” He brushes past you, leading the way into his bedroom. After a moment, you follow grudgingly.

Like everything about Sirius, his room is loud. Almost every inch of wall space is covered in band posters, medals from competitions, pictures of his friends. There are clothes strewn across the bed and shoes scattered about the floor, but if Sirius is even conscious of the mess, he doesn’t mention it. 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

Sirius turns, and when his eyes meet yours, they’re surprisingly determined. “We need to figure out whatever it is that’s been holding you up,” he says. “We’ve gotta get past it.”  

You feel like stomping your foot, but very maturely refrain. You’re about done with the subject of your failures for the day. “I don’t know what it is.” 

“I think you do,” Sirius says cooly. “Wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

He grins. “Because you just admitted it.” 

“You—I just asked how,” you splutter angrily. 

Sirius gives you a knowing look. “Right, so it has nothing to do with you being afraid of me touching you?”

Your face heats. How could he know that? You look at him for a moment, and he looks back at you with that cool, even gaze, like he thinks he’s got you all figured out. As much as you resent him for it, he’s right. You’ve got no shot at a decent score in this competition if you can’t get past your mental block around Sirius. “I’m not afraid.” You roll your eyes, downplaying the admission. “I’m just not used to it, okay? I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but you’re not exactly a carbon copy of my usual partner.” 

Sirius grins again, and for the first time you get the sense that he’s laughing with you instead of at you. “I have been made aware of that a few times over our lives, yes. But okay, you’re not used to it. Let’s get you used to it.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, not sure where he’s going with this but fairly sure you won’t like it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to throw you until you can handle it without flinching. Sound good?”

You look at him like he’s stupid. “The rink is closed, and there’s nowhere for me to land here.” 

“Sure there is.” Sirius pats his bed cheerfully. You stay right where you are. Something changes in his expression, and you think you might detect a bit of kindness behind his teasing tone. “C’mon, sweetheart. I don’t know what Reggie’s told you, but I don’t actually bite.” 

You huff, but go to stand in front of him. He’s shed his coat, revealing the plain black shirt underneath, and the sleeves grip his biceps. Even in the poor lamplight, you can see his eyes changing colors like schools of fish as they swim. Now blue, now gray. 

“Alright.” Sirius sets his hands on your waist, and you tense automatically. “See, that’s the habit we have to break. Relax for me, shortcake.” 

His words certainly don’t help, but you do your best, unclenching the muscles in your stomach and legs. 

“Perfect,” he says, then launches you into the air. You barely have time to gasp before you’re landing on his bed, springs squealing in protest. “Okay, next time, try to spin or something.” 

“I wasn’t ready,” you protest. 

Sirius laughs. “I know. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Let’s try to do it like practice this time, yeah? So you go over there,” he motions to the door, “and run towards me. When I throw you, try to spin if you can, but don’t try to stick the landing or anything. Just land on your butt.” 

You roll your eyes, moving to the door. “Yeah, I’m in no hurry to break my ankle like Reg, thanks.” 

He winks. “Just making sure.” He spreads his feet a bit, bracing himself. “Alright, let’s give it a try.” 

It’s easy to remember Sirius is an older brother when he gets all bossy like this, but you comply, gaining as much speed as you can on the way to him before he’s gripping you around the waist, tossing you into the air. You manage a half-turn before your back end hits the bed. 

“Better!” Sirius exclaims, beaming at you. “You still seemed a bit tense, but at least you didn’t try to jump by yourself. Again?”

You can’t help a little smile of your own as you nod, pushing up off the bed and repositioning yourself at the door. 

☆ ☆ ☆

When Regulus gets home, he finds you sprawled on Sirius’ bed with his brother sitting beside you, both thoroughly worn out. 

“Did you fix it?” he asks.

You grin at the ceiling, wondering if it’s your pride or Sirius’ you’re feeling in the air, or both. “I think so.” 

“Coach might get the chance to be mad at me instead, tomorrow,” Sirius laments. “My arms are fucking dead. Too many throws and I might drop you on the ice.” 

“Don’t break my partner,” Regulus says warningly. 

“Yeah,” you second, hauling yourself into a sitting position and going to meet Regulus at the door, “please don’t.” 

You can hear Sirius’ eyes rolling as he says, “I won’t. See you at practice tomorrow, shortcake?”

It’s harder than usual to muster up annoyance for the teasing nickname. “See you tomorrow.” 

[honorarysimp]

Allegations

series masterlist

day 8

The apartment is quiet, the sun beaming through the large window basking the room in a soft warm glow.

You have your head in Tara’s lap, her fingers delicately running through your hair, your eyes may be closed but you can tell she’s lost in thought.

Tara’s been off since you got back from her meeting your friends last night, not in a bad way, more so in a way like something is nagging at her.

You know it’s got nothing to do with meeting them, they all adored her more than you by the end of the night.

She’s the blunt type, never one to hold her tongue, so you have a pretty good idea what it may be that has her silent for once.

The one thing you both tip toe around.

“You can ask, you know” you murmur quietly, her hand pauses on your crown and then those pretty brown eyes are looking down at you.

“I don’t know what-“

“We don’t bullshit each other, remember?” you say gently, gazing up at her openly, nothing to hide. Even when the flicker of memories in the back of your skull leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

“You know I’ve always been honest with you”.

“I know, that’s why I never asked”.

That makes you sit up, crossing your legs on the couch as you turn to face her, expression twisting with confusion as you mutter “I don’t understand”.

Tara sighs, running her hands down her face, something you’ve noticed she does when she’s too deep in her head and is trying to find a way to covey what she’s feeling.

“I want you to feel safe enough with me to tell me on your own time, not just because I asked”.

You nod slowly, tentatively reaching out and gently grasping her wrists, tugging until she drops them from her face. For a moment you just see her, the curiosity, the confusion, the guilt laced with uncertainty.

“It’s not pretty” you start.

That makes her scoff softly, giving you side eye that makes the corners of your mouth quirk up just the slightest.

“Are you kidding me? After what we went through?”

You hum, bringing her hands up and kissing her knuckles softly before resting them in your lap.

“Alright, I guess… as cliché as it will sound, I’ll start from the beginning”.

New York, 2015

Rhythm. Back then, music was the only thing that moved you, gave you motivation.

Which is why you’re currently attempting to sweep the floor, however the headphones covering your ears blasting Rihanna’s Umbrella has you a bit distracted.

Hence, attempting being a key word.

This apartment is a cozy haven, but it was in need of a thorough cleaning, with a few items scattered about here and there. The living room has a large, soft couch and several throw pillows that begged to be used, along with a few framed photos on the walls and a small coffee table in the center.

The open kitchen was partially visible and had the same clutter as the living room, with dishes in the sink and a few crumbs on the counter. Overall, the place has a homey feel, but is overdue for a good tidying up.

You wish you could whistle, it would just feel right, but instead you’re stuck with mumbling the lyrics under your breath as the chorus hits.

Sweeping what you’d collected into the dustpan is of ill fate, as you stand, and suddenly the music stops. Headphones ripped off your head.

You shriek, dropping the pan, and fully swing the broom in a three-sixty at whoever had attacked you.

Barely ducking your defense tactic, and jumping back up just as quickly to rip it from your hands, is your best friend.

“Are you kidding me? Again?” Anika half scolds, half laughs at you.

You give her a shove, heart racing as you snatch the broom back “are you fucking kidding me dude?! Your privileges are revoked, give me your spare now-“

“Yeah, cry later” Anika swats your hand away and palms your whole face as she walks by into the kitchen, where she proceeds to start gathering trash off the counter “you live in a pigsty, dude, we’ve talked about this”.

“Yeah well I was trying to clean, until someone tried to kill me” you grumble, beginning to sweep up the dirt on the floor again.

Anika just shoots you a look, dumping the trash into the bin before fishing under the sink cabinet for a cleaning bottle “if I wanted you dead you’d be dead”.

You roll your eyes and sweep your pile into the dust pan once more, moving to dump it in the bin “sometimes I wish you’d come by just to see me, not bite my ass for literally every little thing I do”.

“Someone has to” Anika says pointedly as she wipes the counter, “how is douche canoe anyways?”

“The usual”.

“Still in Vegas?”

A shrug, you put the broom up and head for the living room.

Anika tails you.

“Just let me adopt you already-“

You grab a pillow off the couch and launch it at her, a playful smile tugging at your lips “how about you fuck off and help me clean this place up since you’re going to burden me with your presence”.

Anika aims the spray bottle at you, to which you instantly raise your hands.

“Take it back”.

“No thank you mother”.

She sprays you anyways, making you shriek as you launch yourself over the couch, another pillow clutched in your hand like a weapon.

“STOP IT! BEHAVE CHILD”.

All you see as you launch the pillow, is her leg getting taken out just as she tries to round the corner, dropping as she’s knocked off balance.

You’re on the ground with her, clutching your side as you gasp for air from all your laughter.

“RIDE BY YOURSELF IN A TAXI TO SCHOOL TOMORROW, ASSHOLE”.

You both know she doesn’t mean it.

____________________________________________

Quinn greets you at the door, wide smile and practically tackling you into a bear hug before dragging you inside.

This party is in full swing, despite it being only 9pm. The lights are low, the liquor flowing, and the music blaring. The apartment is fairly cramped, with bodies packed together and alcohol cups covering nearly every surface.

There is a mix of kids from different grades, from sophomores to seniors, all of whom seemed to be taking full advantage of the cheap booze and loud music. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and the sound of excited chatter and laughter, making it clear that this party was off to a rowdy start.

“Jesus Christ how the hell do you expect me to crash this party?” You say with wide eyes, shrinking away as two burly football players shove their way through the crowd, bellowing drunkenly.

“By mooching off the free alcohol” Quinn says as she keeps one arm around your shoulders, “and also saving Ethan from the upperclassmen”.

Right. That’s why you’re here.

One panicked phone call from Ethan about his older brother throwing a rager, pleading to come crash at yours.

You’d only just agreed when you heard him curse and the call had abruptly ended.

After a quick follow-up with Quinn for reassurance, who sounded already tipsy, you were out the door within seconds on your way.

The logical idea was to show up, extract your friends, and get out.

Logical didn’t guarantee ideal.

Richie is a complete douchebag, across the board, and finds far too much amusement watching his older friends pick on his younger brother.

You wonder how he’s popular, but then the moment he comes into view with a joint tucked behind his ear as per usual. You’re reminded why.

It’s a wonder how he manages to hide it from his overbearing law enforcement officer for a father.

That’s where you find Ethan, trying to mold himself into the wall as subtly as possible, as one of Richie’s friends seems to be trying to coax him into taking something.

Now, granted, you aren’t a fighter. Not by a long shot, but you didn’t need physical intimidation.

Only mental.

“Shows over, dancing pony needs to come home now” you say loudly, making a few heads turn to look at you, Richie simply rolls his eyes.

Ethan visibly relaxes, pushing off the wall to walk towards you, only for Richie’s friend to grab his shoulder and flash you an empty smile.

“What’s the rush? Hm? We were just having a little chat-“

“Chat is over, goodbye no name” you cut him off, shooting Ethan a look, he shrugs off the hand on his shoulder just as Quinn comes up next to you.

He scoffs “my name is-“

“Irrelevant”.

That makes a few nearby chuckle, you nudge Ethan ahead of you just as you hear him speak up behind you “hey I’m talking to you bitch-“

“The only bitch here is you, considering how you’re whining like one. So unless you want me to grab my strap and really seal the deal, I suggest you shut the fuck up” you snap sharply, whirling around just as you feel Ethan grab your arm, Quinn laughs gleefully somewhere from behind you.

The no name asshole steps forward, Richie watches in amusement, making no effort to intervene.

Typical.

“Coming from the slut with no parents, I’d kill myself too if you were my daughter-“

You don’t even get the chance to knock his words back down his throat, as Anika suddenly appears, your knight in shining armor as her dainty ring cladded fist connects with his face.

He stumbles back into the table, everyone around you goes ballistic, but all you see is Anika glaring at you.

“I told you to wait for me”.

“I couldn’t-“

She holds up her hand, cutting you off, and then points. Your head drops back and you head in the direction of the door, Ethan leading the bunch.

You’ll blame him for this later, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face as you hear Quinn yelling more insults over her shoulder.

You may be retreating, but you and your crew definitely won that one.

____________________________________________

You’d like to say the words from last night didn’t sting, but they do.

It’s nothing new to you, the scandal was city wide.

At least, what’s known about it. And quite frankly, you don’t want to know more.

You’re content with how things are.

Absent uncle who’s your legal guardian, a bottomless tab at the coffee shop he owns and makes an ungodly amount of money off of.

Parents you never knew, but from your lack of connection with your other family still living and breathing, and your uncles lack of effort.

You basically do whatever you want, and it’s nice.

Family doesn’t mean much to you.

Or at least, it didn’t, until Anika actively decided to take you off the street like some stray dog when you were both ten years old.

You’d hated it, initially, a bit mean to her if anything. But goddamn was she relentless.

And then she finally managed to talk you into coming over to her place for dinner, you had no one to go home to, and it would stop her asking.

So, you’d agreed, the rest is history.

“We’ve got TEN MINUTES-“

“I know, I know! Fuck, it’s in here somewhere” you say as you tear through another box in your uncle’s office, Anika somewhere behind you going through the drawers in his desk.

Not like he’ll care, you’ll have everything back together and in its spot before he even thinks about coming back for another temporary visit.

What are you two both frantically searching for, you may ask?

A limited edition baseball card, Anika’s dad claims it is.

The guy is a huge Yankee’s fan, collects cards for fun. Anika thinks it’s dorky, so naturally you have to go against whatever she says.

He’s described a specific card, how rare it was, and something had tugged at your memory. The same card, you’d seen it somewhere in your uncle’s office at one point, and if it was what you thought it was, you were going to take it and give it to him.

Only he’d packed it away, not knowing what it was, or maybe he just didn’t think it was worth anything. You’ve spent the last two months looking for it.

His birthday dinner is tonight.

“God we should’ve skipped school to do this today, I don’t know what I was thinking-“ you groan, aggressively tossing one of the bags that had fallen out of the top shelf of the closet back where it had dropped.

“It’s in here, if you say it is then it is” Anika says without pausing her ransack through your uncle’s desk.

You let out a pitiful noise, walking towards the desk “yeah well this is the part where I say abracadabra and someone cuts us some fucking slack-“ you then kick the back of the desk, a little harder than necessary.

A click followed by a thump can be heard under the desk, Anika freezes and looks up just as your head turns to meet her gaze.

She then ducks under the desk, making you scramble to peer over it from the other side.

“What kind of James Bond shit is this“ is all you hear before she reappears, you barely have a chance to push yourself back before she’s dropping a medium sized box between the two of you on the desk.

Your brow furrows “where the hell was that thing?”

“You know I was wondering why this desk was so bulky and the cabinets were so small” Anika mutters to herself as you start going through the items in the box.

All of it looks expensive, and organized. A watch in a velvet and glass case, a bottle opener with what you can assume has diamonds embedded in the handle, a little bag of coins probably all rare. A little booklet and -

And then, a tape recorder.

Your brow furrows as you fish the tape recorder out, fiddling with it.

First , why is he hiding a box of expensive items under his desk? And second, why is this piece of junk in with it?

Your thumb traces the faded white lettering across the front, microcassette-corder m-560. And underneath it a piece of tape with a name.

Your biological father’s name.

“Dude no way look!” Anika produces the baseball card from the booklet that had been within the box, but when she sees the look on your face her smile falls “what? What’s is it?”

You press the play button, an audible click, but nothing. You hit the stop button, looking within it, pressing the eject.

An empty tape lies within.

“Talk to me, you’ve got that look on your face” Anika says, using what you’ve deduced as her ‘mom voice’.

You look up, raising the tape recorder so she can read off it.

“It belonged to my dad.”

Anika’s face goes blank, her eyes analyzing you carefully.

Eyes dropping to the tape recorder in your hand, your stomach churns uneasily.

Why did you never ask? Well, you know why, who can you ask when your Uncle is never around? And when you did ask as a kid, he’d punish you by not acknowledging your existence for weeks.

Your fingers curl around the tape recorder, “you know how I think the case was never actually solved?”

A pause, “I do, yeah”.

Theres a beat of silence, and then you’re looking up, something in your eyes. Not justice, not revenge.

A broken child, a lost soul, abandoned if you’re honest with yourself.

But not alone.

“What if the rumors are true?”

Anika’s shoulders tense, swallowing hard as she pins you with a hard look “I don’t think this is a road you should go down, there’s a reason-“

“Why would he have this then? Hm?” You hold up the item for further emphasis, “he practically spits on the ground any time they’re mentioned, the same asshole that locked me in my room for three days just for asking if I could see a picture of them!”

You watch her wince as your anger bubbles, you know it isn’t her fault, it’s not your fault either.

And that makes you furious.

“No one will ever give me answers” you say, and it feels strange addressing something you’ve ignored for as long as you can remember.

Or just maybe, you’re old enough now to understand that your life sucks, you’ve got trauma. And you want to know why.

You see the conflict in her eyes, because she sees just how far gone you are now in your head with this. With how impulsive you tend to be, Anika knows it best to stick by your side to keep you in check than to piss you off and you go about it on your own.

And to be frank, Anika has been waiting for this moment. It was only a matter of time before you wanted answers about what happened to your parents, other than a shitty police report writing it off as ‘accidental deaths’ or ‘possible suicide’.

“Okay. So, what do we do?” Anika says holding your gaze, even when worry chews at her insides for your mental state.

Jaw set, gaze hard, you click the tape recorder shut and head for the door, the faint sound of her scurrying feet on the hardwood floor behind you.

“We go get them”.

____________________________________________

Now, on a normal day, you’re extremely practical.

You’ve always stuck to the facts, because facts are the truth. And the truth is real.

But as Ethan swipes his dad’s badge at the back entrance of the precinct, you’re at least rational enough to admit to yourself this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.

Luckily for you, New York is busy. There’s always something going wrong, which means most everyone in the precinct will be bustling about with business at hand.

You take the back entrance anyways.

All you’d had to do was tell Ethan you needed answers that were long overdue, and that you just wanted to see the police report.

He’d said his dad would refuse, that it’s a ‘closed case’. And then proceeded to flash a copy of the keycard that Richie had made, that Ethan had stolen from him.

You may hate Richie, but right now he’s your third favorite person. Sorry Quinn.

As you walk in through the back end of the building, you notice that there is significantly less foot traffic and activity compared to the front. There’s a rare sight of people milling about, and the area has a slightly more dilapidated feel, with some of the buildings and infrastructure showing signs of wear and tear.

The building has a rugged, industrial feel, and the lack of crowd gives the hallways a more relaxed atmosphere. If you're looking for a slice of the city that's a bit off the beaten path, this is the place to be.

The two crept along the hallway, keeping your footsteps light and movements stealthy. You both duck out of sight and hide behind corners whenever you hear the sound of footsteps or voices approaching, waiting anxiously until the coast was clear before continuing on the way.

Adrenaline peaked, you both move with a heightened sense of awareness, constantly scanning their surroundings for anyone potentially passing through. Every step was taken with care, every movement slow and deliberate, as they navigated the hallway.

“How much further?” You whisper, sticking close to Ethan as you glance over your shoulder.

He may be a quiet kid, but when not under peer pressure, the guy is the definition of whiplash. Which is why he leads you through the building towards the room that held all the physical documentation and evidence on all known cases.

Suddenly, Ethan comes to a halt, you almost crashing into him from behind. Before you can ask, he gestures to the sign on the door that read "Case Files." You both exchange a look, knowing what lies inside might very well rock your world.

Ethan swipes the card and opens the door, ushering you inside “I’ll keep lookout, just be fast okay?”

“Ethan, what? No-“

He shoves you inside and shuts the door, no window leaving you in darkness, at least until the motion lights activate.

You turn, taking in the room. The room was a massive storage space, filled from floor to ceiling with rows upon rows of shelves, each one stacked with countless boxes. The air was thick with the scent of dust and deteriorating cardboard, and the only illumination came from a the flickering lights that hung from the ceiling above.

The shadows cast by the dim light danced menacingly across the boxes, giving the impression that something lurking within them, ready to leap out at any moment. The room gave off the intimidation of a cavernous warehouse, filled with countless secrets and untold stories, waiting to be discovered.

You push onwards, driven by a determination to find answers. You move between the rows of shelves, eyes scanning the row upon row of boxes for a specific year. Your hands glide across the dusty labels on the boxes, searching for the one that would give you the information you sought. You could feel the weight of years of unanswered questions pressing down upon you now more than ever, and your heart races as your fingers trace the numbers, hoping to find the one that held the truth you so desperately sought.

As you searched, you feel a sense of urgency and desperation building within you. You feel the answer just out of your grasp, praying the truth would finally bring closure and some semblance of peace. But the boxes seemed endless, and the years blur together in your mind, making it all the more difficult to find the one you needed. You push past the mental fatigue and frustration, driven by the hope that you were getting closer to what’s sought.

There. Feldman, 2002.

As you finally reach the correct box, you carefully pull it down from the shelf, and feel a moment of hesitation. You pause, fingers gripping the edge of the lid, and a thousand questions swirl through your mind: what will you find inside, and will it be the answers you’ve desperately sought for so long?

You take a deep breath, heart pounding in your chest, and slowly lift the lid. Inside, you find a stack of folders, each labeled with the case number.

As you go through the file, you feel a wave of emotion wash over you, a mix of disbelief, horror, and shock. You can feel their mind reeling as you read the words on the page, gut churning and stomach twisting. It's a murder case, a double homicide on the marital couple, your parents.

The words on the page swirl together as you try to make sense of what you’re reading, but the reality of the situation is hitting you like a freight train, and it's all you can do to keep themselves from collapsing.

As you skim through the pages with shaky hands, you come across a section detailing the status of the case. You can feel a lurch in your stomach as you read that it's still an open case, unsolved after all these years. It was all a lie. All of it.

You continue, feverish now, eyes widening as you read that your father worked in the morgue and falsified a large number of autopsy reports. It's a revelation that rocks you to your core. Feeling a mix of anger and disbelief, you reach into the box and pull out a photo of what you’re safe to assume is your parents, the first time you’re ever actually seeing them. Must’ve fallen out of one of the folders.

The photograph is old and faded, but the image is still clear. The couple's faces staring back at you, and the protagonist is struck by how young they look, how carefree and alive. You struggle to reconcile the image of your parents as innocent victims with the knowledge of your father's sinister actions. It's a moment of overwhelming emotion, a mix of sadness, anger, and disbelief.

As the magnitude of the situation sinks in, you’re overcome with a wave of agony. You feel a deep sense of guilt and pain for not having looked into this sooner, for allowing yourself to be oblivious to the truth for so long. Every second wasted, every moment spent in ignorance weighs heavily on your conscience, and the hurt is almost too much to bear. It's a moment of intense self-reflection, a moment of realization that nothing will ever be the same again.

With a shaking hand, you tuck away the photograph and pull out a tape recorder from your jacket. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and click on the recorder. The sound of the device whirring to life fills the room, and you begin to meticulously read off every detail from the files, documenting all the information you can find plausible. As you speak into the recorder, your voice wavers, filled with a mix of emotions.

You detail every aspect of the case, every fact and figure, every piece of information you can glean from the files. You read off the allegations on the chain of events leading up to, the details of the crime scene, and the evidence left behind. You read off the reports, the falsified autopsies, and the names of the witnesses and investigators involved. You even read off the handwritten notes, the comments from the police, and every last detail you can find. The tape recorder whirrs continuously as you speak, capturing every words for future reference.

Suddenly, you hear commotion outside the room, the sound of voices and footsteps approaching. You cut off the tape recorder just as your heart sinks, realizing that time is running out, and you quickly scramble to put everything back into the box. You feel a pang of worry for Ethan on watch, hoping that he had’t been caught. With a sense of urgency, you grab the tape recorder and shove it into your jacket before quickly returning the box to its place on the shelf.

You make your way back to the door and press your ear against it, straining to hear any sounds of movement or voices out in the hallway. But all you hear is silence, a tense stillness that hangs in the air. You feel a rush of anxiety and tension as you stand there, blood pumping. With a deep breath, you slowly crack open the door and poke your head out into the hallway, scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble.

As you peer around the door, you catch a glimpse of Ethan being led away down the corridor. You only manage to get a brief glimpse of the familiar face leading him away, before the two figures disappear around a corner. The sight fills you with a sense of dread.

Poor Ethan, you owe him everything and he doesn’t even know it.

You make a promise to yourself to make it up to him, probably for the rest of your life, as you start heading back the way you came.

But even as you do, you can’t ignore the weight that now rests in your shoulders.

A double homicide? In two separate locations on the same premises? Execution style?

It’s not until the fresh air hits you when your stomach loses itself, you scramble for the nearest solid object to grab on for our cause as you empty out everything you’d eaten today.

Murdered. No killer caught. No suspect. Well, one suspect, but found innocent on account of being documented out of state when it happened. If someone killed them, why? What for?

Shaking, and sinking to your knees, you begin to wonder how deep this goes. If you stop now, you might have a chance to come back from this.

And live with never knowing the truth? You need to know, especially if it meant what allegations could potentially be the truth.

Legs trembling slightly from exertion, you push yourself up to your feet and steel yourself.

You’re getting answers, one way or another.

____________________________________________

Ethan is on lockdown until further notice, according to Quinn.

Now, you love Quinn, you adore her. But… she is a chatter box and to be blunt, she’ll blabber if she knew the truth.

So you go to Anika, your first and last resort. She’d always be your first choice, if it weren’t for the confirmed ass chewing you get all the way from point A to point B.

But you needed help, and you can’t do it alone.

You use to be a loner, but that was a long time ago, no thanks to her. And you’re reminded why, as Mrs. Kayoko opens the door and smiles so wide you’re sure that a drop of sun had blessed her when she’d been born.

She’s the only motherly figure, not counting Anika herself, that you’ve ever had. Every time you look at her you think of the day you met her, when she was so kind to you, so gentle with you. How the moment you got a taste of that motherly unconditional love, you’d fallen apart.

Weak. Embarrassing. At least, you thought, until she pulled you into her arms without question. Your loyalty has been with them ever since, you’d do anything for the Kayoko family.

They had saved you, after all.

You couldn’t be broken, not with all the love that surrounds you.

Those comforting arms wrap you into a familiar embrace, a gesture that always makes your heart swell, instantly reciprocating.

She scolds you for looking tired, you blame it on school, Anika comes around the corner just as you’re weakly swatting away the older woman’s prying hands at your hair.

“Hey freak show”.

“Limp twizzler” you shoot back, making her turn beet red just like every time.

“Don’t be pissy because you’re shorter than me, let it go”.

You two start going at it, as always, Mrs. Kayoko scolds you as usual and Mr. Kayoko can be heard cackling somewhere from in the kitchen.

The older woman shoos you two away, letting you know dinner will be ready soon, and the moment you’re in Anika’s room you close the door and give her a look.

Her insult, whatever it was - you weren’t listening, cuts short as she catches that look in your eyes.

“Oh my god, are you the reason Ethan is unplugged and off the board right now?”

She really can see right through your bullshit.

“Okay hear me out, it’s not like I stole anything-“

“Stole anything?! What did you do?!”

You hold up the tape recorder, expression serious “my parents didn’t kill themselves”.

Anika’s expression drops, irritation and confusion shifting to utter disbelief.

“I mean, yeah we assumed that but wasn’t it actually-“

“I don’t know” you cut her off, voice quiet, “but I found out my father use to work at a morgue local to here”.

She looks even more horrified, if possible, as she whispers “excuse me?”

“I’m gonna break in, and I need your help-“

A scoff, “yeah I think the fuck not-“

“Quinn will jump on it without question, so either you come with me or she will” you hate giving her an ultimatum, but you need Anika in on this, you can’t keep bouncing around her forever with this.

You’re growing more desperate and it’s showing, you should be more worried about the consequences of your actions, and what all you’re asking your friends of.

But this, it’s important, you can’t stop now when you just started digging.

She holds up for a long moment, but then just slumps slightly as she scowls at you “I’m going to kill you after this”.

“Plausible, and totally acceptable”.

“…well? Don’t hold out, what did you find?”

previous, next

[ficmashup]

Captive Patient

Summary: You join TF141 after something happened on your last deployment. They take you in and while it takes some time, you find yourself warming up to them, and them to you. Perhaps especially to the Captain.

A/N: Heavy Price-involved chapter! Took me a bit longer to write because it's a bit longer and because I wanted to get it right. Sorry for the wait! But, hope you enjoy. :)

Warnings: Vague SA mentions, illness, some crass language, so much fluff.

Word Count: 4.6k

Feral Masterlist

Shopping with Price is different than shopping with Simon.

With Simon, it’s all quick jabs and taking the piss with each other down every aisle. We were even scolded by the manager once when I sent a pack of jerky shooting towards his head with deadly accuracy. A single look from Simon had them scurrying away and I couldn’t stop giggling for two straight minutes.

It’s just…easy with Price.

“Grab the gnocchi for me?” I ask, pointing up at the item while I crouch and reach back to gather chicken stock on the bottom shelf.

“The what?” Price looks directly at the package with furrowed brows.

A smile pulls on my lips as I place my things in the cart before walking over to him. “Gnocchi? Just there.” I tap the bottom of the shelf and he reaches up to get it for me as he looks it over.

“The hell is it?” He asks and I chuckle, gently taking it from his hands and putting it in the cart as he looks at me.

“Like…dumplings? Little, pillowy potato bites. Never had them before, I take it?” I ask with amusement in my voice as he shakes his head, following me as we walk down the aisle again.

“Can’t say that I have. What do you do with them?”

“Other than eat them?” I tease, smirking as he gives me a look.

“I mean, how do you cook them?” He corrects and keeps pushing the cart as I grab a few things, add them to the cart, then slide back into place with him beside me. He coughs again, covering his mouth with his elbow while I listen closely. It’s a wet cough. Maybe he has some congestion dripping down the back of his throat?

I focus back on the conversation. “Hm, well, this time I’m making a sort of twist on chicken pot pie. Same ingredients go in one big pot and it simmers for a few hours, then you’re done.” I explain, unconsciously making hand gestures for the pot, stirring, and so on. There’s still a slight furrow to Price’s brow when I look back at him.

“Why not just make chicken pot pie?”

“It’s supposed to be easier.”

“But aren’t you missing the crust?”

“The gnocchi take the place of the crust.”

“The crust is the best part.”

I shake my head amusedly at his insistence, and slide in front of the cart as I gather a few things. “Look, I’m making it today. Why don’t you come try it yourself?” My hands freeze as I hold a package of chicken, my eyes not even seeing the price as I replay what I just said. This is the problem with things being so easy. I’m usually a bit more careful, a bit more on my guard, but like this…I say things without considering them first. But Price responds before I can take the words back.

“Alright.” He agrees and my eyes snap to his. Those pretty eyes crinkle as he nods, leaning against the cart. “And I’ll make you a real chicken pot pie this week. We’ll compare.” His smirk grows as I realize that I’m staring and I quickly shove the chicken into the cart before pushing it forward a bit.

“You cook?” I ask, struggling to keep my mind from spinning and my body catching on fire.

“Occasionally. I don’t set toast on fire like Johnny.” He chuckles and I relax at the sound, the tension fading from my shoulders as he moves back to my side. “I’ve taught myself a few things over the years. Pot pie was my mother’s favorite, so I taught myself how to make it.” That catches my attention and I can’t think about anything at all when he speaks in that soft, gruff tone.

“You made it for her?” I draw the obvious conclusion and he shrugs a shoulder, half-grinning.

“Tried to. She nearly spat it out the first time I tried. She, ah, she wasn’t the type of woman to hold back her opinions.” He recalls fondly and his eyes look off for a moment as if reliving the moment. My lips press together as I try to hide my smile as he looks back at me with a slightly sheepish grin. “But I got better.”

“Mm, I’d hope so.” I tease and take in the warmth in his eyes like a reptile in the sun before we move on.

*     *     *

It’s easy enough to sneak a few things into my cart that he doesn’t notice. I don’t have to ask him to help me take my groceries up to my flat, and its child’s play to get him to sit on my couch for a few moments under the guise of waiting for a cup of tea. He sits and I note how tired he seems when he thinks I’m not looking. He leans against the back of the couch with a heavy sigh. His eyes shut while his hands slide over his thighs and I try not to get too distracted by him as he spreads his legs to get comfortable.

Quickly, I grab the secret things I got from the store and set each in front of him on my coffee table. His eyes open, looking at me while his brows furrow. “Drink one of these.” I point to the bottled water and a glass filled with a golden liquid. (Electrolytes, lemon-flavored.) “Then we’ll wait a few minutes until I can take your temperature. If it’s higher than I like, then I’m keeping you here until it goes down.” It’s very clear that nothing I’m saying is a suggestion.

Price blinks at me. “What?”

I set my hands on my hips, fingers drumming over my hipbones. “You’re sick. You’re coughing, you’re feverish, you’re taking more deep breaths than usual as if you’re having trouble getting enough air. It’s also obvious that you’re exhausted and I’d guess you’re not sleeping either because of congestion or hot and cold flashes at night.” I look pointedly to the drinks I set in front of him and he slowly leans forward to take the water bottle, but doesn’t drink it just yet.

His eyes narrow at me. “So you decided to back me into a corner with the promise of a home cooked meal?” Surprise pulls his brows up, but there’s amusement and something almost like pride in his eyes.

I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down. “Yes. Blame yourself. You told me that you’re insufferable when you’re sick, so I took things into my own hands by making a tactical move.”

He can’t keep himself from smiling now and my stance softens just a touch at the sound of his soft laugh. “Damn. I’ll remember that when considering undercover missions for the team.” He leans toward me with his elbows on his knees, head tilted up at me. My fingers flex against my arms as I see him in this position and I beg my mind to pull itself together. “But I’m fine. No need to go to any trouble.” A particularly bad cough chooses this moment to rattle his chest and I give him a pointed look once he’s finished hacking his lungs up. He returns the look with all the innocence in the world.

“Right. Let’s test that theory.” I pick up the thermometer and hold it out to him, raising a brow when he doesn’t take it. “There are many ways to take your temperature, Captain. Either let me take it willingly or I will shove this up your ass.” There isn’t a hint of hesitation in my voice and Price’s eyes widen a touch. His jaw flexes as he thinks it over before sighing and accepting the thermometer.

“Starting to feel bad for the boys if this is the treatment they got when they needed fixin’ up.” He grumbles as he slides the thermometer under his tongue with the end sticking out between his lips. It’s almost like a poor imitation of his cigars.

“I only treat my stubborn patients this way. If you’re good, then I’ll be sweet as sugar.” I glance at the clock, noting the time so I can be sure he keeps it in long enough for the reading to be accurate.

“Bet you would be.” The words are barely spoken under his breath, but my eyes snap to his immediately. Tension stretches taught as a rubber band between us and my body goes hot as he shifts slightly in place on the couch.

“What was that?” I whisper, frozen in place as I wait for his answer.

“Said I’ll try to be good then.” He responds gruffly and our eyes are locked on one another’s before the thermometer beeps, startling us both. A deep breath vanishes down my throat as I steady myself. I lean forward and slip the thermometer from between his lips, not meeting his eyes now as my hand skims his cheek. My thoughts narrow as I see the digital numbers flashing up at me.

“101. Low-grade fever. Still insisting you’re not sick?” I shoot Price a scolding look while he huffs. I pull away and clean the thermometer and put it away while gathering a few other things. It helps to get a little distance from Price anyway. “Alright.” I walk back to him and press pills into his hand. “Take these and drink as much as you can. Rest. I’ll work on the dinner I promised.”

Price looks utterly dissatisfied. “You want me to sit here while you cook? That’d make me a poor guest.”

I smile and hum in amusement. “But a good patient. You can come sit at the counter, but I’m not having you do much until that fever is down.”

He stands up, shaking his head. “I feel fine—"

“John.” I use my firm voice, holding his gaze without flinching as I place a hand on his chest. We hold that position for a moment, neither of us backing down while I think about the best way to handle him. My stance softens and I sigh softly, leaning into him a bit so my hand pushes against his chest just enough to drive my point home. “You trust me to take care of our team, you trust my advice on missions, now I’m asking you to trust me enough to let me take care of you. Let me.” My fingers tap lightly over his heart and mine beats faster at the vulnerability of asking him for something. Especially since I’m asking for his trust.

His jaw flexes a moment before he sighs, a smile pulling on his lips as his hand slides over mine on his chest. “Fine, sugar. You got me.” He agrees at last and I swallow at the sound of his soft, deep voice as he surrenders.

“Thank you. Now, where do you want to sit?” I raise a brow, seeing if he actually meant what he said.

He shakes his head slightly as if he can’t believe himself. “The counter. I’ll lend moral support.”

I grin, tapping his chest twice before reluctantly sliding my hand off him. “Good. That’s the most important kind.” He chuckles and grabs the drinks I bought him before settling on a stool at the counter while I walk around it to start cooking.

“Think I’d take air support over moral support.” He comments and I chuckle as I get everything out.

“You think so? You’d take a chopper over having the team at your back?” I challenge with a smirk as I get out two cutting boards and knives before organizing what needs to be done. He gives me a look, but can’t keep the smile off his face.

“Touche.” He allows and amusement flits through me. Conversation continues to be easy and John actually behaves well enough after I give him a job. (Cutting vegetables for the soup.) We eat together and it takes me a few minutes to settle as we both sit together and eat. It’s been a long time since I’ve done something so mundane and while I’ve eaten here with Simon, everything with John feels different.

His gaze follows me around the room and the weight is comfortable, soothing, and the very fact that I like it makes me nervous. The only thing that keeps me steady is the fact that he still needs care because he’s sick. It starts getting later and later, but the only thing that I’ve managed to help is his congestion. At least he can breathe a little easier.

I’m curled up in a ball on the opposite end of the couch as I debate making him stay, hating the idea of sending him home to his empty flat. Especially since I know he won’t call me if things get worse. My mouth opens to at least start the conversation, but before I can get a word out, a soft snore fills the room. I glance over at Price with wide eyes to find his head tilted back on the couch cushions, fast asleep. My lips press together to keep in a giggle as I relax back into place.

His position isn’t putting too much strain on any part of his body and if he’s fallen asleep so easily, he really must’ve been having trouble recently with the dripping down the back of his throat. I’ll let him sleep like this a while, then move him to the guest room a little later. I find myself watching him. He looks utterly relaxed slumped on my couch, hands still resting on his spread thighs as soft, rumbling snores leave his lips and each one makes me smile. What’s truly surprising is how comfortable I am having him here. The last time I had a man in here was…a very long time ago. A one-night stand to scratch an itch. Then, more recently, I’ve started having Simon here.

Simon was a bit easier because we have an understanding. Scars that neither of us have voiced, but that we both can see. Scars that are shared. It’s been a give and take of trust with us, always keeping things even, keeping each other steady until we relaxed into friendship. I’d let him into my apartment for barely five minutes the first time since he was the one who invited me to tea. A fair exchange. Then he let me into his place for longer, then I did the same, until we spent hours with each other and found we no longer needed to keep score.

With John…he’s already given me more than I could ever repay. He let me on the team, provided a place for me to fit in, a job to focus on, and provided me with friends within that job, people I could trust and depend on. That’s why it’s so easy for me to find myself off-balance with him. He’s given me so much so freely and only expects me to carry my own weight. Maybe that’s how normal people are supposed to interact and I’m just fucked up, but whatever.

Gently, I ease myself onto my feet and turn the tv off. “John.” My voice is soft as I move close, but don’t touch him just yet. “Hey, John. Come on, I’ve got to move you or else you’ll regret it in the morning.” My foot nudges his boot and he sighs heavily, shifting in place.

“Hmph.” He makes a disgruntled noise and I can’t help giggling. That’s what entices him to crack one eye open. “Am I dreamin’?” His voice is low and gruff and sends warmth seeping through my body.

“Are your dreams the only place you make women laugh?” I tease, leaning forward and taking his hand in mine along with wrapping my other around his bicep. “Come on, I’m getting you to bed.” Slowly, I heave him onto his feet and grunt as I duck under his arm, the heat of his body searing my side as we shuffle towards my guest room.

“Don’t often get to hear your laugh.” He mutters, his eyes only half open as I struggle to guide him around my furniture. “Such a damn pretty sound.” My body is boiling from heat and I’m not sure whether it’s because of embarrassment or pleasure.

“You should tell me more jokes if you want to hear me laugh.” It’s the only thing I can think to say and the warmth gathering in my stomach isn’t helped by the soft chuckle he gives me.

“Not much good at jokes, but I’ll keep that in mind, sugar.” He nods once and a tingle slides down my spine at the little nickname. I wonder if it’ll stick. “Wait.” We reach the doorway to my guestroom and Price reaches out, catching the doorframe with his hand while the arm I have a hold of tightens around me. He blinks a few times and I see him trying to wake up. I can’t imagine how deeply he must’ve been sleeping to have this much trouble. On missions, he’s up and ready to go in seconds, has to be.

“Don’t start thinking now.” I tease lightly and keep gently tugging him forward. Tired eyes meet mine as he lets me. “You’re in my flat, I’m putting you in my guest room because it’s late and I don’t trust you to take care of yourself.” I explain as much as is needed and finally sit him down on the bed. He allows it with a heavy sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

“Sorry for falling asleep on you.” He shakes his head at himself and I smile softly, wondering if his despondency is due to thinking of how his mother that he’d cooked for would think him a bad guest.

“I wanted you to sleep.” I step closer and press the back of my hand to his forehead. The only light in this room comes from the lamp still on in the living room, the warm light spilling across the bed like a shard of amber. It catches Price’s eyes just right and leaves them half a clear blue, and the other half shadowed like a stormy sea. I nearly forget what I’m doing as I stare into them. “You…you still have a fever. I’ll check in the morning, but for now, some more rest will do you good.” My other hand rests lightly on his shoulder and I don’t realize until after I move away that it wasn’t for any reason. I just wanted to touch him.

The thought makes me flustered as I swallow. “I think I have something you can wear, if you’d like.”

Price raises a brow at me. “Don’t think anything you have would fit me.” He presses the toe of his boots against the heel as he slips them off.

I give him a look, though I’m glad he’s not putting up a fight about staying here. “Wasn’t planning on giving you my clothes. I think there are some men’s clothes still shoved in the back of one of my drawers from an old boyfriend.” Mentally, I look through my drawers and try to pinpoint where I left them.

“Hm. No, thank you, sugar.” He shakes his head and I focus on him again. “Don’t usually sleep in much anyway.” I blink a few times before quickly nodding.

“Right. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.” My feet carry me to the bathroom and I flick on the light, grabbing a washcloth and dampening it with cold water. I wring it out in the sink and purposefully don’t look at myself in the mirror as I walk out. I don’t need to think about what I’m doing and I’m afraid if I meet my gaze, I’ll start reading into all the thoughts spinning around in my head.

Next, I grab two bottles of water and head back into the room, nearly tripping when I see Price’s shirt and pants slung neatly over the end of the bed. His socks are also tucked into his boots just under the cuff of his folded pants. My steps slow and I curse myself for being an idiot as I set the bottled waters on the bedside table. It’s not like I haven’t seen him shirtless before. I’ve seen every member of our team stripped down to their underwear when we had to cross a freezing river in the mountains. Not to mention I’ve treated their cuts and scrapes, Price least of all, but enough to see most of him.

But this is different. This isn’t in the field with the team or on base with half a dozen nurses around. We’re alone in my home with no one to watch or check in. It’s just us.

Price coughing brings my head swinging back towards him and I frown, sitting on the edge of the bed as the coughs ease. “Your throat raw from coughing?” I ask as he sighs, nodding as he leans his head back against the headboard. “I have something for that, hold on.” My hands gingerly lay the folded, cool cloth over his forehead before I get up and come back again with cough syrup.

“That looks like it’s going to taste great.” He grumbles as he peeks at it and I sit back on the bed beside him with my hip pressed against his thigh. He’s pulled the blankets up a little past his hips so we’re…relatively decent.

I smirk and pour the thick, molasses-type liquid into the cap before holding it out to him. “Better than whiskey.”

“Hmph, bite your tongue.” But he takes it anyway, grimacing as it slides down his throat and he hands me back the cap. I screw it back on and set the container next to his waters which he instantly chugs half of to try to get the sickly-sweet medicine taste out of his mouth.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone for the night.” I say softly, meeting his gaze as I think of anything else I can do. “Come get me if things get worse. I mean it.” I shoot daggers at him with my eyes and he only smiles warmly, nodding in acceptance.

“Yes, ma’am.” He agrees and I’m about to get up when I feel the pads of his fingers brush mine on the bed. “Thank you for this.” His gaze holds mine and I freeze as his fingertips ever so lightly slide up and down each of my fingers. “Been a long time since I let someone take care of me. Longer still since someone wanted to.”

“It’s…my job.” I reply and the words taste like a lie.

His fingers pause for a moment, then he continues with a slow nod. “If you’d like to think that, then that’s fine. I won’t push and your standing with the team and with me won’t change. I’ve never lied to you and I hope you can trust me that much.” My brows furrow and I nod. I’ve trusted him with my life and with knowing more about me than nearly anyone else. I trust him not to lie to me. His eyes still haven’t wavered from mine and I’m comfortably caught in them, his words only half-sinking in for now. “But I’m not here because you’re my medic. And I don’t think you’re lettin’ me touch you like this because I’m your Captain.” The words are gentle, wrapped in the warmth of his rumbling voice, but the actual sentiment is blunt.

I blink a few times, keeping my body absolutely still. John is patient and his fingers don’t stop moving against mine. Thoughts whirl through my head, most tinged with panic, but Price is still here, still steady, still keeping his eyes on me as if ready to talk me down or let me run out of here. He’s not saying this like it’s a problem. He’s saying this like he’s trying to break the news to me, as if I don’t already know, as if I haven’t been fiendishly ignoring every little flutter of warmth his every word or gesture gives me.

I finally move, reaching up and pressing my fingers to my temple as I try to think. “It sounds like you have something you want to do about that.” I say softly, feeling like we’re encased in a little bubble here and speaking too loudly will break it.

He quirks a brow at me, surprise in his eyes. “We could start with a date.”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “A date.” I repeat, my fingers curling just a touch towards his as he keeps petting mine.

“Mmhmm.” He hums a confirmation with his head tilting just slightly as he watches my reaction. It’s clearly not what he thought it would be.

“You want to take me on a date?”

“Yes, sugar.”

“You realize what a bad fucking idea that is?” My voice is still hushed, my brows furrowed with confusion while Price keeps watching me with that steady gaze. “Forget the headache it would be on base, the gossip, the paperwork, possibly screwing with team dynamics, but you’ve read my file.” My voice shakes, but I don’t break away from John’s gaze. I’ve never hidden myself from him before and I’m not about to start now. “You realize what a nightmare it would be to try and date me? Do anything like that with me?” My words are a warning, bright red and flashing.

“I understand.” He says levelly and glances down to our hands for just a moment. “But I’m used to nightmares, sugar. I’d be glad if you’d let me tackle yours by your side.” His eyes lift to mine and if there was any doubt that he was earnest, the sincerity in his gaze immediately puts them at ease. I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I try to use the dull pain to keep the tears stinging the back of my eyes at bay. “But you don’t have to answer now. Sleep on it.”

“I have limits and boundaries that I don’t even know about yet. Things…wouldn’t be easy. Do you really want to navigate landmines in your personal life and your professional life?” I push anyway, needing his answer if I’m even going to consider this. I need him to know what he’s asking for.

“I understand.” He repeats, his fingers still moving soft and sweet against mine. “Yes, I do.” My next breath is a little shaky as I take in his words and the certainty in which he says them.

“You should sleep.” I say quietly, shifting closer as I flip the cool towel on his forehead and don’t resist the temptation to let my fingers linger. My hand rests against the side of his face, my thumb brushing over his cheek while his hot skin brands me. “Ask me again tomorrow.” His eyes scan my face as he nods, agreeing. Neither of us says anything else as he gets comfortable in bed and I slip out into my own room, curling up underneath my blankets.

For a while, I lay there while my mind swirls. The tears come next and my sobs are quick and quiet as I try to wrap my mind around what John is saying. He wants me. He wants to try. He’s willing to face my nightmares and stay. When I eventually fall asleep with tears smeared over my cheeks, there’s a small, hopeful smile on my face.

Taglist(hello lovelies, lmk if anyone else wants to be tagged!):

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas @cherry-blosom-tree

@thriving-n-jiving @jinxxangel13 @emsstuff1 @missmidnight-writes

[luimagines]

Orginal Monster imagine

Dream this have to be a dream....

Legend star at malin who is singing at her spot and Legend slow walk towards her but with each step he's sinking into the sand. He keep trying to go to her but sinks more into the sands that he's Struggling to keep his head up and is almost swollen up by the sand that he shot his hand out a sign for help but instead of feeling her hand. He feel a glove hand grab his hand and pulling him out of his situation and pull to a safe spot as legend gasp and gag out the sand he may accidentally swollen.

Legend look up to thank the person who save him from his situation only for his eyes to widen in shock and confusion to see...

He sees a late teenager wearing the heros tunic with a bit of armor to protect his chest,hips and knees. Brown short hair is bearly maintained and well tan skin with freckles that legend can see but his eyes are blue like the sky and the other green as the fields of hyrule.

Stranger: You're a long way, hero of oracle.

Legend: are you?-

I'm link , you've met your granddaughter reader.

Legend is again shock and puzzled and wanted to ask him but he lift his hand as in to slient him.

Link: I know you have questions, but all answers will be revealed soon. But please link watch over your group and especially reader. They're in great danger.

Legend: what do you mean by that?

Link can only smile sadly and he move his only arm towards legend to gently push him back as legend shock to see everything around him turning dark.

Dream end

Legend wake up to see the inn ceiling and he sit up and look around in his room shock from the dream he was having and panting to how real it felt til he heard his door being knocked on.

Reader: legend, it's time to wake up. Time wants us moving pretty soon.

Legend: y-yeah ill be out in a few minutes.

Legend wipe his face and Pondering on what just happened but one thing he was sure on is that he's meet reader's brother link and the fact he and reader are family by blood.....his....granddaughter...

I was super confused throughout the first half until it all hit me in the end because WOAH!!

That makes much more sense after everything we've already established for monster! reader. But I was not expecting that twist!!! o.o

[sebastianswallows]

these kinda go hand in hand for the emoji asks so 👀🤲

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please! 🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip? → Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

😂 Oh boy, erm... I got a request for breeding kink with Seb? 👉👈 And I may be going a little overboard with it? Been working on it for two days, this is day 3.

Basically, it's kind of inspired by the myth of Pandora, or rather an interpretation of it.

The existing version is that Pandora's box released demons and evil and diseases into the world, and all that was left in it when it was closed were the good things.

But another interpretation I've read recently is that, perhaps, originally, Pandora's box was the source of all things (hence the name, Pan dora = all gifts). So that means good and bad and war and peace and illness and healing all originated from it. And in that way, it served as a metaphor for the womb, which creates all of humanity with all of humanity's potential for good and bad.

And from all that, I came up with the idea that Seb found this magical box that gave you whatever you need, kind of like the Room of Requirement that you could carry around lol. But you needed a special key to open it, and that key was... proof of love 👀 Cum, the key to opening it is girl cum and boy cum.

That's it, that's the fic. I'm halfway done at 5k words and I want to pull my hair out. It is smut from start to finish. And to make it more ✨fun✨, it's noncon, and my goodness do I hope the anon who sent the request won't mind, because it's comin' 😅

Anyway, thank you for your questions, nonny! 💕

And here's the hastily written and not proofread snippet. Below the cut, because NSFW:

He looked at her intensely, breathless, watching every frown and tensing of her face while his finger eased itself past her hole. He pressed in almost shyly, then retreated, then pressed in deeper, making her moan. Her hips twitched beneath him, trying to buck him off. To soothe her, he flicked her clit a little harder, distracting her with pleasure from the pain of piercing her.

“Shhh… shhh… there there,” he gentled with a whisper. “I just want to feel what you’re like inside…”

His thumb eased on her clit and he removed it, leaning closer instead to touch it with his tongue. She yelped and her hips jumped, but he held her down firmly while working his finger deeper, deeper, a little bit deeper inside with each thrust. Slowly, Sebastian curled his tongue beneath her hub, just letting it rest there as his lips slowly closed around it.

“It’s too much,” she whispered, her back arching, head thrashing left and right, her hands twisting senselessly into the rope. “Sebastian, it’s too… too much…”

He hummed as he suckled on her clit, sucking the taste of her flesh off of her. Her little pearl warmed up on his receiving flesh. Beneath, he removed his index finger and moved it instead to part one of her folds, now so much more swollen and throbbing, and placed in its stead his thicker middle finger in her hole. Rubbing back and forth gently, he opened her up a little wider, groaning at how her soft channel hugged him from every side. Her wetness dripped out of her around his knuckles, coating her upper thighs. She clenched when he shoved the digit all the way inside, her whimpers drowned out by Sebastian’s hungry moan when he felt the end of her on the tip of his finger.

“Stop it!” she hissed through clenching teeth.

Her legs struggled and moved until he caught one of them in his hand and held her by the knee close to his neck, folding her open while he ate at her, licking and sucking and teasing her with kisses from her clit to her hole where his finger teased her open. He parted from her with a suckling pull at her folds, then began kissing her inner thigh while he thrust his finger faster and faster, preparing her for what he was about to do.

“Why is it so difficult for you to accept being loved?” asked Sebastian, looking tiredly into her eyes, his lips against her skin, breath fanning over her most sensitive place that burned and leaked with her pleasure. It didn’t even sound like a tease, it sounded as if he was… sad for her, and genuinely curious to know the answer. “You’re not afraid of me,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly, “not really… You’re afraid of being vulnerable. With me...”

[sunnylolli]

Ooo if you’re up to it right now, could you elaborate on the Fae nations thing? That sounds so cool! Are they like an offshoot or subspecies??

EDIT: I wrote an america-centric one-shot for this here!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43469841

(Sorry for the late reply, I’ve had this in my drafts because I kept thinking of new things, but these are what I can coherently say for now!)

Oooo!!! Okay okay, this might be a bit rambly, my absolute passion is folklore and creatures from it-

I have a few different ways I think of them in regards to the fae, I can't seem to settle for just one, but the first one I have actually written out as if it was a little myth told to you by your great grandmother or something:

1st. Basically a rough outline that Nations WERE human, but somewhere along the way, came to embody the tribe or village they were in, and the first to do that, 'turned' after getting firewood in the forest:

There are men and children and women and old hags, that wander far and wide in search of the destination that holds their fate. Some will find riches and greatness, others poverty and insignificance. Each walk along the same righteous path, that runs through the same forest, where only the curves and the winding of the road knows where they might end up on the other side of the trees.

But there have been men and children, women and hags, who has been good and evil. Who speaks pure neutrality and moral ambiguity. Their sins weigh equal to their merits, and the heavens cannot decide which path they may lead. So when they enter that forest, and walk along that path to greatness or insignificance, their road will wind and curve and twist and turn itself into knots and scramble until suddenly, it will have sense no longer. And these men and children, Women and Hags, will be lost. Fated to walk along that road for eternity. You might see them wandering among the trees, muttering to themselves and trying to find their way. Do not fear them, for they will not harm you. If they speak to you, answer, but do not dawdle. It won't do you any good, speaking to wanderers in the woodlands. You might end up being turned around, and get lost yourself.

2nd.: Basically playing off the idea that Nations weren't always human-personifications and didn't live among people, but rather lived a non-corporal existence of embodying the land and the earth of their “districts” so to speak. You could occasionally be lucky enough to speak to them, and usually the ones that got the chance to, were people who had nowhere to go; No kin, friends or lovers and no hope for the future. They would seek to make a deal with the land. To become a part of it, to feel like they would belong to something and/or someone, somewhere. To feel important and cared for, like they matter in the world. 

In exchange, the land would get to inhabit their body and flesh, and animate that vessel as they wished, for as long as the land, the trees and the earth remained. Basically, personifications are simply people who had nothing and no one and who sold their life to a non-corporal entity in the woods. Said non-corporal entity then basically merged with their mind and made a sort of amalgamation between a human being with a personality, feelings, opinions and a fully shaped self, and an immortal creature that knows everything and everyone that touches upon the land within its borders - Thus keeping the poor sod who made the deal to begin with, literally feel surrounded by people, forest creatures, animals, trees and lakes all over the country. Effectively taking embracing them and gently lulling that feeling of loneliness.

The Land-creature isn’t malicious, ill-intended or EVIL, it simply is and it simply wished to experience itself. Literally wanted to experience itself from its inhabitants’ point of view. It created itself and then it wanted to experience itself.

[relaxxattack]

we were on the subject of vriska/dirk parallels a few days ago but i was too busy seeing le mis to talk about it but NOW THAT IM FREE. some thoughts i had

disclaimer: i am only about 60% confident in anything being said here and it kind of became rambly garbage, so feel free to (gently) disprove anything ive said, these thoughts are just rattling around in my brain

i definitely personally think that dirk as a character was initially intended to be a Bad Guy. who is in the Wrong. and i get we are generally dirklovers in this day and age but the thing is he actually kind of WAS a shit to a lot of people (mainly jake) and i mean there was a reason there was fandom discourse around him back when he first was introduced; there’s a reason that Ultimate Dirk is a path that was genuinely thought by a certain amount of writers to be a conclusive and believable route for his character to go

the reason i think this is like, A dirks general actions towards other characters generally being manipulative OR a bystander to manipulation (hal), and also B, hussies original novel where the dirk-like character is revealed to be a twist villain. hussie seemed to have a particular interest in writing about a gay love story in which one of the guys manipulates the other and then turns out to be the bad guy. and you can really follow that thread to the modern dirk character

the difference though is that dirk goes through an Arc. and even before that, dirk is hugely characterized by a strong love for his friends. like. dude fucking adores his friends and thinks none of them deserve him. and i think this is what makes him stand out immediately as different than vriska — vriska definitely acts out out of a need for attention and interaction, but it really seems like she wants any attention, and wants to bully tavros soley because she feels she has a right. (terezi is a bit of a special case here). vriska wants connection and friendship, and to be liked, mainly in general. dirk wants to deserve the three friends he has— he loves those three very specifically and deeply. this makes them extremely different off the get-go.

although we can draw lines from “asshole manipulates a useless page who doesn’t deserve it and gets dunked on by the narrative constantly”, their characters are really entirely different other than that

as for jake/tavros there’s a lot there, they are both confused the hell out by the romantic advances of both people. difference is that tavros never showed any want for vriska (until he was a ghost or something? the ghost plot lines always pissed me off ill be honest) while jake was interested in dirk and confided in other people about it.

i also don’t remember there being evidence of dirk manipulating jake to get stronger the way vriska did to tavros besides the robot? i think it was literally just the robot, which is kind of a one-time offense and, if i recall, jake wanted the robot for fisticuffs and was technically fully capable of turning the difficulty level on the thing down

the main issue was dirk and hal initiating that entire plan to get together with jake, which dirk did not try to rectify, and then supposedly dirk being clingy afterward which we saw none of

and for obvious reasons, the fact that they break up and dirk goes through a small arc about learning and wanting to try to be better obviously makes the Ult Dirk plot line feel like a slap in the face. i mean once dirk was a beloved character there was reason to give him a better ending than “asshole is an asshole”, and the arc he had, while minor was satisfactory for a lot of people, so the idea that it was all for nothing in post canon is obviously really shitty.

there’s also the fact that dirk and Jake immediately move in together at the start of post canon and start doing all kinds of weird shit which i definitely disapprove of when im like fairly sure what they needed was space apart and a little bit of time to socialize with other people??? but that’s technically part of post canon and a whole other can of gross worms the point of this post was.

vriska and dirk: not the same.

this whole thing became a rambly mess towards the end i REALLY should do a reread + deep dive of act 6 honestly because its my least favorite and i dont give it much attention

[horsefreek151]

I have had perfect dogs who are an example of this through my life... ill do this in chronological order Emma, Bernese Mountain Dog, she was from Europe because, for some reason, in the late 90s, my parents couldn't find someone in the US to sell them a dog because we lived in China... as ex-pats. Emma was from beautiful show lines and lived a solid 8 years (a bit over the Berner average). They were bred to work with dairy farmers as an all-around farm dog to do things like: keep cattle away from the farmer when not being milked, move them around, keep the children safe from the cattle, and keep the property safe. They also had the fun job of pulling carts. They are described as placid and calm, aloof toward strangers but loving to their families. This dog was the epitome of her breed, My parents didn't have a farm, but they started with two kids and ended up with four kids in her lifetime. So Emma decided she was going to be a nanny dog. She was amazing. She had endless patience with us kids and loved babies. She would remove herself from a situation if we were being annoyed, and if we played too rough, she would grab our hand or arm with her mouth and hold us till we calmed down. She would watch the babies on their play mats or in their carriers. if they were with my mom elsewhere, she would guard the carrier. If that was in the car, she would guard my mom's shoes or baby bag or something of ours. She would never bite people or other dogs. She would give other dogs warning growls and maybe snap at them and bark if they got too close but never bite. IF people got closer to something she was guarding that she didn't want them she would put herself between the person and the thing (or child) and try to distract them by begging for pets. I have asthma and, until last year, couldn't be around unfamiliar dogs, particularly Golden Retrievers. She HATED goldens. She refused to let them come up to me and would get her most angry towards them. (Emma and my dad)

Trixy, Caucasian Shepherd (Georgian Nagazi), We had her while living in Georgia. Mainly bread for fighting Caucasus mountain BEARS AND WOLVS, protecting the herders and the herder's family and property. There is a legend of one RIPING A WOLF TO PIECES to protect a child. They are known to hate strangers and be fiercely protective and brave. Trixy was not a perfect example of her breed in the stranger aggressive part, mostly because she and her brother (he passed at one year due to a stomach twist) were raised super socially by constantly coming to my parent's school they worked at and were loved on by the whole community. The head guard there loved them so much he adopted Trixy when we moved. They loved everyone and had been trained out of their aggressiveness towards strangers because of all that work we put in in their early days. These guys were friendly. Now how did Trixy fit the mold? Strange dogs.... she wouldn't leave our side if there was another dog around and would bark and growl if they tried to approach. She would also stick close to us kids if we were greeting strangers, and she would always check back on us during hikes to make sure we weren't in danger before running back off. Her number 1 priority was us, and she always wanted to ensure we were ok. She would play with my baby brother, who was a third of her weight, so gently you wouldn't believe she could put her paws easily on my 6'4" (193cm) father. They would alert strangers near the property but wouldn't hurt anyone unless they would try to hurt us (I never had the chance to but knowing her, she would have been just like the legend.) She had the job of keeping the family safe and she did it. (Trixy left, Hayward right)

LAST BUT NOT LEAST, MY CURRENT DOG Universal Healthcare (Uni), Toy Poodle, she's my current dog and my service dog. She's a year and a half, and we've had her a year. Poodles were bred as hunting dogs, the miniature variety was bred to hunt mushrooms and work in circuses, and toys were bred from those to be the perfect companion. They are highly intelligent and sociable and can be protective of their families. Uni was the dog I dreamed of as a kid. Small like a stuffed animal, cute, sweet, friendly, and smart to teach tricks. We got uni at about 5 months because she was too small to breed (she was 5 lb, 2.27 KG last weigh in) and was held back by her breeder to see if she would hit the 10lb (4.54 kg) mark. Being half the size needed she wanted to find her a good home. Her grandmother had been a therapy dog after she retired from breeding so when she heard from a friend that she knew of someone looking for a service dog prospect she was delighted! Uni is a perfect example of the breed and would have rocked the show ring. She's so smart it shocks me at times and had learned how to alert too my panic attacks on her own. She learned left and right on her own from pointing. She knows a handful of fun tricks (like spin) and a load of great ones for my episodes. She does a great job of her service dog duties and has had a rough time because of her size. Larger dogs lunge at her, and she thinks I need to be protected, so she will get between us ( based off of previous large dogs, you know I know how to handle them. I could handle the Nagazi on my own at 13, so I had to yeet her up by her harness and hold her. I've only had to knee one dog in the chest; it's usually enough to give a harsh no or 'F*CK OFF'). She gets grabbed all the time, people screech at her booties (in delight, but it's annoying), and she's had people trip about her. We even had to learn a set of behaviors to avoid distraction, people will greet her without permission, so we have a "say hi" command. She has to sit, then when I say "say hi," she knows she can say hello to these people; I get a chance to explain what she is and how service dogs work, and how she can say hi because we have a command, but don't go to pet a working service dog, and then when I say "all done!" she knows to stop. We usually do a sit and a hand touch and get back to work with no problem. Her only problem is her worry about large dogs (because of previously having them try to eat her) but were working through it, and she has excellent interactions with friends (one a greyhound named Grendle who is mainly just overwhelmed by how much 12-inch [30.48cm] Uni loves him]. She sleeps in bed with us, sometimes wedged between me and my fiance, sometimes on our pillow, sometimes at my feet. She always jumps up the moment I wake up to check in (I have bad nightmares and sleep paralysis) and comes over for a snuggle and to make sure I'm actually awake. She follows me everywhere; she can tell I'm about to have an episode before I do and will let me stim on her to ground. She smells my breath and listens to my heart to tell what's going on, and I have no idea what she knows from it, but she's made me sit down before dizzy spells and fought off oncoming flashbacks before I knew it was happening. She saved my life and ill love her forever for that. (Uni and Bjalfi, our six-month-old kitten, asleep on our laundry. They are best friends)

I think it's so funny how we bred JOBS into dogs. I have two shih tzus and they were bred to be lap dogs. All they care about is looking cute and cuddling with people. Meanwhile my grandma has a border collie and that dog needs to feel so useful all the time, he acts like he will pass away if he doesn't have a job to do constantly

[vostok3-ka]

Hello helloo! Hope you’re having a good one :) Just dropping by with some lil guys for the ask game: 🥺✅🤡🎶🤲 (any you may want, obv no pressure)

Hiiii Max <3333 oooo thank you so much for all these questions, I'm excited to answer them! I AM having a good one because today is my archery tournament and I'm excited! Hope YOU are well!

🥺 - OOOH. This one is so easy to answer. When Bucky and Steve are physically affectionate with each other. I've never seen them as a couple, not really, and I love them when they're platonic and yet still very physical with each other. It just melts my heart every time they wrap each other up in their arms, or press hands on the other's shoulder, or anything physical really. It's so soft, and gentle from men who are very masculine and soldier-like, and ugh, it just turns me to a puddle of pure soup. I can't deal.

✅ - Drugs 😭. I never do mean to include mentions of drugs in my stories, but I somehow always do! I just see it as such a realistic and very likely think for Bucky to engage in, and it just fascinates me as a writer when I write drugs, because I adore it when characters have a twisted view of reality, when they are unreliable narrators. It just hits the spot for me, and I absolutely love it. Another thing that tends to find itself in my works, although somewhat subtly, is a very blasé attitude towards mental illness. I like that, I like characters who don't let their mental health take over their lives, I like it when they live on despite of it and don't make it a big deal, instead acknowledging it is there and then going on with their lives in a way, you know? I don't know, I've been told it's a somewhat eastern way of looking at it, and I suppose, seeing I mostly write eastern characters, or Bucky who might as well be Russian at this point, that it's a good characterization thing? I don't know really. But it's been pointed out and I thought it was interesting!

🤡 - I don't actually think I write very funny a lot of the time, but sometimes I will write something more humorous, and this is one of those times. This snippet is from a completely forgotten about WIP called Kukushka, and it is about a period of time during the late 80s where Department X were trying to sort out Bucky's transfer to Hydra, and his little popsicle freezer was broken so they needed him stored away, and doing so they tossed him to a little run down village and were like here you go, manage yourself. It's a bit of a crackfic, which is why I named one character Gagarin and the other Karpov, despite him not being Bucky's handler. And Bucky is Morozov. Like he always is in my stories 😭. Here's a little snippet:

----------

Morozov came to slowly, not like they did in the movies with a gasp and all in a fuss. Gagarin hovered over Stepanov's shoulder, watching the soldier stare at the ceiling, eyes cloudy with confusion.

"There he is," the young doctor said triumphantly, and glanced back at Gagarin. "I told you he'd be alright."

Gagarin frowned. "He isn't saying anything."

Stepanov turned his gaze back to Morozov, and frowned. "He isn't." Leaning over he pulled out the penlight again, flashing it over the stormy greys. The pupils contracted dutifully, and he turned the light off, laying a hand on the soldier's cheek and patting it gently. "Come on Morozov. It's us!"

"I broke him," Karpov whispered morosely, his head still in his arms on the round table.

"Nonesense," Stepanov declared with the full authority of a man confident in his knowledge. "You cannot break a man by merely stating a name."

"I broke him," the poet repeated, and this time both Gagarin and Stepanov turned to look at him.

"Stop being so dramatic, Sasha," Gagarin told him. "Do you need Stepanov to give you an injection as well?"

That got a reaction out of Karpov, and he raised his head from where it was buried in alarm.

"Stop it, Gagarin. I'm not giving anybody else any injections," Stepanov admonished, before directing his attention towards the miserable poet. "You did not break him. Who's the doctor here?"

"Barely a doctor," Karpov muttered, marginally more wary of the large black bag that Stepanov had stashed by his side. "You just graduated."

Gagarin sighed. "Just fix him, please," he said, and the young doctor turned back to his patient.

"He should be well. Responsive- physically," he said, voice taking on a considerably more serious tone that it had merely a few seconds ago, and he stood up, moving over sideways so he was closer to Morozov's head. Leaning over, he let a hand rest on the soldier's forehead. "Morozov, it's me, come on."

"Physically?"

"His eyes-" and Stepanov furled a hand into a near fist without looking up, demonstrating for his audience. "-they contract normally."

"Does that mean anything?"

----------

🎶 - Oh boy do I haha! I can barely focus on writing without music sometimes, my mind gets too distracted with other things, and I like writing to the vibes of songs. A lot of my fics I wrote to a particular song, like with Яблонный сад by Shortparis, I wrote that fic listening to literally only these two songs:

While with, for example, Noch' Ulitsa Fonar' Apteka, I was listening to this song on repeat:

As for which songs I've had on repeat recently, it's this one that I've had on repeat while working on plotting a Bucky fic that takes place before and during the war!

🤲 - Okie so, this is from the fic I mentioned above where it takes place before and during the war. I'm so fascinated by old mental hospitals before and during the war, and I thought it would be a really interesting story to write where Bucky admits himself to one when he is nineteen because he gets really ill, and it is there that Hydra first sets eyes on him, and the plot spans all the way to Europe, and his capture at Azzano, where Hydra knew that he was going to be there, and they wanted to take him to Doctor Zola. I thought it would be an interesting blend of a gritty thriller, and an opportunity for me to research and explore historical psychiatric hospitals and treatments and make it all as accurate as possible! Here's a snippet ;) :

----------

If anything, Steve took the news much better than Bucky had. Bucky's knuckles hadn't yet started to fade back to their usual light pink after he'd smashed his hand into his bedroom wall in a fit of frustrated fear when he hadn't been able to fall asleep the night before. They shone a gentle red. Steve took Bucky's hand in his when the latter had shown up at his door, early, before Steve's work met up.

"What happened?"

"I punched the wall," Bucky shrugged, not quite meeting Steve's gaze, before moving past him and into the Rogers' apartment.

"Oh, Buck."

"I know."

They stood like that for a second or two, Steve by the open door, and Bucky fidgeting with the letter in his pocket with his uninjured hand.

"Well," Steve said finally, breaking the silence and clicking the door shut. "Did it help?" he asked, gesturing at Bucky's knuckles. 

Bucky glanced down and raised his hand so that he could look at it. "Not really. I, uh," Bucky started and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Best to get it over with, he thought. Rip the band-aid off the wound and let it bleed freely, let it drown them all beneath a burning red, choke them on sheer smothering terror. He took the envelope out of his pocket and held it out to Steve. "I haven't opened it yet."

The range of emotions that flashed across Steve's face would have been amusing if this were any other time, if Bucky wasn't gagging on the uncertainty of what lay ahead. 

"They can't," Steve hissed, his face settling on unbridled rage. "They can't. I'll go talk to them, I'll talk to them all," he declared, scrambling to get his coat off the hook by the door. 

"Steve- no, Steve," Bucky said, leaping forward and gripping a bony shoulder. "They'll just think I'm dodging."

"Like hell they will."

"Or-" Bucky works his lips between his teeth, his chest tightening slightly. His fingers twitch a few times and Steve's eyes flick towards them. Bucky stuffs his hand in his pocket. "-they'll send me back."

"To the hospital?" Steve asks, frowning. "But you're better now."

Bucky threw his hands in the air. "They don't know that. You go out there yelling about schizophrenia and God knows what, and they'll call Dr. Roberts again, and- again and- I-" He whined lowly in his throat before taking a deep breath. "Look, Stevie. I'd rather die."

At this, Steve looked suitably alarmed, and Bucky assured him hastily. "I ain't gonna do anything stupid, I'm not. But I am not going back to the hospital. Even if it means-" he jerks his head in the general direction of the envelope that Steve's still clutching in his hands. "-going to war." The last words were nearly choked out.

"And what if you lose it over there?" Steve points out, not unkindly, and he has taken his coat off again, slinging it over an arm. "What happens then?"

"I haven't lost it in a long time, Steve. That was one time. I was sick, and I got better," Bucky said. Then as an afterthought, "I'll probably be fine." And God, if that wasn't a lie.

Steve studied him with shrewd eyes, yet said nothing. Sighing, he hung his coat back up, and gestured at the little kitchen table. "Sit."

Bucky dragged a chair out and sat. Steve crouched in front of him, hands gentle as he rolled up Bucky's pant legs. Purpling bruises paints his calves a startling sight, and Bucky rubbed a hand over his face, feeling much older than twenty-two. "I didn't mean to," he mumbled at Steve's accusing look.

"You never mean to, Buck," Steve said, somewhat testily, and stood up. His eyes are full of indescribable emotion and Bucky has to blink away sudden tears.

"Why?" he whispered. "What happened to my records?"

"I don't know. They should have you down as 4F. I don't know." 

"This isn't an accident. A beaucratical mess-up."

"What?" Steve blinked up at Bucky. The latter's eyes had gone clear and hard, jaw set. The sudden change of demeanor threw Steve off balance for a moment.

"It isn't an accident. Somebody destroyed my records," Bucky seethed, practically vibrating right out of his seat in the rush of anger that had sunk claws into his flesh. "Alright then," and he met Steve's eyes head on. "I'll show them. They want a soldier? I'll be the best damn soldier they've ever seen," he grit out, leaning over to roll his pants back down. He stood up, and Steve stood back up with him. "I'll show them."

He stalked over to the door, and Steve skidded forward, so that he stood between his friend and the door. "Where are you going?"

"Right down to report for duty."

"In your state?"

Bucky's right hand twitched again, and he glared at Steve. "What do you mean?"

"I'm coming with you."

"What?" 

"I was going to go anyway, now's as good a time as any."

"What, no!" Bucky started. Steve stared at him, chin jutting out in that stubborn way of his. "You can't go to war, Steve."

"And you can?"

"I'm not- it's not the same."

"Sure seems to me that it is."

---------

Again, thank you so so much for all the questions! This was so much fun to answer I love these games! Hope you are well <3

[punkrockgirlalmighty]

5, 6, 11 for the fanfic asks

5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?

I really want to get part 2 of Square One finished ASAP ... it has been hanging over my head for so long that it is becoming a block aha

there's a snippet below the cut ;)

6. Which yet-to-be-started fic is first on your list?

ahh so many... but the one I am most excited for is a turn of the century style, forbidden love au - mainly because I have the last line in my head and it's a fucking banger!

11. Would you like to try any new fanfic genres or tropes this year?

i'd like to get more comfortable writing smut definitely and I would love to be able to write something genuinely fluffy with no angst...

but I also love reading angst and sometimes I think this fandom is too good to the boys or wary of keeping them apart.

My favourite trope is one person fucking up and the other forgiving them and I will continue to write that over and over I'm sure aha

“Have you been with anyone else? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want but… there hasn’t been for me. I mean not since…” he winced.

Carlos’ shoulders tensed up as he thought back to his ill-intentioned hook ups. For the briefest of moments he thought about lying, whether to protect TK or because of his own shame he wasn’t sure but either way he knew he owed them both honesty. “There was a few guys. Right after we broke up, but no one that meant anything.”

TK let out a deep exhale and he felt him shuffle down the bed until he was sat next to him. “OK.”

But TK didn’t look like he thought it was ok, he looked upset.

“You can tell me what you really feel you know? Even if it’s bad,” Carlos said softly.

TK’s eyes searched his and Carlos watched as unease turned to hesitation and then finally with a shake of his head he relented. “OK I hate it. I know I have no right and it’s hugely hypocritical of me but the thought of you with someone else… hurts.”

“I only did it to get back at you… I thought it might make me feel better but to be honest it just made me feel empty.” TK was keeping his expression carefully neutral but he was gripping the comforter, his fingers twisting and untwisting the fabric. “I’m not proud of it, but I won’t apologize for it either.”

Carlos closed his eyes and bit back the desire to say sorry for not saying sorry.

“Hey, Carlos please look at me?” TK urged him gently after a few moments. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see TK smiling at him. “I will never ask you to apologize for anything that happened while we were broken up. You did what you needed to do, and you don’t need my permission or forgiveness to not feel bad about it, ok?”

He felt a little stunned, it was not the reaction he was expecting. Not from TK.

“You’re not the only one who has changed Carlos,” TK said, like he knew exactly what Carlos was thinking. “I know it will take time for me to prove it and I need to earn your trust again. We can take this as slow as you need.”

“I know you’ve changed,” Carlos said and it was true; he had already seen plenty of proof of that. “But you are right, trusting you again…it’s not easy.”

He hated admitting it.

Being angry had been easy; TK hurt him and it felt simple to resent him for that. Forgetting him had been impossible so he hadn’t even tried. When they were just friends he gave himself a strict set of rules to follow that made it manageable.

But this? This scared him. He was stuck out on a tight rope; he could still go solo back to his comfortable life, or he could move towards a future with TK but regardless of what option he picked now he risked losing his balance and plummeting. Rock bottom.

TK was looking at him, half hopeful and half resigned, and Carlos experienced that same magnetic pull he had felt before in his presence. He picked up one of TK’s hands and clasped it between both of his own. The feel of TK’s fingers squeezing back sent a wave of calm through him and it was suddenly easier to breathe.

“I can’t promise anything,” Carlos said, “but I can tell you that I want this. I want you.”

 Yes, it was messy and complicated and confusing but, if the way every cell in his body seemed to rejoice when TK’s face split into a bright smile was any indication, it was also worth it.

“You want me,” TK said, “and you don’t deny yourself the things you want anymore.”

Carlos grinned back at him, “Exactly.”

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 11: What Really Matters

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1, ...(Masterlist)... Part 12

A/N: Completely brain dead posting this. I hope you guys like it! You are going to hate me for this one but I am a fool for good-boy-Steve! I just want good things for him. Anyways! Leave a like or a comment!

Word Count: 3,155

Warnings: Depression, Swearing

You don’t remember much of the walk home. Just that it was dark and cold and you were glad you had worn your trusty stickers instead of something with a costume. Thank god for small favours.

The comfortable numbness had crept its way back into your bones as you walked. The fog descended, filling your mind with shadows. You recall feeling something in the air around you as you traversed through the darkness. It made your hair stand on end, but for some reason you were calm. The shadows danced around you as your feet shuffled forward on the pavement. You knew that something was there with you… watching you. But whatever it was, you did not fear it. It felt familiar as it settled over you, seeping in. 

You don’t recall stumbling through the front door and into your bed. You fell asleep fully clothed and woke up to the sound of your mom closing the front door. 

You can’t bring yourself to move. The weight pressing down on you feels like enough to sink you through the mattress and into the floor. Your mom must recognize the break in routine when you don't greet her at the door, because you hear a soft knock on your bedroom door. When you don’t respond she quietly pushes the door open, slipping into the room. She sees you curled up on the bed, on top of the blankets, and quickly makes her way over to you. She kneels next to the bed, her eyes filled with concern. You don’t move, only following her with half-lidded eyes. 

“Are you feeling okay, dear?” she asks gently, looking you over for any obvious signs of injury or illness. Already shifting back into her nurse mode, ready to help, trying to fix. She looks so tired. It hurts slightly knowing that no matter how hard she tries, there is no fixing what is broken inside of you.

“Are you feeling sick?” She asks, eyes filled with worry as she gently brushes your hair back. You manage to nod in response, the movement sending a pounding headache through your skull. The hand on your hair shifts to rest the back against your forehead. She humms, her brows drawing together, before running her hand over your hair again. 

“You do feel a bit warm. Maybe we should take you to the doctor.” she offers. The thought of going to the hospital makes your insides twist. “They said that the fevers might come back again…” she goes on, recounting what the doctors had told her when explaining the bouts of sickness you would experience after the attack. “It’s been so long since the last one.” she mumbles to herself. 

You shake your head, trying not to wince at the pain that flares in your head at the movement.

“No, mom, it’s okay. I think I just need to rest. It’s probably just a cold.” you try to explain, your voice sounding hoarse. She watches your face, sceptically before nodding. 

“Okay, honey. We’ll hold off on the hospital for now.” she relents. “But, if it gets any worse I won’t hesitate to call Hopper and he will FORCE you into a hospital bed.” she says, half joking. Your mom may be a nurse, but the fact that the fevers sometimes got so bad you could barely stand scared her. It wasn’t something she was willing to risk alone.

You try to smile back as best you can. Seemingly satisfied for now, she nods, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“Alright, I’ll call the school in a bit to let them know you won’t be in.” She says, moving to grab the blanket at the end of your bed, placing it over you.

“Try and get some rest, honey. If you need anything, I’ll be up for a while.” She explains, smiling comfortingly down at you before turning to leave. “I’ll come in and check on you every once in a while.” she lets you know, before closing the door softly behind her. You listen as she moves back down the hallway, her footsteps fading. 

In the silence of your room, you lay still. You feel the familiar ache in your joints. It’s been so long since your virus flared up, you almost forgot what it felt like. But, this was strange. It feels similar to how it has in the past but only a fraction of it. This is like a tiny taste of what you knew it could be. You wonder if it could have anything to do with what you felt the night before, and as you try to think your eyes grow heavy. You drift to sleep before the thought can fully form, your mind filling with shadows once again. 

The next 32 hours are a blur. Most of that time is spent sleeping. Only waking up when your mom comes to check on you and force you to eat something small and drink water. It’s hard for you to focus on anything. It’s like your mind is a thick bog and your thoughts keep slipping away. You don’t feel hungry, or thirsty, or angry, or sad… just tired. So you sleep. You vaguely recall your mom telling you she was calling off from work to stay with you before slipping back into the comfortable darkness of sleep. 

At one point she forces you to get out of bed to shower, brush your teeth and change your clothes. You feel like a zombie. Alive but… not quite. Like you had stepped out of your body and left it on autopilot. 

You know that she is worried about you and that causes the slightest inkling of guilt, but it's just a flicker of feeling. Not strong enough to pull you back into your body. You hear her call Dr. Owens, but can't focus on any of the words and soon you slip back under again. 

Your dreams are filled with shadows, swirling tendrils of darkness twisting all around you. They swipe across your skin, feeling like ice. You know that you should be afraid, that you should run. But you don’t. You stand in the mass of pure evil and feel it within yourself.

When you, finally, fully wake up it’s around noon on the 3rd of November. You don’t remember any of the dreams but are aware of how stiff your muscles feel, the achiness still clinging to your body. The feeling reminds you of when you had first woken up in the hospital, your muscles atrophied to the point you could barely use them. 

You venture out of your room to see your mom asleep on the couch. She has the phone resting on her lap, and clasped loosely in her hand is the number for Dr. Owens. You hate seeing her like this. She is already overworked at the hospital, only to come home and have to take care of you like one of her patients. Moving quietly, you grab a blanket and place it over her, removing the phone from her lap and placing it in the kitchen. 

You get to work on quietly straightening up the house, doing the dishes, folding laundry, wiping down the bathrooms. It’s all you can think to do. 

At 3 o’clock there is a knock at the front door. You quickly rush to answer it, hoping it hasn't already woken up your mom. Opening the door a crack you’re met with the sight of a dishevelled Steve Harrington.

“Steve?” You ask, not entirely sure what’s going on.

“The one and only.” he says, attempting to smile charmingly, but there is something off. His smile not quite reaching his eyes. As if on cue, his smile fades and he leans in slightly. “Can we talk for a minute?” He asks, his eyes pleading. Something about the look reminds you of a lost puppy. You glance over your shoulder to see your mom still sound asleep, before you open the door fully and step outside.

“Yea, let’s take a walk. My mom is asleep and I don’t want to wake her.” you explain. Steve nods, taking a step back to allow you to lead the way down the drive.

The two of you walk down the street in silence for a moment before you speak.

“So…” you begin, feeling awkward. “What did you want to talk to me about?” you ask, getting right to the point. 

“Oh! Right!” Steve says, like he just remembered what he had come there for. “Here.” he says, pulling a roll of papers from his back pocket and handing them to you. You take the rumpled papers, confused. “I brought you make-up homework from the past two days.” he explains as you leaf through the papers. Your heart warms unexpectedly at the gesture, causing a slight smile to pull at your lips. 

“Thank you, Steve. Really. You didn’t have to bring them all the way here.” you gush, noting the dusting of pink in Steve’s ears at your words. He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I wanted to. Just like old times.” he says, referring to all the times he and Nancy had brought you school work in the hospital. The memory is bittersweet now, but you appreciate the sentiment. 

“Just like old times.” You agree, folding the papers and placing them in your back pocket. 

As much as you appreciate the gesture of kindness, as you watch him walk, you can’t help but feel like there is something else that brought him here today. Judging by the slump of his shoulders and the way he kept running his hands through his hair, tugging at it slightly, it was a bit more heavy than make-up work. 

It feels like a million years ago but, you recall that the last time you had spoken to Steve, he had tears in his eyes as he begged you to speak with Nancy. Thinking about how badly that had ended for you, you can only imagine what she had said to him. Even now, he looked worried and like he hadn’t been sleeping well. The two of you had never been close, but your heart went out to him.

“You wanted to talk about more than homework, didn’t you.” It’s a statement. His eyes meet yours, surprised. 

“What? No, I-” He stops short, seeing you raise a brow, sceptically. Instead he sighs heavily, looking down at his shoes. “You’re right.” he admits, kicking a small rock as you continue to walk. “It’s about Nancy.” he says, avoiding your eyes. You don’t say anything for a moment. Each of you thinking separately about the person in question, and the things she had said to each of you that night. It makes that empty place in your chest clench painfully at the memory. 

“The other night, at Tina’s party, we got into… an argument.” he begins. “It was something stupid at first, her drinking to much and-and making you drink with her, I don’t know.” he continues, tracking the small rock he kicks forward. “But then she got really upset and started saying that everything was ‘bullshit’ and that I didn’t care about what happened to Barb.” the sound of her name pierces your heart, but you remain silent, doing your best to focus on Steve. “She said that we were bullshit and when I asked her if she loved me… she said it was ‘bullshit’...” his voice waivers slightly as he says it, clearing his throat and looking away to cover it.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, seeing him wipe at his face. You are no stranger to hiding your tears, but seeing him like this… you hate it. Steve is normally so confident and cocky, to the point it was annoying. But now… his heart was broken.

Continuing to look forward, you reach over and gently take his hand in yours. You hope that, somehow, the gesture will comfort him. You feel him take your hand, squeezing it. The two of you walk like that for a while, before he finally speaks again. 

“When I came back to look for the two of you, everyone told me that Jonathan took Nancy home and that you got sick and walked home.” You feel a slight sting of guilt hearing his words. You had completely forgotten about him in your haste to leave the party. You had left him there, alone. 

“I’m sorry.” you say, causing him to chuckle lightly.

“I’m the one who should be saying sorry. You wouldn’t even have gone if I hadn’t pushed you to.” he admits, giving you an apologetic smile. You give his hand a light squeeze as you smile back.

“Let’s call it even.” You say, finally letting his hand go. 

Steve goes on to tell you about his interaction with Nancy the next day outside the gym. 

“And she just looked at me and said “Really?” like I was being childish about it!” He laments. He releases another heavy sigh, shaking his head. “I just don't know what to do.” He admits, defeated. “And today I heard that she skipped school with Jonathan. I’m still angry about what happened but I’m also worried about her, you know?” He explains. “Like I shouldn’t care! She doesn't love me, so why do I miss her so much?” he asks.

“Just because she doesn't love you doesn't mean you suddenly stop loving her.” you say. 

“I hate to say it but, I just want her to be happy. I… I care about her too much to lose her now.” he says.

“Why don’t you tell her that?” You ask. Steve stops in his tracks and looks at you. 

“You think that would help?” He asks. You stop as well, turning to look at him with a shrug.

“I mean, I don’t think it would hurt.” you say. Steve’s brows draw together as he thinks it over.

“But, I can’t just go talk to her now, after all that!” he says, throwing his hands up. “I mean, I made such a big deal about it. If I went and told her that I miss her now…I would look like a chump!” he huffs, placing his hands on his hips. You stare at him, exacerbated. 

“Steve, the best advice I can give you is to not let pride stand in the way of what really matters.” You say, quoting what Hopper used to tell you when you were mad at your mom. Steve’s eyes lock on yours as his lips twitch upwards.

“That’s pretty good advice.” he compliments. You smile, happy that you could contribute something.

“Thanks.” you say, turning to head back to your house. Steve stops you by gently taking your hand, like you had done earlier. You look back to him confused again. 

“Come with me.” he pleads. You’re shocked for a moment and shake your head.

“Steve, I can’t-” 

“Come on! What was all that you just said about what really matters!” he presses. “I don’t know what happened between you two but I know that you care about her too much to let her go.” He goes on. “I know that you love her and that she loves you too!” His words are surprisingly meaningful and you’re reminded of all the time you had spent with Nancy over the years. Throughout your childhood she had been one of your closest friends and allies. You love her like a sister. Just as much as you loved Barb. I would be foolish of you to let that slip through your fingers by stepping to the side.

Billy’s words echo in your mind.

‘Nothing in the world ever changed because some bitch cried about it’

You want things to change. To get better. You weren’t going to just roll over and let a friend you love slip away, not again.

You look down to where Steve’s hand gently clasped yours, then up to his big brown eyes. Damn those puppy eyes. The last of your resistance broke.

“Okay, I’ll come.” You agree. Steve’s face splits into a wide grin and he rushes forward wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” he says excitedly. You’re so shocked you don't know what to say, so you just laugh wrapping your arms loosely around him in return. “I seriously don't think I could have gone by myself anyway.” He admits, setting you back down. You adjust your clothes and take a step away from the beaming brunette, not able to stop the slight flush in your cheeks. 

“No problem.” you mumble, turning to walk back to the house. 

The two of you make plans to go over to the Wheeler’s house tomorrow, Steve telling you that he would pick you up at around 4. As you reach your driveway Steve stops, turning to look at you. 

“Hey, I have a weird question.” He says, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. You turn to look at him quizzically. 

“What’s up?” you ask.

“Do you know the new kid, Hargrove?” He asks, watching your face carefully. You balch slightly at the question, laughing to try and play it off.

“Not really, I mean, I saw him at the party.” You aren't sure why you lie, but Steve nods at your answer. “Why do you ask?” you question him as you continue up the driveway. Steve shrugs following after you.

“No real reason, he just mentioned you in the locker room the other day. Kind of implied that there was something between you and me.” he explains. You take in his words, not sure what to think of that. “He’s a real piece of work though. I just wanted to warn you in case he tried anything. I would stay away from him if I were you.” he goes on. You nod, standing next to Steve’s car.

“Got it, I’ll steer clear.” you say. Steve turns to you as he opens the car door, smiling sheepishly. 

“Seriously, thank you for letting me talk to you.” he says, another pink blush colouring the tips of his ears. “It really helped.” He admits. You smile, genuinely, back at him. 

“Thank you too.” you say as he climbs into his car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” He calls from his open window as he pulls out of your driveway, waving goodbye. You wave back and as he disappears you are suddenly struck by the realisation that you will actually have to talk to Nancy about what happened. 

You stomach twists at the idea. For some reason, you think of Billy again. How he had judged you so quickly, how he thought that you were weak. It strengthens your resolve. He was wrong about you. You were going to fight for the people you loved.

Part 1, ...(Masterlist)... Part 12

A/N: Hope you guys liked it! A little bit of foundation laying between Reader and Steve! Let me know what you think! Leave a like or a comment!

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[ticklygiggles]

Tickletober Day 31: Aftercare

Ft. Diavolo x Reader

A/N: aftercaring after Diavolo ate some pickles *pout pout*

It's the last day of tickletober and although I'm still missing like four or five days, I'm thankful you guys seemed to like these bunch of drabbles! I think I've never written so much and consistently, lol thank you all!

You grinned, kissing his forehead, "there, there," you mumbled, gently patting and rubbing his back.

"Why did Barbatos do that?" He whined. "He even said you were the one who brought that nasty thing for me," he pouted, looking straight at you, making your heart jump in your chest.

This was new. This puppy-like expression you barely saw it in someone like Diavolo. He usually hid his emotions so painfully well, but right now, he was showing you this upset side of him. It was childish, (he would say later with flushed cheeks and wanting to bury his head in the ground like an ostrich), but your heart melted at his behavior.

"Of course I wouldn't bring you such a thing, my prince," you said softly, cupping his cheeks tenderly.

"I knew it as soon as I tasted those damn pickles!"

Oh goodness, you wanted to laugh. The reason you were suddenly summoned to Diavolo's office was because Barbatos decided to sneak some diced- minced pickles into Diavolo's food in an attempt to make the Demon Prince eat it without noticing, but it seemed not even that perfect butler could compete against Diavolo's palate.

You giggled softly, kissing his nose. "I'm sure Barbatos just wanted to show you that pickles aren't that bad, my love!"

Diavolo whined for the umpteenth time and he tightened his arms around your body, preventing you from escaping from his lap, not that you wanted to escape, not when you were witnessing this adorable side of him.

"Do you think it's funny?"

You quickly shook your head, pressing your grinning mouth against his pout. "Not at all! I just don't want you to be upset with Barbatos, I'm sure he didn't do it with an ill intention," you explained tenderly, carding your fingers through his hair. "You're okay now, right? Did the cake that I brought you made you feel better?"

Diavolo nodded, looking at the piece of chocolate cake you had brought for him because, as he had texted you, he just couldn't get rid of the taste.

"I guess I am better," he mumbled, nuzzling against your hand cupping his cheek again.

Your heart twisted inside your chest. How could he be this cute? How were you so lucky to see the oh, so well respected Lord Diavolo acting like a spoiled child? Pouting and whining like a kid throwing a tantrum.

"Ah, my poor Diavolo," you said, kissing his nose. "Please don't be upset, it breaks my heart!"

Your grin was blindly and contagious, you could see Diavolo having trouble trying to keep his lips in a pout and not break into a smile of his own.

"Is that a smile I see?"

He shook his head, "no smiling because I'm still sad."

"No~," you said, kissing one of his cheeks, then the other. His nose, his forehead, his chin, the corner of his eye.

You just started pampering kisses all over his face, finally making him smile and giggle softly.

"It tihihickles," he admitted, closing his eyes and ducking his head down a bit, his cheeks pink.

"Ah, does it? What about this?" Your fingers found his ribs and started to gently scribble against them.

Diavolo squealed, flinching away from your touch with a bright, sudden giggle. He tried to cover himself, letting go of your waist and almost making you fall off his lap; in a hurry, he wrapped his arms back around you, so you could keep tickling his ribs with ease.

"How's this? Are you feeling any better?"

Diavolo giggled, shaking his head, "tihihickling is not fahahair! Ah! N-Nohoho, not uhuhup thehehere!" He laughed, drawing his arms closer to his body when you moved up, dangerously close to his underarms.

"It is fair if it makes you smile like this," you said, your cheeks pink, seeing Diavolo giggle and laugh before he shyly hid his face against your neck, laughing against your skin as your fingers played with every of his ribs.

"Are you embarrassed?" You asked playfully and he nodded. "Do you still feel upset?" He shook his head, squeaking when your thumbs rubbed against his upper ribs. "Should I stop?"

"Yehehehes, plehehease!"

And so you did and Diavolo relaxed against you, letting out the softest of residual giggles. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head tenderly.

"Why doho you pahamper me so much?" He asked, making you giggle when his lips brushed against your neck.

"Hmm, well, that's because I love you, of course."

Diavolo raised his head and looked at you in the eyes. "I love you too," he whispered against your mouth, before pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Hey," you said, pulling apart softly. "Although you already had dessert, why don't we go dine outside tonight?"

Diavolo blinked, "what? In like... a date?"

You laughed at his surprised expression, your cheeks turning pink. "Yes! A date. Just you and me and some nice food, pickles free," you said, winking at him. "does that sound good?"

Diavolo rolled his eyes fondly, but he nodded and stood up with you in his arms. You giggled, clinging to him.

You really were the luckiest being alive in all three realms, after all, who else besides you could see and enjoy each of Diavolo's states and emotions? He would just let you see him acting like a kid, laughing and giggling openly, and getting excited about a date.

A lucky person you really are.

[theminecraftbee]

The beginning of the end goes like this:

They've moved on from Candyland, somewhere after Grian and Impulse of all people got into a fight about modifying the rules to make it more interesting. They'd had a debate about whether or not it was possible to play Diplomacy - on the one hand, it's entirely deterministic, so they would only have to memorize the board, not randomize anything. On the other hand, resolving turns in Diplomacy can get messy enough when there aren't arguments about whether or not the boardstate has even been remembered properly. Also, maybe it's just Mumbo, but a game that's actively about betraying alliances right now seems a bit... ill-planned?

They'd tried playing Mafia for a bit, but unfortunately it didn't work so well when only four of them could play at a time. Pearl tried to teach Pancake to play, if only because five players at least meant they could play two rounds. The dragon mostly used it as an excuse to chew on their hair. That seemed reasonable to Mumbo. If he were a dragon, he'd probably be chewing on people's hair too.

...what does that say about Mumbo, actually? Hm.

The point is: the beginning of the end starts like the beginning of the end did; arguably, the beginning of the end started however long ago it had been for them. After all, the five of them (and one dragon) have been floating through the void for quite some time. The beginning of the end could have very well been when Scar had pulled that lever. But, as far as things are concerned, the beginning of the end is something like:

Grian turns over one of the blue Uno cards they'd been using to try to play Connect Four with in his hands and looks at the others and his face is strange and his wings are curled around him and if Mumbo looks at him sideways, the entire emptiness that takes up Grian's space is twisted sideways, too.

"How long are we just going to do this?" he asks.

"What, lose Connect Four? Because I totally won that round," Pearl says.

"No!" says Grian. "I mean, no, I'm going to win at Connect Four one of these days. I mean - this! All of this!"

Impulse makes a quiet scoff against the back of his throat. Mumbo shifts uncomfortably. Oh dear.

"I don't know what you mean," Scar says nervously. "I mean, we can play something else while we wait to -"

"You know what I mean. Pretend this is all normal." He flips his hand and throws it up in the same motion that he stops bothering to really look like Grian. Mumbo doesn't look away, this time. He's almost used to it, for all he's looking at nothing.

"I mean, I don't think we've really done a good job at that," Pearl says.

"You," Grian says, and then stops. "No, I'm not going to - that's not the point! We're just sitting here playing Connect Four with Uno cards instead of -"

"We can't," Scar says quietly. "If we want any chance, we have to -"

"What, stay sitting ducks?"

Mumbo swallows. "I mean. They haven't really gotten close again," he says, gesturing to the horrors from beyond that really don't look so much horrifying as just like them, these days. "Given that, every time they have... well, um. So we don't have to worry about that."

"And what about us? We're just going to accept that? Not worry about it? Or, oh, I know. It'll be like my conversation with Pearl. We're just going to accept that we're those things, and we're drifting through the void forever, aren't we?"

Mumbo turns to look at Pearl, who is trying to gently extricate an Uno card from Pancake's mouth. She shrugs. "I mean, not particularly much of a choice, is there?" she says, and, ah. This is a standing debate, isn't it? Mumbo suddenly feels awfully, awfully like he's missed things, like - he doesn't want to have this argument. Maybe he can figure out how to repurpose the Uno cards into a Diplomacy board after all? He'll think about that, like how Candyland worked before, and like it's worked every time before.

"We could go looking," Impulse says.

"We shouldn't, since we're surviving here," Scar says. "We shouldn't make it harder to find us."

"Who? Please."

"What... no, no we're not doing this again," Scar says, and Mumbo sort of wants to cover his ears. The worst part is that this isn't the first time they've had this argument. Of course it isn't. There's only but so much to talk about. There's only but so much to do to distract themselves. Eventually, it always descends back to their arguments. They've normally been nice, Mumbo thinks distantly. Done them in smaller groups. But it's always just going to come back to this.

DIplomacy, Mumbo thinks. At least if they're arguing about alliances and betrayals and wars, they won't be arguing about this.

"I don't know whether to agree with you or hit you," Mumbo hears Grian say. "On the one hand, if we go looking, hey, at least we're going somewhere! On the other hand, Impulse, not particularly a fan of implying..."

"Oh. My bad. Sorry."

"He's probably not wrong," Pearl says.

"He is," Scar says, "and we aren't having this argument."

Mumbo throws out Diplomacy. He's not sure how to do the pieces. Also, the arguments won't be fun after all, he decides. He shakes. He wants... he wants.... he'll make... hah, maybe they can use the Uno cards to build base plans, actually? They haven't talked about those since the first few - weeks? Days? He's not sure. Time's passed strangely. When did they stop talking about their plans for next season, actually? When had they...

"Still, it's clear that if they are around, they've abandoned us," Impulse says, and Mumbo wants to do - do something. Shake him? Shake everyone? No, he's resolutely not paying attention, actually. What was his plan, actually? He'd been planning on - a vault, right? He'd wanted to be rich, and to build a vault, first, before anything else, because it had been too long since he'd built a proper vault door. That had been his plan. What had the others been planning? He can't remember. They'd all talked about it, but he can't...

"No one's abandoned anyone," Scar says, and he doesn't even sound angry, he just sounds sad.

"It doesn't matter! What matters is - we have to move forward! We have to do something!" Grian says.

"What?" Pearl says.

"I don't know! I don't care!"

Mumbo's thinking about vault doors, though.

"We just have to - we can't let this keep happening! We can't pretend this is normal! We can't! It's not normal to be monsters, it's not normal to - how long have we even been here?"

"Well, if we don't pretend it's at least a little normal," Impulse says, before sighing. "No, sorry, you have a point."

Pearl is quiet. "...fine," she says. "What do we do?"

"I thought there would be more fighting," Grian says, deflating.

"I think we're all tired for that," Scar says. And Mumbo says -

"What were you all going to build? Next season. Are you going to build, I mean."

Grian blinks. "Does it matter? We have to find something to do about what we are now, not -"

"I wanted to study aliens," Pearl says promptly, before sounding a little surprised she said it at all. "I mean... I was going to theme my stuff around aliens. I wanted to build with bright colors. I had a whole alien I was going to bring over, too. A giant deer-bird."

"Oh, that's cool," Mumbo says. "I'd only gotten as far as vault. It's been too long since I built a vault door, and I thought, what if I themed my whole start around it? And becoming the richest hermit."

"Oh, that's cool," Pearl says.

Everyone is quiet for a bit. Grian is much quieter when he says: "We just decided we can't pretend this is normal."

"I know," Mumbo says.

"Why are we talking about our plans for next season, then? Why aren't we doing something?"

"I was going to be an elf next season," Scar says. "Am. I am going to be an elf." He smiles, and it's strange and crooked thing. "And you're going to study aliens. And Mumbo - well, my friend, I'm not sure you'll be the richest hermit, actually, but you will make an attempt."

"I have plans for a raid farm," Impulse says. "I like emeralds! Oh, and a wither skull farm with Tango. We'd been talking about it, before the moon. Decked Out 2.0, you know? I'm going to help with that!"

"Oh, he's doing that next season?" Mumbo says. "I'm excited, I think."

"...oh," Grian says, and then he says: "I'm going to build a rock. Except it's not a rock. I have this - well, there's this thing, it's not that big of a deal, but you know, it told me it needed to be a rock, so I'm going to make that."

"Yeah. That's our plans for next season," Mumbo says, and he feels more like himself than he has in a long time. "I think the first thing I want to do is... I think I'll need slime. How do I even build a slime farm, though?"

"Don't you do that all the time?"

"Not without knowing where ahead of time," Mumbo explains.

"Oh, right."

Grian wipes at his face. "Oh. Okay. I guess this is what we can do about it," he says, quietly.

"Yeah," Mumbo says. "I just..."

"It's a good idea. Um. I think that - do you know what month it is?"

"Not at all."

"Well, if we make it there by whatever planetary April is..."

The beginning of the end goes like this: the five of them start talking about the future again. Not now, and not the terrifying part, but the future they want.

It's nicer. It's nicer than anything they've talked about it quite a while. Mumbo starts making plans for vault doors with the Uno cards, and they all start building card houses and arguing about design choices, and none of these will hold, but it feels different, somehow. This time, it feels different.

Impulse chases Pancake after the dragon steals one of the cards he was using to try to demonstrate to Mumbo the structure of the raid farm he has planned, and they're all talking, and Mumbo hears Scar laugh genuinely for the first time in a while, and he looks out at the endless void for which they still have no exit, and the future for which they have no proof it's coming. Then, he turns back to trying to explain to Grian how his vault is going to be Grian-proof, and it feels good.