#drawing my sillies no reference no nothing just the little people living in my head

[summercosmos]

hi look at some of my sillies. im trying out a new style of coloring tell me if we are fw it team. template below the cut

[jeonjungkookenthusiast1997]

Tempting Fate

Synopsis: Y/N in a bid to get revenge tries to summon a powerful demon prince called Bang Chan but the demon who she actually summons couldn't be more different. Han Jisung, an incubus, decides to show her how useful he can be.

This is my own work not a reblog! Please do not repost or translate.

Content Warnings - demon sex, magic used in sex, oral (fem receiving), cursing, pet names, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it up people!), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, possessive language, explicit consent, demon form, fluffy ending, mentions of past relationships, mentions of cheating (not Han!), slight voyeurism, Han is a little shit

Word Count : 5,677

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# Han's horns and tail for reference, think Belphegor from Obey Me #

It was an unusually cold October evening when Y/N decided she was going to try summoning a demon from an ancient book her grandmother had given her. It was a dusty old book bound with brown leather with creases all over the old pages and honestly she wasn't sure this was even going to work but growing up her grandmother had always been adamant that demons were real so she would give this book a chance to prove her right.

Once all the necessary ingredients were collected she grabbed some white chalk and started drawing the summoning circle. Some of the symbols were a little blurry but that didn't stop her from trying her best to make this work. She had read as much as she could about the demon she was hoping to summon, his name was Bang Chan and he was, according to the dusty book, a prince of Hell capable of bring down the most heinous of foes so she highly doubted he'd have much trouble with her cheating bastard of an ex boyfriend.

She waited a few moments as she looked the circle over, her eyes flitting from the book to the symbols she'd copied and once she deemed it was as good as it was going to get she sat down at the base of the circle, closed her eyes and started reciting the spell she'd found on the following page. Her fingers tapped nervously on her thigh as she waited a few moments but nothing happened, highly disappointed she was about to throw the infernal thing into the closest rubbish bin when the circle started to glow a deep shade of red.

A dark energy which made the girl feel uneasy started to crackle and buzz as a gust of wind suddenly blew from the circle with light shooting out to all corners of her living room, the wind was so strong in fact that it blew her backwards causing her shoulders and back to hit against her sofa. She let out a pained whimper as she held her arm when she realised a man was standing in the middle of the summoning circle. She used the palms of her hands to rub across her eyes as it sank in that the spell worked and the book was legit. As the dust and wind started to clear she hesitantly called out into the dark room "Bang Chan?" She questions in a voice much more timid than she would have liked.

From the shadows she sees, what looks like a man, staring at her with a frown on his face. This 'man' shakes his head and lets out a surprisingly dark and raspy chuckle "guess again little witch" her eyes widen as she looks at the being standing in front of her. He has chocolate brown hair that stops just below his ears, dark brown eyes that she could have sworn shone red in the light of the candles she had placed around the room. Finally she noticed the thick boots attached to his feet that seemed to shake the floor with every step he took, once she looks back at his face what he had called her sunk into her brain "I'm not a-" she gasps as she fumbles on the floor rushing to stand "I am not a witch!" she asserts as she narrows her eyes at him.

He looks amused as he tilts his head to the side before looking her up and down "really? Then what is that?" He speaks as his head nods to the open book on the floor, confused as she bends to pick it up and holds it open to show him "this? It's just a silly old book! It- my grandma has owned it my whole life" she stutters as she finished her words trying to prove to him, that she is not in fact a witch, but her babbling only made him chuckle "that.." he points down to the page "is a grimoire, it's a book of spells yes? That's how you summoned me? You cast a spell" His brow furrows as she looks at him blankly "did you really not know what this was when you used it?! When you summoned a fucking demon?!" He asks incredulously and she simply shakes her head as an answer.

The demon tuts at her and moves from the circle to look around the room, he's about to make a comment about her lack of expertise and how easy it would be to take advantage of her when he hears her gasp "wait- you said you aren't… Bang Chan?" Her frown is enough to tell him how confused she is which only makes him grumble to himself about 'silly little witches these days' when he sees she's pointing at a page in that damned book.

Deciding to humor her somewhat he bends down to look at the book while sighing dramatically "afraid not sweetheart" shaking his head as he further examines the tattered pages muttering to himself before he suddenly claps his hands making her jump and points to one of the symbols the girl had drawn on the floor "well that's where you've gone wrong, you've written something closer to my name than good 'ole Chan's and infernal magic working the way it does decided to send me to you" he shrugs as she frowns "infernal magic?" She questions before deciding on a different question to ask the admittedly very handsome demon "well who are you then?" she asks, looking him up and down, his physical appearance would have led her to believe he's her age, maybe a little younger but clearly that wasn't the case.

He chuckles quietly and leans forward towards her his warm breath tickling her earlobe "my name is Han" he whispers huskily "and I'm an incubus" he smirks as her face changes from confused and frustrated to flushed and embarrassed, her cheeks glow a vibrant shade of pink as his words sink in "I don't need a sex demon! I-I needed Bang Chan! o-or this one..." she flicks ahead a few pages and points to another ancient name "Changbin, I want revenge not... not... you!" she gasps as her breaths come out heavy "no offense" adds off handedly hiding her face in her hands.

He holds his chest in an overly fake manner pretending to be hurt by her words,at her insistence that she wanted somebody else's help but quickly laughs loudly as he pulls back slightly so that their noses aren't touching anymore "revenge? Revenge for what exactly?" he asks curiously "what could a little human girl like you ever need revenge for?" he tilts his head to the side clearly very amused at her frustration. "Little?!" she all but screeches as she stares at this demon 'Han' she thinks he said, she huffs but tries to calm herself down enough to explain the situation realising that he's not going to help her until she does "my ex is who I want revenge on" she sees his eyes widen slightly but carries on before he can butt in "he cheated on me, treat me like shit and just... yeah I wanted someone to make him feel as small as he made me feel" she crosses her arms and looks down "nothing a lust demon could help me with" she sighs disappointed as she assumes her plans a bust now.

However Han simply nods his head and clears his throat "you're right I'm not Channie or Binnie" she raises her eyebrow at the names "nicknames for my older brothers" he quickly explains making her giggle a little as he continues "I can't make that ex of yours fall to his feet in despair or physical pain it's not my style" he shrugs but moves closer to her smirking "but I can make him feel the deepest levels of jealousy, I can make him feel utterly useless… for what mortal could compare with a lust demon" a look of confusion passes over her delicate features "how are you going to make him jealous?" She questions Innocently making the dark haired demon laugh darkly "you're asking me how? what a precious little human has fallen into my lap" he stalks over to her with purpose, his dark eyes seeming to shine with each step he took.

When he reaches Y/N he twirls a lock of her hair around his finger "I'm going to make you feel levels of pleasure you never thought possible and then I'm going to show him just how fucked out I can get you" he tugs her hair lightly "once I'm through with you, you'll never think of that mortal again" he smirks as her face flushes again "if you consent of course" he adds as if its completely impossible any mortal would or has ever said no to him. Y/N flushes deeply at his words and gulps, she's trying to think all of this through and plan for the best outcome but Han is so close and he smells so addicting, it's almost like he knows the effect he's having on her as the smirk he's wearing almost reaches his jewel adorned ears.

Y/N shakes her head as if that's going to clear her mind but it still remains foggy "h-have you done something to me?" she asks him in the sweetest voice it almost makes him swoon "not purposely sweetheart" he chuckles as his thumb smoothes over her cheek almost affectionately "you're feeling the effects of my natural charm as a incubus, it helps me to get you feeling relaxed and ready for me~" the words fall of his tongue so readily she can't imagine he's lying but it's hard to think of anything right now other than Han as a burning desire starts to lick at her bones. Han takes a deep breath and visibly shivers "I can smell that it's working, you smell so delicious for such a little thing" he almost groans as his nose prods at her neck before giving it an experimental lick making her gasp "I think what I have in mind will be more than enough to make you forget that mortal and get you some revenge too" he chuckles darkly before moving his face to brush his lips against hers, the kiss is soft at first as to ease her into the feeling but quickly grows more passionate as he probes her lips with his tongue.

A whine bubbles in her throat but she pushes it down as best she can "before we can start though sweetheart I need you to tell me you want this, want me" Y/N looks up to his face dazed and nods which only makes Han grunt impatiently "need words baby~" he smiles as his hand moves under her shirt to rub at her bare skin making heat trail from his fingertips to her spine almost like electric sparking through her bones "I- I want you Han" her words cause his smirk to return but he doesn't move nodding for her to continue "want you to fuck me" she pouts at him for having to sound so needy for a being she barely knew or trusted but his wide spread grin almost made it worth the flash embarrassment that spread over her heart and cheeks.

Han hums as he leans in to kiss her again "so sweet" he whispers, the kiss he gives her is passionate and urgent "now, let's get you ready for me~" his eyes glitter with devilish excitement as his body shines and crackles with energy "hold on tight sweetheart" he grins at he teleports the pair to Y/N's bedroom.

Almost in an instant they're in her bedroom and he's throwing her onto her bed, she looks around alarmed "how did you...?" she uses her hand to gesture to the room and it makes him chuckle slightly "have you already forgotten? I'm a demon baby~ I can take you anywhere you want to go" and with that he's joining her on the bed and pushing her down to climb over her. Han takes a moment to look at her frame enjoying how fragile she looks under him, his tail swishes around behind his back showing his excitement, he clicks his fingers causing the red crackles to return as he magically strips her of her outer clothes leaving her only in her red and black lace bra and panties.

Han blinks owlishly as her body is revealed to him "oh my, look at you~" he hums as he takes in the sight of her "it's almost like you knew I'd be coming, red and black are my signature colours sweetheart" he chuckles and explains as he sees her confused face. He admires the intricate colours and textures before he climbs on top of her, his thick thighs cage her body in underneath him as his fingers explore her exposed skin stopping back at her bra he uses his nail, which looks suspiciously like it has transformed into a claw, to shred the strap moving down to repeat the process with her panties "there, that's better" he hums happy with his work.

She gasps as the shreds of material fall off her body "that was new!" she almost cries which only makes him chuckle to himself "I'll replace it" as the words leave his mouth the atmosphere in the room shifts back to the hazy and electrifying feeling from before making her body tingle all over as his predatory gaze lingers on her nipples hardening from the cold room. Taking note of her body's response he decides to take advantage, leaning down he takes one pert nipple in his mouth suckling gently on it making her moan and sigh softly. His tail twirls around her body, wrapping around her waist and holding her tight to him as he continues to tease her breasts.

She watches his tail curiously reaching her hand down to trail her fingers along the soft fur making his eyes widen a fraction as his breath hitches slightly at the light touches she leaves on his body, but quickly regains composure as he leans forward to kiss her deeply tasting her sweet lips savoring every second of their passionate embrace. As they break apart he pulls away smiling mischievously "I'm going to have you screaming my name tonight..." Han moves his face up to her neck placing soft kisses against the column of her neck, his promise makes her heart thud against her ribs.

Y/N tilts her head to the side giving the demon better access as he licks and nips his way down her throat, he sucks delicious bruises on her skin as he moves across her body with her whimpers filling his ears "are you always this sensitive?" he smirks as he sees her chest heaving slightly, his smirk only grows as she shakes her head 'no' "your lips feel so h-hot" she whines as he sucks marks into her delicate breasts, his fingers toying with her pebbled nipples "your body's response to my touch is... intoxicating" he murmurs as he sucks on the skin just under her nipples his tail tightening its hold around her waist and holding her tight to him, his lips lick and suck at her skin with an intensity that leaves her almost gasping for air.

He chuckles at her statement as he takes her mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue probing her lips forcing her to open for him. "Oh, you have no idea" she can feel wetness gathering against her thighs at his teasing touches, she's starting to get antsy wanting more "H-Han please... need more" she tries to hide her face as she asks for more pleasure.

As if on cue his tail twitches as he feels her writhing beneath him, the smell of her arousal soaking into his skin making his eyes glow a beautiful shade of crimson "fuck I can smell you sweetheart, you smell so sweet" he bites his lip as his hands slide from her breasts to her thighs as he moves back to study her body. His long fingers trail down her body past her hips and stopping where she needs him most, his eyes flick to her face "last chance to back out sweetness, if I get a taste of you I won't be able to stop myself" as if to make his point known his eyes shine brightly while his tail moves down from her waist to wrap around her thigh pulling it off to the side, spreading her open for his dark eyes. Y/N bites her lip at his warning but she nods "want this, want you to fuck me" she whimpers pitifully as she spreads her legs further for him, feeling his tail tighten at her words she reaches her hands out for him which is all he needs to snap the last remnants of his patience, he lowers himself down as he returns his lips to her neck sucking and nibbling as his fingers finally find purchase on her entrance. He groans loudly as he feels her slick sticking to the digits as they run up her slit resting at her clit.

Han couldn't resist any longer, the sight before him was almost too much to handle. Her scent drove him mad with lust and he hadn't felt such an intense longing in many years, making things worse was how sweet she sounded while begging for him. He growls roughly as he moves his kisses to her jaw then to her lips as he kisses her roughly pushing his tongue inside her mouth while his fingers rub soft but firm circles against her clit causing moans to fall from her lips as her hands come to grip his body. Her little sounds of pleasure grow steadily as he steals the breath from her lungs "have to prep you for my thick cock before I can fuck you sweets" he mutters against her lips as the speed of his fingers increases. his finger finally moves from her clit to dip into her waiting pussy so he can stretch her out, realising how wet she was he quickly adds another finger moving his thumb to rub against her clit as his fingers fuck her, her mouth drops open at the sudden increase in pleasure her head tipping back against her pillows.

She gasps when he pulls away from their kiss, his voice sounded rugged and husky that she couldn't help herself anymore. She needs more than just his fingers; she needs his cock inside her. She whimpers softly as he removes his fingers from her dripping cunt before suddenly returning them, thrusting faster as her moans pick up in pace "Han~" she whines as her walls start to clamp down on his fingers. Han nibbles on her ear lightly before whispering to her "you getting close sweetheart? gonna cum on my fingers?" he licks a stripe up her neck before he gives her clit a hard rub as his fingers thrust as deep as they can causing her thighs to shake "'mm~ I'm g-gonna-" she barely has time to warn him before she cums gasping his name

Han's eyes darken as he felt her walls clamp down on his fingers, he gritted his teeth as he continued to thrust helping ride out her orgasm. His eyes close as his fingers slip from her spasming hole and he brings the digits to his mouth moaning as he gets to finally taste her. The sight is so damn sinful that it makes her heart thud in her chest, once he seems happy his fingers are clean she gives him another heated kiss "I'm ready now Han, ready for you to fuck me" she tries to pull his body to her own to start undressing him but he only shakes his head "want to taste you properly first sweetheart" he lowers himself down to settle between her legs as his tongue pulls through her soaked lower lips "need to feel you cum on my tongue" he growls as she whines from the overstimulation starting to seep into her body. He smiles against her skin as he hears her whine, the sound making him want to tease her even further. So instead of licking all around her pussy he chose to focus on teasing, slowly slipping his tongue along her slit tasting every inch of her until finally reaching her clit.

She moves her hands to fall above her head as she grips her sheets tightly "stop teasing Han" she begs as she bucks her hips up against his plump lips, he chuckles softly hearing her beg so sweetly for more so he decides to indulge her request increasing the pressure with his tongue swirling it across her sensitive bud making sure not to miss any spot. Her moans become louder as he devours her "I can feel how turned on you are sweets, it's making my cock so fucking hard" he mumbles against her clit causing the vibrations to buzz against her swollen nub.

Painful pleasure blooms over her thighs and down to her throbbing clit as the sensations become too much, overstimulation hitting her body hard "n-need more... please Han~ need your fingers~ need to cum" she bucks her hips again as his tail forces her hips further apart to give him more space. He looks up from between her legs seeing the desperation in her eyes he nods before slowly sliding two fingers inside her wet pussy feeling her walls contract around them almost squeezing them like a vice grip "fuck you're squeezing my fingers so tight~ how will you ever take my cock?" he asks with a teasing smile as he returns his tongue to her clit.

Y/N's eyes screw shut as her breath hitches in her throat and she throws her head into her pillows as her back arches "Haaan~ I'm cumming! fuck I'm gonna cum again!~" she cries as tears fall down her cheeks, her juices soaking his lips and fingers as he continues lapping at her clit and thrusting his fingers until he's sure she's come down from her high. He moans as he feels her cumming on his face, he takes his time licking her clean then sucks her cum off of his fingers looking into her eyes as he does "you sound so sweet when you cum baby" he smirks as he crawls up her body kissing her passionately and pushing his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Han's eyes shine as he stares down at her body "I love seeing how fucked out you are right now baby~ gonna be thinking about your pretty face as you cum for a long time~" he smiles mischievously as he places one last kiss on her lips before he retracts his tail from her thigh and moves it to wrap around her upper body, the fur at it's edge teasing her nipples as looks into her eyes "are you ready for me sweetheart?" as her breaths calm down she smiles up at him "need you Han please~ need your clothes off" he smiles at her request clicking his fingers as his magic strips his clothes away leaving him bare above her body. She can't help the gasp that makes its way out as she finally sees his bare cock, thick in length and wide enough to make Y/N physically gulp and lick her lips.

He chuckles softly as he pulls away from their kiss, his hands running through her hair gently as he kisses her neck again. His other hand slides under her thighs lifting them slightly "of course~ I'm going to give you a night you'll never forget remember" he whispers huskily against her skin as he presses himself closer to her, he gives his length a few sharp tugs before lining himself up with her slit rubbing up and down to cover himself in her wetness before he gives her a pointed look. A curt nod is all the consent he needs as he slowly starts pushing his thick length into her tight wet walls giving her time to accept his well endowed member, Han licks the tears off her cheeks as he mutters hushed praises of 'you're taking me so fucking well sweetheart' and 'look how your greedy pussy sucks me in'. Once he had bottomed out filling her so deliciously her hands shoot up to grip his hair as a long moan leaves her lips, her hands tighten around the base of his thick, dark horns securing her hold on his body.

He hums quietly as he continues to slide himself inside her tight walls, it takes all of his willpower to keep himself as steady as he can while she adjusts to his size. A loud husky moan reverberates through his chest as she grips his horns making his hips cant forwards pushing him into her heat "s-shit~ my horns are s-sensitive sweetheart" she tries to move her hands from his hair quickly at his confession "shit sorry Han, I didn-" but a low growl stops her in her tracks "I never told you to stop" with a knowing smile she moves her hands back scratching the edges of his horns with each thrust he gives her "fuck- call me Jisung baby, it's my given name" he moans as he rocks his hips faster, she wraps her legs tightly around his slender waist pulling him impossibly closer to her body as she moans his name with each hard thrust "Ji- Jisung fuck~", Han bites his lip as he thinks his name has never sounded sexier than it does coming from her lips.

His breath hitches as she pulls him towards her, he feels her hands on his horns as he slides deeper inside her. A small groan left his throat as he heard his given name moaned so sweetly, his cock twitched slightly against her inner walls as he pushed himself deep inside her. He could feel her tightening around him "so fuckin' tight baby~" he whispers as his thrusts start to pick up their speed as his own moans fill the room, her bedframe rocks against the wall in perfectly timed thrusts as he breaks her body down filling her with immense pleasure "fuck your cock is filling me up so good~" she moans as he angles his hips to hit that deep part of her pussy that makes her eyes roll back into her head.

He grunts loudly as he keeps up his fast and rough pace, his grip tightened on her thighs as he begins to pound his hips forward faster. The sound of flesh slapping together fills the air along with their heavy breathing, sweat drips off both of them onto the sheets below them staining the material as her walls are fluttering against his length her head rolls back, her moans are increasing in pitch as the coil in her tummy begins to tighten "Ji~" she whines as her grip on his horns tightens, scratching against the hard bone when suddenly a loud ring shoots around the nearly silent room.

Han's thrusts still as he looks at her phone with a burning rage he doesn't usually feel "ignore them Jisung" she moves her hands from his head to his jaw as she pulls him into a kiss. His hips start to build up to his previous rhythm when her phone rings again "Fuck!" he growls as he reaches over and grabs her phone "who the fuck is Taehyung?" her eyes widen as she hears the name "my ex..." she frowns, worried this interruption has ruined the moment but Han adorns a sinister smile "oh really? the whole reason I'm balls deep in your pussy right now?" she nods, not understanding where he's going with his question, he thrusts the phone in her face and mutters a dark "answer it" she blinks a few times confused but hits the green answer button.

As soon as Y/N mutters a shaky 'hello' Han starts his sharp thrusts into her pussy with a smirk, the more she tries to answer the other man on the line the harder Han thrusts until he hears an angry "are you being fucked right now?", Han grabs the phone from her shaking hands and grins mischievously "yeah I'm fucking her and I can guarantee I've made her cum harder in one night than you did the whole time you dated her" he punctuate his point his thrusts hard into her g-spot causing her the scream out his name. With a satisfied smirk Han ends the call and throws the off to the side letting it land on the pile of their clothes so he can return his attention to her body, his thrusts pick up in speed as he moves his hand to her hair making her focus on his face as he wrecks her.

He smirks as he continues to ravage her tight little pussy, her moans and whimpers of his name getting louder as he feels himself nearing climax. "you're mine sweetheart and mine alone~ your body belongs to me now" his voice was filled with lust and desire, wanting nothing more than to claim her completely, he reaches his hand down to play with her clit as his thrusts abuse her walls. Y/N can't help the moan that leaves her throat at his possessive words "yours Ji~" she smiles as she returns her hands to his horns tugging tightly as her thighs wobble and shake loosening their grip on his waist as she starts to become tired.

Han's fingers continue to toy with her clit while he pounds away at her pussy, he groans loudly when she acknowledges his possessive rambling "shit baby~" he groans as his hips stutter from the feeling of her hands gripping his horns again "can't hold on much longer you smell too good, wanna pump you full of my cum" he bites down on the dip of her shoulder as he gives her a few hard last thrusts aimed at her g-spot. She cries out as he thumps against her g-spot, his bite and teasing fingers on her clit pushing her over the edge as her eyes roll back into her head, thighs shaking as she cums harder than she ever has before almost blacking out as the pleasure shoots across her body.

Han grunts deeply as he slams deep inside her one final time, holding onto her hips firmly as he releases all of his seed within her womb, filling her up completely as he pants heavily trying to catch his breath. "fuck... fuck.. shit… Y/N" his whole body shakes as he comes down from his high, sweat slicked across both of their bodies as their breaths even out and he suddenly collapses down onto her smaller frame. He giggles softly as he looks into her eyes "shit sweetheart, haven't cum that hard in years" he groans as he stretches his arms across her body when he suddenly winks "told ya I could help you" he laughs as she shoves his body away playfully while laughing.

He groans as his body clicks with his stretches, he carefully pulls out of her abused walls and falls onto the bed next to her pulling her into his arms as he places a kiss to her forehead. She giggles softly as his light touches "are incubus always this cuddly after sex?" she asks as she pushes his wet hair away from his eyes. He chuckles quietly as he nuzzles her neck gently with his nose "I guess we'll have to find out huh? you are mine now after all" he says with a smirk before leaving soft kisses against her neck and collarbone, kissing the areas he had marked earlier.

He pulls her back flush to his chest as he praises her "you were amazing tonight sweetheart" he whispers into her ear. "I've never seen any human take me so well before" she blushes at his hushed praise while she traces figures over his muscled arms "well you certainly kept you end of the bargain, what was it you promised me again" she playfully tilts her head as she pretends to think "you could make him feel the deepest levels of jealousy?" she questions in a teasing tone. He smirks devilishly down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief "what can I say sweetheart, I aim to please~" he chuckles as his hands squeeze her hips, he nuzzles her cheeks lovingly once more before he shakes his head "still can't believe the fucker called while I was pounding you into the bed" Y/N can't help but giggle at his frustration "I doubt he'll call again after hearing you make me scream" she turns in his arms and kisses his nose in little pecks.

He smiles softly at her words before he captures her lips in a hungry kiss, he pulls away for a second before he nips at her bottom lip teasingly as he speaks "he'd better stay away... I can't promise I'll be able to control my anger if he shows his face" he growls in a playful manner before he bites her bottom lip gently. She moans softly against his lips as she nods "got my big strong demon here to protect me" she teases as she pulls him down onto her body "we need to have a shower and clean up but after that... round 2?" she asks as innocently as she can muster. His tail swishes from side to side and he gives a low chuckle as he wraps an arm around her waist as he presses himself against her firmly as he says "there's always time for round two, sweetheart." he grins as his eyes spark with flecks of red.

Banner made by: @cafekitsune 💙

[navy-leader]

With all the doom and gloom ava6 has offered us so far i now want to talk about the AUs id made for victim pre-ava6

So for starters i characterized him as a pottymouthed, angry, and very confused. Pottymouthed bc he is canonically the only stickman to cuss, angry because he was treated very poorly by the animator and subsequently Killed, confused bc hes only existed for less than 2 minutes and has yet to explore the world.

I also made him an artist, similar to Second, but he lacks the ability to make them come to life and sticks mainly to drawing machinery, weaponry and artillery, (as a reference to how many stickman animations often use guns, tanks and the sorts) the way young boys have a fascination for the things. He has extensive knowledge about how they work and Very autistic about it, that was his thing. He does not draw figure drawings like animals or people, that is Second's thing.

I also gave him a lot of self worth issues. It came from multiple reasons,,,being named 'victim' for starters, having his fate sealed to be nothing more than just a test subject, collateral, something to use and then dispose of. Second being that he had no special powers like the other's made like him do. Third being that,,,Second is just So Much Better than him in every way,, Second gets the love he never got from his creator, he never got the life the others were let to live, he never got to explore the world, none of that. He got None of that.

Also he has a lot of trauma pertaining his death but i think thats obvious.

With that in mind i present you the first AU. The premise is that victim finds a way to come back to life and ends back on Alan's desktop, the newer desktop, where the color gang and Second now live in. The way he appeared was never properly Made, hes just There now. He mightve crawled through the code and ended up here, he mightve come from somewhere deep in Alan's files, he mightve come from an external source, who knows but victim is Here now. The color gang gets curious and welcomes this strange new stickman with open arms, they show him around and quickly became friends, and everything was Fine. Until Alan comes online do to work and victim FREAKS at the sight of the cursor, he quickly tries to eradicate said cursor by creating weapons and bombs, and threatened to nuke the PC, whilst the color gang frantically try to stop him and talk him down.

Eventually they do and they reintroduce Alan to victim and vice versa. Victim is still discomforted and LIVID about the discovery that he'd gone back to his MURDERER'S desktop, but for the sake of his newfound friends he will back down. Victim and the color gang will then live in relative harmony, although victim is still Very cautious of Alan and yet to let go of the iron fisted grudge he has on him (who can blame him?) but they live, together.

In this AU is actually where most of my old doodles' interactions between victim and the color gang came from. They just vibe forever together,,, its a nicer beginning for victim. This is where the cowboy victim, rambo victim, and whatever else silly little costume and roles ive put him in take place, theyre just playing!! Just as they do in the actual shorts!!

The second AU takes place right before the ending of ava3, Dark and Chosen are doing their blackhole destruction of Noogai's PC and are running away from the crime scene. Then suddenly a foreign stickfigure comes running at them through the hole Chosen had made to escape, they all fall through the hole and speed through the cables. Only then they could properly assess their unfamilar company, it was a black stickfigure with the same hollow imperfect circle heads as themselves, they'd look practically identical to Chosen. After they get to the other end of the cables they were baffled by the stickfigure that had joined them in their escape.

So victim finds itself tagging along Chosen and Dark during their destruction spree, having no powers like they did it tended to sit back or cause minor destruction of its own. And eventually the three of them live under one roof, though not without problems. They had their problems and fights often break out, mainly between Chosen and Dark, and since theyre both superpowered assholes they cause more than necessary destruction to their home and surroundings. Victim, being Not Superpowered, often leaves before things get messy and he gets caught in the crossfire. He comes back home to their home thoroughly wrecked and is less than pleased (hes pissed) at the state of it, and makes them clean it up.

Before you ask i have No Idea what this'd mean for the events of ava5 but thats something we can always think about now or later!!

In the middle of writing this i realized i only had 2 major AUs for victim so i guess thats the end of it LOL

[panda-of-the-trash]

[added this at the end: ACCIDENTALLY MADE IT LONG AAAAA] YIPPPEE SO- im bad at explaining and shit but i'll do my best to explain :33 my head has them color coded [no names yet because i suck at those so for now i'll refer to them as colors] Red and blue are human, green is an elf of some sort and i'm still trying to figure out what to make black [maybe elf aswell? idk], they all live together Black is sometimes clueless, head up in the cloud, but it's not on purpose, they're just kind of like that ^^'' [i'll traumatise them later /silly /hj] They get embarressed really easily and act more mature/serious then they actually are, internally they're kind of immature/childish since they haven't really grown up but at least they're trying lol They like to draw embarressing drawings but aren't that confident and scribble them out when they're finished to hide them Sometimes they get carried away and when they're doing bits/jokes, they pull it out for too long but green always makes sure to listen to them and comforts them later, blue laughs either way because they find most things funny, red finds it hard to 'fake' a reaction so they just smile and keep shut, sometimes trying to pipe in and make things less awkward Black is more of a listener but they like talking too, they're the only one who doesn't grumble when they get chores, i'd say their love language is quality time Not sure if i should split it up or something because feel like if i continue it's going to be too long- Green is very much the caretaker of the group, they're a little stubborn and bossy but it's because they care. They know when to goof around but also when to stop, which is something red and [sometimes] blue seem to forget- internally they're mature and mostly independent, the only person they vent to is black and sometimes [for the light stuff] blue, black is a good listener and blue likes being helpful/useful i wanna make all the gang found family btw They're the closest to black and the least close to red, but they still enjoy reds company and they can have fun sometimes when red tones it down a bit and green learns to let loose a lil. Green finds it hard to accept/proccess when people have wronged them, like sometimes it straight up won't load and they'll just go into denial and pretend nothing happened.

I'd say their love language is acts of service or gift giving music does things to my brain

I LOVE THIS

[grechsblog]

Oc? 👀

YOU FOOL, YOU ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD !!! NOW ALL OF THE TUMBLR WILL KNOW I HAVE NO ARTISTIC TALENT!!!!!!!

On the serious note, thank you. Now, i can

1. Lok, a guy with amnesia

Appearance

I do not have a full ref of him because i cant draw coherent pictures as a reference.

Heres his colored floating head and a bunch of sketches i did in class with a pen and was still motivated to draw

And a silly little stickman rendition in that style i use in comics sometimes

Personality

Surprisingly good leader

A little cocky at times, but does know how to gain leverage against strong opponents

Does, in fact, like fighting. Weapon of preference is a sword, although he's also proficient in any object that can be used as weapon

Relies a lot on his reflexes though, sometimes maybe too much, which is a byproduct of the fact that his body knows more than he ever will.

Moderately caring person, although cannot pass by someone in distress without feeling a little guilty

Would die to save friend. Had died to save a friend. The world died for him to save a friend.

His teeth are not for show. Do not threaten what is his.

Story

His story is just as incoherent as are my attempts to give him full ref, only thing time it's intentional.

The premise is such: he wakes up in a world he only particularly recognises (but it feels Extremely off) with little memory of who he is, what he's supposed to do or go. The story itself is a journey to uncover his previous life, find his forgotten friends while gaining new ones, and discover the secrets of the world he inhabits!

What actually happens to him (as the story goes) is that he has a panic attack shortly after waking up, - because he doesn't even remember his own name! - fights a Big and Deadly Bird™ with his bare hands, face-plants in a mud puddle, has another panic attack after seeing his face in a river, kills some monsters with his teeth, dies, tears more monsters with the tools he scrapped from nothing and dies again. Yes, in that exact order. And it's not even the end of his first week here.

He's... Going through it

As of his ✨ mysterious backstory ✨.... It's incomplete :p

And by incomplete i mean that i have some bare bones structure of it, but its still mostly just... In the air. Because i love him as a blank slate that Knows something he Possibly Shouldn't (like craftsmanship, weapon usage, farming, ect.) that are so integrated in his muscle memory that it's literally so freaky actually. Man freak

Meta stuff

His appearance and general plot of his journey is actually based on a minecraft youtuber and his modded-mc-with-plot series that i watched at the time of creation. However, unlike the guy that won't allow his character to have any magnitude of personality and reflection of the inflicted trauma all his shenanigans surely caused, i'm rerouting the story Completely south of what actually happened there.

Although it is still happening minecraft, yes. Live with that.

Also, i classify my ocs in my head as siblings, from oldest (created earlier) to youngest (created later), and Lok is the fifth and the youngest in the family.

2. Enais "Ena" Crovn, girl that can survive Armageddon

Appearance

Imagine a generic long haired girl oc of a 11 years old that thought foxes and wings were cool, and you have basically Ena imagined fully

As you can tell.... This one is from 2017? Ish??

These ones are obviously new-er, although they are still entirely incomplete

I do not have Any new references of her except these rough sketches, and she needs Tremendous redesign because Generic Girl White Dress no longer fits, although not much have really changed with her design through the years

Design pending.

Personality

Honestly one of the least traumatised people out there. She's just living her life man.

She's just Just Some Guy.

Positive person, sometimes soft-spoken. Thinking if Fluttershy had to deliver mail instead of caring for animals, although, obviously, not to that extreme

Good with kids

Can fight but really, REALLY would rather just deliver mail, thank you very much

Loves flying

Story

Entirely unknown. Little me had at least 2 different stories for this gal, one of which was that she's an undertale-esque monster that just happened to look deceptively human and works as a mailman for the entire underground, the other being that she was a Freak Experiment of her insane scientist mother that sew wings and fox ears on her and gave her trauma

Surprisingly, the mailman (mailwoman?) one was the first one i actually came up with myself (while the Trauma route was influenced by a lot of gore mlp edits yt recommended me a lot around that time) and even there she was still cool and, by design, in genocide run would still fight the player somewhere in snowdin. So i think i will go with that one

Meta stuff

She IS actually second least traumatised oc i have. As per my ocs family tree, she's also the oldest - in fact, the very first to ever be made, so her knowledge of children comes from wrangling some ptsd and hyperactivity havers in the lot

There's actually third, secret backstory she has, which includes utdr multiverses we all know about. Although she still delivers mail there, she's actually the very same person who sends the asks to askboxes for character to receive through the entire multiverse, and she Is quite strong - because some universes are WILD and very much deadly and it was a necessity to learn to protect herself; which means she can survive anything under any circumstances.

Little me was based af for coming up with this

It is only two for now because i had not expected for it to take So Much Fucking Time to type out this little bits. Ugh

I need to make a list

[charnelhouse]

darlin'

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Wordcount: 4k Warnings: rough smut. violence. almost sexual assault (but nothing in detail). me probably knowing nothing about this. Srs hurt/comfort. references to suicide. Summary: You are another means to an end. He needs a second pair of hands and you have the face to distract scavengers and the guts to kill people who need to be put down. A/N: not sure about the timeline between joel and tommy splitting post-outbreak. I’m really playing fast and loose with canon here since joel is on the move with the reader and not stuck in one place. Hopefully his characterization is somewhat on point.

It’s not like you fall into Joel’s lap. It’s a gradual process where you’re in separate packs of hunters that inevitably dwindle to a few lonely pairs. You’re maneuvering around each other in the same snuffed-out city. The only source of lights is in sewer tunnels. There are familiar faces in the dark. 

One night, both of your groups are cornered in an empty factory by a crowd of infected. It’s silly. A foolish way to lose, but you do. Everyone but you and Joel get bitten, and you feed your friends a bullet. Joel does the same.

Then it’s an awkward stare-off. You think of killing the silence with a dry remark, but nothing about the beefy, stern-looking man in front of you seems dry. 

You recognize him just as he recognizes you. You’ve seen each other during a few trade-offs. Now - you really fucking wish you’d said hi. 

"You need a partner,” you tell him bluntly. Your voice only wavers a little, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, his brows raise in what you think is incredulity. You change course. 

“I need a partner,” you clarify. “I need someone to watch my back. You can’t survive out here in a party of one.”

He frowns, scraping a calloused hand over his beard. You think he’s ready to say no, so you reach back into your coffers to grasp something else to offer him. We have guns.

Bingo.

He finally straightens. His eyes are clear and brown as espresso grounds. Long, girlish lashes. “Show me.”

It’s been five years since the outbreak. 

***

Joel has these dreams where all of his hair falls out. Sometimes it’s his teeth.

In the very corner of his brain, he recalls that there’s symbolism there.

You’ve forgotten something. You’re forgetting. 

He goes and goes and never stops. He does not stop because if he does, all he will have is quiet air and memories. Sarah. The greasy splatter of blood on his chin and beard and how he didn’t notice until days later. He scrubbed his skin until it hurt and turned pink as raw chicken.

What did you do? What did it cost?

Joel cannot find it in him to regret the things he’s done. He lives somewhere in his chest. Not his head - never his head. He doesn’t know what to do with all that emptiness. He wants to fill his nights with something other than the stars or a campfire or a popcorn ceiling in an abandoned house. 

I survived. I did what I had to do in a dead, dead world. 

You were right. He couldn’t do it on his own.

You are another means to an end. He needs a second pair of hands and you have the face to distract scavengers and the guts to kill people who need to be put down. 

He was gonna say yes even before you brought up the guns. 

***

You’ve become incredibly intimate with his back. He always walks ahead of you, so you trace the broad line of his shoulders and the molasses-dark curls that cover his scalp. You long to draw patterns in the suede of his sand-colored jacket. 

You familiarize yourself with his tells and what it means when he stiffens, hunches or relaxes. His knuckles turn white with how hard they wrap around his gun when he’s somewhere he can’t see all four corners.

He barely speaks. It’s like trying to squeeze water from a stone. Joel is a fucking boulder or maybe a bullet.

A month on the road, you spot a family wailing for help. They’re dragging something that looks suspiciously like a body, and Joel curses. “They’ll have a whole fuckin’ pack on our ass.” He checks his guns, and you think he’s going to shoot them because now their problem is his. 

“They have children,” you whisper.

“They’ll kill us,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Kill us or try and take what’s ours. It’s how it goes.”

“That’s it then?”

He remains silent, dragging his thumb along his chin before readjusting his pack. “You’re free to go play Mother Teresa, but I ain’t helping you. I’m headed North, and that’s the end of it.”

He does leave. He storms off, slipping between the trees that line the charred highway. You wait for a second out of spite before chasing after him. He hasn’t gone far. In fact, you think he deliberately slowed his steps so that you could catch up.

***

Joel asks you to play damsel. Supplies are running low. There aren’t many towns nearby, so when a small group of scavengers draws near, you go. 

You were never a good actress, but your grief is real. You’ve honed and carved it until it became a weapon. You run toward them with your eyes wide and wet with fear. You choke down sobs that churn from some lost place inside you. Your dead family. Your dead friends. Your dead future. RIP to all that. 

Of course, the hunters accept you, their beady little stares cataloging your body under layers of cotton and denim. They lead you into their temporary camp and start a fire. They wrap a blanket around your shoulders that smells like mildew and loam. Just as you suspected, their comforting words begin to have double meanings. 

We can’t just give you these things—shelter costs somethin’. 

Don’t worry, your pretty head, we’ll keep you safe. 

C’mere. 

Your palms are damp with sweat. You nod, swallowing a weight. You’ve done this before, but Joel usually turns up before they start getting familiar. Maybe he's unsure. Maybe, there are too many. 

Where’s Joel? 

It rings through your head. Your ears buzz. 

He’s there. You know it. He’s watching and waiting and - 

One of the men grips your knee before sliding it up further. He chuckles softly, and you dig your nails into your palm and chew the inside of your mouth. 

You remind yourself that this is all part of the plan. You have it down. Act helpless. Get them in a vulnerable spot. Joel enters stage left and makes quick work of them. He’s probably biding his time.

“Now - maybe we can come to -”

Where’s Joel?

Your heart is thudding in the cage of your ribs. It’s in your throat. 

“Did you hear what I said, girl? How about -”

The man grunts. There’s a handle sticking out of the top of his skull. He sputters before his eyes roll back and then Joel is there, ripping that blade free and giving you a quick jerk of his chin.

“Stay behind the trees,” he orders before descending on the rest of them. 

“Where the fuck is my gun?” the bald one roars as he digs through his pack. 

“Mine’s fuckin’ gone, too,” a lanky blonde yells. 

Smart Joel. He must have snatched what he could while they were distracted. 

As you slip behind a tree, you turn to watch the rest of the carnage. You think it’s in the bag up until the big bald fuck manages to knock Joel to the side so that his shot misses. 

Joel up again, which is something he had constantly branded into your head. Never stay down. You’re right fucked if you stay down. 

Joel keeps fighting. He’s broad and full of a rage that ripples out of him and shakes the air. The punches he deliver are devastating. The skill he has at killing is a privilege to watch. He is an exploding star hurtling to the earth. A bull barreling through concrete. He’s older than you, but it doesn’t slow him down. Not at all. 

You remain low in the trees just as he instructed. Your chest tightens when the lanky blonde socks Joel’s face so hard that his jaw audibly clicks. It doesn’t seem to break his stride because he disposes of him quickly, whipping out a switchblade that he plunges between the blonde’s ribs. Then he’s onto the next one. He’s barely using his guns.

Bullets attract infected. 

They’re also precious. Finite supplies.

Right. Good thinkin’, girl. 

The sounds coming from the fight are a sharp blend of sawed-off grunts and insults. Joel is the only silent one as he cleaves his way through the chaos. It’s intimidating. It’s unreal.

Something moves on the ground. 

The blonde he’d stabbed is still alive, wiggling like a snake. He’s crawling onto his knees, red-soaked fingers shakily grasping his discarded shiv from the dirt.

“Joel,” you yell, but not loud enough. He’s too busy with the bald shithead whose red face is straining as he tries to sloppily defend himself against your partner. The man on the floor rises, arm cocked to deliver a stab to Joel’s lower back and you move without thinking. You sprint forward and tackle him to the floor, arms snagging firmly around his throat. There’s a startling pain in your side before it dissipates. You rely on adrenaline to drive you to the second act.

Quickly, you yank your pocket knife from your jeans and pierce the man’s throat. He squeals before it turns wet. You draw the blade out and bring it down again. It’s not easy and requires all of your strength to break flesh.

It’s unnerving. You’ve killed before, but this disturbs you. He squeals again, but it’s muffled. He choked and snorts.

This little piggy…

Somewhere Joel’s voice sings in your head:

Don’t think. Just kill. 

The blonde shivers under your weight, palms slapping out at mud before he curls his fingers into trampled weeds. He takes one final rattling breath and goes still. 

You scramble back on your ass, heels kicking up dirt as Joel whirls around to stare at you. His expression is incredulous and it doesn’t fit his face. It’s alien and wrong. He’s usually far too confident and cautious. He knows all outcomes, but this? You saving him? No - he did not expect that. 

Joel blinks before carefully stepping over the dead man. He moves toward you, lowering himself so he can meet your eyes. He touches your cheek. “You ok?”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Fine - he-he was gonna -”

“I know,” he finishes and it almost sounds like a thank you. 

He grabs your wrist forcing you up. “Let’s do this quickly,” he instructs, gesturing to the backpack, tents, and assorted supplies. It’ll be a good haul. 

You nod, already forgetting about the pulsing cut beneath your ribs.

***

You must be getting sick. Your palms feel like weighted lead. Your steps are slow and clumsy. Your skin is screaming hot, and it takes Joel two full days to notice. You’ve stopped in a deserted garage on a lone suburban street. A stale, sweet smell comes from the door that leads into the house, and you don’t want to open it. 

Joel searches through boxes and plastic cases while you lean heavily against the cool garage door. He glances at you before doing a double-take. Perhaps, it’s obvious - even in the dark. Perhaps - this is the first time he has truly looked at you since they’ve stopped walking. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you mutter even though your head may topple off your neck. Fuck. 

Abruptly, he straightens and strides toward you. You catch him rolling his eyes before he stops short. He grasps your face with surprisingly gentle hands. He inhales sharply. “Jesus,” he hisses. “Goddamnit, girl, you're burning up.”

You blink at him, and even that is a chore. Your lids are so heavy, each individual lash stings. You lick your lips. “Mm’ok.”

Without another word, he wraps his arms under your thighs and picks you up bridal-style. “Joel,” you wheeze, your arm flying around his thick neck. The short hairs at the nape tickle your skin. “It’s fine.”

“Quiet.” He grunts before kicking the door open and hauling you into the raw darkness of this deserted house. 

“Fuck,” he mutters and places you on the counter. “I’m gonna secure the perimeter…should have done it before hauling ass in here.”

He seems on edge.  He doesn’t usually forget shit like that because that shit will get you killed.

You nod before leaning back into the wall. Your head bumps against a cabinet and Joel has the nerve to tell you to be careful. 

After a few minutes, he returns. 

The kitchen is surprisingly clean. His gaze darts around the space before he picks you up and takes you to the second level. You can hear his boots making soft thumps in carpet. You can see framed photos on the walls. Finally, he settles you on a dusty queen-sized bed. 

“Think it’s a cold? The flu?”

In the current world, it could be any number of things. Regardless, you’re beginning to realize what this is. You’d avoided checking it out. You’d buried its burning ache. The knife - the metal. It had to have been dirty. 

Had you cleaned it? Were you too busy wanting to help Joel sift through everything that you’d ignored it? How fucking stupid could you have been?

You shake your head. 

“You gotta work with me here,” he urges, a brush softer. “What hurts?”

Sighing, you roll onto your side and pull up your shirt. Joel sucks in a breath. Even now it’s throbbing insistently. Feels hot. It had been so small. 

You’d forgotten that small, open wounds can lead to fatal infections. 

Joel’s hand rests on your hip, a fingertip drags lightly under the puffy flesh and you flinch. It smells like something sick. 

“Guessing by your silence, it’s bad.” You try to laugh and it cracks like peanut shells. 

“It’s not good,” he replies carefully. “You need antibiotics.” 

You’re too scared to inspect the wound. You can imagine it: oozing pus, streaking, swelling, beating like it has its own heart.

“Did you get this during the fight?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into the cold blankets. 

“And you didn’t clean it?” Joel’s tone rises. You guess that he’s keeping a tight lid on his anger. 

“Forgot.”

When he says nothing, you glance at him over your shoulder. His nostrils flare. He’s flexing his jaw. His hands are fists at his sides, but his dark eyes remain on you. He’s thinking, perhaps trying to decide if it’s worth scolding you or ripping you a new one.

What would it matter if you’re already dying?

He takes a deep breath, shakes his head, and abruptly swings his backpack off his shoulder before crouching to the floor. He unzips it and rummages. “Alright, I can clean and bandage it, but you’ll need antibiotics - somethin’ like doxycycline or amoxicillin. May be able to barter with a few people up near Asheville, but that means I’ve gotta leave you for a day, possibly two.”

You freeze.

What?!

Frantically, you twist around to face him. “I’ll-I’ll be alone?”

He sits down on the bed, touches the back of his hand to your forehead. His mouth tenses at the level of heat, but he keeps it there. It’s the most intimate thing he’s ever done.

“This is your life on the line, darlin’.” He runs his other hand through his unruly hair. He keeps his eyes on the floor. “I’ll lock the house down.”

You snort. There is no such thing as locks anymore. Zero law. Break a window. It’s enough. 

“There’s no one around here,” he adds pointedly as if reading your mind. “Everything’s been picked clean. I’m sure you’re safe.”

He doesn’t promise it. You’re not sure he’s good at promises.   

Everything smells weird. Like old fruit. 

“Bye,” you mumble as he reaches for his gauze and tends to the cut.

“Haven’t left yet, hon.”

“But you will.”

He clears his throat.

***

Joel moves fast. He doesn’t stop. 

That wound had been festering for days. How did you even fucking walk that far with it? How could you not treat it or ask him to?

He wants to shake you for being so stupid. He wants to watch you wither and die from the injury so that you learn your lesson.

But I’d bring you back. I’d pull you out. 

Joel feels something hard lodge in his throat. The trees are green and full of shadows. The highway is marked by broken cars and a few scattered bones. 

You’d saved him. You’d gotten hurt saving him.

He really doesn’t enjoy the fact that you’ve slipped your way inside him. You’ve wrapped those nimble little fingers around his ribs and ripped them an inch. He’s creaking. He’s old and getting older and the world is fucking dead. It’s just a rotting corpse and Joel really likes when you sing. Sometimes, they’re just on the road and you’ll start murmuring a tune from the forties or the seventies. You have this soft, breathy tongue for old love songs. Ella Fitzgerald. Billie Holiday. Judy Garland. Dolly Parton. 

He can’t stop thinking about your expression when he left. Your eyes were wide with fear, your lower lip trembled as you called after him. You were too weak to sit up. You reached a hand out before dropping it as if it was too heavy. Inexplicably, he rushed back to your side. “I will come back,” he declared.

“Are you sure?” 

He stroked your hair just once. He lowered his face to yours. “I will.”

***

Joel kills for the antibiotics. He won’t tell you that even though he’s sure you already know his game. He’s ruthless. He has to be. He didn’t have time to barter. 

He returns to you as quickly as he can. He’s shocked at his timing. It’s only been twenty-five hours when he bursts back into the house and runs up the stairs. In the daylight, he realizes that there are bodies in the living room. Pill bottles on the antique coffee table. Stained carpet. The corpses are mummified. He’d left you in a tomb and that makes his stomach turn over. 

He’ll clean them up before you come downstairs. You will. You’ll be fine.

He’s almost relieved when he finds you still in bed, but when he gets closer, he blanches. You’re seemingly worse, drenched in sweat and shivering. He folds himself over you, hands on your face as he tilts it up. Your eyes can’t focus on him. 

“Hey,” he says, slapping you gently. “Sweetheart - I’m back. I’ve got the medicine.” He reaches around and presses his hand to the wound. It’s hot as an oven, sticky as a melted sweet on pavement. He can smell the infection and he grimaces. “Let’s turn you around.”

He manages to cradle you against his chest before dripping water into your mouth drop by drop. You lick at it, whimpering as the dry skin of your lips cracks. He wets an old towel and lays it on your forehead. He feeds you tylenol and antibiotics. He cleans the wound and worries when you don’t wrench yourself away from his touch. It should sting fiercely, but the pain is diluted beneath the fog of fever.   

He cares for you and then waits. It’s a little too similar to when he’d stay up with Sarah when she couldn’t breathe right due to bronchitis or unable to keep medicine down because of a stomach bug.

Let me save you. He thinks. Let me save you this once. He has to seal the memory of Sarah away because it’s too much. It’s agony. He shudders as if he’s placed his fingers on a screaming tea kettle. It wrecks him. He can’t fall apart when you’re already half-gone.

***

In the middle of the night, you touch his jaw, scrape your nails across his beard. “You called me darlin’,”  you slur. “Sweetheart.” 

“I did,” he confirms as he circles your wrist with his hand. He could squeeze it and it’d break. “Now - sleep.” 

You pull his arm down to your face, nuzzle your cheek against the cool metal of his watch. It startles him, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“Joel,” you repeat. 

“G’night, honey.”

He doesn’t know why he called you that the last few days. Darlin’. Honey. Sweetheart. He’s never done it before. 

***

That event changed things. It shifted the air between you. You’d saved Joel’s life and he’d saved yours in return. In all respects, it should have kept their relationship on equal ground. One action had canceled out the other. A debt repaid. 

But, it’s different. He is different. He’s always watching you. A bit more protective. A bit more anxious. Sure - he trusts you to handle yourself, but he wants you not to need to handle yourself. 

They’re on the road and it’s getting colder. He has people they could rely on for a few weeks of shelter, but it’s a trek. 

“I say we make it to California,” you grumble as your boots catch on half-melting frost. “Hawaii.”

“Let me build a boat real fast, then.”

It’s all so much of the same. Walking. Supplies. Ammo. Food. Laundy. River baths. Medicine. Holing up in deserted, dusty homes that still reek of family ghosts. 

Then there’s the tension between you. The knot of things unsaid tugging you closer. 

You think about him all the time. The shape of his face and the hook of his nose. The jawline. The big brown eyes and thick, umber hair. He’s so big and bulky and protective and, if you could, you’d huddle inside him. 

Let me bury myself there all winter. Let me seek your heat. 

It comes to a head because it’s inevitable. In a strange house on a strange street near North Carolina, Joel shares a bed with you. Nothing is different. Nothing at all. You roll toward him and place your hand on his chest. He jerks, but doesn’t remove it. His heart is pounding furiously beneath the cotton.

He utters your name gently. You watch his lips fold around the letters. 

“You almost died today.”

He snorts. “No - I didn’t.”

Alright - he didn’t. It was only a small scuffle. One gunshot for a backseat of supplies.

But you wanted a reason. Needed a reason to touch him like he had touched you when you nearly died. 

“You could’ve,” you reply stubbornly.

He huffs a laugh. “I ain’t dyin on you anytime soon.”

“I know.”

You dig your fingers into his chest, rub them deep until you feel his hand slide over your thigh. He squeezes the meat of it and you wriggle under the covers.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse. He sounds nervous. Good.

Lazily, he turns on his side, his hand wanders up your leg. He hauls you closer so that you’re intertwined, tangled up in limbs. He presses his cheek to yours and curls his fingers behind the crotch of your panties before sinking two of them inside your cunt. 

“Oh,” you gasp, clawing at his hair. “Fuck.”

He moves deliberately, stroking your walls until it begins to smart like a bruise. His thumb finds your clit and he teases it, circles with a calloused trigger-happy fingertip.

“Is this what you want?” he murmurs despite it just being the two of you and there’s not a soul for miles except maybe the dead spirits in this house. A happy family. A dog. Gone. 

You grip some of his t-shirt and tug it, thighs opening around his hand. You rock down on him as he plays you like his six-string.

You push at his boxers, reach for his cock. It’s hot in your palm. Full and throbbing just like that wound on your side that sewed you both together. He grabs your chin and holds it still. “Tell me,” he demands. “Is this what you want?”

Do you want me?

You nod, chewing your lip as he adds a third finger. He stretches you open. He readies your sex. 

“You, Joel,” you reply to seal the truth of it. “You.”

He lowers his head and captures your mouth. Joel kisses you senseless, his tongue sweeping behind your teeth and making itself at home. He drinks, his beard scraping your chin raw. He tastes like leather and ammunition. Sweat. Wood. Generic shampoo. He lifts his head to catch his breath.

“Alright, darlin’.”

***

It is a smoother coupling than you expected. You didn’t think he’d kiss you. Before, you assumed that if this would happen, it would be a cold fuck in the form of stress relief. Not this. 

He groans against your teeth. You clasp the back of his head and his soft curls. His rests his forearm beside your face as he bears his weight above you. You watch the muscles in his jaw work with every thrust. The vein in his throat tenses. His chest hitches and you can’t help but lick a clean line up his sternum.

He likes it. His lungs rumble.

His hand slides between them, parting the lips of your cunt to press and tease your clit. Your pussy is wrapped around his length. He drives to the end of you before easing back until only the tip remains. He pushes in again so that you feel every ridge of him. Again. Again. You can hear your body take him. It echoes in the room.

You’re tearing me apart. You’re splitting me. You’re branding me. I can’t breathe. 

Do it again. 

“Wider,” he urges as his whole body trembles. “Lift your ass for me.”

You do and the angle allows him to plunge deeper.

You know he’s trying hard to fuck you like it doesn’t mean something. He’s rolling his hips and pinning your wrist to the mattress and it feels like the fat head of his cock is punching the bottom of your lungs. It hurts a little and meaningful sex shouldn’t hurt like this. Or maybe it should. Maybe, that's the damn point. You're close to tears because it feels so good and so much at the same time. You can’t help clenching around him, coming like a fountain as he punishes you with another harsh stroke. 

“Darlin,” he says in a voice that stings like gravel. It’s one sweet thing given between grunts and groans and the wet slap of skin. It’s all he can offer. He traces the cut along your ribs that hasn’t yet scarred over. He pets it with his thumb as he stares at you intently.

“Say it again,” You bring your knees to his waist, skate your nails down the muscles of his back. 

The corner of his lips twitch. “Darlin,” he offers before lowering his mouth a breath from your own. “Darlin.”

[yanisdoingstuff]

I saw this reblogged by @uiolot and got inspired. Since I'm not posting much, I decided I'd answer some questions for main characters, C and Joy. WARNING VERY LONG

✨ — For Joy, I wanted it to express his upbeat demeanor, so I just googled synonyms for happiness, went through some, and it popped up in my head. Though I recently found out it's commonly used as a female name lol. It also became his mother's trait to give her children weird names with special meanings. As for C, I scrolled some male names to find one that sounded like him and shortened to one letter for ✨mystery✨.

🌼 — Joy is 16 and C is 17! Could never tell you what happened the day

🌺 — They have each other! Aside from that, C had his first “relationship” a few years ago with a toxic guy (though can you realistically not be toxic as a ~12-13 boy?), a blond cocky bastard. It kinda grew as a reference to me choosing between several looks for C. At first I wanted him to be blond, with curly hair; his ex got the 1st, Joy's human design got the 2nd. Joy also had a few crushes, even including Haru, but it never went anywhere (and thanks god, I never intended to, this man is way too old for him xd).

🍕 — Joy is probably burger with fries typa guy. Anything flavorful and colorful would be to his taste, but he's not too picky since his mom's cooking was always awful. C definitely likes meat and bread of any kind. They share love for sandwiches, soda, hard candy and pastry, especially buns from Snowdin when C tries them.

💼 — They're both high-schoolers, so nothing yet. C used to work in his father's butchery shop before the Underground, but it was less of "making a living" and more of a "one day you'll inherit my business dear son so I'm training you instead of letting you enjoy weekends properly".

🎹 — Joy travels around the Underground and draws a map of it. He sometimes watches Haru's family anime collection, reads adventure novels, listens to pop music, dances, and plays mortal combat-ish games. He also just... likes to yap. A lot. Anything to tire himself out really. C never had any hobbies because of being busy, so he just sticks around. Adventuring and exploring in general is interesting to him. They'd probably like DnD if they knew about it.

🎯 — Joy yaps and dances like a pro, hehe. C has the MC ability to solve any problem on the way. He's mostly collected, sharp, and is able to get out of most situations if time's given.

🥊 — Joy loves chatting, finding time to meet friends, seeing his elder brother a lot! His hobbies name it all. He only hates household chores, especially doing dishes, anything related to water (he can't swim) and being Haru's target during his training sessions. C likes working with people, reading books, but feels uneasy spending time with monsters except Joy. As to why... We'll see. I can't really come up with anything he'd purely hate... Like, cleaning toilets, not that's what everyone hates. Following other's orders and tasks maybe?

❤️ — Joy's best memories before the main story are related to his elder brother, Piper. They barely meet each other these days, which makes it double special. They're close since childhood, talk about everything that bothers them, watch silly movies... They can even just sleep in the same room and be happy. C's happiest memories are probably about the family farm, when he was little, played with piggies (under guidance, we all know how scary pigs can be) and didn't know where meat comes from. Since meeting Joy, the cutest moments they had were definitely added to both's lists.

✂️ — This topic is secret until the episodes come out, but let's just say they're also related to the couple's relationships. Besides, both struggle with parents a lot. Joy has arguments with mom, C hates dad, perfect match.

🧊 — Joy's is, though at first I pictured him wearing glasses on the forehead for more adventurous look, but it doesn't make sense when you're half-blind lol. His jeans were slightly different in fit. C, aside from early choices I mentioned, had changes in boots (before they were just generic boots) and pants (same... I have troubles with pants) and was gifted a lil garter belt cover for his weapons. I also got inspired by Hunter from TOH and Vaggie from HH — strong protective characters with trauma 😊 — and gave him a hooked nose.

🍀 — Joy was at least 70% self-insert. So I can say he's inspired by my own awkwardness? Also my desire to yap and the idea of comforting teen relationship. A tiny bit of any sunshine character I've seen in media (Charlie in HH, Tails in Sonic franchise, Luz in TOH, etc etc...). C is pretty generic, I admit. Insert him in any 1st person/unnamed protagonist game. Frisk heritage right here. But in looks he's heavily inspired by Manlybadasshero 'cause he's the true protagonist of every story.

🌂 — Joy is Disney channel series or teen dramedy. C is rpgmaker yandere game or PS1 horror with a sprinkle of slice of life when he's on the pacifist route.

💚 — They're both cisgender boys and gay! (Probably would be trans-inclusive, but not familiar with the concept enough to identify as such).

🙌🏻 — C is the only child. Joy has seven!

🍎 — As I mentioned, Joy quarrels with his mother a lot. He doesn't feel needed, and in his eyes, mom suddenly stopped loving him when he was little and only needs him for doing dishes from time to time. His dad is simply absent. Still technically in the family, but always stuck in his workplace, also since Joy's childhood, barely seeing his kids a few times a year. No conflict with him, but not much love either, it's neutral. C's in very bad relationship with father due to the amount of work and it's violent nature. And he's just old in general. «These damn kids» guy. As for his mommy, I'm sure they're fine. I imagine a very patient, warm woman he was sorry to leave like that.

🧠 — I love Joy's cheerful, yet awkward personality. He helps me cope, especially with my situations at home, school stuff and sexuality topics. He doesn't know anything, he's a baby!! 🥺 (he's actually a nice smart guy, as mature as an introverted 16 yo can be). As for C, he's just my ancient Undertale protagonist idea I still cherish. Also a secret for later, but... He's the “I fucked up — I fucked up more trying to improve the last fuck up — I learned and did it better from scratch” trope. He has a lot of skeletons in his closet he still thinks about and grieves over. He may turn VERY flawed at some point. And I love bad people who are truly sorry in the end.

✏️ — Not too often, but I like sketching them and writing the detailed script for episodes when I have time. Also the whole project! It will come out eventually, we all say in unison.

💎 — Definitely not Joy, he's staying. C... Who knows. He's also important, probably not. But I swear I wouldn't about every OC I've ever had before one day deciding they're not fit for my grown brain anymore and getting rid of them. So we'll see.

💀 — Not phobias, but fears in general. Joy is very much afraid of death. It's a taboo topic for most people, and in his family it's not spoken about along with many other things. Seeing someone dying or hearing about it (only including fresh cases) might be straight up traumatizing for him. They're both afraid of being left alone, for C it also means losing Joy as the story progresses.

🍩 — Lora! The new queen of the Underground. She's the main antagonist in the whole AU. There are temporary enemies too, especially for C. You'll learn more on the process.

🎓 — For a year and few months. Such a long journey, hehe.

🍥 — I was 16! It always feels weird to outgrow your characters. I'm almost afraid of losing touch, heheh.

Maybe I'll participate again with other characters I have. That's fun to ponder certain things about you children, especially while they're in development.

Ask Game for someone’s OC(s)

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

💼 - What do they do for a living?

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

🎯 -What do they do best?

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

[cygnetofthesea]

Moments: Elite Fanfiction

This is a silly, goofy, bit I wrote while I was making tea yesterday. Sometimes I have an elaborate process and it made me think of how Nadia would have to teach Guzman his way around a kitchen since he grew up with a chef and maid and he needs domestic lessons lol. Will be part of a series of one-shots with GN domesticity. Warning, this is ridiculous af and a big stream of consciousness, hope you guys like it anyway! oh also some mild references of racism and islamaphobia

"You know when I asked you how to make tea, I didn't realize I was signing up for a science experiment."

Guzman looks on with wide eyes as Nadia pulls out a pot, filling it with water while grabbing a measuring cup. She smirks and winks at him as she pulls out a can of evaporated milk from the fridge.

"Hey, you said you wanted to learn how to make my favorite tea," she says with a shrug. "This is how."

Guzman eyes the supplies Nadia laid out on the counter and points at the can. "And what's that?"

"Milk."

He balks at her. "Milk? I've never seen milk in a can before."

Nadia snorts at his bewildered expression and rubs his shoulder affectionately. "Oh you poor, rich baby. Let me teach you. This is called evaporated milk. It’s usually used to make desserts but I like putting it in my tea. Makes it smooth, thick and delicious."

Nadia hums in delight at the thought of the delicious tea and Guzman can't help raise an eyebrow suggestively. "Smooth, thick, and delicious, huh? Sounds familiar."

She gasps, scandalized, and shoves at his shoulder. "You're such a pervert. Don't ruin the moment."

He tickles her waist, teasing. "I thought I was creating the moment."

Nadia fixes a stern look upon him, eyebrows raised, even as she fights back a smile. He sees her trembling lips and wants to tease her some more but instead pretends to be properly chastised.

"Yes ma'am," he says solemnly, his hands clasped together in supplication. "I promise to behave."

"Good," she says with a nod and misses how he mutters "For now," under his breath.

Nadia takes out a glass measuring cup, different from the other ones she had pulled out, and fills it with water.

"Wait, what is that for?"

"This is a measuring cup," Nadia answers patiently. "I'm using it to measure out four cups of water."

"But you already have those measuring cups," Guzman says, gesturing at the smaller, ceramic ones.

"Those are for dry ingredients, this one is for wet ingredients. Like water."

Guzman scratches his head. "This is way more complicated than I thought."

"We haven't even begun! Really, it's simple, just pay attention." She pours four cups of water into a small pot with a wooden handle."

"Wait, why are you putting it in a pot?"

Now it's Nadia's turn to look at him with bemusement. "Where else would I put it?"

"I don't know, in a kettle or something?"

"I told you, I'm making stove-top tea. Kettle tea is fine, but doesn't work as well for what I'm trying to do."

"Oh ok," Guzman says as though he understood even though he didn't. He watches her set the pot on top of the stove attentively, leaning against the counter. "Continue."

Nadia shoots him a teasing look. "I'm going to turn on the stove now. Will you be able to behave near the flame? No hanky panky."

Guzman lunges toward her, wrapping her up in his arms. "Well since you gave me a warning, I'll take advantage of the moment now, thank you." He smacks a kiss against her cheek.

She doesn't struggle out of his grip, instead slaps at his hand on her hand as though calling his attention. "If you're going to goof around, at least pay attention."

"Ok, ok, I'm paying attention." He rests his chin on her shoulder, looking over to see what she was doing. "When does the tea part come in?"

"Oh my god, Guzman!"

"Sorry, sorry, go ahead." He squeezes her bashfully to alleviate her ire.

She heaves a deep sigh. "Ok so as I was going to say," she says pointedly. "Let the water boil for a little bit before you put the tea in."

"How come? Why not just throw it all together?"

"Because the water isn't hot enough to steep the flavors out of the leaves. The leaves will just sit there but the flavors aren't being activated. Only the heat can draw it out, especially if you want the tea to be strong, which I do."

Guzman nods like an attentive student, Nadia's curls brushing against his cheek. He can't help but lean into her more, rubbing his cheek against hers. "Right, that I knew. Now I know to keep the leaves in longer when I make it for you."

"Exactly." She smiles and lightly caresses his ear with her free hand. "So, once you see the bubbles on the surface like that, it means…?"

She waits for him to fill in the blank and like a good student, he says "It’s ready for the tea leaves?"

"Good job!"

She actually sounds genuine when she says that and Guzman, like a dork, feels his chest swell with pride. Hah! He got something right. There was hope for him yet.

She steps away from him and gestures to the loose tea leaves. "Would you like to do the honors? Remember half a cup of the leaves."

Guzman nods eagerly, reaching for the leaves and the measuring cup when Nadia abruptly halts his movements. "Half cup, Guzman!"

He looks at the measuring cup in his hand, confused. "Isn't this half a cup? It looks small."

"Honey, no. It's labeled, see? That's a whole cup. We don't want me dying of heart palpitations."

Guzman whips around to look at her, wide-eyed. "You get heart palpitations? I didn't know that. Are you ok?"

He moves closer to her but she soothes him. "It's ok, it's nothing serious. I've just been over-caffeinating lately because of classes. I should probably slow down on it," she says, rubbing her chest absent-mindedly.

He places his hand against her heart, a frown on his face. He feels the steady thump and he relaxes a little. "How long has this been happening?"

She sets her hand over his. "It's ok. Life of a college student who's double-majoring and with a minor," she says with a wry smile.

Guzman's frown deepens, bordering on a pout as he pulls her into a hug. "You work too hard."

"It's all I've ever known," she says with a shrug, chuckling when he squeezes her tighter.

"It's a good thing I'm here, then."

He hadn't fully grasped just how much stress she was under. He knew, logically, that she had a lot on her plate with school and even a part-time job on the side. She had sent him a copy of her course schedule and her work schedule so that he knew where she was and could coordinate calls accordingly. He remembered opening up the email and balking at how packed it was, his own stress level rising on her behalf. But whenever he would talk to her, she was dismissive and said it was normal.

Nadia was always good at shielding stress sometimes to the point where she wasn't even aware of it herself and it worried him. But he was here now and he would take care of her.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, pulling away softly. Just then he sees the water bubbling over and as though they were in sync, Nadia's eyes widen and she whips around.

"The water!" they shout in unison, rushing to lower the heat.

They watch the bubbles fade until it's just a low simmer. Nadia sighs, shaking her head. "Yeah, that's not a step. Let's not repeat that."

Guzman salutes her and turns back to the measuring cups, taking care to look at the label on them to make sure he picked up the right one. He was definitely not trying to send his girlfriend to an early grave, especially not now that he finally has her.

"Ok, I got it!" He brandishes the half cup proudly, checking to make sure she saw. She shakes her head affectionately at his boyish excitement and claps again, the gesture genuine.

"Nice."

He carefully pours the leaves into the cup, glancing at the water to make sure it didn't bubble over again, but the heat was low and it was sage again. He gets a good whiff of the leaves and is pleasantly surprised by the smell.

"Whoa, what kind of leaves are there? Where do you get them from?" He looks up from smelling them and grins at her. "You know, since they're a staple for you."

"There's a middle eastern café not too far from here with live music and good food. They have a little shop at the back where they sell tea and all kinds of other snacks. Ooh we should go this Sunday night. I think that's when they're having their special and a performer who's supposed to be really good."

Guzman brings over the tea leaves, his grin widening at her excitement. He can't help but beam at her happiness, every time she smiles so brightly or gets excited about something.

"Definitely. Anything you want." He gestures toward the now boiling water with the cup of leaves. "Is it ready?"

"Fire away!"

Guzman looks at her, cautious, before his eyes flit to the open window. Nadia rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder knowing where his mind had gone.

"Don't worry," she says.

Guzman grimaces. "I've heard New Yorkers are crazy and assholes. Especially after what happened here all those years ago."

"It's not anything more or less different than what I've dealt with before." Before he can say anything else, she nods toward the pot. "Toss the tea in before it boils over again."

Guzman knows that he'll always worry about her and about people being hostile or worse, violent, toward her just because of her appearance, her beliefs. But it wasn't because of her, Nadia wasn’t the problem. It was others and what others perceive her beliefs to be. He knew all too well how radical racists could be, creating their own narratives. He knew because once upon a time, he was among those assholes.

He never resented Nadia for her hijab or religion, but he certainly didn't discourage other people's narrow perceptions. Not until he got to know her and learned that all the stereotypes that ignorant people perpetuated were complete and utter bullshit. If he could beat up his past self, he would but instead, he would fight for Nadia. She was no damsel that was for sure, but he would be right by her side, fighting alongside her. Fight for her beliefs, her rights, her freedom. He would spend the rest of his life righting his wrongs and making sure those that did wrong her, would soon learn not to.

But now was not the time for dark thoughts because his girlfriend was looking at him expectantly. He had wanted to learn how to make her favorite tea so that he could make it for her whenever she wished, he wanted to be able to bring her some small piece of comfort when she needed it.

He steps closer to the stove and pours the tea in. He watched in fascination as the boiling water rose to engulf the leaves, turning the once clear water a thick, dark sludge almost.

"Wow, this really is a science demonstration," he murmurs. "It looks like wet mud actually."

Nadia snorts. "Yeah, I suppose so." She looks at him with sparkling eyes, the amusement shining bright. "Your fascination with the simplest thing is both hilarious and cute."

"My parents always drank coffee and even then I never saw them actually make it. Probably because they never actually made it themselves," he adds.

"Well, allow me to humble you," Nadia winks. "Ok now stir with the wooden spoon."

Guzman obliges, stirring the boiling, dark water carefully. The sludge had looked thick on the surface but as soon as he began to stir, the smooth liquid gave way to the spoon.

"Nadia, you humbled me the moment you blackmailed me at that party."

"Hmm I think it took a bit more time than that. Ok so you're now going to let the water boil with the leaves. Then you're--"

"What? There's another step?" he asks, astonished.

Nadia gestures to the can of what he now understood to be evaporated milk. He made a mental note of the size and appearance of the can for future reference. "Yeah, what did you think that was for."

Guzman stammers. "Well…I guess, I don't know, I thought that's supposed to be the last step? Isn't that how the British do it?"

"And when exactly did I become British. Moreover, when were the British deemed to have dictatorship on tea-making?"

"True," he concedes. "I guess I didn't realize there were so many ways to make tea, especially ways that took soooo long."

Nadia shrugs with a grin. "You want quality tea, you have to put the work in."

Guzman couldn't help the broad smile that broke across his face. "Sounds familiar. I had to work really hard for you, didn't I? Worth."

He considers this a moment as Nadia pulls a box from the cabinet. They've been together for awhile now and living together for three months already and still, Guzman had moments where he couldn't believe they were truly together. How many times had he fantasized about running away with Nadia? Too many to count and yet he had never envisioned this particular scenario. The reality was so much sweeter than anything he could have imagined.

"Glad you think so. And I'm grateful you were patient with me." She pushes the open box toward him after kissing his cheek. "Ok now you're going to grab the other measuring cup, the one that's labeled two thirds."

Guzman looks between Nadia, the box, and the simmering pot of tea.

"Nadia, are you making tea or a potion?  Are you secretly a witch and this is your way of telling me?"

"Hey, it wouldn't have taken so long if you didn't keep interrupting with your commentary. You talk a lot." She flicks his ear lob teasingly. "Now hop to it."

"Yes, master."

Guzman takes care to find the correct measuring cup this time and scoops the white granules from the box. "And what is this?"

"Sweetener."

"I thought that was the sugar." He gestures at the shaker labeled azucar. Nadia was so organized he never had trouble finding things even when he first moved in.

"It is, but this is sweetener. It's a good substitute for sugar sometimes, especially for me since I drink too much tea."

"This doesn't have your label on it though."

Nadia twists the box to the side where the brand and logo is presented with the word sweetener on it.

"Oh."

Guzman pours in the milk then the measured amount of sweetener, watching the color change into a pretty brown color, resembling a light chocolate.

"This is cool actually,  I feel like an important scientist. Look what I just created."

"You are an important scientist. My scientist, you did great work."

She rubs his back in that way that's become familiar to him.

Living together, he saw another side of Nadia, one that made him fall in love with her even more and he hadn't thought that was possible. He loved the way he stretched as she woke every morning, the way she put toothpaste on his brush automatically, the way she hip-checked him to spit into the sink before he could, the way she always served him a heaping helping of food like she thought he had been starving for a month, the way she rubbed his back or neck or hair as she passed by him around their apartment. These small moments meant everything to him, these casual but intimate touches that told him she loved him and was thinking about him, kept him in this perpetual state of contentment and he never fails to return the touch.

He does so now, pulling her to his side and kissing her temple and he watches her turn off the heat. He's taking note of everything she's telling him and showing him so he can surprise her with her favorite comfort drink.

"Is it done now?" he asks eagerly. He wanted her to try it and he was excited to see if he had managed to replicate the delicious way she makes it.

"Almost. We have to strain out the leaves."

"Ah shit."

"We should definitely cook more often," Nadia says in amusement, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard. "Forget take-out, we're cooking. I get dinner and a show."

Guzman takes the small strainer from her, taking care with the steaming pot. "Hopefully not burned dinner. I just pour the tea into the cups now? Through the strainer?"

"Exactly and then we're done."

Once Guzman pours out two glasses of tea, he sets them in front of Nadia with a flourish. It's silly but he's still proud especially when Nadia hops excitedly.

"Done?"

"Done"

Guzman watches anxiously as Nadia takes a careful sip, waiting with baited breath for her final verdict.

Nadia sighs in contentment. "Perfection."

"Really?"

"Really."

Nadia sets down her cup to return his enthusiastic embrace. "I know how to make tea now! Who would have thought?"

She pulls away and takes another sip, smirking over the rim of the cup. "Definitely not me."

He sticks his tongue out at her before reaching for his own cup. Nadia was right, it was perfect.

"You know I'm going to expect this to be a regular thing now, right?" Nadia says, her smiling lips pressing against his.

He pulls her close, letting their glasses clink lightly. "Anything for my girl. That's why I wanted to learn. So I could make it for you whenever you wanted."

And he kept that promise for the rest of their lives. Even when they were old and graying, Guzman made sure the love of his life had warm tea ready with a kiss.

[elleonmybeloved]

“It’s a wishing fountain,” Anna explains to her. “You throw a coin or two in the water and then make your wish. The spirit of the fountain carries your wish on the wind to Lord Barbatos.”

“Kind of a strange custom.” Lumine remarks, but she gets the gist of it. “What does Mondstadt do with the money afterwards?”

“The money? It just stays there.” Anna breaks off to cough a couple times.

Lumine stares at her. “No way. Wouldn’t people take it?”

“Uhh no.” Anna brings a finger to her lip thoughtfully. “How do I explain this... it’s kind of taboo to take the money from the wishing fountain. It’s just bad luck. You’d have to be desperate to take the money and risk getting cursed by Lord Barbatos for your greed.”

“...Oh.” She gives the shimmering coins a wistful glance. So much for taking the treasure for herself. “That makes sense.” What a shame, she adds, internally.

Later, Lumine finds herself in the square again, a freshly concocted satchel of potions cradled in her arms. She didn’t end up using as much of the ingredients as she thought, thanks to Lisa’s advice, so she still has some mora left.

The fountain is beautiful in the light of the fading sun, like a thousand diamonds sparkling on the churning surface of the water. There’s no way that a wish granting fairy lives there, but for a moment it seems ethereal enough that she walks up to it anyways.

Casting a furtive glance around, she takes out a coin when she thinks no one is looking at her.

“I wish to see Aether again.” She whispers quietly, and tosses in the coin.

Nothing answers her but the wind. Of course, she grimaces, the fairy of the fountain is just a superstition. Would have been nice though.

It’s a waste of mora, but there is something cathartic about telling the fountain about her struggles and hopes, tossing in just one mora coin each time. Lumine doesn’t notice anything awry until the third time it happens. Something was granting her wishes.

“I wish I could see the stars up close again, like I used to.” She had said the previous night, confessing with a coin.

This morning there was a drawing of a map at the feet of her tent, innocuously resting rumpled by the wooden post holding down the cloth as if it had been blown there naturally, by the wind. Following it to the place marked on the map, she comes upon a ruin with an ancient circular device in the middle. To her delight, looking into the circle was like a window to the heavens. She wasn’t really sure how, since her elemental sight revealed no magic, but she could see the moon and the stars as if she was up there with them.

The two other wishes, she hadn’t even noticed being granted in the moment it occurred.

A wish to find the anemo crystalflies she needed, for a defensive potion that would allow her to safely battle the hypostasis that had shown up in the northern ruins and claim the bounty the Adventurers guild had placed on it. It was no sum to sneeze at, and the more mora she had the more chances she had to compensate people for information about Aether’s whereabouts.

The last had been a simple one. She had wished to smile, at least once that day. A trail she had been hopefully following regarding her lost twin had gone cold the day prior and she had been lost in despair. After making her wish, she had found a pair of foxes sharing a bunch of fallen sunsettias while curled up together in the sun, snuggling happily and making cute chittering noises. The sight made her smile. Along her path she did not encounter a single slime or wayward hilichurl. Wind blew and lifted up her hair in a gentle caress.

That had been when she’d realized it. A memory tickles at the back of her mind: “Perfect timing traveler! I was just about to ask you... what is your greatest wish?”

How could this be a coincidence? It would be embarrassing to confront the perpetrator if wrong though, so she was hesitant to seek him out.

But Lumine was no little bitch, and the next night she went to the statue of the anemo archon instead of the fountain, courageous as anything. A green clad figure sits in the hands of the statue, swinging his legs back and forth and humming a pretty tune.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” She says.

Venti peers down at her. “The statue of Barbatos? Me? Why, traveler, you already know the answer to that query.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Why does he sound so innocent? Suspicious. Very suspicious indeed.

“Oh. Then what did you mean?” His voice is light and innocuously curious, and there’s no tell in his voice nor his lyre strumming that gives anything away.

But she remembers, after every wish, including the first, the wind answered her. She can still feel the way it caressed her gently.

“I just wanted to say that I’m very thankful.” She gazes at the statue instead of up at him. “I know you probably have other important things to do than grant my selfish wishes.”

“They aren’t selfish.” Venti has abandoned his clueless pretense, and his perch. He floats down to a feather light landing beside her. “They made you happy.”

“Well... yes... but aren’t there hundreds of wishes made in that fountain every day? Why do I get special treatment?”

“Hmm... well Lumine, the answer to that would beee... because yours is the only mora I don’t have to feel guilty about using, ehe!”

She gapes. “But I thought it wasn’t allowed to take the money from the fountain?”

“I, Barbatos, archon of this fine land of song and wine, do declare that exceptions can be made in the case of a fine vintage dandelion wine resting in the balance.” He places a hand over his chest with a self satisfied expression.

“You really used my wishing mora to buy wine?” She asks incredulously.

“Will use.” He corrects, wagging a finger. “Four mora isn’t anywhere near enough to buy a vintage. Heheh. I’ll be able to purchase it when I’ve granted enough of your wishes to do so~.”

He’s so silly. “I would’ve just bought you a drink.” She says. “I’m not rich but I can easily afford something like that.”

“I know.” He quips. “But this way is more fun!”

“You have a strange idea of fun.” Lumine shakes her head, but she’s smiling now.

“Really? Well you have a strange idea of taking the stairs.”

She blushes in reference to her climbing habit. Why does everybody make fun of her for this, it’s just a faster and more direct route upward!!

“Touché.”

[marshmallowprotection]

Seeing how many ppl asked for matchups I got curious.... idk why I was so hesitant at first but lets go (if someone recognises me from this no you don't, my identity is a mystery shush)

Both romantic and platonic are fine, whichever you find works best honestly! I’m lesbian but I don’t mind being paired with men since this is all fictional anyways.

Alright so. I’m an ISTP-T and my one hobby is drawing (unless daydreaming for hours on end counts as a hobby). I’m an introvert and I have lots of trouble with opening to new ppl but I really cherish the friends I do manage to make. I love living in my own little world and thinking about my ocs who are basically one of the only thing that truly makes me happy and I love imagining a cosy little future for myself even though I have no real ambitions beside continuing to draw and getting better at it.

I’m very good at school stuff and all (I’m a genius but also rlly dumb and uncultured and lazy), I’m very stressed all the time, I often dislike elements about myself like my appearance or my personality and I’m kind of a cleaning freak. If there’s one thing I hate about ppl it’s ppl who don’t put in the effort to better themselves and their surroundings. If there’s one thing I love about ppl it’s ppl who take the time to understand others and still try their best when things are hard. I think having some kind of drive, even if it’s not what’s considered as a « noble goal » and may seem insignificant or silly is admirable.

Something I think is important to know is I despise the idea of the tranquil committed lifestyle as a concept in fictional stuff (I don’t really mind it irl but a matching would count as fictional so I’m adding it to this). For reference Saeran’s normal ending made me want to tear my brain out of my head bc of how torturingly boring that life would be. The idea of not having any option to get out of something is something that terrifies me which makes me hate when characters talk about getting married, having children, etc. The fact I move very slow when it comes to romantic stuff doesn’t help and is my main problem with the mysme cannon route bc dude we’ve known each others for less than two weeks.

Now this is only about fictional characters so I don’t know how relevant it is, but one thing about me is I have terrible taste. Irredeemable villains? Give them to me. Characters that are universally hated and are so one dimensional it’s laughable? Come here babe, I’ll invent you a whole backstory and make you my favourite character. Maybe I’m a contrarian, maybe I just like blank slate characters bc it gives me room to write them how I like them, maybe my gay awakening being through the bullies/rivals in otome games permanently affected me. But there is nothing more shameful to me than the characters I do actually end up liking.

Anyways that’s it I don’t want to rant too much about myself. I rlly like your writing and I’d like you to know you have inspired at least a hundred hours of daydreaming (though most of it used your aus as base and just expanded on them by going completely off script. But know that I mean this with tremendous respect and it doesn’t take just any old fanfic to get my brain engine going that hard)

I match you with...

Yoosung!

You view the world in a very particular way. You like things to happen realistically. You don't want a suspension of reality. You want to put in the effort even if that takes a lot longer than it would for other people. You just want to know that what you're getting into is going to work out for you, and there's really nothing wrong with that at the end of the day. Everybody has a comfort zone and you know what yours is. You should commend yourself from being able to understand what it is that you want. With that in mind, you need somebody cut understands your perspective and wouldn't try to push you into a corner. 

You're going to have to hear me out on this one because you might not get it at first. If there's one thing that we know about Yoosung, it’s that he’s driven. He gets a little lost in life because of his grief but that doesn't mean that he gives up on everything. He struggles to find himself and it's thanks to your compassion that he's able to have a better understanding of himself and the things that he wants.

His route if given a bit more time would realistically work out for you. Because it goes in such a way where you start out as laughing together as friends before he formally ask if he can be your pre-boyfriend instead of your boyfriend. This would be his first relationship so it makes sense. You're going to work with him slowly on this to build an interesting relationship. You're testing the waters and it's not as if you're exactly dating, but it's figuring out if that's something that you want to do.

You and Yoosung could drive each other to your passions and goals. It feels like that would be a nice balance for you, regardless of if you were to date or not at the end of the day. A little optimism would never hurt so Yoosung would be the counter to your realism. It’s nice to have someone who believes in you no matter what happens, y’know? Be grounded but hopeful, that’s what Yoosung does for you.

[micedcoffee]

Thrice!!! I denied him!

(under the cut again... sorry about. my words... <3)

The tiny tiny part of the tournament montage where they’re in the sword ring and Wat’s flicking water at Will as he collapses into his corner out of breath. That’s gay sex

Very cool (at Kate’s introduction) how women-being-blacksmiths is like possibly the ONLY historically accurate part of this movie. Cheers to that. Kinda shaky on like.. other stuff. But hey! Cheers!

C CAT’S MEAT????? Hello?????

“… Will, you aim too high”/“If there’s another way to aim I don’t know it” — more weird knight feelings thanks

Chaucer holding Will’s head as he whispers seductive phrases in his ear THAT HE SHOULD USE ON JOCELYN NOT. Not for any other reason. That’s also gay sex

Insane of this movie to have Adhemar unironically judging Will on his “antique” armor but ~deftly~ swerving direct confrontation by saying “how stylish.” Insane. Is this. Is this real

Nothing compared to Chaucer’s first lance-intro for Will. Stunning. It makes me think things like. Is this real?

Also, is the enunciated “the pride, the privilege—nay, the pleasure…” a reference to the emphasis on alliterative poetics in the time period/place? If so, cool! I love knowing things

The fact that Will is willing to risk his eyes by not tilting his head/helmet at the last second to protect them so he can maintain target… and his “style—rudimentary.” I’m feelings

Will’s sparing the injured “Coleville” is on the one hand giving me more knightfeelings but. He would advance if he beat him (which would be mean since “Coleville” is hurt) but he advances with the draw anyway? He sacrifices nothing with his “mercy…” I have Thoughts. I have thoughts! I’m thinking!!!

“You may feel like a poet, but you sound like an idiot” NEVER FUCKING MIND I have feelings again. I have FEELINGS he’s just like me fr

Jocelyn’s hair tied up with the. With the bits all over the place and the bright yellow gown with the long flowing sleeves and the gold chain bits around her cleavage area. Thinking things

The flashback scene. Where little Will says confidently he’ll be a knight and his dad says that he can do it. I’m having feelings. Don’t look at me

“You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting” lives in my head rent free as a phrase. What a killer line

THE TEACHING WILL TO DANCE SCENE. GOD. THIS MOVIE IS THE BEST I SWEAR !!!

I will say my enjoyment of that scene is mitigated by Kate teaching him to dance better than Chaucer can because she knows better because it’s womanly to know how to dance or whatever. Ugh

The real-life dance scene (with the beginning in the super formal medieval old-time style and then David Bowie starts playing and they all gradually start freaking it) is still great. It’s the worst and the weirdest dancing ever. It’s such bliss to watch

The literal Nike swish as the mark of Kate’s trade. Insane

“His people starve while he sits at banquet” — more feelings. When I fenced I always performed way better if I was fencing either a genuine asshole or a person I thought was an asshole. It’s a simple way to deliver “justice” but. I really thought I was making a difference. That’s pathetic and stupid but also…? Agh, I dunno. I just watched this movie a lot as a kid and Will rubbed off on me I guess

The fact that the crowd recognizes Edward, Black Prince of Wales when he removes his helmet is unrealistic as fuck. They didn’t even know basic math

The ultra-ultra-dumbed-down “feminism” (see: “Better a silly girl with a flower than a silly boy with a horse and a stick”) is so cringe. Please stop. Please

The love letter written amongst peers is cute… there are aspects that are cringe and all but cute… it’s just. A little shaken box of the things these people have thought of or that people have said to them that made them happy. And they’re doing it together. I’m normal

The importance of names is like. A very significant aspect of this I think. “Ulrich” is fake. “Coleville” is fake. “Jocelyn” keeps her name secret until she’s willing to trust Will. And Will is sad that he can’t sign the letter his real name; that he has to use his fake one instead. It’s very very Me lads. It’s Me. It’s m— *gunshot*

Jocelyn kissing Will through Wat and making Wat and Will kiss. I know it’s like a basic homophobic joke. But need I say— *gunshot*

Chaucer actually speaks French whereas the rest of the cadre don’t. It’s probably a sign of education status I guess? Interesting though how in this time period the French and the English HATED each other but like. They were the same, too

??? Wait Wat calls that French guy in the pub “Quasimodo” but. Víctor Hugo was like. Five or so hundred odd YEARS from being BORN much less writing Hunchback. Was Hugo referencing something else or—?

Jocelyn and Will are the MOST cringeworthy hetero-trained-toxic nonsense. Cringe. Cringe. Cringe

“Contradict[ing] [his] self-love” as Jocelyn’s demand is. Red-flag behavior. MASSIVE red-flag behavior

Her insistence that he lose the tournament to prove his love for her instead of winning DOES counter my previous skepticism of the “mercy” he shows “Coleville” but. It’s complicated… like. YES it’s a mark of honor to be able and willing to make sacrifices, but she doesn’t know what he’s got on the line. How much losing would cost him… He should be willing to sacrifice, but so should she, and they should. I dunno they should just look out for each other, man!! They should want the other to be happy and fulfilled because they love the other more than anything, and both should do that for each other. That’s what makes love so magical I think! And it doesn’t necessarily contradict “self-love”

Okay on a less serious note. The vice used for correcting Will’s arm injury. Where Wat taunts him as he winds the crank and Will screams in pain as his bone is put back in place but it hurts so bad and he’s bound in the vice with leather straps etc. M my. My sex feelings. My sex feelings. This could be where it began… ESPECIALLY with the: “William, that’s blasphemous” *winds crank* *Will screams in agony* OUGHHHHHHHH

The fucking. Helmet that goes flying for the seated audience to catch in the stands. Like a goddamn baseball. I love this movie

Okay that’s it for 3 but!! There’ll be more to come! Betcher bottom dollar! *gunshot*

A Knight’s Tale (pt. 1)

Listen I’m. I’m WEIRD about this movie okay?? I’m weird!!! To avoid giving my loved ones a direct play-by-play I’m here. Giving you guys a play-by-play. Because I can’t just keep it inside you know?? I’ll blow up or something!!

The uncertainty Will shows in his adjustment of the armor and the moment on the tilt when he struggles to position the lance right under his arm MIXED WITH the insistence that he’s “waited [his] whole life for this moment.” I dunno!! It just—I guess for me it really speaks to the Young Me idealizing chivalry and courage and honor and etc. and whatnot and being always unsure whether I could really live up to… it? Of course that’d be before I knew that wasn’t really real. Knighthood was always a dream for dreams, I guess. A real fairytale. An untruth within untruths… all the way down? I SHOULD just leave it behind but… it gets meee, you know? It gets me!! It gets at this feeling in my heart and—arghrghaghrgghhhhhhhhhh

The score is fucking incredible. The lord who hosts the first tournament mouthing along to “rock you” in Queen’s “We Will Rock You” in the most stately/dignified way he can muster. Cinematic gold

AGAIN with Will’s. Bravery and misplaced certainty. It’s naive. It’s frustratingly stupid. But “We could do this. We could be champions.” I !! I want to believe!!!!!

Also contrast that with Roland’s desire for home and Wat’s for food (and the certainty of food) and the fact that Will’s “glory” will get in the way… thinking. I’m THINKING

“Most of it is the guts to take a blow—to strike one. Guts I have!” OUGHHHHHHHHH

OUGHHHH “That [pointing at a hanged man] is nothing. And nothing is right where glory’ll take us”

I’m normal about this lads I’m so normal!!! I’m normal

“God love you, William”/“I know, I know. No-one else will” is on the level of “I’ll take care of you”/“It’s rotten work”/“Not to me. Not if it’s you”

OKAY less than 15 minutes in BUT I’m tired SO I’m going to sleep. BUT YOU’LL HEAR MORE OF MY MASTURBATORY ANALYSIS BELIEVE YOU ME!!!!!!! MWAH!!!

[superman86to99]

Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late.  An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible.  While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour.  It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling.  We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around  this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places.  A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished  to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail.  Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines.  I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty  backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often  see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman  looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation.  Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The  sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the  waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers.  Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois.  The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are  well-done and tensely paced.  While sometimes I think the pupil-less  flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking.  Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me.  I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas.  The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of  yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the  previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me.  The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is  generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes  them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most  violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman  character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing  in these pages.  The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either.  So, another rare misstep  from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion.   STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I  had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there  actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how  her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline.  A lesser book might not have acknowledged any  time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he  wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to.  Huh?  How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I  quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman.  If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib?  Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer.  She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[granddaughterogg]

What’s death’s reaction to his s/o referring to him as their husband? Like maybe they go out somewhere and s/o has to introduce death to a friend they ran into in public and the first thing that comes to mind while they’re all frazzled is “Oh! This is my /husband/!”

It was Friday afternoon - the worst possible time for a grocery haul.

You've tried to communicate this to your Nephilim a few times before, but the message bounced off them. The Horsemen were perceptive people, but they've spent most of their lives under very different stars (or sometimes under no stars at all.) Never before had they to fit their undertakings within a 24-hour timetable. The intricate ways in which human society works were also all but lost on them. Repeated explanations that certain stuff has to be done at certain hours probably hacked a few good years off your lifespan.

 Maybe one day they'll finally learn, you thought, slowly and tenderly losing your shit. Until then - your shared home life was a path full of organizational hiccups. Chaos often took over.

Anyway, you lived with four oversized individuals who didn't really have to eat, but they sure enjoyed it - and three of them consumed heaps. This week it just so happened that Strife went MIA (as he often would), Fury was having a Hair Maintenance Day and War really needed some bonding time with his steed. Or something.

Thankfully Death remained the reliable one. He grabbed you, summoned Despair from his pocket dimension (Death really wasn't the man for cars) and off to the supermarket you two went.

What you faced was a typical Friday after hours stampede. Tired, frustrated consumers teemed the aisles, filling their enormous shopping carts, crashing their carts into other people's backsides and running them over other people's feet. The air was stuffy, filled with maniacally upbeat music and high-pitched wailing of children. 

It was sheer hell.

"Let's make this quick", you pleaded into your companion's ashy ear. "I don't know how long I can take it. Can we split the shopping list? I'll grab the groceries, you go get all the cleaning stuff and we'll meet here, okay, love?"

Death nodded, straightened himself to his whole impressive height and stalked away. You watched his wide frame part the sea of busy heads. No matter how thick the crowd, people always seemed to just naturally skip out of Death's way. A sensible instinct. Many heads have turned, the expression on their faces something between dumbfoundedness and awe. You've heard quite a few stifled "Damn!"s.

You reached for packaged rice, smirking. Your man was seven and a half feet tall, his skin the shade of bone, and no, he wasn't wearing a shirt.

You managed to persuade him to leave all his jangly ironmongery at home. That's enough Fitting In for one trip.

Death's dark head finally disappeared behind the shelves and your thoughts refocused on filling the cart. You were picking up some broccoli in the produce aisle when a high-pitched voice uttered your name.

You jumped.

"No way!!!" Something big and bright filled your field of vision. You picked up the dropped broccoli, blinked a few times, and the yellow shape refocused into a head of hair - a shiny lob dyed sunny blonde. Not one hair stuck out of place.

"It really is you!!!" squealed the head in glee. It belonged to a rather attractive woman in big rectangular sunglasses, her lips very finely painted fuchsia pink. She always looked like those ladies portrayed in the so-called ladies' magazines. Thin and poreless, exuding easy confidence that comes from not being broke even once in her whole life.

"Hi, Julianne", you groaned. There was no escaping it now.

"Honey!!! So glad to see you!!" professed the woman, eyeing you shrewdly from head to toe. She probably calculated the price of your whole outfit in her head right now - and the contents of your cart while she was at it. Drawing conclusions. Always have been good with maths. Fucking Julianne.

"I wrote to you on Facebook so many times!!" Multiple exclamation points have been her thing; apparently, this hasn't changed since high school. "Why did you never answer, silly? We had so much fun during our class reunion..."

"Uh, I bet", you murmured. You wouldn't step back within your old school walls even if they paid you. "Sorry for going no contact. I've had a lot on my plate recently, you know -"

"Like what?" the woman tilted her shapely head, her attitude playful, but also slightly accusatory.

It made you angry. 

Remember the Apocalypse, Julianne? Remember when you slipped into non-existence among most of the human race? I bet you don't. I bet you decided to forget this ever happened. Like so many others did. Well, I didn't die, so I can't forget. Someone saved me and I got to traverse many different realms side by side with a Horseman of the fucking Apocalypse. And then he gave his life away, and later got brought back to life by his brother, who is also a Horseman - and we've been living together ever since...

Of course, you didn't say any of that out loud. You stood there, fondling the lush green broccoli in your hands. What even was the point?

"Oh, you know. I got into a relationship..." 

"You did?"

You looked her dead in the eye - blue and suddenly wide under the swanky shades - and could tell that this was a direct hit.

"Well, yeah." You smiled at Julianne. "Those things happen, you know."

"Sure, sure!! But frankly, out of all of us, I'd never suspect you to settle with a man��and all..." 

"Excuse me?"

Julianne held at a strand of her perfect, shiny hair and then let go. "You were always quite the feminist after all..."

"What does this have to do with - " you blurted out and stopped mid-sentence because Death emerged from behind the shelves. His arms were full of various cleaning stuff.

"I've got everything from the list", he said. "I've also got at least partially deaf. Are we done here?"

A wide smile upturned the corners of your mouth - this time a genuine one because Julianne looked like a startled fish. She stared at you, then at the ashy, muscular, hulking giant at your side, then back at your beaming face.

Pettiness is the dish of the gods. 

"Death, love, meet Julianne", you said gracefully. "Julianne, this is Death. My husband."

The words slipped out of you on their own.

You tossed him a panicked, beseeching look, but your Nephilim was game. Maybe his eyebrow quivered a little; it happened so fast that Julianne would never notice. She was too busy ogling rocky abs of this man you've settled with.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance", said Death in his most velvety, bordering-on-indecent tone. Julianne just nodded back stiffly, as if submerged in a trance.

You left the supermarket soon after that.

A strange, playful little smile twirled your Horseman's lips while he loaded all the groceries into Despair's saddlebags. Thankfully those operated on the principle of magic, not physics, or the horse's spectral back would break.

"I assume that wasn't a friend." You spent all the way to the parking lot trying not to look him in the face. The words startled you.

"Hell no. She's a bitch."

"Ah." That was his whole answer. Finally, all the groceries have been stuffed into the magic pocket space. Death turned around, clasped his hands to your waist and lifted you onto the saddle. His movements bore such effortless grace. It happened so many times and you still weren't over how inhumanely strong this man is.

He sat right behind you. You clasped both hands on the saddle's horn, discreetly basking in this soothing feeling that being surrounded by Death's powerful physique gave you. 

His torso pressed into your back, his strong thighs almost touching yours. This bliss would never get old.

"You know, I can't help but wonder." Death's deep voice was like a silky needle, injected into your frayed nerves. "Why did you call me this word?"

"It...just felt right", you said, staring at Despair's pointy ears, wreathed with spectral discharge. The horse turned his humongous head as if asking: Can we go now? But your companion wasn't done yet.

"Do you wish for me to take your hand in marriage?"

You almost keeled over.

"Damn, D! Well...I...I don't want to force any more human stuff on you, you know?"

He leaned over; long, black strands of hair grazed your mouth. Death looked you in the face. You'd rather he didn't.

"Do you or do you not?"

"Damn, I do. I'd absolutely love to. But you have to live in this human world with me and you're constantly surrounded by alien stuff and alien customs which don't hold much meaning to you, and that would just be...another one of those things, right?" you murmured, lowering your head.

"I'm surrounded by alien stuff wherever I go", said Death softly. "I don't have a place I'd call home."

"I know! But it's hard!" you admitted. "You're always asking me what is it that I want. But marriage is one of those things that have to be desired by both people equally, or it means nothing..."

You suddenly felt very small and rather sad.

"I don't want you to get entangled in something that you have no use for", you whispered, pinning your eyes to the worn-off leather of the saddle. "Not just for me."

Death didn't answer for a good while. Then his big hand covered yours and squeezed it slightly.

Before you've met him, you always imagined that Death's touch must be freezing cold. That was not true.

"I understand", he said, "and I am grateful for your candour."

He nudged the horse and off you went, both unusually quiet.

[elliewritessometimes]

hello! me n @mattieswheelers wrote another fic!! tiff is the most incredible writing partner and i- i just love them???? thanky so much for writing with me you are a stunning writer aaaa (y'all there will be a second chapter stay tuned fdhhddh aLSO we are posting this on ao3 it will be there at some point)

in other news: this was originally a request!! @notsomightymightytiger it may have taken me uh- a good couple of months but here is your fic!!!

for reference, these numbers apply to these tropes: first kiss/flowers of romance/blind date

LOVE YOU KIERA AND TIFF AAAAA HOPE YOU LIKE

tw: swearing, alcohol and drunkenness but not in an angsty farrah way just in a silly oops first date way, as per usual if there's anything at all you want me to tag let me know :D

---

Eva thought she was doing perfectly fine without a romantic partner. Her life was normal, one filled with work and friends and scrolling through Pinterest.

Apparently, in the eyes of her best friend, this was not a normal life. Farrah had always been a bit extra, that one kid in highschool who always seemed to know where the best parties were, or who was known by name to the baristas at the local Starbucks, and by the ripe old age of 22, she believed that a romantic partner was crucial to living a fulfilling life.

Or, at least, that you should at least try romance once before becoming a hermit in the woods, especially if your name was Eva Sanchez.

(“Look, normally I wouldn’t be like this,” Farrah drawled, leaning against a counter, “But deep inside  you are nothing but a useless gay at heart-”

Her phone buzzed.

“-and you haven’t dated anyone, like, ever, and if I have to be the only one constantly dragging you out to social gatherings, I’m going to die early. So do me a solid, will you?”

“Hey-!”)

Eva did not agree.

But, she was a loyal friend, and that was how she found herself sitting in an overly posh restaurant on some random blind date with some random person that she’d never even seen before. It would be an understatement to say she was a little bit nervous, but then again, whenever Farrah was involved, that was normal.

***********: hi sorry i got your number from the blind date place thing but uh are you the person at the table in the corner

***********: ???denim jacket ?? pride pin??

Eva smiled, glancing up at the door. There was another person looking a little lost in the entrance, very obviously trying not to draw attention to themselves, their phone held close to their face as they squinted around at the restaurant. They were pretty, dark hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, obviously not dressed for a restaurant as upper class as this one. Eva liked them immediately. Raising a hand, she waved in their direction, laughing as her date gasped dramatically, hurrying over and nearly overturning a tray of drinks on their way.

“Hello.”

“Look-” Eva’s date slumped in the seat opposite, one hand awkwardly held behind their back. “I dunno about you, but I certainly did not willingly sign up for this. You see, my friend wanted me to apparently live a more interesting life and stop relying on Tumblr as my only source of interaction with anyone, and my friend is very persuasive, so here I am.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so I wanted to get that out of the way before we even introduce ourselves. I am here out of spite only, so, uh, I hope you’re not too desperate.” They paused, finally taking a breath. “Right. The more I think about this, the more embarrassed I get.”

“It’s okay.” Eva gave a noise which sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Let’s not think about it then. I’m Eva. She/her. It’s nice to meet you, unwilling datemate.”

They grinned. “Kate. She/they.” She gasped a little like she’d forgotten something. “Oh! I brought flowers. Chess said it would be romantic.”

Eva accepted the offered flowers with a blush. This date was going better than expected. Farrah was going to lose her shit when she heard about it. “Wait- You have a friend called Chess?? Like, the game???”

Kate rolled their eyes, casually snatching a bright pink cocktail off a passing waiter’s tray. “Duh. You didn’t really see me walk in this fucking posh ass restaurant in my flannel and converse and think I’d be normal, right?”

Eva laughed then, properly. It had only been a few short, chaotic minutes, but she was already warming to this mystery person and, God, they had good taste in flowers. Even if Eva’s nerd hermit brain did helpfully choose that moment to remind her that this particular bunch of flowers presented a meaning that translated almost exactly to ‘fuck you’. She wondered if Kate was aware of that. However, perhaps that was a fun fact for the second date.

-

“Hey, Eva?” Kate was slightly tipsy. Only a little bit! Really not that bad. Not at all. Definitely not too drunk for a first date. Shut up. “Hey! You’re- so cool.”

Eva giggled - she was equally as drunk, but not quite so intoxicated as to stop wondering why the restaurant hadn’t thrown them out yet. “Noooooo. ‘m a nerd.”

“Yeah, but a cool nerd.” Kate twirled the decorative candle between her fingers, drawing stares from disapproving patrons. The flame reflected in Eva’s glasses, making her just a little bit more smitten by the second. They enclosed their hand around the candle holder as best they could, standing up just a little shakily. “Eva-” It was like they got a rush from just saying her name. Eva thought it was endearing. “Hey- we- we should go…”

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes, also standing up, her long-discarded denim jacket slung over one arm, the other naturally slipping to link arms with Kate.

“....Arson.” Kate sounded entirely serious, still twizzling the candle in one hand. Eva blinked dumbly at her, mouth slightly open. They pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Eva’s mouth, giggling uncharacteristically at the motion. “I’m jokingggg! Don’t look so shook, my dude.”

Eva stuttered a little, letting Kate pull her finally out of the restaurant, marvelling at the fact she’d only known this incredible, crazy person for a matter of hours. Who knew where tonight would take them?

-

They found themselves in a park, gazing up at the stars, now dim in the reflections of the city lights. Kate’s phone flashed 11:46 in the dark, the lock screen filled with notifications from a contact who’s name consisted only of a chess piece.

Eva lay down on the grass, spreading her arms out towards the stars. “Do you ever think about life?”

“Sure. All the time. I’m alive, and so are you, and I think you’re really pretty. Does that count?” Kate flopped down beside her.

“I- I mean, yeah- um,” Eva tried not to sound flustered, thankful for the darkness that hid the color rising in her cheeks. “But like, life. Scientifically. Relatively.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I totally do. Um. Do I?”

Eva laughed, turning her head slightly to gaze at Kate. Under the light of the stars, they looked… ethereal. And really, really, really beautiful. And-

Eva coughed slightly, turning back towards the night sky. “Just… think about it. I’m lying here beside you, on a giant marble that hurtles through space. Relatively speaking, our orbit and path are unique, and all around us, the other planets are… swirling in harmony, and we’re just. We’re just here to see it.”

Kate hummed. “You sound like those philosophical people, all ‘if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, did it really fall?’ and ‘relatively speaking I am relatively here, and I’m relatively certain… blah blah blah.’”

“Huh. Do I?” Eva shrugged, putting her hands behind her head. “I dunno. I’m drunk. I think. Oh, no, I’m relatively drunk, ha ha- okay no, I’m just drunk.”

“You are,” Kate nodded wisely. “We both are.”

“Do you know what Albert Einstein said once?” Eva asked abruptly, closing her eyes. “He said, ‘When you’re courting a nice girl, an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder, a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.’ And if that isn’t the most relatable thing he’s ever said, then, well- okay yeah I’ve lost my train of thought.”

“Wow,” said Kate. “Did Albert Einstein court lots of nice girls?”

“Pfft.” Eva rolled onto her side, laughing openly in Kate’s face. “Sure. Why not.”

They rolled to face Eva, curling up into a ball, softer than the 22-year-old had seen her all evening. “Not as nice as the one I’m courting right now.”

“Even though neither of us really wanted to be here earlier?”

“Yeah. Y’know, I’m fucking glad our best friends basically set us up. It’s very pog of them.”

“You did not just say ‘pog’. You did not.” Eva groaned into the slightly damp, slightly disgusting grass, listening to Kate cackle next to her.

“Shit, dude, my secret’s out. I’m just as much of a nerd as you.” She leant their head on Eva’s outstretched arm, burrowing into her side.

Eva paused then, draping her other arm around Kate, thinking quietly. It was stupid, really, that they were cuddling in the openness of a park at almost midnight. Dangerous, definitely, especially when you took in the candle still flickering far too close to Kate’s now loose hair. Some more sensible people, maybe Farrah’s sister, would say that it was stupid how close they’d grown in so few hours. But Kate and Eva weren’t sensible people, not really, and maybe this was completely normal for them. Nerds lived life differently. “We’re not like other girls… we’re nerds.”

Kate barked out a laugh again, pressing yet another small kiss to the top of Eva’s head.

Eva thought she might melt into a puddle right then and there.

God, she was so in love.

Kate looked up at the sky. “Y’know, for all your philosophical talk, you should be an inspirational speaker. Be on goddamn TedTalks or something, blow the crowd away with all that ‘the future’s in the palm of my hand!!’ bullshit.”

“Well,” Eva said, trying to sound completely sober (and failing), “I think all I could ever want is in the palm of my hand, right now.”

Kate paused for a moment, registering the fact that Eva had just cupped her hands around their face. “Wow. That was smooth.”

“Right?? I’m honestly impressed and I was the one who said it. Wait, is that hubris? Oh shoot, am I developing an ego? Or maybe I’m just drunk?” Eva’s head was seriously starting to hurt.

“You deserve an ego,” Kate nodded sagely. “You are so amazing. Seriously. You should have an ego. Dab on the haters and all that jazz, right? Right.”

Eva giggled, unable to take her eyes away from Kate’s. “What the shit?”

“Dude! Dab on the haters. ‘m fuckin’ right, and you know I am.”

“Mkay.”

“Lit.” Kate dragged her gaze from Eva’s, instead staring up at the stars. “If we weren’t drunk right now, I’d be kissing the hell out of you.”

Eva pouted. Apparently Drunk-Eva was limited to the facial expressions of a twelve year old. “Who’s to say you can’t kiss me now.”

“We’re drunk, Eva.” They waved their hands, casually flipping off the moon. “Consent.”

“If you think about drunk...ness. Drunkenness? Drunkness. Whatever.” She coughed. “If you think about it like maths, then because we’re both drunk, it cancels out, right? Like, drunk you minus drunk me equals zero drunks overall, yeah?” Pausing, she ran a hand over her face, watching Kate smirk and wriggle closer out of the corner of her eye. “What I’m saying is, yes, I give you permission to kiss me-” Kate leaned closer and Eva laid a gentle finger on their lips. “But only if I get to kiss you back.”

The two met in the middle, naturally coming together. Some might describe them as magnets, two poles attracted, unable to stay away from each other. Others might say soulmates, meant to find each other from birth. Or, just maybe, stars, gravitationally pulled together, ready to explode into another plane of existence, one so different from our reality that we can’t even begin to imagine the wonders that they’ll find.

However, this is reality, and somehow Kate and Eva are still grounded on our Earth, stars maybe, but ones made of ancient stardust no longer free to travel the universe. They found themselves pulling apart after two worlds collided, an unknown period of time passing as it happened. Eva’s fingers didn’t untangle themselves from their comfortable seat amongst Kate’s hair, the closeness making their noses brush, spouting giggles from both young adults.

“Well, that was fun.” Kate brushed hair out of Eva’s face, one arm still wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her closer as she shivered in the night air.

“Yeah?” Eva pressed her forehead to theirs. “Why don’t we try it again, huh?”

---

“I told you so,” Farrah smirked, picking at a freshly baked blueberry muffin. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Eva huffed, failing to come up with an argument.

Over by the kitchen counter, Mattie snorted. “I find it kinda funny that the single girl insists that love is the answer to anything.”

“Well- it’s not like I’ve never dated!”

“Suuuuure,” Mattie rolled her eyes, hopping off the counter and snatching a muffin. “Anyways, at least Eva has a significant other now. That’s the biggest victory, right? Other than the celebratory muffins, of course.”

Eva sighed. “Is it really that big of a deal that Farrah’s plan worked?”

“Yep!” Farrah grinned, taking a bite of muffin.

“Technically, my plan, but okay,” Mattie shrugged.

Eva almost dropped her muffin. “What.”

Mattie grinned, a devilish glint appearing in her eye. “Believe it or not, I am also friends with none other than the amazing Chess, and since her friend Kate- who is also my friend, by the way- was being a mopey mess around the same time as you, I just had to take it upon myself to play matchmaker! So I’d like at least 50% of the credit and reward, please and thank you.”

“I- what-” Eva sputtered, trying to come to terms with the new information. “Mattie- you- oh my God.”

“Oh my God indeed,” Mattie bit into her muffin and swallowed. “So anyways, you’re welcome for getting you a girlfriend.”

Eva stared at the younger girl, mouth slightly open and muffin hanging loosely in her hand. Farrah clapped a hand over her mouth as she wheezed through a mess of sugar and blueberries, earning herself a death stare from Eva. Phone in one hand, Mattie continued eating her muffin as though nothing had happened, the teasing look on her face only exaggerating as her phone pinged with a message. “Oh! Speaking of, Chess is outside-”

She was cut off as the door burst open, the handle crashing into Eva’s bookcase, knocking her alarm clock to the ground and presenting two dishevelled figures in the doorway. One of them, a tall student probably in their last year of uni, puffed out a breath, a hand tightly clinging to a much shorter student squirming angrily. “Before you say anything, I tried to prevent any of this happening. Wheeler, I’m blaming you entirely for this.”

Mattie only laughed, offering Chess a muffin with her free hand, “Dude, it was totally your idea.”

Eva tried very hard not to stare as Kate finally freed herself from Chess’ grasp with an indignant yelp. “Fuck off! Eva, babe, sweetheart, love of my life, tell me you didn’t fucking know about this beforehand or I will break up with you.”

“No! God, no! You know I didn’t want to be there just as much as you did.” She rested her head gently on top of Kate’s, arms draped over their shoulders. “Believe you me, I’ve also been sorely betrayed today.”

Farrah gagged across the kitchen. “Ew. We should never have set you two up.”

“Bitch.” Eva grinned affectionately at her best friend, batting Kate’s hand down as they sent a middle finger in Farrah’s direction. Conversations carried on for a while, Chess finally being introduced to Farrah, with a muffin being forcefully placed into her hand. Kate whispered to Eva for a second before going out to take a call. Eva smiled knowingly, leaning on the counter to address Mattie, “So…”

Mattie made a face as Eva raised an eyebrow in her direction. “What are you thinking, Sanchez, I don’t like that face.”

“I don’t know…” She feigned thinking, sticking her tongue out as Kate re-entered the room. “Maybe, a little thank-you gift?? Y’know, me and Kate were thinking just now… Seeing as you set us up so nicely, how about you try a blind date yourself?”

Chess and Farrah stifled a laugh in unison, choking a little on their muffins as Mattie’s eyes got wider in horror. “You didn’t.”

Kate smiled sweetly. “Yup! Tonight, seven thirty. It’s payback time, kid.”

“I hate you.”

[dadsbongos]

Insert Coin - Chapter 3 / Series Masterlist

Sunlight streamed down through puckered clouds, sky bathing in golden backdrop and splattering against the rocky hilltop below. Peko stared straight ahead as the marching came closer and closer until she was surrounded by the source. Robots upon robots upon robots aligned in layers of circles around her, the Ultimate Swordswoman.

Without her permission, an arm raised - her gut twisting at the knowledge that yes, now she was a tool, but it wasn’t for him. Young Master.

Rushing forward, Peko cut through one of the robots with what she’d sworn was a bamboo sword.

Robot after robot fell by her hand.

Countless had crumbled and yet there were still so many left.

Creaking rumbled behind her. Before she could register the blond hair and midnight dark suit, she’d already swung. Cutting through her foe… and Young Master.

Holding his fragile self to her body, Peko cooed and murmured sweet nothings to her Young Master. The robots stumbled forward closer and closer and closer. There was a split pain darting through her back and stomach, blood guzzling as more and more bots enclosed her and Young Master.

Opening her eyes once again, Peko looked into the blinking, blaring red eyes of one of the robots. Its sword rose high, high, higher above its metallic head before coming back down on hers in one clean strike.

“Agh!”

(Y/n) shot up from her bed, gripping the fabric of her sleepshirt in terror, cold sweat drooling over her slick skin. Eyes wide in fear and heart racing.

Nightmare.

It was only a nightmare.

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) was struck with the illusion of Mahiru, slumped against the teal door with the back of her head smashed in. Vibrant pink staining her clothes and clumping in her hair.

Her ears rung and in the background, she could hear the wails and broken sobs of Hiyoko. She could feel the snag of hands pulling desperately at her skin, drawing marks over her body with no care.

She slammed her eyes open, hands coming up over her ears to hide the sound of broken cries.

Until there was a knock at the door, her eyes fell from the door to its lock - finding momentary comfort in that it was, in fact, locked. Her legs shook as she stood, debating on whether or not to answer. It was a few moments later, and after a few more rounds of knocking that she decided yes, she’d open it. Her talent was useless anyway, if she got killed nobody would suffer.

On the other side was Nagito, and peeking past his shoulder, (Y/n) saw that the sun was just kissing the horizon with its fiery, blaring passion. His smile was faint, “I know scum like me shouldn’t pop up out of nowhere, especially so early, but you seemed pretty wrecked after that trial.”

“Don’t call yourself scum,” (Y/n) tiredly protested before pulling Nagito inside by his jacket collar, “But yes, I could use the company.”

“Did I interrupt you?” the boy asked, clearly uneasy about walking into his classmate’s cottage, “I really am complete, irredeemable trash, aren’t I?”

“Nagito,” (Y/n) huffed, forcing the sickly skinny teenager to sit on her bed, taking his head between her hands affectionately, “you’re not trash. You’re my friend. You came to check on me, it was a nice gesture. The morning announcement will probably be going off sometime soon anyway.”

“Are you sure?” he almost seemed like a puppy at that moment. So desperate to be told he’d done well - for a person so bent on being nothing, he definitely desired to hear otherwise. Eyes shining up at the girl holding him so tenderly.

“I’m absolutely sure,” she confirmed, brows furrowing in confusion shortly thereafter, hands rising from his cheeks to his forehead, “You feel a little warm, are you okay?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he waved off, “Though my throat’s been a little drier than I’d care for. And it’s been harder to breathe.”

“Since when?!” (Y/n) immediately pulled back to grab one of the water bottles Hajime had randomly given her, “Here, you should be staying hydrated.”

“Just upon waking up,” Nagito avoided the girl’s eyes as he uncapped the water, “I’d had some trouble sleeping… coughing kept me up,” he chuckled lightly at the girl’s evident concern, “Ah, to think, such a beautiful ray of hope - all worried over garbage. It’s almost sweet, if only it weren’t me you were worried about.”

“Of course, I’m worried, we’re friends, remember?”

“Oh,” he muttered, sipping at the water before recapping it, “you meant that.”

“Obviously!” she exclaimed, exasperated with the sick student, “Why would I lie about that?”

“To be nice, that was my guess, you are the Ultimate Peacekeeper. Saying things to make people happy is your talent,” Nagito shrugged off, as if having no friends was normal for him.

And at that thought, (Y/n)’s heart sunk a little further for Nagito Komaeda.

“It is, but I’m not just saying that,” she sat beside him, grabbing his hand when he moved to pull away - not thinking himself worthy to be close to an Ultimate, “Nagito Komaeda, we’re friends, and I mean that. If you really don't want to be, then fine, but don't run out of fear that I secretly don't care - because I always will.”

“I couldn’t run from you, and it’s not just my new sickness,” he sighed wistfully, “How unlucky, I get to be on a beautiful island surrounded by Ultimates but then I get sick.”

His luck cycles. Right. She’d nearly forgotten of those. Nearly.

“Good morning, everyone! Looks like today is gonna be another perfect, tropical day!”

“Not-so-perfect with you out of commission,” (Y/n) brushed back some of Nagito’s hair as he drank more water, feeling how much warmer he’d already gotten since she last checked, “Poor thing.”

Shaking his head, Nagito gave her a gentle smile, “It really isn’t much. Please, don’t waste precious space in your brain on me.”

“I’ll waste as much space as I want, now c’mon,” (Y/n) stood, dragging Nagito up with the hand locked in hers, “I bet the pharmacy has something for you.”

“There’s really no need- "

“Hey now, we’re going to the pharmacy,” at the harshness of her own tone, (Y/n) sighed before tacking on a quick, “Is that okay? Can you agree to at least go to the pharmacy with me?”

“I…” Nagito paused, eyes shifting to his feet before closing completely, “Yeah, I can agree to that. It’s the least I could do for an Ultimate.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, shaking their hands together slightly before heading out of her cottage and into the tropical sunlight so typical of Jabberwock island.

Walking past the dining hall the group typically met in, the pair crossed over the large wooden bridge to the pharmacy, catching Mikan gingerly flipping over bottles of antiseptic in her hands. Hands that weren’t shaking. She appeared so… at ease. At home. Calm with the medical supplies stacked in shelves around her - though that was to be expected, it was her talent after all. It was only when people, two people at this exact moment, came in that her fidgeting and flutters returned.

“No need to panic,” (Y/n) reassured, waving off the nurse’s squeals of anxiousness, “We’re just here for medicine, Nagito seems to have caught something.”

Tears buzzed at Mikan’s eyes, hands coming up to block her face as if Nagito and (Y/n) were about to begin beating her for merely existing, “H-how ter-terrible…”

“Please, please,” Nagito sighed lightly, waving a hand dismissively at the nurse’s tears, “Don’t mind trash like me. It won’t make a difference if I drop dead.”

“It will make a difference,” the peacekeeper insisted, grabbing at daytime and nighttime cough syrup before turning to Mikan, “Do we use our Monocoins to pay for these or no?”

“Our- our w-what?”

“Nevermind, it was silly,” (Y/n) giggled, waving at the nurse as she left with Nagito and handing the bottles to the boy, “Here; I’ll go out on a limb and say you know how to take medicine?”

“Luckily for us, I do… well, luckily for you anyway,” he pocketed the bottles, “Thankfully I don’t have to burden an Ultimate with my problems.”

“You wouldn’t be a burden by asking me to help you take medicine, I’d be happy to help.”

Walking into the dining hall, the pair were struck with the odd sight. Posterboard akin to something at a science fair covered in photos of and taken by Mahiru with candles surrounding the shrine, goat skulls lining over the top.

“Hiyoko built it,” Hajime murmured, glaring at Nagito as he approached the girl, “I wouldn’t bring it up, she’s still reeling.”

“Avoiding and chastising her for it will make things worse,” (Y/n) shook her head before siding herself with Hiyoko, “It’s lovely. Mahiru would’ve loved it.”

Shaking off his earlier nerves about it, Hajime went to the blond’s other side before, rather awkwardly, trying his hand at comforting the dancer, “Yeah, what better way to remember her than photos?”

There was no reaction, simply blank staring - shock, despair, neither were sure - from Hiyoko at her two classmates. Her brows furrowed and as she opened her mouth, another voice cut in,

“Guys… I’m sorry…”

Fuyuhiko stood there. Eyepatch over his right eye, but other than that, thankfully, he appeared fine.

(Y/n) shook her head, “It’s okay, Fuyuhiko. We’re just glad you’re up and awake now.”

“Who agreed to that?!” Hiyoko burst out, tears already streaming down her reddened face as she pointed to the other short blond, “If it wasn’t for you, she’d still be here!”

“Hiyoko,” (Y/n) placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “I know you’re upset, and for good reason, but we can’t turn on each other. Mahiru wouldn’t want us to split apart because of this - we should be living in harmony to honor her, not fighting,” the dancer relented, eyes clenching shut and still letting out tears. (Y/n) brought the girl into her side, holding Hiyoko tightly in what she hoped was a comforting embrace before turning to Fuyuhiko, “And you.”

Hajime flinched slightly at the stony tone suddenly donned by the peacekeeper when she referred to the gangster.

“Don’t go doing something like that again, you hear me?” (Y/n) huffed, “I get what you were trying to do but we almost lost three people in one day. Mahiru and Peko were painful enough, we can’t lose anyone else.”

Fuyuhiko’s brows furrowed, cheeks filling rouge, “Whatever, you all were doing fine without me anyway,” his shoulders drooped as he turned, voice quieting, “You don’t need me.”

“Good riddance,” Hiyoko stubbornly muttered into (Y/n)’s shirt.

Eyes dancing across the worried faces of her remaining friends, Ibuki suddenly piped up, startling everyone in the dining hall, “Ibuki can fix this!”

Unamused by the girl’s rambunctious yelling so early, Hajime merely tilted his head, “How so?”

“Just be on the lookout for something from me later!” the rocker called out as she ran out of the dining hall.

“I’m sure she’ll figure something out,” (Y/n) mumbled, still holding Hiyoko as the girl clung to her, “It’s Ibuki’s thing to be cheerful, right? She can help.”

She can help...