#extremely bitter bitting my nails and shit

[knbwn]

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 21: The Concert

Every time they're not on camera I simultaneously feel so relieved for them and so upset that I don't get to watch. Messed up of me, but hey. Remember that slightly disturbing quote where Paul said he actually does believe he's kind of public property and he's fine with that?

He looks so determined. Like the fairy tale prince staring down the dragon or Enjolras about to hijack a funeral (Literally my baby was conceived after I watched this in IMAX so if that tells you anything about my feelings . . . I'm going to be annoying I'm sorry I can't help it)

Her legs look so good in those tights! I love that Mo came not because her boyfriend needs his mommy but because she wants to see them perform! Kissing her on the mouth right now.

Danger boy Paul!

Fun fact, I was this John for Halloween in 2021 to a college party. My hair was already like that, and I had dirty white keds and black jeans, so I just did fake sideburns, fake glasses, and a fake fur coat. I tried to get my best friend to be Paul. She wanted to be a hooker, and I was like “It’s the same thing!”

See, look at him and his whorish ways!

John’s little lip-bit smile. He’s so happy with himself nailing that solo. Cutie. 

Cocky boys. As they should be. I love when they’re proud of their work together. Get Back is 95% just Looks between John and Paul, isn’t it?

John and Paul instantly jump into their little “humble working class entertainers” act. You know what just occurred to me? You know how they talked about the “rattle your jewelry” comment backstage and Paul dared John to say it? I wonder if they talked about the “audition” comment too.

It really is a beautiful thing they’re doing. It’s lovely, watching everyon leave their desk jobs and their shopping and whatever else to sit in their fire escapes and congregate in the street and huddle together on rooftops. It really is just like the happy end in a sixties zeitgeist movie. 

All the girls nervous to be too enthusiastic after years of being made fun of themselves and watching others like them being mocked on TV. Let girls like things, damnit!

Mo jamming! I’m in love.

John mouthing Paul’s lyrics.

“Paul McCartney singing that. What a voice.” Literally me if time travel existed. 

“And if SOMEBODY loved me like she does,” Well, it is good manners to look at the person you’re talking to, I guess. But you do have an audience, John. And a mic and a camera. 

“Absolutely disrupt all the business in this area.” Yes! Get those blue meanies, boys!

“No lay rishi gahd blay bloojaygoo” should replace all the stupid quotes the Lennon estate puts on everything they sell. Then I’d actually want their shit. Paul trying to magic the words from his head into John’s there. Successfully, though.

That “Pleeeeeheeeeease” is one of the prettiest beatles vocal moments. I love it with all my heart. And clearly, so does Paul. Doing that thing he does, inappropriately thrusting into his bass. 

Oh my gosh it’s the song Paul and John do together on tour right now!

That “Yyyyyeeeeeah, yeaaaaaah!” (I mean the whole song, the whole concert, but especially that) does things to me. 

John’s extremely blurry, because he turned his head quick enough to give him whiplash there, sorry everyone. But look! They’re having the time of their lives! They just love performing together so much!

Everyone goes to check on their accumulating audience. (except Paul. Wonder what that’s about.)Ringo’s little pleasantly surprised smile is so so sweet!

It must be so fun for them to be performing One after 909 again after all these years. Bitter sweet with everything that’s changed since then. 

LMAO Kevin thank you for your service!

He’s a silly cutie.

The mic in the street asking that girl if she’d like them to come back every lunchtime. Imagine if they did? How cute would that be? Like back to their cavern lunchtime shows. Maybe that could’ve saved them.

Them playing God Save the Queen reminds me of that story where Brian was like, “This bigger manager wants to buy your contract from me, and I just wanted to be straight with you. They could probably get better deals for you.” and they were like, “If you sell us to him we’re only playing God Save the Queen from that moment on.” It’s probably a fake story, but that’s what it made me think of. 

I always think that quote of Paul’s is so strange, where he was like “I never got the chance to watch John while we were playing.” Like. What are you talking about, baby?

Literally “Uh. Yeah. Uh. Yeah.” Fucking his bass. Staring at John. Okay? And I’m not supposed to take that and run with it? I’m not supposed to assume from that that you want to fuck your songwriting partner?

I think he genuinely wants to get arrested. I really do. I think he wants them all to get arrested so they can finally be alone in a room together. A lovely cell for four. Just shimmying at them. And Billy looking at him like, Bro. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Paul’s “woo” and shimmy :: John’s “woo” and weird little kick move. And Paul looks so fond, of course. 

God bless Mal for stalling those little fucks as long as humanly possible. And Debbie! “Don’t actually go on the roof because it’s overweight.” Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss!

Absolutely LOVE John and George turning their amps back on. That’s right. You guys are what’s keeping the country going at this point, so if you want to play on your roof they better let you play on your roof and say thank you.

All the times when they just simultaneously turn to each other. Like, yes, this is our que to stare hungrily into each other’s eyes. 

My stomach just dropped at those words across the screen. “This was the Beatles’ last public performance.” We know, Peter Jackson. You don’t have to remind us. Jeez. 

John and Paul’s two very different but equally important leadership roles in the band at work here at the end of the concert. John delivers his iconic line, makes everyone laugh, and seals the band’s last performance with a very tight bow. Meanwhile, Paul’s climbing the gate to bypass the crowd and schmooze the police out of arresting Mal. 

THIS is sooo cute. Heads buried together and John’s very sweet, “‘s’matter? Hmm?” 

George is so cute here in the control room afterward. No wonder they don’t listen to his not wanting to do things, honestly, if he acts like this after. “What’s the law say why you can’t do that? Well how disturbing the peace? Yeah, I’m for taking over London. And every rock group in the world all on different buildings, playing the same tune.” Adorable.

Poor John. It breaks my heart that he doesn’t think his little lyric flub is funny. He’s disappointed in himself. I wish he could see that that’s one of the things everyone loves about him. George was grinning ear to ear about it. For fuck’s sake, that’s one of the reasons Paul fell in love with you in the first place. If only John could see himself the way we see him, you know? 

This little moment cracks me up. John always has to be mommy’s naughty little boy, and Yoko does a very sweet job of playing her part here. 

Linda and Paul are so touchy and clingy and it’s very romantic and I love that Ringo joins in and makes fun of them.   

The whole after-show glow for everyone was just so palpable and fantastic. I wish they could've gone on performing together. Clearly it made all of them very happy.

[hopeswriting]

What I enjoy about your writing? Messy af essay incoming lol

Ok ok ok ok. So I will say right off the bat that you write every other character amazing too, of course, holy hsit I love everything you do, hashtag my idol fr. BUT ARCOBALENO wfgjjjkr! Ok so basically the arco are side characters except for Reborn. This means that you have to fill in a lot of info if you want to write extensively about them, and the source material hasn’t got a ton of info to start off with (moreso with some, like especially Fon gets jack shit lol). and even Reborn remains extremely enigmatic and chaotic in the way he acts no matter how much he shows so he is hard to nail in the first place imo. Well, basiclly this is my longass way of saying how amazing i find the way you retained just enough vibes of their OG, so it does feel like this could be exactly what we’d find if we got more of them in canon y’know, except that you managed to do all of that while ALSO sorta making it less gag-manga series but ALSO still be super funny, just the way that all of the serious moments still have this tension and all of that emotional impact and you add some really amazing depth in ways that just flew into their characters SO NATURALLY and yeah just. WOW.

And ALSO can I just say that I am so in love with the way you don’t shy away from their flaws. Like of course the temptation seems to be that when you’re adding to the personalities bc you want to extend the universe with the little arco we get to see, most want to sorta gloss over it a lot but you DONT and you're just SO EPIC for it. Like for example bc it’s the easiest lol, yes Skull really is That Obnoxious ™ and honestly he is so distinctive and funny for it and like YES, you do that. And you balance the glaring flaws with really really making them so funny and chaotic and likable and it all just serves to make an incredibly interesting characterisation that is so so enjoyable and feels super duper natural. (and ofc I said skull here but this goes for every single one of them!!)

And also Luce!!! SHE! she  deserves a part of her own ok? Justice for my homegirl. I love you, the Luce apologist we all need. You just do her so well! Luce is just this person who has always been expected to carry the world and she could have been bitter and sharp for it but NO she CHOOSES to be as soft as she will ever be allowed to and it’s actually so so strong of her to wake up every morning and still WANT to be kind when she knows that one day it won’t ever matter how kind she has been. She has so little time and she still wants to GIVE it all to the world that will take everything from her in the end. And she is still SO RESOLUTE. She’s got all of this love she doesn’t know what to do with, and she just wants the best for everyone but she wants the best for Everyone with a capital E yaknow.

And also like ofc I barge in screaming about these specific things but literally all of your writing is so so good ok!?

I just love your stuff hopeeee T_T (and you. ily you're always so sweet and a pleasure to share fandom with!!!)

BAWLING MY FUCKING EYES OUT THANK YOU I LOVE YOU. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[SCREAMS SOME MORE] zfsrdgchgfd??!!??!!!!??? i absolutely did not expect this holy shit, you always spoil me so much with your kind words, ily. okay okay, sorry but i just had to gush over this for a bit, but i'm functional again now (< bald-faced lie).

okay so, i AM an arco writer, and like, i know that of course, but precisely because of that it means everything to me to know i’m doing it right. and it’s also very relieving because it’s like, 80% of what i write lol. i do think there’s still some of them i have yet to get the hang of (verde STILL comes to mind first 😭), but i do try to keep them in character, so i’m glad it comes through.

you know what i never realized it before but i DO tend to tone down the gag-side of their characters, that’s so interesting!! and not only theirs, but i think unless i’m expressly going for it like with my crack fics, i tend to do that with every khr character i write? that’s probably because i’m all about characters and their Feelings (tm), and as much as i love the gag side of khr too, well, you can’t just have it there too much when you’re trying for emotional impact lol.

also you said you don’t think i shy away from their flaws, and you have no idea how glad i am to hear it because i actually really think i do the opposite? well, not entirely the opposite, because i love their flaws too and they wouldn’t be half as interesting as they are without them, but again unless i’m expressly going for it like with my angst fics, i feel like i do always shy away from fully leaning into the conflict bits of my stories. from really letting them blow out to their worst. i feel like i do anyway? because ultimately i’m a big softie and i want the characters i love to get along with and kiss and be happy with each other lololol, but yeah, thank you for saying that.

AND I AM A LUCE APOLOGIST LMAO YES I AM!!!! no but for real, i LOVE this, and i’m bound to use it as my blog title eventually!! it’s like, i’ve been called a luce apologist, this is it, this is the peak of me writing luce and the superior compliment letting me know i’m writing her RIGHT. as she deserves because yes, JUSTICE FOR HER GODDAMMIT!!!!!!

and i love the way you put it too, about her loving Everyone with a capital E, because i really feel like this is the thing most people don’t get which makes her easy to dislike/hate in their eyes. and it’s so sad because they get it all wrong!! it’s not that she didn’t care about the arco, that she didn’t want to save them, that she didn’t feel guilty she couldn’t save them for the rest of her life, but she cared about them AND literally everyone else!!! she cared about the whole world too!!! and even if she had chosen the arco instead, because she would have still cared about both it would still have been just as bitter and painful a story, and that’s the tragedy of this all!!!! WHATS NOT CLICKING PEOPLE!!!!!!!!

🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank you so much. 😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 (and right back at you!!!! you really make my day every time you pop up in my notifs, and i’m just so grateful and happy we’re in the same fandom.

also irrelevant, but how should i call you? sorry but it’s been bugging me lol. tho tbh i always read your url wrong so i’ve been calling you scrip in my head zefsdgdws but like???)

thank you for the ask, it really means a lot! 💕💕💕

[ask games]

[greensaplinggrace]

honestly THANK YOU for saying all that abt baghra bc i thought i was going crazy from not liking her??? bc i haven't read the books and only summaries of them on wiki and like. i dunno why ppl like her actually even in the show bc this guy, her son, is like "i wanna make the world better for us grisha" and she's just like "no." even tho he sees that she's MAKING HERSELF SICK from suppressing her powers! she's literally like in bed coughing in the flashback yet seem much healthier at the little palace. also like after everything, after her disapproval, after the fold, after centuries of waiting for the sun summoner.. he never abandons her. he makes sure she's cares for. he doesn't harm her. and i have to wonder if baghra has ever thanks him for that, for just not leaving her alone. like i dunno how im suppose ro believe aleks is a heartless villain when he still cares for his abusive mom like this. like has baghra even told her she loved him (honestly she reminds me of a classic emotionally unavailable asian parent but maybe that's just me). also im wondering if baghra ever told aleks that he had an aunt.. bc like.. now that u bring up her isolating him it's like hmmmm...

not at me being like alina... why do u trust the bitter old woman who literally beats u with a stick and verbally abuses u every chance she gets.. just bc she showed a bad painting... like.. pls use two braincells to see that who u figured out as his mother... is also using his protection..

like baghra could've upped and left with alina. but no. she stayed bc she knew she was safe under aleks's protection.

alsoim just impressed that after his first friend tried to drown him and harvest his bones... he didn't go into hiding???? he still wanted to make a safe heaven for grisha!!! HE STILL WANTED TO PROTECT GRISHA EVEN AFTER HIS GRISHA FRIEND TRIED TO KILL HIM FOR HIS FUCKEN BONES. like... this is the guy im suppose to believe is the villain???

honestly i feel like part of the reason why LB's plotlines seem so bad and disconnected (and sometimes outright racist but that's another rant) and why darkles is disproportionately more violent and villainous in the later books is bc she didn't expect the darkling to be so popular and wanted to stick with her guns of making him the villain. but also wanted the money from aleks's popularity. but like you can't have ur cake and eat it too.

Well thank you for sending this ask! It's very sweet and very passionate. I'm glad you liked my post! I didn't put as much thought into it as some of my others lol. I kind of just talked. But it was nice to be able to finally talk about some of the problems I have with both her character and the fandom/author's perception of her.

HERE is the post this is referring to, in case anyone's wondering.

👀👀 You've hit the nail on the head for so many things, here!

Baghra is extremely emotionally unavailable, basically to the point of neglect. She's also verbally and physically abusive, traits which I doubt were only reserved for her students and not her son. Baghra claims she would do anything to protect him, but I've known a lot of parents who have that mindset and yet still harm their children because they think it's "good for them".

Aleksander stays at Baghra's side for years, and even when they're opposing each other she's never too far away from him. Idk if you've read the books but he does eventually hurt her. And as much as I don't like Baghra, I think his actions were horrid. But I'm also honestly kind of surprised it took him so long lmao.

Yeah I mean, in terms of isolation, let's not forget that she never wanted to introduce him to his father, either. Baghra's sense of eternity clouds a lot of her judgments on relationships, which means she views most people as dust and therefore teaches her son to as well. The problem with that is that he's a growing child, and he needs those social and emotional attachments for healthy development.

I would bet quite a bit of money that Baghra has either never told him she loves him or she has told him so few times it's practically forgettable.

And everything becomes more complicated because so many of Baghra's actions are understandable because of her life and her history, but the impacts they have on the people around her, especially Aleksander, are permanently damaging. And the fact that that's never gone over in critical depth in the books or how it's glossed over in fandom is just very disconcerting. Like, acknowledging Baghra's failings doesn't mean we're excusing Aleksander's actions, it just means we're holding Baghra liable for her own. Which the fandom should be doing, considering she's the epitome of an abusive parental figure.

And Alina trusting Baghra over Aleksander is even more confusing! Especially in the show!! This is the woman who beat her and abused her and tortured her friends when they tiny little children (and who probably still does so now that they're adults). This is the woman who mocks you and harasses you and insults you on a regular basis. Why does Baghra revealing she's Aleksander's mother make Alina change her mind?! Like fuck, I'd just feel bad for Aleksander. No wonder he kept it a secret, I would too! And that painting is enough evidence?! Really?! A random painting shown to you by this abusive mentor that's been making your life hell. That's what you're going to betray your new lover over?

The friends trying to harvest his bones thing is a good point, too. I think Aleksander, especially show Aleksander, is incredibly idealistic. I think he cares too much for others - those he's deemed worth his care (a sentiment given to him by Baghra). Despite everything she's tried to teach him about hiding and abandoning others and never caring and never doing anything to help or reach out or connect with people, Aleksander still continues to do so. It's likely because he never got it from Baghra growing up, and so is desperate for those emotional needs to be fulfilled elsewhere.

His turning point, when Baghra tells him it was understandable that those kids tried to kill him because the world is such a hard place for them - that's crucial. And the reason it's possible as a motivating factor is because of that idealism and that desire to help and that desire to be everything his mother isn't. Baghra tells him this trauma he just experienced was because of the oppression of his people, and instead of following her lead and accepting that, going into hiding and abandoning everybody to their misery, he goes I can do something about that. I can make it so this never happens again. Which is usually how trauma like that combines with one's core personality traits at a young age, especially when there's none of the essential support systems in place to aid in recovery (ie, the role Baghra should have been filling but wasn't, because she decided to exacerbate the problem instead).

And yeah, one of my biggest problems with the ham-fisted "beating you over the head with a sledgehammer of evil deeds" look-how-bad-this-character-is! portrayal of the Darkling in the later books comes from the impression I get that Bardugo doesn't trust her readers. She's so desperate to have us hate this character and think him an irredeemable villain, not trusting any of her readers to engage critically with a morally gray character, that it feels quite a bit like condescending fucking bullshit. Which ew, I know how to engage with literature, thanks.

She really does seem to look down on a large part of her fandom, and imo, the infantilization of the female characters in her books seems to carry over to her impression of most of her female readers as well. Which is why the Darkling's character arc gets fucking destroyed. But he's still a good cash grab, of course, so she'll shake his dead corpse in front of the fandom for money every time she wants something from it.

Also! Another reason I think her plotlines feel disconnected (I'm sorry Bardugo I respect you as a person, but shit-) is because the writing in SaB is just bad. I mean, nevermind the absolutely nauseating implications of the way she portrays the Grisha as a persecuted group who's situation is never actually fully addressed as it should be, considering Grisha rights is what her main villain is fighting for (imo for a series called the Grishaverse, LB seems to be pretty anti Grisha), but her characters and story alone are just wrong for each other. They don't fit together.

And the ending is one of the main pieces of evidence in that regard! You can’t say the ending where Alina isn’t Grisha anymore is her “going back to where she started” when she’s always been Grisha. She just didn’t know she was Grisha because she denied that part of herself that she was born with.

Alina is reluctant to move forward or change, she struggles with adapting, and she’s very set on the things she’s grown attached to throughout her life. She also has some latent prejudices against the Grisha, and so denies the possibility of being Grisha for those reasons as well.

Alina’s lack of powers in the beginning of her life because she willfully doesn’t learn about them to avoid change versus her lack of powers at the end of the book when she’s accepted them and then they’re stripped away from her by outer forces are two entirely separate circumstances. You can’t make a parallel about lost powers and lack of Grisha status bringing her back to the start when she was always Grisha and she always had powers and she simply refused to come to terms with it because of personal reasons.

The first situation is an internal conflict that indicates a story about growth and a journey of self acceptance. Denying herself the opportunity to learn about her heritage and to find acceptance with a group of people like her because she’s tied to the past and because of the way she was raised is the setup for a narrative that tackles unlearning prejudice and learning how to connect with a part of her identity that was denied her and learning how to grow independent and self assured. It’s the setup for a different story entirely. The second situation is an external conflict that centers around the ‘corrupting influence of power’... for some reason.

In a world where Grisha do not have social, political, or economic power and they are hunted, centering your heroine’s journey of self acceptance and growth around an external conflict about... the corrupting influence of power (in a group of people that don’t actually have any power?!) just doesn’t work. It is literally impossible to connect the two stories Bardugo is trying to push in Shadow and Bone without seriously damaging the main character’s developmental arc.

The only way a narrative like this would work, claiming that she has gone back to where she started, is either a) if the Grisha weren’t actually a persecuted group and instead were apart of the upper class, or b) if the one bad connection between the two instances is acknowledged - that Alina denied a part of herself crucial to self acceptance and growing up, and that losing her powers at the end has also denied her. It is a tragedy, not a happy ending.

Alina suffered because she didn’t use her powers. She grew sick. It was bad for her. This was not a resistance to 'the corruption of power and the burden of greed', it was her suffering because she couldn’t fully accept herself.

Framing the ending as a return to the beginning can’t be done if you don’t address how bad the beginning was for your main character. You brought her back to a bad point in her life. You regressed her. This should be a low point in her arc. It should be a problem that’s solved so she can finish developing organically or it should be something that is acknowledged as a tragedy in it’s own right, for the future the world (the writing) denied her.

This is a ramble and it makes no sense and I’m really sorry, but my point is that Bardugo put the wrong characters in the wrong story. The character arc required for organic development doesn’t match the story and intended message at all. The narrative doesn’t fit the cast. She's got two clashing stories attempting to work in tandem and she ends up with both conflicting messages that fans still can’t comprehend in her writing and an ending that doesn’t suit her main character to such an impossible degree that it’s almost laughable.

So yeah, there's a few reasons why I think the story and the plot feels so bad and disconnected. I hope you don't mind me making this answer so long! 😅 I was not expecting to write this much.

[lightrises]

"Only in allowing her to pass..." — Hornet, The Radiance, and the means by which Hallownest turned its victims against each other

A quick note: I read Hollow Knight as an anti-colonialist text. As such I'll be touching on topics related to colonialism as it's depicted in the world of the game, and said analysis will reflect both a sympathetic take on The Radiance and a critique of The Pale King that won't pull its punches. If this sounds up your alley, hello and thank you for the read! Let us be sad about these bugs together.

———

So!! A while back I realized something about pre-canon that felt rather... "curious" is one way to put it, I think. To wit: for all the effort and scheming and determination The Pale King poured into trying to get rid of The Radiance, neither of his plans involved directly killing her.

Was that his long game? Well, sure, that seems clear enough. His tack changed from luring the moths away from their god and creator to a more literal form of incarceration once the infection became a factor, but at its core the end goal never really changed—The Pale King very sincerely wished to destroy Radiance via obsolescence. The Seer lends us foreshadowing to confirm as much:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Hollow Knight, showing the Seer and Ghost in the Seer's alcove at the Resting Grounds. Across both screenshots, the Seer tells Ghost the following: "None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters." End description.]

(Which, by the way and given the context, talk about an extremely unsubtle allusion to cultural genocide huh!!! Whew.)

In any case, we're left with a whole bunch of machinations which build up to... well, two very roundabout attempts at committing deicide. That's kind of weird, all things considered! Why not just do the deed in one fell swoop and get it over with?

This could be for any number of reasons. Maybe the king was devoid of the means to instantly kill another higher being. Maybe his personal sense of scruples stopped him short of signing off on MURDER murder (although, y'know, the aforementioned genocide + eternal imprisonment = still cool and copasectic apparently!). Maybe the long drawn-out cruelty was the point. Maybe the idea of playing fuckign 4D chess with the circumstances was too delicious for him to pass up—that man did love to tinker and stick his claws where they sure as hell didn't belong—or maybe it was a little bit of All The Things. Who knows!!

But interrogating The Pale King's methodology on this count isn't what I'm here for, at least not really. The main reason I raise this question at all is that in her own way, Hornet did too.

"I'd urge you to take that harder path... "

See, going by The Pale King's actions and what The White Lady explicitly says, they both foresaw two outcomes wrt the infection: it can be allowed to spread, or it can be contained. At Teacher's Archives, Quirrel acknowledges the fact that Ghost is expected to do... something about this, but he doesn't elaborate on what HE thinks that's supposed to be apart from the obvious "Gotta bust into Black Egg Temple first". Hornet is the one person who presents to us—to Ghost—what's framed as a third option: confront and destroy the infection at its source.

And she doesn't bring it up like it's just another tactic for Ghost to consider, prim and indifferent to what they would do. She nudges them towards it, actively, up to the point where she throws herself into the fray against Hollow at a juncture that's uniquely dangerous to her and her alone just to make that option feasible.

Even when she's couching it in disclaimers that this is still Ghost's decision to make (and let's be fair, she's extremely not wrong about that lol), no one can pretend Hornet is unbiased. It's obvious in that buttoned-down Hornet kind of way that she is way the hell done with the increasingly tenuous stalemate that's kept Hallownest's desiccated corpse from collapsing in on itself. Personally it's hard for me not to read some Toriel Undertale-esque "My father was too entrenched in his own foolishness to pursue any course of action that would have DEFINITIVELY ended this" shade into her stance here, regardless of whether that's strictly true in canon.

And that bit—Hornet's hopes for an end to Hallownest's stasis, moreover her grim calculation of what needs to be done to get there—that's the bit I find super interesting but likewise tragic and depressing as shit, on multiple levels. In no small part because a) canon itself gestures towards Hornet feeling conflicted about the very plan she's pushing, and moreover b) she has at least two (2) damn good reasons to feel that way.

So, what do I mean by that? Let's look here first:

[Image description: A screenshot from Hollow Knight, of Hornet and Ghost inside the Temple of the Black Egg, standing in front of the unsealed egg itself. Hornet has been struck by the Dream Nail and her dialogue is displayed as follows: "... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?" End description.]

As the curtain is about to drop on things one way or another, Hornet thinks,

... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?

Now, looking at that last bit it's easy to go "Oh no, Hornet's worried that Ghost won't survive killing The Radiance!" And I do think that's part of it: Hornet is, categorically, not her father. By endgame it's clear she's not content to view her Void-borne siblings as tools to be used then disposed of. She's also well aware that as a healthy autonomous Vessel amongst the countless dead, Ghost is the only person left alive who has a fighting chance against The Radiance. Knowing someone is the only qualified candidate for the job doesn't make encouraging them to embrace a probable death sentence any less of a bitter pill to swallow, though. And odds are on that this sentiment extends to Hollow too, who IS going to die no matter what happens here. To put it bluntly, it's more than reasonable to conclude that Hornet hates the absolute fuck out of this.

But I don't think that's all there is to it either. Remember what I said earlier about The Pale King's bids for genocide? Well, it's not like the man deigned to limit his efforts to just the moth tribe.

"We do not choose our mothers... "

On top of everything else—an infected Hallownest being all she's ever known, the fact that she only exists because of the infection, the list goes on—Hornet has spent her life wedged into a position that's been uncomfortable and terminally unglamorous at best: she is both a daughter of her father's kingdom and of Deepnest.

Deepnest, which like the moths and many others was here long before the wyrm and his lady wife swanned onto the scene and the God Become Bug laid claim to everything the Light touched plus a considerable amount of change. THAT Deepnest, which has fought claw and thread to retain its sovereignty against same-said settler king, and for which Herrah not only surrendered her life but also agreed to bed her worst enemy, all in hopes of securing a viable future for her people (put a pin in that last part by the way, I'll come back to it soon).

Two Worlds, One Family (Ft. An Indigenous Woman Trying Her Damndest To Work With What She's Got Versus An Imperialist Who Only Signed Up For This Because He Needed The Political Favor THAT Badly, So It's The Height Of Dysfunctional Actually). Fun times!!!!

The baggage this entails for Hornet is gnarly enough without implications made by The White Lady and the pre-canon timeline of events and even Team Cherry's dev notes that the king may well have looked at baby Hornet, gone "YOINK", then ensured she spent the lion's share of her childhood reared within the pearly auspices of his Pale Court*. That would be rather advantageous for Him Specifically after all, the potential to mold a born foe into a future ally and even have her trained in combat under the same tutelage as her doomed sibling. And far be it from him to stop a grown Hornet—his own flesh and blood too!—from making Deepnest her forever home if she so pleased. He totally wouldn't be reneging on his "fair bargain made" by doing this one simple thing until Hornet came of age, not t e c h nic c a l l y.

If that is indeed the case, there's a non-zero chance Hornet's formative years were a hot mess of cultural alienation and being a good deal more privy than most to just how much of a bastard her father could be. There's an equally non-zero chance that at some point she stood or sat within earshot as The Pale King finally, finally dropped all pretense and euphemism to name the Light for precisely what (for who) it was.

See, in conjunction with the question that started this whole dang train of thought I've been asking this one too: Does Hornet know? When she speaks of confronting "the heart of [the] infection" does she know she's talking about not just a literal person but someone very specific? The Radiance, who god though she may be shares skin in the game alongside Hornet as a native woman screwed over by the same settler king, likewise deprived of her kin and saddled with a life gone horrendously pear-shaped?

I'll assume for the sake of exploring the possibility and because I think it's a likely one anyway that yes, Hornet does know. She knows, and despite everything can't help empathizing. She might even look at Radiance and see bits and pieces both reflected and slightly inversed in her own mother: Radiance was forced to the sidelines while her people—her children, the brood she was meant to lead and care for—died out under The Pale King's rule, and it's no stretch to assume she's at least as upset about that as she has been about everything else; Herrah too took drastic measures for her people's sake, trying to head off annihilation by relegating herself to the sidelines in an act that was as much calculated risk as an attempt to find wiggle room and leverage in the face of a nasty proposition.

A calculated risk that, if things continue as they are, might well amount to nothing as the rest of Deepnest gets eaten alive by the infection. It survived The Pale King's advances for so so long, only to fall here. Herrah's sacrifice would be for naught; the other tribes—themselves the king's victims—would keep succumbing to the infection too.

And this is where things fall apart.

"... or the circumstance into which we are born."

Let's be clear: I think Hornet is wise enough to know what's what here, that all the carnage and suffering falls on her father's head for starting this slow-motion trainwreck in the first place. Hallownest wasn't always Hallownest. This domain was Radiance's home first, along with many others. It was the worm-turned-king who rolled up on the scene unsolicited and decided this was a ""'problem""" that had to be """solved""".

But the fact of the matter is that he's gone and The Radiance is here, raging, seemingly inconsolable. Above and beyond being Deepnest's rightful heir, Hornet isn't in a position to countenance more splash damage even if the grief and fury fueling it makes perfect sense. She can understand without ever bringing herself to love Radiance, and she can bend her knee to practicality even if she hates the everloving shit out of it because the fact that it "has" to end this way isn't fair.

This lends itself to one last awful conclusion: that Hornet has probably considered and (rightly or wrongly) discarded the possibility that Radiance can be saved, at least not without dragging more collateral along for the ride. If even her mother and every other enemy to the king seemed to dismiss talking Radiance down as an option way back when... well. Why should Hornet hope for any better after things have escalated so far?

Again, it's practical. A practical net good is what Hornet strives for. And again, it fucking sucks.

For extra tragedy points, this makes Hornet's extended crypticness around Ghost followed by her last minute casting about for a reason to tell them "Wait, don't; not just yet" that she never voices even more of a gut punch. She can't bring herself to burden Ghost with the context that haunts her so, least of all when it might weaken their resolve to go through with what (she thinks) needs doing.

It's the "same song, different verse" which led to the mantis tribe and Deepnest being pitted against each other: Hallownest rigged the game so that two women who could have been powerful allies—who have a mutual vested interest in driving out settler rule—wound up poised as enemies instead. And how awful is that? The king for all his being extremely fucking dead still gets the last laugh, because outside of a miracle the game never manifests Hornet can salvage what her mother started and look forward to a future where Deepnest pulls itself back from the brink if and only if The Radiance dies.

Resolution comes at the price of a completed genocide. Add two more dead siblings to the unconscionable pile thereof, while we're at it. That's what it boils down to whether or not Hornet can bear to articulate it as such, and there's no grace or even a properly bittersweet ending to wring from this clusterfuck. And that is rough.

———

* This has been better explained elsewhere, but a quick rundown: The White Lady tells Ghost that Hornet and Herrah "were permitted little time together." On its surface this can be taken to mean that Hornet was still very young when Herrah was shipped off to Eternal Dreamland—except this doesn't jive with the fact that we meet Hornet as an adult. If the stasis kicked in once the Dreamers went to their rest, which in turn halted the aging process for every living bug in Hallownest, AND before all this Hornet experienced little by the way of quality time with her birth mother... I think you can see where I'm going with this.

To top it off we've got Team Cherry weighing in ominously from their dev notes on Herrah: "As part of the agreement for her alliance and her role as a dreamer, King gave her a child (Hornet). Was she allowed to keep this child or was she taken away?" This isn't confirmation by itself of course, but given additional canon details (see above): Can I get a "yikes" in the chat fellas.

[anime-alyssa]

purple scars. (d ragnvindr x reader)

i posted this on ao3 and forgot to move it here - so you get it super long and not 2 in parts. i’m thinking of continuing this, maybe?

thanks for reading and the support! i’m working on a xiao rn hopefully i can get my shit together 

warning: contains some emotional trauma, implied r*pe but nothing is overly graphic. the second half is smut, separated by stars if thats what you want to skip to. 

The bitter cold of Dragonspire finally started to fade away as you crossed over the bridge back into Mondstat for the first time in 10 years. You were bundled up to the extreme, having prepared for the cold, your sword on your back and jacket heavy on your shoulders. Your sword and your jacket were all you managed to steal away before you were able to escape your homeland, Inazuma. You were still dressed in the encampment clothes, your ID number splayed across the chest of the shirt and the boots too big for your feet.

You hadn’t wanted to be gone for 10 years - you wanted to only be gone for a few, to get your Electro under control. But when Baal placed borders around the country and started hunting down anyone with a Vision, life had become a living hell. You were placed in a prison camp and locked away from society shortly after, tortured beyond anything imaginable just for being born with a Vision. The only thing that kept you alive was the hope that one day, if you had gotten strong enough, you would be able to escape Inazuma to head back to Diluc, and Mondstat - were you really felt at home. 

Diluc Ragnvindr was a mystery to everybody, except for you. You found yourself more often than not sneaking onto Dawn Winery’s premises when his father was not around and exploring each other’s bodies, like the horny teens that you had been. Sometimes you thought you could still feel the ghost of his fingertips on your skin at night - and tried to imagine that it was him when the Bakufu would do unspeakable things to you and the other prisoners. It was painful, and left you scarred - would Diluc even want you?

It had been 10 years - you had last seen him when you were merely 16 and he was entering the Knights of Favonius. The two of you fell in love as teenagers - no one expected it to be anything beyond that, but the two of you were convinced otherwise at the time. For you, it was still the same - you thought of Diluc every single day while you were in Inazuma. You could remember the day like it was yesterday - his heartbroken eyes, the cries you let out as you told him that you would be leaving, the way he held onto you. 

“I’ll be back - I promise - I just - I need help that I can’t get here.” you sobbed into his chest. The Pyro users warmth was all around you as he held you in his room at Dawn Winery, his father out for the night, leaving the two of you bare in his bed.

“You better come back, or else I’ll go to Inazuma myself to get you.” his eyes looked down at you and your heart broke at the sight of him - Diluc was never a vulnerable person, but right now he was. One of his thumbs stroked your tears away on your cheeks as his lips peppered kisses up your neck. “I will never forget you. Ever.” 

“Neither will I.” you said with a gasp, as Diluc had given you a night to never forget. 

You had officially reached the other side of the bridge - the cold gone away and the warmth coming back to you. You thought about taking the jacket off, now way too hot with it on, but you didn’t want people to know where you had come from. You didn’t want their pity. There was a small camp with other adventurers and travelers around, the chef offering you food for free before you went on your way. It didn’t do much for you to quell the aching hunger you had and the shaky legs - you weren’t really the best fed and had been surviving off of fruit from trees. In short, you were in no condition to be traveling, clearly sickly and unwell. But you were not stopping now - you couldn’t. Not after all that you had overcome. You hadn’t forgotten about him. 

A series of snarls from the side of you caused you to jump as you saw about four hilichurls coming right for you. You shrugged the jacket off and grabbed your sword, standing your guard as the monsters attacked. You fought them tooth and nail until your vision all but blacked out - you had hit the ground and heard someone calling for you. 

“Hello? Wake up - Lumine - she needs help! Hey, wait - that’s an Inazuma camp uniform!” a high-pitched voice said to you. Your vision slowly came back as you saw a floating - fairy? You didn’t know what she was - but she was floating above you looking concerned next to a young blonde teenager. “Are you okay?” 

“I - I don’t know. Need food - water - Di -” you managed to weakly say, feeling your world spin around you. The blonde teenager ran to the water source across from you - a lake? - to get you a drink of water as the fairy thing fished out something for you to eat. You felt like you were going to die - you were starving, dehydrated, but Diluc, you needed to get to Diluc.

“Here’s some water! Drink this, please.” she said to you kindly. You took the cup and quickly chugged the water, then taking the offered food. “My name is Lumine, and this is Paimon.” You gave them your name back, as they seemed trustworthy, as they sat down next to you and watched you. Paimon looked at you with sad eyes, seeing your uniform.

“Thank you very much. It’s been…. a while since I ate anything. All I have is this.” you said to them, continuing to eat. You were already feeling better, but by the way they were looking at you, you could tell that you were still quite a sight.

“You’re welcome - did you escape Inazuma? Paimon and Lumine were actually trying to find a way to sneak in.” Paimon had announced to you. You froze on the spot and looked up to them.

“What - no. Don’t go there. It’s dangerous - the camps - ” You felt panic start to bubble in your chest, your heart-rate increasing and breathing becoming staggered at the flashes of memories that flooded your mind. Paimon started calling out to you again, trying to calm you. She and Lumine had started to talk amongst themselves, looking at you trying to calm yourself as they made attempts to as well. You tried to remember Diluc - what you could of him, and slowly you were able to calm down. “I’m sorry - it’s just - it’s awful. I was there for 10 years, I was a prisoner.” You sat in an awkward silence before Paimon spoke up again. 

“Hey - Paimon remembers that when you were talking earlier, you almost sounded like you were saying someone’s name.” she said to you. 

“I’m - I’m looking for Diluc Ragnvindr of Mondstat - the Knights - or Dawn Winery - I don’t know where he is, actually. When I left, he was joining the Knights.” you said to them with a sudden hope that you hadn’t felt in years. Even in your journey, you hadn’t felt hopeful. There was always the chance of the Bakufu finding you and bringing you back or dying. But suddenly, you felt some hope. 

“Oh - Master Diluc! Paimon didn’t know he used to be with the Knights of Favonius - that explains why he dislikes them so much now - but he does run Dawn Winery now!” Paimon said, floating happily. She paused for a moment - then looked like some gears had clicked in her head. “Wait a minute - you’re Master Diluc’s lost love!!”

“His what?” You asked. Lost love? Was that what the rumor was? But wait - if there was even a rumor, that meant there was potential that he still cared about you - still thought of you. 

“What Paimon means to say is that Kaeya told us stories about when Diluc was… not like he is now. That he used to be much happier - and it was because of you.” the blonde traveler said to you. 

“What - what do you mean? He’s changed?” You wanted to slap yourself - obviously he changed, it’s been years. But they made it seem like he was completely different - and he left the Knights? When Diluc was younger it was all he wanted to do, so he could protect people and help them. What had changed? You assumed you would find out. 

“Paimon thinks we should take you to him to find out - Kaeya made it seem like you knew him better than anyone, so you would know more. Let’s go check Dawn Winery to see if he is there!” she said happily. You gave her a nod as you shakily stood up, feeling like you had a little bit more energy and walked with the traveler and her companion. 

You learned about her on the way there. She woke up on the beach with no memory, but knew she was not from Tevyat. Her twin brother was missing and she was in search of The Seven to see if maybe that would be a way for her to find him, which explained why she wanted to go to Inazuma despite your warnings. But, she was Vision-less - a fact that shocked you as you could have sworn you vaguely remember her using Anemo during the fight. That little factoid made you feel a little better. 

As you approached Dawn Winery, your stomach started twisting into knots. All of your anxieties came flooding back - would Diluc even want you still? Would he be appalled at the state of you? Would he be able to handle the extra baggage you came with now? Your mind reeled at Paimon babbled on about how maybe you would be good for Diluc to be happy, and how she was looking forward to the food the winery always had for them. You felt yourself fidgeting with the jacket, having put it back on to cover your uniform. 

You saw his red hair from a mile away and froze in your steps. He had gotten taller, but god he looked the same. He pulled his hair back like he always had, muscles built out over the years. He couldn’t see you yet, talking to someone else across from him at the entrance of the winery. Lumine stayed by your side, the teenager having a big heart and concerned. However, Paimon floated on over to him. 

“Master Diluc! Master Diluc! Paimon and Lumine have someone who was looking for you!” she said excitedly. You couldn’t help but admire the creature’s happiness, despite your nerves. You and Lumine walked forward as Diluc turned around - eyes going wide seeing you. Your breath hitched in your throat as you two made eye contact. It felt like all air in your lungs had just disappeared and you were unable to breathe. 

Diluc slowly stepped towards you at first, not being able to believe his eyes. You could tell he was taking you in, observing your features and you to make sure that it really was you. You didn’t blame him for taking his time - you were unrecognizable from before. Your features had thinned out due to the years of neglect from the Bakufu, eyes sunken slightly inward and skin paled. You saw a flash of doubt flash in his eyes - or at least that’s what your brain wanted you to think - and you let out a sob. That seemed to do it for him as Diluc ran over to you in a flash, pushing anybody out of his way to wrap his arms around you. 

It finally felt like you were home, in Diluc’s arms as he held you. More sobs wrecked your now trembling body, overcome with emotion as tears spilled onto his clothing. His grip on you was snug, but not too tight, treating you like you were glass and frail. He was warm, as he always was, while he held onto you like you’d disappear into thin air if he let go. You felt your knees give out, exhaustion starting to hit you, Diluc picking you up to support you. You tried to say something - to say anything to him, but the shaking and the exhaustion was becoming to much and eventually, you blacked out in his arms. 

——

You woke up on a comfortable bed - so comfortable it almost didn’t feel right. You were sunk into one side with the blankets over you, body bare underneath. Had Diluc been the one to take your clothes off - did he see your scars? Your body suddenly felt good - there was no aching, you suddenly felt healthy? If that was the word for it. You shuffled in the bed, making an attempt to sit up, before you were promptly pushed back down. 

“Lay down - please.” Diluc spoke to you. You turned your gaze over to him, laying next to you, half asleep and half dressed. You covered yourself underneath the blankets as he threw an arm over you, pulling you close to him despite trying to hide. “Don’t do that. Stop trying to hide from me.”

“Diluc - I’m - I’m not the same.” you stammered out. You felt his fingers dance over your bare skin and you gasped, instinctively jumping back. He retreated his touch upon seeing this, examining you again. “I’m sorry.”

“What did they do to you?” he asked. Panic bubbled inside of you once more as you tried to find the words to speak. You wanted to tell him everything. He deserved to know everything if he was still going to be with you. But for some reason, you couldn’t find the words. “Did the Bafuku do this - give you these?” His fingers grazed over the discolored scars on your body, purple marks from Electro attacks embedded into your skin forever. 

“Yes - they would - they punished us when we fought back. All of us - but the females - they would - they’d come at night - ” Diluc let out a low snarl, understanding what you were implying without actually having to say it. “I tried to imagine it was you. Thinking of you is the only thing that kept me alive most days. It was awful - once Baal placed the orders to capture everyone with Visions, they found me in days. The painful part was that I was right at Liyue’s border - I was so close to getting out. That’s when I got this one.” You lifted your left arm, pointing to a series of purple numbers on your wrist. 

“I don’t want to hear where they came from. It only makes me angrier that the damn Knights of Favonius didn’t even try to do anything to help.” Diluc said, cautiously wrapping a bare arm around you, testing the waters. You allowed him the contact - knowing that you were safe. You were safe with Diluc. You just needed to convince your brain the same thing, which would take time that he didn’t seem to mind. “It’s the middle of the night, let’s go back to bed. You need rest.” he said to you. 

You gave Diluc a quick nod as you found yourself inching closer to his chest, resting your head on him. He was warm, as always, wrapping his arms completely around you and pulling you onto him. He never used to be one who liked someone on top of him, even you, and you had respected that - but now it seems like he wasn’t going to ever let you go again. 

You didn’t mind as you attempted to fall into a dreamless sleep - but you were unlucky. Diluc was out in five minutes flat, but every time you tried to close your eyes flashes of the past would come back to haunt you. You weren’t sure if you got a wink of rest at all, until you found Diluc looking down at you, the sun out behind him. Your throat was dry and your face was wet. Had you had a nightmare? You weren’t sure if you had, since you weren’t even sure if you had fallen asleep at all.

“It’s just me - you’re okay. You were having a nightmare, I think.” he said, trying to say it in his calmest voice he could possibly muster. You blinked up at him confused. 

“I - I don’t remember.” you said sadly, racking your brain to see if you could remotely remember, but having no such luck. Your brain was telling you that it didn't want you to remember, you think.

“You were screaming in your sleep. Almost shocked me, actually.” he said, throwing a light-hearted chuckle in at the end. You were not amused though, staring at him with wide eyes as you sat up slowly.

“I did? Are you okay?” you asked him. He looked at you like you had ten heads, confusing you until he spoke next.

“What - are you okay?”

“I think that answer is obvious enough.” You replied plainly. Diluc’s hand went to your chin, bringing your gaze to match his. His thumb lovingly and gently ran across your jawline, and you instinctively leaned into his touch. Slowly, you climbed up onto his lap, and he allowed you the comfort. “I think - I think I’ll be okay now, though. It’s just going to take some time.” You nuzzled yourself back into his chest as he hugged you snuggly, a hum leaving his lips. 

“I’ll be here with you until it is, I swear it.” Diluc pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and you knew then that he meant it just like he did 10 years before.

*********************************************************************************

Slowly but surely, you started to heal, and it was all thanks to Diluc. The nightmares started to slowly fade away and with time, you were feeling happy again. You lived with him at Dawn Winery and took on some responsibilities to earn your keep (though Diluc always insisted that you didn’t need to do so), like helping the staff keep the place running and making sure that Diluc was on time to everything he needed to be. Which was a challenge, especially once you started to feel like your old self again (or what you could of your old self). 

“One of these days, Charles is going to quit and then you’ll be stuck!” you said to him from on top of his desk, his lips on your neck as you let out a sigh. You weren’t quite mentally ready for much more intimacy, and he was okay with that, but you slowly had become re-accustomed to more touches. Diluc was letting you take the reins for what you were ready for and what you weren’t. 

“He threatens to quit every day. He never does.” Diluc spoke against your skin, grunting as you finally pushed him away - and just in time, as Charles walked in to look for him. You hopped off and ran to find Adeline to see if she needed any help. Later on that day, you saw Charles again and he said that Diluc had been in a particularly angry mood for the past few hours. With a sigh, you had hunted him down, finding him in your bedroom. 

“What’s wrong? Charles is going around saying you’re angry.” you said to him. Your partner let out a scoff as he turned back around to you, your eyes immediately going to his middle. You bit back a laugh. 

“Don’t.” he hissed through gritted teeth, face burning as you stepped closer to him. 

“It’s like you’re sixteen again.” you said with a small giggle. Before he could protest, you had him backed against the wall and his pants shoved down, solving the problem yourself. Charles saw you before he left for the night and had said Diluc was in a much better mood the rest of the day. 

You had found out about Diluc’s night-time hero work as The Darknight Hero a week or two after you had returned. Originally, you fought him tooth and nail against it, for selfish reasons - but once he explained what had happened to him over the past 10 years, you gave it a rest and let him go on. With the death of his father and everything that had happened with the Knights and his brother afterward, you almost couldn’t blame him. 

He had put a pause on it when you came back, but people started to talk and worry, and the Abyss Order picked up on it. He had to begin it again, and you worried every single night. Tonight in particular, he had been gone almost all night, and you were starting to worry. It was an hour or two more than what he was usually out, and you were alone in the Winery with your thoughts. To make things worse, it was storming outside so you couldn’t go out to look for him even if you wanted to. 

A crack of thunder caused panic to rush through your chest - it sounded too much like Bakufu punishment for your comfort. You were snuggled under blankets, bringing your knees to your chest as you tried to push the memories away - another crack making an involuntary whimper leave your lips as the shakes came on. You hadn’t panicked like this in months - but the conditions of the storm and Diluc being gone for longer than he said brought it on, and you were nearly unable to control it. 

The door opened and you jumped, not paying any mind to whoever it was that walked through the door as you fought to keep the memories at bay - flashes of them coming through in segments. You heard a curse and then running as you steadied some of your breathing, a hand coming to your face and forcing you to look at your lover. He wrapped his arm around you and brought you close to him, letting you soak up his warmth. 

“You’re okay - you’re okay.” Diluc chanted to you softly. You nodded against his chest as you wrapped yourself around him back, his hand gently rubbing your back. He was right - you were okay. “I tried to get back as soon as I could after the weather rolled in, I’m sorry it took so long.” he apologized from above you. 

“It’s okay.” you mumbled into him.

“No it’s not. I know how it gets - I should have known better.” he pressed a kiss to your hair after he spoke, guilt starting to rise up. Diluc had been overly cautious when it came to you since your return - within days he had memorized anything that sent you into a panic and was there to prevent it from happening. Until today, that is, hence the guilt. You let out a sigh as you relaxed into him. 

“I know you want to protect me, but you can’t always do it, on top of everything else. I’ll be okay.” you said to him, taking your head out of his chest and bringing your lips to his. 

He slowly reciprocated once his mind caught up to his body - realizing that you were initiating, something that hadn’t happened yet since you came back. His arms around you tightened as the kiss became deeper and more passionate, from a tiny little peck to open mouthed pants. Diluc was almost struggling to keep up with you, mind telling him to slow down for you but body betraying him, his need for you coming to the surface. 

Diluc almost lost his mind when he had dragged you closer to him and heard a soft moan leave your lips as you landed on top of the tent in his pants. The moan seemed to be the signal that flipped the switch in Diluc’s head, as he flipped the two of you over, placing your back on the mattress as he towered above you. 

“Are - are you sure?” Diluc asked, needing your complete consent before he went any further. A selfish part of him was hoping you’d say yes, but if you were to say no, he’d have no problem getting off you right now and going on with his night. It was all about if you were ready. 

“Yes. Please Diluc.” you said back quietly. It was his turn to let out a moan at your begging for him as his lips went to your neck, softly leaving pecks up and down both sides. 

“You tell me if anything - anything - is too much.” he spoke against your skin, coming back up to make sure that you understood. Diluc felt his cock twitch in his pants seeing your blissed out face, lust clouded over you from him. You let out a weak nod before he went back down with more vigor, sucking marks into your neck for all to see.

Fighting back wasn’t a thought in your mind as your body grew hot, clothes suddenly feeling restricting and your core in need of some friction. You hadn’t needed anybody in years, but right now, you needed him. Everything felt so right as his gloved fingertips pushed your shirt off your body, exposing your chest to him. The cool air made you shiver, but was soon replaced with the warmth of Diluc’s mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to all the skin he could reach. 

You managed to get Diluc to shrug his jacket off once you started to push it over his shoulders, pulling at his gloves next and discarding those. His mouth went back to its attack on your chest, finding one of your breasts and gently beginning to tug. A moan left your mouth as you tried to remember that your next mission was to get his shirt off. Your body was giving into him more and more as sparks of pleasure started to zoom through your veins and down to your core, slick starting to pool. 

“Diluc…” you moaned out his name lustfully, spurring him on more. He pulled away from your nipple with a pop, panting as he almost ripped the rest of his shirt off his arms before going back down to pay attention to the other nipple. You continued to cry out, twisting underneath him as you filled with more and more need. 

You felt his hands moving down your stomach, one resting on your hip while the other tucked under the waistband of your pants. For a moment, your mind started to reel and your heart raced - flashes of the past coming in. You were able to remember that you were with Diluc - you were safe, and you wanted him. Diluc noticed, immediately popping off you and gazing up at you. 

“Should I - ”

“Don’t you dare stop.” you said, cutting him off. Throwing your arms around his neck, you brought his lips down to meet yours as he quickly continued what he was doing. Fingers dipped between your folds slowly, toying with your sensitive bud and making you moan against his mouth. With a small grunt back, Diluc slid two of his fingers into you slowly, beginning to pump. You sighed out his name as your hips ground into him, his lips moving back towards your neck as he panted against you. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” he breathed against you, hips rutting against your thigh. You used your free hands to push your pants off, kicking them down your legs and leaving you completely exposed. The purple scars on your body reflected with the lightning outside the window and the candle light on the bedside while your body twitched with desire. Another moan left your lips as his fingers curled up into you, his thumb circling your bud making your walls tremble. “I need you. I need you.” he chanted into your neck, trying to use his freehand to fumble with his pants to push them down. 

“Diluc…” you moaned as you started to meet his pumps, fucking yourself on his fingers trying to chase a high that you felt coming. 

“I need to be inside you. Let me - I need it.” he stammered, continuing to finger fuck you until you said yes. You let out a cry as you felt yourself nearing the edge, body hot and sweat collecting on your skin. “Please baby - let me - ”

“Diluc, yes - fuck - ” As soon as the words left your mouth, he pulled his fingers out of you and finished pulling his pants down, kicking them off and letting them fall to the floor. You let out a whine at the loss before Diluc leaned down to kiss you again, gently using his knees to spread your legs wider and his hand that was in you to line his cock up with you. Nerves started to kick in ever so slightly, surpassing the need as you spoke out. “Be - slow - please.” you managed to say. 

“Of course.” he said back, putting his lips back on yours as Diluc pushed the head of his cock into your hole. He let out a moan into your mouth, checking your face for any signs of discomfort before pushing in more. A whine left your lips at the feeling of being split open - it had been so long since you had someone inside of you that it almost felt like the first time again. Diluc pressed kisses to you, as some form of a distraction, as he continued to seethe himself inside until eventually, he was all the way in. “Okay?” he asked, bringing his gaze back up to yours. Diluc looked like he was absolutely holding back, restraining himself because you had asked. His face was red and he was panting above you already, heart racing with desire. 

“Ye - yeah.” you said back to him. He let out a groan before he kissed you again, not moving inside just yet. His lips were warm against yours, swollen from all of the other kisses he had given you so far. Diluc wrapped his arms around you and brought you close to him, pressing your bodies together as you felt your need re-awaken. Your body was on edge, having him inside you but not moving - and you needed him yet again. “Diluc - you can move - please.” you begged. 

“Fuck, yes.” he groaned into your mouth as slowly he started to rock his hips into yours, cock sliding in and out of you with ease. When he started moving, everything from before fully woke up again and you felt your muscles start to tense up, gripping onto his shoulders desperately as your moans started to fill the air. He took that as signal to start going faster and eventually, he started thrusting harder, with more purpose. A cry left your lips at the change of pace, feeling your body react by trying to move your hips to meet his. 

“Faster Diluc - please faster.” you cried out. Your lover let out a loud moan at your plea, hiking your legs over his shoulders as he fucked into you harder, cock curving up inside you and hitting the spot that had you crying out his name. You started to shake under him, a warmth pooling in you that felt like it was about to bubble over. Diluc took your lips in his again, drinking up your moans as he pounded himself into you, the bed creaking and the sound of his hips meeting yours filling the room. You felt his cock growing harder inside of you with every thrust, your resolve close to breaking. “D - Diluc - Diluc!” you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks as pleasure started to overcome you. 

“So good - you’re so good to me - so - perfect - fuck!” he said to you in a haze, a wanton moan leaving his lips as he felt your walls start to flutter around his cock. You let out a cry as you felt yourself nearly there - the pressure was bubbling and you were about to snap as the length of Diluc’s cock hit you right every time, his moans music to your ears and making your insides shutter. “Ah - ah - come for me, baby - come for me!” Diluc begged, now chasing a release by making you get to yours. You let out a whine - feeling yourself getting towards that edge - then a scream, feeling Diluc bring his hand down between your bodies to start rubbing at your clit. “Fuck you’re gonna - come - come!” he moaned. 

“Diluc - Diluc - I’m - fuck!” you screamed out his name as white hot pleasure took over your body, feeling your walls finally clench down on him inside of you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your heard as you kept moaning, body arching against his and core still convulsing as Dilic continued to fuck you, now with a pace near brutal that had your orgasm being wrung out, overstimulation nearing. “Di - Diluc - ” you stammered as his fingers rubbed harder on your spent nub. 

“Fuck - I’m - I’m gonna cum - so hard - inside - baby - ” Diluc let out one last loud moan as his hips slapped against yours, his cock twitching inside of you as his seed buried itself deep. He let out moans as he bucked his hips up into you, your twitching core milking his cock as he all but collapsed on top of you. “Fuck -” he breathed out into your neck, dragging your hips close again so he could keep pumping his high in your body. 

You felt spent - exhausted. Eventually, you felt his cock stop twitching inside of you and Diluc pulled out, collapsing next to you. He brought the blankets over your bodies and pulled you close to him, pressing kisses to your temple. 

“Are you okay?” he asked you. You turned to look at him, eyes wide with concern. You gave him a smile and pressed a kiss to his lips. Even after all that, he was still worried about you. You could argue that's what you loved most about him - that under the facade of not caring, he cared a lot - he was an emotional guy. 

“More than okay.” you said back to him. He let out a hum as his hand trailed down to your abdomen - the area where you had the most scars from the Bakufu. Suddenly, you got what he was saying. 

“I - well - I came inside. Are you sure?” he asked again. You didn’t really think about that in the moment, honestly. You weren’t sure how you felt about that one hundred percent - but you knew that you didn’t entirely mind it. You had gone through hell to get back with him because you wanted to be with him - you wanted to be with him completely. 

“Yeah. I’m sure - I want to be with you, Diluc. That means… everything.” you said back. He nodded back down to you as he kissed you again, keeping his hand on you down below. When he stopped, he pressed your forehead to his lovingly.

“To everything.”

[ayellowcurtain]

Can you write something with Max (Deja vu), Sander and Robbe

Robbe looks at Milan’s hands, holding his phone, searching for the picture that might pull Robbe back down to the worst time of his life. He hasn’t seen it yet but somehow, he’s sure he’ll see the man he’s so afraid of meeting again. Milan is also very nervous so Robbe tries to calm him down, rubbing his hand up and down his friend’s back.

“Here.” Milan finally finds it, sitting back to meet Robbe on the couch, showing him the picture. It was dark and he saw the men that attacked him and Sander only for a brief moment but he knows he would recognize any of them anywhere.

His heart starts beating fast and loud, making him dizzy and deaf for a long, painful second. He feels himself spiraling and he rests against the back of the couch to try and calm himself.

“Yeah, hm, it’s him.” Robbe swallows or tries to even though his mouth is dry and bitter.

“Really?” Milan looks at him with his eyes wide open, and Robbe sees the hand on his knee but he can’t feel anything, not a single inch of his body. He nods his head, feeling it heavy.

Milan puts his phone down and rushes out of the living room, saying something about grabbing some water for him. He really needs it but he doesn’t say it, holding Milan’s phone to look at the picture again. He’s arrested already, at least one, and Robbe wonders if he was alone this time, if the others are arrested too.

Milan comes back with the water and he helps Robbe hold the glass at first until Robbe can actually hold it, drinking everything at once. It doesn’t fix everything right away but at least he feels a little more aware.

“Your friend is at the station?” Milan nods his head, his eyebrows up in the middle and Robbe wishes he wasn’t so transparent about how this is affecting him. Milan already had a shitty night with the news from his friend and Robbe doesn’t want to be another problem for him to deal with.

“So let’s go there.”

“Robbe...are you sure?” Milan holds the glass back when Robbe gives it back to him and he nods his head, tapping his jacket to find his own phone.

“Yeah. Just need to tell Sander.”

Milan says he’ll grab his things, rushing out of the room, still as scared as Robbe, and Robbe is alone again, grabbing his phone, staring at their conversation for a moment while breathing in and out, knowing this won't be easy.

It’s never easy to talk about that night because they can never really talk about it. He and Sander have very different opinions about how they should have dealt with everything and they can never settle for the middle ground, they’re both sure of their opinions.

Robbe wishes he had the courage to go to the police then and he can’t believe he’s having another chance of doing right, of doing what he wanted to do but couldn’t do alone.

To Sander: I’m going to the police

He bites his nails, anxiously waiting for Sander to answer already. Nothing he says will change his mind but Robbe just needs to tell him and to know what he thinks.

To Robbe: What?

What happened?

Are you ok?

To Sander: Yeah

Some of Milan’s friends were attacked…

And a few guys were arrested

I recognized one, Sander

Milan appears at the door, ready to go already, and Robbe gets up too, not sure how he’ll be able to walk but he thinks about the first step only, and the rest will follow. He’s about to lock his phone, putting the anxiety for Sander’s reaction in the back of his mind when Sander’s photo appears on his screen, calling him.

“Hi…” He lets Milan lead the way so he and Sander can have some privacy, this won’t be an easy conversation.

“Robbe, you can’t do this!”

Sander is not upset but he’s very mad. Robbe can imagine him pacing around his bedroom, not caring if his parents can hear them talk.

“I’ve decided, Sander. You don’t have to get involved. I’ll tell the police I was alone.”

“Robbe, what the fuck! Don’t go to the fucking police, for god’s sake! They won’t do shit about this! And then you’ll be in danger for no stupid reason! Don’t be dumb!”

Robbe lets Milan go inside their uber first, not wanting to drag the whole conversation now. He just needed to tell Sander and they’ll talk about it once it’s done.

“Sander, you won’t change my mind. I have to go, we’re at the station…”

“Robbe! Please!”

“I have to go, I’ll call you when I get home.”

And he hangs up before Sander can argue again. Milan holds his hand, sometimes squeezes even, the whole car ride.

In the back of his mind he kept thinking he would accidentally run into the guy, that he would recognize him and try something, anything but it doesn’t happen. The station is basically empty and they don’t even have to sit and wait. Milan’s friend is already there and Milan stays with Robbe while he tells the officers what happened over two years ago. He doesn’t feel as helpless as he thought he would because it’s been so long. The police officer seems to write every word he tells him, and he listens carefully and reassures Robbe that he can go home and go on with his life.

Milan asks if he needs anything when they leave, a distraction, to go out to eat something fancy to get their minds off of what happened, or to just go home.

Robbe prefers to go home and rest. He didn’t do much but it feels like he ran a marathon.

He would call Sander and ask him to come sleep with him, hold him tight while he sleeps - and cries - but he can’t tonight. Sander is probably too angry and triggered. As they step outside, he finds a familiar face instantly but it’s not the one he so desperately wants to see.

“Hey…” Max comes closer, both his hands deep inside his khaki pants pockets. His eyes are worried, and going from Milan to Robbe, looking at him for longer, like he’s checking if Robbe is still in one piece.

Robbe feels guilty for him being here so late. Even if he and Sander are twins, Max looks like a baby, and he’s so extremely calm and naive and Robbe thinks he should be in bed by now, drinking his bottle or something.

“Hi...did your brother send you here?”

“No, no, not at all. But he was pretty upset, and he wasn’t exactly hiding your conversation so I decided to come and check if everything was okay.”

“I’m okay but I need my bed, so I can sleep for like a day or two.”

Max smiles and nods his head, finally saying hi to Milan. They’ve met each other a couple of times, and if Max wasn’t exactly like his boyfriend, Robbe would love for these two to date. But Robbe also doesn’t know what type of person is Max’s type of person so he doesn’t want to pressure anything. It’s just odd with Sander having his hair back to its natural color. They have a very different style but they look the same, apart from the clothes and shoes.

“Come on, Max, join us! I’ll cook us some pasta…” Milan walks to the sidewalk, looking for the car that’ll take them home.

“Like you know how to cook.” Robbe tries to make a joke to show the other two he’s doing okay.

Max smiles and accepts the invitation, and they all get inside the car, Max squished in between them and Robbe finally grabs his phone, seeing the missed calls from Sander as soon as they finished their call earlier.

To Sander: I just finished at the station

Am going home now

If you wanna call…

I love you

He bites his cheek, thinking of his desperate need to see Sander, to be held by him for a whole night. He doesn’t want to argue, doesn’t want to talk about it or have to explain why he did what he did.

“Hm…” Max starts next to him and Robbe looks at him, not sure if he was reading the messages too, “Sander doesn’t know I came tonight so if you could just...not tell him that part.”

Of course Sander wouldn’t know. He and Max get along most of the time but sometimes it also happens that Sander thinks his brother is overstepping. Thinking about it now, Robbe is sure Sander won’t like to know his brother rushed to the police station when Sander himself wasn’t there. Robbe gets both of them, and he really gets Sander being a little bit jealous about it.

He nods his head because of course he won’t tell. If Sander talks to him any time soon. If he’s being completely honest, Max is the last thing he’s worrying about.

If he was alone in the car, he would call Sander, not ashamed to ask if he could put their differences aside just for tonight because he needs Sander. And he knows Sander would listen and would do as he would be told. But he doesn’t have it in him to be like that when Milan and Max are there, able to see him that vulnerable.

It’s hard to pay attention to the small talk happening between Max and Milan because Robbe feels so drained. He can barely keep his eyes open, anxious to be home, in his bed and alone so he can cry without feeling guilty for worrying his friends. Sander doesn’t want to talk to him either so he’s alone for the night. He doesn’t even know what he’ll tell his boyfriend tomorrow.

He slips out of the car, angry thinking about the flight of stairs in between him and his bed.

“What are you doing here?” He would recognize that voice anywhere. He looks up, finding Sander at his door, looking at his brother coming out of the car too.

“I invited him for dinner! And then with tonight’s events, I didn’t have time to cancel so we met him on our way home.” Milan intervenes before Max or Robbe can find a good enough excuse at the top of their heads.

Sander doesn’t argue for once, looking at Robbe again, still a little hurt but mostly worried and Robbe moves closer to him like magnets, hugging him quietly.

He takes a deep breath, squeezing Sander’s jacket, sighing when he finally feels heavy arms hugging him back, keeping him safe. Sander kisses his temple and keeps them still for as long as Robbe needs him to.

It feels inappropriate to have any conversation out on the street tonight, where anyone can see them, recognize them. After everything Robbe had to remember, and tell a stranger about, the last thing he wants is to be exposed on the street but he also needs Sander to understand why he did it without him.

“I’m sorry…” Sander whispers, a little too low for the windy night, “for everything.”

“I’m sorry too. For going without you.”

Sander looks away, stepping back so they can see each other more clearly, “When I met you, I wasn’t doing well. It got worse after the attack and with Britt. But I wasn’t doing well for some time. I was at my lowest suddenly during that night at the hotel. It was like suddenly the rope that was holding me snapped and I fell instantly, suddenly, like a switch turning off. I was at my bottom when I met you. I was there, in the dark and alone for some time and then you came unexpectedly and you rescued me.”

Robbe clenches his jaw, struggling not to start crying, worrying Sander even more.

“I am constantly afraid of losing you, of you getting hurt so badly by anyone, even me, that I see you at the bottom that I was when I met you. It was horrible, Robbe, and I don’t wish it to anyone, especially not you.”

Robbe puts his hands around Sander’s neck, still needing him closer, wrapping his arms around him when he stands closer, his hands on Robbe’s forehead, brushing his hair back, looking at him so immersively Robbe finally feels less drained, wanting to look deep inside Sander’s eyes for a couple of hours before falling asleep.

“We deal with trauma so differently. And with everything else too. And that’s what makes us so good, perfect for each other. We compliment each other and I love you even more when you try to understand me, to protect me. And I fucking love understanding you, protecting you. I’m sorry for not going with you. I won’t do that ever again. Whenever you need me, even if we disagree, I’ll try to always be there for you, to hold your hand.”

Sander leans down, resting his forehead against Robbe’s, still looking at him, pressing their lips together.

“I love you.”

“I love you. Can you stay for the night?” Sander nods his head, putting his arms down, taking Robbe off the floor for a few inches, carrying him to the front door, and Robbe climbs on his back once they’re inside, not needing to ask for Sander to take him home.

[thiswasinevitableid]

7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand. 

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest. 

He just wanted to help. 

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident. 

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety. 

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills. 

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots. 

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless. 

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings. 

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries. 

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat. 

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground. 

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

Bitter metal on his tongue. 

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth. 

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed. 

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself. 

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing. 

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.” 

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes. 

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

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

“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with. 

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness. 

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip. 

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep. 

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

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

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage. 

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness. 

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away. 

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away. 

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans. 

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

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly. 

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him. 

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors. 

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things. 

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed. 

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

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

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl. 

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around. 

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection. 

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new. 

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever. 

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.” 

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment. 

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest. 

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” 

[sleep-i-ness]

Bad Date? (Maria Hill x reader)

Request: YES (at end of oneshot)

Content Warning: Drinking, mentions of cheating

A/N: Here you go hun! I didn’t really know how to write the reader as a tomboy so sorry if it wasn’t quite what you wanted. Oh and one bit was a tiny bit inspired by Two Weeks Notice (with Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock) so if you notice that well done? Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Taglist:  @holybatflapexpert​​ @startrekkingaroundasgard​ @natasha-danvers​ @a-stressedstudent​ (if you would like to be added, please fill out the form in my bio)

A loud knock at the door startled Maria out of her administration haze; she sighed, taking in the heap of strewn sheets. Her usually immaculate desktop was barely visible under the mountain of paperwork that had just been piling up endlessly since her day had started. It was already looking like she might have to stay well past her contractually mandated hours just to clear what she already had. The legal team at Stark Industries had been on the phone with her non-stop, demanding evidence or explanations that were either highly confidential, non-existent or possibly even both. Maria was honestly sick to death of having to clean up both the physical and PR messes of the Avengers.

“Come in.” She was unable to muster any energy into her order, hoping to whatever mighty being out there that it was an agent she could actually stand. Or really just any agent other than Agent Mace. He had been needlessly suffocating, bouncing into her office, whenever he so pleased, to ask a question that really only required the most miniscule amount of brainpower to be answered. It was a miracle he had ever been hired.

Y/N poked her head through the door, an easy smile tilting her lips upwards. Maria returned the infectious grin despite herself, a giddy, light sensation spreading through her chest.

“Oh, good, Agent Y/L/N. These are the mission debriefs that you filed, would you mind taking them down to Agent Coulson?” Maria rifled through the stuffed drawer by her leg and passed her a thick brown file.

Y/N grabbed it, their fingertips brushing lightly and Maria jolted slightly as an electric spark shot up her arm. “Sure, I got it.”

“Now, after you’ve dropped them down, you can start with the files for your next-”

Y/N interrupted her, smiling sheepishly, “Actually, I don’t know how much time I have. That’s what I came here to ask you about. Tony sort of set me up on a date with someone tonight.”

Maria’s heart sank, a sickening heavy feeling, and she wasn’t quite sure why. She shook it off, blaming it on a sudden bout of exhaustion and mustered an enthusiastic grin. Scraping the papers on her desk together, she stapled them together with a satisfying click.

“Great.”

Y/N took that as a dismissal as she backed away, towards the door. “I just have to figure out what to wear. I don't have anything.”

Y/N almost giggled and a wave of nausea rolled over Maria as she swallowed harshly. Y/N looked ready to soar with joy, like an entrapped bird in a cage that she held the key to.

“Have fun.” Maria couldn’t help the bitterness seeping into her words and Y/N’s face contorted, startled for a second, before schooling herself into a more composed expression.

What the hell was that. Maria was astounded as Y/N backed out without another word, a placating smile fixed to her cheeks. She attributed her sudden passive-aggressiveness on an envy of being able to leave work without feeling the immense burden of knowing how much else she had to do. But she’d never had this problem before when it came to her work-life balance.

Maybe she was finally feeling the need to get back into a relationship.

:.

Maria groaned as the clock hand hit seven and she hadn’t seemed to have made a dent int the pile. She’d have to work the night on this lot; she was prepping an incredibly time-pressured, high-stakes mission, so they were sending the team out tomorrow. The window had been made known to them only a couple hours ago, at most.

She wondered if Y/N was having a better night than her. A nice dinner out, good conversation and freely flowing wine. Then, dancing in the arms of her pretty date and maybe getting a kiss goodnight.

No. This was unprofessional. Maria shook her head, blinking hurriedly, as she tried to clear her mind of any distracting thoughts.

Work.

Right…

Eliott Callahan, ex-CIA, presumed deceased after a mission went wrong in 2007. Recently resurfaced with links to the Tribe of Salvation, an organisation that had been previously unknown until ties to the Ten Rings had been revealed. Supposedly owned a scientific reserve in North Carolina which was too heavily guarded to not be hiding anything. Callahan had given them a way in, now they needed to take the place out.

Maria’s eyes watered as she stared at the security schematics and the notes made by top SHIELD security specialists. God, she wished she had Y/N here to give her some advice on it. Y/N’s expertise was in getting into places she shouldn’t be, which is how SHIELD had found her. But Y/N was having fun on a nice date with a nice girl and Maria couldn’t help but admitting that it had brightened her day to see Y/N happy.

The last mission, Lima, had taken a toll on everyone’s mental health, and Maria couldn’t help but blame herself for the failure. Four of their top agents had been taken out and the others, who had barely survived, had still not passed their psych evals. Today had been the first time Y/N had been visibly giddy or enthusiastic about anything since then.

:.

“Hi.”

Maria scooted her chair to face the door; head buried in a document as she muttered the lines to herself as she read. Lifting her head slowly, she blinked owlishly at the figure in the door.

“Y/N?”

Y/N hovered in the doorway, still wearing a very flattering suit that Maria couldn’t help but admire. She offered Maria a small but weary smile, shifting from foot to foot.

“Come in, take a seat, how was it?” Maria wasn’t sure if she were acting enthusiastic enough to believably be realistically overjoyed for Y/N having been on a date, but she was sure she could instead pass as being worn out.

Y/N slumped into the hard-plastic chair, which rolled backwards due to her momentum. Unlacing her shoes, she yanked them off and massaged the soles of her feet. She stretched out her stocking-covered legs, gently rubbing circles into the back of her ankles and calves.

“It was horrendous,” Y/N groaned, tilting her head back in exasperation. “I mean, does Tony know me at all? Coulson made me babysit him for 3 years, he should know me better than to set me up with someone like that.”

“Like that?”

“Oh, God, she was about 20 minutes late and didn’t get off her phone the entire time. When she finally made some conversation, it was all about her ex-boyfriends. Like, not even ex-girlfriends. And she was always texting at the table. How rude is that!” Y/N’s cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were glazed as she yawned, delicately raising a hand to cover a mouth while she stretched out like a cat. Y/N smiled sleepily at Maria as she curled into the uncomfortable chair.

Maria returned the smile softly, somewhat reassured by Y/N’s vehement complaints. “Sounds awful. No second date then?”

“God no, I’d rather be reassigned to… to the Arctic!” Y/N threw her hands up dramatically, the seat wobbling beneath her.

“That can be arranged.”

Y/N was unimpressed by Maria’s dry tone, bottom lip jutting out as she folded her arms sulkily.

A sudden thought popped into her mind. She brightened abruptly, sitting up again. “As if you’d do that. You wouldn’t survive without me.”

“You wish.” Y/N was cute while tipsy, Maria mused, before jolting at the thought. No, she was her supervisor, she could not be thinking like that.

“So, tell me.” Y/N’s chin was slipping off her hand as she yawned, elbow firmly planted on the desk. “I’ve told you how shit my date was, what’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

Maria paused as she took a mental step back from all the work thoughts accumulating at the back of her head. “Well, back in high school, it wasn’t really a date. At least, I hadn’t thought it was because I’d just come out. To everyone. And I went out for lunch with a friend, a guy named Tyler and he ended up telling me that he could turn me straight again. He also decided to show me the numerous photos of his penis. He had a whole folder on his phone in different lightings and from different angles.”

Y/N had clapped a hand over her mouth, “That’s horrendous, I don’t think I could ever look at someone the same if they did that. Like unsolicited and all that.”

“Yeah, definitely was the final nail in putting me off men.”

Y/N giggled, a pretty sound that Maria couldn’t help but want to hear more of.

“So,” she began, pursing her lips as she tried to think of how to continue.

“So?” Maria laughed

“Yeah, so, tell me. Is there anyone in your life? Anyone special?”

Maria snorted. “No, God no. I haven’t had the time in all honesty; I’m barely on top of my work, never mind sorting out a love life at the same time.”

“I thought… I thought that you were dating Agent Hayes?”

“No, we broke up a while ago over… mutual difference involving work and personal lives becoming too heavily involved.”

“Okay… so that’s what you wrote on the official forms about your break-up. Now, tell me again with feelings. Come on, let’s have a proper deep chat.”

“Hm.” Maria glanced back at the document she’d discarded back onto the pile and groaned. There was clearly a better option of the two. “Fine. I’m sure you are aware of Agent Hayes’ reputation.” Y/N frowned and shook her head. “As a… honey trap. It seems that she was unable to remove that part of her life from our personal lives and decided to… practice on other agents and people in our lives.”

Maria spoke bitterly, expression twisted in a grimace like she had tasted something extremely sour.

“So, basically she’s a cheating bitch.”

“Yeah.” Maria nodded. That summarised her perfectly.

“Well, fuck her, we don’t need shitty women in our lives. Am I right or am I right?” Y/N’s voice rose as she declared her statement triumphantly, sending Maria a quick grin as she pumped a fist in the air.

“Yes, you’re right.” Maria was tentative, unsure whether she wanted to ask the words on the tip of her tongue. “Anyone else in your life?”

“Well,” Y/N took a deep breath, working up the courage to do something momentous. “I did like someone, but I thought they were dating someone, so I let Tony set me up on an absolutely awful blind date.” Her voice lowered to more of a murmur. “But now I found out that the woman I like is single.”

Maria blinked. Could she-? No. Well, there was no point in not trying. “What if the woman liked you back?”

“I’d probably ask if I could kiss her.” Y/N glanced at Maria’s lips, the glaze in her eyes no longer from alcohol.

“I think she’d say yes. She’d be pretty dumb not to.”

Y/N leant in, and Maria’s breath caught in her throat. She had to be dreaming. Their lips met and every thought flew out of her head as she melted into the kiss. Maria pulled away, laughing at Y/N’s pout.

“Wait. Come here.” Maria patted her lap and Y/N eagerly straddled her legs, one hand cupping her chin, the other on the back of her head. “That’s better.”

She kissed her again, an awestruck expression appearing on Y/N’s face as she grinned blissfully. Maria could smell the sweet scent of Y/N’s perfume invading her senses, everything blurring as her mind focused in on the way Y/N seemed to fit perfectly in her arms. Or the hand gripping the hair at the base of her neck as Y/N kept her head in place, the other caressing her cheek.

As they broke apart again, Y/N stayed on Maria’s lap, wrapping her arms around her neck.

“I have to finish this work, but you’re welcome to stay and help. It’ll go twice as quickly.”

Y/N pecked her lips. “Deal.”

-

Request:  Maria hill x female, tomboy, reader where Maria hears that tony set the reader up on a date with some girl he knew. Maria can’t stop thinking about it and ends up staying up through the night until r dare is over. Reader comes back after the date and they talk and reader makes fun of how bad the date was. (aren’t in relationship but get together after talking)

[tevivinter]

"You’re baking cookies in the communal kitchen at 3 am and I’m angry but also really hungry and need someone to vent to, you conveniently solve all my problems" for Dorian x Marel?

part two of university au for @midnightprelude and @dadrunkwriting​! i’m afraid this deviated a little from the original prompt but i hope you like it! :D

The smell of freshly baked cookies is what drew Dorian towards the kitchen. That, and the curiosity to know who in their right mind wanted to bake at 3 am. He went downstairs quietly, his steps barely making any sound as he approached the communal kitchen - or so he thought.

“Who’s there?” Dorian stopped at the corridor for a moment, partially because he wasn’t expecting to be discovered so soon - but mostly because he recognized that voice. “You can come out already, Sera.” 

Well, that was something.

Dorian took the opportunity to step closer, leaning his left shoulder against the doorframe. His lips curled into a small smile when he spotted Marel sitting - or rather, slouching - on a stool, the upper half of his body almost lying over the nearest counter. “It seems we are prone to meet at late hours, Marel.”

They had met for the first time two weeks ago. Marel blinked, the surprise clear on his face as he stared back at Dorian. “Dorian. Hey.” He quickly straightened his posture, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

Dorian shrugged, his tone light as he checked his nails. “Oh, you know, just wandering aimlessly through the corridors. I heard some students believe these halls are haunted - all the more reason to scare freshmen around, don’t you think?”

Marel placed his phone on the counter before giving him a bored look. “So you basically can’t sleep,” he said, ignoring Dorian’s attempt to joke.

Someone is very grumpy tonight, Dorian thought. “To put it mildly, yes.” He stepped away from the doorframe and into the kitchen. “Mind if I join you for a moment?”

It was Marel’s turn to shrug. “No.” His gaze soon dropped to the floor, and Dorian was quick to notice that something was bothering him. Marel let out a tormented sigh after a moment of silence, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re probably wondering why I’m baking cookies at this hour.”

“Well, I would be lying if I said this wasn’t intriguing to say the least.” Dorian sat on another stool next to Marel’s, facing him as they talked.

“My sister is coming to visit me tomorrow,” Marel continued. “I wanted to buy her a gift or something but I didn’t have the time to do that. So...” He gestured vaguely towards the oven. “I’m doing these instead. It’s her favorite recipe but chances are I’m gonna fuck it up.” He rolled his eyes, voice heavy with frustration. “It will probably taste like shit.”

Dorian held his cheek as he listened, his arm resting over the counter. He didn’t know Marel had a sister until that very moment. Still, the fact that he was doing all of that just to surprise her was undeniably sweet. “Not much of a cook, are you?”

“Not really." Marel checked his phone for a second before glancing back at Dorian. "What about you?"

"I can cook a few things, but truth be told I'm better off tasting food and judging it." Dorian gave him a convinced smirk, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "I would make a wonderful judge for those cooking reality shows, mind you."

Marel huffed a chuckle, feeling the corners of his mouth lift a little bit. There was something about Dorian that made him feel more at ease - maybe it was his sense of humor or his charming nature.

Or maybe it was his ability to look extremely handsome even at 3am. Marel glanced at Dorian's robes, the black fabric effortlessly hugging his skin with golden details on its sleeves and neck. Even his damned sleeping wear looked fancy, but this shouldn't even be a surprise at this point. Marel quickly glanced away to avoid being too obvious.

"Okay then." Marel hopped out of his stool to fetch a mitten. "Let's see what you think about these cookies."

Dorian raised a brow, his gaze following Marel as he went towards the oven. "You just said they are likely to taste like shit. Not exactly encouraging if you ask me," he said sarcastically.

"That was just me being realistic." Marel opened the oven and took the pan out of it with his gloved hand. Dorian couldn't help but take a peek, the sight of fresh chocolate dipped cookies making his stomach growl in protest. Marel shot him a look before putting the tray on the counter. "But it's okay if you don't want to do it."

Dorian could recognize a challenge anywhere, and that was definitely one. "Kaffas, hurry up and give them to me. You're speaking as if these cookies are radioactive."

"And you're speaking like someone who's dying of hunger," Marel teased.

"I'm not-" Dorian was about to protest when his stomach growled once again, this time even louder so that both of them could hear. He pinched the bridge of his nose impatiently, listening to the sound of Marel's chuckle from the other side of the kitchen. "Alright, fine. There's a chance I might be a little hungry," he admitted, stubbornness still ringing in his voice.

"You could have said that from the beginning." Marel picked a bowl from the cupboard and filled it with some cookies. Then he approached Dorian and handed it over to him. "Go on. Judge me," he challenged, leaning against the counter behind him.

Dorian glanced at the bowl's content and then back at Marel, taking in the sight of his golden eyes for a second. "If you insist." He fetched one cookie with the tips of his fingers, holding it mid-air to have a better look - although his attention quickly went back to Marel. “Looks appealing in an austere kind of way. I happen to fancy the sight quite a lot.”

Marel frowned. “Are you joking? They look ordinary at best,” he said, fully aware of the cookies’ average appearance.

“They do, yes.” Dorian agreed, his amused smile reaching his eyes. “But I wasn’t talking about the cookies.”

“Then why-” Marel was about to complain when he suddenly connected the dots. For fuck’s sake, Dorian was talking about him. Marel stared at the man with a dumbfounded expression, his face blushing furiously under his silvery gaze. He crossed his arms in hopes of looking less like an idiot. “Right. Guess I should have specified,” he mumbled, awkwardly glancing at the floor while Dorian ate.

“The cookies are good,” Dorian said after a short moment of silence, placing the bowl on the counter and pushing it lightly towards Marel. “You shouldn’t worry about it. Why don’t you have some?”

Marel spotted the movement with the corner of his eyes. Just knowing that he didn’t screw things up was enough to lift the weight off his shoulders. “I’m not really into chocolate,” he shrugged. “That’s why I wanted your opinion.” Only then Marel noticed that the bowl was still almost full. He frowned. “Aren’t you going to eat the rest of it?”

Dorian shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but these are meant for your sister. It’s best if you keep them.”

Marel rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I still got a pan full of cookies. Trust me, no one’s eating all of that.” He uncrossed his arms and returned the bowl to Dorian, taking a few steps towards him to do so. “Besides, your stomach was growling like an ogre. No use denying it.”

Dorian groaned with the last comment. “Your kind words are truly impressive,” he said sarcastically before starting to eat another cookie. “But thank you.”

“No problem.” Marel crossed the kitchen to grab the pan. Dorian watched as he moved each cookie into the same large pot, taking care not to damage them or something. It was honestly cute to see him so focused in that task - Dorian couldn’t force himself to look away. After all, he did mean it when he said that Marel was good looking. He was tall, at least 6’2 by the looks of it, with broad shoulders and an athletic build. Dorian soon found himself to be distracted by Marel’s toned arms, his mind distantly wondering about the origin of all those scars.

“So what made you come here at this hour?” Marel asked, still too focused to even notice Dorian staring at him. “And don’t say you’re out to scare freshmen,” he added.

“And here I thought I had a perfectly convincing answer,” Dorian joked. Still, his smile was short lived despite his attempt of humor. He held back a sigh, holding a half-bitten cookie in the air. “I had an argument with my mother. Nothing out of ordinary at this point, truly.”

Marel let out a breathless laugh, his tone bitter. “Guess we’re not so different then.” He looked at Dorian once the cookie pot was completely filled. “Wanna talk about it? I’m bored and I still need to wash this mess, so...”

As tempting as that could be, Dorian didn’t want to burden Marel with his problems. It was too late for any of that. “Perhaps another time.” He stood up from the stool, bringing the now empty bowl with him as he approached the kitchen sink. “Shall we talk about your meeting with your sister instead? I can help you with the dishes in the meantime,” Dorian offered.

Marel surely wasn’t expecting to hear that, but he certainly wouldn’t complain about receiving help. “Sure.” He took one step aside so that Dorian could use the other side of the sink.

And so they chatted for a while, finding the night to be less shitty than before.

[hunflowers]

so... this was supposed to be a blurb but like... it’s not anymore akeekeekee enjoy college!harry and the hotness that comes with it :) *nose boops*

It was a Friday night.

And typically, for you at least, you didn’t have the urge to party it up and go out and let loose for the night.

Except for this Friday, that is.

Finals were done, and after a few weeks of stressing over them, you were happy to actually let loose. You felt like you deserved this little bit of freedom before you would head home to your overbearing family for the summer.

You were hesitant at first, not being in the game per se for some while now. But when you told your friends you would go with them, they got so excited you would hate to back out on them and let them down. Plus, maybe you would actually enjoy yourself for once.

You had a pregame at you and your friend’s shared apartment, just eight of you having fun and dancing around before you were to head out for the night. You would have to leave soon though if you wanted to catch the right train into the city to get to the club at a decent time.

“Shit, Y/N, I forget how hot you look when you put in effort,” your friend Heather called, slapping your ass as she walked by to get another drink.

You didn’t think you looked that good, but her compliment was good enough to have you feeling better in your skin. You were wearing a tight suede skirt matched with a crop top that could practically come off as a bra and these cute heels that weren’t that tall so you could be comfortable for as long as possible.

In return, you slapped Heather’s ass back before cheering your glasses and knocking back your shots. You cringed at the taste of whiskey, finding another drink quickly to chase the bitter taste.

“Tell me, Y/N,” another friend, Will, came over to join you and Heather, “How excited are you to actually have fun once in your life?”

You scoffed at his words, gently punching him in the shoulder. “I have fun, Will. I don’t need to go out every weekend to have fun.”

“Sure, but how are you going to get dick, cooped up in this apartment all day?”

“Well, now I have all summer to worry about that.”

“With your parents over your shoulder? Yeah, good luck. My advice, get some tonight before you go nun for the summer.”

You rolled your eyes at him before he walked away to go mingle with whomever else. It was true you had some pretty... stuck up parents to say the least. Growing up they hardly ever let you do recreational things so when you made the decision to go away for college, you knew it was your time to actually get to live your life without your parents breathing down your neck.

You’re pretty sure they think you’re still a virgin and was waiting until marriage to have sex like they did. But, you weren’t.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Heather gasped, gaining your attention as you looked at her with a quizzical face. She squealed, jumping up and down in her spot before practically shoving her phone in your face, letting you read over the messages she just received.

Your jaw went slack at what you read, and you almost did your own happy dance but decided to keep your calm just a little bit. Heather’s boyfriend couldn’t make it the pregame due to work and said he was meeting you all at the train station. The other thing was that he was bringing his roommate along, Harry, and you maybe had the smallest crush on Harry.

Well, it was actually a big crush but no one knew that. Everyone just knew you had wanted him to get in your pants for some while now. And, perhaps tonight was finally the night.

He was nice from what you could tell the select amount of times you’ve met him and although he was more on the quiet side whenever you were around him, he seemed like a great time. He would crack a joke once in a while that – you probably would’ve laughed at anyway – genuinely made you laugh your belly laugh and not to mention he was extremely good looking.

All in all, you wanted him to ruin you. There was no way someone that handsome wouldn’t be good in bed and you had to find out for yourself.

So, you looked to Heather, a small smirk on your face as you poured another shot for yourself, excited for the events of tonight.

❊ ❊

Much to your dismay, you didn’t get the opportunity to sit next to Harry on the train. This girl, you think her name is Kayla, was quick to sit down in the seat next to him before you got the chance to fully comprehend what had happened.

Will and Heather looked at you, wide eyed looks on their faces as you huffed at the situation, sitting two rows back from Harry. You couldn’t exactly blame the girl, because she didn’t know you – she was merely a friend of a friend – and she didn’t know your slight infatuation with the brunette boy. So, you couldn’t blame her but that didn’t stop the jealousy bubbling inside you.

The entire train ride you sulked in your seat, a small pout on your lips as you could see through the cracks in the seats that Kayla was snuggling up real close to Harry and you could faintly hear the sound of her giggling at whatever he was saying.

When you finally got to the club, against your better judgement you decided to put all thoughts of Harry in the past and let go of all worries for the night.

“How’re you going to let her take your man like that?” Will scolded, standing next to you at the bar as you waited for your drink.

“Maybe because he isn’t my man,” you shrugged, subtly glancing over your shoulder to see the two still talking. Although, it seemed like Kayla was trying to dance on him and he just wasn’t having it as he looked at her with a bored look. You stifled a laugh at the sight.

Will joined your looking but instead he didn’t hide his amusement and laughed quite loudly. “That’s what she gets for stealing him from you.”

You laughed at his words, then the bartender finally returned with your drink, and you quickly paid before taking it and making your way over to an unoccupied little table off to the side of the very crowded dance floor. You needed a drink before Will would drag you out onto the dance floor to dance to the very repetitive music that you supposed was dance music.

“Oh my God, this is my favorite song! I’ll see you on the dance floor!” Will screamed in glee, all but running into the mosh pit.

You observed the mass of bodies, eyes wandering over everyone that seemed way too happy to be sweating their asses off. Without really realizing, your eyes fell onto Harry for maybe the millionth time that night admiring the way he was laughing with some guy over on the other side of the club. You noticed Kayla was no longer all over him and you wondered what had happened. Perhaps she got tired of his stoic face and unmoving body as she tried grinding on him. You couldn’t help but snicker at the thought.

Getting lost in your thoughts, when you finally snapped back to reality you saw Harry was looking back at you, a tilt to his head as his eyes raked over your stance. You turned away quickly, looking anywhere but at him, but you couldn’t help the smile that wormed its way onto your lips as you sipped the remaining contents of your drink.

You slyly brought your eyes back to him and saw that his eyes were still locked on you. Your tongue poked your cheek as you smiled with an open mouth and you pushed yourself away from the table. You started walking in his direction but you siked him out when you made a quick turn to join your friends on the dance floor, all while keeping your eyes on him and measuring his reactions.

He smirked at you, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans, as his other brought his beer up to his lips. His friend was clearly still talking to him but from what you could gather, he wasn’t paying attention to a single thing he was saying.

Deciding to play up this hard to get act, or whatever it was you were doing, you took your eyes off of him, and focusing on your friends around you as you began to sway your hips in rhythm with the music playing.

“Y/N, Harry’s looking at you,” Heather said in your ear. You nodded your head, meaning you knew and she gave you a look as if to say you whore!

You shrugged in response, and when the beat drop happened in the song, you rocked your hips as provocatively as you could – without looking ridiculous. Hopefully Harry saw it.

Your questions were answered when Heather not-so-discreetly widened her eyes and motioned behind you with her chin and mouthing “He’s on his way over!”

Then you felt hands rest on your hips, your behind now brushing against the rough material of denim. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry’s pretty face smirking down at you before he leaned closer, his soft lips just barely touching the crest of your ear.

“Hi, Y/N,” his sultry voice spoke, and you could feel your underwear already dampen. You chose not to respond vocally, instead pushing your ass harder onto his groin, swiveling your hips in time with the beat, and you felt his nails dig a little deeper into the fabric of your skirt at the sensation.

You stayed like this for some time, but then you felt Harry’s hand on the top of your back, pushing your front forward a bit so you were now stood at a 45° angle.

Wow, was it hot in here or was it just you?

And all of a sudden you had a deep regret of suggesting you all head into the city for this club. You wanted Harry and very soon and trying to catch a train in time with your sexual needs would prove to be quite difficult. And you’d be caught dead before having sex in the disgusting bathroom.

You cursed at yourself mentally as you couldn’t stop your grinding on Harry, just making yourself needier for him. When this song ended, you stood back up to your full height, and finally turned around to face him. His smirk formed into a smile as he looked at you, the firm grip on your hips now loose as you brought your hand up to push back the few strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

“Hi, Harry.”

Harry laughed at your response to him from twenty minutes ago, gaining a small smile from you because you were in awe at his childlike features when his face lit up with a smile.

He then took your hand dragging you off the dance floor, trying to find some place else to talk that didn’t involve sweaty bodies bumping up into the both of your constantly. Ending up more so at the back of the place where there were still a lot of people but definitely fewer than up front, you two stood next to a wall, breathing in the less crowded air.

Harry put his back against the wall, standing with his legs apart, bringing your body between, his arms wrapped around your lower back loosely. You gently placed your hands on his chest, looking up at him through your lashes as innocently as possible.

Then with no words exchanged between you two, your lips locked together and all of a sudden you were thrown into a heated make out sensation. Normally, you weren’t a huge fan of public displays of affection, but when it came to Harry, your morals were thrown out the window and if he asked you to get on your knees in front of all these people, you wouldn’t think twice.

And, again, you shamed yourself for wanting to go to the city.

You felt his hands travel down to your butt, groping at your flesh the same time his tongue pushed into your mouth. Your hands slipped into his hair, your fingers lightly gripping at the curly strands and pulling on them softly, Harry letting out a low moan at the feeling.

One hand remained on your butt, the other moving down to caress your soft thigh and pulling you even closer to his body if that were even possible. Your front grinded against his front, and you could feel his cock hardening under the material. You moaned at the feeling of him, pushing your crotch harder against his, trying to fuel the fire stirring in your body.

After a while, Harry separated your lips, trailing kisses down your jaw and down your neck, finishing up at your collarbone before trailing back up to under your ear. He searched for a while before finally landing on your sweet spot, getting you to let out a small whimper at the feeling. God, you wanted him so badly.

“Harry,” you whined, tilting your head back as he continued to bite and lick at your neck.

He brought his head up, and immediately your eyes noticed the redness on his lips and you could only imagine how yours looked. His vibrant green eyes bore into yours, and he brought his hands up to cup at your jaw, his thumb touching your plushy lips, dragging your bottom lip down slightly. Without thinking, you stuck your tongue out to lick at his thumb before taking it in your mouth, a wild look in your eyes. Harry’s jaw dropped slightly, completely mesmerized at the sight of you, and if he didn’t have self-control, he was sure he would cum in his pants right then and there.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while now,” he stated, still in awe at the way you’re swirling your tongue around his thumb and gently sucking on it.

You rose your eyebrow, wondering what in Hell took him so long to do so. You flattened your tongue on the underside of his thumb, slowly dragging it back up towards the tip, and then softly biting on it before letting him out of your mouth.

“And why haven’t you?”

“Can be a pussy sometimes.” You giggled at this, gently leaning your body into his.

“And what do you wanna do about this now?”

“If I could, I’d fuck you right here right now,” he started, again grabbing at your ass and digging his nails into the material of your skirt. “But, I have more decency than that.”

“So... when?” You pouted, giving him those same innocent doe eyes you did before.

“You can come to mine later. I’m sure my dick’ll be hard still then.”

“Right, with Heather and Rob in the room next door? No thanks, but you can come to mine. My roommate went on vacation for the week, so we’ll have the place to ourselves,” you persuaded, smiling sweetly.

Harry pursed his lips as if he were in thought before leaning down and pressing his mouth to the shell of my ear. And even though the music was loud, you very clearly could hear him say, “Amazing. I can’t wait to have you screaming my name all night, Y/N.”

Then he walked away, leaving you anxiously waiting for what’s to come.

Or him for that matter.

❊ ❊

It was painful waiting. The next two hours before you leave that club to catch your train were unbearable. You had this dull ache in your core that was itching to be relieved ever since Harry walked away and you were a baby about it the whole time.

You saw him around talking to people you didn’t know and you wanted to cry at how badly you needed him. You tried drinking a little more to forget about it for the time being but you couldn’t go overboard because you wanted to be as sober as possible for the night.

Then you all got on the train, and Harry purposefully avoided sitting in the seat you saved open for him. He grinned at you as he walked further up the aisle and sat at another pair of seats that weren’t occupied.

You didn’t know what game he was playing but you weren’t having fun.

By the time the train pulled into the station, you were officially frustrated by this guy. You don’t exactly know why you were so desperate for him to have his way with you, but when he took his sweet time to bid his goodbye to his roommate for the night, you practically dragged him in the direction of your Uber that you called for to take you home.

“Relax, Darling, you’ve got all night with me.”

By the time you stepped through the door of your apartment, you both were a stumbling mess of kissing and hurriedly taking off your clothes as you led him to your bedroom.

Flopping backwards onto your bed, you pulled him atop you by the loops in his jeans, your mouths hardly disconnecting the entire time. Dragging your hands down to the button of his jeans, you quickly undid it as well as bringing the zipper down before helping him discard of the next clothing item.

Clad in only his briefs, he was quick to get you out of your own skirt so you two were matching in the sense you were only in your underwear. You decided to spend the night forgo a bra, so that gave Harry easier access to your nipples, and he’s hardly took his hands off of them ever since you tossed your shirt on the floor.

He tweaked your nipple, pinching and pulling on it as he kissed his way down your body and to your sopping cunt. He kissed you through the lace fabric of your thong, tonguing at the wet patch that blocked him from getting his tongue into your actual hole.

“Shit, Har,” you whimpered, slightly thrusting your hips to meet his mouth but he was quick to pull away.

“Don’t move,” he said sternly, hooking his fingers into your panties and yanking them down your legs before tossing them somewhere in the room.

His middle and ring finger traced your folds, trailing up to your clit and slowly rubbing harsh circles before moving back down to your hole without ever going in. You moaned at the feeling, and going against his words, you moved your hips to try and get some more friction.

With his right hand, Harry pinned you down to the bed at the bottom of your abdomen, halting your attempted movements. “What did I say, Y/N?”

You looked at him flustered, your hands in your hair as you tugged at your roots, feeling way too frustrated to actually want to listen to him. You went to move again against his fingers, but Harry could sense it so he removed his fingers completely, and now used both hands to hold you down to the mattress. “Are ya gonna be a good girl and listen? Otherwise you won’t be cumming at all tonight.”

You widened your eyes at his words, 1) at the use of good girl and 2) because you so desperately wanted to let go of this pent up orgasm that has been waiting to come out all night. Somehow knowing he wasn’t lying, you nodded your aggressively, promising not to move again.

Harry smiled in satisfaction, returning his fingers to your core and finally inserting them. You let out a string of moans at the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of you and the feeling of his thumb rubbing those same harsh circles into your bundle of nerves. You grabbed onto the sheets of you bed, trying your hardest to not lift your butt off the bed and meet your hips against his fingers that worked wonders inside of you.

It was when he thrusted them in at a faster pace that you felt that coil in your belly begin to tighten, and your breathing picked up as you felt your toes beginning to curl. Harry picked up on this, feeling the way your walls started to clamp down on his fingers, and he started egging you on.

“Gonna cum for me, Baby?” He cooed, and you cried out as you were almost ready to let loose.

But, then his movements stopped, and he removed his fingers from you, sticking them in his mouth and swallowing your stickiness.

“Harry!” You cried, sitting upright, a look of bewilderment on your face.

He ignored your protest, tugging down his briefs and your jaw went slack at the sight of him. When you were dancing on him you could tell he wasn’t exactly small but you never would’ve guessed this.

You could practically feel the drool dripping out of your mouth.

Bending down to get a condom out of his wallet, he easily slipped it on before getting on his knees on the bed. “On all fours, Y/N.”

You were quick to flip over, waiting for him to connect his body to yours anxiously. You looked over your shoulder to see what was taking him so long, and you nearly fell onto your elbows at the sight of him tugging at his cock, eyeing your pussy with this wild look in his eyes. His pupils nearly took over his whole iris at the sight, and just for the heck of it, you wiggled your butt at him, giggling as his eyes snapped up to meet yours with this very evident desire dancing across them.

He moved closer, the nails of his fingers digging into your soft flesh, most likely leaving indents in your skin. You yelped as he smacked down on your skin once then twice then three times, admiring the way his tongue darted out to wet his pink lips so sexily.

“Look at you. You’re just soaked for me, Y/N,” he observed, leaning down to press a kiss to your reddening skin before thrusting his cock forward and slowly pushing it into your hole.

You both hissed at the feeling, moaning as he moved further and further into you, stretching your walls well past what they’re used to. You tightly held onto the sheets as the pleasurable burn of Harry’s girth rocked into you, making you more of a mess then you were before.

“Fu– holy shit, Y/N, you’re so tight,” Harry groaned, finally stopping as he was pushed all the way in to the hilt. You’ve never felt so full in your life.

He let you adjust for a few more seconds before he started to pull out and push back in at a slow pace to start up a good rhythm without causing discomfort for you. You whimpered at the feeling, begging him to move faster, not able to deal with this slow teasing shit anymore.

“Since you were so keen on moving before, perhaps you should do the work,” he commented, halting his movements again and slapping at your ass, waiting for you to do your part.

You were quick to listen this time, moving forward so he was about halfway in you before pushing back quickly, keeping up with this movement, quickening your speed each time you thrusted back onto him.

“Tha’s it, Baby. Shit– I know you can go faster than that.”

And you could. So you did. And you even added in a swivel to your hips that had his balls hitting against your clit which you’re pretty sure made you wetter then ever. The squelching sound of your bodies slapping together proved you right.

Letting out a string of curses, Harry placed one hand on your hip while the other remained on your lower back as he guided you harder onto his dick, repeatedly hitting that special spot inside of you. “Fuck, good girl... Such a good girl.”

You couldn’t hold back your shouts anymore, yelling out his name as the tip of his cock kept hitting that spot inside of you. Soon, Harry took over completely, noticing your slowing down as tiredness laced through your body at the effort, pounding into you at pace you didn’t know was possible.

Your mind was in a haze the second you felt that heat build back up inside of you. This was clearly the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced, and your mind was starting to get really fuzzy as your walls clenched down around him. “I-I’m gonna– fuck Harry right there.”

“Come on, baby, cum on my cock,” he mumbled into your ear as he grabbed your shoulder and lifted your body so your back was to his sweaty chest. You cried at the feeling, your knot finally letting loose.

“Oh, shit, Y/N. Can feel ya soaking my cock, fuck,” he growled, still relentlessly pounding up into you, his own orgasm building inside of him.

Once you felt that distinct twitch inside of you, you wrapped your arm around his neck, fingers gripping into his hair as you encouraged him to come undone inside you. “Can feel you’re almost there, Harry. C’mon... I w-wanna feel you cum inside me,” you purred at him, clenching your walls around him one last time.

That did him in, and in the next few moments you felt him let go into the condom as he groaned out your name over and over again. By the time he was finally done, he whimpered at the feeling of sensitivity, slowly pulling out of you. When he was fully out, you felt empty as you collapsed onto the bed, breathing rapidly as if you didn’t know what air this entire time.

You could hear Harry taking in deep breaths too feeling him join you in laying down as you both tried to recollect yourselves. The silence around you was disturbed though when Harry spoke up, making you gulp harshly.

“Don’t go all limp on me, now, Y/N. I’m sticking to my promise and having you scream my name all night.”

[ghoulishhusband]

I just realized I can actually talk here. Like this is my account fuck u

Fucking uhhhhhh, hi ig lemme ramble abt my God ocs yea?

Ignore this part if you don't wanna hear (likely) unedited rambles lol it doesn't matter

CW: neglect/abuse, assholery/narcissism, manipulation, tread lightly!

read the under cut owo

Also don't steal my art I'll fucking?? Fight you????

So

I have three main gods that I wanna talk abt especially bc they've been on my mind lately.. Less get it, side notes are in (parentheses) and are bolded cause I have perception issues whoo I don't want it to jumble together is my point lol

First up is my asshole,

Giodine

they/them (preferred)

god/godself (i like pronouns that fit my characters, so I'm giving a bunch away for one night only at--)

ID : Giodine is colored with gold-ish yellow skin and ginger hair. Their eyes are a muted purple and they have tiny eyebrows. Their lips are a muted brown and are full looking, their nose is sharp and points down. They have wings for ears and is wearing a blazer with a long-sleeved, collared shirt underneath it. The background is beige with a yellow square and a dark purple square partially encompassing it. It is signed GH (for ghoulish husband), Spork, 21.

(lemme know if that helps at all! I'm sure I can do better so lemme know!)

If they look weird here it's bc I accidentally made their face too long but believe it or not this is in fact just a doodle Ik I'm so fuckin talented babes.

Anyways, they're basically the first God to ever exist on my version of earth (though even that is fickle rn, world-building is hard unless I hyper-focus on it, and haha Guess What I Haven't Been Thinking About) and they're very egotistical and selfish. As I'll probably yap about later is how they're manipulative as well, especially to another God I'll mention, and very neglectful to the other... other one.

Their partner(professionally), or fiend as they call him, is sam who for the first few eons was, unsurprisingly, absolutely terrible to him. A few tender moments are few and far in between in what could only be described as a completely rancid relationship. I'll describe giodine's side and in sam's lil ramble, I'll describe his :]

I have to explain this because it's a big part of the lore and how they can't work together, even when one of them is very much near The Void (technical death for gods) BUT basically, with Sam, giodine created purgatory. The issue here is that they basically seduced sam into doing it. Well, even if they hadn't, sam was in lesbians(happy pride month lmao) with giodine and would've done it anyway. But the ISSUE is that with the creation of purgatory came complications. See, my gods have to take time to develop into their power, and considering giodine was first and sam was around 666th.. you see the issue. Sam wasn't into his complete power yet and thus lost a giant part of it that went into purg.

See, giodine saw no problem with this (until much later, they do get a VERY SLOW BURN redemption arc cause this ain't even the worst of it), they got what they were aching for out of them and thusly had no need for..sam. They laid him in the spot where she was made (fwi it isn't inherently sexual, it can be, but literally, they just merged together-- taking bits and pieces of each other (which sam did not have enough of) and earth and light yadda, yadda I'll post the story I wrote for that later if I'm up to it) and left him there in the grass.

Again, they saw no problem with that, the deed was done, they didn't care anymore. A common issue in their qualms, sam and Giodine. They did find an issue in Sam finding an issue in the lack of aftercare, which resorted to any message going to or coming from sam going straight to his assistant and going back through them for a couple of thousand years. They found that infuriating-- how could he not face them over something so small! and for years?! it was ridiculous. After forcing a face-to-face meeting, a heated proclaim of hurt from sam, and a bitter agreement to meet up every now and again, they got what they wanted from him. Again. It was a business after all, there was no point in making it harder than it needed to be. 

Giodine doesn't necessarily like boundaries and tends to overstep sam's frequently. They also don't like his reaction to his boundaries being long jumped over, which thusly ends up in disgruntled messages being sent back and forth between them and his assistant for a month or three. It slowly gets through to them, but they tend to say some stupid shit and if they want sam to stay, they have to try and avoid mentioning how "overly sensitive" he is to something that happened eons ago.

(quick mention, there isn't like. time. here. so in all honesty, giodine probably counted earth days instead of Heaven 'days' to get that) Soon into their arrangements to meet, they seem to get on at least tolerable terms, obviously, a few meetings where neither of them feels like going apeshit and taking proper shapeless (or in sams case, he's got a newfound form for ANGER OO just for giodine 🤗) forms isn't going to fix a grudge that has yet to be apologized for by the way. But it's a start to a very long process down the road. Tolerance.

Giodine as an entity is very fickle and rude and demanding. They tend to have a short temper that no one else is allowed to have or comment on-- They were the first therefore they were the most important!

This is very obviously an issue. But it's mostly directed to purgatory. Almost all of their seething rage is pointed towards the poor entity, she's barely been alive yet and they already seem to hate her for things she doesn't know how to do. Honestly, I don't think Purg will ever fully forgive them for the unnecessary abuse of her character, but just as Sam and Giodine get on better terms, they had barely just begun fixing the hole in their relationship. As of now, Sam/Giodine don't have any minor plot points with purgatory other than the major one so I don't have a lot to say about their relationship right now. Maybe one day.

I'd go into details, seriously, but I just wanna ramble about their relationships with each other and their impact on each other's existence. Hope you don't mind a few secrets 😉

But, now, it's time for a new God, one I think most people take a liking to...

Sam (Samuel)

He/him

ID: Sam is surrounded by clouds in the light blue, fading to a darker blue sky and the yellow sun. His horns are a darker beige, which is being highlighted by the sun shining down on him, he also has pointed ears. His skin is red which is very prominent in the sun. His eyes are completely yellow, his hair, beard and mustache are also black. He has an orange scar crawling up to his Adams apple. His wings are a darker grey which is also being highlighted by the sun. His nails are painted black and his hand is holding up the black fabric barely covering his shoulders. Around the painting is a gold and red shaded frame with swirls complimenting each side and a crystal at the bottom of it. It is lightly signed GH, for ghoulish husband.

Sam, Sam, Samuel.

If you don't realize right away, Sam is basically Satan, he's the ruler of hell

Like how giodine was the first to appear on earth, as mentioned before sam was 666th for funnie reasons. Sam was made from bugs, dried blood, and sunlight which sounds pretty gross, but he's far from it. He's a silly, yet neat, guy. He wears Hawaiian shirts and khakis (not around giodine lmao) for cryin' out loud! how bad of a person can he be? Apparently to giodine (for a while obviously) he was the most retched entity to exist. This very much hurt him considering the amount of fake care they showed him before. With a mixture of confusing feelings (which wasn't supposed to be a thing but Univerce went "lmao you'll be fine" and left... short explanation, Univerce is the Universe and is the entity who simply builds these planets and gods that'll appear there and leave them to their own devices, xyr not extremely important in this story. Nor would they care.) and feeling used, he decided that no he wasn't going to take that.

If there is one thing Sam knows how to do is to self preserve himself, even if that means getting passive-aggressive notes sent to him every once in a while. While this period, Sam was surprisingly the least productive (unfortunately giodine knew this and eventually mentioned it in one of their meetings which made him hide away cause like hell giodine was going to be critical of /him/) but he managed. It wasn't terrible, but unfortunately, Sam being able to talk it out with someone who does practically the same work as he does and gets newer, more helpful ideas was better in the long run.

Unsurprisingly, Sam was the first to initiate the healing of his and giodine's relationship but it wasn't reciprocated. Who would've figured, aye? Giodine kept pushing it back onto him and ignoring any progress that could've been made before. Which was frustrating.

The painting above was 'painted' by giodine, which is sorta where their relationship gets somewhat on an understanding of each other. Giodine gets to take a deep long look into who Sam is and tries to express it but it never fit him, it makes them realize that they never really-- truly got to know him. And all it does for Sam is make him even more confused about his place in giodine’s mind. He figured it's another fluke to get him to do something, so he ends up distancing himself when they start actually reciprocating his friendship advancements.

Suddenly, like a flash, Sam was forced to stay with giodine which is where the majority. I'll explain.

Sam...isn't actually the ruler of hell. Anymore, anyways depending on the timeline. His and purgatory's relationship has always been complicated, she always avoided him, and when they talked she always seemed scared of him. So in the end, they've never been close. Distant. Sam always wanted to talk to her, he made her, but if she didn't want to talk to him he wouldn't force it. But imagine his surprise as Purg singlehandedly took over hell in a hazed frenzy.

And not only that, had a personal vendetta against him!

Well, that would be the only explanation to Sam considering how he ended up broken and barely 'alive' at the hands of her. Horns broken and in tatters, pain and almost obliterated it felt like a hate crime. He didn't know what to do when he made it to the office, Purgatory was creating chaos outside his door and barely being able to breathe he felt like it was the end. So he called giodine. 

Purgatory

She/her

ID: Purgatory is surrounded by flowers that are dark grey and white. The light fades down into a dark green. The light shines down on top of her straight, white hair that has yellow flowers tucked into it.  Her skin is a dark brown and has a orange-ish yellow scar on her shoulder trailing up to her neck. Her skin is also highlighted by the sun. In one of her eyes, her sclera is black with an orangey, glowing iris. As for the other eye it it has a white sclera and the same, glowing orange iris. She has wings for ears, one dark grey and one white along with beige horns. She has a white fabric covering her chest. The frame is gold with white accents, but also has vines and moss crawling up the side. 

(may have goofed a bit and forgot to color the sclera of her other eye white but ignore that pls)

Purgatory was made by Sam and Giodine, but to her it felt like a mistake. Why make someone that you’re going to be terrible to, she believed. Giodine seemed to hate her and eventually made her section almost obsolete because she simply wasn’t able to keep up with the backlog that she wasn’t taught to deal with. Not only that, she didn’t have any help with any of it, it was almost like she was expected to just do it on her own. Until Death came along to help, but that’s not what we’re going to be talking about right now. 

And also, Purgatory is Purgatory yadda, yadda, I wont insult your intelligence.

Giodine’s thought process (other than wanting to be Real Close to Sam and once that thought filtered out, promptly ignored it) was that all the extras that don’t fit in either category of their thought of good and evil they’d go to her. (doesn’t matter cause in Sam's system it filters through ‘levels of assholery’ and depending on how bad you are you either just vibe in the upper city under rule of capitalism and possibly many under paying jobs or being actually tortured for his amusement if you’re just evil. Morally grey. Anyway, it could work p well in heaven if giodine wasn’t such a damn stickler.) But in the end, every day, less and less people ended up in purgatory, leaving her with barely any people and more verbal abuse from giodine who ‘HAS to take them or they would be more dead than they already are’. You see the pain she has to go through, right? 

~Idea section, this is probably not canon anyways so dont take it serious~ 

My thought is that another oc (BA, you may have heard of him idk) takes over simply because Purg took multiple hims from alternative timelines (which isn’t allowed but what’re they gonna do, undead a dead clown? multiple times from multiple timelines???)) because she adored him and they figured ‘well we gotta redo purgatory may as well do it like this’ and make him a demi-dead-god. i think thats a cool idea right? anyhoo

~Idea section over uwu~

Purgatory overall is a fairly timid character, she doesn’t like conflict, is easily overwhelmed, and generally keeps to herself. She doesn’t see the point in being in any drama if she’s just going to be yelled at and scolded even if it’s not about her. The only way i could describe her taking over hell is this: 

She was tired. She was angry and after feeling like nothing was in control or in her hands, she snapped. Why doesn’t she get anything or get to be ‘all powerful’ but they do? She knew if she took on Giodine she’d likely get thrown to the void, but sam? He felt fair game. Considering her fear of both of these gods, she planned and got her courage up to take him over. She had considered negotiations but in the end, she ended up going into a haze and ruining everything in sight. She was more powerful than she thought and once she started, she didn't stop until Death restrained her and Sam was already in pieces at God’s doorstep. 

The aftermath was fuzzy for her and for everyone really. Godine was planning a take back hell while actually worrying for sam, sam was planning for a retirement, and she was being consoled while trying to get in contact with sam to apologize. Giodine wouldn’t dare let her talk to him, until she just showed up in their office. She didn’t have a problem with Sam, honest, she just was going to take shit over, but it got out of control. 

Spoiler, Sam took her apology and they actually became.. somewhat closer after reaching an understanding. 

I wanna say that giodine took them being okay and sam retiring as good as sam did about purg running hell, but they didn’t. Giodine and purgatory actually barely got along in the first place, and only begun ‘working’ on their bitterness toward each other because they both had sam to encourage it. I can’t say for certain if they’ll get better, as theyre both undying and have time, but I’ll just say for now its uncertain. 

Also, Death is Purgatory’s girlfriend after all of that lmao.

And.. yeah, i hope this makes sense and that you like my drawings and ramblings about my lil story in my head, i guess this is my way to develop it without just keeping it to myself cause god forbid i keep things to myself hshsh. If you made it to the end, thank you for taking the time to read and attempting to process everything, and even if you didnt read and just looked to look at my art thank you to!!

I may post some art over on @ghoulishhusbandart cause.. it was my art account before i completely forgot about it but i might reboot it! But if you wan art NEOWWW follow me on insta (ik cringe lmaoo) by the same name as this account @ghoulishhusband​ or just click that insta link! also ignore the fact that giodine is the only one without a portrait, maybe I’ll replace it the next time i draw but im graduating on monday and my dad’s coming TOMORROW?? so i won’t have too much time to do it... but i hope you like my art anyways :]

ok!! ty!! ily!!

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 2 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Goth isn’t really Annabeth’s scene—hasn’t been since she was twelve, hiding in her room and blasting Evanescence or Avril Lavigne so she didn’t have to spend quality time with her brothers, or even talk to her stepmother at all—but Percy had insisted. She could almost picture his pathetic, baby seal-eyed face as he wheedled and whined at her over text, until she eventually (not at all reluctantly) gave in.

She’s only known him for a few weeks. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly her willpower had crumbled.

Thalia, for whatever reason, had decidedly not been game, even when presented with a large, post-bartending hangover coffee as an opening salvo. “This is a bad idea,” she had said, glaring at the sun so intensely that, were it not for her thick, black sunglasses, she probably would have vaporized it.

“We don’t have to go.”

“No, the show will be great. Pluto’s Daughter is great,” she said between sips of her too-bitter-to-be-real black coffee. “You and Percy, is a bad idea.”

“Protective of your baby cousin?” Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow, her eyebrow ring awkwardly bumping up against her hair, sorely in need of a shave. She was thinking of getting a second ring. Her mother had once told her that they were the epitome of trash—but Thalia had two, and they looked so badass.

She scoffed. “He’s not the baby.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

Thalia narrowed her eyes, really considering Annabeth. Annabeth’s own eyes had been described more often than not as storm clouds, dark and heavy. If hers were storm clouds, then Thalia’s were lightning, electric blue, piercing, beautiful, and dangerous, with a temper to match. “Before you started seeing him,” she said, “I’d have said that you’d eat him alive.”

Annabeth smirked. “I have done no eating yet.”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, now I’m going to be honest with you. He’s going to eat you alive—and your self-esteem is never going to be able to recover. Honestly, I shouldn’t even let you two within ten feet of each other.”

She scoffed, taking a long drink of her own coffee, black but with just enough sugar to make it bearable.

As if a ballerina would ever intimidate her. A fucking ballerina.

The conversation hadn’t exactly ended the way either of them wanted, but Annabeth was still going to keep fucking Percy for the time being, and Thalia was going to let herself be dragged to the damn concert.

The night of, the bar has a line, but Thalia alternately sweet-talks and intimidates the bouncer, and he lets them in. Having tended bar for any place that would take her and not put her on the payroll, Annabeth assumes that she just has dirt on everyone in the service industry in New York City, so they skip a lot of cover charges, and get a lot of free drinks.

It's fucking crowded inside, too, packed to the brim with sweaty bodies and heavy boots. Just another day in paradise.

Thalia glances at her phone. “They’re at the bar, up front?”

“They?”

Thalia doesn’t hear her, apparently, just wraps her mesh covered hand over Annabeth’s wrist and pulls her through the crush of people. Annabeth has her eyes peeled for Percy’s typical blue hoodie or orange muscle tees, thinking that they would stand out like a sore thumb in this place, but she can’t see a goddamned thing.

Now, punks aren’t exactly known for their radical use of color, but this was another thing entirely, a sea of black and lace and leather. Looking for his black hair is a waste of her time. “So many bad bottle jobs,” she murmurs.

Thalia pauses for a second, frowning at her. “What?”

“Everyone here has decided that they just had to dye their hair black. How original.”

She is silent for a moment, squinting, then looks away. “I see them, come on.”

Her blunt nails dig into Annabeth’s arm as she yanks her even harder.

There, at the end of the bar, a tall guy stands, dressed to the nines—the nines of this particular scene, anyway.

He looks kind of familiar: curly black hair in a sharp undercut that Annabeth definitely admires, extremely tight, black skinny jeans that leave nothing to the imagination and really went out of style with My Chemical Romance, a t-shirt with a skull on it (because goths, obviously), and a leather jacket, covered in patches. She spots the Italian flag, several for Pluto’s Daughter and a handful of other bands, a pride flag, a couple of music notes, and one that says, “Not gay as in happy, queer as in fuck you.”

“Annabeth,” says Thalia, “you remember Nico.”

Annabeth blinks. The last time she’d met Nico, he’d been wearing a three-piece suit that had cost as much as her rent. Now the hand she shakes has black fingernails and a skull ring, leading up to a face with eyes lined heavier than either Thalia’s or Annabeth’s, with a septum ring and a line of studs up one ear. “Hey.”

“Where’s our prima ballerina?” Thalia asks as Nico offers her a glass of something brown.

Thalia likes—and cannot often afford—expensive booze, which means that Nico must be paying. Unwilling to be caught in another embarrassing little social snafu, Annabeth tries really hard to remember what it is that he does. Hadn’t he sold his soul to some law firm or other?

“He went to consign himself to a slow and agonizing death,” says Nico.

“What?” Annabeth asks, glancing between the cousins.

Thalia rolls her eyes. “He means Percy went out for a smoke. Nico doesn’t approve.”

“It’s bad for you! This is not a controversial topic,” he says. “I don’t like that he does it, I don’t like that he got you to start, and I’m not going to like it when I go to both of your funerals. But I am going to tell you I told you so.” Then, seemingly as if to undermine his point, he throws back the rest of his own drink, holding up the empty glass to the bartender. “Another,” he calls, “Godfather, if you please.”

If drinks were on Nico tonight, maybe Annabeth could use the cover of the goth crowd to order a glass of red wine instead. It would certainly be a nice change of pace from the shit-ass beer she sucks down on the regular.

“There he is!” Thalia calls, bursting into applause. “The hell took you so long? Wardrobe malfunction?”

“Yeah,” she hears Percy’s voice. “Someone stole my best pair of tights.”

Turning, Annabeth is suddenly very glad she hadn’t yet ordered a drink, because then she would have dropped it, spilling it all over not only the dirty bar floor, but also her second favorite pair of boots.

It’s definitely Percy, but she never would have spotted him. Having gone to a dozen or so shows with her and Thalia so far, he had always dressed pretty consistently in baggy jeans and whatever stupid dance pun t-shirt Annabeth hadn’t pilfered already to wear to breakfast: very normal, and just a little bit out of place for the goth/punk scene.

Tonight, he is not dressed like that.

She can’t focus on everything all at once, so she starts with his too tight t-shirt, with the logo for Pluto’s Daughter splashed across it, like the artist had taken paint and hurled it at the fabric from a mile away. Ripped and sleeveless, she can see every single ridge and line of his biceps, his forearms, his shoulders, even a bit of his decolletage. His pants are black, per the unspoken dress code, and baggy, but he has belts wrapped up and down his legs, emphasizing the size of his muscular thighs and calves. And that isn’t even the worst part. Neither are the studs in his ears, or the black liner around his eyes.

The worst part is the blue lipstick painting his mouth, making his eyes pop, making his troublemaker smile look that much more depraved.

The worst part is how that blue lipstick will almost certainly be all over her thighs by the end of the night.

Thalia’s advice was never going to win out, but now it has no chance.

Despite being dressed up like the goth ballet prince of her dreams, the hero of an angsty, middle school novel Annabeth might have dreamed up instead of paying attention in class but had been too embarrassed to ever write it down, he smiles at her, cheery and bright as ever, kissing her so deeply her mouth must turn blue. In the corner of her eye, she sees Thalia and Nico exchange a capital-L look, one that Percy can’t see, because all of his attention is focused on her. She doesn’t know what that means, but she’s too far gone to ask.

Percy moves away, still close, still oriented around her, but she has to clasp her own hands together to keep herself from reaching out and pulling him back to her, biting her tongue, rubbing the ring along the inside of her teeth to keep from letting the word “please” escape her lips.

She doesn’t think she’s ever been so instantly taken with any guy—ever. Not even the almost one night stand her sophomore year was college, nineteen and fresh-faced and totally unprepared for the heartbreak that would follow. Last time, Luke had suggested wine to help her get over her mystery man, so that’s what she orders now, taking too big sips and ignoring the slight concern in Percy’s too pretty eyes.

It’s all packaging, she thinks, packaging designed to make the product more desirable. Basic marketing and design. She knows him, and she knows what he can do with his teeth and his tongue and his hand and his dick. She recognizes it, sees it coming, so she won’t be affected by it.

“I didn’t know you were coming, Nico,” she says, wrangling her thoughts together. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Never miss a show,” he says.

“Flew back from London just for it,” Thalia says, bumping him with her shoulder.

“I flew back because my business trip was over,” he corrects. “…But I did take the redeye so I’d be here on time.”

Percy beams at that, so hard she can actually feel it. “Anyone else joining us I should know about?” Annabeth asks.

It’s so weird to look at them all together—all dark hair, strong jaws, cheekbones carved from stone, sexy and just a little bit intimidating. “Any other cousins, maybe?”

Nico glances at Percy, suddenly apprehensive. “Actually, Percy,” he says, “I’m pretty sure I saw—”

“Perseus Jackson!” A whirlwind of blue-green silk assaults her senses as a woman sweeps over to them, headed straight for Percy, almost knocking Annabeth out of the way, wrapping him up in a hug and ignoring everyone else. “How’s my darling little brother?”

Percy awkwardly pats her on the back, shooting a grimace at the rest of them. “Uh, hey, Kym. I… didn’t know you’d be here.”

“It was a last minute thing, I had a free night for once in my life and was casting about for something to do, you know how much I hate not working, and I thought I’d come by and support our dear Hazel.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “Since when have you been into goth rock?”

It’s not an unwarranted question. She looks wildly out of place here, in her sleek, silk dress and the scent of Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue coming off her like waves, in sharp contrast to the sea of ripped jeans and sewed up shirts that surround them.

Kym, again, ignores him. “Mojito, Perseus? I know it’s your favorite.”

Annabeth’s eyebrows shoot up past her hairline. Percy? Percy half-a-cider-no-thank-you-I-don’t-care-for-any-more Jackson likes to drink mojitos? “Ah—” He grimaces, trying to extract himself from her grip, “no, thank you—"

“Oh, you’re no fun anymore.”

“I just don’t like to—”

“Well it’s not like this place will have any rum worth drinking anyway,” she sniffs.

Thalia rolls her eyes.

“Here, take a selfie with me.” Her phone is already raised, thumb poised for action.

“Kym, come on—”

But she pulls Percy close, shoving his head against hers, mouth already pouting. Thalia sighs, turning back to the bar.

After a moment of refusal, Percy sighs too, giving into his fate, and mustering his best vogue for the camera. They make an odd pair, her with her perfect Instaglam and him with his blue lipstick and smudged liner, but with the two of them pressed together like this, it’s easy to tell that this Kym is another cousin. Same eyes, same brow, same inky black hair, she looks exactly like Percy, only whiter.

Satisfied with her selfie, it’s only then that she notices Annabeth staring at her. “And you are?”

Percy sighs, rubbing his eye. “Kym, this is Annabeth. Annabeth, this is my sister Kymopoleia.”

Kym does not reach out her hand. “And what do you do?”

Thalia, from nowhere, slings an arm over Annabeth’s shoulder, whisky in hand. “Nothing that would interest you, leech.”

“I’m an architect,” Annabeth offers.

“My friend studies at Bartlett, in London. Did you go there?” Kym asks.

“No,” Annabeth says, biting back an automatic retort about Bartlett’s global ranking in Forbes. Ninth in the world, not even top five.

Kym curls her lip a little, like she knew what Annabeth would have said anyway. “What have you designed? Anything I would know?”

“She designs community gardens and stages for festivals.” Thalia says.

“Oh, so not a real architect, then.”

“The Man doesn’t have to approve of something to make it real. No, her name isn’t on file in some state office. She’s an anarchist architect.” Thalia says. Annabeth bits back a line of her own retorts.

Kym sniffs again. “Thrilling.” Then she turns back to Percy, writing her off entirely. “Perseus, it was lovely to see you again—will you be coming to Santorini this year?”

“Depends on my rehearsal schedule.” The words sound very rehearsed. He’s said this exact phrase a lot.

“Well get that sorted out! You know how mother likes her itineraries.”

He nods, beleaguered. “As soon as I can, promise.”

“See that you do.” Then with a final kiss on Percy’s cheek, off she flounces, disappearing into the dirty, grungy crowd, leaving silence in her wake like the wreckage after a storm.

“Okay,” says Annabeth.

Percy sighs, turning to the bar to order his own drink.

“Sorry about that,” says Nico. “If I had known she was coming, I swear I would have told you.”

“You can’t just go around saying the word ‘cousin,’ Annabeth,” says Thalia, returning to her own space. “It’s like Beetlejuice. Say it three times and you summon one of Percy’s douchey relatives.”

“They’re your relatives, too.”

Thalia scoffs. “Barely.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Percy. “How’s Hercules?”

“Hopefully dead.”

“At least he doesn’t show up out of the blue in wildly incongruous places,” Nico points out.

Percy takes a pull of his drink, and Annabeth does not watch his neck as he swallows. “Yeah, what was up with that? Since when has Kym been into goth rock?”

“That’s what I said!”

“She’s planning something,” Thalia mutters, glaring angrily into her drink. “I don’t know what it is, but she’s planning something.”

“So, I’m guessing this isn’t usually her scene?” Annabeth asks.

“Art is her scene,” Thalia replies, gesturing widely, nearly smacking someone in the shoulder. “The whole of the New York art world.”

Looking back around to the half-lit bar full of badly dressed goths, she thinks maybe calling this the “art world” might be a little bit generous.

“She’s kind of like an art world barometer,” says Percy. “Wherever she goes, the critics follow—like little baby ducklings.”

“Too bad she’s a fucking snob about it.” Thalia tosses back the rest of her drink, slamming the glass down on the wood, signaling for another with a toss of her head.

“Shame she has such good taste,” Nico muses.

“She has such good taste!” Despite her bravado, Thalia is absolutely a tiny bit of a lightweight, the whisky already going to her head, slurring her speech just a little. “Whole fucking family’s so goddammed good at art.”

“Not the whole family,” says Percy, shaking his head. “Kym can’t make art, she just appreciates it, like Jason. And Triton can’t do either.”

Annabeth has never seen Thalia so much as draw a picture or pick a song at karaoke, but she had been left out of Percy’s little list. In all Annabeth’s years of knowing Thalia, she never even thought that it had bothered her. “I mean,” she says, “if you like art, you could—”

As one, Nico and Percy both shake their heads. Insistently. Violently.

Staring at her empty glass, Thalia doesn’t notice. Nico replaces hers with his half-finished one, and Thalia drinks without missing a beat. “What about you?” she turns to Annabeth, blue eyes wide. That’s another thing that the cousins all have in common; their eyes are a variety of colors, but they’re all the same wide, almond shape, made more pronounced with heavy, grungy liner. “Got any artistic cousins?”

“No,” she says, wondering how little she can get away with saying. “I only have one, and he’s not.”

Everyone stares at her.

She capitulates, just a little. “His partner is an artist,” she offers. “Alex is a sculptor.”

Percy looks at her, half-smile on his face. “What does your cousin do if he isn’t an artist?”

His question makes it sound like there are only two types of people in the world to him: artists and non-artists. Given that Annabeth had been sketching buildings since the time she had the dexterity to hold a crayon, it might be true. “He’s in med school,” she says, “fourth year, at Harvard.”

“Ew.” He wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, smartass,” she says, “you talk to your podiatrist like that?”

“You still fucking that med student?” Thalia asks Nico.

“Dating him, actually.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Dinner,” Nico says. “Sometimes lunch. This is going to shock you, but you can actually spend time with the people you sleep with, and even develop feelings for them.”

They glare at each other for a long moment, then, as one, turn and glare at Percy.

“No,” he says, “I am not getting in between this.”

Nico, somehow, glares even harder. “Come on, you’re—”

“I’m not talking about this,” Percy says, his face a hard mask, lips set firmly in a frown.

For the first time ever, it occurs to Annabeth that this ballet dancer could be scary if he wanted to be.

That is… so not a problem.

The cousins continue glaring at each other, the family telepathy practically brimming with unspoken pasts. A part of her really, really wants to hear where it’s going. She wants to know what Percy’s feelings are on romance, just to make sure that they are on the same page. Casual sex, fun nights, the occasional concert—that’s where they are now. If the arrangement is going to change, she’s going to need to know about it.

Then, the lights flicker, dimming. A roar takes over the crowd, and when Annabeth can see again, Pluto’s Daughter is onstage.

There’s no introduction, no greeting, the band diving right into their first number, an intense, high-octane whirlwind of drums and bass and screaming. Percy screams right alongside them, hands raised and jumping, Nico and Thalia close behind, every unintelligible lyric learned by heart. Even Annabeth can’t help but get swept up in it, her typical aloofness melting away into the crowd.

It really is a great show.

“That was amazing!” Annabeth is almost breathless at the end of it. Her throat feels raw, like sandpaper, her cheeks aching from smiling.

Percy hands her one of those little plastic cups of water, knocking his own back like a shot, wiping his mouth with his knuckles. “Aren’t they awesome?”

“I had no idea you were such a fan,” she says. “Your Spotify Wrapped must be a mess.”

“I like all music,” he replies, glib. “Even rap and country.”

“Oh, how well-rounded of you.”

“But Pluto’s Daughter is special,” he says. “You know the drummer is my cousin?”

“Very funny.”

“No, really,” says Percy. “Hazel is Nico’s half-sister.”

She blinks at him. “You have too many cousins.”

He just laughs, throwing his head back. “Tell that to our parents.”

Whatever else he might have said gets lost as a small bundle of leather and fishnet emerges from the crowd, launching herself at Percy. “You came!” cries the drummer for Pluto’s Daughter--Hazel. “Oh, I’m so happy you came!”

In stark, stark opposition to how he had been Kym, Percy swings his little cousin around in a big hug. He probably has close to a foot on her, even in her black platform boots, their broad smiles so uncharacteristic in such a dour crowd. Annabeth hadn’t been able to get a good look at her up on stage, but now she’s flush with adrenaline, her dark skin glistening with equal parts sweat and glitter, baby hairs escape from the artful crown of bantu knots, septum ring shining in the dim light of the bar.

“Of course I came,” says Percy, somehow still hugging her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Ms. Hazel Levesque!” Thalia crows, well and truly wasted. “There’s my gal!” And she rushes over to join them, almost bowling them both over.

A truly affectionate Thalia is rare, like a four-leaf clover or snow on Christmas. It does happen on occasion, if she’s gotten enough sleep or enough to drink, but the moment is usually fleeting, meant to be treasured, kept close to the heart. Annabeth can count the number of times Thalia has been sweet to her on one hand--never cruel, or mean, but just… brusque. Sarcastic. And yeah, sometimes mean, but never in a demeaning way. Just in a Thalia way. It’s one of the many, many things she loves about her.

The only downside to affectionate Thalia right now is that it leaves her alone with Nico.

She doesn’t not like Nico, she just doesn’t really know him. He’s swaying a little, not dangerously so, just vibing to the noise and the booze he’s already had.

“Hey,” he says, lurching over to her. “Got a question for you.”

“Okay?”

“I was. Working on those permits. For your show.” He waves a hand. “Whatever. You know that stage set up for that show in the West Village last winter?"

The first time she had met Nico, Annabeth and Thalia had been helping out one of her friends with their outdoor theater, and had needed a little legal assistance with getting the venue all squared away, as they were technically trespassing on some private property. It was nice to flex her creative muscles, though. She didn’t always get the chance these days.

She nods. “Yeah?”

"Your New York State architect license was on the paperwork."

Annabeth's blood runs cold.

Swallowing away her anxiety, she takes another sip of her water, hoping he’s too buzzed to notice. "What, was I supposed to try and impress Kym with my license?"

Nico snorts. "God, no.” Taking another sip of his drink, he goes to hug his sister, and Annabeth quietly berates herself for not taking care of that sooner.

Yes, her license is still on file with the state, because it’s so much more convenient to leave it like that, rather than let it lapse and reapply every time she has to do something bigger than a birdbath in a tiny community garden, and being registered still means she has access to the network and can apply for certain grants and it always looks good on her portfolio and she didn’t think the two worlds would ever collide, especially not in a place where Thalia, of all people, would ever find out--

“So,” says Percy, sidling back over to her. “Working on anything good?”

She blinks, the spiral of her thoughts coming to a screeching halt. “Huh?”

“Any cool projects on the docket?”

Projects. Right. “Sorta in between projects right now,” she says, tapping her fingers against the bar. “I finished up that community garden a couple months ago, now I’m just… waiting for the next thing coming along.”

He nods. “I feel that. The precarity’s a bitch, isn’t it.”

“Totally. Almost makes you want to work a 9 to 5 just for job security, right?”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “Wouldn’t give up ballet for the world. I could never work in an office; sitting for so long might actually kill me.”

It might--even now he can’t help but move, shifting around on heel to toe and back again. Everything about him is about movement. Even an office where everyone was on their feet, like hers had been, wouldn’t have been enough for Percy Jackson, she thinks.

“What about you?” he asks. “How would you fair in an office?”  

“Been there, done that,” she says, before she can even think it through.

“Really?” She sees him scan her. Normally when he does that, he’s thinking of her without her clothes on, but now, she’s pretty sure he’s thinking of the ink that runs up and down her legs, and how that might all look forced into some sort of pencil skirt.

 "Once upon a time,” she says.

 “Was that before or after you decided to become an anarchist architect?”

Long after she decided to become an architect, but before anything about an anarchist crossed her mind, though her freshman Poli Sci professor, or maybe that sophomore philosophy TA, would probably argue that she isn’t actually an anarchist now. “Before,” she says. “I once tried to be very very different.” Tried and failed, oh so very spectacularly.

 “How so?”

She looks at him for a moment. There are layers of mystery that need to be upheld. But she can’t spill her life’s story to Percy after only a few weeks of knowing him, no matter how easy and disarming he may be. She isn’t that girl anymore, and she doesn’t want people to know she ever was. Especially not these people: Thalia, Percy, Nico, even Hazel, who she hasn’t properly met. She can see, standing here, how very genuine and clear they are about themselves. They probably have actual skeletons in their closets, real, agonizing pasts, so much worse than her own.

She doesn’t want them to know she had an honest to god debutante ball. Murder would be vastly preferable. But still, Percy’s eyes are so bright, even in the dark light. His smile is so non-judgmental.

“I used to dream about adding to the skyline,” she says, eventually, “designing something so cool and so fresh that even after I died, everyone would look up and they would know my name.” For a second she thinks he might actually understand. And then she remembers Kym, and his utter distaste for his own sister, whose friend had only managed to get into Bartlett. “But I realized that kind of ego wasn't going to do me any good. And office work wasn’t going to take me anywhere I wanted to go.”

That bruise to her ego still stings, on occasion. That, and the loss of the only thing she’d ever wanted as much as something permanent. They were separate dreams, really, but two years ago, in that little Upper East Side café, they had seemed like one and the same. Failing so spectacularly in one had felt like she might as well throw in the towel about the other.

Percy in blue lipstick, eye liner, and a very tight shirt makes her think it might have been the right choice.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Assuming she never got another call. Though after that award she and Leo got earlier this year…

No, she reminds herself. She shouldn’t dream big anymore. She wasn’t going to get there, and she had to be ok with that.

He smiles, lopsided, sympathetic. “I know what you mean. Like, after so many amazing dancers, you have to be crazy to think that you can add something to the canon, something that’s never been done before. But here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” She clinks her glass against his, and they drink.

He finishes with a long gasp, licking his lips.

“Wanna go be somewhere else?” she asks.

“Damn right I do,” he says, grabbing her hand, lacing her fingers together with his.

An hour or so and a few orgasms each later, they lie side by side on Percy’s bed, soft and sweaty.

“So your sister is kind of… intense,” Annabeth says.

Percy snorts so hard, Annabeth can feel it vibrating into her. “Yeah. That’s a word for it.”

“What was it like, growing up with her?”

“Oh, I didn’t grow up with her. I grew up here with my mom; she grew up in Athens with our father.”

“In Athens? Cool.” She’d done a study abroad in Rome, but she’d never made it out to Athens like she had wanted. Too much Pantheon, not enough Parthenon. “Have you ever been?”

He screws up his face, thinking cutely. “A few times. They’re not… great memories, exactly. In retrospect, it’s nice that my dad wanted me to feel included, but bringing his mistress’ kid on the annual family vacation to Santorini probably wasn’t his brightest idea.”

Annabeth’s eyes shoot up to her hairline. “Wow.”

“Kym was actually always pretty cool about it,” he continues, thoughtfully. “She likes to pretend she’s this ice queen alpha bitch type, but she’s got a secret soft spot. And my dad’s wife eventually came around--she even sends me a birthday card each year. My half-brother, though.” Percy blows out a breath. “He’s always been a douchebag.”

Dropping a kiss to his bare shoulder, she squeezes him. There’s a story there, but she knows better than anyone about not wanting to talk about bad family relationships. Percy likes Kym, though, and that makes her safe territory. “Tell me more about Kym. You said she was some kind of art collector or something?”

“No, she’s not a collector.” Percy bites his lip, considering. “It’s kind of hard to explain. I guess you could say that she’s, like… a professional socialite?”

Annabeth sits up, squinting down at Percy. “Are you trying to tell me that your sister is a courtesan?”

He sputters, completely taken by surprise, choking on his inhale. After thirty seconds, Annabeth is afraid she’s going to have to try CPR, before Percy starts to calm down. “No,” he wheezes, coughing. “No, she’s not a courtesan.”

“So, what does a ‘professional socialite’ even do?”

“You know, she… socializes.” Percy waves a hand in front of him. “She goes to parties, meets people, facilitates meetings--she socializes.”

Annabeth frowns. “What does that even mean?”

“I literally don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

“What, is she a spy?”

He opens his mouth to argue, then pauses. “Not… technically.”

“Not technically?”

“Think more corporate, less political.”

Okay, now she’s even more confused. “Huh?”

Percy sighs. “My dad runs this big shipping company that does business all over the Mediterranean. Pretty much the whole family works for him in some way: Triton is some kind of assistant executive, and Kym and my step-mom do, you know, outreach or fundraising or whatever.”

She’s silent for a moment, collecting the information presented to her. “Is this some kind of mob thing?”

He grimaces. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

“Is your dad a mob boss, Percy?” Objectively, she knows that the mob is a terrible organization responsible for many different types of atrocities, but honestly, the idea is kind of exciting, Annabeth hooking up with the secret lovechild of a mob boss. It’s romantic and sexy in a film noir kind of way.

“No, he just--does some light smuggling. I think.”

“How does one engage in ‘light’ smuggling?”

“Okay, so his business is totally legitimate, but he may also smuggle art on the side. Or oil. Or both. I don’t know and I’ve been told never to ask.”

And she thought her family was weird. She tells him as much. “That’s wild.”

“Honestly? That’s not even the wildest thing about my family.”

She flops back down on the bed, already exhausted. “Percy, I don’t know how many more revelations about your mob family I can take.”

“They’re not part of the mob!” He laughs. “But,” he smirks, looming over her with a familiar desire, “I can neither confirm nor deny that I had to swear a blood oath to the family when I turned eighteen.”

Rolling her eyes, she still easily submits to the heady feeling of his lips on hers, tilting her head back as he travels down her neck. “Okay, I did not sign up for any Don Corleone bullshit.”

“But you’d make such a great mob wife. Though we would have to kill the rest of my immediate family.”

Annabeth giggles, only partly at the ticklish feeling of his lips between her breasts. “I’d help you kill your douchey half-brother any day.”

He glances up at her from her belly button, long lashes fluttering. “That is legitimately one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Full disclosure, Thalia has already called dibs.”

“That’s fair.” Then she pushes his head down further. “Now get to work, Godfather.”

[kindalollipop]

☽★☾  Midnight Love ☽★☾

Paring: Bakugo x genderneutral!reader, Todoroki x genderneutral!reader

❝ Warnings ❞: past toxic relationship, fluff, swearing, basic angst, maybe bad grammar (English is not my first language), lightly sexual activity

ℋ Format: Headcannons (hcs)

♡ Word count: 1.161 words

♬Song based: Midnight Love by girl in red, Play Date by Melanie Martinez, Bittersweet Tragedy by Melanie Martinez

✾ Summary: You were in a toxic relationship where the person used you as a toy, playing with your feelings. These cute bois find what happened with their (secret) crush and aren’t happy with it.

Bakugo Katsuki

➳ Really, why? What did you do to deserve such pain and emotion conflicts? It really didn’t make sense.

➳ You were tired of crying every time you would remember how they toyed you. But, what can you do? MoVe oN? It’s not that simple.

➳ You wish though. Whatever happened, you couldn’t forget all those oh-so-sweet memories of you two doing nothing, just goofing around, and yet you were having the best time of your life – even without realizing.

➳ You felt like nothing could tear you both apart, not even when they didn’t really have much time to you. Or when you marked a date and they didn’t show up with some lame excuses, every. Fucking. Time. Or even when you woke up with an empty spot, that technically was from someone.

➳ Sure, it was a bit odd and frustrating, but how love blinds you.

➳ At least your friends were there for you, even though you didn’t really tell them what was happening, because you don’t want them worried.

➳ Well, you were very wrong if you thought that at least one person wouldn’t find out.

➳ Let’s say that Bakugo wasn’t exactly happy – when was he anyways?

➳ But his rage was abnormal. The boy was literally seeing red and blasted everyone who dared to cruise their paths with him – but you, of course.

➳ When Bakugo found what you were going through, he was shocked, how could someone toy with someone so special, amazing, badass, wonderful—ok, maybe that’s a little too much- like you?

➳ But he really didn’t get it.

➳ Obviously, he would fight the fucker who did this to you. It doesn’t matter, girl, boy, or whatever they are, good trip to tHE FUCKING MOON.

➳ After Bakugo blasts them to somewhere still unknown to the humanity, he began to take care of you with small actions, since he’s not the best one with words.

➳ Giving you some water from time to time because “you were dehydrating from being such a cry baby”, cooking and giving you “what has left”, letting you hug him (even with some threats, he didn’t really mean it), petting your hair, etc.

➳ Slowly, you two were getting closer and closer, and he began to haunt your dreams and thoughts all day- you knew you were falling in love for him. Fuck.

➳”DO YOU WANt to go on a ᵈᵃᵗᵉ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵐᵉ?” his voice downed as he spoke, cheeks blushing furiously while looking down, not wanting to face because of the fear of a rejection. You probably didn’t want to engage in any romantic relationship for sometime after all you had been through.

➳” IT’S HAPPENING GUYS. HE’S ASKING ME ON A DATE AND GOING ON A DATEMEANSTHEYLIKEYOUANDWANTTOREALLYDATEYOUHEWILLBEYOURBOYFRIENDANDIKNOWHEWONTFUCKTHINGSUP AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

➳ It was what you thought, but you only answered with a simple “Sure! What about 6 pm tomorrow?” you gave him a bright smile, trying to hid your super fucking duper freaking out moment and excitement.

➳ “You look pretty”, “What did you say?” “I SAID YOU LOOK SHITTY.”

➳ The date was pretty well if you ignore the embarrassed silent that sometimes would build because of you two being very flustered, or when you two fought to see who would pay the bill, and his attempted flirts that didn’t go really well, even if you find it funny and cute.

➳ “Y/n. I know you got out of a shitty relationship and---”, he sighed, looking for some courage while heavily shades of pink on his face, “I want you to know that I ˡᶦᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ.” He did the thing again. “What? Sorry I didn’t hear you”, you said. Lol you did hear but wanted a confirmation. “I LIKE YOU. THAT’S IT. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR?”

➳ Yep.

 Todoroki Shouto

➳ All this rudeness was seriously breaking your heart in pieces. You just couldn’t. It’s too much to handle.

➳ That’s it, you will never get in a relationship ever again. You know every time someone attempts to flirt with you, those bitter images of you getting coldly left aside would come again.

➳ Well, that’s what you though until fall in Todoroki’s ears that you were heartbroken.

➳ Boy, he was mad. Although he didn’t really show with expressions, every night he would dream of burning that motherfucker down into some burnt shit.

➳ “Y/n, are you really ok? I can buy you soda if you want.”, he said, emotionless as usual. “Thank you very much, Todoroki-kun. It’s extremely sweet of you.” You smiled, trying not to cry in front of him. “Call me Shouto.” He hesitantly rubbed your back, walking away seconds later to buy you the soda.

➳ Whoever played with your feelings, dude they have a death wish and didn’t even know (or did know?)

➳ Giving you the soda, he began to try comfort you- even if it was asking you a bunch of random questions, trying to make you forget for some moments about everything.

➳ “It’s really ok Todo—Shouto. You really don’t need to worry. I will move on soon”. “I’m always here for you”.

➳ He was the one who was making the most effort to help you during those hard times, but like, really overhelping. “Do you need this? I can get for you. I can also cook whatever you want, or try at least. Do you want that? I buy for you, my dad’s card is black. Want to hang out? I’m already on your door.”

➳ He was there for you 24/7, and I’m really not joking when I say 24/7.

➳ “Shouto, I’m sorry, I can’t continue this anymore. I feel like you are spoiling me too much, and I know this is just because everything that is happening. I really appreciate tons of you trying to help me, and believe you are nailing this. But I know this won’t last forever and I probably will a bad habit and I don’t want this. Actually, I don’t even get why you are so there for me always, more than any human could be and—”

➳ “Because I like you.”

➳ WhAt???? Am I dreaming??

➳ “Excuse me??????”. “Because I like you, Y/N. I really do”.

➳ He said tHOSE words with a stoic face, how did he--???

➳ Todoroki slowly leans closer to your face and gives you a romantic kiss. He cups your cheeks with his cold and hot hands, giving you an odd feeling with two different temperatures on your face, but that doesn’t mean you don’t like it.

➳ He starts to move his lips and you open yours a little, just enough so he can slip his tongue inside your mouth. His hands go to your waist as he deepens the kiss, then to your hips, until he breaks the kiss when you were almost without breath

➳ “Can I?”

➳ “Yes.”

  ☽★☾

A/n: Thank you for reading until here! I advanced my apologies and if I wrote something or didn’t really make sense, please message me so I can fix it. Also this is my first “work” on Tumblr so please be gentle with critics! Hope you have a good day ❤

[fingerguneds]

hi! could I ask for some stozier fluff, like, stan and richie go grocery shopping ( not established relationship but they both like each other a whole lot ) 💞 thanks!

heyy

thank you very much for your ask, i fucking loved working on this, hope you don’t mind my loose interpretation of your prompt..

_

Stanley doesn’t like grocery shopping. He hates it, actually: it’s stressful, it’s always about letting people bother you somehow, and it’s totally not worth it when there’s food delivery.

But newsflash sweetie, it’s New Year’s Eve and all the closest shops are bombarded with orders. He can’t even imagine a worse case of spending the last few hours of 2019th, maybe with an exception of having to be with his parents, but whatever. It’s still bad.

So there he is, with bananas, blueberries and two bottles of white dessert wine in his cart he’s sure gonna suck in all alone in his sitting room later this evening, deciding on whether he needs another head of brie cheese, when he notices a familiar mop of black curly hair by the cereal stand.

There’s no way he wouldn’t recognize Richard Tozier from the communication and design department. He’s one of the loudest, brightest and most charmingly gorgeous people in their company, and if Stan ever tells you he hasn’t been having a huge, fat crush on him for the last few months, he’d be the ugliest, most pathetic liar.

He’s a good liar, though. He’s excellent at ignoring his fluttering heart every time Richie walks in their department to share a word with Eddie Kaspbrak, the most pleasant coworker of Stan’s in his personal opinion, or casting his best cold-eye when at parties they accidentally end up sharing a table and the guy, because he’s actually nice to everyone, tries to start an odd conversation about broken vending machines on the first floor or the fucking weather.

Why? Because Stan’s a pussy. He’s already really, really attracted to this black-haired mess of a person, with his ridiculously dark eyes with stupidly long lashes on a damn weird face one wouldn’t call pretty, because of that big nose, covered in bright specks of freckles that burn on cool paleness of his skin, or large, red and plump-lipped mouth; but would totally still define as beautiful, because those eyes are not just dark — they’re the colour of reddish pine bark after it’s been raining for hours; because that skin is not just pale — it’s like absolutely white marble with rare blue veins in all the rightest places of the man’s slender body; because his features, although weird and uncommon, somehow create a loud and charismatic pattern that attracts an eye, that makes you want to look, to inspect, to...admire.

And that’s what Stan’s been doing. Admiring from afar, because he’s a coward, too sensitive to let someone this loveable, loud and easy-going in. He’s too protective over his heart, he doesn’t take risks, he’s too fragile for his own good, and one more thing — even though Stanley secretly thinks he’s better than everyone, there is no way someone like Richie would want to do anything with him. He’s the most adorable with everyone, that’s in his nature, and thank god Stan smart enough to know that and to be aware that he’s not special — that Richie flirts with anyone, holds the door for every goddamn person in the office, checks up on every other stranger in an elevator, and although this still makes Stan’s dick ridiculously hard, he also almost dies on the spot when Richie turns his head a little bit and after a moment of surprise breaks into a grin. Stan, like a good goddamn liar he is, shoots him a quick nod of recognition, throws the bloody cheese into his cart with a bored expression and decides to get the fuck out of this place before his heart decides to break his ribcage into pieces. As calm and collected Stanley Uris is on the outside, he’s just as chaotic and messy on the inside.

He walks towards the end of an aisle as casual but fast as possible, as if his feet are on fire but he’s used to it (which is true, metaphorically speaking), and just when he’s ready to hide from Richie behind another row, something much, much more terrible than bumping into your big fat crush slash occasional wet dream happens to him.

“Stan!”

His heart drops down to his feet, when he recognizes the voice. He keeps walking forward, hoping for an earthquake, a sudden alien invasion, The Judgment Day — anything to save him from this most unwanted encounter, but of course nothing happens. A big tenacious hand still grabs his forearm, making him stop and turn, and this face Stan’s been successfully avoiding for the past couple years still appears in front of him, unchanged and familiar as ever.

Patrick.

See, he maybe wouldn’t be afraid of talking to Richie and making friends with him and maybe even going for more, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been in a relationship with one extremely toxic and emotionally abusive man, and although Stan knows all these things, he knows he only terrorized him because he’s an awful person, not Stan, he still—can’t not be affected.

Who in the hell’s gonna love a needy Jewish nerd with a fucked-up brain and a shit ton of insecurities, earned throughout his not-so-bright pathetic faggot life?

Only Patrick, with his huge, kind heart and a perverted kink for losers, lucky for Stan: shaming people for what they are first, than pressing further, and finishing up with messing them up completely.

“Oh, hi, Patrick” Stan says casually, shoulders relaxed, body weight kept on one leg, yet one hand clinging the cart’s holder so tight his fingers turn purple, the other one in a fist, nails professionally breaking the delicate skin of Stan’s palm. “Long time no see.”

Leaving your ass all those years ago is still one of my biggest accomplishments, asshole.

Patrick’s eyes sparkle wickedly and his lips break into a wolfish smirk. Stanley finally notices he’s not alone: to the right there stands a blond man, not tall, seemingly muscular, small blue piggish eyes squinting at him with an alarming amount of hatred. Just what the fuck.

“How rude of me, this is Dean, by the way,” he says, showing up their intertwined fingers. Stan doesn’t feel jealous or envious, to his own pleasure, but he does feel this wholesome wave of bitterness. Assholes shouldn’t get away with all the nasty things they do and then proceed to live their nasty lives like nothing happened, while people they leave crippled and broken still suffer with their demons.

Stan won’t give him the satisfaction. He breaths in and smiles politely.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, totally aware that although he’s the lonely one here, he’s still prettier and, dare he say, smarter than that Dean guy. His mug...his mug is for sure a God’s creation, but boy, did he decide to go off with this one? Yes. And absolutely nothing says mind in those little dirty-blue pools of anger he has for eyes. He looks like someone who would tattoo their first lover’s name on their bicep. And make tik-toks in their truck.

“Nice set,” Patrick, the fucker, senses Stanley’s dominating vibe and makes another elegant attempt to ruin everything he’s been building up. “Here alone?”

Okay, alright, it’s gonna be tough at the beginning, but at least he’s not holding some Dean’s sweaty stupid hand—

“Love, I only found buckwheat pasta, it all must be taken already,” and now it’s time for the third thing to make Stanley discover a lot of new white hairs tomorrow in front of the mirror. Thank God he’s not dark-haired.

Like Richie fucking Tozier, who appears literally out of nowhere, with a pack of fucking buckwheat pasta in his hand, the kindest, warmest look in his eyes behind huge coke-bottle glasses he (of course) rocks the shit out, and a smile Stan’s sure gonna jerk off to for days.

“We could drive to Tesco if you wanna—“ he starts in another attempt to silently offer Stanley a helping hand, but cuts himself off. “Oh, I’m sorry, do I know you?” he turns to face Patrick and Dean with a ridiculous replica of Stanley’s own polite smile, and if Stan wouldn’t be this honest-to-god shocked, he’d definitely laugh at the sight of it.

Patrick looks...scandalized in the most precious way.

“It’s Patrick,” Stan says, thankfully without a tremble in his voice. “We used to date a long time ago. And this is...um, Dean, right?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nods, seemingly taken aback. “My current boyfriend.”

“Oh, my pleasure!” Richie exclaims, grinning widely. “Honoured to meet my man’s old friends,” Stan almost chokes at this, but suddenly there’s someone’s strong hand sliding on his waist, and a solid body, pressing against his side. “I’m Richie by the way, Stanley’s current boyfriend.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs then between the four of them, until Patrick licks his lips in a predatory way, and nods again.

“Alright, we better keep going. It was nice to see you, Stan, have fun,” he almost spits out the last words, and him and Dean quickly leave, just like a mirage Stanley would rather forget forever.

But not the hand, still holding him tight.

“You okay?” Richie murmurs then quietly into Stan’s ear, sending warm shivers down his body. Stan hopes his coat is thick enough for Richie to not hear how embarrassingly rapid his heartbeat currently is.

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding. As much as he hates to do this, he takes a step back, which allows him to look at Richie closely for the first time in his life.

And God he’s handsome.

“I’m—“ Stanley asks, but Richie cuts him off.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and although his eyes are still pleasantly concerned, his lips curve into a small guilty smile. “I didn’t want to spy on you, I just overheard that asshole—shit, sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No, he is an asshole,” Stanley shrugs, still lying to Richie and himself. Lying that his body’s not still on fire, his brains are not melting into disgustingly sweet puddles of adoration, his palms are not sweaty and his throat is not drier than Sahara. “And thank you for...helping me out, I guess? You really didn’t have to do that.”

Richie looks at him with something Stanley can’t really understand in his eyes, and his smile widens, revealing two big front teeth one would call funny, but Stan honest to god finds them adorable. Like the rest of Richie, really. There’s no point in denying this, he’s gone.

“I know,” he says, and his voice is low, with a slight edge. “I just, I thought there’s no better time than the present, you know, and instead of making another New Year resolution I’m going to ignore, I could give myself a chance right here and right now,” the apples of his cheeks turn an impossibly lovely shade of pink, and Stanley wants to slap himself for being such a slut for this man. He collects himself without a flinch and finally pays attention to Richie’s words and frowns.

“I beg your pardon?”

Richie keeps blushing deeper and deeper in shade.

“Well, you see, there’s that adorable Hebrew in my friend Eddie’s department that I’ve been trying to court for months, but he’s either too dense to notice it, or it’s me who’s dense and is just too preoccupied to take “no” as an answer, you know? So I’ve decided to go off in 2020 and...basically crack my ass to make that boy be more clear, yeah? Because I’m crushing like crazy stupid, you have no idea,” by the end of his ramble, his face is fully red, and fortunately for him, he’s not the only one looking like a basic white tourist after seven hours under Egyptian sun without a hat.

“Did you,” Stan mewls, voice finally breaking like a bitch, but nevertheless, his chin is up and he’s professionally acting like he doesn’t look as pathetic as Richie. “Did you just call me dense while hitting on me?”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes out, and his smile is so sunny, and warm, and relieved that Stan can’t help but smile back, rolling his eyes nevertheless, because he’s what? Still a good liar. “Did it work?”

***

It definitely did, Stanley thinks two hours later, sitting in Richie’s barstool with a glass of wine in one hand, watching the other man cook that bloody buckwheat pasta and listening to his absolutely endearing unstoppable ramble about his secret passion for cooking and not-so-secret passion for Stanley. He really, really doesn’t give a shit about embarrassing himself, Stan realizes somewhere after the words “I got shitfaced and ugly-cried for hours at that party when you left the table exactly thirty seconds after I tried to initiate a conversation with you.”

It definitely did, Richie thinks in the next morning, waking up with Stanley’s curls in his mouth, his back pressed against Richie’s chest and their bodies wrapped around each other under lazy January sun.

_

i have to say i’m not a huge fan of fake/pretend relationship trope but this specific um turn of events when character a is in an embarrassingly lonely situation against their ex and character b abruptly decides to save the day and then they end up together for real...is the shit

[radramblog]

Pink Lemonade: Not too sweet, not too sour.

(I think I’m brave enough to try some of that.)

Pink Lemonade is a 2014 album by Melbourne prog outfit Closure in Moscow and is one of the most banging’ albums in my collection. It sets out to have a good time and a good time it has, being probably the most consistently fun to sing along to of the albums I’ve tried to do that with. It also tells a pretty bizarre story, which between the salad of the lyrics, the rapid delivery, and sheer esoterica is pretty hard to follow- as such I’ll be explaining it as I go through this review. The clearest explanation of the plot is available in this article written by the band’s vocalist, and so a lot of what I’m saying is going to be coming from that. I’d recommend listening to it yourself, though, maybe even before reading on, if only so you can be as awed and confused as I was the first time around.

1. The Fool

We open on nature noises as a slow meandering line plays before suddenly being interrupted by a record distortion and a burst of energetic guitars and a quick beat, followed by the first lines of the song and what the fuck is he saying? Yeah, get used to that, that’s what this whole thing is like. Strap in.

The playful delivery of the second verse (“It’s a new day for the Fool today…”) had me hooked, with the backup vocals solidifying that position- its just a style that really appeals to me. The song doesn’t last much longer beyond that opening, because that’s just what it is- an introduction, a prologue, introducing the album’s style, energy, and protagonist.

Oh, speaking of. The Fool is our main character, and he’s who this track is about- a pleasure-seeker lost and adrift doing his own horseshit, and we’re going to watch him try(yyyyyyyYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyy) to find his next fix- a fast track no fuss path to enlightenment.

2. Pink Lemonade

I’d argue this is the first real song of the album, considering how brief The Fool is. While The Fool introduced the off-kilter verses of the album, the album’s title song introduces the punchy choruses, with vocals going in unexpected directions and their impact coinciding with the beginnings of technical and fluid riffs. The first chorus (actually maybe the only one uhhh) breaks off with a hard pause, and we’re back in the slow build of a new, chiller verse. There’s a contrast here- The Alchemist (bloke on the cover!) offering this miracle brew, this psychedelic Pink Lemonade that’s the cheat way to heaven on earth, and the Fool just begging for it and then losing his mind as the drugs take effect and it’s not quite what he was expecting. This build climaxes as the Alchemist speaks again, voice editing simulating the effects the Lemonade is having on the Alchemist’s mind, as he pours this wicked elixir once more and reinforces quite explicitly that he doesn’t fuck around. As the music cuts back, it’s the Fool who’s finding out, as he just says a bunch of words that I don’t really get- but we hear backing vocals teasing, with the album’s first mention of the Brahmatron (we’ll get to it) The song keeps going as this motherfucker just keeps tripping- allegedly he’s grappling with extradimensional shit, you know how it is. This song fucks, by the way. It’s a thrill ride, never going in the same direction twice, and only stopping to start again until its final, bitter end.

The track on the album isn’t over, though, and here’s my first real criticism, though its more of a meta thing on albums in general. You get a lot of albums where there are additional non-song bits strapped to the start and end, typically with concept and story albums, and I just wish these would be delineated as separate tracks on the album if they’re as long as this one is. When Pink Lemonade comes up on shuffle, I don’t reaaaally want to get halfway seduced before moving on to the next song, especially if I’m not the only one listening to it.

Oh yeah, that’s what is happening, by the way. After the Fool is done tripping, he awakens in an alleyway to a voice (officially named the Tacky Ornamental Slut, ok, sure) in his head, leading him to her performance at a jazz club that is extremely forward and direct. This little swaggering, jazzy interlude (featuring guest vocals and “general insidious sauciness” by Kitty Hart who’s doing a lovely job) leads directly into and continues in the next track, as Weird Dimensional Shit happens to the Fool and by the sounds of things, either he or she is glitching through reality.

3. Neoprene Byzantine

The explosion of noise that is the first second of Neoprene Byzantine is the first thing I heard of this album, as it came up on one of Spotify’s Recommended playlists, and I’m glad I went back to figure out what the hell was going on here. Suddenly, our tempting voice has turned accusatory, essentially asking “oh, wait, you were actually into that?”, and offering the songs title character, Verina (a name never actually stated in the lyrics) to satisfy the Fool’s apparent needs. There is so much energy in this opening, essentially being *fancy guitar noodling* *sassy lyrics over a snare roll* *more guitar noodling* until it breaks, and Kitty exists the record hitting a high note that took me way too long to realise was a euphemism for cunnilingus. Exquisite. (I only realised when writing this and looking at the lyrics that this isn’t the first time that subject comes up on the album, since one of the lyrics I never got on The Fool was apparently “cunt-licking”. Earning that explicit label, I see.)

The rest of the plot of the song is basically just about Verina, a time-travelling plastic-surgery-covered literal Byzantine empress whom the Fool enters a torrid relationship with. The chorus is so much fun to belt along to, carried by the smooth guitar lines that don’t really explode like the opening does- that gets saved for part of the second verse, but we’ll get to that. The verses are also a lot of fun, with the first spending a lot of time as this cut back percussion-and-vocals bit, and when the other instruments do return the lyrics spend a lot of time with little asides (like these bits in brackets what I’m doing). The second verse on the other hand is has the vocals build along with psychedelic guitars until we are SUDDENLY YELLING, finishing with a steady fall back to normal for the final verse. The only reason I’d say they’re any less fun than the chorus is because the lyrics are fast so its real hard to keep up sometimes- kudos to the performer for nailing that.

Neoprene Byzantine is probably my favourite song on the album, and a lot of that is for similar reasons as Pink Lemonade- the energy all over the place, the different styles of vocals used, basically it has big ADHD energy, and I can appreciate that. It might literally be that this song resonates with me better only because of the better chorus, and me having a bad habit of saying (or singing) rude things with a straight face.

4. Seeds of Gold

Where Pink Lemonade and Neoprene Byzantine are chaotic and energetic, Seeds of Gold is a groovy, very danceable little tune. I don’t have as much to say as a result- its actually probably my next favourite after Neoprene Byzantine, but there isn’t as much to explain music-wise or plot-wise. The bass is grooving, and the little glitchlike noises keep it from being so smooth it feels out of place, reminding you that, yeah, this is still a track from Pink Lemonade. It’s probably the song most capable of standing on its own without the rest of the album, considering its meaning and non-reliance on themes or interstitials. That’s probably why it got a (very stylish) music video of its own.

Plot wise, Seeds of Gold depicts a more frustrated and melancholic story than its glittering guitars suggest- it’s about the ending of The Fool and Verina’s relationship, with him having no use for her anymore, his callousness turning to resentment in her mind, and he’s unwilling to take the blame for it.

5. That Brahmatron Song

Here’s where shit gets weird again.

That Brahmatron Song is the existential lament of the Fool as he discovers the truth of reality, the nature of the Brahmatron, and falls again through reality.

Like with Pink Lemonade, I’d argue this would have been better split off into two tracks, with the first half sounding completely different to the second- though at least the two are a little better connected sonically this time, in my opinion. After a mishearing of the lyrics, I can never imagine the chorus of That Brahmatron Song as anything but a particularly loud, drunken campfire tune, sung with tears in one’s eyes and a warmth in one’s heart (whether it be from the fire, the alcohol, or the camaraderie). And while that doesn’t actually fit the lyrics as the truly are, it’s a nice sentiment I’ve stuck to and kind of want to do in real life at some point.

The lyrics of this song are something that I just cannot connect to what the plot is supposed to be. Like, I get the realisation the Fool makes, but I don’t get how he’s supposed to have gotten there- the lines are just to esoteric. This is not to say it’s a bad song or anything- not as good as the previous three, but still great on its own measure- but it leaves me a bit puzzled.

The plot dives into its most psychedelic moments, as the Fool, through…some means… discovers the nature of the universe as the Brahmatron- the resonance and vibrations that make up reality as a whole. And as he fucks around with it, he gets sucked into it, leading to the second half of the song. The first half ends like a film projector being abruptly shut off, as the yawning void of the universe makes itself heard through atmospheric noise, slowly rising into a dramatic, unsettling beat. The vocals return with a transcendent BRAAAAAAAAHMATROOOOOON echoing through the noise, soon replaced by the dramatic beat continuing under what is presumably the Fool’s screaming rambles, filtered as though through a shitty radio. Guitar noodling begins, a solo lasting until the loud existential vocals come in again. Alarms blare as the raving gets more desperate, the solo restarts, and the dramatic percussion keeps going through it all. It’s almost akin to a twisted marching beat, eventually falling partially away as actual radio chatter is heard from some military type what the fuck? And then vintage video-gamey gunfire and explosions as the military dude says to fire and then someone’s really sexual moans and then it’s just over.

I don’t think I can put into words the experience that section of the song is, though I guess that’s me trying. It’s nonsensical and a little scary, but it’s a good time.

As the Fool tumbles through reality, he sees the apex, the centre of the Brahmatron, learning that it is neither malevolent nor benevolent, yawning of all possibilities and connecting to different realities. The Fool, frightened by the existential idea that all possibilities existing makes free will an illusion, desperately seeks a way out, finding a tendril leading to the forest he first met the Alchemist and diving right into that reality. It’s clearly a bit fucky, as we can assume from the military noises, but it’s familiar, and he needs that right now.

But there’s always a twist. We’ll get to the twist a later date, as at this point, I’m at almost 2,000 words and around halfway through the album. Stay tuned for Part 2.