#got a note on this and it reminded us we never actually. put our art tag on it

[cordycepsbian]

putting our two favorite Giant Bug Media together, for our health. gregor and boots are a lot farther from home than usual...

[alexsoenomel]

Chokehold (Sam Winchester x Reader smut)

Request: Hey I don’t know if you’re taking requests but I was reading Adrenlize Me and I had an idea for a part 2? Sam and reader have been getting at it for a bit but this time they finally say “I love you” to each other? Rough smut with a little dash of fluff? 🥰

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: sexy times and I love you’s, mentions of addiction 

Word count: 2.1k

Note: I apologize for being so slow (school+work+ADHD). Writing this made me realize how single I actually am.

 Enjoy! Like/Reblog or both if you like it! :)

PART 1

Addiction. First, it feels like a warm hug, sucking you in, disguising itself as something familiar, something beautiful, and finally, you feel like you filled that hole in your soul. Then it starts taking, it takes and takes until there is nothing left to take, until you cannot give anymore – until you’re dead. You find out, a little too late, that the warm hug was just a one-way ticket to your inevitable demise.

This started as a deep-seated need but turned into a full-blown addiction sooner than I thought, but the only difference was this was a blissful one, with no reaper waiting for you at the end. It only brought endless pleasure. 

Sam was no better than me. We couldn’t stop ourselves; every touch, every kiss would send us into a euphoric state, and it was better than any drug known to man. 

After our little adventure in Dean’s beloved Baby, we tried to keep our dirty little secret hidden. Sam would come to my room only during the night when he could hear Dean snoring in his room, and even then, we had to be careful since Dean was a light sleeper. He would muffle my moans with his hand whenever he was on top of me, he would sometimes even let me bite his shoulder, but it was impossible to be quiet, especially when we both liked listening to each other come undone. Long story short, Dean found out.

“Good thing you two lovebirds finally got together! The bad thing is now I cannot sleep.” He told us one morning while sipping his black coffee, clearly tired and cranky. 

Lovebirds.

That word was stuck in my brain that day. It still would pop up occasionally. It reminded me that we never labeled our little arrangement. When it happened, we would carry on, pretend like this thing was meaningless, and then we would do it all over again. We would cover every topic under the Sun apart from this one. We completely ignored it, but it was there, just around the corner, something more than just a meaningless hookup. 

Sure, he was able to make my legs shake, make me forget my existence, and his touch would set me on fire every damn time, but the way he would look at me right before I would come, the way we would look at each other…  I knew I was falling for him. 

We were birds of a feather –we connected through art, books, and music. We liked the same things but were far different characters. I was more of a 'Shoot first, ask questions later' kind of girl, like his older brother, and he was far from that. He was my voice of reason when I would let my emotions consume me; he was the one who would tell Dean and me to get our shit together whenever we would jump the gun (and that would often happen because we were both hotheads). We worked perfectly together. 

***

"God, I'm exhausted!" I said and put my bag on the table. 

We just got back from a hunt in Omaha, Nebraska, and it was a wild one. It dragged to no end until we finally ganked the ghost that was killing unfaithful men. I almost got thrown off the balcony, Dean almost got stabbed, and Sam, well he took care of it. Overall, I was just happy the case was over and, that I could sleep in my/Sam's bed. 

"Me too! Gonna hit the hay!" Dean said taking his shoes off. 

"Already? It's only 10 pm." Sam said. On a rare occasion, Dean would sleep early, he was the worst night bird in the flock. For him, 2 am was too early for bed, and mornings started at noon. 

"Sammy, I almost got stabbed today! Yeah, already." Dean said and disappeared into the hallway. 

"Night, Dean!" I said. 

"Night, night!" I heard him say. 

I was immediately hit with the realization that I was alone with Sam. There was something so alluring about him that made me nervous in the best way possible. It would boost my dopamine and adrenaline – like a drug. I swallowed nervously as I turned to see he was staring back at me and I immediately recognized the look – the look of devotion. 

"What?" I asked. He looked tired, with messy hair, and bags under his eyes. I was a tired mess too. During these days caffeine kept me awake and sharp since we were working night and day trying to solve the gruesome mystery. 

"Shower?" He asked.

"Please!" 

We went to his room since I would spend most of my nights there. What started as casual, grew to be a routine. I started hating sleeping alone in cold sheets – his warmth kept me safe. 

When we entered his room, pleasant silence joined us. We stripped down our dirty clothes and sins as we went to the bathroom. We didn’t say a word until warm water touched our tired bodies.

“Warm enough?” Sam asked me.

I nodded. He shampooed my hair, and I did my body while letting my muscles relax under the shower, feeling every part of me slowly shutting down from exhaustion.  Once my hair was nice and cleaned and I turned to face Sam, kissing where his heart was as I balanced myself on my tiptoes since he was much taller than me. 

“My turn?” I asked and got on his knees, like he usually would do when I wanted to wash his hair, and wrapped his hands around my waist, cupping my ass. It wasn’t the first time we showered together, the aftercare was as important for him as it was for me, but this time it felt far more intimate and real. The aftercare would usually turn into rough shower sex, leaving me breathless and sometimes even covered in bruises, but this time I saw true intimacy and meaning of showering together. 

Sam kissed my stomach as I washed his hair, sending light shivers all over my body. His hand went between my legs, and a light moan escaped from my lips. 

“All done!” My voice trembled. Sam stood up and kissed me hungrily. I could never get enough of his kisses, his lips were soft, kisses sweet kinda like cherries in spring, nothing like I’ve ever tasted before. He broke the kiss as our eyes met, water still running down our bodies. I could feel his breath on my lips. The air, even though hot and heavy, got a little bit chilly for a second – or was I getting nervous? I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I didn’t know why I was getting nervous. Everything that seemed familiar was now foreign to me. Even though we fucked a million times, even though we both had seen each other naked, I was still feeling that tickling sensation in the pit of my stomach. 

Sam turned off the shower. We did our night routine in blissful silence. Skincare, haircare, the whole nine yards…in blissful pleasant silence. Sam even started using my Vitamin C serum, when I told him how good it is for the skin. 

I was pleasantly surprised when he took a little bit of my hydrating cream after the serum. I would always use that after having a rough day on the job, it did wonders for my tired skin. 

“You’re learning,” I told him as I brushed my teeth. 

“From the best.” He simply said. 

***

I didn’t remember the last time I did my night routine in my bathroom – and it all started when Dean caught me leaving his room to get my toothbrush. 

“You two are louder than a jackhammer!” He told me as he opened the door of his room, messy hair, eyes barely open, clearly feeling creaky from lack of sleep…again. “Keep it down, or I swear I’ll kill you both!”

“Sorry!” I was embarrassed but trying hard not to laugh.

Ever since then, I decided not to leave his room during the night. So, naturally, I started leaving my stuff in Sam’s room. 

***

After we got in our pajamas; Sam in his gray sweatpants and me in my oversized blue T-shirt I “borrowed” from him, got under the covers. I could feel my whole body relaxing, as I let my mind drift God knows where…I was ready to fall asleep, but Sam had other plans. He wrapped his hand around my waist pulling me closer to him. His semi-hard cock was pressed against my ass, and I felt his lips on my neck. 

“Yeah, Sammy?” I bit my lower lip. 

“I don’t wanna sleep.” He mumbled between kisses. 

I turned around, missing the softness of his lips on mine. I kissed him, feeling the minty taste on his lips. My hand went in his hair, pulling him closer to me. He moaned when I pulled his locks, sending shivers all over his body. He pushed me back onto the mattress as he climbed on top of me, leaving kisses all over my jaw and neck. I loved his lips on my skin, I loved everything about them; the softness, the taste, the ability to make me wet in seconds… 

“You got me worried today,” Sam whispered between kisses. 

“Sorry, I was a hot-headed dumbass.”

I thought I could take down the ghost by myself. I didn’t stick to the plan and almost got thrown off the balcony when the damn thing attacked me – my mistake.

“Like always.”

And that’s why you love me. I bit my tongue. I felt my walls completely coming down under him. I didn’t care about labels, I didn’t care what we were, I just knew my heart was struggling to stay silent. I wanted to say those words as much as I desperately wanted to hear them from him. 

“Shut up and kiss me!” I told him instead. 

Sam pressed his lips on mine, this time his hand went down my stomach between my legs. His fingers were cold, making my skin shiver, but his touch bought endless pleasure. 

I could feel his two fingers in me for a few seconds before he pulled away. 

“Tease,” I said annoyed. He loved making me beg and feel desperate and I loved every second of it. 

He licked his fingers clean and kissed me letting me have a taste as well. 

“You are delicious.”

Everything about this seemed different. He was sweeter and far more gentle. Usually, he would tell me to be quiet, his good girl, he would be rough, but this time…he wasn’t? He had a gentle side, but I’d rarely see it. I felt something was different. I felt my heart connecting with his and my soul feeling closer to his own. 

“And you’re a tease.” 

He laughed, showing off those cute little dimples I adored so much. 

"Just a little. " He smirked before kissing me again. I was growing impatient, and it was like he heard me. He wasted no time, he moved my panties to the side as I helped him lower his sweatpants. He entered me slowly, letting me adjust to his size, letting me bask in the pleasure his cock was giving me. I buried my fingers into his damp hair, arching my back slightly. 

"You feel so good!" 

He would always tell me that. Every time. No exception. He knew his words made me needy, horny, and desperate…He knew what buttons to push. 

He started to move and that was when my heart decided to work against me…or it did me a favor? My eyes were lost in his, not wanting to break the contract. I was feeling every inch of him, slowly moving in and out, skin to skin….

"I love you!" 

I heard myself say. My heart was pounding, I could see his expression change as his hair was falling on my cheeks…he smiled and kissed me.

"I love you too!" 

I didn't expect this answer from him. At the moment it didn't seem real but I think we both knew it was coming. Between the constant staring, and flirting just to gross out Dean and the genuine connection we had, we knew…

Sam's pace became faster, and I was slowly losing it. His face was inches away from mine, feeling each other's breaths as my climax was getting closer. I could feel my body shaking, my nails digging into his back as I couldn’t get his name out of my mouth. 

“Come on, baby!” He whispered in my ear. 

I loved his voice, I loved his touch, his kiss. I loved him.

I came hard, biting his shoulder (Sam didn’t even flinch), not wanting to be too loud because of Dean and his “Next time I’m gonna kill you both” sentence. 

He kissed me before collapsing next to me. We were both panting, waiting for someone to say something, to break the ice that had already been broken when I told him I love you. But no one did. Instead, we fell asleep, my head on his chest, safe and sound. 

[mysticmellowlove]

Teen fem reader x yandere.

They are both in highschool maybes she’s a year below him or just a little younger anyway- she’s know around school for really just having her shit together. She authentic, she’s smart, she knows what she wants to do with her life, she NEVER fights. She’s the type of girl to be nice nasty like of someone tries something she throws out some “I’ll pray for you,” or just something classy yk?

So it is a major surprise when she walks into the front office when yan is there being escorted in by a teacher or what not with looks like disheveled hair and when the person in the office questions her she admits she got into a fight. Everyone in the office is surprised because everyone knows she’s a good girl.

Yan can’t even believe it now wait till he finds out the reason we got into our first fight!

We got into a fight because of him actually. We were sitting minding our own business when these bitches started talking about him saying stuff like: “He’s so weird and shy, he’s fine as fuck though I would totally smash.” “I would let him fuck my throat is he weren’t such a loser.”

We hear that shit and trying to be as kind and put together as we can say: “Don’t talk about him like that.” They got offended and next thing we know we won a fight and are in the office with him.

note; this bad boy grew a whole ass storyline as i was writing it damn

Unlike a certain someone, she was better at hiding her feelings. However, when she heard her classmates speaking like that about him she couldn't help herself. When she was younger her dad got her to take up martial arts for a short while so she knew where to hit. It was easy really, to just hurt someone like that.

The assistant to the principal barely had their hand hovering over her back as she made her way into the office. The instant shocked looks she got wasn't something she really expected to happen but it is what it is.

"If you could just wait here for a moment miss, I'm sure this will all be figured out soon." The assistant said as they motioned her over to a chair, right next to him. He had been looking at her the whole time she was being escorted in, his eyes never leaving her figure. He seemed to be shocked, not even the thin line of blood dripping from his hairline seemed to interest him more than she did.

She sat down next to him, her legs crossed over each other as she fought the want to look at him. He had moved here not too long ago, an ex-private school kid. Rumours had already spread about him and from what she had seen him do they seemed to be true. He had been placed at this school because he was a delinquent that didn't fit the private scene. He beat up other kids and disrespected property.

He was the exact opposite of herself and yet that's what drew her to him. She was a fierce believer in opposites attract. Or maybe she just wanted a reason behind her casual infatuation. Being the best and the brightest got boring sometimes so maybe he was the perfect distraction?

It wasn't even as if her classmates were spewing lies about him either. He was rather cute, hot even. She wouldn't mind kissing him, or lying with him or maybe even letting her choke on his dick. It's just that she would prefer that only she be allowed the privilege.

No one seemed to understand him like she did.

"Why are you here?" Her head turned as he spoke up, his voice harsh and gruff. She blinked at him, behind his cold exterior she could see that small glint in his eye. That glint told her he was just as interested in her as she was in him. It was no secret that he was interested in her, rumours had spread about that as well.

That he would pummel anyone who talked down about her, using their blood as a reminder that she was untouchable even more than she already was. Sometimes she even thought the teachers encouraged it, so long as he wasn't breaking school property he could tail her as much as he liked. Act like her secret protector...

"There was just a little misunderstanding." She mumbled, he had been close to her many times before but she rarely had the chance to get close to him without him moving away from her, as if he was scared to even be seen next to her. She found it stupid... and selfish.

"Bullshit!" He yelled, his hand slamming down on the chair arm. The receptionist at the front desk flinched a little, keeping his head down.

"Who." Was all he said as he looked at her, his eyes ablaze. The intensity drifting off of him was stifling, overwhelming almost. She felt a small shiver run down her back.

"Just some girls, I dealt with it." She hummed nonchalantly as she shrugged her shoulder, ignoring the receptionist who looked like he was watching his own private teen drama.

He went to stand up only to be grabbed by her. He seemed to look down at his wrist in alarm, his cheeks lightly blushing before he managed to remain calm.

"I said I dealt with it, can't you be near me for a few moments?" She looked at him, her eyes shimmering in false tears. He seemed to sputter something before he sat back down, his eyes refusing to meet with hers.

"Why don't you want to be near me?" She hummed as she looked at him, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist. His skin was heating up like a furnace. He got like this from one little touch?

"I.... can't control myself." He mumbled as he looked down at his shoes, unwanting to show her his expression. She tutted as she let her eyes close.

"Then don't." That was all she said.

[hannahssimblr]

note: you don't need to know how to pronounce Garda Síochána - just know it's what we call our police force in Ireland. Any mention of garda/guards is in reference to the cops. Jude is saying the Síochána bit (the full name) to be funny and emphasise the fact that they are entirely unarmed. If you do want to know how to pronounce it then here is someone saying it right.

We are greeted at the doctor’s waiting room by two familiar faces. Shane and Joe look up when we enter, and the biggest, dopiest smile I’ve ever seen spreads over Joe’s face. “What’s up guys! You got ticks too?”

“Um, yeah.”

He fist bumps me, then Jen, “Hell yeah! Tick friends. Four thicks with ticks. We should get that tattooed.”

“Good idea,” I slump into a creaky seat and immediately start fidgeting with a ballpoint pen on the table. While the others chat to one another I begin to draw random shapes onto the corner of a magazine. 

“So we lose four tents,” Shane is saying, “And we all get ticks. Would ye say that’s the biggest failure of all time?”

“We can go back and get the tents though, lad,” Joe says, “Sure I can remember where we were and all.”

“They’re in the dump by now for sure,” Jen says, “So annoying because I actually really liked that tent, and the sleeping bags too. Like, we lost a bloody fortune worth of stuff that we could have used to go to a music festival or something.”

A fat pigeon lands on the windowsill and I quickly sketch it out, not realistically, but a stupid cartoon version who is trying to swallow an entire loaf of white sliced pan in one gulp. I cock my head. It’s actually a bit grotesque. Maybe I should scribble it out. 

“Man, I’m just glad that Jude made it out of there alive,” Joe says, “We didn’t know if you were going to make it.”

“What, like, do you think I was going to get shot to death by the Garda Síochána?”

“No, I dunno, like.”

“Thanks for abandoning me, by the way.”

“Oh stop it Jude,” Jen punches my arm, which throws my line off, “He’s in a huff because we saved ourselves instead of coming to find him, but anyone would have done the same.”

“Well you were fairly busy!” Joe protests, “Off with Clóda.” I’m not looking at him, but I can practically hear the exotic wiggle of his eyebrows, “C’mere, man, did you ride her?”

I glance quickly at Shane who is staring at the floor, “Nah, I didn’t.”

“What? You had the chance and you didn’t take it? You’re crazy, Jude. If that’d been me I’d have-”

I zone out as Joe, the chronic virgin, starts describing what he would have done and not done, while dimly aware that Jen is giving out to him for being disrespectful. The pigeon drawing is coming along. Maybe I’ll make this guy into a new character and put him in different scenarios. I draw a newer version of him on the next page with eyes looking in two different directions and I chuckle to myself at how stupid it looks. 

“That’s a cool drawing,” Jen murmurs, peering over my shoulder, “you should bring it home and glue it into your sketchbook.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“-Oh yeah, and that reminds me,” Joe goes on, moving fluidly from his thoughts about Clóda to the next topic without so much as a pause for breath. He’s like a tap that never stops dripping. “I’ve been thinking of getting a tattoo, like an actual tattoo, you know I was joking about the Thicks with Ticks thing before, but now that I’m sixteen I’ve been like, maybe I should get one if my ma or da lets me, and like, I was thinking that Jude is really good at art and all, so it’d be cool if I got him to draw something for me that I could get tattooed on me, you know?”

I sit up wielding my biro, “Where, man?”

“Huh?”

“Where’d you want your tattoo? I’ll do a sketch for you now.”

“Oh cool, yeah, like maybe my neck, like here?” He runs a finger from his ear to his shoulder, “Like something cool, a dragon or whatever, breathing fire, and maybe with its tail curling around like that.”

“A dragon, yeah?” I lean across Jen and push his head to the side to stretch out the skin and I start drawing.

He glances at Jen after several minutes, “How’s it look?”

She keeps a straight face, “Yeah, unreal. It’s a dragon alright.”

I finish it off with a few flourishes and then Joe shows it off to Shane, “Well?”

Shane splutters.

“Is it cool?”

“C’mere give me a proper look,” he turns him all the way around and stares intently at the drawing. “Man, that is the most detailed penis I’ve ever seen.”

Jen and I cling to one another cackling. 

“Even the spurts of cum, fuck sake, you’re sick,” Shane starts shaking with laughter too while Joe panics and tries to wipe it away with his hand. “Aw, are you serious? Is it just a dick?”

Shane looks again and shrieks “The veins!”

“No, you’re going to have me go into the doctor with a cumming dick on my neck?”

“You don’t like it?” I pretend to be offended and clutch my heart, “That wounds me, really.”

Jen joins in, “Yeah, he worked hard on it, how could you be so cold?”

The doctor comes to the door, “Joseph Roche?”

He stands up and gives us all the most aggressive middle fingers he can muster. “Fuckers,” he says, and follows the doctor out while we all collapse in fits of hysterical laughter. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

on the cusp between childhood and adulthood, the sudden onset of grief when you weren’t in the room where it happened, and the impossible art of growing up in a very short time: or, why the princess of france from love’s labour’s lost means a lot to me personally

on the heels of reading as the princess of france with @socialshakespeare

heads up, the rest of this is going to get Very Long Very Quickly, so i’m putting it under a cut. tw for discussions of cancer, parental death, and grief.

so when @socialshakespeare announced that it would be doing love’s labour’s lost this month, in the box where you can put any additional notes about your casting preferences, i pretty much begged the admins to let me have a turn as the princess of france. y’know, i said, as a sort of twenty-first birthday present. and i was cast as the princess of france! thank you, socshakes! <3

but there was a very specific reason why i asked to play the princess of france.

and that reason is simply: she reminds me of me. more particularly, she reminds me of me from 2020, but me from 2020 was really the germination point of me today.

“savannah, everyone changed in 2020, 2020 was a fucking unbelievable year and it changed us all. it changed our whole world.” yeah. i’m well aware. but there’s a specific reason for me.

***

see, in early 2020, i was having a pretty decent time, actually. it was my senior year of high school, i had a great group of friends (much like the princess had her three ladies except my core friend group was bigger than that), things with my family weren’t great but i knew that come august i would be able to move out.

that first period of covid was awful and it changed so much and at times it felt like i was having a mental breakdown, but it wasn’t what ultimately ripped me apart that year.

you see, in 2018, about a month before my fifteenth birthday, my father was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. for a good long while, though, it seemed like he might beat the odds. treatments were working, he went to one of the best hospitals in the country to get good care, and we believed that he just might make it.

and then in the summer of 2020, things rapidly took a turn for the worse.

on july 20, 2020, we all got sat down and told that the treatments weren’t working anymore, and they had elected to put my father on hospice care. i sobbed all that night and into the next morning, but i had a cashier job that summer at walmart. i was an essential worker and i had to power through.

in love’s labour’s lost, everyone knows even before the princess arrives that her father is extremely sick. for heaven’s sake, it’s why the princess is there in the first place instead of the king. and yet the princess powers through. there’s deals to be made, familial honor to be defended, and there’s also that tiny matter of falling in love and playing with the joy and laughter that come with it. and the princess embraces it.

she is young, she is optimistic, she is a bit sheltered maybe yet so smart, she has devoted friends, she has seemingly all the time in the world because no one knows when the time runs out so might as well believe it never will, right?

my high school graduation came five days later, on july 25. a rare opportunity to see friends then and, at long last, after a two-month delay and twelve years of study before that, a chance to celebrate. relatives came in. we had cake and flowers. we took photos on the soccer field in 90-degree weather but it didn’t matter because we were together and we were so full of joy on that blue-sky day.

and after that, only nineteen days until leaving. i had been counting the days for months, excited for new possibilities, not understanding the impact. it would be easy, i thought. all that needed done were to pack my bags and suitcases and buy some last-minute things, say my goodbyes for now to my favorite people, enjoy every moment i could, and wait in a haze of delightful agony and optimism until the morning of august 13 came.

this went as planned for about three days.

july 29, 2020, started like any other day. i got my things together, had an argument with my stepmom about doing the dishes (you said i can’t do the dishes when it’s late and everyone’s asleep after i get off work, when do you expect me to do them), decided to start the dishwasher right before i left for work (if she was mad about it, then she could unload the dishwasher as needed and we could have this conversation when i got home, i reasoned) and went to walmart for my shift that day. i cut one of my fingers on a taco seasoning packet, watched some of the salzburg 2007 production of berlioz’s benvenuto cellini on my lunch break, and in general otherwise it was a pretty normal shift. and like all normal shifts, i took my sweet time getting out and getting home.

at about 5:15 i was dawdling and trying to find an excuse to not get in my car just yet when i got a call from my stepmom that basically went like this:

me: hi

stepmom: hey. are you coming home yet?

me: i will be there in a little bit.

stepmom: it’s been raining so you need to be careful getting home.

me: it hasn’t rained that much and i know how to drive in the rain.

stepmom: just be careful getting home. bye.

so i sighed and went “well i can’t put this off any longer”, and got in my car and put some more berlioz on and drove home, thinking about how she sounded upset over the phone and oh i was going to get a tongue-lashing for leaving the dishes in the dishwasher all day.

and just as i was pulling up, i noticed my older brother’s truck outside. huh, i thought, that’s weird. why is he here?

i pulled into the driveway and saw my stepmom sitting on the step outside the side door by herself. two thoughts about what this meant went into my head at about the same time:

option 1: uh oh my stepmom is big mad and she waited out here just so she could tell me off right when i got home

option 2: uh oh my brother and my stepmom got into a fight again for whatever reason and she just can’t deal with it right now

(both of these, for the record, were entirely plausible things that could have happened)

so i parked and got out and decided to not commit to either of these but just play this very strange situation as coolly as possible. i believe my exact words were “hey, what are you doing out here by your lonesome?”

and like monsieur marcade, she could only get out a handful of words, and it was left to me to fill in the meaning.

the meaning: savannah, your father is dead.

and, to quote a different shakespeare play, “i must be from thence.”

my father died and i wasn’t there.

***

this is the same fate to befall the princess of france: her political mission mixed with girls’ trip has taken her to navarre, to a world full of annoying yet beloved men and delightful games and amateur theatre filled with passion. and then she learns that her father all the way in paris has died, and she wasn’t there.

now we don’t know what the princess’ relationship with her father was like; this is not something that is discussed at all in the play. but i know what my relationship with my father was like. we didn’t always understand each other or agree on everything, but i loved him. and in a childhood where the concept of family was a loose one due to an over decade-long stretch of family drama, he was the one constant.

and then four days after my high school graduation, he was simply gone, never to return.

now some folks will probably go back to those days of late july and early august 2020 and see that i posted exactly nothing about all this. why? i just needed a space where i could forget, where i could live in denial for a little longer, where i could cling to something in my life that wasn’t about this unimaginable loss until i couldn’t anymore.

living in the late 1500s, with a whole country to newly run, no social media, and a permanent existence in the public eye, the princess does not have this sort of escape. she knows right away the awful truth. it is inevitable; she must leave this happy sojourn, this newfound love.

her first line after she realizes her father is dead shows that plainly: “boyet, prepare. i will away tonight.” and even as she plans to shut herself up in a mourning-house, it is at the same time that she will be learning first hand how to run her kingdom.

sixteen days after my father’s death, i left home to learn how to live on my own. and even before that, i got only five days of bereavement leave from work, and i went back to work the day after my father’s funeral. let alone the rest of the frantic preparations for leaving home and starting a brand new life alone—in the middle of a pandemic and now, with this grief weighing on me.

life and the world do not wait for grief.

and sixteen days is too fast to grow up.

you can’t just flip the switch from child to adult, especially when you’re grieving.

and when the world forces you to do so, it is truly awful.

there’s no closure to it. as another character mourns in the closing moments of the play, “our wooing doth not end like an old play.” well, neither did the princess’ relationship with her father.

to continue with the shakespeare allusions, as much as i love and am heartbroken by the deathbed reconciliation between king henry iv and prince hal in henry iv, part 2 (a scene i was lucky to get to read with socshakes last september and which still lives in my head rent free), sometimes it simply doesn’t work out that way and you’re still left to pick up the pieces and forever wonder what might have been in those final moments on top of it.

living without that—without those answers, without closure, without any sort of comfort, on top of everything else—is so, so hard.

it is widely accepted that the love’s labour’s won mentioned in the catalogues is, in fact, a lost sequel and not an alternate name for any number of surviving shakespeare comedies. and while i have never found love in the manner of any shakespeare comedy, i believe nonetheless that i am living the princess’ story—a young woman, always grieving, trying to learn about life and figure out how to live it in a hostile world, trying to balance all the things, trying to come to terms with closure that will never come to her.

love’s labour’s lost fills me with an ache by the end. a true heartache, a deep emotional pain like few other stories i have ever come across. when i first saw it, i praised it for being messy and real. i saw me in it. i saw my own grief. i saw what i could have been, the kind of person i was before that fateful and fatal summer, the realization that we must leave that self behind because they can no longer navigate this new world, the not wanting to let go, the not understanding why but knowing you have to anyway. to know you have to take the other road.

***

recently, for a local exhibit, a museum asked people in the area to send in writing about their regrets, something they wished had happened differently. mine was eventually one of the ones selected for inclusion. here it is.

in another lifetime, i am there when my father dies.

i am there, holding his hand, feeling the blood that connects us rush through him, hearing his breaths—however shallow.

skin on skin.

i’m able to tell him one last time that i love him, i will always love him. perhaps through all the pain that comes with a pancreatic cancer diagnosis, the sleep-like state he was in for most of the last two days, he will hear me and even respond.

my family can all grieve together, knowing we all saw it happen and we all got a strange sort of closure.

my relationship with him on this earth would not feel like a perpetually unfinished story, with an ending written when i wasn’t even there.

but it is this lifetime.

someone once said grief is just love with no place to go. i believe that. and, well, this is my life. i have to muddle through and believe, make closure out of thin air and time, let love go nowhere and everywhere.

***

so, life imitates art and vice versa. and thank you @socialshakespeare for letting me have this story that has come to mean so much to me in the few short months since i first came across it. <3

[ghost-cwunch]

Art school sucks: a rant (1/2)

On a good note, I just recently graduated! On a bad note, here's what I learned about art school.

Excuse my stupid use of language I am *extremely* tired and pretty upset.

I'll actually start with the conclusion, in case anyone just wants a TL;DR of the following paragraphs: Art school sucks, because education and art alike should have never been turned into a business.

And no, it's not because of some kind of personal vendetta, or bad teachers (though I've had my fair, fat share of bad art teachers.) but because of the concept itself. As everyone knows education has evolved so much from ancient times, it went from simple information being passed down trough generations and generations, to new discoveries, to arguably a position which is the worst of them all and our current situation... A business. And art school is not exempt of this. Which oh my Hell okay MAYBE it works (to some extent) in other subjects such as science or math or like you know non-abstract concepts- But just think about it. The concept of an art school is *fucked*. Turning education itself into a business just automatically turns the focus from the actual purpose of the concept towards money. What does this result in? I'm pretty sure ya'll already know and I don't want to mansplain, but just for the record and in my opinion, it results in people to see it as a mere source of money. This means teachers see the paycheck, thus pushing students to reach goals that would get them a fatter paycheck (usually good grades, at least here, contests, etc, ((reminder that things like these might not apply to every country))) instead of actually looking to work with the kids. This makes the kids, in return, see school as this systemic thing where they're being pushed around and getting information (useless information at that, some of it) syphoned into their brains. Don't even get me started on all of the issues with verbally or even physically abusive teachers, just plain asshole teachers, etc.

Of course, it varies from country to country but especially here (and from what I know in most countries actually but I digress) art schools are all the same: you get taught specific things in a specific time with a specific deadline- and don't get me started on the people that don't even wanna be in the niche they get put in. That was my case.

Some context: Ever since I was little I was an extremely picky person and obsessed with art, in third grade I already *knew* what kind of art I even wanted to do. It was graphic design. I didn't like painting, and I fucking *hated* architecture. SO I begged my mom to send me to an art school- which she did. She was immediately told that ''yeah we have like a rotation every 3 years because we don't have enough teachers, he's gonna be with the graphics kids, it'll all be good." Guess who didn't end up with ''the graphics kids"? Nah, I got syphoned into plastic arts instead (painting, textile work, irl paint and stuff, nothing digital, no pencilwork, very little graphic techniques etc). Which I fucking hated. Every second of those 7 years, I felt like I've learned absolutely nothing.

[moriihana]

we can't fix each other but we sure as hell can enable each other instead || eleven: i'm bad at mariokart but at least shigaraki is worse

pairing: dabi x disabled!gn!reader

overview: you meet dabi pre-canon because your cat, nugget, literally won’t leave the guy alone. friendship, fluff and (eventual) angst ensue.

chapter summary: you and shigaraki play some mariokart, then you guys fuck up overhaul bc he's a piece of shit and i hate him

content: angst and fluff

warnings: you scratch at your throat as an anxious habit (picked up from shig)

word count: 1749

a/n: shamelessly self-promoting MORE art i did of my self-insert but there's nugget and boo this time (i have no clue how to draw animals). also, idk how this reads bc basing things off of the actual episodes is real fuckin hard so if anyone has any feedback i'm happy to hear! also² i projected the fact i'm really bad at mariokart into this. bc uhhhhhh. im really bad at mariokart LMAOOO

*previously known as “we can’t fix each other (but we can heal our wounds together)”; i changed the title bc these assholes aint healin shit they’re just being overall menaces

taglist: @iincandescenttt

AO3 link

← previous ; next →

“You think they’re okay?” You itched the front of your throat anxiously. “It’s been days and we haven’t heard from them.”

“Stop that,” Shigaraki snapped and paused the round of MarioKart, eyeing the blood welling up under your skin. “You always get on my ass about it, you don’t get to do it either.”

“Picked it up from you, dick,” you grumbled under your breath, but dropped your hand anyways. “But do you? Think they’re okay?”

“Whatever. They’re fine. Overhaul has probably limited their communication since we’re technically wanted criminals. Can we get back to the game now?” He huffed, scowling.

“I thought you didn’t like MarioKart and were only playing because I wanted to. I’d think you would be happy to take a break.” You shrugged.  

“We’re not only playing it because you wanted to—” Shigaraki narrowed his eyes when you grinned at his arguing. “—and anyways, it’s better than listening to you yap about. I think Dabi’s even gotten tired of listening to your anxious rambling, which is probably why he hasn’t been putting up a fuss over us playing games.”

“Actually, I think that’s because I threatened to chop his dick off,” you snickered.

“You… threatened to chop his dick off,” Shigaraki deadpanned. “Why on earth did you do that.”

“I called you by Tomura in front of him and he got all pissy. I explained you’re my best friend and gave me permission to call you Tomura, and told him no dick measuring contests—otherwise he’d find he has no dick to measure.” 

“And I thought you were less insane than the rest of them, but it’s pretty fucking crazy to threaten a man’s dick. Especially Dabi’s. ”

You barked out a laugh. “Insane or not, pretty boy wouldn’t actually do anything to hurt me. One time he accidentally burnt me and apologised for days afterwards. And he never apologises.”

“Tch.” He shook his head. “If you’re not gonna play, go bother someone else. I’m getting tired of MarioKart anyways.”

“Yeah, yeah, grumpypants.” You grabbed your cane and heaved yourself off the floor, sticking your tongue out at him. You made your way down the hall and into your room, waving to Dabi.

He looked up from his spot on the bed as you walked in, raising his eyebrows. “He kick you out?”

“Ehh, pretty much.” You stopped to scratch Boo behind the ears and give Nugget a quick pet, then plopped down next to him with a groan. “That, and I think his pride can only take so many beatings. Apparently, he’s absolute dogshit at MarioKart. Fighting games and MMOs are more his style.”

He snorted, “Why doesn’t that surprise me. He seems like the type of person to enjoy murdery games over anything else.”

“Oh, definitely.” You grinned. “I think it’s worth noting I’m awful at MarioKart. So the fact I was winning means he was really awful. ”

“I know, doll. I beat you twenty times before you gave up.”

“Don’t remind me of that!” You whined, throwing your hands into the air. “I’ve never had my ass kicked so terribly.”

“You forget I played a lot of games with Natsu. I got real damn good at shit like that.” Dabi shrugged, mischief in his eyes. 

“Still sucked.” You pouted, crossing your arms. “You could’ve gone easy on me after the first ten times! You didn’t have to keep kicking my ass!”

“Ya think I’d go easy on you, doll? We both know I’ve never been the one to go easy.” A smirk pulled at his staples. “Especially on you.”

“Oh, shut it,” you grumbled, swatting at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet you still put up with me.”

“I literally couldn’t get rid of you if I tried. Not that I want to, anyways. You’re stuck with me just as much as I’m stuck with you, pretty boy.” You looked away from him when Shigaraki poked his head through the door. “What’s up, Shig?”

“Toga called. Time to go.”

You grinned, a gleam in your eyes. “Oh hell yeah.”

“Spinner, you are horrible at driving!” You yelped, hanging onto Compress’s free arm for dear life as Dabi pushed the truck doors open.

“In shogi, the point is to get the king, right?” Shigaraki spoke from atop the truck, his fingers interlocked.

“How the fuck have you not fallen off, dude?!” Your voice was sharp with anxiety.

“It’s not that simple,” Dabi drawled in response as he looked up at your leader.

“Yeah, they’re here, just like you said! To get from the Hassaikai to the nearest villain hospital, it’s fastest to use this highway. Thanks for letting us know! Toga, you’re so efficient. I’m much obliged,” Compress hummed gratefully.

“Good job Toga! Put her on speaker, Compress!” You leaned close to Compress’s phone, speaking loudly. He snorted and gently pushed you away, but put Toga on speaker nonetheless.

“Jin-kun’s the one who told me to call—”

“—fight!” 

“—I was too busy watching Izuku!”

“Run away!”

“In fact, I’m sorry to make you get your hands dirty.”

“I only have one hand, though,” Compress mused playfully. Toga’s laugh chimed through the phone.

“We couldn’t get the girl who’s the crux of their plan, but we think the finished products are where you are. We watched the police’s movements for a while, so there’s a high probability. Even if they aren’t there…”

“—kill them—”

“...we want to say hi, right?”

Compress hummed as Toga hung up. “Sounds like Twice is having a rough go of it.”

“Yeah... they did good, though. I’m proud of both of them,” you said with a smile.

“Hey, lizard! Stop weaving!” Dabi snapped over his shoulder. “I get motion sick!”

“Don’t call me “lizard”! I’m Spinner!” 

“What are you getting mad for? Shut up!” Dabi huffed, then gave you a look as you giggled. “Stop your laughing. It’s not funny.”

“You get motion sick?” You grinned at him, ignoring the glare you got in response.

“Is attacking the police really following the will of Stain, who wanted a true hero society? I’m not sure about that!”

“It’s a necessary sacrifice, Spinner. I’m counting on you to drive,” Shigaraki sighed, moving into a crouching position.

“And don’t fling us out of the back, please!” You added. “I don’t want to die just yet!”

Dabi rolled his eyes, then ignited his palm. “Now…” He grinned, and sent out a tunnel of flames. His grin faded when something stopped the fire from hitting the police cars. “What’s with him?”

“A hero! Of course there’d be one. Ugh!” Shigaraki’s voice was almost a whine. You had to suppress a teasing remark at that. “Spinner, slow down!” As the truck slowed enough to get closer to the police car, Shigaraki jumped down—then was hit in the face with a bunch of sand. The hero began to ramble on about Shigaraki's decay.

“He’s famous, huh?” Dabi sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. You patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy. You’re just as scary as him.”

“Shigaraki is the misdirection; in other words, the decoy. Let’s go.” Compress flicked out a marble, which decompressed into a large piece of rubble. “Police car gently levitating! No trickery or devices involved.”

You snickered, then clambered onto Dabi’s back before he and Compress jumped out of the back of the truck. You hopped off and watched Dabi approach the hero that had pulled the policeman out of the transport vehicle Shigaraki caused to crash. He ignited his forearms as he loomed over the hero, a menacing smile on his face.

“That’s right. Heroes end up prioritising lives.”

“Recently, burnt corpses have been turning up one after another in various places.” The hero lowered the policeman onto the ground. 

“Oh, are people talking about me? That makes me happy,” Dabi said, voice mocking.

“Told you, pretty boy! Just as scary!” You called. Compress nudged you, shaking his head in amusement. Your playfulness turned into a scowl when you heard what the hero said next, your grip on your cane tightening.

“Have you ever thought about the feelings of those they left behind?!”

You have no idea, hero. You have no idea.

While Compress and Dabi dealt with the hero, you walked over to Shigaraki, who was standing by Overhaul’s gurney. He nodded in acknowledgement, then turned his attention back to the former yakuza.

“Who’s going to be the next leader again?” Shigaraki tilted his head, hands in his pockets.

“Did you come to kill me?” Overhaul ignored his question. His voice was resigned, devoid of emotion.

“No. I thought of what you’d hate the most. I hate you.” Shigaraki took Father off his face as Compress approached. “You’re too full of yourself.”

“Me too.” Compress removed his mask, smirking. He used a marble to take one of Overhaul’s arms.

“Oh, nice.” You grinned, nudging Compress. “I didn’t think of that.”

“There are two boxes here. Which is the finished product?” Shigaraki opened the box as he spoke. “Oh, well.”

Overhaul’s eyes widened in panic as his face twisted up in a sour expression. “Give it back.”

“You know what, Overhaul? A person who erases people’s Quirks shouldn’t depend on their own Quirk, right?” Shigaraki leaned down and gripped Overhaul’s remaining arm. You watched as the Decay began to spread upwards, your eyes lighting up in twisted satisfaction. “If I don’t cut it off, your whole body will turn to dust.” Shigaraki lifted up a knife, then paused and turned to you, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

Your grin grew wider, and you took the knife. “Don’t mind if I do.” You swung the knife down, severing his forearm from his elbow.

“All right, now you’re a powerless, helpless, Quirkless man,” Shigaraki leered, a manic look on his face. “And the fruits of all that effort you spent are now mine! Now you won’t even have a finger to put in your mouth as you look on enviously at the rest of us! Let’s do our best!”

You giggled as hives spread across Overhaul’s skin, “What a pity! You shouldn’t have killed our friend and taken Compress’s arm.”

Spinner honked the horn of the truck. “Pursuers are coming! Hurry up and get in!” He shouted out the window. 

Shigaraki straightened, placed Father back onto his face, and walked back to Spinner. “Next, it’s our turn.”

You trailed after him with a pleased hum. “Revenge feels nice.” Your joy and satisfaction grew exponentially as Overhaul screamed behind you. “It feels real fuckin’ nice.”

[itsclydebitches]

I posted 1,791 times in 2022

358 posts created (20%)

1,433 posts reblogged (80%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thequietestlilbucket

@gorgeousgalatea

@combefaerie

@kateinator

@ninjathrowingstork

I tagged 1,603 of my posts in 2022

Only 10% of my posts had no tags

#our flag means death - 259 posts

#ofmd - 255 posts

#rwby - 220 posts

#mymetas - 203 posts

#rwde - 177 posts

#videos - 127 posts

#fic things - 62 posts

#comics - 60 posts

#ted lasso - 54 posts

#gaming - 45 posts

Longest Tag: 108 characters

#and that's not even getting into woman being more active in history (including wars!) than we tend to assume

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

In honor of the Netflix show coming out soon and my enthusiastic re-read, I’d like to gift tumblr with some of my favorite Dream panels from The Absolute Sandman Vol. 1.

We’ve got:

Local Personification Gets Bread Thrown At Him By Badass, Older Sister. More at 11:00.

“Mm hmm this is my listening face. Go on, tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

See the full post

811 notes - Posted July 20, 2022

#4

Post-canon universe where Mary ends up becoming a tattoo artist.

It starts when Ed winds up visiting the Bonnet household. Maybe he went there after Stede’s “death” only to learn that the Gentleman Pirate is out looking for him. Maybe this is post-reunion and they’ve just popped by to check on the kids. Whatever the reason, Ed ends up hitting it off with Mary and is particularly enamored with her art studio because holy shit you did the lighthouse painting!

He needs a version of that on his body. Now.

And Mary is like, I’m sorry, Mr. Blackbeard sir, but the human body is a slightly different canvas from what I’m used to and I’ve never—

But Ed is already waving her off. You think pirates know what the fuck they’re doing either? Nah. You get a buddy sloshed on rum, promise him it’s gonna look great, tattoo something on his ass, and then keep out of reach when he first sees it in a shaving mirror. It looks like shit. Of course it does! But then you do it to someone else and it looks a little less shitty. Then again and again until hey, that’s some talent right there! So go to town. Can’t look any worse than what Izzy first put on his back.

By this point Ed has hopped up onto a table and pulled a kit seemingly out of nowhere. He’s also got his shirt off—this is fine—and Mary has to admit, some of his tats really are awful. Not all of them! But enough that she can precisely pick out where some drunk sailor was trying out a needle for the first time. And yeah, she could easily justify this through fear, telling herself that it’s not like she can say no to the intimidating, legendary Blackbeard. Dating Stede or not, the guy could slash her throat in an instant. Actually, dating Stede is a mark against any mental stability.

The reality though is that it isn’t fear that convinces her. Mary just looks at the spots of crappy ink and thinks, Fuck. I could do better than that.

So she does. 

Mary might not know tattooing yet, but she’s got an eye for art and she picks up the mechanics quickly. At her request Alma brings in a bottle of something far nicer than rum—casting an interested look towards the pirate that reminds Mary, with a trickle of worry, that she always was her father’s daughter—and they spend a surprisingly pleasant afternoon with Mary experimenting and Ed commenting on her paintings. Is that flower a vagina, Mary? Yes it is, god, no one else gets that!

Mary tattoos a lighthouse onto Ed’s arm, entwining it with one of his tentacles. It’s nothing fancy, but Ed leaves the Bonnet household pleased as fucking punch.

Which means, of course, that a few months later Stede shows back up (in a terrible disguise) begging her to give him his own lighthouse on the opposite arm.

Stede Bonnet, are you really asking for the symbol of our now defunct marriage after you left me, came back, came out as gay, and then had the gall to fall in love with the most dangerous pirate on the seven seas?

…Yes?

Yeah, alright, fine. Get on the table.

Mary has been practicing since she last saw Ed, discovering that she loves the permanence of tattooing—putting her art on a moving canvas; a part of someone’s very identity, not just their home. Though it’s hardly considered good form in their community, she even managed to find a tutor after promising Doug that she wouldn’t fall in love with this one. Or if she does, she’s not going to throw him over for the new guy. You should really talk to Stede’s friend Lucius, Doug. He has fantastic ideas about the whole thing.

Stede tells Mary all about their lighthouse fuckery while she works and she finds that this story is a damn bit more romantic than their awkward wedding vows. In the end, this lighthouse is far more detailed than Ed’s, with steadier lines and a bit of shading, and Mary can’t help but think that it fits their personalities quite well. Stede is so happy he forgets himself and plants an exuberant kiss on Mary’s cheek. She just laughs.

From there other members of The Revenge show up when it’s safe for them to sneak into town, all of them wanting ink from a member of their Captain’s family. Their family, now. After she’s given Jim a pair of crossed knives and Oluwande a small orange tree on his back; Frenchie a recreation of his lute and the Swede the notes of his favorite song, word starts to spread to other crews. Wherever The Revenge goes they show off their ink. Even when they don’t, Mary’s developing a style that’s noticeable in any tavern or seedy alleyway—far nicer work than what anyone else has got.

The first time an unknown pirate shows up on their doorstep in the dead of night, Mary very nearly stabs him with one of the knives Jim gifted her. She whisper-yells at the poor bastard about manners and coming during business hours, really, what is wrong with you? After a sheepish apology, she brews an obscene amount of coffee and inks a child’s portrait onto the man’s arm. It’s by far the most challenging tat she’s done to date and somewhere around 4:00am, bleary-eyed and energized, Mary thinks that she’ll never want to do anything else again.

More pirates come after that. Doug worries. Mary reassures. As a compromise, she starts taking clients while her widow group meets. The presences of nine or so women who have nothing to lose—alongside Evelyn glaring from the corner—is more than enough to keep even the toughest ruffian in line.

Which isn’t to say that every client is a good experience. Oh no. Mary learns and more importantly, she listens, figuring out which pirates have beef with an ally of The Revenge, or who would sooner sell out their own than part with a single coin. On the truly worrisome visitors, the ones who do nothing to endear themselves during the long session or any of the repeat visits, Mary adds a small flower to their designs. Just her signature, she assures them, but everyone on The Revenge knows that it’s a message: don’t trust this one, watch your back.

Most though are surprisingly pleasant to spend time with. Sweethearts just dealing with a fair bit of trauma, as her ex-husband might say. When they thank her and try to press purses into her hand, Mary just shakes her head. It’s not like she needs the money. Instead, she draws out promises that they’ll do right by The Revenge and its co-captains, should they ever cross paths. When her family visits, Mary hears many tales about the crews that unexpectedly assisted during a tough raid, offered a good deal on supplies, bought them all drinks when they came into port.

Mary is the laughingstock of the town. She’s the woman whose husband ran out on her to become a criminal and then didn’t even have the decency to stay away, instead dying in a thoroughly tactless fashion. She’s the woman who gave up a lucrative painting career to instead take up a lowlife’s art form—if it could even be called such—with all manner of scoundrels calling on her. She’ll end badly, wait and see.

Mary is beloved by the pirate community. She’s the darling of Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate, more than capable of holding her own with both. She’s the woman whose ink you want etched into your skin—always safe to visit, always compassionate, and unspeakably talented. She’ll go far, wait and see.

Of course, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Mary teaches Louis how to draw and makes Alma promise that she’ll finish her education before following her father to sea; she takes Doug to bed each night and with his encouragement visits Evelyn many afternoons. She’s happy.

Shockingly, so is everyone else. Mary isn’t entirely sure what to make of the waspish man who shows up on her doorstep one afternoon, but he’s easily recognizable based on Stede and Ed’s descriptions. Israel Hands has just three tattoos: the ace of spades to mark his time in the Navy, the swallow for a well-traveled pirate, and a lopsided cross on his cheek that Mary almost asks about, before thinking better of it.

He wants a fourth tattoo. A lighthouse on the back of his neck.

It’s been a long time since Mary first started tattooing. It’s not that she forgot about her previous lighthouses, of course not, but any additional meaning doesn’t register as she works up a design to show Izzy. After all, he’s a sailor. A pirate. Most of them want something to connect them to the sea and there are only so many objects that do that.

The placement is a bit odd though. Mary warns him that he’ll have to keep his hair short for the tattoo to show, shaving the fine hairs regularly. Izzy just grunts and mutters for her to get to it. Mary doesn’t realize the significance of him allowing her to hold a razor to his neck, in his blind-spot no less. At this point, she’s considered an extension of the only two allowed to do the same.

This lighthouse is perfect. After years of work Mary is easily able to navigate the muscles in Izzy’s neck; the thin scar that—she shivers—is just a little too close to his jugular. Mary knows how to make her art catch the eye when Izzy stands tall and how to keep it from looking absurd whenever he twists his head. She doesn’t know this man well, but Mary senses that this piece should be meticulous and detailed, not a single line out of place. So she pours everything into the image, holding Izzy steady with a grip he doesn’t flinch from.

It's only months later, when the family comes back to visit, that Mary realizes what she’s helped accomplish. Izzy stands between his two captains and from the back she sees that all the lighthouses are balanced, like the top of a nautical star.

See the full post

880 notes - Posted May 29, 2022

#3

Okay, so as the canon recedes from memory and fandom jokes take hold — la de da the world turns — I’ve seen an influx of takes that have steadily moved away from “Izzy’s tragic because this whole debacle is technically his fault (going after Stede’s hostages)” and “Izzy is sympathetic in part because he’s so bad at villain-ing” straight into serious claims of, “Wow, Izzy is just totally incompetent, huh?”

No, no, no, Izzy is terrifyingly competent.

We as a fandom need to remember our meta roots; one of the very first things ever acknowledged in the community: this is a character who has suddenly been thrust into a new genre.

For me, it’s basically the storytelling version of the “Who would win, Goku or Saitama?” question. The answer has nothing to do with power, skill, or competence and everything to do with what would be funny, because Saitama exists in a universe where, unless it’s more entertaining for him to lose, he automatically wins — always, forever, it’s the default state. That doesn’t make Goku, a guy with the power of the gods in his own universe, incompetent by any stretch of the imagination. It just means he’s suddenly been hog-tied by the rules of a new reality.

Izzy is the Goku to Stede’s Saitama.

Izzy scopes out Stede’s marooned crew (because he didn’t remember to have someone steer the boat), buys the hostages he lost, and homoerotically skillfully cuts up his shirt with hard-earned sword skills. Stede wins when Pete throws a rock.

Izzy corners Stede in the duel before he’s even realized they’ve started, hits him across the face, disarms him, and skewers him to the mast by successfully stabbing him. Stede wins because the handle of Izzy’s sword broke and there’s supposedly nothing important on the left side of the body.

Izzy is a complete asshole about chores because in his ‘real world’ a lack of munitions, or barnacles on the ship’s side, leads to death. Or at least lost raids (which they also need to afford basic supplies). Stede exists in the world where you can walk off stab wounds, find an oasis of oranges at your assassin’s church, and row straight to your lost crew without a need for anything like supplies, rest, or a map.

Pre-Stede Izzy successfully intimidates Fang, gets him to obey his commands ( “Fang!” *hiss*), and Fang admits that complaining about the abuse wouldn’t do any good. Post-Stede Fang, Lucius, Pete, Wee John, etc. can’t be intimidated because they know that here, such threats are meaningless.

Izzy manages to wrangle together Calico Jack, Spanish Jackie, and the British — three very different parties with beef against each other and him — all in an effort to get Stede executed. Stede survives because Ed pulls out a trump card that we learned about [checks notes] right now.

Stede beats Izzy again and again and again because Stede is working under the rules of the Romantic Comedy. Is it funny if Stede were to win a duel through absurd means? Yes? Then that’s what happens. Would Izzy winning here interfere with the romance between Ed and Stede? Yes? Then that can’t happen. It’s as simple as that. Unless we circle away from the stages of Epiphany (Stede’s talk with Mary) and Resolution (heading back to Ed for the presumed reunion) and Izzy becomes a more serious Obstacle to their love, everything he attempts is doomed from the get-go. Even if he were to be written as a more serious threat to the romance, the comedy inevitably obliterates any real chance he’d have. Unless OFMD doesn’t just pull lightly from other genres as it has in season one, but takes a hard turn into something new... Izzy is fighting a losing battle. He’s Goku powering up to fucking super saiyan and then being understandably confused when Stede manages to trip over his own feet, starting a Loony Toon-esque domino fall that somehow ends with Izzy K.O.’ed. How did this happen? Fuck if he knows. The logic he’s worked under all his life says it’s impossible and yet... here he lies.

Honestly, I ramble because competence is SUCH an important part of Izzy’s character. Competence is what’s allowed him to survive into his 50′s (unless he’s really 16 lol), help build the Blackbeard legend, and gain the kind of respect that has the crew (initially) jumping at his command. Izzy knows that he’s competent. His entire, prickly personality is built on being competent, particularly when competence is used as a defense mechanism. (No need to grapple with feelings when he can just kill someone.) More importantly, he knows that, under ordinary circumstances, not being competent gets you killed. He’s watching Ed trade in protective leather for lace shirts, fill up on marmalade, turn sword training into a flirting session, admire model ships instead of formulating plans — all these things that should, according to the rules Izzy has spent his entire life living by, get them all killed. We know Stede wouldn’t survive a day in the world of “real” pirates, where Izzy originally hails from. Izzy knows it too. We know Stede survives anyway because this is a rom-com and he’s the lead. But Izzy doesn’t know what genre he’s in; certainly not that the genre has changed — and fuck, if the rules of the universe changed once before, who’s to say they won’t suddenly change again? What if he wakes up one day on a frilly ship, with a useless crew, a domesticated Blackbeard, and the world is a horrifying mess of cruelty and violence again? They’d be screwed. He’s running around bitching about plans, munitions, ship speed, killing pets, formal duels, and yes, avoiding “namby-pamby” soft things because dammit of course those things matter. They always have. Yes everyone needs specific duties because otherwise the ship falls apart and they all die. What do you mean the ship isn’t falling apart while everyone eats marmalade and has gay sex? That’s not possible.

Imagine you were a crazy competent member of society according to current social norms. Maybe you’re highly educated, have a six-figure job, are meeting all the expectations for a family, you’re considered conventionally attractive, you eat well, go to the gym every day, have impressive hobbies, give to charity on the regular, maintain a thriving friend group — in every way that your peers might judge your worth within this specific social circle, you are killing it. Then you wake up one random morning and, as Badminton puts it, you’ve entered Backwards Land. People suddenly laugh at your well-balanced lunch because pff, what do you mean you’re not just eating a bucket of candy like the rest of us? Certain public displays that would have been unthinkable 24 hours ago are suddenly occurring on every street corner. You walk in to a promotion meeting with a detailed report on why your work of the last 30 years is worth recognition. The new hire suggests they have a face-paint party instead of running the company and your boss is like, “Well damn if that isn’t the best suggestion anyone’s ever given me. You’re promoted!”

What?

Izzy is fascinating in part because he’s a HYPER-COMPETENT individual who took to his toxic, violent, homophobic, highly repressed society like a duck to water, only to find one day that the rules of the universe had changed (for the better) but whoops, nothing he’s good at suddenly has a foothold anymore. You’re an expert at running a ship? Ships are just a backdrop to romance and it doesn’t matter if there’s, you know, ammunition, or whatever. Supplies — like oranges — only matter if they’re forwarding relationships. You’re an expert swordsman? Yeah, good luck winning a rigged fight where literally anything goes provided it’s funny enough (and you, as a tightly-strung rule follower, are not funny). Your entire identity is built around intimidating and executing people? The queer polycule thinks your threats are hilarious and if you strand people on a desert island their lighthouse captain will just row to them in a single scene; the guy tossed overboard will just climb into the walls and sustain himself on paper or something. You’re Alice in Wonderland except you don’t remember falling down the hole. The fact that Lucius’ cut off finger is used for a moment of (wonderfully gross) humor and he’s totally fine when he wakes up, whereas Izzy’s severed toe is more straightforwardly horrific and requires a cane, just highlight that they’re living in different genres. For Lucius, a severed finger is a moment of comedy (Dutch fuckery) and romance (Pete whittling him a replacement). For Izzy, a severed toe is a moment of devotion to a toxic relationship (eating it on Blackbeard’s command) and a #SeriousInjury that he literally can’t walk off. Izzy’s got the worst of both worlds at the moment: governed by his original, gritty genre and unable to circumvent or reap the rewards of the rom-com.

Which only leaves the question of whether Izzy will remain the tragic figure — but still very humorous for the viewer — who is either killed or permanently exiled due to his inability to adapt? Or will he grudgingly (oh so grudgingly) turn himself over to this new set of rules? I’m personally hoping for the latter BUT with moments here and there where the gritty drama bleeds into the rom-com; moments where things suddenly do become legitimately perilous and Izzy’s honed skills once again become necessary for survival. Like Ed who moves from the poetry-loving Edward into the murderous Kraken, Izzy has the potential to move between and/or straddle genres in some pretty entertaining ways.

930 notes - Posted May 8, 2022

#2

Season 2 concept where Stede gets up to some pirate shenanigans while trying to hunt down The Revenge, resulting in a number of WANTED posters for The Gentleman Pirate. Ed is losing his mind over the sketch of a disheveled, bearded Stede. Izzy is furiously trying to tear it out of his hands (he’s too short). Frenchie is openly sobbing that his captain is alright and apparently doing impressive pirate-y things, good for him. Meanwhile, Jim:

“That fucker is worth 700 doubloons?!? I was only 50! Oh, we’re finding him alright and I’ll show him exactly how someone earns a fucking price on their head — !” 

933 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

How fucking funny would it be if post-reunion, after everyone has settled down on The Revenge and accepted their weird found family, Izzy still pulled out the “I’m resigning, Ed!” speech every few months, like a kid marching down the end of their driveway to “run away forever, I’m definitely leaving this time, Dad!” Because he’s a supremely repressed gremlin of a man who doesn’t know how to receive validation unless he’s made a dramatic production of it via this intricate ritual. So everyone just accepts that on occasion Izzy will throw a hissy fit, passive aggressively pack up the dinghy, and Ed’s gotta go down there all, “Nooo, mate, we totally need you, don’t leave, what the fuck am I gonna do without my fearsome First Mate?🙄” Really laying it on thick so Izzy can soak up enough Toxically Approved Praise to survive another couple of weeks. Meanwhile, the crew is just watching this sad production, exchanging knowing glances. They’ve TRIED to be nice to Izzy—the whole mutiny thing was so last year, dude!—but outside of The Ritual he will straight up bite off anyone’s head who so much as tries to smile at him.

“Oh, you think I’ve got a flight or bite response? Mr. Hands earned his last name for a reason, laddie,” Buttons says while staring pointedly at Lucius’ finger. That’s obviously bullshit, but Buttons likes fucking with them on occasion. It’s great fun.

Stede’s place in The Ritual varies depending on everyone’s mood. Usually, he treats it like another fuckery production, making a big ta-do about how if Izzy really insists on leaving them—and wouldn't that be terrible? Simply terrible... right, everyone?—then he must take plenty of supplies with him and a bottle of the good brandy and this warm coat because it can get quite chilly at night, don’t you know? This allows Izzy to fly into a very cathartic rage about real pirates vs. gentry twats, leading to him oh so magnanimously deciding to stick around, if only to continue saving Ed from this dithering fool. Sometimes though Izzy has legit pissed Stede off, just like in the old days, and the crew has to run damage control to keep another duel from starting, Izzy having entirely forgotten his desire to leave under the allure of skewering Stede. That too is cathartic, but Ed tends to get tetchy when Stede stabs or is stabbed by anyone other than him.

Every once in a while Izzy will dig his heels in and actually launch the dinghy, heading towards… nothing, because we’re nowhere near land, you idiot, are we really doing this today? So the crew has got to drop everything else they’ve got going on and just… follow him. Izzy spends a couple hours angrily trying to out-row a top of the line ship while the others watch from the deck, occasionally yelling out corrections to his form: “Keep your shoulders steady—you’ll get farther away if you improve your posture.” “I know that!” They let him wear himself out and then tow him in for dinner.

One time Lucius and Pete are ~distracted~ while on the night watch and Izzy is actually able to slip away unnoticed. He's so pissed about it that he leaves in a true huff, that anger taking him all the way to the Republic. Two days later Buttons gets a seagull from Spanish Jackie basically saying that their wayward First Mate is stinking up her bar, you’d better pick him up before I kill a bitch. Ed and Stede arrive like fussy dads whose darling sent the playdate into turmoil; come along, Israel, that’s enough fun for one weekend.

Sometimes Jim is already hiding in the dinghy when Izzy tries to “escape” and the two of them spend a day talking shit, The Revenge floating nearby. Sometimes other pirates will find Izzy in random places and sternly steer him back towards the ship: “Do your parents Captains know you’re out here?” Once Izzy made the mistake of loading his get-away bag with half the strawberries put aside for a new cake and Roach very nearly took a limb in vengeance. Frenchie has a couple tunes that he only plays during The Ritual, to set the mood and all. Lucius has immortalized a number of the attempts in sketch form and slips them underneath Izzy’s door when he’s sure he’s not there to retaliate.

Years later, when all the crew have a lot more gray in their hair, Izzy flips them off and starts packing his things, same old, same old. Ed sidles up to Pete on the quarterdeck, sighing down at the display.

“Can you believe he’s still doing this?” he asks, shaking his head. “I thought he got it out of his system back on the Queen Anne.”

“Remember that time the rope broke and he lost us that dinghy?”

“Ha! I was ready to flog the bastard.”

And that’s how the crew learns that yes, Black Pete really did serve under Blackbeard holy shit.

1,206 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

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[captinbenny]

Time to be controversial:

So I'm in school right now at an internationally recognized, accredited college. I'm taking an intro class to computer programming and an introduction to Python. The only requisites for this class were that you needed to know how to turn on a computer.

1st day of class, we're told that instead of us spending over $100 on a textbook, we were instead supposed to choose an AI search engine, put prompts from the teacher provided PowerPoints, and build our own textbook as the class goes along.

Needless to say, the class was stunned with silence.

He proceeded to tell us that we were his guinea pig class to test this out and he expected us all to get 100% A's because everything we were graded on (HW, quizzes, exams, everything) was open note, open book, open internet.

Now I've been following the discussion and capabilities on AI for a while in several different industries that it has been effecting. (Art, code, hiring/HR, professional writing) and every single one of them has said that AI is not reliable and is quickly approaching the status of shitification. Like a snake eating it's tail, it is slowly corrupting its own data by feeding itself it's own incorrect data.

Coming from a fine art background with 2 degrees in it already, I had never used AI before. I finally used chatgpt because of this programming class, and what I found was surprising. The way it answers questions was very straight forward and reminded me a lot of how the Internet worked in the late 90s/early 2000s. The prompts need to be very specific and they're good for getting the ball rolling on understanding base line information. Really, it's a great tool for preliminary research, and then seeking out other websites to deep dive further into actual articles and research papers. It is NOT good or shouldn't be used for finished end products (essays, papers, ART, creative works.) it's also trash at math ATM.

Still, my experience with it in the field of learning python coding to help understanding what certain functions do/are, and in my business class for gathering information on infrastructure in an area half way across the world for a potential Olympics there, has been extremely helpful.

In the past I would get frustrated with swimming through the trash heap of AD and Sponsored articles on Google search to get a simple question answered. I used to turn to reddit for answers because Google got so terrible with it. But reddit was more opinion and first hand experience based. Great for insight into an industry from a people perspective but not great in answering the question: what does the "f" do in python's print(f"..")

Chatgpt was great for that.

I still think AI is good and bad for the art/creative industries. If used ethically (paying the artists and getting their permission) in gathering it's data sets. It could be a very helpful tool in selecting color palates, workshoping compositions, and generating a written idea prompt to get a piece started. It should not/never be used for finished final products.

But that's just my 2 cents.

“i asked chatgpt-” ohhh ok so nothing you are about to say matters at all

[sophiepatztone]

Week 4: September 26th

This week I focused on narrowing down my topic. I took my MoMA "poems" and made posters out of them:

I reflected on the Bianca Bosker book talk notes I took last week. Biggest takeaways:

I can feel art's barrier to entry, like walking into a gallery asking myself if i can be there

It’s easy to disregard the process that takes an artist from nothing to finished product. I think that’s where some of the gap exists in culture is that people only see a finished product and not the thoughts, ideas, and intentions behind it. 

I agree, artists are treated as “impractical dreamers.” If people look and them and see wasted time, I would urge them to consider their own interests. What kinds of things do narps spend time, money, and energy on that is comparable to art? 

She said “Artists create images that introduce incongruities, such as a plate of sushi made with eyes instead of fish. Artists defy our expectations, such as by sticking a pearl-clad woman in wrestling helmet inside a padded room.” That reminded me of a youtube video I watched a few weeks ago about understanding Contemporary art

I read through my notes and the comments on the video and it was really negative it just made me mad 💀 And I questioned if this was really my problem to solve. I still don't even understand some Contemporary art and I think some of it is stupid.

“Criticism is nothing more than having a template and putting it over the new art and seeing what matches up” -Diana Bush

I tried to form a point of view:

The gap in knowledge around Contemporary art is how to educate people who don’t understand it. My research focus is propaganda and aggressive forms of marketing, from the point of view of a marketer.

Why don’t we play into the narrative that contemporary art is unattainable, something that only highly educated people can understand? Make it an inside joke.

And I did a study based on this point of view:

I can't help but wonder if I'm am fighting a losing battle! Who cares if people don't understand art?

I think this is something I can explore through form. Anything I make is going to be considered Contemporary Art just due to the fact that I'm making it now. Do I really want to make Contemporary art about Contemporary Art?

One other thing I observed last week at the MoMA was people taking photos of the art. Not really news to anyone, but why are we spending more time taking pictures of art and us in front of the art instead of looking at it? To prove we've been there? Same vibe as taking a photo of the professor's notes on the board and then never going back to it. Or taking full videos of concerts or fireworks. Who is actually going back and looking at that?

Camera Tourists come in all shapes and sizes. Some of them don’t really care to see the art. They just want pictures to post on social media so they can say, “Look what I got to see today."

According to Psychologist Linda Henkel, there’s a psychological reason why you remember less when you take more pictures — she’s dubbed it the “photo-taking impairment effect”, and even tested it out in her own experiment.

I tried to rework my POV. I am stuck. Give me feedback please.

Appropriation artists. "Pop artists reveled in reproducing, juxtaposing, and repeating everyday images from popular culture in their wide-ranging work."

Our interactions with art in a gallery setting and how social media has changed our interactions with it.

License plate letters that flash when traffic cams try to take a photo of them

This is kinda coming full circle back to the subtopic of commodification. There’s something here that I’m not seeing.

How social media devalues artwork 

Does appropriation devalue or give new meaning? 

Help.

[mtdthoughts]

OK, I have just finished writing Chapter 12 of the "Dolphins" fanfic, and will post to AO3 soon.

In the meantime, since it's not too long this time, I decided that it can go here too.

Beginning Notes:

This is written in a weird, joint POV that is a combination of the twins, and sometimes switches back and forth between them. Think of it as a journal that the twins are writing together at the same time. 😊

You can also think of this as the headcanon (mine) chapter, though I try not to speculate too much.

CHAPTER 12 – Family

After we finally became a part of the Sonoyama family, we started becoming more different just as we expected.

Dali developed an interest in math and science and could often be found conducting experiments or reading books while enjoying a cup of coffee. While he was reading, I would always bring a slice of cherry pie to him, and he would proceed to tell me about the story he was reading while we ate pie together. I always listened with perked ears as this reminded me of all the times we read together when we were little.

Meanwhile, Migi developed an interest in the arts, particularly avant-garde art, and he could often be found painting or sculpting unconventional pieces which can now be found everywhere throughout the house. He would also occasionally have small picnics in various places such as our backyard, the nearby lake, or the park, often with our parents, Akiyama, Maruta, and of course me. I almost always made sure that I was there.

I agreed to have Mom cut my hair regularly, though Dali decided to grow out his hair.

Nonetheless, Mom was very supportive of my decision, and she said that someone like me would surely look very handsome with long blonde hair.

We also began wearing different clothes and sleeping in different beds, though some things never changed. We still bathed together since it was helpful to wash each other’s backs, and from time to time one of us would slip into the other’s bed at night, and we would fall asleep together without a single word.

Funnily enough when we told our parents that we’d been scrubbing each other using a broom, they couldn’t help but laugh as we looked at each other in embarrassment.

We made many fond memories together in the Sonoyama family. We played a lot together during summer vacation, and we celebrated many fun holidays together.

At school, we had to apologize and confess to the staff that we were twins pretending to be one boy, though like our parents they were actually very understanding and allowed us to continue the rest of our year in 1-5. Akiyama couldn’t have been more thrilled to have seen both of us in class every day.

And just like at home, we became more different at school too.

Because Dali was really smart and always studied hard, it was easy for him to advance to Class 2-1 during our second year. In fact, he became the second-year representative since Eiji was no longer here, and he even gave the farewell speech to the seniors that year. I’ll admit, I was a little bit jealous from all the attention that Dali got, and it was a bit annoying whenever someone mixed me up with him, though I know that Dali certainly deserved the praise that he got.

Meanwhile, Migi stayed behind in Class 2-5, which wasn’t surprising since he never enjoyed studying. Well, I suppose it’s okay if it’s okay with him, though I couldn’t count how many times I had to step in and hold his feet to the fire to stop him from failing a test. Strangely, he would still get motivated to study every time I put on a wig, even though he already knew it was me.

Dali also joined the student council and eventually became the student council president. Sometimes Dali would come back late because he needed to take care of paperwork, though I would sometimes stay behind to help.

Migi joined the art club and occasionally did volunteer work around the school. His unconventional art would eventually become quite well-known, and his artwork would always be a big hit whenever their club had an exhibition. I always made sure to be in attendance even if I still had work to do.

Though we were now in different classes and in different clubs, we always made sure to spend as much time with each other as possible. We regularly caught bugs with Akiyama and played video games with Maruta on the weekends, and we frequently hung out with them during lunch and after school. We would share our lunches with each other, study in the library together, and we would compete with each other in gym whenever our classes competed.

Truly, the time that we spent apart only made the time we spent together even sweeter as we would always look forward to each other’s company.

After some time, Eiji’s father arrived at our house, asking us to have a chat. He now knew who we were, and he apologized profusely for not realizing the truth any sooner, and for everything we had gone through with our mother. He told us that he truly loved both our mother and his wife, and he apologized for his role in everything that happened.

As he bowed his head in shame, we looked at each other and nodded. Though this man’s actions were undoubtedly foolish and reprehensible, we could strangely understand him and what he felt. We told him that that as long as he would never do something like this again, that we would forgive him. Immediately, he burst into tears and hugged both of us to our surprise. We slowly hugged him back.

He asked us if we would like to visit Eiji. We agreed, and a few days later we found ourselves at the correctional facility, waiting for our brother to see us.

Well, there is one detail I need to add. Before we left, I suddenly had a great idea. I was certain that Eiji would be nervous seeing us while he was in prison, so perhaps seeing his first love might ease his nervousness a bit. As soon as I told Dali my idea, he immediately flipped in anger, telling me that I was out of my mind. However, after explaining my reasoning, he couldn’t argue against it as he reluctantly put a wig and dress on.

Admittedly, I was a bit nervous seeing Eiji as I wasn’t quite sure what to say to him, though this feeling seemed to have been overwritten by my anger towards Migi for wanting me to wear this ridiculous outfit. Thinking about ways to get back at him served as a convenient distraction for myself.

As soon as Eiji saw us, he froze in shock with his eyes widened and mouth agape. After a while, he slowly walked up to us as he chuckled.

“So, it was you. It really was you all along. I had a feeling, yet I must admit that this is still quite a surprise. Still, you look quite good in it,” he said with a gentle smile on his face.

I couldn’t have been more embarrassed to hear that, and to make matters worse, I caught Migi leering at me and giggling. Frustrated, I tore off the wig and threw it in Migi’s face to put an end to this nonsense.

We then talked with Eiji about everything that’s happened in Origon Village while he was gone, and we exchanged stories of our pasts.

He seemed genuinely sad to hear what we went through, but also glad to know that we finally found a family and friends that loved us.

At the same time, I could tell from his eyes that he still longed for his mother when he shared his childhood with us. I knew that this would be the case, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorrowful. But I needed to do this, I needed to face these feelings head-on.

We bowed our heads as we apologized for our part in causing everything that’s happened to him.

A few moments later, Eiji patted us on the shoulders, saying that it was alright and that there was nothing to apologize for.

We looked up.

With a soft look in his eyes, Eiji told us that no one person could be blamed and that we only did what we could to survive our world. He said that he deeply regrets what he did and that he’ll have to carry this burden for the rest of his life, and that his time in prison would be nothing compared to the vast, uncertain future he would face without his mother, one that he couldn’t fathom, and one that he feared to face.

We responded by placing our hands on his shoulders as we said that he would never be alone, that we’d always be with him.

Eiji looked at us in surprise for a while before forming a warm smile, his eyes almost forming tears. He told us that he looks forward to the day that he’ll see us again, and the three of us hugged for a while.

As we were about to conclude the visit, I decided to poke a bit of fun by holding up the wig and asking Eiji if he wanted to kiss Dali again before we left. Dali immediately tackled me down and shoved the wig onto my head, yelling that I should kiss him instead. Still, I couldn’t help but laugh, and I think I could hear Eiji chuckle a bit too.

When the dust settled, Dali took out a camera and told us to gather together and asked the nearby guards to help us take a picture. After they did, Dali took the printed photo and handed it to Eiji, telling him to stay strong with a brave smile on his face.

Eiji’s eyes brightened as he nodded and took the photo, looking upon it quite fondly. We then waved goodbye to him as he left to return to his cell.

After we finished our visit, Eiji’s father took us home. We got out of his car together with him, and as we approached our house, he thanked us for seeing Eiji. He told us that he would move to a faraway town with Karen, and once again he apologized for everything that happened to us and our mother. He told us that he had no right to call himself our father and that he couldn’t possibly ask us to come with him, though he felt at ease knowing that we would be in good hands in the Sonoyamas. He then told us to let him know whenever there was any trouble he could help us with, and that it was the least that he could do for us.

We nodded, and then he proceeded to hug both of us one last time before saying goodbye. We waved goodbye to him as he drove away.

After this day, life continued as usual. We would continue to live together in the Sonoyama house, each doing different things and pursuing different passions. But this was okay because we were always close by to each other. Truly, life was a constant and stable bliss.

That is, until the day a certain letter arrived.

End notes:

I am not entirely certain if their school has a student council. I assume it does.

I am not entirely sure what holidays are celebrated in Origon Village. We know that Halloween and Christmas seem to be celebrated, but I don’t know if I can say the same about other Western holidays, or about traditional Japanese holidays.

I am not entirely clear on the rules about visiting prisoners, so perhaps the scenario I gave here isn’t entirely realistic, but whatever.

[adventures-of-the-creeping-bam]

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM,  BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 26

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT:  Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:  SHAYLINE

Damn it, from the sound of it the whole plan’s going to shit already.  Lady Naru made contact with Kesla just ten minutes after we first made it into our private box, making her freeze on the spot with her sword held at a strikingly awkward angle just as she was about to sheathe it again.  The message was brief, at least, but when she finally snapped out of it again and fumbled her sword back into its scabbard she was frowning deep enough she looked fit to spit right here.

Apparently Tulen had just gotten through to her from down below, still in the tunnels even though the plan was that by now they’d already be in the cellar levels under the Playhouse, ready to make their move.  Instead they got caught out before they even made it all the way inside, apparently running into an ambush which left Art badly hurt and the rest of them hung up with a serious fight on their hands.  That made me swear a particularly nasty oath under my breath, and Kesla joined me, clearly only just stopping herself from thumping the wall behind her in frustration.

Needless to say we don’t have a choice in the matter, we have to move now, much earlier than we intended to.  At least Lady Naru’s group have made their way in backstage, although they’ve literally only just achieved their own sneaky infiltration so they’re not yet in position, and with the company apparently hustling to get the play going they’re having to lay very low right now.  Right now there’s not a whole lot they can do to help the others down in the tunnels, any more than we can.

“This is not gonna be pretty.”  Kesla growls under her breath now, picking the key out of her pocket and leaning close to the door as she listens at it for a moment.  Honestly, I really don’t know if she’ll really be able to make much out doing that, the orchestra are really playing up a storm in the theatre below us, the opening scene just now starting to unfold.  Or maybe that’s not actually a bad thing, not really.  After all, almost everyone’s eyes will likely be on the stage right now, so we only have to deal with whatever’s out there, in the corridor.

“Maybe we can just bluff our way through.”  I offer up, mostly just hopeful even in the face of everything else that’s already going wrong.  “After all, it didn’t seem like they actually know we’re here.”

Kesla gives me a wary look as she pauses just before slotting the key into the lock.  “You really believe that?”

Unable to keep the scowl from my face, I just roll my eyes and step back.  My hands go to my lap almost unbidden, checking the knives now strapped into the makeshift sheaths on their inside of both my thighs.  Hoping they really are as invisible as we intended them to be when we were setting this up.  Once again I’m acutely reminded of how ridiculously dressed I am for what we’re actually about, and how intrinsically uncomfortable I still am.  This is not a good start.

The heels … well, honestly, they’re just the start.  I can just about walk in them without having to really think about it, but this is purely down to my elven blood and the fact I have an intrinsically strong sense of balance.  I still hate it, they’re genuinely killing my feet and slowly but inexorably putting a cramp in my calves I know I’ll pay for later from them being permanently over-extended.  The rest of the costume is much worse, less down to how it feels than just how it makes me feel …

The angry self-consciousness is the worst of it, of course.  I’m well aware that the way I normally dress does somewhat flatter my figure, but it’s still comfortable for me at the end of the day, and just as useful for me as it is stylish.  This dress is just … it’s embarrassing, pretending to be something I’m not, something I can never be, that I never aspired to be and have no desire to be.  Dressing like someone who wants to be ogled and lusted after, not so much to provoke actual titillation as to augment their desirability and therefore enhance their standing within their own social circle … Lady Naru tried to explain how it works but it just downright baffled me, and even Tulen ultimately agreed that it never made a whole lot of sense to her either.  But I still had to go along with it, if I was going to pass for a wealthy young noblewoman in this kind of social scenario, I have to present a very particular and highly cultivated appearance.

Which means wearing a corset, apparently.  Getting laced in somewhat tighter than I’d like, not so much that I’m having trouble breathing but still enough that I’m uncomfortably aware of the distinct snugness of the garment.  That being said, at least when she crafted it using her magic Lady Naru fashioned it in such a way that I can still move how I need to, if and when it comes to it.  But that doesn’t change the worst part of the whole thing for me.  I’ve never had a problem with my breasts before, I mean I’ve never actually gone out of my way to flaunt them but I’ll admit that, much like the rest of my body I’ve at least learned to be proud of them.  But the way the corset pushes them up and squeezes them together in such a blatant way … honestly, there’s something about it that feels genuinely vulgar.  I mean it’s no different than a barmaid in a bodice, which I know is done for much the same effect, but somehow this just feels so much more … manipulative.  It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Well to hell with it … as soon as we got in here I decided to just go ahead and hide them, much as we’d decided I would as soon as it was convenient anyway.  I’m somewhat aware now that, given we’re about to head out again it might have been somewhat premature, but … at this point I really don’t care anymore.  I still wish I could do something about the bloody boots too, but for now I’m just going to have to put up with it.  As for the rest …

“For fuck’s sake … I need a fucking sword.”  I growl under my breath after a moment, just for myself, but Kesla pauses all the same just after pushing the key into the lock, turning back to give me another cool look.

“Let’s just deal with this first, shall we?  Then we can get you one.  All right?”

Holding my tongue, I just step up behind her and flex my fingers for a few moments, waiting for her to open the door.  Finally she turns the key and waits for a long, loaded beat before finally opening it up just enough to peer through.  I hang back now, trying to stay out of sight of whoever might be out there.

She still doesn’t say a word, but the way she lets a little breath go through her nose speaks of subtle frustration all the same.  She turns her head just enough to give me a quick sidelong glance, then waves me back a little more, and I take the step as directed, letting my fingers curl into tense fists while the rest of me starts to stiffen without being bidden to first.  Anticipating a coming fight, even though that’s the last thing we need right now.

Stepping back herself, Kesla opens the door the rest of the way, straightening the lie of her sword in the same moment as she draws herself up to her full height, assuming her role again.  Seeing this reminds me that I am still technically performing, so I take a deep breath and force my fingers open again while I straighten my own back, square my shoulders and lift my chin, setting my jaw as I finally step up behind her now.  Just as she steps out into the corridor.

When I follow her out, stepping with care I hope comes across more as haughty deliberation, I find the lights are a little more muted now but the space is still just about bright enough that Kesla can see well enough too.  There are less guards now than there were before, but I still notice enough to give me pause that I have to work hard to hide my wary scan of our surroundings.  And then I see the young man who saw us in, hustling over with a little frown on his face, and it’s all I can do not to curse under my breath.

There’s a moment just before he arrives I swear he’s about to speak, and I know he must be about to inquire what could possibly be wrong so soon, especially with the play just starting, but he muse rethink in the last moment.  Instead he clears his throat and gives a deferential little bow, looking to me now.  “My Lady, how may I be of assistance to you –”

“Toilet.”  Kesla cuts him off, putting a good deal of gruffness in her voice while once again affecting that surprisingly convincing accent.  “Where is it?”

“Oh!  Yes, of course.”  He just gives a low nod this time and starts to back away, already gesturing to follow.  “If you would come with –”

“No, just tell us.  I can follow directions well enough.”  She’s even more brusque with him now, and gives him such a savagely hard stare I’m not at all surprised he visibly squirms under that one uncanny dark eye.

Again he looks to me, just for a split-second, and I just roll my eyes, making it seem like he’s not even worth my time.  This seems to do as good a job as Kesla’s withering glare.

“Of course … um, yes.  My apologies, my Lady.”  He clears his throat again, pondering for a beat, then turns and points down the line of the corridor we haven’t covered yet.  “Turn left from the door, it’s the second door down on the right.  But … are you sure you don’t –”

“Thank you, that will be all.”  Kesla’s already turning away, and I follow her without giving him another glance, maintaining the act the best I can.  Hoping he still hasn’t twigged to what we’re actually about, or that he might follow us anyway, purely through a sudden determination to try endearing himself to us after all.  Looking for a really good tip at the end of the night, probably.

The guards, at least, barely even give us a glance as we pass, Kesla stalking along with her solid, warrior’s swagger while I just work on maintaining a self-important glide.  Inwardly cursing every step while simultaneously praying to whichever god’s currently listening these bloody heels don’t betray me before we make it.

We reach the door at the other, closer end of the corridor without incident, and Kesla tips a little nod to the particularly large half-orc waiting there with his hand laid on the hilt of his sword.  His eyes widen just a tiny bit as he registers the gesture, then he nods back, stepping aside before opening the door and pushing it wide for us.  When we pass through, I make sure to give him as little regard as I did the others, even though it makes me squirm inside like every other time.  Gods … da taught me too well, that manners are an important thing indeed in this world, and that you’ll do best making your way through your life if you treat people with the same kind of deference you’d prefer they direct to you.  Having to act contrary to how I was raised now is really twisting me into knots that I have to fight hard to stop myself from gnawing on to try and break through.

The even larger human guard on the other side seems momentarily surprised as he steps aside a good distance to allow us through, likely as startled by someone moving now at this critical early point in the performance.  But Kesla just gives him the same curt nod and he returns it before tipping me a much deeper bow, and this time I tip him a clipped nod of my own, unable to fight the internal crawling any longer.  Then I follow Kesla as she starts climbing the shorter, wider passage up the ramp, just wanting to get away from all of this nonsense so we can instead get to what we need to now.  Hoping I didn’t finally give myself away as I go.

Kesla just shoves the relevant door open with typical brusqueness as she leans in to check the way ahead, then pulls back out enough to give me a satisfied nod before pushing it open wide to allow me access, and I slip through without hesitation.  The room is impressively large, with a surprisingly high ceiling, and it definitely seems to be of a type with the décor of the rest of the place.  More of that red wood and gold leaf, although here at least it seems to be interspersed with large stretches of cool, gleaming polished marble and shiny brass.  It’s definitely the most fancy toilet I have ever been in, certainly after being brought up in the much simpler climes of the Northern Reaches, but this is enough to put even the Silver Order’s impressive hospitality to shame.

There’s two whole rows of sinks running down the centre of the room, with impressively wide cubicles lining either wall, closed off with polished redwood doors.  But the most baffling detail of all has to be the weird circular couch at the back of the room, very plush and clearly very soft indeed, lined with the same rich red velvet as the seating back in the box, surrounded by a cluster of similarly plush round stools.  As I walk up to take a look at it, I see it’s been built around a wide pillar, while there’s carpet laid out around it too, unlike the marble floor under my feet.

“This is … I don’t understand, what is this for?”

When I look back at her, Kesla’s cocking one of her now far more inexplicably heavily scarred brows.  “Last time I had to deal with highborns on a job, I came across this very conundrum, and I couldn’t help myself.  Had to ask.  Turns out some o’ these fancy noblewomen are real high-strung, an’ they get prone to fainting.  Something to do with some of ‘em lacing their corsets too tight or something?  I don’t understand it either, but ‘parently sometimes they gotta sit somewhere quiet and have a breather to calm down.  Hence that … weird thing.”  She shrugs.  “I dunno.”

Turning away, I start walking back towards her, looking over the sinks now.  There’s an impossibly large, single-pane mirror mounted over them, and I already saw there’s an identical one on the other side too.  That’s just … bloody hell.  Rich people.  When I turn back I see Kesla watching me now, and she shrugs again, as though she already knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“All right, then …”  I plant my hands into the small of my back and plant my feet before giving my spine a little stretch.  Again wishing I could just get out of this fucking dress.  “Now what?  How are we supposed to get backstage?”

“Honestly?”  Kesla scratches at the back of her neck, rolling her shoulders now with clear discomfort.  It’s a strikingly familiar action which is made instantly odd to me purely because it looks like I’m seeing a complete stranger do it.  “I got no idea.  But … hmmm … all right, look.  There’s one thing we could do, but it’s risky.  You feel up to it?”

Much as the idea of anything that might work right now appeals to me, making me want to just jump to an agreement without hearing her out, I hold back, instead weighing the options for a moment.  “I’d say it depends, really.  How likely is it to blow up in our faces?”

Kesla ponders for a moment, then shrugs again, wincing a little this time.  “I dunno.  Fifty-fifty, maybe?”

Frowning, I watch her for a long moment, mindful that we’re clearly on a pretty serious time limit right now.  “Better than nothing, I suppose.  What do you want me to do?”

“Just wait here, inside the door.  On the blind side.  I’ll jump things off, but … just be ready to join in, ‘case this goes south on me.”

Now I almost ask her what she actually plans on doing, but instead I hold my tongue.  I trust her to know what she’s doing, this is a big deal that we’re about and I’m sure she’s got enough confidence that this should pay off, or she wouldn’t suggest it.  So I just nod and walk past her to the door, finally standing with my back to the wall on the far side, where I should be blocked from sight when it’s opened.  I rich under my skirts and slip the knife strapped to my right thigh free, holding it low at my side, before tipping her another, somewhat less confident nod now.

Returning it with her own wariness, Kesla takes a deep breath and steps up to the door, pulling it open and leaning into the corridor before calling out, again affecting that odd accent.  “Excuse me?  My good man, could you help me for a moment?”

Oh, okay … I think I have an idea what she’s planning now.  Yeah, I get it now, what she meant by this being risky.  I take a breath and lean my head back against the wall now as I wait, offering up a silent prayer to Thorin as tighten my grip on the knife.

I hear the heavy, thumping footfalls outside first, before a low, very bassy gruff voice asking:  “Ma’am?  How can I be of assistance?”

“Oh no, it’s not me.”  Kesla’s already pulling back in through the door now.  “It’s her Ladyship.  She has a rather … unusual problem, and we require a … man’s help with it.”

Bloody hell, Kesla … are you trying to appeal to him that way?  How well’s that going to work?

His steps slow, and for the briefest moment I think she might have tipped her hand, but then he clears his throat, and when he speaks again he stutters just a little on the first word.  “Why … of course, yes ma’m, I would be only too willing to help.”  He follows her through as she back inside, pushing the door closed behind himself as he comes.  Starting to look around now as he takes his first steps inside in earnest.  Looking for me.

He's a big one, I don’t think I’ve seen such a large man before, certainly not human, he’s a good six inches taller than she is and much broader, especially across the shoulders, while his smooth shaven, scarred head just emerges from them without any neck.  He’s a bruiser, clearly, but something about the clarity in his voice, and the sharp way he regarded us outside in the corridor, warns me he’s probably smarter than he actually looks.  Something’s already warning me this ruse won’t work for very long, not with this one.

Then again, I don’t think Kesla’s going to let it get that far … she just rushes him, no warning at all, already starting to leap as she’s drawing her fist back, and between her momentum and already impressive strength it certainly looks like she hits him very hard indeed.  The sound, too .. gods, it doesn’t sound like a regular punch, there’s a surprising metallic crack to it as she makes contact with his face, and when she lands, following through on the over-extension, I see why.  I didn’t even notice her palm those nasty-looking heavy brass knuckledusters out of her pockets when she came back in, but then clearly neither did he.

He doesn’t go down, but he definitely wobbles, stumbling badly on suddenly rubbery legs for a few steps as he reels sideways from the hit, and Kesla’s already following through, dancing aside to follow him as she pulls back with her other arm.  She lands a second punch, not so hard without the added momentum but still directed with full force, this time driving it hard into his stomach, and he doubles over, again managing to keep his feet but only barely.  He gasps as he stumbles, spitting up a big mouthful of bloody drool that seems a good deal chunkier than I would have expected, at least until I realise that’s teeth, and I wince seeing it.

The fact he’s still conscious is more than a little alarming, though, when I look to her now I see Kesla’s visibly surprised too, even given the force of her blows, and as she frowns at him I see she’s rethinking her strategy.  Wondering if she should just draw her sword and kill him on the spot, but … no, now I’m thinking about this it seems like a bad idea to kill him like that.  We might still need to hide what we’ve done, at least for a little while, we don’t want someone stumbling on a cleaved corpse or even a lot of blood, not just yet.  And I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing as she looks to me now.

Even so, as I step forward now, there’s a moment I still approach him with the knife pointed at him blade first, my own instincts taking over so I come damn close to killing him after all.  It’s only at the last instant that I pull myself back, but I still try to put my whole strength into the hit, reeling back as I grip the knife in both hands and then bring it hard down on the base of his skull, pommel-first.  There’s another, even louder metal crack as I strike home, and he drops instantly … but still doesn’t go all the way down, instead falling to his knees while his hands just come up in time to catch him so he ends up on all fours, groaning low and sounding completely miserable while another mouthful of blood and phlegm comes out of him.

“Thorin …”  Kesla breathes after a moment, staring down at him in open amazement.  “How the fuck …”  She looks to me again.  “Maybe you should stab him.”

Looking down at the knife, I find myself genuinely considering it myself.  But instead I just shake my head.  “No, I don’t think … no.  That’s not …”

Frowning again, Kesla lets a little sigh go and steps up … then wheels back and kicks him in the side, every bit as hard as she just punched him.  He lets out a much more winded grunt as the sheer force of the impact flips him over onto his back, hitting the floor hard which surely knocks the rest of the air out of him.  She pauses for a beat before following through this time, starting to hesitate but fighting through, then leaps astride him, dropping to her knees as she straddles his belly.  Already reeling back to hit him again.

But he’s still with it enough, amazingly, despite the spectacular beating we’ve already delivered just with a few hits.  His face is a mangled mess, his lower nose battered badly askew while his jaw looks halfway shattered, knocked a good three inches off to the right while his teeth are a broken mess, half already gone.  And there’s so much blood … but while his eyes are wild and a little glazed, there’s still enough focus in them to focus on her, and when she lands he sucks in a somewhat ragged breath and tenses … in the same moment he shoots both arms out, hands going straight for her throat.

Kesla doesn’t react quite fast enough, his hands just managing to find their target, and the moment they’re wrapped around her neck they start to squeeze.  She gasps, immediately bringing her own hands up to wedge between his twists and trying to pry them apart, but they seem to be made of iron.  He just spits out another little bloody wad and screws his face up as he growls something that might just be wordless, or simply ruined by her punch, as he starts to squeeze harder.

I react before really thinking about it, because if I actually had I’d actually have said to hell with it and stabbed him right in his face.  Instead I stalk up and bring my foot down hard on it, leading with the heel, and somehow it seems to land perfectly, the slender end of the heel going straight into his eye.  Or maybe through it, I can’t really tell, at least until he lets out a much bigger moan which might be a scream mangled by his ruined jaw, and there’s a second spurt of blood under my boot.

The effect is pretty spectacular, though.  He lets go instantly, letting Kesla reel back for a few moments while she starts coughing and whooping as she gulps in lungfuls of fresh air, and brings both hands to his face as I stumble back, suddenly unbalanced.  I kind of lose track of what happens next as I’m fighting to regain my footing, finally stumbling into the wall and barely managing to catch myself against it, righting myself on these bastard fucking heels.  Biting back a curse as I end up breathing heavily.

When I finally turn back Kesla must have slapped his hands out of the way before starting to batter his face, landing punch after punch with sickening loud, meaty impacts.  Each hit sounding wetter than the last.

“Oh fuck …”  I breathe, suddenly scared as I shove myself against the wall and just manage to totter over to her, reaching down to grab hold of her right wrist and pulling hard to try and arrest the flight of that fist, and even then she nearly yanks me off my feet.  Again I’m reminded just how strong she actually is, especially when her blood’s up.  I’m not sure if I just prove to be the stronger thanks to my orcish blood, or that she must twig at the last that it’s me, but it stops her in time, and for several moments we both just stay there, panting heavily as she comes fully back to her senses.

I’m a very long moment finding the courage to actually look at the poor bastard’s face, and my gorge rises the moment I do.  “Oh … fuck, Kesla … what did you do?”

“Shit … I guess I got a bit worked up there.”  There’s some regret in her voice as she takes in her own work, but not so much as I might want to hope for, perhaps.  Like she’s already moving past it as she realises there’s really nothing she can do about it now, and that at least he’s no longer a threat.

Certainly this is what I’m trying to tell myself right now, but when I look at what’s left of this poor bastard’s face, I’m not too sure I really believe it.  I don’t know if it’s her brass knuckles or just her own brutal strength and powerful survival instinct, but she turned this poor man’s face into pulp.  There’s really nothing left of his jaw, his cheeks or his nose, just a mangled, battered and blood-soaked mess, and I can’t even see his eyes in the chaos now.  His chest’s no longer moving, either, so she’s definitely killed him.  Oh gods … that might be the worst way I have ever seen someone die.  Outside of what we saw in Lady Vezrim’s home, at least.

“Well we need to …”  I pull back now, somehow managing not to unbalance myself again as I straighten up and start to move around the corpse, searching the walls with greater deliberation now.  “Fuck … oh, we have to hide that.  Um …”  I’m a moment really focusing on what I’m actually looking at even so, but then I realise we’ve lucked out after all.

“Yes!  That’ll do it.”  I go to a tall open-fronted closet set in the wall just beside the first of the line of cubicles on this side of the room, where there are maybe half a dozen slots cut into it containing dozens, perhaps hundreds of small folded towels.  Reaching out, I pull one down and shake it out, finding a two foot square of almost impossibly soft, thick cotton flannel cloth, which I immediately scrunch up in my fist before throwing it to Kesla.  “Here!  Wrap up the head the best you can.”  I pull down three more and toss them over, then grab two more and stalk back, looking at the floor with a more critical eye.

Scrunching one up, I toss it down before stepping on it and starting to work it back and forth across the first splash of bloody drool he spat up, then continuing to mop up the larger spots and splashes of residual blood after.  Finally I stop and repeat the process with the other towel, tackling the second splash and the worst of what’s left of the splatter.  By the time I’m done I look up to find Kesla’s already crouching at the head of the corpse, scooping her arms under its armpits to wrap around the chest and start to hoist it up off the floor.

“Oof … oh bloody hell …”  Her face quickly darkens with the effort as she struggles, but when I start to step towards her she shakes her head, gritting her teeth and tensing her spectacular thighs in order to lift in earnest.  She has to strain something fierce but finally picks the body up enough she can drag it backwards towards the cubicles.  Now I start after her with greater purpose, before remembering the towels and doubling back to pluck them up.

I take a moment to inspect the state of the floor once I straighten up.  It’s not a spectacular improvement, there’s still scattered spots and a little more gory splatter from where Kesla beat the late guard to death, but with the patterning of the marble it should just about pass muster at a glance.  I’m hoping that’ll be enough, at least for a little while.  These kinds of people don’t tend to look at the floor, so it should be long enough for us to make some headway, as long as we at least hide the body itself.

Catching up with Kesla now, I move ahead of her at last and push open one of the cubicle doors halfway down, reasoning this one is going to be the least likely for a visitor to just pick on a whim.  I toss the towels inside to fall into the back corner beside the commode, then I just wait for Kesla to reach me.

Strong as she is, she’s still huffing and puffing with a particularly flushed face by the time she reaches me, sweating some while her tendons are standing out, veins bulging from the effort.  She makes eye contact with me for a charged beat and looks away quick, growling under her laboured breath before finally managing to spit out:  “Oh … not … a word … I’m regretting … this decision … already …”

“Well to give you your due credit, it did work.  In the end.”  I try not to sound too smug as I step out of her way so she can back into the cubicle.

It’s a good thing this place is so opulent, grand and well-appointed, the stalls alone are far wider than any I’ve seen before now, this one easily affording her enough room to drag the body to the commode, manhandling it about until she’s able to sit it down on top.  Then she slips out from behind and just drops against the partition wall for a few moments, getting her breath back again.  Her face slowly growing less flushed as her pulse starts to slow down once more.

“All right, then.  Now what?”

Letting a heavy sigh go, Kesla pushes herself away from the wall, only wavering for a moment before finding her feet again, and turns to me.  “You still want a sword?”

Frowning, I look down at the knife I’m still clutching in my offhand, and finally start to slot it back into the sheath on my thigh.  “Oh!  Yes, please.  If you don’t mind.”

Nodding, seeming a little resigned, perhaps, Kesla steps back to the body and unbuckles the swordbelt, carefully dragging the strap free before turning and holding the whole bundle out.  I frown a little as I step into the cubicle at last, reaching out to collect the offered weapon and its harness.

Once I’m actually holding it, my initial confidence starts to waver.  I’ve trained with swords this big before, when I was young and still being taught the blade with da he insisted I learn as many of the kinds available to me as I could.  Even so, I soon found my personal preference with lighter, leaner steel built more for finesse and speed, whereas this broadsword, heftier even than Kesla’s impressive bastard sword, is much more of a handful, intended to win through muscle and savagery.  I remember that one time she and I crossed swords in earnest, back in the mountains, and I tried to take her on with the borrowed sword of one of my fallen allies … and if that fight had been allowed to reach its conclusion I suspect she would have won that one, very much at the cost of my life.  I’m not really made for this kind of steel.

Even so, when I draw it from its scabbard and hold it out at arm’s length, looking down the lines … honestly, it is very well made.  Not the impressive dwarven steel that Kesla carries, but this is high quality work even so, when I give the blade a testing bend it springs back to true with impressive ease, while it’s definitely suitably weighted for one-handed work like I’ve seen her favour.  The edges are good and keen, too, telling me this weapon definitely isn’t just for show, although its condition tells me it’s still not seen much action in its time.  But at least the dead man looked after it well enough to serve me now.

Wrapping my offhand around the lower haft of the hilt, I spread my feet and give the blade a few test swings, producing some suitably hearty whooshes as it parts the air … until my balance starts to slip and I remember the heels, having to throw my left arm out as I totter to regain my balance.  “Shit!”  I hiss, feeling my face heat up immediately, and set my jaw as I turn and take some more careful steps back to retrieve the swordbelt and scabbard.

“How’s it look?”  Kesla asks as she pulls the cubicle door closed, then starts to frown as she realises it won’t stay that way, and there’s no way to lock it from the outside.  “Hmmm …”

“Well it’s not really my preferred style, but …”  I give it one last little hack through the air before whipping it round so I can guide the tip into the scabbard’s throat and slide the blade home.  “It’ll do.  Perhaps I can find something a little more suitable as we go, but for now I can live with it.”

“Well that’s good, cuz from what I remember they’re all armed much the same.  Hontiresk likes his security big, so that’s pretty much the standard.”  She tries pulling on the door, which creaks a bit as she tries to pull it tighter into the frame, but the way it’s been installed this won’t work any better.  “Oh for … bloody thing, this ain’t gonna work, but we can’t leave it like this.  Any ideas?”

Cinching the belt the best I can around my hips, I find the strap is much longer than I’d really prefer, obviously meant for someone significantly wider through the hips, so I just loop it in a knot instead and tie it off as tight as I can before adjusting the lie again.  It’s not perfect, but I guess it’ll serve.  I let the sword hang, then look down at my feet.  “All right … how did this work again?”

Planting my feet the best I can, I take a deep breath and bend down at the waist, stretching until I can easily reach my ankles, and start to feel along the edge of the sole of my left boot.  It takes me a long moment to remember the trick Lady Naru explained to me.  These books are spell-crafted just like the rest of this ridiculous costume, but at least with these she wove a little extra something into its structure as she formed it around my foot and lower leg, for just this occasion.  I suppose now’s as good a time as any.  So I give it a try, hoping I’m recalling the combination right.

First two taps, then one more and a stroke, before three taps, all down the outside line of the heel itself.  I just remember to bend my foot forward and lift my own heel in time before it has the chance to unbalance me, the entire sole quivering under my foot with the strangest vibration that makes me shiver a bit as it starts to reshape itself.  I have to admit it’s not at all unpleasant a sensation, actually, and it’s a miracle I maintain my one-footed balance while it's happening.

Within moments, the heel has become far thicker and flatter, the sole straightening out enough that I can lay my foot down at a far more comfortable angle.  There’s still a little arch there, but no more than I’m used to in my own boots, and it’ll definitely serve if we have to fight.

Kesla gives a low whistle.  “Wow … that actually worked.”

“She’s a sorcerer, remember?  Why would you ever doubt her?”  I shift my weight so I’m resting most of it more comfortably on my left foot, then bend so I can repeat the process on the other boot.  This one works as well as the first, and soon enough I can start stepping about the floor with a good deal more ease, while my feet are already thanking me for taking away the wretched strain those bloody heels were putting on them.  “Ooh … gods, that’s better.  Remind me to thank her later, if we’re still alive.”

The look Kesla gives me tells me she really doesn’t appreciate the joke, and I sigh as I turn to the problem at hand.  Walking forward, I step into the stall and pull the door closed, then slip the latch to lock it in place.  Then I step back and look down at the bottom of the door.  Yes, this should work well enough …

Dropping down onto the floor, I slide across the cool marble tiles and slip through the gap underneath the door with just a little twisting and squeezing when it meets my backside.  Within moments I’m springing up onto my coiled legs and straightening back up to my full height, smiling at Kesla as she gives me a cool look, one brow cocked with clear sarcasm.  “Very graceful.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”  I look down to inspect the front of the dress, although I’ll admit I’m not all that bothered how it actually looks once I start thinking about it.  But the floor’s definitely clean enough, and we’re both wearing a lot of red anyway.  What blood I might have gotten on it doesn’t seem to show right now.  “I’d say we’re done here.  We should move.”

Watching me for a cool beat, she finally nods in agreement, taking a moment to inspect her hands, which seem clean enough to my eye.  I suspect she used at least one of the towels to clean the worst of the blood away from her bracers and fingers while she was wrapping the corpse’s head.  Finally she steps back and turns to the door, stalking to it with purpose now.  I take a moment of my own to check everything over one last time, particularly double-checking the new fit of my boots, before following her.

Just before she reaches it she pauses, looking down at the floor for a long moment, and finally lets out a heavy sigh.  “Fuck it … at this point, I doubt it matters anymore, anyway.  If we do this, we orob’ly don’t need the disguises any more.  You don’t really convince now, anyway.”

Before I can ask her what she means, she’s already reaching up and rubbing both hands up and over her face, and as I watch there’s the subtlest hint of something like smoke starting to wisp under her fingers as they stroke the uncanny scarred skin.  And as she moves both hands upwards the strange visage starts to slip, the scars fading in rippling vapour until fer face resembles the one I know again.  Finally she shoves both up and back over her ears, and the hair there melts away in much the same way, leaving that much more familiar undercut, all the way to the back of her skull.  Once it’s done she turns to me again, and when I raise my brows she lets a much more relieved sigh go.  Comfortable in her own skin again, I suppose.

She waits at the door for another few moments, listening warily, then turns to me.  “Sounds good.  Far as I could tell, he was it in this corridor, so with a bit o’ luck we might be able to make it downstairs without too much trouble.  Just keep your wits about you as we go, in case that changes.  We been lucky so far, but …”

“Yeah, I agree.”  I sigh, giving the hilt at my hip a little pat for reassurance.  “Best not to press it now.  Might not hurt to offer up a prayer or two to Thorin as we go, too.”

That has her grinning, cocked and rueful but good-humoured enough.  She nods again, then turns the doorknob and pulls it open, leaning out to check in both directions before stepping out.  I take another breath and follow her, flexing my fingers as I go, just in case.

I just happen to look down the corridor stretching on behind us, heading towards the back of the building, when the door at the end of it suddenly opens, three figures stepping through.  I recognise one of them, but the others are new.  But they all stop where they are pretty much as soon as they see us, the one in front frowning deep as she takes me in, then the larger woman in front of me.  And her frown gets very deep indeed.

“What the fuck …”  The dragonhalf woman from the Heath draws the sword on her hip, already taking a step towards us, and I see her eyes flash bright like burning amber as her face darkens.  “You!”  The black-clad half-hob with her just stands there, looking startled, clutching one of the most enormous swords I’ve ever seen to her chest.  Meanwhile the substantial half-orc guard accompanying them just blinks, which I suppose on that stoic face might qualify as surprise.

“Oh shit … go!  Fast!”  Kesla grabs hold of my arm and yanks me roughly across the floor, planting her feet once I’m in front of her and giving me a little shove, and I’m only unbalanced for a moment before I snap back to my senses, and do what she asks of me.  Unsure if she’s following me now, but I’ve got other more pressing concerns demanding my attention now.  Like where I’m heading now …

At least with my boots altered the way I prefer them now, I can run with confidence, so I just focus on the road ahead as I break into a full sprint, grasping my newly-acquired sword at my side to keep it from clattering about.  I barely clear the doors leading round the back of the boxes before the first one’s thrown open, and whoever’s coming out, likely to investigate all the shouting, steps through right as Kesla follows me along.  I slow as I hear two bodies crash together and someone goes down, turning awkwardly as I almost stumble to look behind, and the first thing I see is the dragonhalf charging at full speed right after us, which almost makes me start running again anyway.  But then I see the half-orc guard who let us out now sprawled face-down, just starting to pick himself up while Kesla must have simply turned her fall into a roll as she comes up from a low crouch and barely even slows down as she just launches herself after me.

Our eyes meet for a split-second and she hisses:  “Keep going!  Don’t worry about me, just fucking go!”  I don’t say a word, just turning to do what she says.

We’re on the ramp itself now, much the same as the one on the far side, curving round on its middling slope down to the lobby, and I run flat out as gravity lends me a hand to make me even faster.  We’re halfway down, Kesla already hot on my heels while I can hear them running hard to catch up now, when I see two figures making their way up the other way at a far more leisurely stroll, more of these oversized guards just making their rounds.  Damn it …

“Forget it!”  Kesla hisses again close behind me now.  “Turn!  Now!”

What the hell does she … oh hell, I see what she means soon enough, the side-entrance coming up on the inside of the curve in the wall, double doors closed but obviously leading into the theatre itself.  I can’t help it, I spit:  “Really?”  but don’t wait for a reply, already swerving to approach it at the tightest angle I can while putting as much of an additional burst of speed in as I can given I’m already running about as fast as I can.  Through the corner of my eye I see the other two guards now coming up the other way, starting to run as fast as they can fighting the climb now they’ve twigged that there’s something off here.  I’d much rather get there first if I can help it.

Turning my body at the very last instant, I don’t even bother trying to open it by the handle first, I just bullrush the doors with my shoulder, aiming as square on to the crack between them as I can given how fast I’m charging in.  Even so, I clench my jaw and fight the urge to wince, anticipating what’s coming but hoping it won’t be too unpleasant.

The hit’s nowhere near as jarring as I anticipated, but then these doors aren’t locked so they don’t stand up at all to my sudden, forceful impact as the latch just snaps and I’m spilled right through … before slamming much harder into the guard who was stood by on the other side.  This unexpected crash does hurt, but he’s caught completely off guard, not standing up to me running into him for an instant, so I bowl him clean off his feet and he goes flying, tumbling head over heels over a rail into dark, empty space.  I barely catch myself in time, my whole arm smarting from the painful impact, but the rail’s just tall enough to catch me in time.

He crashes down below a bare moment later, but I’m already moving, the intensity of the situation keenly impressed on me as I turn and start running down an uncomfortably steep staircase to the theatre floor below a good deal fast than I’d like.  It’s a miracle I don’t take a tumble before I reach the bottom, but I might just be running on too much adrenaline right now, lending me a scary amount of focus that gets me to the floor in one piece.

When I pause at the bottom, it’s entirely to get a grasp on my surroundings, even though this is my first time in here, and it is a truly ridiculous space to be in right now, especially under these circumstances.  It’s not the first time I’ve been in an enclosed chamber this vast, but with most of the lights down it feels more like a huge cave than anything man-built.  Almost all of the light here now is coming from the stage, smaller, much dimmer sources of illumination from within the boxes not even reaching us down here, but with my eyes I can make out what’s going on just fine.  Including the fact that the man I managed to punt off what turned out to be a balcony at least thirty feet up is unlikely to ever get up again after that landing.  And it seems he might have taken a few patrons with him too …

For now most of the audience don’t seem to have picked up on this just yet, still focused on the play unfolding on the stage, but I can see more than a few who were sat around the poor bastards he managed to land on are getting to their feet, clearly alarmed.  Then I see more movement around me, and I realise there are more security making their way towards the site of the crash, and then when I turn it become clear some of the closest are actually coming for me.  Damn it … I don’t think here and now is really the best place and time for this.

“Shay!”  Kesla doesn’t bother trying to modulate her volume now, she just yells it as she rushes down the steps towards me.  “The stone!  Use it now!”

Oh hell … I almost ask her if she’s really serious about that, but as I see more of the guards now starting to twig that we’re the threat, I realise she’s got a pretty damn good point right now.  Worse that the dragonhalf is now climbing down too, making a very clear effort to catch up as she skips steps with reckless abandon.  There’s no time, she’s right.

Shoving my hand up under the scarf tied over my chest, I grab hold of the largest necklace hung between my breasts and yank it away, feeling a subtly painful bite at the back of my neck as the clasp resists for a moment before snapping.  As I manhandle the jewellery for a moment, going mostly by touch as I search for what I’m after, my eyes are already focusing on the nearest guards, already close enough I literally just have seconds to do this.  Finding the largest, heaviest of the facsimile diamonds Lady Naru created ostensibly to give me a means of communication with her that could be hidden in plain sight, I give the gem a hearty squeeze between thumb and forefinger and take a quick, sharp breath.  Knowing what I’m about to have inflicted upon me from past experience and already hating that I have to do this right now.

As the false stone cracks between my fingertips, everything just seems to fall away as I just retreat into my own mind, folded into a strangely empty dark void of silence and formless emptiness.  But I know I’m not alone, although how I know that I really don’t understand.  Any more than I know that it’s Lady Sulin Naru herself in here with me …

Shay?  What are you … what’s wrong?  I didn’t expect you to be doing this so soon –

My Lady, I don’t have time!  You have to call him in NOW!!!  Right now!  Please, just send him STRAIGHT THROUGH, he has to come straight into the theatre itself!  NOW!!!

What?  Shay, I CAN’T do that, that’s insane!  What does Kesla –

PLEASE!!!  I told you, there’s NO TIME!!! If you don’t do this NOW we’ll be overrun!  Just SEND HIM NOW!!!

There’s no way for me to tell, when I’m just as suddenly thrown unceremoniously out of that uncanny, genuinely nightmarish state of subconscious strangeness, if it was myself breaking contact or Lady Naru severing it instead.  All I know is that when I return to myself with such jarring extremity that I almost stumble on the spot, I have a strange moment when I notice my would-be attackers don’t seem to have gained any more ground than they had before I activated the stone.  I could have sworn that I was in that state for longer … but as the first one closes in I don’t have any more time to think about it now as I take a step back and draw the sword.  Instantly dropping into a ready stance as I tense up, preparing to counter whatever attack’s about to come.

Just as the back wall, just to the side of the stage, literally explodes in a great blast of splintering timber and pulverised masonry, the whole building shaking violently from the force of it.  As Driver 8 charges to our rescue …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

[bratkook]

almost. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost, right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, baby angst, smut word count. 6.4k warnings. two idiots!!, pining, masturbation (m. and f.), use of vibrator, accidental voyeurism?,  more feelings come to light!! summary. jungkook tries to be the best wingman he could be in your new venture after your breakup. he could do it, right? note. part two of not yet, some more feelings are exposed, please don’t hate oc she is but a pendeja that doesn’t see the obvious feelings jungkook has but she has good intentions i promise<3 there will most likely be a final part,,if you guys are into it lmao okie bye

The cool summer breeze flows around you as you’re sitting under the shade, eyes focused on the chaos of runny yolk and hashbrowns that is your breakfast. Jungkook on the other hand, is focused on you. His signature yellow shades block out the sun reflecting from passing cars, concealing his eyes just enough for you to not see him blatantly staring at you while you stuff your face. 

The charmed smile he has falters slightly when you look directly at him, hashbrown lingering by your lip as you repeat his name. “Sorry, what?”

Your brows come together as you smile at his zoned out state, something you had grown fond of in the years of knowing him, always enjoying the small dazed look that graced his face whenever he was lost in his thoughts. His lips push out slightly in question, curious eyes wondering just what you could have been asking him. 

“I was saying that I think I’m giving up on crushes and love.” You say it so easily, mind made up as you grin at him before continuing to shovel hashbrowns into your mouth, only pausing to take a sip of your iced coffee. 

Jungkook tries his best to seem unaffected, nodding along in interest as he takes a steady bite of his own food. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking a look around at the people surrounding you: friends having breakfast together and snapping photos, couples feeding each other food with smiles on their faces, a lone man with his dog perched on the seat across from his while he worked on his computer. You briefly wonder if all of them, even the dog, have better luck with love than you do. 

“I think I’m cursed,” you continue. “All of my exes have been assholes, and I’ve always been too blind to see it until it’s over and I’m left crying over Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams.”

“Maybe you’re just looking for love in the wrong places,” Jungkook shrugs, internally screaming because he’s who you should be looking at if you wanted love. 

Not to toot his own horn, but Jungkook liked to think he was a good guy, a great boyfriend even. His previous track record of relationships could attest to that, all of them ending on mutual terms, still friendly and civil with each other. He’s almost certain if there was a Yelp page for him it would be at least 4.5 stars with comments raving about how great he is, even little anecdotal touches about how he always gave away his hoodies or offered to cook breakfast. 

He was a god damn catch, why couldn’t you see that?

“Maybe prince charming is a lot closer than you think,” he grumbles out, stabbing his omelette with a little more force than necessary, fork clanking against the plate. And when you gasp in realization he freezes, slowly looking back up at you and seeing the way your eyes widen. 

“Wait, maybe you’re right!” Your hand shoots across the table, gripping onto his forearm and it sends a shock throughout him, skin tingling at your touch. “You know that coffee shop below our building? That cute barista always puts a heart next to my name. Do you think I should ask for his number?”

Jungkook blinks once, slowly twirls his fork in his hand and blinks again before staring up at the sky, mentally asking why he couldn’t just go out and say it. “Hm, I don’t think you should.“

With a defeated sigh you retract your hand, slumping back into your seat and grabbing your iced coffee once more, stirring the straw and ice around as you nod. “True. What if he feels obligated to give it to me just because he doesn’t want to get fired in case I go all Karen on his ass.”

That wasn’t why Jungkook had said not to, but sure, that works too, so he hums along. 

“I bet he draws hearts on all the other girls cups too.” You huff, playfully wiping a tear under your eye with a smile. 

“I’ve actually—“

“You know what I—“

You both freeze mid sentence, Jungkook’s cheeks tinted a light pink as he stutters on his words, wide eyes staring at you as if he had caught himself before you cut him off. But as you’re about to tell him to go on, he waves you off and urges you to speak first. 

“I was just gonna say that maybe I should go through that wild phase people usually go through after breakups.”

He sets his silverware down on the plate and sips his water, giving you an odd look. “Wild phase? Like you wanna dye your hair red and get bangs?”

“No,” you cackle, ruffling a hand through your own hair as you picture yourself with that combination. “I should just go out and hook up with people. I feel like I’ve either been in a relationship or entirely single, so it could be fun right?”

“Uh, maybe...” he trails off, rolling his lips together in thought, not exactly fond of hearing you say that when he had felt the confession about to roll off his tongue. He takes a slow breath, trying to see this from a neutral point, the point of a supportive friend wanting to help you get over a breakup. 

“How do you go about it?”

“Me?” he chokes, pointing at his chest as if there was magically some other person you could be addressing. 

“Yes, you. Need I remind you, we share a wall between our beds.” You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face shows that you’re speaking of this lightly, not entirely annoyed by the fact that you had heard Jungkook during his own fair share of hook ups. 

He’s not ashamed of it, but considering he never really brought up being able to hear you, he thought you’d pretend to never hear him. It wasn’t too often that he had a girl over, the number of hookups only increasing after you got with Hajoon and loosely cut ties with Jungkook. But from what you had heard—and seen thanks to your nosey self looking through peep holes once they left—it was very rarely the same girl. 

So to you, Jungkook was a pro at the art of hookups. 

“Right, sorry,” he grimaces, a sheepish smile on his lips as he wonders just how many times his activities kept you up at night. 

“It’s fine, consider us even.” A teasing laugh follows your statement, enjoying the flustered look on his face, how his cheeks get even darker in embarrassment. Jungkook was used to the two of you talking like this, neither of you having a filter especially when it came to sexual aspects, but he hadn’t had a conversation like this since before you got with Hajoon. It would take some getting used to again. 

“So, give me the tips. Where do you find people?”

Jungkook leans back into his chair, arms stretching out on either side of him, short sleeves of his black tee bunching up and revealing more of his tattoos and the rippling of his muscles. With a small laugh he rakes his hand through his fluffy hair, giving you a small smile. “Honestly? Anywhere. I’ve gotten girl’s numbers at the gym and at coffee shops, but bars are the best bet for something quick.”

“Ugh, fuck you and your pretty privilege.” 

“What?” he guffaws, smiling wide and showing you his adorable smile as he laughs loudly, not caring about the attention he draws to your table. He doesn’t even realize how the table full of girls is now trying to discreetly stare at him, because his eyes are on you. You see it though, and it further proves your point. “What the hell is pretty privilege?”

Your wild hands gesture towards him, a look of disbelief on your face as you do so. “You! Of course girls line up to hand you their number, have you seen yourself? Pretty privilege,” you jab your fork at him in time with your final words, a smirk on your glossy lips. 

Jungkook feels his confidence grow at your casual compliment, tongue prodding at his cheek as he stares down at his food, trying not to smile too hard. You thought he was pretty, that was a win in his book. 

“C’mon,” he teases, foot gently nudging your leg underneath the table. “You could totally score someone's number. Plus there's always apps if you just wanna test the water.”

You give your plate a contemplated stare, “Sure, how hard could it be?”

Admittedly, the answer to that question was: not hard at all. You had met all your previous boyfriends in person, through mutual friends or shared classes back in college, never once dipping your toe into the world of Tinder or Bumble. Who knew all it would take was a couple of selfies and the strategic body shot to have boys circling around you like some new-age, slightly filthier version of rapunzel. 

Jungkook knew though, not at all shocked by how quickly you get a match the following day when he’s at your place. His eyes are focused on the screen in front of him, helping you beat a level in your favorite game that you had been stuck on. But the second you gasp as if you’ve won the lottery, he pauses the game entirely and gives you an odd look. 

“What?”

His answer comes in the form of your phone thrusted in his direction, lit up screen displaying your profile picture and the one of the boy you had just matched with. Jung Hoseok. Jungkook’s eyes narrow as he reads the name, trying to remember it in case he somehow had a friend in common that knew all the dirt on him. 

He has a similar pair of yellow shades on his own head, thicker black rims around them and a charming smile on his face. Jungkook chuckles to himself. Yellow shades? How original. 

“What do I say?” you question, eyes looking nervous as you wiggle the phone in his face. The small white bar beneath your match urges you to start a conversation, and coming up with the right words to say makes you overthink it all. 

“Just say hi and tack on some cute emoji. It’s not that hard,” he laughs, pushing the phone back at you. Jungkook knew you could start the message off any way you wanted and this Jung Hoseok would eat it right up. How could he not, the alluring smile in your profile photo would draw anyone in. 

“Okay, I did it.” Your phone is instantly locked and chucked aside in an attempt to be forgotten, choosing to grab the remote out of Jungkook’s hands for another distraction. It only lasts a brief second before you’re killed by the boss Jungkook was trying to defeat. 

“Really?” Jungkook huffs, yanking the remote back into his hands, needing a distraction himself. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were searching for a fuck buddy while he sat beside you. How crazy would it be if he suggested being your fuck buddy, offered to help you through this so called wild phase you were searching for. 

No. That’s not what he wants. 

Would he enjoy it? Sure. But he could already imagine how much worse his heart would hurt if his feelings came to light and yours were non-existent. That is if you’d even agree to it. 

“Relax, he’s probably thinking of what to reply.”

You make a noise of disagreement, fingers itching to unlock your device to see if it was true, slowly inching towards it until you finally grab it and go back onto the app. Jungkook just chuckles as he goes back to helping you with your game, not wanting to look at you as you giggle at your device. He could already imagine what this guy was telling you for you to turn into a giddy mess not even two minutes in. 

He tunes it all out, eyes focused on the screen, fingers gripping the remote with a little more force than needed. His concentration helps him though, finally passing the level you’ve been stuck on for the past two weeks. 

“You’re welcome,” he sighs, making a show of stretching out and sending you a smile, having it falter slightly when he sees your eyes still focused on the screen of your phone. With a frown he looks back at the television, saving the game before turning it off altogether. 

Once he gets up from the couch, making his way over to the media console to store the remotes, is when you look up at him. “You’re right, this is easy!”

Jungkook doesn’t feel the usual pride that comes with being right, but the cheerful look on your face prevents him from feeling salty. Coming back towards the couch, he sits beside you once more, facing you as he rests his elbow on the back cushion to lean on. “Told you so.”

He keeps that same smile on his face as you mention how quick Hoseok was to ask you out on a date, even as you bring up the fact that this date would be at his place, and Jungkook could decipher netflix and chill any way some greasy boy tried to conceal it. 

“I hope he knows I don’t want anything serious,” you mumble, chewing on your fingernail as you scroll through the messages. 

Jungkook could almost laugh at how blissfully unaware you were of the piranha infested water that was the great sea of Tinder. Of course this yellow sunglass wearing wannabe version of him knows you don’t want anything serious, why else would he be so quick to invite you over with the cheeky excuse to watch movies. 

All he can do is shrug as he stares at you, lips pressed together in an effort to not say something that would totally ruin everything. Instead, Jungkook does everything he can to be the best version of a wingman you could get. He tells you the ins and outs of hookups, how you should definitely not text him the minute you leave his place and tell him you had fun, don’t talk about anything super personal involving family or your work, and if he doesn’t offer to go down on you but expects a blowjob he’s a loser. 

It’s solid advice that you mentally jot down, subjecting him to further questions your mind comes up with and even asking him for help on an outfit via text the night of your hangout with Jung Hoseok. 

Jungkook stares at the photos for a little too long if he’s being honest. They weren’t spectacular selfies that you had taken much effort for, their sole purpose being showing off the outfit, but the way you look so focused as you snapped the shot had him zooming into your face and smiling like an idiot. When you double text him with a long line of question marks he snaps out of it, deciding on the second option you picked of mom jeans and a cropped shirt. Cute and casual, and definitely something Jungkook preferred, but he’d never tell you that. 

When you finally text him a thumbs up and tell him you’re on your way out he just hearts the message before locking his device and trudging to the living room. It’s not often that he wallows in self pity, spacing those days out so far he barely remembers them. But they usually went exactly like this, ordering a large meat lovers pizza with extra cheese, drinking far too many Mike’s hard lemonade—because despite how much they made his stomach hurt they were tasty so he didn’t care—and binge watching his comfort show: Modern Family. 

But even as he sulks on his couch, practically sinking into the cushions with horrible posture and a slice of pizza resting on his chest, he can’t find it in himself to chuckle at Cam and Mitch’s usual banter. He’s too busy thinking about which movie you’re currently watching, if you were watching it. Who’s Jungkook kidding though, you were totally getting your guts rearranged right now. 

Taking an aggressive bite out of the crust he frowns and raises the volume up on his television, attempting to drown the mocking voice in his head calling him a loser for not admitting to his feelings. He knew this, knew he should have said something when he wanted to at breakfast, but Jungkook was afraid that if he confessed as you were talking about hooking up, that you’d see him as taking advantage of a situation instead of being genuine. I mean who wouldn’t? You say you want something casual and suddenly he’s spilling his heart out and you’re supposed to believe he’s not some pig trying to butter you up. He didn’t want to get labeled as a creepy neighbor after the good times you’ve had. 

“So stupid,” he grumbles to himself as he takes another swig, the last drops of the alcohol hitting his tongue with a tangy aftertaste. As he sits up to place the empty bottle onto his coffee table his muscles ache, neck stiff from the unfortunate position it had been subjected to for the last three hours. With a small huff he’s rolling his shoulders, reaching for his discarded phone to see the time—and also check if you’d sent him some SOS text—but he finds nothing besides the bright numbers indicating that it was nearing midnight.

In true pity party day fashion, he doesn’t even bother cleaning up after his mess, just tossing the dirty dishes into the sink to be washed tomorrow when he would force himself to be in a better mood. Instead, he grabs a water and his phone and waddles into his bedroom. 

The moonlight illuminates the space enough for him to keep the light switch off, undressing from his crumb covered sweats and shirt, choosing to remain in his boxers as he slipped under the cold duvet. The sheets feel fresh against his hot cheeks, flush from the alcohol, cooling him down and making his body relax. 

Jungkook knows he should sleep, needing to be up early tomorrow for work, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering into dangerous territory. His buzzed brain has no qualms imagining exactly what you were doing right now, wondering if you’d be the type to act shy at a guy’s house for the first time, if you’d initiate the first move or not. Jungkook had only seen it up close once under the flash of strobe lights and the haze of alcohol, but he can still picture the soft smile on your face before you go in for a kiss, and he grumbles under his breath when he realizes that he wouldn’t be the one kissing you tonight. 

What he doesn’t know, is that you wouldn’t be the one getting kissed tonight either. The Jung Hoseok you had perceived through Tinder, assuming he was all casual and DTF with his netflix and chill suggestion, had been anything but. What you thought would be a steamy night, ended up becoming a nice dinner and comedy watched, morphing into some version of game night where you discovered he was a little too competitive than you were used to. The only action you got was a kiss to your cheek as he walked you to your car and a promise for another date. A promise you would not be keeping. 

So as Jungkook lays in bed while his thoughts turn into some fantasy of you moaning out his name, you shuffle into your bedroom and slip into your pajamas with a defeated sigh. You had already texted your best friend telling her what a bust tonight had been, deciding to just tell Jungkook all about it tomorrow because you knew he was most likely fast asleep now. And as you settle under your own covers, inches away from Jungkook with only a wall seperating you, you decide to just call it a night and pretend it never happened. 

Just as you shut your eyes, nuzzling into your pillow, you hear the first moan come from behind the wall. A small cry of despair escapes you as you bury your face into your sheets, tugging them up and over your head to block the sound of Jungkook getting some action the same night you had been left high and dry. Of course he would, assuming you’d be getting the same treatment at your date's place, why wouldn’t he take advantage of your absence and not have to muffle his partner’s moans the way he usually did. 

You’re just going to ignore it, until you hear a moan that sounds strangely like your own name. Maybe it's wishful thinking on your part, your horny brain deciding to pretend that Jungkook was calling for you instead of whoever he was with. It might be a little wrong for you to have that fantasy of your neighbor, but you aren’t blind. He’s hot, and adorably sweet, the perfect package for any girl he tried to swoon. And judging by the cries you’ve heard of lucky girls prior, you know he was good in bed. 

You’re just desperate now. That’s the excuse you tell yourself as you slowly settle onto your back, feeling your body warm up when you focus on his muffled groans, desperate and needy. As your hand slowly slides down your shirt, you shut your eyes, biting down onto your lip to muffle any sound you could make when your fingers slip underneath your pants and past your underwear. 

Jungkook on the other hand doesn’t care about his volume. His boxers are tugged down his thighs, knees bent as he slowly ruts into his sticky palm. His hand is tacky with the lube he had messily squirted on, thick cock glistening in the light coming in from his window. He can’t look away from it, mouth dropped open as he groans, imagining it was your hand tightly wrapped around him, your spit covering his cock instead of that strawberry flavored lube. 

“Ah fuck,” he moans, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back onto his soft pillows when his thumb rubs along his slit. It continues to leak beads of precum, quickly wiped away to join the mess on his cock when his hand slides back down and squeezes along his base. 

You hear that loud and clear, and when the female voice you’re expecting never follows, you realize he must be taking care of himself. It makes you feel a little less guilty now as your fingers trail along your slit, collecting the slick coating your folds before you softly circle your clit. A choked gasp fills the air at the small sensation, your body already wired after having expected to get some action tonight; it totally had nothing to do with your hot neighbor jacking off inches away from you. 

With your eyes fluttering shut, you strain your ears to make out any other noise, muffling your own groans with a hand pressed against your mouth. The bed creaks lightly underneath you as you roll your hips into your hand, getting into a smooth rhythm that makes your body buzz. 

Slowly, your imagination runs wild, and you wonder just what Jungkook was thinking of as he did this. Was he watching some porn as he did it, using his own filthy thoughts to push himself to ecstacy, or was this just something he needed to do to be able to sleep? 

“Shit, so good,” he groans out, voice raspy, but you can sense his desperation through the drywall. It’s what has you sinking a single digit into your drenched entrance, biting down onto your lower lip when you feel the glide of your walls as you start to thrust into yourself, easing in another and mewling at the slight stretch. 

Jungkook would absolutely give his left leg to know what your pussy felt like, he didn’t even care how disgusting he sounded by admitting that to himself, it was true. Blame it on the hard lemonade that made his stomach ache and his mind unfiltered, but he could almost visualize how you’d look above him, could practically feel the warmth of your core wrapped around him, dripping down his length as he fucked into you. 

He knows you’re loud in bed, never being one to conceal your cries of pleasure and he would die happy to hear his name come out of your mouth as you creamed his cock. But for now, his hand would have to do. 

His lids feel too heavy, jaw slack as the pleasure flows through his body. The wet squelch of his palm fills the room, mingling with his pants and groans, air growing thick around him. It’s been a while since Jungkook had jacked off, and even longer since he’d been able to do it shamelessly in bed without the fear of you hearing him, but now that he thought you were gone he can’t find it in himself to cover his mouth or groan into his pillows like he usually did. 

The pent up frustration fogs up his mind, cranks the lust up to 11 until his free hand is gripping his sheets beside him, bed frame creaking as his thrusts speed up. The thuds of his headboard hitting the wall come from behind you, a choked moan blending in with it, and it has you scrambling for your bedside drawer. 

The pajamas you wear get yanked off your legs and tossed aside after you grab your trusty vibrator, settling onto your back once more with huff. All it takes is a press of a button for the device to come to life, buzzing in your hand as you trail it up your thighs. A gasp escapes you when you pass it over your mound, brushing against your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper when you finally press the vibrating head directly onto your sensitive clit, legs spreading further apart as you increase the intensity. You could clearly hear the raise in Jungkook’s moans, and that's when the first irrational thought pops into your mind. 

How easy would it be for you to head over to his place and deal with both of your problems. Surely Jungkook wouldn’t have an issue with you offering to suck his dick, wouldn’t mind letting you sink down onto him if it was just a friendly favor. 

The little devil on your shoulder tells you it would be mutually beneficial, urging you to get up and walk to Jungkook’s with the vibrator still in your hand, but you can’t. This alone felt like enough of a dirty secret, a secret you’d have absolutely no problem keeping because although you feel slightly ashamed, you couldn’t deny how turned on you are. 

The flashes of all the times you’ve heard Jungkook with other people play in your mind, the screams of his name that he tried to muffle, pleas for him to go faster, the resounding smack of his palm on flesh that always left you wide eyed when you heard it. And you start to wonder if maybe you’d be into that, the feeling of his large tattooed hand connecting with your ass, gently tapping against your cheek for you to open up for his cock. 

That fantasy is like the first ember needed to start the fire inside of you, spreading uncontrollably until you’re bucking into your vibrator, teeth biting down on your lip to keep any potential moans of his name from slipping out. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, the same fire burning within him. Maybe your minds are linked telepathically, his thoughts gravitating to the same filthy fantasy you had. Jungkook was very much an ass man, knowing very well how good your butt looked in jeans from how often he stared at it, he could only imagine how good it would look as he fucked you from behind. Picturing the way it would bounce back from the force of his thrusts, eyes glued to the way you’d soak his cock, mimicking the tightness of your walls with a firm grip of his palm. 

Jungkook can sense his orgasm approaching, leaves his chest feeling tight as he pants, legs gliding along his sheets for leverage to continue fucking into his hand. You’re not far off either, vibrator set to the highest setting you can practically feel your bones rattling, free hand slipped under your shirt as you pinch at your pebbled nipples. You’re both on the brink of falling over the edge, the same question playing in your mind: where would you want Jungkook to cum?

As his moans get breathier, whiny in a way you’d never imagine them to be, you mentally decide that you’d want him to cum inside of you, wanting to see the way his cute face would twist up in pleasure as he filled you up. Jungkook hopes you would, throwing all responsible thinking aside for that sweet moment of ecstasy and the mental picture is enough to finally push him over. 

“Ah shit, baby,” he cries out in his room—thankfully having half the mind to not cry out your name as he came—eyes rolling back as his cock twitches in his palm, ribbons of cum splashing onto his stomach and chest. The warmth hits his skin, more droplets continuing to leak out as his palm milks his orgasm, stomach hiccuping and back arching from the stimulation. 

The choked moan is what has your own orgasm washing over you, your palm slapping over your mouth so hard you know you’ll feel the ache later but you don’t care. A muffled gasp blends with the buzzing of your toy, thighs tensing up as your body tingles and writhes around on your sheets. 

The only thing you can think of is Jungkook, the charming smile he’d give you when he listened to you rant about anything, his annoying habit of rolling up his sleeves to show off his muscles, the cute scowl on his face whenever you managed to beat him at Mario Kart, and the soft feeling of his alcohol coated lips on yours. It leaves you feeling warm as your orgasm flows through you, lying limp on the bed as you mewl at the sensitivity. 

When you realize your thoughts have strayed from ‘pure sexy Jungkook fantasyland’, and switched over to ‘Jeon Jungkook your adorable neighbor’, your eyes go wide, finger immediately going to turn off the vibrator. In your haste to shut it off, you click the wrong button, changing the pulsing settings and nearly screaming when the device starts to buzz erratically against your overly sensitive clit. 

With a strained gasp you yank it away from yourself, turn it off and throw it aside, horribly miscalculating the size of your bed and watching in horror as it lands on the floor with a loud thud. The complete silence from both sides makes the noise sound deafening, and all you can do is sit on your bed, half naked, and hope Jungkook is still too busy basking in his post orgasm bliss to hear the bang. 

Although the blood is still pumping in his ears, he heard the thud clearly. His heart stops in his chest as he lays there, too scared to breathe in case he’d somehow make too much noise, suddenly afraid of being too loud after he had just made a show of himself. Jungkook slowly sits himself up, grimacing at the stickiness on his stomach before pressing his ear against his headboard to try to hear anything else. 

All you want to do is yank the covers over yourself and go to sleep, pretend your horrendous date and your dirty thoughts about your friend never happened. The sobering mentality that comes after an orgasm settles into you, leaving you staring at the floor with a crease between your brows as you wonder what the hell came over you. 

When Jungkook hears nothing else, he sighs in relief, hauling himself out of bed to grab another pair of underwear before entering his bathroom to clean up. As he stares at his own reflection in the mirror, he frowns at how pathetic he feels. The throbbing headache of his earlier drinks is already starting to kick in, body now sweaty from exertion, stomach covered in his cum. 

“Such a loser,” he grumbles out, grabbing a wad of tissues to wipe away the mess on his skin before walking back out. Here he was, getting off to the thought of you, while you were out having your post-breakup wild phase. 

His hands grab his phone as he reaches his nightstand, flopping back onto the bed and unlocking the device. It’s now one in the morning, and you still hadn’t text him, which either meant you were having the time of your life, or Jungkook had to track down this Jung Hoseok. The slightly protective side of him won’t allow him to sleep until he hears back from you, fingers already typing out a message and hitting send. 

Jungkook 1:23am : you safe or am i gonna have to go all Liam Neeson on this guy?

When your phone vibrates on your nightstand you gasp, grabbing it before it could make any more noise. Seeing Jungkook’s name flash on the screen makes your blood run cold, already imagining what the text could be: calling you dirty for getting off on him, making fun of you, telling you to come ove—no stop that. 

Finally mustering up the courage, you open it up, a small laugh spilling out as you read his message, relief flooding through you as you realize that meant he thought you were still with Hoseok. 

Y/N 1:26am : oh yeah, you gonna show him your very particular set of skills? lol

Y/N 1:26am : i just got home though

Y/N 1:26am : like right now

Y/N 1:26am : still sitting in my living room

Y/N 1:27am : haha

He laughs at your string of texts, something you hear as he settles into bed. Jungkook ebbs away the small feeling of jealousy in his chest, trying to see the silver lining of this. You weren’t rushing to tell him anything about your date which meant it either went so good you wanted to keep it to yourself, or it was subpar and you wouldn’t be seeing this yellow sunglass wearing copycat again. 

Jungkook 1:29am : glad you got home safe, goodnight y/n!

Sending back a goodnight text, you lock your phone and slide deeper into bed, pulling the sheets up to your chin as you stare at the ceiling. You already know the only thing you’ll be dreaming about is your cute neighbor with a bunny smile and body proportions that contradicted it. And as Jungkook lays in bed, wondering if he’ll have to push the crush aside, you’re barely coming to terms with the fact that the small glowing feeling that came with being around him might be something else. 

Every single one of your interactions gets rewinded and played back like a seamless montage, remembering just how many almost moments there was between you. The way his eyes would flash down to your lips whenever you playfully argued on your couch, hands yanking the remotes from his in a game of tug of war that left you way too close in the heat of the moment. How he’d let you braid his hair anytime you found a new youtube tutorial, his starry eyes staring at you with so much adoration it made your stomach flip, brushing it off as love for a friend. 

Then came the jokes from your friends, constantly teasing you about Jungkook, playfully saying they would try to sleep with him just because they liked the scowl on your face, and how quickly you tried to play it off. How the sweet old lady from the convenience store downstairs always assumed you were dating when you came in together, the low jab she sent when you walked in with Hajoon and she said she preferred you with Jungkook. That argument had been one of the ones that left him bolting out of your apartment with a nasty slam of the door, spewing nasty words at you, calling you blind for not seeing it and dumb for acting like you had no idea what he was talking about. 

And for the first time, you come to the sudden realization that Hajoon was right. His deep set insecurities about Jungkook had stemmed from scraps of the truth, not just from him but from you too. The amount of times you’d find a way to slide Jungkook’s name into a conversation about anything, telling him funny stories about him, too lost in thought to see that while you were giggling as you reminisce, he was staring at you in disbelief. 

The final thought that makes you want a blackhole to swallow you up, comes in the form of you, grabbing Jungkook’s face before planting a kiss on his unsuspecting lips at the club. You want to scream into your pillow as you recall it, how he had almost leaned back in to kiss you again before you had sobered him up with your dumb question rooted in revenge. 

“Oh my god, I’m such a bitch.” you whimper. Subjecting Jungkook to be your wingman, jokingly telling him he should be your fake boyfriend more often, asking him for tips with hook ups. If everyone else could see it but you, he probably thought you were purposely friendzoning him. 

The guilt piles on top of you as you start to piece together every moment that flew over your head, only making you bury yourself deeper into your sheets. It makes your heart twist, taking note of how Jungkook was always so quick to put a smile on his face despite how naive you were to it all, wondering if maybe it was too late to try to make something of this now. How many times could you call Jungkook ‘bro’ and treat him like you didn’t see him romantically, before he decided there was no hope for him anymore. 

So as you force yourself to sleep, nerves and uncertainty weighing heavy on your mind, Jungkook snores away as he dreams of the almost moments that could have been.

[quindolyn]

hi can i request the maurauders going to see the reader do a musical like heathers or mean girls and they are just confused and turned on bc they didn't expect it to be this dirty (can lead to smut or not). luv you and hope you are taking care of yourself, if not go get something to eat, drink some water, take a nap, or do somthing you enjoy. or dont not trying to be pushy :)

Creature of the Night || Poly!Marauders

Word Count: 3029 (excluding song lyrics)

A/N: I think I liked how this turned out? I didn’t make it smut but it’s certainly suggestive, I went with Rocky Horror, I know that the musicals mentioned in the request are more modern but I fucking love Rocky Horror and I think it works with the request. When I first read this request I smiled so much because I love live theater, I don’t perform as much as I used to because as I progress with my education I’m focusing more on the stuff I can use to pad my resumes for college and stuff but I still love going to see productions. One of the worst parts of the pandemic for me has been not being able to go see shows, I miss it so much.

Warnings: theatre enthusiast reader, erections, suggestive material, song lyrics, slight teasing, wearing very little clothing in front of an audience, I believe that that is it

Masterlist

500 follower celebration

antici-

The magic of the stage was second to none. Sure, Hogwarts may have had witches and wizards, subjects like Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and ghosts that spent their time meandering about the halls but there was always a part of you that looked forward to the summer between your years at Hogwarts. Because no matter how magical Hogwarts was, the theater always made you feel completely and utterly alive. 

Every summer since the one after your first year at what all of your muggle friends thought to be a very prestigious boarding school up in Scotland, you’d taken part in your local youth theater’s productions. Your parents both being muggles thought that it would be a great way for you to be able to stay in touch with your muggle origins. 

The first year you’d been far too nervous to actually audition for a role, the very thought causing bile to churn in your stomach and threaten to make you sick all over your kitchen floor when your father first pitched the idea. So instead you’d done costumes and it was the most wonderful experience of your life. 

Who needed drugs when you had live theater? The hustle and bustle behind the scenes was electrifying but after two summers of costuming, of quick changes in the wings, learning how to use the ancient sewing machines they stored in the depths of the storage rooms, and pulling pieces for the actors to try on you decided that you wanted to try something more.

The moment you had stepped onto the stage it was like you’d come to life and you cursed yourself for not taking the risk earlier. You belonged on the stage, with the harsh stage lights on you and pounds of makeup plastered onto your face you could feel the magic thrumming through your veins and it was addicting.

If it was possible, you were even more excited to perform this summer, the previous school year you’d finally gotten together with your long time best friends the Marauders, turning them from friends to your boyfriends.

When your mother had sent word of the production being put on this summer you’d squealed while seated next to James and across from Remus, who had Sirius hanging off of his side. After explaining to them, mostly Sirius and James really, just what live theater was their first reaction was to ask if they could come see you perform.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be cast,” You had explained gently, not wanting to get their hopes up in case you weren’t cast this year.

“Bull shit of course you’re going to be the cast,” Sirius had contested through a mouthful of jam and toast, waving his hand theatrically through the air, watching him that day was not the first time you’d considered how the way he acted often reminded you of an over enthusiastic theatre major.

Remus, the only one with any knowledge on muggle theatre had snorted, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist to pull him closer to his body, “She’s not going to be the cast Pads, she’s going to be casted,” He’d corrected gently, pressing a kiss into his long, dark tresses.

“Whatever,” The smaller boy had grumbled, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Which brought you to where you were right now, five minutes to curtain touching up your make up in the mirror of the shared make-up room.

“Hey (L/N),” One of your cast mates called settling into the makeup chair next to you as she plucked a tube of dark red lipstick from the small canary colored makeup bag she had previously abandoned on the counter, “Your boyfriends coming tonight?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, they are,” You responded, applying mascara to your lashes.

“Excited to meet them, that photo you showed us,” She smiled, fanning her face with her hand, “Smoking,” She smiled, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

Rolling your eyes you ignored her comment, “It’s five minutes to curtain, you’re just now doing your make-up?” You chuckled, noticing her black face.

“Oh, shove it,” She laughed as you pushed yourself from your chair, traipsing out of the room, giving her the middle finger on your way out.

“Break a leg!” She called after you as the door latched shut.

You weren’t usually this nervous before a performance but knowing that your three boyfriends were sitting out there somewhere in the audience had you pacing back and forth backstage wondering what they were going to think of the whole production.

“Rocky Horror?” Sirius’ confusion evident in his voice as he plopped down in his seat next to Remus, throwing his arm around the werewolf’s shoulders, drumming his fingers on his clothed shoulder hidden behind his knitted cardigan.

“Yeah,” James collapsed into his chair on the other side of Remus, tucking one leg under his body, “No clue what it’s about but I’m sure our angel will be wonderful. Can you guys see her?” He straightened himself up in his seat, craning his neck in attempts to catch a glimpse of you.

Remus being the only one with any ties to the muggle world knew a bit about the show and had to do his very best to suppress a smirk from overtaking his face as he knew exactly what he and your other two boyfriends were getting themselves into. 

“Just hush up you two, the show’s gonna start any moment,” He scolded, patting his large, scarred hand on James’ thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Rem,” Sirius whined, puckering his lips and closing his eyes, signaling to his boyfriend that he wanted a kiss.

“My needy baby,” He crooned, leaning in to connect his lips with Sirius’ in a quick liplock before pulling back, allowing Sirius to drop his forehead to smear against his shoulder.

“That’s mean,” Sirius murmured discontentedly.

“Poor baby Pads,” James cooed mockingly.

“Both of you,” Remus hissed as the lights in the theatre dimmed, “The show’s about to start, be good for me and be quiet yeah?”

Their response came in their silence as the crowd started settling down and the music from the orchestra pit began a voice coming from somewhere out of sight as it was played through the speakers,

“Michael Rennie was ill

The day the earth stood still

But he told us where we stand”

Not 20 minutes into the show all three of them were as hard as rocks, James had already made Remus check the playbill for the name of the character you were playing, not being able to remember what you’d told them as all of his concentration was focused on a certain place.

Janet Weiss.

Remus couldn’t remember either, but he was almost certain that’s the name he could make out in the dark theatre, printed next to a picture of your smiling face.

When you’d stripped down to your underwear the boys could barely focus on the plot line of the show, only being able to watch the way your bare skin shone under the harsh light of the spotlights. Watching as sweat glistened on your skin, making you shine as you moved about the stage. 

Enchanted by the melodic cadence of your voice they all felt a certain jealousy burning deep in the pits on their stomachs at the thought that there were dozens of other people packed into that theater, all observing you in your vulnerable state of under dress. Only they got to see you like that.

Sirius missed much of the first act glaring at members of the audience who he deemed as looking at you for too long for his liking, but if you were being honest a 4th year smiling at you in the hallway was sometimes too long for his liking.

It wasn’t like any of them had never seen you naked before, in fact they’d all seen you naked more than their fair share of times but something about you on that stage in a white bra with a matching slip was driving them all crazy.

Especially Remus, whose ultimate weakness was seeing you in anything white which was one of the reasons you’d been so excited to invite them in the first place, knowing that they would be horny messes the entire time.

On stage you did your very best not to look out into the audience looking for them, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to stop a ginormous grin from forming on your face and you couldn’t afford to break character. Not if you wanted the night to go your way.

As the opening notes to “Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me”, rose from the orchestra pit you had trouble stopping a small smirk from pulling at your lips as you opened them, inhaling deeply before singing the first words of the song,

“I was feeling done in, couldn't win

I'd only ever kissed before”

Despite yourself you caught a glimpse of long dark hair in the audience, quickly taking a glance at Sirius’ face, eyes glazed over in lust, legs shifting uncomfortably with his mouth hanging wide open. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed another raven-haired boy’s mouth dropping as you shrugged off of your robe

“I thought there’s no use getting, into heavy petting

It only leads to trouble and, seat wetting

Now all I want to know, is how to go

I've tasted blood and I want more”

It was impossible to miss the way Remus’ jaw clenched as you laid your palm against Rocky’s chest, he was being played by your good friends who’d been working with the same theatre company as you since forever, he was like a brother to you. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t lay it on extra thick tonight with your boyfriends in the audience.

Tracing a dainty finger down Rocky’s chest you pushed your body against his singing out the next lyrics of the song,

“I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance”

You turned you and your cast mate so that looking over his shoulder you were able to meet Remus’ eye, sending him a quick wink before focusing back in on Rocky.

“Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me

I wanna be dirty

Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me

Creature of the night”

Pressing your back up against Rocky’s chest you guided his hands with yours to your breasts, squeezing them as you followed the choreography you knew by heart.

You ripped your slip from your body with the help of Rocky leaving you in only your white bra, matching panties and a pair of small heels as you paraded around stage, belting the suggestive lyrics into the theater.

“Then if anything grows, while you pose

I'll oil you up and rub you down (down, down, down)

And that’s just one small fraction, of the main attraction

You need a friendly hand, oh i need action”

You smirked, thinking about all of the action you’d be on the receiving end of later that night as you sunk to your knees in front of Rocky, your hands grasping his thighs. Deciding to tease them perhaps a little more than necessary as you went through the number, curling your leg around his and pressing your bodies together so that there was no space between your two questionably clothed bodies.

As the number was brought to a close it was impossible for you to ignore the excitement bubbling up inside of you as you continued your way through the show you kept throwing glances at your boyfriends, always finding their eyes already trained on you. More often than not, on some body part other than your face.

If your boyfriends thought that they had a bit of a problem before that song they were in a terrible predicament now.

Remus caught Sirius on multiple occasions trying to move the hand that he was holding to grope at his crotch as he tried to buck up into his boyfriend’s hand. And much to his own dismay, Remus would pull his hand away, thinking it probably wasn’t the best idea to give his boyfriend a hand job in a crowded theater. Knowing that he wouldn’t have to worry about James touching himself because he would never dream of disobeying him, Remus divided his attention between you on the stage and keeping Sirius in check.

Each of the boys were counting down the seconds until the show came to an end and they could get out of there and relieve some of their tension.  As the curtains were pulled closed they all breathed a sigh of relief before they reopened, leaving all three of them bewildered and slightly annoyed, even more so when they noticed everyone around them standing as they applauded the actors.

Remus forced both of them up when you rushed to the front of the stage, curtsying as the crowd went wild, your boyfriends most notably. As you took your bow you blew a kiss to your boyfriends taking note of the uncomfortable way they all stood, trying to adjust their erections to make them less noticeable while simultaneously applauding you.

As you cleared the stage after curtain call you took your time, doddling towards the dressing rooms where you had left the clothes you’d arrived at the theater in along with a special outfit you’d brought for after the show. Usually you were one of the first actors to clear the theater after a show but tonight you took your time. Hanging up your costume with more care than anyone really should treat any garment with and certainly more than what it needed. 

You smirked mischievously as you pulled the you’d brought outfit from your bag and shimmied it up your legs before slipping the delicate straps up your shoulders. You glimpsed yourself in the mirror, the red satin of the dress clinging to your curves in an attractive manner, short enough to display miles of legs and low cut enough to show off a decent amount of cleavage and perhaps a sighting of the matching red bra you were wearing beneath it.

Slinging the back of your black heels over the heel of your feet you snatched your purse from the armchair in your dressing room before striding out to go meet your boyfriends in the lobby, where you’d told them to wait for you.

Their heads all turned as they heard the clacking of your heels against the tile of the floor, “Boys,” You greeted as they unabashedly took in your new appearance.

As he most often was, Remus was the first one to collect himself, “Puppy, you were wonderful,” He praised, walking to meet you as you approached him, leaning down to smear a kiss against your cheek, “You did amazing up there, so proud of you,” He threw his arm around your waist as you walked towards Sirius and James.

“We got something for you,” He explained, his grip on your waist tightening, “Jamie give it to her, yeah?” 

“Oh yeah,” The smaller boy grinned, remembering the bouquet he held cradled in his arms as he handed it over to you, “Here you go angel.”

“Thank you Jamie,” You said as you took it from him, closing your eyes as you buried your nose in the sweet smelling flora. As you opened your eyes you made eye contact with Sirius, who stood across from you, practically drooling as he took in your appearance without any shame, “They smell wonderful.”

“You okay Si?” You asked, looking up through your eyelashes, batting them innocently.

“Like you don’t know exactly what you did up there to us (Y/N/N),” Remus whispered in your ear, pressing his nose into your temple.

“You guys are the ones who wanted to come,” You lilted, rubbing one of the velvety petals between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.

“Could’ve warned us,” James mumbled, his eyes not leaving your thighs as he licked his lips, if it were anyone else you would’ve been uncomfortable but you couldn’t help but feel flattered whenever any of them ogled you. 

“And what’s with the dress Pup?” Sirius nodded his head appreciatively towards your dress, obviously admiring the way it hung on your body.

“What, you don’t like it?” You asked with fake hurt in your voice, knowing that he more than liked it, he fucking loved it. 

“S’not that,” Remus mumbled, nosing at your jugular, “Just that whole show, got us a little bit worked up. We didn’t expect it to be so sexual Puppy,” He nodded towards James and that’s when you noticed the erection he was still sporting. 

“Got us really worked up, can we go home now?” James asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to distract himself from his little problem.

“Jamie,” You whined, smiling wickedly, “I wanted to celebrate, I was thinking we could go eat somewhere, I was thinking maybe Thai food?”

You watched as Sirius ground his teeth, conflicted between needing to get home and not wanting to deny you from what you wanted. 

“Having fun teasing us Bunny?” Remus asked you with a sly smirk, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“M’not teasing,” You insisted, turning indignantly to your other boyfriend.

“Sure you aren’t,” He chuckled, “Thai sounds great (Y/N), wanna talk with you about the show,” The idea of teasing Sirius and James even longer was very appealing to Remus and he was ready to make the sacrifice of being teased himself, knowing that he’d be able to get back at you later that night.

“But-” James began.

“You wanna argue with me Jamie?” Remus challenged, raising a singular eyebrow.

“No,” He moped, “Of course not.”

“Good,” Remus said, nodding his head approvingly, “We wouldn’t wanna deny our Princess would we?”

James shook his head, eyes pleading, desperately seeking Remus’ approval.

“Pads?” Remus challenged, turning his attention to the other raven haired man.

“What? Oh um, of course not,” He agreed distractedly, dragging his eyes from your form to meet Remus’, his reluctance evident in his voice.

“Good,” Remus said pointedly, his eyes cold, daring Sirius to question him. When he didn’t the werewolf continued, “Let’s get going then, there’s a nice little restaurant a couple blocks away yeah?”

As you all hummed your consent you made your way to the exit, “Ten galleons if you can make James cum in his pants at dinner,” Remus whispered in your ear quietly enough so that  James and Sirius trailing behind you wouldn’t be able to hear you, you could hear the smirk in his voice as you exited the theatre.

“Deal.” This was going to be fun, you considered that you might have to invite them to come see the show again.

-pation

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

[theneighborhoodwatch]

Ok actually I initially just thought of this as a funny observation on the new wally halloween art but like. Hey wally's mouth viewed straight on looks like an eye. is there enough grounds for the theory that it is /actually/ an eye? He eats things with his mouth closed, what if that mouth is not meant for eating..

i am a little bit obsessed with the mental image of this. i’m gonna say i don’t think it actually is an eye because we’ve seen similarly drawn mouths on other characters before (sally’s character art on the neighborhood map comes to mind.) if anything, i think it’s the inverse - wally’s eyes are also functionally mouths. though i think it’s fun to note that if either of those turn out to be true, wally wouldn’t be the first character to have some weird physiology going on - frank has multiple pieces of concept art in which he is built like a cartoon owl, for example. (though frank’s physiology probably does not correlate with any reality warping abilities.)

EDIT: oooh, hey - i don’t remember if clown’s actually posted about this anywhere on social media, but i do remember some stuff he said on a stream implying the neighbors’ relationship with food and eating is Very different from ours. stuff like how food “doesn’t go bad the way we expect it to”/”time does not rot food,” among other things. i think there was something about how the neighbors don’t eat??? i’ve never seen that last bit anywhere else, though, so take that with a big big BIG grain of salt. i can’t remember the specifics of the discussion bc the streams are not recorded and this was back in like february but like i Do remember it being discussed bc i jotted down a bunch of related stuff that was brought up in relation to it. just thought that was interesting.

also, this is a tangent, but this ask reminded me of a dream i had once - i keep a dream journal, and a couple months back there was a point where every dream i wrote down turned out to be welcome home-related - but i’ll put that under a read more.

it was about welcome home as like an rpgmaker game. the only sequence from it i remember is like. playing as wally and exploring the woods and then finding a staircase leading underground. so i enter bc what else are you gonna do right?

and the room it leads to is like. this library? archive? place. it has an upper floor i never got to see bc i just kept exploring the lil papers and books that were scattered across the floor. the whole place was lit by this Very yellow overhead light and the notes i found were like, editing notes basically. like “dub over this line, sounded weird/the character would never say that,” “edit this shot bc theres a hand in view” etc etc. at some point i remember wally picking up one of the notes and writing in it to put in a good word for poppy over. Something? something about not using a name/phrase that he knew she didn’t like. i remember thinking it was sweet. But Then,

i - we? - find this huge ass ladder that i assume leads up to the second floor so i have wally scale it and this cutscene plays:

very grainy filter, very fluid animation. wally’s climbing up the ladder and he finds like increasingly weird/fucked up shit along the way. at some point i remember seeing what i think was an un-stuffed sally puppet? with no eyes. anyways wally reaches the top of the ladder and finds a crown on a nearby shelf. he puts the crown on. he turns around and perches himself on the ladder and goes limp. then the screen gets Super static-y and everything goes black and white and - this sounds like some 2000s creepypasta shit but wally’s eyes and mouth are like completely blacked out for this sequence. there’s an open book on a shelf nearby and a. glowing figure? slowly emerges from it. 

this figure turns out to look like wally except like. i dont know how else to say this. its eyes are tongues? and it’s all white. and it looks at wally. climbs down the ladder. looks at the loose sally-skin and says something in this very high sing song-y voice. it sounds like that fucked up doll reciting the “now i lay me down to sleep” prayer kinda. but for the life if me i cannot make out what it says. and that’s all i remember

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 10

A/N: y’all ever think about that one empires episode of pearl’s where she helps sausage fight off a raid and that turns into a pvp battle between them, and she absolutely destroys him? yeah me too. also check out this awesome art by @amostfoolishgold​! anyway back to jimmy pov!

Warnings: injury, unconsciousness, fevers, talk of death, violence, corruption/infection, self-blame

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

-

The sun was nearing the horizon, casting the Overgrown in a golden glow. The castle was beginning to take shape, but they had unfortunately run low on materials, and Joel and Lizzie weren’t back from their gathering trip yet. So for the moment, they all just sat in the half-constructed shell of a castle, having light conversation as they waited for Joel and Lizzie to arrive. But soon enough, the conversation dwindled into an awkward silence. That is, until Gem stood up with a determined look in her eyes and a gentle smile.

“Why don’t we head to my empire for dinner? We’ve been working hard all day and could use a break!” she said brightly. Jimmy wasn’t sure how he felt about Gem quite yet, after everything that had happened- but she and Pearl had been a huge help. Meanwhile Shelby looked intrigued by the offer, and while Katherine first nervously glanced to the horizon, she looked back to Gem with a smile.

“That is very kind of you, Gem. I’d love to- we should probably just leave a note for Joel and Lizzie to let them know where we’ve gone,” Katherine said, standing up as well. Gem looked to Jimmy semi-nervously- and well, Jimmy was always a bit of a softie, wasn’t he? He smiled at Gem and stood up too.

“That does sound nice, thank you for inviting us,” Jimmy said. Gem beamed, and Pearl looked relieved as she stood up next to Gem.

“Well, you definitely won’t see me complaining about free food!” Shelby chimed in, hopping up to her feet. That caused the group to break into laughter, and the air between them felt comfortable again.

Once Katherine had written the note and put it where Lizzie and Joel could easily find it, the five of them (minus Pearl, who had wings) equipped their elytra and flew off to the Crystal Cliffs. When they first arrived there, everything seemed normal. The grand cliffs themselves, the buildings nestled in and around them, the towers- it was a beautiful and mystical place. But there was something blue, white, and gold that stood out in a heap on the ground near one of the buildings- a very familiar something blue, white and gold.

“Oh my god-” Gem started, landing on the ground beside the figure.

“Is that-” Pearl said, unable to finish the thought as she landed just behind Gem.

“Scott?” Jimmy finished, voice shaking as he came in for a bit of an unsteady landing a few feet away from where Scott laid on the ground, breathing shallow and upon a closer look, something red pulsing and spreading beneath his skin like some sort of vine. Jimmy barely registered Katherine and Shelby landing on either side of him, too focused on what was before him.

“This- this red stuff reminds me of the redstone spikes in Fwhip’s empire- or maybe something from the nether?” Gem pondered as she knelt beside Scott, a purple glow coming over her hand as she reached out towards the infection in his arm.

“I’ve seen that before,” Shelby said, voice sounding distant and laced with horror. Everyone turned to look at her, surprised to hear such a terrified tone of voice from the usually enthusiastic gnome.

“The infection?” Pearl asked.

“The corruption. I’ve seen it happen to my people back home, until it consumed them until there was nothing left- it’s why I came here, to try and find a cure or some way to stop it. But nothing worked,” Shelby explained shakily, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. Jimmy felt like he was going to cry too- and some awful part of himself thought that he should be glad that this happened to Scott, that it served him right after betraying Jimmy and breaking his heart- but he couldn’t. Despite everything Scott had done, despite never wanting to see Scott again- none of that meant that Jimmy didn’t want a world where the winged elf wasn’t in it. And what about what Pearl had said? Scott didn’t seem happy with Fwhip either, but now Jimmy would never know the truth. Not if it died with Scott.

Jimmy was so wrapped up in his conflicted mess of emotions that he didn’t even notice that someone else had flown in until Katherine let out a sharp gasp. He tore his gaze away from Scott to see what had caused that reaction from Katherine- and saw Fwhip. A mix of anger and terror boiled in his veins and swirled in his stomach at the sight of him. Fwhip looked baffled to see so many people in Gem’s empire, and plastered on a forced friendly smile. Jimmy’s hand found Katherine’s, and she squeezed it back tightly with no intention of letting go.

“Gem! Hi, so I wanted to smooth things over- I think we left things on a bad note-”

“What did you do to Scott,” Gem demanded, cutting off Fwhip as she stood up from beside Scott. Purple sparks danced in the air around her, and Jimmy swallowed nervously- he didn’t think he had ever seen Gem seem so intimidating before. Jimmy was relieved to see that Fwhip looked nervous too.

“Well, I haven’t seen Scott since our meeting, he seemed upset when he left- weird that he ended up here- y’know I was actually gonna go and talk to him after you-”

“If by talk, you mean do whatever you did to Scott to us?!” Pearl demanded, hand on the hilt of her sword as she took a step forward to stand beside Gem.

“I didn’t-”

“I’ve had enough of your lies, Fwhip. What. Did. You. Do,” Gem said evenly. Fwhip swallowed nervously, before sighing and finally giving in.

“Okay, so I may have set a few traps in his empire and got Sausage to help me with letting a raid infiltrate his village and the surrounding lands- but I figured Scott could handle a few traps and some mobs, it was only meant to be a warning, I never meant to kill him! He must have really gotten soft if he couldn’t deal with it,” Fwhip rambled. Gem and Pearl seemed semi-satisfied with his answer, but Pearl kept her hand on her sword and purple sparks still danced around Gem. But there was something that Fwhip said that bothered Jimmy, and along with what Pearl had said… guilt was beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“What do you mean by that?” Jimmy asked tentatively. Fwhip let out a harsh laugh, turning to Jimmy incredulously.

“The idiot actually fell for you. He was just supposed to be a distraction, a contingency plan to make sure you wouldn’t be trouble. But he got in too deep, and look where that got him,” Fwhip scoffed, looking down at Scott’s deathly still form in disdain. Guilt was crashing on Jimmy in waves now. He had pushed Scott away. Scott had actually cared about him and he pushed him away. And then he had no one to go to for help when Fwhip decided to send a “warning” and got hurt as a result.

“You’re lucky I’m a pacifist,” Katherine spat, more angry than Jimmy had ever heard her. He wished he could have shared her anger, shouted at Fwhip too- but Jimmy just felt numb.

“Well unluckily for Fwhip, I don’t have that problem,” Pearl fumed, drawing her sword. Fwhip started to scramble back as Pearl leapt at him. His backwards stumble turned into a run, and Pearl kept pace with him just fine, using her wings if necessary and brandishing her sword to chase him away.

“Pearl can handle him- can you three help me get Scott to the apothecary? I’d do it by myself, but he’s tall and there’s the bulk of his wings to worry about too,” Gem asked, looking down at Scott worriedly.

“Erm- right, of course,” Jimmy said, letting go of Katherine’s hand to join Gem at Scott’s side.

“Hold on- go to the other side and help me turn him over,” Gem said. Jimmy did as she asked, and being mindful of his wings, the two of them gently rolled Scott over so he was on his back. Scott was feverish to the touch, and even unconscious his expression was contorted with pain.

“He’s hot,” Jimmy said, distant horror in his tone.

“Now isn’t the time for that, Jimmy,” Gem teased, trying to lessen the tension in the air. Jimmy’s face scrunched up in irritation as he half-heartedly glared at her.

“He has a fever, Gem,” Jimmy huffed. Gem laughed nervously.

“I know, I know, just trying to make this less terrible than it is,” Gem sighed. Jimmy gave her a weak smile, and together the two of them gently lifted Scott up. Jimmy ended up mostly holding Scott, while Gem supported his wings. Scott’s head lolled against his shoulder, labored breaths fanning his neck. Jimmy should have felt embarrassed or flustered, cradling Scott like this- but he was too concerned with how limp and unresponsive Scott felt in his arms.

“I’ll get the doors for you!” Shelby offered, quickly making her way over to the apothecary door. Katherine hovered around Jimmy and Gem semi-anxiously, making sure that they had a good hold on Scott as they made their way over to the apothecary. But all went well, and they were able to safely transport Scott into one of the apothecary beds. He had begun to shiver and tremble every so often now, and Jimmy could have sworn the corruption had spread, reaching his fingertips.

“There’s gotta be a way to stop that, or at least slow it down,” Gem murmured in thought, pulling up a chair to sit at Scott’s side. She reached out to the cut where the corruption on Scott’s arm stemmed from, hand glowing purple again. She closed her hand over it, and her eyes began to glow the same purple as her hand. But then the glow flickered, turning red for a moment before it dissipated entirely and Gem drew her hand back with a yelp, stumbling backwards out of her seat beside Scott’s bed. Jimmy scrambled over to help her up, eyes darting nervously between her and Scott.

“Is everything alright? I chased Fwhip off, but I swear if he’s done something in here…” Pearl trailed off as she walked into the apothecary, eyes zeroing on Gem as she rubbed at her temples.

“I’m fine. The corruption- it fought back. It’s… alive, somehow,” Gem said with morbid curiosity in her tone.

“It’s a type of fungus. That’s as much as my people could figure out before I came here to try and find a cure. The red stuff is everywhere in my old home- even if you tried to get rid of it, it would just come back. And in the cases where it latched onto a person… there was no getting it out,” Shelby explained, sounding like she was going to cry. Gem hummed thoughtfully.

“Did you try any sort of magic with it?” she asked.

“No, my people were not magic-users- in fact I’d hardly seen magic before I came here, where the air seems charged with the stuff,” Shelby replied, gesturing around her. A determined expression came over Gem’s face.

“Then I’m not gonna stop trying. I don’t know if I can fully fight off the corruption, but I definitely think I can slow its spread. In the meantime, we’re gonna need to get Scott’s fever down- at this rate, that’ll kill him before the corruption will,” Gem said, resting the back of her hand on Scott’s forehead and frowning.

“He’s probably a little beat-up too- Fwhip did say he trapped his empire,” Katherine added. Gem nodded in agreement.

“We’ll need cool water and cloth to make a compress for his forehead- and I should have some healing potions around here- it couldn’t hurt to brew some more though too, just in case,” Gem rambled, starting to stand up before Pearl put up a hand.

“You two stay here with Scott, I know where you keep things around here. Katherine, Shelby and I can worry about getting things for you,” she soothed. Jimmy tilted his head in confusion.

“Wait, I can help get things too…” Jimmy trailed off uncertainly.

“You can help if you want. I just figured you’d wanna stick by Scott,” Pearl shrugged with a gentle smile. Jimmy flushed slightly as he looked down at the floor, away from Pearl’s knowing stare.

“I… yeah. I’ll stick by Scott,” he said softly, gaze shifting to look at the winged elf who always managed to make his emotions into a muddled mess. Scott was an enemy, a friend, a- a something, then an enemy again- but whatever Scott was to Jimmy now, he knew one thing: he wasn’t letting Scott out of his sight again. Doing so the last time caused this to happen. He had to be there if- no, when Scott woke up. He had to apologize for pushing him away, and hope that maybe Scott still cared about him after everything that had happened to accept it.

-

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