#he might be dead but at least he died early and now only has his eyebags to blame for ruining his eternal youth!

[someiicecube]

Anyway, my funniest headcanon has got to be: Mhin is older than Leander.

A hc made even funnier by the fact they're a healer-slash-doctor of sorts (used to be, at least; idk if medical school let them keep their license after doing freelance Soulless hunting).

And no, this isn't feeding into the "Mhin was there in Lovent a century ago" theory either. I just think they're old :3

[phasecornnuts]

Hiiiiiiii! If you’re still open for requests maybe you might wanna write something where the reader casually mentioned that they/she had a partner on earth before they died and Alastor takes it a bit too drastically and has just been very salty and asking too many questions 😭 if you like that

Please & thanks ❤️

Hey guys I've returned! Sorry for taking a little while, I was busy with finals/I wanted to relax on my spring break so I didn't have a lot of time. I lowkey kind of cooked with this one too so enjoy :3

Also, I sorta made the reader be from around the same time period as Alastor (sorta late 1910s early 1930s) for extra spice

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It had become a daily routine for you and Alastor to have afternoon tea together in cannibal town. Always, between the hours and four and six o’ clock after Alastor had finished his broadcast and you, your hotel duties, the both of you would walk down to Rosie’s Emporium to nibble on finger sandwiches, candied eyeballs, and other treats. 

The sun was still high in the sky, sending fingers of light through the windows of the cafe; the building was alive with the chatter of demons and hell-born alike. You and Alastor had just sat down, a short cannibal girl with a heart-shaped face and glowing brown ringlets placing your usuals on the table. Oh how beautiful they were! Too pretty to eat, garnished with tiny sprigs of mint (or, at least, it may have been mint) and resting on plates of delicate porcelain. With polished silver beside them, and matching teacups and saucers too, it all looked like a party for a girl’s favorite doll.

That is, if it weren’t human meat. 

Looking up from your plate, you saw Alastor turn his head to follow the cannibal girl making you frown. His gaze returned to you before he caught you staring, a chipper grin on his face as always.

“She could be a dead ringer for Mary Pickford, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows perked. You hadn’t looked long at the girl admittedly, though you stared long enough to know that she was no Pickford. You pursed your lips,

“I don’t see it, Lillian Gish maybe.”

He looked at you like a mad-woman, “You don’t!?”

“No! Her eyes are much too large!”

Alastor chuffed, proceeding to rest his chin on his dark hand, “In the eye of the beholder I suppose.” 

You rolled your eyes, “You only say that because of her curls,” you stated while picking up the teapot and pouring yourself and Alastor your cups, “Now, drink before it gets cold.”

For much of your lunch neither of you spoke, merely enjoying each other’s presence while pecking on some food here and there. Throughout the meal the waitress brought more plates, pancreas tarts, minced tongues coated with cinnamon sugar, and sweet pies filled with rotted venison and cooked kidneys, all Rosie’s treat. Alastor had been taken by the small pies in their mulled deliciousness, the meat so tender you saw his eyes water. He pleaded you to try one, though you couldn’t, your stomach filled to the brim from the other treats and delicacies. 

Alastor picked up the small pair of silver tongs from beside him and placed two sugar cubes in his tea, “I do say, it’s nice to have a meal companion again.” He took a sip from his teacup and grinned. 

You nodded in agreement, lifting the milk jug from the table and pouring a generous amount into your cup. “Likewise. Good dinner conversation is a horrid thing to lose.”

“Truly.” He took another drink. “Before you, I hadn’t had a proper luncheon since my mother.”

“From what you tell she sounded like a fine woman.” His grin lost its eeriness, becoming fond instead. 

“She truly was, and such a fine cook too.” Alastor gazed at the fine pattern painted on the rim of his saucer, “her jambalaya was the best, our side of the Mississippi” he chuckled. He began to remember then, “And her gumbo and her crawfish etouffee and her pecan pralines”

It was odd to hear his voice so full of affection, but nice too. So strange, to think a man who broadcasted his murders of other overlords and feasted on their flesh was once a little boy who clung to his mothers skirt and happily ate her cooking. 

“Maybe one day you’ll cook for me then?” you teased

“Oh why wouldn’t I for my favoritest of sinners?” He took your hand.

You leaned in towards him, a silent flirtation. “Or perhaps I could prepare something for you?”

He looked at you from his dark, hooded eyes, a certain intrigue radiating from them. “Would you now?” he said, leaning in closer. 

“Oh I would, anything you’d like.” the tip of your oxford lingering at his ankle. “My food was good enough for my darling back on earth, why would an overlord of hell have any complaints? Other than not enough seasoning I suppose.” 

That was when the laughter in his eyes died. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek before finding the words to speak, “Your darling?”

 “Pardon?”

“You had someone,” He straightened up, pulling himself away from you, “back on earth?”

“I hardly see how it matters now.” 

Alastor’s tone grew curt, had such a simple word bruised his ego? 

He crossed his arms, “What were they like?” each word as sharp as his teeth.

You pulled your hands close to you, confused at his curtness, “They were….they were nice. Cordial, spirited, vivacious, however you would put it. If you’re-” Alastor cut you off. 

“How did you meet them?”

“On the trolley.” That only served to make him scoff.

“Tch, how common. The trolley.”

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to deny the anger towards him that began to knot in your belly. “It was a different lifetime.” You asserted, a hard finality to it. Pushing yourself from the small table you smoothed your skirt and adjusted the ribbon that was tied so nicely in your hair. 

Without looking at him you said, “Tell Rosie I’m grateful for her hospitality and I will try to find a way to repay her. Also that I’m sorry that I had to retire without saying hello but I feel rather…faint.” Before leaving completely you said, “See you back at the hotel.”

The rest of the day you hid in your room, sulking and pacing. Charlie had tried to coax you out, seeing how angry you’d been when you came back, but you denied every effort she had. 

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in there,” the Princess pleaded.

“I like my alone time.”

 “But- but I had games planned! Husk was going to show us how to play Blackjack and Dominoes!”

“I prefer bridge, and he’ll just cheat us anyways.”

She gave a disappointed sigh, and outside the door you could hear Vaggie talking to her, telling Charlie to give you your space. 

For three nights straight you avoided Alastor, finishing up your hotel duties quickly before hiding in your room. You grew bored after the first day admittedly, a person could only sleep and bathe and read so much. The fourth night is when he knocked on your door while you lied draped on your couch, your nose in a book you’d already finished before. Thinking it was Charlie, you ignored it, sure she’d get the message. It insisted however, rapping harder the second time. You sighed, annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Alastor, may I come in?”

A sour taste came in your mouth, “No.”

“You cannot lock yourself away from me forever.” 

You lifted yourself off the couch, full of bitterness, “I can and I will!”

An electric hum filled your ears, the sound of Alastor weighing his words, “Could you at least entertain my attempt?”

Walking to the door and opening it slightly you saw his face, those deep, hooded eyes dark as blood, cracked lips, and hollow cheekbones. All of those beautiful, haunting features draped in remorse. You sighed, cursing the affection you had for him. 

“Fine, but I’m still cross with you.” That made him smile, if only a tad. 

Opening the door fully, you saw he’d brought one of the dining carts from the unused kitchen clad in a clean white sheet. Alastor pushed it to the center of the room before spiritedly ripping the cover from the cart, presenting polished silver dishes of raw meat and organs. From the bottom shelf of it, he had pulled a fine bottle of wine and two shining glasses.

“I helped myself to a bottle of Husk’s finest, the patrons here don’t have as refined tastes as you and I.” He gave a small grin. So this is what he brought with him, a peace offering. Your stomach was empty from only eating a small meal earlier in the day, so perhaps it was not in vain, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him. 

“I’ll help you set the table,” you offered, feeling guilty he put so much effort into pleasing you. 

Alastor held his hands up, “No need darling.” He put his hand on his throat, “What I said the other day was very…” he coughed into his hand, “ungentlemanly of me, and I wanted to make it up to you.” 

You folded your hands and held them to your chest, looking at the embarrassment he tried to hide. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and raised your gaze to his. “Thank you, Alastor.” His grin widened as he sat down beside you. 

He uncorked the bottle of wine, beginning to pour it into the glasses, “Of course.” He handed you the glass which you took gladly. The vintage was so dark it looked black, reflecting the lights that glowed from the ceiling. Swishing it, you could see the hidden shades of red that the wine hid.

“Demon’s blood, Husk calls it.” Alastor told you before he took a long sip. 

“Fitting. Do you know how long he’s aged it?” Alastor shrugged, taking another swallow. 

“I didn’t care to ask, but it tastes so good going down. Come, drink, I didn’t bring this up so I could get drunk by myself.” That made you giggle, how much he valued the both of you eating and drinking together. 

Taking his lead, you titled your head back, savoring the warm burn of the wine going down. Its hot fingers lingered in your chest before fading, like drinking cold medicine. In three large gulps you finished your glass, noticing the way Alastor’s eyes watched your throat as you drank. After finishing your second glass you began to dig into the food he’d brought, pancreas tarts, cooked kidneys and…oh good god! On the largest plate was a raw heart, fresh and bloody. 

“Where did you get this? You shouldn’t have!” Your eyes went wide and your mouth began to salivate. A raw heart! Oh and it was human too! Such a fine delicacy must have taken so much begging from Alastor!

“Rosie owed me a favor. And I owe it to you, for making such a jackass of myself.” 

You took another sip of your wine, feeling your face begin to flush. You helped yourself to a tart while Alastor poured himself another glass. As you ate you felt his eyes on you again, focusing on the way your teeth bit into the pastry, your swan’s neck showing your swallow, and how your tongue dragged across your lips. Feeling bold, you placed your feet in his lap and wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger, licking the tip of it with your tongue. He swallowed, hard, his eyes growing wide. 

“Are you looking at something?” Your voice a heavy seduction.

“Possibly.” He drank again. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he placed his glass on the floor. The tips of his fingers grazed your legs, “Though I do have another question for you, if I may.”

A sultry smirk grew on your face, “That depends on what it is, Al.” God, you could see the glint in his eyes then.

Alastor looked up at you from his hooded eyes, “I’ve been wondering…about your “darling.” You arched an eyebrow; your interest piqued. “Did they ever have…you?” His breath shuddered. 

“Have me, how?” You teased.

“Oh humor me my dear,” He purred

You smirked and shifted your legs in his lap. “Hmm, maybe once or twice…” You sit up from your recline and crawl onto his lap.

“What sorts of things did they do to you?” 

Running your fingers down his chest you savored the way he squirmed and shifted, “All sorts of unholy things” 

Alastor choked on his breath, his eyes transfixed on your face. Slowly, he caught it, regaining a certain boldness afterwards. His hand found the top of your stocking, fingering the nylon taut to your thighs. “Getting rather comfortable aren’t we my dear?”

The smirk you had deepened and you pulled in closer, feeling the heat of his breath tickle your cheeks. You looked into his eyes, “I could get much more comfortable if you like, Al.” For what seemed like ages you lingered, until you felt you had tortured the man enough. Slowly, you leaned in, seemingly ready to kiss his shiny red lips. Grinning, you pulled a piece of dry skin from his bottom lip between your teeth, peeling it to show the bleeding flesh beneath. 

You sat back on his lap and spat out the skin. Looking at him, you saw that hunger in his eyes again. That fine line of decorum the two of you had with one another, ignoring the lingering gazes and longing touches, all thrown away with one bite. Underneath, you could feel his arousal beginning to grow hard. You rolled your hips slightly into him, earning a throaty groan from Alastor. From the silver dining cart you pulled the piece de resistance, that raw bleeding heart, and sunk your teeth into it, tasting the sweet flavor of iron. Trails of blood dripped from your mouth onto your decolletage, slowly turning brown and flaky.

Alastor’s breath heaved, growing even harder from that sultry cannibalistic display. He pulled you towards him and pressed your mouth to his, saccharine saliva mixing with sanguine. His tongue slid and twisted about yours, savoring every inch of its taste. You pulled away from him to catch your breath, making him whine. Leaning in again, he dragged his tongue along your neck, cleaning up the drying strings of blood. 

Both of you straightened up then, him holding you proper now. One hand ran its fingers through his shiny red hair and the other cupped his aching sex, so taut against his trousers. 

“Is that what you were so upset about Al? If they fucked me or not?” You purred into his ear.

The tips of your fingers fluttered over his hip, tracing its edge before returning to his cock. “I bet you wondered if I did this to them, didn’t you?” A small nip was placed on his neck, leaving a red half-moon. Your breath grew hot against his cheek as you whispered into his ear again, 

“Maybe I did, and maybe I did so many more dirty things to them.” 

Alastor enraptured your mouth in another needy kiss. His words heavy with radio static, “What sort of things my dear? Or are you all talk?” Your grin widened seeing the shock in his eyes when you began to unbutton his overcoat.

“Let me show you.”

Four little words was all it took to send him over the edge. Picking you up, his hands traced over all the parts of your succulent body. When he flopped you on the bed, hair as tousled as a pin-up, you reached out a stockinged leg to him, that devious look on your face growing. Oh how badly he wanted to have you, hastily unzipping your dress as you stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers. Deft fingers hooked around the tops of your stockings, pulling them down as fast as they could. You dropped his trousers and took off his shirt, admiring all of that soft, gray skin.

You pressed your mouth to the flesh of his stomach, blessing it with small love-bites that made him shudder. All along his torso you left red patches and traced your cool fingertips along the hard edges where his ribs poked out. You tilted your head up and moved his hands to the straps of your brasserie, exposing all of your hot, yearning flesh. He cupped a breast and lied on top of you. Grinding his sex to yours he moaned into your mouth. It had been so…so long since you’d been wanted, since someone pressed their body to yours and you felt all of their heat as they slid into you, over and over again. 

“Al,” You breathed

“What is it?”

“Get on your back.” 

And so he did. 

Alastor’s back against the mattress and your palms against his chest, you let him enter you. He let out a string of curses when you did, and even more when you started moving in those easy rolling motions. Those large hands of his held the curve of your waist as you rode him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce. 

“The first time I saw you…” You began, going a little faster, “I wanted you,” You heard a small thud as he dropped his head against the pillows.

“I thought about you kissing me and touching me all over” That’s when the pulses of pleasure started to build up, prickling you in sweet needles that went all the way up your spine.

“And about you sticking your fingers in me and..and your tongue too” You felt your face heat up and your sex grow slicker, admitting those indecent thoughts you only entertained during late nights when your fingers wandered. Alastor gripped your waist tighter, making your rhythm harsher. You looked down on him, his eyes glazed over with euphoria, and felt your mouth pool with saliva.

Digging your nails into the skin of his chest you kept on. “For a whole week I couldn’t keep from slipping my hands between my legs.” Your voice, thick and hoarse. “I wanted to know what you tasted like, if-if your mouth tasted like blood,” that was when he quickened the pace even more. Your sex was so hot and wet, all the way at the base of your spine you could feel your orgasm coming to you, a full-body shiver that made your eyes well with tears. 

The last part was what sent him over the edge though. 

“Sometimes, I’d bite myself so I could taste the blood when I’d touch-” was all it took to make him come. 

Fuck it felt good too. A weak falsetto escaped your mouth when he released, so warm and filling. That’s what made you reach your end too. You clawed your nails in his skin so deep there were two broken half-moons on his chest. Your thighs clenched against his torso, quivering, as you could feel your body become as light and floaty as chiffon. 

Alastor let the both of you ride it out, that sweet joyous bliss. When your mind returned from the heaven it was sent to, you leaned over, resting on top of him. He moved you gently, pressing you closely to his chest. For a while, neither of you spoke, the air lingering with the smell of sweat and blood and sex. You ran your fingers through his hair again; He kissed the back of your hand before speaking. 

“If I’d known all that would come out of making you angry at me, I would’ve earned your ire a long while ago.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his chest playfully. 

“Perhaps we could do this again, without the arguing?” You propose, “You’re quite good at it.” 

A smile stretched across his face as he played with a lock of hair that rested near your face, “Expect nothing less from an overlord of hell cher.” One of his hands slid to your lower back, tracing small circles on that creamy flesh. 

“How about we try one more time without the arguing, for good measure?”

You smirked and kissed him again. All for good measure.

[hey-foreieys]

Do you think Vox is nostalgic when he hears Alastor?

Not from whatever past in hell they might have, but from being alive? Alastor walks around talking, not just in the accent, but with the same distortion that a radio from Vox's childhood would've had, using the slang from the time period.

And yeah there's overlap in early-mid century entertainment, but Alastor stays in 1933. He doesn't move on, he's quite literally plucked right out of his time and just meanders around the new technology and culture more recent sinners bring down with them.

Some 20-odd years go by and Vox fucking dies and wakes up in Hell. Sleazy TV host gets his ironic punishment in the form of having a clunky actual television set in place of his head. You get the idea.

So Vox is going about his business newly-dead and in Actual Hell and he comes across somebody that's near literally a walking radio show like the ones he listened to as a kid. 24/7, this guy does not let his act fall a single time. He's confident, always smiling, and always on. And Vox admires that; he KNOWS how much work it is to put on that sort of persona, it's exhausting. But this "Alastor" guy? He never drops it. Not once. At the very least, never that anyone has ever seen.

We only have vague inclinations on what happens next. Alastor and Vox were familiar on some level, enough that Vox has a clear, uncorrupted photo of Alastor. We know Vox had propositioned some kind of partnership to Alastor, which he declined. This could have been anytime in the last 70 or so years, long before the other Vees. We don't know if this was a simple "no thank you" or a drawn out and humiliating "how dare you," we just know it's a touchy subject for Vox.

Anyway. It's the 21st century. Vox is proudly the face of new tech and innovation. Embracing the future and ready to exploit it. TVs, computers, smart phones, drones, whatever; he wants to put his name on it.

But there's still a tiny part of Vox that sticks with him. Some hundred year old memory of a little boy sitting on the floor trying to listen to music and stories and news through the crackle of static from the radio. Thinking that maybe, one day, he might be the one telling stories and news. Now there's a walking, talking, physical embodiment of that memory.

And Vox sits with the knowledge that the walking memory hates him.

[lakes-writting-rambles]

Out Of Choice, But Not Out Of Reach - #1 Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things

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Sometimes your destiny is completely out of your hands – Danny Fenton couldn’t seem to find a way to avoid learning that lesson. First; when he was shot when Slade invaded the headquarters of the League, and subsequently his family, was using, while the fight between Slade and Grandfather was going on, he used the chaos to get to the Lazarus Pit before he bled out; a second time when he died in that godforsaken portal; the most prevalent one was definitely his first meeting with Clockwork, there he noticed that it doesn’t matter how hard you try, if it isn’t meant to be, someone will interfere. It doesn’t mean he won’t still do things as before, but now there’s forever the dread of knowing.

It’s been about a year since what he, Jazz, Sam and Tucker dubbed “The Dan Incident”, and Danny can't seem to stop thinking about it. Well, not really about Dan, no, but about Damian. He can’t stop thinking about how Dan likely ended up killing Damian – it’d be inevitable, and, considering the state the future he had been shown was in, he hoped Damian went early on, really, he also hoped it was quick, like he tried to do when he was in the League.

What really bothered Danny, though, was that he couldn’t help but wonder if staying with the Fentons even was a good idea at this point. Surely he has learned that misfortune would follow him anywhere he went, so why wait for the shoe to drop? Before the accident, he was relatively safe to live the rest of his life in Amity, sure, it was kind of a deadend, but it was tranquil, so he couldn’t really complain. Now, though? He was in constant danger inside and outside his house, being half dead meant no place with the living and no place with the dead. He should leave while he still can.

The League isn’t likely to spot him, considering it’s been years since his “death” and he probably looks different enough from Damian now… which is something he’ll have to think about later. And the threats of dissection (vivisection?) by his parents keep increasing – he doesn’t want to fuck around and find out.

So, the League is probably not an issue anymore, staying seems to get more dangerous each day and he’s pretty sure most ghosts only come to Amity to fight him.

Nevertheless, running away also came with a plethora of problems, for one: leaving Jazz and his friends. When he got adopted into the Fenton household he tried not to get attached to anyone. He couldn’t keep that up for long, as a touch starved 9 year old that came from a violent background and got thrown into a very loving family. First, he got attached to his parents, then Jazz, Tucker, and finally, Sam. He doesn’t regret it, not one bit, but it might make this choice hard to make – since the easiest way to run away would be to fake his death and forgo any contact with everyone from his old life. Maybe they’d know he wasn’t (fully) dead, maybe they’d just be extremely miserable, he wouldn't know. 

Another issue is that he’s the current Ghost King, and oh boy doesn’t that complicate things? He keeps getting more powerful, which means keeping his cover is getting harder – an unsettling and overpowering aura surrounds him now, and sure, it reacts to other people’s emotions as well as his own, which in theory should make it easier to hide, since everyone in Amity seems to have differing opinions on his two  personas, but the fact that his aura is big enough that others take notice is concerning enough on its own; he’s control over his abilities needs to be impeccable or he risks getting found out; and he’s pretty sure some of his more ghostly traits are beginning to bleed over into his human form. He also needs stable access to a portal, since he needs to take at least two trips per month to the Ghost Zone so he can check over things with Clockwork and parade around to remind the citizens of the realm that he is their king; he can’t officially take over since he’s still alive, once he’s entirely dead he will, but for now the observants act as regents and that’s more than fine by him.

And third: he’s not really sure where he should go. You’d think Gotham would be his first option because of his father, but he has too much media presence, so Danny’d be brought to the spotlight. Does anyone in Amity care about Gotham? Not that he knows of. But it’d still be too big of a risk. Plus, Tucker really wants to work in Wayne Enterprises in the future, he’s sure that it’d become a problem in no time.

So… what to do? Money isn’t a problem, since he has access to all the treasure hoarded by Pariah Dark over the centuries, but that’s not all he has to consider. He needs some sort of safety net, that much is obvious, and since he won’t be able to count on his regular support system, he should fall back on his blood.

Maybe he could go to Blüdhaven? It’s close enough to Gotham that he can go there if he somehow needs to come into contact with someone from his biological family but not enough that he’d be immediately clocked… but then there’s Nightwing… as long as he doesn’t get  into any trouble it should be fine, right? It’s not like there’s a city without a hero nowadays… Urgh, nevermind, he’ll come back to these thoughts later, he’d rather not spend his rare moment of peace coming up with what to do after he fakes his death.

Sometimes fate decides that things should be ultimately out of your hands – but Damian Al Ghul Wayne fights with all his might to avoid such a thing becoming a rule in his life. When he came to live with his father, around 7 years ago, he held out hope that his twin had made it and would eventually return to his side. That never happened. And now Damian isn’t sure how to approach the topic of Danyal with his family, so he just… doesn’t. Even after all this time, it feels wrong to keep the memory of Danyal to himself, he should be celebrated, even if his death was premature and almost a decade has passed.

Danyal had died the same day as Grandfather, which is why his grief isn’t questioned –, even if the Bats are well aware of his distaste of his Grandfather’s actions, now that he’s recognized them for what they were. Damian isn’t sure if it’ll ever come to pass, because in quiet moments like this, he thinks of what could have been.

His twin was never needlessly violent, and his killings were virtually a mercy, compared to the others in the LoA, even himself. Maybe he would have adapted faster than Damian did, maybe he would have made a better Robin, maybe they would still wake up together and share little moments of quiet.

It’s all speculation, all it will ever be. They never found his body, but even now, years later, the image of his pierced chest is burned between the other twin’s eyes, it wasn’t likely to survive a wound like that, and even if he did, the bloodloss would’ve killed him regardless. But to a 9 year old, the what ifs often overshadow reality, which is why Damian had kept his hopes up, afterall, one of the many teachings of the League was that “if there isn’t a body then one should always consider the possibility of the victim having survived”. But now, at 16, he could see it for what it was, the foolishness of a child longing for what is gone – he’ll never admit it, but in the darkest, deepest and most hidden part of his heart, Damian still has a little bit of wonder, almost completely squashed, but a bit of hope of seeing his brother once again remains.

There’s no use for pondering at the moment, time doesn’t stop and soon one of his siblings will notice his absence at breakfast and come to pester him, thus he gets up and readies himself to face another hectic morning.

“If I were to go missing, where would you search for me first?” was not a question Tucker was ready for, like, at all, but especially at two in the afternoon on a saturday. Danny hadn’t been the same since that thing with Dan or whatever they had dubbed it, he didn’t change much, but he seemed to get lost in thought more frequently, and Tucker didn’t blame him! Really! But man, what went through his head was morbid at times, and he maybe shouldn’t voice those out of nowhere.

— Uhh I guess… your parent’s basement? — awkward silence fills the air, it’s the most obvious answer, but not a thing they normally consider outloud. A grimace crosses Danny’s face for a second.

— No, I mean, if I …ran away. — he says, and there’s some hesitancy. Obviously, there’s more to the question, but Tucker can’t for the life of him figure out what it could be.

— I’d guess Wisconsin, since it’s close by and you might be able to rely on Vlad if push comes to shove, but that is not likely at all, — Sam starts before coming to a slight pause to think. — Maybe Missouri?

— Why…?

— Cause it’s close by, it’s not like we’d let you get far before going after you. — she smirks and gives his arm a little punch.

—  I think we’d find Danny in Florida, actually, — Tucker chuckles before continuing — it’s the only place where he wouldn’t stand out.

— Oh, screw you. — He says before he lunges at Tucker.

Sam watches for a bit, the conversation got to her more than it did to Tucker. She decides that now isn’t the time to worry about it, she doesn’t think Danny would leave them behind without saying anything, not after all they’ve been through, but it did leave a sour taste in her mouth. To stop herself from spiraling down a rabbit hole, she jumps – literally jumps – into the struggle. 

That is how the three friends end up scratched all over, with dirt and grass stuck to their clothes and silly smiles on their faces, looking up at the sky as the clouds pass by. Moments like this used to be common, but with the chaos that is Amity Park nowadays a chance to just relax and joke around as friends seems more and more like a luxury.

Their peace is interrupted when Danny sighs, a defeated sigh that usually comes after his breath fogs – which means there is a ghost nearby. A shout ruptures the quiet and kills any hopes for the rest of their afternoon.

— BEWARE! I AM THE BOX GHOST!

— Alright, — he gets up and stretches. — Just wait for me, I’ll be back in a sec.

Sam and Tucker look at each other, worried glances on both ends – they didn’t even need to say anything. Things will never go back to the way they were before, that is something all three know intimately. Danny died. Everything they have witnessed is bound to leave some sort of mark as well. And there are the Fentons. Sam and Tucker knew Danny and Jazz loved their parents, but at this point it seemed inevitable that someday they’d turn on Danny, and it seems that even if he doesn’t talk about it, it’s also something he believes.

It feels unfair, Danny seemed to have come from a bad background and was settling into his own skin and fully letting his guard down for what felt like the first time before the accident. And wasn’t that heartbreaking? He’d adjusted to the life in Amity early on, but to actually enjoy himself? That took some 2-3 years, and to trust that he could always rely on the people around him? It had just started happening into the beginning of their ninth grade. Then the portal opened and he had to put some of those walls back up to protect himself, not just emotionally, but physically as well. Now, they’re in 11th grade, they should be looking for colleges and studying for entrance exams, but instead, Danny is thinking of running away.

They know how their friend thinks at this point, and it’s undeniable they’ll likely have to say goodbye soon.

Dealing with the Box Ghost wasn’t hard, but it sure was annoying. After the fight (if you could even call it that) ended he went back to Sam and Tuck, they laid on the grass for a while longer, ultimately, they got hungry and headed to the Nasty Burger and ate before parting ways.

Danny plops face first into his bed. Well… he could have approached that with more subtlety. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to get them to look for him, or something, to prepare them for his absence. That sounds too close to something Jazz would say…

He turns around, putting his arm on his forehead. His thoughts keep getting away from him, always back to Damian – would he have liked Amity Park? Probably not, if he was being honest with himself. He couldn’t even see himself liking it there when he arrived – in fact: He had hated it. The city was so calm it felt forced, the Fentons so loving it felt like a trap, the kids lacked any malice at all, everything screamed danger at him, like he was about to be ambushed. Nothing ever came to that, just a nice, cozy, little town. 

Well, until the portal opened, that is. 

He stops and just looks at his ceiling for a bit, the old glow in the dark stars already discolored and lacking any actual functionality, there was no reason for them to remain there but the attachment to what they used to be, kinda like him. There was no escaping his current reality. No escaping his need to desert this city, this family, this life. 

Danny sits up and looks around his room, which for the last few years had become his safe haven. He looks at the stained carpet, marked by his many sleepovers with Sam and Tuck, he looks at his ceiling fan, that was cracked from the time the trio had tried to recreate the solar system on it, he looks at his closet, his posters, his desk, everything that was proof of the life he had lived here.

He needs some water and something to eat before setting his plan up.

As he heads down the stairs to the first floor he hears his mother’s soft voice coming from the kitchen.

— Oh Jack, I’m so worried about Danny, — the phrase startles Danny, he turns invisible and intangible, floating a bit so as to not make any sound, — his ecto-contamination has only gotten worse over the years… how can we be sure he’s okay?

— Honey, I’m sure Danno is fine! He must be building up resistance!

— But what if… what if it’s fusing to him? What if there’s no reversing this? — His mom is chewing on her lower lip, clearly distressed. 

At the sight, his dad softens up and hugs her, his voice comforting as he speaks, — We’ll make sure he’s fine, Maddie. We might not know what happened, but we know each other and we know what we’re doing, we’re experts in our field. 

Danny can’t stay there anymore, they know he has ecto in his system and they know it’s getting worse. They know and they want to “fix” him. He’s completely and utterly fucked. 

Alongside his nervousness there is also newfound resolve. He quickly phases into his room, grabs his thermos, maybe two shirts and a pair of pants, he shoves it all inside an old backpack he hasn’t used in years. He will need to dispose of his phone, taking anything electronic with him will leave a trail and he can’t have that. Hopefully his parents don’t have his ecto signature yet, he doesn’t think he has the time to get rid of it if they do.

He checks the kitchen again, they aren’t there anymore, likely back in the lab, then. He has to leave through the front door, to not raise any suspicions. Now, how to make this realistic? Maybe he can fake being murdered? No, Amity doesn’t really have that type of violence. Maybe he can fake being a casualty in a ghost attack? But he’d have to damage public spaces to do so and he doesn’t want to endanger anyone else… Fake getting kidnapped? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, even as a human.

He could also just up and leave. It’s not like Amity has any actual investigative police force… Maybe he’s complicating things too much. He needs to go before he has time to chicken out. His parents will probably make a move on his ecto contamination within the week and he can’t be there for that.

— Bye mom, dad, be back in a bit! — and so, he shuts the door – leaving his house for what will probably be the last time.

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

Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things > Those We Leave Behind

AO3

[bitchlessdino]

lee chan needs love too (m)

Pairing: fuckboy!chan x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor

Word count: 9.3k

tags: pwithp, mention of high school, mention of alcohol, college au, virgin!chan, fuckboy!chan, frat boy!chan, lip piercing!chan, blonde!chan, yearning, car sex, unprotected sex, breasts play, oral (rec.), degradation, kinda exhibitionism, manhandling, possessive!chan, pet names

Summary: There was Lee Chan from High school and now Lee Chan from college. You insist they are not the same person. The only thing they have in common is they both got to fuck you.

author note: happy early bday to me hehe 🥳🥂🎉🎊🎂 this was entirely self indulgent and although i think i could've done better with the plot, i think it makes sense some what for what it is and regardless i hope you guys enjoy. at least the banner is very cute and look blonde chan even has a piercing.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @honglynights @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han

The last time you saw Lee Chan was in the back of his used Camry at Boo Seungkwan’s graduation party. 

He blossomed the fuck out of nowhere into an unrecognizable gorgeous specimen of a man when you caught him fucking your roommate during the middle of finals season when you desperately need the peace and quiet to study. It was probably the dead of night—10 pm in your case—and the juice in your Bluetooth earbuds had just died. It was especially unfortunate since they were sound blocking you didn’t realize how badly you needed it with the fuckfest in the room across from you.

By the sound of it, Minnie was having a great time—which you usually aren’t mad about—but so was her friend, who you might add was obnoxiously loud (hot too, but that wasn't the point). You screamed at them from your desk, but you doubt they heard anything with the music on blast you’re assuming was to block out their noise. It was proven less than fruitful when you get no response in return. Finally, you forced yourself out of your room and began pounding hard against her door in desperate pleas. “I should be used to it by now, but please, please keep it down, even a smidge. I have a really important exam in the afternoon. And I can’t t—“

Before you can continue rambling, the door opens from the other side. You met the eyes of a bottle blonde, 5’8, taut and misted with sweat all over, adorned with a pretty piece of metal at his bottom lip. Oh no, he’s hot.

The man looked surprised at your appearance, despite the fact he was the one that turned the knob and swung it open. He stood there, looking more attractive than you anticipated, and just observed you in incomprehensible disbelief. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah. Look I get it, you guys have every right to…continue what you’re doing, all I ask is,” You squeeze your index and thumb to indicate something small, “take it down a notch, a little notch.”

He scoffed, looking amused. He crossed his arms and lean against the door frame, very fortunately wearing underwear (boner shapely and defined). And it only took a second for you to trace the outline of his gorgeously crafted body. As if he was made with marble, he looks as though one of the greats did him a solid by sculpting him one of the most beautiful bodies you’ve ever seen. You almost didn't realize you were ogling at it until he began to speak in his smooth tenor tone of voice. “Can't really take a notch down, but I can promise it’ll be quick.”

You didn’t like the suggestion in his tone nor the wink he displayed either.

“Come back to bed,” your roommate whined in the background. You shut your eyes in disdain, now in disbelief that you were negotiating with one of her hookups right now. “How quick?”

He grinned. “How do you feel about joining?”

“Not happening.”

“Then…” he pondered in thought, “give or take 10, 15 minutes.”

“How the hell is that quick? Don’t college guys cum for like 5 minutes?”

He chortled, and you caught that gleaming smile that likely coerced your roommate in the first place. “I’m a feminist. Ladies first.”

“I’m also a lady, so I say, make it quick…please and thank you.” You walked off with that and waited patiently for them to be done, only to realize it was going to take way longer for both of them to finish than it would be to charge your earbuds halfway, so you settled for the latter.

By the time he left, it was the morning after and you were honest to Minnie about ‘not liking this one,’ to which she laughed like it was the funniest thing you ever said.

Pieces really began to be put together one afternoon going through your old school yearbooks when you found them in the back of your closet. Minnie joined you in your period of nostalgia, wanting to see possible future hotties to cross reference to now. Then she sees him, points out the fact he was the one you confront around a week ago, and it all comes full circle. Your eyes shot back at the aged pages in pure shock, pulling it up to face to make sure you were seeing it clearly. “No way...”

“Oh my god,” she pulled it back from you, “Chan looks so cute here. I just wanna gobble him and put him in my pocket.”

He had his natural black hair, kind brown eyes, and—dawning on you on that very second—the smile that bares more joy than a kindergarten classroom. Back then, this kid didn’t have the blonde hair or piercings he had now. What he did look like was any other teenager that would listen to his parents and go to church. He was the model good boy. 

The model good boy whose virginity you took when you were 18 years old after a very public breakup with your ex at someone’s graduation party.

“What are you doing in my car?” Chan interrogated the second you let the door shut behind you.

You really had no plan then, all you knew was you wanted to evacuate the party immediately the moment things ended with Gyu. He had to be irrational and so utterly infuriating that you couldn’t stand to look at his face anymore. So, you just entered the nearest vehicle, forgetting the fact you never called an Uber or Lyft.

You weren’t ready to face the music yet, so a change of subject was in order. “What are you doing leaving early?”

“I asked you first.”

You crossed your arms obnoxiously, “And if I don’t want to answer?” In a second, you regret that, seeing the genuine concern on his face. You dropped your arms to the side. “I don’t wanna be around people right now.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “I’m people. Do I not count?”

“You’re a little too…perfectionist to be a regular person. Now, why are you leaving early?”

He simply shrugged. “Curfew.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly scoffing.“Of course, you have a curfew.”

You both sat in complete silence. You should’ve questioned why you were still in here, a car that didn’t belong to you with its owner, a magnet for college recommendation letters and scholarships rather than people with a potential romantic connection. But no, you just stayed there, wallowing in your internal conflicts of average day teenager, thinking about a tomorrow that you wouldn’t even remember two or three years from now.

“Wanna talk about it?” Chan initiated, breaking the silence.

You exaggerated a sigh like the theater kid you were, forearm to the forehead. “No.”

“Wanna hook up?”

You sat up from the seat to stare back at him stunned. It was a shock that such an idea would come out of his mouth even as a joke, yet temptation lingered in your body, making you clench your thighs as if you heard the lewdest thing to be said ever in history. Safe to say, it didn’t get much rile up a person on the rebound.

Before he could jump in and say the automated pathetic phrase, “Just kidding,” followed by an awkward chuckle, you’ve already thrown yourself against him from the passenger seat. You moved against him expertly as one in a high school long relationship could, tightening the crotch of his pants as he could think of anything but what he actually put in his commended college essay about his experience with—fuck what was it about?

He pulled himself away the moment he felt tongue, restraining himself to the car window for dear life. “W-what was that for?”

“You propositioned me first.” You smiled, breathless. You drew closer to him, trying to retrieve the distance–or lack thereof–you had with Chan seconds before where you could practically taste the innocence on his lips. “I want to go through with it.”

His eyes shot open like Wile E. Coyote. “W-what? Here?”

“Yes, here, Chan.”

“W-why?” he stuttered, which he did a lot of. Perhaps, he should look into that.

You mustered a sultry expression, narrowing your eyes at him which helps you notice his dilated eyes that quivered in both fear and arousal. “Because maybe all this time…I’ve wanted you. It’s always been you.”

“R-really?”

You let out a small laugh. “Well, no. But just tonight I can.”

“Does this have to do with why you left early?”

“Do you always talk this much before you fuck someone?”

“No—uh, I don’t know, I—“

You pulled back in realization. “Oh my god, you’re a virgin.”

“Shut up!” he said, typing to cover your mouth to prevent you from exposing him, which you successfully avoid.

“You had a girlfriend all throughout junior year!”

“No, I didn't. She was my secretary. I was the student body president.”

“But she kept giving you eyes.”

He squinted. “What eyes?”

“Nevermind. What matters is do you want to go through with this?”

“Having sex in my car?” He clarified, somehow doubtful.

“Yes, nerd.”

“Is the insulting really necessary?” He winced, you notice playfully.

“It’s my kink,” you dryly jestered.

You’re about to tackle him again when he pulled back one last time.“W-wait, what about condoms?”

“I’m clean,” you shrugged, “don't worry about it.”

“What about, you know?”

You scoffed. “Please, I've been taking birth control before you even started puberty. You can cum in me, Chan.”

His cheeks then turned a vibrant hue of scarlet, spreading from his cheeks to his ears. “I-in you?”

“Yes, Chan.” You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap, hand ruffling through his hair, which was quite soft despite the product. “You can cum all you want in me.” You kissed the top of his nose as your body brushed up against something big and firm. “And by the rock in your pants, you’re not against it.”

“There actually is a rock in my pants.” Chan struggled to get the geode gift given to him by his teacher at the diploma ceremony and he casually tossed it in the cupholder, chuckling nervously.

You fingered over this cheek, noticing the smooth, almost flawless skin adorned by a few moles, particularly one on the left side of his face beneath his eye was devastatingly cute, “Obviously, that’s not the rock I was talking about.”

You leaned into him, your cherry zero coke breath fanning his cheeks, and he can feel the curves of your body fit into his hollows. He stifles a breath before you kiss him again, your tongue brushing against his bottom to regain access. Naturally (as natural for Chan anyway), his hands came up your sides as he familiarized himself with your lips. You lightly moaned, digging your hips at him, before hearing a moan back that sent chills up your spine and pebbled your skin.

“Fuck, you’re so cute, Chan.”

“Y/n…” he whined unbelievably soft and malleable.

You threaded through his soft, dark hair, lightly down his scalp. 

You remember making out with him for a serial amount of time before he ‘accidentally’ (you’re still not sure to this day) lowered his seat position until he was nearly flat on his back. He uttered a soft apology before you were on him again. Clothes were tossed to the back seats and you see the bit of definition he developed from being co-captain on the dance team. You bathed in the heat of his skin as you unbuttoned his khakis, and revealed his untouched glory.

You reveled in being the first of the kind, somehow excited that you were the one to enjoy this side of Chan first, kissing him in unbridled, visceral lust. You lathered him in your wet, raw arousal, feeling the twitch of his cock against your slit as he’s groaning your name. You teased his voice, cooing praises at him for being so big and good for you until you let him take residence. 

You could feel him push through your walls, levying his sizing and stretching until your warmth. It does more than distract you, it satisfies you. You swear you hear a hiss of his voice, followed by, “fuck, that’s good,” before you bounce against his cock. You hope that the car can muffle noise because all you could repeat were your anguished moans and his name, the name that sounded like pure music to the young man’s ears.

You took his unoccupied hands, resting each on either breast while riding his firm, strong thighs. His jaw dropped. The sensation of your plush walls around his girth and the pillowy texture of your tits between his fingers made his hips buckle.

“That good?” You asked softly, to which he nodded. His eyes glaze over back at you, difficulty keeping them wide open and he finds the courage to twist your nipples between his fingers, your stomach churning whimpers escaping you the moment he does. “C-Chan…”

“Sorry, did that hurt?”

You shook your head, “No,” and folded into him, your chest immediately hitting his line of vision. “Touch me more…”

He does as you asked, staring back at you like a deer lost in wonder, and like that, everything after comes second nature. The warmth of his mouth takes over your naked breast, drawing circles against your textured skin with his tongue and he moves more freely against your body. It was fluid the way he moved like his virgin status was and is all it was, a status, not showcasing any of his skill. You fed off of him, his energy, his body, his want. He didn’t even know what he was doing. He was just a natural.

“C-can I fuck you?”

“Fuck me?”

His lips quivered, face flushed red and misted in sweat, “Yes, can I fuck you against the seats?”

You slowly nodded before readjusting in the seats. Chan, still inside you, found his natural pace, letting his cock hit you with enough power and depth that it made your legs freeze and bent in the air as a response, “Mmh, Chan…”

“Is that—ump—good?”

“Yes, but faster, don’t be scared to break me.”

He isn’t sure what you mean by that but he tries. His thrusts become his own, disciplined and sharp, enveloping himself in your fluttering walls that clench harder around him the faster he went. Your hands gripped his upper body, lips latching on his to dampen the sound of your voice. Your body pressed to the tautness of his, pushing him deeper inside and you felt it mere seconds away. An orgasm. An actual orgasm.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me, Chan!” You were blistering the heat of your climax, you writhe underneath him and clutched against him by the back of your knees.

He’s eternally grateful because he was seconds away from cumming himself. He let your hips falter, coming down from the high before letting his hips take over. Drowning you in his grunts, he fucked you until he climaxed, his final thrusts painting your insides in ivory honey and making you feel whole. He panted against you, a tired smile on his face as he held his cum in you with mere his cock. Finally, he rests.

“Congratulations,” you said, laughing.

He scoffed lightly, “Thanks.”

It stayed like that for a few minutes, cock wet and warm in you, finding peace in the gentle chaos. He pushed himself from on top of you and looked down on your sweaty, exhausted form. His lips crashed against yours, and you sense his gratitude as he backed off. “Really. Thank you.”

You smiled lightheartedly, “Shut up and get me some wipes, please. I know you have them.”

He let out a little giggle before retrieving the assumed wipes from the glove compartment, helping you get clean. It wasn’t a thorough job but it did what it could. “Want me to take you home?”

“Might as well as payment,” you joked again, thinking it will get rid of this tension that still lingered. 

The ride went on in silence beside the radio’s pop music, consumed in your thoughts. It’s funny, you were used to being the type to always have to say something in any conversation, but with Chan right now, you had nothing, forcing the quiet until you arrived home. He parked his car, letting you know personally he arrived where the GPS said and you look off at one another, noting how his hair was still messy from an earlier event and you can’t help but fix it.

“Don’t want you caught,” You chuckled, moving your hands through until it was in proper Chan form. “There.”

“Hold on.”

His hand reached over your face. Thinking it was for another liplock, you stayed seated, prepared for the cushion of his lips as you pursed yours. Instead, he’s wiping away whatever it was from the corner of your lips, staring back at you with the sparkle in his eyes. “You got something there.”

“Um, Chan…I’m not wearing anything on my lips.”

“I-I knew that—,” You crushed your lips against him one last time, the salty-sweet taste of want from your tongue lingered on his, and you exit the car to never see him again. Or so you thought.

Was it the best sex you ever had up until now? No, definitely not. Was it good sex? Yes, way better than you anticipated. Then again you were comparing it to your ex, and at that point, anyone’s dick was the next coming of Jesus the more you think about it. 

“God, Chan grew up so hot,” Minnie gushed.

“I’ll say,” you agreed in reflex, “I mean, he sure looks different.”

“Different? They’re like two separate people,” She said, biting her lip, “Is it weird I wanna call him over again?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes at your answer before flipping through the pages while you were still processing this information. You’ve had time to forget it happened and have had plenty of sex after then, but Chan will always be a little special. And you’d be lying if you weren’t the tiniest curious about how he turned out after all this time. It was hard to believe he's who he is now.

Since then and after some light stalking, you found out the college he attended was a neighboring one. He took part in a popular frat (gamma, omega, theta, whatever) that, surprise surprise, hosted some of the biggest parties that even students from your university attended. He just so happens to be one of the members actively posted on the site surrounded by hot people with his gorgeous blonde lip piercing ass. Goddamn, it.

Okay, that’s it. You can stop right there. No need to dig any deeper. Besides, he’s just some guy you hooked up with once (a great once for his first time), just once. That’s it. There’s no need for you to go all yourself like you used to do for your exes. This was just Lee Chan.

“Hi there, you’re Minnie’s roommate.” You found Lee Chan grinning back at you with a stack of fliers in his hands as you walked the neighboring streets that you conveniently heard he’d be around. Social media is a curse. “We have a charity event where all proceeds will be going to feed the starving homeless at a couple of shelters down in the area.”

You accepted the flier and tucked it under your pit as you crossed your arms in a questioning manner. “When were you going to let me know?”

“Ah,” his smile stretched wider as his hand slapped against the stack before clutching it to his chest, “took you long enough.”

“So what, you were just gonna wait until I realized it myself?”

“That was the idea, but I knew you were smart. You’d figure it out—charity event, we’ll keep you company,” he handed off the flyer to a pair of girls with an effortless wink before they’re scurrying off blushing a squealing.

“Isn’t this something the pledges do, what are you even doing out here?”

He stands beside you, a devious smile tattooed on his face, “I’m one of the people that manage social media. I pay attention to our activity feed and couldn’t help but see a like pop up and disappear in front of my very eyes.”

Your cheeks heat up, caught red-handed, “So you knew I’d be here and came out anyways.”

“Figured you wanted to talk,” he said, keeping his hands busy and eyes wide and charming.

“Why? Thinking about me?”

“You’re not someone that I could just stop thinking about, Y/n.”

Your name in his voice burned your ears, making you flick it away as if it were a bug. “Well, just came here because I remembered something I saw. That’s all. Go about your day.”

You’re about to storm off when he’s calling for you again and you shamelessly look back. His eyes turned up the way his smile does, sauntering over as he locked you in his trance. You were almost hypnotized by the sterling steel that looked so pullable you had to physically restrain yourself with pinches to your forearms. “You’re coming to the party.”

“Says who?”

He has this permanent playful expression, one that doesn’t recall down days or cram studying. He looked entirely carefree. So unlike the Chan from high school. “Says me. Plenty of booze, plenty of champagne, plenty of food, plenty of me to go around.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Kidding,” He laughed. “But don’t you think it’s rather serendipitous that we found each other again? After so many years?”

You squinted at him. “Yeah, sleeping with my roommate.”

“It’s like I somehow found my way back to you.”

“You have a hickey on your neck.”

His eyes shoot open, and a hand came over his neck, “Road bumps exist to get to our destination.”

“I lied, there was nothing there,” you said, not falling for his whimsy, ready to walk off again.

He chased after you, trying to lure you back with that smile he somehow found out you can get enough of. “Not fair, but fine. But don’t try to convince me you aren’t happy to see me. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“I…I don’t know why I came here. I didn’t know what I was expecting.”

He gave you a befuddled look. “What do you mean? It’s me. Chan. I thought maybe you’d be at least a little excited to see me.”

The Lee Chan you knew was so different from now, blonder, spunkier, riskier for the faint of heart. Your fair trade of relationships was a healthy amount, enough to know what you wanted and somehow it all lead back to Chan three years ago. Like it meant something to be joined in something intimate with him. Your eighteen yourself would be laughing at you right now at the thought of you yearning for Lee Chan of all people. Not that anything was wrong with him, just that Chan was Chan and you were you. And now Chan is Chan and you were, well, same old you.

“You…I’m not used to this.”

His brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You could read the offense as soon as it arrived, immediately coming to defend yourself. “I was excited to see you.”

“Well, I’m here. What’s the problem?” If you knew any better, he looked hurt.

“You’re like a whole other person. I don’t know this Chan.”

“Then get to know me. No offense, but you barely even knew that Chan.”

“I—,” he wasn’t wrong. You hardly spoke as classmates. Hell, the sex was the longest conversation you’ve ever had. Before that was him asking for directions to where the auditorium was since it was a part of campus he never visited, but you weren’t ignorant to him. You always noticed Chan. Just never in that light until the last minute. Yet, you missed that Chan. Not like you had any right to. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why do you already think that lowly of me? You think we can’t be in the same town breathing the same air as each other?”

“Chan, of course not.”

“I get it. Stranger dangers and all that shit right? But we’re a little more than strangers, aren’t we?”

For some reason, you couldn’t answer and instead stared down at your feet. He let out a frustrated sigh, in disbelief the carefree person he knew several years ago was this same person in front of him. “Is there a problem you have with me?”

Because he looks like a fuckboy and you avoid fuckboys like the plague now. Remember?

“I don’t know,” you crossed your arms.

He took a step forward, taking the flier folded against your arm and smoothing out the wrinkles before he placed it in your hand. “Well, it’s just a party. So come. See me, ignore me, drink your heart out. Whatever, but come.”

He gave you one last bittersweet smile before deciding to walk off, following his frat brother who was already far ahead of him.

There was a tug of war between your mind and body, fighting the internal conflicts that make you hesitant to reconnect with Chan again. There’s no doubt a piece of you still hoped for the old Chan that lingered in your mind throughout all these years and the imminent lure of new Chan who was just the embodiment of every red flag you’ve ever seen in your past relationships.

Saying going to this party is a mistake would be an understatement.

“Oh my gosh, it looks so pretty here!”

You came arm in arm with Minnie, admiring the aesthetic light fixtures on the walls, while wearing the nicest garb you could conjure up from your closet. It was a navy blue dress in crushed velvet that hits you right at your ankles that could only be paired with a light pair of heels for the night to go on a little easier. You mused around at the decorations, impressed with the craftsmanship, surprised this was an event planned by college bros obsessed with Greek life. “It does look nice here.”

One block heel over the other, you were subconsciously scanning for a bright blonde head in sight. Instead, you were surrounded by several familiar faces of his members in suits and ties, remembering seeing them all over the Fraternity’s Instagram. They greeted you as hosts do and two of them took you and Minnie to unoccupied seats. The person that guided you to your seat, Seokmin, offered you a refreshment, while Soonyoung, Minnie’s guide, did the same for her. Once they had disappeared for a few minutes, Minnie could do nothing but gush over their looks.

“They’re so cute! Oh, do you think they’d wanna double date us?” Minnie asked with her eyes cheery and bright.

You looked back at the pamphlet and the itinerary, pointing at something peculiar. “Maybe, if we win the date auction with them.”

“Boo, I’m broke,” she pouted, “I’ll just have to charm myself the way I always do.”

You chuckled at her delight before the boys returned and chatted you up for the time being. You remained mostly cordial while Minnie brought in the charm she’s so famous for and amidst the jokes and lighthearted pandering, the awaited blonde is seen entering, greeting other guests that have made their arrival.

Your chest felt light, letting out a sigh of relief as though Lee Chan’s appearance made the event all the more tolerable, and maybe it had. However, it’s tightened as soon as you realize how incredibly his body fits the cream-colored suit, reminding you of white chocolate. Decadent and unique on your tongue, echos of his moans so familiar infiltrate the busiest part of your brain, blocking out background noises and images other than Lee Chan.

“All good, Y/n?” Seokmin so politely asked.

In a broken trance, you turned to them and nodded, seeing Minnie doubtful of your answer. You started getting from your chair, apologizing. “I’m fine. I think I saw my friend? You guys keep chatting. I’ll be back.”

You escorted yourself, smoothing the wrinkles of your dress before approaching him out of his view. He doesn’t suspect the anxious figure walking up to him, attention focused on other company while giving them that dazzling toothpaste smile on his face. As you tapped on his shoulder, he turned to you, melting into a soft, long gaze once he drank in your appearance. He politely excused himself from his previous company and offered you his elbow. Pleasantly surprised, you took it with stride, interlocking through, and quietly followed him somewhere a bit more private (as private as it can be in a semi-public event). “You look ravishing,” He whispered only loud enough for you to hear. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled flushed, arm wrapping tighter around him, “You look really put together like this.”

“‘Put together?’ Way to damper a guy’s confidence,” he laughed, feigning offense.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“It’d be nice to hear it too.”

You exhaled, “You look really…handsome, Chan.”

A peaceful smile grazed his face. “Better. So, did you take a look at the itinerary?”

You nodded, twiddling your fingers before conjuring up the courage to ask, “Are you going to be in that auction?”

“Straight to it,” he chuckled melodiously, “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing like that, just curious.”

He shrugged. “Well, I will be one of the dates for the auction. Get your wallet ready.”

You lightly nudged him, chuckling, “You wish.”

“I do wish.” His lips neared your ear. “Maybe you winning is my end goal.”

Feeling the heat radiate off your cheeks, you shove him off of you away from innocent bystanders. “You’re so funny.”

“It’s my best asset,” he said, joining your arms back again. “Winner gets a weekend date of their choice with a budget of $75. Tempting, isn’t it?”

“You would be one to think so.”

“I’d make our date worthwhile.”

His dark temptation sent chills down your spine and you punched his arm, hard. “Stop it.”

“Stop what,” he teased, rubbing his likely bruised arm.

“Being this.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Why are you bothered by me? Be honest.”

You sighed, loosening the grip on his arm. “You were right and I don’t know you. I never really did. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about you. It’s just strange to see someone I saw one way again after a few years and you’re completely different.”

“You don’t like the way I look?”

You shook your head. “No. In fact the opposite, I like it so because it reminds me of so many of the people I’ve been with, but I don’t want you to be any of them. I want you to be Chan.”

“I am Chan,” He said, taking you aside and holding your hand in his. “Just because I look a certain way doesn’t make me any less me. But I’m flattered you think so much about me.”

“What do you even get out of this?” You changed the subject. “Inviting me to places, talking sweet, and being nice to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders, an unsure smile on his face. “Okay, so maybe, I felt something when I saw you again.”

“Just like you felt something when you saw Minnie?” You snapped.

“...That’s not what this is,” he answered seriously.

“What is it then?”

He gave you a grim expression. “I’m not sure either.”

“Be honest, Chan. How often is it that you go on dates, or hook up with someone like you did with Minnie?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Because it is. How would I be any different than that? What makes me different from everyone else?”

“Because you’re not like anyone else.” He answered definitely.

Before you could ask him what he meant, Chan is pulled away by the other members of his frat to get him prepared for the auction coming up soon. He graced you with a bitter smile before disappearing behind doors where you’re forced to rejoin Minnie and the boys you left behind. They asked if you were alright, to which you less than sublimely answered, but they didn’t push it.

You tried being good company the rest of the night, making small jokes, greeting new people, and taking advantage of the catering that is surprisingly better than you expected. Yet, Chan was still running rampant in your mind. The auction was seconds away from starting and he would be there on that stage just like everyone else, devastatingly handsome and charming that you could melt in a puddle. You somehow come with several glasses of champagne that night to the point Minnie issued you an end to it by force-feeding you water to sober up. It doesn’t work that well.

The stage lights turned on and music loudly played in the background. A man in a suit different from the rest began introducing potential suitors available for auction, including the friendly members you’ve come to know this evening, who waved back at your table when they got on stage. It goes for a few hours so far and the Greek house has accumulated several thousands of dollars in funds. Meanwhile, your sobriety was gradually replenishing over time until the announcement of the next auction date would step on stage.

“Up next we have is Lee Chan, respected brother and life of the party!”

The blonde stepped on stage with fierce charisma, smiling and waving like it was his own red carpet, even striking a few poses for good measure. The emcee goes on about qualities you already knew and some you didn’t as the slideshow is off in the background like it was for all of the previous dates on stage. That’s when the show really began for you. Photographs of Chan playing basketball, obviously playing for team skins, as his hair bundled up in a sweaty, sexy mess. They were the kind of pictures people used for body fitness inspiration or just plain inspiration because what better motivation could one have other than the bare torso of Lee Chan. 

Cheers of encouragement cause a deep blush to appear on his gorgeous face, and you swear you saw him tug anxiously at his lip ring in the most delectable way. You stifled a breath, heart pitter-pattering like rain in a violent storm. “Holy—“

“Shit,” Minnie breathed out, “Go, Chan.”

You suddenly remembered who and where you were, wiping away your drool before it was visible.

“Let’s start out the bidding at $50.”

“$100!”

“$150!”

“$250!”

“Woah, woah, looks like we already got a couple of takers. Are we hearing a $255?”

The longer that went on the more severe the anxiety was bubbling up inside you. The numbers only got higher and higher, louder and louder, taunting your inhibitions. Before you knew it, you’re jumping up from your seat in a clearly unsober but confident state screaming, “One thousand dollars” from the top of your lungs. Chan looked in your direction, shocked, eyes wide as doe while his lips started parting in a small smile, a reasonable surprise considering the mixed signals you were giving.

You weren’t sure what you were doing since there was no way you had that kind of money, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The higher the bid, the higher the influence. You couldn’t deny it anymore. You were falling under a similar spell they were all under. You had to do everything you could to—

“Two thousand dollars.”

Your gaze swung in the voice's direction to a gorgeous girl standing a few feet from you, beaming with confidence. You slumped down in your shame while the emcee congratulated the highest bidder and shy Chan for reeling in the highest amount of money so far tonight. 

The hours after just drone on, just as much as champagne did and there you were pathetic and sad to have lost. Minnie doesn’t know how you keep finding refreshments for yourself, she blames the eyes candies willfully distracting her. “Okay, seriously stop. I will ban you from alcohol for life.” Minnie carried you off outside, hugging you to her as she went to listen to your unnecessary babble.

“He was mine…”

“I know, sweetie, but she was paying a month and a half’s rent. No way we could’ve paid for that.” Your whines muffled in her shoulder, mumbling something about “fuck the rich” before you started to cry. Even Minnie found it embarrassing.

“Want me to take over?”

Chan is the first person you laid your eyes on coming up from the surface of your drunk childish tantrum, making you wipe the tears away from your eyes in a hurry. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” he said lethally soft.

“Hi!” Smiling at you both before getting up from her seat. “Usually, I wouldn’t approve of letting my girl alone with a frat boy while intoxicated but I have her location on and I know where you live. So, take good care of her or I’ll kill you.”

He gave her a gregarious nod before waving. “Bye, Minnie.”

“Bye, Chan. No more drinks, Y/n.”

She left you to Chan, following after Soonyoung and Seokmin who were surprisingly waiting for her by the door. Good for her, you thought.

“That was stupid of you,” He said sitting next to you.

“Tell me about it.”

“Did you even have $1000?”

Pouting, you shook your head. “No, but I wanted to win.”

“You wanted to win me?” He said smiling.

“Yes, isn’t it that obvious?” Your head fell against his broad welcoming shoulder. You let out a long low breath at that, clutched the breast of your dress as you tried your damnedest to breathe. You were aware of your heart rate, pounding away at your chest like a drum. Your weight pushed against him but made no change to his posture. He was like a boulder that chipped away at your weakness and made you ache for his fullness no matter how much your head told you otherwise. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing what?”

“Be…this. And make me crazy about you.”

His head turned down to see your face, warm brown eyes staring back into yours. “I could say the same about you. You have sex with me once years ago, give all the time in the world to recreate a feeling like it, just to chase me back when I think I’m finally forgetting about you? Diabolical of you.”

You thought you’ve heard it all before. Usually, sweet nothings go to one ear and out the other. Many of those sugar-coated words and phrases have blended into something homogenous, overplayed tactics that got you into loveless relationships fueled by sex and desire. Who knows if Chan is different, but the words he speaks, and the burning he gives you, you wanted every little bit of it. You grasped his lapel, pushing your face closer. “You thought about me?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying this entire t–”

Your patience soon wore thin. His lips tasted sweet like nectar, felt soft as pillows, warm as the summer. The heat of his skin was in stark contrast to the cool steel of his lip ring expectedly grazing your skin, churning whatever it was in your stomach. You attempted to gain leverage control, thirsting more, but you learned soon his muscles weren’t just for show. “You’re drunk, Y/n.”

“But you taste so good…”

He took a deep breath before sighing. “Let’s just get you someplace to rest up and I can take you home after.”

Chan made good on his promise. As your body was giving in to sleep, your knight in blonde carried you off on his back to the nearest place of rest, which ended up being his bedroom that he luckily didn’t have to share. He laid you sprawled out on his thinly veiled mattress, tucking you underneath his blanket until he couldn’t see any inch of skin except your head up, and he let your soft airy snores play out.

He made his shower quick to return to you, relieving himself of the heavy suit he’s been wearing all night. He gets back to his room and placed the suit in the bag back into his closet. You’re still sound asleep as soon as he’s back but now stir in your sleep, staring to thrash around even. That made him come to your side in a hurry, trying to calm you down. He puts his hands on your body through the covers, soothing you to the best of his ability. Unfortunately, that is what makes you start to gain consciousness, pushing yourself to sit up from the bed. “Where am I?” 

“You’re awake, shit, sorry.”

“Chan?” You blinked back at him with tired eyes, barely focusing through the small slits of your vision to make out the man tending to your drowsy state.

“Yeah, you were really out of it? I had to make sure you were okay.”

“Shirtless?”

Chan looked down at his body to realize what you meant. He only came to the bathroom with a single pair of sweatpants with him fully intending to just throw a shirt on the moment he got back to the room. Now he was deeply regretting the decision seeing how awake you are. Grim at the thought of you perceiving him as some typical perverted college guy, which he was if not a little more respectful than most. “Sorry. I’ll put something on.”

You tugged him back by his wrist, stopping him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” He repeated, heart starting to take race in his chest.

You shook your head definitely. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

You shifted on the bed, realizing how you were still in your dress, subconsciously shrugging off the flimsy straps. Your hand traveled from his wrist and up his forearm. The hairs of his arms stood up at your touch and he sucked in shallow breaths as your hand smoothed over to the back of his neck effortlessly. Your finger threaded through his hair. There’s a look in your eyes, unlike the others you’ve shown so far since he’s reunited with you. They only come close with the gaze he say several years ago when you defiled his 18th birthday gift at a random peer’s graduation. “Lee Chan.”

He doesn’t want to fall for it, but damn it, did he want to be an idiot and just fall, fall hard. “You’re still drunk, maybe–”

“My Lee Chan…” God, did his heart throb.

“You’re definitely drunk.”

Your hand moved over to cup cheek, feeling how he instinctively nestled in your palm. His gaze softened back at you in this familiar way it did once back in the first time and both of you can’t help but call back to that night again. It’s like you’re right where you started, seconds away before melting into one another like hormonal teenagers.

“What are you doing to me now?” He asked so softly you almost didn't make it out.

If his body wasn’t already so goddamn enticing, it was the expression on his face. You could etch out the writhing on his face when you rode his body the first time, remembering how his strong thighs buckled at your touch, burning under the heat of your thighs. Your abdomen was physically contracting thinking about it.

“Kiss me, Chan.”

He doesn’t have the will to resist you any longer and he took the opportunity, crashing his lips into yours. You embraced his naked torso, clinging on to him and tugging against his piercing before pulling him towards you in bed with a thud. You didn’t know what true love felt like but it felt as half as good as Lee Chan, you’d risk your heart over and over again just to have it in your arms.

“Take it off for me,” you whispered once his hand landed on the zipper of your dress. The common plastic rubbed over your spine, and the sound of it traveling down pooled bountiful amounts of arousal in your core. You moaned against his lips helplessly, digging your nails through his scalp. 

His sweatpants did no good in hiding his aroused state as it poked back at your thigh coming out of the slit of your dress, groan at the pain you cause him but was pleased nonetheless. His hands come up your shoulder confidently, sliding down the rest of the material as it slid off the bed and hit the ground. Your knee came up behind him, pressing him down to reunite your curves and hollows as he moved to nip the skin at your clavicle, murmurs from lips occasionally leaving his lips.

“What was that?” you asked, already intoxicated in something other than alcohol for once tonight.

“I said, ‘I’ve been wanting to fuck you the moment I saw you again.’”

His voice exhibited a gravelly rasp, one you wouldn’t have expected knowing him, but fuck, if it didn’t make your pussy full-out throb. “Yeah,” you egged on, “You wanted to see if you still fit your cock in me?”

He gave out a low growl. “I forgot how annoying you were.”

“I guess not too annoying to fuck me full in the front seat of your Camry.”

“I miss that thing. Too many good memories.” His sigh fanned over the back of your neck before his lips sucked against the skin under your ear, causing you to crumble underneath him. “But it’s fine, I can make new memories. And I won’t be worried about breaking you this time.”

His hips dipped down in yours, teasing his bulge at your wet, clothed core before you’re thrusting back in whines. Your hand roamed through his blond locks, gripping like you were doing into your insanity, if only there were just as surprisingly healthy and strong. “Fuck me already. I want you to stuff me with your cock just like the last time.”

He shook his head, that smile of his filling your insides with need and desperation. “Thought I’d catch you up on a bit on how I’ve improved first.”

He trailed kisses down your body, hands caressing over your breast before your sides. You tremble as the pads of his fingers grazed the edges of your panties, pulling them down and off of your body leaving you nothing but nude. Your glistening arousal stared back at him like a limitless fountain of youth, inclination bubbling up inside of him. The back of his hand rubbed against the moisture of your folds, seeing you thoroughly coat him as he wrapped his lips against your thighs, moans ebbing from his lips and yours.

“Your pretty pussy is so wet for me. Just like I remember.” Your clit was squeezed between his fingers, swelling up so enticingly he just had to suck against it. You clenched your abdomen, calling out for him, “fucking hell,” and then his tongue was inside you as though it was digging for gold, “holy shit.”

The sounds he made were simply carnal, like he hadn’t been feeding for months and until now you could help but eat every second up as he devoured you entirely. Your toe curled, your breath stolen from, and your cunt flooded until you could overflow a dam. “I could eat your pussy all night, baby girl…if I knew you tasted this good…would’ve been the first thing I’d done to you.” His thumb presses on your clit, flicking it from side to side, and the stripes he ran up your slit become ravenous, monstrous, torturous.

“You’re gonna make me cum, please…”

“Already,” he teased, kissing your entrance, “I’ve barely started. Or are you saying because you’re such a slut for my cock?”

You winced as he pinched your clit, holding back tears. “No, no. I’m really about to—ah—cum…”

“Guess I should savor it when it arrives, shouldn't I?”

He ate you out until you’re practically screaming, the creak of the bed would be normally something that’d bother you, but his tongue is so tantalizing you don’t even notice. Meanwhile, his hands have taken over your breasts, squeezing them so possessively in each hand you feel like you’re truly his, and none otherwise.

“Such a pretty little mess…cum on my tongue, baby girl…I need you cumming in my mouth…” His pleas sounded dirty, desperate, devastating. Your whines cried out as you begged for more, pushing his face deeper into you, feeling the burn of your cheeks. “Shut…up—fuck!”

You involuntarily came in him as he wished. Painting the inside of his mouth with your milky climax, he laughed contently in your heat as he pulled away. Your cum stretched from your sopping pussy to his lips, forcing you to watch as he licked up the mess, starting with the collection from his cheeks. “Such a good slut for me,” he wiped the cum from the underside of his chin, putting his fingers between his mouth while groaning. “I needed this so bad with the week I’ve had.” 

He wounded himself tight around his digits, letting go with a ‘pop. “Especially with how confused and horny you make me…I’m gonna fuck your stupid cunt until you’re sure you want me just as much as I want you.”

He reached over his bedside to rip open a condom and rolled it on himself, giving you the glimpse you needed to be reminded of how big and delectable just Chan’s cock was. There he then held your legs until they folded against you, spreading you wide and perfect for him to fuck into. Plunging through your cum lubricated walls, he entered you with ease, the familiar sensation of your fluttering grip took him back to his youth. “Shit, that’s good.”

You suppress a moan, to which he scolded you by squeezing your cheeks, gripping your face harshly in his direction, and what he said next was enough to make you want to cum right there on the spot. “Don’t do that. I want you to be loud. I want everyone in this house to hear you while I fuck you senseless to the point you forget your name.”

Whoever dare says Lee Chan is a liar is the real liar because he knows how to keep a promise.

His body, heavy and strong, pressed you unto the mattress mercilessly, pounding out the cheap strings that were bound to break. Your screams of his name bounced off the thin walls, taking every stroke of his cock until you were mistaken for bloody murder. It wasn’t what you expected, and yet you couldn’t be happier to be wrong. Your head threw back at the claim of his hands on your hips, now pulling at you to manually use you for his bidding, only to bottom out in you repeatedly. “Fuck Chan…please…”

After having been told to let your vocal cords loose, you took it personally and screamed his name from the rooftops, which you might as well have done with how obnoxiously boisterous you were taking every gorgeous inch. 

“Good slut,” He flipped you on your stomach, only to rut into you deep. His hand caressed your back, “I’m a bit possessive if you can’t tell. Usually, I wouldn’t care if anyone heard, but with you, I can’t help but do care. I want everyone to know who it is you’re fucking. Who it is ruining you like this.”

“Shit, that’s so hot…” you whine, your ass cheeks burning in the rage of his hips.

“Say it for me then. Say how you like me inside you. Say how you like how I’m fucking you stupid.”

You choked on your words as he pushed in you without abandon, riling himself up at the anticipation of your words. “I love you inside me…I love how you fuck me so stupid, Chan…”

He pulled you up by your arm, his hands clenched your breasts, fondling them on his palms and pinching your pretty erect nipples as his sweaty, toned chest pressed against your back. “You listen to me so fucking well,” he landed a strike on your breast, causing you to moan in response, “I wish I could’ve been fucking you like this all the time. No one was ever like you.”

Your back arched into him, convulsing as you felt the stream of your climax rise up the surface again, controlling you much the way Chan did. As if Chan could read your mind, his lips pressed against your ear tenderly, fingers coming at your swollen clit to rub it pain-achingly perfect. “Do it, cum all over my cock, baby…I want–need you to cum so hard on my cock.”

Even when you cum another time, Chan’s stamina doesn’t cease and he’s asking for another. “Just one more” he pleaded. And he’s fucking you over and over again, until you’re in his lap, grinding on his hips with cock stuffed back inside you as his legs lifted up in repetitive thrusts to rearrange your insides. His tongue roamed in your mouth without abandon, lip ring still brushing against your kiss-swollen lips as he’s whimpering how good you clench around him or perfectly you whine for him in that mouthwatering infliction. “Your pussy’s so damn perfect. Shit, I’ll—fuck, oh god.”

Your pungent honey releases once more, while Chan, unfortunately, poured him into his into the rubber, having you silently mourn the waste. He clenched you against him, your twitch so tantalizing, he had to feel every spasm, kissing you sweetly until you were soothed into stability. He whispered praise of your beauty, your body, your efforts. Bad memories of others washed away with his presence, only allowing his acts of worshiping every inch of you.

“I’m happy I came tonight.”

Chan chuckled, thinking about the unintended innuendo, as he pressed your body nestled into his closer, “Me too. Next time we can do it again, maybe without the condom next time.”

“Not without testing I hope,” You said after hearing him giggle at the thought. Then his words are repeating in your head, ‘Next time.’ You weren’t about to make the same mistake you’re used to and because it was Chan, you were confident with him it’d be different. You held his fingers in yours, lacing them through before pressing them to your lips, “Next time as in the next time we fuck or the next time we’re together?”

He softly smiled. “Looks like someone has a crush.”

“Ugh, fuck you.”

You let go of his hands, initiating his boisterous laughter and euphoria-inducing smile as he spooned your bare backside. “Next time we’re together. After I take you on a proper date that is.”

“What about your auction date?”

He sighed, suddenly remembering that. “It’s unavoidable, unfortunately, but I’ll promise to come to see you right after and show you what things I rather do to you than anyone else.”

“That a promise?”

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

You turned around to face him again and pressed your hands against his soft and supple cheeks, kissing his lips long and languidly. “You’re so cute.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, pulling you by the waist, “I thought the blonde and piercing would change that.”

“You’ll never not be cute. Everything cute about you I’ll l-adore.”

“You were going to say something else.”

“I wasn’t.” You denied.

“Oh my god,” he gripped tighter around, enough to almost suffocate you, “you love me.”

You flailed in his grip. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, you so love me,” He sang.

“Shut up, I don’t,” You rolled your eyes, “but I do end up loving someone, it wouldn’t be so bad if it was with you first.”

“Is that a promise to one day love me? To have and to hold?” He teases, secretly hopefully.

“Let’s say it’s wishful thinking. All Lee Chans in needs love too.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, someone will make sense of it.”

[zaddyazula]

my thesis on how nishiki, ryuji and mine are alive with basically no evidence other than my memory

nishiki is sort of on tender hooks here. my main reason for thinking he’s alive is that kiryu and haruka survived the fucking bomb blast while only being a few couple of metres away from nishiki. koi boy himself was still quite a few metres away from the bomb when he shot it. it’s possible he survived with some serious injuries (though somehow kiryu and haruka got out unscathed??? 😭😭😭); we don’t actually see nishiki afterwards - no dead body, only the sort of word that he’s dead. was he fatally shot… erm… that’s not important. police showed up straight afterwards anyways so if he was still alive he could’ve gotten medical help. does it make narrative sense for nishiki to die? yes. does it make narrative sense to bring him back? no. the daidoji could’ve got to him and recruited him i guess. they did it with hanawa/morinaga, who was also offscreened like nishiki (who technically was). we sort of just assume nishiki’s dead, considering he’s never been alluded to be alive, when technically we don’t really know if he truly is dead. kiryu and haruka surviving is the main point here, and seeing as how they miraculously sustained no injuries when being 10m at best away from the bomb, it’s possible that nishiki miraculously survived while being 5m at the most away from it. unlike ryuji and mine, there’s really no other hints at him possibly being alive. in reality, i don’t think nishiki will ever be brought back. as much i want him to, considering the position kiryu’s in now, it doesn’t really make much sense. it doesn’t make much sense anyways; nishiki’s death is a large part of his [kiryu’s] character, and alongside both yumi and kazama’s deaths, it marks the separation of kiryu from not only his youth but also the yakuza (or at least the start of it).

now, ryuji. my goat. my queen. the reason i am this insane over these comeback theories. unlike nishiki, ryuji has been hinted many, many a time to be alive, from as early as fucking dead souls (2011! FUCKING FIVE YEARS AFTER 2!) dead souls basically fucking proves he could be alive, because he literally is, and is just missing an arm (binding vow? 😭 it’s been too long since i’ve seen dead souls i can’t remember what the deal with his arm is). this is damning evidence, if i do say so myself. and he’s just living life, working at a food stand (my goat). dead souls confirms that he could’ve survived. ryuji’s death itself is slightly more damning for this thesis (😪). does he die on screen, unlike the other two (nishiki is on tender hooks for this as i said earlier)? maybe. so what, maybe he technically dies on screen? the important thing is, two seconds after he fucking “dies”, sayama and kiryu just start lipsing each other and don’t really pay attention to him. he got shot twice yeah, then got beat to hell by kiryu, but kiryu survived the same injuries (it’s not like ryuji just stood there and let himself get ragged by kiryu) so. it cancels out. you don’t hear anything about ryuji’s death after this basically (from what i can remember). BUT! because of dead souls, that immediately throws his on screen “death” into question. even if dead souls isn’t canon because it literally is a zombie invasion game, that possibility of ryuji being alive in canon is very much there. if it’s possible in the ridiculous zombie spin off, it’s possible in the main line. so, next port of call, and also the most recent damning evidence. gaiden and 8. i remember there being a tweet from rgg about ryuji in gaiden (as in the coliseum) but i literally went through the western rgg’s whole account and couldn’t find it, so i might just be making that up.

this is from a gaiden trailer (most likely; i couldn’t find it myself), but i found it from here:(https://blog.ja.playstation.com/2023/11/06/20231106-ryu7gaiden/) the article is from the 6th nov last year, so three days before gaiden’s official release.

this is what two translations say from the picture (i can’t translate it myself). the second one makes more sense to me but i don’t really trust google translate. just thought i’d mention this as it was from before gaiden’s release.

anyways, onto gaiden itself. this fucking game oh my god. this is where most of the baiting for ryuji comes from.

exhibit a

genuine piss take. obviously this isn’t ryuji who you fight, but the game is explicitly hinting at the possibility he’s still alive.

exhibit b

INCLUDING ME! even though in december it’ll be 18 years since yakuza 2 came out and ryuji’s death, hope has not been lost ✊😪. rgg is dangling ryuji in front of us. i’m fairly sure this is from the akame mission about ryuji (ghost of sotenbori), and i did boot up gaiden to see if i could replay it, but i didn’t have a save where i hadn’t done it. well ryuji doesn’t actually turn up so 🤷‍♂️ there’s two fakes you have to deal with in the mission (if my memory serves), and with the one in the coliseum that makes it three times ryuji was baited in gaiden. then of course, infinite wealth. there isn’t as much here, but it’s still quite a big bait.

i mean what the fuck kiryu. do you know something we don’t.

yeah i booted up a save of 8 too. ‘…any moment now. if only that were possible.’ kiryu knows something… that’s pretty much it for ryuji bait, from what i can remember and think of. another thing though is that rgg do clearly love ryuji, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they did bring him back. and considering how much they’ve baited us with a possible comeback in recent games, i think it’s safe to assume they’re up to something.

(also just want to mention the leaks awhile ago about a ryuji game. i’m pretty sure it’s based on his rgg online story which is set before 2 (1999 i think), so i’m not gonna talk about it here.)

now, finally, mine!!! he’s the most straightforward out of all three of them now because of 8. if we cast our minds back to yakuza 3, mine throws himself off a building along with richardson. and who makes an appearance in 8? richardson, alive. richardson being alive effectively confirms mine has at least a pretty big chance of being so too. one thing i do find funny is that mine wasn’t mentioned once in kiryu’s memoirs of a dragon (from what i could see), but nishiki and ryuji are. i actually don’t think mine is referenced other than in kiryu’s essence of remembrance, but he might’ve been and i’m just not aware of it. i actually don’t know how if richardson survived mine didn’t, because the latter would not save the former from death if they hit the ground (that hospital is ridiculously fucking tall). it’s been 15 and a half years (exactly to the day!) since yakuza 3 released, aka mine’s death, and out of the three he’s the most likely to be alive. considering how richardson survived, i don’t even know if you can count mine falling off the building as an off screen, because now we don’t actually know if he did in fact die. before 8, it seemed pretty improbable that mine would be alive, but it was the same situation as nishiki. also it’s not the most ridiculous death that someone’s come back from from yakuza 3. lau ka long got shot in the forehead ON SCREEN and kashiwagi got ragged by a fucking helicopter minigun ON SCREEN and they both fucking survived 😭 so mine taking a tumble off the top of a hospital isn’t the most extreme thing to survive. rgg also seem to like mine too, but we don’t see nearly as much hinting to him as we do with ryuji. i had a little look on youtube and:

THINGS WERE TOUCH AND GO??? 😭 what is this now the rubber floor??? i don’t even know. would they bring mine back though??? i don’t really know again. i mean i just take richardson being alive to mine also being out there so. make of it what you will.

but there you go. my extensive knowledge and research on how the goats of rgg are still alive. on everyone else’s lives but mine the three of them are gonna come back!

[rise-my-angel]

Some stans actually believe that once Jon learns of his true parentage he will be happy. Jon literally just wants to be acknowledged as a Stark, he wants nothing with that shitty prince or his fire loving family. He might get some closure knowing about Lyanna but Ned Stark will always be his daddy.

I was thinking about this, and really, it doesn't change much of Jon's understanding of Ned. He knows his father isn't telling him the truth, or at least by not saying a word to him about his mother, he is keeping information from him on purpose. He knows Ned was hiding something about his birth, because Jon spent his entire life wondering what couldve happened between his mother and his father to cause him to shut down about it, even to him, even to Catelyn.

Jon already is aware that Ned is hiding something. He just does not know the degree of the secret.

But also, I am sick of people dismissing Neds role in his life. Ned is not Jon's uncle. Sure by blood he is, but Jon was raised thinking that he is his father. He was treated just like a father treats his son, he was loved and given the same education that Robb got, he was raised in the family home getting to grow up with his brothers and sisters.

Jon didn't suddenly lose all those days or evenings he wouldve gotten to spend with his father alone. Didn't suddenly lose all of the times they acted just like a loving father and son with no hangups. He didn't suddenly lose the fact that to Ned Stark, Jon is not his nephew, he is his son.

Jon does not suddenly lose that Ned never even gave him a reason to feel like he wasn't a good enough son. He interacted with his father his whole life in a way that made him feel loved to the point that even now that hes dead, Jon routinely feels frustration that multiple older men in his life have tried to place themselves into the position of a father figure to Jon.

He was given a personalized version of the Mormonts ancestral sword, that was once belonging to Jeors son. Jon's honoured but he is not lost on the implication that Jeor looks at Jon like a pseudo son and it bothers Jon even then. Men can give Jon a thousand swords but it will never change that his father alone is Ned Stark. And keep in mind, this occurs during the period of time early at Castle Black where Jon is resentful and thinks Ned let him come here because this life was all he deserved. And he STILL refused to let someone sway him into seeing a man as a father figure other then Ned Stark.

Jon through all the insecurities and anger, loves Ned Stark as much as a son possibly could. More then once Jon thinks in situations that could lead to his death, about Ned. He always circles back to what would his father think or do. Jon dictates his independent, adult life based around learning to be the honourable man his father wanted him to be and does so without resentment.

My negative opinions of Rhaegar aside, Jon has no attachment to the thought of him as any kind of man. He grew up his whole life knowing the story that Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna Stark. He grew up likely hearing the rumours that she was raped. He knew that kidnapping led to her dying tragically at the age of 16 in a way that clearly traumatized his father.

Jon has never been missing a father figure. He has always been missing his mother. Not missing a mother figure, only his mother. The only person he cares to learn about is her because shes the one person in Jon's blood he has never truly known. Then he learns hes heard about his mother his whole life, and realizes the bloodshed caused both for his conception and that she died without having a chance to be with her son at all.

Learning the truth is about realizing WHY Ned did the things he did. Why telling him about his mother was both too painful and too risky. Jon can be angry he was lied too, but does not change that Jon is smart and will understand that Ned did it all to protect Jon.

Jon will realize Ned did not need to raise him as his own son, in his home and family and give him love, to keep him safe. Jon knows Ned did all of that because he loves him the way Ned loved Robb or Bran. Jon will ultimately realize he never actually lost the father he grew up with, because Ned always considered Jon to be his son.

Learning the truth for Jon is about Lyanna, it's about learning that his mother died with her last words begging Ned to protect him because she loved him. It's about Jon realizing he is an echo of the dark shadows of Lyannas final months of life and that he needs to stand up and fight because she couldn't. That he needs to protect the ones he loves the way he wishes he could go back in time and protect her.

It's about realizing hes always had a father, because to Ned, Jon was always his son through and through. And it's about Jon realizing that he needs to live and fight because without him, Lyannas memory will fade away forever and he will not allow that to happen to her again.

Whatever people want to say about how Jon will feel about learning his blood is partly Targaryean, they will always downplay Jon also coming to terms with himself as a Stark.

However Jon will feel about the Targaryean side, none of that will take away that Jon will realize how incredibly important his Stark side is and always was. Their speculations about how Jon will feel about a man hes barley thought about his whole life, should never overpower that the truth leads Jon to the thing that matters.

That Jon Snow has always been loved, and he's always been a Stark. Because he was the son his mother died begging to protect, and he was the son that Ned Stark chose.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 17

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Fox, Comet

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Y'all, we are only a few chapters away from meeting Lilith! I am so excited to introduce her! I don't want to say things are going to happen quickly from now on, but the pace is definitely going to pick up. The foundation has been set, and now it's time to get moving with the plot. And who better than Fox to help move us along? This is another chill chapter with lots of brother-time, so no one should be doing any crying... I hope. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot

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Series Masterlist

The morning came quickly–too quickly–as Wolffe woke before the sunrise. With the time he spent in space, his body never followed the rising or setting of the suns, but rather a clock that ticked deep within his biology. It was both a blessing and a curse in his mind. On one hand, he never had to set an alarm, but on the other, sleeping in was never an option. Cara was still asleep though, resting against his chest under the protective covering of his arms. It would be a bit before she awoke, but that gave him time to think about his mission for the day.

He stared silently up at the ceiling and reviewed every step he needed to take to ensure she was cared for while he was gone. He only had one rotation to accomplish it all, seeing as he would be departing before sunset on the next rotation, so there was no room for errors or setbacks. He had to be calm, calculated, and resolute. Most of those traits came naturally to Wolffe, but when his daughter was involved, a lot of who he was as a commander fell to the wayside. It felt cruel to shove part of her out of his mind, but life was also just as cruel.

It was only an hour before Comet found his way to their room to relieve Wolffe. Ever the cautious man, he poked his head into the dark room to make sure it was safe to enter. Wolffe watched him with amusement, the light from the hall outlining Comet's form, and he would've said something, but he didn't want to wake Cara. The last thing he needed was for her to get clingy before he left for the diner. She knew he would come back later in the day, but it didn't matter to her; leaving was leaving. For Wolffe, a silent hand-off was a lot easier.

Besides, she liked being with Comet more than she liked being with him. At least, that's what he told himself when he had to make the tough decisions that made his daughter cry. Justification wasn't the right word for it, but it allowed him to be the bad guy when he needed to be and allowed Comet to remain the good guy that she needed in life. Even though Comet left when Wolffe left, in Cara's mind, Wolffe forced Comet to leave. She might not understand how the hierarchy worked, but she did understand that when Wolffe spoke, the others listened.

Carefully, Wolffe slid himself off the bed and placed Cara back down onto the indent his body made. Both men held their breath in anticipation, but she must have been very tired because she stayed asleep and barely stirred at the swap. In the dim light from the doorway, Wolffe and Comet exchanged silent words with the same hand motions and gestures they used on the battlefield when vocal communication was impossible. It was clunky, but effective, and got the job done. Once Comet was briefed, Wolffe changed his clothes and left for the diner.

His journey to the diner was uneventful, practically quiet. It was still early in the morning for Coruscant's surface layer to be fully awake, but the subsurface layer was still bustling from the nightlife and now busy setting up for their daytime clientele. The diner wasn't a fancy place, but it was clone-friendly and served good food at a reasonable price. Most clones visited the bars and enjoyed the revelry late nights, but any level-headed, seasoned commander would rather sleep all night and eat a hot breakfast than get a cheap lap dance and a wicked hangover.

It was also rare for multiple commanders to be on Coruscant at once, however at least one was always there–Fox. When Wolffe entered the diner, he knew exactly where to go; left and down to the last booth against the window. It was their usual booth, but usual meant they did this often, which was far from the truth. The last time they met up was during his last leave, months ago, and before that, it was nearly a full cycle. It's not that Wolffe chose to ignore his batch brother, but if he had to choose between seeing his family or seeing Fox, he would choose his family every time.

As Wolffe approached the booth, he chuckled. Fox looked as tired as always, but perhaps a touch more than usual. Fox held the rim of his mug against his lips, the steam wisping up in front of his half-lidded eyes, with his elbows resting on the table, and a blank expression on his face. It almost looked like the mug was holding Fox up, instead of the other way around. If Wolffe didn't know any better, he would've thought Fox was asleep with his eyes open, but he did know better–that was just Fox in his normal resting state.

Wolffe slid into the bench seat across from Fox and stretched his arms over his head before picking up the mug of caf his brother ordered for him. He inhaled the warm and bitter fragrance before taking a sip and then hummed in satisfaction with the familiar brew. There was nothing like a diner caf. No offense to his wife's caf-maker, of course, but something about a cheap diner caf made him feel like a real man. It was leagues better than what the GAR gave them, but not as good as the caf from the surface layer. It was a wonderful middle brew.

"So," Wolffe said as he placed his mug down. "How's the wife?"

"Fat and ugly," Fox answered nonchalantly, then took a sip of this caf. "At least that's what she says every time I ask, which apparently is too many times."

Wolffe laughed. "When's she due?"

"Couple more weeks," Fox said.

"Are you nervous?" Wolffe asked.

"Kinda," Fox said with a shrug. "The pregnancy's been rough on her."

"She didn't get better?" Wolffe asked, then took another sip from his mug.

"Nope," Fox sighed. "She got sick in the first trimester and it's been downhill ever since."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Wolffe said. "It's a good thing she has you to support her."

Fox huffed. "Yeah, support…" He took a long sip after that comment. "The only support she wants from me is to stop breathing so loudly. Some days I think she actually wants me dead."

Wolffe raised a quizzical eyebrow. Fox looked more like he was taking shots of his caf as if it was a cheap whiskey, rather than savoring it. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," Fox said, then set his mug down and rubbed his face. "She doesn't sleep, I don't sleep, we don't sleep."

"The baby won't sleep either," Wolffe said. He chuckled knowingly to himself with a smile hidden behind the rim of his mug.

Fox shot him with an unamused look through his fingers.

"Sorry," Wolffe said. "But I've got some experience."

Fox waved his hand to dismiss the apology. "Anyway, we're here to talk about you, not me." He paused contemplatively. "I'm sorry about Maria."

Wolffe bit his lip and set his mug down. He stared into the dark liquid and fidgeted with the handle. "I… I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay…" Fox said softly. "Then what do you want to talk about?"

"Cara," Wolffe said without looking up.

"What about her?" Fox asked.

Wolffe tapped his finger against the table as he thought about how he wanted to ask what he needed to ask. "I'm redeploying tomorrow night."

"Already?" Fox asked. "She must be having a hard time with that. You know, since…"

Wolffe tapped his finger faster and harder against the table, the silence getting awkward.

"You did tell her, right?" Fox asked.

"It's better this way," Wolffe said, deciding not to answer the question directly. Keeping the actual words in his mouth made the idea of not telling Cara more palatable for him. Selfish maybe, but he didn't want to handle any more emotional drama. He wanted just a bit of normalcy before he left and then a clean break to harden his mind. It was better that way.

"For who?" Fox asked.

"Listen," Wolffe sighed. "I didn't come here for a lecture. I need your help."

"Wolffe, I know what you're gonna ask," Fox said. He shook his head. "And the answer is no."

"Fox, c'mon," Wolffe pleaded. "You're the closest thing I have to family."

"I get that," Fox said. "But my hands are tied. Between my duties to Guard and my sick, pregnant wife, who can barely take care of herself, we couldn't possibly look after her too."

Wolffe closed his eyes and threw his head back against the booth cushion. "Kriff."

"Besides," Fox said. "Cara doesn't even like me."

"That's only because the gray in your hair scares her," Wolffe said without opening his eyes. "Maybe you should dye it."

Fox huffed and crossed his arms. "My wife likes it and as long as it turns her on, the gray parts are staying gray." He grinned smugly. "She calls me her silver Fox."

Wolffe leaned forward and twisted his lip in disgust. "Oh, gross. Please keep that stuff to yourself."

"But seriously," Fox said, changing the subject back. "You know my situation. If anyone found out about my wife… my kid, it would all be over. I can't risk it. Not even for you."

"Thorn?" Wolffe asked.

"Nope."

"Hound?"

"Not a chance."

"Thire?"

"Never."

"Stone?"

Fox snorted. "I wouldn't trust him to keep a plant alive."

Wolffe groaned and hung his head in his hands.

"I know you have your beef with the Jedi, and I get why you don't want her in the Temple, but what about a nanny?" Fox asked.

Wolffe lifted his head and looked at Fox in confusion. "A nanny?"

"Yeah," Fox said. "We're hiring one for when the baby comes."

"What does it do?" Wolffe asked.

"Well, there are different types," Fox said. "Some work part-time and come to the home on certain days, and there are some that work full-time and live in the home. They do pretty much anything you want–the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, the laundry."

"Really?" Wolffe asked. He crossed his arms, intrigued by the idea of a live-in nanny. "How much does it cost?"

"I don't know," Fox said with a shrug. "Her parents are paying for it since they physically can't help us with the baby. I guess we got lucky with that."

Wolffe huffed. "Yeah. Real lucky."

"Easy, vod," Fox said. "I'm not trying to rub this in your face."

Wolffe sighed. "I know."

"Here," Fox said, then grabbed a napkin and started to write on it. "This is the name and the coordinates of the agency we're working with. They're not that far from here, so go take a look for yourself."

Wolffe studied the words on the napkin, then looked at Fox. "You sure they're legit?"

Fox looked offended. "I'm the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Don't you think I'd do background checks on every employee before I let them near my son?"

"So, it's a boy?" Wolffe asked, a smirk turning up on his lip.

"Yes, it's a boy," Fox said.

"Got any names picked out yet?" Wolffe asked, still smiling.

"Well," Fox said, "I wanted to call him Aran, but she wanted to call him Eli, so we compromised and his name is Eli."

Wolffe laughed heartily.

"It's not funny," Fox said, but he couldn't help cracking a smile himself.

"Why are we so bad at naming children?" Wolffe asked. "Maria insisted on naming Cara because she was afraid I'd pick out something stupid like, tooka."

"I mean, that's just normal clone naming conventions," Fox said.

Wolffe hummed, remembering back to when he and his wife discussed baby names. "But babies aren't clones."

"No, I guess they're not," Fox said.

Wolffe and Fox continued their conversation as they ate breakfast with both men reminiscing about simpler times and trading stories of newer times. It was more than Wolffe could've asked for. Although he would never admit it, he felt a touch lonely since his wife's passing. The men under his command were his brothers, but Fox was his equal, someone who could talk back to him, set him straight, and be honest. It was a rarity among the ranks with the commanders spread thin. He missed his batch brothers, and it was good to catch up with one.

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[moonysbxtch0]

505

Part 10 : Grindylow Hunt

Pairing: Professor Lupin x reader

Summary: Reader tries to find the Grindylow, too bad she has to do so when she's overwhelmed by her emotions from the close full moon.

Warnings: mastrubation (m) ,slight mentions of violence.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39275319/chapters/119629324

Fuck Remus Lupin. That asshole was dead serious about you getting him a grindylow.You had tried to change his mind a couple times, tried to offer a better deal but he insisted on his own.Not only that but every time you brought up the topic in a sarcastic tone he would blackmail you , threatening to actually tell McGonagall about you and the twins. So,with that thought on mind,on Sunday you woke up, body betraying you in every single way.It felt limp and you were too tired to even stand up. You wanted to sleep but you couldn't and you shouldn't if you still wanted to be a student here.

He's not getting out of this easily. You kept reminding yourself as you got ready. You cussed professor Lupin the whole time ,when you brushed your teeth... spitting on the sink harshly imagining you did so on his face ,when washing your face and then angrily drying it with a towel,when your pants ripped from anger as you tried to put them on,when your hair tangled when you tried to brush it, when you couldn't find you wand and as you slammed the door of your room, descending down the stairs.

"What in the Merlin's left ball?" You were faced with Percy. He was sitting on the couch, reading a book , enjoying the warmth of the crackling fireplace." Who died?"

"Hmm?" You furrowed your eyebrows at him.You were feeling irritated and didn't have any patience to decipher Percy's jokes so early in the morning. Just thinking that he would stay on the room while you had to go out in this cold made your blood boil. Life's unfair.

"It's Sunday, you're up early. I should mark this day on my calendar." He looked dumbfounded. Shut the fuck up Percy. That's what you wanted to say to him. Full moon was going to happen in about a week and unfortunately you got hit with one of the worst emotions, irritation.

"Lower your head ,keep reading that book and mind your business." You frowned and shoved your hands angrily in your pockets.

"Are you having your period? You're in a bad mood." Being dumb was a Weasley treat because even if you were it wasn't any of his business. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.You were mad at Lupin,Percy didn't have to be the person you express your anger at.

"See you around." You started walking in the fat lady's direction, trying to get out of the room before you started an unnecessary fight with Percy for no reason.

"Where are you going?" He raised his voice.Now even if you wanted to tell him th truth ,you couldn't. If you said that you had detention,he would start asking questions and eventually you might slip and tell him the actual reason you woke up so early. Plus you had to leave before Oliver woke up,you lied to him the other night and told him you weren't feeling well and couldn't make it to Hogsmade with him. If he saw you looking perfectly fine now ,he would think that you made an excuse to not go with him and you didn't want him to think that you were ignoring him.

"Out for a walk. Don't tell Oliver that you saw me." You forced a smile as you faced Percy but the look on your eyes made him gulp.

"Okay..."

<•>

You were laying on the grass,close to the lake,hands behind your head staring at the clouds which were changing shape frequently. You were thinking of ways that could help you catch a Grindylow without getting wet but till now you hadn't thought of anything. You hadn't learnt any spells like that and that made you groan in frustration.You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

At least you had a general idea how to catch one , thanks to your reading yesterday. You came across many useless information,you even read a book written from your previous defence against the dark arts professor,Gilderoy that turned out to be pure trash. The only helpful information you found was an article written by Newt Scamander who had managed to catch one and keep it in a jar. You had made sure to bring a jar with you.You sighed heavily and rested your weight on your forearms now.Maybe you could try to summon one?

"Accio grind-" you stopped yourself.What if you summoned more than one? Plus it's not like it would magically land on your hands anyway. Fuck. You had no other choice but to swim inside the lake. If you died ,you would fucking stalk that Remus Lupin for an entirety, that was a promise.

You stood near the lake, trying to not think too much about the risks of getting killed.You could do this. Twelve transformations a year and you still hadn't died ,a little water wasn't going to change that...or so you hoped. Not thinking too much about it , without a second thought you jumped into the water. You were freezing,it was cold... actually the word cold didn't even describe the temperature of this water.You should have been more careful when you got inside but it was too late. It felt as if your heartbeat slowed. You took deep breaths and gave your body time to get used to the water's temperature. Eventually it did ,you grabbed hold of your wand and casted the bubble-head charm.

You slowly sunk down,not moving too fast , trying to be wary of your surroundings. The lake might be one of the scariest places in the school but in a way you found it beautiful.Not just because of the view because as you kept swimming you noticed many life forms,co-living and not disturbing each other, clearly not minding one another.Only if it was the same with humans,your life would be much more easy,not having to be judged your whole life,not having to worry about showing the true you,your true colours without the fear of being prejudiced for being a werewolf.

You had yet to spot a Grindylow even after about half an hour of being down here and by the looks of it you wouldn't find any if you didn't do something soon. You stopped for a moment, moving your limbs to keep you floating without sinking further and tried to find a solution. It didn't take you much time to think of one.You muttered a tracking spell and soon a net of white strings appeared in front of you. You tried to focus on finding what you came here for in the first place and tried to ignore the white strings ,which located the other creatures and then soon enough a red string appeared. You found them. You just had to follow it.

They were smart,you would give them that.They had hidden under a beautiful dark red rock and never in a million years would you have thought to check there. You eventually went close to it, using professor Lupin's tip to levitate it and soon enough a group of baby Grindylows ,which were sleeping appeared in front of you.They seemed harmless like this and you were glad their mothers weren't around. You managed to get close to them and slowly grabbed one of them, sealing it on a jar just as Newt had done. You charmed the jar and made it shrink so it would fit inside your pocket. You levitated the rock back to where it was but as you did ,you lost concentration for a moment because you thought you heard something and it nicked your thigh. It didn't hurt but the blood wasn't a good sign. It had a certain smell that might attract certain dangerous creatures so with that thought you started swimming back to the surface.

You had a smile on your face,you were sure that Lupin didn't think that you would actually get him one and couldn't wait to see the expression on his face. You felt relieved,he won't snitch and you won't get expelled.Though the twins owe you big time for this...they should have been here with you. You were finally seeing light from the surface, just a few more meters and you would be able to leave and never come back.

Whatever smile you had on your face , vanished quickly when you felt something slippery wrap around your ankle. You frantically moved your head down only to see a group of angry adult Grindylows swim in your direction,one of them having grabbed hold of your ankle and gripping it as if its life depended on it. You were screwed.

<•>

Remus had closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the hot water that hit his skin. One hand was resting on the cold piles of the wall and the other one was resting against his side. He let out a deep groan as he felt the pain from his body leave just for the shortest moment. He was tired,both mentally and physically today.

Full moon was only a week away and he already had start feeling restless.What he actually hated this time that made him feel tired mentally was the emotion that decided to accompany this month's full moon. He threw his head back and let the water splash his face, taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly. He felt something between his legs twitch and the thought that he would have to deal with being rock hard for about a week was killing him.

He tried not to give his cock any attention, even though it was starting to become painful. He didn't want to risk it because last time Remus had sat on his desk, pulled his cock out of his pants and had started jerking off images of a certain witch had come to his mind. Her taking his cock in her mouth,inch by inch, gagging on it , eyes watering because she couldn't fully fit him there had made Remus feel guilty for days and ashamed of himself as he had cleaned the mess he had created on his pants and shirt.

Sure he hadn't sat down with the thought of beating his meat while thinking of you,he had tried to use the time as a stress reliever but when it took a dark turn ,it only increased his stress. Sure,it was his fault for that much he was sure. He had been teasing you since day one , had even made sexual remarks...he knew that he shouldn't have done so, he's supposed to maintain professionalism but something about you makes him get out of his skin.

Opening his eyes slowly and looking down,he noticed that his erection hadn't gone down in the slightest. Oh Merlin,he was screwed. He knew what would happen if he touched himself but if he didn't he would have to suffer all day...he needed to cum,he had time to feel guilty after. For now he had to get himself out of this agonizing state. So with that thought,he wrapped a hand around his cock and bit his lip hard , groaning in the process. This felt good...even if the person he imagined as soon as he moved his fist up and down was going to probably hate him if she knew what he did when he thought about her,how he sullied her image,how he imagined that he would defile her... didn't stop Remus from making himself cum,your name falling from his lips.

"Fuck." His chest was moving up and down fast,his fist was covered with white liquid ,the piles were covered in small white maps but none of that mattered. " The fuck is wrong with me?" He muttered as he slammed his forehead against the wall.

<•>

"Relashio" you moaned the revolusion jinx, forcing the Grindylow to remove its hold from your ankle. You had no time to zone out so with that thought,you swam as fast as you could, thanks to your lycanthropy which gave you extra stamina you were out in no time.You crawled out of the lake , coughing on the process and then your body fell to the ground. You made it out ,safe.

"In your face ,Lupin." You shouted and smiled as you punched the air.

<•>

In a matter of twenty minutes you had dried your clothes,had reversed the shrinking spell on the jar,had cleaned the small wound on your thigh ,had found the twins and asked for their help to locate professor Lupin using the marauders map and now you were standing in front of his private chambers door.

You gulped, should you perhaps wait for a better moment to hand him the Grindylow...it felt like you were overstepping his boundaries by being here. What if he thought that you were a stalker? Wait. You almost died because of him today,if anyone should feel guilty, it's him. You moved your eyes from left to right then rasped your knuckles on the hard wood , waiting for him to open the door,hand him the Grindylow,make a sarcastic comment,mock his attempts of blackmailing you the past few days and live your life happy ever after.

The door creaked open, revealing professor Lupin but the second you saw him,your train of thoughts was interrupted. Your eyes were glued on him,your heart was beating fast...what the hell?! He must have just gotten out of the shower because the only thing he was wearing was a towel wrapped around his waist.Water droplets were forming trails all over his naked upper body, which was quite ripped...he didn't look like he would be hiding all that under those clothes of his. His cheekbones were flushed in a warm red ,nose shining and his eyes' colour was even more noticeable...

"Poppy-" he was drying his hair with another towel." I told you that you didn't have to-" he stopped talking when his eyes landed on you.

Something was wrong with you...your throat felt sore,your lips were dry.You couldn't even control the way your voice trembled as you spoke."Professor."

"Y/N." His voice dropped a few octaves lower than usual.

"Eh..."you gulped, trying to get hold of your thoughts. Nervously licking your lip ,you spoke." Your...errand." You moved the jar in his direction, moving your eyes to the side, trying to ignore the way he was raking your body with his eyes , trying to not do the same.

"Right." He ran a hand through his hair, puffing his cheeks and sighing in the process. You heard his footsteps closing in and when he closed the distance you had to physically restrain yourself from making any reaction when his toxicating smell of arousal filled your nose. It was...what the hell was he doing before you arrived here? You closed your eyes and the quick fragment of the professor touching himself that appeared on you mind,made your abdomen clench,your cheeks heat up and your chest burn. The realisation hit you...it wasn't irritation that you would have to deal with this month,hell you wished if that would be the case,you actually had to deal with being horny for a whole week...Oh Merlin." I think you can let go of it,I got it." His voice was strained and hoarse and for the moment your whole nervous system was malfunctioning.

"Eh... sorry." You moved your eyes to his , only to find him already staring at you with this darkened expression...his eyes...no. You were reading too much into this. You let go of the jar and he held the top of it with one hand."Deal closed?" You found it hard to speak,it felt like a struggle to even form simple words in the moment.

He rubbed his neck and moved his eyes to the side, eyebrows furrowed."Yes. I'll keep my word,no worries."

"Thank you..." You let the words linger on the air... waiting for him to say something but he refused to even meet eyes with you again."Guess I'll see you around...sir."

He ran his palm over his face,from his forehead,down to his chin and then back to his forehead, sliding his hair back then locking eyes with you again." See you around,Y/N."

Part 11:

[theladyofrosewater]

So I was browsing the MCD wiki (which sidenote thank you @/lggy for maintaining the wiki you are a godsend) and I noticed that because of the sepia or whatever filter they used, Zianna and Aaron's wife Lilly look really similar so I thought "what if I made them sisters"

THINK ABOUT IT FOR A SECOND. If I make it so that Lilly and Aaron get married early that would effectively make Zianna the sister of the Lord of Falconclaw and a pretty valuable person to marry in terms of alliances so Zianna would make the decision to marry Garte and therefore O'Khasis would never move on Falconclaw and hey if Garte died early (most descendants of Esmund have a habit of dying young in my rewrite) that would effectively let Zianna rule O'Khasis as long as she had an heir that could wield Esmund's relic.

It also would make Aaron more involved in the plot because I will be honest, while I do not hate Aaron because I can separate him from Jason enough. Aaron feels like a character who would have been a one-off character or at least one who was a side character to the level of say Lucinda. I know the Divine Warriors and Irene are supposed to be the kinda main story but I will be honest with you the Ro'Meaves and their absolute chaos are way more interesting to me. Zane was the season one's villain, Garroth and Vylad were mysteries that we got to upwrap with both Ru'aun as a whole and some stuff about the Shadow Knights. In making Aaron Zianna's brother-in-law and the uncle of Garroth, Zane and Vylad to me, besides just making him more connected to the main plot, does two main things.

Aaron in current MCD canon is really only connected to two characters Aphmau and Zane. I'm changing his relationship to Aph to be more of a mentorship one because I think he sees the young daughter he and his wife wanted to have but never got too because of Zane. to me it makes the massacre at Falconclaw be that much more personal because instead of this random priest just killing your wife, child, and entire village for no real reason imagine this. You're a lord of a village and relatively recently two of your nephews have died and one of them quite gruesomely, you've got one nephew left and he requests a family visit and you accept because hey the kid has always been a bit weird but he just lost both of his brothers and he probably needs support right now so you extend an invitation for him to visit. He gets there and he somehow got to be the head of the major religion in your area and the kid's not even 19 yet and looks like he hasn't slept in days so you rush the tour and send him to your home, maybe your wife can get him to eat something, or your son might cheer him up for at least a little while. You think nothing of it and keep doing your job until you hear screaming and see so many dead. Your wife is dead, your son is dead everyone is dead and the only one alive is your nephew and when he looks at you he fucking smiles and says it "it was necessary but don't worry I'm sure you'll join them soon enough" before walking off leaving you to bury bodies for years. Making Aaron be related to the Ro'meaves in my opinion changes his story from just a fridging backstory to a classic tragedy because it becomes a betrayal bathed and forged from blood.

I think it would give him a better motivation to risk his life to get Garroth back and it would make him interact with the other characters because he wants to know what kind of man his non-evil nephew turned into. That causes him to be more and more social with everyone. Maybe he spars and trains with Katelyn, He teaches Dante and his kids how to fish because Aaron never got to teach Jacob how, but still wants to pass on that skill. Maybe he knows things about shadow knights that most people don't, and he promises to teach Laurance in case he might help him. Maybe he takes Travis hunting because Travis never got to go on hunting trips with a parent. And then he sacrifices himself. Katelyn ignores the painful feeling she gets when she looks at the spare chalk and wrappings she has for spars. The fishing poles in Dante's house get covered with dust and cobwebs, the strings rotting away and snapping. Laurance and maybe Vylad struggling with being shadow knights as the call gets stronger and wondering if Aaron would have known how to deal with it. Travis out of anger snaps his bow in half before realizing what he did and breaking down. I want Garroth to be horrified when he finally is home and realizes just who they lost to get him back. I want them to care about him and I want his sacrifice to be more than love triangle fodder

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

The last day of exams always held a sense of relief. The finish line to cross, or the light to re-emerge into, or the surface to swim towards from the depths, depending on who you asked. A sign of hell on earth finally coming to an end. Akihiko’s been doing this for three years now, and for the first time, he feels none of that relief. 

How can he? The hell he’s been living in has nothing to do with equations or essays or memorizing vocabulary. The last two weeks have been the worst in recent memory– only the murky stretch of time after Miki died even compares.

He had managed at least to finish his final test early, faster than everyone else in class. The teacher in charge of keeping an eye on them all had given him a strange look, but he accepted the test regardless and Akihiko was free to leave, early or not.

He isn’t confident in his scores, but right now he really couldn’t care less. 

Now he’s back at the hospital, right where he’s spent the majority of his time since the last full moon. If he wasn’t at school, or sleeping or bathing, he was here: in this box with Shinji and the phantom of a hypothetical cat as they hovered between ‘alive’ and ‘dead’ (that thought experiment hadn’t even come up on the damn test, which he finds unaccountably irritating).

It was a menial schedule. He studied, he ordered takeout, he did some shadow boxing now and then just to let off some steam. Sometimes he talked to the other team members when they were visiting. And he waited for Shinji to wake up.

He knows it isn’t healthy to devote all of his free time to this. He does. But Akihiko had meant what he’d said to Mitsuru: he doesn’t want Shinji to wake up alone.

There’s a nurse switching out Shinji’s IV line when Akihiko comes into the room today. It’s the same nurse that’s always here, he thinks. The nurse offers a cursory greeting, and Akihiko greets him back. He finishes his task and leaves, and Akihiko and Shinji are left by themselves.

The long silence that follows weighs heavy, just like always. Akihiko doesn’t know what to do with himself. He sits there, lost in thought, for at least a half hour.

Akihiko’s never really been one for words. He’s always lets his actions, and his fists, do the talking for him. But in this situation, that just isn’t an option. 

Words are all he’s been left with, and yet he’s barely said anything to Shinji since he was admitted. What would be the point in talking to someone who can’t respond? He’s been told by nurses, by his mother, even by Takeba, that Shinji might be able to hear him, but he just doesn’t see how that can be true.

But the strain of it all– the lack of sleep, the hours of silence, the endless uncertainty, the vertigo-inducing moments of adjustment whenever he crosses the boundary between this room and the rest of the world– must be loosening his tongue. Akihiko finds that the words just spill out.

He digs his fingers into the fabric of his slacks.

The memory of Shinji practically spitting poison in his face still makes his blood boil. Where did he get off demanding Ahikiho stop worrying about him– right after admitting to taking those drugs that had cut his life expectancy off at the knees (or at least not denying it, which was as close to admitting anything as he could almost ever get out of the stubborn jackass). 

Akihiko gets up to pace. His skin crawls and burns, his muscles feel like they’re squirming underneath. He needs to move, he needs to get this out, or he’s going to lose his mind.

He stops, his back to the bed and its occupant. He can’t even face Shinji right now.

Tears sting at the backs of his eyes. He grits his teeth and tries his damnedest not to let them fall. Even now, talking about the night that took Miki hurts like the ends of a broken bone grinding against each other– deep and jagged and nauseating. He lets out a shaky breath and bows his head, pressing a hand over his eyes.

God. He needs to get ahold of himself. The last thing he wants is for a nurse to walk in and see him like this.

[calciumcryptid]

I need more MattMick/MickMatt... please?

Of course!

Mick and Matt met before canon, but not in person. They met online in the gaming space. Mick played competitively. Matt didn't, he played for fun, but is ridiculously good. It drove Mick up the walls and everytime he saw Matt's username he'd go for the kill.

He was over it by college, and when he found out Matt's username he nearly died laughing.

Matt prefers older games and vintage consoles while Mick keeps up with newer games and modern consoles (along with the competitive scene).

Since I have my Mick is secretly really snarky headcanon and Matt is canonically snarky, they are both snarky and judgemental together but only Matt says anything to anyone's face.

They cosplay and attend conventions together, and they fight over who gets to dress as the female character during their couple costumes.

Cosplay is incorporated into their sex life too. This has led to many shenanigans.

They aren't switches, but they are vers.

You know they're laughing during sex.

They got together pretty quick.

It took Matt a little bit to realize he liked Mick beyond the basic admiration a junior has for their senior, but once he realized he went to confess because he was not going to be Toey.

The confession was really straight forward, like, ridiculously so. Matt confessed and Mick sat him down to talk about the expectations.

This might be controversial, but Mick didn't have (or at least didn't realize he had) feelings for Matt, but goes out with him on a date to see how it goes. When he realizes he would be okay with taking the relationship further, he asks Matt to be his official boyfriend.

The rest of the group were shocked they moved at a reasonable pace in a reasonable manner. Beer makes a joke about them never seeing a traditional relationship trajectory before.

That is kind of the running theme with their relationship which is that it is devoid of the typical romance drama boys love nonsense (affectionate). They are just two men who happened to like each other and are now dating.

Matt basically moves in with Mick after graduation, and Mick is so happy about it.

Abstract Painter Matt

Computer Engineer Mick

As a little side hustle, Matt paints video game landscapes and makes them into prints.

They adopt two dogs.

It is up to the person to decide whether they see them as having kids, but if they did they'd have a son and they would adopt him later in life (they're the last ones to have a kid).

Mick isn't the best cook, but he is a good baker and Matt adores the bread he bakes.

Matt retains his play dead response, and Mick finds it adorable. Early in their relationship, Matt would play possum when he got overwhelmed by their relationship, and Mick tucked his head into his side until Matt rebooted. To this day, Matt likes resting his head in Mick's lap.

They watch Esports competitions.

Mick knows more about QToey than he'd like to know because Toey calls Matt for everything and is so loud he can hear the phone call down the hall. Ironically, this has led him to walk by and drop unasked for advice constantly.

Mick soaks up the gossip like a sponge and feeds it back to Matt. Sometimes he'll even liveblog it to him.

Mick is always paying attention which is great when it comes to the romance in a romantic relationship, but it can get annoying when MickMatt have fights.

Phum may have whimpering golden retriever energy, but Mick has guilty boxer energy. Which is more devastating? Peem and Matt are arguing about it until this day.

Their snack game is the best in the group.

[darthpastry]

Welcome to part two of my official Henry-hate crusade. Time to cover the true ending of Pizzeria Sim! For this one, I want to take one of the fandoms favorite moments, the connection terminated speech, and shred it to piece while explaining why Henry isn't really a hero in this instance. So! Let's go over certain lines. Maybe compliment some of my favorite ones so this isn't just hating and recognizing he isn't the absolute worst.

"And to you, my brave volunteer."

Idk about you, but it doesn't exactly seem to me like Michael knew what he was volunteering for.

"Who somehow found this job listing not intended for you."

If it was anyone else, they probably would've died. The only other person by this point who was known to be able to survive the animatronics was Jeremy and I doubt that even if he was still around, he would be able to fend them off due to brain injury. Also, not so much a complaint, but did Henry have someone else in mind or just threw the job listing into the void?

"Although, there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be."

Why not ask. Or at least tell him what the way out is instead of just assuming he hasn't found anything to live for and effectively murdering him?

"I am remaining as well. I am nearby."

Yep. Just make sure everyone who knows what's going on dies even though it's not like William hasn't escaped a fire before. Very responsible of you.

"This place will not be remembered. And the memory of everything that started this. Can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should."

I'm a firm believer in when history is forgotten it repeats itself, so quite frankly wanting people to forget seems a bit stupid. I agree that they shouldn't be trapped in the agony of it, but "this place will not be remembered" seems wrong.

"Although, for one of you. The darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole. So, don't keep the Devil waiting, old friend."

I can complain about Henry all day, but William is objectively far worse, and this line is absolute fire. Pun intended.

"My daughter, if you can hear me. I knew you would return as well."

Might be due to that animatronic you made to capture her and deliver constant controlled shocks and also somehow ended up in a magazine? Idk though. Just a theory.

"I'm sorry that on that day. The day you were shut out and left to die. No one was there to lift you up in their arms. The way you lifted others into yours."

But why. I get that being a parent can be hard and you can't have an eye on your kid 24/7, but he should've at least made there was a responsible adult present.

"Not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now."

Yippee. Negligent dad who can only making up for leaving his child without a responsible adult which led to her early death by using Lefty so that she can finally move on. Yayyyy /extreme sarcasm ofc

“Congratulations on completing your work week. We apologize if your situation wasn't presented to you In a completely honest fashion when you first started, but it was important that your intentions and actions be genuine.”

I cannot emphasize enough that Michael was not told what was going to happen and given the last sentence it seems like he didn't even feel the need to be suspicious of what was going on.

“Please accept this Certificate of Completion. Goodbye for now, and thank you for taking this journey with us.”

More of theorizing but it's kind of weird that this whole monologue was recorded and delivered if Michael is supposed to be actually dead. I know it's for the player, but I feel like they could easily spin this and bring Michael back.

Tune in next time where I cover the other endings, possibly rant about how everything in FNaF is awful for everyone, and miscellaneous if there's any!

@uvanuva

[goodlucktai]

If you’re still taking prompts… disaster twins being disasters?

x

Casey can remember being this excited maybe once or twice before in his entire life, but that’s it. He doesn’t realize he’s bouncing in his seat until Michelangelo flops over him, arms folded around Casey’s shoulders and chin propped up on top of his head, grin present in the bright tone of his voice. 

“We might be hyping this up too much,” the youngest Hamato—second-youngest, now, Casey reminds himself somewhat shyly—says good-naturedly. “It’s just a spar, CJ.” 

“I know,” Casey says quickly, clamping his hands on his knees. He feels like a little kid again, being warned that if he can’t sit still he can’t stay in the dojo to watch training. That’s not anywhere near what Mikey said, but he’s not risking it! He refuses to miss this! “But it’s just—I haven’t seen sensei spar with anyone but Commander O’Neil in ages.”

He doesn’t say that Uncle Raph was killed when Casey was so young that he barely got to keep any memories of him. He definitely doesn’t say that when Uncle Tello died, sensei destroyed a string of Krang corps single-handedly, stumbled home half-dead, and then didn’t come out of the silent lab for three days. When he did finally emerge, some intrinsic, important part of him was gone for good. 

By then, Master Michelangelo was too brittle for physical combat, pouring all of himself into the mystic arts instead. April was the only one left who was unafraid to drag Master Leonardo onto the mats, to bring some life back into him. And it was fun to watch, but it wasn’t those high-energy spars he could remember being awed by when he was a child, when all four of the turtles were together and the apocalypse seemed like something they might survive after all. 

“I bet I whooped his butt, too,” April interjects loudly from the cozy-looking beanbag chair she dragged into the dojo. Leo shoots her a mock-offended look, hand over his heart, the whole nine yards. 

He’s wearing a pair of bright pink cordless headphones, and his warm-up stretches have a lot more energetic bopping around than perhaps strictly necessary. Raph is smiling crookedly as he guides Leo through the forms, watching carefully for any sign of lingering tenderness or soreness and finding none. He’s probably as relieved as all the rest of their mismatched little clan that Leo has healed to this point—casts and leg brace finally discarded, energy ratcheted up to eleven. 

Across the mat, Donnie is pretending to be buried in his phone, but he’s watching Leo as raptly as Raphael. If he thought for a second that Leo was nursing some hidden-away hurt, he would find a way to divert the match without anyone the wiser. And it would be something needlessly showy and stupid, too—Casey has the sudden vision of a lair-wide blackout. He pats the penlight clipped to his belt to make sure it’s there, just in case. 

But Leo is in fine form, and Splinter steps onto the middle of the mat with a judicious air. 

“Now I want a clean match, boys,” he orders, arms folded. “No shenanigans!” 

“Aw, not even one?” Mikey pipes up. 

The Hamato patriarch considers this carefully, then says, “I will allow ONE shenanigan!”

“Alright Michael!” Leo cheers. “Use those favorite son privileges for good!” He barely dodges the half-hearted strike from Splinter’s tail. 

Then Raphael is placing his hands on Leo’s shoulders and giving him a friendly jostle, in the manner of ruffling a puppy’s ears to get it all riled up (a life-affirming maneuver that Casey only recently discovered for himself one early morning coffee run with Cass when they crossed paths with a nice lady and her wriggly baby pit bull) and Splinter is stepping back off the mat and Donnie is sliding his phone away. 

“Let me know if you need me to go easy on you, little brother,” Donnie says magnanimously. 

“You hatched four minutes before me,” Leo replies. His tone suggests this is an argument they’ve had at least one billion times. 

“No one likes a sore loser, Nardo.”

April makes a coughing, cackling sound, and then shouts, “Someone get ready to do the heimlich! My man’s gonna choke on that hypocrisy!” 

“APRIL, you were adopted and you can be replaced!” Donnie shouts back over everyone’s laughter. Casey feels like he’s sitting in the sun, surrounded on all sides by warmth and light. He was raised on the scraps of a ruined world, the scraps of love and joy that his family had left to offer him. They gave him everything they could, but he knew they were digging into the bottom of the well. Here, those things are a renewable resource. All the good just stretches and stretches and stretches forever. 

Master Leonardo was not a bitter person. But he was very rarely a happy one. Uncle Tello and Rapha were gone and Master Michelangelo was aging rapidly before his eyes, three times as quickly as he should have. April and mom and all the faces that Casey saw everyday were weary and worn thin, constantly braced for the next horrible thing to come. 

It heals something in Casey’s chest that he didn’t know was hurting to see them like this instead. A festering, years-old wound finally draining, finally given clean air and room to heal. April’s still heckling and Mikey is still draped over Casey, sturdy and boyish and the brightest thing for miles. Raphael is leaning against the wall, grinning, as eager to watch the show as everyone else. Splinter looks unrelentingly fond and also like he’s expecting this to be a trainwreck. 

In the second before Splinter calls the beginning of the match, Donnie’s eyes narrow suspiciously and he says, “Wait, what are you listening to?”

A shit-eating grin stretches across Leo’s face, and in lieu of answering out loud, he lifts a hand and dramatically finger-spells K-A-R-M-A. 

“Oooooooh,” Mikey and Raph and April all chorus delightedly. 

“Oh, goddammit,” Donnie bites out, visibly preparing to fight for his life. 

Then Splinter’s hands come down and the twins burst into movement. There are no weapons in their hands, it’s nowhere near as showy as their fight with the Krang had been, but it’s amazing in its own way. 

They’re fast, much faster than the masters of Casey’s timeline because they’re so little in comparison, lean and lithe and all gremlin energy. The two of them move like they know each other as well as their own selves, the blocks and blows meeting as if they were choreographed well in advance, and every step is so quick and so clean that Casey can barely follow it. Five minutes in, Leo’s eyes glow white and then Donnie’s do, and Donnie barks out a surprised laugh. 

Mikey yells, “No inside jokes that’s not fair!” 

“It’s a nice break from that song. I've heard him humming it in the back of my brain all day,” Raph says ruefully, then quickly holds his hands up when Leo’s head whips around in his direction. “No offense! I like it! Just not—not 16 times in a row, big guy.”

Splinter steps in the instant Leo winces, having landed too heavily on his bad leg after a showy flip. 

“Alright, silly melons, that’s enough. Match goes to neither of you because you play too much.” 

Whatever complaint the twins might have made is entirely forgotten as they turn to face their dad blankly. Donnie says, “I’m sorry, did you just call us silly melons?” 

“Melons are green, yes? And stupidly expensive at all times for no reason.” He pulls a paperback book out of the inner fold of his robe and thumbs through it. “Children like nicknames. The experts have said so.”

Looking torn between helpless confusion and hysterical laughter, Raph says, “What are you reading, pops?”

“Melons cost like $8 in Chinatown when they're in season, where the heck have you been shopping?” Mikey interjects loudly, shooting over the back of the couch like spending too much of the grocery fund on overpriced produce is the first and final straw. 

“Seriously, Splints, what are you reading?” April asks, trying to get the book from him. 

“Silly melons??” Donnie and Leo demand again. Training for the day is entirely derailed, though that might have been Splinter’s ploy in the first place. 

Master Leonardo wasn’t a bitter person. Despite the weight of the world on his shoulders and all the losses he carried around in his heart, Casey’s memories of him are good and warm and only bittersweet because of those final moments, and because of how much Casey misses him every day. Still—even if he was careful not to let it show—Casey knows that Master Leonardo didn’t have a lot of opportunities for joy. 

That’s the thing that’s taken the most getting used to here, Casey thinks, watching everyone. That’s the difference his family makes. This Leo doesn’t have to reach very far for a reason to smile. 

He glances over his shoulder and his smile widens to include Casey, and Casey hurries off the sidelines to join the rest of them. 

[bereft-of-frogs]

ugh I think I have another #Theory, this time to the solve to the 'how to kill a Jedi without a weapon' riddle, I truly must be stopped --

I think people are off-base assuming it's with the Force, because I feel like Mae would have already figured out choking/lightning or whatever, I believe the Force counts as a 'weapon', and clearly the poison was a weapon (see: Qimir after 'so you did it, you killed the Jedi without the poison) so I do think it's metaphorical rather than semantic. I believe the theories that it's about corrupting a Jedi to the dark side and 'destroying the dream' are closer than any 'it's because she's meant to do it with the Force/her bare hands' or 'it's about killing an unarmed Jedi' (though that second one has potential, why else is she grabbing for the lightsabers but leaving them after they're dead?). But another solution could be destroying the Jedi's legacy.

I think they're going to frame Sol as the rogue Jedi who trained Mae.

I have like, so little textual evidence for this. This is probably as out of thin air as the 'Vernestra/Indara is the Sith' theories so maybe I who live in a glass house shouldn't be throwing stones about how much I dislike those theories after proposing this one. But I'm really thinking that only Sol is going to make it out of the forest battle alive next episode, aside from Osha and the Sith crew, and there's going to be some kind of chase that leads them away. So Vernestra shows up on Khofar (the lightwhip scene in the trailer is almost certainly Khofar) to find the bodies killed with a lightsaber and everyone else gone.

I think they go off and unpack whatever happened the night of the fire on Brendok, there's all kinds of confrontations/fights/reveals/etc in episodes 6 & 8 (episode 7 is definitely the Jedi POV of the flashback) and the season's going to end with at least Sol dead (maybe Mae too) and Osha turning to the dark side to become the true acolyte. It was already set up last episode that the Order doesn't suspect the Sith, they're pretty convinced it's a 'rogue Jedi' who trained Mae, and Sol did some kind of shady stuff during that meeting. (Not including himself on the list of targets, keeping Mae and her survival a secret.) Even I sort of started to suspect him, but I think that's a red herring, just to set up why Vernestra might end up distrusting him. So Vern's feeling kind of weird about the secrets Sol's kept about Mae (because it's more than just 'he thought she died', Yord said even the existence of Mae didn't end up in Osha's file), but she still trusts him and there are innocent explanations for all this she writes off, so she sends him off with a bunch of other Jedi to go get Kelnacca. But now the whole crew she sent out is dead, clearly killed with a lightsaber (they know Osha doesn't have a lightsaber, and reasonably suspect Mae doesn't either considering Indara was killed with a knife, Torbin poison, and she left their lightsabers behind), and Sol's gone...I think it's fairly reasonable suspicion especially if later Osha turns up as the acolyte.

(There were a couple early things that seemed to deliberately set her physically apart from Mae, the marking on Mae's forehead and her tattoo. Why would they do that if the Jedi believed the identical twin thing right away? Why would they need some proof of their identities unless there's a second role reversal and they need some other way of telling it's Osha and not Mae?)

So yeah in this Sol -- ray of literal sunshine, good Jedi, kind person -- gets his legacy destroyed (one apprentice dead, because I'm pretty convinced Jecki doesn't live out the season, though I'll be happy to be wrong -- the other turned to the dark side) and his reputation tarnished by accusations of being a rogue Jedi training dark side assassins. There you go, you've killed a Jedi without a weapon.

And I feel like this would fit the kind of meta narrative they've got going on, as sort of a mirror of what happened to the Order as a whole at the end of the PT, heroes transformed into traitors.

I have no additional evidence for this. My theories are not spiraling at all. I love weekly releases and am being very very normal about having to wait between episodes. :) so normal *vibrates intensely*

[shiredwarf]

i'm gonna rant a bit about veilguard for a sec, spoilers behind the cut but honestly, it's just anxiety-fueled speculations and I need to write this down because I feel like I'm going insane. aptly titled:

WHAT THE FUCK VARRIC (aka please god no, please no)

i've done everything i can do up to recruiting davrin.... so I'm not that far into the game, I think, and I have no idea, I might be wrong about all this, and it's just weird writing but things are feeling off guys :(

so.....my thoughts.....

Did Varric survive the opening sequence?

chat.... I don't think so :( I really thought he did but I started growing more and more suspicious with each cutscene and I think it's time to prepare myself :(

Maybe this is preferable to him surviving and then being corrupted by the same lyrium idol that corrupted his brother but yeah, I don't think varric is really there because:

NO ONE TALKS TO HIM, no one visits him, no one talks ABOUT him in any way that would suggest he's recovering in the infirmary

NO ONE LOOKS AT HIM during cut scenes, or talks to him, or acknowledges his existence in any way :( Rook is the only one who talks to him/visits him/addresses him/looks towards him when varric talks :(

both harding and neve have talked about varric in a strange way. not confirming he's dead but in a sort of wistful way you might use when talking about someone who died and you're just at the edge of being able to think about them the way you remember them rather than as a corpse

neither bellara nor lucanis have spoken to varric AT ALL as far as I know, nor have they mentioned him??? wouldn't that be the first thing you do once you've been recruited?

the "power transition" was really weird to me because at first it did feel like they were just putting varric on bed rest so they could make me the main character. and I wondered why not harding? why not at least include her in that conversation.... unless of course it's all not real and varric was dead to begin with

that one line harding says at some point that goes sth like "if only I could have saved...." AND SHE STOPS TALKING! GIRL WHO! WHO!

solas seems very convinced he killed varric :( and then gives his typical cryptic non-answer when rook suggests he might not be dead :/

i really hope i'm wrong but honestly, i'm convinced now he's dead and no one but rook can see or hear him :( maybe he's a fade ghost, maybe he's a hallucination because we got our brains turned into scrambled eggs, maybe he's an echo? bound to bianca? maybe he died but left a piece of himself inside rook when we were knocked out and thrown into the fade?

or maybe..... it's not even varric :(

Is it even Varric???????????

varric guiding us through the story bit by bit really fooled me :( how could he be dead when he's telling the story :( but one thing I noticed very early on is how different his tone is from how he told the story in da2? again this might just be a writing choice but it's strange how he almost sounds gleefully foreboding at the end of each sequence :/

He has not told us anything we don't already know..... his dialogue is full of varric-like quips but whenever he talks properly he's like "remember how I told you...remember when you did this.... remember when we did that"

he never once mentions bianca's status! he never once looks at her even though she is broken right beside him. he never once made an attempt to fix her BUT I did get one quip from him that went sth like "can't wait to get out there, bianca is getting impatient"....SIR SHE IS BROKEN WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ARE YOU JUST REPEATING COMMON VARRIC PHRASES WITHOUT CONTEXT?????

man I'm reaching but when solas and varric struggle there's a chime sound? as if the dagger went through the veil? and then there's like a fade tendril attached to the tip as solas pulls back???

and then there's all the fade light coming from the wound with the dagger still in it as if the fade itself was now inside his chest. when neve draggs him away later you can still see the green shimmer around his neck

varric looks very dead in the first scene in the lighthouse ... in fact he looks a lot like justice did .... but that could just be an artistic choice????.... his looks do improve after all.....dunno but it struck me as so familiar when I first saw it

and then when harding comes in and starts explaining where we are he gives you this look??? which is just a weird look? he looks like he's worried she might say too much right??? doesn't he???? that's not varric is it????

and lastly: WOULD VARRIC LET A BANDAGE STOP HIM FROM SHOWING OFF HIS CHEST HAIR! NO! :'(

so.... what if... we're being manipulated? something latched on? or maybe it's the dagger itself? we've been told over and over again in the last games that lyrium might be alive... maybe it was stuck in varric's chest long enough to learn about him and now we're the one carrying it around.... i dunno, seems strange because we already have two (three) antagonists but... i can't shake the feeling this is not varric :(