#i am going to touch a rat and have a drink about this

[binch-i-might-be]

I do feel accomplished by today's. Accomplishments. but I am not going to lie to you I am feeling incredibly anxious also

[wonderjanga]

Island Retreat

Some JL members get stranded on an island.

Marvel: “I caught couple rats and a rabbit.” *holding the rats by their tails and the rabbit by its legs*

GA: “Ooh nice. I got a deer. Can I have a rat or two? They taste like stringy chicken.”

Marvel: “Sure!”

WW: “I brought back a bear.” *points behind her to a bear*

GA and Marvel: “Woah, Wondy you’re the best!”

The reason Marvel didn’t get anything bigger was because as Billy, he’s used to catching rats and pidgins so he stuck to what he was used to. GA just was just hunting, and Wonder is just Wonder. Now, of course as Marvel, he could’ve catch bigger things. This was utilized when Arthur, Diana, and him made a challenge of hunting and ran around trying to hunt the most. Diana won with a warthog, three deer, a rabbit, and a snake.

So, here’s the squad: Marvel, Green Arrow, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman.

They turned this into a vacation guys. They’re playing beach ball with a makeshift ball. They’re using the radio they’re supposed to be using to radio for help, for music. They’re chilling.

Aquaman: *stops paying attention to their beach ball game and doesn’t even notice as it smacks into his head as he’s looking to the water*

GA: “Dude…? Why’d you throw our game? Now we’re behind those two.” *looks to where Arthur’s looking*

Marvel and WW: *also look over to the water*

*silence*

Dolphin: *suddenly pops up out of nowhere tugging a crate with him*

Aquaman: “Oh my god…” *rushes over*

GA, Marvel, WW: *confused*

Aquaman: *opens crate* “Alcohol!”

All of them were later chilling on the beach, drinking cocktails of their choices…

GA: “The is the life…”

Aquaman: *Agreed. It’s nice to have a couple days away from Atlantis and being a hero. Speaking of which, Cap, I’m honestly surprised you’re so chill about this.”

Marvel: “Whatcha mean?”

GA: “Dude, you never take breaks.”

Marvel: “Wha? Of course I do.”

WW: “Brother, the other day I heard Bruce discussing with Clark about the fact that out of the six years you’ve been on the team, you’ve never once asked for some kind of leave.”

GA: “Wait really??”

Marvel: *silence* “I don’t see how it’s a bad thing.”

Aquaman: “It is a bad thing, pal. That’s not normal. You don’t have any family you need to visit or spend time with?”

Marvel: “No, not really. Junior and Mary are in the hero bizz so we spend a lot of time together already. Then, as for you guys, I see you almost every day since I go to the Watchtower a lot.”

GA: *gasp* “You consider us family?” *sounds touched*

Marvel: “Yes? Is that bad?” *sounds self conscious*

Aquaman: “Not at all. I for one am happy to be apart of your family.” *sounds proud*

WW: “As am I. I’m happy we’re siblings, brother.”

When the four were finally found, they got scolded by Bats and Supes.

Batman and Supes: *standing side by side*

Batman: *bat-glaring them all*

Supes: “What is wrong with you?! You can’t just shipwreck and then not contact us! Why didn’t you use the emergency radio?!”

GA: “There was an emergency radio?”

Supes: “Yes!”

Marvel: *whispers to Arthur in Atlantean* “Is he talking about the radio we used to play music?”

Aquaman: *whispers back in Atlantean* “I think so.”

Supes: “What’re you two saying?”

Marvel and Aquaman: *simultaneously, and in English* “Nothing.”

Supes: *starts ranting again*

WW: *whispers in Greek* “What were you guys saying?”

Marvel: *also switches to Greek* “The radio. We think it was the one we used to play music.”

Supes: “Guys! I can still hear you!”

Marvel: “Sorry Mr. Superman.”

WW: “Apologies, Clark.”

Supes: *starts ranting again*

GA: *in Italian* “What were you guys talking about?”

Marvel: *in Italian* “Remember the radio? We think that was the SOS radio.”

Supes: “GUYS. Stop whispering in languages we don’t understand—”

Batman: “I understood two out of those three.”

Supes: “—In languages I don’t understand!” *looks to Bruce*

Batman: “They weren’t using the SOS radio to signal for help.”

Aquaman: “We were using it for music.”

GA: “Arthur! You snitch!”

Aquaman: “What? They were gonna find out anyways.”

Supes: “Why were you guys playing music???”

WW: “We had what one would call a vacay.”

Supes: *takes a deep breath* “Okay. Marvel, go sit over there.” *points to a couple feet away from the other three*

Marvel: “What? Why?”

Supes: “Because you speak to many languages! Now go.”

Marvel: *pitifully walks over there*

Supes: “Now, back to what I was saying.” *starts ranting again*

[minkieater]

three fates ⟶ khj ⋆ ★

p. kim hongjoong x f!reader w. lots of drug use, and i mean a lot, so please if u don't like drugs don't read this !! 18+ there's smut too, minors dni PLS addiction, consumption, sex while intoxicated, age gap (18 and 22/21 and 24) lemme know if i missed anything!! wc. 13.6k <3

she's finally here <3 my baby!! i am in love with this, this is my favorite thing i've written, city boy joongie is my heart and soul. takes place in the same world as luck & carousel, but none of the characters we've met so far are here !!

♫ — one of these nights, the eagles “i’ve been searching for the daughter of the devil himself i’ve been looking for an angel in white i’ve been waiting for a woman who’s a little of both i can feel her but she's nowhere in sight”

hongjoong is an artist, a creator. everything he’s ever seen, touched, smelled or heard, every little thing he’s ever come in contact with could and has been used in his art in one way or another. he couldn’t help himself, he saw the beauty in everything, from the gloaming atop the horizon of the hudson river on the third day of his bender to the massive rats playing tag in the subway station in downtown brooklyn. 

his clothes, his jewelry, his music, his apartment, his friends… everything and everyone is gorgeous, it has to be that way. the well of his creativity never runs dry, not living in this city, not with the life he’s created for himself. 

coming from a small brownstone in brooklyn, he lived with his parents and younger sister, a quiet girl that was nothing like him. he was always the rambunctious older brother, could never keep his grades up, couldn’t go a week in school without getting in trouble. she, the scholar, was his parents’ shining star, as well as his own. he hoped she wouldn’t be anything like him, anything like their father. 

he’d never compared himself to her, he knew he was just wired differently, a chemical concoction in his head that made him who he was and he loved it. he couldn’t picture his life, himself, any differently. he could never stay focused on one thing, always moving to the next project, always bouncing from opportunity to opportunity. 

when he got into high school reality set in of where he lived, who he surrounded himself with, what exactly was accessible to him at all times. from alcohol to drugs to shows to backstages to underground raves, hongjoong learned very quickly the different paths he could take, the routes his life could go in. 

he was a junkie, a junkie for adrenaline, for excitement, for anything this godforsaken city had to offer him. so he experimented. 

his friends were just like him — loud, outspoken, covered in piercings and tattoos, much too young to have gotten them done professionally. they looked for nothing but a good time, they didn’t care about school, didn’t care about their futures, they cared about a sick guitar riff and how much their dealers were charging for an ounce of weed. 

like his father, they introduced hongjoong to good music. growing up he listened to all his father’s favorite bands, from alice in chains to black sabbath to pearl jam, it set a tone for his future, laid the grounds for what the following decade of his life would look like. he spent weeknights, weekends, every night he wasn’t watching his younger sister he’d be at a different show in the city. no name bands, ones that were trying to get a foot in the door to the music industry to DJ sets at underground raves, blinding shows with flashing lights and a thumping bass he’d end up rolling at every damn time. 

hongjoong’s friends introduced him to many, many things, but his favorite would have to be cocaine. feeling on top of the world, like he can accomplish anything and everything, hongjoong adored the white powder he often sniffed with a crisp dollar bill. his personality alone was akin to it, he bounced off the walls all by himself, but during a night of drinking the main thing that kept him going, pushing through until sunrise was the bag full of blow in his back pocket. 

it got him through high school, it made him pay attention, it made him ask too many questions in class. it gave him confidence, he felt like the most attractive person in the world, like he was at the top of the food chain. it made him optimistic toward his future, he knew he’d become successful no matter what he did whenever he was at the peak of his high. 

what he despised about blow was the come down. from feeling untouchable to drained of everything he was worth in about all of forty five minutes, that he couldn’t stand. the one solution, the only solution that every single one of his friends had given him: “joong, you just need to do another line.” 

so he did, he always did more, but one thing about cocaine is that you never feel as good as that first line, the one that makes you untouchable, unstoppable, unkillable. he never thought he’d feel that again, that beautiful, unique euphoria, until he was a freshman in college, at a grimey city nightclub’s show of your band’s debut. 

he watched you in awe, blown pupils taking in every last detail of you strumming your guitar. how your fingers moved from string to string, black painted fingertips going white from the pressure. how your hair flowed in the air as your head banged to the drums, how your red lips stained the microphone when you sang into it. he grew up listening to music, he spent years listening to great bands and really terrible ones, by now he knew the difference. 

he knew then and there what field his career would lay in. dirt caked the floor he stood on, posters and receipts and papers of the sort covered the walls, the disgusting nightclub he now owed everything to offered him two things, you and the chance to make something of himself. 

he knew your band was special, knew you had the raw talent to make it big. he wanted to see it, he could picture it now, your faces stretched across a billboard in times square. it was exciting, this feeling that flushed through him, knowing he was watching celebrities perform before they had their break, their break that would come soon if they just had someone to sign them. 

he did everything in his power to wait diligently for your set to be over, already knowing that he and his friends would make it backstage, a routine for them every time they came to these shows. his head nodded along to the music, a can of beer in his hand, his hair tickling the back of his neck every time the main singer hit a note he himself couldn’t. 

when your band finally made their last bow, thanking the crowd for their attendance and cheers, hongjoong felt the adrenaline in his fingertips. he was so, so close to meeting you, telling your band what he thought, buying you a drink. so close to taking you back to his dorm, untying your skimpy black bikini top, learning your tattoos to memory. 

he usually went for the drummer — that he knew by now. after a few lines and a six pack he would ache to be bent over, or be the one bending someone over, that didn’t matter to him. what did matter was that he wanted a good fuck, he planned on it, he craved it, from trial and error his eyes always landed back on the drummer. it hasn’t failed him yet. 

he wasn’t sure what made you different, why you caught his eye on the small stage, what stopped him from eyeing up the green haired drummer he couldn’t place. you were magnetic, with your bulky boots, revealing clothes, intriguing tattoos and piercings all up your ears. he wanted to smear the lipstick you wore down your chin, wanted to see it all over himself, prints of crimson running down his torso. he shivered, desire crawling up his spine when he pictured it, it was too easy, your stage presence was like no other.

when he got backstage and first saw you sitting on the torn up couch, handheld mirror in your grasp with three perfectly parallel lines laid across the glass, the confirmation was instant. you had a debit card on your lap, a rolled up dollar bill, sunglasses and that very lipstick he was fantasizing about laid across your thigh. a smile broke out across his face, one wicked and knowing, one that told everyone in the room hongjoong had found his game for the night. 

you looked up to him from the amber colored couch, patches of questionable browns and grays mimicking a pattern across the rough material. your pupils were blown, huge and empty, matching the ones that stared back into them. the room backstage was small, a space he deemed claustrophobic, much too boxy for the amount of people occupying it. a mirror, a clothing rack and a couch, not much for a band to prepare for a show. he was impressed to say the least that a band of your aptitude had put on such a good performance in these conditions. 

his friends went around the room in commendation, giving each member their own praise, complimenting the band as a whole. hongjoong was excited to do the same when he was in the crowd, but being back here with the adrenaline from the show being thick in the room, a voice told him to stay quiet, something that was close to impossible for him. 

“you,” you began, and hongjoong’s neck snapped to you, greeted with a finger pointed directly at himself, “where did you get your jeans?” 

“diesel,” he looked down to the ripped denim hugging his skinny legs, “vintage, i thrifted them from the shop on sackett.” 

he watched as the eyes he couldn’t see the color of glanced up and down his figure, taking in every detail of his outfit, his body. you glanced back down to the mirror in your palm then back up to him, “you want a line?” 

hongjoong’s feet were moving before he nodded yes. he sat down next to you on the decrepit couch, seated on the cushion in the middle. your hand moved under his chin and he could see his reflection in the glass below the lines, rich chocolate blending in with pupils, too wide to be able to tell where they started or ended. 

he took the dollar from your raw, discolored fingers and sniffed, taking the line closest to you on the end. he was wide awake then, energy flooding his veins like he’d just slept for fourteen hours and drank three cups of coffee. his smile returned as he glanced at you, watched you do the same, took in every detail.

your hair, tucked behind your ears, laid in front of your shoulders far past the string of your bikini top. your lips were in a tight line, a streak of blood red below your nose, which had the rolled up bill just beneath the surface of your right nostril. he watched you sniff once, twice, both lines disappearing from the glass in your palm, your head tilting back with an additional sniff and a knuckle to your cupid's bow. 

he watched in awe, a sparkle in his empty pupils, a flare in the sea of vast darkness. his dick twitched in his pants as he lost himself in the moment, his fogged up yet crystal clear head morphed you into some kind of seductress, a succubus, he had no chance of getting out of whatever spell you put him under, not that he needed one. all he could do, all he wanted to do is succumb. 

succumb he did when you pressed him against the front door of your apartment, grabbed him by the throat and took him for everything he was worth. you were nonstop from that moment on the couch all the way to your apartment in queens, hands exploring and lips touching, tasting, giving, taking, there was no moment of question. no time to waste, not a fact to be shared, just a carnal desire that poured out of himself and into you, into your veins, into the blood that shared a color with your lipstick smeared onto hongjoong’s jaw. 

he smirked knowing he got what he wanted, knowing he always gets what he wants, he was just that kind of person. shrouded in luck, like he had a guardian angel who refused to leave his side. from where he’s been to what he’s done, there was no way he should be alive, the chances of survival for a guy like him are slim to none. 

the first time was in the bathroom of that club, where he pushed you into a stall and bent you over the toilet, your hands gripping onto a wall that you were sure had never been cleaned. markings of sharpie covered every inch, lewd and crude sayings, initials in hearts, phone numbers of random people who wronged the person that wrote it. you took every inch of him proudly, lifted your leg onto the toilet seat, ushering him to hit deeper, to empty himself inside you. 

you left that bathroom in heavy breaths and lust darkened eyes, only for the two of you to last one more drink and another key bump before you were below the ground, on the subway to your apartment.

you didn’t get any farther than the entryway where you grabbed him by the throat, ushering for him to give into you, a power he didn’t just give away to anyone. he chuckled darkly and switched your bodies quickly, pressing your face against the art covered wall instead of the front door, smacking your ass with a force that made you cry out. he knew what you were, he could see it when you were onstage, nothing but a pain slut that let him fuck you in one of the dirtiest bathrooms he’s ever seen. 

a low laugh left his lungs when he felt your core, fingers slipping through your release and his own cum that you’d been saving for later. he was immediately on his knees, eating it out of you, tasting the two of you mixed into one. the second time was in that very entryway, where he took you against the wall once more, this time with a low dim light peeking through the windows and a clear scent of fresh laundry and vanilla floating through the space. much cleaner, much sweeter, the opposite of what the two of you had endured just an hour earlier.

he ended the night in your bed, where he took you for a third, fourth and fifth, neither of you sleeping a wink. with the sunrise coming in through your half open window, sounds of sirens and cars passed by, drifting through the translucent rose colored curtains making them ruffle and bend to the noise. you had a cigarette between your lips, a tray with four more parallel lines sitting at the foot of the bed. you were naked, your tattoos your only blanket, hongjoong the same beside you. 

“can’t believe you’re a fucking freshman in college,” you laughed through the smoke leaving your lips, a saccharine sound mixed with the smell of tobacco and menthol, “please tell me you’ve at least turned nineteen.”

hongjoong nodded, letting his fingers continue to trail your thigh, tracing the outline of the dragon that was soaring through the skin of your hip, “i’ll be twenty in november.” 

a lie, one he knew would be believed, one that allowed you to sigh out in relief. he’d slept with much older, your measly twenty two was nothing to him, just another thursday night after a show, another experience to add to his arsenal. 

“you said you go to NYU right? what’s an NYU student doing in brooklyn?” hongjoong smiled at that, he loved when people knew absolutely nothing about it him, made assumptions based on one thing they’d heard. he could make up anything he wanted, he could be whoever he wanted to be, not that you’d ever find out the truth. you’d never hear from him again after he stepped foot onto the sidewalk outside, back to his dorm, back to his roommate who would be waiting to ask him a million questions about his excursion. 

tonight he was hongjoong, the nineteen year old that’d fucked you five different times in nine different ways, snorted countless lines of blow and hungout with a band he knew would make it. he wasn’t eighteen year old student hongjoong who was going to NYU because his parents were pushing him into accomplishing something, anything, trying relentlessly to get him out of the city’s gutter. 

“to be fair, we’re in queens,” he cracked a smile, the corner of his lips lifting, “i grew up in bushwick, i come whenever i can. got lots of friends that still live around here.”

he didn’t know why he was being honest, this was his favorite part. maybe a small part of him was tired of lying, even if he’d done it already, he was ready for truth, ready for it to be laid bare for him, ready for it to point him in yet another direction. he didn’t care which direction it would send him in from your dingy apartment in queens, he just hoped it was upward, to something better than what he came from. 

“why aren’t you guys signed yet?” there it was, the question that’s been clawing at him all night, sat fresh on his mind even when he was buried inside of you. the one truth he wanted to know, not your name that he already couldn’t remember, your age that’d already become irrelevant, or your address that he’d never even learned.

you sighed again, running a hand through your hair, collapsing into the plush pillows beneath you, “a few agencies have tried, none have been worth it. contracts are too strict, we won’t get paid enough, the companies aren’t popular enough. yasu handles all of that, i’m just told what we do or what we don’t do.”

“so if the right label approached you, one with money and connections and a contract that was perfect, you’d sign with them?” hongjoong asked, letting his eyes flutter shut, not that he felt tired. he’d need at least twenty milligrams of valium for that and even then it probably wouldn’t lure him to sleep, just enough to take the edge off, to let his head lie still.

you laughed, a bitter chuckle, “like who? republic fucking records? we’re performing in run down clubs across the city, we have miles to go before an agency worth anything takes an interest in us.”

hongjoong smiled through his eyes that stayed closed, that same smile he wore last night, the one that was both wicked and knowing. he could see it in front of him, an idea, a dream, a career. if he didn’t feel like shit he’d call up his parents and thank them for sending him to NYU, thank them for the opportunity to do something right with his life. his roommate would get a kick out of this. 

he sat up on the bed and leaned forward, pulling the silver platter on his lap. he picked up the dollar bill that was slowly losing its shape with every sniff and lifted it to his nose, railing two lines from the tray. he tilted his head back and shook it, giving one last sniff before he was off. 

“i have class,” he said as he searched for his pants around your cluttered bedroom before remembering he’d undressed in the entryway. you sat up with wide eyes, blinking at his sudden departure after a night of wild sex and snorting all of your coke. 

���wait,” you called after him as he nearly ran through the bedroom door, “i want to give you my number, call me if you ever want to come see our show again, or if you want to do this again.”

he smiled from the open door in which the frame towered over him, shooting you a finger that said wait before he went in search of his clothes, phone, and wallet. he returned and saved your number in his phone, leaving the contact name as tattoo girl. in the moment it’d seemed easiest to remember you by. 

he never ended up calling you, never ended up seeing another show that you mentioned. he went back to his dorm, to his life, and changed his major with a speed he hadn’t experienced before, despite his whole life being quick. he ate quick, he thought quick, he grew up quick, he learned quick, he did everything at such a rate he’d never experienced whiplash. this was normal.  

music technology classes were not easy, but he thought himself lucky for the brain he was born with, his ability to adapt. for once in his life hongjoong wasn’t just good at school, he was excelling. 

the connections he formed, his ever growing ability to network himself, show off his extensive knowledge of music itself, its history, the music scene in the city. never in his life had he thought he was born for something, never thought he had a purpose, just thought of himself as an open minded creative person who loved a good time. as he got deeper into his major which he thankfully didn’t change again, he realized there was one thing that remained constant all throughout his life, one thing that stayed with him through every phase, got him through every hump in the road. 

when he came home that morning with pupils swallowing his eye color whole and lungs that had no breath left in them, he told his roommate he was changing his major and mingi was relieved. he was relieved and grateful, smiling because the first friend he made at NYU was going to be beside him for more than just sleepless nights across the dorm, letting out a sigh he kept trapped in his lungs because now could keep a better eye on hongjoong. the night before he was worried out of his mind, even if he knew hongjoong was born and raised in the city, mingi was raised in south korea. 

mingi was told since he first started mentioning new york city to his friends and family to be careful, he had all of the horror stories told to him in depth, used as a weapon to scare him out of coming to the states. he never thought twice about it until he got here, stood face to face with hongjoong, and learned every dirty secret he had to offer. then he believed the horror stories, he believed that the city’s wretched dark side could really kill someone dead, even hongjoong who had become a good friend to him. 

that fear was short lived, it was cut short the moment hongjoong took him to his first show in brooklyn. hongjoong could see the excitement in his eyes, that same adrenaline rush hongjoong considered himself addicted to as he watched mingi snort his first line of blow. he felt prideful, like he’d taken mingi under his wing and rebirthed him into a weapon the city couldn’t touch, couldn’t harm. he offered mingi the city’s beauty, the bright lights of the buildings at night, the pleasure of a woman he’d just met mere minutes ago. 

the two of them became a pair, and hongjoong had grown to love the friendship, love the closeness that came with it. he wasn’t used to sharing so much time with one other person, he kept to himself if he wasn’t with his group of friends, even when he still lived at home he didn’t see the need for having one person to put all of his trust into. 

mingi taught him a lot of things, the first being how to keep his head on straight and screw it tight. he kept hongjoong grounded, kept him centered around his music, kept him looking forward and never backward. he kept hongjoong flowing, retelling stories of nights they’d gone out together when hongjoong was feeling himself hit a creative block. mingi pulled hongjoong out of his hole when he’d snorted one too many lines, he’d put him in the shower, force feed him valium like it was candy. 

it wasn’t until hongjoong was sat on a wooden stool in the soundproof booth of his school’s recording studio two years later that he’d be reminded of you again. strumming along to into the void by black sabbath, a song he loved since he was young, getting frustrated when his fingers slipped up around the bridge, they always slipped up at the bridge — the chords were so close together, it was ironic that something which took speed would trip him up. 

“joong!” mingi called from outside of the booth, turning the microphone on, ripping hongjoong from his frustrations. “i got accepted! you need to check your email now.”

hongjoong left the booth in a rush, swinging his guitar back into its stand haphazardly, pushing the microphone he was keeping close to his lap back into the open space of the recording booth. he grabbed his phone and opened the email, relief washing over him like the stream from his apartment’s moldy shower head when he read we have selected you to join republic records as a production intern for the spring term.

hongjoong looked to mingi with wide, disbelieving eyes, unable to form a single reason why one of the biggest record labels in the city would accept him, choose him. hongjoong had been more than proficient in his work, with his grades, with forming relationships with big names in the industry — but at the end of the day, when he looked at himself in the mirror, all he saw was the same sixteen year old boy from brooklyn who’s only future was spent on the sidewalks of manhattan, maybe a shelter if he was fortunate enough. not a cent to his name, barely any clothes on his back, spending his adult years asking faceless people for a couple dollars just to buy himself a burger. 

it was his parents’ biggest fear, it kept his mother up all night in her queen sized bed, his father no doubt already passed out drunk beside her. she laid there with wide eyes listening to his snores, staring at her cracked ceiling praying for the day she gets to watch her son walk across that big stage, graduation cap flattening his shaggy haircut. she smiled at the thought, but the severity of the situation hit her much deeper, it wiped the smile right off her face. hongjoong was a wild card, she never knew what to do with him, how to keep him walking in a straight line, her last attempt was sending him to such a prestigious college. she begged him to see the value, see what she was sacrificing to send him there, see the desperation she slipped over her head like a uniform when hongjoong was at the ripe age of twelve. 

“you’re in production?” mingi twisted his neck to look over hongjoong’s shoulder, the height difference making it easy for him, “i’m in artist relations.” 

“what’s artist relations?” hongjoong asked while lifting a brow, looking up to the phone his lanky best friend held tight in his hand. 

mingi moved the phone lower, closer to him, sharing the screen to read the email word for word, “interns work closely with signed artists to assist in their day-to-day needs, organizing promotional activities, tours, and managing communications between the artist and the label.”

hongjoong laughed at that, his head tipping back, his eyes fluttering shut in hysterics. mingi’s cheeks flushed, his mouth shut tight and lips lifting at the edges ever so slightly, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. it took hongjoong a moment to get it together before he said, “so you’re someone’s personal assistant?” 

“no!” mingi’s voice was raised, he took a breath, “yes, maybe, i guess so, whatever! i’m still interning at republic and a hierarchy is something to climb no matter where you start.” 

hongjoong laughed again, clutching his stomach that had a slight ache in the pit then looked down to his lit up screen, “i’m assisting with music recording, mixing, and mastering. may help in studios, learning about the technical side of producing records, blah blah blah. i got the good one.” 

“shut up,” mingi grumbled, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket, “asshole, they're both good, i was excited. don’t ruin it.” 

“i’m just fucking with you, ming, you should be excited. being a personal assistant means you get the inside scoop,” hongjoong smirks, “plus we can tell each other about our jobs.” he lifts his index finger, already thinking of what comes next, “we’re gonna learn every inch of that place and every job before we even get hired, we’ll be behind the big desk in no time.”

mingi nods as if hongjoong’s strategy had planted itself directly into his head through shared brain waves, “you’re right, you’re so right, holy shit you’re so right.” 

hongjoong’s eyes go wide again, the realization settling in, “we’re interns at republic records.” 

it brought him back to that night, you with your husky voice and tattooed legs and piercings that shone in the path of moonlight through your bedroom window, the cigarette you held between two dainty fingers … you that brought him here, you that handed him this idea along with four white lines on a silver platter. 

pieces started falling into place, everything started to click, he remembered just a month ago he saw an advertisement for your band, a black piece of paper stuck to a light pole, performing at the red lion in greenwich village. he didn’t spare it a second thought, didn’t even process that he knew you when he saw it, too engrossed in how he was rushing to a class he was late for and the music in his headphones and the redbull he was juggling between his phone and laptop and keys. 

he didn’t think much of it again until he was two months deep in his internship, walking through the dim hallways of republic records with two cups of coffee in his hands, one for himself and one for the producer he was working next to that day. he walked by one of the practice rooms, door shut with a square window in the center, he caught nothing but a glimpse of your hair but it was enough to make him stop in his tracks, to feel the coffee in the confines of their cups threaten to overflow their lids.

he stopped there for a moment, peered through the glass box, let his brain backtrack to that fall of two years ago. god, what the hell was your name again?

he couldn’t hear a note yet he longed for the main singer’s mellifluous voice to kiss his pierced ears, he could see you working the crowd in his memories when you were performing for nothing but a blank brown wall, he let his eyes drift to the green haired drummer. what could have been. 

he pulled himself from the trance you had pulled him under again, much similar to when he first met you. hair cut shorter, edgier, more ink filling spaces in your soft skin that were empty the last time he saw you, much more clothing on your body this time around. at this point you must be twenty four, hongjoong himself just twenty one, just legal to drink in public, not that his age had ever stopped him before. it didn’t stop him from doing anything he wanted. 

he kept walking, beckoning his legs to push one foot in front of the other before he arrived back at the studio he was in for the day. he felt cloudy, like he needed a line, something to pull him out of his head, but he needed to reminisce. he remembered your conversation even in his coked out state, the way you laughed at him for suggesting such a perfect label to exist, the way republic records slipped off your tongue like it was nothing but a pipe dream you stored in the darkest corners of your head.

hongjoong believed in fate, he always told himself there was no other reason for his life to be the way it is. hongjoong had experienced plenty, he’d woken up on too many stoops in neighborhoods he started the night across from, had one too many syringes full of narcan shot in his arm when his cocaine was cut with fentanyl. he’d survived to tell the tale, not just survived but he kept living, what else did he have to thank? 

sheer luck, a guardian angel, fate, whatever it was he was thankful it stayed with him for so long, perched on his shoulder when he’d do the same things that made the front page of the new york times. there were too many lines in his life that crossed, too many threads that webbed for there not to be some external force, something he didn’t have a hand in. when yours and his threads crossed, got tangled that one night in the pits of brooklyn, he couldn’t help but think that the two years he’d spent his life up to this moment was the untangling. 

as mingi stood in their shared apartment later that night, telling him about his day, talking about the band he was assigned to, hongjoong couldn’t believe his ears when the word clotho left mingi’s lips. out of all the interns, all the employees in that massive building, all of the record labels in the city, you signed to the agency he worked for and mingi was assigned to assist you. 

he let him speak, let him complain about listening to your harsh demands, your continual need to practice the same song until they got it right, the way you flirted with mingi and how mingi ate it up. he let mingi speak with open ears, normal sized pupils and a nasty drip sliding down the back of his throat before he had enough. pulling the bag of his coke from his pocket he grabbed his favorite tray he kept right on the coffee table, spread the snow and cut it with a card from his wallet and sniffed. no dollar bill, no straw he sliced in half, just a finger pressed to his pierced nostril leaving the other one raw and full of blow. 

“christ, joong, it’s eight at night on a monday,” mingi shook his head at his friend, “do you really need to be railing lines right now?”

“i fucked her,” hongjoong admitted plainly, crossing his right leg back over his left knee.

“what? who?” mingi asked, his eyebrows reaching his hairline, leaning over in the recliner in their shared living room. 

“the guitarist from clotho, the one who’s name apparently neither of us know,” hongjoong chuckled before shaking out his arms, shaking off the discomfort of a possession he had no right feeling, “i fucked her.”

mingi sat there, blinking, not a word leaving his lips for moments before his brain turned back on, “i won’t- i didn’t know- when did you even?”

hongjoong waved him off with ring clad fingers before standing, walking towards his bedroom, “do what you want with her, just figured i’d let you know.”

hongjoong never had a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a relationship that lasted longer than one drunken night. even when he was younger he’d never experienced the puppy love all of his peers got themselves into, the only desire he felt was the rush of getting away with something, he’s craved that since before he can remember. possession wasn’t an emotion he was used to, one he rarely experienced at all, he couldn’t pinpoint why that spark of control showed itself when talking to mingi of all people. 

he left your apartment in a race that night, he couldn’t of cared less about you in the moment, he never thought about you again until two months ago, over two years after he slept with you in the first place. he thought you special maybe, a fucked up train of thought when he couldn’t even remember your name, special despite how utterly ordinary that night was. special because he had you to thank for the path he was on now, what he's accomplished since that night with you. maybe it was gratitude, adoration, maybe just someone to look up to if he considered your success comparable to his own, he didn’t know and it was driving him insane. 

his night with you was nothing out of the ordinary, he did nothing with you that he hadn’t done with tens of other people, yet the pedestal still remains tall. he tried to think about it in his sleepless night yet he got absolutely nowhere, no resolution, no explanation for the whirlwind he’d put himself through over hours. he sat up in his bed and sighed, a cold sweat lingering on his tanned skin, then he grabbed the guitar from beside his bed. 

he let the feeling consume him that night, let it pour out into every note his painted fingers strummed along the guitar. as the sun peeked through his bedroom window the next morning he decided that one night of thinking was all he could handle, he chose to let the feelings be what they are and put them on the old metal rack along with his guitar. 

he didn’t see you through that window to the practice room again, and he’d purposely walked by plenty of times in the weeks to follow. coming into mid march, for some reason the company was busy. hongjoong was keeping up, of course he was, juggling the workload from the producer he worked with and then everything else that was added to his plate by numerous other producers of the company. hongjoong was famous in that building, he was a dream intern, every person of a higher rank in that building wanted him for something. 

hongjoong loved it, he loved the attention, he loved being depended on, he loved being busy most of all. reaching deadlines, bouncing back and forth between different artists and their own genre of music, hongjoong was nothing but a sponge in the ocean that was republic records. he soaked everything in, he learned everything, he remembered everything, he loved that his extensive knowledge was only ranging farther. 

when he woke up that morning to the sunrise and a clear head after playing acoustic versions of rock songs all fucking night, he did exactly what he told himself he was going to. even if he wanted to think about you again he didn’t have a moment to himself to be able to, his internship was taking up so much of his personal time most days his homework wasn’t even a priority. the internship told him when he started to let them know if the workload was too much, if it was affecting his studies, but in what world would he do that? after leaving his bubble of adolescence of being a regular college student and entering the adult world, his career, why would school come first? he was already doing it, already loved by so many people, it was only right that hongjoong would fixate on what was working. 

“we’re recording today,” jag, the producer he worked with, didn’t even have the decency to greet hongjoong with a hello. so backed up, so overworked, jag looked like he hadn’t slept in three days.

“with who?” hongjoong paid no mind to his unpleasant greeting, setting a coffee down right in front of him. jag’s eyes widened, a sparkle shining through the deepest of browns, he immediately brought the cup up to his chapped lips. jag’s favorite, this hongjoong knew by now, he also knew how jag worked, how to put him in a better mood even on his worst days. 

“clotho,” jag said after a refreshing sigh, pleased with the hot drink he was gifted, “they’re finishing up their album, they’ve been working with max for majority of the recording. max called out sick, so they’re with us.”

hongjoong’s eyebrows raised, his mouth opening ever so slightly. jag caught on to the surprise, much like how observant hongjoong was, jag also paid a lot of attention to the boy with the sand colored mullet. jag snickered, “you have the same look on your face as when you slept with anitta and we had her in the booth the next day.”

“you know me too well,” hongjoong sat down in the chair beside him and let out a noise of relief as he got comfortable, cracking his knuckles as he spoke, “i fucked the guitarist.”

jag laughed, a belly laugh from the pit of his stomach, “which one?”

“the lead guitarist, the one covered neck to toe in tattoos,” hongjoong brings his attention to the monitor, an entirely different project jag was working on spread across the screen.

jag rubbed his face with his hands, “do we need to get every artist an STD test? i’m starting to get scared you’ll cause an outbreak.”

hongjoong rolled his eyes before responding with a playful smile, “you know i’m clean.”

their small talk didn’t get much further before your band was barreling through the studio, yawns and huffs of air being thrown about the space. hongjoong kept it professional, he kept his focus on the mixing board, the monitor, pulling up the file to the tracks that they were working on that day. 

you looked… tired. no makeup, guitar case strapped to your back, tattoos hiding under the cotton of your sweats. it was early, the company had them working not just at dawn but also on the weekend, two things that weren’t normal for scheduling or recording. you didn’t notice him yet, or you were ignoring him, hongjoong wasn’t sure but he also didn’t care. he needed to get you in that booth, get the recording done as fast as possible so he could meet his friends at baby’s all right later. 

at the start of the first track on the album they’d record that day, hongjoong knew the moment you saw him, the second you recognized his pierced nose and shaggy hair that was much longer now than the last time you’d seen him. he could see it in the way your eyes widened and the pause you took before you took your pick from your lips, he watched the gears turn in your head, he watched every memory play out in your eyes from that night two years ago. jag seemed to notice too by the way his palm slapped hongjoong’s knee under the desk, a breath of amusement leaving his lips. 

your movements were slowed, it took you entirely too long to shift the microphone so it stood correctly in front of you, but you shook yourself out of your thoughts as the rhythm guitarist played the first few clean, arpeggiated chords. this song… hongjoong recognized it immediately, the memories once again flooding back to him.

once you got through the haunting intro, through the slow burn build into heavier, distorted riffs, hongjoong thought that you might be a siren, too. instead of a melodic voice, it was the resonance you played through the strings under your calloused fingertips hooking him, once again pulling him into a trance, a spell you weren’t even conscious of casting. when it got to your solo in the middle of the song, backed up with an underlying chord progression from the rhythm guitarist and a deep bass line, he could feel it from head to toe. the entrapment, the sight in front of him that he couldn’t bear to look away from. the back up instruments set a platform, a center for you to take the stage in the small recording booth, for the focus of the listener to hear you, focus on you. 

he had a job. he had buttons to press, things to adjust, he had to listen with an assessing ear, he had to snap out of it. he watched as your chipped nail polish slipped from string to string, the other hand clenched tightly around your guitar pick. he watched as you nodded along to the drums, eyebrows furrowed in focus of following the mid tempo groove, listening to the song as much as you were playing it. he knew that feeling, that multitasking, listening and doing and following and evaluating all at once. 

he blinked a few times before directing his focus to the monitor instead of watching you shred in the booth, he fell in and out of focus for the entire session between his eyes being locked on you and making sure your song was being recorded properly. he thought he’d let go of what he felt, laid his feelings to rest in his favorite instrument beside his bed, but as he watched you strum along to the fourth track they’d record that day he decided maybe there was a reason your paths crossed once again. 

just like that one night spent with him and his music, the feelings he didn’t want to address, he spiraled into yet another torment of not being able to process anything. all he had was this unidentifiable emotion, a pang in his chest, he didn’t know what to do with it or how to address it properly. he looked at from all sides, contradicted himself, tried to unpack it for exactly what it was, but he still felt himself unable to move from square one. 

by the end of the session hongjoong’s brain was on backwards, he was barely of help to jag the entire time you were in the booth. jag gave him a pass even if he was entirely confused as to why hongjoong was acting so fucking weird, he’d never acted so out of it, even during the session with anitta. jag chopped it up to the fact that hongjoong was probably overworked much like himself, even if something tugged at him, telling him there was more going on in hongjoong’s head than just exhaustion. 

the rest of the session went a lot easier than hongjoong thought it would based off of the insight he’d gotten from mingi, but he guessed he shouldn’t have assumed how you’d act from just one conversation that was ages ago. mingi hadn’t mentioned you or the band again since that night, deeming it a sensitive topic, one he’d like to avoid since him and hongjoong kept the people they fucked very separate, except for those they shared. you were rather quiet towards hongjoong, only what was necessary for getting the recording done, he couldn’t pull anything from you except for eyes boring into the back of his head from across the room and a short snap of a complaint when he noticed a bleed from the microphone. 

hongjoong was exhausted beyond belief by eight o’clock yet he still had an entire night ahead of him. he packed up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, relieved he was about to go drink away the new emotions he’d encountered.

“you alright?” jag asked, a weird question coming from jag who usually kept their conversations light hearted, he rarely picked hongjoong apart.

“‘m fine, just tired,” hongjoong waved him off with a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. jag lifted an eyebrow, too curious but too scared to ask. him and hongjoong’s relationship was specific, a teacher and his student, despite the not always innocent conversation that sometimes felt like it was between two friends. he didn’t find it his place to intervene on the conversation that’s been going on for hours in hongjoong’s head, better to let hongjoong come to him if need be.

“see you monday,” was all jag called after hongjoong who had already left the studio’s door, an echo through the heavy wood. 

hongjoong didn’t expect to turn and see you pressed up against the wall, guitar encased at your side, the sleeves of your sweatshirt rolled up to your elbows. you smiled, an eerie smile, one that told hongjoong everything he was feeling earlier was about to be intensified, amplified, much like the sound of your instrument. 

“you didn’t think to tell me you worked here?” you tilted your head, the smile of a cheshire cat sitting wide on your cheekbones. 

“and how would i do that?” hongjoong grabbed your guitar case from beside the wall and began walking, ushering you to follow along. if you were going to talk, it should be away from jag’s curious ears. 

“maybe make use of the phone number you’ve had in your phone for two years?” it sounded like a question but hongjoong assumed it was more of an instruction, a curious sentence that left much to be dissected. 

hongjoong laughed a soft chuckle, “i didn’t think it was necessary.”

“well that’s rude,” you scoffed, grabbing your guitar case from his hand and swinging it over your own shoulder, “this is the last place i would’ve expected to see you.”

“and i feel the opposite,” he turned to look at you, almost his height in your platform sneakers, “you laughed at me when i knew exactly where you’d end up.” 

“ah, buttering me up now, are we?” you smirked, “didn’t know you thought so highly of clotho.” 

“why else would i sleep with the lead guitarist?” hongjoong joked, his own smile growing wide, the fog he felt in the studio was long gone by the time you reached the end of the hallway. entering the space just before the elevator to take them down to the lobby, hongjoong pressed the button and faced you. 

“that’s fucked up,” you said between your giggles, “you wanna be my groupie now?” you shifted your weight to one foot, making yourself just smaller than the man before you. “i’ll allow it, i guess.” 

“who said i wanted to do it again?” hongjoong’s mischievous smile was permanent across his cheeks now and you gasped, slapping his bicep. the elevator dinged and opened quickly, an empty dimly lit space demanding you to continue the conversation.

“what are you doing later?” you asked as you stepped inside, leaning against the bar that was fused against the wall opposite of hongjoong. 

“going to baby’s all right with a couple friends,” hongjoong answered plainly, ignoring the voice tugging at him to ask you to come with.

“got room for one more?” you beat him to it, you’ve been bold since the day he met you, he didn’t know why it took him by surprise. 

he stuttered a bit in his agreement and you told him to meet you at your apartment, a new one in brooklyn, not the one you used to occupy in queens. he didn’t have the strength to tell you he grew up in the same neighborhood, he knew your address like the back of his hand, that this is yet another thread sewn into the web. hongjoong believed in fate and he believed in signs, it seemed that every one was pointing in your direction. he trusted the signs, trusted in luck, trusted in fate, trusted in whatever kept itself on his shoulder that this path he was taking was the right one. 

he never cared much for right and wrong when it came to anything, especially entertaining the idea that his own actions would change how his life would turn out. hongjoong never had any goals or expectations for his life, he assumed how he’d turn out before the age of fifteen, he was careless unless it benefited him to put in an effort for anything yet he never considered that might put him on the wrong path, it just was what it was. from stealing a twenty dollar bill from his mother’s second hand coach bag to working alongside one of the most famous music producers in the city, before two years ago when hongjoong actually felt that he was moving upward, he never took into consideration that maybe his actions did have consequences, maybe he chose what path his life went in by the smallest of decisions. 

he showed up to your apartment late, much to your dismay, even if you were also late yourself. you took about ten more minutes after he’d buzzed up to your apartment to let you know he’d arrived, leaving him to his own devices on your stoop. when you’d finally walked out of your front door hongjoong’s right nostril twitched, he was used to only one thing giving him this kind of rush, this sensation he felt at every nerve ending. you were fucking breathtaking with your microscopic skirt and shirt so small he didn’t know if you could consider it anything other than a bra. makeup dark and sultry, lips so red he had flashbacks to when he scrubbed smudges of it off of the base of his neck. your hair was down and straightened, framing your cheekbones so beautifully, the shadows it created made you look like a creature of the night in the most dangerous way. 

he felt like he was looking at you for the first time all over again, the last two years had done you well, all of the coke and drinking and partying hadn’t aged you in the slightest. it was rare that excessive consumption didn’t affect one's appearance, most of his hometown friends had begun to resemble zombies years ago, you seemed to be immortal. the walk to the bar was short, less than ten blocks away, and hongjoong was grateful. he was using tonight for release, he needed to let go of everything he’s been responsible for, take a night to forget everything and just be. of course, out of all nights, someone who he worked with just a few hours ago would be accompany him, but at least it’s you.

“have you been to this place?” you asked, the innocence in your voice contradicting the heaviness of your boots hitting the concrete. 

hongjoong nodded, his hands shoved in his pockets, “many times.”

“we performed here a couple months ago i think, i don’t really remember it much, i got hammered as soon as we got off the stage,” you were talking mindlessly, just sparking up a conversation so you weren’t walking silently beside each other. 

“it’s cute, less grungy and dirty and more..” he racked his brain for a way to describe it, falling into a momentary silence, “picturesque for the instagram models of the city, i guess?”

you laughed at that, “then i’ll put your hands to good use and you can be my personal photographer for the night, my followers will be grateful.”

hongjoong’s lips grew into a smirk, “there are better ways to put my hands to use.”

“we still have a whole night to get through before i can attest to that,” you raised a finger towards him in protest, your own smile growing, the two of you falling into easier conversation once the flirting started up again. 

“we’ve only walked a block, we can easily turn around,” hongjoong came to a stop, looking back to the stretch of ground they had just hiked, eyes full of amusement yet he was also dead serious. there are plenty ways to let off steam.

you rolled your eyes, “normally i’d agree, but i’m in the mood to party and if you’re anything like you were two years ago i don’t think you’re capable of a quickie.”

the two of you fell into stride again, “i can say with confidence that i am not fond of quickies.”

you brought up work after that, talked about the album, compared recording with hongjoong and jag to max. hongjoong half tuned out at that, he answered where he needed to but he was over the work talk, he needed to get to that bar now. 

you met up with his hometown friends once you got there, people you slightly recognized from backstage two years ago, but there were a few hongjoong had to introduce you to. once you mentioned clotho you had more to talk about with the group of people, being the lead guitarist of a band signed by republic records was always a great conversation starter. 

hongjoong kept his tab open, let you order whatever you wanted on it for the night, to you that was an invitation to get fucked up as much as it was payback for snorting all of your coke two years ago. you were intrigued at this point, not just by hongjoong himself but about what was going on in his head. you’d assessed the situation while you were getting ready as much as you wanted to leave it at a free night of partying, but you couldn’t shake the curiosity that came along with the presence of kim hongjoong. 

after he had left your apartment two years ago in such a rush, you’d hoped he’d call you for at least two weeks after. even a text, whatever you could get from him was enough, because you’d never had a night like that with anyone, the sex being something that no other person you’d invited to your bed could compare to. everything about him physically, the shared interests, the banter, the easy conversation. you were coked out of your mind yet you still remember every detail of that night, even almost a thousand days later hongjoong had left his mark on you without it being intentional. 

then you saw him again, and he was working for you. he was sitting behind the mixing board with headphones on, looking unbothered as ever, you wondered if he even remembered you, if that night stayed with him the way it stayed with you. once your eyes met and you could feel the knowing shared from a single, too long stare through the glass, you had to talk to him, had to pick his brain, had to insert yourself into his life like what you shared wasn’t just one night so you could do it again.

you took his invitation and drank to your heart’s content, and he did, too. both of you ended up in the cramped crowd of the DJ, so unlike hongjoong, very much like you, drowning in a swamp of sweaty bodies. everyone was jumping, arms swinging to the beat, phones with flashes on all pointed towards the stage. hongjoong was gone as he planned, his mind forgetting everything except for the beautiful woman beside him, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. watching you as you jumped in the air, swaying to the music, everything bouncing to the bass, he was getting impatient and his dick could feel it. 

he needed a bump to take the edge off, reset him so he didn’t rush you out of your fun, he enjoyed seeing you so carefree. in your monologue about your album you’d seem stressed, hongjoong assumed you needed to get away for a night just as much as he did. 

“i need a bump,” he yelled over the music, grabbing your forearm that you kept at your side to get your attention, the other one hung above your head. 

“me too!” you yelled back, looking up to him with those big doe eyes, there goes his reset. he didn’t think you’d come with, too wrapped up in the set the DJ was playing, but he stupidly thought wrong – you were just like him, after all. your hand latched onto his and he lead you out of the crowd, through the crowded bar, and then outside to the sidewalk of broadway. he nodded his head to the bouncer and wrapped around the building that still had a line outside the door to somewhere quieter, where people would be less likely to interrupt you.

“joong, i think we could’ve stayed in front, it’s not like he cares,” you pointed out, referring to the bouncer as you finally turned the corner, pulling your box of cigarettes from your purse.

he pulled the baggie from his pocket along with his keys, splitting them until he found his apartment key that had old coke lodged into the rivets of the metal, “excuse me for not wanting to share.”

you giggled, stumbling a little bit over your feet when you tried to light the cigarette, “wanna go soon?”

he looked up to you with eyebrows raised as he brought the key up to his nose, “yeah? you ready?”

“want you already, tired of waiting,” your legs instinctively crossed, thighs pressing together as you pulled from the cigarette, the tip burning a bright orange. 

his smile returned, the devilish one that he seemed to only wear around you, “what? you don’t wanna party anymore? that’s the only reason we’re here, baby.”

your thighs flexed below your skirt at his words as he brought the key up to your nose after your exhale of smoke, smirking as you sniffed, “don’t call me baby unless you’re fucking me against the wall.”

he laughed at your body reacting to his words, something that came so naturally to him throwing you for a loop, the thought crossing his mind just for a moment that maybe he should’ve done this a lot sooner. he let you burn down half the cigarette before he was feeling the same level of impatience and you were starting to look even sexier, the rush of the bump coursing through his blood and sending all of it straight to his dick.

“let’s go say bye and then i’ll fuck you stupid at home, no bathroom this time,” he grabbed your hand again instinctively, leading you back inside the club, letting you throw the still lit cigarette to the busy street.

he found his friends quick and said bye even quicker, his pants started tightening the moment you crossed your legs and they weren’t getting any baggier as time went on. the walk back to your apartment reminded him of the subway ride from the last time, each block you walked had you pressed up on a random stoop, hongjoong’s tongue in your mouth and hand sliding farther and farther up your skirt with each stop. you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other, too needy, too impatient, a feeling you kept passing back and forth through spit and moans on brooklyn doorsteps.

you didn’t let lust take over in the entryway this time, hongjoong quickly learned this apartment wasn’t just your own but instead shared. a man’s jacket sat hung on the coat rack on the foyer, three pairs of men’s shoes shuffled about the floor. that possessiveness returned, coating a thick layer over him before he looked up. your apartment was massive, no way you were affording this on your own even in brooklyn, maybe you had two roommates. the apartment was decorated less cozy than the last time he was here, more like your band’s style, rough and dirty and dim. it didn’t smell of vanilla but instead mahogany, a hint of bourbon, so much more masculine than he’d expected. 

hongjoong’s gut twisted with the information and he pushed it down, ignored it, pretended you shared the space with a ghost instead as you lead him through the apartment and to your room quickly, pushing him against the door the second you heard the latch enter the door frame. you were on your knees in seconds, not wasting any time, only enhancing hongjoong’s need to have control as you unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down. 

“been dreaming of having this dick again for years,” you mumbled absent mindedly as you finally got him bare, naked and leaking, eyes wide and blown not just from the coke. 

“should’ve came and got it then,” your revelation didn’t sink in, didn’t seem to click in hongjoong’s brain, too fucked up to think of anything other than fucking your throat as he finally got the wet heat of your mouth around him.

your nails clawed at the skin of his thighs as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each stroke, gagging yourself but pushing through nonetheless. hongjoong had his fingers tied in your hair, the back of his head pressed against the door, low groans leaving his lips with each tighten of your throat. 

“so fucking good, missed that mouth,” drawled out of his lips as you worked him faster, wetter, your saliva beginning to run down his thighs. he loved it messy, dirty, you were taking him in his favorite way. he was in heaven, but the impatience was only growing. he needed you loud, screaming, cumming around his dick over and over again. 

“should’ve came and got it then,” you shot back as you pulled off of him with a pop, catching your breath. tears laid in your lash line, lipstick so smudged and faded hongjoong wondered if it made a ring around the base of him.

“on the bed,” he ordered before you had the chance to take him in your mouth again and you were on your feet in a second, ripping your clothes off before you nearly jumped on the bed, greeting him with all of your limbs planted on the mattress on all fours. 

“impatient,” he mumbled as he undressed himself, crawling onto the bed behind you, leaving a rough smack against your ass.

you moaned in response as your body jerked forward, legs spreading further in response. he loved that about you, the pain slut that lived inside you even if you tried to put up a dominant front. you weren’t shy about what you wanted, what you needed from him, always so responsive. maybe you were his favorite. 

he slipped inside you with ease, you were wet enough to take him, you’d been waiting for this for hours. he set a brutal pace immediately, pounding into you leaving you a loud, crying mess. it wasn’t long before your arms gave out below you, sending your face flying into the comforter, definitely leaving streaks of black from your eye makeup. hongjoong couldn’t wait to see the mess you’d made. 

“such a perfect pussy, like it was made for me,” his voice was slurred and low, close to babbles as he spoke deliriously between thrusts, he felt fucked out too, entranced by your pussy that was sucking him in. 

“‘t was, it is, it's yours,” your voice matched his, cheek pressed to the mattress, one hand clawing behind yourself and another at the sheets to grab something, anything for leverage, “don’t stop, so good.” 

he didn’t indulge in your grabs as he felt himself getting close, he definitely wasn’t lasting as long as he wanted to, but after a small break and another line he’d be roaring to go again. he wrapped an arm around your torso, middle finger finding your clit, circling it steadily. you cried out, jerking against him, thighs starting to shake under him.

“gonna cum!” you cried out, the strain in your voice let him know the tears that were in your eyes earlier had fell. he kept at his rhythm, fucking into you at the same pace of your circles and you tightened around him, letting go, crying out with no remorse for anyone who might also be here. as you grabbed at his hand and forced it off of you he let himself focus on his own orgasm, fucking back into you at the pace he knew would have him letting go in seconds. 

“inside, joong, please,” you begged, voice rough and raspy, not giving him the chance to ask you where you wanted him. he indulged, emptying himself inside you with a groan, stilling as he leaned over the two koi fish swimming up your back. 

your legs gave out after he pulled out, falling flat against your stomach, legs still twitching against the cotton. you moaned at the emptiness, the release, and hongjoong laid himself beside you. you stayed in silence for minutes, breaths of air occupying the air, the only thing you could hear in your bedroom. you had 80s thrash metal posters all over your walls, different paintings, things he recognized from your old room. it made him smile, knowing he was back here again, a different apartment yet the things he pointed out last time were still here. two years have gone by yet some things just don’t change.

“gonna have to show me your place next time,” you finally spoke, turning your head to face him, pulling your arms under your face to rest on.

“next time?” hongjoong asked, raising an eyebrow, “what makes you so confident that there’ll be a next time?”

you rolled your eyes, “you have no choice, there’s no way in hell i’m letting you get away from me again. and you’re putting your number in my phone before you go.”

you didn’t know that he had every intention of seeing you again, of showing up whenever you called, of doing whatever the hell you wanted him to whenever you wanted him to do it. he didn’t know that those calls would come quicker than he thought, he’d take you time and time again, these visits becoming more frequent the more time you spent together. he decided the feelings he harbored didn’t need to be unpacked, he could leave them unaddressed if that meant he could see you, be with you, get himself inside you after a long day. for the months to follow he stood by that, he didn’t think much of your relationship other than the fact that you had one, unlabeled and undisclosed. 

he left your apartment the next morning slowly, much unlike last time, almost as if he didn’t want to leave. but you called him later that night, asked him if he wanted to come over, and of course he said yes, he hadn’t said no to that question yet. he found out you lived with two of your bandmates, yasu, the leader and the green haired drummer he learned was noa. they were both just as cool as you, that much he knew from the recording session you’d spent together, and hongjoong got along with them just as well as he got along with you. 

he’d spent many nights partying with you and your band after shows or on random weeknights, just as much as you spent time with hongjoong and his friends from brooklyn, or even nights with just himself and mingi. you got to know each other on a level he hadn’t expected you to, one he didn’t necessarily allow you to, including that you found out his real age, you didn’t speak to him for an entire night of drinking after he’d told you the truth. you let it go later that night when he had you pressed against the wall, outside, behind the bar you were at, fingers scissoring into you for ignoring him, denying you release for the following hours to come.

hongjoong was at all of your recording sessions, he helped with marketing your band, helped other interns and even your manager with scheduling performances, interviews, you started to bleed into every part of his life, every aspect of his job. you found out about his laziness with schoolwork, you denied him the pleasure of being inside you until he got his shit together before the semester ended, it was a long two weeks for him, his fist and his coke dealer. 

hongjoong was enamored by you, your lifestyle, your entire being. he didn’t ever think about what you were, he kept his thoughts about your relationship very surface level, terrified as to what would happen if he looked any deeper than that. he didn’t even take the time to consider whether or not you were exclusive, he didn’t let himself think about what you’d look like under someone else and how that made him feel, he didn’t need to. neither of you had any time, you were always with him, he was always with you if he wasn’t busy with the company or what was left of his junior year, you were too wrapped up in one another to think about anyone else.

somehow hongjoong was one of the last people to find out about your first tour, a quick four months across north america over the summer, ranging from june to september. he was ecstatic when he was told by his superior, he couldn’t wait to talk to you about it, the celebratory party to follow, just the fact that you were growing, making it just like he knew you would.

the label had you in a quick meeting when he found out, thirty minutes you spent inside the room with frosted glass windows, hongjoong spent his lunch break waiting just outside the door. the more time he spent tapping his foot, bouncing his knee, the more his brain started to think. you’d known about this for a month now, sitting on the information, not sharing it with him when he thought you shared everything. it became the longest thirty minutes of his life, he hadn’t felt this way in a long time, the drop of his stomach was such a rare occurrence he couldn’t remember five other times it’s ever happened to him. why hadn’t you told him sooner?

it terrified him, enough to leave his spot outside the door, to go all the way outside the building until he was greeted with the scent of summer in manhattan. he paced up and down the length of the building, racking his brain for why this was happening now, after he’d spent so much time with you, after he’d gotten completely comfortable around you, after he’d sank way too fucking deep. why hadn’t you told him sooner? it was as if his world was closing in on him, he hadn’t even felt this way when he was on the brink of consciousness before narcan was shot into his bloodstream, he’d never felt an attachment to someone let alone having it on the brink of being ripped away from him. this was betrayal.

it was only four months, but that was almost double the time you’d actually spent together. he felt himself walking on a road the past two months, a tunnel that had something unknown at the end, something totally new to him. he allowed it, he was blissfully ignoring his discomfort, the unknown, embracing this new type of relationship, this type of closeness with someone. he’d only gotten this close with mingi, only just allowed that type of friendship, he hadn’t let anyone else in since then, not even jag who he spent most of his time with other than you and mingi. he wouldn’t allow himself to bleed so freely, to show himself so naked, to give anyone else the opportunity to know him or hurt him. he kept everyone at arm's length for a reason.

hongjoong assumed this was the end of whatever was perched on his shoulder as he looked up to the clear, bright sky beyond the buildings, that was the only explanation he could muster up. he said goodbye, he thanked it for being with him all this time, for keeping a watchful eye, keeping him above the water. he wished it well.

he sniffed a bump and walked back inside the building with a distant cloud looming over him, a stoic look to his face, a carelessness that draped over him like your bedsheets in the early hours of the morning. he wouldn’t let you see him in such a state, you’d seen enough of him, more than you were ever supposed to. 

hongjoong has never believed in regret, he’s a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, everything you go through is to teach you something. from overdosing on more than one occasion, it taught him to not do someone else’s coke, to know his dealer on a personal level, to know what his drugs were cut with. from disappointing his parents time and time again, it taught him to get sneakier, not give them hopes that he could shatter. from turning in weeks worth of homework late and only just passing his last semester of his junior year, it taught him to stay on top of his studies or he could easily lose everything he’s worked for. from sleeping with the lead guitarist of a random band in brooklyn and ending up an intern at republic records, it taught him that purpose and opportunities are everywhere if you’re keeping an eye out for them. from getting into something that’s the closest thing to a romantic relationship he’d ever experienced with the woman of his dreams, it taught him that if you leave your feelings exposed, someone is able to betray them, take them in their hands and toy with them, crush them if they wanted to.

he thought himself naïve. he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. 

with a quick fifteen minutes and still not a word to you, he put his walls back up, higher than they’d ever been before, he was sina, rose and maria. he was aurelian when he walked straight past you in the lobby, hadrian when he walked past your bandmates who whipped their heads around to watch him walk to the elevator, jericho when he slipped inside the thankfully open door. he went back to the studio where jag was waiting for him, who playfully asked him if he was fucking his girlfriend in the bathroom and if that’s why he was late.

hongjoong snapped, told him to fuck off and jag listened. he didn’t ask any questions for the rest of the session, they went through the motions, got their workload finished for the day and went their separate ways. jag knew, of course jag knew, jag knew hongjoong like the back of his hand by now. since january, five months the two have been a pair, close without being close, jag is an observant man and hongjoong is not good at hiding his emotions. 

hongjoong didn’t answer your calls, didn’t answer your incessant rings of his doorbell, ignored your begs at the door of the recording studio, it didn’t take long until everything stopped. you got on that bus headed straight to florida and he couldn’t stop the slip, the easy slide of becoming the eighteen year old version of himself again. 

he turned his brain off outside of the music he made, the paintings he created, the drawings that now littered even the floor of his bedroom. the label was busy, he immersed himself in his work, he didn’t even have school to keep him occupied until august, he let every ounce of his energy go into republic records and substances. after work he was in the pits of brooklyn, seeing every show he could, in every club in the city, taking every drug he could get his hands on. his friends were happy to have him back, to have the fun hongjoong in the mix for their benders, another body to sleep with at the end of the night. 

mingi forced him out of it before school started up again, telling him to get his shit together or he’d really lose everything this time. hongjoong was malleable by now, brain so fried from his summer that he just nodded at mingi and tried to set himself up. mingi helped him, basically set hongjoong up himself, enrolled him in his senior year and chose his classes. hongjoong didn’t care, he wished he could do it himself, wished he could think for longer than two minutes without your name crossing his mind. for someone who couldn’t remember your name for the life of him, it was the only thing he could think now, it wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. 

at this point hongjoong thought you a phantom, that night he saw you as a creature of the night would really come true — you invaded his dreams, his nightmares, his trips when he dropped acid. you were everywhere, you were everything, he didn’t know how he could ever come back from this, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. 

as he sat on the balcony of his apartment in mid august with a joint between his fingers, hours after vomiting up the oxy one of his friends had slipped him, he decided he had enough.

hongjoong is a lot of things. he’s obsessive, he’s a wild card, he’s an addict, he’s a hard worker, he’s a partier.

but first and foremost, hongjoong is a creator.

he creates art, he creates music, he writes, he draws, he paints. he recites songs from memory, he plays them on the guitar after hearing them just once, hongjoong is gifted. hongjoong created himself, he created this life, he created every path he’s ever walked on. fuck luck and fuck fate, hongjoong created every situation he’s ever been in, created every opportunity for himself, created the name that gets passed through every ear of republic records. 

hongjoong created himself, and he’d burn the world down before someone could ever take that away from him. by september he’d become a junior producer, crossing the line of intern to employee in just nine months, faster than anyone else in republic record’s history. 

he just hoped his resolve stayed intact when you finally stepped off that tour bus and walked back into republic records, ready to begin recording your band’s second album.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 8: Demeter, Goddess Of The Harvest]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Is it a story worth telling? I think so. It’s better than nothing. It’s better than watching raindrops slither down the cracked concrete walls until the prison guards come back to bloody us again.

Today I’m sending John McCain taps in the shape of the tale of Io. John has a hard time tapping back—they’re doing something to his shoulders, they’re destroying him—but he likes to listen. He’s getting it a lot worse than I am; perhaps even the North Vietnamese fear Aemond’s retribution if I die here. They should be afraid of him. He thinks he owns everything he touches, and he’ll snap bones to keep it.

So anyway, Io was a king’s daughter, a mortal who Zeus saw and wanted and took when her father kicked her out to avoid the god’s wrath. That’s easily half of Greek mythology, right? Zeus appears, irrevocably fucks up someone’s life, vanishes in a plume of clouds and thunder. He leaves human rubble behind him: ribs, nerves, disembodied hearts that leak blood from torn ventricles, minds broken in two. Zeus impregnated Io and then turned her into a cow to hide her from his wife Hera, ever-watchful, ever-vengeful, an aspiring mass murderess. When this disguise failed, Hera condemned Io to wander ceaselessly through the wilderness, tormented by the constant stinging of a gadfly. Eventually, Zeus returns Io to human form and she pops out a few bastard kids, as if Zeus needs any more of those. Then he ditches her and she marries some Egyptian dude. There are other details that I’ve forgotten. I don’t think John McCain will know the difference.

I’m sure you’re wondering how I acquired all this fabled trivia. I don’t seem like the type to lie around under trees reading folklore from religions that died thousands of years ago. You’re right, I’m not. But Aemond is. He would tell the stories, and Helaena would embroider scenes on quilts for us to burrow under in the winter, and I would dramatically act out the best parts (mostly murders), and Aegon would scribble comics in jagged black pen strokes. He has all these notebooks down in the basement filled with his new versions of ancient myths: Poseidon as a horny dolphin, Aphrodite as Marilyn Monroe.

Wait, I remember what I skipped. While Io was roaming across the globe, she bumped into Prometheus—chained to a rock for giving humans the gift of fire—and he cheered her up somehow. I guess meeting a guy who gets his liver continuously chewed out by a giant eagle would make me more appreciative of my circumstances too.

I have a lot of time to myself here in solitary confinement. My social circle is microscopic. I tap to John through the wall, I have dinner dates with Tessarion the rat. And I think about my family. They’re fucked up, but I miss them. I miss going to Monmouth Park with Fosco to bet on horse races, I miss getting hammered with Aegon while he sings Johnny Cash or Beatles songs. I miss my mother and Helaena and Criston. I even miss Aemond’s wife, though I only met her a few times before I deployed. She’s sharp, she’s hilarious. She’s mean as hell to Aegon, and sometimes he deserves it.

At first I wondered why Aemond hasn’t gotten me out yet, but I understand now. It sounds a lot better to have a brother being tortured as a prisoner of war than one who received a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It’s the kind of thing Aemond would consider. He understands which stories are worth telling.

I feel kind of bad for her. Aemond’s wife, I mean.

I don’t think she knows about Alys.

~~~~~~~~~~

On a chilly mid-September morning cloaked in fog, Mimi is laid to rest in the Targaryen family mausoleum at Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park, New Jersey. Most of the golden plaques already have names chiseled into them: Viserys and Alicent, Fosco and Helaena. Aegon will one day be interred beside his wife. You have a spot reserved next to Aemond. All of you have already lived and died and been entombed; all of this was predestined by the stars eons before you had blood or bones.

Ari’s vault—an unnaturally tiny drawer, less than half the size of anyone else’s—is located just above yours. You can’t stop staring at it. You can’t hear anything the bearded priest in his black robes is chanting. Then Cosmo squeezes your hand and you look down at him. Mimi’s other children are somber but seem to be coping well enough—they are used to being raised by consensus, they would probably be more affected if one of the nannies died—but Cosmo always wants to be near you. He gazes up with those vast, wet, murky blue eyes, so much like Aegon’s, and you offer him a sad, reassuring smile. Cosmo smiles back. And you think: Life goes on.

Alicent is sniffling noisily; it echoes off the walls of the mausoleum. Criston—a man with no plaque assigned to him—is trying to console her. Aegon is watching you from across the cold granite chamber, grim and red-eyed in his black suit, the first time you can remember seeing him in one since your wedding. He wears no small gold hoops, only a row of stitches in his right ear. He wants to say something, to do something, but he can’t. Aemond is beside you, a hand heavy on your waist but muttering something to Otto. Back in Omaha, Otto had spent a few hours alone with the medical examiner, and when the death certificate was issued it revealed that Mimi died of a heart defect, a perfectly blameless sort of misfortune, an innate impending disaster. And so that’s what the newspapers printed, and any gossip to the contrary is confined to salacious rumors, untrustworthy and unproven.

When the ceremony is over, journalists are waiting to scavenge for photos and quotes under the guise of expressing their sympathies. It’s a shameless display, though they at least have the decency to wait by the cemetery gates. Aemond and Otto go to meet them. Alicent, Criston, Helaena, and Fosco, protective of the children, keep them far away from the feeding frenzy, hungry-eyed reporters like sharks without fins. Ludwika is reapplying her lipstick. Aegon is smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to his oldest son, Orion, a stilted exchange that holds the promise of turning warm with time.

You sit on a stone bench and Cosmo curls up beside you, rests his head in your lap, dozes off as you thread your fingers through his wavy blonde hair. In the mist there are shadows of gravestones and trees that turn skeletal as they shed their leaves.

“He is okay?” Fosco says as he ambles over, meaning Cosmo. He has his hands in the pockets of his slim black trousers that stop at his ankles. His suit is velvet, his eyeglasses speckled with drizzle from the slate-grey sky.

“He’s alright. He’s resting. Are you okay?”

“Oh,” Fosco sighs mournfully. “I keep thinking someone is missing. We came into this family together, Mimi and I. We got married six months apart. I have never had to do this without her. And I know she had her problems, but she was different when she was younger. She always liked a party, that’s why she and Aegon got along so well at first. But she was so loud and so funny, always telling these long stories, and everyone in the room would be grinning as they waited for the good part. Viserys loved her. Otto loved her. And then she had all those children one after the other, and that was hard, and Aegon self-destructed when he was the mayor of Trenton, and that was worse, and she was supposed to fix him and she couldn’t, the harder she tried the farther he ran from her. She started drinking her Gimlets before dinner, and then after lunch, and by the time you showed up it was never ending. But that wasn’t who she really was. She was like a moon that got smaller and smaller until the only thing left was a sliver.”

This family breaks people. This family kills people. “We’ll make ossi dei morti for Mimi tonight. I’ll help you, and we can teach the kids.”

Fosco smiles, swipes a tear from beneath his glasses, squeezes your shoulder with one wiry hand. “I am very glad you are still here.”

“I’m not trying to race you to that mausoleum.”

Fosco laughs. And then he says as he spies Aegon approaching: “Um…I will go avoid the paparazzi somewhere else.”

“You don’t have to leave, Fosco.”

“It is no trouble. And I suspect you enjoy your very rare privacy.” Fosco gives you a knowing glace and then heads back to where Helaena, Alicent, and Criston are lingering with the rest of the children. Now Ludwika is fluffing her blonde curls with her French tips, a smoldering Camel cigarette tucked between two fingers.

Aegon comes to you through the mist, plops onto the bench, and looks fondly down at Cosmo—now fast asleep, his face smooth and peaceful—before he speaks. “I can’t grasp that she’s really gone. We barely spoke for years, but she was always there, you know? Christ, she deserved better than this. She could have been happy somewhere else.”

“Your children need you.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it, but it’s the first time he believes you. He nods, staring out into the fog. “They have to get away from this whole circus for a while. And you have to learn how to be a real parent.”

“I’ll have time to work on it. I’m staying here. I’ve already been informed.”

You are alarmed. “What? By who?”

“Aemond and Otto.” Aegon says. “When the rest of you fly west, my kids and I will be at Asteria.”

“They’re getting you off the campaign trail,” you realize.

“They’re putting me on house arrest.”

Not seeing Aegon, not being near him? How long can I stand that? “I’m sure you’re relieved. You hate the grandstanding and the media.”

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I have Fosco and Ludwika.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that they need to look out for you.”

“Aegon, I’ve been doing the political wife thing for over two years.”

“But it’s different now.”

He’s right, it is.

“You’ll call, won’t you?” he asks. “You’ll let me know how the trip is going, you’ll tell me if anything bad happens? Because I can always get on a plane and meet you wherever you are. Otto might pay someone to murder me, but I’d risk it.”

“Of course I’ll call.”

“Hey.” Gently, he turns your face so you can’t hide from him. “Will you be okay without me?”

I have to be. I don’t have a choice. Instead you reply: “I’ll miss the weed.”

The tension breaks and Aegon smiles, and then he pats your cheek twice with his open palm. “Behave yourself.” He waves Ludwika over, interrupting her meditative chain smoking.

“What, what?” Ludwika says. “Are we leaving soon? Yes, it is so sad what happened to Mimi, but us standing around in the rain won’t resurrect her. And I look terrible in black.”

“I can’t be there for the last leg of the campaign.” Aegon points to you. “I need you to pay attention and check in with her at least a few times a day.”

“This is a common request. I should get a degree in it so I can charge people.”

Aegon furrows his brow at her. “What are you talking about?”

Ludwika smirks as she puffs on her Camel. “You are not the first person to ask me to keep an eye on her.” She nods subtly towards Aemond, then sashays off to give a quote to the journalists.

~~~~~~~~~~

In San Diego, Aemond meets with residents of a new public housing complex to hear their concerns about neighborhood jobs and infrastructure. In San Jose, he visits labor activist Caesar Chavez—being treated for debilitating back pain at O’Connor Hospital—and expresses support for the ongoing boycott of all grapes produced in the state. In Sacramento, he attends a Jimi Hendrix concert and receives a standing ovation from the audience; the next day he joins high school students protesting for a more inclusive curriculum. In Oregon, he makes a speech at Portland State University acknowledging the tremendous cost of the Vietnam War—in money, in time, in blood—and pledges to begin dismantling U.S. involvement as soon as he is sworn into office in January. Aemond talks about hope and despair, the bleak reality and the American Dream, and he is so overwhelmed by the crowd that he doesn’t even notice when someone takes his cufflinks as souvenirs. His lack of concern for his own safety exasperates Criston, but Aemond can’t be convinced to increase his security or his distance. If he expects the disaffected masses to carry him to the White House, he has to be real to them.

“What if another Wallace supporter tries to shoot you?” Criston demands. “What if a Nixon stooge stabs you or a crowd tramples you?”

“No one can kill me,” Aemond says, grinning wryly. “I’m not supposed to die yet. I’m supposed to be the president. It is God’s will.” And how can anybody disagree when that appears to be so true?

The earth dies as you drive north, summer withering into autumn. That familiar brisk cuttingness reappears in the air. You shake thousands of hands, smile for countless photographs. Mothers and wives of dead soldiers sob into your shoulder as you embrace them; teenage girls ask how they can get a good man like Aemond. Only one thing is missing from his glorious pilgrimage: something he wants desperately, something he cannot have (though he’ll never know why), you conceiving his child in time to announce it before Election Day. Each morning you sneak a pill and every night you bite the bullet. As often as you can, you duck into Dairy Queens to order lemon-lime Mr. Mistys.

George Wallace is in the South, galvanizing segregationists and accepting the endorsement of the Ku Klux Klan. Richard Nixon is working his way across the Midwest. He has chosen a politically moderate Greek as a running mate, Spiro Agnew; this does not strike you as a coincidence. He even shares a name with Aegon’s second son.

Nixon promises “peace with honor” in Vietnam, which means no immediate end to the draft. He makes speeches about “states’ rights” and “law and order,” ambiguous euphemisms designed to attract Wallace’s white supremacists without alienating too many suburban moderates. He commiserates with those lamenting the proliferation of sex, drugs, and divorce. He says he will return the nation to a more moral time. You wonder what he means. You can’t think of any such refuge in the bloodletting, spine-crushing history of mankind.

A kindergarten teacher tells you in Olympia, Washington, her eyes alight with reverence usually reserved for heroes, saints, gods: “People are voting for Aemond, but they’re voting for you too.”

And you find yourself thinking as a thousand miles roll by beyond the glass of limousine windows: How many people will I condemn if I don’t help Aemond win? How many lives is mine worth?

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hotel Sorrento in Seattle insists on giving you and Aemond the honeymoon suite: a retreat from the breakneck campaign, a romantic oasis for the future president and first lady…according to half the country, anyway. You are in the impractically large pink bathtub, surrounded by snowy dunes of bubbles. The wall to your right is a mirror, foggy around the edges; just a few yards to your left is the king-sized bed. In the top drawer of your nightstand is the card Aegon gave you in July. You aren’t sure where Aemond is, and you don’t especially care. You are relieved to be alone.

There’s a passion-red phone built into the rim of the tub, conveniently located for sudden room service revelations, champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, steak and lobster. You have a different idea. It’s 7:15 p.m. here, so after 10 on the East Coast. On the steam-slick keypad, you dial the number for the main house at Asteria.

Eudoxia picks up and demands gruffly: “Geiá sou? Ti?”

“Hi, Doxie. Is Aegon around?”

“Where else would he be? Making himself useful somehow? Killing communists, driving a rocket to the moon? No. He is a burden as always.”

“Please be nice to him. His wife just died.”

“And so he cannot put his empty cups in the sink?” Without waiting for a reply, she sets the handset down on the kitchen counter with a clunk. There is distant, muffled shouting in Greek; she seems to back and forth with somebody. Then Eudoxia returns. “Antio sas,” she says, and hangs up just as a phone elsewhere in the house is lifted from its cradle.

Aegon answers with something halfway between a groan and a yawn. “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey!” You can hear it riding the wire like electricity: a rustling as he sits up, a fresh clarity in his skull. His voice is deep, hushed, still husky with sleep. “What’s up, little Io? Any interesting happenings to report from your neighborhood of the solar system?”

“I just left a riveting tea party. Apple cinnamon scones and smoked salmon sandwiches. We talked about what kind of couches I should get for the White House and I wanted to kill myself. Are the kids okay?”

He’s smiling; you can tell. “They’re alright. I could have used you this afternoon. I was trying to help Spiro with his math homework. Trying, not succeeding.”

“Well he’s in middle school and thus beyond your skill.”

“How’s Jupiter?”

You know who he means. “I don’t want to talk about Aemond.”

“Okay.” Aegon says, curious. “So what should we talk about?”

A few seconds tick by, silent and perilous. “Where are you right now?”

“In my lair. Like a beast.”

“Alone?”

A transitory pause. “At the moment.”

“On the shag carpet or your futon?”

Now he’s very intrigued. “Futon. Why?”

“I just want a visual.” Beneath the water, your free hand is resting on the velvety inside of your thigh.

“Where are you?” Aegon asks.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Maybe I want a visual too.”

You chuckle, peeking over at yourself in the mirror. Your skin is dewy with steam; stray wisps of hair stick to your face. “I’m in a gigantic pink bathtub. It’s ridiculous, it’s shaped like a heart and everything. They have a phone installed right here in case I find myself in desperate need of filet mignon.”

“Oh.” And then he hesitates, like he’s afraid to say the wrong thing. “Big enough for two?”

“More like five. You should get a tub like this for your basement, it would delight the campaign staffers.”

“My basement’s been pretty empty recently.”

Softly, vulnerably, glass offered for him to shatter: “You aren’t seeing other girls?”

“Nah, babe. I want something they can’t give me.”

You picture him, messy hair falling over his forehead, drowsy eyes that gleam with clandestine wisdom. You can smell the smoke and rum that bleeds from his skin. “I wish you were here.”

“In Seattle?”

“No. Right here.”

Aegon exhales shakily, swallows, takes a few seconds to collect himself. “How’s the water?”

“Extremely hot and full of bubbles.”

“So I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“No,” you say, baiting him.

“But I could touch you.”

“You already have.”

“Not enough,” he murmurs. “Nowhere close to enough.”

“Do you remember what I felt like?”

“Oh God,” he whispers, and you envision him closing his eyes, rubbing his face with the open palm of his left hand. “Yeah. Of course I do. I can’t get it out of my head. But I’ve been trying not to…you know…it felt wrong to think about you that way unless you were cool with it. Like I was betraying your trust or taking advantage of you or something.”

“No, I want you to think about me.”

You can hear Aegon moving around on the green futon, repositioning himself, yanking down a zipper. When he speaks again, his breathing is quick and jagged. “Where’s your other hand, huh?”

“Under the water,” you reply coyly.

“You bitch,” he says, laughing. “I miss you so fucking much. The house isn’t right without you in it. You belong here, you belong where I am.”

Beneath the veil of bubbles and steam, there is no scar on your belly, no infidelity, no campaign, no distance of almost 3,000 miles separating you and Aegon. Your fingers slip between your legs, finding slickness the water can’t wash away. It’s a familiar sensation, though you haven’t felt it in a while: rising steadily until you hit a plateau like a jet reaching cruising altitude. From here, it will either glide along smoothly until it dies out, or eventually turn sharp and painful. “Tell me about you,” you pant.

He can hear it in your voice, a needful surrender that sets him on fire. He can’t believe this is happening; he never wants it to end. “I mean, I’m…I’m insanely hard.”

“Stroke yourself, imagine it’s me. I wish it could be me.”

“Oh fuck,” Aegon whimpers. “Okay, okay…I want you. I want you with my fingers, I want you with my tongue, I want you to beg for it, and then…”

Impossibly, incomparably, your own pleasure is climbing faster than you can reconcile yourself to it, no longer a hunger but a violent aching, a crushing gravity you can’t fight against, a ship being dragged to the floor of the ocean. What’s happening? When will it end? You moan into the phone, amazed yet petrified. You can’t get enough air; it feels like drowning, like dying.

“I need to see you,” Aegon says. He’s close to the climax that you know men experience, he has to be; he’s gasping. “I need to be with you, let me give you what you want.”

“I want you to finish inside me.”

“Io…babe…oh my God, you’re gonna kill me…”

There are sounds out in the front room of the suite: a lock clicking, footsteps, keys and a wallet tossed onto the kitchenette counter. You’re so consumed you almost don’t notice. Aemond is back. Aemond is back!! And every ion of your ascending euphoria evaporates. “Gotta go, bye.”

“Wait—!”

You hang up just as Aemond is opening the bedroom door. He walks in—immaculately tailored dark blue suit, polished black leather shoes trampling soft pink carpet—and turns to you. He has already taken his glass eye out and put on his eyepatch. Vaguely, fleetingly, you wonder where he’s been. His gaze darts to the red phone, your fingerprints in the condensation. “Who were you talking to?”

“My parents.”

If Aemond doubts this, he doesn’t show it. He crosses the room, sits on the edge of the bathtub, peers down at you with an omniscient metallic glint in his eye. He’s always been less a man than a force of nature. “I know this year has been hell.”

You envision Persephone being stolen by Hades, Orpheus searching for his dead wife Eurydice, Charon ferrying souls across the River Styx. “You haven’t made it easier.”

There’s a flash of something in his scarred face, blazing and instantaneous like lightning, and then it fades. He reaches out to touch your hair, swept up and neatly bound with clips and pins. “We can’t forget everything we’ve accomplished together,” Aemond says. “I still need you. You’re my Aphrodite.”

He’s going to tell you to get out of the tub, to lie down on the bed, to open yourself so he can fill you. You distract him, forestalling the inevitable. Each morning Prometheus dreads the return of the eagle that pecks out his liver; as every summer ends Demeter mourns the loss of Persephone. “Any luck with Nixon?”

Aemond sighs, furious, brooding. “He still won’t agree to a debate. Wallace is onboard, he’s rabid for it, he’d show up if we held it in the fucking asteroid belt, any opportunity to spew his idiocy. But not Nixon.”

“Because he knows standing on the same stage as you can only hurt him. People thought he looked bad in 1960, can you imagine now? Television has gotten so much clearer. They’ll be able to count his sweat drops from their living room couches.”

“So how do I get him to do it?”

You look up at Aemond. It’s not a hypothetical question; he’s really asking for advice.

“I have to debate Nixon,” Aemond insists. “It’s close in the polls, which means it will be even closer on Election Day. I’ll underperform whatever is projected, my coalition is less likely to show up when it counts. College kids, hippies, transients. That’s just a fact. But the old people vote. The suburban housewives vote. Nixon’s resting on his political experience and accusations that I’m a communist, an agent of chaos. But I could slaughter him in an hour on ABC.”

You think of the mutilated Vietnam veterans waving their signs and screaming at LBJ from the other side of the wrought-iron gates of the White House. “Challenge him in public. Say that the American people deserve to see the candidates debate, and do it where everyone can hear you.”

“What if Nixon still refuses?”

“Then you call him a coward. You say he must have something to hide. You ask how he’s supposed to square up with the Russians and the Chinese if he can’t even face you.”

Aemond grins admiringly. “You’re vicious.” And he lifts your hand from the rim of the tub so he can kiss your knuckles. Once you licked up drops of his approval like Tantalus, cursed with eternal thirst. Now it is poison that turns your veins black.

“If there’s a debate, everyone should go,” you say, seized by sudden inspiration. “We should have a united front, including Aegon. It can be his return to the public eye. A month will have passed since the funeral, the timing is right. He can pose for a few photos with the kids to show the nation that they’re doing well and distract from any lingering rumors about Mimi.”

Aemond isn’t grinning anymore. He’s studying you with his cold blue gaze; no, he’s trying to intimidate you, to overpower you. “Otto and I will decide what to do with him.”

“He’s a Targaryen. He should be with the rest of us.”

Aemond stands and motions for you to follow, a snap of his wrist like a man calling a dog. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Panic, tension, an iron sinking in your belly. The water is only lukewarm now, but you don’t want to leave it. “I’m not done yet.”

“Yes you are.”

There’s nothing else to say. Legally, a wife’s flesh is one with her husband’s. You slip as you step out of the bathtub, and Aemond grabs your forearm. Not like he’s helping you; like you’re something he owns.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two knocks, swift and forceful. “Hey, it’s me. You ready? Everyone else is downstairs in the lobby waiting for the limos.”

You hurry to open the door, almost twisting your ankle as you stumble in your heels. They’re an inch higher than what you’re used to. Aemond chose them, and your dress too, and your sapphire teardrop earrings, and the silver chains around your wrist and throat, and your future and your past, and your life itself. It’s mid-October, and the night of what will almost certainly be the sole presidential debate of 1968. Aemond’s retinue is staying at the Hotel Saint Louis. It’s harvest time, the fields beyond the city being reaped of their soybeans, wheat, corn, cotton, and rice, the beef cattle culled in mechanical underworlds. Aegon’s flight must have just landed.

As soon as he sees you his eyes drop, wide and bewitched, ensnared everywhere except your face. You say: “Can you help me zip this, please?”

He blinks a few times, then shakes it off. “Sorry, what?”

“The zipper’s stuck. I need you to get it.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He steps into the suite and stands behind you. The gown is a vivid blue like the Greek flag, gorgeous and shimmering but a size too small. It wasn’t tight a week ago, but now it is, and you aren’t pregnant just always gaining and losing weight in new places, first the baby and then the pill, and it wouldn’t bother you if Aemond didn’t seem so confounded by it. Aegon says as he tugs at the zipper: “I don’t think it’s gonna fit, babe.”

“It has to fit.”

“Even if I miraculously get this closed, you won’t be able to breathe.”

“Do whatever you have to. Just…just…” You push every last molecule of air out of your lungs, suck in your belly, and you hear the triumphant squeal of the zipper. “Yes!” Oh, but Aegon was right: you really can’t breathe. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“You’re not gonna last the whole debate in that. You’ll be sweating more than Nixon.”

“I’m fine.”

“Io…”

“I’m fine. Come on.” You snatch your matching purse off the coffee table by the couch, check your makeup one last time, and hobble in your heels as you walk with Aegon out into the hallway.

At the Kiel Auditorium a few blocks away, the Targaryen children—Aegon’s five and Helaena’s three—are presented for photographs before being escorted back to the hotel by the nannies. And even in the few weeks that have passed since you last saw Aegon’s kids, there have been extraordinary changes. They talk to their father, and he talks back, and he ruffles their hair and rests his hands on their shoulders and asks them about what they’re learning from their private tutors. Cosmo tackles you before he leaves—a powerful bear hug, though he can only reach your legs—and he says he hopes you’re coming home to Asteria soon.

“Me too, kiddo,” Aegon tells him, and then smiles at you; but above his gleam of teeth his cloudy blue eyes, like the Atlantic in a storm, are gloomy and troubled.

As the audience takes their seats and the journalists are poised to capture the best images and quotes of the night, the three candidates and their wives (minus Wallace’s dear departed Lurleen) meet briefly backstage to exchange the perfunctory well-wishes. Pat Nixon is introverted and bookish, though she tries to hide it; but Aemond reels her in like swordfish until her eyes are filled with him. George Wallace gets one glimpse of your venomous glare and escapes, claiming to need one last trip to the restroom before the debate begins. But Richard Nixon beckons you to accompany him to a quiet, discrete corner of the room.

“I tried to call,” he says. He’s a remarkably normal man: medium height, receding dark hair, rough voice, weathered skin, not a god but a mortal, and—you have the impression—more aware of his flaws than his fiercest critics will ever be. “But no one at that damned beach house would ever put me through to you.”

You aren’t sure what he means. “Oh?”

“I never got the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was for your loss in July, Mrs. Targaryen,” Nixon says with unglamorous, plain, genuine compassion. “Pat and I, when we heard, we wept for you. We truly did. And for your husband to be clear across the country…I can’t even imagine. It must have been awful for you. A parent never gets over something like that. It stays with you like a scar.”

“It does,” you say softly.

“I lost two brothers. Arthur died when he was seven, tuberculosis killed Harold in his twenties. God, it just about destroyed my mother. You’re a remarkable woman. You’re lightning in a bottle for Aemond, do you know that? You’re like one of those Kennedy gals, but even better. More personable than Jackie. More intelligent than Ethel…although, to be frank, who wouldn’t be? And you’re not afflicted with any ghastly vices like Ted’s wife Joan. What would Aemond do without you? He’d lose, that’s what he’d do.”

Nixon’s smart, but he’s wounded. He’s capable, but he’s so desperate to prove it. Power could ruin a man like this. “You’re very kind, sir. You did some great work under Eisenhower. Self-made like my father was, a devotee of the American Dream. I believe you have an important role to play in this country…” You smirk, a bit mischievously. “Just not as the president.”

Nixon chortles. “No matter what happens tonight, rest assured that I hate Reagan more than I could ever dislike your husband,” he says, meaning the Republican governor of his home state of California. “You know that bastard tried to primary me?”

“Actors don’t belong in politics.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nixon says, and then bids you farewell as the lights turn blinding and the curtain begins to rise.

As soon as the adrenaline begins to fade, all you can think about is that you can’t breathe. You take your seat in the audience between Aegon and Ludwika, who won’t stop making jabs about Nixon: “He looks like a troll,” “He looks like a sasquatch,” “Do you think Pat makes him wear a  Creature from the Black Lagoon mask in bed so she is not so repulsed by him?” The most you can offer is an occasional distracted nod in response.

“You alright?” Aegon whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look alright.”

“I’m great.”

“Sure,” he says, and he acts like he’s teasing, but there’s something tremendously sad underneath. He can’t save you from this. He can’t save you from anything. What must that feel like?

On the debate stage—broadcast to a national audience—Aemond performs brilliantly. Nixon salvages what could have been a bloodbath with a handful of clever retorts that Aemond pretends not to be rattled by. The real loser of the night is Wallace, who is brutally attacked by them both: Nixon because Wallace is commandeering some of his voting bloc, and Aemond because of his near-assassination back in May. After an hour, the contest concludes and the candidates descend to the main floor to pose for photos and get lassoed into brief interviews with various journalists. Everyone in Aemond’s entourage besides you and Aegon flock to his side. By now you’re gasping in shallow gulps, close to tears and in agony from your ribs to your wobbling feet.

“I told you,” Aegon says. And then: “Come on. We’ll take the first limo back.”

In the front room of your hotel suite—one yellowish end table lamp glowing dimly, the rest of the space like twilight—Aegon wrestles with the zipper as you struggle for every breath, trying not to pass out. “Ow,” you whine. “Oh fuck, this was so stupid…”

“Don’t let him make you wear shit you don’t want to wear.”

“I have to do what he says, Aegon.”

“He doesn’t own you.”

“Legally, he does.”

He’s tugging futilely at the jammed zipper. “Are you planning on using this again?”

“I believe that would be wistful thinking.”

“You probably look better out of it anyway.” He grabs his Zippo lighter from the pocket of his emerald green suit jacket and flicks it to life. “Don’t move, okay?”

“Okay.”

“At all.”

“Got it.”

You can feel heat, intense but not painful. Aegon has pulled the edge of the fabric as far away as he can from your skin and is singeing it until it turns black and charred and brittle. Then he tucks the lighter back into his pocket and with both hands rips your dress down to the small of your back. Cool air rushes to meet the ridge of your spine; goosebumps prickle all over. Aegon is marveling at you; you can see it when you glance over your shoulder at him. Then he lays a palm against your bare skin, leans into you, inhales everything you’ve ever been: smoke and sex and starlight, strategies, shadows, secrets.

The others will be pouring into the hallway from the elevator any minute. Aemond. Aemond could find us.

“We can’t,” you whisper, hating yourself for it.

Aegon kisses the nape of your neck—so slow, so kind—and then goes to the doorway. You wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. He’s looking at you as you hold up the ruined gown so it covers your belly and your chest. You gaze back helplessly, wanting him, needing him, a moon chained to another world’s gravity.

We can’t, we can’t, we can’t.

“I’m so sorry,” you say.

And only then does Aegon vanish.

[eternity-111]

A special little break time!

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Barbatos just can't seem to relax and take a break, fine. You'll have to do it in your own way. (fem reader x dom barbatos)

NSFW! minors scroll down ⊹

nsfw, blow job, tears, creampie 𖹭

୨୧

୨୧

୨୧

୨୧

reblogs, likes are appreciated! If you see any grammar mistakes, feel free to tell me <3

You receive a message from the young Lord asking you a favor to help him convince Barbatos to get a break. He can't think of anyone else but you.

"I'm not exactly sure why Barbatos always follows your command, it is like your superpower! you can tell him to touch a rat and he will gladly do it" said Diavalo while giggling.

No really, it's so hard to convince him to take a break. Even when the young Lord himself told him to. His excuses are always "This is my duty" or "I'm your Butler". And technically you agreed to help Diavalo.

firstly, you open your phone and text Barbatos to meet you at the cafe.

"Is this something important? If not, I will not come." Barbatos replied to your text. But no, you won't give up that easily. You are determined that you can do it! so this time, you call him.

"Let's do something fun Barbatos! aren't you tired of working?"

"I'm honored that you asked me, but no. I am not tired since this is my duty to keep an eye on the young master."

ugh. why isn't he agreeing to go out with you? how dare he say no to you. He rarely says that!

"Fine! I'll come over there then. wait for me Barbatos!" although he declines any offer, you are still determined to get him to take a break.

you are now inside of the castle, trying to find Barbatos but since it's so big, you almost got lost! even though you have been visiting the castle almost every week, you still managed to get confused about the layout of the castle. It's pretty huge after all. Searching for him makes you exhausted and really thirsty. walking around that castle is like an exercise for you. So you head over to the kitchen to get something to drink, and that's when you find Barbatos. Washing the dishes.

"Barbatos! I'm so glad I found you" smiling when you finally found him.

"Why hello there Mc, you seem to be panting a lot. Are you okay?" Looking back at you while finishing up his duty.

"yeah I'm fine dont worry." you replied while grabbing yourself a drink. Not long after that, you head over to the counter where Barbatos is drying his hands off, Again.. Trying to get him off work but he simply declined. No matter what you do or what you say he just won't.

"pleaseeee..?? pretty please? I'll do anything for you to get off from work!" You said to him while holding his hands with a pout.

God, You look so fucking adorable and he can't resist you. He tried to not look down at you because you were wearing a tight-fit dress and he didn't want to get a boner while working. But he can't. Looking down at you with that face makes him want to just fuck you. I mean.. it's your plan after all. You know he can't resist you with that dress and that is why you wear it.

You took advantage of it, tip-toeing over for a light kiss, teasing him. Your lips were as soft as a cloud and he needed more. He holds your waist to let you know that he doesn't want your pretty, soft lips to leave. A soft moan slipped out of your mouth as a response. His kisses slowly go down, from your lips, chin, and then your neck. He was so gentle and soft.. Gosh, you started to feel hot, and.. he was hard too. You felt his pants hardened, it's like he's asking you to unzip his pants and just.. suck it all.

"Well, I maybe perhaps need a little break don't I? Could you take care of me darling?" looking seductively at you, he asked you to help him and you knew exactly what to do, you are a good girl after all.

"Don't worry, I'll help you." you look at him innocently but you know deep down, your intention is not as innocent as your eyes.

On your knees, you started to unzip his pants. His dick was so excited that it just bounce right out, twitching as if he was so impatient, waiting for your next move. He was in fact, impatient. He needs your pretty little mouth to suck him deep. but.. why are you not doing it? Being impatient, He grabbed your head and pushed you so deep into him. Eyes widened, you didn't expect him to make the first move. You were gasping for air.

"b-barbatos.. calm down!" you choked on his dick, taking his dick out of your mouth.

"take it back, I didn't allow you to take it out."

after calming yourself down, you started to suck his dick again. It's so big that you can feel it hitting the back of your throat. Moaning when it did. Looking at him with pathetic eyes while sucking his dick off, it's like you're asking for his approval. Are you good enough? or are you not? He didn't say anything so you thought he was not satisfied. So you position your hands on his hips, sucking him way more quicker this time and you heard him grunt. Is he finally satisfied?

"i-is this good enough?" you asked him. Moaning as you say so.

"Yes. You're so good at this. keep sucking me." head tilting back while breathing heavily. Finally! he's satisfied.

He felt that he is about to cum. he didn't want to choke you with his precious cum so he take his dick out and release it all over your face. breathing heavily and moaning as he did that. Your face was all ruined now aww :(. Some of it was in your cheeks, hair, eyes, and lips. You licked some of it off while he stroke his dick. You smiled at him, what a good little girl. He needs more of you. and I mean. more.

He helps you stand up and then he lifts one of your legs to the counter and the other is at his shoe. Kissing all over you while he did. He kisses you as his hands guide his dick to your entrance. You were so wet by now. He is teasing you with his dick and he knows you want it.

"Barbatos please..? please put it inside. I can't wait anymore." whining and wiggling your ass as you told him, Gosh you were so needy for him. And he gladly does it.

He covers your mouth with his hands and slowly puts it inside. Eyes rolling and moaning when he did, your cunt was so tight and wet.. making him moan. He begins to fuck you slowly at first but as time went on, he got faster and faster. nghh his dick feels so good inside you and as for your legs? it was shaking. You were whimpering and moaning so much that he had to put his fingers inside of your mouth to calm you.

He was breathing heavily too, sometimes squishing your ass or your boobs when you were too loud. His hips begin to go quicker and tears are rolling down your face as you tell him to slow down. he didn't listen of course. Feeling that both of you are at the edge. He circle your clit to make you feel more pleasure.. kissing your neck while he did so.

"h-ha! barbatos~!" Hearing that makes him go more faster and sooner, and you both release at the same time. Your body trembling when you release, but still trying to suck his dick even deeper so that no cum of his is wasted. I mean, who wouldn't? his dick always hits your G-spot after all.

Your body was so weak that you couldn't stand up anymore. trembling so bad that you have to sit on the floor. It's not your fault, after all, It's his!

"Barbatos...I-i can't stand up anymore." while breathing heavily and letting his cum go out of your pussy to the floor. such a waste :( but you really try not to let anything spill out but you just can't.

"Don't worry darling. Since you helped me relax, I'll take care of you next. Maybe I should ask Diavalo for more breaks so I can just fuck you again hm?"

[see-arcane]

As a fan of the book Dracula and Dracula-adjacent media, I am very used to disappointment. I can still clap when the media is impressive while pretending the characters do not have the names they have. After enough trailers and interviews, I see Nosferatu 2024 is now sadly in that category, RIP to Thomas and Ellen Hutter, the un-Harkers set to get the Francis Ford Coppola treatment ala Robert Eggers. But if directors can play dolls and make the Mina/Ellen character do bloodstained kissy kissy with Dracula/Orlok, I can do this:

ACTUALLY SUBVERSIVE IDEAS I’D BE COOL WITH IN NOSFERATU (2024) FROM LEAST TO MOST COOL

Idea I’d Be Least Cool With, But Seems Eggers-shaped:

Ellen goes full Thomasin x Black Phillip, giving into the darkness~ ooh she loves her some Orlok, talk cadaverous to me babey~ And they make out bloody style and devour the puritanical human society because Eggers will pull a del Toro and make 99.99% of the human characters assholes not worth saving from the Horrors. Maybe Thomas and un-Van Helsing are left standing, maybe not. But it’s basically the Eggers MO of Monsters/Myths > Humans, however innocent or evil, extra dark ominous ending.

Idea I’d Be Somewhat Cooler With:

Ellen is 2 goth 4 U Thomas. But she’s also not oblivious to how Orlok is going to drink everyone. Which is bad. So she’ll 1) embrace her own dark inner lust and monstrosity~ while also 2) pulling a Bride of Frankenstein climax (We belong dead.) to see to it that she and Orlok are destroyed by sunrise. Not a ‘She was too pure for this sinful Earth!’ ending, but a ‘She was too gothique and eager to monsterfuck to hang around with you prudes. But fiiine she’ll destroy herself and her beloved Orlok to save you all or whatever. :/’ Which is slightly better than the scenario of un-Van Helsing and/or Thomas executing her and Orlok. So. Sure. Vampiric murder suicide, dying with her True Orlok Love (Orlove) uwu

Idea I’d Actually Be Pretty Cool With:

Eggers says he’s focusing on the sex/death drive and love story of Nosferatu (many asterisks here). If he has the guts for it, he’ll turn it on its expected heel and do the unthinkable—put a magnifying glass on Orlok getting very weird with Thomas. Who he drinks from first. And leaves imprisoned rather than outright killing him.

“But how do you explain him coming at Ellen’s invitation? What about the whole locket scene??”

Well, that’s where the bittersweet bit happens. Heavy on the bitter. Because if Eggers wants to really put his heel down on the horror part of vampirism and Dracula’s original MO, this would be the perfect point to do a bait and switch with Ellen herself. She wants Orlok? Wants him to ravish and drink her and make her one of his undead so they can be vampires together forever and ever?

“You want me. My touch, my gift. This I know. But the question remains,” cue that sharp little rat grin, “why would I ever want you?” Remember; the only one that explicitly craved what Dracula had to offer in the novel and in Nosferatu was the Renfield character. The one who saw the Count as a means to their end, who pined for him and what he could give. Bar the more sexual/amorous elements with Eggers-Ellen, she’s going after the same thing. This, when Classic Dracula is very much about preying on those who are terrified of and/or loathe him—he’s a conqueror, not a suitor. If you want it, he doesn’t want you. So it’s very possible that Ellen’s unwittingly set herself up for not only disappointment, but a potentially violent end.

“Sounds fucked up. But again, where’s the ‘love story’ bit? What’s up with him taking the locket?”

The locket that Thomas had. Of his wife, who he loves. Who he risked death and worse to crawl his way home to. Who, if he’s anything more like the novel Jonathan Harker he was based on, would become aware of Ellen’s condition/Orlokian preference and simply be heartbroken, yet still unable to turn against her. Ever.

Thomas Hutter’s heart belongs to Ellen, breaking or not. Thomas is also the one who Orlok clings to like his own shadow for the entire stay in the castle. The locket is taken not because it’s an image of Ellen <3, but because it’s an image of the competition/distraction for Orlok’s pet real estate agent who he is Very Normal about. And this is all supposing he doesn't just outright destroy the locket in a petty rage, per the vile thing-mirror scene.

The climax comes with Orlok about to off Ellen, only for Thomas to arrive and offer a trade. Him for her. Orlok takes the deal, latching happily onto Thomas and setting himself up for the sunrise trap. It would make sense. It would boot the old Reinforced Hetero rule of ‘he has to be drinking a pure maiden for it to work!!’ It would be genuinely subversive and tragic as a gothic love triangle, perhaps capped with un-Van Helsing arriving too late and finding Ellen grieving over the corpse of Thomas, Orlok having gone to burning dust as he fed.

Which could lean toward a special knife twist ending in itself:

Ellen mourns not just what was lost, but what she threw away, not realizing what she had in Thomas until he died for her. Tragique. ...Unless.

Ellen refuses to let un-Van Helsing ‘desecrate’ Thomas’ corpse with stake and saw. In fact, she kills him outright when he tries. Cut to the next evening, where Ellen sits patient and unblinking at Thomas’ bedside. The sun goes down. Cue some implying beat in which we realize that Ellen’s clocked that she’s been misinterpreting her prophetic dreams all this time. An epiphany that comes to fruition as we see her smile at some sudden change off-screen while facing Thomas’ cadaver on the bed.

The Embodiment of Death she was pining for was never Orlok, but Thomas. Rather, Thomas fully metamorphosed into Nosferatu.

“Come to me,” she whispers. “Hear my call…”

Thomas hears. A claw-tipped hand raises up to hers. The wedding ring on it gleams.

The End. (?)

It won’t happen. I know it won’t happen. But goddamn would I love to be proven wrong.

[nylwnder]

run your mouth

a/n: back with the second last drop!!! of course i had to include my boy bunts in this series <333 who am i without my twin??!! currently working on the last fic and can’t wait to get that out to you guys :) loves u and enjoy bbs!

pairing: michael bunting x fem!reader 

warnings: SMUT, bratty!reader, brat taming, mocking, fingering, oral (f! recieving), p in v, unprotected sex, technically exhibitionism, bunts doesn’t play for the leafs anymore (but still hanging out with the boys), swearing

word count: 2.7k

taglist: @shoot-the-puck , @lukepangburn118 , @hawkeyefierce , @boqvistsbabe , @sweetiet , @p1tstop , @occasionallyaurora , @laurenairay , @fallinallincurls , @andrea9 , @dylpickle4791 , @biznastysloneshift12

series masterpost 

the lights were bright and colourful, decorations hung around the walls and tables, cocktails flooding the room, snacks upon snacks with laughter and love being shared with each other. 

it was new years eve, therefore unsurprisingly celebrated at the marner residence. you were mingling with the rest of your friends on the arm of your boyfriend and known “greasy rat” michael bunting. it was the first christmas with bunts not playing for toronto anymore, however connections and bonds grow deeper than contracts and trades. so regardless of where you might be living right now, toronto is your home. and you were grateful to be spending your time with the group of people you feel most connected to. 

later on in the night, some of the boys wanted to challenge each other in a game of pool. the rest of the wives and girlfriends stayed chatting in the living room with some glasses of wine. you took your cup, however you felt a hunch that you could have a bit more fun as a spectator for the game.

michael has had lingering touches on you all night, and you were starting to get more needy the more he spoke to the others. so what was a way to motivate him into fulfilling a need before the night ends? perhaps, you felt like being a little bratty today!

you sit on a couch in the game room, watching auston make sure the table is set up accordingly. the boys began barking at each other, teasing the other about who will win. they decided to play in pairs at first. auston with mo and bunts with willy. mitch was going to play, but he was chirped out of the group before he could even grab a stick. you giggled. 

the first round wasn’t too bad. michael was carried by william’s strategic movements and consistent straight shots. you chose to make sure you praised willy as much as you could. you could notice the way bunts would hold his cue tighter, it only ignited you more. 

however, auston and morgan put up a good fight, and got a two for one shot to win the game. that's when they decided to break off into individuals, mo and willy first—willy winning—and now aus and bunts, meaning you were ready to continue running your mouth.

music buzzed in the background from the other room. bunts is lining up his shot. you crossed your legs together, watching with a mischievous grin, sipping your drink. 

“alright boys, watch and learn. ‘bout to end this game right now.” bunts says.

you snicker, “please! you’ve been saying that for the last ten minutes. just take the shot already, you self-proclaimed pool shark.” the boys giggle.  

bunts pauses to glare at you “you wanna hop on this table and try your luck, or are you just here to run your mouth?”

you smile, already finding yourself under his skin. “why would i ruin this perfectly mid game with my superior skills? this tragedy is way more fun.”

“she’s got a point, man. you better not scratch this twice in a row. again.” mo says, finding himself betting on the underdog whilst reminding him of his faults. it made you giggle. 

bunts straightens up in defense, “okay, first of all, those scratches were tactical. second—mo, didn’t you just miss a straight shot last game? sit down.”

willy laughs, “yeah, but at least he didn’t call it ‘tactical.’ you’re just making stuff up now.”

“‘tactical scratches’ is that what we’re calling choking these days?” you chirp again. 

bunts smiles, “keep chirping, babe. the more you talk, the more i’m convinced you’ve never touched a cue in your life.”

“oh, i’ve touched a cue. i just don’t need to overcompensate for my lack of skills like some people.”

auston laughs,“she’s ruthless, man. you sure she’s on your side?”

bunts grabs the chalk, rubbing it dramatically on his cue “oh, she’s on my side. she just likes to act tough in public so she doesn’t seem too obsessed with me.”

you scoff. “obsessed? honey, i’m only here because the good snacks ran out, and watching you lose is free entertainment.” you smirk, sitting back and taking another sip of your drink. 

“okay take the shot already kid.” mo says. 

bunts points at the men in front of him, “you better hope i don’t win this game. i’ll make sure you guys never live it down.”

from the angle in which you sit, you have a deep feeling the ball will bounce too much off of the edge and miss the pocket completely. 

bunts takes the shot. the ball indeed bouncing off the cushion and narrowly missing the pocket. you and the guys erupt into laughter.

“yeah, pool shark eh? more like a goldfish in a kiddie pool.” auston says, grinning with his head steady on the tip of his stick. 

bunts straightens again, “big words from the guy who didn’t wanna play against me when we came to town.”

“i wasn't feeling well dumbass” auston remarks, poking your boyfriend with his stick. 

“sure…” bunts says, smiling. 

willy smirks, “don’t drag us into your weak game, bunts. you’re doing just fine embarrassing yourself without our help.” you grin at his words. 

“you make a great point, willy! you should listen to him michael, he did carry you in the pairs game anyways.”

michael grins, “alright, alright, keep it coming. just remember, i only let you guys talk this much ‘cause i’m nice. otherwise, you’d be crying right now.”

the boys scoff and you couldn’t help but do the same. “crying? maybe from laughing too hard.” you say, moving your empty glass to the side. your boyfriend shoots you another playful glare. 

it was now auston’s shot. he began to line himself in an angle that felt the most comfortable for him as well as guaranteeing enough of a push from the cue-ball to sink. and so he does. the sweet sound of a clink and the swish of the ball falling in the pocket, also known as the sweet sound of victory. 

morgan pats bunts on the back. “don’t worry, bud. not everyone is cut out for this.” the rest of the boys giggle again and bunts smiles as well. its all playful banter at the end of the day. however not everyone gets let off so easy. 

once the girls from the other room call everyone to get ready to watch the ball drop, you get pulled by your waist into michael’s frame. the door closing behind the boys. 

“may i help you?” you inquire with sass whilst raising an eyebrow. 

his hands snake tightly around your waist, pulling you snug against him. the tips of his fingers falling low and laying at the top of your ass. 

“why do you always need to give me a hard time?” 

“why are you so easy to chirp?” 

he gives out a low chuckle, amused by the way you always manage to keep up. 

“you gon let me go?” you ask, however not eager to escape his embrace. 

“not till you apologize”

you hum, “you're asking for a lot from me, big boy.” he grins again, and you can't help but reciprocate it. he grabs you tight and lifts you onto the pool table, spreading your legs with his own. your stomach flutters in anticipation. 

“just because you-” you were cut off by michael’s lips against yours. god, you’ve been waiting for him to shut you up. his lips move naturally with yours, nipping at your lip to allot space for his tongue to slip in. 

the more the two of you engaged in this silent conversation, the more your body felt like it was on fire. your dress suddenly too warm and too tight, heat creeping up your chest and neck as you licked into bunts mouth, tasting the alcohol on his lips. whines began to escape you whenever you would break for air. nails denting his skin, an urge for him to not continue the teasing foreplay. your dress straps have fallen down your arms, dress scrunched up, exposing your thighs. 

with one last kiss, michael fell to his knees. your hands immediately go to his hair, combing your fingers through his strands and tugging the more you feel his breath hover over your core. he looks up at you, his stupidly soft eyes asking for permission. his nose so close to your clit, breathing in your scent, his lips kissing the wet patch on your cotton fabric. “got you wet already huh?”

“god, please” you beg, feet on his shoulders, his fingers rolling down your panty, shoving it in his back pocket to keep it safe and sound. michael’s hands grab the skin on your thighs to hold them far apart, his head slotting in between. 

bunts began agonisingly slow, tongue licking stripes up and down your folds, then licking circles around your needy clit. you were whining, pleading for him to hurry up but you figured you deserve the punishment. “you taste so good baby, all wet for me” you give out a huff. 

“want more?” he asks, “is my baby needy?” the tone is playfully mocking you, which makes you smile internally. however, externally, his nose bumped into your hole so perfectly your face scrunched and your moan was your only answer. 

he took that as his answer, two of his fingers slipping into your entrance and instantly feeling your pussy constrict around him—that was enough of a confirmation. his mouth sucks and nibbles on your cunt, releasing it when a pop before latching himself around it again. his digits moving in and out at such a speed, it was all, so much and yet just what you wanted. 

your heels dug into michael’s shoulders and back, you grabbed a striped ball that was near you on the table, your fingers tight around it. really just looking for anything to ground you, the wash of euphoria beginning to overcome you. he gave you praises but they were lost in the air, your ears only hearing the noise coming out of your arched body. 

you soaked his fingers, before he pulled them out to replace it with his tongue probing your entrance. he licked you clean and made sure to suck on your clit just a bit more gifting him with a whimper and a kick from your foot, the fresh sting of overstimulation evident. 

bunts brings his fingers to your mouth, he taps your chin bringing your attention back to him, making you open your mouth. your tongue swirled around them, making sure you suck them clean. the taste of yourself giving you a buzz. bunts smiles, pulling you closer to the edge, you can feel his bulge against your thigh. you palm it, hand rubbing over the fabric of his pants. he lets out a low moan, grabbing your waist and enveloping his lips with yours. 

“is this what you wanted all along? to fuck you here on this table? in mitchy’s place? everyone outside that door, capable of coming in at any moment?” there’s a dark shine in his eyes that matches the glossy layer of your juices smeared all over his lips and chin, the small droplets evident in his small scruff.

“maybe” you say, your fingers tugging at his pants, looking at him with a pair of doe eyes. 

he grins again, unbuttoning his pants and taking his cock out of its constraint. he wraps your leg around him, your hand reaching to give him a few strokes, pre-cum around his pretty pink tip. he aligns himself to your entrance, and your hand reaches for his forearm while he slips in. “shit” you utter, head lolling back. 

he gave a few long thrusts, indulging in the feeling of your warm wet walls wrapped around him. bunts looked down, seeing the way his cock is covered in your slick every time he slips out of you, you felt him twitch inside you. 

“i nearly ruined them,” he grumbles, sucking a bruise into the soft skin of your neck. your foggy brain remembers how this started. 

he smirks—its bait, hes trying to reel a remark out of you but hes also making it too hard to do so. not with the way his cock is balls deep inside you on a pool table in his teammates house, a room yet still clearly decorated by his wife. you still manage to scoff, so he decides to mock you some more. “what, too fucked to run your mouth anymore? yeah kind of like you better this way, don't you think?” 

you would have continued with your bratty little comments, but, right now, you’re too focused on the feeling of his rough hand pressing circles on your enlarged clit. too focused on the wet of his mouth spreading over your breasts, his teeth running over you ever so gently, forcing you to whine back.

“i’m gonna ruin you though, that's for sure” he says with a smile as you fall back to lay down on the pool table, pushing your hips forwards with a hearty thrust. then another. and then another. 

you shove your hand in your mouth, not necessarily eager to have someone eavesdropping or walking in to discover the two of you. bunts tries to pull your wrist away from your face, “no baby, you were making so much noise earlier, don’t shut up now” 

your entire body rocked against the table as he bucked up into you, “bunts,” you uttered breathlessly as he stretched you out at a rhythm that was both so slow yet so hard at the same time.  

“oh my god, you feel so- so-…” you swung your hand above you to grip on the edge of the table, your head right beside the cue-ball, your fingers accidently pushing a stick and hearing it clink against the hardwood floor, “fuck!” 

“i feel so what, huh?” he teased your blissed-out babble, “so hard? so big? so good?” his thrusts began to grow more selfish, the lewd clapping of hastily exposed skin echoing and seemingly overpowering all the other noises that vibrated throughout the house, “you like how this cock fills you up to the fucking brim, do you?”

you bite down on your lip, mumbly noises escaping you as a response. your body is on fire, the pressure in your lower belly reaching a peak. one of his hands clutches to your hips to keep you still while he fucks the light of you with unbridled passion. you can feel every inch of your body vibrating to the sound the two of you make. your breath comes out forced in short breaths. “i’m gonna— fuck!” you manage out. you’re squeezing him so hard. 

you finally hear loud noise coming from deeper inside the house, thankful the group is preoccupied. its new years, you reminded yourself, your head still a foggy blur. you hear counting, but not until it's muffled by the pounding of your heart. 

bunts shares that last thrust that tips you over the edge. your walls flutter and contract around his cock as you reach the top of your climax. your eyes roll back. michael follows right after, spilling all of himself inside you while you ride that tide that makes your vision blur and ears ring. thats when the two of you hear cheering and laughter radiate throughout the house. your body feels electric. michael relishing in the bliss. 

your hand seeks his, and he wraps it around yours immediately, tightly. your breathing becomes steady and you begin to sit up, bringing your boyfriend closer into your frame, a more than necessary hug. he gives a low giggle into your shoulder, happy to give you a cuddle. almost yearning for your soft side after your earlier scolding. 

“happy new year!” you exclaim, however your voice more quiet and raspy than you anticipated. michael’s other hand moves to your cheek, a smile plastered on the man’s face. 

“happy new year, babe!” he exclaims, equally as soft and intimate. you smile back, your familiar afterglow shining all over you. bunts isn't anything but grateful at this moment. to have you to start the new year, nevertheless the way the two of you entered it. best new years eve hands down, he states to himself. even if he lost both pool games. 

“i hope your first new year’s resolution is to not be such a brat” bunts mentions playfully, quirking his head to the side. 

you chuckle. “but i like the way you tame me” 

michael grins. “there are pros to it. but maybe lay it off around the guys?”

“that's the best part!” you say, smirking. 

“you don't quit, huh?”

“yeah, i love you too” 

[ enjoyed reading? join my taglist! : click here <3 ]

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

Barnaby facts (confirmed by the devs)

Hello! Since I was bored and it's making me so happy to see Barnaby getting so much love lately, I've decided to collect all the info I have about him! I most likely missed something, so if you have info I haven't put here, or got wrong, let me know, ok? ^^

Anyhoo, here we go! **}

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

- Barnaby, despite his name, is not a barn owl. He's actually a long eared owl.

- Barnaby isn't his real name; he used to have a different one, back in his alive days. One of the drawings featuring him has him surrounded by many names starting with "B".

- Said illustration has "Who am I?" hidden among the names and words such as "Where" and "Help", hinting at something linked to his identity is torturing him.

- It's been stated that Barnaby is the way he is because of a dangerous experiment that corrupted then killed him, changing him completely as a result.

- Barnaby is asexual homoromantic, and is genderfluid: while he goes primarly by "he/him", he accepts any pronoun.

- He considers his Barnaboos as his "little pretties", and often offers help or advice if they need it; of course, his help may not be as helpful as he believes...

- He hates cheesecake.

- He's not a fan of rootbeer neither; he will serve it in his parties, but he personally won't drink it.

- His favorite food is eye scream, and favorite Halloween treat are caramel apples.

- As for ice cream, his favorite flavor is Strawberry Shortcake.

- Speaking of food, yeah, he doesn't need to eat, nor sleep. But still likes doing it anyway.

- Barnaby is a confirmed sleepyhead. He naps a lot, but never in an ordinary position, or in his bed; he tends to sleep in various gravity bending position, especially upside down.

- Meaning, yes, when Billie comes to steal his gem, he was sleeping!

- And when he sleeps, he apparently snores and hoots.

- While hugging him would result in a kill from him, Ash confirmed Barnaby is a hugger! Hugging him would still involve him squeezing or stabbing you to death, tho'. And he'd feel both soft and slimy to the touch.

- Barnaby is around 10-11ft tall, and with his size-shifting abilities, he can be any height he wants; when he was alive tho', he's as tall as Aristotle, more or less.

- He doesn't need glasses anymore, but sometimes will wear them because they make him look smart. They also tend to follow the eyes' movements.

- Barnaby is very emotional: while it won't stop him from trying to kill you, he will cry if he sees you cry. Ironically, he would comfort you until you feel better. Then he'll kill you.

- It's been confirmed that Barnaby's biggest fear has "already come true".

- His tears are orange, just like his eyes.

- Barnaby is not one to open his heart easily, but the moment he does, there's many ways to reach it. He's quite romantic, tho' not in the usual way: if you gave him a dead rat, he'd consider it a very romantic gesture!

- It's been stated he doesn't have a partner now, but in life, "maybe".

- When it comes to children, it's been confirmed he'd be the best caregiver alongside Dutch, althought for him "it's complicated".

- He apparently had a child of his own, if the picture posted about him during "Father's Day" is any indication. What happened to the little one hasn't been revealed yet.

- Apparently he's the least judgemental character in BBU!

- If he had a TV, it'd be old timey, and he'd watch something really random. Like ducks.

- Barnaby loves small critters; Ash specifically mentions they always linked him with guinea pigs. And indeed, Barnaby had a science guinea pig co-worker once, that turned into an actual guinea pig because of a reckless experiment, and he took care of them.

- He's able to control reality; it's unclear if it's his gem's doing, or his magic power as a ghost.

- In any case, he's now the most powerful character in the game

- Back in his alive days, he was a magic researcher and scientist.

- He actually owned the gem before he turned into a ghost. He even experimented on it, and it's suggested that actually sealed his fate.

- A lot of songs from Oingo Boingo and Lemon Demon fit him: Ash specifically mentioned "Weird Science" as really "Barnabycore"

- Barnaby is autistic: he stims by hooting and flapping his wings when he's excited.

- When he's scared or nervous, he tends to cover himself with his wings.

- Katie said that, if he were a candy, he'd be a sour blueberry.

- Barnaby lives in his own dimension, with his own mansion and everything. And he can travel between realities. Although one comment from Katie suggests he's trapped in there, but it's too early to say for sure.

- According to the devs, he was inspired by Weird Al Yankovic, Lewis from Mystery Skulls and Discord from MLP.

- No, he wasn't inspired by Snatcher, since the development of BBU has lasted longer than A Hat in Time. The two of them canonically know each other tho': only problem is, Snatcher hates Barnaby's guts and finds him too clingy, while the owl adores him.

- He canonically knows Wally Darling from "Welcome Home" and Kira from "Far Fetched" too, since he can travel between realities.

- Barnaby has his guests come to his home by portals that pop just below them. He apparently has kidnapped people before, every once in a while.

- He'd get along well with Dutch.

- It's left vague whether he knows Fantoccio or not.

- He actually has never met Arthur nor Aristotle before the game.

- In any case, he'd find Aristotle really funny, and wouldn't take them seriously.

-- Barnaby is aware of the player, and can break the 4th wall. And that's why only he can use Twitter.

- Whenever he writes on Twitter, hE WRiTSE LIkE THIS!!!

- Barnaby is REALLY mischeavous, and finds no problem in cheating in games. But if YOU cheat, then he gets ticked off.

- This suggests he's also a sore loser.

- Judging by his expression in the cutscene, he doesn't like being interrupted.

- It's been confirmed he smells like meldew. :P

- He could fake glitching out, then attack the moment you come to check out what's going on with him.

- He HATES party crashers. Also scarecrows: not good for conversations. And he's not interested in their crops.

- He can play the organ: Katie even suggested that if you hear it in the background of his chapter, that's him playing it.

- He was a young prodigy, back when he was alive!

- Don't be fooled by his goofy antics: he's very smart, still loves making experiments and can speak a lot of languages.

- Ironically, he hates skulls: he finds them icky.

- He was 25-26 when he died; he's been dead for 100+ years.

- Time is very important for him: that's why there's so many clocks in his parlor. It's been suggested he sees partying as a way to keep track with time.

- Despite that, Barnaby himself in the contest video has briefly stated he tends to forget what year it is.

- There's tons of pictures in his manor: all of them depict him, suggesting he's good at painting.

- Katie has noted that Barnaby "remembers everything". When asked if there's something he'd rather forget, they stated that "what he wants and what he needs are very different things".

- His family is "infinite", apparently. Then again, one of his very early descriptions stated he's got no friends nor family to speak about...

- He's been described as "self interested"

- When asked which character had the most trauma, without giving hints about being traumatized, Katie confirmed Barnaby as the answer, even stating his story makes them the saddest, alongside Fanto's.

- His favorite color is pink!

- He can change himself into lots of animals, and can even clone himself!

- When asked if he can talk to his alive self, Katie said it's "technically possible".

- Back when he was alive, he was noted as a dork and a hardworker, so much so he'd even pull one-nighters before making speeches for his research. Katie jokingly suggested that's why he parties so much: it's to make up for lost time!

- He had a different way of speaking, back when he was alive. And his icks were probably different as well.

- When he gets overwhelmed, he has a shutdown, and goes completely silent.

- At early stages, Barnaby was supposed to be a bug.

- The moment his design as a ghost was chosen, he went through a lot of palette options, like a pale blue color like he came from "The Haunted Mansion", or all colorful like "Dia de los Muertos". Ultimately they settled for his currently shadowy look because, not only it's easier to animate, it was in line with his backstory.

- Barnaby can melt. It's still unclear what triggers such a reaction, but some pictures hint that it's tied to his psychological state.

- Barnaby has been noted that he can talk fancy, but he's not eloquent.

- His favorite dance is the charleston!

- Ash has stated that in the game he is going to be depicted doing something similiar to "singing himself to sleep".

- Apparently he still makes pellets from his mouth. Dead or not, he's still an owl.

- He often puts emphasis on words, sometimes even making his bowtie spin.

- In the latest Twitter post featuring him, when you decode the garbled message, you can read: "Barnaby lies Along in his thoughts, Resting On the floor Neglected". Not only this hints at his turmoil, it also hides the word "BARON". It's unclear if it's his name, a title he possessed, or someone or thing else entirely connected to him.

- He loves recieving scretches on his head.

- Barnaby can cook, but he'll more often than not leave that to the Barnaboos.

- He's not that interested in gardening, even tho' he owns a greenhouse.

- He'd enjoy playing "Luigi's Mansion"!

- In Super Smash Bros. he'd main Meta Knight, even relating to him.

- He'd happily accept smoochies, apparently!

- His favorite party game is "Pin the tail on the owl".

- If you are his friend, he'd consider it even more of a reason to stay in the manor and never leave!

- He has claimed that he's used to give himself self love and compliments, since no one else does it. That, and his tendency to ask others for hugs or if they need a hug to calm down, suggests he's affection starved.

- He tends to react to compliments from fans by smiling bashfully, or happily shouting that he's popular.

- Katie stated that his favorite movie would be something unexpected, like "Marnie & Me" or "Up".

- Barnaby can see everything from the eyes of the plushies that look like him. So, if you bought one... watch out...

- Among his early designs, he also looked like a completely different owl, tall and austere looking, who was the guardian of the forest. It was changed because the devs wanted a goofy boss that could stand out among the others.

- Having said that, it seems Barnaby was the last boss to be officially revealed, and initially the game only had Elaine, Dutch and Fantoccio as the main bosses.

- Barnaby LOVES puns. A good deal of the lines he says when you get defeated in his chase contain a pun.

- You try being slick by stating you want to die of old age? Too bad: Barnaby will make you age rapidly. Despite that, Katie confirmed he doesn't have time related powers...

- Katie and Ash confirmed Barnaby can fly. And such a sight is apparently really hilarious.

- Barnaby loves shiny trinkets: if he sees a sparkly thread, he'll fixate on it and will follow its movements. It's like with a cat following a laser.

- Barnaby has teeth; they're orange and sharp, and come out when he's ticked off, or especially devious.

- When he was alive, he only used he/him pronouns. He became comfortable with all pronouns after he died. He's always been interested in men.

- This goes without saying, but still: he operates on cartoon logic. He can use both his wings AND his feet as hands. Even both feet can act as hands, even when they appear off camera. How? Because it's Barnaby and he can do anything he sets his mind into!

[d1s1ntegrated]

hiiiii!!

so this feels kind of random and maybe a little ooc but i keep imagining shiggy as like a streamer (playing obviously league of legends but also like valorant, overwatch, fortnite, etc etc)

but could i possibly get some streamer shigaraki hcs pls and thank youu ♡

also i saw your post about emoji anons and id like to formally request that i can claim this emoji; 🧸 thank you for all your amazingly handcrafted beautiful posts!!!

ooouuuu yassss. i also love to hc shiggy as a streamer idc if its ooc!

also yes ofc ! 🧸is all urs bby <3

streamer!shigaraki hcs ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

[■■■■■■■■■□] 90%

it started as a joke, he didnt think anyone would really watch

but followers and viewers SKYROCKETED so fast, he was kinda overwhelmed at first

mostly streams LoL, but loves switching between diff games throught the stream (OVW, apex, valorant, fortnite)

but for some reason, he hates COD. HATES IT. if chat even mentions it he screams

he gets banned regularly for "random shit" aka trying to beef with the 12 year old's in chat, accidentally smoking on cam, etc

has absolutely no filter, just plays the game the same way he would if he were alone, which gives him one hell of a reputation online

chat goes WILD when he ties his hair back, cause usually its in his face

does a lot of 12-24 hour streams bc he cant sleep

streams at the most random and inconvenient times, like 4pm or 3am.

that being said he has no set schedule. he usually just hops online whenever.

loves bantering with chat, he thinks its so funny

"blueflame says... "this man needs chapstick lolz"

"well fuck you blueflame, you need a loving family and some bitches, but i guess both of us are fucked, hm?"

went through a huge minecraft phase and ended up creating a small cult following from it

which he abhors. like fucking hates it bc of all the drama in the minecraft community-he doesn't like to be associated with them.

calls his fans rats/bugs/etc.

goes on long-ass adhd rambles about random shit a LOT

"chat, chat watch this, gonna get this fucker"

*dies*

"chat. i am going to scream."

this man has 0 social awareness or media etiquette

like he's actually disgusting on stream it can be a hard watch at times. especially if he's eating cause he doesnt gaf about being "polite"

listens to a lot of hyperpop/metal/game osts in the background but has gotten in trouble for copyright lol

does dumbass dances in his chair if he wins a round

when everyone realized he wore gloves to game, he got sent a BUNCH of new ones, with different patterns and materials (he shows them all off) (his fav ones are the creeper-themed ones tho :3)

has "horror nights" where he'll stay up and play shit like fnaf, slender, closing shift, and other indie horror games

he played facade once but immediately removed the game from his pc (very dramatically) after trip denied his request to "kiss it sloppy style".

chat regularly begs him to play roblox but he always ignores it

even though he HAS it downloaded.

"chat what the fuck is skibidi ohio"

always drinking some form of energy drink no matter what time it is

"someone in chat said im cute. go touch grass"

has a discord server that he does in fact own and mod. but only lets certain people join (he does have a tier system after a while)

[■■■■■■■■■] 100%

ugh gamer streamer shiggy is so Real to me...and so cute...i need him viciously

thank u for the request, 🧸!

[lady-lostmind]

The Boyfriend and The Platonic Soulmate

Written for @steddiebingo Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Gold and Main Card Prompt: Sweat

Rating: T | WC: 541

Thank you @oh-stars for betaing!!

Eddie stares openly at his beautiful, golden boy. Sweat dripping down his body as he pushes his limits, straining to pull himself up again. Eddie has never done a pull up in his life, but he certainly appreciates them now. He bites his lip as Steve pulls himself up again, the muscles in his arms bulging and a little grunt of exertion leaving his throat. Eddie takes a sip of Steve’s water, grinning at him when the movement catches his eye. 

Steve rolls his eyes with a smirk. “That water is supposed to be for me.” 

Eddie just takes a bigger sip with a shrug, letting his eyes track a drip of sweat that’s rolling down Steve’s neck. Watches as it gets caught in his thatch of chest hair. Eddie sighs, wishing he could lick it off him. 

The bench he’s on shakes as Robin slams down next to him and snatches the water bottle out of his hands and takes a gulp. “Hey!” He grabs it back, closing the lid and setting it down on his other side, away from her. “That’s for Steve!”

Robin rolls her eyes. “You were literally drinking it.”

Eddie shoots her a cocky grin. “I’m the boyfriend. I’m allowed.”

Robin scoffs. “I’m the soulmate. Soulmate trumps boyfriend.”

Eddie shakes his head. “PLATONIC soulmate does not trump boyfriend.” 

Steve dangles from the bar above his head and snorts. “How about no one drinks my water when I’m the only one who needs it.”

Robin gasps. “I’m dehydrated, Steven! I had to ride my bike all the way here because someone didn’t come pick me up!”

Steve rolls his eyes, dropping down onto his feet. “I had to pick Eddie up. His fucking van broke down.” 

Robin smacks Eddie’s arm. “So it’s your fault then. Thanks a lot.”

Eddie sticks his tongue out at her. “Told you. Boyfriend wins.”

Robin squawks in offense and points at him. “Steve! Tell your drowned rat of a boyfriend I win.” 

Eddie gasps and swats her. “I am not a drowned rat. I take great offense to that.”

Robin swats him back. “Don’t touch me.” 

Eddie jumps up on the bench to hover over her, holding his finger an inch in front of her face. “Fine. I’m not touching you.” 

Robin’s face scrunches in disgust. “Ew! Get your grubby hand out of my face!”

Eddie shrugs, wiggling his finger in front of her. “Not touching! Can’t get mad!”

Robin rolls her eyes. “What are you? Two?”

Eddie sticks his tongue out at her again, and dodges a swipe she makes at him. 

Robin crosses her arms and looks over at Steve. “I really think we need to have a talk about your taste in men.”

Eddie flicks her forehead. “I’m a catch, thank you very much.” 

Robin flicks him off and then shoves him, making him lose his balance and tumble to the ground. He rolls onto his back dramatically and looks up at Steve with big, sad eyes. “Baby, I’ve been brutally attacked. I need you to defend my honor.” 

Steve rolls his eyes as he steps over Eddie and grabs his water bottle off the bench. “I’m going to make you both run laps if you can’t play nice.”

[lilacsbeeswax]

Anxiety

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Fluff

Warnings: Panic Attack, Party, Underage Drinking, Petnames, Unedited

Notes: First Theodore fic kinda nervous

MASTERLIST

——-

“God that exam was awful! If these bloody staircases didn’t move I’d be passed out in my bed right now!” I complained stomping up the polished stone stairs. The staircase room was buzzing with people trying to get to dorms and house common rooms since the last exam hour just ended.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Hermione comforted, “I’m sure you did better than Ron.”

“When do I not do better than Ron? A rat could do better than Ron!” I complained loudly.

A loud, “Hey!” Resounded from behind us as well as a boyish laugh. “It’s not funny Harry! She’s callin’ me daft!” Ron exclaimed.

“Well, she not wrong,” Ginny added.

“Alright guys let’s not pile on. I’m sure Ron did just fine.” I said sarcastically raising my eyebrows as we reached the common room portrait.

We continued our slow journey loosing people along the way to their dorms. By the time Hermione and I reached our dorm room I was exhausted.

“That Theodore Nott guy was staring at you again,” Hermione said passively as she sifted through her pockets for her key.

I chuckled nervously, Theodore and I had been dating for awhile, but I had told none of my friends. “Okay?”

“All you have to say is okay?” She asks incredulously as she opens the wooden door to our slightly messy dorm. “Either he’s incredibly creepy or he’s into you!”

“And either way we both know he’s a dick head.” I run and jump into my plush bed, Hermione followed suit into her own bed.

“But you have to admit,” she pauses with a giggle, “he’s quite hot with all of his brooding anger.”

I rub my temple with my thumb and forefinger. “If you want him that badly you can have him yourself!” I dramatically throw my arms back onto the mattress.

“Oh please! You think I have time to deal with all of that Slytherin drama?”

“And I do?”

“Doesn’t matter, Ginny insists that we go to this party tonight in the Slytherin common room, so you better wake up and prepare yourself for the night if your life!” She stands up and starts rummaging around her trunk.

“A party? Are you bloody serious Hermione? Who are you?”

“I am someone who has worked her self to the bone the entire semester to get perfect grades on the exams that are finally finished! It’s time to have a little fun, don’t you think?” She pulls out a low key yet fashionable outfit and lays it out on her bed. “Now, we have about 3 hours until the party, so take a 30 minute nap and then we are getting to work my friend!”

——-

I’m not sure what Hermione had thought when Ginny said we had to come to this party. Everything about the event is placed on her bad list. There has to be at least 200 people in attendance, so it’s loud and hot, people are drinking and making out, and dancing to the slightly too loud music. To talk you have to yell at the top of your lungs for gods sake!

The already dimly lit common room had become extraordinary dark, so I had lost Hermione and Ginny in about 5 minutes. I sifted through the crowd trying to find someone that I knew but everything is so overwhelming. The people, the music, the darkness, the smell, the heat, everything’s pushing through my brain so fast I can hardly breathe.

What can I taste? Nothing.

What can I smell? Fire whiskey, body odor, and cologne.

What can I touch? What can I feel? People way to many people trying to push me out of the way as I try desperately to find a wall or a closet or anything safe from the numerous people.

I make it to an unoccupied chair in the corner, maybe I can take a moment to breathe. Tears stream down my face but I can’t find the strength to care.

Count your fingers, take a deep breath. In, out. Think about Theo. His charming smile, his sweet words, his voice, his smell… wait his smell…

I’m shocked out of my thoughts by Theodore.

“Hey, sweetheart you’re okay.” He soothed me like a child it was barely audible with the loud yells of people and the music. “Come on.”

He grabs my hand and moves through the crowd with ease. I feel a sort of power radiate off of us, I never realized Theo is as respected as he is.

He leads me all the way to his dorm where it’s much quieter. When we walk into the emerald green room he asks, “Is this better?

“Much,” I sigh. The tears have stopped but my heart beat runs strong and I’m still incredibly shaky. I sit down on his bed bring my knees to my chin. “God, why did I let Ginny and Hermione bring me here? I hope they’re okay.”

“I’m sure they’re just fine,” he sits down next to me and places his hand on my knee, rubbing it gently with his thumb. “And I’m not god, but I think you wanted to have a little fun with your friends.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve known that I’d do this.”

“That wasn’t your fault, you know that right?”

“It was though, I don’t know why I can’t just have fun without being dramatic.”

“That wasn’t dramatic, that was traumatic and you couldn’t help it. It’s just the way your body reacts to stress.” He removes his hand from my knee and sits against his head board. He holds his arms out and says, “Now, come here.”

I crawl towards him and let him wrap me in a warm embrace. “Thank you Theo,” I mumble, attempting to get even closer to him.

“Always my love.”

——-

MASTERLIST

[mrabubu]

MORE QUESTIONS (since i got you, i won't let you go/hj/lh).

- If Ana went to the prom night (the episode where it's leo & raph duo) What was Ana wearing? And if she went there and Leo saw her what was his reaction to her outfit/dress?

- If Ana & Leo go on adventures (or Leo dragging her in) what could their duo name be? Now that we're on this topic what could be kraang ana & f!Leo's duo name be?

- Was there anything Casey Jr taught Ana from the future? Like self-defense moves? Or something Ana taught casey jr like new food or some type of fashion?

- Was there a strong moment between Ana & Leo happened when they were teen and Leo thought "Wow! She's so cool!" Or ".. Am i... In love?"

- Did kraangfied Ana once got rid of traitors in the resistance? Like i can imagine her going surveillance mode and if anybody tried to hurt the hamatos or just betray the resistance she would go and hurt them or just... Take care of them quickly.

- What was Ana's reaction from Splinter? Like was she afraid from rats in general? Or was she okay with it? And did she envy the turtles's bond with splinter? You know comparing it with her parents?

- Is Ana the type to get bullied? If so, what would the turtles do to her bullies since she look like she won't tell anybody (from the previous answers i think she would keep it a secret).

- had Ana ever explod on Leo because of his stupidity? Like he said something that touched something sensitive in Ana and she just screamed at him with hurtful words?

- I laughed at the thought of Ana just begin invisible to Draxum as he would turn around and sees her before getting a heart attack xD

Oh boy. here we go~

For the prom night, I had an idea she would wear something white. She usually wears more dark outfits and a kepi she usually uses to hide her eyes. For the prom she would wear either a long white blouse or a short dress with shorts, and, of course, without a kepi. This would be the most "open" she ever was in front of Leo, and he would be stunned, maybe even saying that being like this suits her more.

MAN, I WOULD LOVE TO GIVE THEM LIKE A DUO NAME, BUT MY HEAD IS EMPTY((( I'll think about it, but also maybe you people have some ideas? I was given an idea of Magnetic duo, but then was told it's the name of Raph and Leo duo. Idk, maybe call Ana and Leo duo after some dish... Maybe like sugar and spice??? But tho it sounds a bit cringe.

Casey was a kid when Cassandra died, so it's more likely that Ana taught him something. I think those were more basic things, and if Imagine their relationships, I think Casey would even trying to take care of Ana in some ways, like making sure she eats and all, because Casey rarely saw Ana eating actual food because she needs blood. I just had this idea that Kraang zombies called zombies, so how can you not add the most zombie thing? Only I decided that instead of flesh she just drinks blood. Leo's blood, to be more precise.

I think this goes to this comic I made not long ago. Basically, he slowly grew to liking her because not only she was actually interesting to listen to and spend time with, she was also someone he was comfortable with. She didn't mock him or didn't have faith in him. He slowly felt more and more comfortable with her until a moment like in the comic when she would drag him into a Butterfly garden and he would be fascinated by something so simple and insignificant, and then realized that butterflies aren't the only thing that he found fascinating.

I never had an idea like this, but I can totally imagine it with how much more brutal she became after being kraangified. Basically, her more animal like instincts would be taking over her in moments like this.

She would be needing to have some time to process Splinter's existence. I don't see her as a person who would freak out from seeing a rat, more like "they're okay as long as they don't touch me", but Splinter is different, he's not entirely a rat so she would mostly be fine. I totally had thoughts that Ana would envy turtles, thinking how they don't even have a full family, no mother, no other family members, and they're happy while she has a full family, but it's like if she didn't have them not much would've changed for her. But at some point I can imagine that maybe Splinter would replace a father figure to her in the late episodes of the second season or even after it.

I think Ana would hide the fact that someone's bullying her until it gets physical, like, someone would punch her or push her and it would leave a bruise. April would be the first to notice this and then she would tell the turtles. Leo would be the first who would want to deal with those who bully Ana. Right now I had an idea that him and April (and perhaps all the other turtles) would try to make up a plan to make those bullies actually afraid of Ana, to make it look like she's as not as soft as people think she is. Maybe something like, whenever those bullies try to bully Ana again, things would go the way so in the end they would end up beaten up (not literally). And the important thing is to keep Ana oblivious. So one day she would go into school, and those who bullied her would actually apologize and look scared and Ana would just go "???".

No, not really. I don't see her as a person who would scream at anyone, at least before kraangification. Crying, avoiding, yes, but not yelling. So even if Leo would say something hurtful without even noticing, she would just close in herself. After kraangification, yeah, she could actually snap out and yell and maybe even threaten him, like pinning Leo down on the floor, baring her teeth and all.

Draxum and Ana literally be like:

[stormy-writer]

Rumplestiltskin x Reader - Hot n' Cold

Summary: The rat-bastard needs a hug, but he doesn't wanna open up.

CW: Unbearably smothering fluff, one mention of mental illness, mentions of crying, light mentions of death

WC: 1.6k

Pairing: Rumplestiltskin x reader | Rumplestiltskin x fem!reader

A/N: I started writing, blacked out, and now I have this. Here, I guess. Inspired by a post by omgopalsapphire

I breathed in his scent as his warmth flooded me. He smelled like wine and woodsmoke, like a drink by the fire. But he also smelled like mushrooms. Like a rotted log, nestled in the darkness of the wood. His long, wavy hair shook in the harsh winds, and I could feel the cold creeping up my back. But his touch kept me warm. I didn't dare move, and neither did he.

He quietly sobbed into my shoulder as I rubbed his back, silently soothing his cries. The only audible thing was the wing whistling in our ears and our breaths as we stood, wrapped in each other's arms. I had barely known him, yet he seemed so… broken. He looked like he had seen so much pain, so much heartache. And now, as his body shook with his soundless sobs, I could only feel his pain even more.

I did not care how much he snarled and threatened, how he bared his teeth in a deadly grin. Now he was open, vulnerable. And I wasn't going to let anything happen to him. I felt connected to him, somehow bonded. I felt him relax after a while, his muscles no longer so tense. His body stilled and his tears stopped, but he did not let go. The warmth of the embrace seemed to fill him, as it did me. He sniffled, and I could tell he didn't want to let go. So as his arms loosened from around me, I picked him up.

In his surprise, he grabbed onto me again, holding me tightly. With a gasp, the untrusting tone from before settled back into his voice. “What are you doing? Set me down.” He was demanding, but he couldn't hide the emotion in his tone. I hummed in response, but I just turned around and started walking. Back to his castle, where he always was. He let out a small huff before murmuring, and I could tell he was saying “thank you”

.We walked in a comfortable silence, his breathing becoming light and steady as he fully relaxed into me. ‘He must be asleep,’ I thought. Walking as quietly as I could, I nudged open his doors and stepped into his domain, his large estate. The doors slowly shut behind me, and I paused. I knew nothing of this man, except for his terrible pain. I only knew about his home because I knocked on his door, seeking refuge from the storm. But, thankfully, as I stood there thinking, he leaned back in my arms, forcing me to set him down.

I looked on with concern as he slid out of my grasp, my hands ending up at his waist. “Thank you… for carrying me.” He spoke so quietly, I almost couldn't hear him. It was almost as if he was frustrated that I had helped him. “It's no problem. Are you alright?” We were still so close, my hands holding him in place as our breaths mingled. He paused, taken aback. After all the kindness I'd shown him, he was still shocked when I showed that I cared. Grumbling, he stepped back, getting away from me. “I'm fine. You go along and do whatever it was you were doing before you got here.”

How could he be so hot and cold? How could he pretend like the moment never happened? How silly he is. And frustrating. “I don't think you are fine. A man that-” “I AM NOT A MAN,” he screamed. His heart raced and I could see the anger on his face. But his eyes held only heartbreak. “I am nothing but a monster, and you need to learn that before you get hurt, dearie.” The venom in his words only served to frustrate me more. Who did he think he was?

“I am sorry, but you need to calm down. There's no reas-” Before I can finish, he storms up to me and grabs me by the throat, lifting me up. He was by no means a large man, and yet he had the strength of a giant. I choked, and he grinned evilly. Dropping me, he stepped away. I stood from my knees, rubbing my neck. “There's no reason to get so worked up over nothing.” I dropped my sweet tone, my emotions now shifting. He looked a little hurt, but he covered it with a look of anger.

“And who's to say I'm worked up, hmm? I feel PERFECTLY fine.” His tone raised, and I could tell he was trying to keep his walls up. “So fine, in fact, that I'll make you a deal.” I frowned. “I don't take deals. You know that.” “Yes, yes. But this will be a deal you cannot refuse!” He was hiding again. Hiding beneath that dastardly mask, that sinister smile. Shaking my head, I stepped forward, only for him to take a step back. “What's your offer?” My frustration seeped through my words, as well as my tiredness. Flamboyantly, he bowed and chuckled.

“Well, my dear, the deal is you leave my estate and never find me or it again, and you get something from me. A favour.” He took a pause, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Anything.” Was he serious? He was pushing me away, shoving me out of his life, and for what? Because I got too close? Too close to the truth? He was really boiling my blood. I sighed. “Anything. Anything at all?” Nodding he straightened his back and stood tall again, or, as tall as he was. I looked away, thinking. But then I got an idea.

“Fine. I'll take the deal.” A look of pain flashed across his features, if only for a moment. Then he returned to his sly, smug grin. “So, what'll it be? Money? Perhaps a family? I can-” “I want you to rescind the deal.” He was shocked. His mouth hung agape as he looked at me like I was crazy. Then he shut it, smiling irritatedly. “That was fast. Don't you want to think it over, maybe? There's a lot I could provide you with.” He stepped closer, gesturing wildly as he tried to convince me.

“And, besides, it's such a simple task. Why not ask for something you truly desire? Hmm? Anything at all, and it will be yours.” Now he was close, almost as close as before. How could he have gone from crying into my shoulder to trying to get rid of me? He was more bipolar than Aunt Vicka. I took a breath, biting the inside of my cheek. “You're right. I have a better idea.” He seemed pleased at the fact I was changing my favour. Leaning down, I whispered as a grin spread across my face.

“Rescind the deal and you have to be nice to me. Or at least tolerant.” His smirk fell, replaced by a look of anger. He did not like being the one without control. He wanted to be the one with the upper hand. Growling, he glared me down as he looked up at me, our faces inches away. “You… And why exactly should I? I could just throw away this little deal, and I could kill you right where you stand.” His voice was low, and I could feel the hate in his breath. And yet his eyes told me of his true feelings. Feelings of hurt, feelings of frustration. Why wouldn't I just leave? I really could, and I could get myself a life of luxury.

But I didn't want to. I didn't want to leave. “No, you couldn't. I already accepted the deal. And now I’ve told you my favour, which you owe me.” I knew that magic binded his word, and I knew that he had to comply. He stood, his expression almost blank, if it weren't for the obvious anger. His lip twitched and he huffed, stepped back. “Technically, if I rescinded the deal, that would make the favour null. It would be useless. Inactive.” “No, it wouldn't. I'm calling on the favour while the deal is still in action, so you will have to follow through, no matter if the deal is terminated or not.”

I knew about tricks. I didn't know of his, but I knew of many. Sighing, he rolled his eyes and grumbled something I didn't hear. “What was that?” I stepped closer, closing the gap between us. He took a small step back, but he didn't move again as I stopped in front of him. “I said fine!” He snapped at me, but quietly. He looked like a little kid that just got told off. I grinned. Taking his hand, I planted a kiss on his green, scaly knuckles. I muttered against his skin, looking up at him expectantly. “Could I possibly ask for a room to stay here?”

I have no idea what the fuck I just wrote but my eyes hurt and I have a migraine. I made this because I saw a post of omgopalsapphire saying “imagine hugging Rumplestiltskin” and I couldn't get it out of my head. Thank you for reading.

[by-speaker]

Graveyard Dare, (ENG. VER.)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

When you're a teenager you often do stupid things, like drink and smoke, kick mailboxes, have unprotected sex, well the list goes on and on. But this was definitely the stupidest thing Philza had ever done in his entire life. 

Why, you ask? Well, he revived the god of death with a kiss. 

Yes, they had been drinking, but it was the last night of his senior year, Philza was the only one without a date for prom, Fit, Cellbit, Charlie and even Foolish, were teasing him because he had never kissed in his life. 

They were doing the only thing teenagers do in a small town, walking around and drinking beer, until, without quite knowing how, they came to the cemetery. 

They jumped over the fence and started eating Doritos and biscuits at the foot of the statue of the god of death. 

It was very cold in the cemetery, but with so much beer in their bodies they didn't really feel it, between jokes, the subject of Phil's first kiss came up again. 

‘How come you haven't had your first kiss, Philza?’ asked Roier, genuinely interested in the answer. 

‘Yes, Philza, how?’ scoffed Cellbit, taking advantage of his boyfriend's question.

‘Uh… well, unlike you guys, I need my grades to be near perfect to get scholarships.’ Philza said, taking a big gulp from her can. 

Fit let out a laugh, ‘Fucking orphan.’ 

‘Shut up, baldy.’ Philza said, throwing the empty can at Fit. 

Fit dodged the can, which landed on Pac who was sitting next to him, ‘Oops, offended the prince.’ Fit laughed. 

‘Hey, maybe what Phil needs,’ said Charlie, leaning on his boyfriend, Mariana, ’is a little help from the supernatural.’ He said, pointing upwards. 

They all looked up, the statue of the god of death, Moris, was standing there, his closed eyes and skull mask glowed almost like something mysterious, his scythe was what held him up, and his robes rather flattered him, no doubt the god was a beautiful thing to behold. 

Philza snorted, though he wasn't going to deny that the idea intrigued him, but he wasn't going to admit that, ‘Don't be ridiculous.’ 

‘Dare, dare,’ his friends began to chant, which angered Philza, who staggered to his feet. 

‘Bet?’ said Phil, clearly not in his five senses, ’look at me.’ 

A couple of shouts of victory were what followed on his short walk up the pedestal with the statue. 

‘That must be illegalisimo,’ he heard Vegetta say, ’or at least not very hygienic.’ 

Philza closed his eyes and planted his lips on the statue's cold lips, for a moment everyone fell silent as he heard a couple of claps of thunder fall. 

‘Shit!’ shouted Foolish, ’Let's go before it starts raining!’

So they ran, like the rats in Ratatouille, each one for home, praying that it wouldn't start raining before they got home. 

Philza didn't really think much of what had happened, until in the early hours of the morning, around 4am, she opened her eyes and a man was standing in her room. 

Philza sat up with a start, opening his eyes wide, in front of him was a teenager about his age, his black hair reached his shoulders, his eyes shone like galaxies, his skin was pale as if the sunlight hadn't touched him, his black clothes looked as if the universe itself had folded to create the fabric. 

‘Who? Who are you?’ shrieked Philza, cornering himself between the wall and his bed, ’What are you doing here?’ 

‘But, querido, don't you remember,’ the boy said, ’you kissed me today, I am Missa, you woke me up, now you are mine.’

A shiver ran down his spine, what on earth had he got himself into?

[jowrites]

"If I buy a car, will you take me on late night drives?" - Part 2

Jake Sim x Fem!Reader. Where 2 neighbors befriend one another because of his dog, and she doesn't have any friends.

Part 1.

TW: LOTS of fluff, Isolation(?), mentions of being a lone(r), mentions of parent death

You were very odd indeed. It’s not like anything was really wrong about you, just social cues and norms weren’t your expertise and so you avoided it as much as you could. Growing up, your parents sheltered you. You remember how your mother would brush your hair at her vanity and express her unconditional love for you. How you were her precious doll and she needed to protect you at all costs. Your father loved to paint with you, every time you had painting lessons or piano lessons he would sneak in and join you, praising how his little Princess was doing so well. They were all you needed in life. When you told Jake this you avoided his eyes and he could see the tears start to spring in the corner of your eyes. He never pushed you.

He learned you were 2 years older than him and you actually went to school and graduated with a Master’s in Architecture. He was always shocked when you mentioned little facts here and there, especially your age as you seemed to be like this lost child, always curious and not aware of the dangers of the world. He had built this incredible sense of wanting to protect you always, and longing. It had been 7 months now and he was feeling himself fall deeper and deeper every time you were around. He just didn’t know how to break that barrier he knew you put up.

“Do you have any other dreams?” he asked you. The two of you were sitting next to each other drinking beer on your balcony. It was late at night and the moment Jake got home he ran straight to you wanting to just soak in your existence. 

“Hmm, yes. I have them here, hold on!” You quickly got up and ran inside, he watched as you scurried around looking in a drawer before finding a small journal. It looked extremely worn out so he figured it must be pretty old.

“My dad gave this to me on my 10th birthday, it was right before they got in their accident. He told me it was a dream journal and I’ve been writing in it since,” you held it out to him and he took it from you opening the first page.

Sell my first painting.

On this very day October 23, 2017 I sold my first ever painting to Keith Boulder. Mom and dads longtime partner. Thank you, Keith!

Move out of the Estate.

On this day January 1, 2018 I am moving out of the Estate. Jonah said it would be good for me and he helped me make arrangements to leave. I’m going to miss everyone but I can’t stay here anymore. Everyday I’m reminded of them and I need to get out before I drive myself mad with grief. Here’s to the next…

Play Bingo at a Casino.

Get my license.

I realized something: I hate driving!

Own a pet snake.

I got a snake. It somehow escaped. Don’t know where it went. Lesson learned: don’t get a snake.

Touch a cloud.

Make a new friend.

Her name is Layla. And Jake.

Have my first kiss.

Go to Paris.

Paris is a lot dirtier than I thought it was going to be, the people are pretty mean too. Was a bit disappointed but the Countryside was beautiful and next time I’ll just spend my time there.

Fall in love before it’s too late.

‘Fall in love before it’s too late’. Jake looked over at you and saw you looking out into the City. He could easily check this off for himself, but this was your dream and he hoped he could fulfill it someday just like he did with some of your others.

“You lost a snake in your apartment?” he asked.

“Yeah, it just went poof! Gone,” you shrugged.

“How?” he raised an eyebrow, suddenly looking around scared the snake would show up now and attack him. That’s just his luck.

“I don’t know. It’s been like 3 years, I never see mice or rats around the place so I assume it’s doing well just…being a snake, I guess,” you said.

“You guess? You mean to tell me it could still be alive in this building?” He couldn’t believe it.

“Hey, the risk you made when moving in,” you shrugged it off.

“Yes, a very strange neighbor and her lost snake was something they must have forgotten to mention,” he said, making you laugh.

“You are very much welcome!” You smiled, finishing off your beer and taking his and drinking his as well.

“And she takes my things!” He liked to joke, you always laughed at his jokes and it was better than seeing you cry so he wanted to make you laugh as much as possible.

“Hello??? JAKE!!!!” Suddenly the two of you turned and looked towards your door. You both could hear banging and his name being called by voices you never heard.

“Oh, shit!” Jake quickly got up and walked out into the hall, you soon followed suit. 

“Ah, there you are!” One of the men said.

“You lived there? And we have been banging on this stranger's door! Oh I’m so sorry to whoever lives there,” one of the other’s said.

“What are you guys doing here?” Jake asked, suddenly opening his door for them to go inside.

“We wanted to surprise you, wait, so you do live here?” The other said.

“Oh! Are you Y/N?” One of the guys pointed at you, realizing you were present.

“Oh, so you DO exist, we were starting to think Jake was seeing things,” the other jokes.

“No, you’re seeing things. I don’t exist,” you played along giving them a sly smile.

“Guys, this is Y/N, and Y/N this is Sunghoon, Jay, and Heeseung,” Jake introduced.

“Jake talks about you all the time,” Jay said.

“He literally doesn’t shut up about you,” Sunghoon chimed in.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Don’t mind them, they can be annoying,” Heeseung came over and held his hand out for you to shake. You gave him a fist bump instead, causing a bit of confusion.

“You can’t just show up unannounced, next time call or something,” Jake said as everyone ushered into his apartment. Layla was with you the whole time and you silently took a seat on his couch just watching Jake and his friends. 

They began rummaging through his kitchen looking for things. They brought things to make dinner and Jay looked like he knew what he was doing so you trusted him for now. Jake almost forgot and looked around suddenly before spotting you on the couch. He gave you an apologetic smile and you smiled assuring him it was okay. He really did not want his friends scaring you off.

“So, Y/N, how’s our boy Jake over here? Is he treating you right?” Jay asked and Jake mentally face palmed.

“Oh no. He can be quite annoying sometimes, like for instance he doesn’t leave me alone,” You started off and Jake’s eyes got wide.

“Hey! I can say the same to you, Missy! You literally wake me up sometimes so I can drive you around, guys she doesn’t drive so I have to drive her,” Jake defended.

“Yeah, but you promised me you would and so you have to no matter what,” You said back. 

“You’re just as clingy as I am! Guys yesterday I was in the shower and she literally just came in without a hi or hello! Just barged in while I was taking a shower. Who does that?” Jake said.

“I told you I just found out Betty White died and I was grieving!” You defended.

“She died years ago!” Jake spoke up.

“Wow, you two are cute!” Heeseung said.

“Are you sure they’re not married?” Sunghoon whispered to his friends.

“Mhm, tell me more, Y/N, how he is! Love to hear it,” Jay nodded as he was chopping up some vegetables.

“What else is there? Jake is my best friend,” you shrugged and Jake immediately got soft. “He doesn’t leave me alone but I like it. I got to him because I want to be around him. He brings me food and paints with me, he drives me around because he knows I don’t like to drive. I know I am not that easy to get along with and I’m very weird. I don’t know how to talk to people and he doesn’t judge me. He’s always nice to me and makes me laugh. He eats meals with me and lets me play with his dog. When he has a hard day he doesn’t complain and still comes and hangs out with me. What else is there to say other than he’s the best person in this whole world.”

It got quiet and everyone suddenly stopped what they were doing and looked between you and Jake. Your eyes were on Layla as you petted her and Jake’s eyes were on you, soft and full of love. He suddenly walked over to you and grabbed your hand and started walking out, “Be right back!”  walking you two across to your apartment.

“Did I overstep? Sorry, I just-” You began to say but Jake cut you off.

“No, no you didn’t. I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, Y/N, I’ve been completely head over heels and I had been so afraid to tell you,” he started to say and your heart skipped a beat.

“You have?” you whispered.

“Yes, yes. I wasn’t sure about you and your feelings but now I am, you like me too,” he said.

“I do? How do you know?” you asked.

“I didn’t until a minute ago, but now I’m sure you feel this spark too,” Jake said. “Let me in. Let me love you.”

“Okay,” and that was all Jake needed before crashing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and sweet, Jake didn’t want to be overwhelming but it took everything in him to hold himself back. You kissed him back and he kissed you with passion hoping you could feel his emotion. You began to giggle and he pulled back, putting some of your hair behind your ear.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You made another one of my dreams come true,” you said.

“Oh, love, I plan to make many more of them come true for you.”

[nbofvoid]

Dusty Path

Written for the dreamnblade christmas event @alterdnbweek is holding this year.

Day 5 Prompts: Pillow Fight; Drunken Confessions

Sorry this one's late, I had a long day yesterday, but I am planning on posting day 6 today as well, so keep an eye out for that!

For context, I have this very specific Superhero AU I haven't written anything for yet that this one is taking place in. You don't need to know anything other than Dream is a professional hero backed by the government, Techno owns a bookstore, and they only know each other through Dream's civilian life.

Fair warning, this one does have a discussion about alcohol abuse that's leaning towards alcoholism. It's at the end, so if you want to skip that, just jump past the last line break (-----_____) to the end (**~~~~~~~).

**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**

Dream loves getting to come to Hypixal. The reasons usually suck given it's either a public appearance or a villain the local heroes aren't able to deal with for one reason or another, but he still loves it. Because when all of that is done, he gets to slip away from his handlers, take off his hero identity, and disappear into the life of the city without anyone watching him.

He can do whatever he wants. Buy random knickknacks, have whatever kind of food he wants, see the shows that are in the city, drink however much he wants, stay up as long as he cares to, and meet new people.

That's how he met Techno. Pretty, sharp witted, kind Techno who took pity on the random person obviously lost in the big city.

His phone vibrates in his hand as he presses further under the awning, a big grin on his face as he reads the message.

T: really made a choice today, huh.

T: stay there. i have an umbrella, idiot

Me: wow. not all us prepare everything. really feel the love, techie

T: or i could call the cops

Me: sorry sorry ill behave promise

T: sus

Dream giggles, burying his face in the scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face. He holds the phone closer to his chest as he waits for another message to pop up, poking at the keys as he tries to figure out if he should send another message.

His feet are a bit cold, a bit wet and make a squishing sound as he shifts in place. It's probably because of, of the rain but that's why he texted Techno. Techno would know where he can go or come and get him. Which he's doing!

It takes a few minutes for his phone to buzz again, this time displaying a picture of himself staring across the street only showing his right side. He frowns, slowly turns his head and smiling brightly as soon as he spots Techno holding an umbrella over himself and giving a brief wave.

Dream runs over, not caring about the pouring rain as he latches onto Techno's arm. He wants to spin them around, tug Techno down the roads as they just run, but Techno's impossible to move.

"You look like a drowned rat," Techno sighs as he lifts the side of his coat to wrap around Dream. It's warm and he presses close, forgetting about the idea to run around.

"I'm a pretty drowned rat," he says into Techno's shoulder. He's always so warm and he can't help the shiver that runs through him. "Didin' realize it would rain."

"It's rainy season," Techno sighs. "Always expect rain even if everything is saying you'll be good."

He hums, eyes drifting close as he soaks in the warmth of the body pressed against him. His stomach turns, gurgles- "I want soup."

Techno huffs, shoving his head lightly, "Okay. Come on."

Dream laughs, clings tighter to Techno's arm as they walk down the side walk. He points out all of the interesting things and cool colors he sees the entire walk back to Techno's place, only stopping as they reach his door and head inside.

"I'm going to get you something to change into," Techno says, kicking his shoes off. "Wait in the bathroom and don't touch anything."

Dream hums, wandering through the place. There's a lot of interesting things he can look at here, but he doesn't get far before Techno is tugging him to the bathroom. He blinks at the room. Confused as to how he got here, but moving on as his eye catches what he's pretty sure is a new washcloth. It has little pigs embroidered on it!

A sigh drags his attention away from the towel to see Techno standing in the doorway, "Here. Put these on."

It's clothes. Clearly Techno's and he drops the cloth to snag them up. They're all soft. Nice on his hands and he wants to stay there clinging to them. He always wants to touch Techno - hold hands, linked arms, leaning against him, hugs - but it's not something Techno likes. This is a nice alternative.

Only, Techno steps in, nudging him to actually change his clothes. (Wow. They were really cold. Getting them off is nice.)

They're big on him, covering his hands and feet as Techno guides him out and pushes him toward the couch. It has a clear view of the kitchen where he heads to, grabbing something from the fridge and messing with the stove.

Dream grabs a pillow, happy to watch Techno moving around. His hair sways lovingly as he moves and most of his focus is on that.

Techno comes back, a bowl in hand and he blinks down at it as it's pressed into his hands.

"You asked for soup" he did? oh, right, he did "I'll get a movie started if you eat."

He perks up. Techno always has the best movies on hand.

The soup is tasty. Warm and filling and he didn't realize he was so hungry. The movie is starting in the background, but he's more focused on trying to finish the bowl. It's getting strangely hard to keep his eyes open.

Fingers are running through his head, scratching at his scalp. The bowl is gently tugged from his hands as he leans forward. There's a nice warmth in front of him, curling around him as sound fills the air low enough he doesn't bother fighting the desire to stay where he is.

-----_____-----_____-----_____-----_____-----_____-----_____-----

Techno sighs, setting the bowl on the side table as he feel Dream fall completely asleep. He tugs the throw down from the back to wrap around him and shifting him around to actually be laying down. He doesn't want Dream to wake up with a sore back.

The smell of alcohol is fainter, at least. Most of it must have been clinging to his clothes currently laying in Techno's bathroom to take care of later.

He stays where he is on the couch. Debating what he's going to bring up in the morning. His main concern is that this is the seventh time in three weeks he's gotten a text from Dream asking to be picked up because he's lost only to find him clearly tipsy if not drunk.

It's getting worrying and he's pretty close to asking Niki to step in. The only reason he hasn't is because he has no way of knowing if this is typical for the other days or it's just the ones he has off.

The other thing is the mumbled 'love you' he just heard. Which is not something he was at all prepared to have dumped on him. Currently he hopes that Dream just doesn't remember it and he can ignore it.

He winces slightly as Chat almost screams in his head as they start arguing. "Fine, fine," he mutters, glancing down to check on Dream. Still asleep and breathing fine. "Just let me know if you come to an agreement."

It does nothing to calm them down, but a few manage to shout loud suggestions for the actual concerning topic he makes sure to memorize. He wants as much help as he can get for this.

**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**~~~~~~~**

AU Notes:

dream is a hero as mentioned, as is most of his family and friends. literally the only person he is close to that isn’t involved with the hero. business is techno.

the syndicate is a thing here. they’re labeled a villain group since they refuse to work with any government. it’s only four of them - techno, niki, phil, and ranboo - plus a few of their close relations - ie kristen.

niki owns a bar and has a pretty extensive network through other bars and liquor stores so if it came to it, techno was going to ask her to black list dream from buying anything.

So this is an AU I’m interested in writing more in just like day 1. I do hope you enjoyed this snippet into the world though! 😊