#i don't think i'm gonna do this for anyone else

[bbokicidal]

"What Happens When.." | [SKZ] OT8| [SEUNGMIN]

Hyunjin makes a bet that Seungmin can't satisfy his girl with just his hands - so he decides to prove him wrong. And with an audience.

Genre: Smut [18+ MDNI] Pairing: Seungmin x Fem!Reader Warnings: orgasm denial, edging, lots of teasing, meandom!seungmin (kind of), fingering, spit (f receiving), masturbation (m)

Notes: This IS a short fic and isn't anything really long. There's no plot - it's purely smut for your viewing pleasure and my mental peace, lol. <- And thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this while I went through my writers block rut, hahaha.

Word Count: 1.2K

"I... guess I was wrong." Hyunjin murmurs out more to himself than anyone else.

He'd been dumb enough to make a bet against the one, the only, Kim Seungmin. And the decision was dumb because he should've known better that Seungmin wouldn't back down from a challenge - especially when it had to do with you. Hyunjin wouldn't make any more bets against him in the future, that's for sure. Not after seeing the way you squirmed on your boyfriend's fingers like he was sucking the life out of you; The way you writhed against the sheets, back arching up off of the mattress and hips wriggling in a way that showed him - and everyone else in the room - that you only wanted more.

Though Hyunjin wasn't the only one so openly ogling your reactions. Some of the members had taken to glancing away either because they were too shy to stare or were too busy getting themselves off. But then there were the members who just loved to watch - those two being Jisung and Minho. While the younger of the two was watching in a more curious, excited manner with his hand down his pants tugging on his cock while it made a leaky mess in his boxers - Minho's gaze was far more... heavy. His eyes were dark, filled with lust as his head tipped down and he watched the scene play out in front of him through thick lashes. He'd restrained from touching himself at all, just a tad more resilient than his younger counterpart, but had been kind enough to himself to let his thighs fall apart. So he sat, manspreading in the chair in the corner of the room with a gaze as heavy as lead, just watching you fall apart for one of the youngest in the group.

"Gonna come?" Seungmin's tone is nothing short of teasing. His voice lilts with interest at the way you nod up to him, hair ruffling against the sheets as if the way your body reacted to his thumb pressing against your clit wasn't enough to tell him you were close. Your boyfriend chuckles, breathing out a laugh as he carefully slows his pace. Your body thrashes for a moment in annoyance before settling back down on the sheets, letting him do as he pleased because ultimately - he was in control here. "Hey," Seungmin bites, using his free hand to slap your pussy just as his movements stop. "None of that tantrum shit. Don't you want to behave in front of the others?"

"Don't think I'm ever gonna forget this," Felix's words don't fall on deaf ears. Seungmin looks up from where he sat between your thighs, fingers continuing to pump into your pussy so quickly it had you beginning to squirm and lift your hips off of the sheets. Felix sits up near the headboard, one hand laying on the pillow under his weight while the other rubs over his groin overtop his jeans. The feeling of the denim rubbing against his hard cock was something close to Heaven on Earth for him right now. Seungmin watches, letting his eyes wander over his Hyung for just a moment, before glancing beside him to the maknae - who was falling apart way faster than the Aussie.

Jeongin was in shambles. He'd been tugging on his cock since the moment you'd stripped naked in front of them, letting your boyfriend prove himself to his closest friends, and now he was just melting into the sheets. Slumped against the headboard and audibly whimpering just loud enough to be heard if one listened in closely - Jeongin let his eyes drag over your body where you lay in front of him. "You're being kind of - mean, don't you think, Hyung? Teasing her.." His hand slowed just for a moment as you moved to tip your head to the side, grateful the youngest had spoke up for you, moaning out and whimpering against his skin. He was close enough that when your head turned, your lips made contact with the bare skin of his thigh - his pants long discarded on the floor nearby. And the feeling of your breath fanning over his skin made him visibly tremble, cum leaking from the tip of his cock before he could even comprehend what was happening.

"I don't think I've ever seen him this determined," Changbin murmurs to someone to his left. His arms are crossed over his chest and he stands leaning against the wall - refusing to give in as easily as most of the others. He was one of the one who wouldn't look directly at you - at your tits swaying each time Seungmin got a little more rough with you, or the way you body arched and crooned into every move your boyfriend made. Not because he didn't want to, but because the sight of you looking so... desperate in front of all of them because Changbin a bit .. shy, with his ears painted a warm, bubbling crimson - and the color draining down to swatch his neck as well. But how was he supposed to ignore the sounds of your pussy clenching around your boyfriend's fingers - and the way he could see you practically drooling out of his peripheral vision...

Beside him, Chan was.. more than willing to look. He liked to touch, even, letting his fingertips brush over your cheek and watching your mouth open like you wanted to welcome him in. The eldest leaned down and for a moment, your breathing hitched, thinking he looked awfully big hovering over you in such a way - broad and thick and heavy, just like the cock that strained against his boxers begging to be freed. Your eyes dart up from between his legs and you stare as his tongue pushes along the inside of his lips. He gathers the spit on his tongue before giving it to you inside - spitting right onto your own and watching as you close your mouth to swallow it down. And you can't just ignore the soft "Good girl," that escapes his lips shortly after.

And Seungmin can't ignore the way you react. The way your body jolts up off of the sheets as your gut turns into knots, aching for release. He knows the signs - knows you'll squirt all over the sheets if he doesn't stop now - so he all but rips his hand away and watches as your body writhes in, once again, frustration. The warmth between your legs slowly begins to fade away as your boyfriend sits back, laughing at the way your nose crinkles and your eyes squeeze shut in hope that it's just a dream. "It's okay, baby," He soothes, both hands slowly running up the expanse of your inner thighs until his thumbs could spread you open for him all over again. Seungmin sits forward and leans down to spit right on your clit, your hips jutting at the sudden feeling.

"One more time, yeah? You've already done such a good job putting on a show for them. You can handle one more."

- Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[peachylynnie]

gift exchange

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: in which you get sick on christmas, and sylus is there to make it better.

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating but sylus is down bad), christmas themes, a singular reference to his myth, a singular reference to grassland romance, mentions and consumption of food, suggestive themes, cursing, angst, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick. again. on christmas too. you know what that means. sylus time! on a related note, i hope everyone had a wonderful christmas. my rafayel fic is gonna upload soon as well. enjoy! reblogs and comments always welcome! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

you curse as you rip open a hot chocolate packet. "sick on christmas," you grumble as you pour the contents into a mug. "how the fuck is that even possible."

of course, anyone can get sick at any time. it's inevitable. but, seriously? of all the days the pain in your throat and ears could have appeared, it just HAD to be on fucking christmas day. sure, it's not like you had any plans. normally you would celebrate with grandma and caleb by feasting on countless dishes and singing christmas songs from an old karaoke machine caleb swears isn't broken. but they're not around anymore.

you sigh miserably as you trudge over to the water dispenser for hot water, not wanting to think about your lost family. as you press the button for hot water, you lean against the dispenser, trying to figure out what you're going to do for the rest of the day. you were planning on visiting the market to make a nice dinner or perhaps order takeout at your favorite restaurant. but those are no longer viable options since your throat is killing you and your ears are incessantly burning. maybe you can order delivery? but that means you're going to have to clean up afterward, and you did NOT want to clean anything at the moment, especially with the state you're in.

shaking your head, you bring your mug back to the kitchen counter and search for a spoon.

"water for hot chocolate? i'm disappointed, sweetie."

you jump, an "oh, fuck!" leaving your mouth. sylus had materialized in front of you, a plastic bag in his left hand and a present box in his right. not like you noticed though. you were too startled by his sudden appearance. "what the fuck, sylus?! can't you knock?!"

"no," he deadpans, placing the bag and box on the kitchen counter. his fingers make quick work of untying the double knot on the bag. "besides," he spares you a glance. "i don't think someone who uses water to make their hot chocolate deserves a knock."

you roll your eyes. of course he fixates on that and doesn't explain why he's in your crappy apartment slandering you instead of downing at LEAST three glasses of wine in his luxurious penthouse on christmas day too. "well, screw me for being lazy, i guess," you mumble, crossing your arms.

"don't tempt me."

"huh?"

"what?"

you shoot him a look before grabbing your mug and heading to the other side of the kitchen counter. sitting on your squeaky high chair, you ask, "why are you here, sylus?"

he takes out a styrofoam container and opens its lid. immediately, the comforting smell of miso greets you. as sylus opens a cabinet to retrieve a pot (you don't question how he knows where to find it), you try to look at what else is in the plastic bag. tilting your upper body, you notice another container and hope it has some rice inside. what you don't notice is sylus' breath hitching when he turns back to you after pouring the miso soup into the pot and turning on the stove.

you were wearing a nice, loose top in your favorite color. except, its neck portion was completely cut off, leaving your collarbone and shoulders deliciously exposed. and because you were leaning on your side to take a look at what he had brought you (he loves when you're curious about anything involving him), the sleeve was slowly yet surely sliding down your arm, threatening to show a cup of your bra.

sylus instantly turns back to the stove, even though the miso soup shows no signs of boiling. rubbing a hand over his face, he shakes his head. no, he's not here to ogle at you (the top looks really good on you, and fuck, did your bra cup your breasts really nicely). he's here to take care of you. earlier, mephisto alerted him you were taking some cough drops. and knowing you, you probably didn't have any food on hand to sustain you through your sickness, given his last (secret) visit to your apartment to stock your (empty) fridge. taking a deep breath, sylus returns to the kitchen counter, reaching for the other container. he notices your inquisitive eyes.

"i'm here because it's christmas." he opens the container, and to your delight, it's omurice. marveling at how fluffy the omelette looks and how savory the fried rice appears, you almost miss his answer.

"huh?" you frown. "you're here because it's christmas?"

"is that not what i just said?" sylus jests as he plates the omurice and places it in your microwave.

"well," you start carefully. "shouldn't you have better things to do? like take luke and kieran shopping or pop open another bottle of wine because woo! christmas!"

the silver-haired man shakes his head with a chuckle, propping his hands on the kitchen counter. you try not to focus on his exposed forearms too much. forget the omurice and miso soup; you'll take his arms instead.

"first of all, luke and kieran are busy—"

"on christmas?!"

"yes, sweetie, on christmas." he raises a brow at you for interrupting. you drag your sleeve back up sheepishly.

"second of all, what makes you think i haven't already indulged in a bottle of wine today?" he tilts his head and crosses his arms, gazing at you with a hint of amusement in his ruby eyes.

you pout and look away. "fair point, i guess."

enjoying your cute reaction, sylus returns his attention to the stove. pleased to find the miso soup boiling, he turns off the stove and takes out a bowl from your cabinet (again, how does he know where to find that?). using a ladle to pour into the bowl, he hums a little tune. you try not to snicker at how terrible he sounds. after sliding a bowl of soup and a plate of omurice to you, sylus plants his elbows on the counter and rests his chin on a palm, allowing him a perfect view of his beloved (though you don't know you're his beloved yet; luke and kieran called him a loser before getting their asses handed to them).

"uh," you look at sylus, then at the food, and then sylus again. "you're not going to eat?"

he shakes his head. "i already ate before coming here."

hesitantly, you pick up your utensils. "you know you technically haven't answered my question, right?"

"i'll tell you once you finish." sylus responds immediately. it's almost as if he knew what you were going to say.

no longer wanting to torture your stomach, you cut into the omurice and take a bite. "mmm!" you cover your mouth as you chew. the softness of the egg, the savoriness of the fried rice—oh, you're in heaven. "this tastes really good, sylus!" you take a sip of the miso soup as well. not only does the warm broth soothe your throat, but the spice that comes with it clears up your sinuses, ceasing the burn in your ears.

the man in front of you can't help but smile at the sight. you, in your most vulnerable, beautiful state, enjoying his cooking. he could die a happy man here. and it wouldn't be the first time his cause of death is you. not that he minds or anything.

"thank you, sylus." you take a few more bites before swallowing. "seriously, i needed this."

"i know, sweetie," he says gently. "i know."

you glare at him, but not with as much malice as you used to. "did mephisto snitch on me or something?"

sylus lets out a laugh before grabbing the present box and joining you on the other side of the counter. "he simply saw a poor little hunter in need of some saving."

"since when does being sick mean needing saving?" you mutter as you set your utensils down, having finished the meal. you make a mental note to ask where he got the food. you're definitely going to visit wherever this exquisite meal came from (the man sitting next to you would die if he knew you wanted to visit his place).

sylus hands you the present box, causing your eyes to widen as you finally process its existence. "merry christmas, sweetie."

instead of accepting it, you jump out of your seat and dash to your room, though not without yelling a "wait here!" your heart beats rapidly as you open your closet door, your eyes landing on a small box wrapped in glossy black paper. yes, you were planning on spending christmas alone. yes, you were planning on giving this to sylus as nonchalantly as possible AFTER christmas (as much as he infuriates you, you still wanted to gift him something. why? you're not sure). and yet, here you are, holding the gift to your chest as you sprint back to the kitchen. "here," you pant as you thrust your gift into his lap. "merry christmas, sylus."

now it's his turn to be surprised. peering at what you just put in his lap, sylus can't help but blush profusely. you gifted him something. you actually gifted him something. you went out of your way to buy something for him. you thought of him. sylus brings a hand to his mouth, his fingers gripping the sides of his face hard. oh, you're too much. it's taking him everything to not crash himself into you and hold you tightly with his arms, to press himself so deeply into you until there is no chance in heaven or hell you could be separated from him.

"sylus?" you snap him out of his thoughts. "you okay?"

he blinks. "ah." releasing his face from his grip, sylus looks at you with a composed smile. "i'm alright, sweetie. thank you for the gift," he says as he starts unwrapping.

"it's not much," you say shyly. "thank you for your gift too. i'll open it after you finish opening yours."

sylus nods as he opens the box. his lips part when he finds what lies inside. a pair of black gloves, thermal lined with genuine fleece and adorned with adjustable straps. but most importantly, embroidery by your hands. he could recognize your handiwork anywhere thanks to your previous adventure in the grasslands. the white dove delicately sewn into the wrist of the right glove and the initials of his name intricately engraved into the wrist of the left. the man can't help but smile for the umpteenth time tonight. you really were something else.

"i noticed you wear fingerless gloves whenever you ride your motorcycle," you start as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "as stylish as they are, mr. sylus," you tease. "i think it's better to have gloves that keep you warm during late-night joyrides, especially now since it's winter." finding the courage to grin at him, you conclude your explanation with, "merry christmas, sylus."

sylus swears he sees an angel sitting next to him. how could you not be an angel? with the way you're smiling at him right now? and the amount of thought you put into this gift? (he's trying not to obsess over the fact that you observe him whenever he rides his motorcycle.) the head of onychinus has never believed in angels. but now, he does. thanks to you.

"thank you, sweetie," he tries to say as calmly as possible. "i will cherish them." when he attempts to put the gloves on, you stop him.

"wait, you don't need to put them on yet! you're going to get hot."

"it's fine," sylus assures as he secures the straps. "i want to."

"okay," you flush, happy that he likes the gift. "let me open yours now."

you wonder why his box is so heavy as your fingers rip off the tape. a gasp escapes your mouth as the wrapping paper falls to the ground. "sylus," you tremble. "i can't accept this."

a record player. a sleek, gorgeous record player with an obsidian platter, supported by a mahogany base and a crystal case. you stroke the tonearm, dragging your index finger all the way to the headshell and relishing in the cool feeling the metal provides. "sylus…" you trail off.

"there's more, sweetie." he murmurs. out of thin air, sylus materializes several vinyls with his evol. your eyes widen, recognizing the images that lie at the center of each disc.

"oh my god, sylus!" your favorite band, he got you vinyl records of each album from your favorite band. they've never even had vinyl records before. holy fucking shit. "sylus!" you chant excitedly, leaping into him as you wrap your arms around his neck. "sylus! you shouldn't have! oh my god!"

you jump up and down eagerly, leaving the man stunned in his chair. his arms are outstretched, unsure what to do for the first time ever. you freeze, realizing the position you are in. "oh uh," you quickly retract from him, a red hue forming on your cheeks. "sorry about that." you go to sit back down in your chair, but sylus doesn't let you. he pulls you back to him with an arm around your waist and a hand at the back of your head. standing at full height, the head of onychinus hugs you tightly, so tightly it's as if he never wants to let you go. you hesitate before returning the hug, questioning the man's motives. but he doesn't say or do anything. just stands embracing you. realizing he bears no ill will, you pat his back playfully. "you know i'm sick, right?"

his grip doesn't loosen. "yes, i know."

"you're going to get sick, sylus," you tease, trying to pull away. as much as you appreciate his warmth, the last thing you want is for him to get sick. just the thought of it strikes fear in your heart. you're not sure why. "come on, let go."

sylus sighs before untangling his arms and sitting back down. he'll give in for now. besides, he wouldn't trade that elated look on your face when he revealed the records for anything in the world. he supposes he can enjoy such a view some more.

you giggle excitedly as you examine the vinyl records. "oh, should i play this one first? oh, what about this one? no way! you got this one too?!"

as always, you don't catch the woozy, lovesick smile that appears on sylus' face as he folds his arms and leans back to admire you. if this is what christmas with you is going to look like in the future, sylus desperately hopes you'll spend every christmas with him from now on. but, just to be sure, because nothing is guaranteed in the future, he follows your example and says for the second time of the night, "merry christmas, sweetie."

[zorosangell]

hiii! hope you’re doing good and I’d like to give in a suggestion, could you make a fic about gnreader being choppers mother figure and both zoro and reader are fighting for the parental role 😭😭

(they later on share it lol)

⛥ﾟ・。 endgame

synopsis: prequel to inn -- when chopper asks about your past, zoro reminisces on your history together... and is reminded of exactly what you are to him.

cw: THIS IS A PREQUEL TO INN, fluffly fluff, comfort, takes place pre-timeskip during alabasta, young reader is so cute, protective zoro, ZORO IS WHIPPED, i really loved writing this.

a/n: i really, really loved writing this

"Hey, Zoro!" Luffy called, eagerly. "Look over here! Look at what we're doing!"

"We're training!" Usopp added, clapping his hands together.

Begrudgingly, Zoro looked up from Chopper's fur, glancing toward the boys, who were standing under a huge stream of water like it was a ninja's waterfall.

"Real funny," he nodded, sarcastically, before returning to what he was doing.

After saving the kingdom of Alabasta, the king invited the crew to the royal bath, hoping to clean up after dinner.

The young doctor had asked for help washing his back, and the swordsman played it off as having nothing better to do.

But, in actuality... he enjoyed helping boy, feeling a sort of fatherly obligation toward him.

"Zoro?" Chopper piped up, quietly, eyes trained forward as the man went back to carefully scrubbing his fur.

"Yeah?" Zoro hummed. "What is it?"

"Do you know why (y/n) acts the way she does?"

Confused, Zoro raised a brow, unsure of what he was talking about.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... you know," the boy slightly stammered. "She's so nice... and kind... she cares for me so well even though I just joined the crew."

He looked down at himself, making sure to choose his words carefully.

"Even Doctorine didn't warm up to me this quick... but she treats me like she's known me all her life. And I figured since you two grew up together, you could tell me why."

'So, that's it...'

Zoro nodded, finally getting the picture.

"I see what you mean," he confirmed, moving on to the boy's shoulder. "(y/n)'s always been like that... even when we were kids. There's no rhyme or reason to it."

He glanced up, the memories rolling back like calm waves after a storm.

"She just... is."

"I thought I told you to stop following me! Cut it out!" a ten year-old Zoro exclaimed, glaring at you sharply.

"But... you're bleeding..." a nine year-old you reminded, worried, as you tightly clutched the handle of your first aid kit. "Kuina beat you up really bad this time."

"Shut up!" he barked. "I don't need your help! Or anyone else's! I'm gonna get stronger all on my own!"

You flinched at his tone, but held strong, despite the tears welling in your eyes.

"Well, you can't be the strongest if you can barely lift your arms!"

Zoro's eyes widened, surprised.

In your months of chasing him, attempting to patch him up, you had never raised your voice.

Not even once.

"I believe in you! And I wanna help you! So let's make a deal!"

Brows furrowed with determination, you pointed at him, firm in your disposition.

"Every night, I'll patch you up, and help you out with normal stuff, like food and clothes! And in return, you work your hardest to become the strong enough to beat Kuina! Sound fair?"

"No!" he scoffed, incredulously, and incredibly confused. "Why are you doing this?! You don't even know me! What do you get out of that?!"

"I get to watch you!" you grinned, jumping at the chance to gush. "You're so cool! And tough! I'm no good at sword-fighting, but you're amazing at it! I can tell you're gonna be a really great swordsman someday!"

Happily, you looked up at him, your starry eyes bringing a faint tinge of pink to the boy's cheeks.

"And I wanna be there to watch the whole thing!"

For a moment, Zoro paused to think, weighing his options before caving with a sigh, unable to say no to your hopeful smile.

"...Fine."

"YAY!"

Without hesitation, you pulled him into an embrace, overwhelmed with joy.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! No hugging!"

Zoro chuckled, moving the scrub brush to the young doctor's head.

You were the strangest, most persistent girl he had ever met... but the only one that believed in him from the very beginning.

Even if it was at your expense.

"What were you thinking?!" a twelve year-old Zoro scolded, haphazardly applying band-aids to all your cuts and bruises. "You know Haru and Kenzo are stronger than you. Why'd you try to fight them?"

An eleven year-old you sniffled, using the back of your hand to wipe away the stray tears rolling down your cheeks.

"They were making fun of you," you mumbled, looking down at your lap. "They said three-sword style was stupid, so I tried to punch them... but I missed and they ganged up on me."

"Did they, now?" Zoro glared, turning to the two boys next to him.

Quickly, he struck them both in the back of the head, giving them two giant welts and adding to their multitude of injuries.

"What do you two say to her?!"

"We'wre sowwy..."

Chopper lit up, relieved to her you had no ulterior motive in your kindness.

"(y/n)'s been this nice all her life? Wow! I wish I met her sooner! She sounds like a really great friend!"

Zoro nodded, fighting off the small smile threatening to rise to his lips.

"I was lucky to meet her when I did... her enthusiasm always gave me something to look forward to."

He sighed, dreamily reminiscing on the thought.

"Even when the future was unclear..."

"I can't believe it! We're actually leaving!" an eighteen year-old you squealed, watching the island of Shimotsuki get smaller and smaller as you clung to the mast of your small fishing boat. "This is so exciting!"

"I know," a nineteen year-old Zoro agreed, watching with an air of pride. "Feels like a new chapter. One step closer to becoming the strongest."

You nodded along, until you were suddenly hit with a thought, which forced you to sit down.

"But... I can't help but wonder," you started, glancing up at him. "Why'd you bring me along?"

He raised a brow, confused, and silently asking you to elaborate.

"You know I'm not very strong. Hell, I can barely throw a punch," you reminded. "I won't be much of a help..."

"All those years ago... didn't you say you wanted to watch me become the Greatest Swordsman in the world?" Zoro asked, rhetorically. "You can't do that cooped up in a dojo."

Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting such a straight-forward answer.

"I promised you I'd work hard to become the strongest. So you better believe you're getting a front row seat," he smirked, plopping himself down next to you, slightly rocking the boat. "You're stuck with me, (y/n). There's no backin' out now."

You replied with a chuckle, carefully resting your head on his shoulder, blissfully unaware of the flush on his cheeks.

"Thanks, Zo'."

He nodded, slowly and warily looping an arm around your shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief when you didn't move away.

"Don't mention it."

"Wow! I'm so happy!" Chopper cheered, jumping up from his seat. "I'm gonna go dry off and give her a big hug to say thank you for all the stuff she's done!"

Quickly, he turned to Zoro, his blinding smile warming the swordsman's heart—though he'd never admit it.

"Thanks for telling me Zoro!"

Without a word, Zoro nodded, and Chopper zoomed off back to the rooms, leaving the man alone with his thoughts.

Glancing at the divider separating the men and women's bath, Zoro listened closely, tuning out Luffy and Usopp's roughhousing to see if he could hear you.

And he did.

From beyond the great wall flowed in your silvery laugh, the delightful sound hitting his ears like the world's greatest song.

Closing his eyes, the swordsman rested his arm on his knee, and his cheek in his palm, allowing himself to fully experience its beauty.

God, he was so in love with you...

Words couldn't even begin to express.

You were the most consistent thing in his life.

His personal nurse.

His number one supporter.

His best friend.

His childhood crush.

If he was being honest, he didn't know where would've ended up if it weren't for you, or the person he would've turned out to be.

You taught him the value of kindness and compassion at such a young age, and were never afraid to wear your heart on your cheek if it meant pushing him closer to his dream.

And you knew him so well.

He couldn't have found a better partner in crime if he'd searched for a thousand years.

Muscles relaxing, a small smile rose to his lips as your laugh floated into the air once again, accentuated by the occasional, adorable snort.

There was no one else in this world for him.

There would be no one else in this world for him.

You were absolutely, positively, without a doubt... his endgame.

[agirlwithglam]

embarrassment is a choice.

so today i was feeling a bit tormented by something that happened a while ago (a year ago i think even!) and t

bh idk why it came up so randomly now, but it just makes me cringe and feel so embarrassed by what happened. so i'm taking it as a sign to write this post for anyone who needs it.

embarrassment is a choice.

i know how icky it can feel to recall a past memory about something that happened, but let me just tell you one thing; the past doesn't exist. the past only exists in your mind. it only exists because you give it your attention and your energy. so if you don't like the way something unfolded out in the past, change it! go into your mind, go through the whole situation and then just change what happened. this exercise is just something to give you a peace of mind so you're not bothered by what had happened.

but whats important to know about embarrassment is that it only exists if you choose it. if you choose to be embarrassed.

listen honey, the only time someone would judge you is that either a) they want to be at such a high place that you're currently at & their insecure, or b) they're to afraid about what other people think to be doing what you are doing right now. c) or they're just really sad with their own lives. no one listens to what this person has to say so the only time people do listen is when they talk about you.

in fact, you should seriously applaud yourself for doing something so daring, so scary something outside of your comfort zone instead of just simply staying quiet and small.

this also links into exposure therapy. the more you do something that scares you and its outside of your comfort zone like being alone, or going after an ambitious goal, the more you start to become used to the feeling. you start to become more numb to it so it means that you're not as affected or sensitive to it as you used to be.

right now, the best thing you can do is just do it anyway.

"they're gonna judge you anyway so you might as well just do it"

and think: will this matter in a year? will be a big deal in 5 years? chances are, it won't be. and plus, anyone who does make you feel ashamed or cringy for doing you and being yourself, they don't deserve a space in your life anyway. you're being GUIDED on a higher path to a life with better people, better environment. so girl, unless you're not hurting anyone, GO!! LIVE YOUR LIFE!!!

its not your life if you're living it based on other people!

at the end of the day, we all die. we're on this earth for a limited time. you will grow old, the haters will grow old, then, we will all leave this earth. and that is a very peaceful thing to understand. nothing matters at all. you'll be 90 on your deathbed one day and you want to be thinking "i lived. i lived an amazing, happy, fulfilling. authentic life." so right now, you do everything that will make you feel that way when that day comes without another care in the world for what someone else things.

love you always, have a beautiful day. xoxo, Vanilla <3

[iamluzgar]

I didn't choose whatever it takes until the last possibility because I was like choosing other things being "dude I'm not gonna be you actually", then "dude, I'm not gonna be you actually", and then it was just this left and I was "I see what you're doing but no I will not sacrifice my friends".

Fast forward I'm sobbing in the last 5 hours of the game because of the sacrifice. I was glad I didn't lose anyone else because I don't think I could have handled it. And then trying to keep the pacifist route was hard. I wanted to beat the shit out of Solas so badly, it was a great deal of mixed feelings. I loved it. I'm glad I gave him a chance still.

As for Varric I was all blind. It hit me like a truck, took days to get by it. Bastard Solas. I want to redo the game but I won't have the time sadly for now.

While I don't think the execution is perfect (I still think it's really, really good, I only have quibbles), it's really funny to see people kvetch that no one addresses The Problem of Varric when at several points in the beginning of the game it's very clear that Rook is NOT having the same conversation as the rest of the group, and Harding is having a very hard time but trying to keep herself together, and Neve is doing her Hard Boiled Detective thing.

Grief is private and awkward and when you're supposed to be concentrating on a task at hand that's an actual all-alarms emergency, adults don't tend to stop and have a therapy session with each other, especially if they're not good friends.

Rook and Neve have an establishing conversation from the get-go that what they know about each other is that Varric hired both of them to do their job. This makes them hand-shake colleagues at best at the beginning.

What's thornier is Lace and Rook, who have been traveling together for at least 6 months prior to that. But what you discover as the game goes on is that Lace often refuses to show how she really feels to anyone, in order to make other people feel better. She very quickly hides her own sadness if she feels it might bring other people down. If Rook doesn't seem to want to talk about Varric, she's certainly not going to bring it up.

Veilguard is one of those wonderful works that's better when you play it through, and then play it again, or watch it again on other people's playthroughs. Knowing the "spoilers" doesn't detract from anything: it actually adds texture and context to all the dialogue. There's a richness to be found in multiple viewings, and by taking the game in as a whole, rather than in parts.

[justalittleweird]

Just some shit that gets me... I know it's long... some of my fav quotes... there's so many

"You hurt my brother, I'll kill you, I swear. I will kill you all." -1x15

"You said you're a big brother. You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?" "Yeah, I would." -1x18

"That's my boy." -1x11&1x21

"I'm gonna say this one time you make a move on him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground, you understand me?" - 2x09

"Come here. Let me look at you... Hey, look at me, it's not even that bad. All right?... I'm gonna take care of you. I got you. That's my job, right?... Oh god..." -2.21

"I always tried to protect you... keep you safe." -2x22

"Don't get mad at me, don't you do that. I had to. I had to look out for you. That's my job." "You save my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me, don't you think I'd do the same for you? You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you." - 2x22

"'Cause I know you... 'cause I've been following you around my entire life. I've been looking up to you since I was 4, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world... I wish you'd drop the show and be my brother again... just cause." -3x07

"Sammy, all I'm saying is that you're my weak spot. You are. And I'm yours." "You don't mean that. We're-We're family." -3x16

"Got your lunch? Books? Butterfly Knife?.. you okay?" -4x13

"You poisoned him." "No, I gave him what he needed, and it wasn't some bitch in a g-string. It was you." -4x14

"I'm sorry." -4x22

"I don't think we can ever be what we were. You know? I just don't think I can trust you." -5x01

"Because whatever we have between us. Love. Family. Whatever it is, they are always going to use it against us. And you know that." -5x03

"I just know we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human." "Thank you, really... I won't let you down." -5x03

"In between jobs, Sam and Dean would sometimes get a day – sometimes a week, if they were lucky... Sam used to insist on honest work, but now he hustles pool, like his brother. They could go anywhere and do anything... when it was clear, they'd park her in the middle of nowhere, sit on the hood, and watch the stars for hours without saying a word. It never occurred to them that...maybe they never really had a roof and four walls…but they were never, in fact, homeless." -5x22

"Sam, it's okay. I'm here... I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you." "It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him." -5x22

"Look at me. Come on. You don’t know what’s real?... Let me see your hand... This is real...I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up. Hey, I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay? I’m the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real-time. You got away. We got you out, Sammy... Believe me, okay? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it." -7.02

"You can barely do it with me. I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?"

"Come on, man. That's not what I meant."

"No, it's exactly what you meant. You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again. What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again?...who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel? Another vampire? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just.."

"Hold on, hold on! You seriously think that? Because none of it -- none of it -- is true. Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy…come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you." -8x23

[cakepoppresent]

24 Screenshots of '24 <3

Heyo,

I was tagged by @enniewritesathing and @euphiesims to share my favourite screenshots from 2024. I will try to make this nice and neat! and in no particular order (I'm going to put most of it under the cut so I don't spam up people's dashboards!)

I also tag @jayveesim @jayplaysims @weirdosalike @citylighten @matchalovertrait @pamsimmer and anyone else who wants to do it!!

Blair and Brayden Date Night. - I took them out on a date after everything with Grayson and Gideon died down. Blair was worried that it was a mistake having her kids all live in San My without their parents and Brayden was trying to calm her down

Xavier and his little crew - I love these little munchkins so much.

Brayden Visiting his son - Grayson spent Sulani alone trying to center himself and get his head on straight again. There isn't anything really special BUT I just liked how it looked. I liked that Grayson's father made sure he was doing okay. He even suggested therapy, Grayson refused but Blair and Brayden still have that therapist on speed dial just in case lol

Grayson walking home alone - I liked this shot a lot because I don't think I made it clear how Grayson has never been alone. Gideon has ALWAYS been by his side (or his siblings) so I thought it would be nice to get this shot of him being alone

Apollo - I just think Apollo is sexy af and you should all think the same thing

Bunny Sam - was playing around with Gshade and I just think she's sexy af. Y'all should think she's sexy too. Thx

Dancing Grayson - Grayson dancing to Nasty by Tinashe 😂 he just looked so cute

Miss. Luna V - my sis doesn't yearn but gets yearned for and she likes the feeling. That's a look thats giving "yeah I know you love me why wouldn't you"

Yearning Loser - Benji is so in love with Malcolm. It's embarrassing for him but he just loved being around him. That's his family

Malcolm and Veronica - Nothing really, I just thought they look good and Malcolm works out a lot autonomously so I wanted to show it off

Veronica and Brayden - Future father and daughter business duo in the making. Veronica just looks so good as a business woman. I can't see her as anything else and her dad in the background supporting like he should

Su and Grayson - What could have been! In another timeline where Gideon doesn't exist they would have had a chance. Unfortunately this is all in Su's mind. Poor baby

The Reeves!!! - the family I've been playing for over a year. They are my everything and I'm so happy I made them! They are so beautiful

Xavier's stank face - I like his stank face because it supports my head cannon that Xavier and Veronica are much more similar in personality. Xavier just knows how to hide it better 😂

Unfriendly Black hotties - Luna up until this point as always been smiling and amicable but I love seeing her mad and looking upset. She looks so good

Hopelessly Devoted To You - They are currently on a break but that doesn't stop Gideon from staring at Grayson like nothing has changed. TBH Gideon thinking about how to get Grayson pregnant

Nothing to say - It's Luna looking regal and gorgeous as always. Daiksue so lucky I'm not giving him a love rival (I fucking should)

The Villareal Twins - I just like them and I don't have enough pics of them together

Rainy Nights - this is probably my favorite animation and I love the ambience and the lighting of this screenie so much. I just love them so much

Can you tell who my favorite couple is? Lol. I dunno this was after Malcom and Luna got into a fight. Malcolm went straight home and flew right into Benji's arms. He won't admit it but he loves being in Benji's arms

Taking a break - I wanna redo this scene because I felt like I didn't actually convey what I needed to convey. But I just love how dependent they are on each other even when going through their relationship woes

Taking care of his lady - Luna tried it and Daisuke wasn't having it. He wasn't gonna leave without setting the record straight with his future wife

My Munchkins - please. They are so cute and I had so much fun playing them! Also Xavier's face is so funny here

There was a challenge for simstwt a supernatural theme. I used Sam and Apollo and played around with lighting. I really liked how it turned out

[desired-misery]

[This conversation is a major wip, but it is happening while the BSAA is trying to coordinate a medical evac for Leon.]

Piers settles next to Leon. Leon’s eyes open the tiniest sliver to glance at him before closing again. Still conscious, somehow.

“Hm?” is all Leon gets out as a question, so Piers makes an assumption about what he is asking about.

“We're trying to figure out how to handle this,” Piers says. “It's a logistical issue.”

Leon briefly glances at him, clearly costing him a significant amount of effort. “... why?”

“Apparently there is a pretty big risk of killing you if we move you at all.”

Leon closes his eyes again. “Is there really?”

Piers shrugs. “Don't know the specifics or the logic behind it, but the knife might be in just the right spot right now to keep you from bleeding out. And moving you at all might change that.”

“Hm.” Leon is quiet for a moment. “So… I'm gonna sit here until what? Forever?”

“No,” Piers says, studying Chris’ back. Chris is exceptionally tense, forcing himself to stay still even though what Chris really wants to do is pace. But there are people here to see that, so Chris is restraining himself. “We'll have to take that chance.”

“Okay,” Leon says immediately, easily.

…

Surely Leon isn't scared of dying, but Piers wonders what he thinks about it.

“I can hear you thinking, Piers. What?”

Piers hesitates, reconsiders, then reconsiders again. He takes a breath. “Are you religious?”

That prompts Leon’s eyes to open again, just for a second. His smirk is too brief to be interpreted. “Nope.”

Interesting. Piers doesn't know if he is— he thinks he isn't, but maybe if he was dying, he'd be thinking differently. What is that saying? No one is an atheist in a fox hole?

“Why?” Leon asks.

Piers shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“What about you?” Leon asks.

Piers does not wince. “Grew up Christian. Don't know anymore.”

“Ah. Same, but Catholic.”

Piers is surprised. After hearing that steady, unbothered refusal, he wasn't expecting Leon to say that.

Leon then smiles again, this time with an edge to it. “What, were you trying to figure out if it was a waste of effort praying for me?”

“No.” Piers says, defensive. Startled by the flash of guilt to realize that no, he didn't have that urge at all. His mother would be ashamed of him.

“Just wondering. In case—”

Leon's eye roll barely qualifies as one, but the emotion is enough. “Don't have to do shit with me if I die. Fuck, just toss me into a pit or something. Or leave me here. Doesn't matter to me, I'll be dead.”

Piers twitches reflexively at the thought of treating anyone's remains like that.

Leon’s lip pulls back to show teeth. “Oh, so you're at least agnostic, then?”

“You're not?”

“The only higher power I believe in is the US Government— and they can't do shit about me if I'm dead.”

Piers didn't realize that kind of talk would bother him— not until Leon is sitting next to him, dying, saying things Piers’ mom would consider blasphemous.

Piers looks away. “That's… grim.”

“It's the truth. One I know for a fact. Everything else is… speculation.”

“So you don't believe in an afterlife?”

There is that sharp smile again, as if Piers is being funny.

“Nope. Death ain't nothing but the end.”

…

“Are you scared?”

“No, Piers.” Leon says, soft and low. “Just tired.”

“You're not worried at all? Not even a little?”

“Not about dying.”

...

Piers is standing there to meet him, half-blocking the way to where Leon is—

“I can do it, Chris—”

“No, I will.”

Piers’ frown is unsteady. He has had less practice than Chris has; Chris won't make him to spare his own feelings. But when Chris steps past, Piers follows. A few strides behind, but still he follows. Chris does not have it in him to tell Piers not to.

It is part of the job. That's how it is. Eventually, something is going to take you out—

And classic Leon, not going down without a fight. Chris should expect nothing less. He counts seven BOWs in the hallway leading up to where Jacob is standing with two others from Bravo. They are in a rough semi-circle facing the body slumped against the wall, wedged against a beat up locker. Chris has to step over three more BOWs piled at the body's feet—

Chris hears his breath catch in his chest despite trying to prepare for it, for seeing familiar dirty blond bangs obscuring Leon’s face. His head is tilted down, knees to his chest, one arm in his lap. He is wearing dark clothes— nondescript combat gear, rare for Leon. All the good that did him.

“Damn it,” Chris breathes. As he kneels, he taps his earpiece to switch back to Hunnigan’s line. Kneeling doesn't give him much better view of Leon’s face, but that's him. Dried blood covering his chin, from—

Fucking christ, there is something sticking out of his chest— body armor, Leon was even wearing body armor this time and it still didn’t save him. Dark, patterned. Knife handle. BOWs don't use knives—

“Poor bastard got stabbed. Still went down swinging,” Jacob says, somber and reverent.

“Captain?” Hunnigan prompts in Chris’ silence.

“... we found him, Hunnigan. He— he didn't make it.”

Her silence only lasts a few seconds.

“You checked for a pulse?”

Chris takes a breath. “No, he's—”

“Check.”

Chris winces. “Hunnigan, he won't—”

“Confirm for me, Captain Redfield.” Her voice is flat but still strong. Better than what Chris can manage right now.

It must be standard operating procedure for her. Chris swallows. “Yes, ma’am.”

He pulls off one of his gloves, scanning over Leon’s body again. No other major injuries he can see. Other than the knife to the chest. It is a little left of center— when did someone have time to stab him in the middle of all of these BOWs? Unless Leon had been stabbed earlier and it took a while to bleed out. God, what a way to go.

Still, Chris is very glad he isn't infected. It is not a fate he wishes upon anyone. Taking another steadying breath, Chris presses two fingers to Leon’s neck.

Leon twitches. His hand jerks—

And Leon’s bloody handgun, drawn from his lap, presses into Chris’ throat as the trigger is squeezed by a red-stained finger.

[floralscented]

I’m sorry to be that person but i simply can’t understand what happened with artyandink, i love their posts and bots and i would just like to understand better what happened since the posts and everything weren’t really clear for me 😭

so basically the very short & sweet ( update after finishing writing it: it was not short or sweet ) answer is that she word for word copied one of my writings, alongside many of my other ideas ( at the very least mentioning wanting to do them at the same time as me so she could put hers up first and get validation for an idea that wasn't hers, i imagine, but that's speculation ) and then when i stopped letting it happen and called her out on it, she blamed it on photographical memory of all things, but at least stopped, so i thought it was done.

phase two is when she started being incredibly rude and passive aggressive to me or anyone that would listen about how we didn't interact with her stuff anymore, and how it wasn't fair. which is honestly incredibly rich, isn't it? because she rarely interacted with our things, or gave them the recognition that she wanted in return. but really, it wasn't about fairness and doesn't matter if things are interacted with equally or whatever, she was just mad nobody was hyped for her things anymore because the only things we saw from her, weren't her own ideas.

in between this phase & phase three is when she starts genuinely harassing me personally. messages on discord privately, tagging me in a public server if i don't respond in time ( we have a six hour time difference! when it's morning for her, it's the dead of night for me! ), private messaging me on tumblr, sending asks on tumblr. literally all in the same 30 minute span max. always asking things along the lines of if i think she's a bad person, or guilting me personally, about never interacting with her things.

this is not like an excuse or whatever, but at the time, i was hardly posting on tumblr / less than i am now, because everything i wrote got taken, so i lessened it a lot. i was only ever on tumblr to post my things when i did, and that was it! very rare! so interacting with her things was hardly ever on my mind!

phase three. personally feels like a crashout to me because it's actually insane. the same day that she again messages me, this time asking if i got an anon abt her, which alone is crazy that even happened because who talks shit about someone, to someone else? that they might not even know follows? i tell her no, because it obviously feels shady as fuck. and so she starts being really weird. things like, well i got this ask in the screenshot i'm sending you, and a second saying you definitely got one, but i don't have the screenshot of the second, because i deleted it, but not the first. shady, right? anyways. same day as all of this, she gets on the server like, hey guys, i'm gonna let my friend take over my entire tumblr & discord, her name is dani. hope this is okay! and not even two seconds later, she was suddenly 'dani.' please keep track that this is her second persona. so obviously, she gets kicked because it's weird as fuck, it was honestly just something you had to be there for to see how weird it was, i guess? she changes her tumblr user to daniisms, starts messaging all of us ( in the server, i have not clarified! ) privately and stuff, saying that well, arty was just depressed, that's why she gave away the entirety of her accounts. like any of that makes sense to do.

phase four is actually the most diabolical one because she gets blocked! by all of us! because again, it is weird as fuck. this is when she private messages people again but now her excuse is, oh, NONE of this was me, i've been gone for a month, this was a hacker. so hackers steal supernatural writers tumblrs and their discords, somehow, which mind you, how would anyone even know her discord user? it's nowhere on her account from the last i saw, and so genuinely, how would a hacker know this information to hack her there? so hackers make up an imaginary friend to blame their issues on, and when it fails, that's when they leave your account to you? and also you just so happen to conveniently come back right when the hacker is gone?

the text messages she used in her 'evidence' were faked. you can recreate them exactly in iphonefaketextmessage, something that every writer i've talked to knows, because we've used it at one point for our own writing. suddenly, now that 'she's' back on her own account, she's continuing fics that her hacker made.

she's clearly convinced herself that i'm an enemy and that i'm stupid all at once, because even to this day she is bringing up my name to people that she wants to befriend now that people aren't interested in being friends with someone so conniving and honestly? psychotic at this rate. she apologizes in my messages for everything, still not taking any accountability, and then to everyone else & where she can be perceived, she's trying to discredit whatever i say while trying to paint herself as a savior for "shutting down anyone that says a thing bad about dahlia."

even in her defenses against herself, she literally cannot stop herself from trying to take away from what SHE put me through.

i hope this is further clarification. a lot of the evidence of things i say in here is in my first post, and there's also more i didn't talk about. this was supposed to be short & sweet but it is an incredibly complicated manner, and i just want to be done with it, but she won't stop bringing me up.

and i hate that i have to say this at all, but i really, truly hope this isn't you, arty. seriously. the consequences of our actions are tough, but that's why they're consequences. if you see this, and i know somehow you will, even though i keep you blocked and don't talk about you except for the one post i made and one reblog i did yesterday when you again had my name in your mouth, please leave me alone.

[sketchehm]

Augh wait, completely non Canon but I just had an idea for like, if the cats were actually kids

_-_-_-_-_-_

'I have an important message for you'

The message is followed by a three minute audio.

Finally, after hours of scrubbing through months and months of massages between Sapnap and his old family, they finally found something about his mission to infiltrate Team Mafia.

(Shadoune swears Sapnap wasn't on his phone this much. How did he find the time to text these two so much? How many times do you need to text someone a reminder to eat in one day??)

The phone is already connected to a speaker so they can all hear everything without having to circle around it, so there's only hesitante stopping them from pressing play.

This is what Sapnap was sent here to do. This spells out exactly the ways he was ordered to betray them.

Shadoune presses play.

"Hi Dad! Hiiiiiiiii" Two children voices come from the speaker, "We miss you lotssss!! I got the tiara you sent me! Me and Patches are matching now, we look like sisters!"

"Of course we do, we are sisters stupid."

Another child's voice sounds out, a little father away and a little deeper

One of the first two kids giggles, and there's a shuffle before the other's voice sounds again

"When are you coming back home? Pops and Papa say we should take down the Christmas decorations, but I like them!! Milo don't steal the phone! I'm asking Dad when he's coming home! Oh yeah... Dad we miss you a lot, will you be done with work soon?"

"You two..."

There's two tiny sad sighs

"We know... Be careful Dad, we love you lots! You need to tell us all the cool work stories when you get home! Yeah, we need like, 5 whole bed time stories when you come back! Love you bye! Byeeeeeeeee-"

The audio ends. There's pure silence in the room, a variation of shell-shocked faces all around. Serpias looks a little teary, and no one is quick enough to grab him before he rushes off, thankfully up to his room instead of to the basement.

"Creo..." Rich starts awkwardly, "Creo que eso es suficiente por hoy."

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Honestly Serpias would probably run straight to Sapnap, but if anyone ever brought up his kids while he was in the basement he would murder them with his bare hands and I didnt know how to write that right now so... Serpias! To your room!

Serpias beloved 🥺

He just wants the best for Sapnap always and forever....

Serpias after going through every crisis and still not thinking straight, he makes a quick pitstop, shoving something in his pocket before going down to the basement in the dead of night.

Sapnap is actually awake with Dream this time. And when they see Serpias enter... Eyes bloodshot, sniffling, overall looking terrible.....well. Sapnap is beyond worried. He grabs Dream's arms tightly. He doesn't know what Serpias is gonna say.

"Lo siento."

It's quiet. Could barely hear it over his sniffling.

Sapnap thinks they're going to die.

Dream asks what's wrong. Tone dangerously grave.

"You....have children..."

Dream will tense. But Sapnap will be on his feet. Hands already gripping Serpias' shirt collar and slamming him against the door

"What happened with them?"

Serpias has never heard Sapnap so serious, so frightening. It's actually the first time he's heard Sapnap speak on his own without Dream.

Sapnap will scream in Serpias' face asking what happened. Threatening to make his death and everyone else's in this house slow and painful if they laid a finger on them. His eyes are wild. The kind of insane he's only witnessed watching Sapnap in the ring and taking down an opponent.

This is life or death to Sapnap he realizes.

George is waking up from the noise as Sapnap continues to yell and slam his head against the door. What happened. WHAT HAPPENED!

"NADA! SAPNAP HICIMOS NADA!"

Serpias can barely get it out. He feels dizzy. He might be bleeding.

"Then why are you sorry." Sapnap's cold tone hurts Serpias' more than scares him. Never wanting Sapnap to hate him ever. But he knew this would happen. Expected to be more than half dead by this point.

"For taking you away from them....They are alone..."

It's quiet again.

"Why are you saying this?" It's Dream. His tone is cold and calculating, something Serpias is familiar to. Welcomes it even. Something to focus on that isn't Sapnap's hatred.

"Para escaparé." He produces the keys in his pocket. They're for a car.

And Sapnap let's him go. Serpias feels really dizzy without the support now. The headache so overwhelming, he can't help close his eyes. He's out cold before he falls over.

When he wakes up he's in the infirmary with Farfa at the side of his bed. He can feel the headache of a concussion, the back of his head pounding. He notices the bandages wrapped around his head.

"Se fueron."

Serpias jumps at Farfa's voice. But once the words register, despite the incredible pain, he can't help but be relieved.

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Deck The Halls for a Birthday Party: The Third Hour.

I'm just sayin...! If we want this party to suit Mukuro, we're gonna need more warpaint!

And I'm saying if we want this to be a nice surprise, the lest violent, the better!

Bro, you just don't wanna get your face all messy!

I-I'm not denying that! But more than that, I want this to be a nice party where we can all come together as friends and family, and show appreciation for someone we love!

If we wanted to turn this into a battlefield, we might as well have gone paintballing!

So what, you really think that she'd like a more traditional Japanese thing? What has Mukuro ever said or done to make you think she liked traditional Japanese stuff?

Alright, alright, easy, you two. If you wanna get better opinions on it, just ask Sayaka when she makes her rounds.

That might be for the best. The least we can do in the meantime is finish putting up the streamers and decorations we already have.

*The decorations team set up their pre-given decorations in the gymnasium at the Future Foundation. Unfortunately, though left in charge of planning, neither Hiro, Taka, nor Mondo can truly settle on a theme for the party.

I do get your problems though. Is anyone else a little worried that we really don't know what it is we should be aiming for here?

Yeah, until Makoto and Kyoko get back, we're flyin' by the seat of our-

Woah, it's slippin'!

Huh!?

*Mondo looks up above them to see one of their paper streamers coming loose from its hook. But as it begins to fall...

*FWACK!*

Ah!?

Phew...That was a close one.

Kanon!?

*As the streamer falls, Kanon shoots it from a distance with a nail gun. She hits it dead on and catches it before it can drop.

Holy shit, that was some killer accuracy!

I've had lots of practice~

...Yeah, no kidding...Man, how the hell did Eje and his boys ever manage to wrangle you in?

Oh, well, it's not like I really struggled. They didn't wanna hurt me, I didn't wanna hurt them.

If I did...all their necks'd be broken by now.

I...don't doubt it.

Well, hey, Happy Christmas, Kanonball. What'cha doin' here?

Sayaka told me what was going on, and I wanted to lend a hand. She told me you were working over here, and...I figured you boys could use a woman's touch.

That might come in handy...We're actually struggling a little here.

Why? What's the problem?

So, Mukuro, the person who this is all for...She's kinda a reserved person, and we've never held a party for her on such a big scale before.

She's not someone who really likes talkin' about herself, so...we don't know what she really likes.

She's kinda like you actually! She's one of those "tough girl" types, so your input would really help out!

Jeez...Say what you really think of me, why don't you?

Anyway, yeah, I can chip in...But I gotta know; where is Mukuro now? It'll be hard keeping her away from this place while we brainstorm.

[virtueofsanityx]

it feels like a bullet dodged, but there's a sharp sting of it in his chest, like he's been rejected without dmitri even realizing that he was doing it. fingers flex at his sides for a moment as he battles with himself, to either spit it out and just tell the man that he's so fucking in love with him that he could scream, or to let the moment go and brush past it like it's nothing, but dmitri makes the decision for him when music starts to pour from the speakers.

music that reggie recognizes.

the playlist isn't anything extremely special, it's the one that reggie has to have, the one that keeps him feeling positive even when he's going up against the most negative thoughts that live so deeply rooted in his head. it's the music that calms all of those nasty thoughts about him, about who he is and who he isn't. it's basically therapy to hide behind when a particularly bad day at work leaves him feeling the stress and trauma that really comes with his job.

the soft, fond little smile on his lips as song after cheerful song plays through the speakers fills him with a kind of profound warmth. his eyes keep cutting over to dmitri as the music goes on, heart racing just a little more, feelings getting muddled and mixed up all over again. he's pretty sure this is, at the very least, a little bit what love is. and maybe that's a stupid thought to trail after a pretty softball rejection of his feelings spilling out, but reggie has never been the smartest guy on the team.

as the cookies finish and the couch becomes a comfortable nest, reggie slips out of the button down he'd still been wearing, the tank top underneath loose and a-framed and comfortable. body sinks into a kind of comfort that he can only dream of on most nights, and the sigh he lets out could be called dreamy. he wonders if this is what heaven will be like, if he's done enough to even get there in the first place.

and as they're settling, as the cheesy movie plays, his mind continues to wander. he wouldn't be able to relay the plot to this movie if asked right in this moment. instead, he's thinking about love, and feelings, and how safe and comfortable he feels right here in this space. how dmitri has always made him feel that way, always wrapped him up in that cozy feeling and how rare it felt to be so blessed with it.

maybe it isn't fair, but the idea of anyone else getting this, this warmth, this comfort, this safety, it shoots a jealous bolt of anger through him, and his body shifts, perhaps a little more consciously than he's willing to let on, into the other man's space. if he were to move any closer, he'd be practically on top of him.

which isn't necessarily a position he's against being in.

dmitri's voice is the only thing that pulls him out of the deep hole of thoughts he's thrown himself down, thoughts about how easy it would be to just turn his head and start kissing a swath of skin down the man's neck, how simple it would be to curl his body just so and be cuddled into his side, how nice it might be to let his hand fall ever so gracefully into the other man's lap and then, perhaps, explore it.

but the question makes him blink away the filthy thoughts and he lets out a little chuckle under his breath at the question, twisting so that he can face the other man instead. "you really want me to stroke your ego right as they're getting to the big third act misunderstanding where they break up before they fall in love all over again?" eyes cut to the screen he's barely been paying attention to in the first place, but quickly move to look at him again.

like a magnet. drawn to him. oh so easily.

"i dunno, man. i feel...." he has to be careful with his words. has to be. or does he?

"when i'm with you i feel safe. like, i can handle myself, you know? i'm a firefighter, it's not like my workout routine and my arm game is bad, but i don't feel like i have to, because you're there, and you're always gonna have my back." expression serious, though with a glimmer of a smile hiding in the shadows of his features, reggie shrugs again. "i feel like... you're funny, and you're quick. i don't know a lot of guys who get punched in the head for a living in general, but the ones i do know don't tend to be as sharp or quick as you are. you have this energy, like... like i could say anything i wanted and you'd take it and roll with it, but you'd have something to say if it wasn't a good thing to say." without thinking, reggie leans in, and his hidden little smile twists into a smirk that's teasing and perhaps too mischevious to be completely innocent.

"that good? that enough stroking, or are you not finished, yet?"

Reggie’s soft, goofy laughter peeked through the shed tears, offering him a fragile sense of hope. Dmitri watched with quiet sympathy, his melted dark amber eyes warm and a gorgeously sunlit smile gracing his lips. As Reggie scrubbed at his tear-streaked face with his hands, Dmitri couldn’t help but think, Poor thing. Poor, pretty, thing.

But Dmitri didn’t mind. He knew Reggie would show the same support for him in a heartbeat. Sure, Dmitri internalized his struggles more, that was just his nature. Fight camps could stretch into painful, grueling months of mental hell, and while Dmitri didn’t necessarily expect Reggie to be there for him, he always knew he was. The trust between them was unbreakable, a powerfully steady presence that Dmitri found comfort in.

It felt good, knowing that Reggie wasn’t blaming him for anything or bolting out the door at the first sign of conflict. Maybe Reggie could sense Dmitri’s confusion, his quiet apology wrapped in unspoken words and a longing for clarity. Dmitri was used to his girl friends immediately flocking to him to vent about the terrible guys and gals they’d dated, but maybe other men handled things like him by also bottling it up, swallowing it down.

Did it piss Dmitri off, though? A little. But that had more to do with his inexplicable possessiveness over Reggie than anything else. Not that it made sense.

“You good? You sure?” Dmitri asked, his brow arched as he handed Reggie a napkin from the counter. The holiday fun wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but he was prepared to give Reggie all the time he needed to recover.

“Ehhhh… I didn’t have a lotta friends, either,” Dmitri admitted with a soft, sweet chuckle that rolled intoxicatingly through his chest. His shoulders shook slightly with the sound. “Kinda kept beating people up.” He was glad things were different now. Without Reggie, life would’ve gone on (his MMA career would still be intact, sure,) but there’d be a lot less sunshine. Dmitri didn't even want to think about life before Reggie, though the memories had a way of creeping back to haunt him anyway.

A part of him secretly burned to tell Reggie to stop apologizing for no reason, but he knew it wouldn’t stick. Instead, Dmitri just shook his head and let it slide. They were okay. At least, he thought they were----- until Reggie, in an awkward, last-second pivot, muttered a compliment.

He’s kind of… you’re kind of great.

Dmitri’s grin widened, every pearl-white tooth on display. “I know,” he teased, basking in the random moment of appreciation. But then the words settled in, and his expression faltered, his brows knitting together slightly. Could Reggie mean...? No, no way in hell.

Sure, Dmitri could buy that Reggie might be kinda sorta attracted to him (because duh, look at the man!) but attraction didn’t mean seriousness. Dmitri had long resigned himself to the idea that his territorial nature over Reggie was mostly one-sided, and that was fine, as long as Reggie never found out. What they had wasn’t worth risking, not even for sex, no matter how much Dmitri loved it. ...And yet, no lover had ever emotionally connected with Dmitri the way Reggie did. That fact lingered with sharp and profound undeniability. It also meant that their friendship was delicate, something to be handled with care, not to be tested on a whim or a feeling alone.

Patting Reggie’s arm one last time, Dmitri reached around him to hook his phone up to the speaker. They needed the distraction, something upbeat to fill the strained silence and dissolve the bubbling tension Dmitri was still working hard to ignore. He wasn’t about to let his emotions turn him into the kind of fucking idiot who pounces on his best friend.

His music library was eclectic: heavy metal for fight mode, hip hop for runs or club nights, and pop and R&B for chillin' with the girls. But this time, he scrolled to the playlist Reggie had sent him. Knowing it would suit his friend's taste, he hit play, letting the cheerful tunes fill the kitchen as they got back to baking.

Periodically, Dmitri paused during their work, when Reggie’s words began pulling at the threads of his thoughts harder than he’d like. But he pushed them aside with pure logic; all relationships went through hell only to eventually fall apart, but friendships were different, they were almost always worth saving. With friendship, Dmitri didn’t have to put his heart on the line. He didn’t have to face the risk of rejection or betrayal and end up the one sobbing in the kitchen instead. Besides, why would Reggie even want to be with someone like him anyway?

With the music keeping them energized, the cookies were finally done after little over an hour (seriously, how could baking gingerbread cookies take so goddamn long?) They’d rolled out more than enough for two, so Dmitri grabbed a bottle of eggnog spiked with rum from the fridge to kick off their celebration. He carried everything over to the fireplace, transforming the plush sofa into a cozy nest of quilts and pillows---- a makeshift bed for two. Propping his laptop on the coffee table, he queued up one of those classic holiday flicks.

Bundled up and snug, they seemed to have found their rhythm again. Dmitri lounged right next to Reggie, his muscular arm draped along the back of the couch, fingertips resting just shy of Reggie’s shoulder. For some inexplicable reason, he was acutely aware of the contact (or lack thereof) as if electricity danced at his fingertips. It was invigorating but strange, and Dmitri masked the feeling well, taking steady sips of the spiked eggnog to ground himself.

“So,” Dmitri began, biting into a cookie that melted warmly on his tongue. “What you were sayin’ earlier… about me bein’ great and all?” A smirk tugged at his lips, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief as they flicked over Reggie’s face. “What makes you think that, huh? Like, what’re the specific reasons?”

He loved having his big ass ego fed, sure----- but more than that, he wanted to know exactly what Reggie saw in him. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit how much that answer mattered.

[einsteinsugly]

Some of the most Eric-y songs ever...

"Advice for the Young at Heart" by Tears for Fears (we've got the whole wide world, within our hands...)

"Africa" by Toto (he turned at me as if to say, "Hurry, boy, it's waiting there for you...")

"Change the World" by Eric Clapton (baby, if I could, change the world...)

"Come Sail Away" by Styx ('cause I've got to be free, free to face the life that's ahead of me...)

"Hard for Me to Say I'm Sorry" by Chicago (after all we've been through, I will make it up to you, I promise to...)

"Hip to be Square" by Huey Lewis and the News (I used to be a renegade, I used to fool around...)

"Home by the Sea" by Genesis (comin' out the woodwork, through the open door, pushing from above and below...)

"I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)" by Hall and Oates (I'll do anything that you want me to, but I can't go for that...)

"I Don't Care Anymore" by Phil Collins (I don't care what you say, I don't play the same games you play...)

"I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith (I could spend my life in this sweet surrender, I could stay lost in this moment forever...)

"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" by U2 (I have scaled these city walls, these city walls, only to be with you...)

"I.G.Y" by Donald Fagen (a just machine to make big decisions, programmed by fellas with compassion and vision...)

"In My Life" by The Beatles (in my life, I love you more...)

"Juke Box Hero" by Foreigner (a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes...)

"Land of Confusion" by Genesis (and this is the world we live in, and these are the hands we're given...)

"Long Train Runnin'" by The Doobie Brothers (without love, where would you be now?)

"Misunderstanding" by Genesis (now, it's not like me to say the right thing...)

"My Little Town" by Simon and Garfunkel (I never meant nothing, I was just my father's son...)

"Nowhere Man" by The Beatles (he's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land...)

"Peace of Mind" by Boston (people livin' in competition, all I want to have is my peace of mind...)

"Point Of Know Return" by Kansas (they say the sea turns so dark that you know it's time, you see the sign...)

"Sailing" by Christopher Cross (well, it's not far down to paradise, at least it's not for me...)

"Silly Love Songs" by Wings (some people want to fill the world with silly love songs, and what's wrong with that?)

"The End of the Innocence" by Don Henley (o' beautiful, for spacious skies, now those skies are threatening...)

"The Grand Illusion" by Styx (and deep inside, we're all the same...)

"The Living Years" by Mike and the Mechanics (so we open up a quarrel, between the present and the past...)

"The Logical Song" by Supertramp (when I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful...)

"The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News (the power of love, is a curious thing...)

"The Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel (hello darkness, my old friend...)

"Too Much Time On My Hands" by Styx (is it any wonder that I'm crazy, is it any wonder that I'm sane at all?)

"Vienna" by Billy Joel (slow down, you're doing fine, you can't be everything you wanna be before your time...)

"Waiting for a Girl Like You" by Foreigner (sometimes I don't know what I'll find, I only know it's a matter of time...)

"Yesterday" by The Beatles (yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away...)

"You May Be Right" by Billy Joel (it just may be the lunatic you're looking for...)

[fernsnailz]

sorry these kinds of comments have been really pissing me off recently lol

[camellcat]

"cordelia could you please drive me home?" "of course" OF COURSE she replies to buffy, softly, without hesitation. even if she goes right back to harping on about the world ending, of course she'll help buffy. head in my fucking hands

[drabbles-mc]

don't mind me getting to this ages after i said i would. merry chrysler to all of us we are catching UP on fics today!!!!! johnny davis first and foremost!!!!!!

OHmg you're just gonna kick it right off with Benny Cross Tension Hours???? absolutely devouring

And you really would never say it to his face, or anyone else’s for that matter, but you’ve even been considering the possibility that Benny might be part of the reason things with him and Betty didn’t work out. <- OHHHHOHOHO READER!!!!!!! YOU JUST MIGHT BE ONTO SOMETHING HERE!!!!!!

Stuff, and other things and what not. <- idk if I've said it out loud before but i definitely say it in my head all the time: i fucking LOOOOOOVE the way you create such unique voices for all of your reader characters. you have so so many talents as a writer and this is DEFINITELY one of them!!!! each of your readers is so unique and fit so well to their respective stories i could weep

The way even you might’a liked him, had you never seen Johnny, of course. <- reader is so real for this. i, too, might have been bewitched by benny if i hadn't rolled up to that film in love with johnny davis six ways to sunday before the opening credits even came on-screen

Sure, you can share as long as everyone’s playing nice, you’re not spoiled or nothing. <- mmmmm this feels like a Famous Last Words typa moment but I've been wrong before so i will 👀 continue to watch closely 👀

Or if he does, he’s still two hundred miles back from dealing with the meaning of it, and you know he’s not planning on running nowhere on those knees of his, so it’s whatever, right? <- the way i spit my fucking drink out over this description of it all. mj you have THEE most way with words I'm kissing you on the mouth right now

“and I never come off no more, so don’t worry about it.” <- first of all, i love the whole leadup to this, of him showing them around like he's giving them a museum tour of Vandals History. on his tour guide shit forreal in the cutest way. but this little add-on had me cackling and kicking my feet. benny's the one flying over the handlebars now etcetc

“Hm, think I have maybe three ‘just under six foot jokes’ left in me,” you promise, “but I’ll spare you today.” <- I'm obsessed with them. if benny gets in the way of reader and johnny, EYEEEE will gladly date reader instead

Yeah, Vandal stuff and you stuff. Two hands at once. No more juggling. But, obviously, there are some Benny shaped parts of that, that don’t seem to be mixing too well at all. <- i am gnawing my way through this paragraph in my mind in the most satisfying way possible. i love the turmoil of it all.

Like Benny was some sort of mystical kind of guy, like he wasn’t really all the way real, or something. <- let's be real, benny is an ethereal thing right out of johnny's dreams that he doesn't remember having

You know which ones you prefer just by looking. And you really know which ones you wouldn’t be caught dead riding on. <- oh they are SOOOO real for this actually 😂 only one type of bike is passenger-friendly and they figured that out right quick lmaooo

So you stand, and it’s quiet, and he looks at the guys getting onto their bikes, engines growling and barking all at once, and you think, my God, you have never survived a silence like this. <- YODELING at the mental image of this. just. reader and benny. 🧍🏻🧍🏻. real shit lmao I'm weak i love them

or maybe he’s from Europe <- MJ YOU CANT DO ME LIKE THIS 😂😂😂😂 I'm fucking weak bro i cannot. i love this so much. i love that reader went from "horrible tragic accident that damaged him forever" to "European". bikeriders was a comedy before it was a tragedy, after all

“I know,” he says back. “Johnny talks about you.” <- OHHH LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOO!!!!!! benny speaks!!! benny spills the beans!!!!!!

To your surprise, Benny laughs at that, and shit, he’s as movie star pretty as you’d expect with a smile on his face. It just gets worse with this dude. <- oh i love this. i love this adventure of reader trying to figure out benny and just having the "oh no he's hot" moment 😂😂 plot twist: johnny and reader have to fight (fists or knives style) for benny 😂😂

“You been with the club long?” / “Feels like it,” he says. <- obsessed with this Old Man Trapped In A Young Man's Body type of answer. benny. a man of multitudes

“You never figure they don’t give names to people that might not stick around?” he says. <- the way that reader and i both went from cackling to real pensive over this

his thigh’s resting against your shoulder and your neck’s half breaking just to look at him <- the way that if i was ever put in this position with him i would instantly be copping a public indecency charge for the things i would do next

🚨DANNY LYON SPOTTED IN THE NARRATIVE!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!🚨

but now you’re learning that this whole time they’ve had a walking talking wire tap rolling with them? Asking Q’s and getting A’s? <- crazy that you just come sweeping through here and decide that no one else will ever be able to match your prose. left none for the rest of us!!!!

“Nah. Spends a lot of time over at Kathy’s place.” <- the way I'm well and truly :smugpablo: rn despite the fact that also just....canonically....that's exactly what fucking happened 😂 but kay's dannykathy is in my head giving me brainworms so we are just going to have to run with that!

“I don’t want you talking to him,” he says, “about us. Can I ask that? Am I allowed to ask that of you?” <- i simply cannot piece apart all of the feelings that this little set of statements gave me. much to think about!!!!

“Well, usually,” he says, “when a guy’s going steady with someone—not to assume or presume, Johnny, every journey is a beautiful one—but, well, usually they bring ‘em along to these things.” <- mj the laugh i let out at this was so loud and genuine justin poked his head out from the next room over to ask me what was so funny 😂😂 i can HEAAAAR cal's voice in my head I'm fucking screaming. i love this so so much. kissing him and kissing you.

OHHHHH MJ WE ARE SO BACK, BABY!!!!!!!!!! this was so fucking phenomenal, not that i expected anything less. I'm taking the bikeriders away from jeff and giving it to you, actually. merry Christmas. 😌

white room - pt. 5

johnny davis x gn!reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 5.8k words, 5 of ? ao3 link | previous part a/n: hellow :3 we are back after an unexpected hiatus and lips finally gets to meet benny ! very exciting all round <3 i hope you like it and forgive me for falling off planet earth for a bit

Might sound kind of stupid, but recently, you been thinking that you’ve finally got it all worked out—about Benny, that is. Somewhere between the last time you saw him, and the Saturday of the picnic, Johnny’s weird kinda way of talking around him started making a whole load of sense. And it wasn’t just some little joke when he said he didn’t want you knowing Benny, it was pretty much sort of the truth, you think, hidden under all the hums and grumbles of him. He actually was cut up about it a little. Nervous, though someone like Johnny never aught’a be nervous about nothing. And you really would never say it to his face, or anyone else’s for that matter, but you’ve even been considering the possibility that Benny might be part of the reason things with him and Betty didn’t work out. 

Fuckin’ rat up the drain pipe sort of shit, right? Never saw it coming ’til it started scratching at your head one night. You were lying there staring at the ceiling and thinking, huh, Johnny talks about Benny the way you’d be talking about Johnny, should anyone ever ask you about him when you didn’t really wanna say nothing. Eh, he’s just some guy, you’d say, yeah, we hang around with each other, you know, doing stuff. Stuff, and other things and what not. 

Like, he’s got a hold on him, alright, the same one Johnny’s got on you. A real, steel grip, hold. You started off thinking well maybe it’s a jealous type of thing, you know, old guy wanting to step into the young buck’s riding boots, but it ain’t just that. Can’t be. Half of Johnny’s crew are ten years younger than him, but well, they aren’t Benny, right? And there’s something about the way he looks at him—the few times you’ve been around to catch it—something ‘bout the way Johnny watches him. And talks about him. And makes excuses for him, and the way he is. Sure, he may like him like he wants to be him, you know, foot taller, blonde, pretty as anything, but by the time Saturday rolls around and you’ve really sat on it for a while, you’re starting to think: well, what if he likes him the way every girl that ever meets Benny likes him? The way even you might’a liked him, had you never seen Johnny, of course.

Seems obvious once you’ve really put some time into the idea. Nothing about Johnny says he couldn’t be liking men the same way you do and, jeez, maybe you’re dumb for it, but even with all of that, you can’t find a single part of yourself that seems to mind. Johnny still treats you good, still makes the nights feel longer than the days—and he invited you to this picnic of theirs, which he says is only ever for wives and girlfriends and serious things like, so you figure you’re someone real important to him now, cause even if you aren’t one of those things, you’re something, right? And he did all of that with Benny around, so what difference does it make to you? Sure, you can share as long as everyone’s playing nice, you’re not spoiled or nothing.

Well, alright, maybe not share, you aren’t an angel—who is?—but right now, if Johnny likes Benny like he likes you, he sure don’t even know it yet. Or if he does, he’s still two hundred miles back from dealing with the meaning of it, and you know he’s not planning on running nowhere on those knees of his, so it’s whatever, right? Can’t fix nothing if it ain’t broke yet.

“You like dirt bikes?” he asks, while he’s dragging you across this damn field that you spent all morning riding for, grass wet from yesterday’s rain still. No place for any sort of picnic you’ve been to, but for Vandals, sure, it’s like a natural haven to them or something. 

“I never liked any sort of bike ’til I met you, Johnny.”

“Yeah,” he winds, like he knew as much but didn’t really care in the first place, “few of us are gonna race ‘em. See that track there?”

You see nothing but a whole load’a mud on top of another bunch of it. “Mhmm.”

“That’s where this whole thing started.” 

“And when you go spinning over the handlebars, that’s where it’ll end it up,” you say.

He laughs, but he goes on, “I’m serious,” through the smirk of it. “That’s where me and Brucey got the idea for the club in the first place. Well, that and, yeah.” He nods. “Here, when we was racing.” He waves toward the tracks in the dirt, and the bikes in the dirt, and the men that are fifty-percent fuckin’ dirt, like the whole lot is some sort of sacred ground to him, like he’s just a humble guide blessing you by bringing you here, then he says, “and I never come off no more, so don’t worry about it.”

And you like him enough to go along with it, cheesy Colby Jack that you are. “It’s something special,” you tell him, mostly meaning it. Well, all the way meaning it, but only in the way people look at scraps of metal in a museum cabinet, and think that it’s really something just cause the guys in tweed say that it is. 

“Benny race with you?” you ask him.

“No,” he shakes his head a little, “not his kind of…”

“What, you gotta be short like jockeys to race or something?” 

“No—“ he shoots a confused look at you, then realises that you’re joking, at his expense, and forgives you for it too, all in the same sort of moment, “—would you give it up with that?”

“Hm, think I have maybe three ‘just under six foot jokes’ left in me,” you promise, “but I’ll spare you today.”

“Yeah, you will.” And it’s as much a threat, as it is an invite, cause he’s smiling like a little something or other, and your lips find his in a real awkward, bumpy, kind of way, noses knocking as you walk, you know. Giggling and stuff. Real cutesy lovebird shit that you wouldn’t be repeating to no-one, if you wasn’t, well, you know.

“So where’d he come from then?” you ask, wrapping your free hand around the arm that you’re already attached to. Half-way close to crawling under his leathers, under the shirt and undershirt too, right under the curl of hair beneath that chain that he wears, if you could. “If it wasn’t the racing, I mean.” 

“Benny?”

“Yeah, Benny.” 

You should probably not be asking so much, now you know what you think you know—even if you don’t know it, and have just convinced yourself that you do—but it’s bothering you, well not bothering, but toying with you. He’s never wanted to say much about him and you figure you should take advantage of that sentimental look in his eye, for research purposes, of course.

“He just. He’s just always been around,” he says. “Came through one time needing something, yeah, and he stuck around when he found it. Like any of us would.” 

“You mean Kathy?” 

His face screws up, sort of like a wince almost. “No—me, the club. He needed someplace to be. Something to belong to, you know?”

“Yeah.” You know. 

“All just gotta have somewhere to belong.”

“And you ain’t let go of him since,” you think, not meaning to say it aloud, but saying it anyway, cause Hell, it’s the truth, whichever way you wanna look at it. 

He don’t like it of course. Tightens up right to the sides of his neck, and wrings his hand around the strap of the bag on his other shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. “Nothin. It’s good he’s got you guys. And Kathy.”

Johnny nods. That, he can agree to, though he don’t look happy about it. You caught him and let him right back out again, cause you’re not looking to pick fights, and that bothers him as much as if you were, apparently. Keeps him all quiet and rigid as you finish up the trek to where you oughta be. 

The closer you get, the less barbaric it seems. Picnic benches, coolers, brave sorts on tartan blankets right on the rain-wet floor, but still, that sticky, dirt bike track in the middle, winding all over the place.

Not bad, all in all, suppose it is somewhere you don’t mind spending your Saturday so much. 

“Sorry,” you tell him, “for always poking my nose in.”

He squeezes your hand. “S’nothin. We’re mixing it up, right?”

Yeah, Vandal stuff and you stuff. Two hands at once. No more juggling. But, obviously, there are some Benny shaped parts of that, that don’t seem to be mixing too well at all.

You know, you and him haven’t talked once, or so much as breathed the same air at the same time, right, which isn’t too crazy, but would be if it goes on much longer than it has. Cause one time, when Johnny came by, he had Cal with him. And you said hi and stuff, before he went on again—well, it was real heavy on the stuff cause Cal talks exactly as much as you do—and another time, Wahoo and Corky were with him, yeah? And sorta, somehow, you met a few of them; not all, not properly, but a few, and never having more than a bit of small talk, you know, but it was something. 

But you never even got introduced to Benny, so you asked him once, and Johnny said that’s cause Benny is either with his lady, Kathy, or with the guys at the club, or on his own, doing something he shouldn’t. That’s it, supposedly. Course, you said, wait, what? You ain’t never gone nowhere alone with him, just you two? And he just shrugged and made a noise like you should quit talking about it, like you were asking something of him that he couldn’t explain. Like Benny was some sort of mystical kind of guy, like he wasn’t really all the way real, or something. Just a guy you only see when the light’s hitting the right place, or the stars are in a line, or some shit.

Well, today, you decided it’s gonna be different, and you’re gonna talk to him. Properly. You don’t got a choice, right? Cause you figure, you don’t know Johnny ’til you know Benny, and you’re getting real hungry for the full picture of him, if he’s gonna be around so much, that is.

“You mind sitting here while I…?” He points to the bikes, angling you toward the bench he’s apparently picked out for you. Front row, not even a splinter. High prize for the VIP. 

“Yeah,” you throw him a good smile, an easy one, “you go ahead. I’ll watch.”

He looks back at you, all sweet, lips curling, then pulls a helmet from that bag of his—cause apparently, these ones need ‘em, but the other kind don’t—and then he’s off, going like a kid. Half jogging, half walking, and heading right over there to the rest of them. 

They’re skinny bikes, these ones, kinda looking like street dogs. All wiry and bite-y, and a whole world different from the big, hulking, spoiled dogs of his usual sort. No shiny curves and nice painted metal here, just rahh, and grrr, and all that sort of shit. You know which ones you prefer just by looking. And you really know which ones you wouldn’t be caught dead riding on. 

You put your hands in your pockets and wait, looking all sorts of all over the place, cause the racers are chatting still, and no-ones going yet, and that bench actually looks as wet as it is rotten, so you got nothing much else to do other than stand there, looking about you some. 

This can’t be all of them, you don’t think, cause you see some faces you know, and a whole load that you don’t, but no where near enough to be their chapter and the new one combined. But then, is it really all that surprising that Vandals, wherever they’re from, aren’t used to turning up on time? It’ll be nearly evening before it’s a full turn out, no doubt, and, God, standing in a field that long? You had no idea what was coming when you agreed to this.

You look down at your boots, splattered with mud, and try to remember the last time you wore them for longer than a few hours. Which was a long while ago, or maybe never—though you do remember how bad the blisters were, whenever it was, so it must’ve happened once—and you suppose Johnny’s worth living through that again, just about, so you decide to stick with what you were doing. Accepting your fate and that, in with a bunch of people you barely know, looking round ’til one of them knows you too—and then you spot Benny.  

And he must’a saw you before you saw him, cause he’s coming right on over. 

He doesn’t say nothing, so you stay standing with your hands in your pockets, wondering if he was looking at you at all, or if he thinks you’re just some tagalong from Milwaukee, waiting for a bike to polish. But then he stops right next to you, and turns back facing the way he came, and puts his hands in his jacket like he’s copying you or something. 

So you stand, and it’s quiet, and he looks at the guys getting onto their bikes, engines growling and barking all at once, and you think, my God, you have never survived a silence like this. You wanna wait him out, but he could be a mute for all you know. You never even thought of that. He could’a taken a hit to the head coming off his bike and lost his nerve for speaking, or maybe he’s from Europe. Maybe he don’t know a lick of English, especially not the kind you’re gonna be talking, you never even thought to ask Johnny about that—what if it’s that? 

And the longer it goes without him saying nothing, the more certain you are that whatever you end up spitting out is gonna be the most insane thing a person could say to someone they never spoke to before. Like how’s your relationship with my maybe sort of boyfriend going? Anything I should know?

“Think the green’s got this one.”

“What?” Not mute. Not mute, and not European. Talking and pointing and waiting for you to say something back, even though he’s not looking at you, up there, under the flop of his dirty blonde hair, but waiting all the same. Like he’s fly fishing and you’re ignoring the lure no matter how much he flicks it. “Green who?”

“The bike,” he says, “don’t know his name.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Green fucking bike, what do you know? You can’t even tell the colour of the one Johnny’s on, you can’t even see him no more really, not when they go up there by that corner there. 

“Sorry, wasn’t paying attention,” you tell him, and you know you don’t sound sorry, but him talking like he knows you has thrown you all the way off. Your big scheme to get in and get cosy now seems real dumb and real pointless. “You’re Benny, right?”

He nods. Then he pulls his arms tighter, denim pockets bunching above his waist, like he’s freezing—which he might be, cause his jacket don’t have sleeves like Johnny’s does. 

“Feels like you’re the last one of them that I ought to be meeting,” you say, and cause you’re still good mannered and things, you throw your name out for him afterwards. 

“I know,” he says back. “Johnny talks about you.”

“He does?” 

He nods again, which is real great, cause it means he talks just as little as Johnny does, but instead of humming and making noises, he just nods and looks at you. Jeez, he really does look at you. Not too long, nothing creepy, you know, but long enough like he might’ve flicked through the file-o-fax in your head and plucked out exactly what he wanted. 

“Johnny doesn’t talk about anything,” you tell him, hoping that whatever he thinks he saw, is the opposite of what you actually said. “What’s he say, ‘I’m seeing somebody’?”

To your surprise, Benny laughs at that, and shit, he’s as movie star pretty as you’d expect with a smile on his face. It just gets worse with this dude. “Yeah,” he says, “thats, er, that’s pretty much it.”

“Figures. I gotta get him in a headlock before he says shit about you—or anyone else that means something to him.”

He’s looking ahead again, but you can see he’s smiling still, even if it’s small. He really is a quiet type, two minutes in and you’re realising as much already. Even when he’s talking, or doing anything, there’s a real quiet to it, which is probably the last thing you expected to learn about him. None of these biker guys are ever like that, not even Johnny, somehow, he’s loud even when he’s saying nothing. It’s in the face, in the way he carries himself. But Benny? You could switch his colours for a church suit and believe that he was a good kid Sunday through Friday, never speaking back to no-one.

Which makes no damn sense, and can’t be the fucking case, and makes you realise all at once that he’s the sort of person you keep around just to try and solve the puzzle of him. Shy smiles and listening ears in a guy like him, riding bikes like that? Yeah, sure. The club might not be doing much as far as you know, but it sure is doing more than that, and yeah, you remember, he said it once, Johnny said Benny got all wrapped up with some cops a few times, so who the hell is this?

“You like the picnic?” he asks, flicking his head that way.

“Depends on whether there’s any actual picnicking, or if it’s just standing around watching stuff.”

“Yeah, there will be. Kathy, she uh,” he rubs his face on his shoulder, like he’s getting an itch and the itch is small talk, “she brought some stuff,” he says. 

“Then I guess I like it,” you say back. “Skipped breakfast.” And real surely suffering for it, stomach aching like you’ve not even sniffed food in years. 

He puffs a short breath through his nose, like he’s laughing without trying to. “Don’t think I’ve had breakfast since the fourth grade.”

You can’t help it, you answer like you’d answer anyone else, Benny or no Benny. “That’s sad. You know that’s sad, right? No breakfasts, not even as a kid?”

He shrugs, and he don’t seem offended, but he don’t seem amused so much anymore either. He certainly ain’t knocking back with a joke like Johnny would have. 

“I think waffles are a fundamental necessity,” you say, just to say something again. Then you put your focus on the track, cause the wheels are back now, spinning and spitting up wet dirt, and the looped route they took might’ve gone around a couple times without you noticing, cause it seems like they’re done. Like someone’s kicked a stand and thrown his helmet and started shouting like he’s a winner.

“Green,” Benny says, like you might’ve been betting against him. 

“And Johnny—?”

“Third place.”

You find him in the group, grinning like he’d won, helmet on, goggles pushed up over the curve of it. “Used to be faster, right?”

Benny shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You been with the club long?” you ask.

He chances the air, pulling his hands free and a pack of cigarettes along with them. “Feels like it,” he says.

You laugh, though it’s mostly sort of a scoff, and probably sort of rude, but, come on, what’ve you gotta do to get a real answer round here? “Jeez, between your riddles, and Johnny’s half sentences, I don’t know how you guys even found yourself to be friends.”

He cracks a light and takes a drag and you’ve pretty much given up on getting anything more out of him, when he says, “Johnny’s only like that when he’s talking to someone with more to say.”

“Yeah, yeah,” your eyes roll, “Lips, I get it. Course he’s been spreading that around already.” 

“Lips?” He tweaks an eyebrow, looking at you through the smoke.

Great. So you really are just like that. “Dumb name he’s come up with,” you say, though you’d rather not, considering he didn’t know about it until you brought it up. You and your lips. “Why don’t you have one? Don’t seem fair to me. I mean, you got Cockroach, walking round with a name like that, and you get to be just Benny?”

“Things like that aren’t planned.”

“Feels like they are.”

He smirks like you’re real crazy. “And you think I’m a special case?”

“I think you’re the favourite,” you tell him. May as well come out with it.

He snorts. The cigarette smoke goes like an ink spill around his head. “You never figure they don’t give names to people that might not stick around?” he says.

Well, that gets you, because no, you never did think of that. And now that you are thinking bout it, the truth feels like a jackhammer against you and him both. Him, who hasn’t got a name and you, who has one already, willing or not. Johnny wouldn’t stumble into a thing like that by accident, would he? 

“You move around a lot?” you ask, with all interest and no attitude. Cause if he’s right, and that is the reason, he must’a done something to make them think as much.

“Used to,” he says.

“Me too.”

“You miss it?”

“Fuck no,” you laugh, “no, I’m planning to spend a real long time in one place from now on.”

He nods, but he doesn’t comment any more on it, and you take his quiet to mean that he thinks the opposite—well, that and the way he’s looking off now, smoking like he never asked in the first place. All of that seems to you like someone who’s planning on moving around some more, some time, whenever it is, and, if you’re real honest, for a second it reminds you of Mom, and that way she’d be when she started itching for it again. Something new, something unattached. You near enough shiver at the thought. Last thing you want is to be drawing a line between Benny and your mom, at your first big meet-the-family picnic of all places.

“I better check on Kathy,” he says, pointing that way with the red end of his smoke. 

“Yeah,” thank God, “yeah sure, nice meeting you.” You smile, waving as he goes, and he takes all that weird, creeping feeling along with him. 

Half successful, half fucking weird. Benny ain’t the sort you thought he was, but you don’t like him and you don’t dislike him neither, which is probably music to Johnny’s ears, should you ever tell him that. But as he walks away you find yourself watching the back of him, and as dead-ended as the conversation was, you feel like you’re wanting to make some more sometime. Just to work him out, you know? Just to see what Johnny sees. 

* 

“You could’a gone again, if you liked.”

“What? No, nah, one’s alright by me.”

“Got it out your system?”

“Yeah, yeah, couldn’t spend all day away from you, could I? Leave you standing up there all alone.”

Couldn’t, but would’ve, if you hadn’t caught his eye over the way there and given him a look like you were real thirsty for him. Took some fighting inside, you know, to take his helmet off and leave the racing to the rest of them, but he did, sweet as he is, and came and swept you up with all the other guys that are more keen on picnicking like you are. 

And he’s sitting beside you now—well, you sat down on one of them benches there, expecting him to come right up next to you, but he went and sat on the table part, still clearly with you but above you, you see, so that his thigh’s resting against your shoulder and your neck’s half breaking just to look at him. But you kind of like it. Having the head dog sitting over you like that, hand resting on the little bit of skin between your hair and the collar of your shirt. Sure, maybe it’s possessive, and maybe he really is worrying about you seeing something in one of these other guys that you’re never gonna see. 

But the more he does that, running a couple fingers over your neck like that, the more you’re thinking he’s worked out that it gets your stomach doing all sorts of summersaults, and that’s why he likes sitting up there like that. Hell, he can sure enough feel how hot your skin’s getting, so it wouldn’t take a scientist to figure out what it’s doing to you, and at the end of the day, a man’s a man, you know? 

“You not finishing your…what was it again?”

He’s pointing over your shoulder now, at the napkin-rolled parcel of good fucking food waiting there on your lap. You had only put it down for a second to get yourself situated. Would’ve eaten it in two bites if you didn’t have Johnny to think about. “Some kind of sandwich,” you answer. “Though it’s more like a burger in a home that don’t fit it—and yeah, I’m finishing it. It’s good. It’s alright.” 

You can hear him smiling, feel it without even looking back at him to check. “Just alright?” he asks. Then his head’s down by your head, ear by your ear, eyes across the way to where Kathy and Benny are snuggling on the opposite bench. “Now don’t let Kathy hear you saying that.”

Which he says altogether too loud, exactly as he planned to do. 

“Hey, no!” And you hate to admit it, but you’re talking louder like she might’ve heard, just to cover your back that don’t really need covering in the first place. “I mean it’s good. It’s real good! They ran out of regular buns is all.”

Kathy smiles, you think, and Johnny laughs at you relaxing at it—and you would’a liked a kiss or something as an apology for getting you to fret like that, but he just leans back again and runs a thumb down your cheek at the same time, like that’s near enough the same thing. Real charmer. So comfortable already, you know, so sick that he thinks that’s enough, and so perfect and fine and sweet, that it has you smiling while you un-peel the damn napkin. You seem to be taking turns these days, over who has who wrapped round their little pinky, and today it’s your go around that bent little finger of his. Broke it coming off his bike, he says, but you know a fighting injury when you see one, and he’s certainly no type of guy to be avoiding a bust up when it’s put in front of him.

“John, who’s that skinny, mousey looking dude over by Wahoo?” you ask, before taking a mean bite of your sandwich-burger. Then you chew and chew and and God, if Kathy weren’t married, you’d be asking her yourself, before licking your lips and clarifying who you mean, “The one with the camera and the tape recorder?”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, fidgeting enough to make his leathers creak. “That’s Danny. He’s a… I dunno, a sort of journalist, I guess. Yeah. Scouting out stories and things. Been riding with us for a while.”

“Yeah?” Your brows go up, ‘cause that’s the last sort of answer you thought you’d be getting. “He’s out here interviewing you guys?”

“Putting together a book, he says.”

“Hmm.” S’all you can manage to say to that, Hmm. 

On that second or first date of yours, Johnny was real antsy about the idea of you going home and typing out his secrets, and you had to be seeing each other for weeks and weeks before he wanted you to really meet everybody here, but now you’re learning that this whole time they’ve had a walking talking wire tap rolling with them? Asking Q’s and getting A’s? Yeah, feels like something that makes no sense to you, coming from the big boss himself. 

“He’s from New York,” Johnny adds, like he don’t like your silence. Like he thinks you’re weighing this Danny guy up, or something. “S’a good kid.”

“You speak to him much?”

“Nah. Spends a lot of time over at Kathy’s place.” 

Figures. He probably wants to work Benny out the way you and everyone else does—and what better way to work him out, than to get talking with his lady like that?

“Maybe he’ll want to talk to me,” you say.

“Why’d he wanna do that?”

And you don’t like the joke in his voice, so you turn right round to face him, elbows sitting on his thighs. “Why wouldn’t he? I got stories to tell.”

He’s not looking at you, but looking over your head at Danny and Wahoo still. “You’re new to the Vandals,” he says, “you don’t know nothing about it. What’ve you got to say to him about all this?”

You agree as much as you don’t. And you’re itching at the principle of it anyway, so you were planning to keep on going, agreeing or not. 

“I know you, don’t I?” you tell him. “Plus new people got as much to bring to the picture as old people, you know, and when you’re writing something up you gotta have the whole entire picture from as many people as you can get, right—and I know, I like to write too, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“So why wouldn’t he wanna talk to me? I could tell him a whole load about all sorts of things—how someone like me got all wound up with someone like you, for starters—“

“Alright.”

“And how it feels to be fitting in with a bunch of people that are as much like you as they aren’t like you, you know?”

He’s looking at you now, and in the break you take to get some air and another point lined up, he asks, “You done?” Like you’d been talking forever or something.

And you’re surprised enough that you can’t say whether you are or not. 

“I don’t want you talking to him,” he says, “about us. Can I ask that? Am I allowed to ask that of you?”

“Sure you are, Johnny.” That was beside the point. You was just giving an example, you know, of why Danny might wanna point that microphone of his in your direction. 

Johnny’s looking down at you in one of those sorta ways that reminds you he’s a father still—and a father of two girls at that. The kind of look a guy might give a lion after kindly asking him to put his teeth away. “Feels like maybe you got a problem with it,” he says.

“You don’t want me talking to him about you? Fine.” You shrug. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, come on, I just don’t like the implication that I got nothing interesting to say to someone like that.” Which is the truth, and you aren’t anyway shy of admitting it to him. 

He hums in response, and you don’t know if it’s a ‘you’re so funny’ kind of hum, or a ‘you’re getting on my nerves but we’re in public and I can’t say nothin’ kind of hum. And you don’t get to work it out neither, cause Cal shouts from the next table over like you’d been listening to his conversation, and not your own, this whole time.

“You coming, Lips?” he says.

“To what?”

“Car show, couple weeks from now.”

Right, cause that clears it up. “Why’d I do a thing like that?”

He looks down a little, like you caught him feeling nervous about the thing. Like it was prom and you were waiting for him to ask you, or something, lone earring swinging while he doubts himself. “Well, usually,” he says, “when a guy’s going steady with someone—not to assume or presume, Johnny, every journey is a beautiful one—but, well, usually they bring ‘em along to these things.”

You’re laughing. Well, trying real hard not to, cause he’s trying so hard to be… whatever that was, and you don’t mean to come off as rude so early on, y’know? “No, I mean, you bike guys go to car shows? Where’s the sense in that?” 

“S’more of a wheel show,” Cal says.

“S’more of a something to get drunk and start fightin’ each other for no reason,” Kathy adds from across the way, conversation travelling like a bunch of fish going upstream, “you don’t wanna be there, trust me. They just like lookin’ tough to all those nice boys in the 4-wheelers there.”

And you believe her, having said no more that a few words to her in your life, cause if anyone knows about these things, you kinda figure Kathy does. 

“You wanna go?” Johnny asks, before you can say anything about the drinking and fighting part. 

You look up, and he’s frowning like he might’ve asked you something real troubling, or like he’s trying to suss you out, even though he’s already done that and more, you reckon, sussed you out down to the parts even you don’t like thinking about. 

“D’you want me to go?” you ask.

“Well, yeah,” he says, easy but hesitant, “I do, yeah.”

“Then sure.” You turn back to Cal, who’s smoked up like a teenager in the brief moment you looked away from him. “S’pose I’ll be there, then.”

“S’pose we’ll be glad to have you,” he says back, and it’s probably only the weed, but he’s smiling like he means it. Like you’ve spent a whole lifetime with these guys, and not just one muddy afternoon in a fucking field in the middle of nowhere. 

Funny how it works sometimes, ain’t it? Johnny spent so long trying to balance things between you and the Vandals, when all he really had to do was stop worrying so much, and let everything fall together. One big pile of imperfection is a Hell of a lot easier to deal with, and you don’t mind being a part of that. Dirty boots and Benny included. 

~~~~~~~~

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