#i sense a smoking fee in someones future

[heyitstaytay21]

I am trying to write fanfic at work and someone just called the desk to complain that our windows don't open.

First of all there's a really well documented reason that a good majority of hotels don't have open windows... Like that's a common thing. Even the windows we have that do open don't open more than like an inch or two.

Second of all.... It's one am currently -7 right now. Why are we trying to open windows???

[murderousginger]

Nothing at all to me

Tommy Shelby POV

Warnings: Angst? Sex. Messy mind. They're criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 1,747

This song requested by @babylooneytoonz

Special thanks to @pollyrepents for her help to sort out my brain ❤

He couldn't go to Lizzie. Not tonight.

He couldn't ignore the look of worry on her face or deal with her feelings right now. He didn't want to be nice or ruin whatever it was that held them together like it did. He didn't want pity or love.

No. 

Tonight he needed a whore. No strings attached; just his memories, the sex, and the money transaction. 

It was the first anniversary of the fundraiser that killed his wife. 

He had slept with plenty of women since Grace's death. He had his needs and he met them with lackluster and duty. Sex. Clarity. Back to work.

Back to taking care of his family and the many other families that depended on him.

Without Grace, he felt little joy. He had no one to reflect to that wouldn't judge him for his real thoughts. Grace was cut from the same rough cloth as he; she was just always better at hiding it from others.

Charlie was a constant reminder, a mirror of what he lost. He had never known love and heartache to fill so completely in one body, but there it was reflecting back at him from his son.

So he kept his distance. And he drank.

As the night grew longer, he kissed his son goodnight and passed him to Mary, the head maid. He sat in his office and drank as he always did. He whirled the whiskey in the glass, watching the amber liquid turn and coat the sides before he downed it completely. 

He had called the man earlier. She was expecting him soon. 

A brunette, Tommy had said, always a brunette. The days of blondes in his bed were over. None would ever compare again. 

As the clock chimed 11, he got up and put his coat on and stepped outside. The brisk air hit his face and made the slightest fog as he exhaled into the night. 

He would walk tonight. No need in taking a car that others could identify. Or to make one of the men drop him off and pick him up. A walk might do him good. Perhaps the air could break through his muddled mind.

It didn't, of course. His mind would always be a minefield of memories of war, blood, death. 

And her.

Her face flashed across his mind, sweet and angular and golden. Her perfume drifted across his senses and he swore he felt her hand upon his elbow. 

As soon as it was there, it was gone. The night felt colder.

He reached the door and knocked,  immediately hearing a honeyed answer. A madam opened the door with a coy smile and ushered him in quickly, leading him to one of the many bedrooms in the house. 

"Here you are, Mr. Shelby," she said in a hushed tone. "Laura is waiting for you inside. You need something else, don't hesitate to ask."

He nodded, enjoying the haze of his mind in the rushed movements. No time to think. No time to regret. 

The woman had dark kohl-rimmed eyes. It's the first thing he noticed when he opened the door. Her eyes were so dark and deep they could swallow him. Good.

The second thing he noticed was her naked body sprawled enticingly on the bed. She lay with her legs open, no fear or fake modesty. She knew what he wanted and made quick work of starting. 

Tommy stepped closer to the bed as the door closed behind him and was greeted by hands pulling him closer still. She bit her lip playfully as she tugged on his belt and undid his pants with ease. 

"Talking or no talking, sir?" She asked as she stared up from behind her lashes at him.

"No talking," he growled as his head bent back and she found more useful ways to keep quiet.

His hands found their way into her coarse hair as she bobbed and his eyes closed to focus on the warm wet sensation and block the rest of the world out. 

No business. No blood. Only pleasure.

She made quick work of him and he found himself pushing her head to him until she gagged. He pushed her off of him roughly until she was crawling backward on the bed. He crawled over her, grabbing her leg roughly to splay her wide as he thrusted into her, chasing the high. She moaned as his rhythm quickened and he pushed his face into her shoulder. 

One hand lifted her leg higher and the other pushed fingers into her mouth to quiet her as his eyes squeezed shut and he focused on the sensations. 

He would tip her extra as he left, guilt peeking around the corners of his mind, but for now all he wanted was the quiet and the pleasure. 

He could feel it rising in him, the high becoming nearly unbearable as he pounded into the woman. He came quick and hard.

Afterward, he lay in the uncomfortable bed, on the scratchy sheets not made for sleeping, and allowed the woman to curl around him. He needed the reminder of warmth. The grounding of another person who did not have the duties he had. He needed the reminder that other people lived just fine without him. 

He reached to the bedside table where his shirt had landed and withdrew a cigarette and lighter, placing the cigarette in the woman's mouth and lighting it as she inhaled his flame. He dropped the lighter back onto the table and plucked the cigarette from her mouth as she giggled.

A coo came from behind what he had thought upon entry was the curtains to a window. 

She froze, her eyes widening. 

He didn't want another person to look after. He didn't want another soul to worry about. 

He didn't want another mouth to feed. He didn't want another person to curse. 

She smiled guiltily as if she was caught. 

"Don't tell him, please," she scrambled to clutch his arm. "I'm not supposed to bring her, but she was so fussy I couldn't keep her home alone or else the neighbors would call the landlord. Can't have that again."

"Again?" Tommy murmured as he thoughtlessly patted her hand before pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. 

"I'll quiet her," she said quickly, getting up and disappearing behind the curtain. "I can't discount your fee, you've already paid the man, but I can provide extra service?"

Her words rang through Tommy's ears and burned. He heard the muffled whine of the baby and the woman's increasingly desperate pleas for it to calm. 

Before he knew it, he had walked to her with his hands outstretched to take the baby. She hesitantly obliged, allowing Tommy to bounce the baby against his bare chest, a hum escaping the side of his mouth that didn't hold his cigarette. The baby soothed. 

"Come Monday," he toned, "find yourself in my office. You know who I am. Talk to my secretary, Clara, and she'll get you set up for a day job and childcare."

"Mr. Shelby, I couldn't--"

"You didn't ask," Tommy exasperated, quickly regretting himself. 

He always did this; it was his way. 

"Just do it," he said, passing the baby back to the whore, the mother. "I paid for the rest of the night. Just keep the child quiet and rest."

"I didn't ask you to save me," she said indignantly.

Was her name Beth? Or Lacy? Maybe Sue. He couldn't remember. He had lost care for her name as soon as the madam said it. It hadn't been about her. Only his needs. 

"No one ever fucking does," Tommy said as he pulled the half used cigarette from his mouth and extinguished it on the bedside table. 

He took his wallet and threw down some money. He started to dress as the woman nervously paced the room. 

"Monday," he reiterated, pointing to the angry woman and the baby. "Her name is Clara."

He disappeared like smoke, blending back into the night. He and the other patrons moved quickly with their head down as they passed one another in the hallway. 

He didn't know why he helped her. Only that he felt he had to, so he did. Another mouth to feed. Another body to warm. Another set of pleading eyes when things went wrong, and they always went wrong. 

How high was his body count now? How many people did he allow to depend on him?

He had lost himself in the pleasure for a brief moment, only for the world to crash down around him. Only to remember who he was and what he always had to do. 

His mind wandered as he walked the dark streets home. 

His family were in their various houses, sleeping soundly no doubt. Arthur curled against his pious wife, using her as a lightning rod for God's redemption. John no doubt encircled around Esme and her constantly round belly. His children splayed all over the house like the Russians after an orgy. Ada and Carl in their rooms in London sleeping soundly. Polly dreaming up God knows what in her fitful sleeps, visited by whichever ghost will tell her the future and which way to guide the family. 

And Charlie, sleeping soundly in his bed,  unaware of the atrocities his father did daily and the gross acts he committed with strange women to have a moment of peace in his own mind. 

Tommy feared when his son would get old enough to know what he did -- what he really did -- and how he was able to go from a poor traveling family to an OBE in one generation. Tommy didn't look forward to the day his son realized his goofy uncles had blood on their hands because of him.

He knew he was cursed. He knew that those closest to him only lived so long, and the more he fiercely loved a person the faster they died. Tommy knew this. 

You don't pass by the devil and shake his hand that many times without getting some death and knowing about you. 

And by now, Thomas was rife with it.

There were days he wished he could sleep as soundly, that food tasted as flavorful, that he could trust that someone else would pull him from the muck and make everything alright. He yearned for a day that he could turn off his brain and live, but Thomas only had himself. 

So was his curse.

[scriptaed]

bygones of the sun. 07 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 6.7k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

Ten bucks for club dues and fifteen bucks for transportation plus utility fees and you’d think boot camps really are as luxurious and happy-go-lucky as movies paint them out to be. Unfortunately for you and your recently trance filled state, confronting the face of reality only comes colliding into you just a couple of weeks since you last saw him. Despite the malicious side effects of reading into rumors, people really aren’t lying when they say the dance club’s boot camp is synonymous to a “living hell disguised as a getaway paradise by scheming club officers.” While you aren’t attending as an official member of the team, and therefore forfeiting the rights to proclaim the overbearing stress and practices that are soon to come, there are certain other issues weighing your mind.

First off, paying twenty five bucks just to see this one despicably sly and retired dancer resume his role as the captain is all too pricey of a fee, because even you're not sure why you’ve invested so much time and effort into someone who only sees you as his next victim of his black book filled with female contacts. You thought you had gotten over him, but the mere fact that you’re attending despite claiming to be “dragged into this” is a direct opposition of such a foolish belief, or better yet, desire. But such questions become trivial when the first obstacle you face of the four days long journey ahead of you is simply tossing two overly stuffed duffel bags into the luggage compartment of the towering, chic black and white charter bus.

Struggling to weave your way through the bustling crowds of fellow trip attendees, consisting of mainly guys and specks of girls, you puff in a deep breath before picking up one bag on each hand and hustling through with all your might and diminishing courtesy. The task proves to be worse in terms of pleasantness than labor, for squatting down and searching for the smallest of a few square feet of free space while squinting your eyes against the smoke of hot, steaming gas and water vapor released from the roaring engine.

“Do you need help?”

The familiar honey-like base yet raspy edge to his voice strikes a sense of panic against your thumping chest. Is this a rise of excitement or is this a fight-or-flight defense mechanism against the threat before you?

Hesitantly turning around, you crane your neck to peer up at the one and only boy towering over you from above, an effort made in vain as all you manage to catch sight of is the black silhouette of his figure and the smug signature look of his all underneath the blinding sunlight his head so conveniently blocks.

“Or are you going to ogle and drool all over me while standing in everyone’s way?” Hoseok chortles. Your eyes follow his every move, too taken aback to move or respond. It’s been at least two weeks since you had last seen him and two weeks since… that had happened. Your lips burn and your first immediate response is to smack your hands right over them as if to cover the beet red of your cheeks and lips… or largely to prevent future advances. Hoseok only scoffs in response, smirking and squatting midway to strategically whisper into your ears, “we have lots of time to do that in the camp later, if you so want.”

“Excuse me?” you lean back as far as you can and gape, but he only squats down to your level before grabbing the bags of luggage from your hand.

“Don’t worry, I got this. After going through this entire process at least six times by now, you just gotta learn to…” his words are cut off by huffs as he forcefully pushes and tosses and squeezes bags further into the compartment before tossing his and your own along with them. “There,” he brushes his hands, “I don’t know what Jimin has been teaching them, but the new recruits seem to be awfully spoiled taking up so much space. This is boot camp, not vacation.”

“Thanks,” you say after chuckling.

“Is your gratitude exchangeable?” he asks, turning to cock his head to the side and revealing the structure of his jawline; and as much as you’d like to deny it, it takes every ounce of sheer willpower not to stare at him in awe.

“For what?” you’re barely able to utter. Hoseok stares at you in silence, dark eyes eating and drinking you up with each passing second, and that’s all you need to get the hint. The knot in your throat catches your silent gasp as you avert your gaze to the ground, cheeks burning, heart skipping, and lips throbbing. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Oh, my bad, I forgot. Can’t corrupt my prude little princess just yet,” he muses, and you can just feel his sultry gaze piercing straight through your temple as he flashes you his charming damn crooked grin. Hoseok cocks his head in the direction behind the crowds of incoming baggage bearers, “go on. Your friends are waiting for you. I gotta help out here.”

“You sure you don't need any help?” you offer, standing upright to brush the invisible dirt off your lap.

Hoseok glances up at you and scoffs with the most teasing smirk possible. “Are you implying you're willing to help me? I'm thankful for the offer, your Grace, but I don't think standing there and checking me out is going to do us much good,” he laughs and throws a quick glimpse over at your friends with a lopsided smile. “I know I said this is camp and all, but you should at least have some fun now before it's too late.”

“...okay,” you hesitantly mumble, giving him a small wave and stumbling through the crowd once again to join your friends spectating from afar.

“What took you so long?” Junghwa ponders aloud, a small pout resting on her bottom lip as her foot impatiently taps against the floor.

“Sorry, the luggage compartment was almost full—”

“—wait, wait, wait, Y/N… was that Hoseok who helped you with your luggage over there?” Hani interjects with wide eyes, going on her tiptoes to confirm the back figure of said man just a few strides ahead. Not even a split second after, Junghwa’s eyes pop and the both of them turn in sync to stare at you with gaping mouths.

“No way,” Junghwa drawls. “Jung Hoseok? The ex dance captain? Your long time crush—”

“—keep your voice down,” you hiss before timidly glancing at the ground and twiddling your thumbs. “...maybe.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, Y/N,” Hani utters, the drop of her jaw and the void in her voice conveying just how shocked she is from your sudden course of actions.

“I know right,” Junghwa jumps in, hooking her arms around Hani’s crossed ones. “I mean, dance camp? Basically a trip? With Hoseok?”

“It’s not only with Hoseok,” you articulate. “There’s at least twenty other people going with us.”

“Uhuh, right, but you won’t be paying attention to any of them except Hoseok, so it’s basically the same thing. How did you even manage to convince him to return?” Junghwa exasperates, a series of blabbering shortly follows before you hurriedly clasp your hand over her running mouth to muffle her words.

A few seconds of incoherent mumbling goes by before Hani taps you on the shoulder and chuckles, “okay, Y/N, any second longer and she’s going to faint.”

As much as most normal, rational human beings would opt for breathing through the nose than the mouth in situations like this, whether out of instincts or simple common sense, it’s also painfully obvious that Junghwa is unlike that of any other. All that’s on Junghwa’s head at the moment is getting her thoughts said and heard, and not even her very own being can top that priority. So pressing your lips, you figure Hani’s right—like always—and the well being of your best friend is more important than answering a few questions. Reluctantly and ever so slowly, you retract your hands from her lips, the absence of her voice’s vibration immediately leaving your hand empty of sensation.

The second your hands unclasp from her mouth, thus letting her words loose, Junghwa desperately gasps for air before, unsurprisingly, blurting out yet again in an all too ear-spitting manner, “or is he returning because of you? Did you make some sort of deal with him?! Y/N, why didn’t you tell us? You need to tell us—”

“—shh,” you hiss, immediately and strategically placing your middle finger against your lips to hush her back into silence. Eyes wide and alert, you hastily glimpse around to check for any possible bystanders dropping in on your conversation. When all coast is clear, everyone too busy chatting away with their friends and loading their additional luggage onto the bus, you shoot a death stare straight at your friend who gulps in terror. “Are you trying to turn this trip into hell before it even starts? I know it might come as a surprise to you, but I don’t want anyone spreading rumors about Hoseok and I!”

“I know,” Junghwa pouts and grabs ahold of your hand only to sway it side to side, as if to win you over with pity. “I’m sorry… I won’t do it again. I promise!”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I swear I’m serious! Curiosity just got the best of me this time around,” Junghwa cheekily smiles. “If someone happens to hear us, I’ll treat you out for dinner. Better yet, I’ll confess to Jimin or anyone you want and make a fool of myself, yeah? Mm?”

“You don’t even like Jimin!” you refute, appalled by her lackluster offer.

“Oh, you know how she is, Y/N,” Hani laughs, rolling her eyes. “At least no one has ever really paid attention to her yelling. Plus, I really am curious as to why he’s back. How did you convince him to join today? I thought he always stayed at least a mile’s distance from anything related to dance.”

A hard thump hammers against your chest when the answer to her question echoes in your mind and rests on the tips of your tongue. A kiss. You exchanged his attendance this morning for a kiss; but there’s no way you’re going tell your friends something as embarrassing as that, especially seeing how they had taken the news of your previous dates with Hoseok. However, judging by how fervently your lips burn of the apparition of his soft lips pressed up against them, you convince yourself you’ve already given the answer away.

“Hey, we’re just about done here,” a familiar voice melts in your left ear like honey as a heavy arm swings over your shoulder and pulls you into his side. You glance up to find Hoseok raising a brow at your two friends, “oh, I’m sorry, but I don’t quite seem to recognize…”

His words trail off, and for some reason you think you can see a flash of the old dance captain resuming his courteous, welcoming ways; hence, unbeknownst to you, a smile gradually stretches across your lips. While you’re stuck in your reverie, Junghwa and Hani’s head snap towards each other, eyes widening and words failing to leave their gaping mouths as looks of admiration and awe oozes from the glistening windows to their souls. The ogling eyes of theirs nearly evokes a snort from the back of your throat, because finally, finally they can first-handedly witness the melting charms of Hoseok and actually understand the reasonings behind your recent irrational actions. But then their eyes dart to you once again, lips formulating silent threats and teeth gritting like a desperate call for your help.

As much as you’d like to blame your lack of a response to your friends’ plees solely on your short-lived trance of catching the returning glimpse of your long-time crush, a part of you just knows the truth lies in the satisfaction of observing the petrified look on your friends’ faces. Is this the look you had plastered all over your face when they made fun of you for your crush on Hoseok? Was this the mirror image of your state of panic when Junghwa nearly exposes your “relationship” with Hoseok to the entire class? Just recalling the pain your friends had put you through endorses you to sit back and relax as you watch karma do its work.

“...new recruits?” Hoseok chirps after a few seconds of silence, quirking a brow and flashing a clueless, lopsided grin. “Did Jimin actually manage to acquire new members while I was gone?”

“Actually no,” Hani quickly blurts, shaking her head violently, “we’re not a part of the club.”

“Oh?” Hoseok cocks his head, glimpsing at you in confusion before returning his eyes to Hani when you only stand in silent amusement. “Sorry, my bad. So what are you two lovely ladies doing here then?”

Did he just call them lovely? In front of you? With his arm wrapped around you and his recently numerous flirtatious advances on you? Even though you have no idea why you’re so irked in the first place, there’s something about his smooth, charismatic ways that tugs at your heartstrings in the rather painful manner for once.

Unbeknownst to you, a twitch of your face is evident enough to your friends and Hoseok for them to jolt in place, petrified over whatever fiery hazard scorches from within the vicinity of your glare. And unlike your friends who take a step back and glimpse at each other for help, the boy beside you only pulls you in even tighter until your head has nowhere to rest but against the calm, warm beats of his chest.

“Uh,” Junghwa utters, eyes popping when she notices Hoseok’s firming embrace.

“We’re just sending Y/N off,” Hani finishes her friend’s sentence and averts her panicked gaze back to you as you narrow your eyes at the audacity of Hoseok.

“Well that’s nice of you two. So that’s where Y/N gets it from,” he muses before continuing, “are you sure you two don’t wanna join? I’m sure we have enough space left to accommodate for you two.”

“Oh no, we couldn’t—

“—well actually, we wanted to but Y/N forced us not to because she was ‘embarrassed’ or something—ow!” Hani nudges her elbow straight into Junghwa before she can mutter another word.

Hoseok turns his head at you with warmth radiating from his dark chocolate orbs and the most suggestive of smirks tugging on the corner of his lips, “and what does that mean, Y/N?”

You freeze. You don’t know why or how or when, but for some reason your body’s immediate response to his gaze locking with yours is to drop everything and freeze. Heart panicking, hammering, and nearly stopping, you completely forget your friends are watching just a few feet away—

“—we didn’t bring any money for club dues and trip fees,” Hani quickly comes to the rescue, shooting you a subtle smile, and for once, you’re actually glad that your friends are here to support you in the wake of Hoseok’s impact.

“Oh, that’s fine. Any friend of Y/N’s is welcome with or without dues. I’d rather gain two new recruits than lose the opportunity to because of a few bucks or so. Plus, our club has more than enough funds to cover your fees for now,” he quips, cleverly interjecting before Hani can provide a rebuttal, “you don’t really think I’m letting you off the hook, do you? Nah, what kind of a captain would I be if I did that? You can pay me back afterwards.”

“That’s very kind of you, but…”

“...or your friend here can pay for you,” Hoseok smiles smugly, pointing his thumb to the side and at you. Traumatizing your lips and paying twenty five bucks to humiliate yourself for the sole sake of potentially watching Hoseok dance again were already too high of stakes to pay in the first place, so all you can do in response to his absurd suggestion is gawk at him in disapproval.

“She’s the last person who would do that,” Junghwa grumbles.

Hani nudges Junghwa once again, “I’m sure Y/N is going to have lots of fun at camp… although I do worry if she’s going to be alone—”

“—I’ll be fine—”

“—don’t worry, she’s in good hands,” Hoseok cuts in with a wide grin, arm firmly gripping your right shoulder and pulling you even closer into him.

“...what do you think you’re doing?” you finally mutter through gritted teeth. Your friends hesitantly exchange and dart glances between the two of you as they watch the narrowing of your death stare.

“What? This?” he pats his hands on the side of your arm and pulls you in once again, cocking a brow at you to feign innocence. “You didn’t seem to mind skinship last week? Or are you shy about PDA?”

Your jaw slacks open in sync with your friends. Did he really just say that? In front of your friends? So much for having fun and saving the embarrassment for later on in the trip.

“I don’t know what you’re saying…” you mutter, snaking your hand behind his back and tugging on his shirt to signal for him to stop… which he doesn’t.

“Oh c’mon, you couldn’t have forgotten already, Y/N!” Hoseok chimes, and his grin grows wider and wider as he watches your cheeks burn a brighter shade of red by the second. He cocks his head and begins listing the events of that night which still burns so fervently in the back of your mind, “fridge… bet… tabletop… ki...tchen.”

The second to last syllable nearly evokes a heart attack from your already weak condition, thousands of needles piercing straight through your chest as you glimpse at your friends; luckily for you, it seems like they haven’t caught onto anything yet, for they’ve never worn a more confused look than they are now.

Hoseok only grins in amusement before proceeding to his grand finale, “ki—hey!”

The smug look on his face is wiped and replaced by utter shock. He gawks at you with eyes wide and mouth open the second his brain registers the fact that you had just pinched him as hard as you could from the back.

“...kinda have to go help out Jimin and the others. Yeah, that’s what I meant to say,” Hoseok chuckles after a few seconds of bewilderment, turning to flash one last smile at your friends and waving them goodbye. “I’m sorry but I don’t believe I ever got your names…?”

Your two friends just stand there in what you’re unsure to make out as either fright for the scene that just played before them or in awe over the radiant sight of his killer smile—or perhaps, a mix of both. Hani’s slouched shoulders suddenly straighten upright the second she snaps back into reality and checks up on her friend, whom had failed to escape her trance. She stutters, “H-Hani, I’m Hani, a-and this is Junghwa.”

“Right. It was nice meeting you, Hani and Junghwa. I promise you I’ll look over Y/N, even if she refuses to accept my help and assaults me with acts of violence. And remember, I know it might be boring without me as the captain, but it’s never too late to join the club,” he sing-songs, voice velvety and soothing like always but his last statement leaves you frowning even more so than the former.

He’s resuming his role as the dance captain, and yet at the same time he’s rejecting the permanence of such a task and even foreseeing his absence in the near future. You know you’ve been too greedy and too needy for the fulfillment of your dreams, but somehow along the way you had lost sight of reality. While the past Hoseok brought you into cloud nine where things like stress and school were of trivial matters, the present Hoseok slams you straight back into reality where not everything always goes your way.

Only a comforting, firm pat against your right shoulder is enough to bring you out of your daze as you glance up to find Hoseok making his way to the bus with his front half turned towards you. “I know it’s hard to contain your excitement, but at least try to spend a few more minutes with your friends, Y/N. Don’t take too long though, or even I’ll have to leave you behind,” he quips, calling out to you before winking and biting his lips—as if trying to hint at something, no, you just know he’s hinting at that very thing which still doesn’t fail to flood heat into your cheeks—and turning his back on you to jog up the steps, disappearing behind the black tinted windows of the bus.

“I hate the living hell out of him. I hate the living hell out of him. I hate the living hell out of him,” you repeat, reminding yourself once again of the treacherous bet you had so regrettably made. Sighing, you turn to face your friends once again only to jump in place out of shock when your friends glare at you with the most dead eyes and stern frowns.

“Girl, you have a lot to explain when you get back,” Junghwa crosses her arms.

“...yeah, I know,” you timidly laugh, reclining as you scratched the back of your head when Junghwa continues to narrow her eyes at you for your lack of an explanation.

“That guy’s dangerous. I knew he was good looking, but wow, in person?” Hani shakes her head. “He knows his ways with words. Charming. Too charming. You better be careful, Y/N.”

“...yeah, don’t worry. I’m not a fool. I might’ve liked him before, but there’s no way I still do with him being like that now,” you mutter, and out of the blue, your only source of transportation roars in place behind you as if to remind you of the quickly approaching departure time. “Okay, I really have to go now.”

Despite how hard Junghwa had been staring at you, she does a complete 180 turn when she pounces on you along with Hani, “I’ll miss you so much. Don’t go! Don’t leave me for a man! But if you have to, at least tell us what happens!”

“Make sure to call us every night, okay?” Hani says before quickly adding, “and be careful! Don’t ever leave yourself alone with a boy like Hoseok!”

“Alright, alright,” you chuckle, words muffled as they nearly choke you in the bear hug. After what seems like eternity, you finally retract yourself from your nearly sobbing friends and wave them one last goodbye before running up the steps into the bus and away from the partially cloudy forecast of the morning.

Now the real torture begins; it's like highschool all over again—finding an empty seat without looking like a longer or bring too out of place.

“Sorry, this seat is reserved for someone,” you hear someone say in the deepest yet softest of tones.

Glancing over to the very back of the bus where the courteous voice had struck you as familiar, you find a girl apologizing to Hoseok before scampering forward to the seat next to whom you presume to be her friend. Word must've gotten out that the Jung Hoseok was making his return to dance with this camping trip, because whether for the better or worse, it doesn't take very long for the next girl to approach him.

“Oh my God, I can't believe you're actually back! I've always loved watching you practice!” the petite girl exclaims.

Hoseok presses a smile in response, “thanks.”

“Um… can I sit here if this seat isn't taken?”

“Sorry but I'm actually saving this seat for my friend,” he softly repeats himself, craning his neck up to give one last apologetic smile from his seat and to the standing girl.

Tch, lucky him, you scoff to yourself, being Mr. Popular With Girls must have its perks in social gatherings like this. People like you, on the other hand, have to deal with being on the worse end of the stick.

So you shuffle your way through the chattering cliques seated primarily at the front, never-minding the glaring open seat next to Hoseok as you make your way to just a few rows ahead of his in a successful search for another seat; but before you're even able to sigh in relief and plop into your temporary home for the next six hours, a hand clasps onto the crook of your elbows and grips your arm firmly enough to pull you into another seat. A yelp leaves your lips as you stumble backwards in a vain attempt to regain your footing, and before you even know it, you find yourself in another seat at the very back of the bus.

“This seat is actually reserved for you,” the one and only Hoseok coos, and your heart undeniably skips despite the roll of your eyes.

“I didn't ask for you to reserve it for me.”

“Ouch,” Hoseok winces, “was that you rejecting me or you rejecting my friendly gesture?”

You shrug in a fruitless attempt to suppress your smile, “perhaps both. No, definitely both.”

“Then what was that supposed to mean?” Hoseok gasps and places a hand over his chest. “Are you leading me on?”

You scoff, “what was what supposed to mean?”

“You know,” he leans in to whisper, “our ki—”

“— alright fine, I'll sit with you,” you interject and slump into your permanent seat with a loud sigh. “Now can you stop bringing that up.”

“To think that you'd play me like this... you're breaking my heart, Y/N,” he fakes a whimper and frowns, shaking his head. “But whatever makes you happy.”

You snort at the irony of his words. Who's the one playing who? “Oh, quit it, will you? If being around me hurts you so much, then why aren't you sitting with Jimin and them?”

“Actually, there's nothing I like better than spending my time with you. See, I'll prove it to you.” Without warning, Hoseok’s right engulfs your left in and places it straight against his chest. You're caught off guard, jumping in your seat and rocketing your pulse at an all time high, but what surprises you most is the irregular pacing of the thumps against your hand. Maybe it's just you and your hopeless imaginations, but for even a split second you'd like to think he's being the genuine self he used to be for once. “You know, I actually prefer sitting alone on these trips.”

“...why?” you're barely able to utter when you realize your hand is still trapped between the warmth of his chest and his hand.

“I like listening to my own music and going through the routines in my head. It helps me focus for camp,” he explains before turning to wink at you, “but I'll make an exception for you.”

“Why…?”

It must be something about the way his hand holds yours so firmly in place or the way you're just practically melting in the gaze of his warm brown eyes, because a question you already know the answer to slips right through your lips. He had promised your friends to take good care of you, didn't he? He had seen you wandering through the crowd and bus like some lost child, didn't he? Man, you really must have appeared to be quite pathetic enough for him to reach out to you like this. So with your eyes down at the ground and your ears shut, you prepare for the embarrassment ahead of you.

“Didn't I just explain it to you?” Hoseok says lowly, and you glance up in curiosity. Your chest constricts when your eyes trail up to meet his. Your insides melt at the sight of his soft, lopsided smile, and you can't help but mentally squeal when you realize that his unmoving gaze has been observing you all this time. Then he makes his final blow, “I like being next to you.”

Pressing your lips into what seems to be a half smile half frown, you slowly retract your hands from his and into your lap before turning to face straight forward where Hoseok is no where in sight. But despite your efforts to keep your pulse under control, there's really nothing you can do to stop your heart from nearly jumping out of your chest and prevent the adrenaline from running through your wrist to your stomach to your legs; for the rest of the ride, you find yourself distracted in one way or another.

First, you somehow find yourself sharing an earbud with Hoseok. He shares his favorite playlist of tracks to freestyle to, humming and counting to the beats, and even goes as far as to show you the tracks he plans to share with Jimin to use for the upcoming showcase. It's silly for you to extrapolate any meaning beyond the simple sharing of an earbud for the sole sake of killing time, yet you can't help but acknowledge the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you steal glimpses of your old crush as he walks you through the technicalities of a routine. He drones on and on for hours about a world close to him, a world of flow and deep appreciation which nearly no one but him could reach, however, even sitting there and being forced to listen to this boy who never ceases to tease you is enough to make this entire trip before it even begins. There’s something about the way passion just oozes from his eyes as he talks about the love of his life reminds you that this is the boy you fell for.

The second thing that keeps you on your toes is when you suddenly find yourself draped in his oversized sweater. It’s an all too familiar scene, a scene that has occurred one too many times, but it’s not like you had wanted it or hoped for it to happen… did you? Having forgotten how cold buses tend to keep the temperatures at, you had regrettably opted to stuff your one and only jacket into your bags—now thrown several dozens of feet under you—and unknowingly put yourself in this situation. 

While everyone around you continued to chatter and laugh at the most disruptive of volumes amongst themselves, completely undisturbed for they had jackets to protect them from the blasting AC, you were suffering in your chair trying to keep yourself from shivering and exposing yourself to the watchful Hoseok; but alas, he was and is always able to see right through you. Seeing you curled up into a ball, you had heard Hoseok half snorting half chuckling before removing his hoodie in one swift motion and plopping it straight onto your head. 

The sudden warmth of his worn sweatshirt resonates off your freezing cheeks, your bare nape of the neck, and down your shuddering back, but those newfound comforts aren’t enough to keep you from turning around to frown at him with furrowed brows questioning the intent behind such actions. He just smiles that smug smile of his before patting your head and remarking, “I don’t know if you’re actually cold or if you’re acting out to steal another one of my sweaters again, but you should put it on before you freeze to death. Can’t have any casualties under my watch, especially not you.”

The third and last thing you remember from the long bus ride, six hours of pain that for some reason you wish could’ve lasted forever, is the intoxicating scent of him radiating from the sweater engulfing you from within. Reclining in your seat, the collar of his sweater rises just enough to cover your neck, lips, and tip of your nose from the harsh winds circulating throughout the bus, but burying your nose in the inside of his cotton sweater only magnifies his clean, spice cologne mixed with the scent of home. You can’t believe you actually accepted his offer, but what petrifies you even more is the fact that you might just pass out right in front of Hoseok. As if witnessing the return of the ex dance captain isn’t enough, sitting right next to him with your arms brushed against his and an ear sharing the same set of headphones while wearing and drowning yourself in his scent is like the ultimate blow against your weak heart.

Subconsciously, you mumble aloud—whether to yourself or to Hoseok, you don’t know—and squeeze your heavy eyelids shut to black out everything around you, “I feel really light-headed for some reason…”

You can’t see him with your eyes closed, but the shuffling beside you allows you to envision him scooting closer and leaning forward to check up on you with worry plastered all over the frown on his face. “Are you okay? Are you still cold? Or do you need to take some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine. I just need to… take a nap—hey,” you nearly yelp when you feel his rough, warm hand cupping your right cheek to gently push your head onto his shoulders. Your eyes shoot wide open and your heart rate escalates as you scan through the bus for any witnesses. Finally, when all coast is clear, you hiss, “what’re you doing?”

“Go ahead. Nap,” he instructs, patting your cheek before leaning his own head against the top of yours. “Don’t worry, we’re in the back. No one’s going to see.”

Even in the blizzard that is the blasting AC, your cheeks never fail to burn a bright shade of red as every inch of contact between your body and his begins to flush of heat and thrill. You want to pull away, to deny the indisputable comfort of his shoulders, but you’re simply too tired to argue. So before you know it, pitch blackness surrounds you and the yells of the others drown into the background where the sound of Hoseok’s counting and humming echoes akin to that of the night where you had first introduced yourself to Hoseok long ago.

-

You are dreaming, right?

No, this must be a dream; because the very first thing your still blurry, half-asleep mind comes to register—that is, after gathering your bags and settling into your temporary room before leaving for the welcoming event like a zombie—is the fact that the Jung Hoseok is standing in front of the dance studio and leading tonight’s practice.

The studio lights hanging from the high ceilings above give off warm, yellow edges to your already blurry vision. The cleanly waxed wooden floor squeaks with every sharp step of his as he gives a quick demonstration to the daily stretching routine every member must undergo before practice. Decked out in the all too familiar, albeit retired, attire of his—black sweater, black joggers, and black pair of sleek sneakers with the occasional headband he had opted out of tonight—you simply can’t believe your eyes. This is everything you’ve been dreaming for. You just want to see him dance again, and here he is… closer to dancing than he has ever been in the last year.

It’s all too surreal. Really, your gut instincts tell you this is all too surreal to believe in.

“I know this isn’t the exciting stuff I’m sure everyone of you came here for,” he sarcastically remarks, and you wonder if he’s well aware of the real reason for the spike of female recruits attending this camp for the sake of meeting him, “but it’s important that you learn how to properly stretch and prepare your body for the impact that comes with dancing.”

“How long are we going to be stretching, Hoseok?” a girl whines.

It takes everything in you not to scowl at the girl for her interjection. While you’ve risked everything from your dignity to your sanity to get to experience this first-hand, she’s piggybacking off of your efforts only to threaten the slim opportunity that you’ll even get to see Hoseok dance again in the first place.

Hoseok continues stretching, neither affected nor amused by her remark before lowly stating, “a few minutes goes a long way.”

“Yeah, but we want to dance,” a boy calls out.

“We want to see you dance,” another girl adds.

God, any second longer now and you swear you’re going to cuss them out; do they want to see him dance or not?

“You won’t be saying that when you pull a muscle,” Hoseok simply states, switching to stretch his other leg before shooting a stern look at the rows and columns of students lined up and following his every move. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more irked than this, because a chill runs down your spine the second you find the darkening of his eyes settling on one particular girl only to threaten and etch his next two words into the back of her mind for the rest of eternity, “trust me.”

You figure dance practice really must be a serious matter to him, because you’ve never seen him go so long without cracking a joke or even comforting a student he had accidentally rebuked—which is odd now that you think about it, since that’s the exact opposite of what he had been known for back in his days as the captain; but maybe you just didn’t know him well enough in the past, perhaps his passion for dance is much stronger and takes a much more different approach than you had observed on the surface level.

It’s not exactly a turn-off per say, because you do find his passion honorable in every way, but there’s something about the frown on his ever-so-slightly downturned lips and the crease between his brows that tells you something is off. Does he actually despise dance as much as he had claimed? Your mind wanders off wondering if bringing him here is the right decision after all.

“Y/N, if you want to see me dance, then you better not space out.”

You’re thrown straight out of your trance when your head snaps up to find Hoseok staring straight at you.

“We’re on the right leg now,” he presses a smile, cocking his head at the fact that you’re still stretching your left arm. Your entire face turns red as you hastily plop yourself down to the ground and stretch your left before your right leg out in front of you. Hoseok only snorts, “alright, because of Y/N, we’re just going to hand this off to Jimin to teach you the choreo now. I have something else to do.”

“What?!”

“No, you can’t do that!”

“You promised you’d be leading tonight’s session!”

A dozen protests come tumbling from the students, a majority of them being female fans, but then all eyes start glaring at you as if you’re the actual reason Hoseok is skipping out on the actual dance portion of the practice. You nearly jump in your seat, wanting to dig a hole for you to hide yourself in when everyone throws you a few death stares. To be honest, you’re completely satisfied with seeing Hoseok even associating himself with the dance club right now, but it seems like others had a separate standard of satisfaction than you.

Hoseok intently observes the scene playing out between you and the girls before clearing his throat and sighing, “on second thought, I have a few minutes to spare.”

You can hear a collective gasp echo throughout the room. A loud cheer then erupts, and you actually find yourself smiling at his announcement despite being the most hated person in the room for a split second.

“But I’m only introducing the simple parts tonight,” he adds and a mixed reaction filled with cheers and whimpers follow shortly afterwards.

Was he going out of his way to indulge in an activity you know he’s been avoiding all too well in order to save you from the others? Or was he doing this because he genuinely had a change of heart? You figure the questions don’t matter at this point, because you’re beyond ecstatic. You might not agree in the methods others had attempted to utilize in pushing him back into his role as the captain, but you do agree in terms of the end goal point. Just seeing him lead a group through stretches is enough to make this entire trip, but seeing him lead a group through actual routines and choreographs? You think you’re on cloud nine. You’re selfish for pushing him into something he claims to despise to the very bone, but after calling you out and teasing you in front of everyone, you like to think you deserve at least this.

You just want to see him dance again, and nothing else matters but that.

-

Hoseok was serious when he said he was only teaching the most simple of choreographs, because even you were able to get through it all without tripping or falling or spacing out like you usually would. After just five minutes or so, he was prepared to switch out with Jimin when Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook ultimately decided on ending the first day of practice early and heading off to dinner.

So here you are, somehow finding yourself seated across where Hoseok had sat just a few minutes prior before excusing himself from the table and next to the rest of his old group of friends.

“Where did Hoseok go?” Jungkook finally questions, stuffing himself with one or two potstickers.

“Probably went back to his room,” Jimin shrugs. “He doesn’t seem to be in a good mood today.”

“Do you know why…?” you hesitantly ask and finish the last speck of food on your now empty plate.

“No idea,” the boy you learn to be Namjoon quips. “Maybe he’s just tired and not used to camp anymore.”

“Maybe,” you mumble, pursing your lips when the image of the irritated look on Hoseok’s face before he left dinner early. Placing your plate and utensil onto the table, you push your chair back and stand upright, “I think I’m going to head back to my room now.”

“Already?” Jimin’s eyes widen, neck craning to look up at you in surprise.

“Yeah, my legs are already so sore from practice.”

“You know we have a complimentary pass to the spa at this resort, right?” Taehyung adds.

“Oh?” you’re genuinely intrigued by the idea of soaking in a hot tub after hours of being drenched in sweat.

“Yeah, feel free to use that if you’d like,” Jimin grins. “I’d go now before everyone heads there after dinner.”

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then!” you wave them goodbye before skipping off to your room to change into your bathing suit and happily scampering to the paradise that waits for you at the spa…

...unfortunately for you, that paradise doesn’t turn out to be quite what you had envisioned it to be, for the fact that it’s a public spa and not a private one reserved for you hits you right in the face when you see him sitting right there in the pool of water in front of you.

“It seems like fate really wants us to be together,” Hoseok quips, the absence of playfulness and effort in his usual teasing raising a question of worry from you once again.

“Psh, as if,” you scoff, turning around and ready to march off in the other direction if he hadn’t interjected.

“It’s okay, I’ll leave and you can stay if you’re that shy about seeing me half naked,” he rises from the water, and your mind goes completely blank when they register his words.

You weren’t even thinking about seeing his bare chest, but now that he’s mentioned it, that’s all your eyes can even see. His abdomens are as toned and defined as you had imagined them to be for an ex-dancer, and they’re just as tan and smooth as honey which matches the tone of his sun-kissed skin. You don’t know if it’s the steam of the water which causes your cheeks to burn for the hundredth time today, but something about the accuracy in his statement challenges you to rebuke his claims.

So instead of denying nor accepting his offer, you plop down into the euphoric heat of the water and submerge yourself until your chin hits the surface of the water. “No, it’s fine. You can stay or leave. It doesn’t matter to me because your body is the last thing I’m thinking about.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like it when you just stared at me for a good minute or two,” Hoseok coos, sitting back down with his arms resting on either side of the circular pool. “So, what you up to?”

“Sitting in here and trying to get a good hour of relaxation for once.”

“Whoa, my bad,” he raises his hands defensively with a slight chuckle. “Sassy as always, I see.”

You know you said you wanted an hour of relaxation, but the minutes of silence that follows shortly after is deafening. It’s odd for it to be so quiet around Hoseok, the Jung Hoseok who always teased you to your nerves’ ends. Something is most definitely odd about tonight. You don’t know when it started or how it started, but it’s the things that he chooses not to partake in rather than partake in that startles you. Maybe tonight he had started to dance again, but there are countless other things he had sacrificed in return.

He’s no longer as lively, playful, and easy going as he used to be. While the past Hoseok had been a combination of all these traits even with the passion and dedication for dance, this is yet another reminder to you that this isn’t the same boy you had loved; but even so, even if this person isn’t the one you so wish for the return of, you can’t help but worry for the boy you’ve actually come to know.

“...I’m happy to see you dancing again,” you finally say. Hoseok lowers his head and gaze from the night sky to look at you—neither surprised nor intrigued, just empty. Your brows furrow at the lack of a reaction and you quickly add, “is something wrong?”

“What makes you ask that?” the monotonous tone in his voice only pushes you further.

“Just answer the question. You’re acting… strange... today. Ever since practice,” you shake your head and frown. “Is it because of dancing? Should I not have forced you to come?”

“You didn’t force me to come. You didn’t force me to do anything,” he says before looking off to the side; the harsh edge in his voice tugs at you in the most aching way you had never known to be possible with someone like the current Hoseok.

“Fine, if you’re gonna be like that, then let’s play a game. You like games, don’t you? That’s the only way I can ever get you to talk or open up or do anything,” you retort and Hoseok only raises a brow. “We’ll take turns asking each other questions. If the other fails to answer to our satisfaction, and you have to be honest, then we get to do whatever we want with the other.”

“Y/N wants to play games? Am I dreaming?” Hoseok cocks a brow.

“Trust me, I feel like I’m the one dreaming. It’s not like I want to play games, especially not with you, but it seems like it’s the only way I can get you to talk,” you say, shaking your head. “Okay, I’ll start first then. Tell me what’s going on. Why are you so upset? Is it something that I did?”

“That’s more than one question, Y/N.”

“Okay, fine,” you scoff. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” he simply answers, eyes looking straight at you before adding more to complete his answer, “well, maybe a little. I don’t know how I can answer that accurately when even I’m not sure. You’re not the main reason, but now that you have become a part of the reason, I guess it only adds to the fire.”

That’s the most vague answer you had ever heard in your life, but to be fair, you had only asked him whether or not you had done something to upset him. He isn’t obligated to answer what you had done, and plus, the intense look in his eyes warns you to better play by the rules.

“Alright, fine. Good enough. You pass. Your turn.”

His fingers tap against the poolside, but his piercing eyes never leave yours.

After what seems like an eternity of silence, he speaks, “are you happy to see me dancing again?”

You frown and raise a brow, “of course…? Yes, I’m beyond ecstatic—”

—your words are cut off when he stands upright and takes one large stride to the other end of the pool where you sat, and the next thing you know, his lips smashes into yours. And unlike the last kiss you had shared with him, this one is much more forceful. He’s impatient, he’s twisting and turning and pushing like he’s running out of time, his hands snake to wrap around your back and pulls you in until the two of you are chest-to-chest.

Somehow, you manage to pull away for a split second, “Hoseok, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m dissatisfied with your answer, Y/N,” he states before pushing you into him once again and collides his lips with yours.

Your head is dizzy and you can barely get enough oxygen each time he pulls away for a split second to give you some time to breathe, but there’s something about the haste in his movements, the impatience in his pulls and pushes, and the look in his eyes that’s screaming for help that tells you this kiss isn’t about passion or lust or anything like that; it’s about desperation and the most twisted way to express the sorrow that resides with him. And even though he isn’t playing by the rules of the game, there’s a part of you that sympathizes with him, for your heart drops at the mess of emotions his wet, sloppy kiss conveys to you.

Maybe he isn’t answering your questions with words, but there’s no doubt that he’s opening up to you more than he ever has before.

Finally, you put a hand against his chest and push him an arm’s distance away before managing to say in the midst of heavy breathing, “I don’t get it, Hoseok. I’m confused. You’re acting out. You’re… different.”

“How is this any different from the last time I kissed you?” he refutes with knotted brows.

“No, there’s something wrong,” you shake your head. “What’s wrong, Hoseok? Please, just let me help you.”

“Then answer my question correctly,” he says, calling out to you as he watches you get up and depart from the poolside. “That’s all you can do right now.”

“Am I happy to see you dancing again?” you repeat the question, grabbing and wrapping a towel around you from a table. “I don’t know… not if this is how you’re going to act, then no, I’m not. But I was happy to see you so immersed in dancing again earlier today. I just want to know if… you’re happy...?”

Something flickers in the dark ditch within his eyes, and after a long deafening silence, he finally answers.

“Yeah…” he finally answers with his eyes at the other side of the pool where you had just sat before drowning himself back into the pool, “I guess I’m happy too.”

[suca-loca]

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k 

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary: 

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of  -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.  

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes -  who hasn't on this forsaken server? -  but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "  

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "  

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream  - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "  

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.  

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress. 

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy. 

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "  

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much. 

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all. 

And then she realizes a horrible thing. 

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day. 

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough. 

Somewhere above, a crow caws. 

She burst into tears.

[korkrunchcereal]

WoW Q and A

Elaborate on the Chains of Domination cinematic: Story of Anduin and Sylvanas/relationship with the jailer is foundational to Shadowlands. Anduin was dominated. Jailer needed someone like Anduin to be able to walk into Bastion and claim the key. Brief moment of Anduin gaining control in cinematic, so still in there. Chains of Domination will explain more.

When he (Anduin) walks past Uther, did Uther know what was happening or did he feel bad? Couple things going on. His hand touches his wound, made by a weapon of the maw. Uther recognized on some level that power, as well as stirring memories seeing this blonde, kingly figure. Confrontation with Sylvanas in the raid one of the biggest moments in WoW.

Moving from classic to BC while keeping a copy. Whats it going to look like for gold, items/banks. Am I going to see differences or is it two separate entities for all time? Logging in at pre patch will snap a copy of your character. There will be an option to move onto BC classic, or stay in vanilla classic. Can pay a fee and activate “clone” to put them on BC classic if you choose to stay Vanilla. Beta is around the corner. 

How will high population  numbers be handled in TBC classic? How will you handle bottlenecks, sharding, dailies etc. Recognize high population, want to make sure experience is enjoyable. Optimization improvements to help stabilize servers. Experience of rare material and multiple people going is part of the game. Willing to make targeted changes if there is particular problems. 

 Will there be more race/class combinations? Player agency and choice is major theme. Customization key, but also want to reinforce differences. Want to maintain a world that doesn’t have exact symmetry. Have gone back over the years to change things. For now, think they’ve gone about far enough. Nothing planned, but never say never.

 Surprise on Covenant armor? Based on heritage armor. Pure aesthetic, want to give players more and more options. Gameplay reasons to not tmog the entire range (warrior wearing cloth for example)

Workflow change during pandemic? Happened very suddenly. Team reached to each other to find comfort. The isolation found purpose for devs. Making Shadowlands/games help to reconnect friends and people.

Any plans to address faction imbalance? What happened to cause it? Something talked about a lot. Know there’s a very real problem, particularly high end. What caused the problem? Imbalanced in racials allowed to persist too long. At this point, don’t think racials are imbalanced. People staying Horde however due to social reasons now; compounded issue from all the way back from MoP etc. No real answer. Social issue requires social answer.

Have you ever seen a swing in either faction direction due to story elements? Across the game as a whole, faction balance is pretty good. Its raiding/high end PvE that the imbalances really emerge. Have seen faction switches/more cross faction alts in BfA for example. 

If I play BC, when I decide to play on main char and a classic era realm at 60, will I have to name change? You have your name in both places. Ensure people don’t park on names forever.

Any plans to connect more realms? Had to do survey across all populations in all realms. Essentially have to copy an entire realms database onto another. Not a flip a switch thing, lot of work. Have been able to address a large amount of the very low pop. realms. Had to pause for Shadowlands launch due to launch and Shadowlands had huge effects on server populations. Last time they connected realms was right before WoD, and realms had a LOT of queue problems. Watching and waiting for populations to go down before making the jump.

Never gonna have cross faction raids, dungeons etc? Not gonna say never. Essential to hold onto identity but...

Will our amount of Anima be increased later? Is it possible for sanctum upgrades to be account wide? Lot to collect. Hotfixed Anima drops so far. Looking for new sources of Anima for next patch. Over all looking at the costs. Cosmetics are generally account wide. Anima is designed to span the bulk of Shadowlands. 

Sire Denathrius is an eternal one and imprisoned. What will he do? Will we see him again? Best laid plans can adapt. During BfA, intended Bwonsamdi to be a one off. There, but no big deal. Once they heard the VA they went “we need more of this character”. Planned for Sire Denathrius to be there, you kill him w/e. Then heard the VA and went “this guys awesome we love him.” Changed plan to keep Sire Denathrius alive. Will find some other role for him to take. Watch fan feedback to see how community responds/gravitate to. He is in that sword, there may just be allies of him that would be interested in liberating him from the sword...

When will we see more Heritage Armor? As each one was released, got more and more excited from response/enhanced feel of the game. Working on further Heritage Armor. Some coming to near future updates, some more in the future.

Any plans to bring back the AH app? Not as you know it perse. It got turned into a lot of automation. Revamp removed app, then change of the AH. Meant to be more of a socialize thing then accumulation of gold by automated system. Recognize however convenience factor. Consider getting back into some form, but not like how it used to be.

Will there be more new character customization options for Shadowlands? None in Shadowlands. Tend to be fairly big projects. Release them when it’ll be very good for players. Lot of work to juggle. Felt like they got good feedback and support from it. Want to invest going forward when it makes sense.

What are actual requirements for flying in Shadowlands? Where can we fly? Can we fly across the realms? Shadowlands pathfinder no rep grind. Just requires completing full covenant campaign (9.0 and 9.1). Cannot fly from zone to zone. Once unlocked, alts will be able to fly freely. 

In the BC classic, will there be class tuning that would make it notably different than 2007? Broadly no. Want to keep the authentic behavior of final patch, like classic had. Seal of blood

Is there work being done on new Torghast Anima Powers for later patches? Spec specific, when can we see? WIll be done through all patches/future patches. new powers etc. As for powers working outside Torghast, keep OP nature of them inside Torghast.

Difference between passage of time in Shadowlands and in Azeroth? Salanar the Horseman in DK order hall said he was in the veil for what felt like days and it was between WoTLK and Legion. Meet characters for whom time doesn’t seem to have meaning. What is time a construct of? Order. On Azeroth, understand the passage of time because of influence of titans/order. Outside of the influence of order, time loses meaning. A lot more fluid. Shadowlands about eternities. Can have it perceived differently by different characters even going through same thing.

Bringing back 10-man content, either as different difficulty or different instances for smaller groups to tackle. All raid basically is/can be 10 man. These days its the 5 player mega dungeons that fill the role. In BC, ZA and Kara filled that niche of the smaller group doing the BIG, raid like content. Fulfills the spirit of 10 man content.

Will summoning stones be available at launch of BC or come later? Will have them at launch.

What’s Bolvar up to and where is his story going? Will he have a major role to play? One of the fun parts of Shadowlands was getting Bolvar back into the mix. We saw him be pivotal in Torghast and getting into Shadowlands. Saw there was a price to pay for visions with Torghast. He will be front and center in Chains of Domination. Good rallying figure.  

In BC, how will pvp titles be handled without battlegroups? Originally, reward was made for the best player in each battlegroup due to technical reasons. Now that they have better technology, fair way is % based, though still want to keep it small amount. 

In Stormwind, Darnassus refugees mention going back once the smoke clears. Does this mean Teldrassil can grow back and become habitable again? The damage was pretty definitive/lot of lives lost. Don’t want to reverse on a whim. The story of the souls of the Night Elves however is not yet done, nor is Tyrande’s story going into Chains of Domination and beyond.

Will fresh classic servers be added in addition to TBC servers? For the timeline of BC classic, no new classic servers. Eyes on it however for the future. Will discuss once BC launches.

How do you get the Wandering Ancient Mount? Got to have Shadowlands. Will be in 9.0.5 patch update next month (March). 

[yamithediaperdork]

Draco’s New Daddy (Harry Potter)

From one of the great pure blood families and with a brilliant future ahead of him, Draco Malfoy these days was living a very much different life then he had even planned on. unable to land a job at the ministry of magic due to well, everything his family had done under he who should not be named, Draco found himself working odd jobs until the day he'd happened to run into a old classmate from Hogwarts: Miles Bletchley. Miles was apparently doing well from the fine clothes he was wearing compared to the blue jeans and formally white t-shirt but now mostly gray that Draco was wearing. He'd invited Draco out to lunch, and after assuring him he'd cover the bill, they had gone off and talked for hours.

As it turned out Miles was a gent of sorts for special young men who had certain..looks..and got them one night 'jobs' so to speak that payed well and of course took a modest percentage of the money as he wasn't doing this for fun. Draco knew how to read between the lines and blushed at the offer that was being made. "Listen Draco, with your looks, your frame and honestly..well..how some people feel about your family, I can promise you a lot of money for 1 to 2 works work at a time. And lots of clients." Miles said, chugging a butter beer. Draco was drinking something a little stronger and his bale cheeks were flushed, though from the offer or the wine it was hard to say. They had a private booth and Miles had cast a spell to give them further privacy, though he'd stressed what he was doing wasn't strictly illegal, it was gray area and best not to draw attention to it either way. "let's not beat around the bush Miles, you want me to be a prostitute." Draco said. "In a way yes, though in others no. I promise you'll never have to have sex with anyone who hires you unless you want to." Miles said. "..So loads of cash, and not getting my ass plowed..what's the catch?" Draco asked, raising a eyebrow and having more then a few doubts. "the catch is that each of my boys plays out one role for the lonely wizards of the world. One boy plays the part of a human dog,anther a sissy girlfriend, anther a maid and so on and so on. Any sex is to be agreed upon by both parties and I have my own branch of well..enforcers shall we say..who deal with clients who break that agreement." Miles said. "Bloody hell.." Draco said, shaking his head. "And what role would you have ME play then?" he was pulling his glass to his lips and started to take a sip when Miles told him. "A nappy boy." Draco spit out his drink and looked at his old school friend in disbelief.

And yet he'd ended up taking the job. Miles was true to his word that Draco never once found himself sucking dick or taking it up the ass, though he'd been forced to smog with more then a few men. And it was mostly men who hired him. people who loved seeing the pure blood in massive cloth nappies and a baby bonnet sitting on the floor and shaking a rattle. the fact that even after a year of doing this job he could still blush so bad while doing it only endeared him to his daddies and mommies. And Miles had been telling the truth at JUST how many clients he had. If Draco had so wanted he could of worked every days of the week for a month and still of had at least 2 clients a day. The only horrible part of the job (well aside from the general shame) was having to make BM's in his nappies. Oh how people loved to bounce him in a smelly nappy on their laps with a fat dummy in his mouth and chuckle as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Still it wouldn't be too much longer Draco figured before he could retire. he wasn't blowing though his money this time like he had before and was careful to save even coin he could, only treating himself to luxury items once a month. (In fact, he was so good with his money Miles had Draco speak with other of the working boys about how to better manage their finances!) He'd been relaxing in his modest flat and reading the paper when a Owl had arrived from Miles, telling him of a urgent client who was willing to pay triple the normal fee for a session with the nappy lad tonight, despite Draco having made it clear he was taking a few days off to treat a embarrassing little problem. His diaper rash. Miles note made it clear that it was up to Draco, but he strongly urged him to accept. apparently this client had used other boys and wanted to try something new and some vague threats had been made about dropping the service altogether. "Shit. Guess it's time for me to be the company man." Draco muttered and sent a message off saying he'd take the job, and asked for the location of tonight's 'daddy' Apparently Miles had figured Draco would do that because just as he sent his owl off, anther one appeared with the info he asked for. wondering just how well his agent knew him Draco went and packed up his work bag and headed out the door.

His work bag was a black duffel bag, filled with Nappies and plastic pants (and Panties) in his size. not that he wouldn't of minded if his clients supplied for him but some just went all cheap and others went over the top and expected him to go halves with him on it. if he brought his own supplies it just worked out better. He had some t-shirt and bibs in there, along with his selection of dummies and a bonnet, and most embarrassingly to him, a dress. It'd been a give from the first mommy he'd had and he'd promised to keep it even though he hated  the thing. Still, you never know when someone else might want him in a dress and this one again fit him to a t. One of his recurring daddies had tried to get him a proper diaper bag but Draco had drawn the line there since he had to think of how that would look walking to and from his daddies or mommies places. The Hotel where the big shot daddy was staying wasn't far from Draco's place so he walked, it was late enough out that not too many people were on the streets unless they were outside of a pub having a smoke. 'The wacky duck..some people shouldn't be allowed to name things.' Draco thought with a smirk, reading the sign. it wasn't a high class hotel which was good because it meant not having to fuss too much with the front desk, nor did it look like a cheap and easy place which meant a lot Friday night party animals around to make it risky. walking in he did go to the front desk and a young lady was behind it and smiled at him. "Excuse me miss, I'm looking for room 201?" He asked in a polite tone. She gave him a huge smile and giggled a little, making him a little nervous. "Ohhh one of his boys huh? second floor, right next to the lift." She said with a wink then asked. "So what's YOUR gimmick?~" "...Not to be rude but I don't believe thats any of your business. Thanks for the directions." Draco said, face turning reds he turned and walked fast for the lift, he chuckles ringing in his ears. getting off on the second floor, room 201 was right where she'd said it was and he made his way over and knocked on the door. five fast knocks and then three knocks with a space of 3 seconds between them just as the note had said to. He could hear movement in the room and tried to banish all thoughts of discomfort away and focus on being a good boy for his daddy. 'your a little nappy boy. your a little nappy boy..' He chanted in his head, and put a big grin on his face that vanished as the door was opened up. "Draco? what are you doing here? I'm expecting..company.." Harry mother fucking potter said, going from looking confused to smiling. "I..I think there's..been..a mistake." Draco squeaked out. of all the people in the world he LEAST wanted to know about this job, Harry potter was number one, with Hermione at 2 and Ron at three. "oh I don't think so little man." Potter said, looking totally delighted. "Thought I wish Miles would of told me YOU were going to be my little nappy boy. I'd of doubled my offer. Now, are you going to come in like a good boy or does daddy need to spank?" as Harry spoke he moved to the side and gestured for Draco to come in. The mental image of him over Potter lap and the phantom pain of it made a hand go to Draco's back side and he sprinted into the room and Harry closed the door behind him. "Good Boy."

Draco looked around the room, it was at least decently furbished and even had a muggle telle on a night stand and then turned his attention to potter. the 3 years since high school had been more then kind to harry who was tall, broad shouldered and handsome while Draco could of passed for a 11th grader after shaving. "I'm going to set a timer once our session starts.I've paid for two hours and I intend to get every last second." Harry said then walked over and sat on the large bed, and patted next to him for Draco to sit. The blond nodded slowly and walked over. "Look, I know this must be a bit of a shock to you finding out you'll be getting babied by me, but to be fair it's not like I ever thought you were into anything like this." Harry said, giving a warm smile. "I ..I um..See..Miles just offered me the job..and..I rolled with it..I-I thought you were married to Ron's little sister though? so what are yo-" "Doing playing around with a bunch of fetish bitches? Me and Ginny have a understanding, I can play with them but no sex and then she doesn't have to bark like a dog or wear nappies." Harry laughed. Draco nodded, that kinda made sense. "Um..I..I don't know if I feel comfortable with you..seeing me in.." Draco mewed softly. "Draco I thought we settled this. I paid for this,so you ARE going to be my stinky little nappy boy. I wasn't Joking about spanking you if I-" Whatever Harry was going to say was cut off as a pot of fear escaped from Draco's  backside, making him shut his eyes and bury his face in his hands mortified. "heh, seems like you're more of a little boy then you thought if just the threat of a spanking can motivate you that much." Harry chuckled and then pulled Draco in for a one armed hug. "Not a little guy all the time." Draco whined, and KNEW how bad it sounded. "it's just a job!" "Mhmmm I'm sure. Well since it's just a job let's get started. I was told you'd bring you're own supplies?" Harry said, clearly not believing a word Draco said, and making him give a huff and a pout. Which really, wasn't helping his case. Draco got  up off the bed and stormed over to his duffel bag and picked it up, bringing it over and dumping out it's contents. "See? only a professional would have THIS much of a selection to make for his customer!" he said, then the color drained from his face as Harry picked up the dress. "Heh, do i wanna ask?" Harry asked, holding it up. "..I'd prefer you not." Draco said in a small voice. "oh and plastic panties too~ How adorable! Sorry though Draco, I'm more into diaper BOYS. Maybe next time though." Harry said and winked and Draco found himself wishing he could melt into the floor. "T-That's ok." he mewed weakly. Harry chuckled and looking over the odds and ends made his choice. "Alright, I'm going to start the timer. any more attuide and it'll be you over my lap little man. Understand." Harry said, reaching for a timer that was on his nightstand. "Yes Daddy."

Now on the clock Draco waited for his first order from Harry. "Alright now little man, first things first, I think it's time you lost those silly big boy clothes. lord knows HOW you've kept your pants dry this long but I'm not losing from my damage despot when you tinkle all over the floor just because you wanted to play pretend and act like a big kid." Harry said. Draco nodded and slid his green t-shirt off first, then his blue jeans leaving him in a pair of blue briefs, though he paused for a moment to kick his pants and shirt away from him. "Awww, cute briefs, though too bad there's no print on them." Harry commented. "Lose' em." Draco bite his touage, Harry wasn't the first person to think he'd be adorable in animal prints or worse and he doubted he'd be the last, still it was a sore spot for him so he turned away as he slid the undies off to semi moon his 'daddy' and it was only with a stab of pain hit his cheeks he recalled about his diaper rash. "Ohhh I see why somebodies been a grumpy Gus! Poor widdle Draco has diapie rash!" harry said, sounding sympathetic but as Draco looked over his shoulder Harry was smiling ear to ear. "Is somebody not using enough nappy cream? or just sitting in his poopie nappies for ages because he likes the feeling?" "I..I do not! I just..I.." Draco fumed and went to go on a mini fit but BARELY caught himself before he'd earn a spanking. clenching his teeth he hissed though them. "My last client likes boys getting nappy rashes and didn't let me use power or cream if you MUST know daddy." "aww, don't worry! I'll use lots." Harry sand and then took 4 of the thickest terry cloth diapers Draco had and laid them out on a changing pad that was where a small rug had been. "wasn't there a rug there? what happened to it?" Draco asked, pointing and confused. "..Draco come on, we're wizards. what do you THINK happened?" "Oh..yeah.." feeling sheepish and covering his front with his hands Draco made his way over. (it wasn't that he didn't think harry wasn't gonna see them anyways, but LOTS of clients liked the all fake modesty bit.) "Lay on your tummy first so daddy can take care of your poor cheeks buddy and move your hands silly boy." harry said, taking a jar of rash cream from the pile and opening it. "Oh, the extra baby powder scent brand. very nice." "I..it's..what the customers like." Draco squeaked out, moving his hands and letting his 6 inches show though like a good boy he was bald down there. "Huh. that's cute." Harry commented seeing the larger then normal cock and Draco paused as Harry stared. "heh, just because I wear diapers for a living doesn't mean I'm tiny!" Draco said with a hint of pride. "And I'd agree except I know a enlargement charm when I see one." Harry said and snatched his wand up and in one swift motion, Draco's 6 inches because 1 and a half. "H-HEY! YOU CAN'T JUST" Draco yelped up, eyes having gone from wide in horror to filled with fury. "You know how much that bleeding cost to get done so it would stick around!?!" "Draco, one warning. attuide dropped or over my knee and a slipper on your buns." Harry said then added. "I'll give you a little extra to pay for your next charm." Draco clenched his fists but then took a deep breath, reminding himself he was a professional damn it then in a calm voice replied. "I can technicality end the session now potter..your not allowed to use magic on me without my consent. But I'll take you up on your offer." with that he laid himself down on the mat, with his buns up and turned away from harry. "of course admit it. you want someone to treat your owie bum." Harry said and then started to coat the cream on the boys back side. Having found his favorite black and green dummy on the mat, Draco just popped it into his mouth, not dignifying potter with a answer.

His bottom coated with cream and powdered, and then his front looked after too, Draco had to admit Harry had done a better job then he could of on his own and it was feeling much better as Harry pinned the thick nappies shut on him. Picking up a pair of clear rubber pants Harry smiled down at Draco. Lift your legs please little one." Draco suckled on his dummy and nodded, helping daddy slide them over his feet and ankles and then lifting up his bum without being told so daddy could get them part way up over the diapies. "Hmm, mighta gone too thick..or we just need to use a little gravity." Harry said. Before Draco could go to ask what he meant by that, Harry had lifted him up and was holding him up by the rubber pants. not wanting to fall backwards as harry semi bounced him, Draco whined behind his dummy and leaned forward, semi hugging Harry as he got the rubber pants over the diapers. "awww, I love you too~" Harry chuckled and standing Draco on his feet, kissed his cheek bringing a fresh blush to the blonds face. the dummy fell from Draco's mouth and while Harry caught it Draco started up again. "I-I don't, that's not! Look I just didn't wan-" Draco started to whine when the dummy was popped back in his mouth and despite himself he started to suckle on it again. "you don't have to be bashful with me little man. Lots of your fellow workers have started to swoon over me." Harry said. Draco huffed and glared, but kept the dummy in his mouth.

Harry smirked, Draco was just TOO perfect like this and such a fussy baby he hadn't even noticed that the dummy had been enchanted with a little charm used by parents who's infants/toddler were backed up but refused to take their medicine. the more Draco suckled the stronger the charm would get and with how huffy he was and the rapid suckling he was doing.. "what down you come take a seat on daddies lap and let him fondle that big fat nappy butt of yours?" Harry said and Draco squirmed like crazy but let himself be lead over. He was a little disappointed he hadn't had a chance to spank the little guys behind, he'd  gotten a pair of slippers JUST for that, but then again the little guy had nappy rash. 'once it clears up though..' Harry thought with a grin. there was no way this was gonna be a one time thing,that was for sure. Sitting on the bed and Draco on his lap side saddle style, Harry smirked as the big baby (oh sorry, professional) put his armed around Harry's neck and leaned in with his head on Harry chest/shoulder 'God, who's falling for who here?' Harry wondered, a flush coming to his own face. "You know you really are too cute. I was going to make my nappy lad crawl around and humiliate himself, but with you, I'll just read you a story. would baby Draco like that?" harry asked. Draco nodded and smiled a little behind his dummy. "There's just Onnne little thing..you have to keep your dummy in. otherwise I'll have you making a got out of yourself. got it?" Harry added. again Draco nodded and Harry poofed a nursery book out of thin air and started to read.

Draco squirmed slightly as he sat in daddies lap. this was..well..alot nice then his normal clients treated him and he did indeed find himself maybe kinda slightly crushing on Harry, and it was giving him butterflies or something in his tummy. He closed his eyes and suckled on his dummy, listening to Harry read and enjoying the hand that kept patting on his Nappied behind. "-and then the big bad wolf..Heh, Still awake little one?" Came daddies voice and Draco opened his eyes and nodded, giving a smile from behind his dummy. "Just checking. If you wanna go for a little nap I can pause the timer, just let me know." Harry said then leaned down and kissed Draco's forehead. Draco squirmed, the idea f just going for a nap and then waking up to be babied more suddenly felt really tempting! Still it was better to get the job done and maybe just kinda hint he'd be open to a longer session next time. He wasn't even sure how much time was left, just that daddy had been reading to him and he'd gone into a total little state he wasn't used to. "You ready for me to go back t-" Harry started to say but then he was cut off as a loud but muffled poot escaped out Draco's behind, and warmed up Harry's hand. "oh, Is somebody about to make presents like a good boy?" harry asked. Thankfully the nappies cut down on the smell but Draco whined, something he'd eaten was NOT agreeing with him because that fart had been rancid! he reached up and removed his dummy and looked at Harry with a sheepish smile. "Uh..sorry,know that stinks I don-" He started to say but anther poot forced it's way out with gusto, almost hurting and harry laughed. "I think that answers if somebodies gonna make BM for daddy." he said then wrinkled his nose. "About time too from the smell of things little guy." "I-I swear I used the potty earlier today! I don't know why i-it's guhhh!" Draco cried out as a super wet fart erupted and he mewed. "M-Maybe we should reschedule this..this is gonna be toxic!" "oh no, it's ok, I don't mind a stinky boy. and I paid to have the whole floor to myself so no ones gonna complain." Harry chuckled and shifted Draco on his lap. Now instead of sitting side saddle he was back to Harry's front and his bum on Harry's right leg, with Harry holding his arms and kissing the back of his neck. Draco..wasn't exactly how he felt about al of this, normally he would of charged extra for the neck kisses but daddy was kissing and nibbling just in the right places. "oh! Oh!! Daddy!" Draco mewed like a little needy boy..no. a little needy BABY. "Be a good boy for daddy baby Draco, Make me a nice BIG present." Harry coo'ed into Draco's ear. Be a good boy. Jesus. just the words were driving Draco wild and his little nub was twitching as the command took hold and he started to grunt and push. "Y-Yesh daddy! I'll be a good boy! da bestest boy!" Draco cried out. His rosebud opened wide and muck rapidly poured out, filling up the seat of the nappies so fast that Draco also seemed to get taller! as the filth filled the diaper and the smell filled the room, Draco drooled and moaned as Harry went back to assaulting his neck with kisses. "Good boy Draco! Such a good big stinky boy!" Harry coo'ed. Draco mewed happily and kicked his legs, not even minding the smell or feel and only semi lifted himself up for a few to keep going and gasped as the muck started to fill the front of his nappy, coating his cock and balls. "Oh! Oh! Daddy i wuv you! I wuv going popie fer you!" Draco baby babbled on and as even as he farted and kept going. Harry chuckled and lifted the big baby up and turned him around, but still on his knee. "And I love you. now you almost done?" Harry asked. "Uhh.." Draco looked unsure and make a scrunchie face that had Harry biting his bottom lip and there was a few sputtering farts then nothing. "I fink so." "Good, who wants to play horise?" Harry asked with a loving smile. "Oh but da-da..dat'll make my BM go all over mah nappies." Draco said, biting his lip now. the sensation of being picked up and sat in his mess had been well..wonderful! "Don't worry about it. That's daddies job to worry about those things." Harry said and then kissed Draco on the lips, deep and hard and the little professionals mind and self control was gone as the kiss broke off. "So..Horise?" "hehehe ya ya! Horise daddy!" Harry smirked and getting Draco to hold onto his shoulder and putting his hands on the big babies sides, started to bounce him with his knee. gently at first but then picking up more and more speed as he went on. the smushing of the mess was having it's effect as Draco gasped and moaned and leaned forehead, face in Harry's chest as he was getting closer and closer to making a sticky in his diapers. it went without saying that he had flooded them though he couldn't be sure when and god he was just..so..close.. BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! the ride stopped and Draco was trying to figure out what had happened and what was that noise, as daddy sat him on the bed. "Looks like our time is up buddy. But this was VERY fun. we should do it again sometime." Harry said., turning off the timer and kissing Draco's cheek. "Buh..buh..I was bot ta." Draco mewed and whimpered. "I know buddy, but like you said, your a professional. If you're free tomorrow night I would LOVE to book anther session." Harry said, chuckling at the look on the blonds face. "I..But..I.." Draco's mind was frazzled, and he was finding it hard to even think. "I put some extra gold in your diaper bag for you little guy.to cover you're penis enlargement charm. though i think a little cock looks better." Harry said, sweeping the baby stuff back in the duffel bag and handing it over to Draco. The blond was just so out of it, wanting more, so horny he barely realized he was being ushered out the door with his pleas of five more minutes ignored. A final pat on the butt and a kiss on the cheek and Draco was out in the hall and numbly made his way to the lift, thinking about how good being with potter had felt and how amazing he was. It wasn't till she stepped out onto the first floor and started to make his way into the lobby and heard a snort then lots of laughter he realized he'd forgotten to change back, and was still in just his soiled nappy and socks. "So I guess THAT'S your gimmick huh?" the clerk asked. "I..I..I'll be right ba-" Draco started to say but was cut off. "Ohhh Sorry. Mr.Potter has made it clear once one of his guest is back in the lobby, they're not to be allowed back into his room. Sorry sweetie, you'll have to go home like that." The clerk said, though her tone made it clear she was far more delighted then sorry. Whining loudly though happy that he kept his flat key in his duffel ba, the big stinky baby started the normally short but tonight long walk home.

the end

[border-spam]

I am so curious as to how Ur-Aurum ended up in this situation and how he has the intestinal fortitude to tell Tyreen no. I'm also guessing his love life is a trip, but mostly: SIR. WHY??? HOW???

Solomon Ur-Aurum has absolute authority to tell the God Queen no, because he answers to Father Troy... and Sol practically controls the COV.

The Saints were originally intended to have equal power within the COV and that no department head would hold sway over another, but that’s ended up a lie. Finance controls everything, Sol heads the finance dept... and Troy owns it.

He’s not in this position through chance, he’s exactly where he wants to be. It’s what he’s clawed towards since the day he founded the Children of the Vault alongside the Calypso Twins.

Solomon Blatcjky is a cut throat broker and stock market expert with decades of experience under his belt, and apparently no morals to speak of. His reputation proceeds him, and while he may be a little person, he casts a long shadow.

Sol spent most of his adult life building his career out of other people’s bank accounts on Harrier, a silicon valley-esque tax haven moon in Promethea’s orbit who’s tiny landmass is crowded by the corporate and mega-conglomerate skyscrapers it’s covered by. 

He was known for a near vicious focus on providing results for his employers, and a complete lack of humor while doing so. He’s stony faced, profit motivated, and driven - excellent traits for a moneymaker on your side, but ones that have left him plenty of enemies in his trade. He doesn’t work well with others and doesn’t partner in general, preferring to have complete control over projects himself and removing the risk of failure relying on someone else can cause.

He’s got a keen eye and razor sharp instinct, so when he first caught sight of two ratty kids online and noted their shocking count growth in the week period he’d tuned in to their e-com drivel, he sank his fangs into an opportunity other’s hadn’t sniffed out yet.

It didn’t take much, some official type work mailed to their studio address in that rusty docker town on Pandora, an invite to Harrier and a pair of first class shuttle tickets so they could “Discuss what he’d like to offer”, and they’d taken the bait. Scrawny, disheveled, and reeking of false confidence Sol saw through like a veneer, they’d sat in his office and stared wide eyed around it. 

The Twins had never seen anything like the luxury he worked in, still only starting to get used to Pandora’s dry barrens and beginning to forget Nekrotafeyo’s cool hues. They were beyond out of their league here, trying to hide the shake of excitement in their limbs behind practiced theatrical gestures as Sol sat calmly, listening to their bravado about their followers, their family, lofty goals, all while covering his artisanal leather chairs in the red dust that coated their extravagantly pathetic outfits.

He’d grinned politely. Nodded along. Agreed with the loudmouth woman and offered reassuring comments to the apprehensive man, noting mentally which of the two were going to be the one he’d need to work on to convince.

His offer was unbelievable, and Troy, even with his then layman’s understanding of financing he’d learned from their months with Seifa, was wary. Solomon’s full attention, broker services, stock rights and acumen...  all for a tiny profit-percent based fee.

They had nothing to give him and Troy knew that. $5k in savings was all they had to their names, barely anything left from what Sei had given them for their ship after the majority had gone on streaming equipment and the tech they needed. They were making a profit now sure, numbers were already growing explosively, but this man was not someone who worked for anything less than 9 digits a year. What was he gaining in this deal?

It was Tyreen that spoke up, clumsily but to the point at least, asking him why someone like him would take $5k and turn it into real money for them when that’s all they had, why would he give them all this time if he could do the same for Hyperion or Maliwan or fucking... Torque, and earn so much more?

He had smiled back, completely devoid of actual warmth, and told the Calypso twins it was because he believed in them.

That was enough for Tyreen who was more than happy to welcome another worshipper into the fold, but not for Troy. He had suspicions that itched at the back of his mind for days after his sister had shook Sol’s hand and sealed the deal, so he did what would come to be a process he relied on through his future to understand other's motivations - he dug into Solomon’s history. 

It was airtight. Flawless performances in every position he’d worked in, excellent reviews, dirt free publicly, but privately?

It seemed Sol’s reputation was under threat on Harrier. He was well known for being cutthroat and emotionless, so when clients he’d worked with in the past vanished, or competitors had been found assassinated in their luxury condos, it had made sense for the corporate rumor mill to target him. Wether the murmurs were true or not didn’t matter, the damage was building and Troy realised that spotting the inexperienced twins had been an out. He MUST have genuinely believed he could turn their newborn fame into something intensely profitable or he’d not have approached them, and this man clearly was someone who’s opinion on success viability could be trusted. 

Troy spent long video calls with him in private, explained very clearly that he would appreciate Sol’s expertise but that any step out of line, any act that put his sister, his media syndicate, or his money in danger, would be met with termination of the completely permanent kind. 

Sol had assured him he’d understood, and they’d finalised the contract. 

He’s been part of the COV before it had a name, and he has no plans to leave.

By the time the Holy City was founded a couple of years later, he was running all of financing as the Saint of the department, mostly still from his office on Harrier. He doesn’t like Pandora, he doesn’t like the word Tink, and he definitely does not like the planet’s inhabitants, but he can still be found in the Grand Cathedral on official business at times. 

Sol has dropped all clients, no one can possibly match the zeros coming in at the ends of the COV profit numbers at this point, and by late COV he’s still on the percent profit based salary the twins agreed to 8 years ago. 

The results he pulls for them are astronomical, but he'll do so at the cost of any other person, or town, or planet, and Troy has found it easier to turn a blind eye than investigate too deeply in WHAT Sol is investing their money in - who's stocks he buys, or how the companies and industries the COV cannibalises are treated.

Seifa has inklings, but her work relationship with Sol needs to stay amicable and, uh, she's fucking terrified of him to boot. Everyone is, and she's not willing to risk his retaliation for her getting too nosy. They say people go missing who do that. She’s not sure where the rumor started, but there’s no smoke without fire.

That’s Solomon Ur-Aurum. 

Little man casting a long shadow.

[thebarkingraccoon]

Saṃsāra

Vajra’s story, slight AU. Happy Ending. Takemura x V romance Smut WILL happen - probably a lot

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷

Summary: After the failed Heist, Vajra wakes up to a hostile engram and calls a friend.

Word count: 3,067

Warnings: Language

“And you? Who’re you?” A voice echoed faintly, waking her from her sleep.

The apartment was empty and dark. Misty had left an emptiness that slowly consumed the room until Vajra could think of nothing else but how alone she felt.

She tried to think of anything else, anyone else. Those final breaths, feeling his hand go limp in hers... Everything had gone perfectly and they made it to the Relic with little resistance. It wasn’t until an unexpected AV dropped by that pushed them over the edge. Literally, as they had jumped from the ledge to escape.

Every time Vajra found a moment of peace, the sounds of Night City always brought her back. It would remind her of her youth, of meeting Jackie, and getting herself in heaps of trouble that he always came to rescue her from. They were inseparable, even Misty would comment on their companionship. A joke here or there about how Jackie and Vajra were so close she had believed them to be dating when she met Jackie. As soon as Jackie and Misty started dating, Vajra was quick to step back and let them have their privacy.

While Jackie’s relationship with Misty did result in Vajra and him spending less time together, it never changed their friendship. Misty wasn’t intrusive, she was perfect for their tight-knit group. As the old cliche goes; Misty was the puzzle piece they were missing. She gave them both a new perspective they needed and Vajra thought of Misty as family.

Now that Jackie was... gone forever, Vajra could think of nothing but how his absence was hurting her. Misty, the poor girl, had fallen head over heels for Jackie. Without him, Vajra wondered how Misty would fare and if Misty blames her. Vajra blamed herself so she assumed Misty did as well.

Vajra swallowed hard, her throat dry. It took everything in her not to sob as she thought of Jackie’s face. How he’d drag her out of bed, insisting that her sleeping in was keeping her from experiencing everything Night City had to offer. Which didn’t make any sense, Vajra had lived in Night City her entire life. There was nothing new for her to see, but she always humored Jackie anyway.

Her body felt heavy, her wounds partially healed yet still leaving behind a soreness she would have to work through. Slowly she dragged her legs over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet touching the cold floor and she curled her toes, focusing on standing up. There was no doubt in her mind she was unlikely to stand for long. All she wanted was a glass of water, then she could go back to sleep and wallow in her grief.

“Need a smoke, where’d you stash yours?”

Vajra’s eyes widened as she froze in alarm. That voice was here, in her room, and unfamiliar. Her eyes darted around the apartment until she spotted the figure directly beside her. She jumped back, hissing in pain as she pulled on a sore muscle. This man was leaning against the wall looking rather unimpressed by her shock.

“I... don’t smoke.” Her voice sounded so unlike her. The two weeks of downtime really took its toll on her. “How- how are we...?”

“How the fuck should I know?” The dark-haired stranger grunted. Somehow he managed to look even more disappointed in her daze. “The fuck kinda joytoy are you supposed to be?”

Vajra shook her head slowly with a sigh. She didn’t know what to think of this stranger, she had assumed this was the engram in her head that Viktor warned her about. Johnny Silverhand, a rockstar turned terrorist that bombed Arasaka tower fifty years ago. Either she was actually speaking to the engram or she was going crazy; either way, she wanted some water and more sleep.

Turning around to get that glass of water turned out to be a mistake. As she saw her goal, Johnny immediately materialized in front of her. She only had a split second to see the annoyed look on his face before he threw her to the floor. Pain shot up her back and resonated through every sore muscle in her body. Before she could protest his attack, he stepped over her with a fist raised.

“Who do you work for?! Start talkin’!” When he pointed his finger at her, her hand followed suit. It was as if someone had grabbed her hand and started moving it around, she had lost control of that arm entirely.

As the realization set in, Johnny backed away from Vajra. He looked at his hands, to hers, and suddenly a flood of memories came rushing in. There were some gaps and a wealth of memories that were not his own. He moved his hands and Vajra’s copied it. As he recalled a memory it also came into Vajra’s mind, she could see what he saw.

“Fuck...” Johnny was just as surprised by this as Vajra. Neither knew what to do, but while Vajra just wanted some water, Johnny wanted to take his frustration out on her. As he figured out what was happening he grew angry. “Fucking chip. I’ll rip the thing out myself!”

Vajra panicked, “No, no! Wait-!”

Her hand yanked at the chip in her head and her vision went black. There was static, the sound being corrupted as her cybernetics tried desperately to reboot.

By the time her vision came back, she was holding onto the ledge of her window. The weeks she spent unconscious caused her to lose her strength, she needed time to get back up to speed. Yet with Johnny controlling her, she felt just as strong as before. Vajra was helpless as Johnny reeled her back and smashed her head into the glass.

“I’ll take control!” His voice in her head, the smash against the glass; she couldn’t think straight. Her head was throbbing in pain as he forced her into the glass again. “I’ll find a way!”

Vajra was so dazed she couldn’t really make sense of what he said anymore. “You hear me?!” With a final slam, Vajra collapsed to the floor. Johnny lost control as she blacked out.

It was only a minute before Vajra opened her eyes again. She moved her hand relieved to have her body back. Pushing herself off the floor she turned to see the blue pill bottle resting on the ledge of her bed. Johnny paced in front of her, his body flashing in and out as the Relic struggled to project him.

As fast as she could, Vajra snatched the bottle from her bedside and gripped the lid. “Get out of my head!” Only for Johnny to smack it out of her hands, the bottle rolling across the floor.

“Not like that! Stick some iron in your mouth and pull the trigger!” The back of his hand came without warning, forcing her to the floor with the bottle. She was stunned that he could do that, that he could touch her without her own body. Panic grew as she recognized the danger he posed to her. If he wanted to kill her she was in no shape to resist.

“I can feel it... our minds... touching.” Johnny was as confused about it as she was. They both knew what this was, but not how to handle it. This was a first for the world, an engram overwriting a living person. “I’m like mold on fruit... creeping into you. Nothing I can do about it...” He sounded somewhat forlorn about that.

“You hear me?!” Johnny yelled, practically snarling as he bombarded Vajra with this mess of thought. As his mind raced he wondered where he is, what happened to him; Vajra was seeing the same mixed in with her own. The violent whirlwind of disjointed thought and images caused Vajra a terrible migraine.

“I’d puke if I fuckin could!” Every time he spoke his projection teleported around the room. Blue lines of corruption from the Relic kept blinking him in and out of her sight. “It’s just a copy of the engram - I’m out there somewhere, gotta be...”

As he paced, Vajra worked her way to the pills. She wanted this to be over, her head hurt so terribly she felt it might split in two. Looking at Johnny, it might be too late anyway. Vajra dragged her weak body across the floor, “Get out... of my head...” Her voice was so weak she could barely get the words out.

Johnny was unable to take control again though he tried. He had to watch as Vajra snatched a pill from the floor and swallowed it. She rolled onto her back, staring up as Johnny stood over her. He didn’t say a word, only glared from behind his aviators as the medicine began to work.

Within moments Johnny vanished, suppressed by Viktor’s medication. Relief washed over Vajra as she felt the pain beginning to subside. Still sore and laying on the hard floor, she was far from being pain-free. Still, having Johnny out of the way, for now, was a start.

Vajra woke in the early morning with the sun still rising. She groaned as her stiff body protested against her movements. Cold and sore, Vajra felt as though she had slept on a rock. Pressing her palm under her she realized she had passed out on the floor exactly where she was when Johnny was repressed. There was simply nothing left in her after Johnny attacked her so she had closed her eyes where she was.

Hearing her back pop she knew she would regret it for the rest of the day. There was nothing but joint stiffness and exhaustion in her future.

She had to get moving again, there was work to be done, and laying around her apartment won’t help her. Viktor warned her the Relic was killing her slowly and she had to find a way to have it removed safely. There was no time to waste, she had already been out for two weeks. That was lost time spent recovering from a gunshot to the head, but it still meant she had to play catch up.

Grabbing a drink from the vending machine, she turned to her desk to check her messages. As expected it had been filled with spam. Several male endowment products, some about cybernetic enhancements for work and daily life. Finally a message from her complex stating that her rent is overdue... Vajra sighed as she imagined what late fee they were going to give her this time.

Taking one long gulp of her drink she was startled by her ringtone. Vajra coughed as she looked at the ID. Takemura? She didn’t know anyone by that name, but the image on the caller ID showed her his face. Though her memories of that day were incomprehensible, she did recognize the face.

Saburo Arasaka’s personal bodyguard. The man that had begun to scan her and Jackie inside Yorinobu’s penthouse. He wasn’t just any Arasaka agent; he was the best of the best. Saburo made him his bodyguard for a reason. This man was undeniably dangerous and Vajra truly did not want to get involved with him. Whatever he wanted she assumed it wouldn’t be in her best interest.

It didn’t take her long to decide to reject his call. The ringing stopped and Vajra tried to put him out of her mind... Though she had an issue doing so. She remembered the junkyard, Takemura killing Dex, and pulling her into his car. That look on his face told her more than she wanted to know. She couldn’t tell if it was hatred or just how he looked. Some people had the misfortune of resting bitch face. Didn’t much matter, he was Arasaka and though he brought her to Viktor, it didn’t change that he was a threat to her.

So she tried even harder to pretend she never heard his call. As far as she was concerned there is no man named Takemura and...

Vajra looked down solemnly to her drink. Takemura saved her, he pulled her from the junkyard and they survived an attack together. After they crashed things go blurry, but she recalled reaching Delamain. The next thing she saw was Takemura leaning over her, inspecting something. Delamain gave him instructions to save her and Takemura hesitated for a moment before the A.I. cabdriver warned him she would die anyway.

He saved her. Vajra felt a bit guilty for rejecting his call, some need to thank him for saving her... but she worried he would want something from her. Life debts were simply not in her moral code. She owed no one her life and she wanted no one to owe her theirs.

While she was grateful to be alive she knew she was on borrowed time. She was dying and there was nothing Viktor, much less Takemura, could do about that. Whatever Takemura called her for was his business, she wasn’t about to do business with an Arasaka agent.

Vajra winced as she thought of her friend, Ryker. He was with Arasaka for a while before he got pushed out by a higher up. Those corpo rats were corrupt and Ryker was nearly killed. When Ryker was still with Arasaka she did do work for him, helped him whenever he needed it. So she had done work for Arasaka technically.

It didn’t matter, this was different. Ryker is her friend, someone she trusts with her life and trusts her in return. Takemura is an unknown, someone whose morals were whatever Saburo Arasaka deemed them to be. Even worse, she was there when Saburo was murdered. Takemura may believe her to be the murderer. After all, why would he believe her over Saburo’s own son? She had less credibility than Yorinobu from what she could see.

He might wish to take her in, as it were. Pin the murder on her and Jackie...

That made little sense, if he wanted to do that why had Arasaka’s own send a hit squad after them both?

Vajra groaned in frustration. So much had gone wrong so quickly, she had lost control and she hated losing control. The feeling of her life slipping through her fingers, unable to do anything about it left her in such a terrible state. She was defensive, cornered. On one hand, she was trapped with Johnny, an engram slowly killing her and threatened to kill her anyway. The other was Arasaka, the events in Konpeki, and Takemura.

There was no graceful way out of her situation. As of now, Vajra was forced to take a defensive stance against everyone. She wasn’t safe in her own head and she had to remain inconspicuous on the streets, lest Arasaka finds her.

She slipped into her clothes and headed into her stash. There was a collection of her things from the night she returned from Konpeki. A duffle zipped and secured, brought in by Misty. As she dug into the bag she pulled out Kongou, the weapon of Yorinobu Arasaka. It was a fine weapon, she wasn’t going to pass it up.

Clothes in the bag were laundered yet her shirt and jacket of that night were missing. She was thankful for that, Viktor likely having tossed them entirely. They were stained with Jackie’s blood and Vajra never wanted to see them again.

Lastly, Vajra pulled out a katana she had stolen from Konpeki. The blade of Saburo Arasaka; Satori. She slotted it into the stash wall on display before making her way out of her apartment.

Once she breathed in the thick air outside, she felt an immediate pain of loss. It was the understanding that Jackie would not be waiting for her outside, he would not be asking to borrow her car to take Misty out. She would never see him again and it took the wind out of her.

She needed to hear a friendly voice, she had to.

As her list of contacts flashed, she found Ryker’s name and called him. Vajra needed to hear him, she was desperate to know someone was still here. Jackie was dead and she had this irrational fear that somehow Ryker was too. Though he was not in Konpeki when everything went down, he had been in the hotel before that.

The second it started ringing, Ryker answered.

“Vajra!” Seeing him even over a call was a relief like no other. He seemed distressed and she understood why. “You’re awake. Vik said he’d call me when you woke up.”

She leaned over the railing, looking down to the floors below. “I’m sure he just wanted to make sure I had some time to myself. It’s been... rough.”

Ryker nodded, his eyes searching for something to say, anything that would help. “Do you... want to talk? I can meet you, I got some free time.”

“Ryker, you’re the busiest person I know. You never have free time.” Vajra narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. Though she started to smile, Ryker took this far more seriously. He wasn’t one to mess around when a friend was hurting and while he grieved Jackie’s passing, he knew she would need him.

“I’ll make time.”

With a drawn-out sigh, Vajra shrugged. An out of place smile on her face, “If you insist. Can we get something to eat? I’m starving.”

Quick to agree, Ryker finally returned with a faint smile. “Meet me at Jinya? Could go for some good ramen.”

“Be there in about an hour.” With a nod, Ryker ended the call. He seemed stressed out, which wasn’t uncommon. He was a hard worker and the last two weeks weighed heavily on him. So much time passed without a word from Vajra. When Ryker saw the news about Saburo and got a call from Viktor, he expected to be told Jackie and Vajra were dead. Instead, that was only partially right.

Vajra made her way to the elevator, slowly working off her stiff joints. She was excited to see Ryker, but there was a creeping fear he held her responsible for Jackie’s death. Nothing was telling her that, only her own deep-rooted fear.

She hit the ground floor button and waited. Even with all these people rushing through the streets, Night City felt dead without Jackie to light it up.

[theteenagemaze]

26th august 2021

today i came home from spending the night at my sisters house after a heated fight with my parents over seemingly nothing. during the fight my phone, door handle, tv remote and mental stability were destroyed. i hope to get a replacement phone in the near future since we claimed it on insurance by lying are saying it fell of the back of a car and was ran over. i also pleaded that we moved from the out back into my town since for the last 7 years of my childhood I've been locked in this 2 and a half acre block with a $40 dollar cab fee to freedom. although each time we fight I bring up my feeling on our living situation and how i feel cut off for my total of too friend but its mostly ignored since the realization of a new hole in the walls is a bigger problem then my worthless feelings.

schools going shit since a girl whos mother passed away gets treated like she’ll soon die too. the best guitar in music class. hers. the only available study room in the library. hers. the first to try a science experiment. hers. the solos in the school choir. hers. the lead role in the school musical. hers. i cant even name something that isn't hers. everyone eats out of her hand like an obedient ex-army dog that lives to protect their master. on the other hand the troubled girls from another school get given so many chances to succeed alas they flush them down the toilet like a fresh shit they plucked from their own self image. they can beat, threaten, verbally assault, stalk, and spit on people and they'll blame it on their home life. if its their home life that's the problem then fix that instead of throwing all of this under the carpet. another thing is this one sooky bitch whos father owns the restaurant that me and many other people i know work at. she thinks she suicidal when she's been sheltered her whole life and has never been exposed to drugs, alcohol, vapes, sexual assault, self harm, domestic abuse or anything else but somehow she's suicide and ended up at a $300 therapy session and never went back because “they asked too many questions” like is that not the whole fucking point you dumb bitch. all she does is act depressed and then takes it out on me at work witch is basically work place abuse but i cant fucking report her because what are they gunna do huh? fire her? they fucking cant she's the bosses daughter and might i add the youngest of three. 

on the plus side i've recently met two wonderful girls and re-connected within old male friend after he started his transition and they've really helped. edie who lives in my town is the biggest sweet heart i know, when my latest fright happened with my parents happened her first question wasn't. “your just lying for attention.” or something along the lines of “aha who one!”. it was “omg ore you safe? are you ok do you need someone to stay with my boyfriend and i can pick you up??”. and honestly that lit a small hopefully fire inside me. a fire that comforted me unlike no other. my other new friend, zoe. she live in outback brisbane witch is quite far away from where i live. she's 16 and smokes often. she's currently looking after two hairless cats that we refer to as “the testis”. they smell fear... shes lovely and we could talk for hours if he phone didn't die ever 5 minutes. i'm honestly tempted to mail her a charges since hers is held together by duct tape after she tried to hot-wire it to charge a vape. she has a great sense of humor that aligns with mine perfectly. we often joke about walking to each others home saying “be at your in 5 aha”. and last but not least marshal the only decent one of the many friends i've had. he's kind and funny and makes a lot of spelling mistakes when we text. well i cant really judge him on that myself whilst im typing this its hard to keep up with the red underlined words i keep correcting. but anyway back to marshal. we originally met at a dance group when he was pre-transition. back then he thought i was homophobic and hated him when i was actually deep in the closet and thought he was the coolest person ever and a matter of fact i still do! to be honest i thought i was bi but these days bi is such a thrown around term and really doesn't feel right. i only thought i was bi because i was attracted to some men but i could never imagine anything other then just looking at them, basically nothing sexual. but when i look at another woman it just feels. right. my parents, siblings, concealers, friends and even teachers tell me to settle down and find a nice boy to live with or to go to all the footy games and try to catch a partner. and during those moments i just want to scream “IM A LESBIAN I DONT LIKE MEN I NEVER WILL SHUTUP” but i know im to pussy so i plan to move out of state with whomever my closest friend is at the time when i turn 17 and never look back.

but anyway thanks for listening.

senscierly, maze

[ask-venom-and-eddie]

The Microwave Incident™

Fandom: Venom Movie (2018) Relationships: Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote/Anne Weying/Dan Lewis Characters: Eddie Brock, Venom, Anne Weying, Dan Lewis AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297084 Additional Note: This primarily focuses on Dan and Eddie bonding*

Summary: In all of Dan’s years of life, he’d never quite expected to one day be cohabiting with both his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s partner and the symbiote that lived within said partner.

In all of Dan’s years of life, he’d never quite expected to one day be cohabiting with both his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s partner and the symbiote??? that lived within said partner. But as much of Life goes, nothing will ever be quite as planned and if there’s anything he’s learned to be good at by this point, it would be to go with natural progression. Things are much easier when one learns to acknowledge it and deal with whatever happens when it happens.

Besides, it’s not so bad. The total amount of time it takes to complete chores is effectively shortened down with proper delegation. There’s always someone present to take care of the cat, trips to retrieve groceries are shortened, household fees are equally split, and the amount of troublemakers around the area have mysteriously vanished....All things considered, Eddie is a pretty decent housemate. That is if one can get used to occasionally waking up to a black humanoid mass shoveling the contents of their fridge into their gaping maw, all the while making eye contact with them.

Okay so maybe Venom is a little bit as intimidating as they are fascinating to Dan.

But can anyone really blame him for that? Considering how their first meeting had resulted in Dan very nearly getting choked out by them...him?? How does the whole...symbiote thing work? Truth be told, he’s still not all too caught up with the details entirely. Of course, Anne had briefly explained Eddie’s situation after the whole... ‘Hospital thing’. The last he’s heard about Venom had been that the symbiote was presumed dead. And now, they’re alive again?

He still remembers the exact moment Anne had found out Venom was still very much alive and very much a part of Eddie. Boy, had that been quite the fiasco. Thankfully, things have more or less settled into a peaceful routine now. It’s clear that Anne and Eddie still have things to work out between the both of them and that is not up to Dan to fix. But the doctor is optimistic all the same that they’ll get there in their own time too.

For now, he’s content with the arrangement. Laughing together as they watch bad reruns on tv, dining out together at least once a week, watching Mr Belvedere and Venom get accustomed to one another, having fun and respectful debates with Eddie...it’s fun. It’s nice. Dan would even venture to call it comfortable.

With the occasional exceptions.

Namely now. Noticing the distinct smell of char and smoke wafting out of their shared apartment isn’t exactly something one looks forward to when returning home. Alarm converting into adrenaline, Dan breaks into a run, heart hammering under his chest. By the time he’s shouldered the door open and dropped his bags in favor of rushing inside, he finds a panic-stricken Eddie attempting to fan out the interior of the microwave that had erupted in flames with his hoodie.

“Eddie d-” He’s barely able to get a word of warning out before the ends of Eddie’s hoodie catches on fire too, leading to more panicked gasps from the other and a rushed attempt to stomp out the flames. Eddie probably would have succeeded if it weren’t for the fact that his frenzied attempts ensured that he got a little too close to the microwave that was still on fire and Dan could only watch in horror when he makes contact with it by the tip of his elbow and practically howls.

A little part of it might have been Venom’s doing too because Dan sees tendrils of black inky rope-like substance emerge, rapidly roping up Eddie’s elbow. Stray tendrils extended, attaching themselves beneath the kitchen table floor. Eddie is then bodily dragged underneath in an attempt to take cover. They’re protecting him. Dan dimly registers. But now isn't really the time to be making sense of things. He has a fire to put out.

Galvanised by determination, the doctor scrambles to put gloves on just in case. He takes a moment to ease his nerves before he slams the microwave oven door shut. Careful to keep a wide berth as he turns it off, Dan unplugs the power cord just in case. There’s very little one can do except to suffocate the flames, which is exactly what he attempts to do.

Eddie is still in the same location by the time Dan could safely declare that he has the situation contained. He’s hunched over in a futile attempt to fold himself in half, breathing erratically, the back of his hoodie sweat-drenched. An inky black substance, almost oily in sheen, oozes from his chest. Almost as if reflecting Eddie’s current state, the tendrils jitter, a seething mass twitching with agitation.

Whatever it was doing, if anything at all, captures Eddie’s attention enough and he’s just barely able to focus a wide-eyed gaze at Venom in a struggle not to hyperventilate. Shaky fingers grasped at the symbiote, tugging on them in an effort to pull him closer even as Eddie fought for air.

As Dan hurries his way forward, it’s becoming more and more apparent that the other is having trouble calming himself down. In retrospect, perhaps he shouldn’t have moved as quickly as he did because the sudden movement has Venom’s hackles raising and Dan is greeted with a furious bellow, fangs bared, claws extended. Oh boy oh boy.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” His own heartbeat hammers in his ears when Dan raises his hands. Much like one would approach a skittish animal, the doctor slows his approach. Inch by gradual inch, Dan makes his way closer in what he hopes to be a non threatening manner.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m-I’m not going to hurt him or you. I’m here to help. Let me help, Venom. Please.”

Pearlescent eyes narrowed into slits at his words and Dan resists the urge to gulp. Against his own wishes, he finds himself holding his breath when Venom appears to consider his offer. There’s something about finding yourself the sole focus of something so..otherworldly. Something powerful enough to snap your spine in one solid move if it thought to do so. It settles beneath his skin, all pins and needles.

It takes a while- Eddie may be the one looking worse for wear but Venom. Venom is a constantly shifting mass, shape inconsistent, as if it was compelled to stay close yet pull away at the same time. Dan might not understand the symbiote as much as Eddie or even Anne does, but it’s apparent even to him that Venom isn’t feeling all too good either.

There’s really no other way to describe the symbiote’s movements. But Dan would compare it to a drop of water against speakers playing at an unbearably loud volume. Nevertheless, a decision is finally made. With their last shudder, Venom oozes back. Whatever visible parts of it slithers back in quicker than Dan could blink. All that remains is a disembodied hand, fingers carefully interlaced with Eddie’s in a singular gesture that conveyed both a need for comfort and an effort to reassure.

Choosing to interpret that as assent, Dan wastes little time in shuffling underneath the table as well so that he would be seated next to Eddie’s hunched figure. “Eddie. Eddie, can you hear me?” It takes him a few tries before he’s able to get a response from his panicky companion. Eddie’s hands clenched into fists in a repeated pattern: squeeze, release, squeeze, release. Combating threats Dan can’t see, wisps of nightmares he doesn’t have access to. Not in the same way he does.

Eddie’s face is ruddy with exertion and emotional toil, breathing shaky and stilted. Dan watches as his companion thumps at the front of his chest in a manner that suggested he was attempting to dislodge something even though he knows nothing is there.

“Sorry.” Eddie’s voice cracks when he chokes out a coherent reply, pitched high and teetering on the edge of exhaustion. He scrubs at his face, still hunched up against himself. “I don’t-I don’t know what- What’s happening to me.”

And Dan could feel his heart break just a little.

“Experiencing emotional distress of sorts in highly stressful situations is a valid response, Eddie. Don’t apologise for that.” Though his reflex and instincts willed him to initiate contact as a means of comfort, the doctor hesitates and lifts away the hand that had been hovering near Eddie’s shoulder. Touch is grounding for some but it may not for others. The last thing Dan wants is for Eddie to feel even worse.

A little part of him wonders if it had been the fire or the fact that he’d failed to prevent it from catching fire that evoked such an intense response. Whichever it is, it’s not a question to be asking now. There’s always time to figure it out in the future. For now, what Eddie needs is the means to regulate his breathing and even out his physical reactions. Maybe get something for burns. That’s right-

“Eddie, may I?” By way of finishing his sentence, Dan gestured at his companion’s elbow only for Eddie to shake his head after comprehension dawns on him.

“No need.” Eddie manages to wheeze out with a measure of effort. “.Big guy’s...got it covered.”

“Oh.” A beat later. “He can do that?”

His surprise must have shown because the corners of Eddie’s mouth twitched upwards for the briefest of moments when he casts gaze on him. The edges of red-rimmed eyes may have crinkled just the tiniest bit with fondness.

“Yeah. He can-” An abortive gesture is made, aimless before Eddie sets his hand again the front of his chest, kneading. Probably uncomfortable from the amount of effort it took to keep breathing regularly. “He can do a lot.”

“Huh. Fascinating. What else can he do?” Maybe if they talked about Venom, it’d be enough of a distraction to ease his discomfort. “Uh. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, no pressure.” There’s virtually nothing Dan could, or would do, with that information anyways. Assuming the symbiote may be suspicious about that.

He’s met with yet another abortive gesture but Venom must not have minded much since Eddie answers him in halting sentences, pausing frequently to breathe deeper. They talk and Dan shares stories of his own when Eddie trails off: Teenage escapades, past pets, unfortunate haircuts, late night hospital antics with the staff, his ongoing struggles with the parking meter, stories that have Eddie looking less haunted. Eddie tells him about his investigative work, speaks jargon that goes over Dan’s head about motorbikes, captures his attention with descriptive details about the wild adventures he’d gotten into, reasons his opinions on current mysteries.

They don’t talk about the microwave and Eddie doesn’t come out from underneath the table when Dan excuses himself to answer a call.

But he makes space for him when Dan comes back with two cups of hot cocoa. Mr Belvedere slinks in to join them, shameless in the way they curled up in Eddie’s lap, purring louder than he’s ever heard. And Dan decides that Eddie’s a little bit like a cat himself when he slumps against his side, cheek warm against Dan’s shoulder, breathing finally even as he dozes.

They’re still there when Anne returns home. The question in her eyes were apparent when she finally catches sight of them. But she only nods when he mouths ‘I’ll tell you later’, eyes honey soft. Her lips are warm when she presses a kiss to his cheek and runs her fingers through Eddie’s hair, angling awkwardly just so she could press one against his temple.

Things are okay. They’re all okay.

Something in Dan relinquishes it’s hold with a soft sigh and he revels in it’s absence. He feels light, whole, good.

Yeah, they’ll be okay.

[sidhewrites]

EXERPT, because I love Rat with all my heart and can’t wait to start talking about her. Approx 2000 words. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about.

The wind bit into her very bones, but the smoke was worse, stinging her eyes and sticking in her throat. Still, she kept herself still, watching and waiting, though this last display had made her bold enough to stick her neck out, just enough into the light that her golden eyes glittered in the firelight. Fee never came out so brazenly to anyone, much less for human beings. What had this one done? He’d pulled something from his pack. If she could just get down there and see what it had been ...

The travellers ate little -- a bit of dry rabbit, berries from the new bushes growing right out of the altar. Her stomach still groaned at the smell. How long since she had eaten a proper meal? More than two weeks, at least. Surely they wouldn’t miss one leg, just a handful of berries … and that tall woman’s blade did look frightfully shiny. Shiny enough that she saw gold in her future, very soon.

And the two pale ones -- twins? She was sure their eyes were red. Was it glamour, or were these folk really walking with demons into Veroesse? Curiosity burned hotter than branding irons. She rubbed the back of her hand, memory all too fresh in her mind.

She waited until they slept. She was good at this part, the waiting. Listening to them talk and figuring them out. The pale woman was from money, even if she hardly dressed the part now. What was a toff like her doing covered in mud like that? The dark man, though, he was could have been from any number of places. There was something Suvi about his lilt, but it was mixed in with too many other accents to tell. At least the other two made sense. The woman was from Guisson, if ever she heard it, and the pale man from south Merveaux. Lower middling class at best.

Still, they washed their hands and said their prayers and curled up as comfortably as they could in such a miserable place, every single one lying still.

Another hour after that, and she allowed herself to move, ignoring the protesting in her knees as she finally lifted herself from the crouch and slowly, silently eased herself down from the vaulted ceilings to the rafters, and finally leaping the final distance to the flagstones below, slippered feet silent as the sleeping travellers. One of them stirred.

She froze.

The woman from Guisson rolled over, batting her long dark braid away from her face, and went still.

She counted to fifty before moving again, silent and measured. First to the bush, picking as  many berries as could fit in her pockets. Doubtless she’d get tired of them in less than a week, but it was better than starving. Next, to the man’s pack, fishing out what she could. Smelly leaves -- she sniffed them once and put them back inside. A coin purse -- irritatingly light, but she wasn’t about to be picky, and a few whittled animals. No doubt she could get a silver or two if she sold them all together. She stuffed them all into the coin purse, and hid it down her tunic.

Now on to that sword -- that beautiful, glittering sword that…

Was now pointed beneath her chin, pressing against the soft skin of her throat.

She looked along the blade, past the grip and up into the dark, dangerous eyes of its wielder.

“I hope you have a good explanation for this,” she said in that low Guisson accent.

Shit.

“Now you’re just being dramatic, Liv.” The Suvi man. He pressed a hand against the back of her neck, fingers large enough to wrap around it -- and no doubt snap her spine without a second thought.

Double shit.

The woman glanced to the man behind her, hatred no less strong in her eyes. “Call me Liv again, and I’ll point this at you instead.”

“All right, I understand. We’re not there in our friendship yet. No need to get angry.”

“Friendship isn’t the word I’d use.”

Her head swam. Were they really bickering while holding someone’s life in their hands? What sort of people were they?

Something moved in the corner of her eye -- the other woman. She was slight, almost frail, and her voice sounded too soft to ever hold any strength as she asked, “What are you doing?”

#

Winnie hadn’t been able to sleep. It wasn’t the thunder or the howling wind that kept her up, but the lack of noise beside her. Rhoan’s constant tossing had become almost a comfort to her in the past few weeks, reassuring her that nothing dangerous was nearby. But he’d been still tonight -- wide awake, no doubt, thinking of something. Or watching for something.

Exhaustion tugged at her, but as hard as she tried to give in, anxiety and anticipation kept her irritatingly awake.

At least she hadn’t missed the ambush -- or, rather, the ambush of the would-be thief. They had been nearly silent, but her mouth watered at the smell of fabricant blood, and there was no hiding the soft snapping of berries being plucked from twigs, or the rustle as the thief had gone through Rhoan’s pack.

She kept herself perfectly still, hardly breathing as they came near, waiting for Rhoan or Livia to do something. Wondering if she ought to reach out and nudge Rafe awake.

Once the bickering started, Winnie finally exhaled. They were safe, then, and the thief had been subdued. She allowed herself to sit up and look over -- and freeze.

That was a child.

Livia and Rhoan had overpowered the girl in a second, and with good reason. She couldn’t have been much more than thirteen, with a gaunt, freckled face and ratty black hair. Even her faded red tunic and woolen pants looked like they hadn’t been replaced in years, judging by the fraying and the way her ankles and wrists poked out the hems. Her heart broke at the sight, and she spoke without thinking.

“What are you doing?” There was no strength behind her words, no confidence. Barely anything but fear.

All eyes turned on her, though Livia kept her blade at the girl’s throat, Rhoan’s hand wrapped tightly around it like he was about to pick her up and throw her aside like an old sack of flour.

“Is….is it not obvious?” Rhoan answered, though he seemed to wilt a bit under her soft stare.

Livia, however, held her ground. “She’s got your coin purse in her tunic. I’m sure that wasn’t all she intended to make off with tonight.”

“You always like to ruin the mystery, don’t you?” Rhoan pouted even as Livia glared.

Winnie would have none of it. She smoothed her curls back best she could and stood, turning her soft eyes onto the young thief. “What’s your name?”

“Miss Ashley--” Livia managed to say before the girl answered, stern and blunt.

“Rat.”

It caught them all off guard.

“Rat?” Rafe’s voice echoed behind Winnie, and she turned to see him standing tall just behind her. When had he woken up?

“‘S right. Rat.”

“But surely that’s…” Winnie fumbled. It wasn’t an unfair comparison, with her mousey features and buck teeth, but she felt guilty for even thinking about it. “That’s not a real name, is it?”

“Don’t see how it’s your problem.” Rat made a face. “‘S my name to do with as I please.”

“Well -- er, Miss Rat--”

“Just Rat. Ain’t no miss about it.”

“Right, of course, er. Rat, then. How old are you?”

“Old enough.” She sneered.

Livia pressed the tip of her blade against the skin of Rat’s throat, gently but definitively. “Miss Ashley, does any of this matter? She’s a child who thought to steal from us.”

“So you threaten her life?” Something like fire lit up her red eyes, and Rhoan’s grip faltered, even if Livia’s did not. “I thought you’d left the Chatvaliers to protect people, not to kill them.” It wasn’t a fair argument, and Winnie knew it. But she wasn’t about to let this slide. “Rhoan, let her go.”

He grimaced.

Her confidence faltered, but she pressed on. “Rhoan.”

He obeyed, and Rat slipped out of reach, rubbing her neck, scowling as she turned her big golden eyes on the rest of them, but she made no further move to escape or attack, or even reach for the small blade strapped to her belt, glinting in the firelight. Doubtless Rat understood what Winnie was reluctant to accept -- one wrong move, and at least two deadly warriors would strike her down in an instant.

Winnie would ensure it did not come to that. She stepped forward again, well aware of Rhoan and Rafe’s eyes on her, Livia’s still trained on Rat. No doubt she was being foolish -- one of the easy pickings for young pickpockets who would fall for a sad story. But she still figured foolishness was better than coldness.

“Rat, could you please answer my question?”

“Already did.”

“I’d like a number, please.”

Rat set her jaw, buck teeth barely poking out from between her lips. “Forteen.”

“Winnie, maybe we…” Rafe tried, but trailed off quickly under Livia’s scrutiny.

“And how long since you’ve last eaten?” Winnie pressed on, no less gently than before.

“Miss Ashley, enough.” Livia stepped forwards again, and Rat backed away. “She could be lying about any of this. If you’re intent on sparing a thief from persecution, turn her out and be done with it.”

“She’s a child, Livia.”

“So are half the criminals in Veroesse. She’s one of the older ones, too.”

“Am not! You’re an ugly liar.”

Livia snarled and grabbed at Rat’s hand. She yanked the glove off and pulled her into the firelight, even as the girl protested and swore. A pale brand bloomed on the back of her hand in the shape of an eagle in flight. “Talonpalm.”

Winnie winced. The talonpalms were one of the three largest thieves’ guilds in Veroesse. She looked away in shame, even as Rat continued to struggle, face pale, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face away.

Rafe found his voice once more, stepping closer and placing a hand on Winnie’s back. “Where’s her talon, then?”

She opened her eyes, looking from him to Rat, cowering from the fire’s heat.

“Least someone has some workin’ eyes,” Rat hissed, still clawing at Livia’s hand.

He squeezed his hand, fighting for strength, and spoke up once more. “Talonpalms are branded for life, but they’re only part of the guild so long as they have their ring. She doesn’t have one anymore.”

“Course not.” But her resolve was fading. She was no further from the fire than when Livia first pulled her over, and sweat was beading on her face.

“Livia, would you please let her go?” Winnie tried.

Llivia did not.

“She hasn’t reached for her knife once. And look at her, she’s scared.”

Rat opened her mouth to protest, but one last glance to the fire had her shutting her mouth again, and looked to Livia pleadingly.

Finally, she did. Rat nearly fell backwards, and instead bolted to Winnie.

Livia’s sword was raised again, and Rhoan spread his hands wide to hold her. But Winnie held a hand up, towards them, catching Rat as she wrapped her arms around Winnie’s middle. She was small, even compared to Winnie, and her head only barely came up to Winnie’s shoulder as she pressed in tight, eyes trained on the other two as if daring them to come any closer.

Winnie wrapped her own arms around Rat’s shoulders. “Let her eat first, at least. It’s not like we’re going to pick the bushes clean on our own, right?”

Tag List: @fearlings-lament @maitretmaitresse @purpleshadows1989 @madammuffins

[lariosrbacreejw68insurance-blog]

URGENT Life insurance MONEY question?

URGENT Life insurance MONEY question?

I am 18 and in a year my boyfriend and I plan to move to brooklyn. My father passed away when I was 12. I have 4 Guadians and they control the money I received from his life insurance. They set up that I don t recieve the money until I m 21. If I can prove I have an apartment and job can I recieve the money when I m 19 ?

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I am 18 and in a year my boyfriend and I plan to move to brooklyn. My father passed away when I was 12. I have 4 Guadians and they control the money I received from his life insurance. They set up that I don t recieve the money until I m 21. If I can prove I have an apartment and job can I recieve the money when I m 19 ?

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I am 18 and in a year my boyfriend and I plan to move to brooklyn. My father passed away when I was 12. I have 4 Guadians and they control the money I received from his life insurance. They set up that I don t recieve the money until I m 21. If I can prove I have an apartment and job can I recieve the money when I m 19 ?

[wontokkiluv97]

Club Love

A few little notes:

I'm real nervous about posting this but hi! This will be multi chaptered & I promise Wonho appears in the next chapter! It's very loosely based on my own experiences hah!

The only warning for now is for profanity I guess, that may change in the future...

This will be cross posted on Ao3 as well

That's it I guess! Hope you enjoy ~♡

"I really don't wanna go to a club this is not my type of thing..." You said with an edge of exasperation seeping through the phone, as you lay in your bed refusing to get up.

"Oh come on (Y/N), we're in freaking Japan you can't just hole yourself up in your room all the time." Your friend Amber replied with a whine in her tone. "You gotta let loose and have some fun sometimes, pull that stick out of your ass for god sake."

"I don't have a stick up my ass, fuck you Amber. I just don't see the appeal of being in a crowded room with the music blasting and being pushed around by a bunch sweaty people. Also, some of us haven't taken 3 semesters of Japanese, it's not like I can even flirt with anyone." You answered a bit sulkily. You were studying abroad in Japan for the semester, and even though you tried to teach yourself as much Japanese as possible before coming, the University you attended until now didn't offer Japanese courses like Amber's did, so you never got a formal Japanese education.

"Flirting has no language just come on it'll be fun!" She begged.

"Alright fine," you answered with a defeated tone, "But I'm gonna have to be drunk for this or it's not gonna happen."

"Of course! Hurry up and get ready, we'll take the train to Shibuya and stop at a Sev and pregame with some Strong Zeros. Meet me downstairs at 11." She blurted excitedly.

"What the hell am I even suppo-" you started before you heard a click indicating that Amber had hung up the phone. You pulled the phone away from your ear and looked at the time, 22:37, before groaning and rolling over onto your stomach and burying your face into the pillow and sighing loudly.

After a minute or 2 you pulled yourself out of bed and walked over to the dresser and began looking for something to wear. You scrutinized your closet for a few more minutes before purposely ignoring your more risqué outfits and settling on a thin cropped black sweater with shoulder cut outs and simple but tight, high-waisted white washed blue jeans. You quickly threw on the outfit then walked over to your bed and sat on the floor, eyeing the few pairs of shoes you brought before deciding against the heels and putting on a simple pair of black flats. You then walked over to the mirror and looked at yourself, debating whether or not it was worth it to put makeup on, before simply applying eyeliner and mascara and being done with it. As you were grabbing your bag and throwing your wallet in it, being sure that your resident's card was in it in case the police decided to stop you since your University threatened they would, Amber was sending text after text telling you to hurry out. You responded quickly telling her to "calm her tits" you grabbed your badge to get back in the dorm and your passmo for the subway and left your room.

______

You, Amber, and another mutual friend Jules, were precariously sitting on a guard rail on the side of the road right next to Seven Eleven, each of you nursing your third strong zero and most certainly feeling a rather strong buzz at this point, arguing about the alcohol content of the regular cans versus the larger cans.

"Dude, that doesn't even make sense." You argued squinting at Amber and pointing a finger in her direction.

"How does it not make sense?" She questioned right back, "If I'm drinking a tall strong zero, it's like drinking 2 regular strong zeros and therefore has an 18% alcohol content."

"Are you stupid?" Jules jabbed at Amber. "Both the regular and tall strong zeros are labeled as 9% alcohol, which means drinking 2 small ones will get you more drunk than one tall one."

"That still sounds wrong to me..." you replied hesitantly, because for some reason Jules' argument was swaying you when you knew if you hadn't been drinking at all, you wouldn't have given it a second thought. "Either way I think the fact that we are having this conversation proves that we are well on our way to being drunk so we should chug the last of these and head to the club." You said before doing just that with the last of yours and cringing at the aftertaste. You really weren't a fan of grapefruit but it was the only flavor they had left at the Seven Eleven.

"Oh, someone's impatient considering I had to drag your ass here in the first place." Amber commented with a smirk before her and Jules finished their drinks as well.

"Don't let the alcohol get to your head. You couldn't drag me anywhere if you tried."

"Sure babe whatever helps you sleep at night." Jules replied with snark.

"You know, I'm feeling really attacked right now, maybe I should just go home." You replied sarcastically.

"And waste a perfectly good buzz? Nah, lets go." Amber answered as she got off the guard rail and you and Jules followed behind her, since she knew where the club was.

_____

"TADA!" Amber screeched. "Welcome to Camelot, AKA the best club in Shibuya!"

"How do you know it's the best club in Shibuya?" You asked sarcastically. "Have you been to every club here?"

"I know you're trying to be funny but I honestly probably have, you know I go clubbing on weekdays too."

"Yeah I know, because you always miss class the next day and ask me for notes. Honestly they can fail your ass for breaking the attendance policy."

"I'd like to see them try."

"Can y'all shut up so we can go inside?" Jules asked heading into the club and you and Amber continued to bicker as you followed behind her.

You all walked down the stairs to the front desk gave the attendent your residence cards to inspect and paid the 1500 yen entrance fee for the club. She gave all three of you 2 free drink tokens and permitted you to enter the club. The club had several small circular tables spread throughout where there were various people smoking and drinking. Straight ahead was the bar in which there was a small line of people waiting their turn to order drinks. Further to your right you analyzed the dance floor where there was a small crowd of people dancing and jumping up and down. There was a fog machine periodically adding more fog to the atmosphere and red green and blue flashing lights. At the very front of the dance floor there was a stage with a DJ hyping up the crowd. There were three platforms on the dance floor that only girls were permitted to dance on. No one explicity told you that, but you assumed that was the case when you saw security guards pull guys down from the platform if they attempted to get on them. The music was so loud you couldn't hear Amber trying to get your attention so she smacked your arm instead.

"Ow you bitch, what do you want?!" You asked loudly, trying to raise your voice over the music.

"Do you have 100 yen?" Amber questioned.

"Yeah, for what?"

"There are some lockers over there we can put our stuff in, it cost 300 yen for the night. I figure we could all just share one for 100 yen each."

"Sounds good to me! C'mon let's go." Jules shouted.

The three of you walked to the locker room, taking some money out of your bags before stuffing them in the locker and taking the key. Your friends left the key in your care since even though you were all a little drunk already, you were known to be the more responsible one. You all left the locker room and walked to the bar and used your first drink tokens. Amber and Jules got tequila sunrises while you just got whiskey on the rocks. Not the tastiest but hey, if you're gonna make it through this night you're gonna need to be much more drunk and it needs to be right now.

"Hey Y/N!" Jules shouted both her and Amber already finished with their drinks. "C'mon let's go dance on the podiums!"

"I'll meet you guys there! Lemme just finish my drink." You yelled back and the others nodded in agreement before running over to the podiums and jumping up on them, dancing like maniacs immediately. You sighed as you downed the rest of your whiskey, and shook off that familiar burn. You mumbled to yourself as you walked over to join them.

"God it's gonna be a long night..."

[blackrose-ffxiv]

A Few Changes 09/04

Lebeaux Desrosiers tilted his head and swept a hand aside to gesture towards the hallway nearby. “Shall we? I’ve made a few changes since your last visit. And I see you have as well.” He noted, glancing at the miqo’te’s slicked back hair.

Kyt'ir Gahre glanced upwards, glancing at an errant bang that simply refused to follow the rest. "Finally, someone noticed." He mumbled, sounding rather disappointed at everyone else's lack of attention. "After you. Something tells me we both have tales to regale one another with... hopefully yours are more exciting, though." Modest as ever, the Keeper strolled over.

Lebeaux =smiiiiiled. “It makes that gouge across your face more noticeable.” He explained, turning on his heel to make his way back towards his offices. “Hm, tales of woe and haircuts, it sounds just the thing to be shared over tea.” He mused as he went in first, leaving the door open behind him for the miqo’te.

Kyt'ir's expression froze, quite unsure how to process that scathing remark. "...I knew I should've brought some Antidote, with a venomous tongue like that." He quipped in response. Once he was inside, he set his pack down by the door, an audible clink of glasses rattling against one another despite his best efforts to be delicate.

Lebeaux exhaled a flat little chuckle as he led the way into the rooms and immediately settled himself into a large chair. A hand waved towards tea service nearby, complete with savory and sweet snacks. “Help yourself, if you’ve been wandering around like a pack mule you’ve likely worked up a hunger.” His icy eyes darted towards the pack. “I assure you my venom isn’t deadly in small doses. Yet, if not antidotes, have you perchance brought me a gift rattling around there in your bag. A little office-warming present?”

Kyt'ir glanced down at the pack. "Been ferrying some of my wares about. Part of the tales to regale you with. Not sure if you have any fondness for rolanberry liqueur, but if so... I can leave a bottle behind." He mused as he settled himself down onto the couch, taking up a seat near the Elezen. "Or what warding potions I have left. Something tells me you would find some sort of use for them." That saintly, knowing little smile again, interrupted only for him to take a little sip of tea.

“Oh? Sounds quaint. I’ll accept the gift, though in the future do bear in mind I prefer brandy.” Lebeaux suggested, smiling serenely back at the other. “Mmm, well. Where to begin.” He reached over to the smoking box beside himself to prepare a pipe instead of a cup of tea, packing somnus lightly into it with his gloved pinkie. “I seem to have gotten myself into a spot of trouble with a disgruntled conjurer and he took it upon himself to rearrange my offices. With conjury. Shattered the floor with stones, water everywhere, furniture torn to shreds by wind.” He exhaled a long suffering sigh and placed a hand on his own cheek in a gesture of theatrical dismay. “It was a tragedy.”

Kyt'ir =quietly sipped his tea. "That would explain the extensive remodeling. It does seem to have turned out well... I hope he isn't bothering you anymore?" He murmured, making a mental note to bring brandy next time. He would not admit it out loud, but he felt a tad silly for forgetting such an important detail.

A shoulder rolled in a small shrug. “He’s been dealt with and will repay me for the damages.” Along with the one who dared to tell him where to find the Ishgardian. “Turns out he’s rather useful so he has been ‘tour guiding’ my research jaunts to the Shroud.” Lebeaux slipped the pipe between his lips and lit it, puffing gently at it before exhaling fragrant smoke. “How have you come to be a well-groomed potion peddler? Seems rather a step down. Have you been taking any custom orders as of yet? A problem presented to you solved in a bottle in a few days?” He took another slow drag on the pipe before he held it out, offering it to the other to enjoy a little somnus as well.

Kyt'ir's expression flickered, lighting up ever so slightly. It was either the pipe, or the proposition, the Keeper pausing to respond. "Of course. For a moderate fee, of course. Can't work for free. ...did you have something in mind?" He let that question hang while he brought the pipe to his lips, drawing in a slow, leisurely breath while his violet eyes honed in on Lebby. His business sense was already tingling.

Lebeaux leaned an elbow on the edge of his chair and settled his chin in his palm, smiling all the while as the miqo’te reached for the pipe and took a small drag. The alchemist already seemed intrigued. “Well, it’s troublesome finding a reliable alchemist. Even more so if you want one that’s discreet. Without having to resort to blackmail and confidentiality contracts.”

Kyt'ir canted his head as he took in a breath, finally letting it out in a low puff. "You know, sitting beside the stained glass windows in this light, you cut an almost sinister appearance. Was that intentional?" He quipped, flashing that saintly smile - when on earth did he get  so good at it? - before going back to idly puffing on the pipe. "Do continue, though."

Lebeaux placed a hand upon his own chest, lowering his gaze to glance aside as he smiled ever so sweetly. A perfect recreation of some Ishgardian saint or another from a classical painting. Yes, it was intentional. “Most Keepers who visit despise it. Too much light, they complain. I rather enjoy the constant reminder of divinity. After all, it’s Her spear and shield that guide me.” With that little act completed he held out his hand to take the pipe back so he could have a few more puffs on it. Perhaps he would have to look into getting another if this was to become a regular thing. “It’s a straightforward deal. Should I have a problem I require fixed, I will send for you. If you can fix it, you will be compensated accordingly. If not, we’ll never speak of it again.”

Kyt'ir's ears twitched, the Keeper giving a mock little pout as he gave the pipe up, passing it back over to the Elezen. "Mh. Seems straight forward enough, and gives me reason to research and push the boundaries so to speak." He murmured, going back to nursing at his tea as he mulled over the idea. "It sounds good to me. Just so long as you don't ask for a potion to turn lead into gold."

Lebeaux scoffed at the idea. He accepted the pipe and rose to his feet, moving over to join the Keeper on the couch. “Then I’ll give you a little challenge to get you started.” He explained, taking a slow drag on the pipe before he handed it over to the other again. It was easier to share from here. “Something to keep a mage from casting. A silencing potion, the effects need only last a bell or so. Yet I want it to be untraceable. Say if…” he glanced over at the table. “I were to mix it in their tea.”

Kyt'ir raised an eyebrow, glancing down into the tea - before simply nonchalantly taking another sip, finishing off his cup. If it were laced, he was doomed half a bell ago. "That would be straight forward enough. A little venom from a dart frog, ochu vine... could disguise it as a herbal tea, though it'd need to be sweetened to cover the bitterness. Not to mention the metallic taste from the quicksilver..." He mused aloud, before taking the pipe in hand. Brow furrowed, he took a more determined puff from his pipe. "The trick would be making it like your usual tea, assuming your target would notice you deviating from your routine."

@kytir

[mollymauk-teafleak]

my heart is hitting the ground (Chapter Two)

Second part of my Urban Fantasy/College AU for widomauk! A huge and sincere thanks to @minky-for-short for talking me through writer’s block and reminding me what colour Mollymauk’s eyes are when I forgot :’) Also thanks to my ever patient girlfriend @soft-bram for letting me go on and on about Critical Role all the time. 

And the biggest thanks ever to @rabdoidal who inspired this whole fic with his incredible fan art which I really just can’t get enough of, he’s an insanely talented artist

Please reblog and let me know what you thought, feedback really means a lot to writers

First Chapter | Ao3 | Ko-fi

Mollymauk had apparently learned nothing from last week when the pen he was chewing thoughtfully on cracked in his mouth and spilled ink over his tongue, staining it a colour not far from the colour of his skin for nearly a day. He just couldn’t help it, especially not when the random scraps of lyrics he had floating around in his brain were stubbornly refusing to properly arrange themselves into a song. He sighed in frustration at the journal page, still blank after half an hour, and rearranged himself on the sofa he was currently splayed across, throwing one leg over the back of it and flicking his tail idly from side to side, as if that would rattle something loose.

“You can do that in your room you know,” Yasha commented flatly from the kitchen table, not looking up from her breakfast or her newspaper.

“I like the light better in here!” Molly insisted, arching back off the arm of the sofa so he could eye her from upside down, “And besides, what’s the point of sighing if no one hears me?”

“What indeed…” his roommate muttered, rolling her eyes. Not that she’d expected anything else from him, “I just wouldn’t spend too much time on that couch, is all. It’s probably got fleas or something, I found it on the end of the block. Didn’t get a chance to clean it yet.”

Molly wrinkled his nose, jumping up so quickly he nearly ran into the coffee table, “Yasha! You promised me no more street furniture!”

“Hey,” Yasha jerked her spoon at him, “I carried that single handed all the way up to this apartment so some appreciation would be nice.”

Molly stuck his tongue out at her as he folded his lanky body into the chair across from her, slapping his notebook down between them, as if that was going to jostle the odd words and phrases into a proper song.

Yasha pulled a face, “Look, I’ll stop getting couches off the street if you start wearing some damn clothes around here.”

Molly huffed and twitched the silk robe he was wearing (sort of wearing) until it covered a little more of his chest and thighs, knotting it loosely. As far as he was concerned, a pair of underwear and a robe was perfectly acceptable attire for noon on a Sunday but he knew better than to push Yasha too far. She could pick him up all the way off the floor if she wanted to.

He ran his fingers through his bedraggled hair, lying tangled around his horns in the way it always did without nearly an hour of dedicated grooming in front of the bathroom mirror. “I’m having a brain block,” he announced grandly, trying to get his roommate’s attention back on him.

“Are you now?” Yasha didn’t sound particularly interested as she flicked a page over idly, wondering how her attempts to get him to go to his room had been interpreted as an invitation to disrupt her morning even further.

“I am,” Molly frowned, splaying across the table to see if he could get in her eyeline, “I’m having feelings, Yash, big feelings. But they won’t turn into songs. If I can’t properly channel my emotions into my art, I’m never going to be a successful musician.”

Yasha flashed him a look, making no effort to hide her exasperation, “You know, I bet most successful musicians don’t spend their time lounging all over their apartments in their underwear. Maybe actually doing something would help. Like sorting the laundry you said you’d do three days ago or actually getting some fresh air and natural sunlight. You could come to the gym with me? Endorphins, man.”

Molly clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Not a great idea. Hooked up with the guy at the front desk and haven’t called him back.”

Yasha pinched the bridge of her nose, scowling, “I told you…I fucking told you that was a bad idea,  if I have to avoid another place because of you, I can’t keep up…”

The tiefling drowned out her grumbling with another world-weary sigh, not in the mood to hear her opinions on his love life yet again, “I just feel so…out of sorts…” he slapped his hand on the table decisively, as if struck by an ingenious realisation, nearly upending the vase of flowers, “I should smoke some more weed! That always gets the lyrics flowing!”

Defeated, the newspaper was flipped closed and a pair of heavy lidded, mismatched eyes fixed sternly on Molly. In signing up to be his roommate, after a few months of working together at the community theatre, she hadn’t realised she’d also become his guitarist, his life coach, his impulse control and his guardian angel as well. It wasn’t exactly what she’d wanted but Molly cooked like a dream and didn’t keep her up all night so she’d learned to stomach it.

“Kay,” she told him sternly, “We’re gonna swap out the drugs for a more socially acceptable one and get you out of the apartment. Go fetch some coffee.”

The tiefling’s face fall, “Aw, come on, it’s not my turn! ! And besides, I hate ordering for you, the barista looks at me like I’m crazy when I ask for six espresso shots in one cup…”

“Bullshit, I went the day before yesterday.”

The two stared at each other, Molly’s restless red eyes fixed on Yasha’s heavily eyeliner ringed ones. After a few moments, they both shrugged holding out their fists and tapping them three times against the table. Yasha threw scissors, Molly threw paper.

He wailed at his defeat, “You always go scissors!”

She arched her eyebrow at him, “Then why don’t you always go rock, smart guy?”

He had no answer to that but to reach over and knock her paper off the table, like a particularly ornery cat, before getting up and flouncing off in a whirl of embroidered black silk and a flash of a middle finger, slamming the door to his bedroom for good measure.

Yasha huffed out a low rumbling chuckle as the noise of the moodiest shower ever taken echoed through their tiny, cramped apartment. She wondered briefly if her idiot of a best friend was actually going to realise what was bothering him so much, what was written so clearly on his face and in the way he’d been fidgeting all over the place for hours now.

If he didn’t catch on soon, she was going to have to tell him. No way in hell she was dealing with a moony eyed, love struck Mollymauk for much longer.

Knowing how much he hated the cold and seeing the fractal dusting of frost clinging to the outside of his tiny window, Molly dressed accordingly in billowy harem pants and a tight turtleneck sweater which was a bitch to get over his horns but he looked so good in it, it was decidedly worth it. As he tamed his hair, his sharp face illuminated by the fairy lights he wound around his mirror, he found his thoughts drifting away from the soft song emanating from his aged little radio, even though it was a favourite, and back to last night.

It had been a pretty good gig, all things considered. The crowd was a little thin but that was always true of their shows no matter how many flyers Molly hopefully pasted in the windows of the borough book shops and music shops and all over the academy’s campus. The underground bar didn’t have a dry ice machine, which was a little disappointing but he’d remembered all the words and Yasha hadn’t missed a single note, as dependable as she ever was. It was the kind of gig he usually firmly told himself afterwards, usually after patronising the bar itself and blowing most of their fee, would just be a stepping stone to bigger and better things.

So why couldn’t he get the night out of his head?

Well, there was that guy.

The guy with the long hair and the cute, if a little indistinguishable, accent and the look of someone who’d ran through a thrift shop with a blindfold on to choose his clothes. Molly had never actually had someone approach him after any of his shows, much less someone who’d actually praised his songs rather than asking him to keep it down. Sure, the guy had been plastered and swayed where he was standing but Molly was taking all the positive feedback he could get right now.

And he’d asked for his number. And honestly, past the slurring that meant he wasn’t sure if his name was Caleb or Callum and the spilling some of his loosely held drink on Molly’s boots, it was a face he’d be more than happy to see in daylight.

Molly turned the brush wrong, distracted, and accidentally yanked on his hair, making him hiss in pain. Sighing he tossed it over his shoulder and shrugged into his coat.

He was being stupid. As much as Yasha had teased him about the guy, asking if that was the future Mr Tealeaf he was talking to, finally found after all this searching, Molly had only flicked her with his tail and rolled his eyes, insisting that the prospect of that name would send him running for sure, if nothing else did. And it wasn’t like much searching had ever gone on, there was no sense in searching for something that didn’t exist. As nice as it would be.

The tiefling winced at the cold as he left their apartment building and began to stride as fast as he could through the nearly empty streets, everyone else clearly having something far better to be doing with their Sunday. The frost and the wind froze the last of his hope from the night before. Most likely the cute guy had woken up, probably with a gross taste in his mouth and a pounding headache, regretting their conversation with a passion. Most likely Mollymauk had been given up as a bad decision, and not for the first time in his life, lined up along with those last few whiskeys he’d noticed the guy knocking back.

Molly remembered noting it with appreciation, whiskey was such a pleasant thing to taste in a kiss…

He sighed, heading for the café they always frequented, just a few blocks away. Maybe next time.

[butterflyspeaks96]

Marijuana(may 15 22)

Marijuana for me is more than just something to do, it’s more than just something that calms me(actually it can do the exact opposite), it has taught me so much and shown me so much of myself because in a sense it forces me to pay attention.

For me sense a kid, weed was always around. And honestly, I’d rather my future kid be a pothead over everything else they could do these days. My parents smoked, everyone that came thru smoked. My grandparents smoked. My actual father smoked. Everyone smoked. Weed and cigs. Which for the life of me I’m trying to put cigs down. (That shit really can be as difficult as fuck) Anyways. It was always around. I think I smoked a leaf 🤣🤦‍♀️ the first time when I was 13. I felt kinda a nicotine buzz.

I got stonnneddd the first time with my cousin. I think I waited a year or two. I stole it from parents. (I did that a lot actually. Shhhh confession time) uhhh but that’s when I was like okay I kinda like this.

I got insanely stoned the first time with my cousin when we were watching the house for the weekend for my parents. Their weed also funded our whole weekend getting higher than kites. I will never fucking forget 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🙈 I got to the point where I was pacing back and forth. (Looking back this experience is actually extremely nice and funny to look at, it was one of my first spiritual experiences that asleep me had no idea about) but I was pacing back and forth and I said to my cousin “it’s like.....I’m here....but I’m not really here.....it’s like...I’m home....but I’m not really home....like I’m here but I’m not here dude”

Looking back weed has always done something to me. It became blatantly in my face in 2021. Some shit happened, & I will never question myself again in situations like that because weather my brain jumped to an extreme or not in that situation, my intuition had been trying to scream at me for months so it went a bit crazy to get my fucking attention.

August of 2021, I stopped smoking. I couldn’t. I was always paranoid around people when i smoked. I was paranoid at home when I was smoking. It just wasn’t fun. I figured I needed a break. I started therapy, got on some mental meds. I needed anxiety meds, weed in a round about way helped me see that about myself.

Are you following yet?

So, I got back on meds. Therapy was good, I unpacked my past relationship trauma. And we took the rose colored glasses off of what I actually went through. Of course I was always anxious, depressed, pissed, distancing. Not only was I personally going through my childhood and trying to unpack that, I was fucking dealing with someone who was a narcissist (and if you know me, actually know me. I hate labels and labeling people and passing judgement). My body was in a constant state of flight or fight for at least 3 years, which to me didn’t seem bad because I had dealt with the same shit as a kid. So it was normal to me. Until I looked myself in the mirror, cried, laid on the ground literally, cried. Screamed. Punched my bed. Started smoking weed again slowly.

At first I wouldn’t talk to anyone when I smoked weed again. I wrote a lot, I’d jam to music. Slowly but surely I realized when I’d start crying stoned I could feel Brittany. I can’t fucking tell you how I know it’s her, I can’t tell you how I fee it and it’s almost like she can talk to me. I can’t tell you how many night’s I’ve felt her come cuddle me. I don’t know who else I feel. But my brittbrat is one I’ve felt from day one. And I know her death catapulted my spiritual shit for sure.

So now, I started testing it. My cousin, I could be stoned and talk to on messenger. Gram I could smoke with because well she’s as blunt as they come so as blunt as I got I knew she could handle it or would giggle cause she’d realize I was like her. Mom I could always be stoned around, but I realized smoking with her I got extremely anxious, and tired, & kinda pissy and a little achy(that’s important). Keep following.

Smoking with gram helped me realize my brattiness (it applies to multiple parts of my life, you have to know me now to get it). I’m blunt, but I still try to be empathetic and understand other people’s emotions when I speak my truth if it’s something I know may hurt someone. However, smoking with gram got me to realization that when she was anxious, I was anxious, this is where my grounding practices came in and I still have to use from time to time to get myself back to me.

You see I’m empathetic. I’m highly empathetic. I’m highly sensitive. I can read energy, even if I act like I can’t sometimes. Doesn’t mean I will make note and act on your energy I can read, until it’s verbalized and communicated, I spent way tooo much of my life doing that shit.

When I partake in smoking weed, the veil thins for me, extremely! It took a long time for me to be able to handle the intensity that can come at me sometimes even alone. This is why I will only smoke with certain people. This is why I don’t smoke with just anyone, and need to get to know you before I smoke with you. It’s like putting my gifts I walk around sober with on steroids. It’s intense and it took me a second to actually accept these gifts and believe in them, and most importantly believe in myself.

So moral of the story. Weed can be potent. Be mindful of yourself. Not everyone is just a pothead. Some people actually use it for solid reasons. Don’t ask why someone won’t smoke with you if you know they smoke. Respect everyone’s process. But most importantly.

Where ever you are on your journey is where you need to be. Love that and accept that fact and take a deep breath. They’re will always be more work to do. We’re never done. Breathe. Just keep breathing. (That last one was brit coming out in me). Rest. But always get back up. You were born for this. You were built for this. Things crumble so other things can come together. Breathe. Keep fucking going.