#i swear it makes sense to me it makes so much sense

[mono-dot-jpeg]

three hot professors - jayce, viktor

summary; a story about the three hot professors who work at piltover university

genre/extra tags; oneshot, comedy, fluff, modern au, piltover zaun kind of exists, but it's more like good side of town and bad side of town kind of, started this idea at 3am, some sexual themes, i say some but i literally write moments of the sex, jayce viktor and reader are in fact the hot professors, everyone wants you three but they cant have yall ‼️, viktor FUCKS and im tired of pretending he leans sub, I SWEAR I LOVE JAYCE BUT IM SO ASS AT WRITING HIM, SORRY JAYCE ENJOYERS </3 HIS PART IS SO SHORT, reader is implied to wear some type of makeup but during sex mostly

[nsfw] [gender neutral! reader]

[warnings and mentions: oral, everyone is a switch, dom leaning! viktor, sub leaning! jayce, vers! reader, sex toy, viktor grabs ass in public /hj, mean viktor (i say mean viktor but im so bad at writing mean), hickeys, lipstick... kink??? marking kink?? idk how to warn this correctly, degradation??? , praise, pet nicknames (puppy, good boy, etc.), somehow no p in v involved or p in ass. can you tell i dont write smut]

word count; 1.01k

a/n; i got a little horny seeing some fine fan art of them as professors. like what else do i have to say. i can't stop minors from reading this, but i cant say i didn't warn them. also this is kind of not my first time writing nsfw, but as a neutral feeling towards sex asexual, it's always a little awkward for me to write for stuff like this. so if it's like kind of odd, im blaming it on that and not my questionable writing skills. HAPPY 2K FOLLOWERS LMAOAOAO this is my celebration post /j

everyone in piltover knows about the staff of their prestigious university. it's kind of common sense as the university is the pinnacle of everything.

but the interest of the professors was usually the highest. whether it was because of how good they were in terms of teaching.. or how hot they were.

some liked mr. talis. jayce talis. a man who had an affinity to connect with his students and guide them forward. he was lovely as a professor or a person. he was definitely the golden man that people looked up to as he was an alumni.

the man of progress, the teacher for the people. that was jayce talis.

he was strong, sweet, compassionate. he was built strong but he was humble. he had so much love in his heart. he was a little gullible at times but he was loved by you and viktor all the same. you both teased him everyday and he never got mad. he was truly a golden retriever at heart.

he was always excited every time either of you entered his office, even if it was to make him so needy and scrambled until the day ended. most students don't exactly know where those new lipstick marks on his neck come from but some can see the leftover lipstick on your face as you wipe it off with a satisfied grin.

"isn't he so pretty like this?" viktor hums, his bad leg rests over the shoulder of the larger male. "he's- ngh.. so eager. so desperate. ah.."

"he's so good for us, vik." your hand gently guides jayce to keep going down on viktor, soon trailing up on viktor's inner thigh with a sensitive touch that has the male shivering at your nails. "he's making you shake, love. you see that, jayce? you're such a good boy." you praise. viktor loved and hated when you both ganged up on him like this.

his pale hand wraps to hold the back of your neck before he dives right to littering your neck with hickeys and wet kisses. his free hand cups your waist, tugging you closer to let him comfortably attack your neck like a hungry vampire. you give viktor your fair share of kisses, your lipstick stains viktor's face and neck. it would definitely take more than a few makeup wipes to take it off of him. or maybe he would leave some stains behind. it must be known that he clearly belongs to you.

jayce pauses when he realizes he's not getting the attention he wants. he whines into viktor's thigh, looking up at the man with pleading puppy eyes. viktor looks down with a mischievous glint in his eye. "our dear puppy wants attention.. perhaps we shall give him what he so desires..?"

you look down at jayce with a much softer look, hand cupping his face so gently as he leans into your touch. his face was wet from taking viktor's cock in his mouth.

"please," he begs as he moves to crowd your lap, tugging at your delicate lingerie. his heated breath hits your thighs as you let out a breathy sigh. "i want you and viktor..."

"look at him, love. how can you deny such a look?"

it was no secret that you, viktor, and jayce were the faces of piltover university. viktor, being sharp faced and sculpted with love, you really could trace over his body for hours and admire every part of him. it totally wasn't the innate artist in you, drooling over how he was just so utterly paintable. he could've been in a renaissance painting and no one would bat an eye.

viktor was a beautiful man. he was intelligent, passionate, caring, mischievous.. oh, he was just something unreal. he never let his body stop him from helping others when he could or teasing you and jayce when he felt like it.

he'd never say it outloud but you and jayce know that he just loves to play around. play doesn't seem like the right word when he subtly brushes his hand to grip at your ass in the middle of a university wide event where all the students and teachers were gathered around.

or when he uses his cane to hook jayce around the waist and nearly tug him to sit onto his good leg and be the sweet lapdog jayce always was for viktor. sometimes he also grabs at jayce's ass because you don't give him the cute yelp that jayce does whenever he gets teased by either of you.

he was as beautiful as he was domineering when it came to you and jayce.

"vik- viktor- please.." your voice is weak and breathless as you squirm against jayce's hold. his body pressed around your back as he gives you the soft affection while viktor ruins your body. his skinny hands tease and trace at your wet body, one hand holds a small vibrator before pressing it against the edges of your hole. he teases your body relentlessly with a sly grin on his face.

"viktor? i don't think we agreed on calling me that this time around, sweetheart. you don't want to be a bad sweetheart, yes?" as he continues to tease you, the vibrator almost slides right into your needy hole with how wet it was. it makes viktor chuckle lowly, "sweetheart.. answer me properly.."

"s-sir.. please let me cum.."

"i don't know.. should we let them?" viktor asked jayce as if pushing him to be a little mean to you as well. "they're all ready to cum without us even entering them." viktor tugs the vibrator wire away, leaving you to whine and crumble in jayce's arms as you beg incoherently.

jayce looks at your tear stained face and he can't help the need to tease you and ruin you the way viktor does. "i think we should teach them how to cum with only our cocks." you can feel a heavy familiar warmth that rests on your lower body and upper thigh. you're about to be taught a real lesson.

[rosy-crow]

On one hand, I need to calm the fuck down about Sephiroth and stop giving into Twitter to debate lore. I KNOW I’m better than this lmao.

On the other hand, I see people genuinely angry about “how Crisis Core ruined Sephiroth by killing part of his agency through Genesis,” and “how having friends made him less cool,” and “how all the Compilation is humanizing him too much and taking away his mystery,” and “how he went evil for no reason,” and “how he was always an asshole that saw himself as superior to others and only broke down because he found out he wasn’t all that.”

I see unironic worship of “canon” traits he has that apparently mark him as a perverted alpha daddy dom sex god instead of the actual raging, delusional murderer with a loathing for all life he becomes for a reeeeeeeally key and important reason.

I see remarks like “I hate how First Soldier is ruining my favorite character and taking away more of his agency,” when said “favorite character” is Sephiroth’s most surface-level traits as a villain with no further depth and he has to be cool and perfect 100% of the time or else he isn’t Sephiroth anymore and he’s suddenly “badly written.”

That’s not the same character.

Yes, I know.

Why am I mad that one of the most beautifully designed and canonically objectified and powerfully portrayed and sensually voiced and thirstily fawned over characters in video game history is being reduced to singular traits???

I don’t know.

How can I demand the luxury of rage when faced with such odds.

What did I expect.

Yeah, this one’s on me.

[ugh-yoongi]

the great british fake-off | xmh

you thought the guy in the hawaiian-print shirt who seems physically incapable of being quiet would be the most annoying person here, so imagine your shock when it's xu minghao, who has seemingly decided you're the enemy and keeps sabotaging you. a baking competition for charity might have others on their best behavior, but what's a little sugar without some spice?

❆ pairing: minghao x reader ❆ genre: great british bake-off, holiday au; crack, fluff ❆ wordcount: 5.5k ❆ rating: e for everyone ❆ warnings: some swearing, minghao is a saboteur, idiots abound. ❆ credits: this netflix psd template for the banner. this recipe for the yule log; this recipe for the gingerbread house; and this recipe for the entremet. divider from here. this post for the divider. this was roughly edited by me, so any and all mistakes are my own. ❆ written for: the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories as they're posted. ♡ ❆ author's note: i had this rotting away in my wips since literally 2021, so even though it started as a completely different story, i'm so glad it's finally seeing the light of day even if it's not what i originally intended. (also, i know the banner says 12 contestants but the holiday specials only had a couple, okay. i forgot when i made it and i wasn't going back to fix it.)

The obnoxious one is wearing an aloha-print shirt.

He’s also extremely loud, his raucous, fake laughter filling every corner of the large warehouse you’ve been assigned to for filming. Makes a show of batting his eyelashes, throwing his head back every time someone cracks a joke that’s not even funny, comes up with nonsensical nicknames for the entire crew just to suck up to them.

“John Davies? Mind if I call you Joe?”

Joe doesn’t even make sense as a nickname for John, but John fucking loves it, apparently. Looks at the annoying guy like he just watched him string the stars in the sky.

But it’s the shirt—god, the shirt drives you absolutely crazy. He’s about to go on national television, be a household name, and some ill-fitting, charity shop Hawaiian print shirt is what he woke up and chose to wear. What’s his angle here? Appeal to the public with some sob story about only being able to afford second-hand clothes so that’s why he’s competing? Needs the money to care for a sick relative?

(The expensive watch on his wrist and his limited-drop sneakers tell an entirely different story, but you’re keeping that to yourself for now. No reason to play your hand so early.)

As much as you hate the shirt, you have to admit it suits him. The colors are garish and unsightly, just as obnoxious as he is, and you can’t stare at it too long because you start going cross-eyed. Looking at him feels about the same as stuffing your mouth with a bunch of sour candies: you get that same burn in the back of your jaw, same scrunched-up, grossed-out look on your face; have to squeeze your eyes shut to blink back tears.

You don’t even know his name, but you hate him immediately.

Your eyes scan the other contestants. None of them inspire the same level of animosity within you as the annoying one does; all of them nearly unremarkable. A variety of ages, appearances, backgrounds. You hear one say they’re a retired investment banker. There’s an accountant, a teacher, a fucking aerospace engineer.

And then it’s his turn to introduce himself. He clears his throat, speaks with an easy, practiced confidence. Completely void of nerves. Makes eye contact with everyone in your conversation circle. Gesticulates wildly as he speaks, immediately endears everyone to him.

“I’m Tim,” he says, and you nearly recoil at how honeyed his voice is. “But you can call me Tim. I’m thirty-eight, originally from a small town. Work as a…”

You can barely stand to listen to it anymore, each “Nice to meet you, Tim!” like another punch to the gut. How can’t these people see right through him? How are they falling for his bullshit? You should’ve known. Producers always throw in at least one bomb to up the ratings—a secret millionaire, someone rude and confrontational, a flat-earther. Even if you’re competing in a charity baking competition, of all things, it’s still reality television at the end of the day.

Just because the bunch of you are going to spend the next few days creating confections out of sugar, spice, and everything nice, doesn’t mean you have to be part of that ‘everything.’

Tim thinks he’s got this in the bag. Thinks he’s going to show up and win easily, the rest of you be damned, and even if you are typically a very nice person, you’re also highly competitive. There’ll be no rolling over done by you, and if Tim wants to play dirty—

Game on.

As you introduce yourself, you feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. Probably because you don’t bother with the faux-humility the rest of the contestants have. Polite and charming but firm, just the way your mother had taught you. You’re not boisterous, don’t crack silly jokes to play up to the cameras the way Tim loves to do, and you know he’s scrutinizing you the way you’d done to him, trying to figure out your angle.

Well, joke’s on him—you don’t need one.

And you really, really hope it drives him crazy.

Except maybe the joke is on you, too, because you don’t account for Xu Minghao.

In true reality television fashion, the tent is boiling hot.

As if the universe itself had looked down on all of you and decided what you all needed was a heatwave uncharacteristic of this time of year, just to up the ante. Not even ten minutes in the tent and you’re all fanning yourselves and wafting air up your shirts. Which is great, really, because it isn’t like you need to use ovens or stand over hot burners. It’s not like you aren’t going to be soaking through your clothes with anxiety sweats, either! Sweat dripping off your brow into your eyes won’t matter because you don’t need to use them.

Everything’s going to be fine!

But everything is not fine. Not only has the universe gifted you with sweltering heat, it’s given you the work station directly next to Tim’s. You’ll have to feel his annoying, off-putting aura near you for the entire competition. There’s always the possibility of him bungling it and making an early exit, but you know that’s unlikely. Obnoxious he may be, you also know a strong opponent when you see one, and something tells you you’re going to be stuck with him for the long haul.

Think of the cats, you tell yourself. All of this is for the cats.

It’s not like you never would’ve returned here of your own volition. No, your first go-round with feel-good, competition-based reality television had gone fine. You hadn’t won, of course, because you wouldn’t be here again if you had, but you placed respectably in the top three. Became a fan favorite, too, which was arguably more lucrative than winning. People make a living on social media these days.

So, it’s not the competition itself that has you white-knuckled gripping onto the edge of your station. It’s the man at the one beside you, cracking all these stupid jokes about the weather and how it’s a horrible day for tempering chocolate, so he bets that’s going to be the first challenge!

You suck in a deep breath. Try to remember the breathing exercises from that one yoga class your sister had dragged you to. It had been about the same temperature then, too—well duh, it’s hot yoga, your sister had said, which was news to you, because you never would’ve signed up for something called hot yoga willingly. Still, you endured it, just like you’ll endure this, and a little sweat is not going to get in the way of you delivering a check to all those poor, sad cats without families.

“Psst, hey,” you hear from behind you. When you turn, a man is smirking at you as he finishes tying his apron around his waist—has to wrap the strings around twice, you notice, because only someone hand-picked by the gods themselves would have that shoulder-to-waist ratio.

You don’t really recognize him. Can’t recall his name or where he’s from; can’t remember what he mentioned doing for a living. Probably something artsy, if you had to guess—he definitely has the style and demeanor of a creative, with his trendy shag-mullet and the multicolored, glitter-y snowflakes decorating his nails.

You aren’t sure he introduced himself at all, but the confidence with which he holds himself—easy, like it’d take a national emergency to rattle him even a little—implies he doesn’t really have to. Most of the people here already know him, if you had to guess, and he gives the impression that he’s not fussed with impressing any of them.

If only Tim was so inclined.

You clear your throat, vaguely aware you need to respond. “Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Ah, I don’t think so? We’ve done this before, after all. We should be seasoned veterans by now.”

He smirks. “Should be,” he emphasizes. “Feels different when it’s for charity. Extra serious, you know?”

“Right,” you agree, taking a look around the tent. “Anything for the cats.”

There’s an immediate shift in the atmosphere. What was friendly and carefree is now tense; where a smile and a floral giggle sat on the man’s lips has been replaced with a crooked scowl. And it doesn’t make sense, all you’d done was agree with what he said, but then the producers are yelling something at the front of the tent, cameramen are rushing to their equipment, and a woman appears at your side and starts clipping equipment to your clothes, and there’s no time to question it. On your right, Tim’s laughing and joking around with some crew members like they’re old drinking buddies. It drives you nuts, has annoyance pricking at your skin, flushing your cheeks—

So much so that the woman at your side leans in and asks, “Should I get hair and makeup over here?”

“I—no, it’s fine.”

The unnecessary members of the production team scatter away after a loud countdown. Hair and makeup don’t come to wipe the sweat tracks from your skin. You already know Man Behind You is standing there looking perfect because he’s equally as attractive as he is mysterious. God truly has favorites, and this guy somehow made the top five.

You stare down at the instructions in front of you, confident in your ability to read but not so confident in your ability to make sense of any of it. And it’s your own recipe, which is the worst part. You’d typed this recipe yourself. These are your hand-written notes in the margins. You’ve conceptualized, tweaked, baked, and eaten this recipe more times than you can count, and now all you can do is thousand-yard-stare into the ether.

In the time since you were on the show, you’d somehow forgotten about the chaos. Not unlike that hormone women have that makes them forget about the pain and agony of childbirth, you reckon.

In addition to being one of the most bothersome people in history, Tim apparently doubles as a prophet.

Because it is a terrible day to temper chocolate, and you’ve got a bûche de Noël on the horizon that requires you to do so. You can pivot, maybe make some kind of buttercream, but a basic chocolate buttercream is not going to win you a world-renowned baking competition even if it is Swiss meringue. A child could make that.

You sigh. Push that wave of panic to the back of your mind. In a setting like this, you have approximately ten seconds to come up with a back-up plan and execute it and you wasted your time thinking, so you’re just going to have to temper the stupid chocolate and stick to your original plan. God, you have a headache.

But the show must go on, so you do too.

Step 1: Preheat the oven.

Easy enough. If nothing else, you can preheat an oven.

Step 2: Make the sponge.

Not as easy, but you’ve made so many sponge cakes throughout your life you could probably do it in your sleep. Whisk attachment on the stand mixer. Four eggs. Sugar meticulously weighed and added to the bowl. Sugar and eggs whisked together until the mixture is the color and consistency you’re looking for. Flour, cocoa powder, and salt sifted in. Metal spoon to fold it all together as delicately as possible. You won’t have a sponge cake if you beat all the air out of it, now will you?

“Good enough,” you mutter to yourself, staring down at the bowl.

At least you’d had the foresight to grease and line your baking tray, because the entire entourage arrives at your station just as you’re meant to be pouring the batter into it and sticking it in the oven.

“Ah, we meet again,” the group choruses, genuine smiles peeking through as if you’re old friends separated only by time and distance.

That’s the weird thing about being on television. For as long as you’re able, you exist within a microcosm of daily life. A world exists outside of your bubble, you know, but you don’t see much proof of it. All of your meals are eaten together; all of your conversations are had with one another. You share temporary living quarters and oftentimes too much of yourselves, and you’re thankful the show encourages teamwork and kindness because that’s the kind of thing that can grow sour if you leave it unchecked too long.

And then it just—ends.

Bubble burst, you all go back to your regular lives. You look back on that time fondly, but the friendships are thinned out by time and distance. Eventually it all starts to feel like a dream, except every now and then something breaks through the haze to remind you it actually happened: a stranger recognizing you at the store, a message on social media, the casting team contacting you to ask if you’d be interested in competing in a holiday special for charity.

“We certainly do,” you retort, smile matching everyone else’s.

All things considered, you are happy to be back. Even if the tent is crowded and far too warm, the atmosphere is unmatched, especially when it’s decorated for the holidays.

“What are you working on?”

You explain the general workings of your yule log: chocolate sponge, hazelnut liqueur cream filling, and chocolate icing to top it off. You aren’t sure how you’re going to decorate it yet—you’ll figure it out once you get there, depending on how much time you have—but you guarantee them it’ll look festive and professional.

Satisfied with your plan, they wish you luck and move on to the man behind you. It’s so great to see you again, Minghao, someone says, and you’re grateful they’ve spared you the embarrassment of having to ask for his name. It still doesn’t ring a bell, and you can’t recall what season he’d been on for the life of you, but he speaks with a patience and a gentleness that is so unlike Tim that you nearly drop to the floor in thanks.

But as the commotion of the tent reminds you, you don’t have time to waste thinking about Minghao. You’ve only been given an hour for your signature, and you’re going to need all sixty of those minutes if you have any hopes of presenting a finished product.

It doesn’t register at first.

It doesn’t register at second or third, either.

In fact, you’re sure you’re hallucinating when you open the oven door to pop the sponge inside and you aren’t hit with a blast of hot air. Room temperature. Perhaps a bit on the cooler side, if you’re being honest.

And that can’t be, because you know you preheat your oven. It was the first thing you did, because it’s always the first thing you do. It’s just… automatic, like opening your mouth to eat or washing between your toes in the shower. Instinctual. Not something that needs to even be considered, because it’s always the first thing you do.

No, this cannot be. Forgetting to preheat the oven is a rookie mistake and you’re not a rookie.

…Could it be?

Perhaps you were so caught up in the lights and buzz, the thrill of returning to the tent, that it had slipped your mind? Perhaps you’d pressed the wrong buttons and turned the wrong dials? While it’s not likely you’d somehow bumped into the oven and turned it off, nothing is impossible, so… maybe?

“Shit,” you hiss through your teeth. The producers are not going to be happy about your swearing. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Everything okay up there?” Minghao asks from behind you. When you turn, he’s got a flour-dusted towel thrown over his shoulder as he nurses a cup of tea, and his composure in the face of your hysteria has your head spinning.

Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Minghao is drinking tea without a care in the world and your oven isn’t even halfway to the temperature you need. “I—yes? No? I don’t know. I could’ve sworn I preheated the oven, but—”

“Don’t panic,” he offers, his top lip catching on the rim of his mug. “You got this. Work on something else while you wait.”

Something else. Right, you can work on something else. Both the filling and the frosting still have to be made, and quick mental math tells you there should just be enough time to get everything done if you’re efficient. Of course, that’s a big if, but that’s why you’d chosen a yule log, after all: sponge cake doesn’t need that long to bake, and anything can happen (and go wrong) in this tent.

So, you get to work on something else. Measure out a sheet of parchment paper, dust it with cocoa powder, and set it to the side. Decide to get to work on the frosting, because if one thing has already gone wrong, you don’t trust the universe to let you temper chocolate correctly.

The chocolate is halfway melted when the oven dings. A small harrumph of victory and you’re finally good to go, setting a timer for twelve minutes. Minghao offers you a discreet thumbs-up, fingers covered in something sticky you assume is marzipan.

Time flies after that. You get both the frosting and your filling made, and it’s only through divine intervention that your sponge cake comes out perfectly and with enough time to score and cool. When you dare a look around the room, everyone seems to be in a similar position as you: frazzled and covered in powdered sugar, making frantic trips to and from the refrigerators, chucking seized-up caramel into the trash and starting over for the third time with a pained expression.

A holiday special—it was supposed to be more laid-back, more for the vibes and festivity than actual competition, but it looks to you like everyone’s taking it just as seriously as your first go-rounds.

“Fifteen minutes!” someone calls, and your competitors fade out of focus. You’ve got a yule log to ice and fondant to roll out.

You make it by the skin of your teeth.

It isn’t perfect, of course, as few things on this show ever are, but it’s more than acceptable. It looks great and tastes even better which is all you can hope for. Much to your dismay, Tim also gets top marks, but it’s Minghao that shocks you all. His stollen wreath earns him a handshake and a lot of clandestine, private glares, but he’d been kind to you earlier, helped untangle that knot of pandemonium, so you return the thumbs-up he’d given you earlier with a smile that feels akin to getting away with murder.

Something is wrong.

On its own, this is not necessarily surprising. Gingerbread, tasked with bearing the weight of an entire house, can be fickle. On any other day you wouldn’t blame it if it wanted to rebel and go sideways, but the thing is—you’ve made gingerbread before. Tons of times. Another thing you could probably make in your sleep if you absolutely had to. So it doesn’t make sense when you look down in your mixing bowl and it just… doesn’t look right.

You tell yourself it’ll get better when you knead it. Maybe the color just looks off because it’s underworked, and a few good punches will set it straight.

But it doesn’t. The dough sits at your station like a sad, formless lump, giving you no indication it intends to become anything at all. Which is, admittedly, a problem. Your technical challenge is to build a gingerbread house—one complete with little windows and golden-toned nightlights, a scalloped roof dusted with powdered sugar to look like fresh snow, a working door!—and you’re far from an engineer, but you don’t think you can have a gingerbread house without gingerbread.

You sneak a peek at Tim’s station, where he’s well into measuring an immaculate-looking dough with a ruler. The contestant in front of you is in a similar place, too, so it’s with an oh fuck I’m doomed sigh that you turn around and hope to find a comrade in Minghao again.

“Hey,” you whisper, trying not to draw attention to yourself. “Does this look right to you?” You jerk a thumb in the direction of your dough-lump. Minghao, bless him, looks around you and tries his best to hide his grimace.

He does not succeed.

“Um. Well, no.”

You sigh. Place one flour-dusted hand on your waist and pinch the bridge of your nose with the other. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. I’ve made gingerbread a million times.”

“Looks pale,” he offers. Of course, this is the exact moment he dumps his own dough—his beautiful dough, flawless chestnut brown—onto his station to knead it. “Was the sugar right?”

A strangled, disbelieving laugh escapes you. Was the sugar right—of course the sugar was right! Dark muscovado sugar. Everyone knows that's what you use for gingerbread, so of course the sugar was right because no one, both in their right mind and at this stage of competition, would use anything else.

Before you can respond, Minghao’s pointing at your jar of sugar. Your jar of pale, producer-supplied sugar, which even a blind person could tell does not resemble dark muscovado sugar.

A million thoughts race through your head at once, but it boils down to instinct, you think. Your brain had seen flour, butter, and sugar and went into baking mode, not stopping to take in the color of anything. Maybe a smarter, more perceptive person would put two and two together and get sabotage, but you don’t have enough time to play detective.

“Here, here,” Minghao says, hurriedly handing over his (correct) sugar. “It’ll be close, but you should have just enough time to redo the dough.”

You’re going to throw up.

In the end, a chunk of chocolate buttons is missing from the roof and the piping around the edges is far from your neatest work, but it’s passable. You already lamented your loss during the signature bake, because anything less than perfection was not going to win you much of anything, and you’re now 0-for-2 on showstopping, unbelievable, awe-inspiring confections.

Just like the devil, your fall from grace will be studied.

Overthinking isn’t going to get you anywhere, but you can’t help it.

You collapse sideways into a chair, immediately face-planting into the catering table. Everyone else buzzes around you—animated conversations that have your head spinning, words that jumble together and start to sound like nothing at all—but you’re a million miles away. One mistake is out of character for you, but two? It’s unheard of. Something you would’ve said was impossible if it didn’t happen to you just a few hours ago.

This is something you need to file away for later so you can think about it just as you’re about to fall asleep, horror and embarrassment there to keep you company when it keeps you awake until the wee hours of the morning.

A chill runs down your spine.

“Hi. Do you mind?” You startle. Bang your knee on the underside of the table. “Sorry,” Minghao apologizes, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. You shake your head. Gesture to the empty seat across from you as if to say it’s all yours. “I brought you some tea,” he continues, setting it in front of you. “I find it’s easier than coffee when you don’t know how someone takes theirs. Less chance of getting it wrong.”

You smile. Wrap your hands around the Styrofoam cup and delight in the warmth. “Thank you. This was very kind of you.”

“Seemed like you had a rough day.”

Groaning, you try to wave away his words. “Please don’t speak of it.” Minghao jokingly salutes you before miming his lips sealed. “Anyway. Let’s talk about something that is not reality television or baking or a reality baking competition.”

So, you do. Most of the talking comes from you, to be fair, but Minghao is a good listener: nods along, chimes in when appropriate, keeps the spit in his mouth where it belongs. You talk about your hometown and what made you apply for the show the first time. He tells you about growing up in Haicheng and all the things he grew up baking with his mother. You swap stories from your respective seasons; Minghao shares anecdotes with a straight face that have you clutching at your stomach.

Hours pass this way, and you end the night feeling like you’ve made an honest-to-god friend.

Xu Minghao ends the night feeling the guilt weigh him down like an albatross.

In retrospect, it is probably a bad idea to make another sponge, but no one can accuse you of learning from your mistakes.

“It’ll be a patterned joconde sponge with two mousse layers—chocolate and raspberry—and a raspberry jelly. Then I’m going to attempt to top it with chocolate and raspberry decorations.” The judges blink. Are you sure that’s a good idea? you know they want to ask, but this is a holiday competition for charity, so they’re trying not to be pessimists. “Anything is possible through holiday cheer,” you tack on, hoping your smile doesn’t look crazed.

They nod. “Right, right,” they say in unison. “Well, good luck!”

And then they’re off.

Determined to nail this, you triple-check your oven, which is preheating to a crisp 400 degrees; you double-check all your ingredients and confirm they’re correct; when you can spare the time, you watch your refrigerator like a hawk, making sure no one tries to sneak their own work in there and displace yours when you aren’t looking, but everyone’s engrossed in their respective showstoppers.

Tim’s planning a shadow box of sorts, with blown-sugar baubles and isomalt fire. Someone else is stressing over their three-tiered cake, asking the presenter if they think they’ve taken on too much. From what you can piece together, Minghao is making a three-dimensional house, also made from cake that he imported special pistachios for.

“Special pistachios?”

“Mm, from Iran. They have a better color.”

“Iranian pistachios! Can you believe it!”

But you don’t have time to worry about Minghao and his special Iranian pistachios. You have so much to do and not enough time to complete it. Your paste is in the freezer and the sponge is in the oven, but you’ve still got two mousses to make, a jelly to infuse, and little chocolate trees to create—and all of this wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t pointless, but you don’t want to disappoint the cats by half-assing it. They deserve your whole ass, and your whole ass is what they’re going to get.

The result is stunning—not necessarily in stature, but rather craftsmanship and effort. This is what you’re capable of. This is why you came back to the tent. For all your complaining and wanting to put your head through a concrete wall, there’s nothing like seeing the judges ooh and ahh when you present your work to them. There’s nothing like the ego boost of someone taking a bite and watching their eyes light up. There’s nothing like carrying your cake back to your station feeling proud of yourself.

“Great job,” Minghao says, a genuine smile stretched across his face. He also exceeds expectations, of course. Must be those special pistachios, you think, but your congratulations are also sincere.

Production makes a spectacle of judging, much like they always do.

The set is decorated to look like a winter wonderland, even though you’re still in the midst of autumn: a giant Christmas tree in the center decked to the nines with garland and baubles; warm, golden bulbs strung from every awning they could find; all the participants bundled up tight in festive sweaters and scarves all the way to your chins, cheeks and tips of noses dusted with red-pink blush to mimic the cold that’s nowhere to be found. Fake snow falls from the sky, and it doesn’t feel real, but it does feel magical.

One of the hosts catches you by the elbow, asks who you think is going to win. “Oh, I’d have to say Minghao,” you answer, because you’d rather die than give Tim the satisfaction. “His showstopper was incredible, but he was really great the whole competition.”

In the end, however, neither of them wins—it’s Jeon Wonwoo, three-tiered cake guy, who comes out of nowhere to claim first place. He’s bashful as he accepts his prize and says he’s going to donate the prize money to an organization that provides underprivileged kids with video game equipment. No one has a whole lot to say about that.

Once most of the hubbub dies down (and you give Tim a half-assed you did great, so sorry you didn’t win), you find Minghao near the refreshments table. He’s frowning around another mug of tea. “Alright?” you ask, helping yourself to some cider.

“For some reason, I’m no longer feeling very festive,” he replies, which is a very funny thing to say while wearing a hat with a little pom-pom on the top.

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Sidle in a little closer and knock his shoulder with your own. “Ah, I know how you feel, but you really did do great. You were my pick to win, for what it’s worth.”

“Please don’t tell me that. It only makes me feel worse for losing.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Would’ve been nice to donate some money to the cats, but shit, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn some dark force was sabotaging me. Like, come on—forgetting to preheat the oven? Using the wrong sugar? Not even a kid would’ve made those mistakes.”

Two things happen in rapid succession: beside you, Minghao goes very, very stiff, and you realize you had been sabotaged. And not by some dark, evil force, either. You were sabotaged by the very man standing beside you—the man you shared thumbs-up with and thought was your friend. The man whose cake you complimented and picked to win. The man who is now standing ramrod straight, as tense as a corpse, and the thought of sabotaging someone in a charity baking competition is so ridiculous and unbelievable that you just—

You just laugh.

At first, it’s a bark of stunned laughter. Then, the more it sinks in how absurd, how nonsensical all of this is, you can’t stop. Tears are rolling down your cheeks. You gasp for breath as your stomach begins to ache. People are staring, including Minghao, who sort of can’t believe what he’s seeing, but none of it does anything to deter you.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, “I can’t believe it was you—”

Minghao groans. “In my defense, it was for the cats!”

This was not the answer you were expecting. It makes you laugh harder. “What do you mean it was for the cats?”

He swallows. Removes the mitten from one hand to run it through his hair as if that one tic was enough to distract you from everything that’s happened in the last sixty seconds. (It is.) “Listen, you told me you were going to donate the money to a cat charity if you won and I just—so was I, was the thing. I was also going to donate the money to a cat charity if I won—”

“Okay, but which one, though?”

“The Cat’s Paw-jamas.” Much to Minghao’s horror, this sets you off again. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Minghao,” you try to choke out, but you can barely breathe around the cramp in your stomach. “Minghao, that’s the charity I was going to donate to. Oh my god, you sabotaged me and I was going to donate to—to the same fucking place. Jesus Christ, this is some Gift of the Magi shit.”

Your saboteur, who has gone deathly pale, is quiet for a very long time. Every now and then he’ll open his mouth like he’s going to say something before it snaps shut again. When he does manage to speak, what comes out are mangled apologies that sound like gibberish, and you wave all of them away. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“I—I really don’t think it should be?”

“Minghao, it’s fine, trust me, this was just for fun—”

“No, I really insist.”

You sigh, good-natured and exasperated. Something about the fake snow has you feeling romantic and a little bold, so you turn, grab him by the lapels of his coat. “Please tell me if I’m misreading this, but if you insist, maybe you can start by taking me to dinner…?”

This was clearly not what MInghao was expecting you to say. Dazed, he recovers quickly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a half-smirk. “Dinner, hm?” You nod. “I think I can manage that.”

You smile. “Great. How do you feel about cat cafes?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Seeing Stars 3

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Summary: You struggle to be star struck by the world’s most famous super soldiers. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: Guess this is happening.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"I can't believe you won," Bonita chimes. 

"Uh, yeah, I told you to just claim the prize," you mutter. 

"And I told you," she pulls you off the subway, "it has to be the ticket holder." 

"Right. You could say you're me." 

"Didn't you read the email?" She huffs as you drag your feet behind her. You hate Manhattan. 

"I skimmed." 

"They have to check ID at the door. As your plus one, I had to submit a bunch of stuff. Didn't you?" She hooks her arm through yours as she urges you through the New York rush. 

You grumble. It's like the universe is laughing in your face. Or hers. It should've been her prize. She's the one who likes all that stuff. As much as you don't want to spit in her face, you're not very happy to spend a rare day off somewhere you don't want to be. 

You're a good friend. That's why you're doing this. That's it. You'll get through it for her. In spite of her. 

You find her waiting where she promised. She's taking selfies right outside the doors of Stark Tower, unbothered by those passing by. You nudge her and hiss, "you're in the way." 

"About time. You're almost late." She lowers her phone and bats her fake eye lashes at her. Oh, she went all out. You thought the sweater and jeans was a fine choice. 

"Almost, but I'm not," you chirp. 

"Lighten up! This is going to be the greatest days of our lives," she squeals and claps, sending her phone to the ground. You let a sigh out quietly. She's so happy. You'll keep the snide remarks to yourself. 

You bend to pick up her phone and hand it over. She snatches it and giggles, "I wonder if I could livestream the tour." 

"Just... enjoy it," you utter. You don't need her holding up her phone like a tourist. No shame, you swear. 

"Woah, hey," you stumble as someone clamours into you. "Sorry, I didn't see you there. Guess I should've looked down." 

The man's hands cling to your arms as he keeps you on your feet. You pull away and spin to face him. Bonita makes an inhuman noise. 

It's him. Steve Rogers. Again. 

"You guys lost?" He asks. 

You look at Bonita. She vibrates with excitement, "um, we won! Er. Oh! We're here because we won the tour and you're supposed to be there and all the others and--" 

"Ha, yes, I am running behind." He says, “uh, I guess you can come in with me.” 

“Oh wow,” Bonita exclaims. “Thanks so much, Captain. I mean Mr. Rogers. No. Er...” 

“Steve’s fine,” he chuckles. “So, you two were at the convention?” 

“Yes, we got a photo,” she affirms. 

He opens the door and waves you ahead of him. You wait for Bonita to take the lead. You reluctantly follow as Steve tails you. 

“I thought you were familiar.” 

“Oh, no, you must meet so many people,” Bonita slows so that he can catch up and you sidle around them, happy enough to take the rear. 

“Eh, yeah, it can get a bit much.” 

“Sounds miserable,” you mutter, then cringe as you remember his super hearing. Oops. 

“I’m sure the rest are waiting,” he stops at a door and puts in a number on the keypad. It flashes red and buzzes. “Ugh, I always forget.” Instead, he moves to look into the dark lens higher up. An ultraviolet flare runs over his eye and the door unlocks. “I can doing that.” 

He opens the door again, a gentleman straight out of the 40s. Once more, you are stuck between the two of them. He points you down the hall to a private elevator. You get on. 

You bob impatiently as Bonita inserts herself between you and Steve. You stare at the reflective doors and let your vision blur. 

“So, um, is the shield here?” She asks. “Not to be lame or anything.” 

“Oh, sure, maybe you could see some of the prototype suits? I think there’s still a few hanging around,” Steve answers. 

“That’s so cool,” she chimes. 

You struggle not to roll your eyes. Instead, you focus and find another pair observing you in the mirrored surface before you. You quickly glance away from Steve’s gaze. 

Finally, your floor comes. You assume since the doors ding and Steve steps ahead of you. You follow him out into a spacious room. You can tell by the windows alone that it’s the very top of tower. 

“There you are, Capsicle,” someone calls over. 

You turn in the direction of the voice as Bonita grabs your arm and points at the dark-haired man. You know who he is. He’s on too many magazine covers and blogs not to. Tony Stark. He stands amid the group of his fellow avengers. 

“I found our lucky winners,” Steve says. 

“Bonita, and er, well, she won,” she pokes you as she introduces you. “Erm, we’re super excited.” 

You stare dully. You want to lie, for her. You do your best; a nod. 

“I remember you two,” Bucky’s voice surprises you. It’s only then you notice him sitting away from the rest of them, lazily flipping a knife. “You had a photo.” 

“Yes, that’s us!” Bonita blusters. 

“Well, ladies, welcome to the tower, these are the big boys... and girls.” Stark steps in front of the rest, “you’ve met Steverino here, and apparently his sidekick, The Raven.” Bucky scoffs as he stands and sheaths the knife. “Not to be cocky but I assume you know the rest of us.” 

“I do!” Bonita declares, “but er...” she looks at you. You half-nod and half-shrug. “It’s Tony Stark!” 

“I know that.” 

“Who doesn’t?” He winks. 

You grumble and his chin tilts slightly in affront. 

“That’s Thor! And Black Widow and Scarlet Witch, and Vision, and Hawkeye, and Hulk...” she goes down the list as you lose track and a little bit of interest. It’s your turn in Scrabble, you feel the notification buzz in your pocket. 

“What? Were you caught in the ice with this one?” Stark jabs Steve with a snicker. “You don’t know the world’s greatest heroes?” 

You stare back at him. “Nice tower, I guess.” 

“Ice cold,” he whistles, “I’ll leave this one to you, Vis. She’s about your speed,” he turns and struts away. 

“It’s your tour,” the woman with the short red bob says; the widow? 

“Contractual obligation but far from my idea,” he counters. “Hey, Banner, how about you take the lead. PhD or whatnot, I’m sure you give a hell of a lecture.” 

“We can go.” You offer and Bonita elbows you. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Steve insists, “we’re all going on the tour. Right, Tony?” 

“Hm, let me grab a whiskey first.” 

[lucygraysboy]

“once we’re done here, i’ll wash it and it’ll be as good as new,” he promises, knowing how much sentimental value the dress has. fingertips absently stroking her hair, not even trying to brush it anymore, just trying to make her feel good and help her relax. “i haven’t, by the way. gone through your songbook, i mean.” in case she’s wondering. she gave him permission to do so last night, but it seemed too personal, too invasive. “thank you, lucy gray.” it’s been a while since someone complimented his heart. people often admire what’s on the outside — his blue eyes and dark curls, his nose or cheekbones. she’s one of a very few who seem to care more about what’s underneath. “it means the world to me. i won’t let you down, i swear it.” scooping up a handful of water, he carefully pours it over her back to ensure she stays warm. “so are you, little bird. you’re very smart, too. way smarter than me.” she wouldn’t be here with him if she wasn’t highly intelligent. she wouldn’t have escaped coriolanus. which is still such a strange thought… “oh, yeah?” thankful for the distraction, he lets out another laugh. “never noticed you were also bird-sized and i was horse-sized,” he counters, getting to see her sense of humor for the first time and letting it bewitch him. he adores this side of her, but it has him wondering if this is the girl that she used to be — full of sassy remarks and giggles and sweetness. maybe she’ll be that girl again one day.

“i see…” billy hums, nodding his head even if she can’t really see him. he quickly picks up on what she’s implying, putting two and two together. the stories that she told him last night… “you don’t think my brother was born with a good heart, is that what you’re sayin’?” as children, they were like daylight and dark. polar opposites. but can he call that little boy evil? sure, they’d had their differences, but he wasn’t bad to the bone. he didn’t chase stray cats around the neighborhood or rip the wings off flies. “i’m not sure if i agree. maybe the capitol and our grandmother did that to him.” or maybe he was born with evil already inside him and it just came to light later in life. who knows? “i’m not defendin’ him, just thinkin’ out loud,” he says quickly when lucy gray’s head snaps around, looking at him with something that he can’t quite name or understand. it has him wondering if he’s said something wrong. a small, uncertain smile remains plastered to his visage, his own heart picking up pace. “did i —” say something wrong? but before he can get the words out, she’s speaking up again and he’s falling silent. gesturing for her to carry on.

“you planted a snake to scare him away and slow him down?” dark brows lifting, impressed and wary in equal measure. what if she still thinks he’s coriolanus? will he wake up with a snake under his pillow one morning? and lucy gray nowhere to be found? the idea has his heart missing a beat, chest constricting. but if she wanted to run, she would have done that while he was out by the creek. “i didn’t know ‘bout that. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to bring back any bad memories with that story.” features softening, understanding her reaction better now. amusement fills his eyes, and he can’t help but think it’s such a badass move, setting a snake trap. “oh, i bet he thought it was venomous. what does he know ‘bout snakes? nothin’. i think that was a smart move. risky but smart. and it served its purpose, right?” it’s scary to think that his own twin brother was trying to hunt her down, shot at her, but then he thinks about their father, the kind of person he was… and it’s not so surprising anymore. “you think he would have hurt you anyway? if you came back to him instead of runnin’ away and plantin’ that snake?” is his brother truly as ruthless and heartless as their father? his heart aches for lucy gray, but for coriolanus, too. it must be awful, living that way, filled with hatred. “mhm, yeah. it’s just a silly story, but the moral is very accurate, i think. if you go through life with hatred festering in your heart, you’ll never be happy. but if you learn how to forgive and focus on healing from the bad experiences, you’ll be alright.” as if reading her thoughts, he adds, “he won’t ever find you, lucy gray. reva blue and i won’t allow it. we will always protect you. i will protect you.” 

"it does look like feathers." maybe that's how her mama decided to design it, thinking so as the songstress sweetly smiles. "thank you, that means so much to me." that he likes the way she sings. lucy gray laughs at first before shaking her head to correct him, "because you and horses have good hearts and brave ones." she just had to be careful praising someone's heart before really knowing it first, just like the moment of phrasing you seem like a good man, coriolanus snow. she scolds herself constantly for being so naive. "they're smart and you're smart." knowing how to survive like this. "and you are a lot taller than me way down here, so that could be another thing..." her turn to tease.

perking up in interest, brows raising as she sits with his fingers in her hair. finding what he's saying really fascinating when it sounds familiar to something she'd say. "i used to think they were made, too. sometimes i have my doubts." if coriolanus was right, people like him really were born that way. "but maybe now there's proof, they're either born or made." with him being the twin to coriolanus. then he tells this next story and a strange flash of fear strikes through her. that was a coincidence, right?

shifting slightly to glance at his face, making sure he once again wasn't somehow coriolanus– not going to drown her in this water while she's not looking after telling her this story, mind backtracking all the way back to her first theory of his mind being twisted by dr. gaul. until she realizes there's no way he knows all that stuff about district thirteen, that this type of kindness can be faked and she's back to reality. she really has to stop doing that... when she realizes even her heart's picked up speed beneath her chest.

"well, snake's and me are very familiar with one another." forcing herself to chill out, a wry laugh quietly emitting from her. "and there's a lot of irony in that..." she points out, an odd smile gracing her face, "when i placed a snake out, i set it as a trap. to stall time for myself. it bit coriolanus and i knew it wasn't venomous, then that's what really set him off to go shooting at me." wasn't like he wasn't going to do that anyway, probably. but that's what's so crazy about the similarities with billy's story. "the one who went back to the village. that's the one who lived a happy life?" she answers, while feeling scared that's how coriolanus probably feels towards her... hating her guts, obsessing over hating her guts each day, ready and waiting for the second chance at killing her for revenge. "i agree... i could have definitely turned rotten by now, yet i've not. and the same for you..." as long as he's telling the truth about it all.

[mcflymemes]

NOSFERATU PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the screenplay, adjust as necessary

i have felt you like a serpent crawling in my body.

love is inferior to you.

i am an appetite. nothing more.

you are my affliction.

even now we are fated.

you know nothing of him.

your passion is bound to me.

you cannot love.

i cannot be sated without you.

we must remain calm.

you know i love you both.

why do you hate me?

you have never liked me.

search everything.

this is madness!

i must see them!

don't touch me. i am not to be touched.

our love was supposed to be sacred.

kiss me.

i need no salvation.

you will put an end to all of this?

come to me.

hear my call.

you are not for the living.

do you swear it?

what's that, my love?

there is nothing to be afraid of.

take off your shoes.

i wish i could stay, my love.

i really must be off.

come in, come in.

i thank you for considering me.

you are too generous.

it will be a great adventure for you.

why have you killed these beautiful flowers?

let us put them in water.

forgive me.

throw them out.

you cannot leave.

i must tell you my dream.

please, no more of your childhood memories.

never speak these things aloud.

it is a foolish dream.

everything is well.

when i return, i will finally make something of myself.

i love you too much.

it's worth celebrating your adventure!

i envy you.

it's crushing, [name]. crushing.

i cannot resist her.

not another word.

do take care of [name].

there is a monster in the room.

we have each other.

you're hurting me.

i am proud of you.

please keep safe.

have you so little faith in me?

i promise.

remember, it's all for us.

you bring trouble with you.

i only wish to stay one night.

i have an audience at the castle.

leave here.

you are late.

i wish you to do as i request.

it's nothing.

come by the fire.

why ever did you bring that here?

you must put that away.

what might we do for you?

that was yesterday.

do you ever feel at times as if you were not a person?

we all feel out of sorts.

look at the sea!

i am not mad.

forgive me. everything i say sounds so childish.

how careless of me.

you are fortunate in your love.

i fear i am taken ill.

if it continues, let me know.

i have received nothing of any kind.

still no trace of him.

for heaven's sake, you cannot leave.

a moment longer... please.

i cannot resist you, my love.

can you tell me your name?

he is coming.

why haven't you told me?

i must leave!

i sensed something.

you look tired.

would you describe them to me?

tell me what you can. from the beginning.

this is no delusion.

the blood is the life.

i feared i'd never see you again.

what the devil is this?

it is past three o'clock in the morning!

forgive me for the troubles i have caused you.

get off me. give me room. i can't breathe.

you frightened me.

may i stay with you tonight?

thank you for loving me.

our spirits are one, so too shall be our flesh.

you are mine.

[woozinhos]

Newlywed hoshi?? Breeding after seeing a family making him want to have his own family lol, hoshi will be a really good husband in the future i can literally see it in my eyes, my man is a family man, i swear on all my money (2 dollars)

Hoshi and you were newlyweds, still basking in the joy and excitement of your new life together. It was a warm summer day, and the two of you had decided to go for a walk in the park. As you strolled hand in hand, enjoying the beautiful scenery, you spotted a family nearby. The parents were playing with their young children, laughing and smiling as they chased each other around.

Hoshi's eyes followed the family, a wistful expression on his face. He had always wanted a family of his own, and seeing the parents with their children made him yearn for that even more. He glanced over at you, his eyes softening as he took in your beauty. The desire to start a family with you burned even brighter within him. Hoshi gently tugged on your hand, pulling you to a stop. He looked at you with a mix of longing and vulnerability in his eyes.

"Babe," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever think about having kids?" He didn't want to pressure you, but he needed to know where you stood on the issue. The thought of building a family with you filled him with an overwhelming sense of joy and fulfillment. You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. You had thought about having children before, and the idea of starting a family with Hoshi filled you with excitement and happiness.

"I do," you replied, squeezing his hand gently. "I've always wanted to be a mother, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather do it with than you." Hoshi's face lit up with a smile at your words, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.

"I love you so much," he whispered, burying his face in your hair. "And the thought of having children with you... it makes me the happiest man in the world." Hoshi's hands slid down to rest on your hips, his fingers tracing small circles against your skin. The idea of starting a family with you had ignited a fire within him, and he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to see you carrying his child.

"Do you know how much I want to see you pregnant with my baby?" he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. "To watch your belly grow as our child grows inside you." You shivered at his words, a wave of desire washing over you. The thought of carrying Hoshi's child, of having a physical reminder of your love for each other, was incredibly arousing.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and adoration. "I want that too," you whispered. "I want to have your babies, Hoshi. I want to build a family with you." Hoshi's eyes darkened with lust as he looked down at you, his grip on your hips tightening. The possessiveness in his gaze sent a thrill down your spine, and you could feel the tension between you building.

"Then let's get started," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "Let's make those babies, sweetheart."

Hoshi didn't waste any time. He scooped you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style back to your house. His lips found yours in a heated kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he walked. He kicked the door shut behind him and carried you straight to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed with a hungry look in his eyes.

"I need you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I need to breed you, fill you up with my seed and make you mine." Hoshi wasted no time in stripping you of your clothes, his hands roaming over your body as he exposed your skin. His eyes were dark with desire, his touch possessive and demanding.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck and over your collarbone. "And you're going to be even more beautiful when you're pregnant with my baby." He reached down and spread your legs, his fingers tracing the slick heat between them. "You're already so ready for me, aren't you?" he growled.

Hoshi's smile was both sweet and wicked as he looked down at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of love and lust. "I'm going to make love to you all night," he said, his voice low and seductive. "I'm going to take my time and worship every inch of your body." He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roamed over your curves. His touch was both gentle and demanding, igniting a fire deep within you.

"I'm going to make sure you're completely mine," he whispered against your lips. "I'm going to fill you up with my love and my seed, and there won't be a single doubt in your mind about who you belong to." Hoshi's hands roamed over your body, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He kissed and nipped at your skin, his lips and tongue teasing you mercilessly.

"You're so sensitive," he murmured, his fingers dancing over your sensitive spots. "I love how responsive you are to my touch." He continued to tease you, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive you wild with desire. Every touch, every kiss, every word was designed to bring you closer to the edge.

"I can't wait to see you writhing beneath me," he growled. "Can't wait to watch you come undone as I fill you with my seed." Hoshi chuckled darkly at your reaction, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You like that, don't you?" he teased, repeating the motion. "Feeling my hard cock against your slick pussy?"

He rubbed the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're practically dripping for me, baby." Hoshi continued to tease you, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit and watching you squirm beneath him.

"You're so eager for me," he said, his voice low and seductive. "You want me inside you, don't you? You want me to fill you up and claim you as mine." He leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as he pushed you further into the bed. "Beg for it," he whispered against your lips. "Beg for my cock."

You moaned into the kiss, your body trembling with need. "Please, Hoshi," you begged, your voice shaking with desire. "Please give me your cock. I need it, I need you."

Hoshi smirked, clearly enjoying your desperation. "Good girl," he said, his hand wrapping around his length. "You know just what to say to get what you want." He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your entrance once more. "Are you ready for me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes burning with desire.

You nodded frantically, your eyes locked on his. "Yes, please," you whimpered, your hips bucking up against him. "I'm so ready for you." Hoshi grinned and pushed forward, sinking his cock deep inside you with one smooth thrust. You both groaned in unison as he filled you, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Fuck," he groaned, his eyes closing in bliss. "You feel so good, baby. So tight and perfect around me." Hoshi's thrusts were deep and powerful, each one aimed at hitting that spot deep inside you that made you see stars. He was on a mission to get you pregnant, and he was determined to make it happen.

"I'm going to fill you up with my seed," he growled, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "I'm going to pump you full of my babies until your belly is swollen with them."

He leaned down and nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to be such a good mummy," he whispered. "Carrying my babies and making our family complete." You clung to Hoshi, your nails digging into his back as he continued to thrust into you. The feeling of him claiming you, filling you with his seed, was overwhelming.

"Please," you moaned, your voice desperate. "Please, Hoshi. I need to feel you come inside me. I need to feel your cum fill me up."

Hoshi growled in response, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. "I'm going to give it to you, sweetheart," he panted. "I'm going to give you everything you need. You're going to be mine forever, and I'm going to make sure you carry my children." Hoshi's thrusts became more erratic as he neared his climax, his grip on you tightening as he held you close.

"I'm close," he grunted, his forehead pressed against yours. "I'm going to come, baby. I'm going to fill you up with my seed and give you a baby."

He thrust into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as he came with a shout. You felt his hot release flood your core, filling you up with his essence. Hoshi collapsed on top of you, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He buried his face in your neck, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Hoshi's body may have been tired, but his desire for you was insatiable. Even as he tried to catch his breath, he couldn't help but thrust into you again, chasing the feeling of your tight heat around his sensitive cock.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips moving slowly but deeply. "I can't get enough of you. I need more, I need to fill you up again and again until you're dripping with my cum." The sound of the cum squelching as Hoshi moved inside you was like music to his ears. It was a primal, possessive sound that only served to fuel his desire even further.

"You're so wet," he growled, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. "So wet and full of my cum. You're mine, baby. All mine." Hoshi's pace quickened again, his thrusts becoming more urgent and desperate. He was completely consumed by his desire for you, his body driven by a primal need to claim you and make you his own.

"I want to breed you," he panted, his voice rough with need. "I want to fill you up so many times that you're overflowing with my cum. I want you to be swollen with my babies, a constant reminder of who you belong to." You moaned at his words, your body trembling with pleasure and need. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, already beginning to harden again despite his previous release.

"You want that, don't you?" he growled, his eyes dark with desire. "You want me to fill you up until you can't take anymore. You want me to make you mine, forever." Hoshi continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming more erratic as he neared his second climax. He was completely lost in the moment, his mind consumed by thoughts of filling you up and claiming you as his own.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice rough. "Say that you want me to breed you. Say that you want to carry my babies and be my perfect little breeding bitch." You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling with the need for release. But you knew that Hoshi wouldn't let you come until you gave him what he wanted.

"Please," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire. "Please, breed me. Fill me up with your babies, I want to carry them and be yours forever." Hoshi's eyes darkened with lust as he heard your words. He knew that he was close, and he wanted to come inside you once more, filling you up with his seed and claiming you as his.

"That's right," he growled, his hips moving faster and harder. "You're mine. My perfect little breeding bitch, and I'm going to make sure you get pregnant with my child." Hoshi's grip on your hips tightened as he thrust into you one final time, burying himself deep inside you as he came with a guttural groan. You felt his hot release fill you once again, adding to the mess of cum already inside you. He collapsed on top of you, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He panted heavily, his breath hot against your skin as he tried to catch his breath.

"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours. "You're so perfect, baby. So perfect for me." Hoshi smiled down at you, his expression softening as he came down from his intense moment of desire. He nuzzled against your neck, pressing gentle kisses to your skin.

"You did so well," he murmured, his voice filled with affection. "You're always so good for me, taking me so well and letting me fill you up." Hoshi's hand moved down to your stomach, rubbing gentle circles over the soft flesh. He smiled as he looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of love and desire.

"This one will stick," he said confidently. "I can feel it. You're going to be carrying my baby soon, and I can't wait to see your belly swell with my child."

[billsbabydoll]

Hello, I have a question if you will make a fluffy story for Tom Kaulitz (2010 era) when he is jealous of one of your boy best friends

-contains:FLUFF!

-summary:request!!!

-WARNINGS: jealousy, reader is annoyingly clueless, anonymous was very bland so i took some creative liberties so im very sorry if this is complete shit.

-notes:TYSM for 300+ followers i love and adore you all so so much <333

“yeahh then luke started tickling me and it hurt so bad, i swear he’s such a little prick!”

you’ve been babbling about your day with your “boy bestfriend” to tom for what seemed like forever by now, tom just remained quiet and gave a few nods as you continued to carry on, his knees bouncing up and down,

“ugh i’ve been rambling haven’t i? sorry..” you quickly apologized but once you looked over, you were met with his visibly uncomfortable expression.

“no no it’s okay, it’s just-” he nervously stammered, his head immediately darting down to look towards the ground, avoiding any sort of eye contact.

you chuckle, clicking your teeth before placing your palm on his thigh, his cheeks now slightly flushed. he lifts his head up again, your eyes already staring at him.

“just what tom?”

“y/n don’t look at me like that.”

“why not?”

“cause then it makes me do stuff like this.”

suddenly a pair of hands come up to cup your face, pulling and bringing you closer,

both your eyes close, his lips softly press against yours before he quickly lets you go, both of your eyes blink open agin.

“i hate hearing you talk about him, he’s such a fucking loser the biggest loser really. every time you mention how nice or funny luke is; i fight the urge to kick his ass, i fight the urge to punch his teeth out, i fight the urge to kiss his name out of your mouth.” he whispered, his voice timid and quiet.

you and tom have only ever been friends, you never sensed any sort of tension between luke and tom. well at least from your very oblivious perspective, but if only you knew the constant war those two battled.

“ohh cmon tom, why didn’t you just say something?” you questioned, not knowing weather to be confused or surprised, i mean tom was also your friend too.

“not that is luke any competition!”

pfftt

“just wanted to make sure you were mine first.” he cockily answered.

you lightly giggle at his comment, your lips curling into a gentle smile.

“so now im ‘yours’ huh?”

“yeah now your definitely mine.”

[pastafossa]

The Matt as a father made my heart brr.

It does make me wonder what Jane and Matt would want in their future? Whether it’s just a cat, bird, or a bunch of turtles from a sewer. Or maybe just no animals and just them and their friends. I’m curious

TY! It was definitely a warm and fuzzy post! I see no reason we can't acknowledge the difficulties he'd have as a parent (both as someone with trauma and as something with super senses), because it makes all the time, love, and effort he'd put in that much more meaningful. And God knows he'd love that kid with everything in him.

And oooh, this is a fun question! So I will say they are going to eventually get a cat (I did a oneshot about it a while back and it did well, and since I'd kinda always wanted to bring a cat into TRT, we're going to roll with it with some adjustments). That's going to become TRT canon! Ciro always had cats so Jane has a nostalgia for them, and that cat will also be a vehicle to help process some of her trauma (I haven't delved heavily into it yet, but her vague mentions of cats being 'fellow subjects' while she was held by Cyrus James will tie into this). Likewise, I'm on team, Matt needs a cat. I believe it would be really helpful for his mental health to have this little animal who just adores him, all these happy little purrs and cuddles, and a reminder that Matt's allowed to nurture something good, he's not going to kill whatever or whoever he touches. Matt's got his own emotional hangups there, but he'll work through it like Jane does. And once they're in that boat, I see them as always having at least one cat around, if not two.

ALSO GOOD CATCH ON THEIR TURTLE FRIENDS, THAT IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE RUNNING JOKES IN THE FIC

The one thing in this arena that I won't ever make official TRT canon about their future is whether they wind up with kid(s) or not. That's something I feel is incredibly personal and so I want to leave that open for people to decide themselves - do they have no kids? Just one? An entire football team? Your choice! I'll support it all as potential options, and in each of those? They're happy, whether that's the two them growing old and sitting in their red rocking chairs, having lived a long, happy life with their friends and cats and the Nelson clan who sees them as family, or as two parents to a herd of much loved kids and eventual parkour inclined grandkids.

That said, I did have the hilarious idea for a short What If oneshot involving them and their potential five-year-old daughter, who would be the bane of the principal's existence due to her penchant both for swearing and for questioning the justice of various school rules she does not agree with. But I'd mark that very clearly as a What If, and not as canon. It would just be a fun thing for me to explore because I think it would be hilarious.

[spaceshipben]

stupid rant, ignore（╹◡╹）

I never seen these two interact once, Even in fanart they barely are in the same art piece. I searched everywhere and only 3 fanfics of these two exist from 2013 and the last one being 2014. Maybe I didn’t look in good enough but like, I checked pinterest, here and pixiv (I’m pretty sure) and not a single art piece of them. Except one, ONE. It was comic of skywarp throwing some m&ms at perceptor and that’s it, Something everyone bothering perceptor. WTF, WHY IS THERE BARELY FANART OF THEM TOGETHER?? I know it’s because it’s some rarepair thing but most rarepair ships would still have at least fanart. There’s barely ships with skywarp, most being astrotrain and megatron, etc.. I’m pretty sure astrotrain and skywarp also barely interact so liek… IM CONFUSED. Or it’s because people like perceptor with yellow guy, Brainstorm i thinks. Did i miss something, Is everyone avoiding shipping them because something happens?? am I an idiot or something??? I can make my own fanfics and art but like, I can’t write a fanfic for shit. I can only do “Skywarp and perceptor kiss maybe idk” That’s it, That’s the whole fanfic for u. It ends there. I don’t mind ships of skywarp and perceptor being with others, I like the other ships but like why not skywarp and perceptor?? The only reason why i decided to ship these two because i was like a big fan of skywarp and perceptor, One day I think “What if skywarp and perceptor like each other” and I searched everywhere and nothing. I’m crying why, nothing for them uggghh I feel like i’m the only guy who ships them in the new big funny year. What the sigma no skywarp and perceptor fanart or fanfic for me to consume. I swear if I missed something, Was there a agreement in 2014 that everyone should never let skywarp and perceptor together, I think they would be awesome together, At least from what I watched from season 1-2 in g1. Maybe It’s because I didn’t watch season 3-4 but I refuse idk why, But then again didn’t skywarp go bye bye in the movie and become purple guy. Maybe I missed something in the Idw comics??? whaaaaaaaaaa……… I can’t read the comics anyway, too hard to find. Their ship name would also be hard. Skytor? Perwarp? Percywarp? Skyceptor? perwarp? Can I make the ship name since I’m basically the only one? Fuck it it’s gonna be.. MicroWarp or microwave or something. Maybe Telescope, telewarp or whatever. Their names suck, I hate u. Is there also a ship of perceptor and starscream? They’re both scientists. Startor. Fuck u perceptor pick a better name next time, this is your fault. Can’t find a good ship name for this guy. A year in this fandom and still have no art about this ship. I love you perceptor but yk. maybe they aren’t meant for each other, But even if they aren’t, there are still ships that don’t make sense but people openly love. Almost like thundercracker and soundwave, Aren’t they also considered a rarepair? Not saying thundercracker and soundwave together doesn’t make sense but about how they barely interact. whatever, don’t matter. It’s not like I was waiting for a year for this ship to happen. Maybe there’s too many ships and characters and that’s why. Or it’s perceptor’s fault, Fuck you perceptor.

Also, First time actually drawing perceptor. I tried a new brush too. ♪(´ε｀ )

I love perceptor so much for a year now but it’s my first time drawing him. Thats crazy

first one to make the perceptor x skywarp tag, I WAS HERE!!……. i think

[gumii-bearr]

Alt!Megumi who fucking hates you but has to tolerate you bc you’re Yuuji’s best friend. Yuuji drags both of you to a party and abandons you, leaving the two of you to get drunk off your asses and insult each other. Until Megumi starts getting handsy and leads you off to a room for a nice hate fuck 😇😇

YEEAASSS BOOM SHAKALAKAAAAA–

thinking about... ❝ hate sex ❞

featuring... megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, alt!megumi, hate sex, rough sex, mirror sex, swearing, dirty talk, HELLO SAILOR–

author's note: u have awoken something in me i hope ur ready for my wrath, also i made them actually fucking hate each other it's so funny.

── alt!megumi who has hated your guts from the start.

── yuji was your best friend and was always bringing you around, and it always pissed megumi off because why exactly did you need to be involved in everything?

── you were a rude, insolent brat at the best of times, always had a snarky remark or a smart ass comment loaded in the chamber ready to fire when you could sense megumi was even slightly irritated by your presence.

── it became a thing. everyone knew you hated each other, always bickering and arguing over stupid shit.

── alt!megumi who is normally a very chill and somewhat anti-social guy. but you just bring out this hot-headed, unbridled anger in him. and you do it all with the flutter of your lashes and a cheeky fucking smile on your face.

── you always had something to say. like when yuji and nobara were taking forever to pick a snack at the convenience store down the road from your college campus:

── megumi was cranky, "jesus christ, just pick something, you're taking forever"

── "you'd know all about finishing fast, huh, fushiguro?"

── alt!megumi who simply put, cannot stand you. if looks could kill, you would be so dead. and you, who is equally bothered by him and his fake tough-guy persona and how he's always pretending to be this big scary guy who is just so unbothered by everything.

── except for you, since you always manage to wriggle under his skin and piss him off.

── or when yuji dragged you both along to a party, telling you two to "be nice" to each other then promptly ditched you because, well, he's yuji, a social butterfly who makes friends wherever he goes.

── alt!megumi who isn't a big drinker, but if he has to stay at this god forsaken party, he may as well drink.

── alt!megumi who is chatting up a girl when you appear, bumping shoulders with him drunkenly as you scare away whatever little piece he was talking to because you're you and you make his life difficult for your own enjoyment.

── "why don't you just fuck off?"

── "you'd miss me too much."

── the two of you becoming progressively more drunk at this house party, and the alcohol seems to thicken the sexual tension between you and megumi.

── you're the only person he knows here other than yuji and vice versa, the two of you unintentionally gravitating toward each other no matter how much you try to avoid one another.

── you, who is dancing and grinding up on some guy and megumi is standing by the stairs just fucking watching you and he's clenching his jaw and staring daggers at you because don't you have any fucking self-respect?

── and you're wearing the tiniest mini skirt he's ever seen and a low-cut top that your tits threaten to spill out of and the gawking of these useless frat guys is pissing him off.

── and when you bend over to pick up a drink off the table, megumi just loses it because he can see your lacy black panties and your plush ass from under your skirt.

── and alt!megumi who drags you upstairs and away from all the prying eyes and wandering hands by your arm before laying into you about your lack of self-respect.

── "you want everyone to think you're some fucking slut?"

── "yeah, but you were looking too, weren't you, fushiguro?"

── alt!megumi who just stares at you, absolutely seething before the tension between you two just fucking snaps and he slams you against the closest door, his mouth on yours in mere seconds.

── alt!megumi who's tattooed hands grab and knead at your hips and ass and your tits over your shirt.

── alt!megumi who pushes you into the closest bathroom, his hand squeezing your throat as he kisses you but it's not gentle, it's mean and it's hard.

── and you, who tugs at his hair and at his belt buckle because the two of you just need to fuck out whatever the hell your problem is.

── alt!megumi who is pulling your skirt over your ass and forcing your panties down your legs and you're fucking helping him because there's something seriously wrong with how much you want him to fuck you.

── alt!megumi who bends you over the bathroom sink and squeezes your heated cheeks together as he forces you to watch him fuck you.

── "always acting like a fucking slut."

── "you've wanted to fuck me so bad from the beginning. don't lie."

── alt!megumi who is thick and long and heavy, and his pace is fucking brutal. he's forcing noise after noise out of you as he forces your hips back onto his cock, your knees buckling as he basically holds your lower body up while you brace your hands against the counter.

── and the two of you hate how good it feels.

── hate how good he's fucking you, hate how soaked you are, hate how hard you've got him.

── you hate it all so much you fucking love it.

author's note: HAHAHAHAH I NEED TO MAKE THIS A FIC IM FERAL HELLO– help i'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure like a rabid gorilla.

[iocles]

Bachira Hcs :3

• Was definitely the type of kid to collect bugs and treat them as his friends, total result of bullying💀

• CANNOT sit in a chair correctly for the life of him, it's so bad

• Moves too much in his sleep, and a chronic sleep kicker

• those sleep kicks HURT

• Borderline unintelligible writing, but that's only when he doesn't feel like writing neatly

• That's why he drew a dolphin on his toothbrush instead of writing his name, didn't think it was important to write it

• Has leaned back in his chair at school and fallen, always swears to the teacher that it won't happen again (it will)

• Probably goes up the stairs on all fours for funsies

• Makes a MEAN protein shake (I don't know why I thought of this, but it makes sense to me💔)

• Does NOT shut up whenever anyone asks him about soccer, whether they're apart of Blue Lock or not

• Spam texter 😟

• HE KICKS HIS FRIENDS IN THE BACK OF THE KNEE

• Chronic test paper doodler, has lost points on tests for it

• Has millions of playlists that he made for no reason, literally just playlists he made for a specific day and never listened to again.

• Has been posted on his school's "caught sleeping" account, VARIOUS times...

• Sings in the shower💔

• His tiktok is a total shit posting account, maybe once in a while he'll post a pic of himself

• Same thing with any of his social media, his instagram notes are STRAIGHT BRAINROT

• Tried to watch Hamilton because Isagi recommended it to him, fell asleep half way and never finished it.

AHHH FIRST REAL POST I literally need to learn how to make these posts cutesy and decorated but I'm on mobile n don't have a laptop jajaja

[shrimptacodaniels]

all i know is you make sense

AN: pibe squad…this is my debut 😅😅 been trying to find the courage to write for this fandom for so long!! please please lmk what you think. this is (ideally) part one of a series! enjoy

—————

“Don’t call me again. No, I’m not making any damn promises, Jan. Blackmail doesn’t mean shit to me-you can’t-ugh.” 

Her ragged breaths echo into the space behind the door. A space he can’t see. Jan? Promises? There’s so much he’s itching to know. No. He should be getting back before- 

The door swings open. Josh is frozen. 

He knows this look on her face immediately. He’s seen it countless times before, studied it after a plan gone wrong. Searched for an answer behind her calculating eyes. 

Katrina thinks she’s been caught. 

“How long have you been-“

“Kat...” He. Is. Stunned. From the look on her face, she is too. They stand there for a minute. He doesn’t know what to say and yet he has a million questions. 

But they’re adults. She doesn’t have to share everything with him. That’s how adult friendships work, right? And that’s okay with him. You’re close and you’re honest but not overly so-

And then she yanks him into the room by his wrist. And shuts the door. 

“How much did you hear?” 

Josh thinks on how to answer that. Truly not much, but Kat will spiral if he’s not specific enough. And she’s already pacing. He slides to sit, back against the wall. 

“Well, you weren’t on speaker, so only your side of the conversation,” he starts.

“We were worried about you after five minutes and I really was gonna go after I knocked because I respect your privacy but then you sounded so upset and there was something about blackmail and- and, well…the call ended. And here we are.” 

She presses her palms against her eyes for a moment. Hard. “You’re the only person who knows.” 

“I think you’re really overselling my perception skills, K.” She’s started pacing again. He’s smiling now, but in that way he smiles because there’s nothing else to do. Because he’s worried. “Actually? I’m a little bit surprised with how much I don’t know.” 

Yeesh. No reaction. 

When she slows her pacing enough to meet his gaze, his smile falters. Kat is controlled chaos, the master of spontaneity, a quick wit and a steady hand. Even now, with the pacing and the level voice and the measured steps. But her eyes-

She looks like she’s drowning. A wave ready to crash. A boat about to capsize. 

She needs an anchor. 

“Hey,” he calls softly, “C’mere.” 

Josh pats the space on the floor beside him. He’s careful to indicate the side closest to the door. She should be able to leave if she needs to. It’s something they have in common - they hate feeling cornered. There has to be an escape. 

Slumped next to him, before he can react, is Kat. She’s curled in on herself entirely. Defenses up. 

“Ah-“ he warns, nudging her knee with his “Come on. Look at me.” 

“No.” 

“Katrina,” he tries again, “I have no clue what the hell this is, but you’ve got me. ‘M not going anywhere. Thief’s honor.” 

That gets her. He can just barely see her eyes peeking over her folded arms. 

“You gonna un-ball yourself?”

“If you stop prying,” comes the reply. It’s sharp - sharper than he expected. He winces a bit. 

“No, hey-“ she must have felt him tense. She’s unwound herself now, eyes searching his frantically. “I’m kidding! Swear.” 

Phew. He falls back against the wall with a slight thump. 

“Yeesh man, you got me.” 

“Sorry! Sorry. That was mean. Not mad at you.” 

“‘S okay.” It’s fine. They’re fine. She’s here and he’s here and maybe they can fix whatever’s wrong. They’re always able to. 

He bites his next question back, though, just in case. 

“Can you-“ she starts. He knows what she’s asking. He threads their fingers together and squeezes twice.

You, me. 

One, two. 

A pair. 

“Yeah,” she manages, “thanks.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She shudders. “So. That was my ex-girlfriend. Who…is a felon.” 

Oh. Woah. “Uh-huh…” 

“She’s calling for bail. Got arrested again. I blocked her number the first time. And the second. But she somehow keeps getting a hold of me. And-“ 

She falters. Kat stares brokenly at her shoes; her hand is limp in his. He pulls away from her gently, moving his arm around her shoulders. Pulling her in so their sides touch. 

“Kat?” he prompts. 

She lowers her voice. “She’s threatening me. Telling me if I don’t help her out, she’ll make it so I have to join her there. She’s got contacts. Experience. It’d be easy to do.” She laughs. There’s no humor to it. 

“She’s who I went home to after the faire. I broke things off with her that night. You know how insane that was for me? I’d been living with Janessa for 3 years at that point. And you,” she knocks her head lightly against his, “you rocked my world. You gave me the courage to embrace my secret me and kick her out.” She chuckles. 

“I’m the one who called the cops on her the first time. She threatened me with a kitchen knife when I was packing up her things. Nearly cut my finger in two waving it around.” She holds up her pointer finger to him to inspect. There’s a raised line, stark and pale, that traces from the pad of her finger to her knuckle. 

Josh wants to throw up. 

“What evidence does she have against you?” He whispers. His eyes are still fixed on the scar. 

“Josh.” She turns to look at him. Drops her hand. “She knows I’m a thief. She knows about the faire. And she was running crimes while we lived together. Out of my house. Her and her new boyfriend.” She spits the word boyfriend with an almost frightening venom. 

“But you didn’t know that was happening.” 

“The cards aren’t really in my favor either way.” There’s something shaky about her smile. “I can’t go to jail. But if she gets out-“ she shudders again, “-that’s…bad too. It’s a lose-lose.” 

“Hell no it’s not.” Josh decides, then and there, that this is bullshit. He pulls Katrina back into him so their temples are touching. Huddled together. Because he has a game plan.

“Alright. This ex of yours doesn’t know what she’s up against. You’re not giving her bail. Rachel’s gonna figure out how to make you untraceable so she can’t get your number anymore. Any if she tries to pull anything, even still?” He pauses to grin at her. 

“Your best friend is the best damn paralegal in Mountport. I’m no attorney, but I know the law and how to break it. And you, my friend, have not done anything that incriminates you. All charges of theft are under the monetary limit for jail time, and they can’t be proven because we covered our tracks. AND we returned most of ‘em anyway. And you didn’t know about the crimes Janessa committed until after the fact. You reported her, too, which should work against any charge of aiding a-“ 

“Alright, I get it.” She drops her head to his shoulder. There’s a little less tension in her face. Good. 

“You think we’ll be okay?” She asks.

Two squeezes. 

You, me. 

One, two. 

A pair. 

“You kidding?” He squeezes twice again. “Of course we will. Unless Janice burns the lasagna again.” 

She’s up in a flash. “You’re so right.” 

“Onwards, my liege,” he declares, “to defend your oven!” 

They leave the room laughing, and the heaviness stays behind to melt and be forgotten. 

[spotaus]

Okay okay, rb time!!

For context (I was going to reply I'm the comments but it got too long lmao-)

You are such a genius in motivations, I swear! And the way you wrote in each situation was so so tasty too. Like, Fresh being in the woods so often that he wasn't sure what Error liked to do to relax that first weekend? And then the next one. Ough. Error trying to reach out, reassure himself that Fresh doesn't hate him (because at that point he was obviously looking for comfort in the absence of Geno + the awkward previous weekend) and Fresh, not noticing that end of things, continuously pulling away?? Ofc it's to protect him, but Error doesn't know that!!

And the letter was such a good touch as well! Fresh acting as soon as he possibly could (Also the shade thrown at Fresh by the academy lmao-) but it still being too late, almost exactly paralleling the situation between him and Error? His pause before he read the rest of it? Revealing Monday??

(Side note: Fresh looking for Error was heartbreaking. Like, not even the town search, just inside the house. It gave me the vibes of being a lil kid and going to look for my parents in the house w/o realizing they went to the store or were out in the yard. Progressively getting more anxious the more rooms you search? The quieter it is? Ough poor Fresh... (and probably poor Error, because I have to imagine he did the same thing...) Oh and the fact that the three of them shared a room makes so much sense for the story, but is also so sweet! Do you think when Fresh is camping he lets his beasts curl up near him because he misses his brothers? That Error likes the tower because he's finally alone in his own space, but sometimes still naps in his hammocks in occupied rooms because the tower feels empty? That Geno sometimes wakes up at Reaper's glancing around, doing that tired check-in on his brothers? That he panicked for a split second when they're not there, just to remember that they're not living together anymore, and instead he finds himself alone or by Reaper's side? Do you think he checks on Reaper like that sometimes, or when he's particularly feeling worried he rolls out of bed to check on Fresh in his room? Consult the crystal ball to see Error? Okay I'll stop-)

Anyways, yes, Error had plenty of reason to convince himself to leave after Fresh's odd behavior!

And his travel path too! Fresh searching through town was a treat! Long Furby inclusion, him searching the alleyways (and the encounter with the guy who tried to mug him, draining some of his natural magic unintentionally, proof to the reader that it *is* actually dangerous, tasty!!!), the dangerous hill with the hungry beasts (and Fresh slipping felt like a perfect little addition. Even in his own element, he's tripping and stumbling just trying to find answers-), the wrapper that seems super old and is still the newest scent marker?? Fun!! And Fresh's magic manifestation, is awesome too, the trail he could faintly see, track, and follow. His concern about the entertainment distract too, gut-wrenching!

And ofc tye bit about Orchard again!! I didn't mention it initially but the bit about Whistling being so close was fun and gave me the chills (smth about how you wrote it, even if I wasn't the one who made them I think I'd still be spooked!). And Fresh being able to recognize the damage as sonething Error was capable of. Of smth he little brother had definitely done. (I skipped it but the mention of Fresh only being gone a few days and finding a parasite l, Error being gone for a week in comparison, it's so tasty...) And asking about it, only for Orchard's natural hatred of other kingdoms to shine through? Between that and slight linguistics differences? All of it? Fresh believing Error had been killed feels SO right!!!

Oh, and, slight side-note? I think the other reason the scent trail ends there, aside from Error having gotten into the carriage and no longer traveling on foot, might have to do with the fact that Nightmare's magic just Does Things sometimes. Like, if he wanted Error to go unnoticed by the crowd (ex. Anyone seeking him out)? His magic might've done something subconsciously. The handshake masking Error in some way. Like, next time they meet, Fresh notices Error's scent is different. Just ever so slightly, and not because he's been living in the castle. But idk about that haha! Just another fun idea to play with- (Like, Horror notices it once he starts working with Night that his own scent is slightly different too. And it matches, somehow, with Killer and Dust's-)

And ohhhhh, Fresh searching?? I think you're right that he's really really in denial. He's expecting, in his soul, to pick up the trail again when passing a guard or some peasant cemetery, but he's hoping he'll stumble into his little brother as he keeps looking. Alive. And when he finally admits it to Geno? Yeag, I don't think he'd be able to bring himself to say it, that Error was dead. He knows that Geno was always looking out for the both of them, but Error was both of their pride and joy. (Geno genuinely doesn't have favorites between his brothers, but Fresh knows that and would still willingly let Error be the favorite sibling haha-) It would break Geno's heart to know Error was dead. Fresh knows Geno is strong, but he doesn't want his brother to fall down, so he 'lies'. Besides. Geno was always the better older brother. If anyone could make a miracle happen, find Error after months missing? It'd be him. He found Fresh, after all.

And!!! Bonus thought!! Because I just realized it. Fresh isn't actively doing harm in his searching, aside from, y'know, scrumptious meals from passerby. But he'd be around Orchard, probably wouldn't leave until he finally has to tell Geno what happened, and then he moves to Sanctuary when Geno says Reaper will help them. So, in the meantime? All the Knights have been recruited (even if Cross is still a trainee) and Error is comfy cozy up in his tower. The Knights still have missions. All the time. Do. Do you think Fresh ever got a slight whiff of Error's scent again? Wafting off a location the Knights had been in? Like, it wouldn't be often, but it'd be something to tell Geno, right? Hotspot? Signs of their brother, no matter how faint? He wasn't there, but someone who'd been near him, or his things, had been. And ofc that leads Reaper to assume the worst (trafficking rings) but the spies report their contacts are missing, the black market seems to have either hidden deeper into the darkness, or it was entirely missing. And they can't find out what happened there. Just, little things. Fresh rationalizes it as Error's belongings (backpack, clothes, etc) being toted around by new owners perhaps. Geno is sure there's something up. In reality, it's just Dust, who was chilling in the study around Night and Error, wafting off some of Error's residue magic/scent during his missions lmao-

Okay I'm done now!!! This was so so nice Ancha, thank you????

Gifted Drabble - NewAgeAU - Gone

So. This idea just came to me! And I got cooking! @spotaus I hope you are happy! Because this time?

I am actually AIMING to make this a gutpunch >:D

Enjoy. The middle brother. Fresh :) (Also spot!! I couldn't find the art you did on Fresh so i had to wing it a litle bit lmao!)

Also warning. Unbetad and unedited :D

*-----------------------*

Fresh is running through the streets.

He is an idiot and a horrible brother.

He just thought!

Fresh groans as he taps his foot. Very impatiently waiting for the bridge to lower to pass the canal. Heck!! The night before he had been convinced it was still Wednesday! He had been planning on leaving towards home on Thursday morning so he would be home before the evening to do some grocery shopping.

To make sure he was prepared for when Error came home for the weekend from school.

Only! To realise when the morning actualyl hit! That it was Friday already! He was late! So very late!

The bridge is finally down and he rushes over it, pushing other people aside to make room as he runs down the streets.

Fresh is an idiot!!

He promised Error that he would be there when Error came home! That they would do the home chores on the Friday he got home and to get some nice pick up to eat! Then the whole Saturday would be for them to enjoy and hang out with before Fresh would have to walk his little brother to the ride back to his school!

Fresh had just... He had been so nervous. The first weekend that Geno had been gone. That it had just been Fresh and Error... Fresh hadn't known what to do. Fresh is so used to being out and about and now he had to step up as older brother instead of just letting Geno do it.

In his defence! Geno is really good at it. and Fresh is very unsave. Which is very unrad of an older brother to be.

Fresh jsut... can't help but see his little brother. His baby brother! As a source of energy and food thanks to that rude thing in his skull.

Fresh had been jealous of his own brothers and messed around with something too strong and now he can't even hold his little brother or older brother without fearing he will end up eating their magic and hurting them.

Fresh wanted magic so badly... Well... he got it... and he hates it.

Fresh turns another corner as he rushes home. Making sure not to nudge or touch anyone as he goes. A glance at a passing clock and he winces. It is already past eleven. Error should have gotten home at ten in the morning. meaning his little baby brother had been home alone for the last thirteen hours.

Fresh really is the worst brother...

He promised!! He promised after the disasterous first weekend he would be there for Error the next one! But well, the second weekend Fresh just hadn't known waht to do with Error. They just did chores together and that was it. Fresh just couldn't deal with Error being near. With that thing in his skull just wanting to use Error as a source of food. Error would sit down next to him and Fresh would have to think of another excuse to move away! He didn't even know what to say or what to talk about with Error.

Fresh hadn't wanted this weekend to be the same. He wanted to do better this time. So when Error had been picked up for school Fresh had set out, even if Geno specifically asked Fresh to remain home. Fresh needed to do this! He had been planning to camp deep in the forest to let the parasite thing feed on natural magic. Then by the time it was Wednesday he would be safe to be around! Go home on Thursday and do the chores needed. Then when Error got home on Friday he would have gotten groceries already and be able to at least make him some breakfast to eat while he got his stuff washed. They could check Error's school supplies and make sure his homework was done. Then Friday night they would relax and play some games and eat nice take out food.

The Saterday would have been something fun! Some outing or something and Fresh could give Error the surprise he promised last weekend-

Fresh freezes. He forgot the surprise!! He forgot to get anything!!

Okay. it is fine! Maybe. Maybe they can go get some nice ice cream and go star gazing!! Wait... did Error still enjoy star gazing? Fresh glances up and frowns. Right... rain and cloudy.

Not that either of those matters as stars were hard to see around here... Something about the smoke from the many facturies and the magical and fake lights ruining the nightsky view...

Maybe... Maybe Fresh can take Error out to the forest with him? Go camping! Oh that can still work- Except it can't as Error needs to be home early on Sunday to make sure he is packed for school and on time for his ride.

Why is this so hard?! How did Geno do this so easily?!

He finally gets home and pushes the door open "Error I am so sorry-" the room is dark?

Fresh frowns as he looks around. He doesn't spot Error anywhere and doesn't spot any candles lit. The fireplace isn't even lit. Did... Did Error go to bed- wait he didn't do groceries yet. His little brother went to bed hungry? Not only did Fresh fail with being here he didn't even make sure that Error had stuff to eat!

Fresh groans as he rubs his face. He wnats to smash his own skull against the wall. This is so stupid! He should have!!

Maybe he should have just stayed home. Like Geno asked him to do. To be here in case Error needed him while Geno got their new home ready. But... Fresh had just wanted to do this weekend better. To actually be able to be a brother for once. He had wanted the parasite pacified and...

Fresh goes towards side of the room as he rubs his hands together. It is really cold in here... Why didn't Error start a fire?

Fresh gets to the cabinet holding their firemaking supplies and checks it. Only to find it empty.

Fresh groans as he just lays his face in his hands. Great. Not only did he let his brother come home to an empty house when he promised he would be there. He also left the house bare of both food and fire supplies. Meaning his little brother was not just alone and hurt by Fresh breaking his promise, again. But also was hungry and cold.

He is the worst. He is the worst brother ever.

Fresh looks at the door towards their small shared bedroom. He pushes himself up and inches over. He wants to rush in and apologise. Promise he will be better. But what if Error is asleep? Maybe it is better to let him rest as Fresh tries to fix what he can? Get some groceries and stuff? Maybe he can find Error's bag and clean his things still! Maybe they can still have the whole Saturday at least!

Fresh nods and slowly opens the door. He glances around and frowns. Three empty beds. That... That isn't what he expected. Fresh glances up towards the small string made hammock near the ceiling. Error did enjoy being up high... Fresh inches closer and slowly climbs on top of the bed "Error? are you awake?" barely above a whisper.

Fresh slowly rises to full height as he gathers his nerves to look at his little brother "I am so sorry. I swear i will do better and make it up to you.".

Fresh half expects Error to speak up and remind him that he already promised that twice and failed at it. That Fresh should jsut leave.

But no answer comes.

Fresh finally dares to look into the string nest to meet Error's rage or see his brother sleep peacefully. Only to see no one is there.

Fresh stares at the empty nest. He checks all three beds again. Finding no one. Fresh checks the closet to see if Error hid in there. No one again.

Fresh feels panic start to overtake his soul as he rushes out of the room. Looking around desperately for Error "Error!? Where are you hiding broski!" Fresh looks around and can't help but notice that he doesn't see Error's jacket on the coat hanger. He doesn't see Error's backpack anywhere.

No. No no no no. Maybe... Maybe he jsut got hungry! Maybe he is just getting some food from somewhere!

Fresh rushes towards the kitchen and checks their emergency jar. All the gold that had been in there is gone. Good. Good!! That. That means that Error took the gold to get some food! That is great!

Fresh leans against the counter and sighs in relieve. He can just use the time now to clean some stuff up then. Maybe he can still make this weekend right.

Fresh grins as he looks back to the door to get his bag when he sees it. Some kind of letter on the table. Fresh frowns as he walks over. There is a very thin layer of house dust on it and Fresh brushes it off.

Huh. the seal keeping it close is from the academy. Fresh shrugs as he uses his clawed finger to open the letter. He grabs the paper and with the light from his eye lights reads it.

To Error's Caretaker.

Huh. Right. as they don't have a family name Fresh supposes they would do it like this. Though Fresh is very sure they used to just address Geno directly. Seems like this was their go to when Geno told them Fresh would be serving as main caretaker for Error.

We are regretful to inform you that we have been forced to make the hard decision to expel Error from our esteemed Academy and curriculum.

It was a hard decision but after all that has happened and the past problems Error has had with the easier classes it seems best to not continue Error's education at our establishment.

We understand that this is a shock and for this reason we will allow a grace period where you are able to apply for us to reconsider our decision. If you want to appeal to us make sure to write us a letter before Friday to ensure we have enough time to process your request and prepare a response.

Fresh doesn't even wait. His hands shake as he searches the room for things to write with and finds the smaller magical envelope to send his reply in. He finds some paper and writes the letter as quickly as possible. His soul pounding wildly. He quickly writes how it is a stupid decision as Error is amazing with magic and complex spellwork. That he just doesn't feel challenged in the easier classes and needs something more challenging to keep him engaged in the classes. Fresh makes sure to remind them that Geno is Error's brother and Geno was their best stupid they had ever had with perfect marks for his classes and having been able to craft complex spells beyond even the level of the professors. That Geno reassured them that Error was just as talented in magic and would make unbelieveable things.

Fresh checks his letter quickly. it isn't the best handwriting but that had always been terrible and Fresh doesn't have the time to reconsider. He isn't sure what time it is but he refuses to be too late for this. He puts the letter into the envelope and closes it up by alligning the seal on it. The letter starts to float and twirls around before disappearing.

Fresh quickly grabs the letter and keeps reading.

We understand this is a huge shock but we request you to rememebr that this was not an easy decision for us either.

Fresh glares "Yeah that is just a lie! You guys were always mean and rude and uncool to Error." Just because Error's magic is different and Error uses it differently. He had heard enough talks between Geno and Error this. Maybe Error is hiding soemwhere in the house? Worried Fresh won't get it and will get mad at him?

Which is stupid. Fresh could never be mad at him.

Fresh looks around "Error? I promise and swear I am not mad. These guys are just stupid and unrad for not seeing how amazing and talented and skilled you are!" No answer.

Fresh looks back at the letter and finds where he left off.

We also understand that it will be a shock to have this happen at the start of the week.

His soul feels like it stupid pulsing. No... No...

But we made sure he was brought home safely even if it is much earlier. He will have all of his supplies with him and we have enclosed a list of all of these items. If anything is missing please send a copy of the list included back with a letter to explain the missing item.

Thank you for your understanding Yours truthfully,

Afterwards it is just the principles name but that isn't what catches Fresh's attention. Becuase the date that is next to the signature. To signal this was writen and send with Error to him. Dates back to Monday... Four full days ago.

Error... Error had gotten home on Monday...

Fresh drops the letter as he looks around in a panic. The house doesn't feel lived in. There is some dirt and dust already gathering because nothing was used and it hadn't been aired out. Error's jacket and shoes aren't near the door. Error's bag is gone as well. He took some money.

Fresh runs outside as he whistles loudly.

A rumble from the ground and moments later his beast frees itself from the ground. It doesn't look like any normal animal. It is a strange large worm thing with fur and bright colours. The eyes are strange and it has a beak.

Fresh stares at it "Find Error. Find his scent or trace or trail or anything! As soon as you find it come back to me and lead me there." His large creature tilts its head all the way in a circle much like an owl before disappearing into the ground again.

Fresh meanwhile starts running. He prays Error is by the shops in main street. Maybe he is just hanging aorund the stores to steal things and hide nearby. Fresh knows all three of them have gone that before. Fresh just also knows that gangs tend to hang around there and Fresh does not want one of those heathens to hurt his brother!

He gets there and checks the stores first. Ntohign looks broken into but Error can also do magic to make himself invisible as easy as breathing. Fresh makes sure to be obvious about being there and searching. If Error is watching he may see that Fresh is looking for him and come out? hopefully?

No Error however and Fresh rushes into the alleyways around the stores. Checking every single one carefully. Making sure to grab some guy waiting in said sidestreet. Seeing as the other tried to stab Fresh.

The guy sputters and looks terrified.

Fresh just glares "Who else have you attacked this week?"

The guy sputters and tries to breka free from his hold but Fresh just holds on tighter "Tell. me."

The guy shudders and tries to shrink in on himself "Jsut some humans! Rich folk that had no right to be here! Just stole some money but didn't hurt anyone! I swear!" Fresh can smell the scent of fear. It reeks but a tiny part of himself, the part of his soul that is now directly connected to that parasite, purrs at the scent of fear. Like he is hunting.

Fresh drops the other. Barely taking note of the fact the other looks exhausted and is a lot paler. Fresh leaves the sidepath and looks around. Error isn't here.

Fresh gorans as he rubs his sockets. Trying to think. Where could he have gone. Maybe he went to the hill just out of city limits? On the edge of the forest?

Fresh doesn't like that idea as there are some wild animals and beasts in those forests that can and will try to hunt his brother. Fresh knows that Geno told Error to stay away from there. Fresh still turns and starts running. it is best he checks. just in case.

Getting out of the city always takes a while but getting up the hill is just annoying. It is slippery thanks to the rain and Fresh loses his footing quite a few times.

But he gets there with only a bit of mud on his jacket. It doens't matter however as Fresh searches the area. He doesn't see or smell anything that could suggest Error has been here. Fresh still walks afew steps into the forest to check those just in case.

The amgic had done a lot to him. It had changed him. First and foremost was his connections to animals and his beasts. his new magic affecting the animals that become close to him and turning them into one of his beasts. He has a special connection to them.

But he himself had changed. He was stronger, faster. His senses had improved tenfold if not more. His phalanges having turned sharper and clawlike. The way he could now feed on the magic and energy of others. Steal it like a leech.

There is a good reason Fresh tries to stay away from the city. to stay at a distance from his brothers.

Fresh manages to get back to the city when he hears the sound of digging. Fresh turns and waits with held breath as his worm beast comes out of the ground. It stares at him and Fresh knows it. It has found a trace of Error.

Fresh doesn't even need to give the order. It already knows what Fresh wants and leads him back into the tunnel. The tail at the end closing the hole behind them as Fresh remains on its back.

It is dark and everything smells of dirt and garbage. The city really needs to spend more time on keeping the streets clean.

The worm stops and digs up and Fresh is back on the streets. He ignores the few shouts of fear and running steps as he lands on the ground. He looks around as the fur covered worm raises this small wrapper. Fresh takes it with care and takes adeep breath. It smells of greasy food. a burger. Seems like they used the off brand cheese. But he can also small it. Something that almost smells like strings nad wool of materials Error always carries and his jacket. a very tiny bit of wood which should be his knitting needle. the scent of bones of course. The potent magic that he is so used to smelling and being near.

Fresh frowns. It is old. This is an old trace. He looks back at his worm "This is old." the worm looks a thim and then at the warper and then back at him.

Fresh frowns. This... this is the newest? Fine. Fresh will work with it then. He takes a deep breatha nd concentrates. Trying to filter all the other scents out and just focus on the scnet of his brother.

He opens his eyes and is happy to note his magic is active. The way there is this swirling misty trail int he air. it is weak and barely there but still there. THe scent trail. Fresh looks back at his beast "Keep searching." THe worm digs back into the ground as Fresh runs after the trail.

He rushes through the streets and ignores anyone shouting at him for bumping into them. Fresh looks around as he keeps shouting error's name in the hope of getting his attention.

As he runs it becomes more and more obvious that error had been making his way towards the outskirts. Which. No?! Fresh knows that the... entertainment district is over there! And Fresh does not trust those kind of sick pervs anywhere near his little brother!

Sure Error had been starting to start his growspurt and shoot up in height but he is only twelve! Fresh does not trust anyone with him!

Fresh is so relieved when it becomes obvious that Error hadn't been aiming to that direction after all. Instead the trail seems to lead towards an old abandoned factury. Why would he go here?

Fresh shakes his skull. He doesn't want to think about it. It doens't matter. He will ask Error when he dragged his younger brother home and got him comfortable in about five blankets.

Fresh gets to the building and frowns as the scent trail keeps getting thinner. At least it seems like error didn't actually went into the old building becuase it is close to falling apart and Fresh does not want to think about how hurt he could have gotten if his magic got explosive again and the building came down on him.

Fresh continues moving and reaches the edge of the city. Realising that... Error left... He left the city.

Fresh stands at the edge. staring into the distance. the open road with nothing there. Fresh pants as he stares ahead. His skull spinning. That does he do now? What does he do?! Fresh puts his face into his hands. Error... Error ran away? He left?

Then again... What did he expect? Fresh hasn't exactly been a good brother at all. In matter of fact. Fresh had been a terrible brother. He wouldn't even show affection to Error. He didn't even make sure things were taken care of for when error got him.

Geno ASKED HIM! Geno BEGGED him to remain home. To just skip the far away feeding and feed the parasite by going into the city. Geno had told him so many times that Error would need Fresh. That Geno is so sorry to place this on Fresh but Geno needs to go to Sanctuary to get everything ready for them.

This was suposed to be their break!! Geno had already pulled the strings he could to make sure bother Fresha dn Error could move with him. Geno told them he was going to get their new home ready and look for the best tutors for Error with his magic and for the best healers for Fresh. Sanctuary is a very magical country with many many skilled individuals. Geno had high hopes to finally get them settled somewhere good. Somewhere where they could be happy!

And... and Fresh ruined it. Because Fresh decided he knew better than Geno. Because Fresh couldn't deal with being near his little brother and he is just the worst. Error had been so sad to see Geno go and Fresh ahdn't even tried to comfort him.

Fresh shakes rubs his sockets harshly. a strange singlike grumble from beside him and Fresh realises his beast is back to his side.

He needs to fix this. Fresh sint'sure if he can but he needs to try. He owns it to Error. He owns it to Geno.

Geno had found him wihtin an hour and Fresh had managed to get hismelf infected with a parasite.

Fresh doesn't want to know all the trouble Error could run into in the four, by now almost five days he had been on his own.

Fresh takes a deep sigh and nods. He is going back to the house and pack lightly for another trip. Leave one of his beasts at the house and then get traveling.

He can track. He can follow trails. He will use everything he can to find his brother.

No matter what it takes.

----

Fresh wants to cry. Though he had been crying for the last three hours already.

He had followed Error's trail all the way from Ironfields to Orchard over the course of a full week. And that had scared him more than anything. Wiht how close Orchard lays to no-mans land around the Whistlers territory. Not to forget Fresh thinks there was this whole thing about some crazy king in this kingdom? He isn't sure he isn't big on politics.

Fresh had searched. He had searched the whole city the trail had lead to. But nothing.

The trail just... ended at a dead end.

He had ended in some kind of arena. The scent of Error's magic had been so strong there and he had felt so hopeful. He had searched the whole area but nothing.

Aside from the very obvious blasted top of the arena. Fresh asked around and while most people jsut looked at him disgusted by his accent some people mentioned how there were wizard try outs.

Fresh asked specificially about a young skeleton. black bones. powerful magic.

Some people looked thoughtful before mentioning how they think they heard something about it but that the guards took care of it.

Took. Care. Of. It.

Fresh had tried to find other stories but it came down to the same thing over and over. Some young skeleton did a too large spell. A lot of damage got down before the guards got to them and stopped them before they could hurt anyone.

Fresh was shaking. Error wouldn't hurt anyone unless they gave him a reason.

Fresh sobs as he srubs his sockets. He was too late. He messed up and now... Now...

How is he going to tell Geno this? How is he going to tell him that he failed in every single aspect of being a brother and got their baby brother killed?

Fresh sobs as he jjust throws his stupid glasses away. it shatters somewhere. He doens't care.

He doesn't want this stupid power. He wants to go back to being weak and boring and normal.

He doesn't want to be special anymore.

He just wants his brother back.

Please. Please give him back.

He is sorry.

So sorry.

[lifeaspect]

conducting very important research right now

[ohitslen]

*Vampirizes your Vashwood*

keep reading for more :)

If there needs to be much closer close-up please let me know!