#i was trying to figure out how to pick the tissue up to dispose of it

[frankencanon]

just narrowly dodged the worst bullet

(it's playing dead in the photo btw)

(also WHY was it in the tissue box and WHY was it holding onto the tissue—?!)

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 2: Operation

(Disclaimer: only three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about K.O. here. For more information about Caliban and R.D.—who are only mentioned, but still deserve some credit—go here and here. For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(There's a little something-something included at the end of this story; a sneak-peek for the events of Day 6 and Day 7. Originally, there were going to be three bonus snippets at the end of three specific stories, all leading up to a separate story as a Halloween Special. But I was on a time-crunch, and plans had to change. Just figured I'd give some extra context.)

(Trigger Warnings: blood/gore, disembowelment, knives/blades, descriptions of illegal business, implied violence, implied murder/death, mentions of cannibalism, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7

___

A slick, bubbling sigh crept up into the air as Murdock raked his dagger down the target’s chest. 

The crimson line left in his wake slowly grew wider and wider, oozing out to unveil the remaining layer of muscle tissue that stretched about the sternum. Having that stuff be touched by cool, relatively fresh air for the first (and last) time must’ve been something else. 

The edges of flesh seemed to pucker, almost resembling a frayed seam in clothing. 

Even if he typically didn’t do much harvesting himself, he’d still stuck around to chat and watch one of his many accomplices harvest from plenty of targets in the past. He still knew most of the basics.

Through the years, Murdock and Caliban had bonded over quite a few things—knives being one of them. Sure, the cannibal’s pun-addiction never failed to be infuriating, but he (and, by extension, his sister) was still a damn good colleague to have. 

Someone who was not only a reliable body-disposal resource, but also knew how to make collective millions on the Black Market, as well as help play some thrilling games with the mob’s targets?

That was someone who you’d have to be an absolute dumbass to not want in your corner for this type of business. 

And business was typically good when knives were involved. Yeah-yeah, other weapons had their merits, other weapons were more suited for certain situations, take your pick. 

(OR just finally own up and admit that blades are the best when it comes to dramatics. Not only because they make the work nice and messy, but they also require you to actually practice and learn so you can eviscerate the idiots who decided to talk behind your back with even more skill and flair than the average JoCat-inspired comeback.)

Knives were one of the things to have awoken his passion for mayhem years ago. 

Knives brought blood, and blood brought profit and suggestion and energy…

A soft, strangled groan seeped out through the target’s teeth. Murdock paused, turning his head to peer down at the other man’s eyes. 

It seemed that most of the lights were out—save for one that was still trying to flicker out of pure desperation—but someone was still home. He wouldn’t be for much longer, of course, if the lack of motion and the glaze in his eyes and the unnatural angle of his neck and the space between each shallow, wheezing, barely-audible breath was any indication. 

Murdock chewed his lip before shrugging to himself, returning his focus to the incision. 

It could be hard to apply the right amount of force (since people were infamous for being shockingly durable and shockingly fragile at the same damn time). But then, there was always a plethora of potential buyers wanting organs for a plethora of increasingly specific and increasingly fucked-up reasons. Even the ones with a little damage could still make money.

As Murdock set his blade off to the side and took hold of the sections he’d just sliced, pulling them even further apart and tearing a few strands of formerly internal tissue, he caught a metallic glint out of the corner of his eye. 

There, resting right above where he’d just started cutting, was a tiny pendant crafted in the shape of a butterfly. Squinting at it, Murdock realized that the charm’s bright yellow material looked oddly pure. Moreso than the brass of his own necklace. Not only that, but there was a total of four little gems adorned it, one attached to each wing, all cut in a Marquise style.

…Gold, a voice in his head hissed. GOLD.

The color, the way it shone in the light; there was no way this thing wasn’t genuine! Hell, if his guesstimate was right, then it had to be fourteen karats! Which, in turn, meant even at its size—just big enough to balance on his thumbnail—it would still be worth a little over five-hundred dollars. 

Even more than that if those stones were authentic diamonds and not just Swarvoski…

Sure, when it came to stuff outside a target’s body, a price like that wasn’t much compared to the prices of the stuff inside a target’s body. 

But that was just it: patrons of the Black Market were often there simply because they’d grown bored of normal luxuries (and true luxury never came without the suffering of others, did it?). 

If they weren’t looking for organs or skin or bones, then they’d be looking for trinkets that seemed casual at first, only to come with sinister stories. 

Such as, for example, a little jeweled trophy snatched away from the poor victim of a hitman while they lay dying a slow, painful death. 

Bloodstains could dress up the sale even more, but then, most of those elite customers got all pouty and extra annoying if they couldn’t flaunt what they bought. With that in mind, Murdock decided to put the butterfly charm off to the side until he was done with the harvesting. 

The thin chain snapped like a reed as he pulled, pinching the butterfly’s sides between his index-finger and thumb.

And then, all the jokes Caliban had made about butterfingers were ringing in his ears as the pendant was suddenly airborn…

___

Of all the things K.O. had imagined when he’d first been offered a place in The Pentas Family, petsitting was not one of them.

Not that this was really a problem, mind you—he’d gotten the other things he’d expected and then some. (A better fighting schedule, a much more profitable hidden-in-plain-sight arena, opponents to beat to a pulp, paid assignments on top of the money he raked in each time he won a match…)

Besides, while he was a definite dog-person, he still had a soft spot for animals in general.  

Even the one that might just be attempting sabotage at the moment. 

“I know what you’re trying to do, Snare,” K.O. called, not looking away from the cutting board and the various leafy things he’d been systematically chopping up for the past few minutes. 

Snare’s only response was to keep weaving around the fighter’s ankles, regularly pausing to reach up and paw at his knees. 

A half-smile on his face, K.O. continued, “Look, even if I did end up getting one of my own fingers by accident, I still wouldn’t give it to you. I already gave you one from Cal’s freezer, and the instructions say you can only get two per week. That’s just the rules, and the only time I can really break any rules is when I’m in the ring.”

He paused, thinking. “And even then, I save that for when the other guy decides to fuck around and find out.”

Snare tilted his head, craning his neck to look up at him, his dark amber eyes eerily thoughtful as always. Even if Caliban was the only person who could really read the leucistic hare’s body language, K.O. just knew when he was being judged (whether it was in a playful manner or not).

“...Yeah, I’m not sure why I told you all that, either,” K.O. replied with a shrug. 

Sooner or later, everything was ready. 

K.O. reached over to set the knife down in the sink, then carefully lifted up the cutting board and strode out of the kitchen. Snare followed along, only to bury his nose in his bowl, nibbling at the mix of dark green the fighter dropped off.

K.O. carried on, soon marching up a narrow staircase that stood just across the hall from Caliban’s bedroom. 

This house’s second floor only had two rooms to offer: a tidy guest suite, and a surprisingly spacious office. K.O. entered the latter, setting the board of goodies down on a desk in one corner before surveying the cage that loomed in another. 

Where Snare’s hutch was wide enough to nearly take up half of Caliban’s living room, the enclosure that R.D. had set up for her rats was tall—topping four feet of wire-mesh, the metal framing of its sides hidden by smooth gray wood. Hell, K.O. would put money on this thing being intended for creatures like ferrets or chinchillas…but then, even the smallest animals needed way more space than what they were usually given in the pet stores. 

The cage’s interior was organized into five levels, all connected by little ramps. Judging by the little nametags that were attached to the corners of the tiers (HERBERT on the first tier, SURRIDGE on the second, MOREAU on the third, FORSYTHIA on the fourth, and PHIBES on the fifth at the very top), each one acted as a sort of bedroom for each of the rodents. 

“Hey, guys. I figured you’d like some snacks to start off the week,” K.O. greeted, leaning down and smiling as he peered through the mesh. Through all the bedding and tiny blankets and even tinier toys, several pairs of beady eyes peered back, each with a little pink nose that twitched curiously.

K.O. hovered by the desk, flipping through the notes that had been left for him. Once he got to a page labeled FEEDING, he took a moment to re-read: 

There’s a big bag of nutri-pellets in the cabinet by the cage; just one tablespoon in each bowl is enough per day. (Make sure to refill their water-bottles every morning.) Still, rats are big omnivores, so it’s best to give them a little extra variety 1–3 times per week.

Phibes likes apple slices (PEELED AND WITHOUT THE SEEDS)

Moreau likes thinly-chopped carrots (again, PEELED)

Surridge likes small cuts of pear and mango (if you didn’t already guess that they should be PEELED AND HAVE ANY SEEDS/PITS REMOVED…well, I’m not TOO disappointed, but still. You’re an adult, you should be able to see a pattern by now) 

Forsythia likes kale and spinach, judging by how many times he’s tried to sneak leaves out of Snare’s bowl (I know I was specific before, but please, PLEASE tell me that you won’t try to peel stuff like leaves)

Herbert likes cauliflower and broccoli (look, I’ll be very grateful if you follow my instructions, because that means you care about keeping my little guys healthy and happy…but if you seriously try to peel tiny trees, then I’ll have no choice but to tell Cal to keep an eye on you for a while)

Rats really only need protein on occasion. Too much in one sitting will just make them sick. So, if you think that they deserve a meatier treat, then it has to be something LEAN. There’s a container full of roast chicken in the fridge; these guys all love a thin slice of the breast or skin. (If you really want to go the extra mile, carve the bones out of the wings and break them in half. They’re perfect for gnawing habits, plus the marrow is a great source of vitamins and minerals.)

DO NOT FEED THEM ANY HUMAN FLESH. SNARE CAN ONLY PULL IT OFF BECAUSE HARES ARE NATURAL OPPORTUNISTS; THEY’RE BUILT TO SCAVENGE OFF OF LARGER PREDATORS WHEN THEY NEED TO. YES, WILD RATS CAN HANDLE THAT TYPE OF DIET, BUT THE DOMESTIC ONES JUST CAN’T.

Good luck, and thanks again for taking the time to look after everything! See you soon!

— R.D. & Cal

K.O. snorted; the letter was dripping with sarcasm, but he respected people who were so meticulous with their pets. It just meant that they cared.

Plus, it felt nice that he was trusted to help out with something like this; after all, it wasn’t like Caliban could afford to just drop Snare off at a boarding kennel, considering the hare’s special diet…

Each tier on the rat-cage had its own little door, which made it easier for him to drop off the right snacks into the right bowls. None of the rodents tried to scurry out or climb on this new person's arms, though they did approach to cautiously sniff at his hands. 

(Well, all but Moreau. He just squinted at K.O. with near-palpable suspicion. But then, Moreau only had three limbs—there was a stump where his right hind-leg should’ve been. So, it seemed he had every damn right to be a little withdrawn.)

Before he could try to pet any of them, however, a faraway noise caught his attention…

“...Murdock?” K.O. called, remembering exactly what he’d been up to before all this.

Murdock didn’t call back, either because he hadn’t heard his accomplice or was just intentionally ignoring him. 

K.O. chewed his lip, then closed the rat’s cage back up and headed back down the staircase.

All the while, that noise got somewhat louder and clearer, muffled yet echoing in a way that could only be caused by old concrete walls.

Once he’d returned to the first floor, he couldn’t help but smirk upon recognizing a string of very frustrated, very colorful words set in that familiar baritone. 

___

Blood was a fickle thing. 

On most occasions, Murdock enjoyed that fickleness. 

There were so many different ways that deep crimson juice could seep out of someone just depending on the angle of a laceration. 

Sometimes you had to make it all rush out and splatter all over the walls in a manner of minutes, other times you got a chance to stretch the bleeding out and watch a pool form on the floor, growing wider and deeper and darker. In any case, you never missed out on feeling the weight of your blade as it sank into flesh.

This current occasion, however, was not one of them. 

“Where is it?!” Murdock hissed to himself through clenched teeth, looming over the fresh cavity.

Despite his leather gloves, it was pretty damn obvious that his knuckles were turning white. He gripped the surgical tweezer he’d found in Caliban’s toolcase, jabbing it back-and-forth, side-to-side in the crevices of the target’s intestines. 

Crimson droplets came spraying out, though the stains they left weren't really noticeable, considering the deep shade of currant that colored his favorite turtleneck. On the other hand, the specks that landed on his black-tinted shades stuck out in a very sinister way.

“Where is it, where is it, where in the flying FUCK—”

“Where’s what?” A familiar voice interjected, accompanied by a hollow chorus of footsteps that were growing closer and closer. 

Murdock paused, straightening his back and glancing over his shoulder just in time to see K.O.’s thin-yet-muscular form descending the hidden staircase (or, one of many hidden staircases, to be precise. Almost every one of his peers had a den like this). 

The Pentas Family’s resident illegal-fighting champion wandered over to stand by his side, glancing down at the mess on the block kitchen island that, thanks to Caliban, doubled as a human-disassembly station. 

Murdock heaved a sigh, finally loosening his grasp on the tweezers. It was a bit surprising that he hadn’t broken them just yet.

 “...I found some jewelry on this guy last-minute,” he explained, nodding to the target’s face (which was, interestingly enough, still twitching and twisting in agony. The strangled sobs had multiplied and even gotten a little louder). “I was just taking it off to put in its own jar or whatever for selling later on—”

“But you dropped it and can’t find it now?” K.O. finished, not bothering to hide the mirth that started to flicker in his blue eyes.  

“I know where it is!” Murdock snapped. He then pointed at the target’s guts, speaking quickly before his friend could remind him of the aggravated mantra he’d been spitting out just a few seconds ago, “I saw where it landed! But when I tried to grab it, it somehow slipped again and sank in deeper.”

K.O. sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, brow furrowing with sympathy. He moved to stand on the other side of the island, opposite of Murdock, before squinting down at the body cavity. “Well, what does this jewelry look like?”

“A butterfly. A really small, golden charm with diamonds studded on the wings,” Murdock answered, nearly bumping heads with the fighter as he leaned over again, pushing the tweezers back down into the tangle of bloody, organic tubes. 

“...Huh. So this guy technically has a physical butterfly in his stomach,” K.O. announced, chuckling as he fidgeted with the pockets of his amaranth-dyed jeans. “Cal would’ve loved this.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Murdock warned, trying his damnedest not to imagine all the puns Caliban would use if he’d been present to see the incident at hand.

(Even if he and the cannibal in question had agreed on plenty other examples of taunting terminology from the criminal underground.)

The cage-lights that adorned the tunnels’ old walls every twenty-or-so feet were dim and flickering. But their near-ancient glow still glinted off of blades quite nicely. 

Both Murdock’s dagger and Caliban’s cleaver had seemed to sear through the air as they took turns slashing at their victim, circling around him not unlike a pair of sharks. 

The intruder had collapsed against the old, rusty railing, crying out in pain and probably regretting every choice he’d made that led to sneaking down here.

Murdock tsk-tsked, kneeling down to snatch a handful of the intruder’s hair, forcing him to face him. “Hey, that’s what attempted sabatoge gets you. Especially when you think you can just break into our dens.” 

He’d traced the very tip of his dagger along the intruder’s cheek, drinking up some more fear before he pressed it into skin. He only used enough force to bring out a little bead of dark red; this show of restraint really didn’t mean much, considering the mess of blood and bruises that he and his accomplice had already inflicted on his head, his neck, his arms…

The bead in question soon turned into yet another thin line that ran down the man’s face, eventually merging with the gore that oozed from his busted lip.

“Wait!” Caliban had suddenly exclaimed, moving to kneel by the intruder’s side. “Wait-wait-wait, hold on!”

“The first couple ‘waits’ didn’t tip me off,” Murdock had snarked, though he did pause his movements. “Why? What’s the matter?”

Caliban grabbed hold of the intruder now bloodstained shirt-collar, partially lifting him up. He then gestured to all the fresh cuts marring flesh. “All these wounds are hungry, ‘Doc! Can’t you see that?” The mask of faux-concern slipped, sadistic glee worming its way back into his expression. “We’ve gotta feed them some SALT!”

The intruder squirmed, wretching and gibbering and shaking his head as he tried to escape. But it was no use; pretty much all the air had been knocked right out of him. And even if it hadn’t been, the collective pain from all those bleeding gashes would’ve slowed him down.

“Oh...Oh!” Murdock crowed, nodding as realization came along. He reached over to clap his accomplice on the shoulder. “Good point, Cal! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!” 

Caliban smiled cheekily. “That’s why we have these little collabs, isn’t it?” 

Murdock got to his feet, pacing along the old platform to peer at the intentionally-place graffiti on the walls. “We shouldn’t be too far from your den—” He then stooped back down, trapping one of the intruder’s arms in a vice-like grip. “C’mon, let’s get to it!” 

“Right!” Caliban cackled, taking the intruder’s other arm as he stood. 

With that, the duo had started dragging their victim along to his fate, eager to test out yet another interrogation tactic. 

“You really think you’ll have enough salt for this?” Murdock wondered aloud, glancing back at the struggling mess of a man who decided to fuck around and was now finding out. 

“I mean, I should,” Caliban replied. His brow furrowed as he stared at the floor, probably going through a silent checklist. 

A few seconds later, he simply shrugged, a sharp, toothy grin etching its way across his features as he looked back at Murdock. “But even if I don’t…I did put a gallon-jug of vinegar under the sink just yesterday.”

“Ooh,” Murdock hummed, offering an unhinged smirk of his own. “Yeah, that’d do the trick for sure!”

Caliban nodded. “Plus, it won’t make much of a dent in the skin’s price, as long as I wash it during the harvest…” 

Murdock’s free hand moved to tug at the edges, trying to give the tweezers in his other hand a bit more leeway. Blood pooled up and out due to the pressure. 

K.O., meanwhile, fidgeted in place, watching and thinking. “...Remember, skin goes for ten bucks per square-inch. So, if some sections need to be cut smaller because they’re too stretched—”

“I’M AWARE,” Murdock replied, raising his voice to be heard over the truly sickening (one might even say gut-wrenching) song of squelches caused by all the friction. 

The target made a feeble attempt to raise his voice, but that didn't change the fact that he was well past forming coherent sentences anymore. 

K.O. raised an eyebrow at this, shock beginning to ripple in his eyes.. “Hang on—is he still alive?”

Murdock, taking another quick, angry little break, shrugged. “In a way.”

“But—but I broke his neck not even an hour ago!” K.O. protested, moving to gape at the target’s twisting face. “He fell like a soggy trash-bag! Like a ragdoll! He hasn’t moved at all since before we even got here!”

“Broken necks aren’t always fatal,” Murdock mentioned, digging through the fleshy maze yet again. “Sometimes it just damages the spinal nerves enough to cause paralysis. Maybe you just didn’t twist it enough.”

K.O. hummed at this, surprise warping into morbid fascination. For whatever reason, he didn’t reach around the target’s neck to finish the job just yet. Instead, he went back to glancing in mild, semi-snarky awe at the sheer force of Murdock’s pissed-off snarl and forehead-creases. 

Murdock was too focused to see how the fighter sidled around the island to stand just behind him.

That changed with a quickness as he felt a weight materialize on both of his shoulders. 

“Here, you look stressed—”

“What makes you say THAT?” Murdock growled, refusing to look away from his work. 

“—let me give you a shoulder-rub,” K.O. continued, his tone of voice just singing about the shit-eating grin that was growing on his face. 

“I don’t want one,” Murdock argued, rolling his shoulders with much more force than strictly necessary. “Do not touch me, do not touch me, do not touch me, do nOT TOUCH ME!”

“Alright, alright,” K.O. relented…but only for a few seconds. “I can still help—what if I just put my arms under yours?” 

 “YOU FUCKING GET THOSE OUT FROM UNDER ME!” Murdock snapped, shifting in place to fend off his accomplice's arms before they could brush against his sides. 

K.O. snickered, finally holding his hands up in defeat. He moved into Murdock's field of view again, coming to stand by the target’s head. 

For the next moment or two, there was somewhat blissful silence. 

“What if you just left it like this?” K.O. piped up again. “It might give some extra edge to the sale. Kinda like one of those raffle games.”

“Raffle games?” Murdock echoed, incredulous.

“Yeah! Y’know, the whole ‘Guess How Many Beads Are In This Jar! The closest number gets a price!’ thing.”  K.O. spread his hands in a lame gesture. “Maybe you could squish these intestines into a jar with the butterfly still inside, then just tell potential buyers about it! No way there won’t be at least one person desperate enough for gold that they’ll dig through cold guts.”

Although that idea did sound pretty funny, Murdock still shook his head, snorting. “The average set of intestines are about sixteen feet long when they’re stretched out. Good luck finding a jar big enough to hold all that and keep it sealed without cracking.”

With another forceful sigh, Murdock threw the tweezers down. He took a second to tug at his gloves, then flexed his fingers…and plunged his hands into the target’s intestines. 

Full. 

Submersion.

While he didn’t gag or retch or react in the way any normal person would, Murdock still couldn’t help but cringe a little. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually handled entrails like this—he’d forgotten just how thick and dense they were. 

The hitman set his jaw and kept at it, glaring at nothing in particular as his fingers became lost in the maze of gore. Even with his gloves on, he’d still be able to feel the sharp, carefully-sculpted edges of that stupid godddamn butterfly charm…once his hands actually came across it, that is. 

More wheezing, unintelligible sobs came leaking out through the target’s teeth. 

“Calm, cool, collected…” K.O. taunted, drumming his fingers on the target’s forehead. “…I’m gonna frame you for tax-fraud…”

Murdock didn’t pause, didn’t look over at the fighter…but he just could stop himself from sputtering a small, low, flabbergasted chuckle at such a random comment. 

He didn’t see the way K.O.’s lips curled into a tiny, genuine smile. 

Whether or not the target was still in the headspace to be worrying about a threat to his taxes (or the current state of his organs), he still kept on wailing, kept on choking.

Kept on being an annoyance. (A much more macabre annoyance than average, but an annoyance all the same.) 

“This FUCKING GUY won’t shut THE FUCK UP,” Murdock seethed.

He finally looked back up from his work, locking eyes with K.O. as he used one very messy hand to toss his thumb over his shoulder. “Get a towel—get some paper-towels, get some water. We’re gonna FUCKING waterboard this guy.”

Now it was K.O.’s turn to sputter with disbelieving giggles. But he certainly didn’t hesitate. He raced over to the utility sink in the corner, returning seconds later with a wad of dripping paper-towels. 

“Next time you TALK—” K.O. started to warn…only for the target to let out another choked scream. The fighter pursed his lips and slammed the soaked towels down onto the target’s face.

…It actually ended up muffling the ensuing cries even more than expected. 

And that got a genuine belly-laugh out of Murdock. Maybe not enough to stave off an impending migraine, but something was better than nothing. 

“You’ll be sleeping with the fishes!” K.O. chortled, pressing his handed on top of the mess to keep everything in place. “You’ll be sleeping with the goddamn FISHES!”

More time passed by; now that all those distracting screams had been taken down a notch, things seemed to move a bit faster.

The metallic stench of still-warm blood hung heavy around the duo. Had the air been any hotter down here, it might’ve grown thick enough for them to almost taste the plasma as they breathed

“Let’s be honest here,” K.O. said, shifting in place and lifting his hands away from the target’s face (somehow, the paper-towel-gag didn’t slide off to plop down on the floor). “Can you actually get that butterfly out?” 

 “I am so close—I just felt it, I almost had it out, but it just clipped the edge of the—” Murdock took a deep breath, turning his head to crack his neck a few times, relieving some of the tension that had gathered there. “I swear to God, I can get this!”

“Alright, alright! If that’s the case, then it might not be as deep as it was before!” K.O. moved closer, leaning down toward the cavity. He reached over to pluck up the tweezers, then started gingerly probing at the entrails. 

Murdock’s own hands pulled back, soon coming to rest on his temples in a noble attempt to keep his brain from eroding through his skull. He barely even noticed how the blood smeared against his skin.

A hollow, aggravated, exhausted groan poured out of his lungs. For a few seconds, he simply took a turn to watch. 

Evidently, the powder-keg of K.O.’s patience had an even shorter fuse than Murdock’s. 

In one swift, fluid movement, he tossed the tweezers away, one hand curling in a fist that plummeted against the surface of the guts with a wet, smacking thump! 

And then…THEN…

Time seemed to slow down. 

Whatever primordial entity that potentially ruled over this cruel universe finally decided to say, “Why not?” 

Because as the intestines quivered from the strike, a tiny, glinting projectile suddenly erupted out from the very center of the mess, arching in the air before landing just a few inches away from the cavity with an anticlimactic plink!

The two mobsters both froze in place, their mouths dropping in near-perfect unison. 

The next moment almost felt like a whole hour as they stared down at the golden, diamond-encrusted, butterfly-shaped trophy. 

K.O. was the first to break the stunned silence, throwing his head back and practically screaming with laughter. Murdock followed suite, his own guffaw starting out with a wheeze that built up in volume over the course of a few seconds. 

“Did you see that?!” Murdock just barely managed to ask, still wracked with breathless cackles. 

“How did that just happen?!” K.O. asked, getting a rare pass for answering a question with another question.

___

[You actually read this far? Wow, that’s dedication! And as a thank you…here’s a little hint at what’s to come, featuring a couple more fanmade characters: my second-ever CrankEgo, and my first ever SepticEgo! To learn more about them, go here. I just feel like the ever-obscure EldritchPlier needs another rival besides my own LeviathanPat. And why shouldn’t that new rival come with his own semi-cultist companion like Cruz?]

(One more thing: if you’d like to use distorted fonts like the one you’ll be seeing in this story, go here.)

The Oozing Crown hadn’t even been closed for a minute. 

Outside, the electric sign at the top of the building hadn’t even been turned off yet. 

It still glowed with an eerie light that somehow still managed to be welcoming. Its neon wires all worked together to portray a grinning, emerald-green skull with hot-pink liquid fountaining out of a jagged hole in its parietal. 

One Moses Norbert had just barely finished cleaning the main floor, securing the rows upon rows of bottles behind the counter. Just as he reached to lock up the shelves for the night, a very distorted, very familiar voice came pouring into his mind like molten lead.

“𝗕⃥𝘖̸𝗜⃥𝘓̸ 𝘜̸𝗣⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘝̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗜⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥𝘈̸ 𝘊̸𝗢⃥𝘒̸𝗘⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗗⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘐̸𝗫⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸ 𝘞̸𝗜⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗝⃥𝘈̸𝗣⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗦⃥𝘒̸𝗘⃥𝘠̸.⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗡⃥𝘈̸ 𝘉̸𝗘⃥ 𝗔⃥ ��⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘕̸𝗜⃥𝘎̸𝗛⃥𝘛̸.⃥”

All the time Moses had spent running the surface-level of this business granted him the power to find the coveted bottle of Suntory Toki just by muscle-memory. He moved into the kitchen, grabbing a can of Coca-Cola Vanilla from the fridge before setting a pan atop the stove.

 “Oh, yeah? Praytell why? Cosmic seasonal depression beyond my comprehension?” Moses asked, chuckling to try and hide the way he stiffened. 

It wasn’t at all uncommon for the creature he’d learned to call Septic to ask for some special drinks once the brewery-and-distillery-combo was devoid of all mortal witnesses. 

Hell, jokes connecting his drinking habits to the fact that his otherworldly tone was somehow laced with an honest-to-God Irish accent had been a big part of his and Moses’ bonding in the past. 

But this was…different. 

It wasn’t like Moses was a stranger to adding all sorts of distinctly un-kosher things to soda or alcohol by now, but being asked to boil beverages was never the best omen.

“𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗟⃥𝘐̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥,” Septic snickered, though his pitch was still obviously weighed down by something else. “𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥.̸ 𝘛̸𝗘⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸ 𝘐̸𝗦⃥.̸”

Despite the fact that no-one was actually around to see his expression, Moses raised an incredulous eyebrow (besides, he knew Septic could see far, far beyond the barriers around them).

“October,” he answered. 

“𝗬⃥𝘌̸𝗣⃥.̸ 𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘖̸𝗕⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘈̸𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸ 𝘍̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸?⃥”

“…Halloween,” Moses continued, occasionally stirring the soda as it started to heat up and bubble.

“𝗖⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘈̸𝗠⃥𝘜̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸𝗢⃥.” A chorus of almost porcelain clicks echoed through Moses’ head; Septic must have been gnashing his multitude of sharp, jagged teeth together in contemplation. “𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗗⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗦⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘈̸𝗗⃥ 𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗣⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸ 𝘔̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸𝗧⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗞⃥𝘗̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥'̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥𝘖̸ 𝘔̸𝗨⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘐̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘐̸𝗥⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸𝗦⃥.̸ 𝗜⃥𝘍̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘈̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸ 𝘝̸𝗘⃥𝘕̸𝗧⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸-⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸𝗦⃥𝘐̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗦⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗬⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘖̸ 𝘉̸𝗬⃥.̸.⃥.̸”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Moses agreed, his brow furrowing at memories of stupid Karens who had ruined one night of trick-or-treating too many when he’d still been just a little kid.

The cola had reached a rolling boil by now, so he turned the burner off and fetched a glass from one of the cabinets. After pouring a little more than a shot’s worth of the whiskey, he carefully upended the steaming pan over it. 

And as the concoction practically mixed itself together, realization came in. “…Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

“𝗜⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥'̸𝗧⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸,⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘔̸ 𝘐̸?⃥” Septic snorted, an eye-roll evident in his pitch.

Moses crossed the kitchen, rooting through the storage closet tucked into one corner. It took little time for him to find a wooden chest stashed on the highest shelf, well out of view to any strangers who might’ve come in here for whatever reason. He opened it up, fishing out the mask he’d been given years ago, as part of the pact he’d made when he was first brought to the apartment on top of the brewery’s roof. 

The mask was an amalgamation of leather and metal. It almost resembled one of those typical, vintage gas masks…that is, if those pieces of old-fashioned gear were designed with six spindly copper blades attached to the base of the mouth-guard by a set of rivets. It resembled the mandibles of some kind of hellish, overgrown insect. 

And that wasn’t mentioning the mask’s eyes. Yes, it had a primary pair for the wearer to actually, y’know, see through. But it had many, many more, all scattered about the top, having apparently been welded onto the mask’s dome. Right now they were a deep, rich shade of cobalt, though they would sometimes change color depending on what type of ritual he participated in. 

Even though he’d signed a (relatively) mutually-beneficial contract years ago, Moses was still somewhat at risk. 

Trees emitted oxygen, outer abominations emitted surreal terror that could physically manifest in a number of nasty ways. 

(And that included the whole “names have power” schtick. The last part of Septic’s name was the only part that could be spoken by a mortal without causing their vocal cords to explode into tiny, sinewy pillars of thorns from the inside-out. Despite all the adjustment Moses had gone through, the last time he’d dared try to say Septic’s full title, he’d ended up crying bloody slugs for the rest of the night.)

(...Plus, having a special mask for stuff like this gave way for the perfect excuse to make jokes about using protection during rituals. Oh sure, you could say that you wouldn’t jump at an opportunity like that if you found yourself working with a sentient crime against nature…but then your mother would’ve raised a fucking liar.)

Pulling the mask over his head, Moses stepped out of the storage closet and knelt down in the center of the kitchen; the cellar door was well-camoflauged, topped off with a slab of the same material as the floor in here, but he knew how to find the right edges. 

Like some kind of weird, reverse murphy-bed, the door glided up and open, revealing a short steel stair-unit.

With that, Moses grabbed the freshly-brewed beverage and headed down. 

As usual, the basement was dark, but the mask helped Moses’ eyes to adjust quickly. It was also much, much bigger than the brewery’s main floor; his footsteps reverberated as he paced along an industrial catwalk that overlooked all the machinery down here. But then, most of that stuff was attached to the walls, not taking up too much space. 

No, what really needed accommodation were the tanks—a group of seven, to be exact. Six were positioned by the sides, split into two groups of three. They were each about eight feet tall, each painstakingly crafted from silvery metal, each able to brew or distill about a hundred barrels’ worth of product. 

And yet, none of them could really compare to the seventh tank.

It stood before the rest at the very head of the room, looming at fourteen feet. It boasted a shiny copper material…though, you couldn’t really tell whenever Septic was active.

As Moses descended yet another metallic staircase and approached, a bright glow sparked to life inside the seventh tank, casting the room in a dark-yet-vibrant shade of green that silently screamed with toxicity. 

Moses’ shadow stretched along the floor behind him as halted just a few feet away from the radioactive-looking vessel. The source of that glow rose up, floating in the center and not even having to wade closer to rest his hands—or, more precisely, his clutches of talons—against the tank’s foremost inner wall. 

Even though Septic’s outline was blurry, it was still easy to see the several eyes scattered about his torso in arms. They came in a variety of shapes and sizes, all glowing and rolling around in their misplaced sockets. A mane of long, dark hair twisted through the liquid, the movement looking similar to trapped, spasming eels.

The tank’s hatch (which nearly scraped against the ceiling) popped open with a pressurized hsssssss. Clouds of discolored steam billowed into the air, along with a smell that was reminiscent of geyser pits…that is, if the natural sulfur came with a trace of sweetness that could only ever be produced by rotting flesh. 

Moses held the glass forward, prompting Septic to reach up. One of his arms gave off a chorus of pops and cracks as it protruded from the hatch, stretching far too long far too quickly.

The bones in his translucent skin shuddered and warped, his translucent skin glistening. Droplets slid off, smoking as they met their end against the concrete floor.

Then, just a millisecond after his claws wrapped around the glass, the limb retracted back into the tank with an echoing splash!

Septic’s outline craned his neck to greedy gulp down the casual elixir. Once the glass was drained, he opened wide, causing the strands of torn flesh along his cheeks to stretch even further.

The liquid inside the tank did nothing to muffle the cacophony of crunching and shattering that would’ve made much more sense echoing up from the depth of a malfunctioning garbage disposal.  

Septic then let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders. “𝗔⃥𝘏̸,⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥𝘕̸ 𝘚̸𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥.̸ 𝘊̸𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗠⃥𝘚̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘚̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥.̸” He nodded in Moses’ direction, pupil dilating in the eye on the center of his chest. “𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗞⃥𝘚̸.⃥”

“No problem,” Moses replied, nodding back. He started rocking back and forth on his heels. “So, what’s this Halloween ritual about? If you’re already taking the atrocity-equivelent of blood-pressure medicine, then it’s gotta do with something bigger than the usual stuff.” 

Despite his new anxiety, Moses couldn’t help but snicker to himself. The usual stuff he’d just mentioned involved harvesting souls and emotions from the people he could get away with knocking out and dragging down here to meet a very gruesome fate inside any one of the tanks.

(And he didn’t even really have to clean them out afterwards! Thanks to Septic’s power, the mess pretty much always just dissolved out of existence once the task was complete! How lucky was that?!)

“𝗜⃥𝘛̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘙̸𝗜⃥𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸𝗟⃥𝘍̸,⃥ 𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥.̸ 𝘐̸𝗧⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘜̸𝗬⃥𝘚̸ 𝘞̸𝗘⃥'̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸ 𝘕̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘓̸𝗣⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸ 𝘐̸𝗧⃥.”  Septic clicked an elastic, forked tongue. He slowly spun around in the tank, almost like the stuff inside lava lamps. 

Moses tilted his head to the side, curiosity worming its way into his head. “Wait…this’ll call for more people than just us? For guys like…like you?”

Septic nodded; despite his obvious apprehension, he still bared his fangs in a grin at the inquinsitiveness. “𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥'̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸ 𝘗̸𝗥⃥𝘖̸𝗕⃥𝘈̸𝗕⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘈̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸ 𝘈̸ 𝘍̸𝗘⃥𝘞̸ 𝘗̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸𝗜⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘚̸ 𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸𝗣⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘞̸𝗔⃥𝘙̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸ 𝘔̸𝗔⃥𝘚̸𝗞⃥.̸ 𝗕⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥'̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸ 𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘠̸ 𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸𝗙⃥,̸ 𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸𝗜⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸ 𝘋̸𝗘⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸𝗦⃥.̸ 𝘚̸𝗢⃥,̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸ 𝘚̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘌̸ 𝘗̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥𝘛̸𝗬⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘈̸𝗙⃥𝘌̸ 𝘍̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘔̸𝗢⃥𝘚̸𝗧⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘛̸.”

Moses hummed at this. Yeah, there was still a lot of foreboding that came with the statement…but already had bragging rights for working with a cosmic horror! And soon he’d get to work with even more?! 

There was no way anyone else’s upcoming Halloween plans could compare to his. No. Fucking. Way.

“𝗗⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥'̸𝗧⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥ 𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗖⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥,” Septic warned, having clearly both seen and felt the rising adrenaline. “𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘜̸𝗬⃥𝘚̸ 𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸ 𝘚̸𝗢⃥𝘔̸𝗘⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘗̸𝗘⃥𝘛̸𝗧⃥𝘐̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸𝗧⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘚̸ 𝘖̸𝗙⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥ 𝗜⃥'̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸ 𝘌̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥.”

“...How the hell can I not get excited at a concept like that?!” Moses asked. “If human drama manages to be so weirdly entertaining, then eldritch drama must be even wilder!”

“𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥,” Septic agreed with a sardonic chuckle. “𝗟⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘒̸,⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘚̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥ 𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗣⃥𝘓̸𝗔⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥��̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸,⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗘⃥𝘋̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗩⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘐̸𝗙⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥𝘌̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥ 𝗥⃥𝘐̸𝗚⃥𝘏̸𝗧⃥.̸” 

He paused, diving down for a few seconds before floating closer to the top of the tank. “.⃥.̸.⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸,⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗞⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥,̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘋̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸'⃥𝘛̸ 𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘝̸𝗘⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘌̸𝗫⃥𝘗̸𝗟⃥𝘈̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸ 𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘠̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘍̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘋̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸'⃥𝘛̸ 𝘞̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸.⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗝⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸ 𝘕̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘒̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗣⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸ 𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘈̸𝗗⃥ 𝗨⃥𝘗̸.” 

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” Moses chuckled. He then glanced at the catwalk over his shoulder. “How long will you be gone?” 

Where some monsters were bound to follow rules that kept them out of places, Septic was restricted to being kept in a place. Ever since he’d had that chance-meeting with Moses, however, he’d had a counter to that pesky binding.

Granted, he could only stay out of his tank for a short time before being dragged back by whatever force was in there underneath him, but he wasn’t one to look a gift morbid-fascination-prone-human in the mouth. 

“𝗝⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗪⃥𝘖̸ 𝘋̸𝗔⃥𝘠̸𝗦⃥.̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘚̸𝗔⃥𝘝̸𝗘⃥𝘋̸ 𝘜̸𝗣⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘌̸𝗫⃥𝘛̸𝗥⃥𝘈̸ 𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥𝘎̸𝗬⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘚̸.”

“Gotcha. Well…good luck with that, I guess.” Moses moved closer, soon climbing on the stepladder that was pretty much always propped up against Septic’s tank.

He held the hatch’s brass handle in a vice-like grip, knuckles very quickly turning white. He ever-so-slightly leaned to the side, bracing himself. “Ready when you are!”

The green light grew more vibrant, more poisonous.  

The tank began to rattle, to groan, to shudder in place. The unearthly liquid inside gurgled and churned as Septic’s form all but flooded out. 

Moses’ instincts screamed at him to lower his head and wrench his eyes shut…but everything was over before he even could. 

The glow had vanished, leaving the basement full of shadows, safe for the light that trickled down from the kitchen through that door-in-the-floor. 

The air was clear. 

Septic was gone…though, his voice was stubborn enough to stay for a few more seconds. “𝗦⃥𝘌̸𝗘⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸!⃥”

“Likewise!” Moses called back. As he slid down the ladder and started making his way back toward the kitchen, he added, “…And bring me back a toy!”

[To be continued on Day 6...]

___

@sammys-magical-au

[scarletpath]

After much though, plot and character building, I decided to do a in-depth bio for my Tav. I absolutely love him and I tried to make himself as original as possible. I also designed him as not a Tav but as a Companion. Because why not.

Name: Zyn (Also known as the Harbinger Bard by others because where ever he goes, death follows him)

It's not his original nor does he know what his real name is. It was given to him. To be short, simple and easy to remember. A family name was not needed for him or the others who became under the control of the fanatical Lolth Priestess.

Race: Lolth Sworn Drow

Though, due to complications (Which will be detailed here) it's complicated for him. If anything, he's more of a Anarchist now.

Age: 124

At the age of 11 he was taken from his life by the Lolth Cult

For 105 years he had served them

And for the last 8 years, he's been trying to reclaim the life stolen from him by wondering the surface.

Appearance:

Height: 5'7

Hair: Naturally Black. Parted down the middle and goes down to his shoulders.

Skin: Dark Ash

Eyes: Red

Distinguishing marks: Marks cut into his chin that were made to identify him as one of the Priestess's assassins.

On his left side, there is a deep gash. A rather nasty scar that's raised. Caused by a vicious single stab. Memories of how he got it haunt his dreams randomly, causing him painful scar tissue pain where the wound is.

Class: Dual type: Rogue (Assassin) and Bard (Swords)

When he came to the surface, he had to find a way to climatize to his new life. He knew life wouldn't be easy if he went around as a dark imposing figure. So he picked up the Bard class to help learn about the world around him and to blend in. Also, it helps to fool others and his enemies/targets because who suspects a Bard of being a threat. It helps him to use his Assassin skills without being suspicious.

Weapons: Yes please

He has an array of weaponry at his disposal. Normally he's seen with a Rapier at his side and a crossbow. He has daggers that he keeps hidden for fast access. His musical instruments are also hidden weapons. His flute can pull apart to reveal a long stiletto blade inside and the bow of his violin pops out a blade along it's back so he can laterally slice up someone while playing it. Or use it as a hidden blade.

He also has a dagger that is always hidden on his person that he named 'Kindness'.

Interesting/Unique Perks: Poison resistance

Because he was trained and raised to be an assassin, he had to go through Mithridatism. (Building a poison resistance by taking in non lethal amounts of poison regularly.) Interestingly enough, if Astarion bites him, he to will gain a Poison resistance perk for that day.

Past:

The earliest memories he has was being grouped up with group of young Drow boys. All were stolen, sold or orphaned. The young boys were chosen due to the Matriarchal society of the Drow. They were forced through trials to weed out the weak ones. The ones that didn't make it, died through the harsh and painful courses. Poison, starvation, dehydration, you name it. Those who made it were immediately trained to become assassins.

The reason why this one Lolth Priestess gathered the boys was because of her own paranoia and thirst for power and longevity. She didn't trust her own followers to be loyal to her at all times. So she decided that the best people to protect her were those who she had control over how they were raised. So she restricted their education. They only read from books that she allowed. Had them learn how to read and write of course. But the politics, about the other races, cultures and even their own religion were all twisted and half truths. All to manipulate them and make them complacent of their position. To make sure they didn't have their own ideas, to feel curious or to have their own hopes and dreams. This didn't stop her from being cruel to them. She used them as she saw fit. Taking them to her orgies once they had grown for her own pleasure and protection. Using her abilities and using them as marionettes so she can kill without having to put herself in harms way. Her assassins had no life of their own but to serve and obey.

It was when she hired a group of Mercenaries that caused a crack to form in Zyn's tiny bubble. They were hired to help train her assassins to be better in face to face battles and not rely themselves to the shadows. Zyn wanted to prove himself to be more than capable and challenged who he thought was the strongest of the group. He had his ass handed to him obviously. So everyday he trained against him. And everyday, the bond that started between them started to grow. They started talking and opening up. The mercenary told stories about his adventures and the world around them. Zyn was completely enthralled and fascinated with everything he said. And soon, their training sessions were just them sneaking off to be in each other's arms. This was the first time he felt a lovers caress. The time came were his lover had to leave because their contract was ending. He begged Zyn to sneak off with him. He knew that Zyn was a prisoner, a slave with invisible shackles but Zyn didn't see it that way. Not use to feeling scared, he lashed out. Accusing the other for trying to make him feel weak and trying to manipulate him to question his loyalty. The mercenary, with a broken heart backed off, saying that he'll find a way for them to be together. The next morning the Priestess announced that one of the mercenaries tried to kill her and tossed their armor for everyone to see. It was his lover's. His whole world started to crack more and felt empty. Not knowing how to handle grief, he started to have mental breaks. Having to investigate what really was out there. He read the books meant for burning, snuck out to the nearby city to find his own answers and even conversed to the slaves that came from the surface. Everything spiraled for him as he finally realized that his whole life was stolen from him and he threw away his love and the freedom it came with. He broke down as a flood of emotions he wasn't allowed to feel crashed down on him. The only thing he knew he had to do was to kill the Priestess that took everything from him.

Unfortunately it ended up in disaster. She figured that he would try something and stabbed him in his side. It had a paralytic poison on it, causing his body to go limp and his heart to slow down. He was tossed into a mass grave to bleed out in and die. From here on, he barely remembers anything. The only thing he remembers is that someone showed up and saved him right as he passed out. He was healed, patched up and left by the entrance so he could live his life out there. It turns out that the one who saved him was his lover. He wasn't killed like the Priestess said. It was a fate worse than death for Drow. He was turned into a Drider. Despite everything, he still loved him and wanted him to be free and knew they couldn't be together.

So for the past 8 years, Zyn traveled everywhere. The first couple years, he focused on learning as much as he could. Throwing himself into libraries and reading whatever books he laid his hands on.

Personality:

He can be intimidating at times, especially with a resting face. Though, around people, he tries to brighten his expressions. He honestly is trying to reverse the programming that was instilled in him for the past 100 some years, but sometimes it slips out. Though, mostly when he's attacking and killing something/someone. He's very mature about his abilities and takes his skills very seriously. But it's pretty common for him to be naive over regular situations. But don't be surprised if he knows some very random and in-depth information. Unfortunately, he's a little emotionally stunted and suffers from anxiety when overwhelmed. He views his ability to kill as his nature. As a cat would kill for food or for fun. He only targets those that are deemed pests to the world. Like Bandits and Goblins. He doesn't do it to be a hero or for fame though and calling him one irritates him. Even though he has his freedom, he's still trapped by his past and doesn't really know what it means or how to be free.

The Tadpole: He hates that it's in his head. He feels like it's a ticking time bomb. He doesn't want to become a Mindflayer. To be a hivemind with no true identity. He wants to be him. To find out who he is and what he can become. To find his own hopes and dreams. Hobbies and goals in life.

The Absolute:

Hates it and the cult even more. It just reminds him of what he went through all his life. If he had it his way, he would find a way to kill every True Soul he comes across.

Likes/Dislikes:

He likes savory and bold flavors and not sweets. He's grown to really like cheese. Sometimes he drinks a bit too much. One might think it's a crutch for him for his trauma and pain. He likes books and learning new things. When playing music, he tends to avoid singing unless he feels comfortable about it. He thinks because his voice isn't as light and soft, it's not a good singing voice. (But it actually is) Hates rudeness and trying to act pleasant around irritating people. He hates it even more when those intrusive thoughts pop into his mind about how to deal with them. Because he knows that he would've done that years ago.

Approvals:

Tricking the enemy

No Mercy for the enemy

Agreeing with his ideas/ or liking them

Trusting him!

Disapprovals:

Questioning his intelligence when he offers his input that he's knowledgeable about. (It makes him feel stupid and it's a sore spot for him)

Mercy for the enemy

Siding with the True Souls without deception

Romance options: (The ones I've honestly thought a lot about. But honestly, I feel he's pretty much compatible with everyone.)

Wyll: Thinking about it, Wyll is a very good option for him because he can help him overcome his darkness and use that energy to help people. The two of them are technically Vigilantes that go around taking down evil. Wyll does it to help others while Zyn does it for himself. He can help him realize that it's okay to do something for others and not feel trapped about it. That at the end they would work together as a powerful pair and travel.

Astarion:

The two would bond over their dark pasts. Understanding and accepting the broken parts of themselves. Zyn would feel relief and feel more open around him. In the good ending, the two would help each other with their freedom and support each other. Bad ending though.. If Astarion ascends, Zyn would literally relapse back to his old ways. Astarion's offers of power and rewards makes him fold because it was something he never got from the Priestess even though promised. Deep down he always desired praise and attention for his loyalty and duty.

The Dark Urge:

In the beginning, I feel like he wouldn't really care for them surprisingly enough. Killing with no rhyme or reason rubs him the wrong way. To him, there is a order to things. Also, he's a professional killer and he would comment on the other's amateur skills and not to compare them to his skills. Though, if the DU attempts to kill him in his sleep, that won't work because Zyn would be alert and pull a dagger on them too. But seeing the struggle they're going through, he can't help but feel sorry for them and tries to help them by giving them advice and work arounds. This relationship can be very bad if you let it be. For the bad ending, he's pretty much manipulated to side with the DU and Bhaal, even though he never wants to be subservient to deities again. Making him their special Assassin.

[luvdsc]

mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged. 

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?���

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play. 

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode. 

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold. 

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you. 

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

[supernatural---imagines]

Christmas Lovin’ (Sam Imagine)

You and your boyfriend finally get some alone time on Christmas eve for the first time in a long time and you’re very grateful for it. Smut and Fluff! (Smut between * if you want to avoid) 

"Caught us a case!" Dean chirped as he busted into the bunker library where you and Sam were chatting over some coffee. He pulled out a chair beside his brother and set the news paper in front of him.

"Dude, it's Christmas eve. Can't we just sit this one out? I don't want to be in a smelly motel eating take out on Christmas Day." You explained before even glancing at the case.

"Come on, since when have we celebrated Christmas?" He asked, looking to Sam to back him up.

"Exactly. We don't" You looked at them both, they stared blankly at you. "Since I've been with you guys the worlds been ending every freakin' Christmas and this year.. we're not busy! So let's celebrate it"

Dean took the paper back off his brother and glanced over the case again. You could almost see his thought process on his face as he re-read the lines, trying to fathom which type of monster it was before he'd even done any investigating.

"That does sound nice y/n.. turkey, egg nog, the whole nine. But there are people dying." Dean said with a frown.

"Why don't you go?" Sam suggested. "Bring Cas or Jody.. we could do with some alone time."

"I bet you could" Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Sam, provoking a giggle from you. "Ok, I'll phone around." He stated after a nudge to the ribs from his brother ended the joke.

-

You waved your goodbyes to Dean from the bunker door as he set off to meet Jody and Claire for the hunt. You charged down the stairs past Sam like an excited child and waiting for him at the bottom jumping around.

"Wow I didn't realise how much you hated Dean" your boyfriend joked. You grabbed on to his jacket and pulled him towards you.

"You know I love that pain in the ass.. but I'm so happy to have you all to myself." You pushed Sam'a jacket off his shoulders and he caught the twinkle in your eye as soon as it appeared. He Smirked before leaning down to your lips and capturing you in a kiss.

“I like your thinking” He chuckled as he picked you up and set you down on the world map table while sucking on your neck. Your fingers bunched in his hair as you guided his face back to yours and pushed your tongue into his mouth as the lust took over. 

 * 

He tugged your shirt off over your head between kisses and fondled your bra-less chest with his large hands. He pulled his own shirt off and dropped it at his feet. You admired his body, tracing your hands over his torso. You skimmed over his collar bones and his tattoo before feeling his pecks and finally landing on his abs. He pushed you back onto the table and took your jeans off, before settling his body back over yours and kissing you messily.

His hands traced over your figure and landed in your underwear. His middle finger found your entrance and you lifted your hips up into it as he slid it in as encouragement. He slinked it in and out getting you ready, before he plunged a second finger in and started working you in a circular motion. You groaned in pleasure, begging for more. He angled your body back up-right where he met you with an intense kiss, before he tugged you down off the table and flipped you over. One hand was on his belt buckle fondling with his jeans, and the other was guiding your head down to the table. With his jeans round his ankles and his dick in his hand, he kicked your legs open for him and dropped your panties to the floor. He paused at your entrance with the tip barley in when you sank backwards down onto him, moaning out as he filled you. He leaned down over you with one arm propping himself on the table and the other hand on your hips for grip as he pumped into you. 

“Is this what you had in mind?” He smirked. You nodded in response. 

“You like that?” He asked as his movements got faster and you began to feel yourself starting. He took his hand from your hip and found your throbbing clit. “Do you like that?” He repeated himself sternly as he began to gently rub your clit. 

“Y-yes” you stuttered, barley able to speak with the pleasure that was coursing through your veins. His thrusts got faster as your climax began to build and your walls clamped around him. You moaned face down on to the table as you reached your peak, Sam allowing you to ride it out on his cock before he pulled out and you felt his liquid all over your back as he finished on you. 

*

Hours later you were in the make-shift living room that you had put together one boring weekend. You were laying on Sam’s chest on the large black couch where he was stroking your hair as you watched a Christmas movie together. 

“Hey, it’s past 12. Merry Christmas!” You chirped, tilting your head up to look at Sam. A grin spread over his lips as he looked at the excitement on your face. 

“Can I give you your gift then?” He asked.

“Yes please” You giggled. You sat up off him and watched him as he left the room, to return seconds later with a small gift bag. He sat down beside you and handed you the gift shyly, nervous of how you’d react to it. You launched yourself into him hugging tightly round his neck, bursting with appreciation even before you knew what was inside. 

You opened up the gift bag and laid your eyes upon the long red jewellery box. You gingerly took it from the tissue filled bag and opened, gasping when you saw the beautiful necklace with a diamond pendant hanging from it. 

“Oh my god..” You whispered. He beamed as he watched your face light up with happiness, he lived to see tat look on your face.  You handed him the box and turned around for him to put it on you. His hands that were hours ago so rough on your body were delicately placing this necklace around your neck, barley brave enough to touch your skin. He clasped the necklace around your neck and placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder, before you lay back onto him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and cuddled you tight. 

“Thank you so much. It’s just gorgeous.” You blushed looking down at the necklace. 

“Of course. I’m glad you like it.” He placed another kiss to your temple before giving you a tight squeeze. 

“Guys?” Dean called through the bunker earlier than expected. You sat up and you both looked at the door waiting for him to appear with an explanation. 

“In here!” You called back. Dean came waltzing through the door with not a mark or scratch on him, he definitely hadn’t been hunting. 

“What happened?” Sam asked as he slid the beer cooler over to his brother who was now sitting in an arm chair beside the couch. 

“Well I got there and it had already been taken care of by another hunter. Paper was a week old.” He explained.

“Yeah.. about that”He bowed his head, trying to hold his laughter in.

“What are you talking about?” You asked him. 

“I planted that paper and that case to get Dean out of here for a few hours so I could have you to myself. I knew he’d be back in time for Christmas to celebrate with us anyway.” He explained. Dean started at you both blankly as you attempted to old back laughter failing miserably. “No harm done?” 

“Definitely not.” You chuckled before Sam pulled you into a side hug and kissing your cheek. Dean took a swig of his beer, faux annoyance painted on his face as he averted his gaze from you both. 

“OK kicking me out for a few hours, fine. But at least dispose of the evidence.. I don’t want to come home to your underwear in the main room. That’s our place of work you animals.”  

Your face turned red with embarrassment and Sam dropped his head awkwardly, he looked down at you and gave you a little squeeze. 

“Not so funny now, eh?” Dean chuckled. You threw a pillow at his head for his irritating cockiness. 

“Shut up and watch the movie” You smiled as you sunk bank into Sam. You looked over at Dean who was kicking his boots off ready to settle, and Sam’s warm arms around you made you feel so secure. This was the first Christmas in years you all had a moment to breathe, and you couldn’t have been happier than in this moment. 

[king-finnigan]

5 times Geralt failed to ask Jaskier out and 1 time he somehow managed

I.

Yen calls him immediately after he’s sent her the text. “What’s going on? You said it was an emergency?” She sounds slightly worried, and Geralt realizes that ‘Need help. Emergency.’ does sound like something to be worried about.

“I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh, and he could swear he hears a ‘fucking finally’ muttered away from the receiver. “Cool, sure. So what do you need my help for?”

“Asking him out.”

She laughs softly. “Seriously? You’re a grown-ass man, surely you can ask someone out, right? You’ve done it before.”

He keeps quiet, and blesses all his lucky stars that she isn’t here to see shame rise red to his cheeks.

“Wait-“ He hears her let out a startled laugh. “You’ve never asked someone out before?”

His silence is confirmation enough.

“How the fuck did you manage to go your entire life without asking someone out?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Whatever. Alright, so, here’s what you gotta do-“

---

He’s waiting outside the doors of the cinema, bouncing on his heels a bit. Jaskier’s always a bit late – fashionably late, as Jaskier himself calls it – which is fine under any other circumstances, but the movie won’t wait for them, so it sets Geralt’s nerves on fire.

Finally, Jaskier shows up. With Triss and Sabrina in tow. To what was supposed to be a date.

“Hi!” Jaskier greets him brightly. “Hope it’s alright that I brought Triss and Sabrina. A movie is just much more fun when there are more people, you know? Hope you don’t mind?”

Geralt smiles tightly, and shakes his head. Later, after the movie, he rereads the text he sent Jaskier a few days earlier, and realizes he maybe didn’t really make it clear that he intended it as a date. Great. Something to remember for next time. Though he’s not gonna ask Jaskier on a movie date again. Firstly because Jaskier apparently likes it better when it’s not just the two of them, and also because they stumbled into their seats ten minutes late, and he doesn’t think he’s gonna survive that kind of embarrassment again.

 II.

Okay, so clearly Yennefer’s plan didn’t work out. Maybe he should ask someone else.

It takes a while before Eskel picks up, but Geralt immediately relaxes when he hears his brother’s voice. “Yeah?”

“I wanna ask Jaskier out. I need your advice.”

Eskel breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like ‘finally’. It’s quiet for a while, as Geralt gives his brother time to think.

“Flowers,” Eskel eventually says. “Jaskier likes flowers, right? He seems like a flower kinda guy. So give him flowers.”

“Okay, thanks,” he says.

“By the way, can I borrow your drill? I’m making a shed and mine broke.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, thanks. Bye.” Eskel hangs up, and Geralt drops his phone on his bed, thoughts mulling over how best to handle this.

---

He shuffles from one foot to another as he waits for Jaskier to open the door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bouquet of different types of orange flowers. It had caught his eye at the florist, because of its obnoxious colours, and he figured Jaskier would love it.

Finally, the door opens. And immediately slams shut again, Jaskier’s high-pitched shriek muffled from behind the wood. “Fucking shit!”

Geralt frowns, and knocks on the door. “Jaskier? Are you alright?”

A muffled sneeze, followed by: “No! I’m allergic to flowers.” Another three sneezes, in quick succession. “Very.”

Great. Just his fucking luck. “Uh… r-right,” he stammers. “I’ll- I’ll throw them away, then.”

He apologizes for it later, and Jaskier tells him not to worry about it, though he’s hardly able to string the sentence together through several sneezes and wet sniffles, eyes red and swollen.

 III.

Okay, so no movie date, and definitely no flowers. Maybe he should call someone else. He considers calling Lambert for a second, but he knows that would probably be the worst idea of his life – Lambert would either laugh in his face and hang up, or he would suggest something ridiculous like a bungee-jumping proposal or some shit like that.

Instead, he calls his dad. He’s always been able to rely on Vesemir for advice, so he supposes this time won’t be any different.

“What’s wrong?” his dad asks as soon as he picks up the phone.

Geralt frowns. “Nothing. I’m calling for advice.”

It’s quiet for a while. Then: “Alright, but disposing of a body is a lot harder than you think it is. Just take that into consideration before you go through with it. So first you gotta-”

“What? No, I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

Silence. “Oh. Who?”

“Jaskier. You met him last Christmas. Brown hair, blue eyes.”

“That loud-mouth that kept following you at the party?”

“Yes.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and Geralt could swear he hears a muffled ‘thank the gods’, as if Vesemir is holding his hand over the receiver. “Try flowers.”

“Already tried that. Nearly killed him because he’s allergic.”

“Hmm. Take him to a nice restaurant.”

Geralt nods, and he realizes embarrassingly late that Vesemir can’t see him. “Alright. Thank you. But, what you said about disposing of a body, what-“ The line clicks. Vesemir’s hung up.

---

“Hey, there’s this new restaurant, a few blocks away. Di Mare, I think it’s called. Wanna go there, maybe next Saturday?”

Jaskier snorts at him, incredulous expression on his face. “That place? No thanks, way too fancy for me. What do you take me for, a rich person?”

“Jaskier, you’re literally royalty.”

“Nah,” Jaskier continues, ignoring him, “let’s just order take-out. Have a little movie night.”

Geralt nods, hope shining in his chest. “Yeah, sure.”

Jaskier grins at him, pulling his phone out. “Cool! I’ll text Yen and Triss, let them know. Been a while since we all hung out together.” Oh, fucking brilliant.

 IV.

“Triss? I need your help.”

“Sure, what can I do?”

“I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

“Oh, yeah, Yen told me about that. So I figure you still haven’t managed?”

“Clearly.” He doesn’t mention the fact that so far, she’s come between his plans twice. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, and she’s obviously not doing it on purpose.

It’s quiet for a while. “Uh… Flowers are a big no-no, he’s allergic to those.”

“Figured that out by now.”

“The hard way?”

“The hard way.”

“Yikes. Hmm. Restaurant?”

“No.”

“Fuck, then I’m fresh outta ideas, chief. Wait, no. There’s this new coffeeshop just around the corner. Jask loves coffee, no way you can go wrong with this one.” Geralt highly doubts it, but thanks her anyways and hangs up.

---

The barista makes heart-eyes at Jaskier the entire time they’re ordering, and when they go to sit down, Jaskier turns his cup and finds the guy’s phone number written on the side. He immediately pulls out his phone and sends the barista a text. Geralt tries and fails not to sulk.

 V.

“Hey.”

He blinks, then frowns at his five year-old neighbour who’s blocking the exit of the apartment building, looking up at him with a glint in her eyes that she always gets when she’s about to drop snowballs through people’s mailboxes.

“… Hi.”

“Heard you were trying to ask your boyfriend out,” Ciri says.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And how’d you know that?”

“Gran-gran says the walls are thin and you talk loud when you’re on the phone.”

“… Okay.”

It’s quiet for a while, her gaze intent on him the entire time, and he starts to feel uncomfortable, shuffling on his feet. Sure, the effect may be mollified by the fact that she’s missing her front teeth, but she’s still very unnerving.

“… Ciri, can I leave n-“

“You should ask him out.”

“That’s why I’m trying t-“

“Just ask.”

“Ciri-“

“Give him alcohol. Grown-ups like alcohol. Then ask.”

He sighs. “If I promise to do that, can you please let me pass so I can go to work?”

She holds up her hand, pinkie finger extended. “Pinkie promise.”

He hooks his little finger through hers. “Pinkie promise. Now can I please go?”

She nods solemnly, and steps to the side. He’s halfway down the stairs when she calls out to him: “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

He looks back, sees her staring at him, face blank and grave, and he turns back, getting out of there as fast as he can. What the fuck?

---

Geralt’s walking to Jaskier’s door, two cups of coffee in his hands. Sure, the giving-Jaskier-alcohol part of Ciri’s plan wasn’t the greatest, but he couldn’t deny that simply asking Jaskier on a date might be effective and solid, because it’s so simple.

Except, just his luck, as he walks to Jaskier’s door, Jaskier barges out of his apartment, and smashes into Geralt, coffee spilling over both of them.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jaskier exclaims, throwing his hands in the arms exasperatingly. He sighs, his foul mood evident on his face. “Guys and coffee seems to be a deadly combination for me, lately.”

“I guess it didn’t work out with the barista, then?” He somehow manages to keep his hope out of his voice.

Jaskier sighs and shakes his head, fishing a paper tissue out of his backpack to wipe at the front of his shirt. “Yeah, no. Total hipster, and he couldn’t stop talking about himself. Like, yada-yada-yada, you like old music, we get it, now can we please talk about me?” He sighs, seems to give up on saving his shirt. “Guess I’ll have to go back inside to get a new one,” he mutters. “Anyways, why are you here? Is there something going on?”

Geralt swallows, shakes his head. “No, just wanted to bring you some coffee. Sorry about uh…” he waves his hand a bit “that. Gotta go.”

He rushes out of there, ignoring Jaskier’s inquiring “Geralt?” behind him.

 + I

“So you’ve finally turned to me for council,” Lambert says in lieu of greeting when he answers the phone.

Geralt sighs.

“I want to hear you say it, Ger-Ger. I’ll help you but I need to hear you say it.”

“Don’t call me Ger-Ger.”

“Say it.”

He sighs again, a headache starting to form behind his eyes. “Fine. I need your help.”

He can practically hear Lambert’s self-satisfied smirk. “Lucky for you, I’ve got just the idea…”

For some reason, Geralt doesn’t exactly feel lucky.

---

The first pebble he throws misses its target, and he cringes as it nearly hits Jaskier’s downstairs neighbor’s window. He tries again. This time it hits its mark, but there’s no sign of life from Jaskier’s apartment. He tries again. No response. And again. No response. He throws three pebbles against the window in quick succession.

Finally, a light turns on and Jaskier opens the window, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Geralt? It’s one in the morning, what-“

He looks down at his phone, frantically searching for the song that Lambert recommended- fucking Lambert. He never should’ve agreed to this, and he’s going to kill his brother once this is over. Finally, he finds the right song. It’s the same one as in that one movie Lambert told him about where this guy held a boombox over his head or some shit – ‘something Jaskier will have definitely watched’, his brother had reassured him. Finally, he finds the right song, and holds his phone over his head, volume as loud as possible, and-

“WANT A BREAK FROM THE ADS?-”

Geralt closes his eyes in horror as the ad continues playing, several lights turning on in the windows of the apartment building. Jaskier on the other hand, is- gone.

Geralt frowns, turns the ad off, and looks at Jaskier’s window, painfully empty. Suddenly, the door to the building opens, and Jaskier comes staggering out, wheezing and clutching his stomach as he makes his way towards Geralt.

“That-“ he says between giggles “that was the funniest and most adorable shit I’ve ever seen.” He hiccups, starts laughing uncontrollably again. “What…?”

“Lambert’s idea.”

Jaskier laughs again, desperately holding on to Geralt’s shoulder as to not keel over. “Of- of course it’s his idea, oh gods-“ He hiccups, finally calming down a bit. “Isn’t this from that one movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t it a romantic movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you trying to ask me out, Geralt?”

“… Yeah.”

Jaskier smiles softly. “I accept. But please- next time, you can just ask. There’s no need to go through all this trouble.”

Geralt resists the urge to smack his palm against his face. “Alright, I’ll remember that for next time.”

Jaskier looks back, sees multiple lights on in the windows, sees some neighbors frowning down at them angrily. “Better wrap this up or they’re gonna call the cops on us.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss against Geralt’s cheek. “Goodnight, Geralt.” He turns around and makes his way back to the apartment complex.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

[a-singleboat]

Green-Eyed Valentine

Word Count: 1.7k

Request: Hey! I really liked what you did with my last request, so I was wondering if you could do one where Damien (or Shayne) get jealous because reader gets a valentine's day gift from someone else, please? - @lula132

A/N: We’re getting into all those Shayne requests!

Warning(s): Mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating, swearing

Valentine’s Day. Objectively the worst holiday in your eyes. On top of still having to go to work, it’s only really socially acceptable to give another person a box of chocolates as a gift. Where was the variety? The flavor? 

Additionally, you and your long-term boyfriend, Shayne, had decided to forego gifts that year in favor of saving up for a house together. That meant birthdays, Christmas, and yes, Valentine’s Day gifts, were off the table because you both spend an outrageous amount of money on each other each year. So imagine your surprise upon seeing a gift neatly wrapped in the same red gift wrap the two of you had in your apartment sitting on your desk early Valentine’s Day morning. 

“I thought we agreed on no gifts, Shayne.” You picked up the wrapped item, turning it over in search of a tag. When you found there was none, it only made you more suspicious of your boyfriend. 

“That wasn’t me,” he said, eyebrows furrowed as he watched you fiddle with a loose piece of wrapping paper on the side. While he recognized the wrapping paper, he was one-hundred percent sure that he hadn’t bought you anything. You could check his bank statement if you didn’t believe him. 

“Yeah, I’m sure thousands of people have that exact same wrapping paper,” Courtney chimed in. You had no idea where she had come from but judging by the still-steaming coffee in her hands, you were willing to bet from the office kitchen. “I’m pretty sure Ian has that wrapping paper, too.” 

You blinked, unsure on how to process that information. “So you think Ian got me a Valentine’s Day gift?” 

“Why would Ian--?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Courtney cut Shayne off with a laugh, settling her coffee on your desk. She took the gift from your hands, smoothing back the bit of wrapping paper you had been playing with. “I’m just making a point. This could have been literally anyone in the office.”

You gave her a smirk. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Uh, a who-dunnit in which we figure out who put this present there?”

Shayne looked a little more than peeved at that. “And when you find out who left the gift there, you can tell them that you’re in a loving relationship and have been for the past eight years.” 

You pinched his cheeks, making kissy faces at your boyfriend. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to tell them that my incredibly handsome, loving, and amazing boyfriend didn’t appreciate their gift, bubba.”

Shayne’s cheeks reddened at the nickname, eyes rolling as you leaned in to pepper his face in butterfly kisses. He could be as jealous or as grumpy as he wanted but as long as he knew you were his, all was well. You trusted him and you were sure as hell that he trusted you as well. 

“Go find out who sent you the gift.” He moved his face out of range of your constant kisses, taking one of your hands in his and pressing a soft kiss of his own to your knuckles to let you know he wasn’t mad. “And don’t call me bubba at work, that’s reserved for home and home only.” 

With a laugh, you agreed. The nickname ‘bubba’ would stay home from thereon out. You turned to Courtney, who had taken to shaking the box in an attempt to figure out what was inside. The item rattled slightly, most likely having been swaddled tightly by tissue paper within the cardboard casing. 

“It sounds like pottery,” Courtney deduced, giving it another firm shake. The rattling, similar to the sound of a metal spoon hitting the side of a ceramic bowl, made you wary of the way your friend was manhandling the gift. 

“Maybe someone left it here on accident and it’s not actually for me,” you suggested. “After all, there’s no note or anything. I think even if it was from a secret admirer--which it’s not--” you gave Shayne a pointed look-- “I still think there’d be a note of some kind.” 

“But we still can’t strike one out,” Courtney pointed out, setting the box down. The shiny red paper sparkled under the shitty office lights, the glitter already wearing off on, well, everything. “Okay, maybe if we start by eliminating people in the office we’ll find who the gift came from faster.”

“Good idea,” you said, pulling out a spare sheet of paper from your desk. Your fingers sought out a pen, yanking the cap off with your teeth. Quickly, you scribbled down the names of all the coworkers you can into regular contact with“So we already know it’s not from Shayne or you--that’s two people down already. And despite the fact that Ian also has this same wrapping paper, I really don’t think he would have left this for you.” 

“Okay that’s three people down,” you crossed the names out, marking a heart next to Shayne’s name. You flipped the paper over, showing him the little heart you’d drawn. He frowned but caught the kiss you blew his way anyhow. 

“Here’s an idea,” Shayne said, rolling his chair closer to you. Courtney took a noisy sip of her iced coffee, looking between the two of you like a tennis match. “Maybe, someone accidentally left it on your desk. Like any second now, someone’s gonna come by looking for that thing.”

You glanced at the neatly wrapped box, a little battered from Courtney’s thorough examination. It was possible that it wasn’t supposed to be meant for you. It was half-on-half-off your desk originally, the original cart it had shared had been pushed away by now, moved to the other side of the room. 

You pulled the box toward you, running your finger along the middle and feeling for the sticky residue that would be a tell-tale sign of the tape that had once been there. Once you found it, you tapped the pad of your finger a few times watching as the paper clung to your skin before separating. 

“The label’s fallen off,” you voiced your observation, looking around the floor for it. “If we find that, we’ll find who this was addressed to and who sent this in the first place.”

Courtney immediately set her drink down, getting on her hands and knees in search of the label. You set the box back down on your desk and got on your hands and knees as well, tying your hair out of your line of sight. You pushed Shayne away, laughing as he rolled back a bit further than you thought he would. 

“Do you see it?” you asked, using your phone’s flashlight to look in the dark shadows under your desk. You squinted as the flashlight caught on something shiny, frowning when you saw that it was only a scrap piece of laminate. You picked it up anyways, disposing of it correctly and sitting back on your heels. 

Courtney’s arm was halfway under your desk on the other end, reaching for something. You watched as she extracted a thin piece of cardstock. She waved the paper around, blowing off the bit of dust clinging to the corner. 

“To, Jessica… who’s Jessica?” 

You crowded over her shoulder to read the label. “I have no clue who Jessica is, but if we know the sender we can get it back to them.”

She unfolded the paper a bit more. “From… Ian? Is Ian dating?”

“This is way more exciting than me having a secret admirer, oh my God!” You took the label from Courtney, taping the label back down onto the box. “We should really get this back to Ian though.” 

Courtney took the box from you, subtly glancing over your shoulder at your still-pouting boyfriend. He was trying to be sneaky, looking over at the two of you when he thought you weren’t looking. You rolled your eyes, laughing as you realized what was happening. 

“He’ll get over it,” you said. “He’s just a little embarrassed. I’ll talk to him.”

Courtney nodded, wishing you luck. 

You turned on your heel, looking at your ridiculous boyfriend and giving him a smile. You chuckled, sitting in your seat and sliding over to him and forcing his seat to spin so that you could slot your knees between his. You took his hands in yours, pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. Instantly, he relaxed, unclenching his fists and lowering his shoulders. 

“You know that you have nothing to be afraid of, right? I love you and only you,” you reassured him. “Ten years and counting, remember?” 

You pressed another kiss to his knuckles. This was nothing new, the extremely light PDA at work. Everyone had gotten used to the two of you by now, not caring as long as you weren’t fucking on the desks. 

“Yeah,” he said, distracted. His thumb traced over where your ring finger met your palm. It wasn’t difficult for you to guess what he was thinking about. You waited for him to say the words, which you would inevitably reject. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him because you did. It was just that growing up around parents that fought all the time made you wary of the idea of marriage. At the beginning, your parents had been the most in-love people you’d ever known but as the years drug on, you watched as their “love” disappeared into booze for your mom and other women for your dad. 

But sitting here in the office setting, as mundane and most likely cliches as it sounded, you wouldn’t hate the idea of marrying him. He reminded you of everything your parents weren’t and he managed to remind you every day that the two of you were not your parents and never would be, though the fear lingered. 

“You’ve got work to do, lover boy,” you teased, pressing one last kiss to his knuckles. “And I have a video of your dorky ass to edit.” 

Shayne sighed so lightly that if the printer had been running copies you would have missed it. But he let you get back to work, this wasn’t the time or place for that kind of conversation. 

“I love you,” you reminded him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I love you, too.”

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The New Baby (Harry Potter)

Life after high school wasn't all it was cracked up to be, at least if you were a ex wizard like Draco Malfoy who while he had avoided jail time for being part of the death eaters had been permanently stripped of his magic and made into a squib. As one might guess, after living a live of luxury and being able to use magic from a young age Draco was totally and completely hopeless at living without magic and in a twist that even he hadn't know about, it had turned out he'd never actually been potty trained. His Mother had cast a charm on him that had given him potty control from the time he was 6 months old having grown tired of the smell's the baby was making and well when his magic was taken from him so were any long lasting charms. the end result meant not only was he trying (and failing) to adept to the muggle world, he was doing it while back in nappies and after a week, suffering from a massive case of nappy rash as he was hopeless at getting himself clean. what little bit of his families wealth he had hung onto was quickly used up with his choice to live in a hotel and going with disposable nappies instead of cloth (He was a Malfoy damn it and he WASN'T going to wash his own shit out of a dirty nappy!) and the longest he had manged to hold down a job was under a hour, he just didn't have the temperament to work at a shop. He'd either get in a fight with a customer, get in a fight with his boss, or having a crying fit when he couldn't get a piece of muggle tech to work. One month after High school and Draco was broke, out on the street, and down to his last three nappies and rooting though a trash can for something to eat, and thats when Potter and Granger had found him.

Life after High school for Harry had been a breeze. He was rich already and world famous, and of course landed his dream job of being a auror. Likewise Hermione had managed to land a part time teaching job that left her free to come home on weekends while spending weekdays at Hogwarts. True it sucked that Ron had cut both of them out of his life after finding out they had hooked up while he'd been off having one of his many little tantrums but they were happy together for the most part,. the most part was the fact it came to light that they would never be able to have kids because of a curse Harry had taken during the battle of Hogwarts. It was a crushing blow for the young couple but they just agreed that when they were ready, they would just adopt. Of course they had both heard about what happened with Draco and shared a good laugh over heard how he needed nappies but that day on the street when they found him fishing though a rubbish bin and chomping hungrily on a half eaten burger all the joy had gone out of it. Draco had been humiliated and tried to run off but since they were in the magic part of town no one batted a eye when Hermione had lifted him up with her wand and they'd forced him to come with them..only pausing on the trip back to the nice 2 story cottage Harry owned for Harry to go and pick up some nappies and rubber pants for Draco and Hermione to treat Draco to a meal at the little fish and chip place the drug store had in the back.

Draco never stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. he knew there was no reason that these two would be this nice to him without setting him up for something bad after everything he'd done in school to them. Still, he wolfed down the fish and chips, three baskets worth as he'd only eaten what little he could find for the 2 weeks since he'd been on the street and chugged the cola that Hermione kept getting refilled for him as fast as he could. God, she looked so good. Mature, sexy, giving him looks of kindness and encouraging him to eat and drink as much as he wanted and ignoring how horrible he must of smelled. Potter came back from whatever he was doing and they were asking him question, like where was he staying, did he have a job and the like. "Stay wherever I can and try and avoid trouble." Draco said, Pausing from stuffing his face, on his third basket. he took a long sip of his cola then went on. "No job. no one wanted a nappy brat when I could wash regularly. now.." he gave a mirthless laugh and went back to chowing down, noting the look that the two gave each other. "I've got a question for you two.. Where's Weasley? Usually you three are the three musketeers and all that." Draco asked, putting a napkin to his face and belching and wincing as a loud fart came out and there was a warm wet rush between his cheeks. He was shitting himself. "I..Uh..Never mind. I should get going." He said, his cheeks turned red and he went to excuse himself. "It's ok Draco." Harry said, putting a hand on his shoulder, and giving Draco a smile even as a horrid smell filled the shop. "it's not like you can help it." Hermione and Harry did get up and moved with Draco as he moved to leave, Hermione leaving a fat tip to the poor server and then they were out on the street and he found himself numbly following their lead towards the a fore mentioned cottage, his limbs seemingly not wanting to listen to him. 'bastards! they used a unforgivable curse on me!' Draco thought, the realization hitting him like all the greasy food had hit his guts and was now hitting his nappy. the poor thing was holding up either and the back of his dirt brown trousers were growing dark with shit stained as his filth leaked down his legs. entering the house which was painted a lovely yellow, Draco felt shame flooding him as the house looked like something out of a magazine, and was nice and clean. it had been filled with the smell of wild flowers at least until he'd been marched inside and his mess was coming out his pant legs, staining the lovely cream colored carpet. it was a shocked when he heard himself actually speak up, they had lifted the curse at some point and he'd just kept walking with them on either side as they'd led him to a bathroom. "I-I'm sorry I ruined your car- Hey I can talk!" He said, even as hot tears went down his grime and food covered face, cutting a path. "Yeah mate, we only had it on you for about 30 second but you kept being a good boy. Listen Draco, Carpet's can be cleaned so down worry about it. what me and Hermione wanna do right now is look after you. That means getting you washed up." Harry said in a calm and soothing voice. "I..I don't..Why? I've always been a rotter to you both.." Draco whimpered. "Well, you weren't exactly at your most charming but with your upbringing.." Hermione said, and was helping Draco with his jacket and shirt, scanning his body for a second and giving a sigh of relief. "I told you he wasn't the type to use needles Hermione." Harry said and Draco  blinked and squirmed. It wasn't that he hadn't been tempted to use some of the muggles drugs, but just he'd never been able to afford to. which was a fact he figured he had better hide from these two. "in any case.. We wanna look after you for a bit Draco. Maybe help you get up on your feet." Harry was saying as his gently tugged down Draco's pants and despite the stench of it, grinned wildly at the sight of Draco's swollen store brand nappy. "Wonderful. Now can you step out of your pants please buddy?" the question had it been from anyone other then these two would of triggered a brat fit but Draco just felt exhausted and nodded, bracing himself on Harry's shoulders as he did as he was told and Hermione used a spell to dispose of the pants. "We'll buy you more later. your shirt can be washed at least." she said holding a nose. "I..I uh, Ok.." Draco said. it wasn't like he was in a position to argue.

Harry was wiping the back of Draco's legs, getting most of the sludge that had leaked out and dabbing at the spot here it leaked when he paused and frowned. "Draco, spread your legs for a second please." Harry said. Draco did and a gasp came out of Hermione's mouth as they say the red welts and weeping blood spots on Draco's inner thighs. they had both assumed he'd been walking funny due to his nappy's thickness but their was telling anther tale. "Draco..doesn't that hurt?" Harry asked slowly, looking up with concern at the blond. "I..I just got used to it..and it doesn't hurt as bad as the rest." Draco said in a small voice, looking away from them. "The..rest?" Hermione asked slowly, then looked at Harry who nodded. He slowly undid the spoiled nappy and the smell got worst but neither were focusing on that as they both gasped at the raw skin and horrible nappy rash that Draco had, his privates were a mixture of red and brown. "Oh Draco!' Hermione cried out and started the tub going, trying to will the water to heat up faster. Harry was gently wiping at the filth and paused as Draco would flinch or hiss as Harry did so, but then with his eyes shut tight and tears running he whimpered out a request in a ragged breath. "J-Just get it done fast!" Harry didn't need to be told twice and was fighting back tears of his own as he cleaned Draco up, the tissues a mess of shit and blood and the poor guy was turning pale. Harry didn't bother to ask how this had happened, between needing to make his nappies last and Harry doubted he'd been using talcum powder or rash cream.. Not helping matters was his pubic hairs which he had clearly tried to shave at one point and many were coming back as ingrown hairs. getting him as clean as he could with the toilet paper and flushing the loo, Hermione and harry helped him into the tub and it was Harry who had a arm under Draco's and a hand on his chest as Hermione switched from tub to their detachable shower head. Keeping the flow on gentle but firm enough to wash away the filth she worked over the mess as Draco whimpered and started to sob. "Shhh It's ok Draco, it's going to be ok. we're here for you." Harry cooed and rubbed the slimmer mans chest. god, you could see how unwell he'd been eating, his ribs were almost showing and there was no way that was just from two weeks on the streets. Draco had been ignoring his diet clearly for awhile and there was his brief 2 months in prison to take in as well. "Jesus.. " Harry muttered and locked eyes with his wife,She was almost crying as she washed away the filth, and nodded back to him. "I..I..It hurts.." Draco whimpered in a pathetic, mockery of his former tone, and he looked back at Harry, seemingly unable to look at Hermione. "I..Just..Help.." he whimpered like a broken puppy. "we're gonna Draco." Harry promised. "But right now we have to remove your pubic hair. it's lea-" Harry started and Draco happened to look down as Hermione turned the water off and reached for the shaving cream and a razor. "N-No! No razor! get that away from me! you'll cut me!" Draco Howled, suddenly alive and with a power Harry hadn't expected and would of over powered him if his fear fueled power hadn't run out as fast as it had come on. Draco slumped in Harry's arms, panting and weakened and sniffling. "D-Draco what was that about?" Harry asked. "M-My first night on the streets... a.. a big heavy set muggle.. he..he had a razor. said I was going to.. to.. " and Draco whimpered and sobbed., but went on. "Or he'd cut me. I..I was scared and so I..I.." Draco's sobs filled the bathroom and Harry and Hermione were silent in shock. "Draco I.. I'm JUST going to remove your hair down here..so you can get better. NO one i this house will ever make you do THAT." Hermione said in a soft and calming tone. "I..I..Promise?" Draco sniffled. "We will NEVER lie to you Draco, thats a promise." Harry promised. "...I might flinch...I can't help it." Draco said after about 30 seconds. "I'll keep that in mind." Hermione said and then got to work.

With Draco semi cleaned up and shaved, the poor boy still needed a soak and a washing. the tub was washed out and then switch back to the facet and Draco was gently laid down in the tub, on the slant that all tubs have and the water slowly filled  the tub as Harry and Hermione exchange looks and squeezed each others hands. they had been told they could never have a baby but here was a boy who needed a set of loving parents in the worse way, never mind he was their age. Noticing how Draco semi flinched around her as she moved in, Hermione stepped back and let Harry wash Draco and get his hair cleaned and then tried to let Draco enjoy the warm water for a bit as she shut off the tap. it was all for naught though as a combination of what he had been though and the hot/warm water had Draco quickly fall asleep in the tub, and it was only her quick movements (Harry had been talking to her, his back to Draco) that kept his head from going under while Harry pulled the plug to drain the water.

Getting Draco out of the water and wrapped up in a soft towel, Harry couldn't help but be amazed at how light Draco was, almost as if he had hollow bones. Carrying him to the makeshift nursery that Hermione and Harry had started before finding out they could never conceive, it was Hermione who took to using a few spells to change the size of the crib and the like while Harry for at least this nappy change set Draco on the plush carpet. Laying out 3 of the soft and thick terry cloth diapers under the sleeping boy, Harry proceeded to coat Draco's butt and crotch with rash cream and followed up with a thick coating of baby powder that made the sleeping blond give a adorable little sneeze. Pinning the nappy's up he got the light blue rubber pants over them with a little bit of trouble and then Hermione was holding up two Onesie's she'd made big enough to fit the adult baby. "What do you think Harry?" She asked held up a one one with a dinosaur print up it and a light blue one with a teddy on the front. "Teddy or dinos?" "oh, teddy for sure." Harry chuckled and they started to get him dressed.

Draco woke up about a hour later, Yawning and rubbing at his eyes. he'd had a crazy dream that he'd run into Harry and Hermione and they had taken him back to their place to make him their big baby. He was a little bit confused on why he was on something so comfortable when the local shelter would of been closed by now and slowly forced his semi gummy eyes to opened and look around. "...On second thought, Maybe that wasn't a weird dream after all.." Draco said in a soft voice. He was in a nursery alright, light green walls and different magical beasts painted on the walls. the carpet was a light brown color and looked very plush and soft and he was in a wooden crib that had been painted white and had a queen sized mattress in it, and a mobile hanging up over head with quidditch players hanging from it, spinning around. the crib had a little activity toy on the run of it, different knobs and the like he could play with and semi mirror in it that let him see his new attire. "Bloody hell..I look like a over sized baby!" Draco squeaked out. before he could take anymore in the door to the Nursery opened and in walked Harry and Hermione. "Now now, watch the potty mouth." Harry scolded with a smirk, wagging a finger. "Oh be nice, He's just a little shocked. I think we can give him some leeway." Hermione said and then leaned over the crib rail. "Do you feel better after your nap little one?" Truth be told he did feel better, and his nether regions weren't as sore as before but still, he was founding himself in a not quite mute shock, but unable to form words and he babbled away before just slowly nodding his head. "S'all right Little guy. I know this is a bit of a shock but trust me, you're gonna love it here." Harry said. "I..Buh...Da?" came Draco's less then witty reply. "well spoken." Hermione giggled and ruffled Draco's hair and gushed as the little guy closed his eye's in bliss and nuzzled into her hand. "OK, that's just adorable." Harry chuckled and Joined Hermione on the crib rail. "Now some basic rules we're gonna need you to follow Draco...Don't worry, they're nothing horrible." Draco opened his eyes at that and gulped nervously, he'd never been all that good at following the rules. "Rule number one: You're not allowed to change your own nappies. I know sometimes it might seem easier for you if you could but that's mine or Hermione's job now. you'll never be left in a soiled nappy any longer then you have to be in it, If I'm busy cooking or the like.All you have to worry about is looking cute" Harry said holding up a finger. "Rule number two:You're no longer allowed to bathe yourself. We were gonna show some leeway with it but after you conked out in the tub earlier, it's just for your safety." Hermione said, holding up two fingers. "Rule number three: we know you're still a grown man with certain needs, but if you feel the need to pleasure yourself let me or mommy know first and we'll give you a little privacy. I don't really wanna walk in on you humping a teddy." Harry said, smirking and holding up three fingers as Draco blushed BIG time at that. "Rule number four: Your to call me and Harry mommy and daddy, or if you have a varmint of those you prefer that's ok. You'll need to get used to it for when we take you out in public as we'll be using a shrinking charm to make you look like a little boy. We could use the charm all the time if you prefer but we both figured that should be your choice to make after you've tried out both sizes." Hermione said and held up four fingers. "And last but not least, Rule number five: Your not to try and feed yourself without permission from mommy or daddy. We want you to relax and enjoy being spoiled. Questions, comments, concerns?" Harry asked and waited. Draco squirmed in his thick nappy, blushing as he listened and then finally found his voice as he did indeed have one question. "W-what happens if I break a rule?" He asked in a small voice and then looking around his crib he spotted a snake stuffie and pulled it to his chest. "Heh.. well first time will be a scolding and likely a time out. second time will be a spanking on your diapered butt and a time out. third time.." And Harry trailed off, but it didn't take a genius to guess the unspoken threat. "I'll be good! I'll be very good!" Draco promised, then paused for a second and a little smirk crossed his face. "You knowwwww Mommy and daddy.. you didn't make swearing against the rules. so I can say fu-" "Don't push it little man. you won't get a spanking for swearing but there's a bar of soap with your name on it." Hermione chuckled. that was met with a muffled poot from Draco who gave a sheepish grin. "Jusssst hada test it you know,." "Mhmm..I can see this is going to be a interesting relationship." Harry said and then both him and Hermione leaned over the crib bars and smooched Draco's cheeks.

The end for now

[liannelara-dracula]

Uta x Human Reader, please? The reader is like Uta, quiet and really artistic. They decide to check out his shop bc artt. And they get really interested in eachother and oops their hearts go 💓 (I'm sorry haha) Also can the reader be shocked but still cool with the fact that Uta's a ghoul?

Hi. No this is a great Idea I just hope this is to your liking I spent a lot of time on this so I hope it's good. Since the reader is a girl I do think that her personality is slight different but I did try to follow along with what you requested.

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    It was Saturday and you were ahead in everything you needed to do. Classes were over, your day was off, and you figured you’d get out to fill the void. You forced yourself out of your comfy bed and f/c comforters to get ready to go somewhere. You brushed the small knots in your hair making your h/c locks soft again. Once you were ready and changed into an outfit you liked you stepped out of your apartment and wandered around the streets of Tokyo. 

    A sigh escaped your lips as you strolled down the street after feeling like you had been everywhere when in reality you had only gone to a couple of places. You looked to the left side of the street that was the more run down and abandoned part of town. This was literally the only part you never checked out very much. You had been there a few times only to meet with some of your classmates from school but you never knew too much about the place.

    I guess it couldn’t hurt to explore. If I feel unsafe I can always run right back anyways.

    As you walked down the street you placed your earbuds into your ears to play the music you liked on your phone to not feel as lonely as you walked. You walked around many buildings searching for a store that piqued your interest. Your e/c orbs widen at the title written on the nearby store, HySy ArtMask Studio, you stopped thinking it would be cool to check out. 

    It looks a little empty but maybe there just aren’t that many people who need masks at the moment. I hope something looks cool in there.

    As you approached the studio’s door you turned the knob of the door to enter inside as a bell jingled, signaling that you had come in. Your fingers removed your earbuds from your ears and placed them into your purse. Stepping inside the medium-sized building with art hanging on every wall, there were all different types of masks. Ones that made you shiver from how dark they looked and others that made you awe from how they were beautifully constructed. The heels of your shoe’s soles clicked on the checkerboard floor as you moved to have a look around the place. It seemed a little strange that the store was so vacant yet it was open.

    I wonder if there is anyone actually working here? I hope I'm not intruding.

    “Hello?” Your voice echoed through most of the building.

    “Um, excuse me. Is anybody here? Hello?” You asked again, walking further around the building.

    You stepped further in the building only to trip on displaced tile, “Ahh!”

    “Ouch!” You winced at the pain you felt in your knee.

    “Are you alright?” The sudden voice of a male had caught your attention as he helped you up.

    His black hair tied into a ponytail and his pale features with a few piercings on his face as an accessory. His hands, arms, and neck covered in ink designs-he’s appearance wasn’t typical to see but it wasn’t unappealing. The lad’s loose yet fitted clothing seemed to match with the rest of him as it was also dark in color.

    He is kinda attractive. . .

    Feeling a little uncomfortable you moved from his grip and dust yourself off, “Yes, thank you. And sorry about it.”

    “Your knee doesn’t look so well.” He stated before helping you up and placing you onto the cold surface of the shop counter.

    “Wait here I’ll get a bandaid.” He started signaling for you to wait as he went up the stairs.

    “Oh you don’t...have too.” You frowned seeing he’d already left to get you a bandage. 

    While sitting on the counter you looked around yourself noticing the place a bit more. Your e/c orbs scanned the room most of it being dark and not many lights were put up. While looking you noticed out the corner of your eye, a jar of some sort. Taking a closer look, you slipped off the counter to take a look at the jar. A chill went down your spine realizing what was in the jar, eyeballs. Human eyeballs were in a jar in this very shop, which meant the owner was a ghoul. This wasn't a complete surprise considering that you were in a more run-down part of town. But still, you didn’t ever think of it as such a common thing. Though you weren’t too worried seeing you had met a ghoul once which also just so happens to be one of your best friends. 

    The sound of footsteps coming towards you signaled he had returned, “You got off of the counter, it must not hurt as much..”

    “You're a ghoul.” Your voice calm even though you were slightly terrified after saying that. Placing the jar back on the table it was on, you turned to look at him seeing his eyes change, he seemed surprised yet threatened. 

    “I'm sorry I made it sound like that's a problem, I must have hurt your feelings.” He looked calmer seeing your alarmed expression turn to a frown as you said this.

    “I promise it doesn't bother me, my friend happens to be one too, and sometimes she tells me to carry snacks for her and so I do. See?” You admitted holding out a small package of ‘food’ that you'd carry when you were with your friend.

    “It's not something I really like doing but she's someone important to me so that's why I don't mind doing it.” You smile somewhat thinking of the friendship you had with her.

    It was there where he had returned to being calm, “That is a sweet thing to do. You are quite brave for a human girl. Though that wound might tempt other ghouls that live around here. What do you say, shall we treat it?” He offered holding the bandaid in one of his tattooed hands.

    Before you could say anything he helped you up onto the counter once again. He kneeled down holding your calf up making it easier for him to wipe the blood off with a tissue. Once he disposed of it in the trashcan he applied the bandage on your cut and bruised up knee.

    “I'm sorry about your injury, I should be getting new tiles soon.” He smiled helping you off the counter.

    “Oh it's not your fault it just happens, but thank you.” You replied feeling at a loss of words by this point.

    “Well, let me know if there's anything you'd like or if you'd want a mask custom made.” He said returning to the work on his desk.

    “Wait, you've made all of these?-that's so much work.” Of course, you were surprised you had to be.

    “It's just one of my hobbies.” The tattooed male stated bluntly.

    It was impressive considering he made every single one on the wall. You could never imagine yourself making all of those masks. The labor work was definitely a lot and so was the time spent to make them. His hands are probably used to work by now.

    “Well, they look really nice.” You cheered as a smile appeared on both of your faces.

    “You are an artist as well?” He inquired, studying your behavior.

    You nodded at this letting out a small laugh, “Yeah, I just don't make masks though. I but I did make this dress I’m wearing.”

    “Well the color really does suit you. Especially with the arrangement of flowers on it.” He complimented you on the detail of it as you both got lost into talking about the time it takes to make things.

    For a moment things felt a little different, there was a sweet silence surrounding the both of you as you looked up at him. Your heart skipped a beat from how much you had in common with him and from how much you agreed with him. While you were thinking in your own head, he seemed to be thinking of something as you tried to pay mind to your surroundings. But before you knew it your attention was brought right back to him. 

    His hand grabbed your chin gently as he examined your face, “I see, you have such beautiful eyes, I bet you are poetic as well.” His expression seemed to look a little curious while he sounded amused at the same time.

    You blushed, “O-oh um thank you but I'm not so sure.” Soon he let go and your cheeks returned to their normal skin tone and you felt a little more relaxed.

    “Well, I'll leave you too looking. My name is Uta.” 

    You smiled a small smile before introducing yourself as well, “Oh well thank you, Uta, I'm Y/N.”

    “It’s a lovely name, it reminds of (favorite flower).” He commented, making you blush again.

    “Oh that is my favorite flower.”

    “I made a mask with those kinds of flowers painted on there. Would you like for me to show you?” Uta piqued your curiosity by this point and you were excited to see his work seeing he was so talented.

    “Sure I don’t mind.” You said as you followed him to one the counters where the masks were kept sealed in the glass cabinet as they were probably more expensive seeing they were kept inside.

    He pulls out a key from his pocket and opens the lock on the glass door to slide it open. Once he does he picks the masks with your favorite flowers and hands it to you. You held it by your fingertips gingerly as you admired the work that was put into it.

    “Wow, I don’t know what to say the brush strokes are-

    “Nicely done?” He suggested looking into your eyes.

    “Perfect.” You felt your heart skip a beat as you were inches apart from each other.

    “I’m sorry.” Stepping back a bit he caught your attention again.

    “It’s fine, also I think the mask suits you, why don’t you try it on? You can look at the mirror here to see what it looks like.”  Uta offered to point to the small mirror placed on the counter.

    “Oh okay, I guess I could.” You say before putting it on as you looked into the mirror.

    Wow, it's really nice but...I can't afford it. It looks really expensive. 

    As you took it off you looked up to meet eyes with him, “It’s really nice. But I can't afford it.” Your warm smile seemed to make him smile as well.

    “There’s no charge, keep it. It’s yours, I liked the way it looked on you so I think you should keep it.” Uta stated, hoping you'd keep it.

    “Oh thanks, Uta but you've already done so much, I should pay you back somehow.” You couldn't take advantage of him, he already treated your wound which you knew he didn't have too.

    “I'd like for you to have it, but if you feel like you're taking advantage you aren't.” Uta smiled, placing the mask back in your hands.

    “Ok, but are you sure I can't do anything for you in return?” You tilt your head to the side grabbing his attention as you waited for him to say something.

    “Hmm, well now that you mention it. Would you be up for modeling for me?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he said this.

    “Modeling?” Your voice is thin and confused. 

    What did he mean by modeling? Was he teasing you, you didn't know him that well yet he was already teasing you? You looked at him waiting for him to explain as you didn't want to accuse him of being a perv. even tho he is one.

    “Yes modeling, I was wondering if you'd be willing to model for me for this painting I am making. I don't know who I want to paint but after meeting you I think you'd be the perfect person to paint. You don't have to pose in a specific way or wear anything in particular, just come by next week at 1:00 and I will start painting the portrait.”

    “Oh well I wouldn’t mind, but are sure I’d be a good choice to paint?” You questioned.

    You were flattered, truly. But you felt a little uncertain of the idea. You could never imagine someone painting you, not unless you were like a supermodel. Though in this case, you weren’t you were just a regular girl who liked art.

    “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be, you look very cute.”

    Cute? Uta thinks I look cute. But I’m not cute at all. I'm not a little girl. Do I not have enough sex appeal to be seen as a woman? Gosh what’s wrong with me, why does that even matter?!

    “Y/N, are you alright your cheeks are pink?” Uta titled his head to the side in concern to look at you.

    You felt a little nervous, “Yes-yes I’m fine. And um yeah I can model for you if that’s what you want-Ah sorry that sounded weird I mean that I-mm.” 

    Your lips rambling on as you tried explaining but Uta had shut you up. His lips crashing onto yours whilst his hands cupped your cheeks, you gasped in surprise at the contact which gave him access only to surprise you even more. He smirked into the kiss as you blushed, the intimate contact with the tattooed stranger made your legs feel like jello. Soon, you both parted as you felt a little exhausted, a string of salvia detached from both of your lips.

    “W-why d-did you-” 

    Uta kneeled down to your eye level whilst he patted your head, ”Sorry, I have a habit of kissing cute girls when they get embarrassed.”

    You had to regain your composure as you felt exposed,“Uh, no-no it’s fine. I get it.” You justify waving your hand in front of you like it wasn’t a big deal.

    “Really, so you understand?” He inquired as he seemed somewhat amused by your response. Was he teasing you again?

    You were unsure of what to say, “Yes, um no-no not really. I don’t know what to say, sorry.”

    He turned his back to you, searching for something in one of the lower cabinets, “It’s fine, but if you liked the kiss I will take you out on a date after you come by next week?” A smile grew on your lips seeing he took an interest in you and he wasn’t just teasing.

    Thinking for a moment you answered, “Sure, I’m not busy after.” A small blush appeared on your cheeks at the thought of going on a date with someone who you thought was attractive.

    Uta held out a small box to you gesturing you to take it, “Sounds great. This is for the mask your taking home, the box will keep it safe.”

    A smile grew on your face, “Oh thank you. Well, I guess I should get going.” You said while making sure you were ready to leave.

    “Your welcome, I will see you very soon Y/n.” He stated while waving as you were soon heading toward the door. 

    But of course, something kept bothering you and you knew you had to do it. You turned on your heel in the opposite direction of heading outside and went up to Uta instead. Stepping on your tippy-toes you gave him a light peck on the cheek before saying goodbye whilst you left him on the edge of his seat. And it was from there on out where you not only had a ghoul best friend but a boyfriend as well. You never regretted the day you entered his mask shop because you knew it was the best thing you ever did. Especially since you knew he liked you enough to kiss you, the first time meeting you. From then on you liked the more run-down part of town because you found a reason to.

[jaegertango]

An Invitation

Sometimes me write. Not very often, but sometimes. This is actually a precursor to what’s (probably) going on this Sunday in the Skyhunters but y’know. I’m impatient so I am posting it now.

He needed another moment to himself.

It was funny, wasn't it? After so many years of spending time in isolation, far from other mortals and kin alike, now Vykaenai found himself surrounded by so many young, proud and capable faces – and he still wasn't sure if he liked it. They were endearing, yes; so many of them from different parts of Azeroth and even beyond, all united under a singular standard and cause. Yet, their incessant bickering, their inability to trust his wisdom, their concerns on morality akin to a child crying over spilled milk: that tended to frustrate the dragon to no end. Ten thousand years had tempered his patience into a hardened slab of steel, unyielding and staunch against even the grandest of hammers, but somehow the complaints of mortals always sundered it like a rock through water. It made incredulous laughter escape the Grandmaster as he stroked his beard.

Bah. Mortals. Couldn't live with 'em, couldn't live without 'em.

The play was still winding down in Ardenweald, but even as much as Vykaenai was enjoying himself, he couldn't bring himself to stand one more second between Lady Firehawk and Araane. He had great respect for both women – but no patience whatsoever. The utter and complete awkwardness between the two every time their actresses came onto the stage together was as thick as sludge – and it only got worse as time went on. The only thing keeping them from trying to kill each other on the spot was the sheer secondhand embarrassment strong enough to even make a fully grown black dragon run away in disgust. Granted, he didn't doubt they would try to take each other's head off just to avoid sitting through the play any longer. Vykaenai respected the two of them, but having them both in the same room was such a headache.

He grumbled darkly, looking up towards the sky. There were no stars, but it seemed to last in perpetual night, here in Ardenweald. It reminded him of home – or rather, a home he once had. A time ago, when he was just a fledgling drake and his dearest friend first taking up her glaive as a Warden, Vykaenai called his home in Ashenvale. When he was able, he would look up towards the night sky, seeing the many colors reminiscent back in Highmountain, and feel at ease. This sky made him feel the same way, but bitterly so. He missed Ashenvale – before it was ripped apart by the Destroyer, then stamped underfoot by the Horde. He shared Araane's rage at the forest's desecration – but he shared Lady Firehawk's disdain of the world's politics at present too.

Back then, he used to just eat the bad people.

A tumultuous sigh. Vykaenai kept his gaze upward as his powerful arms crossed over his chest. Times seemed easier back then – even only a thousand years ago, with the War of the Shifting Sands. The greatest of all dangers, the Old Gods trying to make their presence known above the earth. Their threat was so great that neither the Kaldorei, the Shu'halo, and even the many tribes of Furbolg could deny it. They stood to fight against an endless swarm, readily and willingly, and heeded the warnings that only a dragon could give. There was no argument, no fallacies between soldiers, no backstabbing traitors that Vykaenai could not dispose of-

*snik*

His brooding was interrupted as a shiv was suddenly stuffed into his jugular – or at least attempted to be. The knife instead was pricked against that vein as if it was made of iron, and no blood even spilled from his exposed throat. The towering Night Elf did not even have the courtesy to flinch or gasp, his fiery eyes instead peering down to that long-nailed hand gripping the assassin's blade uselessly at his neck. There was a very concerned second of silence as it became awkwardly clear Vykaenai was not injured, before the dragon turned his neck slightly to try and face his would-be killer.

“Can I help you?” He grunted simply, sounding quite annoyed.

The Grandmaster did not manage much of a glimpse before the shade leaped backward several feet, hissing lowly with that dagger in hand. As he landed though, Vykaenai could far more easily see the detail in that assailant. To his surprise, the figure was absolutely as big as the Night Elf was, if not a bit taller, but definitely not as built. The creature had pallid gray skin and bloody red eyes, along with teeth like the razor needles of a murloc. For all intents and purposes, he seemed just as deadly without a knife, but his clothing denoted a far greater intellect. In fact, it was some of the finest garb that Vykaenai had seen – and he was familiar with the Highborne garb of eld, even before the Sundering. Whatever he was, he definitely was not an Ardenweald native.

“Cursed walker,” the creature spat, reaching to his belt to also draw a rapier. This surprised Vykaenai, for the blade looked even more intricate and beautiful than his clothing. For such a vile abomination, clearly he had taste!

“If you hope to kill me with that,” Vykaenai snorted, keeping his arms crossed. “It better be much nicer than your dagger.”

The assassin did not reply. Instead, he dashed forward with shocking speed, surging forward with such swiftness that he was barely visible in that flash. Yet, for all of his agility, with that mighty thrust aimed to Vykaenai's heart, the dragon reacted without fear. One of his arms untucked from his chest to instead snatch at the killer's wrist, pulling his sword away uselessly from the dragon. His other punched to his throat, a powerful hand choking the creature out easily. In that same swift motion, Vykaenai had disarmed his assailant, and also pinned him as he held the ghoulish man aloft effortlessly, glaring at him.

“Would you like to play nice now?” Vykaenai asked, cocking his head at his killer.

The creature gurgled a growl, those sharp teeth gritted together as his free hand tried to stab his dagger at the side of the dragon's temple – to no avail.

“Incorrect,” the Grandmaster replied coldly, and his hand on the creature’s wrist pulled outward. The result was a terrible ripping of cloth and flesh, the dragon easily wrenching the assailant’s entire arm from his shoulder as if made of tissue paper, leaving only a few strands of bloody sinew and muscle fiber hanging uselessly from his right side. The assassin shrieked out wretchedly, his call reverberating around the trees even as he was being strangled. Vykaenai mostly looked irritated, and he had to chide himself as he realized he had overdone it - again. He wanted to hurt his would-be slayer, but he wasn't planning on killing this thing – at least not yet. Lady Firehawk's advice to not instantly slay everything he came across was proving itself useful, and he did not want to-

The assassin then suddenly vanished in a cloud of ruby smoke, dissipating from existence.

Vykaenai groaned in even greater derision as his only source of information ran away. He pinched at his brow, letting his guard down once again at how aggravating this night was turning out to be. Yet, nothing came to slice at him once again. It seemed his would-be killer was gone. That probably wasn't good; leaving an assassin alive never tended to be. Now Lady Firehawk was going to chew him out for endangering the Skyhunters. Hopefully whatever it was, it wouldn't dare go to Oribos...

When he was done pouting, Vykaenai returned his gaze back to the space in front of him – only to find that beautiful rapier still laying in the grass. Reaching down, the Grandmaster picked it up, examining it. There was a sense of comforting weight to it, but still just a tad too light. The metal felt warm to the touch, and... it was pulsing. That was kind of gross. The blade seemed to be manifesting a heartbeat of sorts. Well, it was at least a clue; if Vykaenai could find out where this sword came from, it was a start.

“Vyk! Vyk, I heard a scream!”

The dragon turned to see Visscera running up, a mixture of concern and excitement on her face. Vykaenai kept the sword clutched in his hand, and as soon as he recognized the other Night Elf, he felt the blade seethe in his hand eagerly. Despite that, the Grandmaster smiled to Visscera, shaking his head as he shifted the blade's grip around so it wasn't so threatening in his grasp.

“Indeed. I will have to talk to Lady Firehawk about it,” Vykaenai grunted, but he still winked at Visscera as he held up the rapier. “It seems I have attracted company.”

“Do swords count as company?”

“Nay, but those that wield them do.”

“...So you stole that from them,” Visscera answered, and she looked disappointed. “I didn't think you were one to steal.”

“I would not say I stole this as much as I...” Vykaenai started, but then shrugged. “Rightfully earned it from them.”

“Oh!” Visscera stated, her eyes brightening as she thumped a fist into her hand. “...So if I fight you for that-”

“You are not fighting me for this,” Vykaenai snorted, but his grin widened as he walked back to the play stage. “Come, little shadow. I just needed a moment of space.”

He was probably going to need another one once he explained what happened to Lady Firehawk.

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

HITMEN AU! | HEAD CANONS | 19+ [HAIKYUU!!]

𝕱𝖚𝖐𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖎 [PART i] [PART ii] 

Part 2 of the Fukurodani headcanons~!! I hope you guys enjoy this one~! I’ve honestly been waiting to do this one--- ;; AGAASHIIIII

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««

K̷e̷i̷j̷i̷ ̷A̷k̷a̷a̷s̷h̷i̷

The strategist and back-up of the group (Also technically the brain for the boss)

He watches out for the group, and most definitely is the one who cleans up after Bokuto’s messes. 

Besides being the strategist and the back-up, he’s actually one of the more skilled snipers within the industry as well! 

He actually enjoys picking apart information and coming up with various plans and fail safe plans in case something happens in the midst of their work. 

Kinda gives his mind a nice exercise, thus helping him become much more adaptable to any situation that arises

He’s usually seen as the cool and collected mom-figure of the group and everyone relies on him, though make no mistake when Akaashi is mad, he gets real mad.

Definitely the one who doesn’t like to toy with the targets and will mercilessly slaughter anyone in his way 

Cold and unwavering, gunmetal blue bore deeply into the frightened victims placed before him. A slight look of annoyance surged through his gaze as he glanced back at his partner in a crime. A wide and bright grin was on the multi-colored haired man’s face as he gave the younger a thumbs up.

“I know I can count on you Akaashi~!”

A slow in take of breath through the nose and a slow exhale through his mouth, the younger merely gave the older a pointed look before withdrawing his gun. A quick scan to make sure all was in place as he looked back to the other whilst firing 5 shots.

“Bokuto-san. As much as I am thankful that this mission didn’t get anymore chaotic, I ask that you please stick to the plan. It leaves us less of a mess to deal with, and more time for you to find more missions.”

The splatter of red decorated his clothes as he pocketed the spent weapon before looking over at the now 5 corpses before him. Another sigh came out of him as he hoped that the disposal process wouldn’t take too long.

Literally a pretty boy--- sksksk sorry I love him so much---

Built yet lean, he’s a whole force to be reckoned with. 

Doesn’t have any tattoos, but does have a pair of stud piercings. 

Usually wears glasses around the base when he’s skimming through files, etc. 

With his s/o he’s absolutely 100% a gentlemen.

But he’s rather secretive in knowledge he feels isn’t supposed to be shared yet

Make no mistake that he will eventually let s/o know what’s on his mind, it just depends on the timing for him

S̴h̴u̴i̴c̴h̴i̴ ̴A̴n̴a̴h̴o̴r̴i̴

Another one of the snipers within the group

Though not as skilled, his expertise lies more so in pressure kills. 

AKA put him under pressure and his shot will be precise. More pressure, the more precise

During that session, he actually happens to tune out everything around him, but normally he’s a bit jumpy and nervous on a regular basis

He wants to be useful to the team, so he spars and helps on a lot of clean-up jobs whenever needed

A bit more of a relaxed and casual person in comparison to the rest of the team.

Though his relaxed demeanor is a weapon of it’s own accord when put in a sudden interrogation situation

“Ah...and here I thought that this mission would be done quickly....” A soft and annoyed sigh came from the young male as his relaxed features held a completely different tension to the scenario around him. A boot heavily implanted in the victims abdomen, he added pressure as he leaned down with a click of his tongue as he cocked his head to the side.

“Hey, since you seem to have some extra time...I’m gonna ask you some questions. Okay?”

Light brown hair with fringe in the middle

As for his build he’s more on the lean side with subtle definition 

He doesn’t have any tattoos or piercings, just bruises and a wicked scar from his very first mission gone wrong

Super sweet with his s/o~!

Though he tries to communicate as often as he can with them, it’s hard with the amount of work and drive he has to perfect and hone his skill.

W̷a̷t̷a̷r̷u̷ ̷O̷n̷a̷g̷a̷

The other close combat assassin

Though still a rookie, he avidly learns and works hard to get to the same level as Bokuto 

Definitely is more skilled with hand guns and brass knuckles when dealing with an enemy who could try to escape 

Works alongside Anahori for clean-up when Bokuto goes on a rampage

Runs a lot of errands for Washio when the older needs certain chemicals or supplies.

Taking a glimpse at the long list. The young male couldn’t help but let out an aggravated sigh. He didn’t mind running errands. He really didn’t. All he wished for was for Washio to not wait last minute for a complete restock of items. 

Shooting a bullet through a guard’s neck, he couldn’t help but shake the warm blood and tissue off of his hand as he walked through the now eerily silent hallways as the corpses of the guards for the facility laid on the ground frozen and gushing with blood.

Out of all the members, he’s one of the tallest rookies 

Strong muscle definition and a sturdy build

Only has two tattoos and a good chunk of battle scars littering his body

Indifferent with his s/o

He’s not super in touch with his emotions so it’s a bit hard for him to properly communicate how he fells to his s/o

[honeylikewords]

Takes care of you when you are sick

Aw, sure!

Since you didn't attach a character with this request, I decided to fill in one and go with Walter Cruz from Homecoming for the answer; if you'd like someone else, you can always send another ask!

At any rate, here's Walter!

Who takes care of whom on sick days?:

For Walter, getting sick can be almost embarrassing. While never necessarily ashamed, per se, of being human and fallible and of needing help, since being left virtually comatose for months on end after his experiences at the Homecoming Initiative, Walter has been reticent to let himself start succumbing to frailty again. He doesn't like feeling out of control, or weakened, or so tired he can't live his life the way he wants to, even for a few days: it frightens him to feel so feeble, and so he'll always try to push through being sick in the hopes that it'll go away or clear up on its own.

He especially was of this mindset early on in his relationship with his beloved, too bullheaded and self-sufficient to "give in" to feeling beneath the weather; she'd notice him sleepily rubbing his eyes, wiping his nose discreetly with a tissue, chugging orange juice when he thinks she isn't looking (despite there being no real medical connection between vitamin C and disposing of things like the common cold). The poor baby would push himself to keep going on his daily jogs, cleaning the house, doing his accounting work-- to the point where he will fall asleep on his desk, cheeks pressed into the paperwork-- and more, resulting in a hazy, distant, tuckered-out Walter who insisted he was "fine, absolutely fine, good as gold, right as rain, ef-eye-en-ee fine".

Of course, after a few days of letting him be his own man making his own choices, she clearly had to intervene; one night, she unplugged his alarm, hid his running shoes, put a lock on the cleaning supply cupboard, and tucked his accounts and folders away in a suitcase in the closet. She knew he might be annoyed with her, but it was a risk she was willing to take and a consequence she was willing to face: that man was staying in bed, like it or not.

The following morning, he slept long past when his alarm normally would have awoken him; a clear sign that he needed those extra hours. As he rested, she crept out of bed and made him a small bowl of chicken soup with rice, procuring a side of saltines and a large glass of orange juice (medical myth or not, he liked it, and if it gave him even a drop of psychosomatic placebo healing, he needed it), carrying it into the bedroom on a tray and setting the tray on his bedside table.

She also slid the remote for their bedroom television onto the tray, alongside a ramekin of cough drops and a box of lotion-infused tissues. On top of the box she left a little handwritten note:

"Stay in bed, baby! I've got it, today. If you need anything, let me know: if your throat hurts too much to call for me, text me. Get good rest and don't watch anything too stressful (or else I'll put parental blocks on all our accounts and you'll be on Wow Wow Wubsy lockdown again). I love you!"

Underneath, she drew a heart and a quick doodle of a stick figure giving him a smiling thumbs up.

When Walter awoke, groggy and confused and smacking his lips with that horrible sick-stale taste in his mouth. He checked his phone and reeled at the hour-- sleeping in this late was virtually appaling to his nature, and a knot of guilt sank low in his gut. Just as he was preparing his aching body to wrench itself out of bed, his bleary eyes caught on the tray she had left him, and he lifted the note, reading it carefully.

Letting out a huffed breath of laughter, he smiled affectionately at the note and took the bowl of soup into his lap, shuffling up into a sitting-ish position to eat. As he began to take his first bites of the still somewhat-warm soup, he reached over and turned the TV on, scrolling through the various streaming apps and services before finding his favorite and looking for the show he wanted.

The ever-familiar tones of the theme to the Great British Bake Off filled the bedroom, and he eased back into his pillow, breathing out a relaxed sigh. Walter picked up his phone, tapped the camera icon, and snapped a picture of his hand doing a thumbs up in front of the TV screen, which showed the title card for GBBO.

"Proof of non-stressful watching," he typed, sending the image and text to his beloved. He could immediately hear her upstairs let out a pleased “yay!” and found himself smiling, chuckling as he sipped his soup and the announcers discussed the bake of the week.

She continued to mother-hen him for the next few days, but gave him his space to relax and sleep: aside from periodically bringing him meals and keeping him company, she let him have the bedroom as his own private sick ward, and he was grateful, not because he didn’t want to be around her, but because he appreciated the room to just rest and not be active and engaged.

He always thanked her whenever he could, be it when she brought him a glass of ginger ale or a box of tissues or his requisite NyQuils, and often liked to take her hand and gently stroke his thumb along its softness, reminding her that he missed her touch and loved her deeply. She would gaze back lovingly and cup his cheek, thumbing the crest of his slightly stubbly jaw and telling him to rest in that tone that always made him feel secure and cared for.

Once he was on the mend, Walter was able to return to doing his accounting (she produced the suitcase from within the closet with a flourish, taking the files out like a magician procuring the requisite rabbit from the top hat) while sat up in bed, and after that he returned to taking walks around the neighborhood with her (though she remained firm that jogging was entirely out of the question, since he pushed himself to go too long and too far as it was, already). 

After a few more days of rest and limited exertion he was fully healed and Walter found himself even more enamored of his beloved-- she’d seen him sweaty and fever-stricken and snotty, watched him vomit into the toilet and merely sat by and brushed his hair with a cooing voice, and carried out trays of his dirty dishes and used tissues without a second thought, never once seeming at all put off or disillusioned with him. He gazed at her with reverence and warmth, made molten by her kindness, and how naturally it came to her to care for him, even through objectively gross hurdles. 

After that, he made a concerted effort to be equally attentive to her needs, especially when she isn’t feeling well; if she catches anything, he’s by her side, rubbing her back and asking what she needs. 

If it’s her Time of the Month, he’ll be there for her, bringing her warm pads and hot tea and massaging her aches and pains away. If she catches the flu, he’ll crack open the medicine cabinet and fluff her pillows, mopping her brow with a cool cloth. He’ll keep her company and remain unfazed by coughing or puking or the relentless blowing of her nose; she’s his beautiful, beloved baby, and he doesn’t intend to leave her unattended or unhelped in her most needful hour.

It’s easier than people think to take the time to slow down and care for one’s sick partner, so it’s never taxing for Walter nor his sweetheart to do what needs doing when the other gets sick; it comes naturally, and springs from the well of love, the desire to see the one you care the most for healthy and well, so there’s no short supply of reasons for each of them to put the other first when sickness comes knocking.

Thank you for asking!

Prompts come from this list!

[dragonsaphirareads]

Falling Petals

Day 8 of @tsshipmonth2020 Fluffuary!

Ship: Loceit

AU: Canon/Hanahaki

Word Count: 2403

Summary: Logan starts coughing up flower petals one day and he has to figure out what to do before it’s too late.

(Like listening to podfics? You can listen to this oneshot on my YT channel here!)

It was during their weekly movie night that Logan first felt the itch. Something brushing against the inside of his lungs, causing small coughs as he tried to discreetly dislodge whatever it was without disturbing the others too much. He stood to go get a glass of water, to try and force a change, and that was when the nausea hit.

He ran to the bathroom, the door loudly slamming shut in his haste. He collapsed in front of the toilet, barely having the forethought to make sure his glasses didn’t come off as he heaved. It was a violent feeling, like he’d coughed so hard that he’d forced the contents of his stomach back up, but nothing wanted to come out.

Logan stayed there, changing between coughing and heaving until finally he felt something dislodge and stick in the back of his throat. Against his better judgement, he stuck his hand in his mouth to pull out whatever it was that was causing this.

He couldn’t help but stare at it in amazement and growing horror. How was this possible?

Sitting pretty in the palm of his hand, was a single yellow flower petal.

Logan froze where he heard a knock on the door, and Patton’s worried voice from behind it. “Logan? Is everything alright?”

He cleared his throat - the itch had only momentarily gone away, and was beginning to build again. “I’m perfectly fine, Patton. I believe I reacted poorly to the amount of junk food I’ve consumed in the last hour.”

Patton hummed through the door, not sounding fully convinced. “Really? You’ve never had that happen before... Are you getting sick?”

Logan got to his feet, locking his knees so his legs wouldn’t shake, and he crushed the petal before dropping it into the toilet bowl and flushing it. He then opened the door and forced his face into a neutral expression. “I’m certain. I do believe I’ll retire for tonight though. If I am ill, that will be for the best.”

The fatherly side pursed his lips, and when Logan looked past him, he could see the other two turned on the couch to look at him. “If you’re sure it’s just that... can I bring you anything?”

Logan shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine, go ahead and finish the movie without me.”

He felt three pairs of eyes following him as he ascended the stairs, and there was a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach that did not pair well with the itch in his lungs. Even if he had wanted to sleep, he wasn’t sure he would be able to in this state.

Instead, he grabbed his laptop and began meticulously searching online for any information on what was happening to him. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to get his answer.

“Hanahaki disease?” Logan muttered aloud, reading the paragraph to himself. “‘A fictional disease where the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.’ One sided love? What kind of joke is this?”

This couldn’t be real. Yes, the sides had gotten sick before, but it was always in the vaguest of ways. Their symptoms were unique to who they were and what the issue was. They had never suffered from a cold, much less a fictional illness that existed in derivative fiction written about fictional characters!

It had to be wrong. But every attempt to find another explanation kept bringing him back to this ‘hanahaki disease’, as well as resources about the language of flowers.

He hissed air through his teeth, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Then his lungs began to itch again, and he launched into another coughing fit which ended with several more yellow flower petals in his hand.

It was impossible, but he couldn’t deny that every piece of evidence was pointing towards him having this disease. Perhaps it was fictional, but there had been weirder things they’d done and had done to them in Thomas’s videos.

For a moment, he let himself laugh at the irony that he was the one who’d come down with the illness. Of anyone to suffer from one-sided love, of course it would be him. It was ridiculous, but as more petals filled his mouth, he decided that he didn’t have much time to laugh at his situation.

In a way, he’d known that something like this was coming. He’d started to notice recently that his body reacted extremely whenever he came into contact with a certain lying trait. His heart would begin to race, his palms would get sweaty, and it was significantly harder to form proper sentences when Deceit met his eyes.

All signs pointed to him having developed a crush. He hadn’t told anyone else - Roman and Patton were still wary of the snakelike side, and Virgil clearly had an unresolved history that he had no interest in reopening any time soon.

Logan had been ready to write it off, to let the feelings die off naturally as Deceit showed no sign of reciprocating the strange new emotions he was having. But now, as he scanned more and more sources, he realized that wasn’t an option anymore.

There were only two ways to get rid of the disease. The first was to confess their love, and have it reciprocated. There were conflicting sources on what would happen if the subject of the feelings didn’t feel the same way, but they all agreed the result was not desirable.

But it was nothing compared to if the disease was allowed to progress without treatment. According to the sources Logan found, Hanahaki caused flowers to bloom in the lungs. If nothing is done about the illness, those flowers would spread and become thorny and rough, eventually causing internal bleeding and then... death.

Logan snapped his laptop shut and threw the covers over himself as he heard footsteps outside in the hall, and only a second later he heard the door open and light spilled in from the hall.

“Logan? Are you still awake?”

The logical side stayed still, and soon enough the door was softly closed and Logan was left alone.

He didn’t sleep, though. The entire night, he pondered over his situation, and his various options. He could certainly confess his love, but what would it mean for Thomas if Deceit didn’t feel the same way?

What would it mean if he did?

On the other hand, Logan would be putting his host in even more danger if he didn’t do anything about it. Could he die? He wasn’t exactly human, but he was able to get sick, apparently. Would another Logic come to take his place, or would it be like the time Virgil ducked out, but permanent?

He couldn’t take that risk, he realized. It was a given that he would deteriorate if he didn’t take any action. It was worth the risk of confessing, as embarrassing as that would be.

Logan’s heart raced at the idea. He couldn’t do it out of the blue - he knew his nerves would get the better of him if he simply approached Deceit tomorrow. But he couldn’t wait too long, or his health would begin to suffer and his friends would most certainly notice. He calculated he had probably a week, maybe two before he would have to tell them.

They were filming a video a week from today, and Deceit was featured prominently in that script. That was when he would do it, Logan decided. After they had wrapped up for the day, Logan would ask to speak with Deceit alone, and that’s when he would confess.

He had a plan, and he would follow through no matter the possible consequences. It was in Thomas’s best interest, after all.

~

The week went by agonizingly slow. Every day more flower petals came from his lungs, increasing in frequency and quantity by the hour. On Wednesday, a full flower bud forced its way into his throat, and disposing of that under Virgil’s watchful eye was a difficult task.

They knew something was up. Logan would be foolish to think he could completely hide his condition from them. But he’d been able to fend off their questions, and he’d made it to Friday.

A few minutes before they needed to rise up and start filming with Thomas, Patton grabbed Logan’s arm and gently pulled him to the side.

“Logan... I’m really worried about you. You’re so pale, and you’ve been running to the bathroom every other minute for the last week. And don’t think I didn’t see those bloody tissues in the trash. What’s happening, Logan? This isn’t just a little stomach bug like you’ve been saying.” Patton mumbled, his grip tightening as he spoke.

Logan sighed. Of course Patton noticed, and of course he had to pick today of all days to confront him about it. If he could have just waited until tomorrow... hell, if he could have just waited a few hours, everything would have been fine!

He opened his mouth to answer Patton, to tell him everything was fine and he was on the mend, but it was then that his lungs violently spasmed and he doubled over from the force of it. Logan had to open his mouth and just let the petals fall as he coughed and hacked to Patton’s growing horror.

“Logan! What’s happening?!”

“Ha... Hana...”

“Hana-what? Logan, please, you need to go lay down!”

Logan shook his head, panting as he wiped at his mouth. “No, I can’t... that won’t help... I need to... need to speak... with Deceit...”

Patton grabbed his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin. “What? Why Deceit? Logan, please, you need to rest!”

“Patton, please! I have a plan, it’s fine! This isn’t a normal sickness that one can just rest from and recover! It’s called Hanahaki, and it could kill me if I don’t speak with Deceit, who’s currently waiting for us to rise up and start shooting with him!”

The moral side was panicked, but Logan had to pull away before he insisted for a third time that he go lie down. He closed his eyes, ready to muster the energy needed to rise up and face what he needed to do, but before he could, they felt the air change and the other two sides appeared beside them.

“We’ve gotta find Deceit.” Roman announced, and both Logan and Patton stared at him.

“What? Isn’t he with Thomas?”

The prince shook his head. “No, he never showed up, and then my brother popped up and said he’s refused to leave his room for weeks now.”

“And I was not going to let Thomas go there himself, so we’ve gotta go see what he’s sulking about.” Virgil added, his hands in his pockets.

In his room for weeks?

Logan stumbled away from them, towards the stairs and towards the hallway that lead to Deceit’s room. He nearly tripped as he picked up the pace, and he heard his friends call after him and then come running after him as well.

It was pitch black in the dark sides’ part of the Mindscape, but Logan could see a figure standing in front of the doorway, his piercing orange eyes the only spot of light in the darkness.

“Obsession.” Logan greeted, coughing up another batch of flower petals. Obsession’s eyes darted, and Logan knew he was able to see in the dark and so knew exactly what he was going through.

“Oh, this is too good.” The orange side snickered, stepping aside from the door and knocking on it from behind his back.

A weak voice answered from inside. “Go... away...”

“Someone’s brought you flowers, Dee! Isn’t that nice? Won’t you let him in?”

Logan didn’t have the energy to glare at Obsession, instead moving to open the door. There was something blocking it, but even in his weakened state he was able to force it open.

Deceit’s room was softly illuminated by glowing golden spheres hanging in the air, which allowed Logan to see just what sorry state Deceit had fallen into.

He was lying in bed, a mountain of ratty blankets piled on top of him. His eyes were half-lidded, and he didn’t even seem to register that Logan was in the room at first. There was a pile of something on the floor beside the bed, and when Logan sank to his knees beside it, he realized they were flowers.

Dark blue flowers and flower petals, to be exact.

“Deceit...” Logan whispered, feeling that telltale itch building up in his throat. The other side stirred, his golden eye glowing in the dim light.

“L-Logan? Why... are you here?”

The logical side couldn’t help but smile. “I heard you were feeling ill. And... I also needed to tell you something, and seeing you like this has caused my fears about it to dissipate.”

Deceit blinked slowly, trying to digest his words. “Because... I’m sick?”

“Because you seem to be suffering from the same thing I have been for the past week. Although... you seem to be much further along than I am...”

“Two... months...” Deceit mumbled, then his eyes widened and he tried to shift out from under the blankets, with little success. “W-Wait... the same... thing?”

Logan’s heart was racing, but he leaned in closer to Deceit, meeting his eyes. “A disease born from one-sided love... but it appears it wasn’t unrequited after all.”

“Logan, are you... saying...?”

“I’m in love with you, Deceit. I have been for a long time, but I was not ready to admit it to myself until recently.”

Deceit blinked again, dragging in a shuddering breath. “I... I love... you... too...”

Then he slumped, having exhausted the little energy he had. Logan stood, cradling Deceit’s head as he sat down on the bed and laid it in his lap. Deceit squeaked in surprise, but Logan’s fingers started carding through his hair and all the tension in his body released as the snakelike side fell into a deep, comfortable sleep, the thorns in his lungs dissolved the moment Logan had uttered the words.

Logan stayed there for hours, soon falling asleep himself as he enjoyed the freedom from the itch in his lungs, and the comfort from the warmth growing in his heart.

For so long he’d disparaged it, but perhaps love wasn’t so bad after all.

[just-existing1]

14 Days of College AUs!

Pairing: Friend! Jaehyung x Reader

Warnings: None really, aside from that I didn’t or proofread this because I was tired, so yeah, enjoy!

Summary: After a small incident your roommate is mad at you and decides to sacrifice you to the Pollen Gods. Who can you turn to? The only other person who hates pollen just as much as you.

You roll around in your bed and sigh softly as you feel your nose running, a groan emanates from deep within your chest as you sit up trying to breathe. How could your nose be running when it was clogged? How was it possible for you to have so much trouble trying to force air out of your nose but yet snot could slide through with no problem? The real question wasn’t either of the aforementioned ones, but really it was what had sparked your allergies in the first place. You had been inside all weekend, trying to very hard to make sure you didn’t breathe in even one pollen particle so how had this happened in a span of one hour while you were sleeping?

Slowly your eyes scan the expanse of your dorm room before settling on the open window at the opposite end of the room. You feel anger rising inside of you, why would your roommate open the window when they know you have such terrible allergies? The soft music your roommate is playing only makes your anger begin to bubble higher. Throwing your blanket to the side, you make your way to the window, slamming it shut, before spinning around on your heel to face your roommate.

“What are you doing?” They ask, turning away from their plethora of flashcards, highlighters, and sticky notes. You can hear how annoyed you’ve made them. You take a deep breath trying to relieve some anger before crossing your arms across your chest.

“You know I have bad allergies, why would you open the window on today of all days? The day where we’re having the most pollen?” You question, reaching over to grab some tissues to wipe away the streams of snot that were trying to make their way down your face.

“Be cause it’s hot and I don’t want to turn on the AC. There’s perfect weather outside, so why turn on the AC?” They snap, standing up angrily and walk over to the window, placing their hand on the handle.

“You can study literally anywhere else. I don’t like having to say that because it’s your room too but I can’t even walk outside for twenty minutes without feeling like my head it going to spontaneously burst open.”

“I shouldn’t have to go anywhere else to study, like you said it’s my room too.”

“Then you could at least be considerate of your roommate who is literally having trouble breathing and just turn on the AC instead of letting all the pollen into the room.”

“You could be considerate and just take medicine so that I can open the window.”

“You’re really impossible, you know that? I can’t go get any medicine! Do you want to go get me some? You know I haven’t been able to go out all weekend because of my allergies and you think that I’m just going to be able to go out today? How does that make any sense to you?”

“That’s not my fault or my problem,” Your roommate argues back and you huff as they open the window once more. While standing there wondering how you could possibly avoid dying at the hands of your sadistic roommate, a thought pops into your head. You fumble through your sheets for your phone and then open your messages, selecting the thread at the very top.

You grab the closest jacket to you along with a scarf and wrap it around your face tightly so the least amount of pollen possible will reach your nose. Going around your room, you pull snacks out of various places where you’ve hidden them from your roommate and find some ramen adding all of your treasures to a bag and then grab your phone charger. You take a deep breath, holding it as you open the door and begin your sprint up the stairs. After two flights of stairs and running down a corridor, you reach your friend’s door. Twisting the handle, you slip inside quickly shutting the door behind you and release your breath. Panting, you sit the bag of food on the floor and look around the room trying to find your friend.

“Is it closed?” A voice comes from seemingly nowhere and you spin in a circle trying to find him.

“Uh, yeah, it’s closed,” You say and remove your scarf and jacket. To your surprise the wardrobe door opens and your friend, Jae, steps out. Your eyes widen and he turns to you with a smile.

“Jae… why were you in the closet?”

“To hide from the pollen, Y/N. I don’t just hang out in my closet for no reason. I’m not a weirdo.”

“The fact that you were in the closet in the first place makes you a weirdo, Chicken Little.”

“I can kick you out into the pollen and let you suffer, you know?” Jae says, stretching his arms above his head and you swear you can hear every joint in his body pop.

“You haven’t been… in the closet all week end right? Like, it was just while I opened the door?” You question, taking off your shoes and wander over to his bed, tucking yourself under his cover.

“No, I wasn’t hanging out in the closet all week end. If I was, I wouldn’t be able to move at all.”

You smile and point to the bag of food on the floor.

“Wanna play video games and eat the snacks I brought? I figure that way at least we’re not bored while we wait for an inevitable pollen induced death,” You joke as he bends to pick the bag up off the floor and takes out two bowls of ramen before tossing the snacks at you.

“Might as well enjoy our last moment together, eating ramen and potato chips while we murder aliens or something,” He says and starts getting the ramen ready while you get up and turn on the console, grabbing the controls and then hide yourself amongst his blankets again. Scrolling through the games he has on his console, you finally settle on Borderlands and sit up straight as he walks toward you, a bowl of ramen in each hand.

“Why is it that you look more comfortable in my bed than I do?” He asks as he hands you a bowl, “If you spill that in my bed, I will make your death come faster than you expected.”

You chuckle, feigning fear and move to sit on the floor, before starting to enjoy your ramen, talking to him nonchalantly about the classes he was taking this semester. While learning just how much Jae seemed to hate every class he had signed up for you stood up, walking over to the kitchen area. After devouring every noodle, you toss the disposable bowl in the trash and finally started the game.

Hours of enjoying snacks and changing between games, because Jae got bored of playing the same thing over and over again, you finally gave up and told him to play whatever he wanted and laid on his bed scrolling through your social medias, when a post caught your attention.

“I thought your roommate was home for the weekend?” You ask, not really thinking much about your question.

“He is.”

“Then why did he post that he’s really loving the weather on campus right now?”

“Because it’s the end of the weekend, Y/N. He should be home anytime.”

You sit up quickly and look at him. Wrapping the blankets around your face, you groaned, only letting your eyes peak over the top of the cover.

“He’s going to open the door Jae, we’re gonna die. The pollen will sense us and then we’ll be dead.”

Jae turned to face you, you could see his eyes widen as they flitted back and forth between you and the door. Both of your faces showed horror when you could hear his roommate unlocking the door, you couldn’t help but start laughing when Jae ran to the wardrobe and flung himself inside just in time for the door to open. His roommate stepped inside and stared at you for a moment before closing the door quickly.

“You good?” He joked as he walked toward his bed, you nodded and released the blanket slowly.

“Yeah, just… pollen, you know?” You say and lean against the wall.

“Oh yeah, you and Jae both have crazy bad allergies… where is Jae exac-” His roommate cuts off his sentence when Jae tumbles very unceremoniously from the closet, “What the fuck did I just witness?”

“Hiding from pollen,” Jae says picking himself up from the floor and looks between the two of you smiling, “Welcome back, Brian.”

“Why do you insist on calling me Brian?”

“I don’t know. It just rolls off the tongue, Bri Bri.”

You chuckle at the banter between and sigh softly as you pick up a bag of potato chips, watching the funny exchange between the roommates in front of you. If anything, aside from offering you a safe haven from the pollen, Jae also always somehow managed to bring a smile to your face and if Brian was including, you knew you would be dying of laughter sooner or later. You could tell that your ribs would be aching by the time the night was over just by seeing how Brian already had Jae in a headlock as Jae explained that he may have potentially eaten one of Brian’s snacks.

[bri-rog-deak-fred]

In Good Company

(Part 2)

brian may x reader : reader’s the 5th member of queen, and she sleeps with brian when they were both drunk and she finds out she’s pregnant half way through a tour, causing her to try to hide the pregnancy from everyone, especially brian. rock stars can’t have babies, right?

Note: this is PART TWO of the In Good Company series!! i’m overwhelmed by the positive reactions from everyone, in so glad you like it!! i’m currently working on parts 3 and 4 and maybe even a bonus 5th if i get to it, as for now, enjoy!! plus there’s some John Deacon x Reader if you really squint 😅🕊

PART TWO:

Minutes passed, you still stood in the bathroom, whole body numb. You couldn’t tour while pregnant. What would the fans think? What would the press and media say? What would the boys say? What would Brian think? You breathed heavily, trying to calm down and hopefully make sense of the situation. You were only on tour for about 3 more months, which wasn’t all too bad. Seems like if you truly were pregnant, you had to have been about a couple of weeks along, enough for things to stay and continue to develop, obviously. By the time tour was over, it would be easy to then tell Freddie and the boys and maybe just give the baby up for adoption. You couldn’t care for a child. Life touring and on the road with no support was hard enough without the extra stress of having a child to care for as well. As for now, you decided to stay quiet. It would be best for everyone. You agreed with yourself a little, feeling better, hoping your plan would go as you hoped.

Suddenly you heard a knock at the bathroom door. A yawn follows and you couldn’t help but giggle silently to yourself. Brian, sleepy, adorable Brian was standing on the other side of the door.

“Y/N/N, sweetheart, are you okay?” He asked, tired voice quiet.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I’m fine. Be out in one moment!” You said, voice a little too cheery for your own taste.

Brian noticed but didn’t want to say anything.

You quickly wrapped the test in some toilet tissue and disposed of it in the trash bin, covering up the evidence with tissues. You opened the door, smiling to Brian.

“Good morning Brian. Why are you up so early? We have a show tonight.” You glanced at his gloomy eyes and messy wild curls.

“I woke up and you weren’t in the bed. I thought maybe you’d gotten sick again. How are you feeling today?” He asked, yawning. He stretched his arms above his head, shirt riding up over his hip bones and showing off his little tummy. “I’m alright. Doin’ alright.” you sang, loving how you made Bri’s eyes roll in his head. The sudden jolt of your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. You’re pregnant, you thought and your nerves grew even more ferocious. Your smile fell for a moment as you climbed back into bed.

Brian chuckled as he watched you snuggle deep into the pillows and blankets, rejoining you. You could feel his body heat from how close he was, and you swore he could hear how fast your heart was beating. The under lying guilt of not telling him anything was just enough to suppress for now.

He clambered in to the covers and you watched him lazily try to readjust the pillows.

“Bri?” you spoke up after a few moments, voice small and drenched in sadness.

He frowned and lifted the blankets to find you. His hazel eyes scanned your face, inquiring about what was going on inside your head.

“You alright?” He asked, voice ever so soft and careful. He was your best friend, he knew you better than almost anyone. Not Freddie though, but he had that gift to him.

“Could you hold me?” You asked, voice wavering up and down.

He gave it a moment, thinking to himself momentarily before he silently nodded and as you turned over in the bed, you felt his arms wrap securely around your waist.

“Whatever’s going on in your beautiful little head, it will be over soon. You can talk to me about anything, sweetheart.” He mumbled gently and you responded by nuzzling up against his chest, not letting him see the tears come to your eyes.

“Brian... I...” You began but couldn’t finish.

“Whoa whoa whoa.” He started, hearing the wetness in your voice. “What’s the matter? Shushhh. It’ll be alright, okay? there’s no need to worry over everything. It’s okay my love.” He cooed and held you tight, rocking you silently.

You found no courage to answer him, you could only let yourself cry for a moment, especially after he called you his love.

A few long moments passed and your tears subsided. You quietly fell back asleep, enjoying Brian’s warmth more than anything.

Brian sighed heavily, unsure of what was happening. After that night you two had slept together, it was if nothing had happened between you two. Roger wouldn’t stop bugging him about asking you out, so much so that he almost took it upon himself to crack his drumsticks a few times. He felt confused, wanting more with you, but he was unsure of how you truly felt, not even knowing if you had remembered that night at all.

He soon heard your breathing even out and you had fallen limp against him and he slowly got up, blowing out a saved breath. He ran his hands through tangled curls, wishing he could do more for you than just watch and listen.

Brian decided maybe he should get up and get ready too, then at least you both could talk about it once you woke up from your little morning nap.

You had fallen asleep for about an hour or so. When you woke up, you felt fine for once, getting up and stretching out your sore body. Brian wasn’t in the room. He must of been getting breakfast. Just then, your stomach grumbled loudly at the thought of eating, so you found yourself coming down to the lobby, finding your boys and getting some food in your system.

Days turned to weeks and before you knew it, the tour was coming to a close. There was no doubt that something fishy was happening with you. The boys noticed immediately when you began to turn down drinks and the occasional smoke with Roger. Or that you stopped giving so many hugs and seemed to turn away at anyone touching you, scared they’d figure out the truth. It was as if the night you got sick something switched in your head and you were suddenly a more healthy person. As much as they worried, they noticed you looked a lot more healthier. Your face was fuller and such a blushed color at all times. Brian wouldn’t admit, but the way your chest seemed to blossom was sending him very terrible thoughts. Your skin was so peachy and your hair so shinny, he thought maybe he was imagining things. Or that you smelled even more incredible than you do before.

Hiding the pregnancy from John and Freddie was hardest of all. John had a child already, he knew what pregnancy was like for his wife and he could tell something was different with you. You seemed to carry yourself a little more slowly and your hips swayed a little more than usual, making him wonder what you had been up to.

Freddie of course was worst of all. You constantly had to hide your body, your stomach seeming to grow a lot more than you had expected. Your constant costume changes were throwing off his groove, since some nights he’d pick things for you both to match in.

You stood in your dressing room with Freddie, arguing about an outfit he had chosen that was extremely skin tight. Before your stomach began to grow, you wouldn’t have minded. It was nice having something so tight to dance on the stage in, but there was no way you could wear it in your condition.

Dressed in a loose peasant top and flared jeans, you tossed your hair to the side and huffed at the pants Freddie had wanted you to wear.

“Please, isn’t there something else I could try, Fred. What about that white top you had made, the long tunic one!” You suggested.

“No.” Freddie turned and put his hands on his hips. “You wore that the last three concerts. It’s getting old and tacky. We were supposed to have correlating outfits, dear, not a billowy pillow case.”

You grumbled to yourself.

“I just don’t feel comfortable wearing these. They’re tight.” You said rolling your eyes. there was no way the trousers would even try to button with your protruding stomach.

“Since when are you so prudish?” Freddie suddenly fired.

“What? I’m not being prudish!” You we’re taken aback by his sudden snobbiness.

“Y/N, darling, you used to wear such daring, minxy outfits. You were starting to set off trends. Now it’s all of a sudden it’s oversized this and that. It’s not a good look on your darling. This is rock and roll! Plus those tits you’ve gotten are a gift you shouldn’t keep locked away.”

Suddenly you felt very self conscious and aware of your body. You hated how round you looked and felt. You felt your eyes water and you swallowed hard. Before Freddie could apologize, you stormed out of the room, finding Brian and Roger’s shared room. “Do any of you have anything I can wear tonight?” You asked, beginning to rummage through clothing racks of the concert clothes they’d both collected. You settled on an old black woven peasant blouse from Roger’s clothes and decided that you’s just have to wear your own leather leggings with some flashy boots maybe. Freddie came into the room, gasping at the audacity you had to find another outfit.

“Put that back!”

“No!” you shouted, tears still threatening to spill out of your eyes.

“You are not wearing that!” Freddie cried out, grin threatening to split his face.

Roger began laughing, but Brian began to stand, wanting whatever was happening to settle down before anyone’s true feelings got hurt.

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Fine, Fred. I won’t wear it.” You say, a little breathless.

“Good.” He smiled softly.

“I’m not performing tonight.” You respond in a snarky tone.

“Wh-Wait a goddamn minute. You’re not performing over an outfit?” He raised a single eyebrow, and you knew he was pissed.

you stood your ground, Brian eyeing you up worriedly.

“Let me wear what i feel comfortable in and that’ll be that.” You counter offer, holding the hanger with the blouse on it as it it were a deadly gun in an old fashioned shoot out.

“What’s the matter with what I picked.” He asked, Roger silent. Deaky had now entered the dressing room, watching what was happening.

“Nothing’s the matter Fred.”

“Then wear it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because... Because they won’t fucking fit me okay? I’ve gained weight. Now just let me wear what I’d like, Freddie.” You hissed, feeling rather embarrassed that you had to say that in front of your closest friends for him to finally drop the subject.

John looked to your face, feeling your sad emotions it seemed. You saw Roger trying not to laugh at the ridiculous situation, and you hadn’t dared look at Brian scared he’d notice too much.

“Just get me 10 minutes before the start. I’ll be in my dressing room.” You let out a shaky sigh and excused yourself from the room feeling the eyes of the boys on your figure as you left.

You went to you dressing room, sitting in front of your mirror and looking back at your face. You rubbed your eyes, and sighed, feeling defeated by your emotions yet again. You hadn’t noticed that your door had been opened and that John stood very quietly by it. He cleared his throat, making you jump.

“Sorry John, I don’t think this is the best time to talk-“ You began.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

You met his eyes in the mirror and closed your own tight, letting out a deep breath. A moment passed before you decided to say anything more.

“What makes you think i’m pregnant-“

“You argued with Freddie over clothing you picked out. You always think his style is much better than yours most of the time. You haven’t smoked or had alcohol with any of us since you got sick. You look softer. If i didn’t say any better, or know you any better, i’d say you were pregnant, and have been for a while.” John smiled warmly, voice ever so thoughtful and quiet.

“So what if I am?” you grew cold and defensive quite quickly.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” He worried, not leaving his spot by the door.

You took in a quiet breath, feeling your throat swell closed.

“We wouldn’t still be on tour... you all would’ve sent me home. Touring while pregnant or even having a baby is a rough life. I’m sure you know that.” You sniffled as you turn to face him in your chair.

John looked to his shoes and let out a huff. He did know. He wanted more than anything for his wife and baby boy to be along side him, but the constant moving and driving was a bad toll for anyone.

He moved closer to you and took your hand, helping you stand.

“Do you know who the father is?” He asked, no judgement in his voice at all.

You gently nodded and bit your cheek.

“Brian is the father.”

John smiled a little bit more, feeling relieved by the answer regardless.

“You know, he’s always wanted to be a dad. I’m sure he’d ask you to marry him the second he knew you were having his baby.” Deaky chuckled light heartedly.

“I’m afraid he might not even remember sleeping with me in the first place.” You confessed, feeling your chest tighten at the thought that you still had to tell Brian.

“None the less. We have a week left out here before we head for home. Soon you can get everything situated for the little one.” He smiled and looked down to your stomach, even though it was hidden.

You couldn’t help but feel grateful for Deaky’s trusting nature and nurturing persona. “How far along are you, love?” He asked, excited for you. He loved children and babies, and he certainly was going to love yours just as much as his own.

You chuckle a little bit and take a step back. It felt weird to do so, but you cradled your bump through your shirt, showing him just how big your belly had gotten in just a few weeks. “Should be around 20 weeks, if i calculate that right.”

His eyes widen and he giggled helplessly. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from everyone! You look so stunning! Truly incredible!” He said warmly, taking your shoulders gently as a very light comfort to you.

“I know. It’s hard for me too. Though it seems I don’t have anything to wear for the upcoming closing concerts.” You shook your head, remembering the silly argument.

“Don’t listen to Freddie. He can be a prick sometimes. You know that.” John replied quickly. You began to laugh between the two of you and you shook your head. “So can I.” You sigh, feeling awful for hiding what was going on, but at least John could understand.

“What am I going to do?” You asked.

“I think you should talk to Brian about this. Then the rest of us. I can act surprised again, if you’d like.” John joked and ran a hand through the top of his hair.

“I really should. Thank you John.” You smiled and for the first time in a rather long while, you pull him into a hug, not caring that your stomach was between the both of you. He held you back firmly for a moment, before you jumped and looked down to your midsection.

You pull away and gasp, hands flying to your stomach. “Whoa...” You said softly, feeling it again.

John looked to where your hands were holding on your stomach and felt his heart skip a beat. “Did the baby just kick?” He asked.

“I-I think it just did... Oh! It’s doing it again!” You say, feeling the flutter inside your body, so you gently take John’s hand and guide his fingers to where the tiny foot kicked under your skin. He had the biggest smile on his face as he, too felt the baby flutter within.

“Oh my goodness... Oh my god...” You said, unable to comprehend the kicks.

“Incredible, Y/N.” John whispered, unable to stop smiling from excitement for you.

After standing for a moment and the kicks began to fade, John bid you adue before he started to get ready for the show. And you knew your secret was safe with him.

You had also decided to find Freddie and apologize for making such a fuss, while he profusely apologized for making you feel uncomfortable and that you weren’t fat and that your body was very welly filled out and gorgeous too. He let you wear the black flowy top and suggested a sparkly long shawl over, so it looked like you had wings made of the starry night sky with leather leggings and some groovy white heeled boots.

“You do look fabulous in almost anything, don’t you Y/N.” He chuckled, looking at you in your outfit, happy as ever that the shirt hid your bump. “Oh hush, You’re trying to make me feel better because I’m not as hot in this outfit. You know, I’m not looking for anyone in the crowd. I’m pretty satisfied with a guitarist we have on stage.”

Freddie went nuts, pretending to be Brian, and you playing your over dramatic self.

After laughing like fools, you got your hair and makeup done before final sound checks just as soon as a concert would began yet again. Tonight you were playing guitar so your stomach was always hidden, and you could sit on a barstool if need be. The energy that night was fantastic between everyone on stage. There was never a dull moment and you haven’t played as well in a good moment. Brian even let you lead ‘39 that night on guitar and you swear you couldn’t be happier. Deaky seemed extra keen, dancing with a little more spunk than usual. Roger screamed more than normal and that caused everyone in the room to feel even more rowdy. At the end of the set, You and Brian ended up having a playful solo battle, and your guitars were almost grinding on each other in a playful fight. All of your worries had gone and you were riding a generous high supplied by letting your secret out. You felt as though you were dancing on air, pleasing the crowd and your boys.

“Thank you everyone! Goodnight!” You shouted out as you began to exit the stage, feeling sore already from dancing and moving in ways you knew you really shouldn’t try to do while in your state, but you felt more happy than you did at the beginning of the tour.

You felt Deaky’s supportive arm looped under yours and escorted you back stage as the rest of the boys followed suit.

“Was that wicked or what?!” Roger excitedly shouted, flipping his head back and mauling the rest of the boys with a huge hug.

“Y/N, the guitar battle was brilliant!” Brian said excitedly, patting your back and ruffling your hair. “I had to save everyone from the same 13 minute long solo you’ve been doing, Bri.” You chuckle and gain a goofy grin as Freddie laughs with you.

“Everyone did brilliant tonight. Best show yet and it’s not even the finale!” Freddie said as he sauntered to a roadie and suddenly appeared with a champagne bottle, popping it open in the most sexual way and spraying it all over everyone. It was something that was straight out of your dreams.

Late after the boys came back from the bars, you decided to stay back and shower, wanting a good head start to the day tomorrow since you all were leaving the hotel you were staying at and continuing touring on the bus.

As you shower, you start to get dressed and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, dressed in just your night shorts and unbuttoned night shirt. Thankfully, you had your own room, but you knew the boys would probably bust in the door any moment. They were drinking anyways, they’d be gone for a little longer.

You starred at your reflection, trying to button your sleep-shirt fully over your rounded middle but found no luck, so you kept it open, dancing a little in the mirror and checking out your curves. You had to admit, pregnancy did look good on you. You run your hands over your stretched sides and sighed heavily. “Oh dear, how am I going to tell Brian about you.” You hummed quietly to the bump.

You snuffed a yawn from yourself and looked at your pile of things that were all packed and found your run down acoustic guitar, deciding that playing something sweet might let your soul calm before you decided to say anything to anyone. Right now it was just you alone, and that’s how you wanted it to be.

You took your guitar and rested back in your bed, propped up with as many pillows as you could find. It was a little hard to play the right chords from your little ‘obstruction’ but you managed and began to sing a soft little melody to your ever growing middle.

“Take good care of those you call your own, and keep good company”

You strum the guitar gently, humming along softly, you felt a flutter at your side and pressed a hand to it, smiling graciously. You still had to decide what was going to happen after the baby was born, whether you’d decide to keep it or give it for adoption should Brian or anyone else in the band disown you for it. Your future was a little unsure and you could feel the guilt riding up your spine again.

You had plenty of time to think about it, so you shook the thoughts away and continue to play, closing your eyes and singing sweetly and softly.

You didn’t notice however, that the Brian, Roger, Freddie, and John had all come back from the bar. You didn’t notice that you left your door unlocked, and you really didn’t notice that Brian had let himself in and was now starring at you and your exposed pregnant belly, with wide eyes and a pale face, expression worried, and confused.

“Y/N?” You hear Brian say, voice barely above a whisper.

(let me know if you wanna be added to the) Tag list: @sleep-paralysis-demon @mazzello-lee-jones-malek @t0r @geek-and-proud

[dannilea]

Birthday + Family

Summary: Jack wasn't expecting much for his birthday beyond the usual text messages and dinner at Mac's, but his kids never stop surprising him. Rating: G

AO3

Jack knows that Mac and Riley are full grown adults that are fully capable of taking care of themselves, but Jack still worries. It doesn’t matter that they’re both nearly thirty now – a fact that makes Jack feel old in ways Mac’s most hair raising stunts don’t -he always sees the angry and weary kids he first met when he looks at them (Riley, twelve and angry and protective, not wanting anyone to ever hurt her mother again, and Mac, nineteen and angry and so afraid of letting anyone in). Jack will always be worried about his kids.

Especially when they’re scheming.

It's one thing when they’re scheming on missions. Its something else when they’re home in sunny LA and have roped Matty into being their distraction. The director had summoned Jack and promptly informed him that he was to stay there until Matty declared otherwise. Jack, remembering the way Mac and Riley had had their heads ducked together all day, knew immediately that Matty had been recruited to act as the distraction in whatever scheme his kids had cooked up.“You know,” Jack said, “I don’t think this is how distractions work.”

Matty snorted and didn’t look up from the tablet she was working on. The two of them were in the War Room, Matty co-ordinating with an ops team and Jack was stretched out on the couch, feet propped on the table, offering occasional tactical advice but was otherwise occupied with trying to get Matty to reveal whatever Riley and Mac were up to.

“My job is to keep you out of Blondie and Riley’s way while they do their thing. Nobody said I couldn’t make you be productive while I did that,” Matty said, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye. Jack grinned back and Matty tolled her eyes.

“C’mon,” Jack cajoled, “Can’t you give me even a little hint as to what they’re up to? The two of them scheming like that makes me twtichy, ‘cause they’re either planning some kind of prank or world domination.”

“Quit being dramatic, Dalton. MacGyver and Riley are big kids and can take care of themselves, so quit worrying.”

Jack snorted. “You’ve met my kids, right? I leave them alone for five minutes and someone gets kidnapped! Or builds a bomb or hacks the NSA!”

“Seriously Jack?” Matty asks, voice full of exasperation (with the faintest trace of fondness). Her tone implying that she might be close to losing a bit of her temper with him. Jack knew she wasn’t – if she was really angry at him the tone wouldn’t be exasperated, it’d be sub-zero cold and Jack’d already be on his way to the worst possible assignment she could dig up for him.

Jack knows his family.

“Seriously, Matty. They’re both trouble magnets. Especially Mac.” Jack continued to grumble under his breath about the trouble his boy tended to find himself in, as Matty wrapped things up with the team she was coordinating with. Jack was well aware that she wasn’t really listening to him, and was humoring him by letting him talk. Once upon a time, they were partners and Matty knew that talking was just how Jack kept calm.  Major fallout and breach of trust all those years ago or not, they still knew each other in ways no one else would. Its what made working together again possible – what allowed Matty to be folded into their tight-knit family. Jack would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad to have her back in his life.

Matty’s phone gave a quick ping, alerting both of them to an incoming text. Matty checked her phone before turning and pointing at Jack.

“Get out of here and over to Blondie’s house. He and Riley are ready for you.”

Jack blinked, “Ready for me? Wha -”

“Shut up and get out of my hair Dalton!”

Jack skedaddled.

---

Jack pulled into Mac’s drive, eyes darting around, looking for any sign of something wrong. He really wasn’t lying to Matty earlier when he said Mac and Riley scheming together made him twitchy. He was genuinely lucky to have the greatest kids – both incredibly smart, talented, kind, and determined to do good in the world – but he was well aware of the kind of trouble they could find themselves in. Have found themselves in before.

He loves them dearly, but Mac and Riley are definitely the reason he has grey hairs.

Not seeing anything out of place, Jack hopped out of the car and jogged up to the door. He opened it with his usual disregard for social niceties like knocking at Mac’s house, and ducked inside the entryway. He’s mildly bemused by the birthday party hat perched on the polar bear’s head and the blue and white balloons carefully wrapped in his claws.

“Yo, Mac!’ Jack shouted as he headed for the kitchen after kicking the door closed. “What’s goin’ on, man?”

“We’re on the deck!” Mac shouted back, ignoring Jack’s question completely. A little miffed, Jack huffed and was about to launch into a tirade about how rude millennials are and why Mac should respect his elders that gets stopped before he even has the chance to get going. Jack, having just walked into the living room, stopped short when he saw the deck through the windows.

Mac had pulled out the table they used for large dinner gatherings out on the deck, and he and Riley had decked it out with a Cowboys table cloth and assorted disposable plates – the kind you find for cheap at a party store (though where the two of them would have found Dallas Cowboys party gear in Los Angeles was a little lost on Jack). They’d even managed to get Dallas gift bags.

Jack, after a moment of gaping, switched his gaze to his kids. They were both looking a little nervous, but also determined. Jack wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he got here – fire and chaos, probably – but what looked like some kind of surprise birthday party definitely wasn’t it.

Riley crossed her arms and gave Jack a challenging look. “Are you coming out here or not, old man?”

Jack’s brain and feet finally reconnected and he made his way outside to the deck, trying to figure out what has his kids feeling so unsure. This could all be a giant joke and he’d still love it because a) Cowboys, and b) his kids put this together. How could he not love it?

And that’s when Jack got a better look at the table.

There was cake in the middle of the table, and it was the only thing that wasn’t decked out in blue and white. Instead, Mac and Riley had gotten one of those fancy photo cakes – the ones with an actual picture made out of icing. The photo was one of Jack’s favorites - it featured him, Mac and Riley, arms thrown over each others’ shoulders, laughing at some joke Bozer had told before snapping the picture.

Jack looked up from the table to look at Mac and Riley.

“Surprise?” Mac said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “It definitely is.” Jacks could feel the grin stretching across his face as he quickly closed the distance between him and his kids. Without reserve or hesitation, he threw his arms around both of them. Mac laughed and Riley huffed.

“You haven’t even opened your presents yet, Jack.” Mac said. Jack pulled back, keeping a hand on Mac and Riley’s shoulders.

“Don’t know if I need to now. You and Riley doing this is about the best birthday gift a guy can ask for.”

Riley reached around him and snagged one of the gift bags sitting on the table. She held it up in front of his face and raised an eyebrow (a move that made her look even more like her mother- especially when she was somewhere between amused and exasperated with whatever Jack was doing).

“At least this one, Jack,” she said. “We picked it out together.”

Jack’s grin softened into a smile – the one he always seemed to have around his kids – as he took the bag from Riley. Mac’s fingers twitched as he watched. Jack had no doubt that if he had a paperclip it’d be twirling and twisting through his fingers. Jack had no idea why his kids were so nervous. Unless its another Cowboys snuggy, in which case Mac really needs to learn to up his gift giving game.

Jack lifted opened the bag and lifted the tissue paper (also decked out in blue and white, Jack was gonna have to talk with his kids because yes he loved the Cowboys but this was a bit much even for him), which revealed a rolled up t-shirt inside the bag. Based the apparent theme of the party, Jack had a feeling he knew what the dark blue shirt was. More than a little bemused he reached in and grabbed it, setting the bag down by his feet as he let the shirt unroll -

Bright white letters, bold across the shirt.

World’s Okayest Dad.

Jack’s eyes start to burn and he can feel his lips trying to tremble. His smile had faltered in his surprise and Jack pushed through it to smile – first at the shirt in his hands and then at his kids. Now he gets what the nervousness was about. Jack had never doubted that Mac and Riley knew how much he loved them. He was, to start, pretty vocal about it and never shy with physical affection – he doled out hugs and ruffled hair like someone was about to pass a law saying he couldn’t (he also knew that Elwood Davis and James MacGyver weren’t big on kind physical contact with their kids and while Riley had had Diane to balance it out, Mac had his grandpa, who also wasn’t much of a hugger so Jack felt he had to make sure they both got all the hugs and other things they missed out on as kids). But there were things they never said aloud, which Jack understood and respected. Mac and Riley would talk to him when they needed and when they were good and ready.

So this shirt, his kids actually calling him dad. Is kind of. A big deal.

If it was physically possible for people to burst from happiness, Jack would have right then and there.

“This,” Jack began, “Is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Jack wrapped Mac and Riley back into a hug, smile never fading.

“Happy birthday, Jack.” Mac said, voice slightly muffled by Jack’s shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Jack.” Riley said, her chin digging into his back a bit from where she’d hooked her chin over his shoulder.

“I love you both, more than anything,” Jack told them, holding tighter.

This was definitely going down in his books as the greatest day ever.

“I am never going to take this shirt off!”

“Don’t make this weird!”

“Ugh, Jack!”