#likes *ੈ we dance like marionettes

[j4nedoes]

Tag Drop

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly

Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface. 

Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust. 

Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body. 

“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck. 

“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against. 

“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade. 

“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more. 

“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting. 

As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to. 

“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior. 

“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name. 

“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”

He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.

A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release. 

“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” 

He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard. 

“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses. 

“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you. 

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock. 

You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours. 

Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure. 

“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight. 

“Fuck.”

Sir Crocodile 

He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.

“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.

“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.” 

Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown. 

A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.

Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump. 

“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip. 

The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion. 

He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip. 

This was going to be a long and tiring day.

At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.  

His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain. 

There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours. 

“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him. 

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”

“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his. 

“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm. 

“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you. 

Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface. 

Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain. 

Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words. 

“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew. 

Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it. 

“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles. 

“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him. 

“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks. 

“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”

He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him. 

“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully. 

“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes. 

“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room. 

“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest. 

“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion. 

“Mine.”

Buggy

“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion. 

“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock. 

“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response. 

“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.” 

He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss. 

“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in. 

“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load. 

“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated. 

Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock. 

“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet. 

He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless. 

“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room. 

A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face. 

As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection. 

You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully. 

Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies. 

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”

“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you. 

“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming. 

“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious. 

“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours. 

After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer. 

“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.” 

As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.

“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers. 

“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness. 

“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair. 

“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit. 

“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.

The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it. 

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I… I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.

“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks. 

He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze. 

“I am one for fucking…”

Mihawk

Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip. 

“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption. 

“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature. 

Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.

The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water. 

Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.

Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord. 

His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild. 

So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.

“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.

Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern. 

“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him. 

His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins. 

Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders. 

Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin. 

Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.

Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated. 

And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task. 

Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin. 

His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface. 

Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk. 

“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you. 

Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.” 

You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited. 

Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now. 

Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality. 

[dancingbirdie]

This is by far the horniest, most deplorable thing I've ever written. Not sorry for it. Hope you enjoy! Please pay attention to the tags - we've got some new stuff happening in this one.

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

Earned It

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader x Halsin

Word Count: 1K

Tags/Warnings: vaginal penetration, vaginal fingering, total body control, dom/sub vibes, plotless smut, porn without plot

Summary: Astarion and Halsin use you as a plaything for their own (and your) enjoyment.

*****

“Wicked thing,” Astarion cooed in your ear, voice pitched barely above a whisper. 

Squeezing your hips, he angled you down deeper, sheathing you onto Halsin. You let loose a breathy whine at the sensation, the sheer size of your other lover.

“Sweet one,” the druid amended in a growl, thrusting up into you with gusto. 

Straddling his lap, you collapsed your head onto his shoulder, lost in the sensations inside and around you. Your pliant form allowed Astarion to continue pumping you up and down, up and down, in long, languid strokes. As he maneuvered you, Halsin clutched the back of your head with a tenderness that was completely at odds with the ferocity in which you were being pistoned on top of him. It caused you to mewl languidly, too overstimulated to muster much else.  

This had all been Astarion’s idea (of course it had), to use you like this, a plaything for your two lovers to share. You didn’t mind in the least. To be surrounded by both elves, one fucking into you while the other manipulated your body like a marionette on strings? It was deliciously sinful. You were all too willing to relinquish control of yourself into their capable hands, and bodies. 

Movement, and a wanton moan by your head, caused you to shift and blink your eyes open toward the sound. You hadn’t thought it possible to become even more aroused than you already were. That was until you saw the marvel that was Halsin and Astarion locked in a heated, open-mouthed kiss. Even as they continued using your body, Astarion never missing a beat as he slid you up and down Halsin’s length.

You watched hungrily as Halsin fisted Astarion’s curls and pulled him in closer, rocking you up against his chest in the process. You whined pitifully as the movement hit some deeper part within you, the feeling akin to the sensation of stroking your clit. Seeing their tongues dance, hearing their muffled groans as they ravaged each other’s mouths, it was almost enough to send you spiraling into release. 

You subconsciously wiggled against them both, itching to find some way to put more pressure on your clit without interrupting their heated embrace. 

Astarion was the first to break away from the kiss, however. Recognizing your telltale squirming, he grinned wickedly down at you as his fingers dug a little deeper into the skin of your hips, halting you from moving at all. You whined again, desperate to feel more, not less. 

“Tsk, tsk. Looks like our pet is trying to have more fun without us, darling,” he crooned to Halsin, who chuckled and caressed your cheek gingerly. 

“I was enjoying the show,” you breathed, nuzzling your head into Halsin’s large palm. “I wanted to enjoy it a little bit more.”

“Greedy little thing,” Astarion admonished in a playful tone. “Whatever shall we do with her?”

“Give her a good finish,” the druid replied in a low, gravelly voice. “She’s earned it, don’t you think?”

He wasn’t asking you, of course, but you moaned your assent anyway. Astarion chuckled at your eagerness, shifting one hand from your hips to tease his fingers across your swollen clit. 

“Have you? Have you earned it?” He whispered into your neck, the pads of his fingers ghosting across you. You keened and bucked your hips, trying to chase his hand. Halsin groaned as your movement caused him to slide deeper inside you. 

“Please, please, please,” you begged, not an ounce of pride remaining within you. You were wound so tight, ready to spring. You would kiss the soles of his feet if it got you closer to climax. 

You felt Astarion flash a wicked grin against your neck, his fangs brushing across the delicate skin. 

“Poor thing, begging like that. Very well, let’s give you a memorable finale,” he purred, slipping his middle finger fully between your folds and circling your clit. At the same time, his remaining hand on your hip urged you up, up, up, so that Halsin was fully released from you before pushing you back down on him again. 

Halsin grunted as you enveloped him once more, bucking erratically into you as he chased his own release. You watched as his mouth found Astarion’s again, his hand wrapping around the column of Astarion’s pale neck and pulling him closer. 

You felt Astarion rut against your backside, in rhythm to the way he was using your cunt to fuck Halsin. His fingers never faltered as they continued their assault on your clit. In no time, the three of you were tumbling into ecstasy, unable to keep the crescendo at bay any longer. You reeled as Halsin spilled himself inside you, riding out your own high, clenching around his length. The wetness on your backside was evidence enough that Astarion, too, had found his own pleasure in the process. 

Utterly spent, you collapsed your full weight against the druid, allowing Halsin to capture both you and Astarion in his embrace. The three of you tumbled gracelessly over like that, into the plushness of the blankets beneath you, catching your breath and recovering from the high. 

“That was… incredible,” you sighed before letting loose a muffled yawn. Sandwiched between the two of them, you could feel sleep was quickly approaching.

Halsin laughed, watching you try in vain to keep your eyes open. “Did we tire you out already?”

“Precious little thing,” Astarion crooned, kissing your shoulder delicately. “She gets tuckered out so easily.”

“You’re more than welcome to continue without me,” you smiled mischeviously at the two of them. “As I said, I enjoy watching.”

“Who knew we’d create a little voyeur when all this started, hmm?” Astarion smirked. 

“I believe the lady wishes for an encore, love,” Halsin replied in a low tone, rich with renewed desire. 

“Well then, who are we to deny her?” Astarion teased, reaching for the druid once more.     

[ma1dita]

star crossing

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4k

summary: (established relationship) The one where both your dreams come to life for a night (crossing the stars for love is easier said than done) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: welcome back trouble!verse :) as always feel free to ask about lore, especially with the dreams they have at the end of the chapter that depict different greek legends. (esp: hero and leander, dionysus and ariadne, cleopatra and antony if you need a quick google search!) enjoy! continuing monster mash and studying tonight

posted: 10/25/24

—

It was most definitely past your bedtime.

Checking the time on your watch and kicking off your boots at the bottom of the stairs, you yawn as exhaustion pulls you up the wooden steps like strings for a marionette. 

1:11 am.

A sidelong glance at the twins’ closed doors and the beautiful, sweet sound of silence greets your swaying form; that’s how you know your day as Camp Half-Blood’s head counselor is finally over. The door to your bedroom is wide open, wood creaking beneath your bare feet as your eyes fall upon the scene before you.

And Luke really, really tried to stay up and wait for you.

“Baby, you still awake?”

The sound of your laughter echoes in the quiet of your bedroom along with the soft twinkle of light that filters in through the linen curtains that dance across your window. To complete the ethereal picture is your love in human form, conked out against the floral bedspread like a chalk outline from a murder scene. You stifle your snorts behind a clenched fist, bending down to his winged shoes that hang off the bed, fluttering a hello to you at the brush of fingertips as you whisper, “Maia.” Even they get to fall asleep before you, closing in on themselves and thudding to the floor when you loosen the laces. 

Luke has his cheek stuck between the pages of your weathered copy of Pride and Prejudice—chapter 60, where Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth talk about how they fell in love. You pluck it from his grasp with nimble fingers as you bookmark his page and toss it onto your nightstand. Even watching him sleep has you bubbling with devotion for this boy, and what better way to admit that than to let him know you’ve come home? He still doesn’t stir, even as your knees bump along the sides of his body when you climb over him, slowly sinking into the soft of your mattress and the firm of his midsection. You’ve mounted him like one does a horse, observing his eyes moving under the delicate skin of his lids. 

Usually, this works wonders for Luke Castellan, hero, yes—but first and foremost a teenage boy who gets excited when you even look at him the wrong way (There is no wrong way).

“Mm. Mr. Darcy…” you tease, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to his jaw, then nudging his scar with your thumb as he smiles against it. There’s no question needed, he knows you by touch alone, down to the star stuff you’re made of—with the way his hands feel cosmic against your skin as they slip under your shirt and pull you down into the only fights you like partaking in, of lips and love. You’re smiling hot against his mouth, the kiss of life reviving him even as your teeth clink together sounding like a symphony against the laughter lining the beats of your hearts—so close but not close enough. 

Never close enough.

“Been waiting for you,” he gruffs, tugging at your bottom lip as he kisses you quickly once more. His voice is heavy with sleep, crackling like an open flame. Luke pushes away the hair that drapes against the shape of your face with one hand, the other resting comfortably around your hip, and you sigh. It’s easier to breathe when he’s near, and the weight of the world feels a little less oppressive as you look down at him—drowsy with sleep and a bit drunk on loving you too much for his own good.

“Sorry, Lu. M’gonna change and then we cuddle?”

He nods, watching your body lift off of him and already missing you as you walk across the room. The sounds that come with your night routine are like ASMR to his sleepy consciousness—hearing the rush of water in the shower, the soft sound of you humming to keep yourself awake. Luke lays there with a small smile, wearing a tie-dye shirt of yours that cuts off at his midriff and boxers that have seen better days. A lot of your relationship is like this—domesticity after hours and mostly away from prying eyes (not if Luke can help it). Some might think it’s boring and there’s only so much to do to entertain yourself hidden deep in the Long Island Sound, but love is in the way he spreads your wet hair over his arm so it doesn’t stick to your back as you lie down. Love is in the gasp you let out when you finally look at the ceiling, glittering and glowing just for you.

“You fixed them!”

And yes, there are stars that dot the night sky outside your window reflecting through the glass but they’ve also come alive on the ceiling of your cabin after all these years. They started peeling a while ago, but you haven't had the chance to fix them yourself. Hand-pressed and fluorescent, Luke restuck them up one by one flying up and around in his shoes while you were off doing night rounds. Even in the dark, he thinks he’d find their faint shine in your eyes, knowing the adoration in your eyes is a sight reserved only for him.

“You like ‘em? I tried to do the constellations but I think I fucked up. There might be two little dippers.”

Your hand slaps his chest and he snorts, breaking out into a grin when you shift against him, “They’re really pretty.” He thinks you’re really pretty—and the ugly face you make when he voices his thoughts still doesn’t change his mind.

Soft fingers trace their way up his abdomen, under the worn fabric of your shirt that he’s stolen and you murmur, “Thank you, baby.” The silence that follows is full—it swells in both of your chests like a balloon about to pop. You always feel like this when you’re with Luke, to be honest. Airy and in a whirlwind, left in the dust after he stirs your insides up to rearrange the mess until everything feels right again.

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look of the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

“Hey!” he jokes, “No spoilers, Trouble. I was getting to the good part.” You roll over, leaning your chin onto his chest. He watches your head move on his body with every breath he takes.

“Luke, that is the good part. You’d know if you didn’t fall asleep.”

“I think I like books better when you explain them to me,” he pouts and he’s so stupidly attractive it makes you giggle. Luke likes the way your laughter surrounds his heart, pounding back against his ribcage as if asking to be let in. “Reading is hard. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I like stories,” you muse, tracing the slope of his nose gently and his eyes flutter shut like a drowsy baby, “Maybe it’s because of my dad but words are so vivid to me. I don’t need to figure out what the letters mean, the pictures play in my head like a movie. Stories are what keep me sane, I think.”

Luke’s hand sifts through your hair, cradling the base of your head. He tugs at it in a fluid motion so that you’re leaning up to look at him double chin and all, “I wish everyone could see the world the way you do, Trouble. I think everything would be a lot more…”

“Chaotic?” 

He laughs. It’s a loud sound that comes from his belly and you smack him, afraid that he’ll wake the twins downstairs.

“I’d say fascinating. I’ve never met someone like you,” he smiles thoughtfully, poking the soft of your cheek. You’re pouting now, albeit playfully as you say,” I sure hope not. You’re stuck with me and no one else.”

“May the gods have mercy on us all,” he groans dramatically, the air getting knocked out of him with an oof! when you flop your head back onto his chest, “Fine, I’ll stop. Tell me a story, Trouble.”

“Like what? I can tell you about… What about…” you hum, playing with his fingers, “Hero and Leander?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head, curls brushing against his forehead with the movement. Your eyes are alight now, your mind racing with the thoughts in your head and any inkling of sleep is washed away.

“Cleopatra and Antony?”

“You told my siblings that one last week.”

“Luke, you were snoring by the time I got to the part with Cleopatra fleeing with her troops…” you chuckle as he tugs your hair in protest. You both have a way with words—his are smooth, and yours send him to sleep. Not in a boring way—he could never be bored of you. Every word that leaves your mouth captivates him, calms him in a way that makes him forget that anything bad has ever happened. And anyway, he ripped your copy of that tale back when you were 16. You didn’t talk to him for a week and he was frightened and felt so bad that he snuck out and permanently borrowed a first edition from a bookstore two towns over. It sits in its shiny dustjacket on the top of your shelf. The story of Orpheus and Eurydice was one he knew like the back of his hand after the production earlier this year (who else would you make the kids run their lines with), so that one was out of the question too.

“What about the one with my dad and step-mom?” Your boyfriend is silent, and you think he’s fallen asleep again until his hot breath reaches your face as he sighs, “Are there any stories you like that…I dunno, aren’t sad? Or end in death?”

“Luke, they’re all love stories. Lots of them are star-crossed. What does it matter?”

He sits up on his forearms, looking down at the picture you make laid against him—hair framing your face like a halo and cheeks kissed by moonlight. The son of Hermes blinks at you, a finger reaching out to boop your nose, "Because they’re all tragedies, pretty girl. Tell me something with a good ending. Something real.” You sit up, opposite from him as you lean your head against your shoulder and roll your eyes, “Love at most times is a tragedy, baby. The greatest ones are—and those are real stories!” Luke doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer. How could it be that the greatest love stories have endings at all?

He doesn’t dare think you two would be the same. 

There is no conceivable end to his love for you. The Fates would just have to accept that, he thinks.

“I can hear you thinking from here. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” you joke, tugging at his arm. “Angelface. Hey. Just because those stories ended like that doesn’t make them bad.” Luke’s playing with the edge of your quilt and not looking into your eyes. He’s uncharacteristically skeptical, but you’re the daughter of the god of storytelling—you would know better than him. Your expression softens; you’ve never had anyone be scared of losing you until him. It’s always been the other way around. So it must be true then that love is a catalyst because everything changes once you fall deep into it. 

“Luke. I’ll tell you a good story.”

“Yeah?” he mumbles, looking up at you like he wasn’t the one who hung the stars up onto your wood-paneled sky. You lean in and kiss him quickly, and he’d think you didn’t mean to if it weren’t for the stupid smile that graces your face afterward, “I like our story the best.”

You two have been in a relationship for almost half a year now, at each other’s wit’s end for four years, and in love…well who knows when that started? It depends on who you ask.

“Really?” 

A smile splits the scar on his face. It’s one of your favorite things about Luke Castellan—perfect even with what most consider his flaws. But you know he wouldn’t be himself without it, not anymore. He takes it wherever he goes, even with the weight that scar presses down on him most nights—the touch of humility it’s given him since his quest.

Plus it would’ve taken you much longer to fall in love with the egotistical little fuck he was before that.

“No notes, no rewrites,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. Sometimes, you need reminders that life isn’t all that bad at Camp Half-Blood. Even if you’re the daughter of the Camp Director, things could be worse than being in bed and watching stars (both real and fake) with your boyfriend at one in the morning. Your face goes numb at the same time you realize something, “Like Mr. Darcy said. I don’t remember when I fell in love with you. I don’t think I could pinpoint it. I just remember thinking that I didn’t hate you like I thought I did. It shocked me more that I liked you instead of the fact that I was in love with you. Deep down I already knew that.” It was an inexplicable pull—something unspoken between the two of you that no matter what happened next, your futures were sure to be intertwined.

“Hmm. If the greatest love stories are tragedies, then what would ours be?” Luke mumbles, his nose grazing against yours. It tickles with the breath of his question that falls against your lips.

“Well, those are stories with endings, Lu. There’s no end in sight for us. I won’t allow it.”

Smirking at him matter-of-factly, you’re positive there’s no other way. Luke Castellan being in your life is the only thing you’d lay everything on the line for. It’s the only confident assurance you have.

“What are you talking about now?”

“With us, we make anything possible, don’t we? Look. Would Romeo and Juliet be as memorable or good of a story if they lived happily ever after?” He tugs at your necklace, pulling you in with a finger as he whispers, “You’re insane.” And though that’s true, he’s happy about it. 

“Great love stories are tragedies because they have endings. We have so much living to do!” Springing to your feet, you’re jumping up and down as you bounce on the mattress. Luke’s laughter makes a melody with the sounds of the squeaky box spring as he looks at you from below as you whisper-yell, “It’s nowhere near over for us babe! If I’m crazy, and you’re in love with me—then so are you, loser!” You point at him like it’s an accusation, and well, he can’t argue with that, so he hops up to meet you with an earth-shattering grin, “You’re right again.”

The two of you are jumping up and down like idiots in love, the bed squeaking underfoot as you giggle, half spinning, half hugging until Luke murmurs, “But then what happens at the end?”

It’s never been easy, getting to where you two are—trusting each other with the baggage you came to camp with. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always wondering when the gods will laugh at your expense. You’re nuzzled against the shirt he stole from your closet, inhaling citrus and the subtle smell of berries. Luke must’ve used your shampoo again—but the fact is clear.

There is no him without you, or you without him.

“There’s no end if we don’t give up. The people in the stories didn’t,” you say indignantly. Staring up into a sea of amber, he’s unblinking. Luke is actually worried about this—you. “Trouble, all your examples of great loves died.”

“Baby…but until whatever end, they were together. Afterlife, or Olympus—it still ended with love. I just think…” You mumble into his chest, “You and me…we’re crazy enough to brave that. Star crossing.... Even if we’re not gods.” He’s deep in thought now. Luke would go the distance every night even if it meant to see you for even a moment. He’d complete any quest if it meant forever with you, jump ship, and leave all his responsibilities if it ensured your safety, even walk through hell to bring you back. And in that moment, the stars seemed like a cakewalk. Because Luke would do it too, for you.

“I know we are,” he chuckles, “I’m sure of it.”

Soon enough, you’re both tucked under the patterned bedspread, eyes slowly fluttering shut in the silence of the shadows and twinkly stars. The last thing Luke Castellan notices as he tucks his nose against your cheek is that everything from your sleepy eyes to the blinking glimmer of the sky is ultraviolet. The stars are within reach, breathing softly against his neck tonight. He thinks he hears you mutter something just as Hypnos takes him from you, “You’re the first person I ever pictured a future with, you know that?” 

As everything fades to black, he knows one thing— you deserve the world. 

He just needs to figure out how to give it to you. 

—

Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re pretty much sleeping on top of each other, or that even in dreams you want each other there, but there’s a dizzying sequence that takes place in the few hours before dawn breaks. Morpheus, the god of dreams, must be laughing wherever he is—even in his domain you two are inseparable. He allows it just this once; two demigods escaping to a different realm together. 

Even gods break the rules if it means for a good story.

—

Winter air blows through the open window of your tower as you wait for your lover to arrive. You cradle the flame in your palm, struggling to relight the lantern through mist and fog and you’re worried he’s lost his way.  Rain patters against the stone walls of your prison, catching onto the tendrils of hair that frame your face. It’s been so long already.

He should be here by now. He promised.

You always worry—if all you can do is anxiously pray for his safe arrival, you’ll do it every time until he’s in your arms again. He calls you his Hero, but the fear that wracks your body as you wait here is not a testament to bravery. Each journey of love he makes is—no matter how many hours, no matter if the sea nymphs drag him by the ankles—he will find a way to your guiding light. Leaning over the windowsill, your eyes squint in the darkness, watching raindrops pelt the Hellespont like bullets instead of water.

Your light will lead him home to you, as it always has.

Even if the weather changes, his devotion does not. Daybreak spreads to the horizon, and Aphrodite answers your solemn prayer—bringing you your love in human form. The sight of him steals your breath away as the goddess has stolen his. He fought his way to your door, curls and clothes covered in seaweed and sand. But your lover never breaks a promise, lifeless eyes reflecting the color of the flame hanging in your window.

Such luck it is to serve the goddess of love and have her take it from you.

The decision to jump is as involuntary as breathing. He’s at the bottom anyway, ready to catch your fall. The air is still cold in the morning light—goosebumps ravage your body as you take your journey to be with him.

You trust that it will feel like summer in his arms again.

—

Another day brings another battle, and the end of the war is near. Octavian will be knocking down your door and everything you’ve worked for has gone to hell. You always knew the best lies to tell—you knew what to say to make him run across the continent to see you. A courtesan meant to be his queen, he’d give up his empire if meant you were alright.

It doesn’t matter now. 

Your love lays in your arms with stagnated breath and his blood is on your hands, yet still he’s yours. He was yours at the height of the empire, and he is yours as you both hide from the rest of the world in this dusty mausoleum. You are his mortal and unending wound, the biggest loss of his career but his heart’s greatest victory. And you’re breathing—that’s what matters to him; nothing else. Everything he touches turns red and by now, the ocean must be sullied by the blood of his troops.

History will remember you both as villains.

But as the poison sinks its fangs into your system, you interlock your bloodied hand with his with not a signle regret.

Love is your undoing, and there is no greater glory than this.

—

The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies. 

The sand is warm in between his toes and the ship he arrived on is long gone, along with his ex-lover. But in his path to know grief and anger he found you. It was a spiritual awakening in a grove dedicated to your namesake—and from the second he stepped foot into your space, you had to have him.

He’s never encountered a god before, much less one that loved him like you do. You’re made of ichor, sacred, and meant to be untouchable. You believe in him like no other, and he doesn’t think he’s worthy, even if you insist that it’s okay to see eye to eye. Yours are like amethysts on his favorite crown from a home he used to have before Naxos—before he threw it all away for love. 

Now he has nothing. 

Not a coin in his pocket, just the crown on his head. There is no money or titles here on this island, so he doesn’t understand what about him is so appealing to you. The words that come out of your mouth are insane—though that is your domain, he finds it difficult to believe that you are anything but trouble. You promise him a place with him in the heavens when he’s wasted his life away being left behind by the people he loves and the paths he chose to take. A large part of carving new paths is always having an endpoint. 

So he makes one, leaving everything behind again before you can hurt him like he’s been hurt before.

It seems that every path leads to you. Through insurmountable odds, you show up and revel in the pain—you blossom from it, descending into the Underworld and brushing hellfire off your shoulder to save him, a gentle hand outstretched with a promise of eternity and unimaginable riches. He’s been rich before—he had everything in the palm of his hand once upon a time but forever is a path he’s never traveled. 

You toss his crown into the sky until it shatters into starlight and smile at him. There is all the time in the universe to watch the stars together.

—

All the small details in those dreams will be lost to you by morning—an inkling of something that almost was or could’ve been, only marked by the faintest touch of time. It covers your eyes and fades away when Morpheus lifts the haze by the sound of your morning alarm. Luke blinks slowly, waking up with you in his arms and feeling like he’s traveled through different lifetimes without leaving the bed you share. The son of Hermes looks down at you lovingly, face smooshed against his neck, trying to chase an ending to that dream in case the gods feel nice enough to let you have a few more minutes of shut-eye.

Somewhere, everywhere, there is a tug of fate that transcends lifetimes for you two to meet.

But in this life, compared to others, you can only hold onto the truth with a firm hand; that you were there last night under all of the stars—ones you’ve touched and the ones you reach for, dreaming of a life to live together. 

—

"You and I know each other in our bones." - Kurt Vonnegut

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[revacholianpizzaagenda]

97 Poets of Revachol pics!

HERE THEY ARE, courtesy of the event's official photographer, Zuzana Šubrtová. The Elysium-based LARP took place in two runs in Terezín, Czech Republic, in the latter half of September. These are from the second run!

I can't possibly describe what it was like to inhabit the rundown tenement of La Cage with more than a hundred other players, bringing to life a whole slice of society: immigrants, barflies, petanque players, sewer people, Union gang members, Wild Pines mercs, disco people, sewer people, looters, street artists, an inevitable mass of fascists, anarchists, communards (or so I'm told), communards (proper), communards (it's complicated), councilmembers, hustlers, taxidermy enthusiasts, the also-inevitable mass of pale-fried strugglers, journalists, Moralintern creeps, RCM chucklefucks, and so on and so forth. The old military hospital burst to life with small human moments and grand revelations happening in every corner at all time, as the gears of history moved toward our inevitable trial run of Le Retour.

We really had it all. Politics, drugs, creeping mold, more drugs, unseen voices steering us toward our best and worst natures, a metaphysical rave, entroponetic anomalies, precognition (scripted), precognition (just kind of happened?? Several times over?), suzerainist coffin deliveries, sweatshop politics, old reckonings, radiant sacrifices (accidental-ish), three-way divorces (one-upping one HDB), strikes and strike-breakers, political dance-offs and political orgies, and did I mention the drugs, under the greatness of history and the pale.

Thanks to the organizers for the colossal effort they pulled off like it was nbd, and to all my fellow dwellers of La Cage.

A few favourites:

First off, this was basically the entirety of my game:

...with a central heartrending tension between that abandon, that 'something beautiful is going to happen', and my character's earthly loves, the family she loved so much. It was really really fascinating and emotionally moving to get to play out that central conundrum in full (and go die on the barricades for an independent Revachol following the push of History) (and also of Franconegro pulling my strings like a marionette in a chilling scene) (but mostly History)

Case in point: me in the back, the Unseen voice/spirit/skill "Doomsayer" to the left, dear husband Tai in the middle. Sorry Tai!

Moralintern mission

Sweatshop workers strike

Both sides of the barricades, right as the game ended (this is not a spoiler, it said up front on the website that that's where the story would end): independentists (feat. His Fuckery Franconegro with the black wings in the background, but also the Unseen of if it sucks hit da bricks, the street martyr and idk who else) and globalists (Dolores Dei, Doomsayer et al)

speaking of those two - here's them in full rave regalia. I love that two of the collective skills of this place are flat-out "Dolores Dei" and "Franconegro", it's so fitting. Can't have current society without them, so here they are, as a molecular part of it.

RCM peeps predictably being serious, professional individuals

Designer drug guy talking to Corrosion who's kind of the local version of Electrochemistry. I'm sure this was a completely hinged conversation that reached sensible conclusions

Wild Pines mercs +1

Disco downtime. The set design for The Bearded Vulture club and The Second Club was out of this world. I hope my own pics can convey some of it.

sweatshop power dynamics (there were accidents, Union leverage, strikes, corruption... you'd think there would be barely time for anything else to go on AND YET)

possibly my fave pic of the whole thing (go Doomsayer!!!). we had specific graffitable areas on the wall and made VERY good use of them. Well, everyone else. My character wasn't much of a graffiti artist, her greatest contribution was turning "Revachol for revacholians" into "Revachol for mold"...

LARP^2

fascist campaigning at the Democracy Picnic

Petanque club...

...actually playing petanque? I never saw them ingame, I was starting to wonder if it wasn't a front for something else

Pictured - no scheming, plotting or quadruple-crossing here as you can clearly see by "Kras Knezhinisky"'s super normal demeanour and unassuming name, which I can totally believe was on his legit birth certificate)

I mention Kras because here's the theatrical taxidermy show with him in the middle narrating the adventures of his antifascist ferret Kommissar Kunixet. Nice pic, I take the shot. Five seconds later, superstar Frittte clerk Jamie Delaney joins in, and what can I do, NOT have Jamie in a shot? Absolutely not, so I take the same exact shot with Jamie in it as well.

And by sheer twist of technology (and of course the pale, and of course vile censorship in defiance of the Romangorod convention)... Kras Knezhinsky of all people gets kommissar-no-kommissar'd. "Kras, the pale is erasing you from our memories, from images," I warn him, showing him the two pictures. One hour later, he gets taken behind the waste disposal facility and shot.

Hm.

(LARP's haunted. These things KEPT HAPPENING. In the first run, that version of my character went "YOU MURDERER" at the specific merc who'd turn out to be connected with her background, a couple of hours before getting that reveal in-game. What's Elysium without some good old-fashioned precognition after all!)

Poor Flowerseller (red dress here) was kind of my Empathy - many valiant attemps were made, however. Uphill struggle.

HARDCORE anodic club leader Konrad Nilsen doing something not so hardcore here, idk what was going on exactly but then again I never even noticed we had a morgue and I had a plot right next room, so what do I know. I know that the end is near. That much for sure. And that the resolution of history's contradictions goes through the pale. But corpses? Nah.

||||||| 😎

[babygirl-riley]

His Dolly

No matter the sex you always loved how Simon used you or made love with you

“There is no show I wouldn't do for you, but a change of mood, a different scene. You could cause me a bitter pain.”

Warnings: smut, voice kink, light choking, breeding kink, rough sex, mentions of soft sex, PiV, husband!simon, creampie, squirting if you squint, male receiving, fluff, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader smut

Two ways Simon Riley fucks you. Hard and rough, which usually is when he comes home after hard mission. Soft and sensual which comes the most frequently from him. Did you have a favorite? No, you never mind how he handled you when it comes to sex. Whatever he needed you were there to obey all the way to loving him. 

This time was different, it threw you through a loop. Simon came home, the same way he did when a mission went side ways. The door slamming. His huffing as he would find you. No matter where you were at, pants and panties off. You never asked questions just straight to the point. However, with him doing the same thing he guided you to the bedroom.

Kissing you harshly, biting your lip in which you moaned. Giving him all the access for your tongue. His tongue pressing against yours, dancing with each other. Simon groaned, no growled when you massaged his hardened cock. “I can’t hold back love. I need everything.” His voice was hoarse, like he had been yelling all day. Your heart tinged, thinking about all the things he went through.

You kissed him softly before kissing his chin, neck, leaving opened mouth kisses. He shifted his head so you can get more access to his neck. “Let me take care of you Si. You sound tired.” You whispered as you lightly go over his tatted arm.

Simon exhaled deeply trying to keep his moans at bay. Just you barely touching him would make him cum right there. He gripped your hips slowly guiding you to the bed. Simon sat down on the bed, spreading his legs so you could fit between them. You looked down at him placing a hand on his cheek. “On your knees.” He whispered turning his head to connect his lips to your palm.

You smiled softly as placed your hands on his thighs. Simon watched as your hands were so small compared to his thighs. Which made his cock twitch, you rubbed up and down on them, barely touching his throbbing cock. “Take them off baby.” You whispered as you settled on your calfs, waiting patiently.

Simon smirked as he pushed both his jeans and boxers off. “Needy little minx are we?” He teased watching your eyes fixated on his hardened cock.

You licked your lips as you reached for his cock. Simon shuttered when you barely wrap your hand around it. Giving it a couple of strokes before licking his balls all the way to the tip of the red tip. His head slowly went back with his jaw opening. “Fucking hell,” He groaned looking down at you as you put his tip in your mouth hollowing your cheeks. Simon could have shot his seed down your throat just from the sight of you swallowing his cock more and more. Your tongue flat against his base, going over that one vein. “Just like that-niiice and slow.”

You started to bob up and down rubbing his thighs with your hands. You felt him twitch as his panting started to pick up. The noises that came from your mouth was obscene, you gagging as you took as much of his dick as you could. Having him moan loud. He gripped your hair and lifted his hips.

Your eyes started to water as he pushed himself more in. You relaxed your throat as he roughly had his cock go deep down your throat to almost the end of his tip coming out of your mouth. “Look at you, so fucking-ugh- s..so fucking beautiful with your mouth full of my fat cock.” He grumbled ripping a deep groan from his chest.

You moaned as your thighs rubbed together. Feeling tears start to spill. “Mmm those tears are just for me yeah? Feeling sore from my cock?”

You nodded your head as he slowly started to take his cock out of your mouth. You sucked in hard having him hiss then sigh when he heard a pop from your mouth. You licked around your mouth and wiped your mouth with your arm. You were inhaling deeply trying to gain some air.

Simon gripped your chin lifting your head to lay eyes on his. “Come on I need my cock in ya, no foreplay, nothing. Your cunt must already be begging to be fucked.”

You moaned from that sentence alone. He helped you up before settling you down on the bed. Simon’s grip on your skin was rough, it hurt in a good way. He first gripped your thighs, biting on the inside of it before going up. He gripped the sides of your ass kissing your stomach till he got to your breasts.

You licked your lips feeling your body shiver underneath him when you felt his cock touching your pussy. You gasped when he nipped the side of your boob before licking up to your tit. Sucking on it while his hand played with your other tit. You snaked your fingers through his blonde locks and gripped hard.

Simon moaned loudly as he rutted against your cunt. “Si-You said no foreplay.” You whined lifting your hips to chase his cock.

Simon chuckled as he came up to your face. You saw how his eyes were full of lust yet adoration before going dark. “Needy minx tonight, say one thing and you already wantin’.”

You felt him rub his cock on your clit and barely entering your needy leaking hole before rubbing back up to your pussy. You whined as he nipped your earlobe. “I don’t know if ‘m gonna be nice.” You heard the worry in his voice which made you freeze.

You slowly grabbed his cheek before having him look at you. His eyes soft, you could tell he was going back and forth tonight. Which hasn’t happened since the beginning of your relationship. You smiled softly before kissing him. “Baby you know that never matters. I want you to. I need you to Simon. Please.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed as you felt him push his cock in slowly. You gasped as you wrapped one of your legs to have your heel digging into his ass. Simon moaned at the feeling of your pussy engulfing him yet tightening around his cock. He pushed more and more watching your reaction, your face contorting between pleasure and pain.

Simon knew that it was too hard, you had a safe word. “Relax baby, we’r almost there.”

You gasped as he bottomed out, you could feel him at your cervix. Before you could say anything he pulls back and snaps right back in. It was slow and already hitting that spot that made your toes curl. Your mouth gaped open as he slams harder into you, grabbing your ankles to fold you in half as he picked up speed. Simon grabbed your throat, slightly squeezing it.

You grabbed his tatted wrist watching his muscles tense up and the veil bulge out more. You moaned at the sight having your pussy clench. Simon chuckled as he watched your eyes dilate. “Yeah? You like when I squeeze your throat? Fuck-I can feel your heart rate.” He moaned slamming into you harder.

You gasped and whined as his hips hits into yours. Even with the fast pace he still was slamming into you, his grip holding you harder, not enough for you to loose oxygen but enough to still panting. You looked at him as his eyes were fixed on your pussy and his cock. Watching himself being sucked back in, the glistening of your wetness, the noises coming from you two being intertwined.

You felt him stop for a moment looking down at you. His hand releasing your throat, you sighed as you rolled your eyes. Then you felt his arm going under you to flip you over, sliding his cock out. You ass up and your head down, you rolled your eyes and moaned. Knowing what was about to come next. “I am gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll beg for me to stop.” He said leaning against your back before shoving his cock back in.

He slapped your ass hard, you don’t mind you loved when he got this. You moaned loudly as he started to fuck you at the agonizing quick pace. You kept moaning couldn’t stop as you felt the knot start to form. “Oh fuck Si,” You mumbled having saliva gather on the pillow. He growled as he felt your walls tighten around his cock. His hand slapped your ass again having you gasp. “Yes right there! Oh fuck! Fuck!” You screamed feeling your orgasm hit you like a train.

Simon panted as he watched your body shake from your orgasm. He didn’t plan to stop he kept going in and out of you hard and fast, feeling his cock twitch as your noises became louder once more. One hand gripped your hip while the other went to grab your hair. Gathering a handful before tugging it slightly having you gasp and you tried to look at him. Simon saw you salvia on the corner of your mouth. Making him moan.

“Fuck you like this huh? Like when I treat you like a whore? Fuck you-fuck.” He couldn’t finish feeling his balls tighten. God he fucking loved the feeling of heat running from his spine and throughout his body when his orgasm was at the peak.

You knew this as you smirked. “Come on baby, fill me up with your cum. I need your cum inside me, fuck it in me.” You panted as your third orgasm came out.

Simon felt you cum again, looking down at his cock and your needy hole. As you squeezed hard around his cock, you also felt like you were peeing. You screamed Simon’s name as he kept slamming into you, feeling his cock stutter. Simon let out an animalistic moan watching the white ring grow thicker. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck yes! Oh fuck!” Simon yelled.

One. Two. Three. He settled against your cervix, releasing his hot white cum inside you. You sighed as you relaxed into the mattress, smiling. You felt his cum starting to drip down your pussy as Simon pulled out, hearing him hiss then moan. Simon leaned against your back and started to kiss your shoulder blades. “Fuck baby,” He panted kneading your ass. “You never squirted before.”

You wanted to look and see but you were too tired. You chuckled as he turned you slowly to lay on your back. Rubbing softly up your thighs before kissing your wet forehead. “Really I did?” You mumbled softly putting your hand on his cheek.

Simon leaned into it. “Yeah, we might have to change the sheet.”

You nodded wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He laid on you but not enough to squish you. He placed his head between your shoulder and head, moaning in content as you rubbing your hands up and down his sweaty back. “Thank you.” He mumbled.

“Always.” You said kissing into his hair.

[ashipiko]

DANCE WITH ME YOU LI-IA-IAR ♡

OVERBLOT ASHI??? ANYBODY??? the ANGST that this baby can store!!! SHEESH!!!!!!! <3 I only have one post dedicated to her and liar dance lyric analysis (the post is kinda outdated in gen) BUT…… I also have an overblot monologue as a treat 🫶 I wanted to better explain her angst and so!!! BABAM!!! enjoy

ASHI’S MONOLOGUE:

Sometimes I wonder why I ended up here.

A place named “Twisted Wonderland”, and at a school named “Night Raven College”.

At first, I figured that I was the odd one out— Y’know, the Ramshackle prefect and everything. The magicless girl at the magical all boys school? Nuts, ain’t it?

I’m known for a lot of things. Things that are different from the others. The fact that I stand out is part of the Ashi charm, something I’m known for.

But… Over time I found myself sorta feeling in place here.

Because as much as I try to believe it, I can’t safely say that I’m better than anyone else here.

I’m a fake. I make conversation and lots of friends, but for what? A backup in case something goes wrong? A sense of protection for my reputation? In what case are any of those friendships something I truly want? In what case are any of these strings more than just a tool instead of a thread made of my real feelings?

Behind this, I’m no different from any other student here. Even through my individuality, my cheerfulness, my endearing oddness… I’m still a horrible person. Using people to get what I want, toying with people and their feelings in order to gain power and gain a spot the top. All to become untouchable. It’s screwed. It’s not right.

My insides are ugly. The truth of me is something I want to keep tucked away deeply, because I don’t want people to see this part of me. A brash, annoying, selfish version of me, everything people hate to see. I don’t want this side of me to be seen because people will run away— people I don’t care much about, sures, but people I love, too. I don’t want to drive them away. So I keep quiet and give them a shallow show.

I give them a source of entertainment that’s controlled by the real me, every calculated movement translating into a marionette-like response. The only show I allow you to see is one that’s so carefully crafted by the chaotic clown backstage. The one that is shunned away from the light, the strings being the only hint of the puppet’s phony existence to the foolish audience.

But suddenly, I feel as if being here has started to let this side of me come crawling back into the spotlight.

It scares me.

It scares me to be vulnerable, let all of my faults lay out on the table like playing cards. To take the risk without the protection, to gamble everything I’ve built up away just like that. But you…

You.

You make me feel safe. You make me feel as if I don’t need to hide anything. I can give you the key to my heart and you would have no malicious intent. You wouldn’t cut out the parts people don’t like. You would enjoy the performance in full, every bit of it.

You make me believe that I’m nothing special, and yet something so valuable at the same time.

It’s silly. You’re silly. And yet that’s something that’s helped me.

It’s helped me realize that that truly is just how people are.

We aren’t villains. We aren’t antagonists. We aren’t monsters.

We are nothing but people, with faults and feelings that should be valued.

I am more than just a jester, a sake of entertainment.

I’m a person who is entirely worthy of love. All of me.

It reminds me that I must’ve came here for a reason.

Because this is where I belong.

[rarilight]

Me, circa 2013, watching the MLP pilot: oh so this pony is the stereotypical prissy girl character lol ok

Rarity: hello. we are well met. Did you know? i will consume your art. you will play with me like a doll, your favorite one, placing me in the grandest of shows over and over again. It will be for art, you will say. It will be just pretend.

Me: i wonder if she’s going to be bitchy lol rip

Rarity: we are not so disimilar you and i. this is why you cling to me. i will haunt your narratives, your greatest muse, and as you type away words in a depressive state, placing me in scenarios where i will be twisted and challenged and torn asunder only to prevail in the end, i will wish I could ask one thing: Tell me will it help?

Me: i guess she’s okay

Rarity: tell me honestly darling dearest will it help? i will be your doll, gladly and willingly, as you help me again and again, a manic dance where i am your reflection, and in my success you hope beyond hope that it might save you too. But does it help? Does it help? You are me and i am you, but so often only one gets to be happy while the other bleeds to death? tell me, my darling, how long til you realize the doll being choked by marionette strings is not me? but i will dance. I will spin for you, and one day perhaps, when you put me in a story where all is lost, it will be just a story, and not your soul’s suicide letter

Me: man her design is really super pretty tho

Rarity: I am GORGEOUS, thank you for noticing

[in-the-dreambox]

Ok quick recap for day 2 of ANDROGYNOS before I go out to eat lol

Again we had another peak Kyo vocal performance today, and he had a lot more stage energy today, a lot more audience interaction. He seemed super pumped up compared to yesterday which was awesome to see

Kyo was wearing the black outfit today, he had two leather gloved severed arms draped around his neck like a scarf, where the two arms hung in front. He also had a red baby like the D'OR one hanging on his back. Its a little hard to describe, but i kind of want to draw it. Kyo also came on stage holding a bouquet of black flowers and performed with it for a while. Overall I kind of preferred day 1's look better, but that's because the red hair and red robe from day 1 was so vibrant and beautiful, today's look was absolutely gorgeous too though. Maybe among my favorites to be honest

Kyo had extremely intricate makeup today with painted skull teeth and almost zombie like skin with the intricate black lines all over his face. His extensions today were black and very long, probably as long as last night (about waist length)

Setlist unfortunately very similar to yesterday, but world of mercy was a welcome difference, and it was a pretty incredible performance of it. I unfortunately can't recall the complete setlist rn but I'm sure it's already been posted elsewhere. That was my main disappointment of the night, unfortunately, but all the performances were still solid as fuck. We got a much more emotional Ranunculus this time

Did not understand any of Kyo's MC this time lmao but yes, he did another MC.

I swear Kaoru's hair is light pink? But idk if that was just the lighting and it's actually blonde

Toshiya's costume included detachable kimono like sleeves, he threw one of them off at the end of their performance in a very dramatic fashion. In general, Toshiya was super showy the whole live lol

One thing I forgot to mention yesterday is that Kyo danced quite a lot on both days, mostly the strange jerking "robot" like dance moves where he looks like a marionette. It was literally mesmerizing.

I cannot emphasize how hard Kyo went with his performances. He was constantly dancing, headbanging, and moving around, and he had the DIR fans in the audience wrapped around his little finger. The Pierrot fans were not super enthused though lol

[persistentplums]

No matter what you think about Brock and Rusty one thing is true they raised those boys together. And anyone will tell you kids pick up qualities of their guardians/parents which influences how they go about things.

The influence of Brock on Hank is simple, it’s the one the show starts off with and we see easily throughout the show. I wish they could’ve done more with Dean and Brock, unfortunately they don’t overlap enough to do something with but when they have overlapped the small moments, you stretch it you can see the impact Brock has on Dean.

“He believes in this stuff, not like Hank.”

“I have watched you pull a man eye from his head, made him dance like marionette with his own optic nerves.” “At least I didn’t break his heart.”

Heart is Brock entire thing. He is punished for his act of heart going against OSI and getting Billy and Pete together, him racing back in PROM, his attachment to the Ventures, and funny enough his lack of any real love life is because Brock does things true to his heart even when he’s not supposed to (“you’re a tool for the government.”)

That’s super easy to see in Hank, he follows his guns, jumps in, doesn’t second guess if he’s wrong. For Dean it comes out in belief of there being Good Guys. Something Brock shares. For a man who has no real issue with murder the idea of “Good guys” is a thing he sticks with very seriously. Dean copies this to a Dorky level coming off naive but it’s literally the same packaged differently.

Hank knows though everyone is just some guy, a bad guy or a good guy you are just some guy. A lot like his dad in that respect, when you understand this is all a game you can’t really bother with genuinely thinking of sides just how you interact within it. (Hank not really put off about dating Sirena even if her dad is his dad arch. That’s more of an obstacle that they are put into arch and protag categories so he can’t date her normally bc it’s not an actual *thing* for him)

Dean however is under the firm belief there are sides, they can work together sometimes bc he’s seen it, but like Brock, he believes in sides and gets riled up by it.

Speaking of riled up, Dean has Brock temper. I didn’t think much about it to be honest, it shows itself twice physically (Rusty Camp, radiant of the baboon) but when I hop around episodes now I see it in newer episodes. Dean temper is similar to Brock when he is really pushed off the need to protect or save another quality that is picked up by Brock.

Brock aggression is something Dean who is used to seeing it come out when he, hank and doc need protecting, saving, or an affective tactic. Another thing is Brock was and probably still is both boys example of classic masculinity in contrast to their dad (I’ll get back to this on another post.) I think Dean unintentionally mimics it, and I kinda believe we would’ve seen more of it if Dean was put into more situations where he was worried for someone else since the Rusty camp one was for Triana and the movie was for Hank. (Both against Dermontt which shouldn’t count but I am which I will get to in a different post about jealousy in VB)

Brock is the stereotypical “man” he protects the home, he kills to protect, his basics are that man spiel I don’t need to say we know it. Brock masculinity is never questioned really, it oozes out of him and is loudly punctuated. When it comes to sex it’s the same thing, to a problem. I think Dean inherited that, im not saying the one time Dean did a shitty sex related thing makes him like Brock but I actually think it’s more of a Brock move than Rusty weirdly enough. Probably because Brock has hooked up with people wives/gf but that’s not the reason why I say it.

Dean reason with hooking up with Sirena wasn’t really solid, because I don’t think there was a solid reason he did it just because it was happening. That’s why I think it’s more of a Brock move. Rusty we’ve seen talked himself out of being with women who even like him, yes he hooked up with a fan bc she was a fan. She wasn’t someone who can end up seeing his flaws, end up maybe loving back because love is frightening for Rusty because he wants it. If there was a room and a woman who was slightly interested in Rusty, Rusty would magically get out of the room then COMPLAIN he is out the room. We see it repeatedly he will make up reasons really get in his head to jump ship only to stick to people who don’t love him. Or like him.

Hank is the same line but opposite, he is open to love! Yes like Brock his attention to who is quick and focused but Hank is committed because he wants to be loved. Hank is scared of not being loved, he worries although less obviously or loudly about it, and leans hard into it. Action man called him on it, that he resembles Rusty in being downright too attached.

I’ll be honest here it’s so unlikely to actually see it but once you see the Rusty in Hank you’ll end up seeing the Brock in Dean. I remember a YouTube comment saying “Dean is all the negatives [of other people] it’s why I don’t like him.”

I don’t hate Dean, I don’t love Dean but I get Dean so while I don’t 100% agree with that comment I do get it. Dean picks up sometimes the worst traits because he’s so easy to imprint on. He’s funny like that, weirdly easy to leave an impression on but unaware how he repeats things of people he doesn’t want to. Brock being promiscuous, Rusty nostalgic past, the idea of what is important to a man etc Dean mimics it unknowingly. I don’t think that was the root of hooking up with Sirena, (bc the reason is bs yall) I’m just thinking of domino effect of parenting.

There’s a lot of Rusty in Dean literally everything Dean has is Rusty. But where they don’t match up are the core, Dean now understands his dad and they are the same brand of Venture boy but I really think Brock influence on both boys is there for good and bad it just harder to find in Dean. But I think it comes out when Dean stops letting his mind run too much, when he trusts himself, when he’s standing up for something, when he lets his body drive.

But I’m just spitballing! I just don’t believe Dean is all Doc, just like Hank isn’t all Brock. We just didn’t get a lot of time with the boys switched around

[theharrowing]

Carnival of Terror 🎪 4: I make them dance

The carnival is in town, and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. Will you make it out alive?

🎪 Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Yoongi

🎪 word count: 11.7k

🎪 choose your own adventure, friends & strangers to lovers, carnival and circus au, dead dove, horror, possible minor & major character injury & death, supernatural elements & magic realism, nsfw, 21+

🎪 warnings: use of recreational drugs (mdma - time it takes to kick in is sped up for the narrative; feeling unsettled and paranoid; overwhelm); some of you might find Jungkook's behavior to be akin to infidelity, but in the context of their relationship, it's not; explicit smut (vaginal fingering & sex against a wall; multiple orgasms; not quite a blow job; cum swallowing) teasing & use of the word "whore"; being fed water from someone else's mouth; marionette horror; mirror horror; bloody slice across a face.

🎪 note: at best, everyone is a little toxic. at worst, they're a monster in human flesh with dark secrets, that can only exist in this magical realist world. likely, they are something in between. also, if you're in my time zone and see me posting at 2 in the morning, no you don't lmao.

🍧 food note: idk if everyone grew up eating "snow cones" but they're literally just balls of ice and flavored syrup. bingsu and shaved ice are kind of similar, but the ingredients and presentation can differ.

🎪 if you need a little refresher on what happened in the last chapter, i made a handy dandy recap post.

🎪 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🎪 posted june. 2024 | read on ao3

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WELCOME BACK TO THE GREATEST SHOW IN THE WORLD!

We left off making questionable choices with Jeongguk. Just how many of our intrepid characters can get lost at once?

POLLS THAT SWAYED EVENTS IN THIS CHAPTER:

ducky & rabbit 1 | ducky & rabbit 2

The little pale crystals taste bitter on your tongue, and you wince in disgust as you reach for the open water bottle that Jeongguk holds in his fingertips, arm outstretched. He eyes you curiously, more openly than you have grown accustomed to, and it excites you. 

"Have you rolled before?" he asks, leaning close as you swallow down two large gulps of ice-cold water. 

"No," you admit with a shiver. 

Not that you know of, anyway. After what you have seen and felt in Seokjin's hypnotic trances, you are beginning to wonder whether perhaps your memories are not the extent of your experiences. Of course, there is a possibility that Seokjin has somehow planted those memories of you in bed with him and Namjoon, but that is a matter for later. For now, you have other matters to attend to.

"You'll like it," Jeongguk insists, stepping close. 

The two of you stand under the shade of the Hall of Mirrors building. With your back inches from the wall, you are unable to hold any space between your bodies.

Your breath feels heavy as you ask, "How do you know?'

Jeongguk smirks. "You like it when your mind is a little fucky, don't you? I mean…you let Yoongi hyung dig his claws into you for long enough."

"What's your excuse?" you ask, equal parts curious and defensive. 

"I love the game," Jeongguk shrugs, easy enough. "Sure, sometimes he breaks my heart, but he always comes crawling back. And in the meantime, I have plenty of distractions."

"Distractions?" you ask.

Jeongguk is far too close, and his lightly floral musk is cloyingly sweet. You find yourself swaying toward and away, toward and away.

"Drugs," Jeongguk says with another shrug. His gaze is pointed as he adds, "And sex." 

It feels like whiplash the way Jeongguk so easily shifts into a completely different person. If you didn't know any better, you would think he and Yoongi were in on something together, and that Yoongi is just off in the periphery somewhere, enjoying the show. 

"How long does it take to kick in?" you ask, ignoring Jeongguk's dark, smoldering eyes and attempting to gaze out at the carnival grounds past him. 

The sun should be going down by now, but it continues to hang high and bright. All around you, music blares, and voices shout. It no longer overwhelms the senses; rather, it feels commonplace.

"Could take an hour. Could take fifteen minutes. With this cut, it's hard to tell."

That is not reassuring. 

"Why is it so inconsistent?"

Jeongguk shrugs. "This cut is strange."

You sigh and accept your fate; what more could you do at this point? Jeongguk seems amused, chuckling a light, twinkling sound – pitchy and melodic. He almost looks childlike with the striped scarf hanging around his neck, tied neatly in the front. 

"Want to walk around and wait to come up, or go inside and get lost?"

Get lost feels like the wrong way to describe precisely what you want, but perhaps it is somewhat accurate.

You take Jeongguk by the hand and go to the left, toward the back door to the Hall of Mirrors – the door that is closest. From the outside, there is no handle, but you instinctively reach for the edge of the door and run your fingers along where there is a small groove in the black-painted wood, allowing you to hook a finger in and open the door. 

"Whoa," Jeongguk mutters, and you think the same, surprising even yourself. 

The room that the door opens up to is dark, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You pull Jeongguk to the right, whereas the hallway leading into the attraction is on the left, and you find a thick black curtain that you pull out of the way, then discover a small black door. You knock lightly, wait for several seconds, and then yank it open, gaining entrance into an empty space that is clearly not meant for the general public. 

"How do you know about this place?" Jeongguk asks.

"I don't know," you admit. Your body is simply running on autopilot.

The room the two of you find yourself in is rather small and dimly lit, with black walls and nothing to sit upon. There is a small metal hook that locks the door, and you slide it into place. Music plays overhead – the same dizzying organ tunes you have grown accustomed to hearing in this place – and the air feels unusually heavy. 

"I'm surprised you agreed to this," Jeongguk purrs as he crowds your space. 

Instinctively, you step back, knocking your foot against a wooden wall. You stare at Jeongguk as he towers close, keeping your hands to your sides as you try your best to steady your breath. 

"I am too," you admit. 

"Yoongi hyung not enough for you?" Jeongguk teases as he leans close enough to press his body into yours. Warmth radiates, and you melt a little into the wall, allowing yourself to relax. 

Holding firm, steady eye contact, you reach up to rub your palms over Jeongguk's chest, dancing your fingertips over taut muscle concealed under the light, soft, greenish-blue fabric of his shirt. With your left hand, you finger the scarf, giving it gentle tugs.

"Yoongi is more than enough for me," you say, tilting your head playfully. "But he's not here, is he?"

Jeongguk grabs your waist and spins you around. You barely have time to steady your hands against the wall to prevent your cheek from smashing into wood. He presses into you, yanking your hips back until his crotch rubs against your ass, and you sigh a shattered breath as your eyes flutter closed.

"More than enough, hmm?" Jeongguk groans in your ear, voice just above a feral growl. "If that were true, then why are you so eager to let me have you?"

You shrug and whine, "I'm bored."

"Bored," Jeongguk snarls, reaching around to undo your slacks. 

His fingers are quick, and he shoves the material down, then reaches a greedy hand between your legs to rub over your clothed pussy. The material is cold to the touch and still slightly wet, and he tsks in your ear.

"This all for me, or this from earlier?"

"From earlier," you admit.

"When?" Jeongguk asks in a sharp, angry tone.

You grin. "Tunnel of Love."

Jeongguk chuckles, but the sound is deep and swimming with fury. If you didn't know any better, you might think he is planning on ripping you apart.

"I knew it," he all but growls.

Your body simmers with excitement and something else – something that might feel like panic if not for Jeongguk's long fingers roughly stroking over your soiled undergarment. You sigh and press your ass back, feeling the way his erection tents in his pants, tempted to offer to get on your knees and beg for it. 

"He told me all about you, you know," Jeongguk says sweetly, voice far more tame and welcoming. "I know everything."

You hum a curious sound and ask, "Like what?"

"Like how tight you are," Jeongguk says as he pulls your panties aside and lets one finger explore your folds before it dips deep inside. "Fuck," he sighs, breath hot against your neck. "So fucking wet."

"That's all for you," you whine as Jeongguk pulls his finger out and slowly presses it in deep. 

"Yeah?" he asks. "You sure about that? Or is it just me talking about Yoongi hyung that turns you on?"

With a sigh and a light giggle, you say, "Maybe it's a little of both."

"Yeah?" Jeongguk asks, pulling his finger out in a broad stroke that rubs across your clit, making you tremble with pleasure. "You like being hyung's little whore?"

You wonder if Jeongguk is attempting to hurt your feelings despite circling his finger over your bud in firm strokes. All you feel is amusement. 

You attempt to look over your shoulder as you ask, "Are you?"

Jeongguk dips his hand down and slides two fingers in, this time making you hiss. The stretch is not enough to really fill you the way you like, but it feels good. It feels promising. 

From behind, you can hear Jeongguk's other hand at work on his button and zipper. Fabric rustles, his hand pulls away, leaving you empty, and then you feel his cock pressed against your ass. 

"I saw you first," he groans, knuckles brushing over your skin as he strokes himself. "I was the one who pointed you out to hyung. I wanted you first."

He takes you by the hips in both hands and pulls back, forcing your back to arch. You feel trapped in your slacks, unable to spread your legs, but Jeongguk does not seem to mind. He bends and slides his cock against your semi-clothed cunt, causing the two of you to whine in tandem. 

"But Yoongi hyung always gets what he wants," Jeongguk says as he lines his cock up with your hole and thrusts, rubbing his length over your folds and clit. 

A shiver runs along your spine, and you sigh, enjoying the slide even without penetration. Then Jeongguk lines up again and presses slower, steadier, spearing you open. 

Arousal floods quickly, making you moan as pleasure quakes through you. You know that you should be quiet, but it is hard to hold back, and you bite your bottom lip in an attempt to clamp your mouth shut and muffle your sounds. 

Jeongguk is thick, and he moves maddeningly slow, making you feel every little vein and curve he has to offer. Everything is heightened with how sore you are from earlier.

"What was it about me?" you whimper, attempting to keep your voice low and steady.

Jeongguk pulls back and thrusts forward, coating himself in you, making the slide much smoother. Then he buries his nose in your neck as he straightens you from the half-bent position you had found yourself in. 

Your back stays somewhat arched, but you attempt to stand tall and allow Jeongguk's hands to grip your hip and chest, holding you in place. You anchor your palms against the rough wood wall, feeling its tiny grooves filled with paint.

"Everything," he groans as he pulls back and thrusts quickly forward, making you moan in dizzying pleasure. 

The hand on your chest slides up and firmly plants over your mouth. You sigh into the feeling, breathing in the faintly sweet scent of his skin as he sets a steady pace and fucks you. 

"Your smile," Jeongguk grunts, hips slapping against your ass in a punctuated rhythm. "Your laugh. You were so—" Jeongguk's hand slides from your hip, reaches forward, and pinches your clit, "—intoxicating," he growls as you moan desperately into his palm, feeling pleasure burst inside you. 

Jeongguk fucks you hard and fast, groaning against your neck while your hot breath creates a pocket of condensation coating his calluses, his life lines, and his heart lines. Surely, you could be heard by anyone who may approach the little black door hidden behind the velvet curtain, but you cannot bring yourself to care.

You feel euphoric. You feel lost.

"Cum for me, baby," Jeongguk commands, fingers pinching and rubbing your clit in rough but pleasant motions. 

Ignoring the way your chest flutters at the sound of Jeongguk calling you baby, you nod and close your eyes, relaxing as best as you can, eager for release. Fireworks of light and pleasure seem to explode within you, and as you climb higher and higher toward bliss, you feel awash with warm, overbearing ecstasy. 

Desperately, you moan into Jeongguk's palm. You attempt to beg him to make you cum, muttering a muffled prayer of, "Please, please, please." 

Jeongguk angles his hips, pressing himself impossibly deeper, causing your eyes to roll back. Orgasm explodes and you squeal and shake, worried the pleasure might knock you down to the floor. 

But Jeongguk holds you firmly and keeps you steady. Your blunt fingernails dig into the wooden wall, and you quake as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, threatening to drown you in its undertow. 

"So fucking good," Jeongguk groans against your neck. "You feel so fucking good cuming on my cock."

You are unsure whether it is the drugs or simply Jeongguk, but as soon as you feel as if you are able to relax and come down from your high, another explodes inside you, causing your legs to go weak as you tremble and squeal. 

"Holy fuck," Jeongguk growls. "That's it, baby. Keep squeezing me."

You attempt to moan Jeongguk's name, but your voice is too muffled. The sound of your release squelching with each thrust fills you with shame and excitement, and you wonder whether you have ever cum so hard before. You want to tell Jeongguk as much – want to praise him for how incredibly he fucks you – but all you can do is moan and sob against his damp palm, and take what he has to give you.

"Gonna cum," Jeongguk warns. Then he slides his hand away and asks, "Will you swallow it?"

Without thinking twice, you nod, voice broken and weak as you moan through the last of Jeongguk's firm, deep strokes. 

He pulls out, and you turn, dropping to your knees haphazardly, which are stuck together in your bunched slacks. Your knees sting as they kiss wood, but all you can focus on is Jeongguk's pretty, uncut cock glistening above your face as his fist slowly strokes up the shaft. 

"Open," he commands, leaning with one hand against the wall and towering over you. 

You open wide and do your best to sit high, but a steady tremble works through your entire body, causing you to feel dizzy and disoriented. Jeongguk takes your chin in his hand and slides his cock along your outstretched tongue, and as soon as you close your lips around the tip and suck, tasting your own heady flavor, he pulsates against your lips and cums. 

Jeongguk moans, fingers digging into your jaw, and you do your best to breathe through the gentle thrust of him along your tongue, spurting into your throat. When he sighs heavily and pulls back, you look up, heavy-blinking and holding your mouth open wide. 

The sight above you is heavenly. Jeongguk pants and stares, covered in a sheen of sweat that sticks his shirt to his firm, muscular chest and arms. His face is rosy-blushed, and his dark eyes are wide. 

"Fuck," he mutters, leaving his cock to hang heavy and deflate while he moves his hand to your mouth and presses the pads of two fingers against the mess on your tongue. 

Something is clearly on his mind, and you stare up in waiting. Then he pulls his fingers out, and nods, cracking a smile. 

"Hyung mentioned you were a fucking dirty girl. I bet I could spit in your mouth and you wouldn't mind."

You roll your eyes and retract your tongue, smiling at Jeongguk's audacity. You absolutely would not mind, but he doesn't need to know that. Not when he seems to feel so superior over you. 

Jeongguk tucks himself back into his slacks and then helps you stand. Your legs feel like overcooked noodles, and you stumble back against the wall as you reach to pull your pants up with trembling hands.

Around you, the sound of the music swells and sways, and you would attribute the disorienting nature to the drugs, but this is how it sounded when Namjoon held your hand and pulled you through these halls earlier. You wonder if, perhaps, Namjoon is nearby.

"Feel the effects?" Jeongguk asks, grabbing the bottle of water from where it seems to have been tossed to the floor. 

You stretch your arms over your head, feeling how simultaneously heavy and light they are. "I think so," you mutter. 

Jeongguk takes a drink of water, then steps forward crowding your space. You open your mouth to ask what he is doing as your head bumps against the wall, but Jeongguk simply opens his mouth and dribbles ice-cold water from his lips to yours. 

Most of the water makes it to your mouth, but some drools out to the side, and as the two of you swallow, Jeongguk kisses you, licking deep and causing you to melt into the wall once more. 

You lift your hands to rub against his chest, palms grazing over clothed pierced nipples, making Jeongguk hiss. He licks firmly over your tongue, then pulls a moan from your throat as he sucks on its tip. 

"You taste good," Jeongguk mutters against your lips, urging you on. 

You slide one hand up to scarf around Jeongguk's neck and pull him close, licking fervently into his mouth, tasting and teasing; taking as you please. Jeongguk presses his hips against you, and you chuckle, breaking the kiss. 

"We should get some fresh air," you mutter, feeling warm and increasingly claustrophobic. 

"Alright," Jeongguk mutters, sucking your lower lip between his teeth. You whine until he releases, and sigh as he says, "Let's go."

Jeongguk takes your hand in his, and you can feel residual cold on his palm from when it held onto the water bottle moments ago. It feels nice and grounding as you attempt to get your feet to cooperate and assist you with leaving this place. 

Only, when you exit this small room and walk toward the door that should lead back outside, all you find in its place is a wall. Jeongguk presses and rubs against the black wood, and he sighs when he finds nothing. High on the wall is a blinking red Dead End sign, and you wonder whether there is a proper back exit, or if this attraction is only meant to have one way in and one way out.

"I want to freak out about this, but I feel too high to care," he grumbles, making you laugh.

You would also like to freak out about this and all the other oddities that you have experienced. But you know that it will do nobody any good, and so you sigh and yank Jeongguk toward the hallway that leads into the attraction. 

"Only way out is through, I guess," you sigh. 

Jeongguk falls into step beside you, and as you enter the first hall full of glass and reflected light, dizziness overtakes you. The two of you stumble and giggle, stopping to gawk at your warped reflections, warping them further as you bend and twist. 

You are a little surprised that Jeongguk continues to hold your hand, firmly keeping you close, leading at times, and following at others. It feels nice. Warm and steady. Secure. You nearly forget all about Yoongi.

But then a flash of blue and black moves in the distance ahead, and although you do not clearly see it, you feel it. It has to be Yoongi. 

Jeongguk is giggling as his reflection when you grip tightly to his fingers and pull, causing him to stumble to your side, muttering something under his breath. 

"This way," you insist, staring ahead for any sign of the blur that you could swear is Yoongi. 

You turn your gaze every which way, looking into rooms and staring as far as you can along paths, but all you find are strangers. Amused couples, bored third-wheels, and giggling shapes pressed closely in dark corners. 

"What is it?" Jeongguk asks, slowing and creating resistance. 

"I need fresh air," you sigh as your chest tightens and the air feels constricted. "I just…I need to get out of here."

Time seems even more warped as the drug shimmers through your system, and you search and search, though for what, you slowly forget. All you know is that there is a deep, pounding need in your chest, but as you turn corners and examine rooms, you question whether that need could ever truly be filled.

Far ahead, down the long hallway and past several doorways, you spot a bright shining light appearing and disappearing. Sunlight. 

You yank on Jeongguk, who follows along obediently, holding onto your palm as it increasingly begins to sweat, slickening your hold. He allows you to pass through doorways first and slides easily behind you to allow others to pass. 

When you reach the exit, he steps ahead first and presses the heavy wooden door open, holding it for you. All at once, the air is hot and dry, and as you take in a deep inhale, you are unsure whether you feel better or worse, squinting against the bright sun. 

Jeongguk hands you the bottle of water, and you finally release his hand, lamenting the familiar warmth as your trembling fingers struggle to twist the tiny plastic cap free. You stumble into some shade beside the entrance of the building, and Jeongguk follows. 

He crowds your space and takes the plastic bottle cap, sliding it into his pocket for safekeeping. As you lift the bottle to your lips, you quake and sigh, shivering despite overheating. 

"The come up is sometimes just as rough as the comedown," Jeongguk mutters sweetly. "You probably didn't feel it as badly inside because you were distracted. It'll pass soon."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" you ask, voice weak and pathetic against the small round rim of the bottle. You take a large cold gulp and refrain from finishing off the water despite feeling thirsty enough to want to drown.

"What are you talking about?" Jeongguk asks, laughing. 

As you sigh through the cold gulp, you hand over the bottle, watching as Jeongguk drinks from it with steady hands, much better equipped to handle the drug than you. 

"You called me a whore," you pout, suddenly feeling upset despite not caring before. 

Jeongguk finishes the water and crushes the bottle in his hand, crinkling the plastic as he steps forward to crowd your space. A crazed grin tugs at his lips, and with a lift of his brow, he mutters, "I was only joking," sending a chill down your spine.

"Are you sure?" you ask, doing your best to appear unaffected but feeling jittery.

Jeongguk's look fades and he begins laughing. "You're too much," he mutters, shaking his head. 

Affronted, you attempt to swat him on the chest, but Jeongguk grabs your hand and holds it close. 

"Why are you so annoying?" you grumble, attempting uselessly to yank your hand away. 

"You like it," he responds, grinning as he lets go, causing you to stumble back into the wall from your semi-frantic movement.

The world feels off. Glimmering and electric. Overbearing yet underwhelming. 

"What time is it?" you ask, making no move to reach for the phone in your pocket. 

Jeongguk sighs. "I suppose we should find the others. How long were we fucking?"

His candor makes you shy, and you feel the way heat burns up your neck, to your cheeks. You would attempt to smack him again, but you know it is pointless. 

You look around, wondering whether your friends are still at the game booths where they said they would be. "Where did you tell them we were going?" 

"I told them the truth," Jeongguk shrugs. 

Anxiety rises. "The truth, as in…"

Jeongguk smirks. "They already know about what hyung and I do. No need to act like such a prude about it."

Petulance rises, and you actually lift your hand with the urge to smack, but Jeongguk watches the movement and lifts his eyebrows. He is far too quick, and for your own sanity, you need to minimize the amount of time he spends touching you from this point forward. 

"I'm not a prude!" you grit through your teeth, eager to get your point across without being too loud. 

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. "Look, Tae hyungie originally pointed you out to me. Nobody is going to be shocked by this development."

"Wait…" you grumble, mulling it over. "What?"

Jeongguk shrugs. "He said you would be my type, which of course made Yoongi hyung pounce first. I doubt that he or Jimin hyung would be alarmed or upset if they knew we ended up together, as intended."

You frown, running Jeongguk's words through your mind. The night you met Yoongi, you were with a friend at a house party. That friend introduced you to Yoongi, who later introduced you to Jeongguk. It would be another week before you were introduced to Taehyung and Jimin. What does he mean Taehyung pointed you out?

"Taehyung?" you ask, cocking your head to the side. 

Jeongguk shrugs again. "I don't know," he concedes, seemingly disinterested in dwelling on the details. "He said you were my type, but I'm sure he just meant visually. It's not like you two knew each other."

You softly ask, "What is your type?" and then berate yourself silently, wishing you could just let what transpired in the Hall of Mirrors stay there. 

Regret sinks its claws in as Jeongguk licks over his lips and says, "Pretty. Bratty. Tight."

You roll your eyes and shake your head, scoffing in disbelief. Despite knowing you should bite your tongue, you tilt your chin up as a challenge and ask, "Well? Did I live up to the expectations?"

Jeongguk cracks a smile and says, "Yeah. You're bratty as fuck."

You shove at Jeongguk with both hands, causing him to stumble back into the hot sun and nearly crash into a couple walking by. He laughs, doubling over with his hands on his knees, and stays there for what feels like a very long time, causing you to laugh as well. And then he straightens out and motions for you to follow him while he begins to walk in the direction of a food cart. 

The biggest downside to the drug seems to be how thirsty you become. You also seem to struggle with regulating your temperature, shivering in the shade and feeling stiflingly hot in the sun. 

Jeongguk stands tall on his toes and leans his arms against the high metal shelf of the food cart while he orders a bottle of water and a couple of lollipops. You allow yourself to study his body, noting the way his tiny waist cinches above the band of his slacks, and how his torso curves up into broad, muscular shoulders. 

Tattoos peek out from under his sleeve, littering his hand, and you remember the feeling of metal under his shirt when your palms felt his chest. There seems to be a lot about shy, sweet Jeongguk that you do not know. Perhaps it is no wonder why he and Yoongi get along so well. 

Yoongi. Thinking about him makes you frown. You wish you knew what happened to him when Jeongguk told him to get lost. Everything has felt like a fever dream since you walked into the carnival grounds, and you continuously wonder when you will finally wake up. 

Jeongguk holds out two lollipops, pulling you from your thoughts, and you examine their colorful wrappers, given the choice between grape and cherry. You pick grape, considering how good cherry might taste if you have the chance to suck it off of Jeongguk's tongue later. 

"Thanks," you mutter sweetly, moving away from the food cart to a more secluded area as you pick at the little plastic wrapper with your fingertips. 

With a sigh, Jeongguk sidles up close to you, blocking the sun. You stand near the backs of various trailers, some hitched together, and it feels nice to be away from the crowd.

"Do you feel guilty?" you ask. 

Jeongguk takes his time to fuss with his wrapper, then asks, "About what?"

You turn your head to glance at Jeongguk, but find you would rather keep your eyes on your wrapper, finally peeling it open as you say, "About what we did."

"Why would I feel guilty?" he asks.

You twist the wrapper between your fingertips, feeling the slick plastic that bunches roughly. Your body is warm, and you become increasingly aware of your fixation, bunching up the wrapper and shoving it into your pocket. 

"I think I'm high," you mutter.

Jeongguk snickers. "We already established that."

Your entire body shivers, whether you are cold or not. Right now, you are unsure what you are. Each time a breeze hits you, goosebumps break over your skin, and you reflexively lift your shoulders to your ears. But otherwise, the heat almost feels palpable, like you could cut into it with a knife.

The fact that it still feels like noon with the sun blaring high overhead starts to rattle around in your head, and you glance up at the sky, searching the clouds for movement. Even the sun does not seem to hurt your eyes as you stare directly into it.

How is it possible that time seems to stand still within the carnival grounds? Or have you completely lost your mind? The illusions show begins at 5, and there is no way it is close to that time. 

As you lift the sucker to your lips, sugary grape flavor bursts on your taste buds more intensely than you could have possibly expected. You suck on it, coating your tongue and lips, then pull it out with a wet pop and mutter, "Wow."

"Good, huh?" Jeongguk asks.

You glance up and notice how the cherry lollipop has already stained Jeongguk's lips red. You want to stand high on your toes and trace your tongue over the color in search of just a hint of flavor.  

"There you two are!" Jimin's voice pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to jolt. 

He and Taehyung eye the two of you suspiciously, and you suddenly worry about your appearance. Despite spending so much time in the Hall of Mirrors staring at your warped reflections, you have no idea how you look. 

"Having fun?" Taehyung asks, voice low and curious, eyes mostly on Jeongguk, who shrugs.

"We did some molly," he says plainly, yawning. "She's struggling to adjust, but we should even out soon."

You return the too-sweet sucker to your mouth. Taehyung hums and Jimin gives a worried glance at you before looking around. 

"We don't have to go to the next show if you think it will be too intense," Jimin offers, bringing his concerned eyes back to you.

You shake your head, muttering around the candy, "I wanna go."

Jeongguk gives Taehyung a glance and the two of them seem to communicate telepathically. You lament briefly over not having close enough friendships to be able to read one another in such a way, but you do your best to shove away the thought. 

Taehyung very softly asks, "We still have some time before the show, want to see this weird tent Jimin and I found?"

Something about the thought of a weird tent makes you uncomfortable. You ask, "Weird, how?"

Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip, eyes wide and staring at the ground, and Taehyung says, "You just have to see it. It's hard to explain."

"Where is it?" you ask, feeling as if your entire body is weighed down with lead and unwilling to move as the others turn to walk in its direction. 

"Come on," Jeongguk insists, grabbing for your elbow and yanking you along. 

You expect your newfound weight to hold you in place and keep you anchored in the shade, where it is safe, away from the weird tent, and you are disappointed to discover that you are still merely human, and easy for Jeongguk to drag along wherever he pleases. 

The warmth radiating through your sleeve from Jeongguk's palm to your skin should feel comforting, but you find that it is too warm and somewhat oppressive. You remember rough calluses pressed against your lips.

You do your best to yank your arm away, keeping with his pace, and you are relieved when he lets go. You follow Jimin and Taehyung past the game booths, and you are startled when you see it along the edge of the space: a small tent with stripes that are red and what you assume used to be white, but now look more like a rusted off-tan. 

A shiver runs along your spine, and you instantly feel a sense of ick and dread work its way through you, but your friends are undeterred. In fact, they seem to have a pep in their steps as you get closer. 

"Should we be over here?" you ask. 

Jimin turns, frowning as if you have just said something completely ridiculous, then rolls his eyes and giggles. "There's an opening on the side, and there is no explicit warning to stay out, so I don't see why not."

"You already checked this place out?" Jeongguk asks with a bit of a dreamy slowness to his speech. 

"We started to," Taehyung responds, voice almost too soft to make out over the cacophony of carnival sounds. "But then we decided to come get you two."

Jimin rounds the tent along the right, and the rest of you follow him. Sure enough, the flap is open, and there is no indication that carnival guests are not allowed to enter. Strange, you think, since the tent is sitting somewhat secluded from the rest of the carnival attractions, a peculiar sight that you would think would cause people to want to investigate. 

The tent is not too large, especially compared to those the Kim brothers use, but it is certainly not tiny. The opening is just shorter than your height, but the ceiling is raised several feet higher, and as you duck down and peer inside, just past Jimin's crouching body, it is large enough to contain what looks like a tiny living quarters. 

"Are you sure we should be over here?" you ask again, eyes trailing from the small mattress at the far end of the space, past a kerosene lantern and several closed wooden trunks. There are books strewn about and a pair of boots on the floor. Something about the setup seems personal. Intimate. 

"I assume it is meant to be one of those prop tents," Taehyung says from behind you, peeking to get a look. "To showcase how carnies live…or something to that effect."

"You know how, like, when we visit the historical park that has the buildings still styled the way they were in the Joseon dynasty?" Jimin says. You nod faintly. "Like that."

It is true that this tent may be just another prop, but something about it is strange. Perhaps it is just the molly making you feel so creeped out. Either way, you stand up straight and wiggle away from the entrance of the tent, allowing Taehyung and Jeongguk to step closer. 

It is Jeongguk who walks all the way into the tent, and something about it makes your skin crawl. You shout, "Wait," and reach for him, but before you can react further, Jeongguk jolts backward and trips over himself, nearly falling to his butt on the grass. 

You think you hear him mutter, "What the fuck?" causing goosebumps to break out on your arms and neck. 

"What is it?" Jimin asks at the same time Taehyung says, "Whoa," and Jeongguk shakes his head and takes two steps backward. 

"That was…" Jeongguk trails off, staring at the tent and then shaking his head and chuckling. Only, the sound is less mirthful and more unsure. "Damn. I need to lay off the drugs."

"What happened?" you ask, walking close to Jeongguk and turning your head to glance into the tent. 

Everything looks normal, but you are unwilling to step any closer to inspect it. The unsettling feeling has only managed to grow. 

"I thought I saw something," Jeongguk says, chuckling with unease some more. "Or, rather…someone? I don't really know."

This makes Jimin sigh loudly and stand up, turning to face you and Jeongguk. "Oh, give me a break," he groans. "You're just trying to scare us."

Jeongguk's face brightens as if he has been caught in the act by Jimin, but there is something in his eyes that seems scared and distant. Still, you remind yourself that the two of you are high, and you are definitely feeling heightened paranoia. 

"Okay, well this has been fascinating," you say, walking slowly backward and away from the entrance. "But I still feel like I might be peaking, and I don't think I can handle any more of these creepy ass tent vibes." 

To your delight, Jeongguk nods and follows you. Jimin seems intrigued by the tent, however, and it appears as though Taehyung is pointing into it, whispering something to Jimin. 

"Should we just ditch them?" you ask, only half joking. 

Jeongguk pulls out his phone and glances at it, then says, "We still have a little time before the illusions show. Wanna get in line for a snow cone? I saw a cart on the way over here."

A snow cone sounds amazing and you nod, feeling relief and excitement replace all the earlier dread. Out of stress, or possibly impatience, but likely the thought of enjoying something new, you chomp down on the grape sucker, crunching it between your teeth. Unsure what to do with the sticky grape-stained stick, you twirl it between your finger and thumb.

When you turn to see whether the other two are following, you are disappointed to find they are still bent at the hips and staring into the tent. 

"We're gonna get snow cones," you try, but Jimin does not react, seemingly stuck in a trance. 

It is Taehyung who glances past Jimin toward you and says, "We'll catch up to you."

Jeongguk shrugs and begins to lead the way, so you follow. With each step you take, the ground feels further and further away, and you are beginning to sweat quite a bit. Jeongguk sways his arms as he walks, and you wonder whether it would feel nice to do the same, but as you approach the paths where more people are, you feel too self-conscious to try it. 

"What did you really see in the tent?" you ask, eyes on your feet as they step from grass to gravel.

"Yoongi hyung," Jeongguk says, causing you to nearly trip over yourself.

You halt and turn to Jeongguk, whose brows are knit and eyes are downcast. His toe kicks at a small rock. 

"Be serious," you mutter. 

Jeongguk looks up at you, frowning. "I am serious."

You roll your eyes, reach for his hand, and begin to yank in the direction of a medium-sized rectangular freezer box covered in ice cream and snow cone stickers that is shaded by a tall red and white umbrella. The person working the stand wears a light blue jacket and slacks that match the color of the freezer box. 

The two of you get in line, and you realize you are still holding hands. Sweat drips from where your palms connect, and you attempt to pull away, but Jeongguk holds on tight. You feel gross as your wet skin slides against his, and you yank a little harder until he lets go.

Your mind wanders to Yoongi. Specifically, to Jeongguk and Yoongi. You wonder whether they hold hands as much as Jeongguk seems to want to hold yours. You like the idea of the two of them being so affectionate toward one another. 

There are two other people in line ahead of you, and you watch as a person in a sunflower sundress reaches for a tall paper cone with a ball of bright red ice on top, grabbing it with two eager hands. The person beside them pays and receives their own snow cone – that one orange – and then you take a step forward as the person ahead of you leans forward to place an order.

"You don't believe me," you hear Jeongguk pout, but it takes a moment for you to acknowledge his voice and realize that he is talking about seeing Yoongi inside the tent.

You snicker. "Of course I don't believe you. Nobody else saw anyone in that tent, much less someone who looked like Yoongi."

The person ahead of you in line steps away, and you and Jeongguk step forward. He orders a small cup of vanilla soft-serve ice cream and you order a lime-flavored snow cone, suddenly feeling drawn to how green it is on the display images. 

The attendant mutters about the total, which you can barely hear over the carnival songs that play nonstop and the shouting of people both near and far. You think you hear that it is 4,000 won, and you reach for your wallet, jabbing yourself in the hip with the sucker stick that you continue to hold onto, but Jeongguk swats your hand away before paying with his card. 

The two of you stand in silence, and you wait for the paper cone filled with ice and syrup to be placed into your hands. You lament briefly over not considering the flavors more closely, wondering if you should have picked a berry flavor over a citrus one. 

But when you take a frozen bite from the top, you are delighted by how bittersweet the lime flavor is – how different it is from the grape that lingers in sticky shards against your molars. It is perfectly refreshing for a hot summer day. 

As you walk away from the ice cream booth, you notice that Jeongguk seems to be moseying in the direction of the larger carnival tents rather than where you left the others back at the small weird tent. You have the urge to look over your shoulder to see whether they are still there, but something causes you to continue forward. Unease, you think, of what you may see if you look back there again.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and the little hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. Although the snow cone seems to be evening out your high despite the flavor being incredibly intense, your mind continues to race in strange directions. 

A lot has happened since you arrived here, and as much as you want to dwell on all the oddities and attempt to sort out what could be going on, something seems to be stopping you. It is as if each new event is being shoved into one of the various trunks you have seen inside each tent, and it is being locked away for safekeeping. 

You are aware of what is being placed inside the trunks, but without the key to allow you access to each one, your mind is not fully allowed to perceive anything. The notion that your mind palace has become a circus tent filled with trunks makes you snicker. 

You turn to Jeongguk, who has more or less inhaled his soft serve, using his tiny pink plastic spoon to scrape melted dredges from the bottom of the cup. He tips the edge of the paper cup back into his mouth and slurps the final drops, then lowers his arms to his sides and crumples it in his palm.

Suddenly, you feel self-conscious about the state of your own treat, and you wrap your lips around the small orange straw that sticks out from one of the sides and suck down melted ice and syrup. Cloying lime flavor bursts over your tongue, and you stop sucking in order to bite off some of the top ice that is more diluted in order to wash some of the taste away. 

Jeongguk stops in his tracks, and you look up from your lime-flavored ice as you do the same, turning your gaze to him. His eyes are wide, and he stares ahead.

You glance to where you imagine he is staring, but only see a crowd of people separating you from the tents, which are now just across from you, on the other side of a wide pathway. 

Looking to Jeongguk again, you ask, "What is it?"

"I told you I saw him," Jeongguk responds. He looks at you, lifts an eyebrow, then tilts his chin back to where he had been staring. "Look."

This time, when you follow his line of vision, you clearly see what – or, rather, who – Jeongguk was staring at. Standing beside the nearest red and white striped tent, wearing the same blue shirt and black slacks you last saw him in, is Yoongi. 

He seems to be staring back at you, and you blink heavily several times, unsure whether it really is him. 

Without another word, Jeongguk takes off walking briskly, twisting his body this way and that while narrowly avoiding strangers whose paths he cuts across. Your feet hesitate, then you begin to walk as well, more slowly and excusing yourself before stepping into someone's path, doing your best to keep your eyes on the back of Jeongguk's head and refrain from dropping your snow cone. 

Once you are out into the clearing, on the grass beside the large tent and no longer dodging passersby, you take several quick steps until you are standing beside Jeongguk, whose arms are outstretched and shaking. You feel overwhelmed, the sun is bright, and you squeeze your eyes closed before opening them and taking in the scene before you.

Yoongi stands still staring at Jeongguk, arms to his sides. His shoulders are in Jeongguk's hands, and although Jeongguk shakes Yoongi, shouting something you cannot make out, Yoongi just looks at him blankly, unmoving aside from the jostling he cannot control.

"Say something," Jeongguk demands. He shakes harder, and Yoongi moves along like a ragdoll. "Yoongi! Hyung, say something!"

Everything about this feels wrong. You absentmindedly drop what is left of your snow cone and reach up with two heavy hands to place them on the arm closest to you, yanking it away from Yoongi's shoulder. 

"Stop," you mutter weakly, eyes glued to Jeongguk's arm. "Jeongguk, stop."

Jeongguk drops his arms and then forcefully shakes your hands away from him. The harsh movement surprises you, and you take a step back, dizzy and concerned.

"This has nothing to do with you," Jeongguk says in a tone that feels hurt and angry and a myriad of other things.

You cannot bring yourself to look up, and instead, you stare at Jeongguk's black boots. "That's not— I just don't think you should be jerking him around like this," you say, almost to yourself as tears prickle your eyes.

Jeongguk scoffs. "Our relationship has nothing to do with you." His voice is calmer and quieter, but there is still an edge to it. "You're just a pretty little plaything we both enjoyed. Nothing more."

You shake your head. Jeongguk is understandably emotional, but you will not allow yourself to be pushed away so easily. "No. I care. You can't just—"

Jimin and Taehyung have appeared and are shouting while wrapping Yoongi in a hug. And then, in a blink, the sky is dim. It appears to be evening time, but the air holds the same oppressive heat. 

You feel disoriented from the sudden change and consider sitting down on the lime-sticky ground, but a familiar man clad in white appears before you, and you lift your head to find his head cocked, eyes watching you intently. 

"It is time," Jack says, lifting a hand and pivoting to point somewhat to the right, ahead of you.

You turn your gaze to find one of the Kim brothers rolling back the end of a large red and white tent flap and securing it so that it rests open. A black top hat on his head prevents you from telling which one he is until he lifts his head and his eyes meet yours. 

Namjoon stands clad in red and black. His gaze is soft and attentive and familiar in a way that makes your heart ache.

"Are you ready?" Jack asks. 

Trepidation fills you. "I don't know," you mutter.

Jack laughs. "Come, then," he says, placing his hand on your arm while his other hand continues to point toward the tent opening, which you can see from the periphery; your eyes are still on Namjoon. "No sense in wasting time."

You glance around and realize that Jeongguk and Yoongi are no longer standing nearby. The back of Jeongguk's head is with Jimin and Taehyung just ahead of you, in line to enter the tent, but you do not see Yoongi's tuft of dark hair with them. You attempt to look around, but the group of eager audience members has closed in on your right side, and you are unable to see past anyone.

You decide to keep up with your friends, and as you approach the entrance, Namjoon reaches a hand and takes one of yours. His warmth feels like home, and you stare at your hand in his. 

"After the show, I would like to speak with you," he says. "Come to the tent. Jack or Hoseok will show you the way."

You nod, eyes on Namjoon's hand, which gives yours a squeeze, and then lets go. As you look up, ready to ask why Namjoon wants to see you, he turns in a flash of red velvet and enters the tent ahead of you, walking briskly into the darkness on the left. You are ushered inside and to the right. 

Your group follows the familiar path by rote, along the back of tall wooden bleachers, then to the left and down a path leading to the front row, in an area where nobody else is seated. Seokjin is standing in front of the seats but on the stage floor, speaking with Hoseok, the twin in black. Jack stands on the outside of the row of seats, palm held upward, signaling where to go.

As Jimin settles, then Taehyung, and then Jeongguk, you realize there is definitely no Yoongi. The seat to your left is empty, and it is the last one in the row. You glance around, wondering whether he is off somewhere just in the distance. Perhaps, you think, he will join you once the show starts.

You turn to Jeongguk, who stares down at his open hands. His eyebrows are pinched, and he appears lost. 

"Jeongguk?" you ask, voice low and hushed.

"He just…disappeared," Jeongguk mutters.

You look around, watching as people fill the seats of the tent, then return your gaze to Jeongguk, who is unmoved. "What do you mean?"

Jeongguk blinks several times, then shakes his head in shallow movements. "I was shaking him. Telling him to say something. Anything." His voice is monotone. He almost sounds programmed to speak; emotionless. "Hoseok hyung said something to me, and I turned to look at him for only a moment, and when I turned again, Yoongi was gone. It was like he vanished into thin air."

The notion is so ridiculous, you feel your lips crack into a smile. You want to shove at Jeongguk and tell him to quit the act. "What do you mean, vanished? Your hands were on him. Didn't you feel him go?"

Jeongguk turns his gaze to you. His eyes are filled with tears, and he appears devastated. Your heart sinks at the sight of him – at the gravity of his gaze – and you tear your eyes away, to Seokjin standing about ten feet away on the stage floor watching you. 

Seokjin pulls his black top hat from his head and lowers his gaze as he bows. He wears a dark green jacket that matches Namjoon's red one, and as he stands up straight and places his hat back onto his head, he stares at you, grinning. 

The lights in the tent go out, but you continue to watch Seokjin's grin. A spotlight shines onto the center of the stage, behind Seokjin, and you want to lift your gaze and look – to confirm whether it is Namjoon standing in the spotlight – but your eyes remain glued to the devious smile before you. 

“Come one, come all!” Namjoon's voice calls, booming over the cheers and clapping of the audience. Seokjin lip-syncs along, matching Namjoon's timing perfectly. “Welcome to Carnival Bizarre! The greatest show in the world!”

A symbol crashes, piano keys pound in a cacophonic crescendo of sound, and you look up to find Namjoon standing in the spotlight, arms outstretched, with fireworks bursting and crackling up from his outstretched fingertips. 

When you look back to where Seokjin had just stood, nobody is there. You glance to the left, to the darkness of the bleachers across the path, then behind you as far as you can see, twisting this way and that, but no familiar faces greet you aside from Jeongguk, who watches ahead with tears in his eyes. 

Delicate piano music plays, and Namjoon holds his left arm out in front of him, palm downward. You see something shimmering below his hand, glinting in the spotlight, but you are unable to make out what it is.

A golden glow of light fills the area, not enough to brighten the tent, but enough to allow you to see faint shadows cast all over. They remind you of wooden drawing mannequins with rounded shapes for hands and feet, and ball joints between each limb. 

"Strings," Namjoon says, voice soft but booming in the surrounding speakers. You blink, returning your gaze to him, and you think that you can make out thick, dark strings hanging from Namjoon's fingertips that glimmer in the spotlight. Namjoon dances his fingers up and down, causing the strings to jump and sway, and you stare intently. "I control them with my movements. Small and deliberate. I make them dance."

All around, the silhouettes dance. Their legs spread strangely, and their arms jerk around, showing that they are all being controlled by strings. Your eyes move from left to right, watching the figures move, until you notice something.

To the right of Namjoon is a large dark mass. It is mostly in shadow, hard to make out, and you stare and stare until finally, you realize that it is a large piano. The music that plays throughout the space is predominantly that of a piano, and you squint and strain your eyes, trying to see whether someone is sitting before this one, but you see nobody.

"Will my lovely volunteer please join me?" Namjoon asks, and you tear your gaze back to him, then glance eagerly around the dark tent. 

A new spotlight shines behind Namjoon, just to the right, past the piano. There, a figure stands near an entrance across the way that you imagine could lead to the backstage area. The figure has short, dark hair, but his head is tilted downward. He makes you think of Yoongi.

He wears a dark blue fitted jacket with rows of gold down the front that you imagine may be frog knots – hussar style. But from this distance, feeling as high as you are, it is hard to be certain. 

"Yoongi?" Jeongguk mutters, adjusting in his seat and making you glance to your right. 

Jeongguk frowns, and you open your mouth to speak, but your attention returns to the center of the tent as piano music picks up to a medium tempo and you notice Namjoon moving his hands. 

It appears as if Namjoon is only lifting certain fingers, causing certain strings to respond. And, it appears as if with each movement, one of the legs of the volunteer moves, causing him to walk forward into the space. 

In fact, you think you can see something shimmering in long strings from the tops of the man's black shoes, from the backs of his hands, and from the crown of his head. But as your vision moves upward, the strings seem to disappear. It is some illusion, indeed. 

"Small movements are easy to control with just my fingers," Namjoon says.

He raises his right hand and seems to touch two of the strings hanging from his left. You notice the arms of the volunteer sway. The man truly appears as if he is a puppet being manned by Namjoon, and there is a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that this may not be an illusion. 

Heavy-blinking and shaking your head, you attempt to clear away the errant thoughts and focus solely on the show. Of course, the man is not really a volunteer. Clearly, this is a practiced routine between two actors. 

As the man approaches the piano at the center of the floor, it is hard not to notice all the ways in which he reminds you of Yoongi. The hair seems a little shorter – a little straighter than he had been wearing it. But his broad shoulders and large hands…his lithe waist and long legs…the resemblance is there. 

And then you remember it: the card Seokjin handed you while inside Namjoon's tent. There was a figure with dark brown hair wearing a blue jacket, and he was playing a piano. The bottom of the card read, The Fool.   

"Large movements, however…" Namjoon trails off.

The man stops just before the instrument – which you now realize is an organ. Namjoon raises his right hand at the same time his left hand makes a sudden movement, and all at once, the man lifts his head and a round curtain falls around him and the organ, causing you to gasp. 

Namjoon continues, "Large movements, I must control with my mind."

You sit up straight, holding your breath, certain that it has to be Yoongi behind that curtain. 

"This volunteer of mine is a regular man," Namjoon insists, using his right hand to lift the hat from his head and tip it as he makes a small curtsey motion, showing that he is a man of his word. A gentleman. "He has no formal training, and he has never visited this circus before. He is—"

Namjoon stands up straight and looks forward. You think, directly at you. 

"—a stranger."

There is a harshness to Namjoon's tone that is matched by a solemn note echoing throughout the tent, though you do not think it is from the organ behind the curtain. The music is soft and fleeting, arriving and dissipating for dramatic effect, likely from a soundboard backstage. 

And then, the music is gone entirely. Silence hangs, save for your heaving, anxious breaths.

"Volunteer," Namjoon says magnanimously. You and Jeongguk shift in your seats. "Play Passacaglia in D minor by Dieterich Buxtehude."

The round curtain lifts with the movement of Namjoon's hand, and sitting before you in a blue hussar jacket adorned with golden embroidery, is Yoongi. He begins his song the moment he is commanded to do so, and with the organ angled just so, you can see his hands moving over the keys. Namjoon's right hand sways in small conductor movements, up to the center and down to the side, as if keeping Yoongi's tempo.

Shimmering strings appear to jut out from Yoongi's hands and the crown of his head. You swallow thickly, watching Yoongi play, never making a single mistake, as if he has practiced this song over and over again. All around, in the periphery, you can see that the silhouetted mannequins are dancing.

Your heart is a caged animal thrumming behind your ribs. The song Yoongi plays is somewhat slow-paced, with both bright sounds and sad ones, tugging you between highs and lows, making you feel extremely unsettled. There is a sort of discordant nature to the song that strikes a deep, hollow longing inside you, as well as a sense of hopefulness. 

You wonder whether Jeongguk is as enraptured as you, feeling the same way you may, but you do not turn your gaze. You do not dare so much as blink for fear of Yoongi disappearing again.

"Faster, now," Namjoon commands, moving his hand much more quickly. Yoongi's tempo increases, matching Namjoon's movements. Although you do not take your eyes off Yoongi, it is clear that the shadows are moving faster, too. 

Lights swirl, and there is something like glitter sparkling in the air, threatening to distract you, but you do not fall prey to the petty tricks of the illusionist. You sit on the edge of your seat, elbows digging hard into your upper thighs, mouth dry and hung open, and you watch intently.

"That's it," Namjoon says, speeding his movements again. "Faster, now! Faster!" 

Although you can still hear the song that was playing earlier – can still make out the familiar modular rhythm and predict each sound that comes next – it is harsh and cacophonic. Dizzying. At last, you blink and lick your lips. Your shoulders are tense and raised, and you breathe slowly, nearly holding your breath.

Around you, the shadows are tangled and chaotic, and it is impossible not to avert your gaze whenever a head rolls or a limb snaps. You think you hear wood splintering and cracking, and although Yoongi is made of flesh and bone, you worry for him.

Namjoon shouts, "Enough!" and uses the fingers of his right hand shaped like scissors to cut beneath his left hand, where strings would be hanging from his fingertips. 

Yoongi falls limp and the song ends in an abrupt crash as his hands and forehead meet the keys. You gasp. Beside you, Jeongguk stands up from his seat.

The round curtain falls over Yoongi and the organ, and the spotlight cuts out, leaving just the one on Namjoon glowing. There are no silhouettes on the walls.

All around you, shimmering silver strings fall like snow from the ceiling, landing on your hair and in your lap, draping over your limbs and creating a sort of mist that obfuscates the stage just long enough for everything but Namjoon to disappear. 

Jeongguk looks as if he is about to jump over the shin-high wooden railing and down onto the floor in search of his boyfriend. He grumbles and fights with Taehyung, who appears to be holding him in place and muttering something low and angry. 

On the stage, Namjoon lifts both arms, which are covered in silver strings, and he bows. The audience stands, claps, and cheers. You feel glued to your seat. 

Upbeat organ music plays and the lights come up, but it is only when Hoseok appears clad in black before you, that you move. You heavy-blink, eyes struggling to take in the brightness of the overhead lighting while silver glitters all around you. The air feels heavy and oppressive, and you are suddenly eager to leave.

"Kim Namjoon would love to see the two of you," Hoseok says, eyes trailing between Jeongguk and you. Then he glances further past Jeongguk, to Taehyung and Jimin, adding, "If you don't mind."

You neither hear nor see their responses. Hoseok steps over the wooden railing and walks past you along the path, leading the way. Jeongguk walks without waiting for you, slamming into your right and causing you to trip as you twist to follow. Then he wraps his arms around you, pinning your arms to your sides and steadying you, causing you to flush hot from head to toe. 

Hoseok does not wait, and you hurry ahead, yanking from Jeongguk's arms to make your way along the path. Rather than turning right, to the entrance, he turns left. You follow Hoseok into the darkness, around the inner perimeter of the tent, toward an opening from which a red light glows. 

Your stomach churns, and you swallow the trepidation that builds and builds. Behind you, Jeongguk mutters, "Where are we going?" but you do not have the answer, so you pay him no mind and continue forward. 

Before you can worry further, Namjoon appears in the doorway. His gaze is soft and inviting, causing your worry to dissipate. As if being pulled on a leash, you hurry to him, stopping only when the toes of your shoes meet the tips of his. 

Namjoon looks at you with reverence, smiling softly. Then he looks past you, expression painted over with something more neutral and polite. He nods to Jeongguk, then pivots to walk into the red light. 

"This way," he says, leading you through a hallway to the wall of the tent, which he reaches for and pulls away, revealing the outside world, which is still somewhat dim and feels like the evening. There is another tent opening just across from this one, which Namjoon steps inside of, pausing in its entryway to wait for you and Jeongguk.

You turn in time to see Namjoon pull the tent flap down. You watch as it seemingly disappears and becomes the tent wall; no seams or hems giving its edge away.

"I have something that the two of you must see," Namjoon says, walking toward his desk on the right side. You realize that in the past, you have entered on the opposite end of the tent, and you gaze around at the newfound view, taking in the trunks and clothing to the left, the piles of books to the right, the bed just ahead.

"Where is Yoongi?" Jeongguk insists, walking past you to Namjoon. Jeongguk stands up straight, squaring his shoulders, and you notice a tremor in his balled fists. 

Namjoon appears unfazed and simply blinks at Jeongguk before belatedly offering him a friendly smile. 

"Yoongi is safe. Once he is finished backstage, you will see him again."

"Finished with what?" Jeongguk demands, chest heaving. "What is he doing back there?"

Namjoon turns to face you and lifts a hand, beckoning you forward. You had not realized you stopped walking about halfway, and you slowly make your way toward the two of them, each step feeling heavy. 

You approach and round the desk somewhat, putting the bed behind you, keeping it from view. The bed brings back flashes of Seokjin's hypnosis show and cause your cheeks to burn hot, so you do your best to tamp the images down. Jeongguk stands to your right, anger pouring from him as he waits for a response.

"Take this, ducky," Namjoon says. "Peer into this mirror and tell me what you see."

Sound becomes fuzzy, and you lean forward as Namjoon lifts a mirror from his desk and holds it out to you, cradling it carefully in both hands. It is an oval hand mirror with an ornate brass frame and handle. 

You take the mirror in both hands, gripping it tightly around the handle while the fingertips of your left hand cradle the back. At first, you only see your face. But then, you see something in the reflection behind you, hanging from the ceiling.

Pale limbs are wrapped in bright red rope. The patterns and knots appear artistically done.

"Rope," you mutter, squinting and tilting the mirror past your own face. For a split second, you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see the suspended visitor, but all you see is an empty space beside Namjoon's bed.

Looking at the mirror again, you hold it so close that your breath fogs the glass. You think that you can see dark hair hanging on one side, and pale feet on the other. Once again, the figure you see reminds you of Yoongi. 

"Is that…a body?"

"Yours?" Namjoon asks.

You shake your head. "Not mine."

"Interesting," he says. "Good. This is good."

You look up, over the edge of the mirror, to Namjoon. Silver strings hang from your hair and glimmer over your eyes, and you think about pale limbs wrapped in red rope – about the snowfall of silver strings inside the tent. 

His gaze is on you, and there is an easy smile on his lips. You tilt your head, asking, "What is it?"

Namjoon watches you, eyes slowly darting back and forth as if taking you in and deciding what to say. His soft, familiar gaze returns and your body yearns for him. Curiosity and arousal simmer through you, and you cannot help but stare directly into his dark brown eyes – sharp as a dragon's but deep as the sea.

"Try as I may to weave the strands together in any order I wish," Namjoon responds, lips down turning to a gentle frown, "you are the one who chooses the order of the strands. I am merely a conduit."

Namjoon's words roll over you in a tall, slow wave. They crash, covering you and breaking around your feet, only to dissipate into nothing. He is speaking in sentences you should be able to parse easily – uses phrases that some part of you understands. 

But you know that there must be a deeper meaning, and that part of you who you are certain knows what that meaning is, feels buried, somehow, and all you can do is blink owlishly and mutter, "Huh?"

Namjoon laughs a soft quiet sound that dies in his mouth but twists his lips into a beautiful, genuine smile. You stare, confused as ever, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

"Jeongguk," Namjoon says instead, reaching for the mirror and taking it from your grasp. 

You feel caught in a daze as you allow the mirror to be taken, putting up no resistance. Your arms fall limply to your sides.

Jeongguk does not handle the mirror with care. Rather, he grips it on both sides, thumbs digging into the glass as he peers into it. At first, he appears angry and impatient. But then his eyes widen with fear, and his hands begin to shake. 

"Jeongguk?" you ask, stepping forward. 

Jeongguk shakes harder, his grip on the mirror turning his fingers white. You reach for it, but stop your movement when you hear the sharp sound of the glass cracking.

Namjoon lets out a sigh and says, "Oh, dear."

You glance from Namjoon to Jeongguk and notice a jagged red line opening across Jeongguk's forehead, over the bridge of his nose, and down to his cheek. Jeongguk gasps, lets out a crazed shout, and opens his hands. 

"This is no good," Namjoon says as the mirror crashes to the floor. 

* * *

My blossoms are falling What a strange feeling When it's so early in the year As soon as they are flowers They go and leave forever Sweet blossom Where is your tree? * Their happiness will shine Their happiness will grow And I hope you don't mind if I let them go

🎵 visit the playlist!

HELLOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💜💜💜 i am no longer going to promise to be back sooner bc it is always a lie. 💀 i had the writer's block/getting straight As/grief trifecta all year, but i am............well, i shouldn't even say it bc i don't wanna jinx it but i hope i am back??? god, this chapter was so much fun to write and it genuinely invigorated something so 🤞🤞🤞 fingers fricken crossed.

POLLS WILL GO UP SOON!!! i only have one so far that is planned, but i am going to outline a bit and see what other fates i can place in your hands. polls will run for 7 days and i will do my best to reblog!!!

thanks for your patience. i love you. i have missed you.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS MEAN THE WORLD, AND LIKES ARE APPRECIATED, TOO!!! STAY HYDRATED. 🤍

tags will be in a separate reblog! 🎪 visit the master post to read the disclaimer & request to be tagged! tag list includes the polls!!!

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Carnival of Terror is a Goosebumps-inspired fic, copyright theharrowing 2023 - 2024. no translations or reposting allowed!

[thescarletnargacuga]

BLOODED SKIES

A HARLEQUIN AU ONESHOT

AU credit @iamespecter @tadc-harlequin-au

A/N: created in tandem with Ziku's incredible poster!

WARNING: nightmare imagery

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The music box was wound back. The key twisted until it could go no more. The music box sat open and played its beautiful melancholy tune. The music carried softly through silent halls.

Pomni opened her eyes. She stood in the center ring of an empty circus tent. Like the one we met Caine in but...it looked new. The tent was vibrant and the lights glowed bright. The only thing that seemed out of place was a single small golden sprig growing out of the ground. A single glowing leaf broke free and drifted away on unfelt wind.

Pomni watched the leaf fly towards the tent entrance, beyond which was darkness. She felt compelled to follow. Before she stepped beyond, she heard a whisper. Someone distant, yet familiar. "Don't go...please..."

She turned, but the circus was still empty. If a bit more dilapidated than the last time she looked. The colors were faded. The lights were dim.

After one more look around, she went beyond the threshold. Deep in the shadows she heard more whispers she did not know. A music box mixed with a long single tone sounded before silence.

Darkness gave way to pinks and violets. She stood on the surface of glass calm water. Pomni felt at peace here. At rest. The golden leaf flew around her, joined by a few others. They danced around like fireflies, illuminating her curious face.

The leaves moved faster, more erratically. The gold being juxtaposed with red veins. Suddenly, they shot up into the air out of sight. Pomni stared straight up, watching the leaves vanish into the ether above. After a moment of silence, the sky fractured.

The deep purple hues broke away to reveal a deep blood orange that burned into her. The water beneath her feet dried to cracked earth. Buildings and machines of war erupted from the ground around her. They emerged, rusted and fell apart rabidly. Some of these machines looked like people. Mannequins that could walk and talk. Their bodies disintegrated before her, reaching out in vain.

Pomni tried to back away, but something held her. A thin, near invisible string was around her wrist. She tried to pull away but her other wrist was restrained. Then her neck. Her legs. The bell around her neck felt heavy. Looking up, a ghostly hand marionettes her movements.

Her body moved without her say, no matter how hard she fought it. As she struggled, she heard more incoherent voices. Commands and questions and guesses. One word stood out to her. "Directive." Then thunder rolled through the sky. The sounds of machinery breaking. The strings loosened

She felt in control again, but barely. She tried to keep moving, nearly stumbling over a large broken crown. A soft squeak of a child's teddy bear toy came from underfoot, as she tried to avoid the hammer half buried in the ground. A broken blue charm laid to the side with the fragments of a porcelain mask and the ruined remnants of multiple arms.

Pomni couldn't speak, she could hardly breathe. She was being controlled and condemned and confused.

The broken and scorched earth floated apart like pieces of debris and space. She was isolated with the multitude of items at her feet. From the items, oozed a gelatinous black substance. It coagulated and crawled across the ground like vines.

Pomni had nowhere to go, and she was afraid. The black veins stuck to her and climbed her body. Simultaneously, she began to sink into the ground. The items around her closing in. The black veins restrained her more than the strings ever did. Her legs were immobile as she sunk to her knees. She could not lift her arms as the black veins connected her wrists to the heavy items.

The ghostly hand above her tried to pull her back. She felt its resistance but the veins were stronger as she continued to sink. The veins climbed her neck, making their way to her bright hazel eye. She gasped, seeing flashes of faces and places of a time gone by. A city not ravaged by time or war. A warm hand to hold. A man's whispered love.

She sank up to her chest. Her eyes stared wide at the sky, invaded by it. Consumed by it. Body and soul. Only her head remained above the swallowing earth. The ghostly hand never gave up, choking her. She was pressed in on all sides by the littered items mixed with the black veins.

As the world around her went black, she jolted awake. Her legs kicked out at open air as she oriented herself. She was in her room, sitting in a sofa chair. It was near sundown, the sky a rich mix of violets, reds and oranges. She took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She had no words for what just happened, not even an expletive.

A gentle knock at her door broke the silence. "Pomni..? You in there?" Caine's voice gently asked. "Haven't seen you in a few hours, been awfully quiet. May I come in?"

When he didn't receive an immediate "Fuck off," he entered. Seeing her so still, worried him. "Hey...something wrong?" He moved over to her, sitting on the ottoman in front of her.

"I...don't know..." Pomni slowly answered, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

Caine wanted nothing more than to pull her into him. Tell her everything was alright. He leaned forward, matching her pose. His hands lightly clasped together. "Is there anything I can do?" His fingers twitched towards hers as she moved.

Pomni sat upright and ran her hand through her hair, taking out her ponytail. Her longer back hair draped over her shoulders. "I don't know." She gazed into his concerned eyes. She really didn't know if he could help her or even understand what she was feeling. Not that she was ready to share. She had to think on things more.

Caine couldn't resist anymore. Pomni was in some sort of distress, even if she wasn't outwardly showing it. He carefully reached out and took her hand. "Whatever you need, I'm right here."

She felt it. The warmth. Still so new to her. She closed her hand around his to feel more of it. It was rather nice. She was looking so closely into his eyes she completely missed the fact that the key crank on the back of his head was missing.

[geniemillies]

Yearning For Spring | Ch. 1 | Tamlin x Oc

◇— Chapter 1 - The Green Handkerchief

Ch. Warnings: implied sexual harassment, implied animal cruelty (I swear not by any mc), things get extreme in Hybern ok, Hybern as a place should be a warning on its own :^

✧ masterlist

||◇|| Ch.2>>

Hybern Castle — Two years after the Treaty

Another party. Another night of standing beside his chair on the dais, overlooking the crowd of Hybern officials as they partied, their faces a mask of joyful expressions, their bodies too rigid as they moved about the floor like puppets under their marionette's gaze.

“Incredibly uneventful.” I hear Brannagh whisper beside me. Her twin mimics her dead expression beside her. Guess I'm not the only one who thinks so.

“Quiet. Don't slouch or he will punish us again.” I scold through gritted teeth and feel their posture shift at the command. “Just until past midnight and we are dismissed.”

I feel them sigh in unison before stepping off the dais to stand in some corner away from the throne, away from where the King might see them. Yet I stay still, unmoving despite my legs and neck beginning to sore at the lack of movement.

Just until past midnight.

The ball went on as usual, the music getting louder with each hour while the dance floor remained filled with rigid dancers. Wine continued to flow and stomachs filled and this party seemed to go on for an eternity.

I hear the King's laughter echoing throughout the room, followed by several others as they clash glasses and exchange vulgarities. Mainly discussing political and military matters that did not need a child's attention but I listened in anyway. Nothing eventful. The King would find a way to spin the subject towards his hatred for humankind to which his circle were more than happy to indulge him in.

In a corner of the ballroom, I spy through the tiny slits of my mask a servant tripping over a lady's gown, echoes of breaking glass did not do as much as startle the dancers but their nervous eyes dart to where the servant was dragged to the kitchens, crying and spilling his apologies, his voice muffled as the door closed and then– nothing.

The dancing and laughter did not stop.

In a corner of the ballroom, I spy through the tiny slits of my mask, the twins gossiping amongst themselves in quiet solitude. They spot me from all the way over here with pleading eyes, I want to leave. But I only shook my head and they already knew my answer. Not until we are dismissed. And with that, they continued to sulk.

In a corner of the ballroom, I spy through the tiny slits of my mask… Amarantha. With her wavy locks of red hair and a dark dress that outshined every other lady in the room. As always, heads turned as she walked, whether or not it was out of respect or admiration or fear, they turned their heads and I knew she basked in the attention.

Before I could roll my eyes and turn the other way I spotted— green amidst a sea of dull colours. Amarantha makes her way to a boy.. strikingly close to my age. His hair was gold in colour. Gold like I've never seen before. It is a rare thing. Hybernians mostly have dark hair but there is the occasional rarity born with red locks.

Right. The King has once again invited a Prythian Lord, our closest ally from the neighbouring island. The High Lord sits with him now in his circle of friends, bearing the same golden hair as the boy Amarantha’s currently harassing. I felt unease as her hand brushes against his shoulder, how he'd shiver and say words I could not hear. Stop, maybe. Most likely. Because she always does this. To him especially, none of the other brothers are treated that way, much less spared a glance by her.

“Niamh.” His voice jolts me from my thoughts and I almost flinch to his direction. “More wine, dove.” The King orders, slouching in his seat.

“Yes, my King.” I turn to one of the servants ready at my command. “Three more bottles of Crimson Oathe. And tell the others to fetch a dozen more from the cellar. We'll be here for quite a while.” Seeing as they're already drunk and craving for more.

The servant came back in a flash with what I requested and I hurried to the King and his little circle of friends. “Pour.” He orders simply and I could feel his friends’ gaze in my direction. I do as I'm told, pouring scarlet liquid onto everyone's golden goblets before pacing three steps away, standing straight with the bottle still in my hands.

They continue their conversations and I stand there until I am dismissed. It is the rule. I cannot walk away from him unless I am told so. Sometimes I thank the Mother for the mask on my face, hiding the discomfort in my expression. I never liked being too close to his circle. Do my best to avoid them, really. His group mainly consists of highborn Lords of Hybern, however few they might be, and military officials that control his armies.

I stay there with my head down, listening to their horrid conversations, unable to mute out their loud voices.

Then I felt it. Felt it before it could even touch me— the hand of an older fae hovering up my arm that I felt all the hairs on my body stand.

Go away. Go away. Go away. Go—

I grabbed his wrist before he could go any further, earning a grunt of pain from the older male. The conversation ceased around the King's circle and all eyes were on me and the death grip that was my small hand around his bedazzled wrist.

“If. You could refrain. From touching me. Good sir.” I do not look at him. I do not do as much as move. I cannot. I might kill him.

“My hand! My hand!!” He cries out. I feel his pulse on my skin, the blood desperately flowing in his wretched veins. I felt my nails digging into flesh, scratching against skin and drawing blood. I smelled it, rotten and unsweet.

“My King!” He looks to the King, hoping to find his aid.

But he only looked, a simple grin on his face as he watched red seep out of his wrists, tainting my own skin. “Niamh. Drop the poor thing's hand.” I hear a chuckle leave his throat. Being used to following his orders— I do just that.

“Careful with this one, Lord Galdiir. She is.. a fascinating one. She will not hesitate to feast on your bones right at this very table. Perhaps then we'll have a real show.” The King laughs once more and other people follow. He snatches the wine bottle out of my hands, his eyes wandering to the blood that smeared my palm. And even with the mask I spot his smile curling into a smirk.

“And next time I hope you'd be wise enough to remember not to touch something that is not yours. I will have your head ripped from your shoulders if you ever touch her again.” He threatened and the circle went quiet.

“Now.” He doesn't face me, only flicks his wrist. “Go.”

And so I left that corner of the room, my left hand shaking, the smell of blood that isn't mine violating my nose. I did not return to the dais and as I passed guests I saw a glimpse of the twins’ face, riddled with worry. Yet they do not follow me.

The music and chatter from the ballroom faded as I now find myself in the empty terrace just outside. I let myself breathe in air that I couldn't find inside that wretched room. Yet, not even fresh air could calm me down. Couldn't really call it fresh as there's always a rotting smell that came with it.

Because this place is rotten. Void of light, life, anything, really. It is a cage.

The terrace overlooked a large garden of shaped trees and bushes that formed a maze. I'm glad for the night's darkness as I knew the dead colour of the leaves in morning light would only sour my mood. At least the sky looks peaceful. Though, I wish the fog would show more stars. I could not even see the moon, only a blur of reddish white light.

I look down at my hands, dark crimson taint the my palm. I press my fingers to it, feeling it sticky and warm and vile. Then my touch lowers down to the golden cuffs etched on my skin, smudging red on it.

I urge to curse, to rip this stupid mask off my face and storm to my room. More often than not, I think about it. But I know the consequences of leaving the King's presence without permission. And so I suck it up and inhale the rotten air, rubbing my bloodied palm, willing myself to believe that midnight would come soon and I could return to my room.

But I sense a presence approach, quiet footsteps make their way to the terrace. Then the intruder stops, standing at a good distance from me.

I froze and thought that if I turned around and left it'd be considered rude. So I shift uncomfortably, looking to the side and to my hands below, glad for the mask on my face for once. But when I caught a glimpse of gold at the corner of my eye, I was forced to look to to the person who had interrupted my solitude.

It's him.., the youngest son of Spring.

He dons on green fabrics, golden accents throughout his outfit that matched his long locks that cascaded down his shoulders. He smells like flowers and morning after a storm. His gaze is fixed to the garden forward and I wonder if he felt my gaze on him.

“Good evening.” He says, his voice quiet and soft and nice.

I snapped out of my thoughts and did a subtle curtsy to the young Lord. “Good evening.” I was told to treat our guests from Prythian with the warmest welcome and yet I forgot to greet him first or address him by his name.

“Forgive me, I was simply–”

“In need of some quiet?”

“I've been in search of it all night.” He said, his gaze torn away from me again. There is a stiffness on his shoulders, a longing for home in his eyes. He does not wish to be here any longer. And neither do I.

“It was beginning to feel suffocating. In there. With all the tense dancing.”

I slightly turn to face him again.

“Sorry. I meant no insult. It's a nice party.” A nice attempt at a lie.

“No.” I hesitate. But no one else is here. No one to hear me speak ill. “It is not.”

I hear a pause, a flicker of surprise maybe. That someone actually has a mind of their own around here. “It is not.” He repeats and maybe I heard a smile in his words, a quiet relief that someone understands.

“Perhaps we could enjoy the silence together?”

I look at him again, my face betraying the look of surprise at his suggestion. I did not say anything when I looked away from him.

But I stayed. And quiet company has never been so peaceful.

My shoulders relaxed as the minutes passed us by quietly. I could still hear the music in the throne room, the sounds of the King's laughter and the clink of glasses. In the stillness of the night, away from the noise and commotion of the party, the gardens below lay silent, and the only sound to break it was the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of trees.

And for a brief moment, I felt respite. I don't know why. Maybe because of the silence. Maybe it is because of him and his very presence that brought a calmness that I didn't know existed. The air seemed more bearable in his presence and for the first time tonight my heart was at peace.

My eyes faltered ever so slightly as I fiddled with my palm, the blood now cold on my skin.

I never want to go back inside.

“I'm sorry that that male has made you uncomfortable.” He quietly said as I felt him extend an arm to me. So I looked and he handed me something..

A green handkerchief.

I stared at it for a good while, confused as to why I am being given such a present. Then I realised that my bloodied hand was still visible and he had seen my outburst earlier.

I take the handkerchief slowly, inspecting it as if it were a strange thing. And it was strange, this kind gesture. I felt my lips curl up into a soft smile.

I began wiping the blood off my palms, smudging red onto the green fabric. “I'm sorry, too.” I mutter.

“About what?”

“About Amarantha.”

He goes silent and looks away in discomfort. “She always does this.”

“I know.” I continue to wipe, fighting the urge to scoff at the mere thought of that female. “She does not take kindly to ‘no’.”

I hear no reply. As I finished wiping the blood off my hand and cuff I looked at the fabric sullied in crimson. “Thank you..,” I trail off, forgetting his name despite going through the guest list just hours before the party.

“Tamlin.”

“Tamlin..” I finish wiping off the blood and I hand him back his handkerchief, completely facing him this time, letting myself see his face through the tiny holes of my mask. “Prince of Spring.”

He only seems to look towards the cloth in my hand. “Forgive me but I do not know your name either..”

“Niamh.”

“Miss Niamh..”

I nod my head and offer him back his handkerchief. He looks at it for a moment.

“Keep it.” He said, reaching for my hand with both his, closing my fist around the piece of cloth. A gift.

I was taken aback for a mere second. I've never been given a gift before. Never had much to say thank yous to. Never had to be grateful. A very foreign and yet.. welcome feeling.

He closed my fist and my eyes failed to remain averted. I look back to his face to see emerald eyes looking back at me. An expression of gentleness that couldn't be found in the eyes of Hybernians. I wonder if there are more like him back on the land he hails from. More people with genuine smiles and golden hair. I wonder if he deems the garden before us a pathetic piece of land compared to the endless fields of flowers back at his court. And maybe if I look into his eyes long enough I could see a glimpse of what that may look like.

I felt myself lost in them. Because I’ve never really seen green like that. Green that swirls with other colours of the earth. Strange and pretty. Even Hybernian trees are of lifeless colours. So I couldn't help but let my gaze linger for a moment longer.

“I cannot–” I gasped.

I flinched, my back arching slightly, the words stolen from my throat.

'What–?'

I grip my neck as I felt something pierce through my back, to the centre of my chest. Like a sword, a needle—No. A spark. Like lighting from the calmest of storms—struck me, right through the heart.

I staggered backwards and I stared at him like he might've inflicted such pain on me, the mask I wore hiding the horror on my face. But when I looked at him again, my heart beat so strongly against my rib cage I thought it might've broken out of it. Every bone in my body seemed to falter into brittle stones as if every part of me was faltering then and there. I wanted to touch him, grab his hand and take him away–

“Miss N–” He reaches out to me, his face riddled with concern. But before he could touch me again I gathered every bit of my common sense and— disappeared.

I panicked and winnowed away, appearing in my room disoriented from the sudden shift of my surroundings, as if I hadn't winnowed all of me, my back hitting against a table as I breathed heavily. I fall to the floor and grip my throat, desperate to stabilise my breathing before letting that hand fall to my chest where I could very much feel the beating of my heart. I still feel it. The spark. Like it's sentient, living inside me, telling me to go back to him.

The thrill of that spark dies inside me when realisation sank, replaced with nothing but dread and fear as I recall back to the books I've read on the matter. The romantic, forbidden tales of fated mates. Libraries are a rare thing in Hybern, the King deeming it worthless to record our histories when he alone exists to remind every single soul in the island just how we were robbed of everything in the Treaty that happened just two years ago. He does not care much for stories outside of those that he only thought mattered. Education of the most basic things are not encouraged, instead he favours military training, condemning all fae, high or lesser, young or old, to be trained ruthlessly into military submission.

Father thought the concept interesting albeit useless. Brannagh thought it a curse. Dagnan doubts its existence. How the Mother bonds two souls together on a whim, on a baseless calculation that the two might work well together. And now she dares pair me up with the youngest son of Spring. Someone so different. So out of reach. So out of my league.

Someone I can never ever have.

She dares play cruel jokes on me. Or perhaps she is simply cruel. That would make more sense. She’s always been cruel when dealing with my fate in her hands.

I did not return to the party. I lay in bed awake that night, my head filled with nothing but images of his face. There wasn't a moment where I wandered to other thoughts, afraid that if I did I couldn't burn his face into memory hard enough. And a hundred years may pass and I might forget his face. The thought alone broke my heart.

The bond didn't seem to snap for him and I could only sigh out of relief. Good. It's for the best. I know well what happens to the things that bring even the smallest amounts of joy into people around here. He takes them, breaks them, ruins them in the cruellest of ways and he makes sure there is an audience to bear witness to his acts. I still remember how her growls of pain echoed throughout the throne room while my body froze, my eyes locked into the eyes of a direwolf I had secretly snuck into the palace. I stood and cried as she whimpered, the light, the life fading from her darkened eyes, her head rolling to my feet as I tried my best to hold the vomit urging up my throat.

The King does not like hope festering the hearts of his people. Says that hope makes way for want. A want for something other than what he has to offer. He seeks only for total control. That is why every waltz at his parties are always rigid, always controlled. He liked it that way. Liked puppets more than people.

He would ruin me in ways that will kill me slowly if he ever finds out. Because I was born into a life of servitude. Everything, even my body and mind, leashed to the King. And this bond swirling inside me, this string of fate.. He will take it too.

And so I held my aching heart as I closed my eyes. And in the darkness it's not a wolf’s head before my feet that I imagine.

It’s his..

I will take this bond to the grave.

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumptober Day 6

Not realizing they're injured - Unhealthy coping mechanisms - Healed Wrong - "It's not my blood"

This is honestly a story I doubt will do very well, but there is something special about this story that I love. It has a special place in my heart for sure. I can't really even explain how this story makes me feel either. I really hope all that read this enjoy it. -MJ

Caretaker carried their coffee out of the kitchen and started toward their office.

A trail of cotton fluff caught them off guard as they rounded a corner.

"Whumpee, my dear doll? Are you alright?", Caretaker called to the living marionette they had rescued from the trash outside of a circus.

Caretaker reached down to pick up a clump when they heard bells jingling down the hall.

"Whumpee, can you hear me?", Caretaker called again. This time, a little louder.

Whumpee peaked out from the room with a smile.

"I'm sorry, I was dancing. Did you nee... me... what's that?", Whumpee saw the fluff, then trailed their eyes up the hall to themself.

"Did your hole come undone again", Caretaker started to walk toward them. Clump of fluff in one hand; coffee still in the other.

"I-I don't think so", Whumpee looked over themself as they stepped into the hallway, "wait, yes", they looked up worriedly, "I'm sorry, I was trying to be careful, but a song came to me and I-I got excited.... and... and."

"Whumpee, my dear doll it's alright", Caretaker chuckled, "let's just find all of your pieces. You do look quite flat. I have a feeling you've lost a bit out of that hole."

Caretaker stepped into the room Whumpee had come out from, "more than a bit", Caretaker looked over the fluff strewn all over the floor.

Whumpee came in and looked, "ho-how did I not notice? I am so sorry about my mess I made", Whumpee looked up at Caretaker with a mix of embarrassment and horror.

"Must have been a good song", Caretaker smiled, "no worries. Let's get you picked up."

Whumpee and Caretaker went about the house gathering bits of Whumpee's stuffing.

Caretaker took a drink of their now luke warm coffee while they stared at the pile of stuffing sitting on their office floor.

"That taste great", Caretaker sighed to themself.

Whumpee came in with the last bits that fell out while they were searching for the other pieces. They clutched the hole closed while they set the fluff down.

"I think that's all", Whumpee sighed, "I always forget how much I have in me. I even sometimes forget that I'm stuffed."

Caretaker smiled, "trust me, I forget it more than you do. I don't even know how many times I've turned a corner to see you walking. It gives me a small heart attack every time."

Whumpee smiled, then yawned.

"Well shall we get you stuffed and stitched", Caretaker rolled their chair over to the pile, "you seem to be getting sleepy.

"I feel like I got the stuffing knocked out of me", Whumpee sighed.

Caretaker laughed lightly at Whumpee's joke.

Whumpee let themself get picked up by Caretaker. They were set down comfortably on Caretaker's lap.

Caretaker made a concerned face when Whumpee looked at them sadly.

"Is everything okay?", Caretaker reached down for their first handful of stuffing.

"This reminds me of when you found me in the trash. My puppeteer had grown tired of my broken pieces. They had earned enough money that week during the circus. They had plans to buy a new puppet. One that was also alive like me. I was tossed in the trash after my show. Many people passed by me. Some had seen my last show and knew I was broken. Who would want a broken toy."

Caretaker had most of the stuffing inside of Whumpee, "me." They smirked at Whumpee, then reached for a pre-threaded needle.

"I'm sure you rethink that decision every time this happens", Whumpee sighed as they watched the needle pierce their cloth body.

"Never", Caretaker carefully and meticulously started their stitch work, "I do wish I could do this in a way that would last longer. I'm unfortunately not that great at sewing. If we could find a way to make this last longer, you wouldn't have to be as careful."

Whumpee watched them as they sewed.

"This reminds me of that night too. I had given up and had sunk deeper into the trash. Suddenly, a cup was thrown in and hit me in the head. I cried out loudly, that was my breaking point. I was so sad. I was surprised when a concerned face peered in at me."

Caretaker smiled as they finished a knot. They reminisced, "I was surprised to hear a voice come from the trash. Then I was surprised to see an inanimate object looking up at me... and blinking away tears."

Caretaker stood up and cradled Whumpee in their arms.

"I remember tucking you into my jacket because of how cold it was. I didn't know if you could feel the cold air, but I immediately felt like I needed to take care of you. I carried you close all the way to my car, then took you home. Not even questioning who you belonged to and why you were thrown away."

Whumpee nodded before sinking into Caretaker's arms. Caretaker's warmth and gentleness always caused them to become sleepy.

"You know what else reminds me of that night?", Caretaker cuddled Whumpee closer as they walked towards a seat.

"Ymhmm", Whumpee watched as Caretaker sat on the couch and pulled a blanket up from the back of the couch.

"That night I learned that you were completely alive. The only thing you really couldn't do was eat. You were so tired, but so restless that night", Caretaker wrapped the blanket around Whumpee, "but you get so cozy when you are wrapped up like a baby."

Whumpee nodded as they melted into the blankets.

Caretaker cuddled them close, "my dear little doll... I will never regret bringing you home and taking care of you. You have brought so much joy into my life. I will happily patch you up any time you need me to."

Whumpee nudged their face into Caretaker's chest and hummed a small tune to soothe themself to sleep.

"My sweet little doll", Caretaker sighed when they saw Whumpee had fallen asleep, "I'm always so amazed by you. A dancing marionette who was designed to entertain children. You can create a tune out of nowhere. You are almost a child yourself, honestly. To be thrown to the side like that... told you were being replaced by someone else. You must have been so scared. You don't have to worry though. You are safe, I would never throw you away. You are my dearest doll."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown

[project-sekai-facts]

What’s your opinion on the recent discussion popping up about possible n25 favoritism by the devs? Such as their world link cut ins compared to vbs’ or 2DMV amount over the past few months.

staff is not biased towards N25 like, why would they be biased? here's the thing: Twilight Light had a lot of sybolism connecting with their story/individual character arcs/etc - just look at the 2DMV! It's not surprising that their another cuts referenced past material, like Kanade's fes card, Mafuyu's recurring marionette symbolism, and the IDSMILE 3DMV (also toa produced both songs). However, despite the fact that Beyond the way also had plot-relevant lyrics, VBS as a unit has a very different image to N25.

N25 has always had lots of symbolism and their stories are very focused on character struggles and healing, like that's their main goal compared to every other unit that has an end goal of some sort of music or performance related thing. Their another cuts fit them very well.

VBS is the cool street music unit, their 3DMVs are dance focused more than anything and are probably some of the most complex dance routines in the game, their cards are almost always street fashion or adjacent, with only 2 or 3 exceptions not counting mixed events, and their songs aren't really going to fit the slow-paced, melancholic and reflective vibes that the Niigo another cuts were going for. Yeah sure they could've done a lot better than what we were given, but I genuinely think that staff just thought what we got looks cool and fits their image. They definitely could've added fes card/3dmv/other symbolism references, but it's definitely not favoritism towards Niigo. Also like compare the Beyond the way and Twilight Light 2DMVs and then look at their another cuts. It's very much an image thing.

I say this in a joking manner but realistically shouldn't we say VBS is moreso staff's favorite? They got VBS archives which meant they could cover vsinger only songs (and songs which already had a cover), before 3rd anni they were the only unit to get a comm released with both MV types, and they got an event commission as part of a collab (Cinema / Ayase). Niigo didn't get full unit covers regularly until after the 2nd anniversary, they went almost a year without getting a 2DMV in 2022, and they used to always be behind on lims. Maybe this is compensation lol

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 31

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: They observe a very impressive pumpkin being shown off by a proud halfling farmer of about the same height.

Laudna: You could make a lot of soup with that.

Imogen: Mm-hmm. Lotta soup.

Farmer: nice to see young folks appreciatin’ the good things in life

Panel 2: They look at some prize-winning horses.

Laudna: You should have entered your horse! I’m sure she would have won. Flora is far prettier than all of these ones.

Imogen: We did use to do that. Flora even got a second-place ribbon once. Nowadays we don’t really like drawin’ attention to ourselves, though.

Panel 3: They walk around arm in arm. A traveling katari “wizard” is juggling Dancing Lights. A “mind reader” supposedly from Ank’harel is impressing people, sparking indignation from Imogen.

Imogen: Oh, so it’s okay if he does it?

Laudna: I don’t think he’s even from Ank’harel.

“Mind Reader”: Ah, yes! The Three of Wands!

His Thoughts: small-town buffoons will believe anything

Small-Town Buffoon: well I’ll be

Panel 4: In the foreground, we see a child playing with a simple sillgoat marionette. Laudna seizes Imogen’s arm in delight.

Laudna: Imogen! That goat! I must have one!

Imogen: That li'l puppet? Bet we can find one around here . . .

Laudna: For Pâté! He can ride it into battle!

Imogen: All right, let’s go see if we can find Pâté a steed.

Panel 5: On the midway they find a section of games, including a “dragon race” with lizards which some children are eagerly observing and a Three Billy Goats Gruff-themed bottle knockdown game with the coveted goat puppets on display.

Oldest Child: Blue! Blue!

Middle Child: Green! Green!

Youngest Child: (looking at Laudna) A ghost??

Carnie: (nervously) . . . Try your luck, little lady?