#might upload to ao3

[dunmanticarchivistsmain]

@liauditore Liau I blame you for this my hand slipped and I lost consciousness and when I woke up I have these hamfisted words to bludgeon you with (ilu and your galaxyduo brain)

"Go on get you all out of here!" Pearl exclaimed, politely but insistently shoving people towards the exit. With a lot of mumbling and bumbling, and plenty of stumbling, Mumbo, Bdubs and Pearl managed to usher out the entire mess of people who have gathered for a sleepover at Pearl's. There was to be no sleeping over, since the day had consumed all of them with the sillies and Pearl had a task to complete tomorrow. So much to unpack from the day's activities; she felt completely drained but her heart was full… of something.

The distant slam of Bdubs' awkward trapdoors seemed to provoke a soft bork from Mailbox, interrupting Pearl's relaxing chore of tidying up after the visitors. She had to give him his nightly cuddles, stuffing him full of nonsensical coos and affection to last the lonely night on watch outside.

But it seems someone else was giving Mailbox a fair bit of attention already.

"Hi Scott, still here?"

Scott did not look up from his giving of scritches to Mailbox, who was quite content to sit at attention, looking curiously at this last overstaying visitor.

“I like your new home” he said at last.

Pearl turned around, taking in her measly mound. It was a very well shaped, perfectly-spherical-thank-you-very-much, mound of dirt. Half sunk into the ground with a cherry door. Mumbo seems really proud of her for it.

It wasn't much of a house at all really, by Pearl's critical builder eye. Not safe, whispered the ghost of a girl who built a tower in the sky.

And yet in this mound, in this home dug from the ground, Pearl's ears still rang with the echos of laughter, her eyes had run rivers of mirth, and her heart was full of something.

"It's al'right, I'm working on it" The lilt of her voice seemed to catch, in a throat once hoarse from unuse.

"Lookin' forward to what you'd build here Pearl, I'm sure it'll be something."

"Quite something indeed."

The silence seemed to stretch, like the gulf between the moon and stars, where the void sparkled with an infinite something.

And then, with a quirk of her lips and a tilt of her head, Pearl said "Go on home Scott its getting dark and late", indicating the silhoulette of the cherry canopy in the distance where Gem and the Scotts have made their base; the cherry wood staircases and the homey cottages drenched in the light of the moon's face.

Scott brightened as the tension snapped, straightened and with a laugh off he set,

"It’ll be alright, the moon is full tonight."

[manic-pixie-aquarius]

yall i'm writing a post season 4 fix-it-fic of sorts where The Party goes into the upside-down after finding out Eddie is still alive, let me know what you think about the opening scene!! thank u

“Who’s Eddie?” Will asked Robin in a discreet tone, he didn't wanna disturb the rest of the party who all looked visibly upset.

“He's the leader of their… you know, that game you guys play, he’s in that club, Hellfire” she replied

Wills face dropped, “oh god” he realized just how significant this loss was when he searched the faces of his friends. Dustin looked like he had been crying for hours and no longer had any tears to shed, he looked aged. Lucas looked so tired, he had slept overnight at the hospital, watching over Max, his girlfriend who was paralyzed, of course he was upset about Eddie too, but he was just too tired. Mike looked at the floor with a dark but contemplative expression on his face.

Will walked over to Mike, leaning on the truck behind them, “hey it’s gonna be okay” he said with a hand on his friends shoulder. Mike met his eyes “you're right” he said with a bit too much pep, causing everyone to look his way. Will dropped his hand as the boy beside him took on the stance of someone about to make a big speech.

“Are we forgetting how long Will survived in the upside down?!”, a rhetorical question, spoken like a true politician.

“Yeah but not everyone is like Will” Nancy spoke.

Mike looked at the ground, remembering that his sister didn't have the privilege of being reunited with her best friend like he did. He glanced back up to give her an apologetic look.

“I get what you're saying but it's like the upsidedown was sparing me, for some reason it wanted me as it's host” Will said trying to get his friend to drop the conspiracy.

“And the mind flayer successfully attached itself to me so…”

“Will’s right Mike, I saw Eddie die” Dustin said with a look of disbelief on his face, disbelief at the fact his taller friend was being so foolish.

“Listen kid, I think you're just going through the stages of grief and right now is…denial” Robin tried to say as gently as possible. She shot a confused look at Steve, pleading for a reassuring nod in return, which he gave her.

Nancy went inside the cabin and passed El on the way in. Everyone’s eyes shifted towards her meanwhile Will scooted over so she could stand between him and Mike.

“How are you feeling?” Mike asked

“fine” she replied, moving past her boyfriend to be next to her brother instead. This was confusing to both of the boys. El’s eyes wandered around confused, “what is going on?” she questioned.

“Mike is being way too optimistic insisting Eddie is still alive so i'm going inside because there is no way im about to willingly enter the upsidedown just for the possibility that Eddie is still alive” Lucas said before patting Dustin’s shoulder and heading to the cabin.

“I could check” El offered.

“No! El you don't have to I don't want you to see something bad” Mike said.

“I can make my own decisions, and I have seen plenty worse…like you burping very loud” she deadpanned.

The remainder of the group started to burst out laughing for the first time since all this chaos started.

“That was a major invasion of my privacy” Mike stated looking embarrassed, his girlfriend was completely unbothered.

Dustin reached into his back pocket to pull out a picture of the Hellfire Club before approaching El.

“Thats him” he said pointing to Eddie. Will peaked over having never seen the man, “wow, nice hair” he commented.

“yeah, nice hair” Mike sighed wistfully, they all looked at him in suspicion, all of them minus El who stroked her buzzed head, wishing her hair would grow faster.

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: Post-Bad Romance, Cell tries to adjust to life on Quesadilla Island.

For Spiderbit Week Day Four: Murder Husbands

-

The island is a prison. And Cell knows prisons.

There are the wardens: the mysterious blank-faced bear things with guns and clipboards that follow the prisoners around asking questions and watching.

There are the prisoners: the idiots trapped on an island paradise and seemingly unwilling to try and escape.

There are the cells: buildings and statues and neighborhoods that the prisoners were allowed to make themselves that have security cameras watching every entrance and exit that the prisoners don't seem to know-slash-care about.

So. Prison.

"Pai? Why are you staring at Mister Roier like that?"

Prison. With children.

"Don't call me that," Cell snaps. "And he likes it, that's why. Go somewhere else."

The kid- assigned by the faceless overlords- just smiles cheekily in response. He clasps his hands behind his back and rocks onto his heels, head tilting slightly.

"Pais Tazer e Craft said I'm not supposed to talk to you," Richarlyson innocently says. His eyes are hidden behind his curls, but Cell can imagine that they're glittering mischievously.

Now, Cell knows that the kid is an evil genius. Like recognizes like: Cell doesn't remember much from his childhood, but he remembers looking at himself in a puddle of blood one morning after breakfast and seeing a smile that he recognizes now every time that he and Richarlyson see each other.

Richarlyson is a master manipulator. He's not even ten years old, but he can already poke and prod his government-assigned parents into doing what he wants. He hides behind childhood innocence and sweet smiles and sweeter words, but he's also a little asshole.

Of course, Roier adores him.

Of course, Cell doesn't want anything to do with him.

But what he does want is whatever Pac and Mike don't want, so he scowls and shoves his hands into his pockets and looks away.

Content, Richarlyson plops onto the grass and props his chin up in the palms of his hands. He watches Roier just as Cell was doing a moment ago, which is bound to make Roier fucking ecstatic.

Or, well, it would if Roier knew that the two of them were there watching him.

Since arriving on the island a week ago, Roier has managed to find himself an entirely new little family. He squeezed into their relationship like a strangler fig, and Jaiden and Bobby accepted him with open arms.

("Friendship", apparently. That's the thing the prisoners care about the most besides their artificially-created government spawn.

Friendship, and communication.

Idealists. Idiots.)

Roier has moved in with Jaiden and Bobby. He's decided that he's Bobby's father. He's decided that Cell is Bobby's other father, and he got Cell to agree with a knife subtly poking into his side.

Cell, meanwhile, lives in a cave. It reminds him too much of the island- the other island, not this one, but it's also natural, and the wardens don't know where it is. He's searched the area a dozen times over by now: no cameras.

One day, if he and Roier are stuck here long enough, he'll hollow it out by hand. He needs a place to keep his tools. He needs a place to hide his bed so nobody can destroy it.

He needs a place to torture Pac and Mike and teach him what real friendship looks like. Roier will be by his side, and they'll show them.

Cell doesn't miss Roier, though.

At all.

They spent three weeks practically together in the Brazilian countryside, and Roier is annoying, and Cell has had enough of him.

Entirely.

Roier is the only person besides Cell to know where the cave is. And he'll be the only one there when Cell shows Pac and Mike a real partnership. Because he and Roier are partners.

That's it.

(When introducing themselves to the other prisoners, this is how they did it:

Roier: Hola, hola! My name is Roier, I am Mexican, and I am engaged to Cell!

Cell: You can call me Cell, and I'm going to kill every one of you someday.

Roier: [Glares at Cell pointedly.]

Cell: [Sighing] And Roier and I are partners.)

Cell definitely isn't just annoyed that Roier decided to go and live with two strangers and not him.

That would be ridiculous.

Today, Roier is working on the garden with Bobby, and Cell is watching him from a hilltop a fair distance away. Jaiden is asleep. (She'd be asleep forever if Cell had anything to say about it, but that would make Roier upset. So.)

Roier glows in the sunlight. With proper access to a shower and shampoo and skincare, he's positively ethereal. His nails are freshly painted. His eyeliner is meticulous. His hair looks soft.

Richarlyson cocks his head in his hands to look up at Cell.

"Why don't you just... go hang out with him? Aren't you guys getting married?"

Cell's scowl only deepens. "Do you see a ring on either of our hands?"

There aren't any. Roier hasn't gotten any, and Cell sure as hell isn't about to start begging the wardens for silver and gold like the other prisoners would. He has dignity. He'll just dig up the materials himself and make them into rings. Somehow.

He scuffs the toe of his boot against the grass, kicking up some into the air.

"Besides," he says, voice softer despite his attempts to remain objective, "he's busy with his kid."

Roier had mentioned once that he had a child. His asshole (piece of shit bastard motherfucker evil-) ex killed the kid, and Roier killed the ex.

Cell doesn't know how old Roier's kid was when it died, but Roier seems to be doing just fine with ten-year-old Bobby. It's like he was born to be a parent, he's just so kind. He's gentle. He teases Bobby, and he teases the other brats on the island, but he doesn't go out of his way to hurt them.

Roier's smile when he's around kids is entirely different than it is when he's around Cell. His eyes are different, they're... they're just different.

"You're literally also Bobby's dad," Richarlyson dryly responds.

He pauses, and then he asks, "Wait, does that make me Bobby's brother?"

"No," is Cell's immediate response. "You aren't even my son."

"No, I am. Cucurucho says so."

"And I say you're not. You have Felps."

"And Pais Pac and Mike."

A foul taste fills Cell's mouth.

"See?" he says. "You already have plenty of parents. You don't need me."

"Maybe," Richarlyson acknowledges. He smiles, and Cell can't tell if he means it or not. "But I want you. You're cool!"

"I know that," Cell scoffs. "But you shouldn't be hanging around a killer, kid. None of the other kids will want to play with you."

"So what? They don't like me, anyway."

Ducking his head to look at the grass, Richarlyson starts tearing some of it up.

Cell winces. He... doesn't know how to deal with kids. It just isn't what he does. It's what Roier, does, but Roier is busy with his actual family now.

In the garden, Roier laughs. He drops a flower onto Bobby's head and ducks away playfully as Bobby swings his sword at him in retaliation.

(Roier's smile is beautiful. Cell doesn't know what beauty is anymore, but he knows this.)

During the war, BadBoyHalo once told Cell that he was too kind. He wouldn't survive that way, and he almost didn't. He didn't start winning battles until he started being mean, and he's been mean ever since. That's simply how the world works.

Cell rolls his eyes up towards the sky. With a grumble, he settles onto the grass next to Richarlyson.

"You're too young to be depressed," Cell says. "So stop that. If the other brats don't want to talk to you, then don't talk to them. They're assholes. Fuck 'em."

Richarlyson frowns. "But that's mean. I want to be their friend."

"And they don't want to be yours. What are you going to do about it?"

Bobby is chasing Roier around the garden, now. Cell loves watching Roier move, he's so... wow with everything he does: long limbs, muscles. Wow.

Richarlyson doesn't say anything for a moment, so Cell takes the silence as an opportunity to keep watching Roier. He wasn't lying earlier, Roier loves to be watched. He practically begs Cell to do it, and Cell is happy enough to play along.

(Sure, Roier hasn't moved in with him, and he hasn't gotten Cell a ring, and he hasn't really done much with Cell, but he wants to be stalked. Fucking freak.)

(Cell isn't much of a stalker, but he'll do it for Roier. He'd do anything for Roier, and isn't that a novel thought? This is a real partnership, fuck you, Pac and Mike.)

Eventually, Richarlyson lets the grass in his fingers fly into the wind.

"I'll make them be my friends?" he tries, looking to Cell for approval.

Cell shakes his head. "That doesn't work. I've tried, trust me. In prison, you have to force people to be your friends. Those relationships don't last. They'll stab you in the back at the first chance of an escape."

"Uuuuugh, then what?" Richarlyson groans. "They all hate me!"

"How do you know?"

"Uh, because they're all siblings and I'm not related to them? Duh?"

Wow, what a stupid kid. He really is Felps' son.

Sighing, Cell nudges Richarlyson's head with his hand. He maybe ruffles the kid's hair a little, but not purposefully.

"They don't know you, idiot," he explains. "How can you be friends if you're strangers? Have you even tried talking to them?"

"No. Because they hate me."

"They don't trust you. Big difference."

Looking right at Roier, Cell continues: "Trust is the most important part of any relationship. From trust comes honesty, and from honesty comes everything else. You need to prove to the other kids that they can trust you."

Richarlyson leans into Cell's touch, still frowning. "Okay, but how?"

Cell shrugs and yanks his hand away. "Hell if I know."

"You trust Mister Roier."

"He's- he's. Roier." Cell's heart twists fondly in his chest. "I don't even know how he did it."

"Oh," says Richarlyson. He smiles, then. "That's nice. You two really are partners, aren't you?"

Cell scoffs, "Of course we are."

"So that's why he's been staring at you for the past, like, five minutes."

"What?"

Cell blinks a few times, scrunches his eyebrows together.

Indeed, Roier is looking at him now. He's looking right at him, eyes glittering in the sun, smile so wide that his jaw has to be aching.

How did Cell not notice? Was he really so caught up with Richarlyson's kid drama? Ugh, he's getting weak. He needs to kill someone.

Roier waves a hand and shouts, "Gatinho!"

Cell raises his own hand in response. "Guapito."

"Come here! Bring our son with you!"

Richarlyson squirms happily at that.

"See?" he crows. "I am your son."

"Yeah, no," Cell huffs.

He stands, anyway, and he brushes the grass off of his pants.

He doesn't rush down the hill, not like Richarlyson does. He might run a little, and his heart might skip a beat as he gets closer, and his face might be fighting a smile, but he doesn't rush.

At all.

Roier meets him at the bottom of the hill with a hug so tight that Cell's lungs threaten to collapse inside of him.

"I missed you," Roier murmurs. "Don't leave me again."

Cell can't help it. He hugs Roier back just as tightly and grumbles, "Says the one ditching me to play house with some strangers. What do you mean, 'don't leave me again'?"

Roier gasps, and it sounds like he's going to cry for just a second.

But then he starts laughing, hard and loud.

"You're jealous!" he declares.

Cell feels himself flush red.

"No," he says, pushing himself out of Roier's grip and turning around entirely to face away from him. "I'm not."

But Roier just hugs him from behind, chin tucking itself right into the crook of Cell's neck.

"Thank you for watching me," he hums.

Cell grunts. For some reason, he can never speak properly around Roier. It's like his brain just shuts down, it's embarrassing.

He doesn't like being held from behind, though, so he grabs Roier's hands and turns back around. Roier, for whatever reason, twirls in Cell's loose hold like a ballerina.

"Wow," Richarlyson comments from somewhere out of sight and out of mind.

"Ew," Bobby agrees, equally ignorable.

Roier would look so good covered in blood right now, Cell thinks. Red is his color. Cell doesn't have a favorite color, but the closest thing he can think of would be the shade of red Roier's face always is when Cell is killing someone.

Leaning in close, Cell murmurs, "Screw the kids. I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

Roier's eyes light up. "Brazilian?"

Cell ponders. And then he shakes his head. "Not worth the trouble. I'm thinking... Mexican?"

His voice pitches up slightly, questioning.

"Mmm, Quackity, Mariana, or Missa's place?" Roier asks.

For whatever reason, Cell thinks back to a week ago when Quackity and Mariana and Slime had tried stealing Richarlyson away from him... and the others. Missa behaved, he's safe (today.)

Cell's arms find themselves draping over Roier's shoulders loosely. Their heads lean closer together until their foreheads are pressed against each other.

Roier's eyelashes are long and beautiful. He doesn't really use mascara, so it's all natural. He flutters them delicately as Cell thinks.

"Quackity," Cell eventually decides. He smiles crookedly. "Fast food."

Roier's canines aren't as sharp as Cell's are, but he's still borderline vampiric. Wow.

Cell doesn't feel ready to kiss Roier yet- he's still working on speaking around him. But he still considers it as Roier looks up at him through his eyelashes.

One day, he thinks. What did Bad always say, "save it 'til marriage"? Cell can do that. He just needs to figure the rings out first.

"As you wish," Roier breathes.

The kids both groan and wander off to do their own thing elsewhere, but Cell couldn't care less. They aren't his, no matter what Roier says.

And they never will be.

[momo-t-daye]

...okay, so I suppose Christmas in 1995 was on a Monday and if the winter break is generally two weeks long and starts on the weekend before Christmas, then maybe the first Occlumency lesson (on a Monday evening) was on the 8th of January and Severus Snape was not yet 36 years old, but, ah, time is wobbly etc.

Has Severus taken the role of "Godmother" faster than Harry has managed to adapt to Sirius' revelation/declaration? Maybe, yes, probably. Does Voldy demand student drama and gossip from Severus? Yes.

Part Two

[whipbogard]

TwoBruce No Cape AU

The one where Bruce Wayne has never known Harvey Dent all his life and there's no Batman in Gotham.

A/N: so so SO ever since Two-Face discovered that Bruce is Batman in Detective Comics, ngl my brain has been on TwoBruce overdrive mode. I also have this fic WIP from ages ago where 2F tried to woo beloved billionaire Bruce Wayne without realizing that he's Batman and Harvey is just "uhh bro... you know what? nvm". So I thought what the heck lets just combine it with my other twobruce brainrots.

This au was supposed to be very self-indulgently nsfw thing--an elaboration of this art--but it has spiraled into a hugeass verse of its own since then so...

[bankholdup]

saw this post about how eddie had a rough childhood and might have trouble accepting love and a relationship. i was also thinking about a past relationship i was in and how much you can break your own heart wanting and pining over things that someone else could never give, so here have some angst.

Part Two | Part Three | read it on ao3

Part One:

Steve is a hopeless romantic, he knows this- has always known this. That's why he serial dates women, hoping to find someone that lights that fire within him, makes him feel whole and wanted and alive.

Maybe he's going out with the wrong girls. Maybe he's not asking the right questions. He never really figures out why it doesn't work out with any of them.

Something about Eddie Munson- yes, Eddie Munson- pulls Steve in. He feels like an enigma, like he knows everything about him and nothing at the same time. Wants to know everything about him, wants to spend every minute he can with him. Eddie is witty, he's funny, he's passionate. He's touchy and clingy in the best way, satiating some touch-starved craving that Steve didn't even realize he had until Eddie became a fixture in his friend group and life.

He gets that tight chest, butterfly, kind of anxious feeling around Eddie and now Steve knows, knows with every fiber of his being that he wants Eddie to be his boyfriend. He doesn't want to use the old Harrington charm, he just wants Eddie to want him as himself.

Steve starts first by being doting. It's Eddie’s birthday and they're all hanging out at Steve's place to celebrate. He sits Eddie down in the most comfortable chair in the living room with everyone, doesn't even let him get up, bring him beer and food and cake and his presents. He wants to show Eddie that he loves him and wants to take care of him. He continues it over the next few weeks, buying Eddie's favorite candy to sneak into the theater, bringing by his gas station order before hanging out or when he knows he'll run into him.

As time passes, Steve feels sick with how much he wants Eddie. He thinks about Eddie cuddling him in his bed, holding his hand, putting his arm around his waist- just being with him and loving him with all his heart. He wants Eddie to love like him back so much it makes his stomach hurt. So when he finally gets the courage to ask Eddie out, and Eddie rejects him. Saying something about how Steve and him wouldn't work out, and that Eddie isn't into dating. Steve's stomach falls straight through the ground as he tries to recover from the devastation.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@hpsaffics feb 10 - voyeurism/exhibitionism - 3.2k words (apologies hjfkjds) - NSFW

for ino @veryinnovative <3

There’s a sigh from behind Dorcas and then a body draping over her back where she’s in the pleasantly hot and salty smelling water all the way down to her shoulders.

A smile tugs at her lips and she reaches behind through the water for the backs of Pandora’s knees as the other tangles her arms above Dorcas’ chest.

Another heavy sigh, put upon and bordering on melodramatic—god, she really is so cute. Dorcas is gonna have to put her in timeout. Or maybe herself, for everyone’s collective safety. 

She keeps wading them through the water, following Regulus’ black head of curls, and then it’s a noise, a chilly nose nuzzling at the crook of Dorcas’ neck from behind and she can’t help but snicker, “Something wrong, mon cheri?”

Pandora sighs, like she’s faced with a pile of her least favourite work instead of the relaxing thermal bath they’re currently in.

“C’mon, sweets,” Dorcas gently scratches her short nails against Pandora’s bare knee, “Talk to me.”

Pandora mumbles something unintelligible into the hinge of her jaw and Dorcas dips lower into the water to mask the shiver that goes through her whole body.

“Couldn’t quite hear you there.”

Pandora harrumphs, legs tightening in the old around Dorcas’ hips. “Just– dunno,” she deflates slightly, cheek smushed against Dorcas’ shoulder, “Can’t seem to get out of my mood.”

Dorcas hums knowingly, drawing soothing circles on top of her thighs where she’s still holding onto her. Pandora and Evan had been arguing the whole car ride, she told Dorcas she’d slept awfully and when she dropped an open tupperware of fruit as they were packing Pandora nearly started crying. 

“Here,” Dorcas says, turning in the loose embrace and tugging the other girl around to her front, “C’mere, babe.”

Further up front it seems Barty has found a seating ledge under the water which he’s currently taking up as much space on as physically possible while Evan tugs Regulus closer, hooking a chin around his shoulder and watching Barty’s shenanigans with a smirk and glare respectively.

Once Pandora is settled in front of her, legs hooked around her hips and an adorably pitiful pout on her face, Dorcas can’t help but coo at her a little. Wide honey eyes, flecks of gold and her bleached curls sopping wet at the ends where they’re already dunked in the water. The sweetest rosy lips, the small, dark mole under the right corner of her mouth. Dorcas lifts a hand to hold her still by the chin and places a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

Pandora’s eyelids flutter a bit, the crease between her eyebrows mellowing and Drocas grins, feeling warmer from the inside out, which shouldn’t be quite possible given the bath temperature but never underestimate the charm of a Rosier, she guesses.

The Rosiers got that distinct air around them, too, that no matter the size of your balls makes you start to squirm after only so many minutes of them simply staring at you. Mustering, eyeing, scrutinising, assessing and Dorcas tries to ignore it now on Pandora as she manoeuvres them to one of the underwater pressure nozzles built on the side of the pool wall.

“How’s that feel?” Dorcas mumbles as she positions them in line of the nozzle, directed at Pandora’s back.

Her mouth falls open a little and then her eyes roll back with a groan, legs tightening around Dorcas once more and she has to swallow. Their breasts bump and there’s glitter on the white triangles covering Pandora’s but Dorcas can still see her pert nipples whenever they come up above the surface. Honestly, it’s highly distracting.

“This is better than sex,” Pandora announces, eyes closed in bliss right in front of Dorcas’ face.

A tug in Dorcas’ gut but her mouth tips into a grin, “Then you probably haven’t had any good sex lately.”

“You know I haven’t,” she whines, leaning back and it does something to Dorkas again. Yep, timeout should definitely be something to seriously be considered as of now.

Pandora tips her head back down and fixes Dorcas with a considering glance, lips contorted like it happens when she’s thinking. 

Uh oh.

“Cass,” and it’s unbearably sweet.

“Yeah?”

Pandora’s expression mellows and slips so fast into an amused grin Dorcas feels like experiencing whiplash. Her whole face lights up, pink colour returning to her tan skin and teeth shown in a brilliant smile, a gap between the two front incisors. And then she’s leaning in, giggling and whispering like she’s telling a secret, “The nozzle is blasting away my panties.”

Dorcas blinks and then her hands quickly abandon where she was kneading the muscle of Pandora’s thighs to scramble for the fabric of her swimming underwear. It is indeed all the way down at the crease of her thighs and Dorcas quickly tangles her fingers in to yank it back up as she side-steps the nozzle.

Pandora is laughing like it’s the most amusing thing in the world and Dorcas slips her tongue into the side of one cheek, glaring at her friend as she shakes in Dorcas’ hold.

They stay like this for a few moments, everything around them blurring to an unimportant background muffle as Pandora giggles sweetly into Dorcas’ neck and Dorcas tries not to bite into the elegant rounding of her shoulder or the jut of her collarbones. She’s wearing a small golden chain with a star pendant and a little purple amethyst. Dorcas’ birthstone.

Once she’s calmed down, Pandora pulls back but not far, grinning a little lopsided as she looks at Dorcas.

Dorcas wants to kiss her.

A bleached eyebrow raises pointedly, a predator playing, “You can take your hands off my ass now if you want.”

As if on reflex, Dorcas’ fingers tighten and she barely represses a noise when she, indeed, feels the meat of Pandora’s ass in them. Her heart skips a beat in her chest and then picks back up a little too strongly, “What if I don’t want to?”

Pandora hums, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, “Then don’t.”

Dorcas nods, lips tugging into a smirk and she leans in to place a kiss against Pandora’s cheek, to murmur in her ear, “Feel any better now?”

Pandora nods, her curls tickling Dorcas’ nose. “Still tense though.” Fingers slipping up between the roots of her braids.

“Think I can help with that?”

Another nod, a hum that’s more of a little moan and Dorcas tugs Pandora forward against her, delighting in the gasp she elicits.

Her mouth pulls into a grin, “Legs down, sweets.”

Pandora makes a noise in protest but she lets herself be handled when it’s clear Dorcas is pulling her over one of her thighs in the water.

She throws a look over the back of her shoulder to confirm that the others are still mostly outside of ear shot and otherwise occupied.

When she turns back Pandora is gazing up at her through her lashes with a slack mouth and Dorcas makes a noise in appreciation before she grabs her by the hips and starts a slow rhythm against her bare thigh.

It takes a moment to figure it out, what with the water slowing their movements but Dorcas knows it works when Pandora makes a little noise that sounds equally surprised as it does needy. One of her hands comes down to clutch at her waist, fingers slipping under the belly beads Dorcas is perpetually wearing and Dorcas can’t help but tug a little rougher on the next shift of hips.

“Kiss me?” Pandora whimpers, their noses only a hair width apart but Dorcas tips her head to the side and out of reach.

“We’re gonna get found out, love,” and Pandora’s eyebrows furrow again, a small, pathetic noise slipping out of her. “I know, baby, I know.” Dorcas coos, agitated, and throws another look over her shoulder. 

It’s still relatively empty, the boys busy with themselves and only another middle-aged woman farther back.

Well, fuck public decency. Dorcas turns and immediately captures Pandora in a kiss, a wet slide of lips that has Pandora’s hips stuttering and a whimpering like she’s getting it so good. Dorcas’ blood is thrumming with it.

It’s not like they haven’t done this before. Fumbling, inexperienced hands and shy giggles in Dorcas’ dorm once they’d both figured out they were onto women but it’s different now that they’re older. Adult, more sure of themselves, have dated and loved and tried themselves with others.

Still, it’s like driving by your childhood home, that’s not your house anymore but the tree still stands in the same place in the backyard and you still know which room exactly used to be yours. Where the kitchen is, where you used to eat your meals and where you piled on the couch for your parents to take a photo with an old digital camera of you and your friends all dressed up on your birthday.

Dorcas sucks the plush meat of Pandora’s lower lip between her lips, palm digging in right above her tailbone and a heel hooks around her ankle as Pandora shudders through her arousal, fingers clenching on Dorcas’ hip.

The fabric of her panties keeps dragging against Drocas’ skin and it’s dizzying, her hands moving on their own as they go to grab at Pandora’s ass again. 

She slumps forward, forehead against her collarbones and moaning when Dorcas pushes her down more vigorously.

“Shh,” Dorcas makes, grinning and fucking high off bringing her best girl friend off, “Gotta stay quiet for me, angel.”

Another pitiful noise and Dorcas angles her face up again to steal another kiss, licking into Pandora’s mouth when it pliantly parts for her.

“Cass,” an audible swallow, “Cassy.”

Dorcas sucks in a breath when Pandora starts palming at the swell of her breast, “Hm?”

“’s not enough,” her shoulders draw up helplessly as she grinds down deliriously. “Need mgh—”

“More?” and Pandora nods her head furiously, kissing at Dorcas’ neck, hot and open mouthed. “Want my fingers, bébé?”

“Ah– oui. Please, please.”

Dorcas detaches her gently, hands cupping her cheeks for another slow kiss before she turns Pandora in her arms and leans her against the edge of the pool.

“Keep breathing for me, love.”

Pandora tzks, throws an eye roll over her shoulder as she wiggles her hips underwater, “I know how to breathe.”

Dorcas’ grin stretches so wide her cheeks stain from it, “Try telling me again once I have you on the edge of your orgasm, yeah?”

Pandora’s mouth drops open, slightly affronted, but then closes it quickly as he lets out a whine through clenched teeth when Dorcas slides her panties to the side without preamble.

It’s easy enough to slip the tip of her finger through where Pandora is slick, satiny heat, heaven on earth and they let out a mutual, soft groan when she sheathes it in all the way to the last knuckle. Twisting, turning and then pumping in and out at a pace that makes Pandora’s grip turn white knuckled.

“More,” she gasps after a few moments, toes curling into Dorcas’ calf.

Dorcas hums, places a sweet kiss on the jut of her shoulder blade, “Where are your manners, Dora? Patience is a virtue.”

“Cassy,” the tone of her voice like sharp claws swiping out for Dorcas’ aorta. A frustrated whine, “Need you.”

Dorcas’ grin widens and she lets her teeth graze against her neck, watching her shiver, “Ask nicely?”

A noise that says fuck you, then relenting, “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?”

Her head sinks between her drawn shoulders, the straps of her white bikini top stretched taut, “Please, give me another finger, putain.”

“See?” Dorcas teases, prodding at her wet entrance with the tip of her ring finger, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Pandora moans into the crook of her own arm, “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

“Mm, because you were basically begging for me to fuck you?”

“Cass.”

“Because you were in a foul mood and I’m such a good friend I’ll go to any lengths to make you feel better—even though you’re being a difficult little brat,” Dorcas snakes her second hand under the garment, circling Pandora’s clit, immediately making her stutter on her inhale.

Pandora grits her teeth, throwing a glare over her shoulder that’s ruined by her swollen mouth and the blush tinting her cheeks, “Since when have you become someone to put people in their place during sex.”

Dorcas grins and leans in, letting their lips brush, “Since you’ve become more confident and quick to open your smart mouth and talk back.”

The helpless moan tumbling out of Pandora gets swallowed by Dorcas’ hungry mouth. Their teeth click with the angle, lips catching on each other and once Dorcas properly rubs over that small bundle of nerves Pandora starts erratically jerking her hips, fucking herself back on Dorcas’ fingers but also grinding into the stimulation.

There’s a loud bark of laughter from behind and Dorcas’ head spins around to watch Barty try and entangle himself with Evan. Regulus is half in their menacing clutches as well, looking entirely unamused but Dorcas knows it’s a harmless farce from the lack of crease between his brows.

They make eye contact for a second and then Regulus’ head snaps back around to her again, mouth falling open a bit and Dorcas’ ministrations falter for a second.

Pandora makes a displeased noise and Dorcas would literally rather drown herself right now than stop so she places a placating kiss to the side of Pandora’s neck before she turns again, giving Regulus a pleading look.

Regulus cocks his head a little, eyes narrowing in a way that say Really? and maybe if Dorcas wasn’t two fingers deep in their girl friend’s delightfully slick pussy she’d stick out her tongue at him. Like this, she simply matches him, daring him to say anything that would steer attention towards and interrupt them.

And because Regulus is a good friend, he turns with an eye roll and makes an effort to sidle up closer to Barty and Evan to keep their attention focused away from what ungodly things the latter’s twin sister is subjected to at the other end of the pool.

“Fuck,” Pandora mutters, throwing her head back against Dorcas’ shoulder, back arched beautifully, hiccuping a breath when Dorcas rolls her clit between thumb and index.

Dorcas’ sucks on the soft skin of Pandora’s neck in response, “How’s your breathing, doll?”

“Fuck you,” she gasps out and Dorcas chuckles against the hot skin, “Don’t fucking stop.”

Dorcas grunts, wrist aching but she wouldn’t dream it, “Promise, sweets. Just be as pretty and good for me as you always are.”

Pandora moans, high pitched, “Good for you?”

“So good,” Dorcas groans, the pulse between her own legs throbbing, “Love having you with me all the time. Smartest girl, prettiest thing to look at.”

Pandora nods—so good for her—and then presses out a strangled, “Love you.”

Dorcas nods, too, braids slipping over her shoulder. “I know,” because she does know. They all love each other unconditionally, irrevocably, unquestionably and they all know it.

The sweetest guttural noise evades Pandora, a distinct edge to the sound that makes Dorcas’ hair stand on end, vibrating with how bad she wants her. “Gonna cum for me, sweets?”

“Yeah,” Pandora whimpers, breath coming in short little bursts, working up to her orgasm as Dorcas keeps the stimulation up, mouthing at the tendons of her neck besides the stupid white bikini halter string.

Her noises increase in pitch, body tensing between Dorcas’ arms and cunt tightening around her fingers and because when Dorcas wants something she goes all in she presses her mouth up against the shell of Pandora’s ear, “Just for me, huh? All for me, sweets, c’mon. Be good and cum for me.”

“Cass,” Pandora chides, moans, and then she’s falling apart. Trembling and shaking, panting and whimpering as she convulses around Dorcas’ fingers in lapping waves of blinding hot pleasure.

Dorcas tips her head forward and watches greedily as Pandora’s lips drop open in a silent cry, brows furrowed, the water lapping between her cleavage and looking like a god damn piece of art. She slows her fingers, keeps the two inside unmoving, pressed deep inside and strokes against her clit gentler as Pandora comes crashing back down gradually.

She slumps back against Dorcas with an exhausted moan, voice raspy and panting shallowly. Slowly coming to again, eyelids fluttering and blowing out an errant curl that’s fallen into her face.

It makes Dorcas’ lips slip into a satisfied grin and she presses a lingering kiss against the other’s flushed cheek, trailing a flutter of closed lips down her jaw and neck as she carefully removes her fingers and slides the swimwear panties back into place.

Pandora makes a little mournful noise but she tips her head to the side in welcome, sighing sweetly when Dorcas’ arms come together in front of her stomach.

The second Dorcas detaches her lips Pandora turns in the embrace and slinks her own palms up Dorcas’ stomach and around, fingers tracing the knobs of spine as she eagerly chases Drocas’ mouth for more.

They stay like this for a few moments, a couple minutes maybe, where they just let their bodies do what they do best—be close with each other and do what feels good. It feels familiar and a little oddly so, like they’re practised in it, almost, like it’s something they do on a daily. But Dorcas basks in it, in the way Pandora’s tongue nudging against hers with the perfect amount of pressure just feels right.

When they draw back Pandora looks less flushed but her cheeks are rosy all the same and her mouth ridiculously swollen, looking downright edible where she licks at the little spit Dorcas left there, whiskey eyes drunk but not hazy and fond where they look right back at her.

“So?” Dorcas asks, stealing another kiss.

Pandora rolls her eyes with a grin, “‘So’ what?”

“Nozzle or sex?” Dorcas smiles toothily.

Pandora’s face slips into a put upon frown, “Now don’t let this get to your head.”

“Oh,” Dorcas makes, waving a hand, “That’s already too late, I’m afraid to say, mon cheri.”

“Incorrigible.”

Dorcas hums, smiling against Pandora’s lips when she tips her chin back up for another kiss.

“Well, well, well,” Barty’s voice comes leering from right behind Dorcas and she sighs. Every era of peace must come to an end, she supposes. “What do we have over here, huh? The two beauties all entangled in each other?”

Regulus is hanging off of his back and watching with a self-satisfied expression, like Dorcas owes him now that he successfully distracted his fucking boyfriends for a continues five minutes so she could take care of Pandora in her time of need.

“Keep your tongue out of my sister’s mouth where I can see it, hm, Meadows?” Evan drawls, sidling up next to Barty.

Dorcas looks back over in time to see Pandora scrunching her nose at Evan childishly and then immediately licking a flat stripe up the side of Dorcas’ face. 

A muscle in Evan’s jaw ticks and then Pandora’s fingers are digging into the hinge of Dorcas’, making her open her mouth and shamelessly licking inside, making a whole show of doing exactly what her brother asked her not to do.

God, Dorcas is gonna put a fucking ring on her.

[spookythesillyfella]

this is how colin sleeps at night . Each and Every Night.

[happyk44]

When Annabeth becomes pregnant at twenty-three, everyone is excited. Percy, most of all. They get married in a small shotgun ceremony inside the safe haven of New Rome, mortal and godly parents in attendance, friends shedding tears of joy.

She gives birth a month early to a screaming, underweight bundle of joy. Everyone adores their son. He has fuzzy hints of black hair and wide curious gray eyes. He doesn't cry much after his birth, is abnormally quiet, observing everyone who holds him like he sees something more beneath the surface.

His quiet demeanour reminds Hazel a lot of Nico. When she mentions this in passing, Annabeth laughs quietly and squeezes baby Oliver's chubby fist. "He does, doesn't he?"

Her words sound unbelievably fond. The tone doesn't shock Hazel - she knows that the three of them have gotten close recently - but it seems... odd. Misplaced in its meaning.

She finishes off her final protective ward on Oliver's crib. "Has he met him yet?"

Annabeth hums. "He was here this morning."

She doesn't say anything more, and before Hazel can ask, she effortlessly glides the conversation to Hazel's training as a witch. Hazel takes the hint and lets the conversation change without any complaint.

-

Grover counts himself lucky in many regards. He's got a wonderful wife. He's Lord of the Wild. He hasn't been eaten alive by any monsters yet. All but one of the kids he's brought to camp are living successful happy lives.

And he knows the truth about Oliver.

They never talk about it - the circumstances that brought him into the world. It was just a few hints here and there in conversation, before he cuts the cord and just asks.

"Nico is Oliver's biological father, isn't he?".

Percy doesn’t even hesitate. "Yeah."

Grover watches from the kitchen, Percy at his side, as Nico emerges from what everyone thinks is the guest room, but Grover is confident is actually Nico's room. Oliver sits on his hip. The one year old is bundled up from head to toe. Nico himself has a matching beanie - bright blue with a warped crochet design of a yellow fish. He waves Oliver's little hand their way before disappearing into the shadows.

The two of them come back a couple hours later with In-and-Out takeout bags. Oliver is chewing on a lone french fry. He falls into Percy's arms with ease. Nico smiles kindly at Grover and comes to sit at Percy's side on the couch. Their thighs press together.

Grover doesn't ask about it.

They're happy. He can tell just by looking at them. Whatever thing is happening between the three of them, they're okay.

That's all that matters.

-

Piper loves Annabeth, she does. But she also believes in integrity. Oliver is three years old and the shadows tremble when he's annoyed. The air goes cold and frigid when he's upset. He doesn't talk very loud, but he's perceptive.

It's one hour into Piper's babysitting time when Oliver tells her that her grandfather says hello and she pieces it together. Oliver doesn't understand what he's done, the secret he's just revealed. She asks him to get her grandfather to tell him a story, just like he used to tell her. Oliver reaches out with one hand, and Piper's world turns upside down.

Annabeth and Percy come home two hours later, laughing and carrying a goodie bag from the restaurant. Grandpa Tom left half an hour ago, right when Oliver murmured a sleepy, "I'm tired", and let go of his hand. Piper doesn't know if he's still around, watching her. But it's the idea that he is, that keeps her brave.

When Percy disappears down the hall to check in on his sleeping son, Piper corners Annabeth in the kitchen.

"Are you cheating on Percy?" she whispers.

Annabeth blinks at her, startled. "What?"

"Are you cheating on Percy?" Piper whispers again, trying not to hide the urgency in her voice.

Annabeth is cool as she puts the leftovers in the fridge. "Why do you think I'm cheating on Percy?"

The question is easily answered, yes or no, and Annabeth's side-stepping is obvious and painful to Piper's heart. She changes gears. "Is Nico Oliver's dad?"

Annabeth pauses. It feels like hours. Then she closes the fridge door and crosses her arms over her chest. "People can have more than one dad, Piper."

Piper scowls and gets in close. "Does Percy know?"

Warm hands plant on both her shoulders. "He knows," Annabeth says, her voice soft. "And I'm not cheating on him."

Piper can't tell if Annabeth is lying. She wants to say more, ask more, but Percy's footsteps are loudly closing in. She takes a few steps back just as Percy rounds into the kitchen and slips an arm over Annabeth's shoulders. The image is sickly sweet. The two of them gaze happily at each other. They're so painfully in love.

Piper's stomach clenches.

The three of them stay up an extra hour. Percy is oblivious to the tension ruminating off of Piper. Annabeth seems fine though. It only stresses her out more. When she finally turns in, she doesn't know how to feel. She pauses just inside the guest room, the door pinched open. She can hear the two of them talking quietly in the hall. Oliver's bedroom door squeaks open.

Another voice, one Piper hasn't heard in a couple months, teases Percy from nearby. Percy protests his protective habits. Piper peeks through the gap. Nico is leaning against the wall. He's smiling widely in Annabeth's direction. Percy is oblivious, sneaking into Oliver's room. Annabeth takes Nico's hand. He pulls her close.

Piper relaxes for a minute. Maybe she doesn't have to say anything, maybe Percy will catch them before they can drift apart.

Or maybe he'll walk out of Oliver's room, shove Annabeth away and dive into Nico's mouth greedy, like he's starved for breath and Nico's mouth is oxygen. Maybe he'll tangle his hands into Nico's hair and push him into the wall with a low growl.

They don't separate, not really. Instead Percy drags Nico towards his - their - bedroom, Annabeth laughing as she follows.

The door clicks shut behind them. Piper takes a step back before pulling her own door closed. In the morning, Nico is gone and Percy is making pancakes. When Oliver asks for pomegranate juice, Piper passes it to him from the fridge and says nothing.

-

Leo doesn't know where this new baby came from. Annabeth wasn't pregnant the last time he saw her, but there's definitely a newborn asleep in the corner of their combined workshop. Annabeth doesn't even let him ask about the kid, just throws revised plans for their latest project in his direction before answering her screaming phone.

Oliver is there next to the baby, rocking her back and forth in her carrier. A picture book sits on his knee. He blinks up at Leo as he approaches. Leo likes Oliver. He's quiet and isn't afraid to use a hammer. The baby girl has small curls of black hair. She is bundled up in a fish-printed blanket.

"Who's this, big man?" Leo asks, squatting down to get a closer look.

The four year old stares at him. Then, "Ariel. She's my sister." He pauses, before adding, "She's really loud."

"When did your mom get a baby?"

Oliver stares some more before answering. "My uncle made her yesterday."

Leo doesn't know what to say to that.

-

Oliver and Ariel are joined a year later by a third and final child. While Ariel's origins are still speculated by anyone not in the know, it's clear from Annabeth's round belly where Eve was going to emerge from. She has thin wispy hair so blonde it blends into her skin. Her bright sea green eyes mimic her father's.

But Nico is her favourite. By now everyone knows not to bat an eye when instead of "Daddy" or "Mommy", her first word is "Papa". She reaches for him more than anyone else. As soon as she is old enough to crawl, her favourite place to wiggle towards is his lap.

Frank watches as she tries to pull herself to a stand. He runs a hand over the head of a nearby cat. It purrs loudly. Nearby Nico's hands are outstretched, ready to catch her if she falls.

Like Grover, he cuts the cord fast. "Is she yours too?"

Nico doesn't falter. "No."

Eve doesn't make it to a stand, but gets close enough before she falls face first into Nico's arms. He bundles her up to his chest and she squeals, reaching out with one hand to tug at his necklace.

He doesn't wear the camp beads anymore. Instead, it's a silver band looped through a golden chain. The band has three different jewels studded into it - a diamond, an aquamarine gem, and an onyx. What each jewel represents isn't a question. The fact that Percy and Annabeth wear the same silver band just above their wedding rings isn't much of a question either.

Frank takes Eve when offered and holds her close. Her green eyes look exactly like her father's, look exactly like her sister's. Her blonde hair is soft against each stroke of his fingers.

Nico comes back with drinks. Frank doesn't go for them when offered, content with where he is. Nico puts his can next to his foot, before lowering himself back to the ground. Frank watches him for a moment.

Then, "I thought you were gay."

Nico shrugs as he pops the top to his soda. "Annabeth's pretty," is all he says after a slow sip and Frank snorts.

He hands Eve back when Nico reaches for her. "Is that why Oliver was first?"

Nico's grin is wicked sharp, but happy in all its angles. "No," he says. "That's because I'm pretty."

-

Jason watches as Ariel and Eve team up to drown their older brother in the lake. In retaliation, he summons skeletons that ignore Ariel but grab at Eve. She screams, loud and unholy, as she’s tossed through the air and lands with a gigantic splash. Oliver pulls himself out of the water, shaking wet black hair out of his face. Ariel bats her eyes at him as he approaches, unafraid even as he picks her up and tosses her into the lake himself.

The two girls laugh as they surface, before swimming speedy laps around each other. With a short scowl, Oliver settles on the towel next to Jason. He does not enjoy swimming. Jason remembers the first summer after his birth.

They had tucked his feet into the water to splash and he’d screamed bloody murder. People joked about how Percy’s ocean powers clearly hadn’t made themselves known yet. But now it was pretty well known that Oliver didn’t have any ocean powers.

It had been pretty funny when Ariel came around. She took to the water like a fish and Oliver had panicked himself into a stressed out ball around the edges of the lake before he accidentally summoned a dozen ghosts to wrestle her from Percy’s arms and bring her back to the safety of dry land.

Percy hadn’t been allowed to hold Ariel for the rest of the day after that. If he tried, shadows would whip at him with Oliver’s frustration. He stayed tucked around his little sister while she cooed at the ghosts still protectively hovering nearby.

After that, everyone had pieced together what they had already started guessing at, if not outright knew.

The three of them never said how, or why, or even when, it had all come together for them, but they seemed happy nonetheless. And Jason was good with that. Nico deserved to be happy in whatever shape or form that came in. He didn't bat an eye whenever Nico kissed Annabeth's cheek before leaving with Jason. He didn't question it whenever the two of them came back and Percy clung onto him like needy barnacle.

Nico would flush a soft pink, and his smile was gentle, almost hidden sometimes. But he was happy, genuinely happy.

And that made Jason warm to see.

He pulls out the book Oliver had packed for their day out. Oliver puts on his glasses, thin round frames just like Uncle Jason’s, rolls over onto his stomach, and begins reading. In the lake, the girls are still splashing one another. A couple times they glance over at Oliver, like they’re thinking about pulling him into their game. But they know better than to bother their brother when he’s reading.

Oliver hums curiously and kicks his legs. Jason glances at him. “Good book?”

“Yes,” Oliver says.

He still speaks quietly and slow, each word a deliberate thought. It makes him the worst person to argue with. Ariel and Eve get loud and passionate - Ariel like Annabeth, cutting sharp like a knife, each spit of her words an uncontrolled punch; Eve like Percy, thunderous and vibrant, fast and off the cuff.

Watching the three of them fight a genuine fight is a masterclass in terror. The last time it’d happened - Eve blowing out Ariel’s candles on her sixth birthday and Ariel throwing a tantrum that exploded cake all over Oliver’s face - Jason had thought the whole city was going to be destroyed with every scream and thrown punch.

It had taken nearly half an hour to separate them. Oliver remained furious, refusing to cry even as Jason helped him wash the cake out of his hair, and stubbornly avoiding everyone for the rest of the day. Eve, like her mother, refused to admit she was wrong, steadfast in her determination not to apologize (although she caved fast when Nico came back with Ariel). Ariel got over it fast, she always did, which Jason found hilarious considering how emotional each of her fathers’ were. But her eyes remained red rimmed and she would tear up each time she caught sight of her siblings’ bruises.

She hit the hardest. Always did.

But when they fought together? In defense of one another? Amazing to see. It reminded Jason of the wolves, of the Cohort - working in tandem with one another, flying seamlessly off one another. A well oiled machine, each cog fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle. Oliver was the leader, in charge of each attack, Eve assisting in his command, and Ariel the powerhouse ready to take aim.

It’s clear where they picked it from.

-

The kids are half-asleep in a pile on the floor as Nico crawls across the couch cushions and into Annabeth’s lap. He dangles mistletoe above her head. She laughs and rises up for a kiss. In the chair nearby, Percy watches with half a grin across his face.

“That’s gross,” Eve mutters tiredly.

“Go back to sleep,” Nico calls back before kissing Annabeth again.

Ariel makes a gagging noise. Oliver swats at her before he slips out of their pile to rise slow to his feet. His glasses are lopsided on his face, but he doesn’t fix them. Instead he leans down to pull both girls to their feet. Eve yawns as she ducks her face into his shoulder. He slides one arm across each of their shoulders before tucking them in close and dragging them off to bed.

Percy pushes off the chair and flops against Nico’s back. Annabeth groans under the added weight.

“Seaweed Brain,” she grumbles. “Get your fat ass off my boyfriend.”

“Fat?” Percy huffs. He leans in harder. Nico laughs while Annabeth groans louder. “Woman, I am toned.”

“You have a dad bod,” Nico says. He tilts his head back and Percy accepts a kiss.

“You’re just jealous because you can’t put any weight on your bones.”

Nico rolls his eyes. Percy squeezes his hips and pulls away. Annabeth breathes easy, and then easier when Nico pulls himself from her lap. Percy turns off the TV as Annabeth rises groggily to her feet. Nico tucks her under his arm, and the two waddle off to bed.

Percy crawls in soon after.

In the morning, Eve will ask for pancakes, which Percy will make while she helps. Ariel will braid Nico’s hair in the bathroom and he will braid hers. Oliver will argue with Annabeth about the philosophy of Plato.

In the evening, the kids will ask the question that no one else has ever been brave enough to ask. And without falter, their parents will answer.

It was never a secret to begin with.

[luxeberries]

now on ao3

One day, in mid August of ‘85, Dustin shows up at Steve’s front door, completely unannounced. It’s the middle of the night and Steve has half the mind to reprimand Dustin about curfew and biking alone in the dark. But when his vision finally focuses on Dustin’s expression, Steve sees panic in his eyes; fear. At first, his heart plummets and he thinks not again, not so soon. But then Dustin says-

“I killed that guy. Didn’t I?”

And every other thought in Steve’s mind crumbles like ash. 

“The Russian,” Dustin clarifies in Steve’s silence. “The doctor.” 

Steve remembers. 

Bald, round glasses. 

Stale coffee breath. 

Pliers pulling his nail. 

He can’t speak, throat closing up. 

Dustin keeps talking, rambling like Robin does when she’s panicked. “They used those cattle prods to stun demogorgons, Steve. Do you have any idea how many volts that thing held? He- He fell, like-”

“Dustin,” Steve says - rasps it out because his throat is dry but he needs to stop Dustin’s spiral. 

Rendered silent, Dustin looks up at Steve with wide, glistening eyes. He’s expecting an answer, but Steve doesn’t have one. He can’t think beyond the sight of Dustin standing before him in a matching pajama set and untied shoes, like he didn’t have the time or mind to fasten them up because he was in too much of a rush to come here. To seek out Steve, in the middle of the night. Steve, who should be able to help because that’s his job; he’s the protector, the older brother Dustin can come to for comfort. 

Except that Steve was woken with a start just five minutes ago when Dustin started pounding on his front door and he thought it was the Russians coming back for him, his mind still half lost to the nightmare he was having; all blood and bone saws and Robin’s screams. Part of him is itching to call her, like maybe she somehow died back there and Steve has been imagining her this whole time and he just needs to hear her mom answer the phone and say, ‘Yeah, she’s right here, honey’. 

But he remembers Dustin charging in, remembers watching him strike the doctor right in the chest and how he fell to the ground, limp, and didn’t get back up. Knows that everyone is safe, no matter what his brain tries to tell him. Robin and Erica are sleeping in their beds, and Dustin is standing on his front door step, bike discarded on the ground next to the Bimmer. 

Steve takes a deep breath and says, “Get in here.” 

He ushers Dustin in with a hand on the back of his neck, locking the door behind them, and heads to the living room. Dustin just keeps looking at him, like Steve has all the answers. Like Steve can make it all better. Can say the voltage wouldn’t have killed him, as if the possibility that he’s still out there wouldn’t send himself into a panic attack. 

“Steve,” Dustin says, and it sounds like a plea; the way his voice lisps, wet and small. 

He’s only thirteen.

“I killed a person,” Dustin says. 

And Steve gets it, sort of. It doesn’t matter that the person Dustin killed was evil and cruel, just like it didn’t matter that Billy Hargrove was about to kill Lucas when Steve stepped in between them. He still didn’t want to hurt someone. Each punch felt like too much, like if he punched any harder, he’d do some serious damage. And Billy would have deserved it - as horrible as it feels to think that after his sacrifice - but Steve didn’t want to be the one to do it. That’s not who he is. He’s a protector, not a fighter. Not a killer. That breaks something in a person, as is made clear by the crack in Dustin’s voice. It took something from him. The little bit of innocence Dustin had left. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet and almost apologetic. “You did.” 

Dustin’s face falls, as if he really did want Steve to say otherwise. But avoiding the truth won’t help anything. 

“But- But you saved me, okay?” he says, like he’s asking if that truth is enough.

Dustin’s eyes flash with something Steve can’t identify. 

“Me and Robin,” Steve continues. “You saved us. If you hadn’t done what you did- What you had to do…”

His nightmares have answered that hypothetical too well. 

He shakes it off, puts his hand on Dustin’s shoulder instead.

“You saved us. You did good, Dustin. Okay? That’s what’s important here.” 

Dustin's face crumples and before Steve can blink, he’s got an armful of the kid. He’s still bruised, ribs only just recovering from the break, and it hurts. But he wraps Dustin up in his arms and lets him cry into his shoulder, wetting the thin fabric through. 

"Hey, it's okay," Steve soothes, voice low. "You're okay. I've got you, buddy."

He’s not coddling him or trying to get him to stop crying- he just talks so Dustin knows he’s there. Tells him how grateful he is for Dustin taking care of him and Robin when they were messed up, for being so brave when he busted into that room. He talks until Dustin is quiet against him, left with his arms wrapped around Steve’s waist and his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t move for a while, but Steve doesn’t mind - just rubs his back and rests his cheek against his curls. 

“Your mom know you’re here?” he asks softly. 

Dustin shakes his head. 

“You wanna stay here tonight?” 

Dustin nods. 

Steve checks his watch over Dustin’s shoulder. It’s almost midnight. He sighs. 

“Remind me to send her flowers or something as an apology for waking her up right now,” Steve says, light-hearted, trying to make Dustin laugh.

But Dustin just sniffles, guilty. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no. It’s fine. Take your shoes off and head on upstairs, yeah? I’ll call your mom and tell her you’re with me.” 

Dustin pulls back, wipes his wet nose with his sleeve and Steve tries not to cringe. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

It’s not entirely selfless, calling Dustin’s mom. If he calls Mrs Henderson, he can call Robin right after without Dustin knowing. He has a feeling she’ll be awake at this time too anyway. He thinks he might call the Sinclairs as well, wants to make sure Erica is okay. 

And as long as Dustin stays the night, Steve knows that at least he’s safe, spread out right beside him, taking up the whole bed. Can make sure Dustin sleeps through the night, can be there if he has a nightmare that his mom wouldn’t be able to calm him down from. 

Steve ruffles Dustin’s hair, smiling at how he pushes into it like a cat. “It’s no problem.”

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

❤️‍🔥 Smut Oneshots ❤️‍🔥 Chapter One: Hedge Maze

Rating: Explicit Word-Count: 3,300 words Prompt: “I want to taste you so badly.” Additional Tags: lovey dovey shit, pet names, drunk horny ian, public sex, they’re tucked away in a hedge maze but the risk is still there

Summary: It's Debbie's wedding day, and after all she did for theirs, Ian and Mickey are committed to making sure it goes off without a hitch. That includes waiting to fool around until they get back to the hotel - Ian's orders. But now the drinks are flowing and everyone's in a good mood and only one of them is remembering that plan. Mickey dips into the garden to give them some space. But when Ian gives him a playful look of invitation, how's he not supposed to follow him into the romantic hedge maze where anything can happen?

[ read it on archive of our own ]

[bi-focal12]

Idolish7 fanfic- Morning (1,210 words)

a friend showed me this clip of Idolish7 and i've been binging the show ever since

this is my contribution to the fandom lol

--

“Iorin,” Tamaki whined, slumping into the doorframe of their dorm bathroom, still dressed in his pajamas. “Where’s my toothbrush?”

Iori continued straightening his school tie in the mirror, sparing an irritated glance towards his team member. “I’m not your mother.”

Tamaki’s head slumped lower on the frame. “But Iorin, it’s not there.”

“Where else would it be?” Iori shot back, thankful that Tamaki’s closed eyes allowed him to stealthily tally up the toothbrushes scattered around the sink. 

Iori’s toothbrush was resting upright in the cup meant for toothbrushes, as was Sogo-san’s and Yamato-san’s. Nagi-san’s- an obnoxiously pink, wand-shaped thing- was beside the cup at least, and Mitsuki’s was balanced on the tiny line of counter ledge the same way he’d done since they were young, and Nanase-san’s was in the shower like a heathen. 

Tamaki’s toothbrush was not there. 

“King pudding,” Tamaki mumbled. 

Iori stomped on his foot and Tamaki jerked to attention with a cry. “Don’t you dare fall asleep!” Iori chastised. 

“But-”

“Either go find it or go buy a new one, but if you’re late getting back I will leave for school without you.”

Tamaki yawned. “I’ll just have a mint.”

Iori frowned. “That’s unsanitary.”

“Then I’ll ask the manager for one.”

“That’s rude.” Iori pushed past Tamaki to exit the bathroom. “She’s way too busy already to go running errands for you.”

Tamaki groaned, letting Iori’s small nudge of his shoulder turn into a slow-motion pantomime of being shoved to the ground. “I just won’t go to school then,” he said, curling up on the hallway’s dirty carpet. 

Iori huffed and stepped over Tamaki’s limp body to make his way towards the kitchen where Sogo-san, predictably, sat at the table nursing a warm cup of tea. 

The mug was halfway to his lips when he noticed Iori’s approach and he paused, smiling. “Oh, Iori-kun. Good mo-”

“Tamaki’s on the ground because he’s lazy and can’t find his toothbrush and won’t go buy a new one and if he tries to leave the house with me without cleaning his mouth I might kill him.”

Sogo-san hardly blinked while Iori explained the situation, and only after a long sip of tea that had Iori tapping his foot on the ground in impatience did he finally say, “You’re not really a morning person, are you, Iori-kun?”

Iori frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Sogo-san smiled gently. “You’re just normally a lot more…level-headed.”

“I’m being level-headed,” Iori huffed, “I went and got you, didn’t I?’

Sogo-san blinked. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

Iori, maturely, resisted the urge to groan aloud and walked (not stomped) to the fridge instead to pour himself a glass of orange juice. As he watched the glass fill with bright pulpy liquid, he mentally recited, it’s good for you, there are antioxidants, it helps your gut and when he felt marginally more relaxed he turned to Sogo-san. Calmly. 

“You manage him for Mezzo, don’t you?”

Sogo-san made a so-so gesture with his head, mouth twisting with uncertainty and what were probably thoughts he wouldn’t dare let escape his polite mouth. 

“So manage him,” Iori demanded, downing his glass in one go and depositing it in the sink where it belonged. He wrinkled his nose at the myriad of cups still littering the counter from yesterday. 

Iori lived with a horde of pigs. 

Sogo-san continued to drink his tea, lightly tapping out the melody to one of their most recent songs on the tabletop with the soft pad of his fingertip.

The clock continued to tick away. 

Iori marched to the chair directly opposite him and stared- maturely and unflinchingly. 

Ten seconds, Iori predicted. 

Sogo-san’s tapping turned more forced, his gaze darting anywhere but Iori. 

Eight…

“He’s not my responsibility, you know.”

Iori lightly tipped his head in acknowledgement, then let his gaze track pointedly over all the empty chairs surrounding them. 

Six…

“Tamaki-kun needs to learn to do things for himself,” Sogo-san pointed out. “This could be a learning experience!”

Iori raised his eyebrow. 

Sogo-san’s mouth twisted. 

Four…

“This isn’t even Mezzo related. Not really.”

Iori scoffed. 

Three…

“Maybe…maybe he’s already gone looking for his toothbrush?” he suggested hopefully. 

Two…

Iori discreetly held his breath, hoping to punctuate the perfect silence permeating the dorms. There was absolutely no toothbrush-related ruffling. 

One. 

“Oh, fine,” Sogo-san sighed, rising unhappily from the table and pointing a finger towards Iori, “but I’m not his keeper.”

“Uh-huh,” Iori agreed lightly. 

“I’m not,” Sogo-san repeated, denial thick on his tongue as he walked toward the bathroom, tea still in hand. 

“And I don’t have a thing for idiots,” Iori murmured under his breath. 

There were still fifteen minutes before he and Tamaki needed to leave for school so maybe he could just shut his eyes for a-

Nanase-san suddenly pulled out the chair beside Iori and shot him a grin far too sunny for the early morning hour, placing two plates of toast down. “You don’t have a what?” he asked pleasantly, sliding one toward Iori. 

Iori squinted in the face of such brightness, then cleared his throat.

“Nothing. Is this all you know how to make?”

Nanase-san’s bright smile melted into a frown. “I told you I’ve never lived on my own before,” he complained. 

Iori took a bite of the offering, pleased. 

“You’re pathetic.”

“I am not,” Nanase-san denied halfheartedly, too used to this particular insult to rise to the bait like he had when they had first formed Idolish7. 

Iori would just have to try harder, then. 

“You didn’t even make anything at all! How’re you gonna stay healthy for the group if you’re skipping meals, huh?”

Iori spared a glance at Nanase’s overly sincere expression to ensure he wasn’t making things up but no, Nanase’s best rebuttal was an earnest appeal to Iori’s health. 

How cute. 

Iori cleared his throat. “How could I cook with Tamaki-kun making such a fuss?”

“What? Tamaki’s still asleep in the hallway.”

A spike of irritation shot through Iori. After he’d gone through all that effort to get Sogo-san to solve the problem, too. 

“He better not be. I’ll kill him.”

Nanase-san laughed, unfairly awake and amused at such an early hour. His right hand rested comfortably on the back of Iori’s chair. “You’re not much of a morning person, are you?”

Iori was…not sure what kind of a person he was, yet. 

Still, he knew he found delight in giving Nanase-san a hard time and, mature as he was, Iori couldn’t see a reason to give that up when it made him feel so pleasantly warm. 

Iori shrugged carelessly, tucking away any hint of the smile he felt growing in his chest. “Maybe I’d be cheerier if you didn’t burn my toast.”

“What?” Nanase-san exclaimed. “No way! I didn’t burn anything!”

Iori stared at him blanky until Nanase-san began to fidget, his cheeks taking on a bit of the color Iori worked so hard to see everyday. 

“Well,” Nanase-san mumbled, eyes darting away, “you ate it anyway so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Iori rose from the table and placed his empty plate in the sink, where it belonged, lips curling upward only with Nanase-san at his back. 

“I’m very polite, Nanase-san.”

“Polite my ass.”

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

I was like, 'damn, it's been a while since I updated this fic...' [it's been 6 days, but it's a while for me] so I started writing yesterday.

Woke up today and went 'damn this is trash lmao'. Rewrote everything. Much happier with this chapter, I've been waiting to write the final scene for the entire fic >:)

This chapter is called "Accursed Among Weapons". Hope you like it!

Page 23 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 10:

May I know your face, the Blind Man asks, The Beast regards eyes unseeing, I thought you blind, Indeed they are, though my hands have yet to fail, The Beast nears, eyes shine beguiled, Hands pass over mounds and hills, shell damaged, Yet the man determines, you are no Beast, Your hands find mine fitting, your nose twisted like mine, Your eyes close, when brushed upon like mine, The Beast retreats, hands leave paths, Then perhaps, O fallen knight, You are like me, Perhaps, you too are a beast.

The communicator knew.

(You’ve always been a disappointment, son. Just like your mother-)

The Hunter must know as well.

(You need anything, you let me know, Simon. We don’t go through things alone. We are a team-)

(Don’t you want it to stop, Riley? You can end this. Just break. Let go-)

And…

(Ah wanted to be like him, back then-)

Now…

(now Ah want to be better)

Johnny knows.

He can see it in the tense line of his spine, in the way he stepped back from the gleeful man. As if the distance will make his words ring any less true.

The communicator’s face contorts, smile stretching and stretching, and suddenly he’s not the Hunter’s soldier anymore. He’s his father, cruel and heartless, he’s Roba, sickeningly sweet as he rips away at flesh methodically.

He’s Simon, rotting in a grave, maggots and dirt burrowing into his eyes, teeth exposed by decaying cheeks. A permanent grin.

The knife slides down his sleeve faster than Ghost can think, the beating of his heart silencing all other sounds. He doesn’t shake as he draws his arm back, and throws. The blade whistles through the air, a shrill cry, and a thunk as it lands in the communicator’s eye. 

Simon’s vile smile lasts for a moment longer, before the dead man slumps and the vision fades.

Yet it’s not over, the memories keep flooding Ghost’s mind, an incessant swarm muddling his senses. He can’t kill him, the dead man in his mind, the corpse he dragged out of the grave.

Soap turns around, slowly, eyes dragging from Ghost’s still raised hand to his mask.

He’s only snapped out of thoughts when Johnny’s voice mutters, “what… the fuck… did you do?”

Ghost looks at the Sergeant, frozen in shock. He looks at the corpse he created, and he realizes.

He just killed the communicator. The Hunter’s right hand.

His way to revenge.

Soap stomps to him, pulling Ghost up by his tacvest only to slam him to the wall, “WHAT THE FUCK DID YE JUST DO?!”

“I didn’t- He wasn’t-” Ghost fumbles through the words, mind still reeling.

Soap winds his fist back to hit him, a snarl hidden under the black face mask, right as the door to the room is slammed open. Everyone halts for a charged moment.

The soldier snaps out first, shouting and raising his rifle to shoot. Soap is faster, though, and he takes Ghost’s pistol out of his holster, and takes the hostile down with a perfect headshot. It wasn’t fast enough. Every other soldier is alerted now.

Soap takes the soldier’s rifle and throws it at Ghost’s direction, taking his from the table. He glances at him, and Ghost’s heart shrivels at the pure hatred in his eyes.

(All you know to do is hurt, Simon. You should’ve stayed dead)

“Ah’m not done with ye, jus’ so ye know. Get up.”

Ghost uses the wall to lift himself on shaky legs, “Soap-”

The Sergeant leaves the room, not sparing another second to talk. It leaves a bitter weight sinking in his guts.

(How much more can he hurt Johnny?)

Ghost takes the rifle, inhaling deeply. He fucked Soap over enough as it is, he can’t leave him to fight alone. He leaves the room, and the slumped corpse, behind.

Outside, Soap is taking cover behind a stack of crates, bullets splintering the wooden boxes. A group of soldiers is trying to push up the staircase, currently stuck due to Soap’s bullets. It won’t stay like that long, the cover quickly becoming ineffective and the sheer amount of hostiles overwhelming.

He sidled by Soap, “you got any more gas bottles?”

“If I had any, I would’ve thrown them already, ye feckin’ overgrown bastard.”

A bullet hits the wall right next to Soap’s head, far too close for comfort, and the Sergeant leans out to shoot back. Ghost pulls him back to cover, ignoring his answering curses, “let me go, Ghost!”

(He can’t watch Johnny die today)

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” He grunts, challenging Soap with a glare. The Sergeant clenches his jaw, “ye got a better idea?!”

His gaze drifts to the labels on the boxes behind them. Soap follows it, and Ghost can tell something on the manifest catches his attention, “think you can craft another trap for ‘em?”

Ghost watches Soap’s bright blue eyes skim through the items listed, a small grin growing on his face.

(He wishes he could keep it there)

“Aye…” Soap pulls out a knife, cutting the tape off one of the smaller boxes, and taking off his backpack. Ghost shoots a few soldiers that dared to come closer, paying half attention to the Sergeant’s work. The box was apparently full of batteries.

Soap is silent as he works, unlike the other times…

(Simon hates it)

“What’s the batteries for?” he chances a question.

Soap’s grin widens, “not just any kind, lithium batteries. Nastiest fire starter a ten-year-old has access to in a typical kitchen. Ye stab it just a wee bit, it ignites beautifully. I swear mah pa was about teh kill me when I-” he cuts himself off, seemingly remembering who he’s talking to, smile dropping. “Just need something to ignite this.” he points to a bottle he grabbed from his pack, and when Ghost takes a closer look between fights he finds it’s… Bourbon.

“You like Kentucky, Johnny?”

The Sergeant scoffs, “the only thing this shite is good fer is molotovs. Ye couldn’t pay me to drink it.”

Ghost empties his clip on a particularly brave soldier. He searches for a new one before realizing he ran out. Soap wordlessly throws him a new one.

“What would be your drink of choice then, Sergeant?”

Soap portions the Bourbon among a few empty beer bottles, “don’t see why ye should fuckin’ care.” he grunts harshly.

Right. Conversation over. 

When he finishes his little “gift”, Soap shoves a bottle towards Ghost, explaining, “I punctured the coating, so any small disturbance should light that lithium right up. The alcohol is jus’ gonna make it a little more…fun.”

“Copy.” Ghost’s fingers tingle when they brush Soap’s as he passes him a bottle. The battery inside is clanking dangerously.

(If only he didn’t always wear gloves…)

Soap doesn’t waste any time, and without coordinating with Ghost, throws his bottle to the middle of the hostile group. Ghost waits for a few seconds of nothing before asking, “how long does it take to work, Sergeant?”

Turning to look at him, Ghost sees the gears turning in Johnny’s head, eyes wide before he frowns. The Sergeant grabs the now empty bottle of Bourbon and mutters to himself. Whatever he found made him furious, and he threw the bottle to the side, “it was fuckin’ bottle proof!”

“What’s that got to do with-” “means there’s not enough alcohol in that garbage to fucking ignite!” Soap cuts him off, lifting his gun to shoot down some drenched, but clearly not-on-fire, soldiers, “I can’t read this goddamn language, how should Ah know that shite is only 40%!”.

The group seemed to recognize their panic, as they start pushing forward with rising aggression. Ghost looks around, trying to find a way out, any way out-

(If it comes down to one or the other, he rather Johnny got out)

Ghost hauls a dead soldier up, springing ahead and using the corpse as a shield. “What the fuck- Ghost!” Soap shouts behind him. He ignores it.

(Not like he’ll mourn, should Simon die)

He reaches the first step, and shoves the corpse down the stairs, knocking several soldiers off their feet in a domino effect, swiftly taking them out. He glances down, finding more soldiers rushing up, as well as a few attempting to shoot from the ground.

Ghost snarls, feeling the blood rush in his ears, brandishing bullets like fangs and blades as claws.

He runs forward. When his mags ran out, he used his knives. 

And when the knives were buried far too deep to pull back out, he used his hands.

Ghost is a weapon, to be picked up and discarded as needed.

And he is needed - to get Johnny out alive.

Red encircles his vision. The world reduces to the fight, to the crunch of bone under his palms, and the slick of blood beneath his boot. Ghost was born of hate and violence, yet it was always in the hands of someone else.

Always on a leash. Always controlled by foreign hands.

No more. He decides what to ravage, he decides who to tear apart.

(Simon has been buried for long enough)

Pain bursts through Ghost, the source undetermined. Could it be the poison, eating its way to his heart? Perhaps it was a frightful soldier, fruitlessly trying to survive the unsurvivable?

Or was it something deep inside him, a little boy crying while his father swings once more, no one to hear his pleas?

(Was it Simon, tearfully begging?)

(What could he be begging for?)

(What could Simon want…?)

The red fades, his surroundings returning into focus. The makeshift base is unnervingly quiet.

Ghost’s legs shake, a warning the poison is about to wreck through his system soon. Soap runs up to him, his blue eyes wide.

(Are you afraid, Johnny?)

(Please don’t be)

“Yer… what the fuck is wrong with ye?!” he asks, not with as much hate as pure surprise.

Ghost winces as his muscles start to lock up. He spots their truck, relatively undamaged in the scuffle, and starts towards him. Johnny sputters behind him, quickly shaking from his stupor to take the driver’s sit.

They sit in silence for a moment, Soap openly staring at his bloody form.

“Drive.” Ghost orders, voice softer than he intended.

Johnny follows with no complaint. Simon lets his head lean on the window, and prepares for the poison to take its course with him.

He wonders whether it’s lethal. If eventually, it will stop his cold, dead heart. He could’ve asked the communicator…

(Yet another thing Simon has fucked over)

“Why did ye kill him?” Johnny asks for the hundredth time.

Ghost answers with silence. What could he say? That he has lost his mind?

(Answering would only reveal the once dead man)

It’s starting to get on Soap’s nerves, he can tell. By the whitening knuckles, by the speeding tapping of a foot.

“Ye don’t get to sit and ignore me now, ye bawbag…”

He knows. He doesn’t deserve to sit here at all.

(No better than the Hunter, no better than Roba)

(No better than his father)

Simon was destined to be violent. A weapon, sharpened by his father. Just like his father before him. A bloodline of monsters.

He thought, if he could give away his leash, if he could get someone else to wield him-

(Ghost may be a weapon)

(Simon likes to pretend he’s the same)

Soap growls in frustration. The truck speeds up for a moment, likely an attempt from Johnny to calm down. Ghost curiously watches the emotions contort his features, glad that Soap chose to take off the mask once he started driving.

(He looks so… alive)

The Sergeant notices him from the corner of his eyes, and sharply turns his head to stare at him.

What do you see, Ghost wants to ask.

(The hero that was?)

(Or the monster that is?)

Whatever answer Johnny finds makes him wrench the breaks, the vehicle creaking loudly. Soap forcibly opens the door, slamming it shut so hard the whole truck shakes. Not a moment later, he opens the door to Ghost’s side, snarling, “out.”

He obeys.

(He’d give Johnny his leash, if he only wanted)

Ghost’s legs still shake when he walks out, but he holds himself up. Johnny is seething in front of him. He pushes at Ghost’s shoulders, “fuckin’ talk to me! Or punch me, or do something!”

Ghost just tilts his head. If the Sergeant is looking for a place to let frustrations out, so be it.

(Metal must be hit thousands of times to be made into a weapon. Simon is well acquainted with the process)

“Are ye just gonna stand there?! Say something!”

Ghost hums, “do whatever you’d like, Johnny. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Soap falters, “wha-”

“I killed him. No matter what any of us do, we won’t be able to kill the Hunter. We lost.”

He watches the anger rise within Soap, “shut up!”

(Fury looks good on him, Simon muses. Even if it is directed at him)

“Do you want to fight me, Johnny?”

The Sergeant snarls, “shut up!”

“Hit me.”

“Why do ye want-?!”

“Just do it.” Ghost takes a shaky step towards him, “punch me, kick me. Let it out. It’s my fault after all.”

“Stop-!”

“It’s my fault this city went to hell. My fault all these civilians are dead.” he stands almost chest to chest with Johnny, “it’s all my fault.”

“JUST SHUT UP!” Soap shoves him, and Ghost’s legs finally give out. He crushes to the ground with a huff. Soap is on him in seconds, taking hold of his clothes and shaking him, “WHAT DO YE WANT FROM ME?!”

It strikes Ghost, that they have not lost. There is still one way, for one of them to win.

(It should scare Simon, but he lost the fear of death a long time ago. Forgot it behind, somewhere in a shallow grave, the innate dread of the reaper)

He should be angry, that once again he’s giving away control over his fate. But for Johnny, a man that despite being betrayed over and over, that still found enough mercy not to desert him. To the man that felt the need to save others, even if it goes against all reason.

To the true hero in this city’s unfortunate tale, to a kind heart and kinder eyes?

Simon is willing to give everything.

Ghost slides a knife out, flipping it and offering the hilt to Soap. The Sergeant hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering between the weapon and his.

“You want to stop this, Johnny?” Ghost thrusts the knife into his hands, “Tell the Hunter I’m dead. That’s all they wanted, right?”

Johnny’s movements are unsure, his breath coming out in puffs.

Sitting above him, the setting sun painting his features in gold, a radiant helo peaking through his hair…

(He looks beautiful)

“All you need to do is kill me, Soap.” Ghost guides Johnny’s armed hand to his throat, lifting the dark fabric of his mask to reveal scarred skin.

“I- I don’t-” Johnny almost whispers, and Ghost wishes he could take away all doubts in his mind. Wishes he could show Johnny what he really is.

(You’re not looking at a person, love)

(I’m just a weapon)

“Kill me.” he repeats, the feeling of the cool blade soothing, for once in his life. Simon looks over Johnny one last time, swallowing all the words he yearns to speak.

(All the regrets he can’t even whisper)

Simon smiles, something small and private, when he watches Johnny raise his arm slowly, aiming to strike him down. It will be a quick death.

(Far more than he truly deserves)

And he closes his eyes, finding himself content. That for once, he chose right. He may die, but Johnny will get out of here, a hero. The man that saved an entire city. The man that took down half an army.

The man that killed the Ghost.

The knife swings down.

(Simon prays for a last time)

(That this apology was enough)

[obamousse]

The tale of the mysterious Tungsten Cube

Kita's parents once promised to buy Kita a gift if he aced a chemistry exam. But they couldn't find any gift chemistry-related, so they bought him a tungsten cube. Kita saw it as a pet, and named it - you guessed it - Tungsten Cube.

The third years in Inarizaki's volleyball team knew of it and had seen it when Kita brought it to school. The second and first years, sadly, could not see it, so any knowledge about Kita-san's first pet was told through Akagi Michinari. He may or may not have included some minor untruths about the pet, like Kita's pet is a live animal. Atsumu thought Kita must have a really cool/cute bird he baby-talks to, and Suna thought he could catch Kita doing it with the pet. No one really knew what the pet was - they had figured Akagi was fibbing them by now, and none of the other third years told them anything.

Until Kita moved house to attend university at the end of the year, and had to pass possession of the cube to someone else. Everyone in the gym thought one of the third years are going to inherit it, but Kita-san said it was a secret.

But no one inherits it. Even on the last day of school, no one is known to receive the mysterious pet.

Until the afternoon.

The second-years hatched a plan to follow Kita-san after school, since he did not walk the usual route home. In fact, it directed to the back of the school where Atsumu and Osamu used to play football with the neighbor kids when they were young.

Kita-san revealed the pet, and there it was.

The Tungsten Cube.

Atsumu was so disappointed it was not a live bird, or a cat, or even a lizard. Suna was too - turns out Kita is still the old, formal Kita. The third years followed behind, laughing at their kouhai's dejected faces.

But no third-year received the cube either.

The person who hereby inherited the Tungsten Cube,

was Akaashi Keiji.

Kita has a wide connections with people he meets at the nationals. Akaashi was visiting his distant relative, so he could meet up with Kita and discuss the adoption of the cube on the way. Akaashi seemed to be interested in the cube - so far, the cube only requires proper cleaning and oiling to ensure no rust. And it's the heaviest element too - an interesting choice of a pet.

Akaashi: Why didn't you give it to Kuroo-san? I'm sure he wants it more. Kita: He already has a Tungsten Cube. He is interested in acquiring a sample of radium, but it's too dangerous to get his hands on.

Akaashi was surprised to find the team hidden behind a nearby bush. Kita full well expected it. The group, from the 1st to 3rd years, are surprised and poignant their captain was leaving them so soon, along with all their senpais, so they had one last hug, even after graduation ceremony has ended and the so-called "last-hugs" were given.

One last official hug, because sometimes, you need the memories.

[harmoniouseclipse]

Half bird Jean character design sheet wip for a silly little project I'm doing 😋

[dex1o]

my friend and i have been overtaken by danganronpa brain rot so we've been making our own shitty fangans. our two protagonists couldn't be more different lmao

(his oc is the ultimate theatre director (left) and mine is the ultimate intuition (right))

we may be cringe but we are free

shitty doodle underneath cut: