#my pen still not confiscated
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shadowheart has fallen to the make-everything-hades-game-forever fever... her boons definitely make for the strongest cast builds in the game
others in this style (ish): the dark urge (OC); minthara (bg3), Karlach (bg3), gale (bg3), halsin(bg3), lae'zel (bg3), wyll (bg3), astarion (bg3), kotallo (horizon)
p-please... my pen.... someone take it away
#shadowheart#jenevelle hallowleaf#bg3 fanart#hades game#hades fanart#i started this miniproject three weeks ago and now I can't stop#my pen still not confiscated#who asked for this#nobody thats who#hey i heard you like video games so i put a video game inside your video game#my art#hades series
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Does the number 4 have any meaning outside of East Asian superstition? I vividly remember being obsessed with writing the number 4 on all my clothes in middle school (two thousand and five to two thousand and seven, if there was any pop culture significance around that time) and I can't remember the logic of my little manic depressive brain in doing that, and all I can guess at is that it was a lingering factoid in my brain from the Japanese classes my school had from first to third grade and that it was part of my death obsession
#i remember having all my pens confiscated after idly yet still somehow frantically scribbling 4s on my baggy jeans during a lecture#but jokes on them i was a prolific diarist and had pens stashed everywhere#4#actually bipolar
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New Girlfriend II
Lucy Bronze x Teen!Reader
Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader
Summary: Ona's tipsy
It's hard to hate Ona.
You kind of wish you could regardless of the truce you have going on with her.
She's over all the time. She's always in your house and your face and you hate that she asks about school.
It was always Keira's job to help you with your homework. You miss Keira a lot which is probably why you stick heavily to her side when your Mum hosts a bonding night for the team.
You sit next to her and let her give you a hug that you sag happily into. You used to see Keira all the time but it's Ona that you see more often now.
It's strange but you're working on it because you think your Mum is really in love with Ona and she's so happy so you're sucking it up.
It doesn't mean that you don't stick to Keira whenever you can.
Originally, you thought it would get you some respite from Ona but it seemed that even Keira had a good relationship with her so, as you sat at the kitchen table, leaning against Keira as she helped you with your homework, Ona appeared out of seemingly thin air.
Her cheeks have a red kind of sheen that you know comes from the alcohol in her glass. She's a little tipsy, just like most of the girls in the house.
"You're so smart," She giggles as you scrawl down the equation Keira explains to you," Both of you. So smart." She breaks off into a fit of giggles and Keira leaves your side to guide Ona into a chair.
"How about we sit down?" Keira says as she takes the drink from Ona," And have some water."
Ona's giggling again and it's a little unnerving. She reaches across the table and holds the hand you're not using to write. Another wave of giggles. "You're so smart. Is it hard? Being smart all the time?"
"It must be," You mutter," Because this is my birthday party and I'm stuck doing homework."
You hadn't really wanted to do anything for your birthday. You didn't have any friends at your new school (the accent of your spoken Spanish tended to put people off) but your Mum took any excuse to get a bit tipsy without consequences and the team had ended up around your place to 'celebrate' which really acted as a dual celebration of the big one they just had over Real Madrid.
"That's sad," Ona says," I wasn't good at school. You're doing it in a different language."
You sigh softly, shaking your head in amusement as she continues to talk earnestly to you, making sure to keep eye contact so she's sure that you're understanding her.
"Lucy's so proud of you, she tells me all the time."
That shocks you a little bit. You hadn't really considered what your Mum and Ona talked about when you weren't there. Truly, you had imagined that their time was taken up by kissing.
"I want you to like me," Ona continues, still giggling and completely flushed in the face," How can I make you like me more? Arcade? Food? Food! Let's order food!"
"Let's not order food," Mum says as she approaches. She's not as tipsy as Ona is but there's a little flush to her skin. "Because then we've got to pay for everyone's."
"No!" Ona says with that dopey smile that she always gets when your Mum is holding her. "Just for the birthday girl." She looks at you again. "Ooh! Let's get cake!"
Mum laughs, leaning down to whisper in Ona's ear about something.
Keira, who you thought would be fairly awkward around the couple, just shakes her head fondly. "You two are gross," She declares with a laugh, confiscating both of their drinks. She's the most sober person in the house. "You're already lovey-dovey at practice."
Mum laughs. "This is my house, Kei. I can be lovey-dovey if I want."
"You're scarring her!" She says," Look at her!"
You've got your nose all wrinkled up in disgust and Mum leans over to pinch at her cheek.
"Don't lie, Kei! She loves this!"
You push her away in annoyance and try to throw your pen at her but you're caught off guard by Ona hugging you tight. You didn't realise she was such a sentimental drunk.
"You're so smart."
Oh, she's back on that.
"Lucy, tell her she's smart!"
"Very smart," Mum says. You're trapped by Ona so can't escape when Mum places a big, wet kiss on your cheek and then grabs you in a headlock. "My smart little girl!"
"Mum!" You cry out," Let go! Come on, let go!"
"No!" Mum laughs," You're a proper teenager now! My little birthday girl!"
"It's your birthday!" Ona exclaims like it's the first time she's heard the news," I got you a gift!" She pats wildly at her pockets before coming up empty. "Lucy, where's my gift?"
Mum's only half paying attention as she rubs her knuckles against your hair as you fight to get away, tears of laughter streaming down your cheeks. "Er...I don't know? I think you called it an experience?"
"Ah! Ah!" You had to admit (begrudgingly), Ona jumping up and down in triumph was kind of cute. "We will go to the beach! There is an arcade there! A big one! Bigger than the one here!"
It stumped you for a moment. Your love for arcades wasn't something that you talked a lot about but clearly, Ona remembered. She's smiling at you now and you tear your gaze away to look at your Mum.
"Really? And you're okay with going?"
"I'm going to the beach," Mum says," You and Ona can waste all the money you want but I'm working on my tan."
Ona sticks her tongue out. "Buzzkill."
#woso x reader#lucy bronze x reader#lucy bronze#ona batlle x reader#ona batlle#woso community#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso
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Divus Crewel with the Kid from Don't Whack Your Teacher
Strictly Platonic. Also, I just realized that hearts aren't gonna stop Tumblr from deleting some of my posts.
Warnings: Heavy Violence, Swearing, IF YOU'VE HEARD OF THIS GAME I SWEAR NO ONE'S GONNA DIE.
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• Let's just say that you got enrolled here by your parents or escorted by the Ebony Carriage. Either way, you're gonna be here for the rest of the school years :)!
• You'll be 13 years old here. Everyone was surprised by how young you are and underestimated you, especially Savanaclaw students, but they backed off after you gave them the impression of not to treat you like a child. How? We'll see...
• Crewel's first impression of you was normal, at first. He sees that you're a very quiet pup and always mind your own business. However, he doesn't like how your attention is always glued to your phone... You're just like that Shroud pup. Because of that, he would always remind the class to put away their gadgets before starting the lesson.
{Alchemy Classroom}
Ace: "Pssst! Crewel's walking over here!"
Kid! Yuu: "😶!"
Deuce: "Kid! Yuu, please put your phone away!"
• One time, he saw you looking at your phone during one of his pop quizzes and and got infuriated. He walked up to you and tapped your shoulder with his pointer stick. You put your game on pause to look up.
Kid! Yuu: "...Huh?"
Crewel: "And look what we have here..."
• He snatched the phone before you could even hide it. He hold up the phone in the air and glared at you.
Crewel: "I will be confiscating this for a week."
Kid! Yuu: "😡"
Crewel: "That look won't work on me, young pup. Focus on the quiz!"
Kid! Yuu: *grumbles*
Ace: "I warned ya."
• You couldn't stand a week without your phone. After today's classes, you told Grim to go home without you and you head straight to the faculty room to recover your confiscated gadget. You knocked on the door and one of the staff ghosts answered. You ask the ghost if you could see Professor Crewel and ask him about an assignment. The ghost let you in and guided you to his office.
Staff Ghost, knocks at the door: "Mr. Crewel?"
Crewel: "Yes?"
Staff Ghost: "A student wants to see you."
Crewel: "Oh? Come in then."
Staff Ghost: "He said you can come in. I'll be off now."
Kid! Yuu: "Thanks...."
Staff Ghost: "Don't mention it, kid."
{Crewel's Office}
• You opened the door and stepped inside the office. Crewel was writing away at his desk, recording scores from the students' quiz papers. He raised his head and his brows furrowed at you.
Crewel: "Ah... Young pup. I was about to ask someone to fetch you. Sit down, we need to talk."
Kid! Yuu, sits down: "......"
• Crewel started searching his desk drawers. The room was silent, only the sound of the wall clock ticking and the flipping of papers. You analyzed the room, it's much cleaner than the average teacher's office. There are shelves containing bottles, books, and scrolls. A coat rack for holding Crewel's fur coat but the man is still wearing it. His desk has papers stacked up (most likely Crowley gave him extra paperwork), a couple of pens, a stapler, a trashcan on the side, and of course, the chairs you and him are sitting on.
Crewel: "Hmmm... Where is it?... Ah, here it is."
• Crewel pulled out a file and scanned through it. He sets the file down on the desk, pointing at the paper.
Crewel: "Pup, while I've been recording your scores, I'm disappointed that you scored lowest out of everyone. It was a 50 item test, yet you scored none."
Kid! Yuu: "...."
Crewel: "I don't understand this. Do you even value your grades? You're a prodigy, correct? You should be smarter than this... You must pay more attention to class lessons. When the master orders that you listen, you must listen. If you won't, you'll be dropped out, have I made myself clear, pup?."
Kid! Yuu: ".................."
Crewel: "Speak up."
Kid! Yuu: "..............................."
Crewel: "*sigh*, fine. If this is about your phone, I won't be returning it for a week. And looking at your score, I'll be extending the confiscation."
• Now this is one of the aspect of yours that Crewel does not like. You are too quiet. But for a quiet person your actions are very loud, considering the amount of Savanaclaw students terrified of your wrath. Crowley insisted that the faculty should turn a blind eye from your rudeness and keeping you here just because he doesn't want to deal with the Overblots. Grim's presence around you doesn't help either.
Crewel: "If you want to me to give you a second chance, I'll give you limited time to study and memorize all the magic elements and potions for this semester. Afterwards, come to my office again and I will provide a do-over sheet of the quiz, understand pup?"
Kid! Yuu: "........yes."
Crewel: "Speak up."
Kid! Yuu: "....yes."
Crewel: "It's "Yes, Professor Crewel.""
Kid! Yuu: "Ugh....Yes, Professor Crewel..."
Crewel: "... I know that you are younger than the average student, but pup, you must act like a decent adult so that everyone won't treat you like you're a bratty mutt. You're lucky that you're a child otherwise I would be far stricter. But that doesn't mean I'll turn a blind eye for you during my lectures. Now if you don't have any more questions, you are dismissed."
• You stood and take your bag, excited that you'll be leaving Crewel's boring scolding. You turn the door handle but Crewel stopped you...
Crewel: "Stay, pup!"
Kid! Yuu: "!!!"
Crewel: "What in the..."
• Crewel scanned through the file again and read another paper. It says...
"Due to Kid! Yuu's violent behavior and tendencies, they will be expelled from Elementary School. The undeniable evidence of their expulsion relating to the case of the assaulted and murdered teacher which ultimately resulted to them being the suspect as the fingerprints of the weapon matches theirs. However, the suspect escaped the arrest, including their parents. Until now, the police department still have no lead to where the suspect is hiding. If you have any contact with the suspect, please report immediately to the authorities."
Crewel: "....Pup, explain thi--"
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• If Crewel hadn't raised his head for 5 seconds, his head would have been skewered by his own coat rack. He dodged the attack, making sure that the distance between you and him won't let you go near him, and pulled out his magical pointer at the ready. Angered by Crewel's quick reflexes, you dropped the rack and equipped the chair. You chased him around the room, trying to find an opening from his defensive attacks.
Crewel: "PUP, PUT THE CHAIR DOWN OR I'LL BE FORCED TO TAKE DRASTIC MEASURES."
Kid! Yuu: "......!"
• Despite your assault, Crewel took precaution in casting minor damage and restraining spells to not heavily injure you for you are still but a child. You got tired of chasing him around so you climbed up his desk and equipped the wall clock.
Crewel: "I WILL NOT SAY IT AGAIN. PUT. YOUR. WEAPON. DOWN!!"
Kid! Yuu: "...YAH!"
• You threw the wall clock towards Crewel like a frisbee but he summoned a shield before it could hit his right knee. You even more became more agitated and more aggressive. This time you equipped his pens and charged at the man. Crewel counterattacks your makeshift stabbing tools but he was too slow to counter the half-shattered potion bottle and you stabbed him with the pointed shards.
Crewel: "!!!"
Kid! Yuu: "...pant...pant..."
• Drops of red dripped to the floor. You looked up at his face, expecting to see his pained expression, but you stepped back after seeing the shock twisted into the angered face of a devil. His fur coat was thick so you didn't stab him that deep. The man stared at his ruined coat and back to you with almost murderous intentions.
Crewel: "...Why you little mutt..."
Kid! Yuu: "!!"
• Looks like your punching and kicking won't do anything as the man grabbed you by the collar and shouted for the Security Ghosts.
Crewel: "LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY COAT! My beautiful coat... RUINED! TORN BY YOUR FILTHY LITTLE PAWS! THAT'S IT!!! I'M TEACHING YOU PROPER DISCIPLINE!! GUARDS!!! CROWLEY!!!"
• The loud volume from the man made you cover your ears. You then feel Crewel moving and slamming your body onto a chair and summoned leather belts around your arms. You struggled breaking through the belts to the point of trying to bite it off. Crowley and the guards arrived, their jaws agape seeing Divus' damaged office.
Ghost Guard A: "W-what happened here, sir?"
Ghost Guard B: "Did someone attack you?"
Crowley: "Divus! What is--"
Crewel: "CROWLEY."
Crowley: "...gulp...y-yes..?"
Crewel: "I CAN NO LONGER TOLERATE YOUR IGNORANCE ANYMORE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW YOUR SO-CALLED CHILD PRODIGY BEHAVED?! LIKE A DOG WITH RABIES!!"
Crowley: "W-well now, Crewel, I think you're overexaggerating-"
Crewel: "THEIR REPORT CARD DOES NOT CONTAIN A SINGLE DIGIT, THEIR BEHAVIOR IS IMPULSIVELY UNFORGIVABLE, THEY TURNED MY OFFICE UPSIDE DOWN, THEY RUINED MY COAT, AND NOW, THEY EVEN TRIED TO KILL ME!!!"
Crowley: "Oh Sevens! That must explain the mess. Your office does look like a tornado flew in here."
Crewel: "EXPEL THEM IMMEDIATELY."
Crowley: "What? No! I beg your pardon, Crewel. But I won't-"
Crewel, shoves the file to Crowley: "HAVE YOU SEEN THEIR FILES? THAT CHILD IS A FUCKING MURDERER! YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR MIND IF YOU INSIST ON KEEPING THEM DESPITE THEM HAVING CRIMINAL RECORD. IF YOU WON'T HAND THEM OVER TO THE POLICE, THEN I WILL."
Crowley: "WAIT! CREWEL! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!"
Crewel: "I AM BLEEDING, YOU DUMBASS! I'M GOING TO THE INFIRMARY, OF COURSE!!"
Ghost Guards: "Looks like the file checks out. Kid's an actual killer."
Ghost Guard B: "Oh welp. Sorry kid, but you're gonna have to come with us."
Kid! Yuu: "😮💨..."
• After Crewel patches up his stab wound, he dragged you by the ear and ordered Crowley to call for the Ebony Carriage to send you to the police department. They also made sure to accompany you with a Ghost Guard to make sure you won't try anything and explain to the authorities about what you've done. Crewel finally exhaled a sigh of relief... He can't believe he almost got murdered! Attempted by a child no less!
Grim: "H-hey! Who the heck are you people?! Where are you taking my henchman?!"
Ghost Guard A: "We're arresting them."
Ramshackle Ghosts: "WHAT?!"
Grim: "Fnyaagh! Give them back!! Kid! Yuu!!!"
• Crewel gave Crowley an earful back at the faculty room, much for Mozus' delight since he also cannot stand your rude behavior. Vargas will miss a capable and athletic student like you but he also felt annoyed by your ignorance. Grim was in the hands of ADeuce since you're not by his side anymore, the feline tried to convince ADeuce that he doesn't miss you and failed. Sam is not that involved in your student life, so he was surprised that a student like you had the audacity to assault a faculty staff. The only times that you and Sam interacted was when you bought candies from his store. He could tell that you're constantly in a bad mood and the other NRC students are not helping that, Sam remembers trying to cheer you up a couple of times by sneaking a few more candies for free, the image of your childish smile still fresh in his mind. He felt bad when he heard from Crewel about your expulsion, but it's for the best.................. That's what they all thought.
• Turns out that the Ebony Carriage sent you back! How or why did it happen? Even the Dark Mirror doesn't know. Crewel, still pissed off, decided to call the police in front of the gates. They took you but the carriage always send you back. Every. Single. Time... Crowley insisted that you must stay since the Ebony Carriage sees potential in you. What even kind of potential is that? You're practically more hostile than Floyd, for seven sakes! After trying and failing to arrest you too many times, Crewel got exhausted and stopped. Grim was happy that you're back and kept bawling that you left him.
Grim: "Fnaa... Fnyaaah! Henchman, you're back! You better buy me tuna cans for leaving me for so long!"
Crowley: "Aha! You see, Mr. Crewel? They do have potential to do better, wouldn't you say? The Ebony Carriage escorting them back is proof of that."
Crewel: "Potential to be what? A serial killer?"
Crowley: "No! I mean- the potential to be a student here in NRC. I am certainly sure that if you give them a second chance they won't do it again. Right, Kid! Yuu?"
Kid! Yuu: *nods yes*
Crowley: "Aaand... because of how generous I am, I will overlook your criminal record in your file for as long as they behave!"
Crewel: "They act like that once more, Crowley, and I will file a lawsuit against you."
Crowley: "Why don't we make a wager? If Kid! Yuu behaves for more than 6 months, they'll stay. If they cannot do that, then you can expel them and hand them over to the police."
Sam: "Hey Vargas, why don't we make a bet of our own?"
Vargas: "Hmm...Depends. Who are you betting on?"
Sam: "I'll bet that Kid! Yuu lasts here for 7 months, you'll help me lift the crates at the shop for a week?"
Vargas: "Then I'll bet that Kid! Yuu lasts for 4 months, you'll give me a sack of protein powder for free?"
Sam: "You're on."
Trein: "sigh...Idiots."
Crewel: "... Alright, fine. Have it YOUR way, but I will not be sparing you from learning discipline from me. You will be fixing my office and clean it. Why in Twisted Wonderland did even you attack me in the first place?"
Kid! Yuu: "...cuz... I don't want any more of my stuff...to get confiscated by you..."
Crewel: "......... Seriously? All this damage for a phone?! Pup, can't you see that violence only makes things worse?"
Kid! Yuu: ".... I'm sorry...for... y'know..."
Crewel: "Hm? Speak clearly!"
Kid! Yuu: "...I'm sorry... About the damage to your office... And I'm sorry about trying to kill you... I'm sorry."
Crewel: "Good. Now pick up those cleaning materials and get to work!"
• So in the end, you atoned for the shitty things you did. Crewel made you promise that you won't fight with other students, especially Savanaclaw students. You started to use honorifics toward your elders too, Trein was pleased. Due to Crewel's training of manners and Trein's training of etiquette, you became more of a decent student, albeit, still a little murderous. Sam was happy to see you shopping in his shop again.
• However, the staff can tell that you've developed a habit of being... difficult sometimes. The training and extra lessons didn't make your sociopathic tendencies go down but it appears less now. Crewel has learned that Vargas' reflex lessons helped to avoid stationery projectiles you throw once in a while during his class. You mostly do that in an act of showing frustration from the multiple tasks he's given the class.
{Alchemy Classroom}
Crewel: "This 17th century potion was brewed by the Graystone family and was usually used to increase their children's appetite so that their intake of food will be normal and they'll become healthy in later years... So for today's assignment, I'll be grouping the students in this class into 4 and each group must have a presentation according to the steps of brewing the exact potion. The deadline is due tomorrow on 5:00pm--"
!!!!!
Ace: "W-WHAT THE-- Who threw a ruler at the professor?!"
Deuce: "Th-they almost stabbed the back of his head!"
• The class was startled by the sound of something sharp being thrown and dug into the blackboard just a few inches beside Crewel's head. The man only tilted his head a bit before the ruler could get even a strand of his hair (all thanks to Coach Vargas). Crewel calmly turned around with a stern expression and glared at your direction.
Crewel: "No, pup. I will not extend the deadline.
Kid! Yuu, raising a pencil: "......"
Crewel: "And no, your empty threats will not force me to group you with Spade and Trappola. Now go to your group!"
Kid! Yuu, drops the pencil: *grumbles*
• The students fell silent as you grumbled back into your seat. Half of the students assumed that you have gotten violent enough to no longer make Crewel panic but made him rather annoyed by it. Ace and Deuce sat beside you, the ginger-haired boy grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you while the Blue-haired boy rambled on and on about how dangerous your stunt was.
Ace: "What the hell, Kid! Yuu?! I can't tell if that was horrific or badass but don't EVER do that again! The Savanaclaw students are bad enough, seriously, does your stupidity know no bounds?!"
Deuce: "You should be ashamed of yourself. W-what if your parents will be disappointed? I know you're a little younger than us but we're still classmates. We can't meet you if you go to jail! Who will feed Grim?!"
Ace: "Yeah! We really don't wanna deal with him again!"
Grim: "HEY, I'M RIGHT HERE!"
Crewel: "SILENCE, PUPS! MINIMIZE YOUR VOICES!"
• You drowned out their voices by doodling lines on your paper since your phone was still confiscated. You just nodded to their ramblings and contemplated on not doing it again for your sake. That said, you think you'll stop by Sam's to buy Grim tuna.
• Also, Sam won the bet.
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#Twisted Wonderland x GN reader#Twisted Wonderland x male reader#Twisted Wonderland x Child reader#Twst x GN reader#Twst x male reader#Twst x child reader#Twst staff x reader#Divus Crewel x reader#Twst staff x GN reader#Twst staff x male reader#Twst staff x child reader#Divus Crewel x child reader#twst platonic
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Cards with the Count
Thinking about how Jonathan is trying to pass the time during Vampire Hell Staycation with all the books in the library (a guaranteed Dracula Zone), no stationery (bastard), and a finite amount of secret pen ink and secret diary pages left at his disposal (shit). Reading and writing and art are all out. What’s left?
I like to think, in this order:
1) He remembers that he has a pack of playing cards in the general luggage Dracula didn’t snatch. A gift Lucy had bestowed on him and Mina, a pack apiece, as she insisted that it was the best way to pass an hour in dreary company that wasn’t to do with gossip or politics.
2) He doesn’t normally play, if only because he doesn’t have the coin to meet any real gambling stranger at a table. Just a ‘for fun’ thing.
3) Fuck it. Solitaire. Card towers. It’s something to keep his mind off the…everything.
4) He gets exactly one (1) day/evening of peace with this. Then:
5) “Whatever are you up to, my friend?”
(He didn’t even use the door to give Jonathan time to hide the pack. Misted in. No shadow to give him away. Fantastic.) Jonathan staples his smile back in place and rattles off something apologetic, so sorry, was he keeping the Count waiting? Let him just put this away, he wouldn’t be interested—
6) Smash cut to the library. The cards are now unofficially confiscated/a staple of the Dracula Zone, alongside the fancy crystal chessboard the Count loves to crush him with on a semi-regular basis. Jonathan is walking him through the rules of sundry card games. Unsurprisingly, he latches onto the concept of American poker readily. The game is a soup of similar European predecessors that light up his eyes with recognition—primero, poque, brelan—sewn together with England’s game of brag into a medley of the initial rules, both written and unwritten.
7) “A game of skill, then?”
“Skill, acting, and luck.”
Dracula grins as he produces a ransom of gold coins to use as chips. Jonathan deals.
(What are the extra rules here? Does he throw every hand? Does he play in earnest and inevitably lose anyway? Does it even matter? It isn’t chess, after all. Not a proper strategy game. Cards happen. Guesswork happens. A winner and loser every turn. What does it matter?)
8) Jonathan realizes two dozen hands later that what matters is, apparently, his face. One that, likewise apparently, cannot be read by the Count in this game. Out of those two dozen hands, Jonathan has won eighteen. Of those eighteen, his hand was the clear dud for nine. Through it all, Dracula’s eyes keep jumping from his own hand to Jonathan’s tired gaze. When Jonathan wins the twenty-fifth hand and the mountain of gold on his side of the table risks toppling off the edge, Dracula bites out a word Jonathan is sure is too caustic to have a spot in the lost polyglot dictionary.
9) “You have a gift for schooling your face, my friend.” Every word is an icicle; each as sharp as the canines jutting out of the rictus grin.
“I don’t,” Jonathan says.
And it’s true. Now he’s schooling his face—first lesson of anyone destined for the realm of serving others—but in the game, he’s barely thinking of anything else beyond the ticking of the clock. To punctuate this, he slides the heap of gold back to Dracula’s side of the table.
“This is only a game for the fun of it. In a game with stakes, there would be something worth playing and worrying for. When you get to England,” his face is very, very schooled as he says this, “you’ll find a much more varied competition at gambling tables. The players who really train their expressions can do so with fortunes at stake, while novices reveal every victory or loss plainly on their face.”
10) Dracula considers this. And smiles.
11) “Ah, then there must be stakes before we can play the game properly. Still, you have won the bulk of these rounds, my friend—” his hand seems like it wants to be strangling something when it drums atop the gold heap, “—and done me the charity of not taking your rightful winnings.” He throws down his cards. Ace and deuce of spades. “I shall have to speak with the kitchen about producing a stand-in prize.”
He leaves. Jonathan doesn’t blink when he hears the door lock behind him. A card pyramid is erected.
12) Paprika hendl for supper. As excellent as he remembers. Huzzah.
13) The next time he’s herded into the library, he sees what looks suspiciously like his travel paraphernalia flimsily hidden behind a bit of drapery. Dracula is shuffling the deck.
14) “A true prize on the table this time, my friend. I know you are one to appreciate the splendor of our beautiful country, just as I know it is, for your own safety, quite impossible to go exploring alone in the wild. Too many wolves about. But if you win the majority tonight, I shall see to it that my driver takes a leave from his own many errands to escort you beyond the castle for a time, if you so wish.”
“…And if I lose the majority?” He can’t help it: “I’m sure there’s little from me you’d be interested in.”
Dracula grins.
“We shall think of something, I’m certain. Here. Deal.”
15) As expected, Jonathan’s face isn’t effortlessly unreadable in its misery anymore. He has something to play for, even if his trust in Dracula’s dangling carrot on the stick is nigh nonexistent. He loses more. He struggles more. He worries more…
16) …But the wins and losses remain surprisingly even. On into the dawn they play, matching victory for victory. Even the Count seems puzzled. Jonathan is just tired. He was never going to win. The ‘driver’ will fall to some mysterious ailment, his possessions will disappear the moment he’s sent out of the room ahead of the Count. To Hell with it.
17) “I forfeit. We remain tied, so neither has to lose.” A sour smile curls. “Besides, I have kept you up too late again.”
“One more.”
“We can say you won—,”
Dracula gives him a Look.
Jonathan sits again. Plays again.
Wins again.
Dracula hisses several words the polyglot dictionary would be scandalized to translate. Jonathan feels the first genuine smile he’s wanted to make in a month and a half try to creep up on his lips, and stifles it.
18) Dracula turns over his cards and thumbs though the deck as if looking for a conspirator. He even scowls at Jonathan’s forearms, both bare through the whole game as he’d rolled up his sleeves. Still grumbling, his thumbnail finally hooks a card that makes a cloud pass over his face.
19) “What. Is this?”
Jonathan looks.
“Oh, that’s just a Joker.”
“Joker?”
“Yes, I thought I’d taken him out. He’s not a usable card in this game, but he’s sometimes used as a trump or wild card in others. That is, he’s there to turn the tide for whoever gets to play him.”
Jonathan reaches for the card to tuck it back in the box. Dracula pulls it out of reach, walks to the fireplace, and flicks it into the flames.
“Say what you will, but I recognize a symbol of sabotage when I see it. It should not be in the deck at all!” Still watching the little harlequin turn to cinders, he flaps his other hand at Jonathan. “Go rest, my friend. Take that infernal game with you. It is not a respectable pastime for men of our like.”
20) Jonathan gathers up the deck, gives his travel kit a last mournful look, and leaves for his bedroom, knowing not to ask after the walk in the forest as he goes. In his bed, he empties the deck into his hand again and thinks on four things.
Skill.
Acting.
Luck.
And…
21) He turns the deck’s neglected second Joker over in his fingers, the impish face seeming to hold a secret in its grin.
22) When he wakes next, he isn’t surprised to find the deck has been stolen. It doesn’t trouble him. Somehow, it even produces a tired grin on his face. It nearly matches the painted thing hidden, wild and powerful, in the pages of his journal.
#in which time is passed and you should always consider stray cards in the deck#jonathan harker#dracula#re: dracula#dracula daily#poker#playing cards#joker#my writing
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a brief history of Navarre - x.r.
Xaden Riorson x marked!partner!reader (gn) Midterm week at Basgiath has you wanting to pull an all-nighter to study, but Xaden won’t let you. requested as part of my Valentine’s day celly 💕 (gonna be posting these well into March, oops) words: 745 🏷: no book spoilers and no triggers, just X taking care of his partner. established relationship between reader and Xaden. the reader wears one of Xaden’s shirts, but there is no description of how it fits on them (we bigger / taller girls are tired of reading that [character]’s clothes are soo oversized and long on us!) shoutout to the people who put a full timeline of the continent’s history online bc I was too lazy to find it all in my copy lol
“I’m calling it a night,” Xaden announces, closing his textbook. “Gonna go shower.”
You hum in acknowledgement, pen between your teeth as you read the same page for the fifth time tonight, still trying to cram six hundred years of history into your brain. You’ve been sitting on his floor for hours, and the lines of text are starting to blur together, words starting to look misspelled and foreign, losing their meaning with repetition.
You spent too much time reviewing the first fifty decades. You still have nearly another hundred years to cover, from 530 to present.
It has not escaped your notice that the book reduces the Tyrrish revolution to an afterthought, at the end of the text. The belittling words they’d chosen to describe your parents’ valiant effort had nearly been enough for Xaden to light the entire volume on fire, but he’d settled for ripping that page out of his copy and letting Sgaeyl torch it.
You’d left it in yours as a reminder that these people are not on your side, nor will they ever be.
The running water stops, Xaden stepping back into the room a moment later. “You’re still studying?” He asks, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “You must be really into that book if you aren’t checking me out right now. I’m literally dripping.”
He’s a little offended that you don’t even look up as you answer.
“This is important, Xay. It’s a third of our final grade.”
He dries his hands on his pants, taking the book from your hands easily -- your grip on it has loosened with your exhaustion.
You protest, but he shushes you. “Why did Poromiel not unite with Navarre after the great war?”
It takes you a moment to respond, pushing through the sleepy fog to find the answer. “Religious differences”, you reply tiredly. “And their king did not want to share his throne with Navarre’s.”
“Good. When was the second Cygni Incursion?”
“328.”
“And the second Krovlan uprising?”
“434.”
He shuts the book, gathering your notes into a neat stack. “You know this stuff, darling. You’re going to pass this exam with flying colors and set the curve for the whole class, but only if you get some sleep.”
Materials now confiscated, you have nowhere to look except up at him, and your resolve immediately starts to crumble.
He’s ready for bed, dressed only in a pair of black sweatpants that drape across his hips and cover the muscle of his legs, but every other inch of skin is exposed; the relic swirling up his muscled arm, the definition of his chest and stomach, the broad expanse of his shoulders…
You’re too tired to jump his bones right now, but it would be nice to stop, to cuddle up with him, to fall asleep in his arms. Your schedules are packed with classes, studying, training, his wingleader duties, and your responsibility for the younger marked ones. It’s been nearly a week since you’ve been able to hold him for more than five minutes. His skin is always so warm against yours, and his mattress is certainly more comfortable than the hardwood floor…
You hesitate, still eyeing the book in his hands. “I don’t know…”
“Yes, you do. C’mere.”
You sigh, letting him pull you up from the floor. Your muscles sing in relief as you stand, your back aching from being hunched over for hours. You relax into him, resting your eyes for a minute.
“Go brush your teeth,” he encourages.
You don’t want to move from his arms, but three years of dating the boy has taught you that he won’t yield on matters of your health. You sigh, heading to the bathroom.
When you get back, he’s packing everything into your bag for tomorrow — or today, rather. You’d started studying after dinner, and now it’s well after midnight.
He helps you out of the day-old clothes and into one of his shirts and a clean pair of underwear -- you keep a few days of necessities here for moments like these.
You curl into his side, pulling the blankets overtop of you, and the swirling thoughts are replaced with the easy contentment that comes with being held by your partner.
“You’re going to do great,” he whispers, smoothing a hand over your back. “Just get some rest, okay?”
You don’t respond, already lulled to sleep by the steadiness of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms around you.
#xaden riorson#xaden riorson x reader#fourth wing#fourth wing fanfic#reader insert#fourth wing x reader#mine
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When I was in 4th grade (prime ninjago phase), i brought my Ninjago Movie Lloyd minifig with me to school and sat him down on my desk for every exam and class And it became sort of an epidemic amongst 4th graders because everyone started to bring small toys with them to school, and the teachers were starting to get pissed off because kids were getting distracted by the toys. If i remember correctly a lot of toys got confiscated, but by that time i stopped bringing my lloyd with me cuz i felt like it wasn't "cool" anymore cuz everyone was doing it so my minifig is still safe and sound. But it does have a very faint pen smudge on the hair because i accidentally hit him during an exam, and for some reason, the ink didn't wipe away fully.
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Omg there so much potential Even sejanus reading into things that aren’t there and like thinking Coriolanus likes him more than he actually does and making a romantic move on avox corio lol
Literally I have so many thoughts about Avox!Coriolanus, I have a fic outline but i'm gonna treat you to some headcanons, i'm Not Okay about this
Setting:
(In this au, Gaul is even more psychopathic than she is in the book - she cares so deeply about the perpetual state of war, and a twisted fairness in the games, that she perceives Coriolanus' actions as unforgiveable, and effectively discards him. She can always find another star pupil to take under her wing)
Coriolanus is accused of being a traitor to the Capitol due to his aiding of Lucy Gray in the games. To preserve the sanctity of the games, Lucy Gray is pardoned, as she has been 'manipulated' by Snow's evil rebel tendencies. In reality, she takes a deal to return to District Twelve by throwing Coriolanus under the bus.
The footage of Coriolanus attempting to rescue Sejanus from the arena is heavily edited to make it appear as though Coriolanus snuck into the arena and killed Bobbin to give Lucy Gray an unfair advantage.
Sejanus' role in the arena break-in is forgiven due to Strabo making a sizeable donation to the games.
The Snow family reputation is irrevocably destroyed - thankfully, the Capitol public holds great pity for Tigris and the Grandma'am, as they appear to be such fragile and pathetic creatures.
Plot Points In My Brain That Will Not Leave Me Alone
Coriolanus is utterly broken by the whole situation. Even when he was almost destitute, he could rely on his wit, charisma, manipulations and lies to get him out of trouble. That has all been stripped away. His own selfishness and hunger has ruined everything
Mr and Mrs Plinth are offered Coriolanus by Dr Gaul, and they agree to take him, albeit for different reasons; Strabo, to teach Sejanus the lesson he still hasn't learned about the Capitol, and Mrs Plinth, to try and give Coriolanus an easier life than he would experience elsewhere. They keep this acquisition to themselves.
Coriolanus stays in a room at the end of the servants quarters. In the first week, he doesn't come out of his tiny box room. Sejanus visits him on that first night, but Coriolanus doesn't even acknowledge his presence.
There are other Avoxes in the Plinth household, of course, but they hardly interact with Coryo. He isn't obedient, he isn't anything bar borderline catatonic, and they've learned the hard way what that leads to.
Eventually Coriolanus is coaxed out into the greater Plinth residence, and Sejanus treats him nicely enough, but Coryo cannot bring himself to eat. It's too painful on his throat, the food given to him far too rich, Sejanus far too sweet. He cries.
They settle into a new normal, but Coriolanus struggles to pick up the sign language the avoxes use. Not that Sejanus would understand it. Sejanus procures a notepad and pen for Coriolanus to write out his thoughts. It is confiscated by Strabo.
Sejanus misinterprets Coriolanus' eventual acquiescence to his circumstances as comfort. He thinks Coriolanus is becoming content in his company; instead, he has allowed the overwhelm to consume him. Coriolanus feels safer in Sejanus' presence, but not safe.
Coriolanus has nightmares often, and sleeps poorly. It is late one night in Sejanus' room, and he is reading a book, Sejanus reading out the words. They are sitting next to each other, and Coriolanus tires, eventually nodding off with his head on Sejanus' shoulder.
Sejanus begins to enjoy having Coriolanus at his beck and call, just as Coriolanus becomes accustomed to following orders.
It is another late night when Sejanus' hands begin to wander. It is not something Coriolanus has anticipated. He lets it happen anyway.
(I literally have so many thoughts and feelings, I WILL WRITE THIS FIC I PROMISE!!)
#snowjanus#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#tbosas fanfiction#coriolanus snow#sejanus plinth#tw: dubcon#ask#headcanon#fic idea#Avox!Coriolanus
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Risky Business: Final Part
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~2.2k
Summary: The repercussions of being in prison finally take a toll on you. You're yelling at everyone, short and curt, and you're in a constant state of wanting to cry. Will this bitter cycle ever end?
Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill
Season Five Masterlist
Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.
x
As soon as he is done at the hospital, the police station is exactly where Chris ends up at. You, Derek, and Spencer are talking to him in a private room but he isn't saying anything. He's nervously playing with his fingers which is enough to paint a pretty picture for you. The picture is of his dad with his hands around Chris' throat.
His dad's been hurting him. There's a reason why you don't like him.
"Christopher, we know you've been going through a lot since your mother died," Derek starts. "When bad things happen to us, we get frustrated, kid. Sometimes we act out and do things we're not proud of."
He's not engaging in the conversation. He can barely look at either one of you. It's almost Friday and you're not a single step closer to finding out who made the website. If he doesn't talk, people will play it and die. Hotch seems to think that as long as he's here, he can't post.
You have a sick feeling he's not the one monitoring that website.
Penelope immediately did a search for Chris and his family. It's not a shocker that he's a loner but it's a shock that he's moved three times since his mother died. His father cut off his peer support. Three new schools in two years. That's a lot of adjustment for one kid to have to make.
"I want you to know that we're going to be confiscating your computer," Spencer says. "Our analyst is going through all of it so we can uncover the truth."
"Sure you will," Chris scoffs. "Truth."
As you're talking to him, Penelope is trying to get into his computer but can't. He's got a segmented hard drive, serious firewalls, and major-league encryption. There is no reason for all that protection unless he is hiding something. That's why Chris isn't worried. He knows Pen can't get into it.
You look at the clock and see it's 12:01 AM. One minute into Friday, and the videos start piling into the website. Kids are still playing this game despite the warnings you gave. Chris isn't going to give anything up so the two men leave but you still stay seated across from him. He looks at you nervously and you cross one leg over the other.
"What?"
"How long has your dad been choking you?" He leans back in his seat from shock. How the hell did you know that? He stutters out a response but it's nothing you can understand. "Has he always been this way? What about with your mom?"
If he wasn't going to answer questions before, he's certainly not going to answer them now. You get up and leave the room. Hotch wants Penelope to go in and try because if anyone will get him to talk, it's her.
"Hotch, his dad is choking him. He's hurting him. I saw it."
"Hi, I'm Penelope. Can I sit down?"
"You're the cop," he says sarcastically.
"Do I look like a cop to you?" she chuckles and sits.
"Yeah. What, you aren't?"
"No. FBI tech analyst. I just have some administrative cyber crud to go over with you. Just a geekette."
"Cool," he nods.
"You are glum. Time is a great healer."
"You have no idea how I feel."
"I lost my mom and my dad when I was about your age. I don't know. I think I have a pretty good idea of how you feel, and I felt totally alone. Till I found the netizens."
"BTDT."
That means been there, done that.
"Hey, I'm not lying to you. It'll totally get better. BTW, I like your nails," she smiles.
"Thanks. You into goth?" he asks.
"You know, I don't think I'm supposed to be anymore, but the love is still there."
"So, you're FBI?"
"Yeah, I know. It's crazy, but I love it. I enjoy your earring, too. Where did you score that?"
"Ebay. It's supposed to be Johnny D.'s from that pirate movie."
"Most awesome," she smiles.
"She's good," Rossi says. "She established rapport when Morgan, Reid, and Y/N couldn't."
"We should bring her out all the time," Hotch chuckles.
"Okay, your whole PGP disc encryption system is like crazy impressive."
"Yeah, I'm into that kind of stuff," he smiles.
"Stuff? Dude, you do not understand. I am jealous. That is state-of-the-art technology the feeb does not have."
"Whatever," he waves her off but is smiling.
"Okay, how did you get your anonymizing service?"
"I got it from some link from some dude online. What do you care?"
"I just think it's uber cool how you set your whole system up. Like how you use an e-shredder to obliterate your net activity and a window wiper as your secondary trash eraser. Who does that?"
"Everybody does that."
You turn when you hear someone coming in angrily. Chris' father is here and he isn't happy you're talking to him without him. He demands to have his son back and Hotch is forced to give him back since you're not arresting his son. Plus, he's a minor. His father has every right to take him away from here.
"The interview's over. His father invoked," Hotch says to Penelope.
"Dad."
"I'm getting you a lawyer. I screwed up and failed you when your mother died. Not this time. Unless you people have something to charge him with, we're leaving."
Will takes his son away and you look at Hotch in disbelief.
"You heard what I said and you're still letting them leave? He's hurting his child!"
"There's no evidence of that."
Anger flares in your chest but before you can say or do something stupid, you back away.
"Sir, I'm sorry, I tried," Penelope says.
"If he invokes, he invokes. Concentrate on cracking the encryption."
"Yeah."
Everyone is sure Chris is the culprit so they dive deeper into his life while Penelope works on his computer.
"Judging by sheer volume, Christopher's mother was sick quite a bit. His father brought her into the ER repeatedly. She's described as being violently ill each time. She spends a couple of days in the ICU and makes a miraculous recovery only to be repeated time and again. No diagnosis, no discernable cause."
"There's another video going up," JJ announces.
"That's four kids playing in half an hour."
"How many kids go to this school?"
"Its catchment is the whole county. It's almost two thousand. Garcia, we really need to gain administrative access to the website. I've written down a number of things Christopher may have used as the password. I've already eliminated birthdays, holidays, pet names, and pop culture icons," Spencer says.
"No, there was something pathetic about him, not criminal. When he was leaving, he said he missed his mom. What's his mother's name?"
"Cynthia Summers."
Penelope tries her name and it gives her access.
"That's it. Alright, I'm logging in as an administrator and shutting down the main source, but kids are still posting videos through independent servers."
"Pull up the website history and see if you can learn anything from historical posts," Spencer says.
"Christopher's ER eval shows his bruises were caused by manual and ligature strangulation over time," Emily reads over his medical file. "He's also shown to have layered bruising on his sternum."
"It looks like a CPR artifact but there's no record of resuscitations."
"Wait, all these transmissions are transcripts of the same administrator?" Spencer asks Penelope.
"Yeah, there's only one handle."
"This is weird. In the posts, his voice changes. At times he's using more articles and more precise verbiage like he's trying to throw us off. That's pretty sophisticated behavior for a kid. A writer can disguise his own writing style to make himself appear younger or less educated."
"Yeah, but it's virtually impossible to pull off making yourself appear older and more educated than you actually are," Derek says.
"There are actually two distinct writing styles. Two writers using the same screen name--one teen and one adult. Christopher was being manipulated by an adult."
Hmm. I wonder who that can be. You roll your eyes and sit back in your chair while they come to the same conclusion you did half an hour ago.
"The mother's death is a textbook case of Munchausen by proxy. The kid has been choked and revived on multiple occasions."
"You said the father worked for the fire department, right?" Spencer asks Rhonda.
"Yeah, for a couple of months now.
"In what capacity?"
"As an EMT."
"That's our unsub. It's Chris' dad. He's been hurting his own son."
Everyone looks at you. You can choose to make some snarky comment about how they didn't listen to you again, or you can choose to be quiet. You choose the latter.
"So, the father poses as a classmate and invites local kids to join the game. He bumps up the stakes and encourages them to use their riskiest methods."
"He works on Friday nights," Rhonda says."
"Which means he gets called out to do the rescues. He's not just collecting video tapes. His Munchausen has evolved," Spencer says.
"I'll put out an APB for his truck."
"He'll have to find a place to download the videotapes. They're his trophies. After that, he'll clean up his mess."
"Christopher's the only witness against him."
Your team heads to Chris' house but of course, he and his father aren't there. After a quick search, you end up finding piles upon piles of discs from where Will saved every child that has died because of the game he created.
"There are dozens of discs here."
"I was right here. I never even looked around," Rhonda sighs guiltily.
"We only had consent for the laptop and he knew it was encrypted. We didn't have probable cause for a warrant. Mr. Summers didn't have a chance to come back and get his trophies. He'll definitely try to download the videos tonight."
"This kid was doing everything he could just to survive. The extreme abuse conditioned him to shield his father. When his father came into the room, he seemed genuinely relieved like his burden had been lifted. He was elated when his father rescued him. We need to rethink everything. Now, let's focus on the behavior. What's the pattern?" Hotch asks.
"Christopher knows his father's pattern. In his mind, it will never end unless Chris decides to end it."
You take out your phone, call Penelope, and put her on speakerphone.
"Pen, when you were talking to Chris, did he say anything to you to suggest that he was giving up?"
"Giving up?"
"Like he was trying to say goodbye."
"I don't understand."
"Did he give you anything?"
"Yeah. How did you know that?"
"What did he give you?"
"When we were talking, he gave me this pirate's earring."
"He's made up his mind. Suicide is the only victory over his sadistic father. He may also see it as reuniting with his mother. The father's going to want to download those videos from somewhere, Pen, and we have to stop that process."
"I'm already on that. I replaced the website with a phishing site. I'm downloading it to the servers now. When he logs onto that website, he's going to be rerouted to our server, and we can capture his information."
"Stay on that site, Garcia. It will buy us some time," Hotch says.
"Where are they headed?" Emily asks before the lightbulb goes off in her head. "Wait. What about the mother? It's all about the mother. Garcia, where is Cynthia buried?"
"Oaklawn Cemetery, halfway between here and Glenrock."
"Chris would willingly go there with his father thinking it's some sort of refugee, but Will still needs to download the videos. He needs a power source."
"There's a chapel," Rhonda says. "They use it for burials."
"Let's go. Garcia, we'll call you from the car," Hotch says.
You drive to the cemetery and spot Will's car right outside the place.
"Sir, Mr. Summers just logged on. He's caught in the phishing site."
"Is he downloading the files?"
"He's trying to but all he's gonna get is snow," Pen smirks.
You head into the chapel with the team with guns raised only to see Will with hands around his son's throat. It's safe to say that he doesn't get very far but Chris needs to be hospitalized after what his father did to him.
Without the distraction of a case, everyone is forced to think about you and how you've been behaving since getting out of prison. You never wanted to be the one to treat them badly. You're such a loving and kind soul that it kills you to hurt the ones you love.
"I'm sorry," you announce to everyone. "I'm sorry for what I said before." Two tears fall down your cheeks. "I'm not okay, and I'm trying but it's so hard. I didn't mean any of it." You look at Penelope who looks like she is about to cry with you. "I love how happy you are because I see such darkness every day. You are light." You look at Derek. "I appreciate your tough love because it helps me be a better person." You move on to Emily. "I love how you try so hard because that shows you care. I don't ever want to lose someone like you." You look at Rossi. "It's because of your experience that helps me. I'm going to make mistakes but I can always count on you to make things right. Prison did something to my mind. I want to be here for this team. I want to do my best..."
You can't even finish your sentence. Spencer reaches over and grabs your hand and you look at him with tears in your eyes.
"We're here for you just like you've always been here for us," JJ says.
"I'm trying, guys. I'm sorry."
"We know. You're doing your best and that's all we ever ask of you," Rossi says.
You're honestly so lucky to have people as amazing as the ones on your team. You don't know if you're going to be okay but you do know you have people to fall back on if you're not.
"Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My god, do you learn." C.S. Lewis.
x
Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds angst#criminal minds series rewrite#criminal minds season 5
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Don't mind me back again with more thoughts and maybe a lil continuation of what I started the other night same tw
Gator inhaled on the vape pen, letting the smoke permeate his lungs. He exhaled slowly, watching the tendrils curl up and dissipate in the air. "I've told you not to smoke in my house!" You snap, causing him to jump.
He sits up at attention, eyes wide. "I'm not smoking." He swallows," It's vaping." Gator looks away from your glare, messing with the fringe on a throw pillow you have. "It still releases smoke dumbass," you sigh.
And that shouldn't turn him on. It really shouldn't. But he can't help but think of the last time you were a little mean. Called him out on his shit. You on your knees before him. The way your mouth felt around his dick. How warm and wet you were. He didn't even get the whole thing in your mouth and thought he was in heaven.
Gator is thankful you had moved on to finishing the task you were doing, not even sparing him a glance. If you did you would without a doubt see his sudden arousal. Gator grabs the pillow and holds it delicately in front of him. Not suspicious, and if you ask he can say his arm hurts and he's just resting it.
You ignore him. He's been here for an hour and very few words have been exchanged. Gator has tried talking some, but you're more focused on...whatever it is your doing. A slight drop of guilt fills him as he realizes he hasn't paid enough attention. He realizes he doesn't know your favorite color. Or flower.
But he does know your favorite scent. Because every time he smells it he thinks of you.
"What are you doing?" Gator clears his throat. You turn and look at him with a puzzled look," What you asked? You said you-" a look of realization hit. You smirk at him," You aren't here on official business are you?"
Gator's breathing picks up as you drop the papers in your hand on the table and stand, stalking towards him. "Why did ya come pretty boy?" You trail a finger down his jaw. "To see you." Gator can't help but tell the truth.
You're like a drug. Better then any vape pen he's hit. Better then the ecstasy he confiscated from that dickhead one time. Better then the time he saw his first pair of boobs in real life. You envelope all his senses and take him to new heights. Gator knows that yall crossed a line last time, and there was no going back for him. "You here because of last time?" Your voice is saccharinely sweet. He nods slowly, looking up into your eyes.
Your fingers tug on his vest," Come in here in your sheriff uniform. Need to feel big and strong?" Gator shifts as he feels his dick throb at your words. "Yeah, you want to be a big, strong man, dontcha Gator?" Gator nods again. You click your tongue and grab his jaw, forcing him to look up at you," You talk way too much and now you can't say a thing? Words Gator."
Your grip is firm and strong on him. He can feel his pants getting wet from the precum leaking out. He shouldn't be getting turned on from your touch, and yet he is. He wants your touch, gentle but firm, wrapped around his dick again.
"Did you forget the question? Wanna be a big strong man huh?" "Yes." "Good boy," you condescendingly pat his cheek as you let go of his jaw and-
Shit. Hearing you call him good? That's all he's ever wanted. To be good. Praised for a job well done. And of course, your perceptive eyes pick that up. "Oh you liked that didn't you baby?" You smile widely at him," I am gonna have a lot of fun with you." "Yes please." You chuckle at his response. He isnt sure if you are making fun of him or not.
You grab the useless pillow from his lap and toss it further down the couch. You unbutton his pants and he hurriedly lifts his hips off the couch to tug his pants down. Gator sighs in relief as his dick is freed from the confines of the fabric. The tip glistening in the light from how much cum he's already leaked, and you haven't even touched him.
You smirk at him, "You a big, strong, independent man, Gator?" "Yes." "Then touch yourself."
Your words sink in and Gator whines. He blushes slightly at the noise he let out but quickly covers it up by speaking fast," I thought you were gonna touch me?" "Well, I could. But you're so independent. So strong. You can handle this can't you?" You lightly trail a finger along his length, causing his hips to jut forward," Show me how good you are Gator. Pleasure yourself."
Gator swallows as he slowly wraps a hand around his length. His large hands seem to be a regular size compared to the size of his dick. He hesitantly strokes from the base up to the tip, slowly getting faster as he relishes in the feeling.
Your eyes watching him, admiring him? Fuck, he wants to put on a good show for you. Wants to be good for you. His logic, the little he had, is gone out the window. "This good?" He grunts out as he thrusts in time with his hand. You lay a hand on one knee, smiling at him," Very good Gator. You're doing such a good job."
At your words Gator moans," Fuck I'm gonna nng I'm-" "Already? Hmm...well, go ahead then. Be a good boy and come." And he does. Thick, heavy ropes of cum cover his hand and the bottom of his vest. He gasps and moans as he fucks his fist in front of you.
"I'm a good boy I'm good i-" Gator babbles as he pants heavily. "Yeah baby," you murmur as he comes down from his high.
He's about to ask for a tissue when you grab him by the wrist and lick his hand. His dick twitches again, and he thinks he could become hard again just at the sight of you. You lick his hand clean and he stares at you in awe. "You're the hottest thing I've ever seen," Gator declares. "Thanks babe." You smile at him," You're pretty hot yourself. But we gotta work on your stamina. I'm not gonna let you fuck me if you come in two seconds." "You're gonna let me fuck you?" "We'll see. You can't be a virgin forever..."
At this point, I am encouraging you to join us and make your own blog to post these! ;) You’re amazing, babe!
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Troy 2004 quotes again because nobody has confiscated the genarator......hehehe
everyone still gets a long because I find it funny. features y/n. and brief interruptions from me aka, Muse. because if I could join these characters I would
(anyone else want me to insert them into a fandom, just give me your nickname and three words to describe yourself and if there is a character you wanna be shipped with and a fandom from my list, if you want me there and i'll have fun)
part four ig?
Achilles: So anyways have y'all seen Y/n? Patroclus: I think they went in Paris's room 'studying'. Odysseus: Doubt that. I heard groans there. Meanwhile in Paris's room Y/n & Paris, fighting:
Odysseus: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this? Hector: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.
Patroclus: Are you busy? Odysseus: Yes. Patroclus: Cool, listen to this.
Hector, to Odysseus: If you see Y/n, give them this message makes a neutral face Hector: They'll know what it means. later Odysseus: oh, and Hector said to give you a message. Odysseus: makes a neutral face Y/n: Oh no. The neutral face of displeasure.
Hector: Achilles, I sense hostility. Achilles: Good, because I hate you.
(why the fuck is the above so accurate)
Y/n: You look good in that hoodie. Hector: You know where else I'd look good? Y/n, zero hesitation: My bed. Hector, at the same time: By your side- wait, what?
talking about Achilles Y/n: They are beauty. Paris: They are grace. Muse, runnning into the room: THEY CAN DESTROY THE HUMAN RACE!
Paris: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies. Hector: You’re too young to have enemies. Paris: You don’t even know.
Patroclus: What’s something you guys are better than Muse at? Y/n: Mario Kart. Odysseus: Yeah, video games. Achilles: Emotional vulnerability.
ty for reading!
#fanfic#fandom#troy 2004#the iliad#achilles#hector of troy#paris of troy#patroclus#odyessus#me#muse fucks around with a fandom#muse writes fanfic
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/abadb37314da4fb6374ddfb90fcae7c2/f85801c0b060e452-70/s540x810/b4d95d917cd9ed7dc42265ec732fd56dd589ee22.jpg)
my pen has still not been confiscated so it’s halsin’s turn in the ongoing turn-everything-into-Hades fever dream
others: the dark urge (OC); minthara (bg3), karlach (bg3), shadowheart (bg3), gale (bg3), lae'zel (bg3), astarion (bg3), wyll (bg3), kotallo (horizon)
#halsin#halsin silverbough#halsin bg3#bg3#bg3 fanart#hades game#my art#this time with experiments in line weight#will any of these really look the same by the time I'm done?#probably not#too busy having fun goofing around#but its okay#hades series
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LOOSE ENDS — A collection of drabbles to pick up the threads I started months ago. TOTAL WORD COUNT: 3.0k FEATURING: Yoon Mingeun, Kang Haksu, Andrew Han, Ahn Jinguk, Lee Taein, Oh Kiyoung, The Midas Touch
JULY 2024. A direct epilogue to this drabble. Previously posted as screenshots on my main but I don't think anyone saw that so here we go again.
Two hours after having his phone confiscated, Mingeun knocks on Haksu's bedroom door.
Haksu opens it, looking clean and put together for someone just sitting in his room. Sitting in his room, and likely eavesdropping on everything they said. "I heard what happened," he says, confirming Mingeun's suspicions.
He steps inside, trying not to look too closely at the Bible on Haksu's bedside table, or the cross hanging above his bed, the only decoration on otherwise spotless wall. A diffuser sits on top his dresser, filling the room with a faint pine scent.
Haksu shuffles through the dresser for a moment, and tosses three iPhone boxes onto his bed. They're all slightly different variants of the iPhone 15, in blue and white and black.
"You can have any of them," Haksu says. "I don't know why our fans keep giving me iPhones when I use a Samsung."
Mingeun doesn't get gifts like that. Haksu has his phones, and Andrew received a high-end laptop. He must be doing something wrong.
He doesn't say anything, just points to the plastic container in Haksu's hands. "What's that?"
Haksu opens the lid, and that's when Mingeun realizes it's full of index cards. "SIM cards."
There must be fifteen or so in the box, by his best judgement. Each index card has the SIM card taped to it, with a phone number across the top and a series of dates running down the right side of the card.
"You keep these?" Mingeun asks, plucking one out of the box. The dates on it cover the end of 2022 and a few months of 2023.
"I trade them in if they get really bad," Haksu says. "The company pays for most of these. I switch them out when I need to."
He flicks through the container and eventually pulls out a card that looks no different from the rest of the cards. "Here. I haven't used this one in a while. You probably won't get too many calls."
The most recent date on it is June 2022. Mingeun accepts it, and tries to peel the card off without ripping the paper. The paper rips anyway.
He looks at the phones again. "This is fine with you? I can take it?"
Haksu nods impatiently. He produces a pen from somewhere and adds a new line to the index card: Mingeun's name and July 2024 to an unknown date. "I don't use them."
Mingeun picks the blue one, because it's the most basic model. His own phone is still the 12. The upgrade doesn't feel right, not when it happened because Daewoong confiscated his phone.
"Thanks," he says awkwardly.
Haksu waves him off. "Don't worry about it." The cards and the two remaining phones disappear back into his dresser, and Mingeun is left clutching his new phone like a lifeline.
SEPTEMBER 2024. A sequel to this drabble.
Andrew's second visit to the Danyoung Group is no less intimidating than the first. It doesn't have to be a meeting at all. It could be an email. A text message. An Instagram DM. Does Jinguk even use Instagram? Probably not.
His answer is one word. In hindsight, it's ridiculous he even thought otherwise. All it took was spending a day almost, but not quite, third-wheeling with Jaeseop and Jaeseop's girlfriend, Seoyeon. It wasn't supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be an outing for Fable on one of Jaeseop's rare days off, with Seoyeon accompanying them only because Jaeseop had so few days off. Then the rest of the group started dropping like flies in the days leading up their lunch: Kiyoung and Intak at the premiere of an anime film, Haksu on something akin to a date of his own, Byeonghwi doing something he's been incredibly cagey about, and Mingeun's second or third bout of house arrest this year. Andrew's lost count.
The lack of an audience at lunch gave Andrew the courage to ask Jaeseop about his predicament, and Jaeseop the freedom to chew out Andrew in public—all while Seoyeon sat there quietly and ate her food.
The direct consequence of that day is today. This time, Andrew takes the elevator to the ninth floor, and heads down the hall until he reaches the room labeled 923 in gold text on a shiny black plaque. He knocks first, then pushes the door open without waiting for a response.
The first thing he notices is that the view from the ninth floor isn't much different from the view from the fifteenth. This room, too, has a wall made entirely of glass. Better to lord over the people below you with, Andrew thinks.
He bows politely to Jinguk, standing near the window and doing the very lording Andrew was just thinking of. "Good afternoon."
"It's good to see you again, Andrew," Jinguk says. The words themselves might be warm, but the delivery lacks any sort of emotion. "Have you given any thought to my proposal?"
Straight to the point. Andrew hasn't even taken a seat. To be fair, he doesn't think he wants to take a seat. It's a far cry from the waffling Taein tends to do.
"I have," he says, hovering uncertainly near one of the two chairs in the room.
"Have a seat, and we'll talk." Despite his words, Jinguk doesn't make a move.
Andrew sits, against his better judgement. "I appreciate your offer," he says—calm, practiced, rehearsed, like he's staring down a camera—"but I'm going to have to decline. I'm staying with Fable." His heart jackhammers wildly in his chest, and he has to make a conscious effort to keep his knee from bouncing up and down.
"I suspected as much," Jinguk says. "I hoped you'd be more pragmatic."
Andrew is pragmatic. He's so pragmatic he knows he stands to lose too much if he leaves Fable now. And he's done his research on C Entertainment's artists. He sees two potential paths in that future: being indefinitely shelved or constantly scrutinized for payola.
He gives a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know if you're looking for pragmatism. You might want to try selfishness or greed. I can recommend Mingeun or Haksu." He doubts either of them would take Jinguk's deal, though he knows they'd be tempted in the same way he was.
Jinguk's expression grows stormy. His brow tightens, and he fixes Andrew with a disapproving look. "You must not understand the magnitude of your decision. This is not the sort of opportunity anyone can receive. They are liabilities, more so than you."
But Andrew is a liability too. He champions for himself, enough to butt heads with Mingeun on a wide range of topics. He'll bend and bend and bend—he had to, to debut—but he won't break. There are parts of himself he can't give up on, and that, he thinks, makes him more of a liability than someone like Mingeun. He doesn't say any of that out loud.
"They're people," he says, "not liabilities."
"This is a business, and you are an idol. It is a lesson both you and Taein-ssi have yet to learn." Jinguk's bottom lip curves up in a sneer.
Andrew doesn't know what he has to do with Taein. The side he picked, the battle line he drew in the sand. Something like that.
"It's unfortunate you have yet to come to your senses," Jinguk continues, though he doesn't sound disappointed or resigned in the slightest. He checks the time on his impossibly shiny watch. "My two pm will arrive shortly. I assume you know your way out."
Andrew nods quickly. He recognizes a dismissal when he hears one, and he's only too happy to leave. "If I ever come to my senses, you'll be the first to know."
As he leaves, he can't shake the feeling that he got off too easily, like he willing walked into the jaws of the beast and emerged unscathed. Jinguk appeared to respect Andrew's answer, even if he didn't appear to respect Andrew himself. It'll dog him, he knows, one more enigmatic piece in the puzzle of Jinguk's design.
OCTOBER 2024. Live Haksu reaction to this article.
"What is this?" Haksu asks. He pinches a sheet of paper between two fingers, as if it's poisonous. The glaring headline on the printed article reads, "Zenith Entertainment to Press Charges Against Fable Sasaeng." It's hard to read in the dim parking garage lighting, but Haksu has already committed the important parts to memory.
Taein's gaze, bored and disinterested, flicks over the paper and then Haksu. "It's what you wanted." He steps left in a valiant effort to get to his car.
Haksu mirrors his movements. If he could have snuck into his office to borrow his car keys, he would have. As it is, he has to settle for body-blocking his boss instead. "No, it's not. This is loud and messy. I wanted something discrete."
"Like a hit man," Taein says drily. He makes another unsuccessful attempt to get to the driver's side door of his car.
Haksu shrugs. That would be preferable. He folds the paper in half. Over the past couple of months, he's learned how to play Eunmyeong's game, picked up all her rules and added a few of his own. He's managing so far, by himself. He doesn't need Taein's lawsuit interfering with his carefully arranged house of cards.
"She never assaulted me," he says.
"Not everything is about you."
This is. Haksu knows that for a fact. From the moment he read the headline, he knew the anonymous A was Eunmyeong. No one else followed him home. He doesn't need to be a detective. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could figure that out.
"Think about it, Haksu," Taein says. He rolls his shoulders back. "I'd like to leave work today."
Haksu doesn't budge. "Do you think this will stop her?"
"As much as I'd like to be able to predict the future, I can't say what she will or will not do." He levels a piercing gaze at Haksu. "Don't you know her better?"
There's an accusation in there, if he can be bothered to find it. He's been on more pseudo-dates with her than he'd like to admit. Not enough to have lost count, but enough to recognize certain pillars of their otherwise tenuous relationship. He would know her, if their relationship was more even. As it stands, she's so obsessed with him that they don't talk about much else. Haksu only knows what her last name is because she told his mom. He doesn't know when her birthday is. He doesn't know where she lives or where she grew up or what her favorite food is.
"I don't know her at all," he answers. "Why did it take you this long to press charges?"
"Proper legal cases take time," Taein says, forming each word slowly, as if they cause him physical pain.
Haksu opens his mouth.
"For the second time, Haksu, I don't have any mafia connections you can take advantage of."
Haksu closes his mouth.
Taein continues to speak. "I wouldn't go through with this if there wasn't a reasonable chance the charges would stick. Have faith."
If there's one thing Haksu has, it's faith. He has faith in spades. His faith only falters when it comes to Taein. He should trust his boss more. He doesn't. He steps aside reluctantly, finally giving Taein access to his car.
Taein doesn't even thank him. All he does is pull the driver's side door open and say, "It's not your problem to worry about. Focus on your work, and don't go around giving phone numbers to your group members."
Haksu takes personal offense to that. He tamps it down and responds with his usual decorum instead. "Good night, sajangnim." He doesn't think Taein hears him. The door slams closed as he speaks.
Taein's headlights cast dramatic shadows as Haksu turns tail, shredding the paper as he goes. He doesn't see a problem with giving Mingeun a new phone number—and a new phone. He doesn't approve of everything Mingeun does, but he doesn't have to. He was just doing his duty as a friend.
He pauses as he reaches the fresh evening air, the breeze a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the inside of the garage. Haksu stuffs the shreds of paper into his pockets. Taein can do whatever he wants. Fine. So can he. He wonders if she knows she's going to court soon. It would be courteous to warn her, wouldn't it? He watches Taein's Mazda make a sharp right and nearly bowl over a pedestrian. Then he slips his phone out of his back pocket and writes a quick text.
OCTOBER 2024. Not a sequel to anything. It's more of an update of what Kiyoung is up to and the relevance of The Midas Touch to Fable.
As a collective, The Midas Touch is louder, rowdier, and more energetic than Kiyoung remembers being at their age. The excitement of a newly debuted group is palpable, but not quite contagious. That, and it pales in comparison to the sheer malice simply radiating from Haksu.
"Who pissed you off?" he mutters under his breath, adjusting the mic pack clipped to the back of his waist band more than he should.
"None of your business," Haksu mutters back.
"You'll keep it together?"
"Of course." The words are sharp. He corrects himself a moment later, softening into a more relaxed posture and expression. "I always do." He has the gall to wink at Kiyoung.
It's uncomfortable, watching the ease at which Haksu slides between his true feelings and his perfect image. Kiyoung suppresses a shudder.
Their role today is a supporting one. It's an extremely staged moment in The Midas Touch's extremely staged day. The idea is to present them with the same friendly and relatable boy-next-door image they built as trainees. Kiyoung thinks there are other groups who already occupy that niche, but he's not their creative director or management in any way.
The original plan was for him and Haksu to make a brief appearance to congratulate them on their first music show win. It was supposed to appear spontaneous. That plan fell through last week, when it became very apparent that TMT would be the runner-up to a project group Kiyoung's never hehrd of. Almost all of their music is in English, with the excepption of the song they promoted to win a week's worth of music shows.
So the script was rewritten, and now Kiyoung and Haksu are congratulating them on their debut. Never mind the fact that they already did that, right after TMT's music show debut, back when Fable was promoting their own album. This time is different because Haksu has a cake. He also has strict instructions to give it to Shinji, according to the script Kiyoung read a couple of hours ago. Shinji is, according to the same script, the clumsiest member by far.
He suspects someone is already prepared to clean frosting off the floor.
The long-awaited signal from the couple of supervising producers—a frantic flurry of waving, gesturing, and ushering—finally arrives. The smallest glance sideways tells Kiyoung Haksu is immaculately prepared. He has his cake, and he's turned down the malice to a less overpowering level.
Kiyoung gets the door. He makes it two steps into the room before there are three handheld cameras focused on him—an important part of TMT's relatability. They're greeted with overlapping cries of, "Sunbaenim! You didn't have to!" and "Haksu-hyung, is that for us?"
Kiyoung feels sorry for the editors who have to piece this footage together.
Haksu unceremoniously shoves the cake towards Shinji. The eldest member of the group, Elias, swoops in and intercepts it instead. "He'll drop it," he says, balancing both the cake and his camera.
"That might be the point," Kiyoung concedes quietly.
Though he looks loathe to play along, Elias passes it back to Shinji.
"Congratulations on your debut," Haksu says, an ever-consummate professional.
Then, message delivered, he surprises Kiyoung by making a beeline back towards the door.
Kiyoung grabs him by the wrist. "You can't leave," he hisses under his breath.
"You can come too," Haksu says, tugging his wrist free.
Kiyoung jerks his head towards TMT. "They're filming." A camera is usually the magic switch that gets Haksu to play nice.
Haksu turns around and flashes his usual charismatic smile. "Can you please cut the cameras?" he asks, tone syrupy sweet.
"Deadass?" Arjun asks from behind his own camera. All five of them break into sycophantic laughter.
Kiyoung assumes the cameras are still rolling. "He's not usually like this," he says, making a rather pathetic attempt to salvage the remnants of Haksu's image.
A silent look passes through the group, communicating something Kiyoung can't even begin to imagine.
Elias seems to speak for all of them when he says, "I thought so." He angles his camera back to Haksu. "Anything else for today's TMT Log?"
He's giving them a way out. Kiyoung nearly sags with relief.
Haksu seems to compose himself, straightening up and clasping his hands together. "The Midas Touch are our very precious juniors who recently made their debut. They've worked very hard to get to where they are today. Please make sure to show them lots of love and support!" He rattles off a few lines that are much more fitting of his usual persona.
Elias gives them a little nod, and this time, when Haksu runs for the door, Kiyoung doesn't stop him. He recites his own parting message, spit-balling whatever comes to mind—another congratulatory message, a half-plea to the editors to showcase Haksu in a positive light, permission to visit Fable whenever they'd like.
"I thought you said you could keep it together," Kiyoung says quietly as soon as they're in the hallway again. He suspects most of that footage will be cut. Shinji didn't even drop the cake.
Haksu flicks his bangs out of his eyes. "I did."
They have very different definitions of keeping it together, he thinks, disconnecting his microphone. Whatever is happening in Haksu's head is something he'd never confess to Kiyoung.
"Everything is fine," Haksu says.
Kiyoung suspects this is supposed to be reassuring. He doesn't believe it at all.
#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ writing. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ mingeun. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ yejun. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ haksu. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ kiyoung. ]#fictional idol community#kpop oc#idol oc#fake kpop group
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key to the storage unit/ oh but I gotta know? thank you!!!
object + emotion prompt list here! still accepting!!
19. Key to a storage unit.
20. OH BUT I GOTTA KNOW??? I GOTTA
--
Kravitz could have sworn that being sneaky used to be a lot easier. Maybe people— necromancers, in particular, because that's those are the only people Kravitz had been around for a good while— had just been stupider in the past? It was possible, considering the amount of necromantic knowledge that just got fuckin' blasted into everyone's heads thanks to Story and Song. People had definitely been more dumb when he was alive at least.
But maybe he was coming at this from a weird point of view, considering that he was still getting adjusted to having two people with him on every single mission. The two people who, in particular, had done most of the necromantic research that got blasted out to everyone. And the two people who had multi-classed in so much shit that Kravitz wasn't even sure what their main class was.
Kravitz missed when he only had to worry about Lup and Barry in abstract. Like, "wow, these folks have died way too many times, that's fucked up!" and not "if I say one wrong thing, they will immediately swarm me like over-eager dogs and demand to know where I'm going and if they can go with me".
Unfortunately, Kravitz was bad at saying the right things. So here he was, swarmed, just trying to get his work done.
"We have a storage unit???" Lup said, stepping out of the portal behind him. He heard Barry trip, but he didn't turn to help, because one: Barry should know better by now, and two: Kravitz had to mentally prepare for what was coming next.
"Yep," Kravitz said, walking up to the building. "Well, it's more of a warehouse, if we're being honest, but same difference." It was bleak and cold outside, but it always was in the astral plane. He'd given up asking for a heater long, long ago. Lup and Barry followed behind me.
"And you never told us because…??"
Kravitz stopped at the door, sighing. He turned to face them. Barry's glasses had begun to fog up due to the temperature.
"I need you to promise," Kravitz said, very seriously, very professionally, "that you will not take anything that is in there back with you. Okay? Just like, a little promise—"
"A prommy," Barry said. Lup nodded in agreement.
"A prommy, sure," Kravitz said. "You gotta prommy you won't take any of this shit home, okay?"
"What happens if we do, though," Lup said. She paused. "By accident."
"The Raven Queen will be very, very mad at you," Kravitz said. "Also, depending on what you take, it could fracture the connections between planes, or like, your mind, or your body, or someone else's mind or body, or— a lot of bad shit, is what I'm trying to say. Do you promise?"
Lup and Barry shared a look. That was never a good thing.
"Cross my heart," Barry said, drawing an X across his chest and holding his hand up, like a boy scout.
"Hope to die," Lup said sweetly.
That's… as good as he's going to get, probably. Kravitz turned back to the door, using his pinky to slice another portal through realities and reach his hand into it. He really needed to clean out this pocket dimension, because the minute and a half he spent rooting around in it did not help his cool factor, even like a little bit. He found like, fourteen pens before he found the key.
"What's even in there?" Lup asked as he dug around the pocket dimension. "I gotta know. For science reasons."
"Mostly pens," Kravitz said, embarrassed.
"No, the storage unit, babe," Lup said. "I couldn't care less about your fucked up pocket dimension. Taako's got a whole ass spa in his pocket, it can get worse than that."
It can, but Kravitz wasn't going to say that.
"Oh," Kravitz said. "I knew that."
"Sure you did, bud," Barry said.
"Well, uhm, it's a lot of different stuff?" Was that the key? Aw, fuck, nope, that's a fifteenth pen. "Mostly confiscated necromantic stuff— which you promised not to take!" He could practically hear their disappointment. "Mostly books, but there's some huge ass bones and a few like, cursed objects? It's hard to— You'll— you'll see what I mean."
At long last, he pulled the key out. The key itself was black and sapphire blue, with a raven skull as the bow. Behind him, Barry snapped in appreciation. He slid the key into the door, unlocking it, and then placed the key back in the pocket dimension, so future Kravitz could deal with it. (Future Kravitz would not.)
The room was large and, much like he said, mostly filled with books. There was a loft up near the rafters and rickety stairs that led up to it. Most of what was in here was dust, if he was being honest. Dust and spooky, illegal stuff.
"Alright," Kravitz said. "Much like the Eternal Stockade, this room is mainly a waiting chamber. We're trying to outlast the magical energy these objects have, basically. You should just be able to like, feel if the curses or enchantments have worn off already. If they have, we can start a pile right ov— and you're not listening anymore. Great. Stellar."
Barry and Lup had immediately split off behind him. Lup was headed towards the big bones, Barry was poking around at some of the books already.
Kravitz sighed again. It was going to be a very long day.
#kravitz#lup#barry bluejeans#taz#taz balance#mine#ise cube writing#asks#ceilingfan5#thank u for the ask larissa!! and for the prompt list lskdfsdf
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...Okay, I know I have posted A LOT about Guardian's questionable set design and set dressing, but it's really not my fault. Every time I pull up an episode to look up a detail for something, I randomly land on some new nonsense that I have never noticed before.
Today's buffoonery:
What
is
THIS?!
Is that a car seat shoved into a holding pen made of pipe? Why is it in the SID hallway?? It can't be intended as something to sit on, because there's a pipe running across the front of the seat. Was it evidence in a case they couldn't fit in the filing cabinet? Did Lao Chu confiscate it from someone who illegally double-parked in front of the building? I have so many questions.
Instead of words, maybe the prompts for the next @guardianbingo event could just be a randomized collection of all the incomprehensible stuff that shows up in the background of this drama, and participants have to come up with some -- any -- reason for it to be there.
Also of interest in this shot: Zhao Yunlan's putting practice set (apparently he plays golf? Or just likes goofing around in his office), more random steampunk decor, still more mediocre motel room art, and three SID members huddling against the glass to spy and eavesdrop when they could take three steps to the right and be on the side of the office that has no glass whatsoever.
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𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗦 ⎯⎯ 𝗺𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻.
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► ft. mammon - omswd
► cw ,, swearing , idk what else
► my obsession w mammon is dangerous so hes gonna b my main focus rn for a while
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getting your boyfriend to sit down and study was possible the most frustrating thing you have ever done. he couldnt sit still - bouncing off the walls of the room to try and avoid doing the actual work. it had gotten to the point where you had confiscated his ddd and threatened him with a week of no physical contact if he didnt study.
this apparently seemed to slightly work. mammon was now sat down in his seat opposite you, pen in hand as he stared down at the books and sheets in front of him, glaring at them as if they had burned his precious credit card. you paid his silent tantrum no mind, writing down your own notes and creating mini flashcards for later revision. you even ignored the small glances he would occasionally send you, knowing better than to look into his puppy dog eyes that would convince you every time to immediately coddle and kiss him.
mammon groaned for the umpteenth time that hour, one of his hands running through his messy, white locks. he looked back down at the sheet in front of him - math. it wasnt that mammon couldnt do it: that was far from the truth. outside of school, he excelled at it ... well, he excelled at anything related to money. but he never saw the point of actually trying with his school work. the only time he would ever sit down and complete the work was when lucifer threatened him with something he loved - yet again, money.
but recently, mammon had found himself slightly more motivated to do his work than usual. it was becoming more and more often that he would voluntarily sit down and study, which understandably scared the shit out of his brothers. mammon claimed that he was only doing it so that lucifer would increase his allowance, but when mammon saw your smiling face and how happy you looked at the increase in his test results, he knew the actual reason why he did it.
but this clearly wasnt one of those sweet, heartwarming moments. so, when you felt a sharp poke at your forehead, and the feeling of folded paper fall onto your lap, you put down your pen and glared across the table at your irritating lover, who was pretending to busy himself with his work. with a sigh, you looked down at your lap to see a paper plane resting there, the nose of the plane slightly crumpled from hitting your head. taking the plane into your hands, you unfolded it to reveal one of mammon's blank worksheets, save for a scribble of words on the back of the page.
'youve got a booger ¬‿¬ '
at this, your face flushed with embarrassment, annoyed with mammon for not telling you. you scrunched up the paper plane in your hands before throwing it at your boyfriend's face.
"FUCK YOU!!!"
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#obey me#obey me x reader#obey me x you#obey me x mc#obey me x y/n#obey me shall we date#omswd#omswd x you#omswd x reader#omswd x y/n#mammon x reader#mammon x mc#mammon x you#mammon x y/n
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