#not sure he got the note that it was *supposed* to be as shallow as a fluffy duckling paddling in a puddle mind

[nym-wibbly]

should i watch stonehenge apocalpyse for misha?

Specifically to see him? Sure! He's great in it, and very pretty.

The storyline is Silly McSillypants (as these sci-fi disaster flix are designed to be) but the cast is uniformly awesome (Tori Higginson, Peter Wingfield, Brent Stait, Hill Harper, Michael Kopsa et al) and the pacing chugs along fast enough that the plot silliness can fly.

Make popcorn. Suspend disbelief. Enjoy!

[lee-laurent]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn had never considered himself the jealous type until the girl he loved could be getting married.

content: angst!!!

wc: 3.14k

notes: not sure what this is! but enjoy!!

Summer at the Hughes' lakehouse was loud, messy, and full of life. The days were humid and sticky, the nights cool and thick with stars. Quinn Hughes often found himself sitting on the porch steps, watching Jack and Natalia dart across the yard in their own little world. Natalia Cooper was just a kid back then, hair in a tangled ponytail, freckles dusting her sunburned cheeks. But somehow, even at ten years old, she could command attention like no other.

She into their family so seamlessly it was hard to imagine a time before her. Nat had moved in two doors down the summer she and Jack turned nine, and from that moment on, she was part of the family. Quinn often wondered how she managed to make herself so comfortable--bursting through their backdoor unannounced, diving headfirst into arguments with Jack over video games, or sitting at the dinner table for family dinners.

Quinn was 12 then, awkward and trying to navigate his soon-to-be teen years. He didn't pay much attention to Nat at first; she was just Jack's best friend, loud and bossy and always challenging Jack to do something stupid like jumping off the dock into water that was clearly too shallow.

But Nat made her presence known, even when you weren't looking for it. She was stubborn and quick-witted, the kind of girl who didn't back down from a fight but still cried when they accidentally broke her favourite bracelet during a game of keep-away. Jack teased her mercilessly, but Quinn saw the way she always came back for more, how she could give as good as she got.

The first time Quinn noticed her--really noticed her--was the summer he turned 15. Jack and Nat had been inseperable for years by then, their bond stronger than ever. They were out on the lake one afternoon, paddling around in an old canoe that was more duct tape than wood, when the thing finally gave out.

By the time they made it back to the shore, dripping wet and covered in muck, Nat was laughing so hard she could barely stand. Quinn had been sitting on the dock, book in hand, but he couldn't stop watching her. She had a gap-toothed grin, one her braces hadn't fixed quiet yet, but it was the kind of smile that made you want to smile back.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a moment.

But then there were more moments.

Like the time she sat beside him on the porch steps, picking at the splinters in the wood with a stick while Jack sulked inside after losing a game of street hockey. "You're not like Jack," she said out of nowhere, her voice soft. "You notice things more. Like, you really see them."

He didn't know what to say to that. He just stared at her, his throat tight, and nodded.

Or the time she came bounding into the kitchen, still in her muddy cleats from soccer practice, to grab a glass of water. She didn't even look at him as she told him his shirt was on inside out, her voice matter-of-fact, like it was perfectly normal for her to walk into their house and call him out on his absentmindedness.

She was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

By the time Quinn was seventeen, it was no longer a question of whether he liked her. He knew he did. The real question was what he was supposed to do about it.

The answer, of course, was nothing.

She was Jack's best friend. She was practically a sister to all of them. And even if none of that had been true, she'd never given him a single reason to think she saw him as anything more than "Jack's older brother?"

So he did what he thought he had to: he buried it.

He let himself smile at her jokes and listen to her stories, but he kept a careful distance. He made sure he was always just a little too busy, a little too preoccupied, whenever she and Jack invited him to join their adventures.

It was easier that way. Safer

Then Trevor Zegras entered the picture, and everything got harder.

The first summer with Trevor was the beginning of everything. Jack had invited his new teammate to the lakehouse for the weekend, and by the time Sunday evening rolled around, Trevor had woven himself seamlessly into their lives.

Nat, of course, loved him immediately. She teased him relentlessly about his messy hair and his tendency to trip over his own feet, but there was something about the way she looked at him. It was as if she'd finally met her match.

Quinn hated it. Not Trevor--he couldn't hate Trevor, not really. The guy was too likable, to good at making everyone laugh, even Quinn. But watching Nat light up around him, seeing the way her attention shifted completely, was like swallowing shards of glass.

That weekend stretched into weeks, and by the time summer ended, it was clear Trevor wasn't going anywhere. He and Nat weren't dating, but the shift seemed inevitable. Quinn could see it in the way Trevor found excuses to sit next to her, the way Natalia lingered a little too long when she playfully shoved his shoulder.

And when they finally did get together, just a few months shy of their eighteenth birthdays, Quinn told himself it didn't matter.

The truth was, Quinn had been preparing for this moment for years. Ever since he'd realized his feelings for Nat weren't something he could shake, he'd been practicing the art of pretending.

He smiled when Trevor made her laugh, even when it felt like someone had his heart clenched in their fist. He offered polite congratulations when they officially became a couple. And he did everything to focus on anything but the girl who was now completely out of reach.

It wasn't easy.

There were nights he'd lie awake in his room at the lakehouse, staring at the ceiling as he listened to their muffled laughter through the wall. There were moments when Nat would sit beside him on the dock, her shoulder brushing his, and he'd have to remind himself to breathe, to act normal, to not let her see the way his hands were shaking.

But he managed.

Because what was he supposed to do? She was happy, and that was all that mattered.

The hardest part wasn't seeing them together. It was the moments when Nat still treated him like he was special.

There was one night, a week before her high school graduation, when they all sat around the firepit, trading stories and laughing at Trevor's horrible impressions. Nat had been sitting beside Trevor, her hand resting on his knee, but at some point she'd turn to Quinn.

"You don't talk much, but when you do, it's like always the smartest thing I've heard," she told him, and it took him a second to realize she was serious.

Trevor had laughed, clapping Quinn on the shoulder and joking that they couldn't all be philosophers. But Quinn hadn't been able to look at Natalia for the rest of the night.

By the time Trevor and Natalia turned twenty, Quinn had become an expert at hiding his feelings. He could sit across from them at dinner, join in on their conversations, and even laugh at Trevor's jokes without letting anything slip.

It wasn't easy, but it was necessary.

She was happy with Trevor and that was that. So he stayed quiet. He stayed in the background. And hoped that someday, it would stop hurting as much.

~~

Nobody dared to miss the lakehouse trip, no matter how busy life had become. This year was no exception. Quinn arrived late on a Friday afternoon, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he walked into his favourite place in the world (besides maybe the rink).

The familiar sounds of summer greeted him: laughter spilling from the kitchen, the faint hum of Jack's playlist in the background, and the echo of waves lapping at the dock.

"Finally!" Jack called from the living room, throwing an arm around Quinn the moment he entered the room. "We thought you were gonna bail on us!"

"Never," Quinn said, scanning the room for her.

And there she was. Natalia, leaning against the counter, a glass of white wine in her hand and her face lit up with a laugh that made his chest feel tight. Trevor stood beside her, his arm around her waist.

It was the same scene he'd witnessed a hundred times before, and yet it never got any easier.

~~

By the second day, Quinn had slipped into the rhythm of the lakehouse. It was easy to lose himself in the comfort of routine, to pretend, if only for a moment, that things were simple.

Nat was as radiant as ever, her energy contagious as she pulled the group into games of volleyball in her family's backyard and paddleboarding races. She was competitive to a fault, yelling at Jack when he missed an easy spike and high-fiving Trevor when he landed a perfect serve.

Quinn stayed on the sidelines from time to time, watching from the safety of the shade. He told himself it was better that way. She was happy, he wouldn't ruin that.

But every now and then, she'd catch him off guard. Like when she walked up behind him, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they sat on the dock.

"You okay, Hughesy?" she asked.

"Yeah," he forced a smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She frowned, tilting her head in a way that said she didn't believe him. "You've been quiet, even for you."

He shrugged, not trusting himself to say more.

~~

It was the fourth night of the trip when Trevor let it slip.

They'd all gathered around the firepit, smell of burning wood mixing with the crisp lake air. The guys had been drinking--nothing excessive, just enough to loosen their tongues and bring out the usual round of embarrassing stories.

Trevor, always the life of the party, was on a roll, recounting a ridiculous tale from his time at college. Nat was asleep upstairs, the day having taken it out of her.

And then, out of nowhere, Trevor said it.

"I mean, hell, if she said yes to dating me back then, maybe she'll say yes to marrying me now."

The words hung in the air for a moment, too casual to feel intentional, yet heavy enough to bring the conversation to a halt.

Jack was the first to react, his grin splitting wide as he clapped Trevor on the back. "Wait--are you serious? You're proposing?"

Trevor laughed, a little nervous, but nodded. "Yeah. Been thinking about it for a while. I've got the ring in my suitcase. Figured this trip might be the perfect time."

Quinn felt the world tilt beneath him. His chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

"That's huge, man," Jack said, raising his beer. "Nat's gonna freak--in a good way."

Quinn forced a smile, tightening his grip on his beer. "Congrats." The word tasted bitter on his tongue.

Trevor didn't seem to notice his tone though, too caught up in the attention as the group peppered him with questions about his plan.

~~

Trevor's announcement echoed in Quinn's mind long after the group dispersed. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the sounds of the lakehouse settling around him. Trevor was going to propose to Nat.

It shouldn't have hit him so hard--they'd been together for five years. But the idea of her with someone else forever was suffocating.

He threw back the covers and slipped out of his room, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. He needed air.

He'd made it all the way to the end of the dock before his emotions really took over. He sat down, staring at the black water. For years, he'd convinced himself he could live with just being her friend, that watching her with Trevor didn't hurt that badly. But this had shattered that illusion.

"Damn it," he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. He slammed his fist against the dock, ignoring the burning in his hand.

"Quinn?"

He turned sharply to see Nat, wrapped in a blanket, her brow furrowed in concern. "Hey," she said softly, stepping closer. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he lied.

"You don't look okay." She lowered herself to sit beside him, her blanket brushing his arm. "Trevor said you dipped from the fire."

"I just... needed some space," his voice was clipped.

Nat didn't press immediately. She tilted her head, studying him like she always did when she knew he was holding back. "If something's wrong, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

Her voice was gentle, genuine.

"I'm fine, Nat," he said, harsher than he intended. "You don't have to worry about me."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You keep saying that, but it doesn't feel true."

Quinn exhaled sharply, looking away. He couldn't do this, not now, not with her so close, her concern so obvious.

"Why are you even out here?" he asked defencively.

Nat blinked at his change in demeanor. "I couldn't sleep," she said carefully. "Then I saw you leave, and... I wanted to check on you."

"Well, I don't need checking on," he snapped, immediately regretting the bitterness in his voice.

She stiffened but didn't move. "Okay. So you're just out here punching the dock for fun?"

The hint of sarcasm in her voice surprised him, but it also stung. He turned back to her, his jaw tight. "You don't understand, Nat."

"Then help me understand," she said, her tone sharp now too, frustration bleeding into her words. "You've been so closed off, Quinn. You never let anyone in. But I'm here, trying--"

"It doesn't matter! Nothing I feel matters!"

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

"What are you talking about?"

Quinn clenched his fists, staring out at the water. He'd held this in for so long, he didn't even know how to start explaining.

"I've been trying to ignore this for years," he said finally, voice low. "To bury it, to be okay with the way things are. But tonight... hearing Trevor..." He trailed off, throat tight.

"Hearing Trevor what?"

Quinn looked at her then, his eyes searching hers. He could see the confusion, the worry, the way she was leaning in, waiting for him to explain.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. "He's going to propose to you," he said flatly.

Nat froze, her eyes wide. "What?"

"He told us tonight. At the fire."

The silence that followed was deafening.

She sat back, her blanket slipping from her shoulders. "I didn't... I had no idea."

"Yeah, well, now you do."

She stared at him, trying to piece together why he was telling her this. Ruining the surprise. "Quinn, why are you--"

"Because I can't do this anymore!"

Her eyes widened, and the dam finally cracked.

"I've been in love with you for years, Nat," he said, words tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. "And I've spent every one of those years pretending I don't feel anything, pretending I'm okay with being just your friend. But I'm not. I never have been."

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Quinn stood, running a hand through his hair as he paced the dock. "And now Trevor's going to propose, and I have to sit here and watch you say yes. I have to act like I'm happy for you, like it doesn't kill me every time I see you with him."

He stopped, his shoulder heavy. "I can't do it anymore, Natalia. I just... I can't."

"Quinn," Nat whispered.

"Don't," his voice broke. "I know this doesn't change anything. I know you love him. I just... I couldn't keep it in anymore."

She stood slowly, stepping away from him. "You should have told me," her voice trembled.

He let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And what would that have changed?"

Nat didn't answer.

"I'm sorry, Nat. I shouldn't have said anything."

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone on the dock.

~~

The sun was setting, casting golden rays across the lake. Trevor stood at the edge of the dock, a nervous grin on his face as he addressed the group. Natalia was at his side, her laughter ringing out as Jack made some teasing comment, completely unaware of what was about to unfold.

Quinn lingered near the back of the group, hands shoved in his pockets. Every breath was laboured as he watched Trevor reach into his own pocket and pull out a small, velvet box.

"Guys," he started. "I just wanted to say... this place, this trip, it means a lot to me. And you all mean a lot to me. But this is the place I met my best friend. The one person who's made my life better than I ever thought possible." He turned to Nat, his voice softening. "Natalia, you've been my best friend, my girlfriend, my everything, and--"

Quinn's heart thundered in his chest. He couldn't breathe.

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Stop!"

All heads snapped toward him, Trevor freezing mid-sentence. Nat looked confused and... concerned.

Quinn stepped forward. "I can't... I can't let you say yes, Nat. You... you know how I feel. I--"

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Nat moved. Slowly, deliberately, she stepped away from Trevor, her gaze locked with Quinn's. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. For the first time in years, the weight lifted from Quinn's shoulders. He--

A loud cheer erupted, shattering the moment. Quinn blinked, the blood rushing in his ears as the sound brought him back to reality.

Trevor was on one knee, the velvet box open in hand. Nat stood frozen, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her hands over her mouth.

"Yes!" she cried. "Yes, Trevor, of course I'll marry you!"

Quinn hadn't said a word. It had all been in his head--a desperate, hopeless fantasy.

He watched as Trevor stood, slipping the ring onto Nat's finger before pulling her into a kiss. The group erupted in applause, Jack whooping loudly as Cole practically bounced with excitement.

The group surrounded the happy couple, offering hugs and congratulations, Quinn slipped away unnoticed. He made his way up the dock, his footsteps heavy and breaths shallow.

She'd made her choice.

And it wasn't him.

It would never be him.

He was too late.

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Worst Case Scenario

Summary- Gareth wants the chance to talk to you so badly, but seeing how you react to other guys approaching you only makes him more and more nervous…

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None c:

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @munsonology @aidansloth @esme-viridian @morganwrites12672

(tag list is always open, please let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

Word Count- 3.7k

“Just go up and ask!” Jeff urged Gareth as the four of them sat at a table a few rows in front of you at the library.

“I can’t!” Gareth whispered, “What if she says no?”

“What if she says yes?” Grant said, trying to push Gareth into finally being able to ask you out.

It had been months since he gained this little crush on you, and it was growing to the point of agony for him. Sneaking glances at you from across the classroom, tripping himself up in the halls from watching you walk past, and your sweet demeanor definitely wasn’t helping much.

You were so smart, so kind, and though you had barely spoken to one another aside from an occasional ‘hi’ in the halls he could tell that you were someone genuine. But seeing all the other guys get rejected day after day didn’t make him feel any better about his crush on you.

He’d seen guys approach you in class, in the halls, during lunch. At least one guy a week had the balls to ask you out on a date, and though you had always appreciated their offers, you turned down every single one. And Gareth knew he would probably just be another one of those guys you rejected.

“Stop overthinking it.” Eddie said, “If she says yes, good. If she says no, then you have your answer. Simple as that.”

Gareth knew Eddie was right. He shouldn’t pry you with things like this, and he knew that if he got another rejection he could take it well. Sure, it may hurt at first, but he’s been through it before and he can do it again. He was about to stand up and finally do it, but he stopped as he watched one of the seniors approach your table.

The boys kept themselves quiet, trying their best to hear the interaction that was about to take place. And it seemed like a few of the boys at the tables around you were doing the same thing.

Daniel McNeal was a senior, decently attractive, smart, and was quite gifted when it came to managing a schedule filled with work, school, sports, and a handful of extracurriculars to really spice up his college applications. Gareth knew now he wouldn’t stand a chance after him.

He and the boys sat back and carefully watched your interaction.

As Daniel approached your table, your head tilted up from your notebook and gave him a polite smile as he looked down to you, moving your attention quickly back into your notes.

“Hey.” He said with a smile, getting your attention once more.

You looked up once again and gave him another smile,

“Hi.”

“You’re (y/n), right?”

“Yep.” You’re went back to scribbling down a few points from your textbook, “That’s me. Why?”

“You know, i always saw glances of you in the halls,” He helped himself to the seat across from you at your table, “I just never expected you to be this pretty up close.”

You kept a kind smile on your face and let out a slow sigh, knowing exactly what was about to play out. It’s happened too many times before. You set your pencil down onto your notebook and closed it, folding your arms over it and looking up to him,

“Go on.” What you were saying would normally sound so shallow, and yet there was something about the way you said it that made it sound so syrupy sweet. No matter how humiliated all those rejected boys felt beforehand, you never made them feel bad for asking.

Daniel shot you a strange look,

“What do you mean?”

“Ask me out. I assume that’s what you came over here to talk to me about, but if it’s not then i apologize. I think i’ve been in this situation so many times things like this just come natural to me.” You giggled, making him smile.

“Pretty and smart. You’re the whole package, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so.” You shrugged.

Daniel leaned forward into the table, talking softly to you with a cocky smile on his face, thinking he’s already got you wrapped around his finger,

“Well, what do you say? You, me, saturday night, i was thinking the drive in but if that’s not your style i’d be happy to take you to dinner.”

“No thanks.” You smiled still, pulling your arms away from over your notebook before opening it back up and moving your attention back to your textbook.

Daniel gave you another confused look,

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean ‘no’ as in, ‘no, i don’t want to go out with you’. But i appreciate the offer!”

Your sweet demeanor was confusing given your answer, and Daniel was at a loss for words. He had never been rejected by a girl before, and he certainly didn’t expect you to be the first to do it. He figured with his good looks and charm he would be the one to finally break your streak of rejections, but you proved him wrong.

He watched as you happily went back to your notes, and leaned across the table to get a bit closer to you, talking in a whisper,

“Did i do something wrong?” He asked with a nervous chuckle.

“No.” You looked up to him from your notes, “It’s nothing you did. I’m not denying that you’re an attractive guy, and you seem very nice, but i’m just not interested.” You flashed him a smile and looked down back to your notes, scribbling away and leaving Daniel confused as he sat across from you.

After a few moments of silence, Daniel stood up from the chair across from you, and as he stepped away from the table you gave him one last smile before moving back to your notes. The boys were sat at their table, slack jawed after watching that scene unfold in front of them and the handful of other students sat at the tables around you.

“So she’s never going to say yes to me.” Gareth shrugged, giving up any attempts he had thought of to try and get your attention, but after watching you reject yet another guy he had no intentions of letting himself risk getting rejected.

“Stop being a pussy!” Jeff whispered through his teeth.

“Enough with that!” Gareth whispered back, quickly glancing back at you once more, watching as you continued on with your note taking, looking so peaceful as you did so, “I’ll ask… I just don’t know if i should do it now.”

“Fine then, that means she’s up for grabs.” Eddie shrugged as he sat back in his seat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you can’t get all pissy if some other guy asks her out and she says yes. Just rip the bandaid off and do it!”

Gareth put his head in his hands and sighed, knowing that Eddie was right,

“You’re right. Fuck it.”

Gareth took one last deep breath and glanced over his shoulder at you, deeply focused on your textbook, tapping the eraser at the end of your pencil on the pages of your notebook. It was now or never.

Without another word he stood up and slowly stepped toward your table, his palms already feeling damp just from taking a few steps closer to you. He kept his breathing slow, the constant reminder in the back of his head telling himself that the worst thing that could come of this would be you saying ‘no’. Rejection wouldn’t be anything new for him, so why did it feel so different with you.

When you glanced up and met his gaze with a little smile his heart stopped, along with his feet.

You quickly looked him over, a smile still on your lips as you noticed he stopped before you,

“Hi?” You said with a little giggle.

“Hi.” Gareth said as he snapped out of his little trance, still doing his best to stay calm. But you could see that he was still a bit nervous.

“Your name’s Gareth, right?” You asked him as he stood before you, holding back a little giggle as he nodded, still standing before you. “Do you want to sit down?” You asked him, motioning your pencil to the chair across from you.

“Yeah,” He laughed to himself, clearing his throat and pulling out the chair across from you, “thanks.”

You kept a sweet smile on your lips as you went back to your notes, Gareth watching you happily scribble along the pale blue lines in your notebook. He couldn’t just sit across from you in silence.

“What class is that for?” He asked as he tried to glance into the textbook you were writing from.

“History.” You set your pencil down onto your notebook and closed it, your arms crossed over the notebook as you looked at Gareth with bright eyes, “I’ve never been that great at History so i always like to study up on it a bit more.”

“Makes sense,” Gareth smiled and shrugged, “I’m the same way with Algebra, i just can’t get that stuff down.”

You giggled as you saw him smile, and you noticed a little bit of pink on his cheeks as he heard it. It was quite cute.

“So what brought you over here to me? Aren’t you sitting over there with your friends?” You asked him, making him blush deeper with embarrassment, not knowing you had noticed he and the guys had been sitting there.

“I was.” He started, clearing his throat and doing his best to not make direct eye contact. He knew that would only make him blush worse.

“But, i saw you were sitting alone and thought maybe you’d like some company? I know you’re probably studying or something but I’m pretty good at history, i’d be glad to help if you need any.”

“You know, now that you mentioned it,” You smiled, sliding the textbook you were reading from over between the two of you, “I am having a little trouble remembering some of these dates, do you think you can help me?”

Gareth looked up with bright eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips,

“Yeah!” He quickly hushed himself, clearing his throat as he remembered you were sitting in the library, “Which ones did you need help with?”

“Um, the ones on…” You sat up slightly flipping a few pages back to find the timeline, “this page. I don’t know why, i just can’t seem to get all these dates correctly, i think because everything happened so quickly in World War 1 that i can’t seem to remember which event happened on which day.”

Gareth nodded as you explained your trouble to him, but he tended up once more as he saw you shift in your seat.

“Here, i think it’ll be easier if i came over there.”

You slid the book over to him and stood up from your chair, walking around behind him and sitting in the seat next to his. You could still see a little pink on his cheeks as you smiled to him, moving your chair a bit closer to his.

The boys tried to keep their glances over at the two of you hidden, but as soon as they saw you move closer to Gareth they couldn’t help but stare.

“She got closer to him…” Jeff whispered.

“No, i can see that, but why?” Grant whispered back.

“I can’t tell what they’re talking about,” Eddie started, watching the two of you from across the room, seeing your eyes light up a little as Gareth was pointing out something on the pages of the textbook you’d been reading from, “I mean it looks like they’re just talking about school stuff but who knows…”

They saw a few giggles from you and a nervous laugh from Gareth and only got more excited for him. Giggles were always a good sign.

“You really make all this seem so easy.” You said to Gareth as you looked up from the textbook.

“Really? I don’t know, i guess this stuff always just made sense to me.” He flashed a smile as he looked to you too, and he has finally felt himself comfortable enough to ask you what he’d been dying to ask all this time.

Unfortunately he didn’t plan for the bell to ring as soon as he parted his lips to speak.

“I should get to class,” You said apologetically, carefully shutting the text book in front of you, standing up from your chair, “I want to make sure all that stuff stays fresh in my brain for this quiz. Thanks again for your help,” You placed your hand onto his forearm and gave it a little squeeze, “i really do appreciate it. Now i know exactly who to come to when i’m having a little trouble with history.”

Gareth couldn’t help but smile as he stood with you, mustering out a quiet, “No Problem, anytime.” As he saw you walk to the other side of the table and pack up your backpack.

He glanced back at the guys, who were urging him to grow a pair and ask, not even noticing that you had stepped around him to make your way to your class.

“(y/n).” He said suddenly, even catching himself off guard as you turned back to him.

“Yeah?” You asked, a sweet smile on your lips as you took a few steps back towards him.

“Um…” He cleared his throat, not sure how to start as his eyes darted all over the room, “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, but i think you’re a really interesting person, and if you weren’t doing anything this weekend i wanted to know if maybe you’d like to do something with me?”

“You mean like a date?”

He felt a blush rise to his cheeks again as he nodded.

“I’d love to!”

His eyes went wide, and he could tell that the other students around you turned in shock.

Out of everyone that had asked to take you out in school you had never taken anyone up on their offer, no matter who was asking or where they were taking you. Just to see that Gareth was the one who had somehow gotten you to say yes was a shock to everyone around you, including himself. This would no doubt be the gossip that ran through all the cliques at school for the next week.

“Really?” He asked quietly, still in shock.

You giggled and nodded,

“Really. It sounds like fun! Here,” You reached into your bag, grabbing a piece of stray paper and a pen from the side pocket, scribbling your name and number down onto it for him with a little heart in the corner, “call me later tonight and we’ll plan something.”

He was speechless.

He stood there for a moment, looking down at the little piece of paper in his hands, and he was hoping to god that this wasn’t just some joke. He snapped from his trance as he felt a hand slap down onto his shoulder, and as he looked up he saw the guys in front of him, wide eyed and just as shocked as he was.

“Is that her number?” Jeff asked him, snatching the piece of paper from Gareths hands as he continued watching you slowly step away.

“It is!” Grant exclaimed as he saw your handwriting, “Damn, i think this is the only time i’ve heard of her giving anyone her number, let alone say ‘yes’ to a date with anyone.”

“Yeah, and that ‘anyone’ is you!” Eddie smiled and patted him on the shoulder, “Good for you bud.”

Gareth felt like he should’ve been basking in his glory. He was the only guy that had ever gotten further than just a conversation and then a rejection with you. Out of every other guy that had tried their chance with you, soccer and basketball players, some of the smartest guys in school, even the class president tried his hand at you at one point or another and yet you chose him. He needed to know why.

Without saying a word to the guys he pushed past them, following behind you to try and catch you before you had made it to your next class. Thank god he could see your hair swaying behind you in the halls. He picked up his pace, dodging past the other students making their way to their classes before finally catching up and giving you a quick tap on the arm. You turned to him with a smile and a confused look,

“Hey, is everything ok?”

“Why did you say yes?” Gareth asked quickly as he tried to catch his breath, his nerves had left him entirely and were replaced with confusion.

“What do you mean?” You asked, quickly moving yourselves against the lockers to keep out of the way of the traffic of the other students.

“I’ve seen guys come up to you and ask you out countless times, not once have you ever said yes to any of them. But you said yes to me when i asked you.”

“I did.” You confirmed for him with a giggle, “So what’s all the confusion about?”

“I just…” He sighed and looked at the tile floor between the two of you, trying hard to not let himself get embarrassed and red faced again, “I’ve seen the kind of guys that have approached you before. You know, the smart guys and the popular guys, people that actually seem to mean something to the other people that go to this school. Im a nobody…”

Your lips curled into a sweet smile once again and you placed your hand to his cheek, gently guiding his eyes back to look into yours,

“You’re not a nobody. Just because you’re not super smart or popular doesn’t mean you’re a nobody. I think you’re a really cool person actually.”

Gareths eyes lit up and a small smile was brought to his lips.

“I think you’re very sweet, and you’re smart, and funny, and i think compared to most of the other guys that’ve asked me out you’re the one with the most personality.”

You shared a chuckle with him and saw a light pink on his cheeks once again as he tried to look away.

“You really want to know why i said yes?”

Gareth nodded slowly.

You giggled again and did your best to hide your own blush,

“Because you were nervous to talk to me. All the other guys had this arrogance to them, and i know the only reason most of them asked me was so they could add on another thing to their list of trophies. They asked me just because they wanted to see if i would actually say yes, but you asked me because you liked me. i could tell that you liked me.”

The other students had started to disappear from the halls into their classes, leaving the two of you almost entirely alone.

“Really?” He asked you quietly, “I thought girls didn’t like guys that got nervous like that.”

Another quick giggle left your lips,

“Well, i like guys that get nervous around me.” You leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek, “Remember to call me later, ok? And tell your friends i said ‘hi’.” You motioned behind him and started to step away, and as Gareth turned he could see the guys standing slack jawed behind him.

He turned back but saw that you had already began your walk to class, giving him a little wave as you entered your classroom.

The boys quickly caught up to Gareth and did their best to walk through the halls to get to their own classes, but what they just witnessed would be on their minds for the rest of the day.

“What was that?” Grant asked him as they made their way down the opposite end of the hall, “Did she just kiss you?”

“On the cheek.” Gareth shrugged.

“So she did?” Jeff smiled, “Do you know what this means for you?”

“No?…” He thought to himself for a moment, “Should i?”

“It means that you hold more power than any other guy here. You not only got (y/n) to go out with you but you also got her number-“

“Oh yeah,” Gareth remembered leaving before grabbing that little slip of paper they took from him, “which one of you still has that?”

Grant reached into his jacket pocket and handed it over to Gareth,

“We didn’t copy it down or anything, this is all yours. We wouldn’t want to ruin your chances or anything.”

“Thanks.” Gareth looked down at the little scribble of your name and number on the little piece of paper in his hands, “And i didn’t make her do anything.” He said to Jeff, “I guess things just worked out right and she decided to say yes.”

“Well, how do you feel? You just got the most sought after girl in school to go out with you, you don’t seem too excited about it.” Eddie asked him with a chuckle.

“Good!” Gareth said with a big smile on his face, “Trust me, i’m over the moon about this, it just feels… strange? But i don’t know if that’s the right word.”

The class bell rung through the halls, and the boys said their quick goodbyes before running off to their classes.

“Tell us how it goes later!” Grant said as he ran down the opposite end of the hall.

“Don’t fuck this up!” Jeff laughed as he quickly stepped down the hall.

“Good job Romeo, but he’s right, don’t fuck this up.” Eddie gave him one last pat on the shoulder before slowly moving down the hall, and as Gareth watched the guys slowly disappear down the halls, he took one last look at the piece of paper in his hand.

He smiled to himself as he neatly folded the paper and carefully slipped it into his pocket, strolling slowly towards his classroom.

He didn’t care if he was late or not. Knowing that him just being him was enough for you to like him made him feel like nothing else that day could drag him down.

He couldn’t wait to get home.

[ckret2]

Chapter 29 of human Bill Cipher will find a way out of being the Pines' prisoner or so help him, featuring:

Summerween!!!!

and also:

Henchmaniacs.

Kryptos doesn't actually talk like that, it's just how he's currently feeling.

####

January 1, 1982

"You're late," Bill said, a bit reproachfully.

Ford gave him a surprised look. "Did we have an appointment?" He didn't remember one. He was pretty sure he'd remember an appointment with his muse, even if he'd made it in a dream.

"Pfff, appointments are for people without an eternity of time! No, I'm just used to you dreaming by midnight. It's weird for you to stay up past two when you aren't working on a project."

"I suppose it is." Ford was flattered Bill was paying close enough attention to notice his sleep habits. "I thought I'd stay up late to bring in the new year."

"The what?"

"The... new year?" What wasn't registering. How do you explain New Year's to an alien/angelic messenger? "It's when—"

"Oh, oh right." Bill waved off the rest of Ford's explanation. Several calendars and clocks spiraled in the air like a Ferris wheel in front of Bill, "Between trying to figure out whether you meant it was 0 Pop or Tishrei 1, I completely forgot about Chaos 1. You guys have too many calendars!"

And he'd skipped over January entirely. Wryly, Ford said, "The next time somebody asks for my input, I'll let them know you want us to use a few less."

Bill laughed. "Smart aleck." The calendars and clocks vanished. "And all you did to celebrate was stay up a little later than usual? No parties? Okay, I know you don't know anyone throwing a party—but you didn't even celebrate at a bar?" Bill ruffled his hair. "All work and no play makes Ford a dull boy!"

Ford endured the ruffling. He wasn't quite sure whether Bill was scolding him for staying up celebrating, or for not celebrating enough. "I... suppose I could celebrate in here?"

"What do you want, a fireworks show?" In the distance in Ford's mindscape, a single large firework exploded. It shifted colors, purple to yellow to green to red, before fading. "I don't think so! If you wanted fireworks, you should've gone to the show on the lake. I've got some prophecies to pass on, and I'd rather get to them this REM cycle."

By "prophecies" he probably meant a random assortment of warnings about Ford's upcoming week, which historically had varied in severity from "don't visit the lake Tuesday evening or you'll get caught in a snowstorm and die of hypothermia" to "you'd better get groceries in the morning before they sell out of your toothpaste brand." And Ford was always grateful for such messages—but now he wished he could see what sort of fantastical color-changing dream fireworks show his muse could put on. "I take it it's not a new year on your calendar."

"I don't keep track of that stuff. When you're as ancient as me, celebrating the new year is like celebrating a new hour."

Bill had so easily brushed off the implicit invitation to discuss "his" calendar. Ford wasn't surprised. Over the years of sporadic meetings with his muse, Ford had noted that Bill never shared information about where he'd come from or how he filled his time when he wasn't bestowing his wisdom—as if Bill was a thing that simply is, a muse that offered inspiration because it was made to inspire, with no history or identity outside of its role in service to humanity. He always dodged the questions gracefully.

But he never seemed bothered that Ford had asked. In fact, as long as Ford didn't pry into Bill's history and kept his inquiries comfortably shallow, Bill always seemed happy to receive personal questions. Ford had found that even when Bill talked like he was in a hurry, it was very easy to get him off track (and consequently extend his visit to two or three more dreams) by asking him about himself.

Ford wondered why that was. Was it a part of his duty—was he compelled to answer his chosen students' questions, to enlighten them on the mysteries of the universe, to help tug back the curtain of reality to reveal wonders unknown—wonders that included Bill himself? Or perhaps Bill was used to students seeing him as a source of knowledge without seeing him. Perhaps he was grateful that somebody was interested in him enough to ask.

Whatever the case—Bill clearly liked being asked about himself, and Ford liked getting his muse to stick around a little longer than planned. So rather than letting Bill get on to the prophecies he'd promised, Ford asked, "Do you ever... participate in any human holidays? After all, you've offered so much to humanity. I'm sure any of your prior protégés would have been honored to invite you as a guest to our celebrations. I would be honored." And Ford wouldn't mind having friendly company on the holidays that he'd gotten in the habit of ignoring until they shrank to nothing but a square on a calendar.

"Ha, I know you would! But no, not really," Bill said. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I look down on your cute little local festivals. They just don't have any relevance to me! A celebration of a bountiful harvest, a prayer to get through the winter, the veneration of a local long-dead celebrity... I come from a timeless realm of divinity, sublimity, color and light! Most of your planet's holidays are about issues that don't matter to me."

"Ah. I see," Ford said. "Are there any human holidays you care about?"

Bill mulled over the question. "Maybe one or two."

####

June 22, 2013

Bill thundered down the stairs, charged into the kitchen, and announced to the Pines, "If I don't get to wear a Summerween costume I will literally die."

Without looking up from the morning paper, Ford said, "Then die."

####

It took ten minutes for Bill to bargain Ford up from "death" to permission to wear a costume—provided that it was free; that Bill agree to stay inside for the holiday without complaint (WITHOUT COMPLAINT) no matter what fun activities he heard happening outside; that Ford didn't have to do anything to help Bill obtain said costume; and that Bill take a dang shower.

Bill groaned. "Another shower already?"

"You wouldn't need so many if you didn't insist on running around in an acrylic sweater and polyester leggings in summer."

Bill knew that. That was one of the reasons he did it. It was useful for the humans to think the showers were their idea.

Bill agreed to all terms, and even volunteered to get the dang shower over with now so they could both get on with the rest of their days.

He'd never admit it, but Bill had been wanting a shower. Not for the hygiene, but for the privacy. This was the first time he'd had a door between himself and the Pines since he'd broken the shack's unicorn hair barrier.

Time to call in reinforcements.

Bill covered the mirrors, turned on the shower, undressed, stuck his head under the shower stream so that if anyone barged in on him he could use his wet hair as proof he'd been showering, and squinted through the wooden door to confirm there weren't any humans lurking nearby. Coast was clear—but wow, it hurt to bend his eye that way. He rubbed at it irritably as he set up his ring of candles again, and wasn't surprised when his fingertips came away bloody. He thought it hurt more than it had last time. He wondered how many more times he could glance into higher dimensions before this body's eyeballs gave out on him. Hopefully he wouldn't need them that long.

He drew Kryptos on the floor, lit the candles, and started muttering the chant to summon him. "Rhombus sapphirinus. Fraternitas, caritas..."

The steamy air went chill, the water pattering in the tub grew muffled, the whole world slowed and paused. For weeks, Bill's every attempt to break into the mindscape had been a futile strain; but now, instead, the mindscape surged up and swallowed him into its gray twilight, like evening embracing the land on the heels of sunlight's departure. Bill knew he wasn't awake anymore. It was working.

A force outside of Bill borrowed his throat to speak the last of the ritual—it worked!—and before his eyes, a diamond window opened into the Nightmare Realm.

####

Standing at the edge of one of the Quadrangle of Qonfusion's many perpendicular floors, arms crossed, scowling deeply, Pyronica glared at a neon-acidic cotton candy nebula light years away. "Guys," she said, "it's doing the thing again."

8 Ball, Keyhole, and Zanthar glanced away from their video game toward the nebula. Amorphous Shape peeled a few squares off a column to peer at it with Hectorgon.

"Look at this." Pyronica clapped her hands.

In the nebula, crackles of lightning-like bolts of light millions of miles long shot through the starry clouds. A noise like thunder boomed from it, rattling the Quadrangle. An ugly statue fell off a column-shaped pedestal and landed on a wall.

She clapped twice more—each time, eliciting more lightning—then gestured emphatically at the nebula. "How am I doing that!"

"Can't be you controlling it," Amorphous Shape said. "That nebula's over a dozen light years away. That light had to have happened years ago, we're just seeing it now."

Already turned back to his video game and determinedly trying to murder Keyhole, 8 Ball said, "Maybe the nebula's controlling you."

Pryonica said flatly, "You think a bunch of stars is making me clap."

"Eh. Like astrology or something."

Hectorgon said, "Could be a time loop thing."

"Could be," Amorphous Shape said thoughtfully.

Pyronica threw up her hands, which made the distant nebula's colors shift slightly. "If it's not weird butterfly effects or faster-than-light light, it's time loops. I hate this place. All it'd take is a hard sneeze to knock the whole dimension down."

She'd been saying things to such effect for the past few months. Consequently, nobody really paid much attention to the latest round of griping about the Nightmare Realm's poor maintenance, until she said, "I'm bailing on the Quadrangle. Soon as I can find a decent rock in some other dimension. Who else is coming?"

8 Ball glanced down at Pyronica from the floor with their gaming setup. "Hold on, are you serious?" He quickly had to look away as Zanthar took advantage of the distraction to attack.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I don't wanna break up the gang, but I'm sick of this dump."

Huddled on a nearby wall like an unemployed gargoyle, Paci-Fire said solemnly, "I will stay, Mother. The Quadrangle of Qonfusion is the only home I have ever known."

"Probably one of my worst life decisions," Pyronica muttered. "The Quadrangle isn't our home, it was Bill's. We're just... just..."

Ducking in from between two columns that seemed to lead to a purple-shadowed nighttime meadow, Teeth said, "Eternal couch-surfers."

"Ha! Yeah, that. Hey, where you been the past week?"

"Took a wrong turn to the bathroom. I ended up in that pocket dimension Bill grounded the electrical wiring into."

"Again?"

"I never know how many times to cross that one infinitely looping hallway!"

Pyronica gestured at Teeth. "See, this place is a complete mess. We'd be better off moving to any other dimension. And you'd like living in a real dimension if you gave it a shot, Paci!"

"No." Paci-Fire crossed his arms. "I do not want to."

"At least think about it. Wouldn't you like to live somewhere that has moons? Instead of going on a road trip to another dimension every time you want to drive a civilization to extinction?"

Keyhole muttered, "I hate those stupid road trips. They're always a zillion light years long and we never do anything fun."

"Hey!" Pyronica pointed at Keyhole. "Watch it! My kid's a lunarcide prodigy, he gets to go on as many moon-destroying trips as he wants!"

Keyhole cringed. "Right, right, sorry." 8 Ball muttered something disparaging about Keyhole's intellect, right before blowing him up for the second time.

Paci-Fire asked, "And say we were to move to a dimension with more moons. What would we do when the authorities follow us home after another successful slaughter?" A side-effect of growing up in the Henchmaniacs was that Paci-Fire regarded The Authorities as a nebulous bogeyman that was personally out to get him and all his family and friends. "Are we to lock the door and cower from them like—like cowards? Or constantly flee from one dimension to the next? No, Mother. I do not wish to live like a pariah in the dark corners of—" his lower mouth sneered around his pacifier, "civilized dimensions. There is nowhere safer for us than the Nightmare Realm."

"Sweetie, you don't have to be afraid of the authorities in other dimensions—"

"Mother! I know no fear." Paci-Fire's eyes flared a bright, dangerous red.

Pyronica playfully tugged one of his horn. "We can find a dimension as primitive as 46'\ without any interstellar cops. Like—which dimension were you from, Teeth, it doesn't even have any organized space authorities, does it?"

"Oh, yeah, pretty much every world in my galaxy was still ground bound when Bill recruited me." Teeth stepped on a column, slid off, and shuffled around it, trying to remember which side doubled as a walkway to the kitchen. "I don't really mind staying here, though. I mean yeah, we don't have a roof, or consistent walls, and the wiring's a mess. But the rent's really reasonable for a place this size in this part of the Nightmare Realm."

Hectorgon processed that. "Hold on." He lay on a wall and slid up it until he was mouth level with Teeth. "You've been paying rent?"

Teeth paused mid-column. "Wh—yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing, elbowed Paci-Fire, and hissed, "I thought Bill was joking about charging Teeth rent!"

Paci-Fire murmured, "Bill Cipher was always a most droll prankster."

"Who are you paying it to?" Hectorgon asked.

"I mean—I was paying it to Bill. But I dunno who took that over, so I guess, kinda... no one?"

With a mildly offended tone, Hectorgon lied, "You were supposed to give it to me now."

"Oh." Teeth shifted awkwardly. "Uh... sorry, Hect, no one told me. I don't think I've got enough on hand to cover all the..."

"It's fine, everything's been topsy-turvy since... the last few months. Just give me what you have and pay back the rest as soon as you can, okay?"

"Sure, sure, no problem. Thanks, man."

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing. "All right, so Teeth is stupid enough to stay here."

"Hey!"

"But I don't see why the rest of us should be." She looked up at the trio playing games below her, then tried to remember which stupid paradox staircase led to that level. She hesitantly headed up one that looked promising. "Moving out would be worth it just to be somewhere with consistent physics!"

"I am contented with the inconsistent physics," Paci-Fire said.

"It took you fifty years longer than most kids to learn how to walk," Pyronica said. "I know you're my little genius! It's this dimension that's holding you down!" 

"Boo," Paci-Fire said sulkily.

"Paci, you don't even like the Quadrangle. Nobody does."

Amorphous Shape let out a chorus of sharp gasps. They slid around a corner and reappeared sliding from the underside of the staircase to the top, laying zigzag atop the steps to glare at Pyronica. "Excuse us."

"I'll step on you, Morph," Pyronica threatened. Amorphous Shape grudgingly slid over for her to pass. "Fine, Bill's stupid 2D groupies like the Quadrangle. But the rest of us don't."

"What's wrong with it?" Morph demanded.

"What's—?!" Pyronica gestured upward at the floor below them. "You don't see the problem with this?!"

"It's supposed to be like that. It's a shortcut." 

"It's a—!" Pyronica covered her face and suppressed a scream. "It's giving me vertigo!"

"It doesn't give us vertigo," Morph said defensively. They partially peeled off the steps to look at Hectorgon. "Does it give you vertigo?"

"No, I'm fine."

"What about you, Kryptos?"

There was no answer.

"Krypt?" Morph reluctantly peeled off the stairs entirely and hovered in the air to try to get a better view.

"He probably got sucked into The Void," Keyhole muttered, "it was vibrating this morning."

8 Ball sighed. "Why do we even have that Void?"

"Man, I dunno."

Pyronica ascended to the bottom of the stairs, sat on the arm of the gamers' couch, and said, "The point is—none of us need this place. I got by fine before joining Bill, most of you guys did too, and we can get by just fine now without squatting in his weird architecture project."

She leaned behind Keyhole and 8 Ball to poke Zanthar's arm. "Big Z, you still have worshippers in your home dimension, right? Aren't you still getting offerings?"

Zanthar shrugged noncommittally.

"They've still got legends of you, you can whip them back into shape in no time. Keyhole, you've got family—"

Without looking away from the screen, where he was losing hideously, Keyhole muttered, "I'm not moving back in with my mom."

"I'm not talking about your mom, stupid, what about your sisters?" 

Keyhole winced, though it was hard to tell whether it was from Pyronica's question or from getting killed for the third and final time. "I don't know... Bill and I were talking about them once, and I realized they're as bad as Mom was. Bill said probably the only reason they didn't treat me as bad is because they never got the opportunity—"

"Who cares what Bill said," Pyronica snapped. "Bill's dead! We don't have to listen to him anymore!"

"Hear hear," 8 Ball muttered; but he couldn't throw in anything else, lest Zanthar blow him up and win the match.

Pyronica said, "Face it: the only reason the rest of us didn't leave the Nightmare Realm millennia ago is because Bill couldn't leave."

Morph drifted through the kitchen—reaching around Teeth to grab a drink out of the fridge as they passed—and unfolded questioningly around a corner. "There you are."

Kryptos was in the rec room, lounging on Bill's stupid tacky optical illusion throne with the fabric of reality upholstery, staring out a window (or skylight, depending on your point of perspective). He grunted at Morph.

Morph said, "Bill's gonna be furious you're using his throne."

"Whatever. Z's already spilled time punch on the armrest." Kryptos pointed at the patch of reality on the armrest that was out of chronological synch with the rest of the throne.

"He's not gonna be furious," Pyronica said, shouting through the doorway that inexplicably connected to the rec room. "He's not gonna be anything because he's dead. He died. D-E-A-D."

"He's not." And suddenly Morph were in Pyronica's face, all of their polygons and lines and piercing slitted eyes circling her head like angry moons. Keyhole leaned toward 8 Ball to see the screen around them, and 8 Ball elbowed him back over. Morph said, "He can't be. If Bill was dead, the Nightmare Realm would be falling apart even faster—"

"So let's bail while we can—"

"—but it's not," they said. "If anything, its degradation is slowing down. That would be impossible if he were dead, he's instrumental to holding the Nightmare Realm together—"

"Unless he lied about that, and he was actually making everything worse," Pyronica said.

"Bill's not a liar! We have the data to prove it, we've been measuring the degradation for billennia—"

"I'm sick of your stupid measurements! It was your 'measurements' that said 46'\ was perfect to take over! Was that stupid barrier part of your measurements?!"

"That barrier was extremely localized, there's no way we could have detected—"

"The portal was right in the middle of it! How did you idiots miss it?!"

8 Ball groaned as Zanthar whittled away the last of his HP. Zanthar let out a gentle hum like the sound of an apocalyptic vacuum cleaner as the game declared him the winner.

8 Ball tossed his controller at the TV. The TV squealed in fear. "If Bill is alive, that's just another reason to get out of the Nightmare Realm! Leave before he gets back! He can play king in this dump by himself."

Paci-Fire said, "Surely, you do not mean that. Were Bill still around..."

"No! No, I do mean it! The only reason we've stayed so long is because everyone's too starstruck or too scared to ditch him! Not anymore! If his flat-brained cultists wanna wait for him, fine! But why do we all gotta stay?"

"Hey!" Hectorgon rushed in from the kitchen to snarl at 8 Ball. "Who're you calling flat, cue tip—?"

Kryptos tuned out the argument downstairs/next door as 8 Ball and Hectorgon started brawling. Who were they kidding? Nobody was leaving. Maybe 8 Ball, he'd tried to split four or five times before crawling back, but Kryptos didn't care about him anyway. Bill had always been right about him: he was too selfish to care about the rest of the gang but too stupid to make it on his own. They'd taken in losers like that before and it had never been a big loss when they left. But no one else would leave. Where would they go?

Where could they go?

Kryptos didn't care about the outerplanar Henchmaniacs' reasons for joining Bill; but the shapes were here because Bill had promised to make them a new home. He was the only one in all of reality who could do it. Kryptos was as desperate to hear from Bill as Morph and Hect were. They'd held fast to Bill's promise for a trillion years—so how could they let go of whatever thin thread of that hope remained? Who would they be if they lost it?

But in his heart, Kryptos didn't really believe Bill was out there. He'd been gone too long. And Kryptos couldn't imagine anything less catastrophic than Bill's destruction could have reversed Weirdmageddon.

Yet he was still here, and still waiting, because he didn't know what else to do. He'd stay in the Quadrangle until the whole realm finally fell apart, just in case Bill casually floated back in one day. He'd do anything they could think of to find him and bring him back.

And then Kryptos got a call from Earth.

He sighed heavily.

Calls from Earth weren't unusual. Perks of having helped found the Fishmasons: Kryptos was occasionally summoned by the Fishermen high-ranked enough to be told their organization really did know an interdimensional alien who was their de facto secret leader and presided over their most important rituals. Assuming "de facto secret leader" meant "living equivalent of a beloved sports team mascot," and "presided over" meant "got free invitations to," and "most important rituals" meant "most fun parties." But the humans liked to pretend that their little group was a lot more important and cloak-and-dagger than the social club it really was; and all the wink-wink-nudge-nudge pretending-Kryptos-was-in-charge, while silly, was also kind of flattering. You didn't get many chances to be the star of the show when you lived around a supernova like Bill.

So, Kryptos got calls from Earth from time to time—at least a handful a year—typically from a middle-aged man in a business suit trying to pretend he wasn't giddy about being the guy who'd gotten permission to pull out the candles and contact The Alien.

Kryptos was not in the mood to talk to humans. Humans were why they were in this mess. Humanity could go jump in a lake.

But it wasn't every human's fault that a handful had somehow taken out Bill. And maybe they were calling for a party. Maybe it would cheer him up.

So he sighed again, half heartedly shouted, "Guys—guys, shut up a second, I'm getting a call," and opened up a window to Earth.

His vision was filled with a brown-skinned golden-haired haunted-eyed human who, at the sight of Kryptos, gave him a relieved, face-splitting smile. "H—"

Kryptos hung up.

To reiterate: he took calls from middle-aged men in business suits. That was a naked woman crouched on the floor like an animal.

"Who was it?" Hectorgon asked.

"No one. Some woo-woo witchy type who probably dug up a leaked Fishmason ritual online."

Hectorgon laughed. "I bet it thought it could ask a 'demon' for lottery numbers."

"Sorry, sister, but that's Bill's schtick," Kryptos said. "My number is unlisted for a reason."

Kryptos wondered about Bill's human pals. Well—"pals" was a bit of a stretch—devotees and students. How often did he get calls? And now they couldn't reach him.

Stinks for them. Must be awful, reaching out to someone in another dimension for help and getting nothing back.

####

An ethereal, sourceless voice whispered in Bill's ear, "The all-knowing dream demon you're trying to reach is currently unavailable for visions and prophecies. If this is an emergency, wake up and call your nearest Masonic lodge. Otherwise, please leave your prayers or petitions after the beep." Beep.

Bill stared, jaw dropped, at the empty patch of air where Kryptos had been projecting just a moment ago. After several seconds of mute outrage, Bill said, "Kr... Kryptos. You... I swear, if you don't get back here this SECOND—"

The sheer force of his anger woke him up. His eyes fluttered open to the world of color and humidity and pattering water. He grabbed every towel he could reach, wadded them up, and screamed into them. "KRYPTOS YOU SON OF A— I KNOW YOU NEVER CHECK YOUR VOICEMAIL! AND WERE YOU ON MY THRONE, WERE YOU SITTING ON MY SPECIAL THRONE—!"

He shrieked until his lungs were empty.

####

At sixty minutes exactly, Ford knocked and opened the bathroom door. Bill stood scowling behind it.

Dryly, Ford asked, "Have a pleasant shower?"

Wet hair hanging in tangles, face flushed red, eyes even redder, Bill snapped, "Yeah. Refreshing."

####

"Mabel?"

Mabel glanced down from the stepladder at Bill, then pointedly looked away and continued taping Summerween decorations to the hallway wallpaper. "What."

"Mabel," Bill tried again, a touch more pleading. "O great Shooting Star. My hero. My one and only friend in this hostile universe. Last person who hasn't utterly forsaken me." He leaned on the wall, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead. "The sole illumination in the dark night of my accursed postmortem existence—"

Mabel grudgingly looked at Bill again. "What do you want?"

"Listen: I know I upset you at the mall, and I still need to make it up to you—I do, I do, I just haven't had a chance yet—and you're still a little mad at me, okay—buuut... can you help me make a costume." He pressed his hands together. "Please. I'll owe you one. I'll be in your debt. Just let me dress up for Summerween."

Mabel frowned at him. She frowned a little more. She said, frowning, "You're so lucky I love costumes."

####

(Next week: Summerween part 2!! Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed I'd love to hear from y'all what you think! I've been waiting to get to the Henchmaniacs for a long time. Mainly in the hopes y'all will yell at me for putting Bill through heck again.)

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Retention

Shota Aizawa x Reader NSFW

Summary: Reader is a teacher at UA and also a pro-hero. She and Aizawa are friends and have been for a while. Maybe more, but neither would be willing to admit that. Until...

CW: possessive Aizawa (kinda), fingering, biting, unprotected sex,

~~~

Aizawa hunched over the small desk in his bedroom. He stared blankly at the brightly illuminated screen. The plans for the next few classes were typed up on a document. His eyes darted down to the clock on the bar of the computer. It was getting late, but he never was one for going to bed on time.

The sound of a knock filled the otherwise silent room. He grumbled to himself. He assumed it was one of his students coming to ask him some question that could most definitely wait until in the morning.

He huffed, “What?”

You slightly jumped on the other side of the door. “It’s me,” you spoke.

Aizawa stiffened his back at your voice. Shoulders rolled as he stood to open the door. He was wearing loose, black pajamas. His hand rested on the door frame, heavy eyes stared at you.

“Can I come in?”

His arm fell to his side, allowing you access. He closed the door behind him. You looked around his room. It was small and extremely dark. He sat back down at his bench, continuing his typing. You stood awkwardly for a moment before joining him on the bench. You faced the opposite direction as him. His eyes darted to look at you.

“What do you want?” His shallow tone broke the silence.

“Just wanted to come see you,” you looked at him. You admired his long hair and scruff.

He mumbled a “Hmp” to your answer, clearly not satisfied.

"I know it's hard for you to believe I like just hanging around you," you teased him.

He huffed at you.

"Touchy," you thought. An awkward silence washed over the room. You folded your arms over your chest, leaning slightly against his desk. You turned to look over your shoulder at his screen. You saw him typing up notes on each of his students. His attention was laser focused on his screen. "You've got a good group of kids," you attempted at small talk.

"Ya' think?" he grumbled.

You stared at his side profile, "Yeah. Most of them are leaps ahead of the bar."

Aizawa shrugged. You grew slightly irritated. You knew he was not one for small talk, but you were not one for long silences. You stood it as long as you could.

"Yamada invited me out tonight."

Aizawa's back straightened, stiffening his posture. "He did?" he gritted slightly, jealousy painted his tongue.

"Yep. Asked me to go get dinner with him," you purposely left out how Midnight would be joining you two. You and Aizawa had been dancing around each other for some time now. There was flirting for sure, but neither of you had made a move. You hated to play dirty, but you came here tonight hoping for- you did not really know what you were hoping for. But you knew you wanted more than a shoulder slump and a few grumbles.

"Yet you're here," he scoffed. You furrowed your eyebrows. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" your eyes shot daggers into him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and blew his breath out. You rolled your eyes and shook your head at him. You stared at his door now refusing to even glance in his direction.

"I didn't mean-" "Of course you didn't," you cut him off, "You never do." You could see him staring at you out of the corner of your eye.

"Y/N, I... I-" You stood abruptly, "Save it, Eraser... Sorry for stopping by." You headed for the door. "Wait-" his hand wrapped around your forearm. Chills ran down your entire body. You refused to face him.

"I'm sorry," Aizawa spoke softly. You looked over your shoulder at him. "Please don't leave. I- I..." He stumbled over his words. "I hate people," he covered his face with his hand, "But I don't hate... you."

Your entire face was flushed red. You could not describe the emotions you felt. "I've got to go," you tried to pull away. Aizawa spun you around and pinned you against the door. You looked at him with painted cheeks. His face was flushed, "Stay." Heat flooded you. You could not deny the feeling in your lower half.

"Why should I?" your eyes were hooded as you agged him along. His chest rose and fell heavily. His eyes darted back and forth between yours. There was barely any space between the two of you. "You know why," he mumbled. You smirked slightly. "I know you can come up with something better than that, Mr. Aizawa." He slumped into you slightly, his lips pressed against your ear "I want you." Every inch of your skin tingled. He pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. You could not take your eyes away from his. This silence was not uncomfortable.

Aizawa leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. His lips were tinder against yours. The kiss soon turned sloppy. You were both desperate, acting as two touch starved teenagers. His lips soon went to your throat. A small moan left you when he sunk his teeth into your skin. "Easy, Eraser," you whispered. You felt him smile against your throat. You wished you could have seen the grin on his face. He kissed up to your ear, "I can do what I want." Chills painted your skin.

You ran your hands down his chest. A groan left his throat. He gently grabbed your wrist, guiding your hand down the front of his pajama bottoms. Hooded eyes looked into yours for approval. You wrapped your hand around his hard member. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes squinting shut. You began stroking him slowly. A whimper left his throat. His hips began rocking into your touch. “More- More— More—“ he begged.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Both of you jumped at the sound. Aizawa's eyes shot open. A frustrated "Fuck!" left him. He grabbed you by your shoulders, moving you to the wall beside the door. His hand covered your mouth. His other hand lifted a finger to his lips. You rolled your eyes at him.

He angrily opened the door, "what do you want?!" It was Ms. Midnight. "ERASER!" she exclaimed, "Have you seen Y/N? I've been texting her and she just is NOT responding!" Your eyes widened. "Why would I know?" Midnight rolled her eyes, huffing at Aizawa. "Don't pretend like you guys don't hangout!"

"I don't hangout with anyone," he rolled his eyes. Midnight erupted in laughter, "You're too funny, Eraser! Acting all aloof!"

"No, I'm not."

You tugged at Aizawa's hand. He forced his hand down firmer against you. You began to pull on of his fingers into your mouth, sucking on it. For the first time since the door opened, his eyes darted to you. He began to pump his finger into your mouth.

His finger shushed your mouth before his hand began venturing down your body. He teased the waistband of your pants before putting his hand down them. His finger toyed with your soaked opening. Your eyes rolled back into your head, fighting the urge to moan. He smirked slightly, his eyes read "if you make a sound I will punish you for it." As tempting as it was to see where that went, you advised against it.

Midnight finally finished her laughing fit. Her eyes scanned his body, shifting her posture when she looked down. "Looks like you're having fun," she licked her lips. Aizawa scoffed, embarrassment painted his body language. His entire face was red. "Go look for her somewhere else, she's probably busy!" He shut the door in her face. His head rested against the door. He took a deep breath. The lock on the door clicked. Eyes quickly refocused on you. You were pressed firmly against the wall, sweating, eyes begging him to focus on you.

"Who would have thought you could stay quiet," his free hand caressed your face. You rolled your eyes and smiled at him. He pressed his lips against yours, his finger began making circles on your clit. A loud moan left you.

"Think Yamada would've made you feel this good?" Aizawa's eyes grew dark with possession. They were like daggers into your skin. You struggled to make contact with them, embarrassment written all over you. "I asked you a question," he quickened his motions on your sensitivity. Your head fell back against the wall, lost in euphoria.

"No, Aizawa. Only you can," you meekly spoke. Aizawa grinned with your words. His lips fell against yours. "I can make you feel even better," he spoke against your skin. Heat radiated off of you as you watched him take his clothes off in front of you. Toned muscles decorated him. Definitely the body of a pro-hero. Dark eyes glanced up your body, "Strip." You did was you were told. The slight shake of your hands making you fumble with your bra clasp. Aizawa's hands assisted you, pulling the garment off you. He admired your nude body before him. His hand began stroking his member. Your eyes focused in on it.

Aizawa smirked catching your eyes staring at him. He pressed his body against yours again, his cock slipping between your wet folds. He thrusted himself through them, collecting your juices on his member. He groaned and mumbled as he moved. He pulled back, grabbing his cock and rubbing the tip against your throbbing nub. You buckled forward, hands reaching for his strong arms to stabilize. Nails digging into his skin as he continued playing with you. Quivering legs begging to give out on you.

Aiazawa pulled away from you, taking your hand in his and guiding you over beside his bed. He sat down on the edge, looking up at you with hooded eyes. His erection rested against his stomach. Aizawa laid back, his cock pirched in the air. “Come on,” Aizawa grinned at you as he patted his thighs. You crawled on top of him, positioning yourself over his hard member. His hand went to your cheek, thumb rubbing it softly. You rested your hips down, his head prying at your soaking entrance. Aizawa’s head fell back with the contact, a groan falling from him. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you onto his member. Allowing you time to adjust before you fully took him inside you. You moaned at the feeling of him filling you up.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” Aizawa praised. Finding a speed that worked for you, you began hopping up and down on his cock. Moaning each time it hit that spot inside you that had you seeing stars. Riding him, the sound of his small bed hitting the wall over and over again filled the room. Both of you too lost in the moment to care about the noise. Skin smacking together and sloppy lewd noises filled your ears.

“God, you’re so tight,” he moaned arching his hips slightly. Shoving himself deeper inside you. You could feel a coil winding up inside you. Knowing you would finish soon. Grinding down on him as you chased your high.

Aizawa was completely lost in the euphoria of your pussy. Not having gotten laid in many years, too busy with work. This was better than his hand ever could have been. The sounds coming from you would be kept in his memories forever. His cock twitched.

��Aizawa— I’m gonna—“

“Good— please around my cock, please—“ he interrupted you. Hands guiding you up and down quicker. You came undone around him. Walls fluttering as he continued fucking you. Your body shook and quivered waves of orgasm taking over every inch. His name a repeated moan on your lips.

He thrusted into you a few more harsh times before abruptly pulling himself out and finishing. Squirting himself all over your thighs and belly. Cum pooling around the base of his member. Both of you panting as you attempted to catch your breath. Arms coming up and wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Sticky residue holding you together.

Aizawa kissed your head. Complete silence between you.

~

[END]

[twiishaa]

HI CONGRATULATIONS ON 100 🫶🏽 i would loveee to attend the sleepover :p i’m bringing gone girl by gillian flynn and tangled (2010)! we should also have a midnight feast 4 sure 🙌 (with suna pls)

MWAH MWAH CONGRATS AGAIN

! 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 twisha’s 100 followers slumber party ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ - it’s cold, but maybe you’ll warm me up

suna x reader , wc approx 800 warnings i am a pusher of the down bad but nonchalant suna agenda

check out the event!

—

oh how you wish you had brought your jacket today. trying to ignore the people’s stares and whispers as they walked past you, you walked a few steps further from school gates, wiping your tears.

see, the thing was you were supposed to go out on a date with your boyfriend. he had been busy with his club the past week, so when he finally said he was free you got excited and started planning your date. but, once he met you outside the school gates, he said he wanted to break up, and left seconds after, leaving you alone in the cold.

maybe you were getting ahead of yourself; this was your first relationship after all, you even ‘forgot your jacket’ so that he would give you his. but, maybe, the people who said high school romance only lasts so long were correct.

winters in hyōgo were not for the faint of heart. the icy wind hitting your face made you wince, and the cold air made your shallow exhales condense. the cold left you shivering and numb, but left your heart toyed with, and your feelings raw.

—

maybe running would warm you up. after going a fair distance from the school, you sat down on a bench you found. the metal was cold. everything was cold. you brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them, it was your way of giving yourself a hug.

maybe he planned to leave you from the beginning. maybe he was never serious about it like you were. maybe you were the problem, maybe there was something wrong with you. were you too eager? too enthusiastic? too clingy? lost, you could feel tears welling up in your eyes and spilling down your bitterly cold cheeks.

at least your tears were warm.

—

it could’ve been a few minutes or even an hour since you found that bench; you hadn’t kept track of time since you were eagerly waiting your boyfriend (well, now your ex) outside the school gates. suddenly, you felt a jacket wrap around your figure, warmth instantly flowing back into your body.

there was a guy standing in front of you. before you looked up, he said,

“are you purposely trying to get pneumonia or something? you look like ice,” you recognised that voice; it was one you’d heard in your brother’s room so many times before.

why would suna, your brother’s best friend, be here? you lifted your head, your tear-streaked face catching his attention. there was a slight hint of worry in his almond-shaped eyes.

“woah, what happened? did your brother eat your last sweet or something?”

“my boyfriend broke up with me.” you said weakly.

“oh, that rat lookalike?” he questioned, sitting down next to you, warmth in his tone.

that comment made you giggle a little. suna smiled.

“we were supposed to go on a date after like, two weeks and then he just said he was done and left!” you cried.

suna guided your head to the crook of his neck, letting you cry into his shoulder.

you stayed like that for a while.

suna couldn’t lie; he always thought you were cute. in the beginning, he thought it was some kind of brotherly love since he saw you nearly every day, when he went to your brother’s house, but it had evolved into something else, now that you two were in the same high-school.

—

your crying soon subsided, you were just resting your head on suna’s shoulder— his hand was still resting on the nape of your neck. the smell of his cologne was comforting, but at the same time it made you dizzy, the warm notes of vanilla and musk flooding your senses. slowly, you raised your head when you had finally mustered up the courage, looking into his eyes; suna’s heart sped up a little. he wiped a residual tear from your face with his thumb, his hand resting on the side of your face for a little longer than it should’ve.

“don’t waste your tears on him, pretty girl. he doesn’t deserve it.” he got up from the cold bench, now warm.

the side of your face was warm. you ghosted over his touch.

“come on. i know an arcade near here. if i win you a teddy, will you feel better?” he said, pulling you up from the bench.

you blushed a little. getting up after him, and the air didn’t feel nearly as piercing as it did before.

“don’t tell your brother,” suna added, grabbing hold of your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours.

note atlas my love my life this may be my favourite thing i’ve written so far 🩷🩷 this felt like night by alice munro on the igcse edexcel english spec (this is extremely niche im sorry)

[jeonqkooks]

a little taste | jjk (m.)

the one with just the tip.

[ ‘ a little taste ’ series masterpost ]

pairing: jungkook x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: established relationship, smut (pwp), unprotected s✩x (this is fictional, don't do it irl folks), cre✩mpie, jungoo is an ✩ss grabber, he's also a lil shit, 2 secs of dirty talk?, swearing, they're both frustrated lol, zero editing pls forgive me

word count: 1.3k

note: happy sunday errbody! we got a surprise ALT drop 🥳 i have no excuse, i woke up this morning and wrote this in one sitting before i even got out of bed lmao. have fun all u horndawgs <3

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

You know how you got here, and the reason is very stupid.

It always starts with a meaningless discussion, really.

You two were having a quiet night in, cuddling on the couch and watching a rerun of your favorite TV show when a raunchy joke popped up, which somehow (because bless Jungkook’s brain and his useless ability to jump from point A all the way to point Z in a blink of an eye) led to the infamous “Just the Tip” debate.

You were taking the Negative, for obvious reasons, and he was on the Affirmative side. Jungkook wasn’t arguing that all men could handle themselves when their literal dick is inside of a woman; more so that he, this one specific individual, easily could.

And you suppose that’s why you’re here, trying to settle the argument, the both of you naked from the waist down. His hard cock pokes at your entrance as his eyes twinkle with a mischievous glint. Jungkook is always so competitive, but he sometimes forgets that you are too, and you’ll try your goddamn hardest to make sure he loses this one.

Okay, maybe it’s not just a silly little debate. It might have escalated into a silly little bet, one that involves the loser having to fold the laundry for a whole month.

Which so happens to be your least favorite chore.

Which only gives you more incentive to win.

Men are simple creatures, how hard can this be?

You bite your lip as he pushes in, just the tip, then stills. The stretch is a little dry at first, and a tad uncomfortable. You barely prepped before both of your shorts flew off somewhere in favor of you wanting to prove a point. Jungkook’s fingers slip through your folds to find your clit, fondling the nub until he could feel you getting wetter by the second, coating the tip of his cock in your slick.

“Ready to lose?” you ask coyly, to which he only responds with a playful scoff before he pulls his hips back, nearly slipping out of you in the process. He bucks forward again, and you can already tell that he’s trying to hold back, to be mindful of how shallow his thrusts have to be lest he wants to give you a few more inches than necessary.

“Fuck,” a tiny, whiny, moan escapes your lips, barely audible to your own ears but Jungkook catches it. He smirks at you triumphantly, never stopping his movements down there. God, you’re really not used to this. Whenever you two are on each other, it’s always hard and unrestrained, purely focused on making the other feel as good as possible.

How the hell is he so good at this? 

Maybe you should’ve known. What can’t Jungkook do?

You keep expecting more every time he pulls back, anticipating that his cock will fill you to the brim like it always does. But then he gives you just the fucking tip - which you suppose is fair; that’s the whole point of this idiotic bet after all - and you swear you could burst from frustration.

Jungkook senses your inner turmoil, how you’re trying to keep yourself from begging him to fuck you silly. You can’t say you’re surprised when he tugs his t-shirt over his head - in that insanely hot way that guys do! - and throws it recklessly across the room, flexing his abs and biceps at you. It’s like his tattoos have a mind of their own, the intricate ink winking at you with his every move like it’s mocking you, tempting you.

What’s on the line again?

Oh, right, laundry. Fuck!

You’re positively dripping with arousal, a want - no, a need - that he just won’t satiate. “That’s not fair,” you complain, even though your hands are already reaching for him, pulling him closer so you could touch him all over. 

“Who said anything about fair?” he says before he kisses you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips to taste you. He moans against your mouth as his fingers sneak down to squeeze your bare ass.

So he wants to play dirty? Well, you can do dirty too.

You time his thrusts so that when he ruts forward, you clench around his cock. 

That’s when you feel it. Him, deeper and throbbing inside of you.

For the first time since this started, you have the upper hand.

You break the kiss only to narrow your eyes at him. “That felt like more than just the tip,” you purr.

Jungkook groans, but it sounds more like a growl than anything. Okay, he’s really competitive. His hands dig into your ass so roughly that you’re pretty sure it will bruise in the morning. His hips stop moving entirely, trapping his cock within your walls where it’s achingly, deliciously hard.

You can practically feel his self-control slipping away, and all over a single clench?!

It might’ve taken you a bit longer than expected but alas, men are simple creatures.

You squeeze around him again, just for kicks. “What’s the matter, baby?” you tease, enjoying the way his eyebrows knit together tightly, almost like he’s angry. “Ready to admit defea– Oh!”

Then, that motherfucker shuts you right up. Jungkook shoves his whole length inside of you until he bottoms out, aided by the wetness that gushes out of you. He gives you a single grunt as the base of his cock rubs against your clit, the tension in your belly amping up tenfold when you feel him, so fucking deep in you because that’s where he belongs. This is what you wanted.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he mocks you with a sly smirk, though he doesn’t give you any time to answer before he starts fucking you with fervor, pounding you into the couch - or the next dimension - like he’s got a personal vendetta.

“I– fuck–!” If you could formulate a coherent response, you would shoot him back a retort - You lost! - but whoops, all rational thought flew out the window the second he rewarded you with his cock. It’s absolutely insane how easily he’s able to render you speechless just like that.

You struggle to even moan his name, for crying out loud. Jungkook holds your legs open so he could fuck you better, the tip of his cock kissing your g-spot with every thrust, sending you embarrassingly quickly to the edge you’ve been looking for. You hold onto him for dear life, nails digging into his shoulders and making him grunt from the added pain. It’s right there, you’re so close…

“C’mon,” he purrs, ducking down to suck a mark into the skin of your neck, “come for me. I know you want to.”

Just a few more thrusts and you’re falling right into that sea of bliss that awaits you at the bottom of the cliff. You come hard around his cock as a shout rips itself free from your throat - not even of his name, or anything in particular - and Jungkook is falling right behind you. He empties himself inside of you with a broken moan, warm ropes of his cum painting your velvety walls white. 

You hold onto each other like that for a while longer, neither of you caring about how his softening cock is letting your combined release trickle out of you and onto the material of the couch. You play with his hair as he kisses your neck softly, and when he finally props himself up on his forearms to look down at you, there’s something so sweet in his gaze that makes you flush all over.

It almost makes you forget about what you’ve been playing for. Rationality starts crawling back in again after the dicking down you just had.

Almost being the keyword. Too bad for your boyfriend though.

“I won,” you say happily, giving him your brightest grin.

“Did you really win though?” he asks, eyes narrowing playfully at you. Always the negotiator, this one. “Or did you want me to fuck you so badly that I let you win?”

“I won. You said just the tip and then you gave me your whole dick. Now prepare to fold the laundry for a whole month.”

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 14.05.2023]

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about:

Biker!Bucky (who also happens to be your brother’s best friend) comforting you when you accidentally get way too high and think you’re going to die. 

TW: Recreational drug use (weed), talks of death (reader feels like they’re dying), virgin reader, suggestive

The illicit baked goods were handed over with very clear instructions, only eat HALF. But you were so hungry, and the brownie was surprisingly good, and what would really be the harm in eating a whole instead of a half? Death. Inevitable death would be the harm. 

There’d been a very pleasant twenty-five minutes where it felt as if you were dancing on air, now you could barely get any- breathing shallow, chest tight, head heavy. This was it. Goodbye, cruel world. You knew there was little to be done so you decided to embrace the inevitable, if you acted quickly maybe you could go in your sleep. So you filled your cats food bowl, pressed a quick kiss to her head, and crawled into your hammock to await the end- but wait, wait you couldn’t go with regrets, that was a sure fire way to come back as a ghost and you did not want to haunt your crappy walk up forever. No, no regrets. 

So you called James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, your brother’s Bucky. Bucky who lived only a few blocks away, Bucky who could send you off without regret. He picked up on the third ring, and didn’t get much in edgewise after a hesitant “Hello?” 

“Bucky! Bucky I’m dying and I need you to come over right now. The doors unlocked.” You’d hung up before he could ask any questions, best to save your breath, you reasoned. For his part Bucky had politely but firmly asked the girl currently occupying his bed to leave, and made for the door, tugging on gray sweats as he went. While he was positive your dumb ass wasn’t dying he wasn’t willing to leave you in a distressed state. 

When he kicked off his bike and made it inside he’d found you curled up in your hammock, clinging to your cat, eyes squeezed shut; he’d grabbed your attention with a gruff “Bug?” You’d shot up, furry feline friend taking off with a displeased hiss at the sudden rocking motion; “Thank God, Bucky! Get over here, I don’t have much time.” He’d crouched down next to your hammock, bringing his cool metal hand to your cheek, brushing away some stray hairs and taking note of your blown out pupils; “What the fuck are you on?”

“It- it was supposed to only be half the brownie, but I ate it all, I’m such an idiot and now-” He bit back a laugh realizing you were just stoned off your ass, not wanting to add insult to injury as your eyes welled with tears “-now I’m dying but I can’t go yet, Buck, I can’t, because if I die full of regrets I’ll have to haunt this stupid place forever.” 

“For Christ’ sake, Bug, you’re not dying, you’re just stoned.” 

With an adamant shake of your head you reached down and grabbed his flesh hand, pressing the palm of it flat to your chest as the tears in your eyes finally spilled over with a warbling hiccup; “I- I’m not, I am but I’m not- I know what death feels like.”

His mouth popped open in mock surprise; “Oh, you do? Because you’ve experienced it so many times?” 

Your bottom lip quivered as you glowered pathetically at him, “D-don’t be mean to me. Not right now.” Torn between pushing the issue and humoring you he chose to go with the latter. 

“Okay then, Bug, no regrets. How can I help?” 

With a small watery smile you turned in the hammock to fully face his kneeling form; “We’ve got to have sex-”

“Jesus fuck!” Your sincere expression, tear stained cheeks, and glassy eyes awakened something dark within him, pleasure spiking within his groin and pulling him to half mass even as he adamantly shook his head no. Seeing his refusal you began teetering on the brink of tears again; “Please Bucky, please, you have to fuck me, it has to be you. I don’t want to die a virgin and I love y-” 

Quicker than your sluggish brain could process the cool fingers of his left hand wrapped around your mouth, silencing you as his other hand smoothed across the top of your head and down to cup your cheek, thumb stroking it in small even passes. He took three steadying breaths, eyes clenched shut, before he met your gaze; “Shut up. We are not having this conversation right now.” You whined behind the gag of his hand, but he just shook his head firmly in return, so much for humoring you. “Bug, you are high as a fucking kite. So here’s what’s going to happen; I’m going to go get you a drink, and then you’re going to sleep. End of.”

He stood abruptly, moving towards the door of the bedroom as you pleaded with him to come back and take you, promising he could do whatever he wanted as long as he was inside you. You didn’t stop rambling until he stormed back in with a glass of water, towering over your prone form. “Listen to me,” he hissed “when I finally fuck you the only thing you’ll be high on is my cock, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up about it so I can take care of you until then.” 

AN: In hindsight I’ve taken some liberties with the use of the word “comforting.” 

[hughiecampbelle]

Little Death (Frenchie Oneshot)

Character/s: Frenchie, Butcher, Hughie, M.M.

Word Count: 1,396

Requested: hello!! I love your work!! I would love to request frenchie and the following prompts! “Gauze” “caution” “I don’t owe you anything” - anon

A/N: I hope you like it my love!!! I'm not the happiest with it. I've rewritten it three times, but I think it's just one of those fics where I'll never truly be satisfied unfortunately. Regardless, I love the idea! Thank you for requesting!!! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

I don’t owe you anything, you spat, blood dribbling down your chin. Timidly, he slides a pad of gauze across the sink, leaving it between you. The first aid kit sat open on his lap, exposed. You reach out only when he’s let go, unwrapping it. Your head pounds. The wound on your forehead wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. For that, you were grateful. It pulsed, wet and red and throbbing. You pulled your sleeve over your hand, pressing into it. He reaches out to help, but you flinch. He forgets. That’s dangerous. I don’t owe any of you anything, you clarify a little louder. You’re sure they’re all listening. The walls are thin and that group, who hadn’t stopped arguing since they showed up, were all too quiet. The angry one with bloodshot eyes rammed the butt of his gun into your head. If only it’d been his bare fist. Not after, with a gloved hand, had he punched you upwards, your jaw bruising as you spoke. You grabbed the wrist of his coat. This one, meek and empathetic, ordered him to stop. The both of you to stop. They were guests in your home, they were supposed to act like it. He wasn’t going to force you to do anything you didn’t want to. You’d had enough of that for one lifetime. I know you don’t. His tone is gentle. Understanding. You stood, careful, cautious in the tiny bathroom, taping the bandages over the opening. What did they see when they looked at you?

You rinsed your mouth, watching the water circle the drain, pink and gooey. His knee touches you, the fabric worn thin, and you can’t help but turn rigid, still, until you can back away into the corner. Until you can make sure he is nowhere near you. He raises his hands, surrendering. I did not mean- he stops, unable to finish the sentence. I know, you say too quickly. You knew his type, his kind. Always testing the limits. Pushing the boundaries. Believing themselves different from the rest. They could try all they wanted, they could think all they wanted, they all ended up in the same shallow graves.

You were famous in all the wrong places. Death for hire. There were no signs or symptoms. There was no real reason for their sudden deaths. It was instant. It was painless. It was effective. No marks or bruises, no bullet holes or brains bashed in. No weapons necessary. It's been a long time since you took a job. There were plenty of opportunities, plenty of people looking, you just didn't want to be found. Fell off the grid. No family, no friends. It was easier than you'd like to admit. It was effortless. One day you were there, the next no one had heard from you. You didn't take calls or emails. You didn't have a phone. Customers would drop off letters, notes, envelopes of cash with names and descriptions. You'd do what you needed to. They always paid well. There was a sick sort of satisfaction. Your part was easy. Sometimes you put on a show. Got dressed up. Slid beside them at the bar. Took them to bed. They adored you. Other times, it was on the subway, the bus, in the middle of the crosswalk. Your job was done. The world went on spinning. That's just how it goes.

Little Death. La Petite Mort. That’s what everyone called you. I assume you know what I can do. He nods. They all did. It was Frenchie who'd seen you first. You weren't angry or fighting, you weren't cagey. You were very still, sitting in the middle of your cell, knees to chest. There was something underneath that. Perhaps it was defeat or shame. In the moment, it caught him off guard. Now he understands it's just who you are. Who you've become. Who were you before? Cindy opened the doors and everyone fled. You were cautious though, pulling your sleeves over your hands, your arms, keeping yourself small enough to slip by without getting caught, without hurting anyone. He wanted to follow, but it was too late. He never forgot about you. Afterwards, he asked M.M. and Hughie to dig up every file from the Sage Grove Center. You'd be useful, he just wasn't sure how important you'd turn out to be.

So why aren't you afraid? You sat at the edge of the tub, him on the toilet, the two of you staring at one another. He smiles and the act strikes you across the face. You are not so scary. He shrugs. Nine years ago, almost ten, they injected you with Compound V. You were a teenager, placed in their care by people who loved you. There were no physical changes. No outward deformities or abilities. They assumed it was mental, but you couldn't read thoughts or move things with your mind. Called you a dud. A failure. If that was true, wouldn't that mean you could leave? You begged one of the nurses, please. The words scratched your throat, tore their way from your mouth like barbed wire. Please, I won't say anything. I won't tell anyone. And then you grabbed them by the wrist, making them drop your dinner tray. They dropped, too. A pile of lead wrapped in skin. You'd never forget that sound. Someone heard and they followed. They went to pull you, drag you from the cell, punish you, but they found the same fate. There was a pile of bodies before anyone realized it wasn't on purpose. Lamplighter watched the security cameras. You never fought any of them. They found no weapons on your person after a strip search. All they did was touch you.

Ten years. Ten years of bodies. Ten years of testing. They'd learn. You'd learned too. It only worked skin to skin. Clothing, fabric, gloves, all of it could be a lifesaver. Any part of you. All parts of you. They still found ways to hurt you. Some favored cattle prods. Others went the old fashioned way, pointing a gun between your eyes until you took down an entire room of other patients. You chose to live and for that you would always be considered selfish. Who do you want me to kill? You ask, your eyes cast down at the blood drying on your shirt. No one ever wanted your company. No one ever wanted to get to know you. It was what you could do that was of interest. It is not that simple, Petite Mort. You roll your eyes. It is that simple. You move abruptly. Sitting to standing, learning into him, your faces inches from one another. His eyes widened despite himself. He is scared.

They all are.

You can say no, he says again. You're overcome by nausea, dizziness. Maybe you had a concussion. Maybe it was what he'd said, the name he whispered. Get out. You look him in the eyes and repeat yourself, but he doesn't move. Get out! You pull at his jacket, pushing him through the doorway. His friends all freeze. Get out! Leave now! You know your neighbors will complain about the screaming, but you don't care. You're furious. Frenchie tries to calm you down, but you're hysterical. This is what they wanted. This is why Vought let you live so long. Because they wanted you to be their weapon. You could kill anyone. Everyone. You were collateral. An emergency fund. An option when they were all out of options. You weren't going to be used anymore. You weren't going to be a pawn in Voughts game. Not anymore. You got out. You were free. You couldn't go back there, you couldn't put yourself in danger like that again. They would recognize you. You would never see the light of day again. They'd let you rot in a cell like all those years. Before you slam the door in their faces, Frenchie tries one last time. S'il te plaît. We would never let anything happen to you. You've become cold, stone-like, the same shell of a human being he recognized from that first day, that first moment. There is not getting through to you. Not now, at least. The conversation was over. He must let it die.

You were not going to kill Homelander.

[hbyrde36]

Steddie | R: Explicit (for eventual smut) | WC:4225 | Ch 2/8 | AO3

Ch 1 <-

Chapter 2: This Haunted House Is Not A Home

Eddie slumped in the corner, watching for longer than he’d ever be willing to admit to another soul, while Steve slept. 

It was fitful at first, and for a while every twitch under the sheets was accompanied by soft groans and whimpers. Steve never roused fully, but it was clear he was in a lot of pain even at rest. Eventually though, he fell still, his breath coming deep and even as the wrinkles in his forehead smoothed out.

The sun was beginning to rise by the time Eddie wandered out into the hall, finally growing bored of snooping around the plaid nightmare Steve called a bedroom, appalled to have found absolutely nothing incriminating—granted, he hadn’t tried to get into the closet—and he was left itching to explore the rest of the house. 

It was… depressing, to say the least. 

Eddie hadn’t really noticed before, being a little distracted with his own situation on their jaunt up the stairs a few hours ago, but there was nothing on the walls anywhere in the Harrington home, save for a few tasteful—read: boring—works of art. 

Using the term art loosely, of course. 

Not a single baby picture, school photo, or family portrait was displayed anywhere. Though Eddie did at one point come across a small album with Steve’s name written in blue across the spine, tucked high on a shelf in what must be his parents bedroom. 

The entire house was painfully staged. Except for the things that clearly belonged to Steve and stuff the rest of the party left behind scattered around the living room, it was as if the whole thing was a lifeless showpiece. A floor model, like those fake kitchens and shit set up in fancy furniture stores

To think Steve had grown up in this place with no warmth, no substance, no feeling. 

It made Eddie sad to imagine. 

He may have hopped from house to house for a while before landing with Wayne, but his uncle had made sure he felt at home, welcome and comfortable from day one. Their trailer was full of mementos… or, it had been. Eddie supposed it was all rubble or less by now, but nothing could take away his memories of those crowded walls, adorned with everything from embarrassing snapshots of his own sixth grade graduation, to Wayne’s extensive coffee mug collection. Not to mention all the hats, and tiny commemorative spoons from every State and truck stop they’d ever gassed up at during their summer road trips to his uncle’s favorite fishing hole.

Love housed in many forms, everywhere you looked. 

When late morning hit, Eddie was still wandering around, going from one window to the next to watch the horribly bland suburban world go by, and tried desperately not to consider the fact that this might be his life now. 

Steve still hadn’t come down, and there hadn’t been so much as a peep or a footstep from that part of the house. It made sense that Steve might sleep in, needing more rest than normal while he was healing, but there was a gnawing feeling in the back of Eddie’s mind telling him that this wasn’t good.

After warring with himself over it for a moment he returned to Steve’s room, quietly tip-toeing over to the bed to check on him.

“Steve?” Eddie said tentatively as he got close.

Steve’s face was as white as a sheet. His hair was stuck to his brow, soaked through with sweat. The covers had slipped down a bit since last night, showing his shirt similarly drenched too, and though his chest rose and fell in rhythm, his breaths were weak and shallow.

When Steve didn’t so much as twitch in response, Eddie climbed up onto the bed, noting that while he could in fact do that, the mattress didn’t dip at all under his weight.

“Steve?” He called again, a little louder and more insistent this time as he hovered over the other boy's frame. “Come on, big boy, you gotta wake up.”

With rapidly growing panic, Eddie reached down to grasp Steve's shoulders. For a split second he actually made contact, but as he tried to shake the other boy awake he lost it, hands slipping right through to the mattress below. 

For better or worse, that momentary touch had told him enough. 

Steve was burning up.

It wasn’t that otherworldly fluttering heat from the night before either. That buzz that had shot through him and had made his whole body break out in goosebumps when he’d last held Steve’s body.

No, he was raging with fever.

“Wake up, Steve!” Eddie shouted frantically, his throat growing tighter and tighter as Steve continued to be unresponsive. “Please—please don’t do this. I need you. We all need you–”

He sat back on his heels at the foot of the bed, running a hand through his hair. 

He felt solid to himself, damnit. He could feel his hands in his hair right now. It was part of what made the whole ghost thing so hard to believe. Wouldn’t he know if he was dead? Wouldn’t he feel dead?

Or maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

That was a problem for another day. He needed to get Steve help, somehow, and he needed to do it now. 

Eddie jumped off the bed and raced downstairs, making a beeline for the kitchen. If he could just dial 911—

But, naturally, the one time he really, really needed to make it happen, he couldn’t manage to touch the stupid phone. Maybe if he concentrated really hard on it?

Before he could bring himself to try a second time, the phone started to ring. 

Eddie prayed it was Robin or one of the kids calling to check in. Even knowing it was futile, he reached for the handset, stomping his feet angrily when he failed yet again. 

Goddamnit!

Think, Munson, think! 

What had been different last night when he’d managed to touch Steve for almost a full minute? 

Well, he’d been annoyed at first, then a little turned on if he was honest. Obviously his concern for Steve’s well-being had taken center stage once he’d gotten a look at how badly hurt he still was, but wounded or not, a shirtless Steve Harrington was a fucking sight to see. Eddie would challenge anyone—gay, straight, or otherwise—to stand in his presence and be unaffected.

But surely horny ghost magic could not possibly be a thing.

No, he’d been worried. Like, really fucking worried. The same way he felt just now when he couldn’t get Steve to wake. He hadn’t thought about what he was doing, he’d just acted.  

This time Eddie tried to clear his mind, no thoughts, no doubts, no anything, instead of attempting to force it. Which… trying to actively clear your mind was fucking impossible, it turned out, but he did his best before reaching out again.

His hand met nothing but air.

“Motherfucker!” He shouted, kicking out violently at the wall. 

His foot hit sheetrock hard, sending shockwaves up his leg and spine. The wall shook, knocking the phone off the hook to hang upside down by its cord. 

Eddie threw his head back and laughed, a burst of hope sparking in his chest, before squatting down to yell into the receiver. “Hello! Hello?!” 

He could hear Robin doing the same on the other end of the line. 

Right. 

The only person who could hear him was lying unconscious upstairs. 

“Steve, are you there? Steve?!” Robin’s voice cried out, tinny through the earpiece.

Eddie let his ass plop down on the floor, leaving him mouth level with the receiver as he dropped his head into his hands. “He’s in bad shape, Buckley,” he said, softly this time since it didn’t matter anyway. “And I can’t do anything about it. I feel so helpless.”

“I don’t like this,” Robin said over the line again after a long moment of silence. “Steve, If you can hear me just–just hang in there, okay? I’m coming over.”

Eddie heaved a sigh of relief, rubbing hard at his eyes. “Thank fuck.”

From his vigil at Steve’s bedside, Eddie heard the sound of the front door creaking open and slamming closed, as Robin—at least he hoped it was Robin—let herself into the house.

“Steve?” Her familiar voice called from downstairs.

Relief flooded him again in an overwhelming wave that made him want to both cheer and sob. His body went lax with it, everything but his gaze. That remained fixed on the bed in front of him, unblinking where it was set on Steve’s face, as if Eddie’s eyes on him could keep him safe until real help arrived. 

“We’re up here!” Eddie shouted out in a choked voice, forgetting again for a moment that she couldn’t hear him.

Whatever. 

“Cavalry’s here,” he murmured softly to the still form below. “You’re gonna be okay now, Steve.” 

In seconds Robin was pounding up the stairs and flying through the open bedroom door. “Oh my god—Steve?!” She cried, lunging for the bed. Eddie lurched out of the way on instinct just before she threw herself at Steve’s comatose figure.

She shook his arm, shouted his name, and at one point Eddie thought she was about to slap him across the face before thinking better of it, scrambling down off the bed to run into the attached bathroom. 

Curious, he followed, watching her grab a towel and fill a cup with cold water from the sink.

Yes! Genius girl!

She marched back out, whispering half-hearted apologies before dumping the entire thing right in Steve’s face.

It worked, though not quite as Eddie expected. Rather than gasping awake, sputtering and maybe yelling about getting water all over his bed, Steve whined, high and pitiful and heartbreaking.  

Eddie would have much preferred the first option.

Steve’s head lolled from side to side, lips parting to reveal chattering teeth, before one eye and then the next slowly cracked open. 

“Eddie?” 

“What? No, i-it’s me,” Robin said, her voice shaking a little along with her hand as it reached up to feel Steve’s forehead. “God—you’re really burning up.”

“I’m here, Steve.” Eddie answered after a beat, moving around to kneel down on the other side of the bed. His name being the first word out of Steve’s mouth on waking was more than a little unexpected, and something he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with, but hearing Steve’s voice, no matter what he said, felt like winning the fucking lottery just then.

“Did you—“ Steve cut himself off, coughing. “Call Robin?”

“Yes, dingus! I called and you weren’t saying anything. You scared me half to death.”

At the same time Robin was replying, having no idea the question wasn’t meant for her, Eddie spoke too. “No, but she called and I… I was able to knock the phone off the wall.”

“S’good,” Steve forced out, swallowing thickly. “I’m not feelin’ so hot today.”

“I’d imagine not—” Robin sighed, leaning in to push the damp hair out of Steve’s eyes. “You idiot. Why didn’t you tell me how bad you were, huh? I knew you should have gone to the hospital.”

“No, no hospital. I-I can't," Steve protested. 

“You have an infection!” Robin shrieked. 

“I don’t… can’t…” Steve did his best to shake his head, wincing with even that small movement. “Be ‘lone.”

“I know you hate doctors but I'll be with you the whole time,” Robin insisted.

Eddie leaned in to add his own two cents in Steve’s ear. “Trust me, big boy, you’ll be surrounded by nurses. They’ll probably fight over who gets to give you a sponge bath. You won’t be alone.”

“No—” Steve groaned. Until that moment he’d been mostly staring up at the ceiling, but for the first time since he woke, Steve purposely turned his head, looking straight into Eddie’s eyes. “You ‘lone.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathed, a little dumbstruck. He huffed a breathy laugh, trying to ignore the flutter in his belly. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart, I'm coming along. You can’t get rid of me that easily. Let her take you to the hospital, man.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitched as he gave a weak nod. “Okay.”

“See?” Robin bent her body sideways trying to catch Steve's eye. “You're delirious!” She shouted, throwing her hands up. “Come on, I borrowed my mom’s car.”

With an agonizing slowness and pained expression, Steve turned away from Eddie and back to give her a wary glare. “B-but you can’t drive.”

She looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. “I made it here, didn’t I? I’ve been practicing.”

“You been holding out on me, Robs?” Steve teased, weakly.

“Oh shut it, you know you love being my personal chauffeur.”

Somehow Robin managed to get Steve’s shoes on and help him down the stairs and out to the driveway. She had to have been supporting nearly half his body weight, and though she never once let on to Steve that she was struggling, Eddie could see it on her face. 

For his part, Eddie hovered, that same feeling of helplessness making him want to rant and rage. 

Instead, he kept up a constant stream of encouragement, contributing the only way he could, even if all his words managed to do were keep Steve awake long enough to make it into the back seat of the ugliest station wagon he’d ever seen.

Robin secured Steve with a seatbelt, and Eddie managed to slip into the car past him before she closed the car door. He was pretty sure he could have gone through it if need be, but better safe than sorry since he was still completely fucking lost on how the physics of this shit worked.

Up front, Robin spoke under her breath, babbling to herself about switching gears and keeping her hands at ten and two as the car jerked backwards out of the driveway, and pulled it slowly out onto the road.

Steve sagged in his seat, the belt seemingly the only thing keeping him from sliding to the floorboard, but still he spared what little energy he must have had to give Eddie a strained smile, his hand twitching where it rested on the bench seat as if he wanted to reach out. Eddie slid his hand along the vinyl upholstery, closing the distance until their pinkies would have brushed. 

They didn’t, because of course they didn’t, but Eddie was filled again with that pleasant, tingling heat. Steve let out a contented hum, his eyes slipping closed as he relaxed further into the cushion, and Eddie wondered if it felt good for him too. If Steve felt anything at all when Eddie’s form passed through his. 

Maybe sometime later he’d be brave enough to ask. 

For the second time that day Eddie found himself watching the world go by through glass while Steve slept, this new view even worse than the mundanity of Loch Nora.

Hawkins was a mess. 

Some streets and houses were nearly untouched, as if Hell itself hadn’t almost escaped to wreak havoc from beneath their carefully manicured lawns. Others were unrecognizable, homes utterly ruined, the path of destruction marked by deep cracks in the ground. The fissures were partially closed now but the devastation surrounding them told a story, as clear as any other, about how harrowing that terrible night had been, in and out of the Upside Down. 

Before long they were pulling up to the sliding doors of the emergency room at Hawkins General, where Robin thankfully remembered to throw the car into park before shouldering her door open and rushing inside, returning a second later with two nurses and a stretcher.

“Hey, man! Watch his head!” Eddie shouted as he climbed out, after the burlier of the two hauled Steve from the backseat too fast and with too little care, in his humble opinion.

His outburst fell on deaf ears, as was usual now, and for someone whose life and passions revolved around his inability to ever shut the fuck up, this not being able to be heard thing was a fate worse than… 

Well.

Robin took off after the nurses when they began to roll Steve away. Eddie followed at her heels, only for her to be stopped short by a small woman just outside a large set of double doors as Steve and his entourage continued on.

“I’m sorry, honey. You can’t go back with him,” the new nurse said, holding her hand up to block Robin, who was trying to weave around her. “Go check in with reception. We’ll update you when we can.”

Robin fumed but kept her mouth shut for once, only huffing in frustration before turning on her heel to march away.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Buckley. Don’t worry,” Eddie murmured. 

He didn’t let himself hesitate for even a second, though he did shut his eyes, and walked straight through those closed doors like they were nothing, opening his eyes again on the other side, jogging to catch up to the stretcher carrying his friend.

For the first time since he’d come to in Steve’s living room, he was actually grateful for the whole ghost thing, or whatever this was.

After what felt like an eternity, after a team of doctors and nurses poked and prodded and assessed, and said horrible things like, “thank god he got here when he did,” and “narrowly avoided sepsis,” Steve’s hospital room was finally quiet, save for the electrical hum of fluorescent lights and a monitor.

Eddie sat at his bedside, watching every breath run in and out of his sleeping body, a position he’d become far too familiar with in such a short time.

He heard Robin coming before she’d even reached the door, talking some poor nurse's ear off at a mile a minute all the way down the corridor. 

“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered to the room as she stepped inside. She approached the bed opposite Eddie, resting a hip against it as she took Steve’s limp hand in her own. 

Eddie tried not to be jealous of the way she could touch so freely. 

“Can you believe they wouldn’t let me in till now?” Robin went on, with a light scoff. “Sometimes I forget other people can’t see that we’re a matched set. Maybe when this is all over we should get tattoos that say do not separate.” she paused, letting out a quiet, wet laugh. “I told them you got hurt in the earthquake saving Max and tried to treat yourself at home. I think if she wasn’t here herself they might have asked more questions, but—”

Eddie stepped away at that, moving through the room’s door with the same ease he had earlier, and out into the hallway to give them some privacy. Not that Robin knew he was there, but it seemed like the polite thing to do. 

He couldn’t help wondering about Max now anyway, feeling terrible suddenly for not thinking to ask if she and everyone else had made it out okay. Little red must have been hurt pretty bad if she was still here after almost a week. 

With Robin watching over Steve, Eddie took a moment to search for the younger girl, and found her only a few rooms away.

Every surface of her suite was covered in drawings and get well cards, fluffy pink teddy bears and floating balloons. He could practically hear Max bitching up a storm about it all, while being secretly pleased at the evidence of so many people caring for her.

Though it was early in the evening, she was already asleep, arm sticking out at her side in a massive cast and one of her legs lifted in traction. It felt wrong to see someone so fierce look so small and vulnerable, her thin frame swallowed up by the enormous bed. But a glance at her chart on the wall showed her vitals were good, and there was a healthy flush to her cheeks. 

If anyone could overcome this, it was Max

“Sorry, hun, but visiting hours are over,” a voice called out in the distance, trickling in from the direction of Steve’s room down the hall. “You can come back and see your boyfriend tomorrow.”

Eddie would have paid money to see the look Robin’s face at that.

“See you around, Red,” he whispered, slipping back out just in time to pass Robin on her way to the exit, her cheeks shiny with tears still flowing freely from red, puffy eyes. 

It was just the two of them again when Eddie returned to Steve’s room, and this time when he took up his post in the chair next to the bed, he gave in to the urge to hold Steve’s hand, as much as he could at least.

One minute Eddie was laying his head down on the side of Steve’s bed, only intending to ‘rest his eyes’ for a bit—if such a thing was even possible—and the next everything faded to black. 

He floated in calm nothingness for seconds or days, completely at peace with the undulating dark, until slowly, gradually something else came into focus. 

Something awful and unfortunately familiar.

The dark gray skies and falling ash of the Upside Down loomed overhead, the only color the occasional flash of blood red lightning in the distance. Eddie felt strangely detached from his surroundings, wandering the cold barren wasteland in a daze, barely aware of putting one foot in front of the other. 

Not long after it appeared around him the vision of the Upside Down vanished again, and with a strange pulling sensation from behind his belly button, he was yanked away, returned to the inky nothing.

Eddie jerked awake with a gasp, stumbling forward, only just managing to avoid face planting into the carpet of Steve’s living room.

Could ghosts sleep? Could they dream? What the hell had just happened? And how did he get back here?

He had too many questions and exactly zero answers.

After searching the house and finding it as empty as he’d expected, Eddie considered walking back to the hospital, but he had no way of knowing how much time had passed since he’d left Steve’s bedside. It was probably better to just sit tight and wait for him to come home.

Easier said than done.

Another night and day passed, and Eddie was ready to rip his hair out when the headlights of Robin’s borrowed station wagon cut through the dark of early evening to pull into the driveway.

He’d been watching the street from Steve’s bedroom window and quickly made his way down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Eddie?” Steve's worried voice called out after the creak of the door. He already sounded a hell of a lot stronger than the last time Eddie had heard him speak. 

“Y’know, you're really starting to worry me. It was just a fever dream. I'm telling you you can’t see ghosts!”

“I’m here,” Eddie said, rounding the corner of the living room, skidding to stop right in front of Steve. He wanted desperately to hug him or something, and maybe it was more of that good ole wishful thinking but it sort of looked like Steve wanted to hug him too.

Instead Eddie cleared his throat, glancing at Robin, who stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, then back to Steve. “Cat out of the bag?”

“Sort of,” Steve sighed, shuffling closer to the couch. “She doesn't believe me.”

Eddie followed, snorting. “I thought you two shared a brain cell?” 

Robin threw her hands up “Of course I don’t believe you, Mr. I've-Had-Multiple-Concussions! Who would believe that?!”

“What do you want to do?” Eddie asked, both of them ignoring her for the time being.

“Can you try to touch her, maybe?” Steve suggested. “Do you know how you did it yet?”

“Not really. I think I have to be under a certain amount of like, stress or something?”

“I mean, you are a ghost, that's gotta be pretty stressful already.”

“Oh, ha–ha,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Good one, Harrington.”

“Why don’t you just—” Steve quieted abruptly with a low groan, wobbling on suddenly unstable, shaking legs. Robin surged forward as if she could catch him from across the room, but Eddie was right there. He practically swept Steve off his feet in his effort to keep him from falling, setting him gently but swiftly down on the couch before the ability escaped him again.

Steve beamed.

“What the—” Robin gasped, blinking rapidly at the scene in front of her with her mouth agape.

Eddie narrowed his eyes, leveling a finger in Steve’s face. “You did that on purpose.”

The insufferable ass had the nerve to wink, grinning up at him. “Maybe.”

“You’re already hurt, couldn’t we have found some other way to test it?!” Eddie hissed. “What if it hadn’t worked?”

Steve lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “It did, didn’t it?”

“Eddie?” Robin asked, a little breathy. She looked nervously around the space as she moved to sit down next to Steve. “Is it really him?”

Steve turned to her, and mirroring him, Eddie did the same as they both spoke at once.

“Yeah, Rob. It’s him.” 

“Yeah, Buckley. It’s me. 

Thanks as always to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta and an absolutely amazing cheerleader!

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

Fic taglist (open): @sidekick-hero @geekymagicalpotato

[agi-ppangx]

💭when you find out you're pregnant with minho

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

word count: 622

tags: non!idol au, estabilished relationship, fluff

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mention of pee (it's nothing weird i promise, the reader is just taking a pregnancy test), a bit of crying, being scared of whatever is gonna come in the future, happy ending

author's note: hii guys, i hope youre having a nice day/night ‹3 today i offer you a soft minho drabble, hopefully you will like it !! totally not proofread lol anyway, feedback and reblogs highly appreciated 🫶🏽

part two | part three

minho returned home with a bag full of pregnancy tests and placed them on a counter in the kitchen. you got up from the kitchen chair to grab them and rushed to the bathroom. "you want me to go there with you, baby?" minho asked quietly, sensing your nervousness. "min, baby, i love you, but i don't want you to see me when i pee on a plastic stick," you responded, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room. minho chuckled at your words. "fine, i'll be here by the door in case you need me." you nodded and entered the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

when you woke up in the morning, you felt that it was the day you should finally tell minho that your period was late. you were stressed for the past two months, you thought it was maybe because you were overworking yourself and it just caused your period not to show. you tried to relax for the past few weeks, but at this point you knew it wasn't just because you were overworked. you told him and his first impulse was to hug you and then go to the store for pregnancy tests. he seemed calm, like it wasn't a big deal. but inside, minho was terrified. you two didn't plan to start a family right now, you talked about it sometimes, but in your imagination it was supposed to happen much later. but apparently life wanted to surprise both of you.

when you finished and placed all three tests on the sink, you set a timer, then unlocked the door and quietly called minho. you sat by the bathtub, legs placed by your chest. your breathing was uneven, short, shallow breaths escaping your lungs. minho sat next to you, hugging you tightly and rubbing circles on your back with his hand. "how long do we have to wait?" he whispered. "around 15 minutes," you mumbled, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. minho hummed to let you know he heard you and placed a soft kiss on your head. "what are we gonna do if i'm pregnant?" you asked suddenly, looking him in the eyes. you didn't cry, but minho could see you were scared. he thought about it for a while and then responded "if you are pregnant, everything's gonna be fine. i'll support you, whether you wanna keep it or not. but either way it'll be okay baby, i love you and i'm sure we can deal with it," minho said, his words causing you to tear up a little bit. you exhaled shakily, your eyes now focused on your hands fiddling with minho's hoodie. it was when the timer went out, signalling both of you that 15 minutes passed. you looked into each others' eyes at the same time. "you ready?" minho asked you and you nodded. he helped you get up and together you went to the sink to check the results. all three tests were positive. "i'm pregnant…" you whispered, tears starting to fall down your cheeks. minho hugged you once again, rocking you gently in his arms. when you calmed down a bit, you looked up at him and smiled. it was when minho teared up as well. "you're going to be a dad, baby," you whispered and kissed him deeply and slowly. when you pulled out, minho placed one more kiss on your nose. "does it mean you're gonna keep it?" he then asked, still quite unsure what you're planning on doing. you hesitated, but then whispered quietly "yeah". were you ready for parenthood? of course no. you were terrified, worried and nervous. but with minho by your side you knew it's gonna be okay.

[celestie0]

notes on kickoff ch.7

hellooo if you're here thank you for taking the interest! i just had some creative notes i wanted to get off my chest with the release of ch.7 lol i felt compelled to do so with this one i'm basically journaling here. you can read this after reading ch7 here!

I. on gojo's feelings

as for why didn't gojo just tell reader how he felt at the end of the chapter, and instead only says what he does. i think i rewrote this ending like five different times, he was never supposed to tell her at this point based on my story planning, but i did explore the idea of a dramatic confession here regardless, and it didn't fit for lots of different reasons for one, i think he's finally able to put himself in reader's shoes. it's true he's pretty dense and obviously has commitment issues/valid fears that keep him from opening up, but that still doesn't mean he hasn't hurt reader in a lot of different ways already. he realizes, whether intentionally or not, he's led her on and to do a complete turnaround within a few hours while she's already trying to process rejection as she is clearly withdrawn from him i believed would've been selfish on his part, and could possibly cause even more hurt over the fact that he could come off ingenuine. gojo is finally emotionally aware of her enough to recognize it, but he's not a perfect person so it still slips through that he's distraught at the thought of never seeing her again. in general i'm of the opinion that if someone asks for space, you respect that unless they say otherwise of note, just because he realizes that he has these feelings, doesn't necessary change his fears, as no single moment can undo years of trauma, so i think that's why he bites his tongue too. i'm not keen on making this a "woman fixes man" story but i moreso want to embrace the sentiment that you don't need to resolve every single bad thing that's ever happened to you in order to embrace love or happiness.

II. on gojo's commitment issues

i know it was brought up in the first gojo pov that he has issues committing to just one woman, but i wanted this chapter to reveal that it's really just his fear of opening up to people due to the still raw loss he feels of losing someone he loved. i aim with his pov to be more of a stream of his own consciousness rather than from an omniscient observer, which may explain the ambiguity. he's not sure if he's able to open up to a person in a way he knows is normal and healthy, so he settles on shallow connections instead. just wanted to clear this up, and say that it won't be any sort of plot point in which he struggles to be sincere or faithful when he seriously wants to commit to someone as he has no issues with that if he truly wants to be with them (unlike the whore he's been so far in the series lmao)

III. on strawberry vanilla soda

btw i've never had this flavor of soda i'm not even sure where i came up w it loool or if it even exists. i was kind of toying with the idea of gojo seeing reader's message on the can during the match, and that would maybe help him get more focused on the field (sooo sports romance cliche but i still love it haha) but i settled on him seeing it afterwards to kinda parallel the clumsiness he's had with reader so far. for some reason, the universe just doesn't want him to get his timing right with her lol

IV. on angst/conflict

i know ch7 was a bit differentttt less gojo x reader and more just gojo lmfao, it was also a bit angsty. it definitely won't stay angsty throughout the remaining chapters. this was just gojo's lore drop chapter LOL. there will still obviously be angst here and there, but i've got a lot of fun, cute, tense, silly, passionate, messy scenes still planned similar to ch5&6 because i prefer writing those kinds of scenes haha. ultimately this story was always meant to be a full-circle romance, so ch7 was to lay some of the emotional groundwork that gets brought up as the story builds to its climax

that's all i have to saayyy if you actually read this whole thing i love you?? lol. ch7 really emotionally resonated with me as i wrote it, both as someone who understands how gojo feels but also as someone who understands how reader feels, and if it resonated with you too then that makes me very happy and that's ultimately every writer's dream haha. was very cathartic to share these thoughts. i hope to see you in the next oneeee <3 have a wonderful rest of your day!

[asliceofzosan]

i'm thinking of sanji growing up with a pet cat at the baratie.

how sanji finds him hungry and cold and shivering on his doorstep. he's frighteningly thin, almost as if a single gust of wind could turn his bones to dust. a chill runs through sanji's spine as he picks up the little green and black kitten — something like a distant memory — of rationing out tiny portions and drying water skeins and the rumble rumble rumble of his stomach as it begs him for more food to eat. just one more crumb. maybe it would sate his hunger.

so he takes the little kitten in, nurses him back to health, and endures the scolding from zeff for bringing the little stray in. sanji gets his reparation by pretending not to see zeff bottle feed the kitten when he was too weak to stand. he doesn't try to hide his knowing smile when he and patty find zeff passed out in his office chair, the little kitten curled up on his lap as it took shallow breaths in his sleep.

sanji took to calling the kitten marimo. he never saw a green kitten before, and certainly one not as fluffy as him once he was regaining his strength. marimo was playful and mighty mischievous. just like every other cat, his life's mission was to rile sanji up with each vase knocked over and each cat tree he refuses to use in favor of the box it came in.

but sanji adored his little marimo.

he always made sure he was well fed and quenched. not a single day went by where marimo didn't have a bite to eat. it haunts his dreams still. when baby marimo was shaking so much in his hands, sanji was afraid he might break him if he moved too fast. now he was a fierce cat, always lazily wrapping himself around sanji's legs when he's waiting tables or doing prep work in the kitchen.

marimo pretends he's not protective. but he's bared his fangs at more people than sanji could count. carne's got the scars on his arms to prove it too. sometimes sanji would catch the little rascal with a small paring knife in his mouth to chase one of the poor line cooks with.

despite his chilly attitude towards him when others are around, at night marimo would already be curled up on sanji's pillow, purring and purring until his owner was sound asleep. sometimes sanji would pull marimo onto his lap and brush him while humming a sea shanty zeff taught him long ago. he cherishes these quiet moments with the once hungry little kitten.

he doesn't want to admit it out loud — and maybe he never will — but marimo gave him another reason for living everyday.

so when sanji found a naked green-haired man where marimo is supposed to be on his bed, it should be understandable that he kicked the guy straight into the wall, right?

"who?!?" sanji couldn't even finish his question, he was hysterical that a naked man was in his bedroom! he long dreamed for a beautiful woman on his bed ever since he hit puberty. this is not how he wanted this to go. not at all. the strange man thankfully got tangled in sanji's bedsheets (note to self: must wash and/or burn those sheets now) when sanji landed a mouton shot to his chest.

but most importantly...

where the fuck was his cat?!?

"i should have dressed first, huh?" the man says through a pained groan. sanji somehow found himself feeling sorry for him, but only for a split second, because he was back to glaring at the stranger as menacingly as he could. sanji watched him warily, trying his best not to stare at his bare chest.

"who are you and what have you done to my cat?"

the man decided then to open his eyes and sanji let out a small gasp.

gray eyes.

his marimo had gray eyes exactly that shade.

"you know, don't you?" the man says, not looking the least bit afraid even after sanji literally kicked him in the chest. sanji backed away when he stood up, the blanket still wrapped loosely around his frame. "you know who i am, cook."

"no i don't!" but even sanji could admit that his tone wavered with each step the man took towards him. "if this is some fucking prank, i'll kick your ass again!"

"careful, curly." the man smirks, baring razor sharp fangs. "cats like to scratch."

and within the blink of an eye, the man was gone. an indignant meow sounded from the pile of blankets at sanji's feet. without really thinking, sanji knelt down and lifted the blanket up. marimo laid there, limbs paws tucked up against his body, and licking one of his paws nonchalantly.

"please tell me i'm dreaming," sanji murmured, running a single hand through his hair. marimo just tilted his head at him, slinking out of the blanket fortress and onto sanji's lap. sanji looked down and saw marimo staring straight up at him, those same gray eyes he saw on the stranger boring holes into his soul. sanji couldn't bring himself to look away.

because something tells him that he might get a visit from the green haired man again very soon.

or maybe he never left.

[damnaation]

Light in the Deep

A little lost mer ends up face to face with a deep water leviathan.

Soft, safe, unwilling-to-willing vore, mer pred and prey.

She was lost. Not that she knew where she was supposed to be, actually, but surely it wasn't here, in the middle of the open ocean? Some part of her brain was setting off alarm bells at that, but trying to remember why was like trying to catch bubbles with her fingers.

Well, they weren't going to figure it out just floating there. Maybe there was someone nearby they could ask for help? Though they couldn't see any signs of anyone else, just a steep slope riddled with holes—a dead volcano, some part of their brain noted. Full of lava tubes.

“Hello?” She chirped, ear fins perked to listen for any response, though after a few seconds she deflated slightly. Nothing.

Hanging around out in the open wouldn't help anything, though. With a sharp flick of her tail she darted towards one of the holes, peering in curiously—it seemed empty, without even any signs of passage. The next several entrances were the same, dark and empty voids leading into the mountain.

The further down they got, the darker it became, growing dim like a storm was rolling in. They paused, glancing up—they'd gone deeper than they'd expected, and still no sign of anyone.

The next opening in the mountainside was much larger, a gaping black chasm many times her own length. It sent a shiver down her spine, though she couldn't say why—it looked almost like a mouth, yawning wide and ready to swallow her up.

A sudden shift in the water made them tense, fins flared in a subconscious attempt to make them look bigger, but otherwise unmoving for the moment.

“Hello there, little minnow.” A low voice rumbled from behind them, chuckling slightly. The light had changed, an odd greenish glow emanating from something they couldn't see quite yet.

Turning with a flick of her tail, her eyes widened as she came face to face with a much, much larger mer, speckled with bioluminescent markings.

Leviathan.

He grinned at her, revealing long, needle-sharp teeth that made her blood run cold. A disturbance in the water alerted her to some movement, and that was the final straw.

They bolted, darting away with a sharp flick of their tail. It would be impossible to outswim him, but if they could get out of reach-

Diving into one of the lava tubes, they followed it to a dead end—the path forward blocked by an old collapse, but at least there was a bend blocking them from view. And the tunnel was surely too small for him to be able to grab them.

The sound of rock crumbling under pressure made her yelp, pressing against the rubble and trying to make herself as small as possible. She was too brightly colored to blend in, pink scales and orange fins a distinct beacon in the dim grey tunnel, but there wasn't anywhere else for her to go.

“Oh, come now, little minnow. That's not any way to greet a stranger.” The leviathan hummed, though his pleasant tone was undercut by yet more cracking and shuffling of stone.

Leviathans were dangerous. They remembered that much, or at least they could figure it out. Whatever he had in mind for them would no doubt end badly.

A frightened noise escaped them as they cowered, fins trembling and pressed close to their body. The cacophony from whatever he'd been doing had stopped, at least, but there was no way he'd left. Not that quickly.

She shuddered, pulling her tail close and wrapping her arms around it nervously. How long could she wait? Not forever, surely—eventually she would need to eat, after all. But who knows how long he would wait, lurking outside for her to come out so he could… do whatever leviathans did with shallow dwellers. Certainly nothing good, that's for sure.

Maybe they could shift the rocks blocking their path enough to escape? But they could also trigger a bigger collapse—best not to risk it. With a soft, anxious click they settled in to wait, nervous and trembling.

She wasn't sure how long it'd been by the time she saw the light, bright and comforting like the sun. Uncurling from her spot, she approached cautiously with a flick of her tail, but the light stayed out of reach. Still bright, with a slight greenish tint, but she couldn't tell what it was. It hovered near the entrance to her little hideaway, gleaming just barely out of reach.

They hesitated, feeling a brief flash of concern at the thought of leaving their refuge… but surely it would be alright? Leviathans didn't like bright light, after all. They were deep-dwellers, living in the constant night of the darkest ocean depths. Surely he was gone.

With a little chirp they slowly made their way out of the lava tube, catching a glimpse of claw marks gouged into the rocks as they swam past. A brief shudder ran through them, but they focused on the light again. It seemed a little closer, like they could just reach out and touch it-

The light pulled back, dancing out of her reach as she tried to grab it. Letting out a frustrated noise, she darted forward, reaching out with her hand to touch the light. Her fingers just barely brushed against it when it suddenly jerked back and went out.

A low chuckle surrounded them as they blinked, eyes unadjusted to the dim surroundings after staring at the bright light. They tensed at the feeling of water being disturbed, but couldn't see where it was coming from just yet.

“Well, well, well. Aren't you a cute little thing with a head all full of seaweed.”

She froze, hardly even daring to breathe at the sound of the leviathan’s low call. Stupid—of course he hadn't been gone. And she'd all but swum right into his jaws. Her eyes finally adjusted enough to see his face, looming over her ominously with a threatening smirk and-

And a lure. Poking out of his head of dark curls, pulsing a soft greenish light like the rest of his bioluminescent spots.

“It's awfully dangerous for little minnows like you out in the open. You're lucky I showed up—you could've ended up as a snack for someone far crueller than I.” He murmured, hands curling loosely around them and pulling them closer to his face. They let out a distressed click, pressing back against his palms but unable to escape—he could catch them easily no matter how they tried to flee. Shaking, fins pressed flat in fear, they stared up at him with wide eyes. “Oh, don't be like that, little one. I'll keep you perfectly safe, don't you worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Y-you don't have to- I'll b-be fine-” She stammered, voice high pitched and shaky from fear. The leviathan chuckled, shifting his hands and extending a clawed finger to trace along one of her fins—despite the distressed trill and flinch away his action prompted from her.

“But you're such a cute little thing. Really, I could just eat you up.” He chuckled, running his finger along their body until he tipped their chin up, the point of his claw just barely touching their skin. They shuddered, gills flaring anxiously—eat them? Surely it was just an exaggeration-

But after a moment he grinned, revealing needle-like teeth that made their blood run cold. “In fact…”

She yelped as his hand suddenly closed around her, holding her up closer to his face as she squirmed. Damn it- she should have stayed put, not gotten distracted by that damn light. “No- I- let me go!”

His hold was tight enough she couldn't wiggle free, arms pinned by his fingers and tail fin just barely poking out, but not tight enough to hurt though. Even as he lifted her to his face despite her protests.

With a low hum he opened his mouth wide, sharp teeth parting to give them a far too close view of the inside of his maw. There were a few spots of bioluminescence inside, pulsing softly as if beckoning them in. His grip on them loosened slightly, and for a brief moment they hoped to escape, but he simply shifted his hold on them before shoving them unceremoniously into his jaws.

Teeth snapped shut behind her with a definitive clack, and for a moment she sat there stunned before his tongue moved beneath her, abruptly pinning her to the roof of his mouth. The water surrounding her started to drain, and she gasped as she was abruptly forced to switch to air breathing. The sound of him swallowing made her shudder, shoving her hair out of her face and trembling in terror.

He wouldn't be able to hear their calls if they weren't in water—it didn't travel as well above the surface, and they had no way of knowing if he knew human speech. He'd effectively silenced them with hardly any effort, and all they could do was wait—their claws weren't sharp enough to do any damage, and they didn't have any other spines or defenses-

He licked her, jarring her from her thoughts and making her flail and sputter. For a brief moment she'd wondered if he was just planning to hold her in his mouth, but the sudden activity dashed that faint hope. A low, pleased rumble surrounded her as she squirmed and shoved at his tongue, making her shudder at the implication—he was tasting her, and apparently liked it.

After a few moments he pressed them to the roof of his mouth again, head angled towards his throat—which they could unfortunately see quite well, with the spots of bioluminescence in his mouth. “No!” They shouted, writhing desperately but unable to move much before he opened his mouth again and swallowed them with a torrent of water.

His throat was hot and tight, pinning her arms to her sides and forcing her deeper into his body despite her squirming. It felt like an eternity, powerful muscles squeezing and shoving her past the thumping of his heart and the dull rush of water through his gills before she was finally dropped into an open space, once again lit with bioluminescent flecks. Splashing into a pool of water, she yelped, bubbles trailing from her mouth and gills as she re-adjusted to breathing water. An amused chuckle surrounded her as she flailed, trying to reorient herself.

At least there was enough water for them to call. “Let me out!” They cried, shoving and clawing at the fleshy walls surrounding them. Their claws weren't very sharp, but they doubted it felt very good—a suspicion confirmed as they were suddenly squeezed in place and prevented from moving by the muscles tensing around them.

“You're not as fast as I am, little minnow. I'd rather not be waiting around for you to catch up.” The leviathan rumbled, making her pause her attempts at struggling.

“... What?”

“Would you rather I let you exhaust yourself swimming after me? Or risk getting snatched up as someone's snack? Not all deep dwellers are welcoming to your kind, minnow.”

That made even less sense. “Oh, ‘protect’ me from ending up as food by eating me yourself. Sure.” She snapped, wriggling enough to get her arm out of the uncomfortable position it had been stuck in. He let out a short series of exasperated clicks before she was suddenly released from the tight squeeze, letting out a startled yelp as she practically fell back to the bottom of his stomach.

“Your head really is full of seaweed, isn't it?” He hummed, a brief area of pressure resting on them for a moment. “You're just in storage, minnow.”

… What?

They paused, flicking their tail in confusion. The water didn't look or taste strange, and the only opening was above them… was he telling the truth? They couldn't feel anything, and when they reached out to touch the walls they just felt slimy, no tingling or burning on their skin.

“You couldn't have told me that before- before making me think I was gonna die?” She responded, sounding a little shaky. The leviathan rumbled softly, as something pressed against her again—his hand, maybe?

“I could have. But you wouldn't have squirmed as much, and it felt so nice.” She swatted the side of his storage-stomach with her tail, letting out an indignant noise. “But you're safe, minnow. You're lucky you ended up in my territory, I'm not one to make a meal of something that can talk back. Unlike some other leviathans…” An odd shiver went through her surroundings, as if he'd shuddered at the thought.

“Oh.” They twisted to curl up on themself, wrapping their arms around their tail nervously.

“Do you have a name, little minnow?” He asked, the bioluminescent flecks surrounding them brightening slightly. For a moment they paused, unsure if they could answer—they couldn't remember much, after all, certainly not why they were in the open ocean on their own—before something came to them.

“Phoenix.” It sounded like a name, and she liked it. “You?”

“Phoenix.” He hummed, repeating it slowly as if savoring it much like he had the rest of her. “Interesting. My name is Juniper. What were you doing out here all on your own?”

Of course he would ask that. She curled in tighter on herself, fins drooping slightly in distress.

“Little minnow?”

“... I don't know. I'm lost, I think, but I don't know where I'm supposed to be.” She finally responded, sounding rather morose. Juniper went silent for a few moments, clicking softly before speaking up.

“Well, I wouldn't mind a bit of company. Especially not from such a cute little thing as you.” Their fins perked up slightly at his offer and they uncurled some, looking up towards his call.

“I... Thank you.” He might not have made the best introduction, but he hadn't hurt them, and at least hanging around a leviathan would minimize the chances of something happening to them.

“Of course. Now, make yourself comfortable, I'm going hunting.”

[deer-carcasses]

somewhat an analysis of Alastor

I've been going over this multiple times while it was just some rambles in my notes, but I finally decided it might as well see the light of day. if you do read this all, thank you. if not,,, understandable. it's a lot.

if this whole things is not coherent at all and does some weird jumps, I'm sorry. I took multiple breaks writing this over the span of the whole day. it was even more of a mess, I promise this is the slightly cleaned-up version.

especially the later parts get less cohesive in my eyes since I had to take longer breaks in between them. they also might jump around more. but now, in case you do want to read this; enjoy.

obvious spoilers ahead

let's start with the most interesting aspect for me: we barely know Alastor. sure, we know a little about his backstory, and get snippets of interactions here and there, but it wasn't until well into the show that we got to know his character better. ep.5 was where we see something deeper than the shallow persona he puts on for everyone. he's been more of a helping hand to make the plot progress in an interesting direction than a character with obvious deeper meaning. I don't mean to say that he was not well-written, quite the contrary, I mean to point out that he seemed more like a tool in the story than a character we are supposed to connect with on deeper levels.

we all as viewers had no idea why exactly he was there, to begin with, he said it was for his own entertainment but even then, this seemed like an awful lot of work for him to come out more or less empty-handed most of the time. it's an unfair deal for Alastor if you ask me. and honestly, he does bring little less than "entertainment" to the table until then. being used to show that he is helping yes, but mostly doing it so he can pull someone else down with his help. double-sided blade. he loses, but whoever he helps also doesn't win.

let's talk about ep.5 though. in this episode it's the first time someone truly irritates him. he didn't really care much for Vox - seemingly finding his entire obsession rather funny and never seeing him as a true threat. and Sir Pentious he didn't even truly remember. but with Lucifer that changes. Alastor doesn't just see him as bothersome, he sees him as important enough to go out of his way to prove he is better than the literal king of hell himself. at first, you could argue that he's once again doing it for his entertainment. seeing how much he can push before he needs to get back in line. but looking closer, his body language betrays him.

the way Alastor holds himself shows a true disdain for Lucifer that is, from a viewer's perspective, totally unjustified. Lucifer did not start their weird rival dynamic, it was Alastor who from the beginning on looked down on the king. maybe it's a personal reason, maybe it's just the fact that Alastor is more than well aware that no matter how much power he gets, there's no way to get above Lucifer. his omnipresence might simply be an annoyance to Alastor because he knows as well as Lucifer that the king hasn't shown his face in a long time and his reputation and power over all of the pride ring, over all of hell, still stays in place. no real threat could shake Lucifer's power into crumpling and this thought alone might bother Alastor because he had to fight for his power, to keep his power. (see Vox having presumably more power with the modern media and all that before Alastor disappeared)

and there's also of course the whole bantering going on in Hell's greatest Dad. Are Alastor's words genuine when he speaks to Charlie, or is it just a tactic to get under Lucifer's skin, maybe not seeing his powers crumble but seeing the king's nerves being reduced to nothing by his hands.

I personally don't think he was being entirely truthful. he might not have straight up lied about everything, but I don't think he truly wishes Charlie to be his daughter. Charlie herself is more than a little surprised by how Alastor suddenly treats her, and that alone is proof enough for me that he wasn't being honest in his words. if it were true, wouldn't he have at least a slight fatherly touch towards her all the time? Later on, Angel Dust even somewhat points out that Alastor has never acted like this by asking what his [Alastor's] deal is. It shows me that no matter how badly he tries to make it seem real for Lucifer, it's not real for anyone else simply because they all know how he normally acts around them.

continuing to Mimzy for a short moment; she is proven to not be a reliable narrator at all so I don't want to really take what she tells about Alastor all too seriously. she even concludes her little tale about the radio demon with "That's the story most people know." which does not make it any true. something I thought is very interesting is that the only two people who might have any idea of how truthful Mimzy is in her story are both gone. Niffty, though she also does not seem like the most reliable narrator, is not part of this conversation, and Hus kates himself out of the scene almost in the same moment Mimzy starts talking about. Husk leaving is more important since he obviously knows more about not only Alastor but also the deal Alastor is bound to. Husk and Alastor might equally hate it, but Husk does seem to care about Alastor at least a little. warning the overlord about Mimzy and how she is known for only showing up when she needs something, and I'm sure Alastor is more than aware that Mimzy wouldn't show up simply to catch up with old friends, but still. the sentiment of Husk seeking Alastor out to warn him, and even mentioning how he [Alastor] has been gone for a while now, is in itself caring, especially when moments later the viewers find out how much more Husk seems to know about Alastor. it even seems as if he is aware of limitations, mentioning how it's "Big talk for someone who's also on a leash." coming from Alastor's deal, even if Alastor himself is ignoring them [see the line "Who in their right mind would cross me?"]

the whole fact that Husk even seems to know so much about Alastor's deal is confusing in a way. I can't see Alastor willingly going to Husk and telling him about not only the deal he made with someone above himself but also about the limitations of said deal, it just doesn't make sense for the character we know Alastor to be, and even when finishing the show my opinion doesn't change. it's even more prominent how he later hides away.

after this scene, Alastor isn't seen catching back up to Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer to continue annoying him simply by his presence. his outburst having left him apparently on edge - showing that he isn't as calm and calculated as he likes to pretend. he obviously struggles with his own anger, be it at Husk for bringing up that he knows about Alastor's deal, or himself for ever getting into the situation in the first place.

later we see Alastor taking care of Mimzy's problem -the loan sharks. he's not seen using his powers like he did when Sir Pentious attacked though, he willingly transforms into something eldritch to devour the threat instead of simply using the tentacles, which would've been just as easy for Alastor. in my eyes that's him getting rid of the last restlessness about his outburst at Husk. choosing to do it himself, showing he still has free will over what he does and doesn't do. if not proving it to Husk then proving it to himself that he can choose to do this. he goes all out, he even comments on it himself how he needs to let off steam and later on how he's important here and willingly choosing to be here, helping ["It's time to remind everyone [Husk] why I'm here."] Alastor needs Husk to know what happens when you cross him, and when you doubt him. because he took the comments about how long he's been gone and that he's also on a leash personally. I don't even think it's necessarily because Husk said it, it's that someone in hell said it. not a soul in hell is allowed to think that Alastor, the radio demon, is not strong enough to win every fight he chooses to start.

let me come back to Mimzy once more, as if this one scene scratching the surface of what lies underneath his smile-bright persona revealed by Husk wasn't enough we get Alastor being all buddy-buddy with Mimzy, who is not only acting like a friend to him but is also introduced as such. a normal friend to someone who is so obviously not normal.

but even with his more friendly behavior towards her, he ends up sending her away after the hotel has to suffer under the problem she brought along. ["I can't have that here."] If he was genuine with what he said then, why did he phrase it like that? I might be reading too much into it, but Alastor normally picks his words wisely enough to not let too much slip, and the sentence "I don't want this here." would've been better fitting for the situation, but he says can't have that here. new question, what can't he have here? Mimzy herself? someone who knows him better than the residence with maybe a habit of blabbering? or was it just the fact that it's her problems that he needs to fix? that he can't have her bringing more work than there already is at the hotel?

now making a bit of a jump, going from ep.5 to ep.7 this episode makes me mostly wonder about what Alastor could ask from Charlie later on based on the deal the two of them made. in terms of character, it gave us little besides his dynamic with Rosie and the entirety of cannibal city. though this was also not really anything new, more just what we already knew about Alastor in a new dynamic

there is one scene I do want to talk about though. his whole little speech around smiling. him actually standing by and admitting that he is hiding behind his smile did take me a second to actually realize what just happened, I did skip back to it because I was a little stunned by the absurdity of it all. after some thought it made sense that he might not mind it, Charlie does not know him well enough for this off-hand comment to truly affect anything for him, still it made me wonder. why would he reveal it to her? was he simply so sure that she wouldn't use it against him or did he think she wouldn't even think of using anything against him in this kind of way?

so it confirms that yes; Alastor uses his smile as a facade and also as a way to show he is above others who cannot hide behind a smile like he can. his smile means indifference to himself, neutrality. for him showing anything but the indifference that his smile represents is vulnerability. weakness.

let's move on to the actual "highlight" episode of "What We Learn about Alastor" ep.8

this surely was not the first time he got humbled badly by someone in a fight. it's what he wants to avoid most, the mask slipping, everyone seeing that he can be defeated, that he is not this otherworldly powerful being that not a soul in hell [or heaven] can touch. there had to be at least one very significant moment where he was powerless in a way. where he had to strike up a deal with someone higher, the one now binding him, now having him on a leash.

Alastor went into the fight with Adam overly confident, underestimating Adam's powers to the point he barely got away. he is, after all this, still a mortal soul. a sinner. Adam on the other hand was the first man which gives him roughly the same power Lilith must have. that in itself makes me think Alastor lasted a good deal longer in the battle than I would've thought. pure angelic powers far surpassing his own and he still 1) got away in the end and 2) was able to get in a few hits.

let's quickly touch on the fact that when Adam broke his microphone he seemed to be completely stunned, apparently not having thought that he could easily break his possession without any real resistance. I personally don't think his power is necessarily in the microphone [the was the simply gave it away to Charlie in ep.7 being my proof for why it can't be. he would never abandon his power just for Charlie to sing a song for a few cannibals] but what if it maybe is some kind of amplifier for it? maybe it's also pure placebo and Alastor was simply too stunned that Adam would go for the piece of equipment instead of for a deadly blow right away. the microphone surely was a confidence boost, feeling of being 'on air' the feeling of having his broadcast behind him while doing his everyday tasks giving him the boost he sometimes needs, his ego being constantly stroked by the knowledge that there would be countless sinners bowing to him if he simply said the words into his microphone. no longer being able to do that made him stutter in more ways than one, being momentarily careless, not prepared for Adam to strike again, deadly this time. he lost where he was in his performance, in his own show, and it made him mess up.

one interesting sentence is when Adam comments on how Alastor is just a mortal soul. "You should know better than anyone what a soul can accomplish when they take charge of their own fate." which makes me want to believe that's exactly what Alastor did, taking charge of his own fate. but the thing is that we know he did not. he made a deal with someone, and he doesn't have the ability to take charge of anything about his own being anymore. he's as much on a leash as he has Husk on one. that would only mean that he isn't at his full potential, held back by the deal he so desperately wants to get out of, and is actively looking for a way to get out of it. which turns this line into something else completely. Alastor reveals that he knows what he is capable of, but cannot parade his power due to his deal.

another interesting detail is his ears before he dissolves into his shadow. they are pinned back, showing not only agitation or fear but disorientation. he opens his mouth for no sound to come out and it frightens him to have come into this situation at all.

a big part of his mental disintegration in this moment surely is also the fact that if he had died at this moment, if Adams's hit was slightly more fatal, he would've died bound to the deal still. Alastor would have gone without being able to fulfill his own goal - getting rid of the chain around his throat. getting control back over his own afterlife. if he had died at Adam's hands, he would have died being possessed by someone else which we can assume is what Alastor sees as the lowest he can fall. the people bound to him by a deal mean nothing to him as it seems, we only ever got to see those who were needed for the Hotel.

while also, dying in this moment would have proven to everyone that he stayed to protect the hotel, his friends, but retreating and not being killed in a heroic death-wish battle be had proven to especially the audience that Alastor is not ride or die for these people.

in his breakdown ballad, we can finally see where he went to to lick his wounds. his entire breakdown also shows once again how scared he truly is of being inadequate. this wasn't just a reminder from Husk that he is indeed also on a leash, being pulled to where whoever holding it wants him to go, this is a rendezvous with death, barely escaping the situation that would have proven that he is too weak, at least while being bound by this deal he is [no longer] profiting from.

the place not only reeks of death for him, like he says in his song, but it also reeks of shame at the fact that he had nearly not made it out alive. it would've been seen as a noble act had he truly died in this scene, he had not died protecting himself, he had died protecting others. it is worse than dying on a leash even since at least almost no one knows about that, it would allow him to save some face. but dying for these people? he cannot even stand the thought of it.

in his mind he needs to keep up the smiling facade, the indifference in this smile he holds obviously so dear, for eternity. him dying should not allow the indifference he stands for to evaporate, he needs to play the act even after being killed in his afterlife.

even if this now ends rather abruptly, my work here is done. see you next time I start writing and simply don't stop for a while.

it truly is "Good to be back on the Air." with a newly cleaned-up space to talk about fandoms

this might be edited later on, nothing major, maybe just to have some actual continuity in it.

[confused-wanderer]

Soap always goes too hard.

If theres not enough food, he cuts his portion size down to two bites, smiling while he claims to be stuffed and fine for the next five days. He’s the one who takes three lashings instead of one, a smile on his lips throughout.

But would he let it happen to anyone else?

No.

If there’s anyone on base who’s injured, he fusses over them and takes care of their wounds first, brushing off the fact that his wounds are still bleeding a shade too red. He’s the one who hollers at superiors if they pull too much shit on anyone else, yet for himself he allows them to take it a little farther.

Always a protector, never for himself. One day, Ghost and Price lounging in a dark office on base just cuz they can, simply enjoying each others company while they sort through the paperwork they’re supposed to get done. When suddenly there’s heavy footsteps, and voices start coming into focus.

“Soap-”

“Gaz you must be off yet heid! What’re ye babbling on about?”

And that gets their attention. Price’s eyebrows are raised, Ghost looks towards the door. The voices were heightened, angered and frustrated. This wasn’t like the two at all.

“Soap”, Gaz’s tone is exasperated and out of breath, as if he was trying to catch upto the other man, “mate if you think I’m being crazy-theory then just tell me the truth!”

“There’s nothing tae tell”, and that tone sets alarm bells off. Price and Ghost share a quick glance, both edging closer to the door. Johnnys voice was always warm. It was always open, inviting. This was cold. Harsh, like cutting down any further arguments and demanding silence.

“Really John? Mate.. why didn’t you get your wounds checked out? Again. They were sore, scarred and so many darker shades than purple then they should’ve been, and you can’t tell me they didn’t hurt! Why didn’t you say something?”

“Ah was fine Gaz it wasnae that bad-“

“YOU WERE BLEEDING. STILL. You ran around, you got everyone out the last mission and spent three days without any medical attention or food! What sane person does that?? How careless can you be-”

“Ah amn’t careless. I could take it-“

“No. No Johnny shut the fuck up. You were trying to see how much you could take. You always do this, you take pain too far, you take everything too far! If no one is allowed to be in pain then why are you?”

“KYLE. It’snae like that.”

There’s silence, Price and Ghost both waiting for the conversation to continue. The Captain’s breathing was shallow, cigar long forgotten- a sure sign he was worried. Ghost was no better either, hands clenching the papers so right they’d almost ripped while his blood boiled.

Silence settles, heavy footsteps retreating before they hear a sharp intake.

“.. do you like it?”

“Of course not Gaz! What do yah take me for?”

The image of Soap and Gaz staring each other down flashes in Ghost’s eyes, Soap looking at Gaz like he thought the other was insane, hands gesturing everywhere, Gaz looking concerned and frustrated at the Scot with his arms crossed and a frown.

There’s a silent conversation the two hold, Ghost is sure. A argument that Gaz wins apparently, the way Soap lets out a frustrated sigh. Price looks at Ghost, as if to ask if he knew what was going on. He simply shakes his head at the older man, holding his breath to hear if there was any noise outside.

There’s another set of footsteps following Soap’s, before they halt right in front of the office. There’s a soft exhale, and a shaky breath as Kyle steadies himself.

“.. oh my god...”

Ghost can almost imagine the scene: Gaz staring at Soap, eyes wide open in shock- or rather horror as he looks at the other man. He hears motion a little further down- Johnny presumably turning around at the sound.

“.. Soap… “, Gaz’s voice is so low now Ghost has to strain to hear it. He was pleading, with a note of something gut-wrenching he couldn’t identify.

“please.. please for the love of god don’t tell me you think you deserve it?”

They’d always said silence was worth a thousand words. And yet this time, it only said one. One word that was so loud, Johnny might as well have said it himself.

The look on Price’s face matched how Ghost felt in that moment of realisation, and his heart broke just a little bit more than he thought it could.