#oh this was SOOO much fun to write!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lordprettyflackotara]

vixen || the proxies

‘lust and drugs, no intuition’

sum: after succeeding in a particularly hard mission, The Operator decides to gift the proxies something they need more than anything else: a stress reliever

tw: filth. pure filthy smut. minors dni. FOURSOME. double penetration, drug usage (don’t do drugs), prostitute!reader, mask play, lowkey humiliation if you squint, throat fucking, overstimulation on the low

a/n: this shit was sooo fun to write. happy 3k!!!

“This was a stupid ass idea.”

Hoodie grumbled, slouching dramatically in his seat. Masky’s side eye was cold, his eyes narrowing under his mask. “How often do we get rewards from The Operator? Besides, do you have a better idea on how to spend it?” Masky asked bitterly. Hoodie rolled his eyes, propping his head on his hand. It would be any moment you were scheduled to arrive, the stale scent of the hotel room making Hoodie cringe.

It wasn’t often The Operator gave his proxies some free time, nevertheless offered a reward for good behavior. Recently the three of them, Masky, Hoodie, and Toby, had somehow won The Operator over just enough for him to grant them some stress relief. “Kate had a better idea, she was smart enough to ask for a steak,” Hoodie grumbled unhappily. It wasn’t that he was unhappy with the prospect of fucking whatever girl waltzed through the door. More so that he had to stay around Masky and Toby to experience it. He and Masky were constantly at each other’s throats, while Toby just annoyed him to shreds. His patience was wearing more thin by the day.

“Kate is also borderline feral and rarely speaks comprehensive words,” Masky argued. While he was trying to keep his cool, his own nerves were becoming evident as he glanced at the clock on the wall. Where were you? “How m-many did boss get us?” Toby chimed in. He had been quiet up until now, Hoodies suspicious that it was due to his obvious inexperience with women. “I’d assume one for each of us, right? He’s swimming in money, it can’t be that expensive to get three,” Hoodie answered. He wondered if they’d fight over who got who. A soft knock at the motel door made the three of them go silent, Masky hesitantly stepping over to the door. He peaked through the peak hole, before unlocking it. To the trio’s surprise you were the only one standing there, your hand clutching your small purse.

“Hi um, i’m looking for the uh-” You paused, reading a crumbled up note you had been clinging onto, “the proxies..?”

Your voice was unsure, Masky giving you an affirmative nod and signaling you to come in. Toby had seen prostitutes many of times, on television at least. But you didn’t look like any of them, the stereotypes all wrong. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding, there were supposed to be three of you,” Masky told you, gently shutting the door behind you. Your eyes nervously dragged to his face, staring at his eerie mask. “Right, about that, well-” You began, clearly nervous. Hoodie couldn’t help but wonder why you were more jittery than they were. “Your boss put on this note that this is a team exercise as much as a reward, the three of you meant to work together with, well, just me,” You explained.

Oh.

Oh.

No wonder you were shaking in your boots. Three masked men eyeing you like prey, whose mouths were borderline salivating at the thought of fucking you. Masky grabbed the note from you, reading it himself. “You have got to be kidding me,” He grumbled, reading the familiar handwriting. In annoyance he dug in his pockets looking for a box of cigarettes. “All three of us? Is he insane? Look at her, we’ll break her,” He said, gesturing to you. True, you were smaller in stature compared to the three men. Toby stood up first, putting his orange goggles on top of his head. He rounded you like a wild animal, soaking in as much of your body as he could with his eyes. “S-She does look a b-b-bit small,” Toby agreed. Hoodie tilted his head to the side as he studied you. He was always interested in watching how people reacted to one another.

To his surprise despite how intimidating he knew the three of them were, he noticed the light tint of pink that had spread across your cheeks. “Actually, your boss offered me the job specifically. Said out of all of my girls and I, i’d be the only one who could handle it,” You admitted. This confession made Hoodie rise from his chair, walking up to you quickly. His gloved hand squeezed your face, forcing you to pucker out your lips like a fish. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation sweetheart. We’re not like the married men you pluck off of the streets. We can seriously hurt you,” He snarled. His ski mask stared down at you ominously, the tension in the room only becoming thicker by the minute.

“Actually, that’s why I accepted the offer,” You countered. Hoodie’s hardened facade cracked for a moment, his hand loosening. “Said you three with rough around the edges, but that you’d indulge in my darkest fantasies,” You confessed, your face turning a darker shade of red. Masky tossed the note aside, taking a step closer to you. “Oh yeah princess? And that’s that?” The brunette asked. Three sets of eyes stared at you intensely, awaiting your next words. “To be fucked ruthlessly by three mysterious men in mask,” You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Hoodie couldn’t hide his smirk, his eyes flickering up to his companions. “I think she’s starting to grow on me,” He purred, releasing his grip on your face.

“Before we begin, I also have these,” You say, digging into your purse and pulling out four pills. The boys rounded you in a circle, eyeing them suspiciously. “What’s t-that?” Toby asked. You scratched the back of your neck, as if you weren’t completely sure yourself. “Your boss attached them to the note. Said they’d help us all loosen up a bit,” You explained. Toby was the first to reach for one, popping the tiny pill without a second thought. “Well shit, if the kids doing it,” Hoodie grumbled, following his lead. You met Masky’s gaze, the last two pills sitting in the palm of your hand. “Ladies first, princess,” He said. You had taken ecstasy dozens of times before, but never with clients. You had known of The Operator for years, the girls you worked alongside serving his men on occasion. He had never requested you before though and he had never given his proxies an opportunity like this.

You hard swallowed the pill, cringing as it scraped against the back of your throat. Masky finally took the last pill from your hand, swallowing it as if it meant nothing. “You sure about this sweetheart?” Hoodie purred mockingly, admiring how flustered you already seemed. You shrugged off your trench coat, revealing nothing underneath. Toby’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, soaking in every curve that was exposed. “Knees, princess,” Masky barked, regaining your attention. You did as instructed, your knees scraping against the crusty old carpet. You couldn’t deny the bubbling in your stomach as the three of them surrounded you, undoing their belts in unison. The mixed clinking sounded like heaven to you, your tongue flattening out across your bottom lip.

Toby had taken out his cock first, your mouth gravitating towards him. You licked the bottom of his length from the bottom to his tip, kitten licking his slit. He visibly shuddered, causing you to grin. “You do that too much to the kid he’ll cum right now,” Hoodie snickered. Masky had casually lit a cigarette, tilting his mask up just enough to inhale the stick. “S-Shut up,” Toby argued weakly. Your hands found their way to Masky and Hoodies cocks, Masky more girthy and Hoodie longer. Toby was an even mix of the two, your mouth bobbing up and down on his cock. Your hands jerked the older proxies off, your eyes never straying from Toby’s face. The bottom half of his face was covered with a face mask, but his eyes. Oh, his sweet and delicious eyes stared down at you. You had captivated him, the way you took him to the base.

A rough hand grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking you off of Toby’s twitching cock. “Quit hoggin’ her,” Hoodie snarled. He shoved you onto his cock, your eyes welling up with tears as he hit the back of your throat. You struggled to keep up with his aggression, your jaw going slack as he face fucked you. “Shit, her mascaras running already,” Masky grumbled, inhaling his cigarette sharply. He rutted his hips into your hand, as he exhaled. Your core was aching, your thighs subtly rubbing together to create some form of friction. You could feel the ecstasy taking effect much faster than normal, your ultimate fantasy coming true before your very eyes. Fuck, you owed their boss big time.

Hoodie yanked you off of his cock, a string of saliva attached from his tip to your lips. “Open up your mouth pretty girl, let’s see if you can fit all of us at once,” Masky smirked. He could feel himself letting loose, his gloved hand grabbing your chin. You tried to open your mouth as wide as possible, the three of their cocks competing to shove their way in. “Can’t even suck three cocks? Pathetic. What’re you getting paid for?” Hoodie spat, a sadistic smile hidden by his ski mask. You struggled to breathe as they guided you onto the bed, Masky’s hand grabbing your chin first. “Either these drugs are really good or you’re looking really fuckin pretty princess,” He grumbled. He could feel warmth spreading through out his body, the exhaled cigarette smoke escaping through the sides of his mask. He loomed over you, leaning close towards your ear.

Your body was practically vibrating with anticipation, a chill running down your spine. “Maybe sometime i’ll have you for myself, just you and me,” Masky rambled, talking more than he usually did. A firm set of hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, resulting in your back colliding with the mattress. “You’re s-s-supposed to share, remember?” Toby asked, relieved at the sight of your bare breast. He eagerly leaned over, pulling down his mask. His gash was hidden on the over side of his face, his pale gray skin a light shade of pink as he took one of your nipples into his mouth. Your back nearly arched off of the bed, your nipples hardened and more sensitive than normal. “Hey loverboy, since you’re so in love go ahead and make yourself useful and stretch her out for us, will you?” Hoodie asked, tapping the head of his cock on your lips. Your tongue rolled out on instinct, licking the underside of his shaft.

Masky tossed the cigarette aside, using his gloved hands to pry apart your thighs. Your cunt was so wet it was almost dripping down your thighs, a sight so painfully mouth watering it took everything in him to not yank off his mask and dig in. Instead he took a deep breath, his body buzzing with euphoria. “Keep her mouth busy,” He replied. Hoodie smirked at his command, shoving his cock down into your mouth. With confidence you were unable to see him, the brunette slipped off his mask. He used two of his gloved fingers to open your folds, admiring your drenched sex. “Fuck, she’s so fuckin wet for us,” Masky grumbled, before attaching his lips to your clit. Your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure almost mind numbing as he sucked harshly at your clit. Toby released your nipple, the bud growing only more sensitive from the abandonment of his warm mouth.

Toby reattached his mouth to your other breast, ignoring the feeling of your heart pounding against your rib cage as he sucked. “Feelin good sweetheart?” Hoodie asked mockingly, his ominous stitched frown staring down at you. His cock brutally hit the back of your throat, your moans vibrating his shaft further. Masky’s hands tightened around your thighs, keeping them pried apart as he devoured your cunt. “Awe does that feel good? Having Masky eat that pretty pussy of yours?” Hoodie continued, relishing in the sight of your thighs squeezing his partners head. The warmth spreading across Toby’s chest only made him more feral, his hips involuntarily grinding against the bedding as his teeth grazed your nipple. “This is what you wanted right? Your ultimate fantasy right?” Hoodie continued. His fingers were tangled in your hair, yanking ever so often. He enjoyed watching your body react to his every word, your skin littered with goosebumps.

“You’re trembling already. How are you gonna handle all three of us at once if you can’t handle a little foreplay?” Hoodie continued. He watched you attempt to keep up with his thrust, your mind spinning. Toby released your nipple, attaching his lips to your breast. “Awe you poor thing, the kids gonna litter you in as many marks as possible. Hope you like hickies,” Hoodie continued. You could feel your core tightening, Masky’s tongue relentless as he lapped at your clit. You could feel his tongue poke at your entrance, one of your hands flying down to his hair. Your hips grinded against his face, your breath shuddering as Hoodie pulled out of your mouth. Sinful moans instantly spewed from your lips, bouncing off of the motel room walls. “Sounds like someone’s close to cumming, how cute,” Hoodie grinned. He pulled your hair to continue looking up at him, preventing you from seeing Masky’s exposed face. “Go on sweetheart, cum on his face,” He cooed.

Toby released a patch of your skin with a pop, a shock of electric euphoria crashing down over you. Your back arched off of the bed as you came on Masky’s tongue, his hooded eyes watching your face as you shamelessly came. His gloved hands were harsh, keeping your thighs pried open. He continued to devour you until he was sure you were done, his chin coated in your juices as he emerged from your thighs. “I want her cunt,” Masky said instantly, claiming your pussy for his own. Hoodie grunted as he helped rearrange you, Masky pulling down his mask as he laid underneath you. On all fours you hovered above him, feeling Hoodies gloved hands pull apart your cheeks from behind. “Fine by me, kid you get her mouth,” Hoodie ordered. Toby was slowly jerking off cock, kneeling beside your mouth. “W-Why can’t I get her ass?” He bickered.

You could feel Masky’s hands slide down your hips, causing you to bite your bottom lip to refrain from whimpering. “Because you’re going to nut in five seconds and I plan on fucking her until she can’t walk,” Hoodie argued. You could feel Masky align himself with your entrance, before pushing himself inside. Your velvet walls clung to him instantly, your loud moan interrupting the arguing at hand. You grabbed onto his mustard jacket, feeling him bottom out inside of you. “Fuck princess, you feel so fuckin, warm,” Masky sputtered. He could feel his cheeks flaming red with embarrassment, the ecstasy hitting him far harder than he could’ve imagined. It was like he could hear all of you, your breathing, your heart beat, even the little whimpers that were clawing their way out of your throat.

For a brief moment he swore he could’ve met your gaze, Toby’s thin fingers guiding your face to his cock. You teasingly sucked the tip, feeling Hoodie shove himself inside of you. “We may need to take her home, shit, she didn’t even need any, fuck, prep,” Hoodie groaned, bottoming out as well. Your head was spinning, the taste of Toby’s salty precum dancing on your tastebuds. Your body was electrified with warmth and lust, your vision growing spotty as you felt Masky and Hoodie begin to move. You grabbed handfuls of Masky’s jacket, unable to stop your sinful moans. Even as Toby guided you to suck his cock, your unholy noises were still as loud as ever. Masky grabbed your hips, noting the way tears free flowed down your cheeks. He rammed upwards into you, noticing the way your eyes rolled back into your head.

“That’s it princess, you can take it,” The brunette praised, mesmerized by you. You looked ethereal, falling apart between the three of them like this. Your jaw had gone slack and was growing sore as Toby used your throat as he pleased, satisfied in the gagging he made you produce. Hoodies hips never let up for a moment, his brain on auto pilot as his body rammed into you. Insults swam around his brain, failing to leave his lips as he fucked your unexplored hole. The four of you were too high to play mind games, addicted the feeling you gave one another. You felt caught in the middle, completely cock drunk as three strong pairs of hands kept you upright. “Feels soooo g-g-good, motherfuckin- I can’t,” Toby whined, his hips stuttering. He hadn’t anticipated his orgasm, his body producing one without any warning. His cum flooded your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you swallowed all that you could. Toby watched, mesmerized as you continued sucking him half hard.

He was twitching in euphoria, his hands fallen by his sides as he soaked in the overstimulation. “Knew the kid was gonna cum first,” Hoodie grumbled, his fingers digging so hard into your skin they promised bruises in their morning to come. Masky felt like he was breathing on manual mode, his breath shallow as he looked at you. “Princess, touch yourself. We’ll hold you up. Cum on our cocks so we can fill you up,” Masky offered, his words much more softer than he meant for them to be. Dazed, you used your spare hand to slither down to your clit, drawing sloppy circles around the sensitive bud. Your body began to tremble, Toby’s cock falling out of your mouth as you dropped your head. Your moans were babbles and curses, your mind completely cock drunk as Masky and Hoodie fucked you at the same time.

“Ha, feel that Masky? She’s about to cum already. Filthy girl,” Hoodie snickered, pretending that he wasn’t on the edge as well. Masky’s smooth voice was like the light at the end of the tunnel, the only thing you could audibly hear. “Come on princess, cum for us. Cum for me. Be good,” He encouraged, fucking upwards into your g spot. Your vision became hazy as you came, sweat dripping down your forehead and body trembling in their grasp. Your knuckles were white from grabbing Masky’s jacket so hard, your body withering in euphoria. The boys didn’t take long after that, cumming inside of your ass and cunt as they pleased. The four of you were entangled messes, the ecstasy overriding any sense of pride or moral obligation.

It was Toby who spoke first, cheeks flushed pink.

“So, we’re bringing her home with us right?”

[satorella]

Helloooo!! I love your writing so much 🥹🥹

so I have this idea for a Kaiser oneshot…basically, the reader is Yoichi’s girlfriend who comes to pick him up from practice, only to be seen by Kaiser who teased Isagi about his little girlfriend. so he messes with him, flirts and teases the reader a bit just to try and rile up Isagi. Anyways it’s all fun and games until Kaiser realizes that he’s actually in love with Isagi’s girlfriend over time 😜

you can tweak this as you like, just a thought.

love uuuuu!!

Note: Hi! Ty for the request! I did tweak this a bit, but I hope it’s still to your liking anon🤍

“𝐔𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝”

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 has always believed that soccer was the love of his life. And for a while, it was...

Until you.

It was just like any other weekend at Blue Lock, which meant visitors were allowed for a couple hours. As always, you came to see your boyfriend, Yoichi Isagi.

“You're Isagi's girlfriend, ja? [Yes?]” Kaiser's voice made you jump in your seat.

You, and a few other visitors, were sitting in the bleachers in the Blue Lock stadium, watching as the boys practiced for a little. Your boyfriend was so dedicated, it was inspiring. “I am, yes!” You answered after you composed yourself.

You were even prettier up close.

“Guten Tag, I'm Michael Kaiser.” He extends his hand for you to shake, but ends up kissing your knuckles instead, never breaking eye contact with you. “Michael Kaiser... from Bastard München?” You asked. “The one and only.” He smirks. “Oh wow! It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kaiser!” Your eyes beamed up at him. “Please, call me Micha.” He still hasn't let go of your hand, and you didn't notice either. From an outsiders point of view, the interaction could've been mistaken as you guys getting lost in each other's eyes. But to you, it was just like meeting a celebrity (he technically kind of was one, sooo).

From the field, Isagi had to do a double take when he saw you talking to Kaiser. Oh HELL no. He swiftly made his way up the bleachers, sweaty and out of breath. His wheezing snapped you and Kaiser back to reality. “Hi honey! Are... Are you okay?” You pulled out a hanky from your purse to wipe the sweat dripping down his face and neck. “Hey gorgeous,” he pants, “Whatcha guys doin?” He sat on the back of the seats in front of you so that your knees were touching. “Micha was just introducing himself!” You smiled, caressing your boyfriend's neck. “M-Micha, hm?” He raised a brow at Kaiser, who had the biggest shit eating grin on his face. Motherfucker. “When I heard you had a girlfriend, my curiosity got the better of me. Turns out, not only do you have game on the field, but with women too eh?” He chuckled. “Woman.” Isagi corrected him, “Just the one.” “Ah, ja [Yes]. Wunderschöne und süß… Y/n.”[Beautiful and sweet… Y/n.] He gave you a playful smile. Isagi's eye twitched at the way Kaiser said your name. He knew exactly what he was doing. “C-Can I have a moment alone with my girlfriend?” The eye contact between them was intense, as if secretly challenging each other, until Ego suddenly appeared from out of nowhere. “Enough, strikers. Let's leave the love triangle mumbo jumbo outside of Blue Lock, if you don't mind.”

Eh? Love triangle??

Every weekend after that, Kaiser would continue to watch from afar while his rival received love and affection from you, his Isagi's beautiful and sweet Y/n. He started to imagine that it was his sore muscles you were massaging. He wondered how your hands would feel on his body. The warmth of your skin. The gentleness of your touch. To have you smile lovingly at him. To hear you giggle at something he said, or to have you whisper sweet nothings and praises in his ear... like how you always did with Isagi to boost his confidence...

“Hi Micha!” You set a cutely wrapped little box, filled with your homemade cookies, on the table as you sat across from him in the cafeteria. He sets his utensils down, “Hallo Schatz. [Hello darling.] What's this?” He stares at the box. He didn't exactly know how to... react to this sort of thing... due to his traumatic childhood and all. After a long pause, he slowly looks up at you. “This... this is for... me?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You smiled and nodded. “It's nothing crazy, I just thought all you boys here at Blue Lock should get a little taste of home every now and then. Plus, I know you and your team travel quite a lot for games in general.” God, you really were such a sweet girl, weren't you? When he didn't say anything, a thought suddenly occurred to you. “Oh! Are you allergic to dairy?! Or nuts?! I didn't think to ask, I'm so sorry!” “N-Nein!... Nein [No] it's all good. It's um... they look delicious.” He swallows hard, an unreadable expression on his face. “I'll cherish these... d-danke [thank you].” His words make you chuckle, “No need to do all that, Micha. They're just cookies!” You take one and feed it to him, to which he hesitates at first, but eventually takes a bite once he sees the light in your eyes.

Wait, did he actually manage make you laugh?

“Well, I hope you like them. I baked them with love!” You smiled, getting up from your seat. “See you next weekend!” He watches as you walk away, right into Isagi's arms, and disappeared down the hall. He shakes his head. Tch! The hell was he thinking? You gave a box to all the players. Plus, he was here at Blue Lock for a reason.

Focus, idiot…

© 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

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[saikiswiss]

Hey there! Could you do a MHA SMAU where you are fake dating Kiri, pre-relationship, he has real feelings for you and you end up falling for each other? <3

someone got excited.. AND IT WAS ME 12 PAGES AND A DRABBLE STOP ME .. also ignore the fact i literally didnt know how to spell eijiro's name for SOME REASON?? btw idk if theres an actual prom :p ive only watched the anime AND.. IT IS NOT HAPPY RN

OKAY! POSE! —༉‧₊˚.

syp; you and eijiro set up a fake-dating scheme because of a boy in shikestu, what you both were unaware of was that you both have a crushyyyss on each other ooooo :3

small warning: kiri is a little denki-coded :<

m.list mha mlist

small drabble- testing my writing..:

mina spun you around, giggling as the dress you wore twirled in a beautiful cirlce. "it looks great! you look great!" she was so pumped, excited for the both of you guys to actually go out on a big night. prom night. you giggled sweetly back, taking one last look into the mirror. "okay! he just texted me he's outside, ima go okay?"

she quickly nodded, fixing her gloss. "yeah yeah- go ahead girl!" she fluffed her hair. i grinned widely, giving one last look before opening my bedroom door. eijiro was coming with mina's date as well, so it was a perfect time for us to get ready together. i could hear chatter downstairs from my parents, hearing the familiar tone of eijiro. the sound of my heels clicking on the wooden stairs alerted them, causing my mother to quickly fetch her camera.

eijiro's head snapped towards the sound of my footsteps, taking a huge gulp. he felt an urge to cry all of a sudden, out of the sheer beauty of what stood in front of him. the perfect girl, god's creation and sculpture herself, shining so glamorously under the dim lights of the upstairs hallways. it felt like a dream to him, one where he didnt even mind dying in his sleep if it meant he lived this dream forever; so he didnt even bothered pitching his arm because god forbid he wakes up.

"aw! look at my baby!" your mother cheered, taking photos already of your entrance. you blushed, giggling softly as you suddenly felt shy under the gaze of your parents and eijiro. you stepped towards eijiro, admiring him up and down. "hi, you okay?" you asked shyly, voice trembling a bit from being nervous. you can see the look on his face, and youre afraid it may be because he saw you as something else.

"youre beautiful."

your dolled-up eyes widen, pursing your lips shyly as you chuckled nervously. you punched him on the shoulder, feeling something in your gut trembling. butterflies. "eijiro! don't say stuff like that!" that caused him to snap out of his trance, chuckling loudly as he grabbed your wrist. he knows he was blushing furiously, matching the shade of his dyed hair. his dyed hair even matching the shade of your blush. you watched as he slid on the beautiful cosage.

"well arent you two the cutest! honey! come look at them!" your mother chimed in, taking an absurd amount of photos of small interactions. although those small antics made you feel pleasantly ten times bigger. your father stepped in, nodding. "oh- would you look at that? they are cute.." he scratched his stubble, staring at the two of you.

"okay! pose!"

—

a/n; did anyone fw that? I LOVED THIS CONCEPT SM OMG I LOVE U ANON i had sooo much fun i think i love writing for kiri even tho my heart belongs to tenya iida <3 BYE

btw guys::: i am located in cali, and i am aware of the fires,, and i am updating my tumblr </3

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)

[pinkcreamypeach]

The sonic 3 movie was sooooo good!!

[chaosduckies]

Me: Minecraft g/t

My mind: You’re gonna write it?

Me: …I’m gonna build it…

My mind: Wha… How?!!!

Me: …Just let me do this

There is no stopping me now. I found a mountain peak that’s absolutely perfect to build off of on my friends and I’s main server and decided I was going to build something g/t related.

You heard me.

I’m building it. And it’s no small mountain either. Here’s a picture to prove it:

Do I have a plan? Nope not at all. But it’s going to be g/t. Also I might be unintentionally giving our world lore, but that’s okay :D

I have so much Minecraft brainrot I am so sorry I haven’t been posting much g/t lately, but oh my gosh I saw that in our world and I could not pass up the opportunity to build a giant there. (So I technically haven’t not been posting about g/t…) This is for all the Minecraft and g/t lovers. Im doing this for you.

[oh-no-its-bird]

I have an idea for a sort of silly light novel writing project I'll probably never actually write but is fun to just think about

But like. Cultivator set up, wuxia world w a slight blending of different cultivation genres, a guy wakes up in a forest with amnesia. (Wow classic I know)

So the first few chapters he's hearing about all these big famous people who have gone missing over the years, right? And he (along with probably the reader) is like, "Heh. That could be me,,," (smugly)

But the names keep piling on, and he comes to a realization: important and unimportant cultivators alike go missing and lose their memories or whatever else at an alarming rate. He is not special. (Coughs up blood)

He probably runs into other amnesiacs more than once, and I'd have a running theme of like, he keeps bumping into main character coded characters just left and right. There's so much happening in this world, so many stories being told, he's really not special. But also he is bc hes our main character

But just like silly mostly self contained stories told from this guy just wandering around this absoloute cluster fuck of a world, often running head first into really interesting stories that are clearly like in the middle of a 5 arc novel their own

It'd probably gain a real central narrative along the way like all things inevitably do (the mystery of how he lost his memories and the fall out of what happens when he learns the truth) but for now I have fun just thinking ab his dumb adventures

As for the character himself, hes is like, obnoxiously laid back. SUPER chill, takes everything with a sigh and a smile, very lazy, takes a lot of shortcuts and goes "Ah but that's fine, right?" As everything explodes around him. If he's alive, then all is well in the world 👍

He'd cause so many problems just because and also probably have absolutely shit luck that gets him into even more problems (my favorite genre of character)

I also have like. A slowly but surley growing list of characters he'd run into like uhh [checks notes] evil lesbian mirror demon and the very angry woman she trapped in a mirror and stole the face and life of (the demon hate sex goes crazy).

And also ofc, "person trapped in a cycle of reincarnation with a curse that no matter how hard they try to be good, they will inevitably cause some great destruction or evil or plague of some kind." And just them very very desperately trying to be good even though they know it's futile

Yay!! Fun stuff

[vancalox]

THATS WHAT GOOD ZUGZWANG DOES TO A MF !!

[rosyredlipstick]

Hi!

I just recently discovered your writting and can just say it's amazing, I love all the Stoll-centric fics you have. There's not nearly enough in the void.

I was wondering if you ever wrote the other parts of "oh, this is love, isn't it" on AO3? It's like a Bianca and Thalia AU

thank you so much anon!!! I have such love in my heart for that one omg i LOVE thalia and i will give any excuse to write her <3 i never did get around to finishing that one, sorry! </3 but thank you for reading!

[the-cookie-of-doom]

There’s a rite of passage that all of the Therapanyakul heirs must endure, when they come of age. They must prove themselves, their strength, their ability to survive life in the mafia underworld. Tankhun, captured as a boy, broken before his own rite could begin. Kinn proved himself in his brother’s stead, earning himself the position of heir. Which left Kim, the spare, unable to escape his father’s machinations. 

Kinn tells him it will be alright. It will make him stronger. It will earn their father’s love, and loyalty, and respect. Kim, only 16, already knows it’s a lie. He tells himself it’s for his own protection instead. He knows, if he survives, this will make him stronger. 

He fights the men that come for him. Doesn’t recognize them as his own family bodyguards, and therefore feels no remorse in the feral way he attacks with nails and teeth, using anything he can turn into a weapon as he’s pulled from his bed. There’s too many of them. He’s too small, too young, his skills not yet honed by years of experience, and they subdue him easily. 

Kim wakes in a cell, suspended from his wrists, heavy manacles digging into delicate bones. Already the skin is raw, but not bleeding, yet. 

“It’s about time.” Kim jerks his head up, sees a man leaning against the wall. Recognizes the shining silk of his shirt before he steps fully into the light, revealing his face. 

Kim is confused before he’s angry.

“Vegas?” 

“Little Kim.” His cousin smiles at him. A predator’s smile, sharp, dangerous. “Papa decided it’s time for you to grow up, huh?” 

Father didn’t warn him about this. Neither did Kinn. Did he know? Did his brother know that Vegas would be the one to strip away his childhood and make him a man? 

“What are you doing here?” Kim demands, dragging at his chains. His feet barely touch the floor, just enough to keep the position from suffocating him. 

“Your father asked for me personally.” Vegas clicked his tongue. “You must have pissed him off, huh, Kim? He didn’t even tell me to go easy on you.” A grin. “Not that I would have, anyway.” 

Kim still didn’t understand. 

Then it clicked. 

Of course it was Vegas. Bitter, jealous Vegas, always wanting everything they had, always reaching above his station. Of course his father would grant this transgression. He always encouraged competition within the Family. What better way than to set one son against the other. Foster the hate early. Give Vegas an outlet for his rage, while at the same time molding Kim’s hatred, giving him something to hold onto. A reason to never trust his cousin. Because Vegas wasn’t doing this with grim resignation, carrying out an order. He wanted this. Kim knew, watching Vegas smirk and taunt, and run his hands over a table full of torture instruments, that Vegas wanted to hurt him. 

Kim had angered his father. He rebelled. He was defiant, refusing to be put in his place. Unlike Kinn. The perfect heir, always abiding their father’s every whim. This was his punishment. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Kim spat. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. 

-

Later, whenever Kim can’t get out of his head, when he wants to claw at his skin and pull out his teeth—Vegas is the only one that can bring him back to himself. His cousin delights in taking him apart, destroying him, leaving him to pick up the pieces of himself when he’s done. Vegas needs an outlet and Kim needs destruction. They hate each other. That makes it easier.

[selfspinninglies]

hi happy pride I wrote gays

word count: 2765 [<- what possessed me to write this much how did I do that]

tws/cws: implied/discussed murder, desecration of a body, not technically cannibalism but they do eat a person [<- not graphic]

notes: I wrote 2530 words of this in 2 days somehow . The oc hyperfixation is real . Also some of this might not make sense cause I still haven't wrote an experimental plot summary yet sooo oops . They're both so oblivious it makes me ill anyway enjoyy

1-2 shifts slightly on the couch. Its not the most comfortable place to lay down, but he doesn't feel like getting up and into bed (or moving at all for that matter). His vessel feels like it's going to rip itself apart. He should've went hunting a few days ago, but he's gotten inconsistent. And now this was a result. He buries his face in the throw pillow next to him. Stupid rapidly deteriorating body.

After a few minutes of nothing he feels a nudge on his foot.

"Scoot. You're taking up the whole couch laying like that."

1-3 is the owner of the complaint. He didn't even have to look to know it was them. It was the only person who made sense, since the two lived together and he would've heard the door. Its not like they get visitors anyway.

He sighs in an exaggerated fashion, unclear if this actually bothers him or not, moves over a little and tucks his knees in to make room. He would've been more bitchy about it if he wasn't exhausted and if the only other place to sit in the apartment wasn't a mattress.

1-3 rolls their eyes at his antics. They glance at him for a moment. "You look like shit." They say flatly.

He makes a small angry noise in response, not feeling like using regular words. He looks up. Surprising nobody, 1-3 also looks like shit. Neither of them ever look that great, but apparently he looked bad enough to warrant a comment.

Was it concern? It was always hard to tell with them. Their face didn't change that much. Or maybe it was clear as day and 1-2 was just terrible at reading people.

He sits up into a horribly slouched position, one arm looped around the armrest and the other dangling oddly. He gives a glance to 1-3, who is watching him carefully. They probably know what's coming. They can see the rivulets of cracks piercing his shell. The two go through this weird routine often.

He exhales sharply, opening his mouth and willing the words in his brain to crawl out and onto his tounge. A few seconds of nothing. Yep. Not happening.

Grabbing 1-3's hand, he lifts it and turns it carefully, examining the similar darkness enveloping their fingertips. He listens and feels for a flinch or glare or hitch of breath, which usually indicates that they aren't in the mood for his antics, but he catches nothing. In fact, they're barely looking, head turned the other way, pupils facing him.

They've only been living together for a few months or so and they're so used to each other. It makes him feel weird.

He moves 1-3's hand up to his mouth bites down. He must have done it too hard, since he hears a quiet "shit" from 1-3. They take their hand from his and turn to face him. "I'd prefer if you asked next time." They say, a little sharply, though they never hold grudges over little things like this.

1-2 shakes his head and puts a smirk on his face, which earns a scoff from 1-3. They get up to leave anyway.

He tugs on their longsleeve, using it to pull himself up. They look confused for a second before an incredulous expression takes over and they shake their head.

"You are not coming with me. You cannot move well and don't have the energy for it. Sit."

1-2 rolls his eyes, but sits back down anyway. He knew that they were right, though he would rather explode right at that moment than admit that.

"Don't do anything stupid." They nod and give a half-hearted wave as they exit the [truthfully] cramped space. The door closes with a nice click.

He listens to 1-3's footfalls as they walk down the hall, as if he expected them to turn around and come back. He wasn't sure if he wanted that or not. Anything was better than sitting around and doing nothing, even if they usually didn't take long.

He gets bored and decides to heave himself to the bathroom. His feet drag against the floor and his posture sags. It doesn't particularly hurt, besides the dull aches where his vessel splits from neglect, it just feels like every ounce of energy has been stolen out of his strange hands.

After pulling himself up to the mirror, he examines himself. The cracks under his eyes look wide enough to stick a finger through it. He doesn't try. The thought of it makes him feel gross.

His hair is disheveled and overgrown. His bangs fall on his eyes slightly and stick in different directions, stuck there by natural grease and some brown stuff that's probably blood. It isn't his. He doesn't have any. The last time he went hunting was a few weeks ago. Had it really been that long since he showered? Fuck, he was gross.

He laughs. Its a weird, crackly sound, but it's rare so he lets it escape his throat. Nobody was here to listen to it. 1-3 really was right, he absolutely looked like shit.

He slinks back to the couch and passes out as soon as he hits the cushions.

------‐--------------------------------------------------------------

1-3 sighs, slumping against the wall of an alley. The world is humid and oppressive, or maybe that's the blood soaked into most of them talking, a mix of their's, One's, and the body on the pavement's.

The unexpected run-in made this outing take longer than it usually would have. They don't have anything to tell the time on them, so they can only guess, but it's likely been around an hour. God, why did they have to see One when they were in a hurry?

They shake their head. The body. They have to take care of that. They didn't want to. It was the last thing they wanted to do. Just don't think about it. Don't think about anything, just grab the knife-

It takes longer than they would like to put themself into the thoughtless haze that helps with the process. This isn't a person, it is a creature, this is necessary, if not for you then for Two. Remember what he looked like? Shit, that's what you said.

Swish thud swish thud swish thud swish thud swish- over and over again.

There's even more blood now. Less of it belonging to them. It's on the wall, the floor, in the air, in their vessel, in their soul, eating them alive. It's disgusting. If they had insides they would have thrown them up by now. The world smells and tastes and feels of viscera, it's made of it.

The meat is in neat pieces now. The knife is put into a pocket. The bones and unnecessary bits will be left there to be picked off by something that can use it. They gather the pieces they cut into a bag and stand, swaying like they were trying to be pulled in different directions by the universe.

They take their sweater off and tie it around their waist to get some of the flesh off of them, unveiling a slightly oversized white t-shirt. It's cold, but they'd rather deal with that then the feeling of your clothes being soaked with remnants and wafting into your nose and tounge.

They shuffle through the bag and take a piece between their fingers. Don't think about it, just eat it, you have to-

The only taste that registers is the sharp, metallic tang of blood. They swallow it quickly. It always makes them feel sick, the texture, smell, taste, and the weight of taking a life. But they have to. It's the only way.

Fuck, they hate it all.

Taking a breath, they steel themself and begin walking down the street and back to the building. They aren't worried about being spotted, nobody is ever here. The silence presses itself into their body. Bricks in walls are staring at them, singing, guilty, guilty.

The walk is short, as horrid as it is. The apartment is close to many places. It's convenient for hunting. The bag swings awkwardly in their needlessly tight grip.

They knock on the door in their usual pattern, opening it and walking inside. They set the bag on the counter like it's groceries.

"Two. I'm home." They announce, though the noise of the door opening and rustling of the bag should have alerted him. Strange. Knowing him, he's probably long passed out. Still, they look over the couch to check.

Exactly like they thought. He's sprawled out awkwardly on the couch (he'll probably be sore if he stays like that) out cold. He always slept like this, which made it especially annoying to share the mattress with him. They still let him, though. It always feels weird now when he isn't there.

"Two." They say again, walking over to him and poking his face. "C'mon. Hey, wake up." This probably won't work. 1-2 is an obnoxiously heavy sleeper.

Surprisingly, they see 1-2's eyes flicker open.

------‐--------------------------------------------------------------

1-2 stirs, feeling fingers tap against his cheek. Ones that kind of look like his, with the way they sharpen into claws and darken at the ends. It's 1-3. Right. They left. They're back. What time was it?

He inhales and smells something weird. Quickly recognizing it as blood and probably a bit of sweat, he looks up at 1-3 questioningly. He points a finger at them and starts talking, voice still groggy from sleep.

"Blood. 'Sit yours?"

1-3 shrugs, making a so-so motion with their hand. "Some of it is, some of it isn't." Their voice is oddly nonchalant.

"What happened?" He asks, sitting against the cushions.

"Had a run in with One. I'll tell you later."

1-2 just nods. As long as he finds out eventually, he doesn't care when. He's also curious as to what 1-1 was doing anyways. The last time anyone saw her was in the lab, before all of them were released.

1-3 sits next to him again and crosses their legs, hands in their lap. He doesn't know how they sit like that, it doesn't look comfortable in the slightest.

He fiddles with his hair awkwardly. He really needed to do something with it. He remembers his reflection in the mirror. Too long. He puts a strand between his fingers and continues to twist it.

1-3 seems to notice. "Do you want me to cut it for you?" They ask.

"You can cut hair?"

"I've done it before. Did my own." They gesture to their own hair.

1-2 examines it for a second, leaning forward a bit. It looks pretty good, actually. He doesn't know if he trusts them to do it, his always picky about his hair. It's not like he can go and get it cut, though, with how he looks.

He nods, moving his gaze to 1-3's eyes. Their face is a little red. Oh. Right. Their faces were still only separated by a few inches. He leans back and speaks again. "Fine. Just be careful. If you fuck it up I get to fuck up yours." He pokes the air near 1-3 to make his point.

Something he didn't expect at all happens. 1-3 laughs. Really laughs. At a stupid threat that really isn't one.

What.

"Alright, I won't fuck it up." They reply.

The smile lingers on their face a little. Their laugh is also crackly and weird and nonhuman like his. What. They never laugh at his dumb jokes. They must be tired. Or they hit their head. He stares at their expression for way too long.

They interrupt the developing silence. "I'll cut your hair after you eat. I went out." They lean their head towards the counter. He follows their line of sight and sees a plastic black back placed there. "Thanks." He says quickly, before he forgets.

Its weird how they just. Do that. For him. They both dance around talking about it, for obvious reasons, but in his head he knows what they mean by "went out". They killed someone. For him. So he didn't sit here and rot.

He stops himself from thinking about it and walks over to the counter. He takes a few pieces and forces it down his throat. It tastes bad, it always does, but he's pretty used to it. It's easier to just get it over with. Not like he really has a choice in it. Could be worse. 1-3 hates it much more than he does.

------‐--------------------------------------------------------------

They're in the bedroom now, 1-3 sitting on the mattress and 1-2 on the floor directly below them. They hold a pair of thin scissors in their hand. It's not the right kind, but it'll work.

1-2 told them what they wanted earlier, and while they weren't a professional in the slightest, it would be easy. And he didn't need to know that, anyway.

God, they were close. It wasn't uncomfortable, but for some reason their brain latched onto their proximity and didn't let go. Like earlier, when 1-2 looked them in the eyes and moved towards them.

Do NOT think about his face right now just cut his hair it's what he asked of you- They hold some of his hair in their hand and begin cutting. The satisfying snip snip snip of the scissors echoes around the space as hair flutters to the carpeted floor.

It doesn't take long for them to finish. There wasn't much to do. They look at their work for a bit just to see if there's anything they need to fix in the back. They move to sit infront of 1-2 and look at the front, hands brushing against his forehead to adjust the strands slightly before giving a curt nod and leaning back. It's his turn to redden.

They push any thoughts related to 1-2's face [for the second time] and the contact they just made with him to the back of their mind.

1-2 gets up and goes to the bathroom quickly to look at what they did. He comes back after a short moment, taking his place on the floor again. He nods back. "Your hair's safe from me." He says, which is his way of giving them a compliment.

1-3 goes to sit next to him instead of infront so its less awkward. They both bathe in the sound of absolutely nothing. They do this a lot, simply sit in the same space. It was kind of nice. Better than being alone.

"You're tired." 1-2 says, now eyeing them carefully. They hate how easily he can read them most of the time. "As are you. I was only gone for an hour or so and you passed out waiting."

"Touché."

"Well," 1-2 says, standing. "We might as well sleep now, then. Neither of us have plans."

They nod and crawl into bed after him. They don't feel like denying it today. He needs the rest and so do they.

They sleep on opposite sides of the bed, though they're still close do to the size of it. They also share a blanket, which 1-3 often has to steal back from 1-2. He has a habit of taking it all in his sleep. God, they already know his sleeping habits and it's only been a few months.

He falls asleep quickly [he always does, he's always tired] but 1-3 takes a bit longer. More thoughts than usual bubble to the surface of their head and spill over. Some involve blood and the experiments and slicing, which always makes it hard to sleep, but a select few involve him.

They want to get closer, so, so badly for no reason at all. The thought of it sounds nice. It rings like gentle bells. When was the last time they were close to someone who they weren't trying to kill?

After a contemplative silence, they shift towards him and wrap their arms around him. They think this is selfish, they don't even know if he'd like it, if he'd feel the same, but they let themself have this. If he asks they'll say that it just happened in their sleep. He wont believe it, since they never move much in their sleep, but it will probably get him to not ask.

It feels nice, like they thought, a pleasant warmth to it all. It's also a little awkward since they don't do this often, but it doesn't matter. The sounds of soft breathing fill the silence.

It doesn't take them long to fall asleep now.

[orcelito]

I think one of the best things about writing Vash the Stampede is I can just do whatever the fuck I want. There are very few limits to his physical capability. He's got superhuman strength, weird as fuck flexibility, impossibly precise dexterity, and the Devil's Own Luck

Add in the incredibly variable & minimally defined plant powers and there is just... so fucking much I can do

Many times now I've ended up being like "would this even work??" Or "how would I explain this happening??" & it's just like. Fuck It. "Because Plants"

Because Plants is my favorite excuse. I enjoy this creative sandbox very much.

[hazeism]

[pleafyistired]

Reading the description of angel disease and seeing 'life full of anxiety' (paraphrasing) and being like. Oh I see where this is going O_O /silly

Waugh that's so cool though. How long does it last, if it even does reverse? (Also Erics dad when I catch you 💀 /j) -🕶

Chris is truly the sufferer lmfaoo. I havent even tell youu about his fucked up shitty childhood yett teehee ^_^ i gotta buy him a shirt with something like “I’m god’s STRONGEST SOILDER! He gives all his tougest battles to ME!” on the and the back it says “can he stop getting into battles.”

anyways angel disease!

up to when chris caught it, theres been no cure found, as angels like i said, are seen as a good thing. People will call you insane for not wanting “such a blessing” and doctors outright refuse to treat you and congratulate you. Every angels also have disappeared and never discovered, so at that point many assumed they “went back to heaven”, but based on many body malfunctioning examined at that point, its basically a terminal illness. No case was ever documented of reversing basically is what im saying here ^_^

[faebriel]

and you caused it: chapter 3

(click for more detail!)

In which Niki has a terrible secret, Puffy just wants to move on, Tommy sneaks into casino parties and Wilbur learns to deal with anger being justified. Or - the one thing they don't warn you of, when dropping nuclear warheads on old friends, is fallout.

in chapter three: a prisoner goes free, niki and tommy try (and miserably fail) to get along, and some breaking and entering is committed. just out of curiosity, y'know.

wc: 5.2k

wilbur watches from phil's verandah, old coffee mug in hand, as the remaining syndicate spills from their houses. the world is a dull grey before dawn, as if the sun is loitering beneath the horizon until everyone is all saddled-up and kitted out in their armour and weapons.

not wilbur, though. of course.

"Why didn't you tell me about all this?" he asks Phil, question just as poised as it is nonchalant, as he emerges from the house. Just about gives Phil a bloody heart attack, is what it does. He thought Wilbur would still be asleep. "Top secret," he says. "You know how Techno's like." "What, Techno put all this together, then?" Phil pauses. "How'd you find out, anyway?" "Niki told me." Phil's eyebrows raise, and despite how the man clearly wants to ask more than that - his mouth opens, then he looks at Wilbur like he's just a kid again, and closes it - he just descends down the porch steps with the quiet clink of armour against armour. "Didn't think she'd do that," he mutters - more to the snow than anyone else, barely caught by Wilbur, as he heads towards the stables. And then, thrown over his shoulder - "and get some proper fucking sleep!"

if that was the plan, he wouldn't have made himself a fucking coffee, would he. but he decides to mollify phil for once by returning to bed, even if he spends more of his time casting glances between the ceiling and his communicator than watching the backs of his eyelids.

---

a few more hours of crisp morning, and somehow niki finds herself waiting around the arctic again.

it's not comfortable. the place is full of too many memories for her not to miss it, and even if the syndicate is out on their little mission, the thought that she might run into wilbur again is stressful. wobbuffet can sense her anxiety, and it's making her apprehensive too.

fortunately, it's not too long before she spies a small group returning from the greater smp, just over the horizon.

"Niki," Dream heralds her, extending a hand to shake. She supplies hers primly, and he shakes it with the same amount of delicacy - an amused huff behind his mask, but nothing else. "Long time no see, huh?" Not long enough. "Something like that," she agrees. "I apologise, I couldn't make the recovery myself. Some things came up." Her eyes slide over to Techno's, stony. He looks away, but keeps his mouth shut. Good. "I understand entirely," Dream replies, with a kind of curl in his voice that makes it sound like he's grinning behind that dish-mask of his. It makes her stomach turn, angry and roiling like the seas. "Could always make it up with a pastry or two, right?" It's clearly meant to be a joke, and Phil supplies an awkward laugh, but Niki still finds her fingers forming fists in the sleeves of her jacket before she remembers to titter politely. They leave thumbprints of flour behind, white on coffee brown. "I'm sorry," she says, sugar-sweet. "I haven't baked anything for a while now." "Ah, a shame," Dream says abashedly. The falseness oozes from him like tar, sticky and ill, seeping into the bones of everything he touches and turning it sickly. It curdles his tone, makes her blood boil beneath her skin. It's a damn wonder Phil and Techno keep a straight face. It's a damn wonder she didn't fully see it a year ago. Something acrid rises at the back of her throat - an old feeling, the kind of feeling she would have welcomed last winter when she was cold and dark and angry and bitter and that she should cast off now that she knows better. It overwhelms her senses, fills her mouth with the taste of blood and clings there. Sticky and metallic, lining the insides of her throat. She can't let it go. The words thrum beneath her skin, and for better or for worse, they're the same thoughts she had before TNT rained down on L'Manberg - she will not die, she will not lose a life for Tommy's sake at the hands of this man. "Well, you'd best be getting on your way," Techno says, ever blunt - and even as he hands Dream the reins to a horse, his eyes jut cautiously over to hers. "There's your debt repaid." "Alright, alright, I know when I'm not wanted," Dream laughs. Always with the jokes, this one, although these words have an edge to them - a challenge that he isn't powerful enough to assert. Not right now, at least. "I'll see you around, Techno. Take care." Sounds more like a threat than a goodbye, but Techno still lifts a hand in farewell as Dream gallops off into the distance. Not in the direction of the city, for now. Good. Techno then turns to her. "Reconsiderin'?" Niki shakes her head. He tilts his head away from hers in response - if he weren't wearing the mask she'd be able to figure out what he's thinking from the expression alone, but he won't be taking it off until Dream's long disappeared over the horizon. She'll be gone by then, too.

she's made her appearance, established her alibi. should be enough. she doesn't have much business left in the arctic - she moved most of her things by ender chest the day before, and the rest was... destroyed. techno, still awkwardly distant and standoffish, doesn't encourage her to linger. funny - for as proficient as he is in combat, even he seems to find the newfound crevasse between them difficult to traverse. she waits til she's certain dream is gone, gone away before she climbs back onto wobbuffet and heads towards the nether circuit.

---

that is day one.

more days pass, and with every one the city seems to get smaller. niki is caught in a kind of (hah) limbo - avoiding the distant shapes of other players on the surface, but unable to steer away from tommy, tubbo and michael's constant clatter in her city. (day two, she gathers more supplies - but paranoia trips at the back of her mind, because she's alone again alone again even in the endless noise of her own base, hated and feels like the forest has eyes on her, asking why so much spruce, nihachu? they need the charcoal to keep the torches and furnaces burning, to keep a small room warm for michael to sleep in.)

both tubbo and tommy are far too outdoorsy for this kind of captivity. tubbo's set himself loose on her spare materials, chests and chests stacked with stone and ores and redstone dust - in half an attempt to mollify him, niki's given him free reign over some of the less-used parts of the city for "improvements", whatever that means.

(the other half of that is an attempt to get back on his good side - he's stopped glaring at her so openly, ever since they left snowchester, though his pointedly cordiality is almost as bad.)

she's overheard him mutter about building some kind of rail line - whatever wood-and-metal contraption that's engulfed half of her storage rooms and the library space doesn't look like a rail line, but niki supposes that she's not the expert. he's already rigged a headache-inducing network of redstone and lamps through their farms, spitting out double the amount of wheat and potatoes that niki had managed to put together on her own. at least they won't go hungry. tubbo always makes a point to ask her permission before shoving another set of iron beams across a walkway and carving redstone tracks into the walls (where did that mischievous kid from l'manberg go, wrecking mostly-well-meaning (or at least, fun) chaos through their houses and their gardens? you would be lucky if he mentioned his plans for utilising your base as a dreamon-beacon or something, let alone if he asked first), but once she's given the go-ahead, he single-mindedly settles into refining all things productive in niki's city to a knife-edge.

sometimes she walks through these parts of the city, counting each new rung of iron and stone set into her walls. she realises she's missed an opportunity to do this with tubbo not hating her - missed any opportunity she had to invite tubbo to her city under normal pretenses. now it's locked away beneath the earth forever, and she doubts her friendship with tubbo will ever see the light of day again, either.

she misses ponk. she misses hbomb. she misses enough things already - she can't waste time missing things that never even happened.

tommy, on the other hand, is still climbing the walls. he has his little hobbies - he does a bit of sewing, a bit of embroidery, has even taken to baking experimental breads, but it's all clearly time-killing. whenever she comes back to the city he's always waiting at the foot of the stairwell, arms out to help her unload supplies and a million questions on his tongue. who did she see? did they see her come home? did she say hello to them? did she see wilbur? did she see ranboo? did she see - and for this part his voice always goes hushed, as if he might summon the man's presence just by saying his name) - did she see dream?

she saw ponk and hannah, she sure hopes they didn't see her come home, and no she didn't say hello to them, avoiding the cult - she didn't see wilbur, she didn't see ranboo, and no, she didn't see dream.

it doesn't even do much to ease his nerves - he's just as twitchy when she returns as he is when she leaves. she thinks he just can't help himself from asking. she remembers how quiet the server went after tommy's death, paths decked out in flowers and monuments, and thinks - well, she can't really blame him. being away from the beating life of the server is, for tommy, probably about the same as being left without air or water.

doesn't mean she doesn't start getting testy about it all, though.

particularly when he asks after techno, or phil, or wilbur.

it's been just over a week when, sleepless, niki finds herself prowling the city corridors. her plan is to wait the morning out in the library, but when she passed the beehive nook, she finds tommy awake and fidgeting with the flowers.

she can't just ignore him, and hopes a polite greeting will suffice - but when tommy looks up at her, startled by her approach, there's pure anxiety in his grey eyes. part of her still wants to turn her back - clamouring for time to herself, which feels so sparse when the city is live and awake with activity - but there's a more responsible, more nostalgic part of her that insists she stay.

niki resigns herself to a night amidst the flowers.

even she doesn't really know what she plans to achieve. back in l'manberg they all had night terrors from the war, she remembers that, but tommy almost always took them directly to wilbur, if tubbo even let him leave their bunks (clingy, tommy would joke, as if he wasn't just as bad). fundy was the one who would come to her, sometimes tubbo. wilbur had only deigned to tell her that he shared their nightmares at all in the last few months.

is this what all those awkward conversations of rehearsal was for? some shitty, third-act twist? somehow, she still feels unprepared. she still feels like she doesn't know her lines. she doesn't feel like talking, like breaking the nighttime peace that is so fucking rare these days. it's precious. she doesn't want to hand it over. haven't I handed over enough, some part of her thinks, whines - but if that were true she wouldn't be the only person sitting here, and she wouldn't have no one to comm as she waited awkwardly to see if Tommy will find his voice, and she might even have slept through the night. she would still have techno and wilbur and phil and ranboo and puffy and god, who else? so she tosses the thought out.

finally, tommy speaks.

“He’ll kill you, y’know,” Tommy says. There’s a grim, grey look on his face - not frowning, not spitting and cursing, just resigned. Limp. Playing dead. “If he finds out you let me stay here. He’ll kill you.” Niki huffs, absent-mindedly blowing a thick chunk of pink-blonde out of her face. Dream is - Dream is formidable, terrifying, powerful, and she knows that. She has seen him in battle, and it’s only ever been on the opposing side. But only from afar. Dream has never spared her a second glance - not even purposely overlooked, like Eret or Fundy, just passed over -  and Niki doesn’t hate him for him, really, she hates him for the axes he holds and the TNT he palms off to her friends and that hollowed-out, horrible bliss in Wilbur’s eyes when he said Dream was his only friend. It could be anyone behind that mask, and to Niki, it wouldn’t particularly matter. The hatred she feels for him is direct, almost mechanical with how it just makes sense - she doesn’t burn with anger at him like she has at Wilbur. At Tommy. Well. She hasn’t. Tommy is trembling now, and Wilbur is somewhere out there with gunpowder on his hands again and that lost, empty look in his eyes that burns her up inside like kindling and makes her stomach turn. She tries not to let it show. “Tommy,” she says. She’s trying to be careful. “Dream doesn’t care about me. He wouldn’t track me down like that. He doesn’t care.” And to think, that’s a benefit for once? “Yeah, I know that,” Tommy says immediately, barrelling immediately past the implication that probably would offend a lot of people, and probably would offend Niki if it referred to anyone else - but Tommy stares dead ahead, unblinking. “He’ll kill you to teach me a lesson. Because I let you help me. Because of me.”

niki is a lot of things, but afraid of dream is not one of them - she struggles to comprehend tommy's fear. or, at least, the fear on her behalf. she can defend herself, no matter what tommy keeps babbling about revenge and consequences, and from across the broad crevasse of misunderstanding, his concern looks more like condescension. the more frustrated niki gets, the more stubborn she becomes - she rebuts tommy's warnings, half in an attempt to console him, and half because she simply doesn't believe they can be true. and on tommy's part, yet another instance of being brushed off about dream when he knows he is right the guy is just as infuriating - though god forbid either of them actually explain why they frustrate the other so fiercely. they don't fight outright, but the conversation sours into tired, bitter jabs.

"You don't listen," he scowls. "None of you fucking listen to me." Frustration crawls up Niki's throat, pulls fire into her tone. "I have listened to you, Tommy! For a long time! I listened well enough - before doomsday - " "Exactly!" He cuts her off, arms tightening around his knees. "What happened at doomsday? Exactly, eck-fucking-zactly what I said would happen - " "Do you honestly think that's what I cared about at the time, Tommy," Niki spits, righteous. "Do you think I just didn't know what I was doing? Just because I didn't like what you had to say, that doesn't mean I didn't listen to you." He doesn't say anything to that - instead, his face twists into a fierce, grumpy pout, and he angles his shoulder pointedly away from hers as he curses her out under his breath to a nearby bumblebee.

they part, after that - niki stalks off to the library to sulk, frustrated that tommy refuses to ever take her seriously. tommy refuses to budge from the bee nook, frustrated that niki refuses to ever take him seriously. and no one listens, and no one learns, and they keep spiraling down into bitter nosedives governed entirely by their own senses of guilt and burden and frustration, goodnight, the end.

well. not quite.

there's still a server running hot that exists outside the confines of the underground city, after all.

---

more days pass.

---

it has been just over three weeks since the casino exploded, and wilbur is starting to think that - once again - he might be losing his mind.

that's the clean way to name the incident, isn't it? it's been just over three weeks since the casino exploded, which means it's been just over three weeks since phil and techno broke dream out of prison, which means it's been just over three weeks since wilbur has spoken to niki or tommy or, fuck, even like, tubbo. even ranbus has buggered off to god-knows-where. his mind is an endless tumble-skip of well, you deserve it and god, so angry and why niki?

why niki?

the question grates at him. for the longest time, wilbur has taken niki's gentle trust as a fact of the universe - the sun rises and falls on a timer, unless an admin wills it so; water flows to the lowest point of land; witches never spawn in mushroom fields; niki is levelheaded and trustworthy and all the things wilbur is not.

it appears he may have made that last bit up.

it's disconcerting, upsetting, like the plane of land beneath his feet tipping on its side and his stomach twisting as he tries to get used to this new sense of gravity. for the long, broken line of his life, wilbur has trusted niki's judgement as so-called second to god. he built that pedestal so naturally that he didn't even recognise its existence. that even now, when its smashed so thoroughly into pieces, he struggles to pair the niki in his mind's eye to the woman raving excuses in the casino before its implosion, to the shaky woman spitting insults back at him over l'manberg's corpse. for the first time he sees himself in niki - unstable, pathetic and deranged all at once - and it is uncomfortable.

but even then -

niki fought beside him to reclaim manberg. they had shared that.

and though he paid it little attention at the time (the thing about limbo - plenty of free time to turn every living memory over in one's mind, like searching for bugs beneath upturned stones...) he recalls whispers of the plan she and eret had while the lot of them were split between manberg and pogtopia. TNT. it's a brutish and imprecise tool.

and he thinks of her fierceness. her determination, her drive, how she burns with feeling and lets it power her in a way that others can't bear the vulnerability to pull off - all things that he had basked in the glow of, and all things that can burn and scald and tear up the object of their hatred. the dim awareness that he had been that object, once - but it was niki, so of course that fire was righteous. he had accepted the blame without trouble.

but pointed towards something more valuable...

oh, niki.

Niki is... a loose canon. He rolls the sentence around in his head, lets it acclimate uncomfortably to its surroundings. It's the kind of thing Wilbur didn't really recognise, when he was alive - or at least, not without rose-tinted glasses. Niki is confident, but not brash. Emotional, but not violent. Perhaps she had seen him through that rosy gaze too, before his death. Now he knows better.

idly, he finds himself venturing towards niki's abandoned cabin - he's still living with phil at the moment, as quackity refuses to have him on las nevadas land (really refuses this time, makes their fun little playfights look like a fucking olive branch in hindsight), though he still gets a chill down his spine when he ventures further than the porch. anxiety, or something. in any case, neither phil or techno could bear to do anything with the cabin, and now it just sits there unused and unlit like a stark reminder against the glow-white of snowdrifts marking out the horizon.

(techno absolutely refuses to discuss whatever argument they had, actually, which means phil is not saying shit because of privacy. the two of them are as bad as each other when it comes to gossip - all too happy to listen in when it's someone else's turn on the rumour mill, and all too happy to keep their mouths clamped shut when it's theirs. when it's something either of them care about, at least. which says all it needed to about niki and techno before... well. he knew they were close, not best buds close.)

the door is unlocked. is that a surprise? he mulls the thought over as he enters, taking in the destruction. glass and flour and tipped-over flowerpots line the ground, forming an awful kind of texture beneath his boots. the place is doused in cold, as if someone had layered it in a thick, cool blanket. dust hangs in the air like snowflakes.

how strange to think that a few short weeks ago, he had laid upon this couch - warm and noisy as the two of them chatted away over baking and brewing. it's all gone cold and silent, now.

he takes in every abandoned detail that he can, soaks himself in this empty shell. the weapons rack against the back wall, littered with dull knives - the cheap, brittle ones, obviously, the ones that weren't worth taking. the kitchen bench, now cold and dusty. dying flowerbeds. glass carpeting the floor, crunching under his feet with every step. the bed is the worst part of it all, somehow - it's the least-destroyed thing in the room, quilts left stacked and forgotten. they look handmade.

it draws him over. he runs a hand over the weight of the quilt sitting at the top of the stack - it's heavy, good-quality wool, rich with colour. crocheted. someone put a lot of fucking time into it. when his hand trails the edge of it, he recognises the repeating pattern - teal and cream frame ringed-round eyes of ender, framing patches woven with pink, with green, with reds and blacks and whites and gold. he's seen the matching coats the four of them wear.

the syndicate, woven into something warm to sleep with. now it sits empty, abandoned, in the dust and debris of niki's cabin.

it's a distant, strange, uncomfortable. like watching a tragedy unfold before him - one that doesn't really concern him, for once, but is still faintly distressing. he snatches his hand back as if it's been burned, goes to walk past the bed, until his boot catches on some limp thing half-spilled across the floor and he deigns (big mistake) to look downward.

he doesn't recognise it, at first. funny. it was his first, after all.

the worn leather is cold and smooth beneath his fingers - picking the thing up feels like walking over his own grave, and it's only then that he sees the deep slashes in the back of the thing, and realises that really, he is. he reaches blindly into his memory, and come to think of it - he remembers niki wearing a coat like this, not that he'd thought much of it at the time. it must have just been similar was a simple refrain. and even then, if he pushes his memory further, there's a distant memory of a woman who could be niki amidst falling fire and rubble, tearing down a wooden path...

but that memory isn't his to recall, anyway.

she had this, the entire time. ever since - ever since i died. now abandoned too.

the sheer wave of feeling that overcomes wilbur is difficult to discern. there's sadness, even grief, nestled right next to that familiar, burning anger. there's the sense that he's fucked up something important again, although that's a thought he's simply deemed permanent for now, and then a part of him that screams righteous that he was right, he was right, traitors get what traitors deserve. there's something that could be a faint cousin of - impossibly - nostalgia, even staring down at the evidence of something so miserable.

and he misses niki.

perhaps he is of weak character. if he wasn't, he might not feel so compelled to reminisce.

his circling thoughts are cut off by the sound of his name, phil calling him from somewhere outside - wilbur sticks his head out of niki's doorframe to see him blustering through the snow. there's some hubbub in the distance as techno negotiates armour with carl.

you good? wilbur asks him.

for a moment, phil's eyes skirt knowingly past wilbur's, into niki's empty house - for fuck's sake, old man, he's not here to be picked apart - but fortunately, phil breezes past it.

did you get a comm from tommy? he asks instead.

no? no. is this a trend, now? is the rest of the SMP in some group comm that wilbur has not been invited to? he swallows the bitter feeling, although it still tastes like poison as it passes his gullet, and informs phil as much. phil looks less surprised, less knowing at that, but his expression doesn't lose any of its gravity.

alright, phil tells him. i'll tell you, 'cause i think you oughtta know, but you can't take this one all personally, wil - tommy's calling us for help, for some reason. and if he's doing that, then -

something must have happened.

(to call on phil and techno, of all people - no offence to them, but wilbur knows his brother, and he's a hell of a lot more observant than too many people refuse to give him credit for - )

something must be wrong.

---

the sun has just passed its noon peak when niki returns to her city. she loads her backpack with oak and iron ore and a few pumpkins she found wandering the overworld (a treat for michael, because god knows the kid deserves it and god knows the rest of them deserve a quiet night, for once), winds her way through the nether paths, steps out towards the winding staircase of her city.

immediately, she realises -

There is something wrong. It dawns on her, as she steps down the narrow staircase to the ravine - it’s dark, too dark. There is still a torch burning at the top of the staircase but the next is tipped over, kindling scattered over the floor, extinguished. The stone-carved steps descend into a thick darkness, the type of heavy black that she only finds deep, deep underground. Not in her city. (There are other signs, although she doesn’t notice them later - boot scuffs at the entryway, leaving marks in the grass that surrounds it, and a faint, clean smell of potions as she descends down the staircase.) Potions can't hide it all. Gunpowder pricks the space behind her nose, an arrow-bolt into Niki's heart - it ignites within seconds, propelling her flight down the tumbling staircase.

her city lies in ruins.

it is as if some grand, wild creature has torn through the place - entire walls of the city crumble, spilt into gravel and rubble and ash. gunpowder leaves scorch marks against the stone, marking out smudged, defiant bootprints. the beehive nook, the library, the bakery, her bedroom - she takes in the wreckage of the cavern with a heart that doesn't dare to beat and lungs that don't dare to take in breath.

the bridge is broken down before her feet, and numbly, she scrambles down to the well of the cavern - and from this new vantage point she can see her garden still smoldering, the flowers blackened and curling downwards towards kicked-open earth. the trees she so painfully grew beneath the dim torchlights are twisted and shelled-out, stark fingers that crumble to the ground without their leaves. her feet propel her forward without thought, and she rests a hand against its trunk - there's still scant flames licking at its insides, and she feels the heat grow beneath her palm. she can't move it, can't lift it away from the burning wood. she can't. it is as if she's frozen, shadows flickering beneath the flames and the broken lanterns and the kindling strewn carelessly across the floor, throat filled with the smell of gunpowder and sickly honey from the cracked-open beehives.

she can't breathe. she can't think. part of her can't believe what she's seeing even as the heat builds beneath her palm, even as she tastes gunpowder and blood on her tongue, even as she watches the blackened bark glow with embers.

another precious thing, gone. gone. every hour she poured into this place - making it safe, making it hers - is destroyed.

niki feels that she has been destroyed with it.

she should be angry. oh, she is angry - the feeling rushes in as soon as she puts a name to it, floods her veins with gasoline. she feels sickly and lit up with flames all at once, struggles to swallow around the ash in her throat. the silent screaming thrums through her blood, makes her skin itch. even so, it remains locked inside her mouth. she can't open it. she can't talk, because if she says a word, everything will spill - tar and fire and poison and blood.

tommy and tubbo emerge from the wreckage - tubbo pushing past niki to stand by the mouth of the staircase, a squalling michael shushed in his arms, as tommy and niki lock eyes.

this wasn't me, tommy says, immediate. niki, you - you have to believe me, it was dream - i swear, i swear on prime, on the discs, on tubbo, on fucking anything -

what happened, she asked. what - what happened here, tommy?

he tries to swallow, and almost chokes on his own spit - if niki thought she had seen tommy wound up before, well - she was naïve.

it was dream, he insists, dream found us, found this place, and he called to us and i heard the spark i heard the flint screech against the iron i heard the TNT ignite and -

“We hid,” his face falls into his hands, voice breaking into a hysterical laugh, “in the walls.”

niki is barely listening.

you humoured him, the voice in her head tells her. you stuck your neck out for tommy again, and now what? everything you fucking cared about is gone. everything is gone.

this is his fault. this has to be his fault.

the gasoline running alongside her blood shrieks for a match.

“Tommy,” she hears herself say. Her voice is tight. He flinches away, head bowed. “Please, just - go. Wait outside.” His face crumples. Something tugs distantly at her chest. “Niki, I - ” “I’m not - it’s not you, Tommy.” He needs to leave. She can’t hold onto her head for much longer. “I need to - I will catch up. Outside.” He doesn’t look convinced, still shying away from her like a spooked rabbit - but he leaves, he leaves, slinks off towards the staircase and leaves her alone in the wreckage.

niki waits until she hears their whispers fade, waits until the sound of their shoes scuffling against the staircase sinks into silence. she counts her breaths - in, out. in, out. each one deep, only mildly ragged.

it is only when she is entirely convinced that she is alone that she falls to her knees, like a puppet with its strings cut, and screams.

[todayisafridaynight]

national bf day on twitter that means i get legal rights to finish my cringe masadai fic where daigo meets masato's dad(s)