#ooc: tagging this to high hell just in case

[ariadosanon]

Idk if it’s like something there’s a CONSENSUS on or WHAT but I want to know before I get one.

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.” “Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?” You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” [Or after a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles.

Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes. Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this . . . uh . . . like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ears. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum ring. Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found.

The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh . . . well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to do that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now.?

“Yeah . . . ?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“ . . . Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting.

He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns.

You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair.  His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs.Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle.

Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic. You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus.

You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date.

Although . . . those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA.

The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears.

The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just . . . a small . . . single moment.

 . . . On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

Huh? The feather on your hair preens. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That . . . that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖��͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ “Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management.  You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “ . . .Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The . . . uh . . . the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are . . . difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve . . . almost . . . almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such . . . er . . .interesting decorations around. . . . May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well . . .we . . . we certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me . . . and . . . hmm.” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes,” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor . . . I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh . . .There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

[reyesranch]

Honestly -

Most of these ‘fans’ do not like Buck for Buck. They have created a version of him in canon and anything he does that doesn’t fit it it’s OOC for them, even if it is exactly how he’d act (case in point: The BT scene on 710). They, somehow, cannot accept Buck has changed and matured and is not the same guy he was during S2/S3. Hell, he’s grown alone during S7 alone. Discovering a part of himself has done wonders for him.

Likewise, I truly believe the only representation they care about or want is if it comes in the form of Buddie. They cry on how Henren is being ignored and how it is BuckTommy’s fault, but when have they ever shown care or interest for them beforehand? They use them as part of their argument without giving them proper attention. They don’t care we now have great mlm representation on screen in a show like 911, they’re just mad because it is not Buddie.

And I do suspect they became this mad this fast because they do see the potential of BT and they know this can very well be a LTR for Buck. Ofc we don’t know what will happen, but if we look at it from a neutral POV, we all can see the seeds being planted for Tommy to be there for a while. They’ve made creative choices with him that they haven’t made with no other LI that really sells it for me, to be honest.

(Including giving them a particular sound for everytime they have a moment, but I digress)

I do agree with you - I care about Buck being happy. I was quick to get on board with BT because I have never seen Buck act so giddy and into someone. And so far, I think Tommy is matching him really well. We’ll see what happens in Season 8, but I would be surprised if they break up during it, even more so if it is ep 3/4, which arguably will be right after the start of the season (assuming they go for a multi eps opener)

If I'm being honest, the toxic side of that part of the fandom feels very reminiscent of certain subset of another fandom I'm apart of that I do not want to delve into because I've already done so many times.

get ready for a long response

I came into the 911 fandom as bvddie shipper, I still love the ship itself, idc if it ever goes canon because fanfic exists, edits exist, fanart exists. I love eddie and buck as separate characters respectively and I do not need them to be together enjoy their relationship whether it's platonic or romantic.

I think a lot of the loud, toxic shippers cannot separate them. Listen I think the co-parent jokes are hilarious and cute, but when it comes down to it in reality of the show, buck is not chris' parent. he's like an uncle, so many ppl grow up with their parents friends as their "aunts and uncles" and that's exactly how I'm viewing chris and bucks relationship ever since I've come down from the bvddie high of analyzing everything and putting meaning behind every little piece of dialogue or set design or just like anything. I can acknowledge 911 is not a blockbuster franchise that has months or years of thought put into meaning behind set design or clothing choices like other fandoms I'm apart of that absolutely have so much thought and time put into them for things like that.

bvddie in itself is a great concept. absolutely you can read into scenes as being romantic even if they never were intended that way, that's what we do as fans. I completely understand why ppl see them as endgame because they're absolutely allowed to think that. but us bucktommy shippers are allowed to also talk about why we think bucktommy is endgame. I think that's another issue ppl are having is being able to curate their own feed, if you don't want to see people talk about one of these topics then block accs, block tags, keep your peace!

buck and tommy absolutely feel as though they have been written to last from what I've seen so far so tommy leaving so quickly would feel weird and like a punch in the gut to the journey buck as made. he made the effort to be with tommy even after everything went south. tommy made the effort to show up for buck. we are shown them being on very good terms by the season finale, like, we are probably intimate with one another and are in our cute honeymoon phase type of good terms. having them break up so early would be another Ali/Natalia moment and like, I just am tired of the same story being repeated for buck.

If they really were going for bvddie endgame, I think it would have been done this season. tommy wouldn't have been brought in at all or wouldn't have been involved in the plot outside helping rescue bobby and athena. they didn't need kim there, they could have built on eddies catholic guilt for his queer arc, they could have written what people were theorizing with the bachelor party where buck and eddie ended up kissing while drunk which could have spurred their relationship to begin and still have eddie go through a crisis and found a way to have chris still leave for texas (if they wanted to stick with a cheating arc, it could have been marisol & chris walking in on buck and eddie kissing) like there's so many things people theorized that genuinely would have been great ways to have bvddie be endgame but literally none of those things happened and instead we got buck in a stable, happy relationship with tommy that has been set up in a way that absolutely can have them going through all sorts of things from strengthening their relationship to testing their relationship. tommy can absolutely be integrated into the plot as much as karen is if not more. all I can say is why throw away such potential when you already had the other potential there?

also as an eddie diaz defender, they can never make me hate eddie diaz, I just want to see him not feel this constant need to find a new mom/wife when he's never had time for himself EVER. he needs therapy, he needs to build back trust with christopher, he needs to stop searching for this perfect woman because if there's someone out there for him they will find him eventually. I really want eddie to focus on chris and himself and stop worrying so much about what his life should look like per his family/what society thinks his life should look like.

I truly cannot stress enough how much eddie needs to fix himself and his and chris' relationship before jumping into another romance, whether it be buck or anyone else.

on the other hand, buck deserves to be loved ANYWAYS. tommy is already showing potential to just love buck anyways despite anything that happens, that he'll do anything for him, that he can be his rock. gerrard can definitely be smh to shake them up, no couple in this show is safe from anything no matter how in love and happy they are. it's time for buck to have his madney, bathena, henren moments with his own love interest. buck deserves to be happy with tommy, to go through the hard times with him, for someone to love him no matter what and that absolutely does not take away from how important buck and eddie's friendship is. people cannot seem to grasp that unfortunately and it's sad.

in other words, im so tired of people acting like they are superior over ships. I truly am.

[aliorsboxostuff]

ok so imagine ftm reader x joel in the apocalypse. because i just know being trans in an apocalypse is NOT fun. you can make the prompt however specific as you want but i just thought that would be such a cool and interesting idea for a fic. :)

A/N: GOD ANON SUCH A GOOD IDEA yk i'm gonna put a bit of my own experience as a trans man (that went through 7 hrs of a con w binders on… *shivers*). As always, please excuse the mistakes as english is my 2nd language and enjoy Anon!

Join You.

Tags: HBO Joel Miller x ftm!Reader, Reader uses He/Him pronouns, Trans and in an apocalypse? Can't get any worse, oh wait yes it can, Binding struggles, fluff, meet-cute(?), Do you count meeting a dad and his kid cute?, maybe, It’s Joel and Ellie of course they’re cute, meeting, humor, Snarky!Ellie, tired-dad!Joel, soft ending, no angst, maybe a bit, it is EP.3 after all, slight OOC

[Starts from the end of Ep.3 of The Last of Us] Meeting a stone-cold man and his curious stray kid wasn't really on your apocalypse agenda, neither was falling in love with him. But then again, when has life ever gone your way? Hell, even god fucked up from when you were born, mixed up the damn gender. So here you are, helping him and his kid ready themselves to head to Wyoming, while you hitch a ride. Maybe it’ll do you some good, finally finding company with another human being

—

God why was it so hot?

While you keep hauling what remains of your backpack through the path, the sun beats down on you. Despite pulling off your hoodie, now left in only a shirt, the heat threatens to boil you whole. The sides of your binder digs in slightly and it makes moving another endeavor. The two bottles of water inside your bag are quickly diminishing with every break you take, now only half of one bottle remains.

You groan, eyes becoming hazy with every blink, when suddenly, you spot a chain-linked fence meters in front of you. A shot of energy courses through you as hope rises, quickly jogging to the area while you wave your hands, but trying not to make a sound in case any infected comes running by. 

You stopped just shy of the chain link, glancing at the high-voltage sign. You've been electrocuted once, you're not about to get electrocuted twice. You opted to look around instead, glancing at the various put-together houses, and the church in the far corner of the neighborhood. Despite the leaves littering the streets, flowers bloomed encircling the town's middle. You turn your head to find a way in, maybe a chance for you to vault over without getting burned, or maybe dig underneath-

"Turn around." 

You freeze. The hairs on your nape start to rise, heart rate following suit as a bead of sweat drops. "Turn around, and drop your bag. Slowly." 

You gulp, carefully moving one foot and the other until you fully turn, now face to face with a gun trained at your head, behind it, a man with eyes sharp enough to cut through skin is ready to pull the trigger at sight. Your eyes cautiously glance at the girl behind him, the same vicious stare with a sharp knife in her hand. 

As instructed, you slip your backpack and hear it hit the ground, before the man tilts his head, indicating for you to kick it away, and so you did. 

"Drop your weapons,"

"I don't have a gun," Your voice wavers, hands shaking slightly as it hovers beside you, a surrender you’re hopeful the man will take. He doesn't. 

"Drop anything other than a gun, then," He leaves no room for negotiations. You blink, before taking out the pocket knife and knuckle dusters from your pocket, throwing them to his direction. The guy raises his brow at the items and you shrug, still hesitant despite trying to appear nonchalant. 

With the gun still aimed at you, he picks both of the weapons up, storing them, before he stands again. "What's in the bag?" 

"Some… Canned food, water bottles, a lighter, other stuff," 

"How did you find this place?"

"I just…" Now that, you wondered yourself. You remembered leaving your group when a sketchy religious guy showed up and everyone started preaching to him, going nowhere in particular, just out of the growing conservative group and somewhere safe. Wandering for weeks before stumbling here, thinking you finally found another group willing to accept your scrappy ass. "I don't know, I don't even know this place existed, I was wandering around then came across…" You tilted your head back to the fence.

A pause. The man then speaks in a hushed tone with the girl, before they both nodded, the girl evidently less cautious after the whispers. "Empty your bag." 

You did as so, slowly reaching for the pack and unlatching the top, turning it upside down and letting the contents drop. Bottles, food, plasters, your lighter, a torch, other knick-knacks you couldn't resist picking up, all falling to the ground. When a flutter of paper falls, the girl perks slightly, before she retreats when you noticed. "I-I'm alone-"

"How do we know you're alone?" 

Your eyes looked around before you shrug. "I… Got separated from my group. A weird guy joined us and separated some people, and he uh… Kicked me out. Im alone, I promise, I don't have anyone following me from my group or from… Anywhere,"

Another pause. He seems to turn the info around his mind, before he looks back at the girl, she only does the same.

"Alright." He nods, eyeing the clutter on the ground. "Walk, slowly, away from the fence." 

Taking steps away from the chain until your position and the man change, you stand far from the fence while he and the girl stands just a meter away. He nods to the girl and she nods back. Now, her dark eyes are focused on you, while the man unlocks the gate to the place. 

"What's with the book?" She jerks to the opened pages on the ground.

"Just a journal. Keeps the mind sane," She hums, then you hear a click of the fence being opened. The man ushers the girl in, before he looks back at you, standing defenseless outside just meters away, disheveled and wary. He huffs.

"Get in here, quick," 

Your face beams. "Thank you, so much," You breathe before picking up your bag and contents, then jogging inside and the man locks the gate again. 

The neighborhood looks as if lived in, despite the run-down houses except one that stands grand and white a couple of streets down. "You two live here?"

"No, someone we know does," The girl answers. The man begins walking to the house, the girl following loosely behind him, before she turns.

She still has a hint of caution in her eyes, yet she asks, "What's your name? I'm Ellie, that's Joel," 

"Pleasure meeting you Ellie, Joel," Ellie grins, Joel doesn't turn. You give her your name, at which she smiles before looking past you.

"Do you write often?" 

"Just for fun, nowhere to publish it anyways," 

She nods. "What do you write about?"

"Stuff I see, birds, leafs, interesting flowers I pass by," You begin walking towards the house as well, following them. "I have pressed dried flowers in there," 

"Pressed dried? Like you have dead flowers in your journal?"

"Sure," You grin as she chuckles, turning around when Joel opens the house's gates and motions for Ellie to stop, so you do too.

"I'm checking inside first. You-" His eyes meets yours, you gulp. "Stay here, look out for any infected," 

"In here? This is basically a fortress," 

"Once I'm done, then I'll call you," You only nod, afraid to aggravate Joel even further. You'd hate to appear annoying to a man that offered you safety. 

Minutes pass, you idle outside, taking in the scenery. There are flowers in fitted pots, already dry and dying. The fence that surrounds the house Joel and Ellie still looks put together, the paint scraping would indicate age but otherwise looks fine. There's a brown garage door off the side. You wonder if it stored any vehicles. 

Suddenly, Joel storms outside, making you jump. His otherwise stoic face has a sheen layer of pain, of apprehension, before you spotted a piece of paper in his hand. His eyes meet yours for a brief second, before he turns and crumples the paper. You stand to the side, nearing the gates, while Joel takes his time gathering himself. The urge to ask, to comfort, almost overwhelms you before he speaks. "Help me check the car,"

A key dangles in his hand, and you follow suit. He opens the garage door, and you move to the back of what looks like a covered car. Sure enough, once you and Joel pull the cover up, a blue pick-up comes into view. "Nice," you smooth your hand on the rear door. Then suddenly, a sharp bang from the front, Joel closes the engine harder than needed. You gulp.

Contemplation appears on Joel's face again. You didn't dare to move. His eyes search the room, until it lands on something out of your view, on top of a refrigerator. His eyes track down, then he stalks to said fridge and opens it. Seems like he finds what he was looking for and Joel closes it back.

“You can't come with us.”

“What?” It sounded small, way too small to your liking, until you realized it was your voice.

“We’re going to Wyoming, either way there’s no space for-”

“Please, Joel,” You find yourself leaning towards him, your knuckles white on the trunk of the car. “I don't- I have nowhere to go,” Joel opens his mouth to interject before you continue; “And I'm not asking to join you, and Ellie. I just…” You inhale sharply.

“Please let me go with you two, to Wyoming. Then just leave me there.” You blink the growing panic back down. “Just a ride. Then I'll be off your backs. I promise,” 

The man standing meters away from you, hand still firmly on the edge of the fridge, eyes dark and stone cold, ponders over your words. You can practically feel the consideration, the slight glance from him when he meets your eyes, before he turns to the door, then back to you. “Just a ride,”

“Just a ride. You have my word.”

Then, painstakingly slow, he nods then walks to exit the garage, making you exhale a relief breath. "Check the fuel, I'll go check on Ellie," 

You simply nodded as he exited the garage. You go and check the fuel from the meter inside the car first, then find it empty. For safety reasons, you think. So you check around the garage for any fuel canisters. You found a couple behind some boxes, so you pulled them out to ready them when Joel needs it.

You deem it enough snooping around so you return to the house, just in time to hear Ellie ask, "So what now?" 

You knock on the door lightly, to alert the two, and Ellie glances at you. You two share a look at Joel, before he huffs. “We grab what we can,” 

He passes you, taking note of your curiosity, before he goes through the house with you and Ellie in tow. He goes through a couple of rooms, before he pulls at a hatch and it gives in, a staircase leading to what you presume was a basement. 

Upon entering, the room is lit up with working LEDs. You and Ellie spotted the wall of guns first, you blowing a low whistle. “Ho-ly shit.” Ellie’s eyes were on the many firearms mounted neatly.

“This guy’s a genius,” She grins and looks around. Your hand reaches for a mounted shock gun, almost touching it, before you retreat when you hear Joel messing with the other things in the room. You noted a steady hum of music, something you could recognize but not pinpoint. Ellie turns to walk over to where Joel was looking at the monitors.

“Why was the music on?”

“If he didn't reset the countdown every few weeks,” His eyes went over something. “This playlist would run over the radios,”

“‘80s…” The two share a look of realization, you can visibly see Joel gulp.

“Grab some cans from over there,” Joel points behind him. “Nothin’ dented, or swollen,” He mainly points it out to Ellie as she moves, but his eyes linger on you so you also get moving.

“Dude,”

“No.” You turn around to spot Ellie standing near the wall of firearms. 

“There’s a wall of them,” And she’d be right, but Joel only fixed her a stare that made her nod in defeat, almost making you giggle. Joel goes back to the monitors while you and Ellie search through the cans.

You’ve emptied most of the top shelves, leaving the clearly dented ones, while Ellie picked apart the bottom half, looking at each label with fascination. Once you’ve got your pack full, you crouch near her when she looks at one with interest. 

“‘Chef Boyardee’,” You smile as she turns to you. “They got great taste,” 

“Is this what you all eat?” She asks both you and Joel as she turns to face him. “Like, before the infection thing,”

“Well, most foods weren't in cans, if that's what you’re asking,” You absentmindedly pick at one of the cans' labels, already peeling. “Big shops, grocery stores, would sell raw stuff so you can cook them,”

“Cook anything?” Her eyes gleam, making you huff out a chuckle. 

“Sure, as long as there's a recipe, I for one can't cook for shit,” She chuckles, before putting the can into her bag. As you and Ellie make your way upstairs, you pass Joel whose eyes soften as you let Ellie climb up first.

Ellie found a bag and she scurries off to shove toilet paper in it. You made your way into the bathroom to find the medicine cabinet fully stocked. “Fuck yeah,” 

You grab all that your arms can fit and run back to where Ellie was emptying the storage room. Setting all the medicine and emergency kit into the bag, you head back to look under the sink of the bathroom to find a couple of tampons and pads. Another victory. As you reach your hand into the cabinet, a roll of body tape falls out. Checking back to hear Ellie's busy with her work, you stuff the tape into your pocket and head out with the packs of pads and tampons.

Ellie looks up from where she’s hunched inside the storage area. “Hell yeah,” She nods as you stuff the packs into the bag.

Joel emerges from the bunker and heads upstairs just as you and Ellie finish filling up the bag. Ellie follows Joel and so do you, still contemplating what the girl is to Joel or who Joel is to Ellie. Though you shrug it off when Joel opens a door into a worn room, decorations vary on the walls but he beelines into, what you presume, is a closet. He opens it and looks around, clicking a light on, before he settles on a box and pulls it out, setting it on the bed.

The box is labeled ‘Women's shirt, SM-MED’ so Ellie looks through it. She pulls out a red shirt that she fits over her front to make sure, before she glances at you. You only nod in approval, giving her a thumbs up, making her grin and set the article aside.

Joel emerges with a box labeled ‘Long Sleeve Shirts’ and goes back in. You stood opposite of Ellie between the bed, hesitant to touch the box, before Ellie took it first and opened it. She notices your hovering hand and falters on the flaps. “Oh, you wanna take this one?”

“Those won't fit him,” Joel barks from inside the closet, almost making you jump. But instead, his tone is like poking fun at you, so you roll your eyes, huffing.  

“Haha, real funny man,” Your hand reaches back for the box Ellie was opening, before another box abruptly drops next to your hand, affectionately labeled ‘Mens shirt, SM-MED’.

“This could,” His eyes met yours before he ducks back into the closet. 

You stand, almost in shock, elevated from both relief and happiness as it blooms inside you. The box is still closed, sitting just far from you, and the label almost makes your eyes gloss. You swallow a heavy lump, before you notice Ellie's fleeting glance from you to the box, then back to you. “Go ahead dude, those would be way too big for me,” She shrugs.

And so you went through the box and picked out the articles you deemed good enough to fit your form. 

After sorting through the box of clothes, the three of you make your way into the garage. You stand near the door in order to not step in Joel's way while Ellie pokes around, but if you were being honest with yourself, you just wanted to admire the dynamic between Ellie and Joel. Joel has found an all-purpose charger, hooking it up to the car battery. After a minute, the charger begins to work as he surveys it. “Needs another hour,”

“They have hot water!” Ellie cheers as she turns on a faucet from the other end of the room. “I’m takin’ a shower,” She declares as she begins to make her way to where you're standing.

“Then you’re showering, cuz’ seriously,” She huffs, making a disgruntled face at Joel, which made you chuckle. Joel only deadpans as she moves past you. “You too!” She hauls back as she absentmindedly points in your direction.

That made both of your eyebrows shoot up, sputtering for an answer. Your eyes briefly meet Joels, a slight smirk tugging on his lips, before you yourself huffed out a laugh. “I should…” You falter, unable to think of an excuse, before jogging to join Ellie in the house.

Ellie finished her shower quickly, clad in the red shirt she picked and the long sleeves she must've taken out of the box. When she exits the room to find you waiting in the hallway, your pile of clothes a bit taller than her, and arches a brow. “A lot of layers,”

“I get cold easily,” You shrug, making her nod and promptly go downstairs. 

After making sure the door locks, you start to discard your tattered clothes, pulling out your hoodie to also discard it, sticky with grime and dirt. You carefully set your binder on the sink and finally relish the feeling of steady water beating down your body.

Once you’re dry with a towel hanging on your hips, you take out the body tape and fasten a makeshift binder, not too tight to avoid any mishaps. Your dirty binder has been washed under the faucet, so it's now wrung dry enough to be in a plastic bag and shoved into your pack. You put your hair in a towel wrap while you put on deodorant, then the clothes you picked out, zipping up the pants and fastening a belt around it. Pulling on the top, then a t-shirt over it, before a jacket to top it off. You pull off the towel from your hair, leaving it damp enough for it to dry in the wind.

As you walk to the door, a mirror stands just next to it. You spot your reflection, no longer with streaks of dried blood and dirt, hair array from days without proper cleaning. A man with deep eye bags but an otherwise put-together demeanor stares back. You smile, arranging your drying hair a bit, before exiting the room. 

You meet Ellie downstairs, looking around and touching the various items scattered about the still-warm house. You make your way to the dining table, and the unfinished food on the table makes a gnawing feeling in your gut appear. Not the rotting stench, but something significant happened here, if you could judge the wine glasses sat neatly next to each other, now supporting dust instead of its usual amber contents. You swallow down the feeling of what has happened and instead take a seat in the vacant area of the table, pointedly away from the rotting food. As Ellie paces around, you take out your book, flipping through the pages of various notes and entries you’ve written.

You pick out one dried lily you pressed months ago. “See? Dead flowers,” Ellie turns to you, before she spots the flower you’re holding and chuckles.

“There's a lot out front y’know,” She adds. You hum and nod, before returning back to your pages. 

Joel enters the house just as you turn a page. You smile, nodding to the stairs behind the dividing wall. “Showers all yours,” You said. He assesses you, taking a second too long which makes you break eye contact, our eyes back to your book, a steady heat growing on your face. Then he glances at Ellie before he nods and heads to the stairs. Ellie gives you a look once, twice, before she smirks and continues her poking. 

A couple of minutes passes, before you hear a sequence of steps, a muffled ‘oh shit’ maybe coming from Ellie, then you pick your head up from the deep pages and find Ellie standing in front of Joel, combed back curls, highlighting his steadily graying edges, beard shaved neatly, a fitting plaid t-shirt and dark jeans are what he picked from the box, it seems. “Well, don't you look pretty,”

“I agree,” Ellie joins before you can explode from the embarrassing compliment you sputter out. 

“Shut up,” Joel answers, throwing the deodorant you wore earlier into Ellie’s hands. You don't miss the tint of red on Joel's ears, highlighted by the sun coming from the front door. 

“Nice,” She begins to put it on, before you gape. 

“Wait, you didn't put it on?”

“What, I didn't see it!” She retorts, putting the cap back on. 

“Ellie, ew,” The girl throws the deodorant at you, which you caught easily, both of you giggling. 

“Come on you two,” Joel huffs from the door. Ellie quickly puts her pack on as you put your book inside yours, securing it on your back. 

You help Joel with the gear on the pick-ups tub, making sure it’s secured and putting the water-proof tarp over it. Joel and Ellie get in the car as you open the garage door, then slide in yourself into the back seat. Ellie’s eyes practically shine as she prods at the car's dashboard, pulling down the vanity mirror, then messing with the rearview before she pushes it, promptly displaying you in the backseat and Joel next to her.

“It’s your first time in a car?” He stares at the curious girl.

“It’s like a spaceship,” She answers, still in a trance as she prods at the AC flap. 

“No, it's like a piece of shit Chevy S10,” Joel’s answer makes you chuckle from the back seat, rearranging your pack. “But it’ll get us there, I think.”

“Seatbelt,” Ellie turns to Joel, a slight confusion in her eyes, before Joel sighs and pulls the belt over her then hands the rest to Ellie. “Seatbelt.”

She grins, then clicks the seatbelt in place. “So cool,”

You grin from where you’re sat, Joel spotting you from the rearview mirror, your eyes meet briefly which makes you duck your head, settle into the seat and promptly look out the window. Joel starts the car and it hums to life, you can feel the engine purring from the recharged battery and fuel. 

Ellie fumbles and opens the compartment under her, pulling out a cassette tape. Joel notices the girl grinning from what she found. “Would ya leave it,”

“Put it back. Ellie,” Joel's exasperated tone only spurs Ellie more as she slides it into the radio, already pressing play. Your grin matches Ellie's as a melody begins to fill the car, eyes on the various houses you pass. Ellie clearly doesn't recognize the song, her hand reaching for the stop or skip button, before Joel perks up.

“No, no, leave it. This is good,” He says, turning the car to where the gate is meters away. “This is Linda Ronstadt, y’know who Linda Ronstadt is?”

“You know I don't know who Linda Ronstadt is,” Her deadpan expression makes you chuckle, leaning into the comfy seat as you settle into the song. Joel, as if looking for support, spots you from the rearview and arches a brow. You only shrug with a smile on your lips, nodding. 

“Oh man,” Joel glances at the radio, the gate already in front of the car.

“Eh, it's better than nothing,” Ellie smiles, glancing out to the glowing fields, the evening sun already basking its shine on the earth. You sigh, entranced by the singer's voice, clearly to Joel's liking. He pushes the code for the gate and it opens. He puts the remote back, and advances forward, into the road in front.

—

It's been months since your first meeting with Joel and Ellie.

Now, settled into Jacksons easy living commune, you live just next door to Joels and Ellies.

You remembered when they both left some weeks ago, something about looking for a lab, but you didn't catch why. You remembered the way Ellie clung to you as they were getting ready to leave. She's grown fond of you, sharing the same humor and references, even if you’re still years older than her. So when her hands shook as it digs into your jacket, you pull her closer as well, letting her bury her head into the crook of your neck. Then you pressed a kiss on her forehead, mumbled ‘Stay safe,’ before she let go then headed to her horse. Then there was Joel.

Joel, who you were once scared of. Who you helped with gathering wood for the fire. Who you shared breakfast with the morning after leaving those houses. Who you caught smirking at Ellie's joke. Who you ran with when Wyoming went to shit. Who let you stay with him and Ellie without you asking, moving through that insane city until you found the brothers. Who you watched bury them when Sam turned. Who was the gracious ticket that let you into Jacksons. 

Whom you’ve grown feelings for. 

When he was about to leave, you were hesitant to touch him. Anything beyond a helping hand on his arm or shoulder was a breach, so you’ve always kept your hand to yourself. That's what you thought until Joel pulls you into him, almost pushing all of the oxygen out of you. You returned the embrace with equal strength, blinking away the worry gathering in your eyes. It lasted long enough before he pulled back and joined Ellie on the horse. The massive gates opened just slightly, before the two exits, unknown to you how long they’ll leave. Or if they’ll even come back.

But they did, with the two closer than ever.

Now, the three of you simply live in Jacksons. A shout away from each other. Sometimes Ellie would come by, unannounced of course, and hang on your couch while you do chores. Sometimes she’ll look around your collection of books that you salvaged from each import of stuff every month. She’ll find something that interests her and borrow it, bringing it back to her house. On the rare chance that you cook, she’ll stay to eat, asking if you made the food yourself or if it came from a recipe. You'd bat at her arm, saying ‘Of course it’s from a recipe Ellie, y’know I’ll burn the house down.’ And she'll laugh.

Sometimes she brings Joel over. He stays for coffee while Ellie is busy with something. Sometimes you two talk, about something or nothing. About the on-goings of Jacksons. About your shift at the community school and theater. About his shifts on patrols and fixing up old buildings for repurposes. Sometimes just to sit and drink, basking in the pure joy of watching Ellie scuttle around, finding things of interest, and asking you questions about your latest project. Those times are when he’ll shuffle closer, hesitant near your lax stance as you laugh at what Ellie said. He’ll put his cup down and carefully, oh so slowly, brush his hands against yours, and you’ll blink, red steadily growing up your neck. You smile then, relaxing your hand, letting Joel set the pace. Then finally, in the privacy of your house, between Joel and you, he laces his fingers with yours, the warmth of his hands burns yours. But you endure, even welcoming his slightly shaking hold, and you’ll squeeze tight. You turn your head to meet Joel's dark browns, the creases on the side of his eyes dent slightly as he smiles, and you smile too, dropping your head to his broad shoulder. 

Then Ellie would look at your entwined hands and scoff. “That's so gay,” 

Joel would immediately cross his arms while he retorts that she is also gay, and Ellie would quip back another snarky response. You’d laugh, holding your middle and trying not to stumble from where you stand. 

Requests are open

[vv3nti]

liar — t. oikawa & h. iwaizumi

synopsis—a love triangle of unrequited love

warnings—angst , unrequited love , break-up , some aspects based off american high school , there may be a little ooc i'm still learning to writing the hq boys sorry :/

a/n—this is a one-shot i wrote i'm hoping to make into a series- i've started part two so that's promised if not a series, send an ask or wtv to be tagged for that <3

“I’m tired of hiding, Tooru. I’m tired of being kept a secret.” You said softly, twirling the necklace around your neck between two fingers. The weight of this relationship finally lifting off your shoulders, but that didn’t stop the inevitable thump growing in your throat. You love Oikawa, you really do, but you can’t keep going like this. Your heart won’t allow it. You want someone proud to show you off and cherish you with all they have. Maybe, your expectations were too high from the beginning; if you had set the bar lower, this all could have been avoided. Or if Oikawa truly cared for you, loved you as he said he did. Whatever the reason, the dull ache was too much to bear. “I can’t do this anymore; it hurts too much.”

Oikawa had not expected those words to leave your plush lips. No, he thought you’d complain again, he’d kiss it better, and you would forget about it, like usual. But this—this was the last thing he wanted to hear. You were happy; he was sure of it. What the hell provoked you to feel like this? “What do you mean? We agreed we would wait.”

“Yeah, months ago.” You wave your hand through the air. You had no intention of allowing the boy to dismiss your concerns, not again. “And every time I mention it, you disregard my feelings like they don’t matter.”

His eyebrows furrowed, a clear frown set on his face. “Of course, your feelings matter to me.”

“If that were true, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Anxiety started creeping up your spine, a deep shiver demersing. You couldn’t help but feel off-put; if you didn’t end the conversation fast, you knew you’d slip back in his clutches. “Please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. No one even knew we were together; that means things can go back to normal.”

“Normal?” He mumbled, eyes downcast to the floor. “What does that even mean? Nevermind that—is this about my fangirls? Because I can tell them to back off. Or Mei? Did she say something to you.” Oikawa’s calm demeanor began to wear off, and panic soon set it. The perfect picture he had planted in his head was decaying within the second, and he couldn’t manage the thought. He couldn’t even see the harsh reality behind his imagination; nothing about your relationship was ideal. Oikawa pushed you too far off the deep end, and as he tried to meet his own needs, he neglected yours.

His hands reached out to you, afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t get ahold of you soon.

The mention of his ex stung a little more than it should. But what are you supposed to feel? Tooru was publicly dating her for a lot longer than you've been together and you felt inferior to her in so many ways. They didn't break up on bad terms and you can't help but wonder if he still has feelings for her—it would justify his need to keep you a secret. “No! I’m done, I’m done with this, Tooru. This how couples are supposed to act; I don’t want to act like this. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep doing this. I need time, a break, anything but this.”

That night you both went home with a gaping hole in your chest and beds a little colder than before. Uncertainty crept in; was this a temporary break or a breakup. Neither of you had the answer.

You spent the first day of the long weekend cooped in your room, fresh tear streaks following the tracks on the old. On Sunday, you had to head to the school to decorate lockers for senior night or week in Sejohs case; the volleyball team had games on Tuesday and Friday this week. Luckily your appointed third year was Iwaizumi, so you didn’t have to trouble over an awkward encounter with Oikawa. Monday consisted of endless baking; it was safe to say you went slightly overboard. Assortments of brownies, cupcakes, mini cheesecakes, and peach cobbler aligned the countertops. One might say you’re a stress baker.

On the contrary, Oikawa spent his weekend hounding down on his team with tiring drills and repetitive rotations. His temper was short, and his attitude anything but playful. None of the club members wanted to be the one to confront their captain, leaving him alone in his thoughts—thoughts about you. At night he got little to no sleep, spending his sleepless nights replaying all his wrongs as if the answer will all of a sudden appear. But how is Oikawa supposed to fix a problem he didn’t even know what there.

Tuesday rolled around faster than anyone could have expected. You sat restlessly in the clubroom, waiting for Iwaizumi to meet you there. You requested him to join you in the room, considering you didn’t walk to school with him and Oikawa as you usually would. Regardless of where you interacted, you knew Iwa had many questions, and you’d preferably be interrogated in private than in front of the entire student body.

Iwa rushed into the room, school bag around his shoulder and one of his jerseys flailing in his hand. “Hey,” He spoke, his usually irritated tone nowhere to be heard. Upon seeing him, scorching anxiety rose in your chest. Deep breaths, Y/N, deep breaths. “I brought this.”

“Iwa, hi,” You chirped, hopping on the tabletop and embracing your friend—holding on a little tighter than usual. Despite your constant mantra of ‘I’m fine,’ you did long for some form of comfort. “Yes, right, thank you. Just set in on my bag. I want to show you what I made.” You dragged the boy by his hand to the table occupying your tasty treats. You figured he could share the desserts with the rest of the team once they won tonight. The hopeful look on your face slightly dropped. Iwa didn’t look as excited as you hoped for. Instead, he looked deep in thought, like something was bothering him.

“What’s going on?” He questioned quietly, finally meeting your puzzled eyes. “Come on, Y/N, you cook when you’re upset. Anyone who’s known you for more than a year knows that.”

Mouth ajar and eyes wide, you searched for an excuse to preach to Iwaizumi—although you know your attempts will be futile. Since you were in elementary school, you’ve grown up the boy and had no doubt he would read you like an open book. And if not you, then most definitely Oikawa. “Nothings going on; I just wanted you to have an array of options. Is that so bad? You could be a little more thankful, you know.”

“Of course, I’m thankful for all of this. But I’m going to find it a little concerning when Shittykawa is as quiet as a mouse, and you’ve got bags under your eyes from what? The hours you spent baking through the night?.” Iwa uttered, raising his voice a bit.

Unfortunately, that only further pushed you to the defensive stature. You wished he’d just leave it, shove it under a rug as you did this weekend. “Not everything I do involves Oikawa! If he’s acting weird, then you can ask him about that instead of undermining what I did for you!” You frantically grabbed your bag off the ground, planning to leave the room. “If you didn’t like it, you could have said thanks and thrown it away—”

“Hey, Hey,” A tight grip encloses around your bicep, halting your departure. “I’m sorry, I really like everything you did for me, you know cheesecake is my favorite. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi’s grip doesn’t falter, even as your teary eyes meet his own.

The lump grew in your throat as you fought back the waterworks. “We broke up, or I broke up with him, I guess. Can you even break up with someone who didn’t want you in the first place?” You said, through a broken sob. Iwa doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you with the same pitiful look you’ve seen a thousand times. His free hand moved to the side of your face, patting your hair a few times before he pushed your head into his chest. Words wouldn’t provide you with the support you needed, so Iwa simply let you cry in his embrace—secretly plotting all the ways he wanted to beat Oikawa’s ass.

He didn’t need to ask. He knew all the reasons why this happened. Hell, Hajime had seen the foreseeable future unravel when Oikawa presented your relationship.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a downer on game day.” You lifted your head, lightly brushing your palms along his uniform, waiting for your tears to dry. The door to the clubroom snapped open, hitting the opposing wall, prompting you and Iwa to rush apart. The look on the face read shocked, more towards the fact you didn’t need the club questioning why you were crying this early in the morning. But the brunette boy in front of you idly took a long, deep breath encouraging you to do the same.

“Oh, are we interrupting something?”

“Just Iwa and his not-girlfriend, what’s new?” Mattsun and Makki seemed to be having a good morning, and not even Iawizumi could shake them out of the teasing moods. Despite their playful banter, you couldn’t help but focus on the silent set of eyes following your movements, and something about his silence was off-putting.

You turned to the two, a sly smile planted on your lips. “I’m not even indulging,” Fake it til’ you make it. “But I did make a small arsenal of desserts, so help yourself-”

“If I decide to share with these idiots.”

“Help yourself-if Iwa chooses to so graciously gift you the pleasure.” You said sweetly, playfully bowing as Mattsun and Makki rolled their eyes. “I have to go to class, so enjoy, and good luck.”

“Here I got it.” Iwa offered, plucking your bag from the floor with a small smile. The kind gesture made your heart flutter, your mood beginning to lift simultaneously. Ever since you were little, Iwaizumi always seemed to know what you needed to feel better, almost like an institution. Maybe that’s why his tone was short and sharp when he told Oikawa to move away from the door as you tried to leave, you’re used to his cold demeanor, but it was unsettling. You didn’t want him to be this angry with his best friend because of you, although it was a little awarding.

Oikawa’s lips laid ajar, fumbling his thoughts to form a reasonable enough sentence. He wanted to say something astounding to you, something that gave you no choice but to come back to him. He planned it all day yesterday, but now as you hide behind Iwa, he drew a blank.

“I’m serious, Oikawa. Move.”

Oikawa hung his head in shame, shuffling to the side, allowing you and Iwa to exit the room. The overwhelming feeling of patheticness climbing his veins. He didn’t mind his best friend’s anger towards him, but this wasn’t rage. Iwaizumi was disappointed, and Tooru couldn’t shake his glare.

Practice was usually a time the boys could assert their worries into energy, but the thick tension left everyone unsettled. Today’s warmup was eerily different.

Tooru watched you bounce in and out of the gym with the rest of the cheer squad; Iwa’s jersey adorned your figure. His expression held that of a kicked puppy, and it was pissing off the rest of the team. They needed their captain in his best frame of mind if they wanted to win.

Hajime’s humorless laugh broke the silence. “I warned you, you know.” Oikawa shifted his attention. “I told you you’d only hurt her, and you continued reassuring me you wouldn't, time after fucking time. And...there was a time I believed you, but you’re a liar, and Y/N sees it too.”

Oikawa’s sadness morphed into anger, eyes twitching as he bit the inside of his cheek. “If I’m a liar, that makes you one too.” He sneered, eyes still downcast on the court. His emotions were on overdrive, plucking and pinching in his mind. Oikawa knew he should resort to this method of release, but he was losing all control.

The ace sucked in a sharp breath, eye blazing. “Yea, well, I can live with that. Can you?”

Coach cut the conversation short, asking why the boys weren’t warming up before the game. The captain and ace have begotten many altercations through the years, but they always found a way to convert their anger into power. Coach Irihata only hopes that proves true with tonight’s game.

You, on the other hand, had a million tasks to complete before you could settle down in the gym, so you ultimately missed the scuffle in the gym. Just that didn’t make you ignorant to the rising tension, and you couldn’t help but feel it was your fault.

[thebountyfucker]

The Two Princes - Royal AU

NSFW - 18+ ONLY

Embo x F!Reader x Cad Bane

Tags: sex party, public sex, double penetration, threesome, blowjob, handjob, overstimulation, maybe ooc but this is an AU so I don't care lol

CW: mentions of drugs, prostitution, power imbalance (the reader is a hired attendant, and both Embo and Cad are princes. Reader is not a part of either of their domains, so they have no control over her. However, I did want to include it just in case)

Here's a link to my masterpost and to the application for my taglist!

“So explain to me again what is going on?”

“There’s nothing else to say.” Your boss replied as he sorted through his collection of datapads, his fingers flicking through the stack until he found the right one. He pulled it out and thrust it in your direction. “Ya gotta sign it.”

“Sign… what?” You took the datapad into your hands and powered it on. A file appeared, one that was rather lengthy and full of legal words that you couldn’t, for the life of you, understand. You parsed through the paragraphs of Aurebesh, before pausing and glancing up. “Is this an NDA?”

“Yep.” Your boss was quick to reply, turning his stout body from you to search around his office for something else. You uneasily returned your attention to the swirling legalese, and faltered. Your boss noticed your hesitancy, and sighed. “I can tell you this - it’s the royal folk. One of them is planning some shindig, and needs you and the girls to help take care of them.”

“Is it… safe?”

“You tell me. You know them royal folk better than I do.”

You wouldn’t exactly say you knew them; one one-night stand with Prince Cad hardly seemed to count, in your opinion. Though, if this party was hosted by a royal, there was a good chance that you’d get to see him again. He’d protect you if things went wrong, right? You stared down at the datapad, and your boss huffed impatiently.

“Look, sign it or don’t. I need to know who to staff now. They aren’t the patient type.”

“Alright, alright.” You scribbled your signature down on the line and your boss snatched the datapad from your hand. He tossed it aside and waddled around from the other side of the desk, gesturing with two fingers for you to follow him.

“You and the others will caravan to The Veil, where you’ll meet the employer. Remember, none of what happens tonight can be talked about, or we’ll be sued to shit. You understand?” You nodded again at this, the uneasy sensation rising in your stomach once more. Your boss glanced over his shoulder at you, and scoffed. “They ain’t gonna eat you! Relax!”

“Easy for you, perhaps.” You muttered under your breath as you both slipped into the meeting room. About fifteen young women - your coworkers - were waiting in the room. Most seemed just as confused as you were.

“The employer has everything you’ll need. Don’t let them talk you into doing anything that isn’t in your job description, okay? You’re attendants, not whores.” Your boss drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest. The last line, specifically, caught your attention. You’re attendants, not whores. What about this job warranted that comment? He had to know more than he was letting on, and this bothered you. You supposed he, likely, had to sign a similar NDA, but at the same time, you hated going into jobs blind. Things were more likely to go wrong this way… and the royals weren’t the type you wanted to disappoint. “Get your asses moving. He’s waiting on you.”

-

The Veil was unlike anything you had ever seen before - it was a meeting hall affiliated with Azvergin Hotel - a high-end joint for billionaires and royals alike. This meeting hall was just as high-class, with high ceilings and sculpted arches and hand-carved crown moulding. Columns lined the grand hall, holding the heavy mosaic ceilings from toppling to the floor. Famous artwork was displayed along the walls. You were so caught in how awe-inspiring this hall was, you hardly noticed the room was empty. There were no tables or chairs to be seen - something you expected for a function fit for royalty.

“This way.” The grounds-keeper spoke, pulling your attention from the details of the room; it was then that you finally noticed how quiet everything was. You turned towards the groundskeeper, watching as they turned down a long hallway. You jogged after them, your coworkers following closely behind.

“Where is everything?” You asked, and the groundskeeper glanced over their shoulder at you.

“Downstairs.”

“Right…”

They turned to the left and knocked on a door; a small peephole opened, and someone from within called out.

“Who are these ladies?”

“Attendants.” The groundskeeper explained. “The prince sent for them.”

The peephole closed, and the door opened instead. The guard gestured for you to enter, which you did; you slowly descended down the flight of stairs, noting that the lighting had dimmed and that low, sultry music was playing over hidden speakers. You turned to look at your girls, the pieces of this puzzle slowly forming in your head; it wasn’t until the door opened that things finally started making sense.

The room was much smaller than the grand hall above, without the frills and displays of wealth. It was hard to tell what colors the walls and floors were, given how dark the room was compared to the hall above. Plush chairs, chaises, and even beds were dotted around the room. Men and women were already wandering around, dressed in lingerie or kink apparel. They glanced at you and your party, but didn’t say anything.

Against the wall closest to the entrance of the room was a table covered in sex toys, condoms, lube, and little flags of various colors.

You understood the NDA now; this was not your typical job. No… this was a sex party. You had been hired, by one of the royals, to attend to them while they’re likely doing dope and fucking the brains out of prostitutes. Great. This would be fun.

A door to the left of the room opened up, and out stepped Prince Embo, the tall, broad chested Kyuzan prince. He wore a loosely tied satin robe, which exposed his defined chest; tattooed across his exposed skin were dark green, blocky symbols. You could make out the facsimile of a sun printed along his collarbone, though no other shapes made sense to you. Your gaze trailed down his chest and abdomen, before noting the loose tie which held his robe shut. You wondered if he was wearing anything underneath it…

Embo cleared his throat, and you startled, your gaze ripped from the knot of his closure. Your gaze flicked up to his face, before you remember that he was royalty and some royals found eye contact with subordinates to be threatening; you briefly met his gaze, noting the amusement in his face, before you cast your gaze to the floor.

“What is this?” He inquired, looking you all over; he waded through the crowd, looking over each and every one of you personally. His hand ghosted across the back of your neck, sending shivers straight down your spine. “My attendants, yes? Come. I have uniforms for you.”

You tentatively followed him into the room he had just exited from. He started rifling through a box, paying no mind as the sixteen of you gathered around you.

“What will be our role here tonight, your majesty?”

“Attendants. As is your job title.” He answered bluntly as he pulled out enough uniforms and set them aside. “You do not have to do what you are not trained for. Just offer drinks and take care of my guests.”

“I… well… okay.” You nodded as you grabbed one of the dresses - they were short, but not too revealing. Guests would definitely be able to tell the difference between you and the entertainment, even in the dim light. You held it up to you, noting that the prince was watching you. His gaze held interest, but no ill intent; you weren’t sure why, but your stomach somersaulted and your heart skipped a beat.

“Is that a problem, miss?”

“No, your majesty.” You replied, and he stood to his full height, towering over you in a way not many others could. This, embarrassingly, sent spikes of pleasure to your cunt. If he was this tall, you knew he had a huge cock to match.

“Good. My guests shall be arriving any time now. Do not keep us waiting too long.”

He ducked out of the room, giving you ample room and privacy to change. You slipped out of your work uniform and pulled on the given dress; it was red in color, and made of silk. It clung to your body, accentuating your curves; there was something about this dress that made you feel so pretty. Most other uniforms you were given were unflattering at best and purposely ugly at the best. You appreciated the prince’s good tastes.

The others gossiped about the situation you all were in as you pulled on your shoes. You weren’t much for gossip usually, but you understood how odd this situation was.

“So the rumors of the Prince are true!”

“Who knew that a royal could have such a ravenous appetite!”

“Of course he would! Those types always get what they want.”

You chuckled as your mind wandered to your night with Cad. They weren’t entirely wrong; royals were just as fickle and just as horny as everyone else. But you couldn’t imagine Cad throwing such a party. Hell, you couldn’t even imagine him attending such a circus! Prince Embo surely was something else...

You made sure your shoes were on tightly, and slipped out the door. You wanted to get a feel for the place before the chaos began. You took note of the supplies on the table near the door, and of the bar you had somehow missed. So far, there was nothing illegal, but you weren’t certain it would stay that way.

The main floor was still only populated by prostitutes at this point, despite the Prince’s warning that guests would soon be arriving. Some were fixing their hair or make-up, and some were chatting it up with anyone around. Missing, however, was the Prince. You tried to find his towering frame in the crowd, but that was easier said than done.

A hand slid across your back to your shoulders, and you jumped in surprise. You turned, noting Prince Embo staring back at you. You lowered your gaze respectfully, and he responded by wheeling you around to face him, and gripping your chin in his free hand.

“I think I would like for you to be my personal attendant tonight.” He purred, tipping your head back so he could look at you better. His glowing gold eyes searched your soul, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip in response. “Pretty thing. It is too bad you are not one of my entertainers tonight.”

His presence was engulfing, and your heart skipped a beat. His thumb brushed over your lips, and you had to stop yourself from parting your lips and accepting it into your mouth. Mindlessly, you edged closer, and the hand on your shoulder slid downward….

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A familiar voice drawled and you winced; of all the people that could have walked through the door at this time, it had to be Cad. The only royal who actively had a past with you, and the one you figured wouldn’t dare be seen at such a function. You turned away from Embo’s grasp, glancing over at an amused Cad. “Didn’t expect t’ see ya here.”

“I only hire the best.” Embo explained, sauntering over to his chair, which overlooked the rest of the room.

“Yeah. De best.” Cad smirked. There was no malice in his tone; rather, you figured this was his attempt at teasing. “Dat’s de one dat spilled wine all over yer mother’s dress."

Blood rushed to your face, and you were thankful that the lights are so dim; you had just barely forgotten about that whole mess, and now Cad had to bring it back up - to the Queen’s own son, nonetheless! You wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

Your self-pitying was cut short by a loud laugh from Embo; at first, you were glad that he wasn’t upset by this information. But then, you realized that he was likely laughing at you. Your mood soured, and you crossed your arms over your chest in a pout.

“So that was you? Oh, my mother raved about you for days after that.” Embo leaned back on his little throne, spreading out like he owned the place. Maybe he did.

“I… what?” You dropped your arms, confused.

“You gave her an excuse to change out of that gods-awful dress my father bought her. She wanted to hire you to ruin whatever gifts he gave her, but we had to talk her out of it.”

“Shouldn’t have.” Cad chuckled. “It would be the best job she’d ever have in her miserable little peasant life.”

“Hey now.” You frowned. “We talked about this.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Cad waved you off as he drew closer. “You wouldn’t happen t’ be available tonight?”

“She is an attendant, Cad. And mine for the night.”

“Figures. You always bag de good ones.” Cad shook his head as he stood; he looked you up and down with a licentious smirk. “I’ll see you ‘round, den.”

“Of course.”

You watched Cad retreat to settle in a nearby chair. One of the prostitutes - a handsome man - approached, sitting on the arm of the chair. Well… at least Cad was there in case things got out of hand.

Embo called to you, and you turned toward him; he gestured with his two fingers, watching with an intensity as you approached. You bowed your head when you reached the foot of his chair, and he tsked.

“None of that.” He told you. “There is no need for pleasantries here. Now… fetch me a drink.”

-

You had never been around so much sex in your entire life. Everywhere you turned, there was someone giving someone else head, or someone riding someone else’s dick. The room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, of gagging, of slicked up cunts… and the moans… oh the moans!

You edged around one of the beds -where a princess was getting gangbanged by a group of various alien men- carrying the tray of goodies to your prince. Embo was leaned back in his chair, looking surprisingly bored even as two ladies fondled his cock. You leaned down to hand him his drink, which he accepted with a grunt.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying this, my Prince.”

He just shrugged nonchalantly as he sipped at his drink. “I am not feeling particularly inspired.”

With a wave of the hand, he dismissed the two ladies, and closed his robe up. You set your tray down and knelt before him. He carded a hand through your hair, muttering something in his mother tongue. “Is there anything I can do to make this a better experience?”

He glanced over at you, his gaze lazily trailing down your form; something - which you figured was lust- sparked in his golden eyes, but he was not quick to act on his feelings. He gestured with his free hand, and you offered him some sort of smokable, which you figured was not smart given his need for a breathing mask. He lit it and slumped back in his chair.

“No. Stay your course, kamour.”

“Are you sure, my Prince? I… am offering to help you. You hired me to help, right?” You inquired, reaching out to touch his hand. He glanced over at you, and you wondered how much convincing it would take him before he realized you were serious. Not much, it turned out.

“I am no monster. Say the word and I will let you go.”

“Of course.” You settled between his parted legs, your soft hands slowly sliding up his naked thighs. What was it your boss said? Oh, that you were attendants and not whores. Well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

Your hands swept under his satin robe, parting it open to reveal his large cock. You wrapped your hand around the base of it, and slowly worked your way up his length. He was already hard from the ministrations of the prostitutes, the head of his cock flushed a deep and needy green. You leaned forward, gathering spit in your mouth before drooling it out onto his cock; you locked gazes with him as you spread your saliva down and around his shaft.

“Now, dat ain’t fair.” Cad’s voice startled you from your task, and you turned to spy him sitting on the arm of an unused chair. He was completely naked, with his arms crossed over his chest. “You said she was an attendant.”

“I did not lie. She is attending.” Embo put his mask back into place, and ran his hand through your hair. “She is doing her duty.”

“Yeah, well, I want in on dis.”

“That is up to her.”

You hardly even had to think - you reached for Cad, wrapping your hand around his slick, hard cock. You gave him a pump, and Cad hissed through gritted teeth in response. You gestured for him to move closer, and he did; the princes met gazes but said nothing to each other as you reached the other hand out to stroke Embo’s cock.

You stroked them both at the same time, reveling in the hisses and grunts trickling from their mouths. The way their cocks pulsed in your hands was enough to make your pussy tingle, and arousal slowly built within you. There was something depraved about this - about a lowly attendant pleasuring two powerful princes in the midst of a sex party - but the depravity only added to your pleasure. You could hardly stop yourself from grinding your needy cunt against the heel of your own foot.

“Enough of dis pussy-footin’. Are ya gonna suck me off or what?” Cad drawled, as impatient as ever; you quirked a brow as you leaned forward to give him a long, wet lick. He growled in response, his hands threading in your hair. “Come on, doll… don’t be teasin’ me now.”

“You forget that you weren’t the first man I was pleasing.” You replied, your voice wavering. You weren’t sure it was a good idea to talk back to him, especially in this position. Though, you supposed, you held the power when you held his cock. Any wayward comment and you were in a prime position to bite him. You figured he wouldn’t risk it.

Cad scoffed and you leaned away to wrap your lips around the head of Embo’s cock. He chuckled and leaned back.

“She is not lying.”

“You shut up.” Cad muttered as he pressed a hand to the back of your head, almost as if he was trying to guide you. You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest.

It went like this for a while - you’d take one into your mouth, bobbing and sucking like a good little whore, before pulling away to take the other one. You felt oddly powerful knowing you had the ability to bring these two princes to their knees with only a touch. You reveled in this power for as long as you could before Embo lifted you up and sat you on his lap. He pulled you close to his chest, purring.

“I am going in you.” He told you, giving you ample time to back out of it. When you didn’t protest, he lifted you as though you weighed nothing, and turned you to face Cad. He guided you onto his cock, and you winced as the head slipped into your drooling cunt. You hadn’t realized that he was quite this large. He gripped your hips, controlling how slowly you eased down onto him so you didn’t hurt yourself.

Cad waited until you were ready before offering his cock to your mouth once more. You parted your lips, your eyes half-lidded and darkened with lust, and he chuckled.

“Are ya cock-dumb already, doll?” He reached out to tangle his hand in your hair. “Are our cocks just dat good?”

You nodded in response to this, greedily latching around his cock and sucking hard. He let out a hiss and tugged at your hair, spurning you to start bobbing up and down his length. At the same time, you had fully engulfed Embo, sheathing his cock deep within you. Your whine was lost amongst the sloppy slurps of Cad’s cock easing in and out of your wet mouth.

Embo slowly, gingerly, eased in and out of you, taking care not to hurt you in the process. Every time he pulled his cock half out of you, you took Cad’s cock to the hilt with a gag. Every time Embo bottomed out within you, you pulled away to breathe. It was tough to find the right rhythm at first, but when you did, the pleasure was all-encompassing. Your head was spinning, arousal burning deep within the well of your stomach; your eyes rolled back and your hands went to your breasts, squeezing so tightly you were sure they’d bruise.

“Think she could take us both in there?” Cad asked, and your mind wandered at the prospect. You imagined the sensation of their cocks filling up your cunt, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. The idea was fascinating, and a bit frightening. You didn’t realize that you were drooling around Cad’s cock until your spit splattered on your thigh.

Embo leaned you back against his chest, a finger probing at your cock-stuffed pussy. He slipped it inside, and your eyes went wide; Cad’s cock slipped from your mouth as the air vacated your lungs. You quivered against Embo, a pathetic little whimper escaping your lips.

“No… not unless you intend to split her in half.”

“Shame.” Cad shook his head; he pondered for a minute, before tipping your chin up. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

As if you had other plans. Embo rested his head against you shoulder, purring softly. “I would like to see your pretty face, kamour.”

“Alright.” You turned around, facing the prince; you couldn’t tell for sure, but you guessed he was smiling behind that mask of his. His large hand cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his warmth.

“Beautiful.” He slowly rocked his hips up into you again, and you whimpered. “A beautiful, sex drunk whore. You like my cock, hm?”

“Yes.” You breathed, matching his thrusts by rolling your hips; his finger slipped out of your cunt, and instead stroked your swollen, trembling clit. A fire built in your stomach, and your vision went blurry. Your orgasm was within reach! You gasped out his name, your voice strained yet velveteen. Embo’s eyes brightened at this, and he reached up to wrap a steady hand around your neck.

“Say it again. Say my name again.” He commanded, his voice husky with his own desire. You whimpered.

“Embo….”

“Again!” He rubbed at your clit faster, slamming up into you with a ferocity you had never felt before. You could hardly find the strength within you, but you couldn’t displease him.

“Embo!” You cried out, your entire body quivering as the fire of orgasm consumed you. Your head danced in the clouds as your body went limp and useless against him. He held you close, his hands dancing over your form.

“Shit, did I miss out on all de fun?”

You lifted your head and glanced over your shoulder to spy Cad with his hands on his hips. You shook your head, your tongue weighing like lead in your mouth. You gestured for him to draw closer, which he did, and you gave his now condom-clad cock a stroke.

“I do think she can take more.” Embo hummed, his hand rubbing at your thigh. You nodded in agreement at this, and Cad leaned down to nip at your neck.

“Good. Do you still want to take de both of us?”

“Yes!” You chirped, and Cad chuckled.

“So eager.” Cad maneuvered you into Embo’s chest, giving him better access to your ass. Cad lubed you up with a bottle he had grabbed from somewhere, and gently eased into you. A strangled cry escaped from somewhere within you as Cad brushed against the thin, sensitive wall separating his cock from Embo’s. You could hardly keep yourself upright, the sensations quickly overwhelming you; Embo had to keep you from falling completely limp onto his chest.

“Easy now. This is not too much for you, is it?”

You shook your head at this. “N-no.”

“‘Course it ain’t.” Cad yanked on your hair, pulling your head back enough so you could look him in the eyes. He smirked, and then sheathed himself within you. You let out a cry, and his smirk deepened into a depraved smile. “Yer a good lil’ doll. You can handle us.”

“Yes! Yes!” You whined in agreement as they both slowly rocked into you. Every inch of you was set ablaze as they took turns massaging that oh-so-sensitive wall. Cad released your hair, his hand instead sliding down to roll your nipple between two of his fingers. His other hand gripped at your hip, keeping you steady. Embo’s hand returned to your clit, pinching and rolling the overstimulated bud around until you were panting and pleading for release. Your admissions only made them hasten their paces, and soon, they were both slamming into you. Your head lolled back on your useless neck, resting squarely on Cad’s chest; your legs quivered and jerked as you chased after your second orgasm. Hands wandered, acquainting themselves with every aspect of your body; this only added fuel to the fire which threatened to consume you once more.

With only a few more thrusts, you came undone. Your vision went white as you rode waves of pure bliss, only faintly aware of how erratic their paces had become. It wasn’t until Cad lurched forward and bit you that you were pulled from your euphoria.

His fangs pierced your skin, surely drawing blood; his orgasm, contained by the condom, manifested in quick, jerky motions up into you. Slowly, he eased out of you, lapping up any blood that had trickled from the wound.

Embo found his pleasure not long after that, shooting his cum deep within you; the searing heat of his seed was unexpected, but wasn’t unpleasant. You were almost certain that if he hadn’t been wearing his mask, he probably would have bit you too. He, unlike Cad, didn’t ease out of you. He let you decide what it was you wanted to do, even if it meant keeping his soft cock in you until he hardened up again. You did, however, ease off of him to sit on his lap.

“Dat was good, doll. I might need t’ keep ya around.”

“Yes, well, you may have competition.” He leaned toward you, humming. “Though, I suppose it would be your choice.”

“Who says I have to choose?” You managed, your voice sultry. They cast glances at each other, and Cad shrugged.

“‘Spose that could work.”

Taglist!: @sat-nam-saint @that-clone-wars-girl

You leaned back into the warm chest of one of your Princes. Huh. You liked the sound of that. Who would have thought that someone like you could pull two Princes!

-

[rpbetter]

PSA - Positivity

Yes, positivity is important. No, not all positivity is the same, and when we talk about “positivity” in the RPC, we need to be aware of that.

I know it’s a hard pill to swallow, but a lot of the “positivity” around is performative positivity, passive positivity. It’s neither helpful nor all that positive. It’s just yelling about and pressuring for positivity, while expending no personal effort to give meaningful acts of any such thing. If you really give a shit about “spreading positivity,” uplifting mutuals and the community, you won’t balk at this. You’ll assess your behavior and try to do better.

Examples of some passive/performative positivity:

reblogging statements like “we NEED to get back into the habit of POSITIVITY” and adding tags or direct statements on the reblog that you “better see everyone reblogging this” and stopping there, with a demanding threat of, at least, shaming

copy-paste, especially anonymous, positivity chain messages (that frequently cite things contrary to the mun and/or muse’s characteristics/personality/writing)

reblogging the “I actually enjoy seeing this user on my dash” and/or “I actually like following this user” etc. style posts - it’s honestly not positive, you’re implying that you don’t like seeing, following, or interacting with some, and the overall tone of the post and action is once again shaming and demanding (not to mention, everyone else’s dash is nothing but this shit while 10+ mutuals wank over each other in this manner)

reblogging PSA’s about how to spread meaningful positivity, then doing none of it

sending an emoji meme in that denotes extremely simplistic ideas of what you like about the poster, leaving it at that

random posts of how much you love everyone, citing exactly nothing or the same handful of easy to throw out, applies to a large amount of people (or it doesn’t, but we all know everyone wants to feel like they write well, have interesting muses, etc. and it plays into this) - you sound like that drunken person every bar has that goes off about how much they LOVE EVERYONE SO MUCH, not like you’re actually encouraging anyone specifically

blowing smoke up people’s asses/using requests for concrit to do nothing but give useless ass-pats about how infinitely great they are in all areas of writing and portrayal

Examples of some meaningful positivity:

engaging with partners and mutuals on their posts - liking headcanons, commenting on answered memes, liking/commenting on OOC posts

getting specific about what you enjoy in their writing, their muse portrayals, threads, headcanons, instead of the copy-paste or emoji route

appreciating mutuals and partners in visible ways (like those stated above, sending ask memes, paying attention to what they post and their muses, showing them respect and interest as real human beings) regularly, without prompting or being guilted and shamed into it

being honest, but polite and respectful, when a mutual posts a meme requesting concrit/asking what you like about the muse or writing and what you’d encourage growth with

when sending an emoji meme in about why you follow, what you like, why you stayed etc. add something to it that is specific about why

responding to replies OOC (where applicable, not all partners mesh well enough for this or desire much OOC conversation), telling them not only that you got it and liked it, but what you specifically enjoyed the most in the reply

seriously, be specific when giving positivity, your partners and mutuals are individuals and deserve to be treated as such with receiving specific-to-them comments on their writing

generally, being respectful of others - the whole environment is far more positive when you read and respect rules, boundaries, and muses, even if that means respecting that you and another mun might not work out together

It’s a minimal effort to actually bother with paying attention to the people you interact with, to take the attention you’ve paid and apply it to meaningful, individual commentary and actions. If you cannot handle this, you have too many people to deal with in a respectful, adult way they deserve...or you may want to reassess whether you have the time, attention span, motivation, and are at the right mental space in your life to be in a hobby that requires interaction with other people.

Giving people lazy “positivity” so that you feel you’ve done what you need to in order to be A Good RPer isn’t positive. It’s kind of insulting, actually. If, IRL, someone told you and the five people nearest to you identical compliments, would overhearing this make you feel good about yourself? Positive? Visible as a person? It wouldn’t, no. So, don’t do it here.

Legitimate positivity doesn’t mean constantly forcing yourself out of your comfort zone OOC, either. Your social anxiety and social deficits aren’t a sufficient excuse; you and every other person here has these complications. I have those complications!

If you find yourself still vehemently pissed at me for saying that, may want to rant back at me about how ableist this is, here’s some things I, a person with social limitations, high distraction, and serious anxiety do:

commenting on comment-appropriate posts something specific ( “the freckle on your cat’s foot is so cute!” “I love how you addressed x in that headcanon” etc.) when I am in a good space to do so

liking posts - OOC posts, meme answers and muse questionnaires that were great whether I’m tagged/sent in the ask or not, PSA’s and resources I think are good

reblogging PSA’s, resources, and other things I know are important to the mun to have shared that I agree with

sending in ask memes, sometimes even just on anon to mutuals I don’t write with - everyone wants to be sent something, this is a great way to allow others to respond to questions no one else might ask them

anonymous, positive comments on their muse, writing, blog that are, again, specific in detail

trying to note when a mutual, even one I don’t interact with really, is clearly needing a boost in confidence or interest, being sure to send a meme or something else in to them when I can

being aware of my partners and mutuals so that I can send them, when the opportunity is present with memes or requests for asks, questions on topics I think they’d like an excuse to discuss (someone keeps posting images or commentary in tags about a muse’s pet, clothing interests, hobbies, mental health, whatever, but no one is biting, for example)

The majority of the above can be done without direct, consistent OOC conversation, and much of it can be done on anon. Sometimes, it makes people feel extra good to feel like they have a secret admirer, a mysterious mutual or partner who is paying attention and valuing their posts. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. Especially because so many of us have trouble with random, long, or consistent OOC discussions; sending them on anon means that the receiver doesn’t feel obligated to contact and converse with you.

Positivity’s point isn’t that it be done out of obligation, guilt, or shame. Neither is it to be done out of performative, passive, often enough even vaguely virtue-signaling, or clique-like, circular gushing about each other for an hour repetitively. It isn’t to make you feel like A Good Person, or to show the RPC that you are a model RPer, you care so deeply about the RPC that you...can’t be bothered to expend the personalized effort and pay attention to those on your dash.

If you really care about positivity in the RPC, you need to stop doing it in hollow, meaningless ways.

You need to stop demanding, threatening, and shaming others into performative actions with you. It’s not enough to say you care and do something lethargic to show it, you need to actually be bothered to be specific. And if someone doesn’t feel positive, isn’t interested in playing the reblog or chain letter or tag game, leave them the hell alone. They’re not being “negative,” and don’t need to be assaulted with pseudo-positivity. And you know what? Maybe they are being “negative” because it makes them feel positive, and if that’s the case, remove yourself if it bothers you!

Everyone has a right to be themselves and to do what works for them here, that is part of an overall air of positivity in the RPC.

[halcyonstorm]

my contest submission for LH drabble week! @levihan-drabbles

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë Characters: Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoë, Kuchel Ackerman Additional Tags: Sick Levi Ackerman, Leukemia, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Car Accidents, Doctor Hange Zoë, Angst, Slight OOC, sorry Series: Part 9 of Short Fics Summary:

Hange and Levi were separated for several years for reason they couldn't help. They finally found each other.

At just 18 years old, Levi received the worst news of his life. He was sick. Extremely sick. If someone even coughed or breathed on him, he could die. He had leukemia, a disease which attacks the body’s white blood cells. Our white blood cells are our guardians, protecting us from any infection that dares to enter. He had one friend he wanted to tell the most: his best friend Hange. She had been his friend since the beginning of high school. He didn’t like her at first, but she kept showing up, eager to be his friend. He eventually warmed up to her, allowing her to sit with him at lunch, hang out after class; soon, they were inseparable.

Levi’s heart was in his throat as he mentally prepared to present the life-changing news to his best friend. “Hange, I have to tell you something,” he said, his voice trembling. Hange looked at him funny. He never spoke in such a strange manner before. Hange hesitantly sat in front of him at the empty desk, turning around in the chair to face him.

“What is it?” She asked, concerned. She was starting to get nervous.

“I’m sick,” he began, almost inaudibly. “I have leukemia… I am gonna have to leave school to be in the hospital. I get so weak, and my immune system is absolute shit… I can’t even risk getting a cold, otherwise I can die.”

Hange’s heart sunk into her stomach. She took a deep breath and looked into her lap. She had to be strong for Levi, and she knew that. 

“I’ll be here with you. We can text, call, facetime…”

“Yeah, we can,” he replied.

“We will! I’m your friend,” Hange said, grabbing his hand. “There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you behind.”

-

At first, Levi thought he’d be strong enough to withstand the chemotherapy. That he’d be the rare case to have no side effects. Boy, was Levi wrong. After his first two weeks, his health was tanking. It tanked so bad, in fact, that no one was allowed in the room except the doctors and nurses. Hange was one of the only people to call him daily besides his mom. Hange would Facetime him after class, telling him all about her day. Levi never had much to share from his monotonous days of drug infusions and immobilizing fatigue, but he enjoyed listening to Hange’s voice. Over time, Hange began to notice her friend change: His skin became ghostly pale and his words were mumbled. She would show him the blooming flowers in the spring, the fallen leaves in the autumn, the snow in the winter. She would show him anything to distract him from the excruciating pain he suffered each day. 

After a year of chemotherapy treatments, the toxins started to take a toll on his body. He’d find clumps of black hair on his pillow every morning, until one night he insisted his mother shave it all off. Each clump of hair reminded him of the life he should’ve had. Going to class in-person instead of online for the rest of the semester, graduating through a computer screen. He fucking hated it. His physical and mental state began to worsen each week. He was like a walking corpse, sleeping about 16 hours each day. When he was awake, he was wishing he was asleep. Each day he withered away in the hospital bed. He would miss Hange’s calls frequently due to his concerningly deep slumbers. If he managed to pick up, he would fall asleep on the phone with her. Despite her busy school schedule, she found time to text him every day. That is what kept him going.

Every day turned into once a week, which turned into once a month, and soon not at all. He had officially lost touch with the only friend in his life. He felt it was his fault: he had no energy to ever respond to her texts. He couldn’t blame her. She did try. Alone in his hospital room staring at his old texts from her, his heart ached and tears spilled down his face.

Another year had passed when his doctor came into his shabby hospital room with a look of hope. Levi felt his heart begin to race. 

“Levi, we have some good news and some bad news,” He began, shutting the door behind him. He wore a bright yellow gown with a blue face mask and latex gloves. “The good news is, your white blood cell levels are elevated. This is an improvement compared to last month’s tests. Since they’re higher, you’re well enough to receive a bone marrow transfusion from your mother, who’s a perfect match. The bad news is, there are many risks to having this transfusion. Your body can reject the bone marrow, which may cause massive complications. However, I think it is best for you to get the transplant. It is your best hope for overcoming this disease.”

With no hesitation, Levi agreed. Let’s do this thing.

He tried to reach out to Hange to tell her the news, but after a week with no response, he was disheartened. A part of him hoped she would respond. He had his family, and for that he was forever grateful, but who would he have once he left the hospital? Who would he talk to? Who would he be? He completely lost the miniscule amount of social skills he had. He did make friends with some of the patients on his floor. Unfortunately, he outlived most of them. 

Fortunately for Levi, the transplant was a success. Within the next few months, he began to regain the color in his face, and hair started to sprout on his head again. He was sleeping less frequently, he was finally able to do a lap around the hospital floor without getting too tired. He was still on chemotherapy, but he was regaining his strength, and more importantly, he was getting his life back.

Levi was in (and rarely out of) the hospital almost four years. The day he was discharged for good was a beautiful spring day. The stale air became fresh as he exited the hospital in a wheelchair. He heard the bright green trees rustling and saw some beautiful pink flowers that reminded him of Hange. He took everything for granted until he was cooped up in a hospital room for years. He was grateful to Hange for being his eyes to the outside world. He felt a breeze run through his buzz cut. He took a deep breath, tears helplessly streaming down his face. He was finally free. 

It wasn’t long before Levi started searching for his long lost friend. He hated himself for forgetting how to spell her name. Was it Hanje, Hangi, or Hange? He couldn’t quite remember. He searched her name and was shocked to find out Hange was a medical student practicing at Shinganshina General Hospital. Shinganshina General wasn’t far, so she must still live in the area. He couldn’t, however, find any of her social media accounts. She was off-the-grid. Great… he thought. She was always difficult. He was one to talk, though. He hasn't used social media in years.

Throughout the summer, Levi was able to land a job as a mechanic and he worked endlessly. He had to repay the debt he placed his parents in. His mother especially hated the idea of him working just as he finished his treatments, but Levi was persistent. Eventually, he saved enough money to send monthly deposits to his mom and move out. He couldn’t have his mom taking care of him anymore after all she sacrificed for him. He had made enough money on his own to afford a cheap apartment two blocks away from her house. 

After getting settled, Levi told himself he couldn’t begin college without knowing about Hange’s whereabouts. He decided maybe if he drove to Shinganshina city, he would be able to find her somehow. Someone ought to know her… He got in his car one evening, punched in a diner’s address in Shinganshina, and started to drive. As he drove, he started to realize his plan was stupid. What, am I gonna stalk her at the hospital?

 After finishing a 10-hour shift at the shop, he impulsively drove past his block and hit the highway. The highways were ruthless that Friday night. He had never been to Shinganshina before on his own. He drove, hovering his head over the steering wheel with his elbows tightly tucked to his sides. The speed limit signs read “65 MPH''; however, everyone was quickly steering around him, going way over 75. He was very tempted to turn around in spite of his impetuous road trip; but he couldn’t find an opportunity to do so.

On the other side of the road, the two lines merged into one. One of the drivers did not recognize this, and suddenly swerved onto the other side of the road where Levi was driving. Perhaps if Levi didn’t work so hard that day, there was a slight chance it could’ve been avoidable. The last thing he saw were bright fluorescent headlights before he was knocked unconscious.

-

“We checked his driver’s license. His name is Levi Ackerman, age 22, victim of a head-on vehicle collision. He was wearing his seatbelt and had an airbag. He may have suffered a SCI and concussion. His heart and lung sounds are normal although his sternum and ribs may be broken,” A paramedic announced as they wheeled the unconscious man through the glass doors of the emergency room. 

“Get him up to imaging. We need to do a MRI, CAT scan, and x-ray STAT!” the doctor replied, taking her stethoscope to listen to his chest. She recognized the man right away but allowed her feelings to be suppressed for that crucial moment. Of course she recognized this man. He was her long lost friend, after all.

After finishing the tests, Levi was brought to a hospital room where he was changed into a hospital gown. Dr. Hange Zoe and Dr. Erwin Smith discussed the results: MRI showed signs of a concussion; CAT scan showed no signs of hemorrhaging; x-ray showed a cracked sternum and ribs 4 and 5 were broken. No signs of broken extremities, however he presented with ecchymosis on the bony prominences, such as his hips, knees, and collarbones.

As Levi awoke about two hours later, groaning loudly.

“My chest!” he complained, finding it hard to move. The two doctors turned around to find the patient had regained consciousness.

“Hello, Levi,” Dr. Smith began. “You were in a car accident. You’re at Shinganshina General Hospital. I am Dr. Erwin Smith, and this is my intern, Dr. Hange Zoe.” Levi’s eyes widened when he announced her name. 

“H-Hange…” he whispered, attempting to sit up but failing. Dr. Smith placed his hand gingerly on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to sit up. Just relax. How is your pain? We can give you some medication.”

“It’s fucking horrible. Please,” He whimpered, grimacing. Dr. Smith nodded, leaving the room. Hange immediately grabbed a chair, sitting next to her patient, but more importantly her friend.

“Levi, dammit what happened?” She said softly, looking at him. His face was not scratched, it was just the rest of his body that was injured.

“What happened to you?!” He retorted, looking her in the eyes. She could tell he was hurt, not just physically. “So much for not losing you...” 

“I was texting you as much as I could, Levi,” she explained, feeling guilty. “I had lost my phone and got a new one, but I couldn’t remember your number. I tried to find you online but I couldn’t… I am so sorry.” She hesitantly grabbed his hand. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but he squeezed her hand.

“I was too sick to reply,” he said. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s not-” A knock rang on the door and Hange stood up almost on cue. 

“On a scale of 0-10, 0 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt, how would you rate your pain?” She asked, switching the topic.

“A big fat 10,” he groaned. Dr. Smith wheeled in an electronic machine with a wire and handle attached.

“This is a patient-controlled analgesia pump. You can push it as many times as you’d like to help alleviate your pain. You will not overdose since it has a set amount of medication you can receive per hour. Also, we have some acetaminophen for you.” Levi downed the pills as soon as it was handed to him. Dr. Smith hooked the tubing up to his IV and handed him the button.

“Hange, gather your information on your patient and then meet with me in the conference room.” Dr. Smith left the room, Hange hesitantly looking at her friend again.

“Let me just do a quick physical assessment,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her pen light. As she did her assessment, he admired her. Being a doctor really did suit her. She was wearing a white lab coat with her name embroidered into it. As she would move his gown around to assess his heart and lung sounds, his breath hitched when he felt the tips of her fingers touch his bruised chest. He looked at her face as she worked. She simultaneously looked the same and different. Different in how she wore her hair, in the shape of her glasses, and she stood taller, more confidently. Same in her eyes never losing their sparkle, her focused pouty face, as well as her smile. That breathtaking smile never changed.

Once she finished, she cleaned off her materials and tucked them away.

“Levi, you’ll be kept at the hospital overnight to monitor your heart on the EKG. If you are able to walk in the morning, you will be discharged. Do you have anyone you can call?”

He thought of his mother. He thought of the burden he crushed her with. He decided to deal with this on his own.

“I live alone,” he replied, looking towards the foot of the bed.

“I can stay with you,” She offered instantly. Levi’s face flushed as he met her eyes. “I-I mean… if you want! You have a concussion. You can’t drive yourself or be left alone.”

“Isn’t that like… against the rules?”

“...I am not working tomorrow. I can pick you up and we’ll go from there. Since you won’t be in the hospital for long, I don’t think it’ll be an issue.” The corners of Levi’s mouth curled upwards.

“That is fine with me. Let’s do it.”

The next day, Levi was able to do a lap around the hospital floor. He walked around with one of the nurses to make sure he didn’t collapse. He was ready to go home. Correction: He was ready to go home with Hange.

Hange went to his hospital room in her normal clothes. Her style changed. She used to wear baggy t-shirts and jeans. She looked more mature in her white button-up top and black slacks. He had to prevent his mouth from opening when he saw her. She was beautiful, but of course he would never mention it. Hange walked down to the entrance of the hospital with the nurse and Levi. She went to get her car. A few minutes later, she arrived in her dark red Honda.

“Levi, you just have to direct me to your house…” She began, tapping at the car’s GPS. He gave the address and she punched it in.

“Hange? Why are you doing this for me?” He asked, almost by accident. She shifted the car into Drive.

“I… never stopped thinking about you, you know,” She began, driving away from the hospital. “Even though we lost touch, I still hoped to meet you again someday. You are the reason I wanted to be a doctor… and whenever I lost hope, I thought of you. Whether you know it or not, you pushed me to keep going.” He looked at her blushing face.

He was shocked by what she said. He felt the same. “Me too,” he confessed, looking in his lap. “Your calls saved my life. You were the only one who stuck around. I will never forget that.”

He was never one to say what he meant, but knowing he had the courage to speak those words to her, Hange felt a strong urge to kiss his lips. She always had feelings for him. Her feelings never changed, despite their time apart. In fact, it only confirmed her feelings for him even more.

“Even before I was hospitalized, I took everything for granted…” Levi said. “I have been wanting to tell you something ever since my diagnosis…” Hange felt her heart skip a beat as he spoke. 

“Thank you for being there for me.”

At the red light, Hange looked at him and squeezed his hand firmly. She noticed his cheeks were dusted with a red blush. 

“I’ll always be here for you.” 

He met her eyes, those radiant hazel eyes. He took advantage of the long stoplight to kiss the woman’s lips. He couldn’t contain his feelings anymore. He swore he’d tell her how much he meant to him one of these days. And God, her lips were soft and velvety and everything he’d imagined they’d be, but ten times better. She was shocked at first, but kissed him back. His lips were a little chapped from his rough night, but they were warm. She dreamt of this moment for years (as did he). It was better than how she thought it’d be too. She was intrigued by the quiet boy in school ever since she met him. Maybe she thought he’d lack passion, but it was the opposite. The kiss was full of passion and relief; after years of being in love with each other from a distance, they melted into each other. Suddenly, there was a beep behind her; the light had turned green. Hange chuckled, starting to drive again.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

[a-crimson-lion]

Ultimatum: The Art of Lying In A Made Bed

(Or Why My Experience With Chapter 285 Is Contrary To Everyone Else's)

[Manga Spoilers Ahead. Also Opinions. Feel Free To Ignore.]

After Chapter 284, many fans were wondering how the story of BNHA would follow up on Katsuki's development. Now that Chapter 285 is officially out, fans are clamoring about Katsuki's latest acts of heroism, about how his arc is finally kicking it into high gear.

I'd be inclined to agree, but… you know how these things go.

[Heads up fans/stans, if you like Katsuki you might wanna bail. The word vomit that follows is pretty much incoherent and reflects my disaster of a thought process.]

I was looking forward to Chapter 285. I had my reservations on the execution of Chapter 284, but if the next chapter could follow it up and then some, I'd be pleasantly surprised. But then the leaks came out. And then the fan translation. And as of today, the official VIZ translation.

While everyone else is cheering for explosion boy, I'm just… done.

285 didn't get me to see how far Bakugo's journey has come. 285 didn't get me to finally root for him. And maybe I am making this decision prematurely, maybe I am missing something, but…

...the way things are going in the story I just- I just CAN'T root for him.

And I'm not saying the rest of you can't, if you're still reading. Katsuki is definitely a different person compared to Chapter 1, a better person, and he's definitely been heading on the up and up! If you can and want to support him, then by all means, go for it, don't let me stop you! It's just…

For me, chapter 284 was a wavering torch: a flicker of hope that sometimes dwindled, but was still there. Chapter 285 was the moment where I wanted to jump on the Katsuki Development Train, to finally gain some semblance of respect for him. But when I jumped, I landed on the tracks, and had to crawl back onto the platform.

I missed my chance to jump on that train. Whether it's because of previous circumstances or recent circumstances, I'll never know…

You probably wanna ask me at this point, "But Crimson, why DIDN'T Chapter 285 make you see the awe inspiring pinnacle of character development that is Katsuki Bakugo???"

To put it simply: it's a culmination thing.

For starters, there's a sort of… whiplash with Katsuki's development in the last few chapters. People like me will complain that Katsuki's development is too slow, in the case of the last 2-3 chapters, it feels like a switch was flipped, and now it's become too fast. Perhaps it's a me thing, but let me try to explain…

Shoto starts out as a standard background character. By the time he gets his spotlight in the Sports Festival, he comes off as reserved and antagonistic. After the whole "it's your power" moment, Shoto is finally able to accept the side he always hated. Then Katsuki fights Shoto, and we're shown he still needs time to grow; his left side comes with a lot of baggage he can't just brush off in the span of a single sparring match.

Fastforward to Hosu. Shoto's starting to take other people into better account. He's starting to learn to better control his fire. He's reconnected with his mother. His goal is no longer one-upping his old man; he has goals, people, that he wants to protect. He's coming into his own and wants others to do the same, like Tenya.

He joins the Katsuki Rescue Squad because, like Izuku, he had an opportunity to save Katsuki, didn't, and now he wants to make up for it. When we get to the Provisional License Exam, we're yet again slammed with the fact that his growth is still not done via Inasa, that there's still a bit of Endeavor he has to shake off, even if it was in the past. And he does progress towards that with the Remedial Course Arc. And while I have my opinions on the Endeavor Agency Arc, I'll admit that it was another development opportunity for Shoto and the Todoroki family. Shoto's growth comes with setbacks, but overall it's consistent.

Let's shift gears to Tenya, who's characterization I find fascinating. He starts out opposed to Izuku when they first meet at the Entrance Exam. He sees how Izuku is (for lack of a better phrase) "better qualified" at heroics thus far, reassesses his position, and apologizes whilst making amends. When Tenya resorts to LITERAL MURDER against Stain, the narrative does not let him go off without reprocussions. His arms are damaged, his supervisor's teaching license is revoked, and while he managed to avoid legal charges via police cover up, it still came close. Tenya listened to Stain's words, and opted to improve himself by that notion. He tries to set a better example, be a better class rep. It isn't a one and done.

Him lashing out during the Hideout Raid Arc is an offshoot of that. He doesn't deck Izuku just to be a dick; he's trying to knock some sense into him. They're so focused on Katsuki that they're forgetting about everyone else. Their friends, their teachers, their parents. If they f*** up like Tenya almost did at Hosu, they'll have hell to pay, and he doesn't want that. Of course, once they explain that combat/murder is not their M.O., Tenya tags along, if only to ensure the operation goes smoothly without this hitch. And again, Tenya keeps up. He looks after his classmates, looks after Izuku during the Shie Hassaikai arc. His growth is also consistent.

There are probably more characters I could elaborate on (Ochako, Momo, Eijiro, etc.), but I'll stop there. So, what's the deal with Katsuki's arc?

Well, it's… frustratingly back and forth.

It's one thing to have setbacks like Tenya and Shoto. It's something else entirely to have multiple setbacks and to keep trucking on with only abstract signs of development, but otherwise feeling like a very similar character compared to several chapters ago.

This is (in my opinion) Katsuki's problem. If we're going by what the manga stated, his arc technically started in Chapter 11: "Bakugo's Starting Line." But this is a rocky start. Izuku tells him about OFA right from the getgo out of guilt, but this neglects the fact that he's technically lying to everyone about it (including his new friends Ochako and Tenya), that OFA is a world-shattering secret, and that Katsuki is likely the worst person to tell this to considering that Izuku just handed Katsuki's ass to him and Katsuki was willing to use lethal force in their Trial. That aside, instead of say, sucking up his pride and opting to try and learn from everyone else, Katsuki doesn't really change strategies or approaches. He essentially does what he was planning to do since the start of UA; he's only crying because, SURPRISE, people are better than him. You'd think he'd expect that considering he called his middle school crappy…

After the USJ, once everyone had their "Lol Bakugo sux" moment on the bus ride, we get to the Sports Festival and everyone is clamoring to join Katsuki's team despite his apparent unapproachability. This feels less like something happened in the two weeks leading up to the Sports Festival, and more like history repeating itself from middle school. Moving on to the tournament, we don't even get to see how capable Katsuki is at serious combat. Two of his matches resort to Deus Ex Machina pulls, and the other two are in his corner by principle instead of difficult.

First off, Katsuki vs Ochako. I don't know why people praise this fight. For starters, it makes Katsuki HEAVILY OoC. Ochako is the only person he asks if she wants to back out before the match even starts. The ONLY person, which kinda undermines the whole "he didn't underestimate her" thing. Then he takes a reactionary stance the entire battle. Like, I thought we were still dealing with the "fist first" Katsuki. He does this to Eijiro, Fumikage, even Shoto, but Ochako? Stay still and then attack. Even if he did get his gravity removed, couldn't he just… propelly himself and let her have it. If he was proactive, he could have ended the fight quicker. Instead, he just plays sitting duck and headless chicken. If you're gonna have Katsuki win the fight, don't bulls*** it.

Which brings me to the final bit of that fight: the meteor shower. Having Katsuki blow that away after supposedly expending most of his energy earlier in the match just does NOT sit right. Ochako gets the upper hand, and then you just… negate that? You expect me to believe that Katsuki could generate an explosion at that magnitude, if nothing else? And what exactly does that do for him in the end? No one else tires him out for the remainder of the festival, which is pretty sketch.

(And yeah, I know I know "What part of her was frail?" but that's more of a retrospective thing than in the moment, coupled with the facf that it's never elaborated on again in any capacity, with Ochako or with someone else. It's a throwaway moment; a waste. Moving on…)

You really can't say much about the matchups with Eijiro and Fumikage. With Eijiro, it's an endurance match, and Katsuki apparently has infinite stamina and is on the attack. And he just… rushes him, which I'm pretty sure anyone else would do. Then with Fumikage, Dark Shadow is weak to light. Katsuki's explosions emit light on contact. Do the math.

And I am especially mad at Katsuki vs Shoto because one, he stays in place yet again at the start of the match, and two, he can apparently ignore his Quirk' weakness to low temperatures. In a gym uniform. Against a glacier the size of a building. Even with his power output, you don't see his explosions dampening in magnitude. It's obviously in his favor, which defeats any tension the fight could have had. It sucks, and in the long run, as a wise man once said, "Todoroki should have folded [his] ass."

Then we get to the Final Exams (ABOUT DAMN TIME) and… Katsuki hits Izuku for trying to cooperate, nearly gets knocked out once, and gets knocked out the second time around. He does not want to work with Izuku despite it being All Might, is petty enough to consider losing, and actively grumbles against working with Izuku. And all of his supposed self-preservation goes flying out the window when he's willing to try and beat All Might, leaving Izuku having to come and carry this boy out of the gate, which should not have let him pass.

Then there's the Training Camp attack. The second Izuku is mentioned, Katsuki decides to go AWOL, and while being kidnapped sucks, I am less sympathetic when you're boneheaded enough to help them capture you because you wanted to fight villains instead of getting to safety like the professionals recommended, all because of your one-sided hatefest with one of your classmates. Congrats, you played yourself.

Then we get to the Provisonal License Exam, which feels like a step in the right direction… until you realize this will boil over into Deku vs Kacchan 2, which will get both of them in trouble, which will give Katsuki insight into OFA while Izuku gets shunned by his classmates, and which will prevent Katsuki from the one ass beating that could have potentially taught him something. It's essentially the narrative covering his ass, and then he has the gall to be happy about other people potentially getting set back just because he was set back. Geez dude.

The Cultural Festival essentially undoes what the Remedial Course Arc accomplishes, having Katsuki look down on the rest of UA when he said NOT to look down on people earlier. And then his speech is still heavily antagonistic to the rest of the school, and to the idea of basic human decency and kindness in general. And if I'm being honest, that whole "he can play drums" feels like a big ass pull to keep him in the spotlight. At least the story brought back his ability to cook down the line.

The Joint Training Arc is just shoe horning in regards to Katsuki. It acts like his gearing up towards saving, but the circumstances are heavily, heavily in his favor, and not in a good way. I've already brought up how Katsuki won't get "saving" until the Endeavor Arc, and how here he's just doing it to show off, so I won't go into it here. Then apparently he gets to outwit a recommendation student 'cause why not? It makes him look more impressive than he actually is, even though he outright states he hasn't changed much if at all. Not to mention the narrative makes it sound like he was some sort of underdog, even though he only got kidnapped and didn't get his license. And I know those are big things, but not enough to warrant his victory feeling that triumphant. I'd probably buy it if he didn't win the Sports Festival or pass the Final Exam. Keep him in that slump for longer than you actually do, or it lessens the impact. And let's not forget, he might have been willing to help Izuku with Blackwhip via fisticuffs, but the second he realized he wasn't getting anything out of it, he noped out. And it's been what, almost 200 chapters since his "starting line?"

I don't have much to say during the Endeavor Arc (that was its own can of worms),  but as for the War Arc thus far… here's what I mean by "whiplash." The arc begins in Chapter 253. By Chapter 257, Katsuki will demonstrate how much he just does not give a f*** about Izuku's mastery over OFA so long as it looks like he'll come out on top. By Chapter 274, when Izuku's gotta split, it'll look like Katsuki has been thinking about some stuff, but by 275 he's gonna throw that out the window so he can attempt to one up Tomura and Izuku, and then he'll nearly get killed for it. And we won't know what exactly Katsuki is thinking until a flashback in Chapter 284 (which chronologically takes place after 257), where he has a conversation with All Might about his past with Izuku. Or at least the bullet points. If you're me, the start of the conversation feels less about Izuku and more so about his situation: his situation with OFA. And as much as I want to believe there was at least one good kernel in Katsuki that he was too stubborn to let out with Izuku, I feel like Katsuki only brings up him and his capabilities now because he got a Quirk. That's what put him on Katsuki's radar. That's what forced Katsuki to take notice of Izuku, what caused him to be unable to ignore his own weakness. Because of a Quirk. That's… borderline shallow, if not remarkably so.

And even when Katsuki is attempting to save Izuku in 285, his first thoughts are still on OFA. And even if we go by the line of thought that Katsuki is thinking "Even if OFA sucks, it's still Izuku's Quirk." And that's nice and all, but the flashback makes it seem like the Quirk is still All Might's Quirk as well. That all of Izuku's worth is hinged on the fact that he got a Quirk now and therefore can't be written off. Maybe he doesn't owe this to his accomplishments, but the narrative is terrible in its implications that Izuku wouldn't have gotten as much attention without it. At the end of the day, Katsuki is still associating Izuku's worth with his Quirk. And as much as I want to vaguely, vainly hope that this will change later on, I'm already at my limit

...and now that I've said my piece on almost the entire narrative thus far, let's shift gears to a few more tidbits in 285.

Again, the flashback. I think it's significant that they're shifting the focus briefly on middle school again. But you wanna know what sent me the wrong way? They didn't include the god forsaken suicide instigation. They can show Katsuki gloating. They can show Izuku up against a wall. They can even show a notebook and Izuku's face during the Sludge Villain rematch. But they can't show Izuku reacting with sorrow mixed with almost fury. That can't show Katsuki threatening him with a mere "What?" and the sparks on his palms. They can't show Izuku standing and crying, small and defeated.

"BUT HORI SAID HE WENT TO FAR WITH THAT SCENE!1!" Blah blah blah, doesn't change the fact that it still happened. Doesn't change the fact that it should be addressed, at any capacity. Doesn't change the fact that the story had the balls to recall middle school but couldn't bring itself to remember the one thing that could get its audience raising eyebrows.

But that's alright, it gave you the notebook; clearly it's done enough.

And maybe in another timeline, I could have let my jaw drop when Katsuki was hit and the chapter title was revealed. "Katsuki Bakugo: Rising" It would have been pretty damn powerful too.

...but with all the previous crap the narrative has pulled, it feels like more shoehorning. It feels like more Erasehead stepping in and shaming the audience. It feels like more All Might letting Katsuki in because he's not completely familiar with the finer details. It feels like more people. In narrative parroting that Katsuki changed when he does the bare minimum, as a hero or as a person. I can't treat this development legitimately, because so many other "legitimate" developments pulled a "psyche!" and headed out.

So, I'm done. I'm done with Katsuki, done with hoping his development will be done in a somewhat satisfying manner. Done with people telling me "it's actually good though!" like I'm blind and deaf or something, when I have enough brain cells to formulate my own opinions, and we both have enough brain cells to leave each other alone if we don't agree. Maybe when the series ends and we can all look at this in hindsight, and Katsuki has either found a way to redeem himself, or remain deplorable, I might talk about it then. But for now. I'm drawing the line. I might talk about what we've gotten up to this point, but everything past 285 I'm taking with a grain of salt. 'Cause I'm sick of hoping for something that obviously won't come through, and it's better for me and everyone involved if I just pack up and move on. BNHA isn't just Katsuki's story after all.

And if you made it to the end of all this… I hope you'll either respect my opinion, or respect my thought process. That's all I can ask.

-Crimson Lion (27 September 2020)

[voidstilesplease]

Fandom/s: Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Heroes of Olympus

Pairing/s: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Percy Jackson

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Tags: Alternate Universe - Mortal, Cheating, Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, Angst, Bad Decisions, OOC Characters, a significant amount of Taylor Swift references

Chapter 3

But the possibility that Piper knows about it didn't cross her mind. Percy had mentioned being back in town for a few days now, but Piper could not have known that, right? If Piper did, she would have told Annabeth right away because if anybody knows about Annabeth's broken heart pining after Percy all these years, it's Piper. She would've said something.

III.

And soon enough, you're best friends.

Laughing at the other girls who think they're so cool.

/./

Annabeth jerks awake from disturbances originating in the general vicinity of her kitchen. In her half-asleep state, her usually sharp mind turns to a useless mush. So with what mentality she can grasp, she concludes that it's possibly just her cutlery deciding to worm their way out the drawer to skydive to the kitchen floor. Her dream-silly brain likes the image she conjures. After all, not everybody's cutlery would be as adventurous as hers if that should be the case.

Maybe they want to remind Annabeth that they still exist, and she can use them sometimes. Good point, she thinks, but between blueprints after blueprints shoved to her at work, she doesn't have the time to be guilty about using only one spoon for her morning mashed potatoes. Unless it can wash, wipe itself dry, and put itself back to the drawer, she's sticking to her one-spoon-morning routine, thank you very much - that's all she can spare the time to clean.

She squints one eye open and sighs in relief to find that her entire bedroom blanketed in the same comforting darkness that engulfed her to sleep the previous evening. Yesterday morning had been hell. The sun had glared at her accusingly like she had done something wrong by sleeping it through past her alarm after a murderous evening at work. Usually, Annabeth scares people away when she glares at them, so she tried to glare back at the sun, and if she didn't have a degree in architecture and a line of buildings credited to her name, she'd have doubted her own intellectual capacity. She had hauled her ass up from the bed and went about her routine like she'd swallowed an entire pack of Sour Patch in one go. That morning would have sucked completely if it weren't for Percy.

Percy. Who's back in town. For good.

Whom Annabeth is going to have dinner with this evening.

A smile automatically tugs at her lips. In her kitchen, something clatters again, and she sighs. She moves her head to peek up at the alarm clock on the table. It's only fifteen minutes past seven.

She groans.

Now she can hear the blender whirring to life and the unmistakable 'ding' of her toaster. Any sane person who is aware of not having a roommate should already be springing off their bed and grabbing the nearest weapon they can use to bonk the intruder's head.

But Annabeth is used to the intrusion - this is her life now. So, she calmly gets off the bed and folds her sheets. She opens the door to her room and walks the short distance to her kitchen. As the whirring continues, she remembers the first time she woke to the noises. Annabeth wishes she can say that she was calm then, but she wasn't.

She had jumped out of bed, heart drumming so fast in her chest, and took the only item she could find in her room that could bash anybody's brains out - a baseball bat. (She didn't like the sport. It was just a souvenir from a memorable day. Her heart belonged to swimming. Or, though it wasn't clear to her at the time, to a specific swimmer.) As stealthily as she could, she tiptoed on the cold floor to knock someone out who thought they could use her kitchen while robbing her blind.

As it turned out, she had almost bashed her friend Piper.

Piper, bless her, had been unfazed. Not even after seeing the raised baseball bat and Annabeth's wide, frantic eyes. Piper gave her an innocent smile and a chirpy good morning, then went back to chopping celery, ignoring Annabeth's confusion and gaping mouth.

Piper grins as soon as Annabeth appears in the kitchen. "Good morning, Annie!" she lowers the cup of coffee she's holding on the table in front of Annabeth, who immediately reaches for it.

"This smells amazing," Annabeth closes her eyes and inhales. It is why she loves having Piper around for breakfast. She doesn't remember when Piper decided to be her mother, but as long as it benefits Annabeth with cooked meals and non-Starbucks coffee, she's not complaining.

But she can't exactly complain about Starbucks coffee, though. Not when Starbucks brought Percy back to her life - sort of. She realized that if Piper had come yesterday, she'd have missed Percy. But the fates brought Piper to her apartment today so she could meet Percy yesterday. She smiles contentedly at her coffee.

Piper doesn't miss her dopey smile. She raises a brow, pouring the contents of the blender on a tall glass. "Is it that good?"

"No words," Annabeth answers with a silly grin.

Piper draws her eyebrows in suspicion, "Why do I feel like we're not talking about the coffee?"

Annabeth shrugs.

Piper narrows her eyes but lets it go. Knowing Annabeth, it's probably a work-related high. Piper sets her glass of smoothie on the table and sits beside her friend. "Hey, I remember," she says, taking her phone out and starts browsing. "Juniper asked me to show you these." Piper swipes image after image as Annabeth waits curiously. Finally, she passes the phone to Annabeth.

Annabeth takes it and promptly gasps. "Are these for the wedding?" She draws the phone closer to examine the picture. It's of a forest-painted canvas with a man and a woman in the center, holding each other's hands as they walk side-by-side in the middle of a flower-field surrounded by butterflies. Annabeth looks up to Piper for confirmation. When she nods, Annabeth shakes her head in amazement. "That is beautiful."

"I know!" Piper takes the phone from Annabeth, glancing at the picture again before putting it down on the table. "When Juniper sent the picture to me, my eyes goggled."

Annabeth chuckles, "Grover and Juniper commissioned the right artist."

Piper nods in agreement, "And they're even getting it for, like, half the usual price. I suddenly want to get married." She smiles dreamily, reaching for her smoothie.

Annabeth laughs. Jason and Piper have been together since they were in High School. To be fair, they are practically like a married couple - sharing an apartment, sharing bills, considering the possibility of sharing a dog. They've even met each other's parents and got one another's mother or father smitten with them. It's perfectly sensible if they decide to legalize it. With that in mind, Annabeth asks, "So why don't you?"

Piper stiffens, and she briefly averts her eyes before giving Annabeth a wan smile. "He hasn't asked me yet," she says softly, looking away from Annabeth, slurping half-heartedly at her vegetable smoothie.

Annabeth bites her lower lip, mentally reprimanding herself for her careless asking. She didn't mean to poke on touchy subjects. She didn't even know it was a touchy subject at all. "Well," she begins awkwardly. "I'm sure you'll get there anyway." Annabeth offers a smile, hoping to ease the sudden tension.

Piper shrugs, "I'm not in a hurry. Jason's it for me." she pauses, then adds with uncertainty, "I just hope I'm it for him."

Annabeth frowns at the statement. "Now that's ridiculous, Piper." She reaches to touch her friend's hand a bit forcefully. She looks her dead in the eyes and says in total assurance. "Jason's head over heels for you, okay, it's almost criminal that you think you're not it for him."

Piper lifts her eyes, a hint of smile ghosting in her pouting lips. "You think so?"

"You're an idiot for even doubting,"

That seems to alleviate Piper's insecurity, at least for the moment, because she smirks at Annabeth. "Yeah, I guess I'm an idiot. Of course, Jason can't get enough of me. I mean, come on."

Annabeth rolls her eyes. Piper's weird sometimes.

She happily slurps at her smoothie now, humming a chipper tune. She reaches for the plate of toasts and passes it to Annabeth along with a jar of strawberry jam. Annabeth just watches her with amusement.

They eat in silence for a moment before Annabeth hears a clearing of a throat. She looks up to see Piper looking at her intently. Of course, Piper didn't come into her apartment early in the morning just to accompany her to a lovely, peaceful breakfast.

"…Yes?" Annabeth prompts with resignation. If this is happening -and it is- because it's Piper's business now to harass Annabeth, she wants to get it over with sooner than later. She mentally prepares for the onslaught of Piper's usual intros. But, instead of saying "There's this spa that we should check out," or "Do you remember Mark Castillo from 10th grade? Did you see his Facebook status change to Single last night?" or "We should shop new underwears for you, Annie. What you have are boring me to death", she said:

"How's work?"

That certainly catches Annabeth off-guard. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

At Annabeth's incredulous expression, Piper says defensively. "What?" she reaches for another toast. "Am I not allowed to ask about your work?"

"You're not interested in my work." Annabeth deadpans.

"I'm asking, aren't I?" Annabeth detects the unspoken 'duh'. "And I know a little about architecture, mind you. I just want to know how you're doing at work."

Annabeth hums unconvincingly, taking another sip of her coffee. She decides to ride along with it. "Well, for starters, I'm up to my neck busy. As always."

Piper nods for her to go on.

"We've contracted a new project for downtown."

Piper hums.

"It's nothing major, but the area is swarming with water pipes -many of which are old ones- so we have to be extra careful with the planning."

Piper nods, "But you aren't the only one working on it, right?"

"No. I have a team." Annabeth confirms.

"So," Piper stretches the 'o', studying the toast in her hand a little too casually. "That means that even if you weren't around, say you went out or something, a whole team is still gonna work on it?"

Annabeth narrows her eyes skeptically, "…I suppose. I'm not the project head." Annabeth answers slowly.

"So…" Piper looks away again, picking at the toast. "There's no reason to cancel Friday night, right?"

Annabeth purses her lips. She sets her cup on the saucer and folds her arms together, "I already said I would go."

Piper blushes crimson and gives up the innocent, interested-in-friend's-work scheme, "I just want to make sure!"

"I'm going, okay?" Annabeth huffs in mild exasperation. "And, if I ever go back on my promise, you have the permission to drag my ass over to the club."

"Deal," Piper quickly agrees. "Do we seal this oath with blood?"

Annabeth shakes her head as Piper starts laughing.

Piper is weird but a wonder. Annabeth is ever so thankful for having Piper as a friend. They have been friends since the 10th grade when the Cherokee girl transferred to Goode. They didn't particularly become friends instantaneously because she came around the school as Drew's half-sister.

Drew wasn't exactly Annabeth's favorite person on campus. She was a cheerleader who penned herself as the queen of Goode High, dated around, and clung to different guys when her grade couldn't even hang on to a C minus. And her face, always caked in make-up, always smiled condescendingly at everybody as if they were lesser beings. She made Annabeth want to punch something. Anything. Drew's annoying face would have been good enough.

When rumors scattered about Drew having a half-sister on campus, Annabeth was sure she'd be a clone of Drew, and Goode High was doomed. Frankly, their school had had enough mini-skirt, crop-top, belly-button girls who thought the ground they stepped on was sacred. Another one to add to them and Goode would have crumbled. After all, what else could they expect from somebody blood-related to Drew? Annabeth loathed her guts.

As it turned out, though, her half-sister hated Drew's guts just as much if not more. Literally.

She proved that during P.E. class in a volleyball game when she purposely spiked the ball straight towards Drew's midsection hard enough that Annabeth was surprised why Drew hadn't spewed her entire digestive system all over their gym court. Drew doubled over, wheezing in pain and yelling about how Piper tried to murder her. The teacher had to give Piper detention since the girl didn't deny the accusation and refused to apologize. When they took out Drew, who glowered at her sister the whole way out, Piper smirked at her unapologetically and waved her goodbye by flicking her fingers and blowing her a kiss.

Annabeth wanted to slow clap and pat her in the back for a job well done. She didn't need to anyway because the matching gleam in their eyes spoke enough for both of them. Piper and Annabeth became good friends, bonding over a mutual hatred of Drew. Then Piper started hanging out with Annabeth's group of friends, and the rest is history.

"You've got to be honest, though, Annie. You love it when I come by." She sips from her smoothie. "Because then, you won't have to eat packed mashed potatoes again."

"I love mashed potatoes," Annabeth says defensively, reaching for a toast and slathering it with strawberry jam.

"No, you don't." Piper also eats her toast with avocadoes. She gestures at Annabeth's food. "I hope you like strawberry jam."

"It's okay," Annabeth chews. It's decent enough, she thinks. Strawberry had been her favorite jam when she was younger, but that has changed now.

"I just thought maybe you should try a different flavor. All I ever see you have is blueberry. I figured maybe you miss your old favorite."

"I don't. Blueberry is everything to me."

Piper probably doesn't mean to sting Annabeth when she mutters, "Took you long enough to realize it, though."

But Annabeth is stung. And Piper is correct.

Blueberry is Percy's favorite. She had never appreciated it until Percy was gone from her life. She just one day found herself picking blueberry jam instead of strawberry at the grocery. Because, somehow, it made her feel closer to him. It was a futile act, but it was all she could cling to.

They ate in relative silence for a while before Annabeth remembers the conversation over the phone the previous day. It's time to question Piper about it. "Hey," she waits until Piper is looking at her. "You wanted to tell me something."

Piper's brows scrunch up.

"Yesterday," Annabeth clarifies. "Over the phone?"

Piper draws a blank.

Annabeth elaborates, "We were talking about Friday night, and I said yes to going, and then it's like you hesitated over something?"

Annabeth can tell when the realization hits. Piper's eyes widen a fraction. "Oh,"

Annabeth stares expectantly.

Piper looks down, breaking their eye contact, "It was nothing," she says with a small voice.

"You're lying."

Piper doesn't deny the accusation, but her eyes remain downcast.

"Piper, what are you keeping from me?" Annabeth asks, feeling that the playful air around them has been replaced by tension yet again. Piper bites her lower lip, only spurring Annabeth's curiosity. "Piper,"

"Annie, I'm sorry." Piper whispers. She raises her head to look at Annabeth with wide, desperate eyes.

"I can't accept your apology if I don't know what it is for," Annabeth's gaze doesn't leave Piper's. They look at each other - Annabeth urging and Piper trembling.

Finally, Piper sighs in defeat and quietly utters. "It's Percy."

Silence immediately follows Piper's statement. Because for the first time in many years, Piper openly mentions Percy's name in her presence.

Annabeth answers, trying to keep her voice level, "What about Percy?"

Piper gnaws at her lower lip, "I've wanted to tell you, but…"

"But?"

Like a dam breaking, Piper begins barraging. "I don't know if I should be the one to tell you this. I mean, yes, of course, I'm your best friend, but I'm his friend too. And after that-that," she wrings her hands. "I mean, he's been gone for so long, and maybe if I tell you, he's just going to disappear again. He never said anything about not telling you, but I - or, or maybe you're going to disappear this time and I - we can't have any of that, you know? Especially not now. So I decided to wait for the right time, but I don't know if there's ever a right time for anything, really-and, and,"

Piper is talking so fast that Annabeth struggles to catch up. "Piper, you're rambling."

"I know!" Piper whines in frustration. "And I hate to be turned into a blubbering fool, but I… but I want you to know that I kept my mouth shut because I didn't want either of you running away in different directions when the wedding's in a week!"

Annabeth grabs Piper's swinging arms. "Piper," she snaps to get her friend's attention and stop her from ranting anymore. "If you would just tell me-"

"He's in New York!"

It makes Annabeth pause. Well, she knows that. But the possibility that Piper knows about it didn't cross her mind. Percy had mentioned being back in town for a few days now, but Piper could not have known that, right? If Piper did, she would have told Annabeth right away because if anybody knows about Annabeth's broken heart pining after Percy all these years, it's Piper. She would've said something.

But Piper is in her kitchen with a guilt-stricken face. "How long have you known?"

Piper blinks, confused. "You don't sound surprised. Do you know he's back?"

Annabeth nods, "Only yesterday. We saw each other at Starbucks."

"Oh,"

"Piper, how long have you known that he's here?" Annabeth repeats her question, impatient to hear that Piper only actually found out the same day Annabeth did.

But Piper grimaces, hunching in her seat to make herself small. "Since he told Jason that he was coming home," she finally admits. She draws a shaky breath, hanging her head in guilt.

Something inside Annabeth collapses. She leans back in her seat in disbelief, "You all knew?"

Piper quickly shakes her head, "No, not all of us. Only Jason, Grover, and I." Annabeth almost sag in relief to know that she isn't the only one left in the dark about this. "None of us has seen Percy yet, though. He's been busy with the transfer of work location and settling in again. That's also why Friday night is important. He'd be there. For the first time in a long while, we'd be complete."

Annabeth is silent for a period, then nods weakly.

"Do you hate me?" Piper's voice hitches, and when Annabeth turns to her, her eyes are already brimming with tears.

She hates when Piper cries. God, it isn't even her fault that she knows. It isn't her fault that Percy told Jason and Grover, his best friends, and it isn't her fault that Jason told her. Annabeth knows Piper would rather not know. But now that she does, it's not her fault she wants to protect both Annabeth and Percy from each other. Not after what happened years ago between them.

Annabeth stands up and walks over to her friend, who is just about ready to explode. As soon as she opens her arms for Piper, her friend immediately melts into soft sobs. "I'm sorry, Annabeth. I didn't want to lie, but…" her voice catches again, and Annabeth rubs her back to soothe her. Piper must have felt bad about keeping the secret from her, knowing how important it is for Annabeth.

"I don't hate you, Piper. I can never hate you."

Piper sniffles, "I lied to you,"

"You kept a secret." Annabeth corrects. "That's hardly lying. And you did it for a good reason."

Piper pulls away from the hug to look at Annabeth, her eyes still misty from crying. "Thank you, Annie."

Despite herself, Annabeth smirks. "But you owe me a week of coffee and breakfast for this."

Piper laughs, and the heavy atmosphere around them dissipates completely.

/./ curt /./

[1zashreena1]

The Homicide is Hot -12

18+, m/f/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess struggles with her own morality. But all cats are gray in the dark, right? Oh, and Diego has an epiphany.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Literal murder guys, seriously*** Protective Diego, feels, a blow job, plus size woman+fit man, insightful and helpful Julio, f o r e s h a d o w i n g

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you would like to be tagged or removed.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​ @symbiont13​ @nicke0115​​ @bunnykjm​ @rosee-sensuelle​ @girlpornparadise​ @mandoplease​ @heresathreebee​ @xxsteph-enrixx​ @jetiikad​ @joalsglasses​ @mutantcookiesecrets​ @demoncatstone​ @squidlywiddly87​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​ @poeedamerons​

gif by @el-cheung​

"Its hot when he's homicidal." There. You said it.

Okay but remember that time when he stabbed two dudes and carved an ear off of a third? And you were gonna like, die if you didn't blow him IMMEDIATELY??? 

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.

Wait, wait. Maybe this is … good? That is not the correct word but you know what I mean. If I'm going to be with someone in his position then I need to be able to handle everything that entails, right? 

You glance over at TMP, the small stuffed panther is facing you on the breakfast bar. You know its ridiculous, but you feel like he's watching you. It only takes half a second, but you flip the stuffie around so he can't be a voyeur just like his namesake.

The small dry erase board in your lap reflects sunlight back up into your face. Its covered in anxious scribbles regarding last weekend, you're desperately trying to sort them into some semblance of helpfulness. It isn't going well.

I already know he is in love with me, straight out of the horse's mouth. Lol 'horse'.

Seriously. You cannot go one day without a dick joke. 

I love him. I mean, how can I claim to love someone if I don't accept all of them? He doesn't maim indiscriminately, it has a point. Is it justified? I don't know. Do I trust his judgment on it being justified? I think I do. I guess the better question is: Do I care? 

I'm already in it. He's paying half my bills, he already paid off all my debt. I've accepted so many gifts with the knowledge that they were bought with laundered drug money. Hell, every article of clothing I'm wearing right fucking now was purchased by Diego. Also, he said that those guys lost a shipment to the tune of EIGHTY THOUSAND DOLLARS, so you know, that's an accessory charge. At this point, even if I decide I have some arbitrary moral high ground, I'm definitely rolling around in a ditch, legally speaking.

You've always known that your morality was a bit off center than most people's, but being with Diego has put it into sharp relief. There are so many things that are illegal that you just don't care about. And your very visceral reaction that night was irrefutable proof.

-----------------------------

Last weekend

Diego does not like the cold. The heat in the SUV is turned way up, you already closed the vents on your side of the backseat. You're on your phone, pretending to ignore the massive hand sneaking under the hem of your dress while your legs are flopped over his lap.

Diego rumbles at you, the phone comes down just enough for you to peek over the top at him.

"Yes? Is there something you would like, my Murder Panther?" Your smirk is damn near audible as you question him. 

His eyes trail down to your lap then back up before he answers in a growl, "There is something I would love." The rockiness of his voice never fails to make you quiver just a tiny bit.

Just as those long fingers brush your thong his phone chirps. Repeatedly. And then starts ringing.

Diego snatches the cell out of his jacket pocket and hisses at the screen. Not good, you think. He answers it with a tirade of Spanish, shoots you an incomprehensible look, then retreats from you. Nooooo.

Being the only one in the car who doesn't speak Spanish is its own variety of delightful hell. Bastian and Julio are exchanging meaningful looks in the front while you just have to wait. Diego has gone quiet, which is utterly terrifying.

He disconnects the call, then passes the phone to Julio, who shows it to Bastian, who then changes course.

Diego reluctantly pulls your dress back down as you drop your feet to the floor. He raises a thick arm and tucks you into his side underneath it before kissing the top of your head apologetically.

"We have to run an errand."

-----------------------

The warehouse looks like it came straight out of a Law and Order episode. Its abandoned yet eerily lit from the inside, there is a suspicious assortment of motley vehicles parked outside, and two tattoo covered dudes toting semiautomatics appear as you pull up. 

"Please tell me those belong to you." You mutter quietly. Your immediate concern is Diego's safety.

Diego gives you the shark smile. "The men or the guns, Princess?" 

In the dark, at this incredibly sketchy location, and with the threat of violence thick in the air, he is actually a little bit scary.

You swallow the apprehension and glare at him with a raised chin. "Yes." You snap, crossing your arms in a stubborn huff. Holding his gaze right now is kind of intimidating but you manage it.

"Si, everything here is mine." His voice is hard as steel but the hand that comes up to grip your chin is gentle. It takes a second for you to realize that he is including you in that group. And that you like it.

You take in his features, those eyes are black in the darkness, but the silver in his beard glints in the partial moonlight. The defined jawline, his long straight nose, those perfectly framed velvet lips, thick brows and even thicker hair. So fucking gorgeous. Cupping his bristly cheeks, you whisper one requirement, "Just make sure to come back to me, baby."

Diego leans his forehead down on yours briefly, then kisses your nose. "Wait here for Diego, my Princess." His voice is dark and dripping with emotion. Julio opens the car door from outside and Diego steps out, adjusting his jacket and tucking the abalone-inlaid gun into his pants. He doesn't look back as they walk away.

Bastian steps out and closes the driver's door to smoke. The only door left open is the rear passenger next to where you sit. You're too preoccupied to stay focused on your cell. You look up to see that Bastian is on his phone, Probably his boyfriend checking on him. You can certainly understand that.

Faint voices float out of the open warehouse garage door, but everything is in Spanish. You slide down to the pavement and pace slowly. Its been almost twenty minutes, should you try to check on him? Each lap of pacing takes you ever closer to the empty doorway, purely by happenstance of course, until finally, finally, you can see people inside. 

There are three men kneeling on the floor, surrounded by at least two dozen others armed to the teeth. There are more guns than you have ever seen in your life, all being handled casually. Diego paces slowly in front of them, rattling off some rambling array of options, judging from his tone. Whatever he just said must have been unfavorable because two of the kneeling men start crying and begging. I should not be here.

Diego digs both hands deep into his pants pockets, as though searching for a lost item, only to pull out the larger of the switchblades that you know he always carries. Ambling forward, he snatches the man furthest from you by the hair and yanks his head back. The angle looks excruciating, but what happens next is infinitely worse. The blade glints under the overhead lighting as Diego slides it smoothly across the man's throat, triggering a cascade of red.

Diego just slit his throat.

Diego just killed that man.

Diego just committed murder.

You're frozen. Think. Think. If you move now someone will hear your shoes, you stuff a hand into your mouth just in case you make any noise. Your plum dress and black booties should blend into the night, thank fuck the dress is longer so there's less gleaming pale leg to reflect the moonlight.

I should go I should go back to the car I should go home. Your thoughts are racing but you can't look away as Diego skirts the rapidly expanding pool of blood and approaches the next man. He leans down to listen to the doomed man's pleas, one huge hand on his shoulder in mock comfort. Almost faster than your eyes can follow, Diego stabs him three times in the chest. The man coughs, then chokes on blood. Diego nudges him backwards to the floor with an expression of mild disgust before he can cough blood onto those exceedingly expensive shoes. The noise of his death is a quiet gurgle.

You can't feel your legs. Your stomach plummets and your heart rate leaps. This is Diego. This is my man. This is who he is and what he does. And this is what happens if you wrong him.

Just like I'm doing right now?

Sudden understanding makes your palms sweat and your jaw shake. Breathe. I trust him. You know, all the way down to the bottom of your soul, that he would never do anything like this to you. 

I'm different.

I'm special. 

I'm important. 

I have power.

The thrill of getting away with something courses up your spine. 

All of these men are his to command, available at his beck and call, and his to dispatch as he sees fit.

And you? Diego belongs to you. This powerful man chooses to kneel at your feet and pleasure you with his mouth, he dotes on you with gifts and gourmet dining, he waits for your text responses with baited breath. You want nothing more than to belong to him.

Movement snaps you out of your own head; Diego is approaching the last man, all confident stalk and predatory grin. A different feeling settles low and deep in your abdomen. Murder Panther. MY Murder Panther. 

Diego strokes over the man, no, this one is younger, the young man's hair. He is definitely an adult, but hasn't been for very long. Diego is whispering in his ear, the guy nods frantically and tilts his head toward you. You watch in morbid fascination as Diego carves off his ear. 

Diego wipes the blade off on the man's shirt, then pats him on the head as he walks off casually. He gestures to the group as he puts the knife away and they close ranks to help the lone surviving man to his feet and carry him off. 

Before you can jolt your body into retreating Diego turns to head your way. He glances up… and sees you.

His face, Oh no. Shock, horror, dismay, annoyance, and finally, determined resolution all cross his features in under three seconds. He uses his broad body to block you from his men's view and marches you back to the SUV. "Get in." He snarls, but he doesn't push you.

You slide all the way across the backseat to crash against the opposite side and Diego follows, slamming the door behind him and locking it. He scrubs a hand down his face and turns to you, expression grim.

You can't imagine what you look like, Probably a scared little bunny. But what you feel like? Oh, that is a different story. Damn near everything about what you just witnessed was so fucking hot. The actual homicides were kind of 'meh' (What is wrong with me???), but his power and ability and danger? Those you are definitely into.

He looks simultaneously defeated and defiant. "Well?" He barks with an expectant gesture. "This is me. This is what I do. You call me Murder Panther, but its different to see, isn't it, Princess?" The way he spits out his pet name for you hurts. He's lashing out in fear. He thinks I'm gonna run.

You keep your eyes locked with his as you reach out to his leg. He flinches at the contact but stays stiff. Your voice is smoky and dark, "I need you. Right fucking now. Give me your dick."

For the first time since you've met, Diego is speechless. His jaw hangs open while he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. Seemingly paralyzed, he just blinks as you rip his pants open and yank the material down over his hips. The instant you achieve clearance for his cock your mouth is on him. Your moan must vibrate the entire vehicle its so loud.

"Princess!" He finally gasps. "You. What. Fuuuck, what is. Oh, hell yes." His hips jerk and you dig your nails into his lower abdomen. He is fully erect in seconds, a little confusion isn't enough to cockblock Diego. Big hands flit through your peripheral vision erratically before settling on your head. The angle is finally correct and you slide him all the way down your throat, he practically howls with it. "Ahh, h-haaa. Jesus fuck, that feels so good. Shit, shit. Princesss." 

The way he calls for you, writhing with it, is almost too much. You moan back but don't stop bobbing your head on his length. Firm suction intermixed with sporadic long licks of your broad tongue have him leaking steadily in no time. Your left hand cups his balls, squeezing gently just to feel him tense up. He's salty, but not bitter. You want it. You need him.

Your right hand snakes down to hike up the dress. Once it’s over your wide hips you spread your knees so you can sink down onto his shoe. He doesn't notice at first, not until your hips start rocking in time with your suction. 

He grabs a fistful of hair to get your attention. "Are. Fucking christ woman, are you riding my foot?!" His eyes are huge, mouth open to pant.

You nod tightly, "Mm hmm." The moan vibrates all along his cock, causing his hips to rise off the seat.

"Ohh, oh fuck. You're so wet. I can hear it." He groans as though in agony. The thrusts begin to pick up pace and you grind down onto him. Your mouth can open just wide enough to accommodate the majority of his girth, you already know your neck is going to kill you tomorrow. Worth it. The skin of his cock is silky slick with both of you, he glides across your tongue easily but it requires pressure to fit him down your throat. Its like consuming fire, you're burning up from the inside out and its painfully perfect. 

In the darkness of the unlit SUV you can't see anything, you can only hear Diego moan and pant while your nose is buried in the soft hair on his lower belly. The intensity of being engulfed in his scent drives you to distraction, you grind down hard on his foot and you're so, so close. His hips lift off the seat to push deeper and you ride his motions, swallowing around the head of his cock. One enormous hand sinks deep into your curls, he pulls gently just because he knows you like it. His purr is deep, "My perfect little Princess."

That's all it takes. You drop your entire weight onto his foot to shudder and whine as an orgasm rips through you. Hips jerking in time with each spasm deep inside, you ride out all the waves without ever breaking rhythm on his dick.

Diego is frozen in shock as he realizes what just happened. He pulls you off, much to your whining disappointment, to stare down at you in awe. He stutters a little, "Good. Girl."

The instant he releases ringlets you dive down onto him with renewed vigor. The emphatic praise only spurs you on even stronger. Everything is wet; his dick, your mouth, his pants, your chin, the seat, your dress, his shoe. Everything. The sounds, the way he tastes, you're desperate to have him. 

"You want this? You want Diego?" His voice is so rough, so harsh. You nod tightly and moan for him, high pitched and hoarse. "Princess, so damn good, take it. Take all of me. Fuck, you look goddamn amazing on my cock." His hands stroke endlessly over your hair, his hips are jerking harshly and you know he is close. "Shit. Shit shit shit. Come," he is gasping, panting, "Come again for Diego, mi amor." His body stiffens, his legs shake, the grip in your hair tightens, and his head drops backwards to the seat as he pours down your throat in scorching jets. 

Diego collapses, boneless and breathless, but you don't release him. Your right hand shoots down between your legs to work your clit furiously while you continue suckling softly. 

"Yesss," he sighs upon noticing your actions. His voice drops low, overflowing with sinful threat, "You come for Diego. Pretty little Princess, all mine. Follow orders, come on your Murder Panther."

It breaks you. Your whole body seizes up as you wail for him, clenching down on nothing in painful ecstasy. Finally relinquishing his cock, you flop face down into his lap with an exhausted groan. Diego melts back into the seat and you both just lay there, panting.

Diego raps on the door window but stays slumped down and loose-limbed. 

Bastian unlocks the SUV, then pops the driver's door to stick his head inside. "Yeah, boss?" The blonde studiously avoids looking lower than Diego's face. You can hear Julio chuckling behind Bastian.

"Fuck the club. Take us home." Diego decrees lazily. You sputter joyful laughter directly into his pants.

You ride home curled up in his lap, snuggled into that salt and pepper beard you love so much while Diego feathers kisses all over your face, the knife cradled in your hands.

------------------------

Diego stumbles down the stairs the next morning, yawning hugely, only to find Julio in the kitchen, unashamedly raiding the fridge. Bastard, Diego chuckles.

"Manito! We need to talk." Julio gets right to the matter. "Before Gordita gets up." He adds pointedly.

Uhh, what. "Fine. Talk. Also, are you eating carrots at 10:12am??" That is disgusting.

Diego plops down onto a barstool and stares dejectedly at the espresso machine until Julio rolls his eyes and turns it on for him.

"Look, you need a check, eh?" Julio sighs but stands firm while Diego side eyes him suspiciously. When no objection comes, Julio forges on, "She saw you murder two people and cut an ear off a third last night, right? And her response was to blow you in the car? Fucking ride your foot to come, what, twice?"

Diego smiles dreamily, "Yeah. It was a good night." So. Much. Licking.

Julio passes him the steaming mug, "If you don't put a ring on it, pendejo..." 

Diego nearly drops the mug as his closest confidante walks off into the living room.

Shit, Julio is right.

[fanfic-corner]

Halloween Fics

Trick or Treating may be close to illegal this year, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t enjoy spooky season by living vicariously through everyone’s favourite couple.

This Means War by thepinupchemist on AO3. (8,664 words).

Tags: Zombie Apocalypse, Horror, Humor, Bottom Dean, Top Castiel, Halloween, Barely Legal, Human Castiel, Teenage Castiel, Teenage Sam, Canonical Character Death.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: It should have been a normal day. Instead, Castiel finds out zombies are real, discovers some things he never knew about his best friend Sam and Sam's way-too-good-looking brother Dean, almost dies, wields a chainsaw, and loses his virginity. Kind of in that order.

Notes: Okay, that was adorable and hilarious and like the most in-character fic I have ever read? I don’t know how to describe it, it was kind of creepy.

Once Upon A Time in a Disney Store by noxsoulmate on AO3. (23,237 words).

Tags: Disney, Castiel Works in a Store, Uncle Dean, Mary is Dean’s Niece, Fluff, Adorable, Awkwardness, The Little Mermaid, Christmas Fluff, Meddling Kids, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Marriage Proposal, Prince Dean, Prince Castiel, Weddings, Ice Skating.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: When Castiel Novak gets sick and loses his voice for a few days, he comes up with a clever trick to explain his lost voice to the kids in the Disney Store he works at. One little Mary Winchester, however, takes his note too serious and promptly starts a quest for his prince. Will her charming uncle be able to break the curse and be his one true love?

Notes: This is - by far - the fluffiest fic I have ever read. Mary is adorable (and generally I find kids really annoying!). Dean and Cas are adorable. Even the minor characters are written brilliantly. I love it!

Crazy Hex Girlfriend by whichstiel on AO3. (10,890 words).

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Cowboy Dean, Cowboy Castiel, Halloween, Case Fic, Season 12, Witches, Monsters.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean and Castiel infiltrate an extravagant couples-only Halloween party at the invitation of the party’s host who has been receiving mysterious threats. They patrol the party for hex bags and dark altars, interview suspects, and Dean happily scores a lot of free food. He just wishes he could score with Cas.

Notes: I love a case fic and I love a pretend relationship, so this was the perfect fic for me! It’s also about where I’m up to in the series (I just finished watching Dean kill Hitler) which was weird but also kind of nice.

Mister Scarecrow Hates Halloween by Carrieosity on AO3. (3,118 words).

Tags: High School AU, Fluff and Humor, Halloween Costumes, Humor, Fluff, Jock Dean, Shy Castiel, Caring Dean, First Kiss.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Castiel hates Halloween, so being roped into working in costume at a pumpkin patch has him seething in misery. And now, of all things, the object of his unrequited crush is walking toward him, and Cas is praying the costume will hide him just a bit longer.

Notes: Now this is the Halloween vibes I was going for! A bit creepy (and not in the Halloween sense) if you think about it too hard, so...don’t. Also I forgot who Krissy was. To be fair, she was only in 2 episodes. I had to google her.

Something Icky This Way Comes by almaasi on AO3. (21,588 words).

Tags: Human AU, Paranormal Investigators, Halloween, Day of the Dead, Fluff, Romance, Case Fic, Adventure, Team Free Will, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Lonely Dean, Scientist Castiel, Lonely Castiel, Virgin Castiel, Cats, Rabbits, Ectoplasm.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Charlie Bradbury is a professional investigator of supernatural happenings, and Dean Winchester is her work partner and best friend, currently bunking in their office. Requiring insight for a particularly bizarre case on the night before Halloween, they call their go-to FBI lab guy, Castiel – who Dean hates. Totally and completely despises. And yet somehow they’ve always gotten along perfectly well in the heat of the moment. Anyway, there’s an ectoplasm-producing rabbit high on catnip floating around the office, and the creature’s predicament really needs to be addressed, or Charlie’s Halloween party will have to be cancelled. And nobody wants that. Least of all, Cas.

Notes: Aw, this was so cute! It was kind of like Ghostbusters, but with a rabbit instead of a marshmallow man and all your fave SPN characters.

akasha by quillquiver on AO3. (14,155 words).

Tags: Romance, Witch Castiel, Hunter Dean, Monster of the Week, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Sam Winchester at Stanford, Fallen Angel Castiel, Halloween, Witchcraft, Pre-series Adjacent.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Five years ago, an angel fell off the coast of Cannon Beach, Oregon. Dean’s coming off a vamp nest in Boise when he gets the call on his Other Other Cell: two dead, definitely his kinda thing. But when he arrives in town, what originally looks like a cut-and-dry case soon turns up more questions than it does answers: What kind of monster uses medical equipment to exsanguinate its victims? Why is this monster here in the first place? And what the hell is up with the witch at the end of the street?

Notes: Okay, this was kinda cute. Cas just seemed a little OOC, but it wasn’t too bad, and apart from the fact there wasn’t much Halloween stuff, it was actually quite cool! I am a sucker for a djinn, too, even if it was only actually there for about five minutes.

Hocus Pocus by thepopeisdope on AO3. (4,622 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, Witch Castiel, Hunter Dean Winchester, Post-Break Up, Witch Dean Winchester, Halloween.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Halloween season is always a hassle. It has its charms, of course, and no one can deny that it’s great for Hocus Pocus’ sales, but that doesn’t mean that Castiel has to like it overall. Not everything is about his shop. And currently, he very much does not like it. The fact that his ex then decides to show up unannounced is the icing on top of an already rough day.

Notes: Charlie is an absolute mood in this, and now I want to see Cas in a witch hat. That picture must exist somewhere, right?

For a Scarf in October by almaasi on AO3. (1,687 words).

Tags: Scarves, Fluff, Brotherly Bonding, Halloween, Metrosexual Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: A scarf is just a scarf, right? (Sam and Dean take a pointless journey through the Halloween-decked aisles of Target.)

Notes: Aw, who doesn’t love a little bit of Dean overcoming social norms, especially in a spooky season setting!

Kiss or Treat by destieldrabblesdaily on AO3. (946 words).

Tags: High School AU, First Kiss, Fluff, Halloween.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Castiel has been dutifully handing out Halloween candy all night, entertaining the many kids ringing the Novak house's doorbell, but he's in for a big surprise when the bell rings once more and it's his crush Dean Winchester suddenly standing there on his front porch...

Notes: A fairly cute little oneshot, with Dean being an adorable big brother, as usual.

Oi, Gigantor drop the candy! by hoveringcat9 on AO3. (4,413 words).

Tags: Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Party, Alternate Universe - Human, Gabriel Loves Candy, Doctor Castiel, Paramedic Dean, Fluff, Caring John Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Insecure Gabriel, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, First Kiss, First Meetings.

My Rating: 2 stars.

Description: Sam had pretty much given up on finding his soulmate, he definitely didn't expect it to go down like this.

Notes: The idea was fine, but as you can probably tell from the title and description, the writing was fairly terrible. It is also mostly Sabriel focused, but Destiel is there in the background.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this treat, and a happy Halloween to you all!

[thehereticaldeserthermit]

𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝕆𝕗 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

ROLE PLAYER GET TO KNOW YOU PROMPT

Alright TDC Community It’s time for a task, 

and this time we’re all going to get to know each other a little better. 

Under the cut, you’ll find forty out of character questions split into two parts: OOC about your muses, and OOC about yourself! Answer what you’d like, add more if you’d like.

When you’re done TAG some of your writing partners and keep FUN going. 

-there is no pressure to participate

-IF You Are Reading This And You’d Like To Participate Consider Yourself Tagged My Friend! 

Much Love,

TheJesseWhoLurks

I tag @lyr-taxidermist  @theghostofharar  @hurdygurdyskeksis  @urskekyagvi  @skekmal-the-hunter  @skekso-the-emperor  @gourdplayer   @hedonistschambers  @ulvanmaudra  @littlebluezoologist @the-wandering-urru  @queenofthetides  @juliejewel24 @thecastleurru

OOC About  Your Character(s)

1.     What do you want to get out of playing this character(s)?

The reason I wanted to write for Gra was to meet fellow fans that loved the world of TDC as much as I do, I wanted to find fellow writers. I wanted to steep myself in the fandom. You can easily consider me skeKSis obsessed but I am growing a fondness for their counterparts -slowly ❤

2.     Describe your character(s) with three words.

Passionate | Erratic | Trustworthy

3.     What made you decide to write this muse?

Originally I was going to pick up The Ritual Master, he’d been my OG fav from the movie BUT Gra kept ... poking me with his scepter? Like; I live in the desert, you live in the desert, Ima recluse, you’re a recluse =we are simpatico. I think The Heretic picked me because he simply would not leave my mind when I considered him as a possibility. 

4.     If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?

Canon. I mean they left us kinda hanging there. We really do not know what happened do we? They are simply, just not there anymore. I do not want them to perish, I want them to make it to the finish line and become urSkek. It breaks my heart to think they did not make it.

5.     If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?

I would not say anything, just hug him REALLY tightly and probably not let go until he gives me a chitter-laugh.

6.     If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?

I would like to give them...ME. 

7.     If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?

I do not want to take a positive thing from the fibers that make up Gra. I feel they are very interwoven in his tale. Removing one would make another untether. If I could take away or diminish a bad trait Id have him not be so stubborn and or impatient but then again he would not be Gra now would he?  

8.     If you could “borrow” one aspect of your muse and apply it to yourself or your own life, what would you borrow?

His determination, passion. Damn son. You get things done. 

9.     Do you genuinely want your muse to be happy? What do you think would make them most happy in life?

Yes. He’s gotten his ass handed to him, I think he might be owed a slice of peace and happiness.  What makes him most happy? He’s already showed me; his relationships whether its friendship, extended family or a lover those are treasures he holds near and dear to his heart.  

10. Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?

Usually I prefer to plot out angst rather then let it completely run a-muck because you never know what your partner is comfortable with, what might trigger them in a detrimental way and simply set fire to a plot unintentionally. 

I already know; it literally is ... break his heart. 

11. What do you love about your muse?

His dynamic energy, the wild fire, the mystical chaos, the creativity is off the charts. His sharp distinguished features, the way he looks shamanistically feral as compared to his brethren and their Garthic garb. His use of the color red. His scratchy rasp of a voice. His laugh. 

12. What do you hate about your muse?

He is a high maintenance muse, he is demanding and screeches loudly for what he wants. 

13. What about your muse amuses you?

The fact that he is a skeKSis. This brings a whole slew of challenges to the table for a writer. Case in point, I was writing a reply one day and I went to put something in along the lines of ‘he arched his brow and blah blah’ THEN he hit me! He has no eyebrows to arch, ahhh! I have to stop and think about how to write out expressive traits or reactions that are not of the usual human reaction tone.

14. What about your muse makes you sad? 

How fragile his heart really is after all the shit he’s endeared. 

15. How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time?

Get Ready For A Wild SURPRISE!

16. Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

Yes, I like creative souls. I cherish them. 

17. In what ways are you better than your muse? In what ways are they better than you?

I do not think I am or he is better than the other. 

But I will say he is a handsome devil, for a skeKSis. 

18. Why do you think you connect to your muse?

Creative. Outcast. 

19. What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not?

His passion and drive. I’d say its the same answer for us both. All of the accomplishments he tackled probably had their stacks of obstacles with each to-do. You’d have to have an unending supply of passion and drive to keep going, to complete all. He really is a work-a-holic and a busy body skek.

20. Has your character(s) changed over the time that you have been playing them? How have they changed?

Not yet but I am sure he will, creative liberties will be taken since I only have a a episode or two to work with -am I right? 

About You!

1.     What is your name? 

Jesse. 

2.     What is your profession?

secret shit. 

3.     What do you do to relax?

I write. Play video games. Naps are divine. Hot coffee and watch YT videos. DOodle. Desert combing walks. Long hot baths. Organize things xD

4.     What is your favorite treat (desert)?

All kinds, I’m not picky. I love me some chocolate lately. 

5.     Favorite movie

Too many to list. Its October right now. All I want is Hocus Pocus, some Harry Potter and Practical Magick at the moment. Tis the season. 

6.     Favorite book

I do not think I have a favorite. BUT I will admit that I have a copy of The Dark Crystal that I STOLE FROM A LIBRARY YEARS AGO! I have kept it all this time, its falling apart and its aged with beauty and I adore it  ❤ I also have a Jim Henson book about puppetry and his works, there is a page from TDC and if my memory serves me right it has the concept art of skekGra in it sooo sooo I was looking at skekGra YEARS AGO AND HAD NO CLUE the conjunction that would line up in the future! I really neeed to go find this book but its in a storage shed that will be a fresh hell to get to =[ *

7.     Favorite vacation spot

Anywhere where its either very green and or by some body of water. Ocean, river, lake. Yes, good. -not very many humans around save for present company reading thiiiis. 

8.     Favorite Disney movie

Are you kidding me? Too many to list, although I will say The Sword In The Stone did play a part in Gra’s Crystal Skimmer named Archimedes after the grouchy old owl. 

9.     How did you first get into role playing?

Years ago. I started writing on face book. I wrote for a pirate believe it or not, he was my first muse and he holds special place in my black heart and probably always will. But I am disinclined to acquiesce the gift of further details about this scurvy cursed muse, Ha!

10. What was your first platform? If it was something other than Tumblr, what made you get into Tumblr?

It was face book, before they got all crazy about accounts and security. I moved over to tumblr because writers were incredibly rude and rapid fire RP-ers. One liner sentences and I’m like NOPE I need a novel length. 

11. What’s a grammar rule you find yourself breaking or ignoring a lot?

Sometimes I have a touch of dyslexia, sometimes I typo, sometimes I am too tired to proof read, sometimes I make blunders. But I tend to focus on my mistakes rather then other peoples. I just go with the flow, I just write no matter what their level of ‘proper grammar’ IS because I’d like to think that maybe they are just starting out, maybe they will fall in love with writing and maybe they will be the next author who creates a world we all fall in love with and want to immerse ourselves in.  

12. Are there any languages besides English in which you think you could comfortably roleplay?

I do not RP in other languages. However I did have a muse at one time who was French, I would throw in little phrases but it was never entirely done in French and I do have a British muse at the moment, so again I will use slang and little sayings to make them well rounded as best as I can. Those are just little details I like to include that many others might skip on but I thrive for deets. 

I do however have role play writing partners that are from ALL over the world which is amazing to me. 

13. Do you listen to music while your write?

ALOT. I have tracks specifically for skekGra, that take me to his frame of mind. Even TDC soundtrack at times, the puppet show song and the blue flame part 2 are on replay a lot. 

14. Are you a morning, day, evening, or night writer?

I am all over the place. My life is very hectic. I’d like to say its usually in the afternoon of evening for me, the house is settled down and things are silent but thats not always how it works out. Oftentimes I will sit down and write a reply or two, then dip to do mundane human things that adults do, then return back for a few more replies. 

15. How does tiredness affect your writing?

Kills it. The weekends I work long hours therefor my brain is like WHAAAT. 

16. What is your biggest obstacle to writing every day, if time doesn’t count?

It is always TIME. Sometimes stress levels can be an obstacle too, no lie. If something major is going on, I just throw my hands up like ‘I got nothin’’ and thats that.

17. How many drafts is a paralyzing amount?

Oh damn. Been there done that. I am much more picky about it nowadays. I try to limit skekGra to a certain number of replies because he also has to allow room for other muses. 

Currently: Gra has ten replies on tumblr -no actually 11 &&& 4 on discord. I am two shakes away from cutting HIM OFF! lol. 

18. Is there anything character-wise or writing style-wise that you can’t stand?

I’m open to different characters, I have written with a lot. I love a writer who has style, I appreciate the effort.  

Etiquette, manners and consideration are oftentimes LACKING as of late. 

19. What kind of anonymous questions are your favorite?

ANYTHING as long as it is not anon HATE. 

20. What is your weakest point in writing? Angst, fluff, dialogue, etc.?

T I M E not having enough time to write the angst fluff and dialogue, smut too lets be real. It really is a bummer to me when I  do not have the time, I work, I have a a lotta responsibilities, my life is like a hurricane a lot of the time so TIME is my weakness, oftentimes I am super J E L L O of people who are online all day, every day, always there I’m envious and I get writers FOMO which makes me laugh but its so damn true I could ugly laugh cry about it. 

[yuli-the-bi]

It took me a while to recollect myself after today's chapter. After excitedly getting up super early (went to bed around 4am, woke up at 7) and waiting patiently for the episode to come out, I had such high hopes, y'know? (Warning: this gets a bit long.)

But that quickly ended in a punch to the gut that, honestly, left me speechless and with full-body tremors. I haven't had an anxiety attack in a while but it hit me hard and took me some time to calm down. I'm used to disappointment from series I watched in the past, but I sincerely did have faith in this one. V7 was what got me back into rwby, mainly because I had dropped it after skipping around the events of V5. I had noticed Qrow getting attention on this site, and went "sure, why not?" and checked the tag. This was when chapter 3 aired, and man, was everyone going wild over it-- for completely good reason. I've always been attached to Qrow as a character. I've had the lowest times in my life where I didn't think I would get back up, and here he was, the character that I saw parts of myself reflected in-- suddenly earning a potential partner that, for once, could balance his semblance and quite possibly everything else. We weren't wrong in the least in that regard.

Speaking from a narrative design point, the outer, cinematic dialogue for c12 was just... so wrong in many ways. It felt like characterization was thrown out the window, Tyrian aside. I've written countless scripts for games, and as a writer you are responsible for forming an immersive dialogue/monologue that will direct the audience into experiencing specific emotions. The lines here, while beautifully delivered by the amazing voice actors, gave me the feeling of two utter, complete strangers that were pitted against each other rather than two people who have been together for quite some time and have developed a bond. The words, especially from Clover, were visceral, cold, and almost robotic. Completely OOC actions aside, the tone set in the scenes were so unnatural it caused me to pause the video several times to digest what had been said.

It hurt to hear Clover of all people, the same man throughout the volume show his concern for ALL civilians, including Mantle (cue back to c9 where he was the one to panic about rushing the rwbyjnr + ace ops/qrow to Mantle to save the people, as well as his stern orders to prioritize the safety of the people), to suddenly become a callous soldier set in his ways. He turned his back on the people that depended on him, which seems to be a reoccurring theme in these past few episodes. That doesn't reflect the man I've seen, admired, and analyzed throughout the volume. This one today felt unnatural and lacked all empathy that he had once shown (literally just in c11 you can *hear* the relief and joy in his voice once he reports that they've apprehended Tyrian, the psycho who has been out on a killing spree and Clover explicitly expressed malice to). This episode just completely forgoes the warmth I've been hearing in his voice.

I'm angry, depressed, and quite frankly, so fucking annoyed at how this episode was handled, from the standpoint of a narrative design/script writer and a fan of the show since high school. There were so many other routes they could have taken, granted, that could have given us just as much angst/shock value without the cost of a character that was a major pillar of support for Qrow. There has been so much wonderful development throughout the volume that sincerely gave me hope that it was going to be okay for him, and in turn, be okay for me and many other individuals who see themselves in Qrow's shoes. But that hope was demolished the moment I heard Clover speak so coldly, just barely showing reluctance he had so boldly delivered in previous chapters. I knew something was wrong, but didn't want to believe it. When I write dialogue for my scripts, I always envision myself as the character speaking, including gestures, facial expressions, and tone/pitch used to create a 'realistic' voice for them. I'm not one of the writers, but they demonstrated a very transparent purpose of closing off the possibilities of character growth with just those few lines. The intention was there. It probably has been from the start. And that isn't okay.

Not when there has been, admittedly, so many scenes where it touched upon gentler, more open emotions like trust, which is supposed to be such a huge factor in this volume. It was used horribly in this chapter, as it was meant to twist Clover's words, making it seem as though Qrow was completely in the wrong when we all fucking know it's two sides of the same coin. Not one side is completely right or wrong. "I wanted to trust you too" really hit me in all the wrong places. It crushed the hope for their bond, and all for what? Dramatic flair? If that's the case, then it was a real poor stylistic choice. Qrow was spot on when he said Clover was being manipulative-- because those words, while they sounded as if they were filled with pain, were all transparent in terms of closing off any more development between them. All these lines served one purpose, and that was to stamp out whatever had been blooming underneath all their previous interactions. Very melodramatic, I've seen about a thousand of these used, and none of them ever get me to react the way the writer intended for. It just left the worst taste in my mouth. (And don't even get me started on that ending. It might've appeased whatever audience they were going for, but bluntly put I've seen commercials that delivered stronger emotional impact than that. It clearly shows even more how Clover is distanced from Qrow in that regard. The "Good luck" at the end is a call back sure but the words exchanged really just... left me feeling so empty rather than a heart full of emotions. I only started crying once I heard Qrow's anguished scream and saw the light fade from Clover's eyes.)

I've seen all the wonderful AUs and fix-it scenarios that many of you have been posting and I really appreciate all your positivity through this horrible misstep in show production. (Thank you to those who are liking and reblogging my fair game comic I made a while back.) This has hurt me so badly that I know I probably won't open up and trust shows like this for quite some time, if ever. I'm skeptical about any changes that might occur in the finale, but I'll be looking at it with cold indifference nonetheless. I'll probably take a break from the series again afterward, but will definitely continue basking in the absolute joy of the fair game community and ignoring... whatever the hell that was. (I actually have some WIPs for fics saved that I might work on and publish once I get time off work). I'm sorry for my rambling and that it might not make much sense, but I had to voice my thoughts on the situation today. It is not okay by any means, and everyone who is upset by this is valid.

[huntershowl-moving]

things a new rp partner should know about me !

fun new meme here ! write 3-5 things a rp partner (or those who want to be) should know about you and tag 3-5 people! it should be related to rp and not to other interests. sidenote: i’m sorry for the length, as always

one. on fast replies: i’m high activity. especially because of quarantine, but pretty much anytime i don’t have irl responsibilities to deal with. i’ve got a lot of muse, most of the time, so my replies – especially shorter ones or threads i’m excited about / with someone i’m close to – will likely be fast! that does not mean i expect you to reply as fast as me. just do you. reply a year later, i will never pressure you. on that note, though, if my quick replies stress you out, just let me know and i’ll queue them!

two. on plotting: i value plotting more than anything. plotting allows for me to give your muse the most respect possible in writing with them, and allows me to judge how much info to give out about hellhound from the outset. some people, like @pristinette​, know secrets about her that no one else does, which is discussed in private and primarily because pearl is on the same level as hellhound in her classified shit. same goes for @alreadybrcken​ because of the sheer amount we’ve written together. if your muse knows hellhound / was there for parts of her past, they’ll know more on the outset, etc etc etc. plotting ALSO helps get past those first awkward stages, where hellhound doesn’t want to talk to your muse because lbr, she doesn’t wanna talk to anyone. thus, we can discuss how to force them into situations that will make them interact and make her eventually shed some of the hostility (or not. depending on the partner!)

three. on prickliness: i love first meeting threads! i know they’re not everyone’s cup of tea, but for hellhound, i have a really hard time going forward with a dynamic if i don’t know her first impression of your muse. whether or not that’s done with a thread or just a long talk ooc, it’s all good either way; i just need to know what happens, how they react, etc. beyond that? any friendship or relationship with hellhound is going to have to be a slowburn. i have a really hard time not pandering to the average niceness of rp characters and staying true to her, but it helps if people who interact with me understand that it’s going to take a while. you know how in animal crossing, you have to talk to sable the hedgehog every day for her to eventually warm up to you? yeah. she doesn’t trust often or easily. i can’t just... ship from the get go, or have her immediately like or be nice to another muse without at LEAST a few months of effort. that’s another reason plotting is so important! it’s not like aggression is the be-all-end-all, but if you don’t want a mean/hostile/aggressive muse, then uh, don’t write with hellhound.

four. on respect: i’ve talked about this before but i’ll do it again! unless otherwise discussed, there are very, very few things the public knows about hellhound. in my about, i linked the post that details the rumors following her across worlds – perhaps rumors isn’t the right word, though, because despite my hard rule that they’re almost universally considered true, it rarely works out that way. i think @nolaroots​‘s pasha is one of the few i’ve interacted with who treats her murderousness like the difficult thing it is; shoutout here because i appreciate pher so much for that. hellhound’s character is built around misconceptions and moral issues. it’s okay – in fact, it’s encouraged – to strongly dislike her from the outset, or be terrified of her initially. even if your muse doesn’t believe she transforms into an actual wolfmonster (but in any world with werewolves in it, why wouldn’t they?), there is no doubt that hellhound is literally a serial killer. most of her victims are rendered unrecognizable because she straight-up beats them and rips them to death; she doesn’t tell most anyone, let alone someone she’s never interacted with, why she kills who she kills. you’d have to do some serious karen page-level digging (shoutout to @sevenbulletsavior​ bc hell yeah, you go karen) to figure it out without talking to her, but to everyone else?? just regular fuckin people torn to shreds! people with families! so i just – i ask you to respect that she is feared, and that most people would logically have no reason not to fear her. this obviously doesn’t apply if your muse wouldn’t be afraid of / hate any gruesome murderer for whatever reason. this is one of the reasons i’m so hyped about my fe: three houses verse, though. pre-timeskip, she’s in disguise, which allows for interactions without the murder hanging over their heads. but post-timeskip, whether or not she’s made friends, her identity’s gone public; the shift in viewpoint, the fear and realization and conflict... there’s so much potential.

five. on shyness: i always have the urge to reach out to people to plot, but i don’t always have the courage to do it. sometimes we talk and it doesn’t go anywhere and then i’m worried that talking to you again would annoy you, so i just leave it at that and watch from afar. if you want to talk/plot, i just wanna say that that will never be the case in reverse (and i’m working on understanding that in regards to other people!) please please feel free to message me, even if our conversation petered out but you still want to plot. or if we’ve never talked! if i don’t answer, i still saw it, and i will get to the message at some point. you are not annoying! and i’m happy to get a message. promise. 〜(￣▽￣〜)

tagged by: @diegraced​ ( thank u vas :D ) tagging: if i mentioned you in this and you want to do it, i tag you!

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, KATHERINE! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Sirius Black. I’m so thrilled to have someone who understands Sirius so well to be writing them. They’re the highs and the lows, never the in between. Black or white, never grey. And god, do they feel things with all their being. They’re incredibly self destructive, and I can’t wait until you press their buttons enough to explode. 

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

name: katherine age: (23 preferred pronouns: she/her timezone: cst activity: (include a brief explanation): I have a full time job, so I cannot guarantee daily activity, but I tend to do replies during the week. I am less active on the weekends. On a scale of 1-10, I would say a 7. are you applying for more than one character?: no, just Sirus Black how do you feel about your character dying?: I’m all for it. I’m a sucker for putting my character through hell, and this would quite literally be it. The way Sirius’ emotions seem to be going, it seems likely.

ic details.

full name: sirius arcturus black date of birth: november 3 former hogwarts house: gryffindor sexuality: pansexual gender/pronouns: non-binary, he/they face claim: samuel larsen

how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths. Sirius feels deeply for their chosen family. Especially when their ‘real’ family disowned them over a choice that was not technically theirs to make. The Sorting Hat’s decisions are non-negotiable; he didn’t ask to be a Gryffindor, but that’s where he was meant to be. As Regulus began to take Sirius’ place as the golden child, he might’ve shrunk in on himself. All they ever wanted was for their parents to notice him, and if that could not happen, despite their best efforts, they might as well fade into the background– but James saved them. Then Remus, then Peter. Loyalty runs deep in Gryffindor, and that is something Sirius related to immediately. He loves his friends, and would die for them without a second thought. With this, Sirius lost his light when James died. As their biography suggests, something instantly changed– they lost their best friend over a war that, up until now, they hadn’t truly taken a stance in. A once easy-going, carefree (albeit to a fault) person was mangled into something unrecognizable, full of anger and bitterness. And so, he joined the Order, determined to avenge James and end the war. Sirius is be so blinded by his goal– kill Voldemort– that he will stop at nothing to do it, even if that means harming himself, or others, unintentionally.

STRENGTHS: Sirius is, as mentioned, incredibly loyal. They would do anything for their friends: would lay down their life, would fight an unbeatable war, to do them right and proud. They are desperate to prove themself worthy of other peoples’ love, which can lead to reckless decisions. Sirius is quick-witted. Their mischievousness began as a child, desperate for their parents’ attention, and they got fairly creative with how they went about it. Sirius went out of their way to get into trouble, and with James at their side at Hogwarts, they were really able to hone their skills. This manifested into cleverness as an adult. Sirius has toned own after James’ death– the loss of their best friend making them mostly quiet and bitter– but the wit is still there. Despite it all, they can still crack a joke here and there. Despite it all, they can still plan battles and outwit the enemy. Sirius’ emotions aside, they are an asset to the Order.

WEAKNESSES: Due to his rocky relationship with his family, Sirius has always had trouble controlling his emotions. When he feels anger, he really feels it, and the same for sadness, and happiness, and so on. His emotions are high and can often get in the way of his decision-making. If he believes something is right, he’ll act upon it. If he’s angry, he’ll let it out. Of course, with happiness and love, this can sometimes be a positive thing, but that leads to weakness number two: Sirius is codependent on his friends. At Hogwarts, he latched onto both James and Remus. Without a true family of his own, Sirius made a family from his friends. Now that James is dead (though Sirius has a hard time speaking the words aloud) their attachment to Remus has gotten much worse. Without Remus, Sirius would be more lost than they already are; this makes them fiercely protective of Remus.

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise? Sirius’ life, thus far, has been filled with incredibly hard choices, that he himself often did not get to make. He was sorted into Gryffindor when his family bled Slytherin green, and much to their parents’ dismay, found a family among them. When the war came, he was stuck with one foot on either side, loyalty to both his family and his friends putting him in a tough situation. Sirius would probably not have chosen a clear side at all, were it not for James’ death. Sirius missed James’ funeral because they could not stand attending it. Being there, lowering the casket, saying their words, felt too real. Too permanent. They are not quite ready to say goodbye to their best friend. Godric’s Hollow felt like the right choice– a chance to be close to James once more, walk where he walked, stand where he stood. Sirius is someone utterly driven by his grief, even if they are unaware of it.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why? After James’ death, Sirius believes he has no choice but to join the Order and finish the war. Suddenly, everything felt crystal clear. Where morality was once on a gray scale, it was now black and white: Voldemort and his followers were evil, and the Order was not. He declared his stance immediately, joined the Order, ruined what little relationship he had left with his family, and got to work.

Since joining the Order after Lily and James’ deaths, what’s something reckless Sirius has done that’s made people question whether they should remain a part of the Order? Sirius lost it during Glenda Chittock’s radio show. She mentioned the dead– good news– and they took off without a second thought, their Animagus barreling through the crowd and into the woods. It was all they could think about for the past year. James being alive was the best case scenario, the one Sirius dreamed night after night. Surely it couldn’t be real…could it? When they finally returned to Order headquarters, exhausted and covered in dirt, eyes watched him warily. They knew Sirius was struggling– they were all struggling– but there was still work to be done. They didn’t even know what Glenda’s broadcast meant. They feared Sirius’ disappearing act meant they were too fragile to handle the Order. Ever since then, Sirius has been watched, much like, well, a dog.