#pray for me I won’t survive this round

[raddestrose]

Whooo I’m mad stressin about round seven

But I do know that the bass will be FUNKY

[artist-issues]

i have three movie recommendations for you! I haven't seen Twisters yet, but based on your description I think that these are right up your alley, I love all of them so much.

Lady Hawk- a adventure/comedy/romance kinda deal. set in medieval Italy, this petty theif, Phillipe Gaston who truly 'prays without ceasing' and is really funny, breaks out of the most secure prison in the region, something no one has ever done before, and runs into this guy, ex-Captain Navarre, who has an odd secret and a odd hawk who always accompanies him. Without spoilers, they set off to go confront the Bishop that Phillipe was imprisoned by, with lots of good action scenes.

Undercover Blues- another comedy/action. Jane and Jeff Blue, a married couple who are recently retired CIA agents go to New Orlans with their baby daughter for a fresh start, but the thrill of spy work follows them, with minor but funny criminals as well as large and dangerous terrorists, and they have to take care of business while keeping their daughter safe, with the help (and detriment, sometimes) of two cops who have them under suspicion for their work.

The Boys in the Boat- the best and classiest movie ive seen this year. a inspirational sports/drama. set in 1936, during the Great Depression, a group of boys at the University of Washington train to compete at the Olympics, while they struggle with poverty and class. it also has a really cute romance and everyone in this movie is so well rounded, I could gush about this movie for hours.

if you decide to give these a try, PLEASE tell me what you think!! :)

I watched Boys in the Boat but haven’t gotten to the rest yet! I liked what Boys in the Boat was trying to do with “enjoyment vs. necessity” or “passion vs. need” and the main actor was very compelling…when he emoted. Like when he realizes someone he knows is serving soup at the soup kitchen, so he won’t get to eat—that reaction and expression was compelling and perfect. I felt that disappointed pride.

But I was telling doverstar, I kept looking for that level of perfect-reaction emotion from him for other parts of the movie—like the one with his dad, for example. Instead, he was basically the same Steve-Rogers-Stoic for the whole movie. And I love Steve Rogers. But I just felt like the movie lacked a little emotional pacing. It was even hard to care whether or not they won the Olympics…because they never lost.

I also felt like they fumbled the symmetry at the end. The whole movie they’re going “it’s the want-tos versus the have-tos” and the coach is like “I love the view, I just wish I could enjoy it like I used to,” and the girlfriend is asking Joe, “do you enjoy rowing?” because the idea is, it’s the Great Depression, the United States is in it’s most “underdog” phase, everyone is working because they have to, just to survive; nobody’s doing anything for the love or enjoyment of it. And then at the very end, Joe’s grandson goes, “did you like rowing eight-man?” And Joe goes, “we were never eight. We were one.”

It felt like a hard pivot. Instead of saying something about the difference between “want to and need to,” or “enjoyment versus necessity,” or whatever, the movie says something about…unity. Everybody rowing together. All for one, one for all. And I get it, I get that Joe was, in a sense, out for himself and his tuition and then had to kind of become a team-player.

…But what does that have to do with the whole setup of “the coach never smiles anymore,” or “Joe’s not even rowing because he likes it, it’s just because he needs it,” and all that? I don’t mean to pick apart your favorite movie—I actually hope you respond because it sounds like you caught something I missed—I guess they were maybe trying to say, “Joe was only rowing because he needed to, but once he was faced with losing it, he realized that he enjoyed his crew like a new family, and he not only enjoyed, but needed them—they all needed and enjoyed each other, and that’s what got them through!”

I guess you could argue that that’s what they were trying to say. That need and want were united when the team was united.

But…I didn’t feel that. You know why? I didn’t really know any of the guys in the boat. The movie spends little to no time building them as human characters. They all look blandly similar. There’s only about four of the eight that you really know: Joe, Gay Guy, Shy Sick Guy, and Genius Cox. And those nicknames I gave them are all you know about them.

I felt compelling emotion about any of those men once. And it was when the Shy Sick Guy was zoning out, until he heard the music Genius Cox was singing, and then he snapped out of it. Because they built up to that. They showed one scene of him being shy, of the Genius Cox forcing him to use his “comfort zone” to get out of his shyness, and then they brought that back for the climax. That was nice. But it was just one moment.

Gay Guy? No dialogue or character development beyond hints that he’s gay.

Genius Cox himself? One line indicating that he was kicked off the boat once for not following instructions…and then he has no character development because he never follows instructions for the rest of the movie, and it always turns out fine. He’s got personality. That’s all.

What about the rest of the four in the boat? I think the thing about it is, if the movie is about eight men uniting during the Great Depression—when uniting should be really hard, because everyone has to “look out for number one” to survive—then you have to show us who those eight guys are. All of them. You have to give us a glimpse of how they each look out for themselves—and then they each find commonality and start to care about each other in sync. Then parallel that with the sport of rowing in sync.

But they didn’t do that. Only Joe can be considered a “loner” on the boat, and maybe Shy Sick Guy, just because he’s shy. And maybe Gay Guy, because he’s gay. But none of them are shown growing out of individualistic mentality. They’re all kinda buddies as soon as they make JV, and then they continue being kinda buddies until they win a gold medal. None of them are shown to be passionately upset or concerned that they’re losing a member of the family when one of their number, Joe, gets kicked off the boat, (except for Gay Guy because he’s gay.) Joe is concerned when Shy Sick Guy is demonstrably sick—but just a normal level of concern. Not a “you’re my family, I care more about you than the boat” level of concern. No human moments where you see what each of these other 7 guys are even in the boat for. None of them telling stories about how they always wanted to row, or finding commonality with Joe’s poverty, beyond one random moment where one of them calls him a hobo then confesses to stealing sometimes.

I see what they were telling me. But I wanted them to show me, so that I would feel it.

That was my impression. I wanted to like it. You're the second friend to recommend it to me. But I felt like I just kept waiting for it to shift gears and shift momentum and it stayed basically the same for the whole movie. Anyway, tell me what I missed!

I haven’t seen the other two you recommended, but I’m excited to look!

[fioreofthemarch]

Finding Her - Chapter 19

Link makes notes, takes photos and keeps time on his quest across Hyrule, in the hopes of finding Zelda and staying sane until he does. [ Previous | Next | First | AO3 ]

Log date: 17:35. 9th month, 18th day 104AC Location: Lookout Landing, Emergency Shelter  Weather: Overcast, drizzle 

Arm hurts, really hurts. A Yiga got me there. In a bad way, but getting better. 

Don’t know where to start or where to end. It’s Autumn already, but it was Summer yesterday. Talk of a Blood Moon soon. Or did that already happen? Head’s swimming. Losing my grip a little and then suddenly I’m

Upstairs, in the loft, dozing. Zelda’s downstairs. Where’s the flour? she asks, I want to bake something. It’s been over a hundred years! So we try but I’m a better cook than a baker and she’s a culinary mad scientist. No measuring cups, no recipes, just vibes. We’re sitting on the floor waiting for the cake to bake, flour everywhere, and then she’s on my lap, then her lips are on mine, then her apron is gone along with the rest of our clothes, and when I wake up in bed next to her, there’s still flour in her hair. 

Was that yesterday or the day before? Trying to hold on. Time flowing through me like air out a window. If I reach out I can catch moments in my palm: Standing with Scorpis under a sunshade, waiting for the rain to pass. He’s telling me it’s a family legend that his great-grandfather was a Knight, like me. Then I’m with Jerrin, getting my bandages changed. She says it’s a miracle I survived, or perhaps the Goddess’ idea of a joke. Then Muzu is insisting we train the soldiers harder, but Slergo and Offrak say people are already working their guts off. Gralens hands me the latest edition of the Lucky Clover Gazette. Buliara and Harth take inventory of my gear and weapons. Mubs reads me a letter from Garini, who says hi. 

I’m here. I’m trying to be here. They’re saying the Sages are on their way to Lookout Landing. They say victory is near. But all I wanted was her, and that future only half-dreamed. The one where we have a house on a hill and it’s being renovated to add a library. Zelda’s downstairs, reviewing the plans over a cup of tea, and I’m upstairs, in the loft, checking on the baby. He was a winter-born child, like me, so he’s strong. There’s a cake in the oven. And it’s a good one.

A photograph of the kitchen in the Emergency Shelter. It’s quite orderly, as though someone has recently given it a tidy, though some jars of flour, sugar, milk and yeast are still out of place. There is a fire crackling below the stove.

Caption: Does she prefer vanilla or chocolate icing? I should know this…

---

Log date: 19:34. 9th month, 21st day 104AC Location: Passeri Greenbelt, Hyrule Field   Weather: Partly cloudy 

Cool morning. Trees are going red now. Rode out with the Monster Control Crew at noon. There’s a camp nearby that they hit once every few weeks, but each time it gets rebuilt a little closer to Lookout Landing. We prayed at the Goddess Statue before we left. Paya is here now, leading the services. As the hours tick down, all round the clock, people pray. 

The Sages arrived two days ago. Impa and Robbie not long after that. Here to give every last Message Medallion a service, Robbie said, while Impa handed Josha a stack of ancient texts to translate. Then, an emergency meeting with the Sages. They’re fidgeting, they’ve heard the rumours. Purah starts saying something but I stop her. They won’t believe the truth from anyone but me. Don’t know what I said, only that I tried to think of how Zelda would tell them, if she were in my place. 

Felt like all hell broke loose after. Gasps, cries, bowed heads, furious tears and vows of vengeance. All that anger and grief is a torch to a powder keg. Suddenly Purah is saying we march at dawn, tomorrow we avenge our Princess and destroy the Demon King! And I’m standing there unable to breathe because I realise I'm not ready. I can’t face him yet and I don’t know why. And I’m trying to think of how to say that without freaking everyone out, because your hero isn’t exactly meant to have second thoughts… when it’s Josha who saves me one final time. 

‘You can’t go!’ she cries. She grabs some ancient book and flips through the pages, pointing to what looks like a lunar chart, with a bright red circle at its centre. ‘There is a Blood Moon tomorrow! If it happens while you’re down in the Depths, it could be a disaster!’ 

More whispers. A bit of back and forth. Purah brushes her off as paranoid, but then the Sheikah gather around a couple calendars and do a few calculations, and in the end, the attack is called off. 

So Ganondorf got himself another day, and so did I. Can’t delay forever but… there’s just something not settled in me yet. When we win this, everyone else’s lives go back to normal. 

But what about mine? 

A photograph of the night sky, clear as glass and only broken up by the pinprick lights from distant stars. Low above the horizon, almost pulsating, is a huge, crimson moon. 

Caption: She was right, the little rebel. 

---

Log date: 10:00. 9th month, 22nd day 104AC Location: Sanidin Park Ruins, Hyrule Ridge Weather: Fine 

They’ll have realised I left by now. I put a note on my pillow promising to come back by sun-down. Have to keep moving in case they send scouts after me. 

Not abandoning them. Would never dream of it. But I promised myself to chase every lead and this last one is for me. 

Read through the Lucky Clover Gazette this morning and a headline on page 8 caught my eye. WINGED WRITER HANGS UP HIS FLYING GOGGLES. Penn? He’s leaving the Gazette? He told me that Traysi loved his work. I have a great all-weather climbing set to show for it. 

Might be stalling. Might not. Just want to figure this one out. Penn was looking for Zelda too, after all. And maybe searching for something else along the way – a reason to wake up each morning, get back on the trail, and soar long… 

He deserves to know what happened, or at least for someone to thank him for his hard work. Or maybe I just want to see a friendly face, before the end of it all. 

A photograph of the said Lucky Glover Gazette article, held up for the camera, the greenery of Hyrule Field just visible in the background. There is an illustration of Penn literally hanging up his goggles, with a pantomimed look of resignation on his face. 

Caption: You can take the man out of the newspaper… 

---

Log date: 15:50. 9th month, 22nd day 104AC Location: Great Sky Island, Central Hyrule Archipelago  Weather: Clear

I found Penn on Washa’s Bluff, in a gazebo where an old friend and I sat once. Kass would sing until the sun went down, and as thanks I’d make us both dinner. His songs still carry on the wind if you know how to listen. They’re the songs of the land, after all. 

We talked for a long time. I told Penn we made a great team, that his leads were invaluable, and that chasing them down kept me on my toes. Sure, we didn’t find Zelda, but we told the stories of her people and should be proud of that. He said he’s still leaving the paper no matter my flattery. Spoke about having lost his touch, that his instincts were gone. A reporter without instincts is like a Knight without a sword. It didn’t help when he noticed that I did, in fact, have my sword back. 

‘Don’t worry about me, partner,’ Penn said. ‘I’ll get back in the air, someday.’

But I was worried. I didn’t want Penn to lose hope… I didn’t want to lose hope. And in that moment, it felt like waking up. Like surfacing from beneath deep waters. I wanted to be alive. I wanted to live a good life. I knew I still did, even without her, even with all the pain.

So I said to him that maybe wanting to be better is its own instinct. Maybe trying to find something or someone or some meaning to it all is what keeps us going. And maybe we don’t have to do any of that alone. Penn sat with that for a long time, and then pulled out his notebook.

‘Would you want to write a column for the Gazette?’ he asked. ‘Our readers would love it. I’ll edit it, of course.’ How could I say no? We shook on it then and there. So much for his sabbatical.

It’s nearly time. I bid Penn farewell, then came here. Wondered — if I could choose how to spend one last afternoon, what would I do? The answer was easy, though it took a little while to coax Zelda to join me. But now we’re here and we’re ready: for a nap, with the sun on our backs, and nothing else but us and the quiet moments we can still share. 

I miss you, Zelda, even though you’re right here. I miss you more than I could ever say. But I’m going to keep on living. I’m going to live enough life for the both of us. I think it’s what you might have wanted. 

If nothing else, I consider it a duty. What is a Knight, if not a devotee to his lady? 

A photograph of the Light Dragon, coiled around a hollow tree stump that sits atop one of the atolls of the Great Sky Island. Three Korok wind-fans are placed in front of her snout – a makeshift lure, and apparently a successful one. On her mane is Link, resting comfortably on her hair. Together, they doze. 

Caption: You deserve all the rest in the world. 

---

Audio log transcription date: 104.09.24  Time: 9 minutes 45 seconds.

LNK | 08:00 Gloom’s Approach in sight. All units report. Vanguard?

MIN | 08:00 We will lead the charge. 

YNB | 08:00 Launching on your command, Link!   

LNK | 08:01 Flank? 

RIJ | 08:01 Static charging as we speak.

TLN | 08:01 With some guidance. Arrows ready. Any monsters down there won’t know what hit ‘em.

LNK | 08:01 And rearguard? 

SDN | 08:02 I am here. If you are hit, fall back to me. 

LNK | 08:02 Last not but least, intel? 

JSH | 08:02 Reporting in. We’re here to help from Lookout Landing, however we can! 

LNK | 08:04 Alright, listen to me. Zelda gave us everything she had for this, but she also gave me an order: protect you all. If anything happens, you get yourselves out. Everybody lives, do you understand me?

MIN | 08:04 Link… 

TLN | 08:04 What about you?

SDN | 08:04 Zelda would not want you to throw yourself at death!  

LNK | 08:05 That’s not happening, not when I have her power right here with me.

RIJ | 08:05 Then give us your orders Link.

YNB | 08:05 We’ll do whatever you say. 

LNK | 08:05 Fight smart, hit hard. Don’t touch any Gloom, keep your Sundelions in reach. As soon as we have a visual on Ganondorf, we do whatever it takes to finish the job. Clear? 

[All answer: ‘Clear’]

LNK | 08:06 And whatever happens… I’m glad to have spent this time with you.

RIJ | 08:06 Likewise, Link.

MIN | 08:07 Yes, it has been an honour. 

TLN | 08:07 We’ll finish this together! 

SDN | 08:07 For the Princess!

YNB | 08:08 For Zelda!  

LNK | 08:08 For Zelda. Any last words? Josha? 

JSH | 08:09 Nothing at the moment, but the further underground you go, the weaker your signal will be. I’m going to disable a few processes to conserve power, like the audio transcription. Let’s hope we don’t need it.

LNK | 08:09 You heard her. Make it count. Or at least live to tell the tale.

LNK | 08:10 Okay, heading in. See you on the other side.

[wellthebardsdead]

Riiju-Lei: *quietly walking across the bridge into windhelm* gods I forgot how cold home is.

Kaidan: I’m still trying to wrap my head around why you’d willingly live here.

Riiju-Lei: it’s where I was raised. My parents used to own the stables. They’re buried in the hall of the dead here too. It’s home. *walks through the gates immediately seeing another dark elf being harassed* even if it doesn’t feel like it… *walks over wedging himself in front of the woman* What did I tell you about harassing us Rolff…

Rolff: oh look if it isn’t the knife eared lizard boy~ what are you going to do about it outsider? Hit me?

Riiju-Lei: I’ve lived in this city longer than you you your fathers before you. I’ve seen it fall into ruin under ulfrics rule. And I’ve watched countless of my friends die for his senseless war. So I’m warning you now. *folds his arms, his hair floating up like fire as arcane energy crackles through his skin making his birthmark glow like hot metal* Leave us alone. Because your brother won’t be able to save you from me…

Rolff: … *backs off a little*

Riiju-Lei: *glares at him before turning his back to address suvaris*

Rolff: *suddenly goes to hit him while he’s not looking*

Kaidan: *socks him hard across the face knocking him out cold, the claws on his gauntlets ripping half of his skin clean off* Oi! You want to fight like a coward then you deal with me! *shakes his hand cracking his knuckles* Stone fist more like stone head- *glares at Angernor* You want a focking round too ay?

Angernor: *jumps and quickly runs off with his tail in between his legs*

Suvaris: well then. Thank you for that, it’s good to see you again Leilei. We all thought we’d never see you again given your house burned down.

Riiju-Lei: …what?…

Taliesin: *hurries through the gates after getting the horses boarded for the night* right I’m h- *looks at the bloodied and possibly dead nord on the ground and the look of shock on Riiju’s face* …what did I miss?

*a few minutes later*

Riiju-Lei: *staring at a burned wreckage that used to be his home, now blanketed in snow and the remaining brickwork covered in slurs written in soot* …my house… it’s… gone…

Taliesin: I wonder if anyone saw what caused it…

Kaidan: *looking at the slurs* Or who caused it- LeiLei be careful-

Riiju-Lei: *climbing through the wreckage, seemingly emotionless as always as he moves boards and snow out of the way, hoping, praying, then sighing with relief as he finds a small chest*

Taliesin: Leilei?…

Riiju-Lei: *opens the chest up and pulls out an old piece of fabric before draping it around his shoulders like a scarf* I’m okay… *climbs out of the wreckage and sighs*

Kaidan: what’s that? *gestures to the scarf*

Riiju-Lei: the sling my mother brought me to skyrim in… it’s all… all I have left of my parents now…

Taliesin: *gently pats his back* at least… something important survived…

Riiju-Lei: *sighs and nods* I suppose we should go see if the corner club has any rooms… *walks down the street and pauses as a little girl runs out in front of him*

Sofie: mr? Would you like to buy some flowers for your pretty lady?

Riiju-Lei: pretty lady?

Kaidan: *snickers and nudges Taliesin* I think she’s talking about you~

Taliesin: …Well she got the pretty part right at least~

Kaidan: Pffft, if your ego got any higher we’d need a permit to grow it.

Riiju-Lei: *suddenly picks Sofie up putting her on his back* You two are going to have to put your bickering on hold until we get back to whiterun. I have a daughter now, Sofie.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Fanfic Snippet

I made Martin cry.

I will not apologize.

(all unedited, not final version, etc. and so forth)

Kayne bothering Martin, who has had the WORST WEEK.

———

Three days have passed.

Three days without Jon.

Three days of feeling like his heart was left back there on the cold, gray beach, bleeding into the sand.

Three days, too, without the Fears being brought into the world, so… that’s good, at least.

Martin wipes at his eyes again. Takes up his notebook and Eloise’s ink.

“There’s a game I play when I’m alone,” he murmurs as he writes, trusting Pepper to keep to the road.

“There’s a game I play when I’m alone. Imagined rounds of hide and seek. A call and response, Seeking anew, Seeking another to be so dear.

“There’s a game I play when I can’t sleep, Breaking the rules of time and place. Imagining touch, Imagining you, Unprompted and sweetly divine.

“There’s a game I play when I…”

A tear splashes on the paper, smudging his words.

“Shit,” he mutters, putting the book aside (open, praying it won’t smudge further), wiping at his eyes, gripping the reins. “Shit.”

He almost wishes the Lonely were here in this world so he could retreat into it. He’d still be without Jon, but he wouldn’t feel it as much. Nowhere near.

“Oh, that’s not a healthy thing to think,” he mutters to himself, and wonders again how the hell Jon is resisting the call from all fourteen.

For something to do, he reaches into the back and takes out Kayne’s black book. He still doesn’t know why he was given it.

Now, it says, Patience, my little creme puff, over and over and over again.

“What’s the point of this?” he mutters at it. He’s sure Kayne can hear him. “You’re doing it all wrong, you know,” he informs the book. “I thought you didn’t want the Fears brought here. Well, Jon needs me. So if this is your plan, it’s a really stupid one. Short-sighted, apparently based on… entertainment, or something, instead of the actual issues at hand. I swear, it’s like you actually want the baby tentacle god to win.”

Pepper stops.

“Come on, girl, I don’t have time for this,” Martin mutters, jostling the reins.

Pepper won’t move.

Martin sighs and dismounts. “Of all the days to get stubborn on me, you had to do it right now?” he soothes, wipes his face again, then pets the mule’s. “What’s wrong? Do I need to check your shoes? What’s happening, girl?”

And Pepper says, “Just trying to keep you from being exploded.”

Martin yips and stumbles backwards.

Right into a hard, hot form that is person-shaped, but definitely not a person at all.

Martin leaps forward again.

Kayne laughs. “Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t help it!”

“Wh… leave the mule alone, for the love of god!” Martin says.

“She’s fine, I just borrowed her for a second!” And then Kayne switches the laughter off, like pulling the plug on a machine. “And really, I had to do something to prevent your little self-immolating tirade. That was rude, Martin. Very, very rude.”

Maybe Kayne has trigger-words, too, though Martin isn’t sure which ones he used.

He’s also fairly certain the use of his name is not a good sign, but he’s too miserable to stop now. “Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I wanted your attention.”

“Oh, like burning statements to get my eye, hoping you can survive the fallout? Oh, oh, no, my dear one. All you’ve done is leverage my pride against my ever-present desire to kill you (which, to be fair, I desire to do to everything all the time, but still). Very risky. A dangerous step. I absolutely loved it. Don’t do it again.”

“Don’t give me reason to, then,” Martin says, not even sure why he’s pushing, why he’s toeing the line even further (does he want to be hurt? Is that it?).

Kayne is suddenly right in front of him, hooking one foot around Martin’s ankle to make him fall, and catching him with one hand between his shoulders like a dance partner. He’s so close that Martin can see through Kayne’s eyes into time, space, eternity, nightmare, falling, terror, gravity, inversion, pain -

“No,” Kayne says, slowly, a clear warning. Then he drops him.

Caught in whatever hell spins behind Kayne’s eyes, Martin lands like a sack of wheat, and gets the breath knocked out of him. “You… you said - ”

“‘You said, what do you want, how dare you talk through my donkey,’ wah wah wah,” says Kayne.

And Martin is suddenly not here.

He’s in the Panopticon, cheek stinging from flying debris, staring up at Jon who is so beautiful and so terrifying and so infuriating and -

I didn’t think you’d go through with it! Not without me!

And Martin is horrified at the rage in his voice, at his fury toward his love, at his choking fear that by doing this, Jon might have lost himself, and  -

I can’t believe you’d do this! That you’d leave me like this!

And Jon looks at him and Martin sees Jon is still in there, and that is somehow worse because it means they’ll both have to go survive the consequences, and no one will be spared -

You swore to me! You swore to me, you bastard!

“Stop, please stop!” Martin shouts.

“Hm?” says Kayne, looking up from apparently buffing his nails on his shirt. Then he hits with one more memory.

I knew that you couldn’t help yourself. You never could! I knew you’d lied to me, that you were going in alone!

Tears blur the world. Martin is on his knees, head down. His heart might have actually exploded.

“Lesson learned, muffin?” says Kayne.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. “Go fuck yourself,” he gasps.

“I could, muffin, but I don’t think this planet would survive.”

“Ugh.” Martin manages to stand. He’s shaky; feels like he’s going to throw up. Well, that didn’t accomplish anything, he thinks, and wonders if Anabelle would still think him spider-worthy if she’d seen this little train-wreck.

Kayne chuckles, low.

Somehow, Martin pulls himself onto the cart. His heart hurts so much that he can barely breathe around it.

Kayne leaps. Suddenly, he’s astride Pepper (who does not seem to care), backwards, facing Martin. “You know, though, I’m being unfair? It’s not really your fault I’m in a bad mood. I thought today was the end, after all.”

Martin stares at him. “The end?”

“Mmm, yep. I thought this was it. The end of life as-is, because of course Hastur was going to have his way. But then do you know what happened? Do you? Do you?”

The Fears aren’t here, and Martin knows. “He didn't give in.” Pride lifts his chin. “I told you he wouldn’t.”

“Martin. Martin, Martin, Martin. Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not being - ”

“Did he give in before? Is that what happened? Is that why the whole story went swirling like vomit down the toilet bowl? Is it, Martin? Is it?”

Ah.

No. It was not what happened.

Jon hadn’t given in at all, and that was why it went wrong.

Kayne wants him to make the connection, to dig out his trauma, to plug together terrible currents that Martin strives to keep apart. 

But Martin already has done that. He even thought he’d come to terms with what happened.

He’d realized, finally, how depressed Jon had been. How the weight of the whole suffering world had landed on Jon so much harder than it had him, because while even the bits Martin saw were too damn much, Martin could look away.

Jon could never close his eyes.

Martin knows that if he’d listened more, heard what Jon was saying, really understood how low Jon was, he’d have better anticipated what happened.

But he hadn’t. And then Jon drowned in hopeless sorrow, and Jon lied, and Jon decided to end the world instead of waiting to figure it out together, and Martin understands why.

Understanding doesn’t really make it better.

Martin feels like he’s holding a beloved teacup, a thing he treasures above all else, and sees the crack running through it, and doesn’t know how to make it whole. “Look, we haven’t…” He hates how he sounds - small and wobbly and beaten. “We haven’t talked about it, all right? This isn’t how I want to process it, either.”

“Oh, yes, yes, because first it was about keeping him alive, and then it was about stealing eggs for survival, and then it just was in the past, and you moved on, and it’s all okay because nobody would ever talk about it again. I get it! So sad.”

Of all people, for Kayne to understand this so well was deeply unsettling.

Kayne smiles. “Do you know how often I’m wrong?”

“At least once,” Martin says.

Kayne laughs.

Pepper shifts; the laughter bothers her, too, so Martin feels a little less pathetic for hating it.

“I mean, it’s still a given - he will lose,” says Kayne.

“Now, wait a minute - “

“But things got a little complicated today, and I think he’s going to take a much longer time to do it than I thought. Which means this is going to draaaaag ooouut, and who wants that, right?”

“I don’t - ”

“It’s filler. I don’t want filler. Nobody wants to see Goku get his driver’s license. No one wants to watch the Ceaseless Watcher change in response to what your lover becomes. So that means we need a script doctor, you get me?”

Martin feels like ice water just splashed down his spine. “It’s changing?”

“Your beloved is basically immortal, you know. He doesn’t age. Unlike you.”

Was Kayne going to drop bombs with every sentence? “What? Wh… what?”

“So I was already feeling just so depressed at how long this was all going to take, and how ugly it was going to get - but then Hastur cheated.” And the delight that stretches Kayne’s face now makes it anything but ordinary, anything but just some guy, anything but sane and human and recognizable, like some horrible ancient mask of clay being pulled by many hands.

Martin leans back, breathing quickly. He can’t look away. He dearly wants to look away.

“He cheated, so I get an advantage, because that’s the deal.”

Martin knows Kayne wants to be asked. “Ad… advantage?”

In that split second, Kayne is off the mule and into the cart, face an inch from his own.

Martin scrambles sideways and nearly falls off.

Kayne catches him. Suspends him, really, gripping his shirt in one hand like Martin weighs nothing, holding him horizontally over the ground.

Martin freezes.

“I’m sending you that cheat,” says Kayne again, “and you’re going to play from there and make it all interesting for me again. Oh, oh, and since you’ll want a clue - ” He lifts, just a little, impossibly raising Martin’s hips off the seat, leverage meaning nothing. “He’s taken the Archivist to the Dreamlands.” And he lets go.

Martin falls onto the ground.

When he scrambles up, feeling bruised, Kayne is gone.

Pepper flicks her ears.

This was… this was a lot.

He leans against the wheel, trying to process.

So Jon’s not aging. The Beholding is changing. And there is so much Martin hasn’t dealt with.

So much he hasn’t said.

He should have said. Why hadn’t he said?

Because it felt like we had time, he thinks, and wipes his eyes. “I forgive you, Jon,” he whispers. “I already did forgive you. But oh, gods, it hurts.”

He should have said this to Jon’s face.

He hopes he’ll still have the chance.

This crack in the teacup, Martin is certain, can be fixed.

But it’s going to have to be repaired from both sides.

[eggs-can-draw]

My byakuya fam view is taken from canon and my own brain so I’m it’s going to spew jt at you

Also this won’t make sense unless you know a bit about his past so I pray you do

Byakuyas mom has blonde hair and soft pick eyes. She’s got pretty sharpe features but they are kinda round so she has a soft resting face and her hair is slightly curled at the ends.

Byakuyas dad has black hair and royal blue eyes, he’s got sharpe more square features and doesn’t have facial hair his hair is straight and he has it slicked back

Byakuya obviously has blonde hair but he has baby blue eyes and his facial feture are like his moms sharper and rounded, his hair curls at the ends and has volume and you can see the curl because his little side burns curl on his face.

Byakuyas mom was part of an elite family but not to the standard that the togami family would deem worthy to have the current heir(Byakuyas dad) have a kid. So basicly she was elite but not elite enough for byakuyas dad.

Now the togami family at a point threw kinda a ball type thing to try and expand there connections, and byakuyas moms friend was invited (she was of a higher status then her) and didn’t want to go alone so she gave another invite she had to byakuyas mom.

Now at this point byakuyas dad already had a ton of kids bc that’s like what he was supposed to do but at this party he feel like genuinely infatuated with byakuyas mom and they dance and talk and things like that then like one thing leads to another and they have byakuya

No this is “bad” for a few reasons

1) byakuyas dad already had his kids and the youngest at this point was like 16/17 witch was no bueno for this situation

2) byakuyas mom was no considered fit to have a togami child/ she wasn’t of status despite being elite and basically still considered not a commoner but not much better witch was considered shameful

Now dispite byakuya dad taking a liking to byakuyas mother and vise versa that doesn’t mean their relationship was healthy

Byakuyas dad was ashamed of her and didn’t see her worthy to be with him, he hated that he felt the way he did and tried to suppress it and he was an angry man and basicly blamed the situation on her and treated her horribly

Byakuyas mom believed that he was a good man underneath everything even though he really wasn’t, she wanted to belive that she didn’t have a kid with a monster of a man

Now after byakuyas born byakuya mom really only survives until byakuyas around 5/6, she gets sick while recovering by and can’t fight it off because it keeps her amune system down though she isn’t bed bound until the last really year of her life

Because of her condition she is kept in one of the togami estates in France along with byakuya, byakuyas father learning what to do in this situation from past togami head desides that is to “risky” to really let byakuya near his sibling a lot because of the fear that his “bad blood” corrupting them, even still most of the togami kids don’t really live in the same house for a few years

Byakuyas dad personally keeps an eye on him when he can because he thinks that he’s make sure byakuya does more than exspected to make up for his “bad blood” but also because of the liking he had taken to byakuyas mother

Growing up with the years he had his mother byakuyas first language was French and he learned things like violin and piano, dispite byakuyas dad being insistent that learning from her makes him soft

Byakuya as a kid was still a spit fire, stubborn and determined but he was much softer, he loved nothing more than to play piano wit his mother, read, and walk in the garden when he wasn’t being bombared with tutors teaching him things no young kid should know(high level learning, byakuya was gifted)

Okay that’s all for now I’ll add more later I have though abt this for so long

Me reading this (non-colorized, 2023)

Before we get into my thoughts on this, let it be known I did Togami’s FTEs* when I played dr1 the first time - and then continued to Hang out with him later game because it was him or Yasuhiro and you know damn well I’m not hanging out with fucking Yasuhiro (I took one look at Togami and went “oh you look like a bastard I think I’m gonna like you”) I also brushed myself up with the wiki just to be sure

The way that this almost enhances a lot of the things that make Togami *vaguely gestures at him* like that is so so so so so so so incredibly incredible I am holding your hand and swinging you WILDLY. THE PAIN OH MY GOODNESS. AND LIKE. ESPECIALLY THE ISOLATION MIXED WITH THE INSANE AGE GAP BETWEEN HIS SIBLINGS MAKES THE TOGAMI KID HUNGER GAMES RITUAL (patent pending) SO MUCH MORE INTENSE. Hell, Togami being kept in France and away from other family members even brings in the thought that he didn’t even primarily speak the same language as them during TTKHGR(pp) on top of that event likely being the first time he ever actually got to meet members of his family outside his parents.

ALSO ALSO MORE OF A ME THING BUT TOGAMI BEING 5/6 WHEN HIS MOM DIED HURTS SO MUCH. specifically because that’s around how old I kinda decided Shuichi is when sdr2 takes place (aka the fourth time and counting Togami has almost gotten himself killed)and I’m starting to think you’re a psychic (or maybe it’s just intuition?)

Also I just love love love that you took little things and gave them more context to his backstory I eat that kinda stuff up I love it I love it I love it aaaaaaaaauauahaguahahuaagh

Also just. Oooof. Tiny baby togami. Little guye. Ridiculous family standards and gifted bullshit at the same time? I grew up gt and and that alone was a lot on me I can’t even begin to comprehend the insane level of pressure on the guy every fucking day.

Edit *hi I referenced his ftes here I forgor to mention

[jessalinecaine]

Wake me up when Christmas is over

Wake me up when Christmas is over

by Jessaline Caine

I

You know how this ends. Pack up your childhood—quick now—shove it into bin bags. The social worker waits at the door. Foster care opens its arms like a manger you never chose. Leave your dreams on the threshold. They will name it hope. You will name it exile. They will teach you how to stain every future Christmas with absence.

II

When the ghosts of old Decembers appear, let them in. Watch Mum scarper, watch Dad snarl. No wise men come bearing gifts. No gold, no frankincense, no myrrh—just court dates and overdue bills. String these memories like baubles on your branches. Admire the cruel shine. They’re yours now.

III

Your neighbour’s wreath hangs like a noose. Your door’s bare. The hymns have already begun their slow creep into your marrow. Kill the radio. The carols crawl in anyway. Do they ever stop? Gird yourself. Look away from the joy in the streets.  Straighten your spine. Fold your hands. Pray, if you must. You know what happens now. 

IV

Guilt arrives wrapped with a bow. It looks pretty in glitter but feels like gravel in the throat. You’re dressed in it. A forgotten bauble. Like no one’s touched you for years – not a hand to your face, not a thumb wiping away the muck. Pale as sour milk, bruise-coloured round the edges. When Christmas presses itself upon you, feel it as a sock weighted with stones. Let its heaviness spread into your limbs. Do not resist.

V

Spend a Christmas in someone else’s front room. Charity arrives dressed in sequins. Accept their scraps with a thank you that tastes like dust. Chew slowly. Swallow. Be the ornament they hang where you don’t belong. Take the pudding laced with pity. Gorge on shame. Binge on stigma. No matter how much they insist, know you don’t belong. Smile anyway. Don’t be ungrateful. 

VI

You will be invited, again and again, to partake. To press your hands together at someone else’s table, to taste their brandy-soaked promises. Fortify your heart for seclusion. Reject every Christmas invitation. Recoil from any attempt to give you solace. This is a hunger strike against affection. A vow against warmth. They will call it lonely; you will call it survival.

VII

When your bones ache for what others have, distract yourself. Better alone than pity’s stray at someone else’s table. Silence: your carol, stillness: your hymn. No tinselled lies, no carolling of hollow cheer. If you must, hum your own dirge. Wrap no presents. Hang no stockings. 

VIII

Refuse every ritual that would soften your edges. Let their pity rot under their tree. Let kindness suffocate unopened. You tear the paper, and it’s always the same: loneliness re-gifted, ribbon and all.

IX

Imagine soft mornings with company—the smell of turkey, the pop of crackers, the warmth of memories never forged. Allow them to breathe. Then smother them. Promise next year will be different. It won’t be. You know it. Lie to yourself anyway—call it tradition.

X

When Christmas morning comes, refuse to wake. Pull the duvet to your chin. Let the hours pass like strangers. The cold will be your only guest. Is this what you wanted?

XI

Breathe a prayer to no one: Wake me up when Christmas is over.

XII

You were made for this. Let the season pass like a fever dream. Christmas will leave  you as it found you. Maybe next year you’ll leave out milk and cookies for solitude instead.

[wealthyjanat]

Miserable is no longer just a feeling it’s a way of life. Sometimes I just wish I would have died at child birth or something. Yu can’t think clearly when you’ve always countlessly been rejected.. humiliated and verbally abused. Yu start to wonder. Did you ever mean anything to the person at any time? Why the are treating you how the are? Are you good enough? I get it. The space between what we know and what we assume is a lot. But no body can read silence. Unspoken words and feelings not shared and your not allowed to poke around to find out then you’d be too desperate. The truth is, if a person wants to be with you they’d let you in. Completely. I was younger once, chased rainbows in the name of love. Had a failed relationships, had my nude which I was also sending to a boy she introduced me to mistakenly sent to my then boyfriend which he leaked. I was raped alongside twice by the first one an attempted rape by someone I’d consider a cousin and then my sister’s husband’s best man that left me bleeding for a whole month and had nobody to talk to about it. Dated my abuser. In an other Neglected and left with a baby. Somehow it’s all ppl from my elder sister. Mentally I am stable but my heart can’t bear any more pains. The laugh at my pain or relationship matters concerning me and dismissing it widely. Do you know what that does to my mental health? Am a person, I feel, I breathe not a tv reality show talk for the internet or ppl to openly discuss. I deserve love, I deserve privacy, I deserve a good mental health. People are making bold assumptions about me, about my life in order to keep me from growing and improving. I don’t hate my sister but I believe it’s a childhood anger and if not I am done trying to understand her or my other siblings or mother. I have my life to LIVE. At 33 no husband, no boyfriend. No financial aid. I have seen housewives loved and respected. I have seen single mothers loved and respected and don’t give me the crap about luck it’s not real. When your name and image has been tainted from a young age like pole has done worse give me a break and is still loved up on. I deserve it all.

I am starting to think God doesn’t exist.. I am not jealous nor bitter. Hear my story, walk in my shoes yu be drinking a poison or hanging by the rope. This is a person’s life We are talking about here.

I am also not lazy.. my child has been sexually molested at 3 going to a job. I have been severely burnt doing a hand and carry sales and other things I have attempted. Selling my used clothes to be able to feed but meanwhile my child has a father.

My family calls me a beggar and other behavioral issues from their husbands and friends. My so called friends I thought I had all abandoned me. Where we not all doing the same weed and cigarettes and alcohol and sleeping with men to survive. We are grown and you lot are happily married and am the one to be avoided and the coy word ghosted to be applied in her life.

My child is my child and so the same ill treatment and fate to fall on him? I pray good for yu all family and friends but yu wish me and my child evil. The karma will catch up to yu all not later.

Screenshot my WhatsApp status… pass it round. Put it on the streets and internet amongst yur selfs and the ones doing yur dirty jobs for yu all it won’t break me. If there is God he will handle yu all. If there isn’t yur karma is inevitable.

But I won’t stop trying to be a good mother to my child and taking care of me how I can cause it’s really tough out. So don’t stand in my way or try to stop me bullying me or pulling some cheap tricks with yur losers squad. God is watching. I am sure there is something bigger than us all and will rise to vindicate me.

[thatwildnya]

@thicity-dicity , round three of your commission! enjoy~

pre relationship headcanons Octavinelle edition!

gn!reader

Azul Ashengrotto

mistakes his feelings for thinking he just wants you as an underling

the twins watch him fumble around occasionally feeding into the misconception until he starts to go mad oh no

when he starts stressing too much is when Jade decides to step in the lounge is losing profit and he’s being forced to do more work this is not very cash money

now he’s set on showing off and reels you into (hehe fish pun) the lounge with the promise of deals on food and drinks

of course the twins make it their mission to embarrass him whenever possible

“Hey shrimpy did you know Azul spits ink if you catch him off guard?” “FloyD SO HELP ME-!”

study dates except you don’t know they’re dates only Azul

to you they are study sessions

we are not the same person

well you probably have an inkling they might be more than a simple get together

I mean, he’s turned the VIP room into a private dining room it’s a lil sus

if you point it out he waves you off and redirects your attention

if you show up with others unexpectedly he’s scrambling to find a different place he can’t have his secret found out

lowkey pouts through the whole session it’s cute

it takes some time but he will get used to flirting with you

he won’t pull out the big guns until he’s sure you’re at least somewhat interested in him

asks you to come to the lounge and surprises you with a fancy dinner and everything to confess

tries to be a suave gentleman when you accept but instead ends up getting flustered thanks to the twins

Jade Leech

you won’t ever know he’s smitten with you unless he wants you to know

or Floyd outs him, otherwise you’re left in the dark

will invite you on his mountain excursions so he can show off his survival nature skill knowledge

he’s always watching you and taking note of your reactions to different situations

somehow figured out your hobbies before you told him don’t ask how he knows it’s better for your health

if he finds them interesting enough he’ll try out some of your hobbies so you can bond together

ask to see his merform and you’ll get roped into a late night date

how did you end up like that? the world may never know

keeps inviting you to try out mushroom dishes he makes

don’t worry there aren’t any dangerous ones in there he would never do that to you

others however

same as in the case of Leona you kinda end up together without either of you confessing

when you come to the realization you’re in the middle of snuggling as you watch a movie

“Wait are we dating?” Jade pauses the movies. Pulling you into his lap and holding you snug against his body, he grins at you.

“I don’t know my pearl, are we?” he chuckles at your flustered state, taking advantage of your confusion to til your face up and gives you a gentle smoochie smooch.

“That, my dear,” he says, reaching for the remote, “is a suitable enough answer for you I hope.”

Floyd Leech

There is no pre relationship.

He realizes his feelings immediately and confesses the moment he sees you next. Will not take no for an answer dear god he will follow you whining until you give him the answer he wants. Now you have an oversized teenager clinging to you like a barnacle that demands your attention 24/7.

Have fun, I'm praying rooting for you.

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

나야 나!

produce 101/idol au hcs

these r really rudimentary thoughts so . do what u will with them

rin does Not give a fuck about fanservice. he’s the type of edgy contestant that stares at the camera and goes “watch me,” and his fans eat that shit up.

producers will be BEGGING this boy to smile and do some finger hearts at the camera, and he grimaces instead saying smth like “why do i need cheap tricks to show my skill as an entertainer?” MF UR ON AN IDOL SURVIVAL SHOW

otoya, on the other hand, lives to suck up to his fans. always stops in the middle of going from place to place to sign people’s banners, phones, fans, etc… it takes him forever to get from one place to another because of that

he also strikes me as the kind of guy who has all the tea abt everyone in the idol industry?? if u ever upset him, you better pray that otoya doesn’t call up blue lock’s version of dispatch the moment he gets a second alone. bllk! dispatch wld be out of business if it wasnt for him feeding them crumbs of idol drama 💀

bachira is the idol that’s constantly spamming social media. it’ll be 3 am in the morning, and everyone’s notifications are going ham because he’s posting shit like “my guts are baja blasting 🤪🤪🤪” while going through his post-taco bell poop.

at the same time though, he’s probably the one that’s the most “genuine” on camera? he does whatever he wants, so he doesn’t feel a need to fake a parasocial relationship with fans or craft a work persona. this is both a managerial nightmare and a dream-come-true, but we fuck w it here

i also think bachira wld be a dancer btw

nagi livestreams all his gaming sessions. sometimes he’ll set up an among us room to play with his fans (cough nct taeyong cough). he falls asleep all the time whenever he isn’t actively performing, so fans will sometimes play “where’s waldo” with nagi whenever another member is filming stuff backstage.

he’s also RIPPED so like people will sometimes ask him to show his abs and he’ll be like :X before yanking his shirt up. he doesn’t get why people ogle over him, but hey, it gets his bills paid so who is he to complain

karasu’s a rapper. i think the visual of him leaning back in his studio while working on songs is sooooooo hot. bonus points if we get pictures of his hands n stuff

ok i Know rin technically is the first place and leader of bllk eleven, but for some reason, karasu gives me leader vibes? he’s trying to round all the boys up while they’re doing dumb shit and hes standing there like 🧍 mamas i do not get paid enough for this

hiori joins nagi in on gaming. he livestreamed him dying his hair once. it was just him, god, and his truckload of fans in a cramped ass bathroom while he wrapped his head in foil and sat on top of the toilet.

he’s also the one that gets the brightass neon hair each comeback. u know the song’s abt to slap when hiori shows up looking like the froot loops mascot 🗿

chigiri’s sister won’t quit airing out chigiri’s dirty laundry, and it drives him insane. it also drives him crazy when people thirst after his sister. also i think his fancams wld go the most viral just bc he’s very pretty, and i think he’d be fairly reasonable with fanservice

although he does get pretty snappy sometimes, so it’s a delicate balance finding what he’s in the mood for. the hair stylists love dressing him up since he’s one of the less fussy members (thanks to how much his sister used to dress him up when he was younger)

one out of the two visuals of the group (the other being aryu)

aryu practices english with his fans! he’ll attempt interviews, posts, and livestreams entirely in english to learn, and he’ll do his best to correct his mistakes :) everyone’s very supportive of him, even when he’s rambling about his latest hair styling tips in broken english and bits of japanese

also because he’s so fucking tall, he solos everyone whenever those idol sports competitions come around. his long limbs are lethal, and people will thirstpost about him violently. he’s also very fashion-forward, so he collaborates often with the styling team about the group’s concepts and outfits!

ISAGI’S THE MEOWMEOW OF THE GROUP!! he’s trying his hardest and always delivers. he’s also down horrendous for whatever noel noa is as an idol, and he’s practically begging for a collaboration every other tweet. poor boy nearly shits his pants whenever he sees noa at an awards shows or other big events

i’d also love to see him star as an mc on music shows?? he gives off the perfect zealous yet cutesy vibes to pull that off. he’s the perfect level of awkward to be endearing, and he’s always invited back because of how polite and hardworking he is :] he also def has a lot of gap moe between his self as an absolutely fucking feral performer who rips up the stage versus him being Just A Dude offstage

reo was a trainee w nagi! he practices by doing covers of other idols’ works (im trying rlly hard to incorporate his chameleon thing into the idolverse ok), and he’s really touched when trainees do covers of his songs and dances too! it shows him how far he’s come :]

he ties his hair up a lot, so fans beg him constantly to put it down! id like to think nagi once caught him on a livestream fresh out of a shower w nothing but a towel around his waist, and people went fucking NUTS over 1) seeing reo half naked all drenched w water and 2) finally seeing him without his little bun

reo is also a dancer in my heart (i am never wrong btw <3)

omg cld u imagine all the cute names u cld give to barou’s fans? the king and his loyal kingdom :] people also wld kill to see his hair down and ungelled, but he doesn’t like it bc it feels unruly so there’s some beef between his management and him over that

he got wrestled into a maid outfit once, but people loved it so much it became a key moment for the group. he doesnt mind it as much as people thought he would, but definitely wld prefer to dress up in other costumes for once. barou’s also an extremely talented performer, often shining the most when he gets solo performances over group collaborative ones.

niko is literally junji from onlyoneof 🧍he also strikes me as the kind of guy to rock eboy fashion? he absolutely eats up any dark concepts!! he kinda detests cute concepts, but unlike rin (who’ll throw hands w his management), niko kinda learns to grin and bear it

niko also composes his own songs! he’s a very self-made idol, and he’ll treat his fans to a snippet of his latest project every now and then (this is me trying to incorporate his special skills but idol version pt 2)! he’ll lock himself in his room for days on end during off seasons to compose, only coming out to use the bathroom and eat at ungodly hours. other members sometimes drop by to bring him snacks and water

gagamaru’s a lil . unhinged to say the least . he does mukbang streams every once in a while, and it gives his management a stroke when it goes viral because he ate everything using his hands. he’s getting good at using utensils regularly, but hey, if his fans wanna see him stuffing his face in the way that makes him happiest, then who is he to upset them?

gagamaru also solos everything on idol sports shows. whenever he’s on one of those wilderness survival shows, he comes back out looking just the same as he did going in, if not better. he’s also so flexible that it drives every dancer in the industry green with jealous that they can’t control their body like he does. he’s still very sweet and humble though, so no one can really hate him since he’s just a big hunky goofball that does what he wants :]

YUKIMIYA KPOPS GEM YUKIMIYA KPOPS IT BOY YUKIMIYA OUTSOLD YOUR FAVES

ok fr tho yukimiya still keeps up with his modeling on the side (kinda hc to be a model-turned-idol), so he sneaks in a lot of his sponsors’ clothes into his idol outfits! those kpop fashion accounts are always scrambling to identify the clothes he’s wearing

he also has one hell of a gap between performing and being off stage, and he’s so goddamn charismatic that it feels like he’s a completely different person when he’s on stage. like he’ll be all smiley and sweet, and then he’ll go fucking feral just like isagi that it’s hard to believe he’s normally a soft-spoken gentleman whenever the cameras aren’t on him.

ok now that ive talked abt the bllk eleven, extra hcs of idol au bllk that werent part of the main team

aiku gets into so many dating scandals that they dont even feel like a scandal anymore. everyone wakes up and is like “oh this is who he was fucking w this time” and moves on. good for him ig? at least he’s free on that end

sendou gets nervous talking to girl groups. he’s also really generous w fanservice and does gravure photoshoot bc he knows what its like to be a fan of them. good for him good for him!! go feed ur fans!!

sae def placed first on a previous season of bllk produce 101, which got rin inspired to become an idol. imagine the tension at awards shows OOF 💀 or the questions people post abt the brothers potentially collaborating for a comeback. sae also hates fanservice, but he goes out of his way to shut that shit down

kaiser is kpop’s ace!! there is nothing this bitch can’t do! he also refuses to cover up his tattoo and shows it off whenever he gets the chance. talks about wanting to get more in the future, but his management’s successfully keeping him restrained… for now.

ness wld be disturbingly good at cute concepts… it’s crazy how easily he can get people to fall for him with his easygoing charm, but the second people start talking smack abt smth he likes, he turns murderous. it’s always the adorable ones you need to watch out for. sometimes fans admit to liking him more than kaiser which usually throws him for a loop.

speaking of concepts, shidou devours dark concepts too! i feel like he’d make one hell of a vocalist, and he’s constantly hounding sae for a collab together. even his regular clothes are striking enough to be confused for a stage outfit, and he takes a lot of pride in keeping up his demonic aura (even though he lives for the thrill of performing more than anything else)

kunigami gives off such husband material vibes. baby gets invited to shows where he babysits kids, cares for pets, etc and everyone just ends up falling more in love with him. he’s so respectful about turning people down too like goddamn how is this boy real

nanase is 100% the maknae of the group. bonus points if he originally came from a nugu group that rose to a fair amt of popularity, and now he’s starstruck that he gets to interact w idols that he looked up to for so long

ego def used to be an idol before retiring and becoming a manager/head honcho behind blue lock’s produce 101. he hates the artificiality of idols and pushes the boys to become their own version of what they expect an idol to be like. hes also insane in this au too

anri is one of the biggest managers of the produce project! she’s the one behind the scenes, setting everything up! the boys are extremely grateful towards her, and she even has her own dedicated fanbase!

tokimitsu has bad stage fright, and his fans do their best to support him! they encourage him to do what makes him comfortable, and he promises to work hard to not let them down. he has one of (if not, the) strongest bond with his fans, and their interactions are super wholesome.

buratsuta is like jyp. hope this makes sense <3

check out this sick edit of bllk produce btw

[ijustwant2write]

Fight or Flight-Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

(GIF credit to @ladycolinbridgerton​)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hiii,Love your writings! Could you do something Bridgerton, Anthony x reader where the reader tries to stop the duel and gets hurt? Angst/fluff?!’

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Daphne Bridgerton x Reader (sister-in-law), Collin Bridgerton x Reader (brother-in-law)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Duel (guns, mention of death), injuries, angst, fluff

                                    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Collin and I laughed as we both carried Violet through the foyer of the home, clearly someone had too much to drink. My mother-in-law continued to deny this through her giggling.

“Of course not, you are completely sober.” Collin joked as we made it to the stairs.

“And I’m sober enough to know when you’re being impertinent.” Violet said to her son, still holding my hand.“Good night dears.”

“Good night mother.”

“Good night.”

Collin and I shared a look as she went upstairs, failing to hold in our laughter. We both doubled over as we laughed, until we heard someone call us. Turning to our left, we saw Anthony and Benedict in the doorway.

“Come here.” Anthony hissed.

“Good God. Did someone die?” Collin whined.

“What? What’s happened?” I asked, suddenly panicking. 

“Collin, get here, now.” Anthony instructed, his younger brother complying. 

I followed.“Anthony, what’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Are you in trouble?” I didn’t mean for all the questions but I loved him too much for something to happen to him.

He shoved Collin inside, stepping out and shutting the door behind him.“It doesn’t concern you darling. Just go up to bed.”

“Wait,” I grabbed onto his arm before he could get away,“Anthony, please don’t shut me out.”

“This isn’t for women’s ears. Please, do as I say.”

Anthony kissed my forehead tenderly, before he quickly ripped his arm away, looking sympathetic as he did so. The door shut, and although I was tempted to burst in there, I knew this was something out of my league. Sighing, I reluctantly walked away, slipping off my heels before slowly making my way upstairs. 

As I prepared for bed, my mind was distant. I couldn’t stop wondering what their meeting was about. Anthony looked stressed (even more than usual), and the fact that the eldest brothers were together meant this business was serious. Once my maids were finished and gone, I sat up in bed, having left some candles lit. At first I thought reading might take my mind off things, but the romantic novel only made me think of my husband more. I was tired from the ball, feet throbbing from dancing, which made me believe I could fall asleep. I wasn’t able to fool myself, unfortunately stuck awake again. Groaning in frustration, I stood, making my way to the door. I hesitated, wondering if I should really go storming downstairs when Anthony told me otherwise. No, I had to check on my love.

Opening the door, I heard someone else do the same. Poking my head out, I looked down the hall, seeing Daphne also awake. She rushed towards me, grabbing my hand without a word and dragging me out of my room.

“Woah, Daphne, woah, slow down!” I exclaimed quietly, stopping her at the top of the stairs.“Why are you rushing downstairs? What’s wrong?”

“My brother is doing something terribly stupid, and I cannot stand by doing nothing.” She said, tugging on my arm as she continued her route.

That made my heart beat even greater, terrified for what my husband could be a part of. I kept up with her, still tightly holding her hand until we burst into the room the men had their meeting in. Collin was the only one in there, looking alarmed when he saw us.

“Where have they gone?” Daphne demanded to know.

Collin sighed.“Daph-”

“Tell me where this duel takes place.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Duel?! Anthony has gone to a duel?! With who?!” I exclaimed. 

“So that I may prevent it from happening.” Daphne continued.

“Hastings has done you a grave dishonour.”

“Can someone please explain what is happening?” I stood beside them, though neither took any notice.“What does the Duke of Hastings have to do with any of this?”

“Surely you wish to see him pay?”

“Not with his life.” Daphne snapped back.

“Anthony is dueling with Hastings?! What if they kill each other?”

“It will not come to that.” Collin finally addressed me.“The Duke will remember his honour once he finds himself on the deadly end of a pistol.”

“And if he does not?” Daphne said.

“They will both do the gentlemanly thing and fire their pistols wide. Now allow them to bring this ugly business to a conclusion themselves.”

Daphne groaned as I began pacing around the room.“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that said? Myself and (Y/N)? That we should leave the men to their business and to not concern ourselves with such weighty affairs? Whose affairs, right now, are my future, my family.”

“This isn’t going to end well, you know it Collin.” I stopped walking around, crossing my arms over my chest in frustration.

“(Y/N) is right. Anthony is too angry to fire wide and Simon is too stubborn to yield. You did not see them in that garden.”

“No, I did not, and neither did anyone else. You should be happy that no one saw anything.” Collin pointed out.

So something dishonourable happened in the gardens of the party. Something that has cause my husband to want to duel an old friend. Part of me felt slightly angered towards Daphne, she had been playing with fire around the Duke, it’s all Anthony went on about for the last few weeks.

“Only someone did see.” Daphne realised.

Collin and I stared at her wide eyed.

“Cressida Cowper. Collin, you must tell me where they’ve gone.”

“I’m coming with you.” I declared. 

“Neither of you are going, Anthony will have my head-”

“Collin.” I stood in front of him, putting on the angriest face I could.“My husband may be about to lose his life and I knew nothing about it. Believe me, he will be reprimanded for that, but if you do not tell us where these stupid men are right now, it will be me having your head, not Anthony!”

After pressuring Collin to reveal where the men were, we raced to the stables, both Daphne and I still in our nightgowns, with only a cloak to cover us from the wind whipping against us as we rode. Our poor horses were not expecting this early call, using what energy they had to gallop as fast as possible. My throat was dry, heart racing and mind drowning with thoughts about what could be happening right now. Had they even started? Were the shots fired? 

We rode out of the country and into large fields. It seemed that we would never reach them in time. I kept my eye out for any signs of people or horses, praying that my husband wouldn’t be bleeding out on the ground. Why hadn’t he told me? He hadn’t even said goodbye. All I got was a simple kiss on the forehead, nothing other than that. Even if he did survive, he would have to leave this place, but was he going to leave without me?

“There they are!” Daphne shouted to us, speeding her horse ahead.

“Daphne! Wait!” I yelled after her, but she was too far away.

There were multiple bodies up ahead, and it looked like the duel had only just started, they were taking their steps already. I urged my horse to go faster, screaming Anthony’s name, but he couldn’t hear me. The men turned, ready to aim and fire. Tears started falling down my cheeks, quickly drying from the wind hitting my face. I was getting so close, but it still wasn’t enough. Daphne had somehow made it to them, but as the gunshots echoed out, she was caught in the middle of it, her horse rearing up and throwing her off.

As she landed on the ground, my horse also got spooked, rearing up as hers did, though I managed to stay on. However, it went hurtling forwards, and I couldn’t regain any control. I screamed as I tried to grab the rein again, feeling my balance slip away. One minute I was managing to stay upright on the horse, the next I had fallen off to my left, with my foot still hooked onto the stirrup. My head hit the ground harshly, and I was dragged through the dirt and grass as my horse continued to gallop. I couldn’t make out where I was, or what was right or left. Suddenly, the horse started slowing down, the dragging finally stopping. As I figured out where I was, my head still spinning, I felt someone lift my leg out of the stirrup and slowly onto the floor. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N) can you hear me?” Anthony gently held my face in his hands, kneeling beside me.

“My head...” I moaned.

“It’s alright, my dear.” an older man appeared, and I only just realised he was also kneeling beside me.“You’ve hit your head quite hard, you’ll likely have bruises along your back, and your leg will ache. But it’s nothing rest won’t fix. If you have severe headaches, you should call upon me again to give you something for it. For now, I shall forget I ever saw any of this, just as we agreed.”

“Thank you doctor.” Anthony breathed out, helping me sit up as the doctor walked away. 

I clung onto his arm, using my other hand to pull his face closer to mine. I kissed him hard, relieved that he was still alive and unharmed. He seemed to be feeling the same way as me, until I pulled away and slapped him round the face. His mouth was open in shock.

“That’s for going to a duel without telling me.” 

“(Y/N), I...what?”

“I can’t believe you thought you could just go and get shot, or shoot someone and leave me behind! What would happen to me? I couldn’t bear it if you died, or left, either way, I am furious with you!”

“Darling, I had to do it. He dishonoured Daphne, therefore, dishonouring our name.” 

I tried to stand by myself, though felt dizzy, annoyed that I had to have Anthony to help me. He kept his arms around me, and although I loved the feeling, knowing he was safe, I had a hatred for him in that moment.

“But why wouldn’t you tell me?” I looked up at him, ignoring the throbbing in my head.

“We would have to leave society, make a life as...I don’t know what but we wouldn’t be allowed here anymore.”

“So? Do you really think I regard myself so highly that I would diminish my love for you to remain in society?”

“What?”

“Anthony, I would rather leave all of this behind, and be with you wherever you go in the world. That fact that you think I would prefer to live without you hurts me.”

“(Y/N), I didn’t mean-”

I slipped out of his hold, hopefully stable now.“I don’t want to speak of this right now. I’m finished with this topic of conversation.”

Anthony knew there was no point trying to reason with me in that moment. It was also no time to argue when there were more pressing matters at hand. He huffed, only walking away from me once Collin approached, letting me loop my arm through his for support. I watched as he glared at Simon, who was in a deep discussion with Daphne. 

“We must resume before someone should find us.” he said to Simon before taking a pistol from Benedict again.

“There will be no need to resume.” Daphne spoke up. We all looked at her, wondering how she was going to stop the duel.“The Duke and I are to be married.”

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We had all ensured we were home before any of the staff could see us, slipping out of our dirty clothes and stuffing them under the bed. I had struggled, feeling nauseous as I rushed. But as I lay down in bed, my headache suddenly returning and my back aching, I heard the door lock. Anthony threw the key onto his desk in the room, hands on his hips as he paced. 

“Anthony.” I tried to stop him.“Anthony, please don’t do that.”

“I’m thinking (Y/N).” he mumbled.

“Then why don’t you think in your office? You’re making me dizzy. And nervous.”

“Do not speak to me like that. You do realise how this might tarnish our name?”

“They’re getting married, it will be fine Anthony.”

“It does not matter, he still dishonoured her, I saw it myself.”

“And you have not done that yourself in the past?”

That made him stop in his tracks. His head turned to me so quickly I though his neck would snap off.“They were not eligible ladies.”

“And that makes a difference? Anthony, I need to rest, please leave me.” I turned onto my side, pulling the covers higher so they almost covered my face.

He groaned, and I instantly regretted what I had said. His footsteps were loud as he made his way to the door, but I never heard it being unlocked. He sounded like he was now approaching the bed, and I found out I was right when the bed dipped in front of me me. I opened my eyes to see Anthony shuffling around, and I heard two light thumps on the floor from taking off his boots, before he lifted and covers; he shuffled in towards me, gently putting his arm under my pillow, moving as close as he could to me.

“You are right.” his voice was quieter now.“I, along with many men, have...done things in the past. Those women are, were meant for those things, but as soon as I saw you in the room, I knew I had to approach you. I remember that beautiful blue dress you were wearing, and how well you held yourself. But you were still so enticing, I found you to be so interesting, yet you only spoke with me for five minutes. You danced so elegantly, yet I still thought I could keep up with you.”

“If you are trying to make me swoon so I forget all about earlier, it isn’t working. You use the same story every time.” I said.

“Because it’s one of the best ones. I could retale about the time I saw you first promenading, the balls and social events we coincidentally went to, how I called upon your house-”

“Anthony, you may stop.” I tried not to giggle, but my smile was evident.“I am still angry at you for putting yourself in such an idiotic and dangerous situation. However, I deeply admire your love for your family, I know you would do anything for them. Just...if you ever do anything like that again, you are to inform me of your plans. I go wherever you go.”

“I promise. I was stupid to think I could do that to you. I just wanted to make sure you would still have a good life.”

“The only way I would have a good life is by being with you.”

Anthony smiled, tenderly kissing me.“You should rest darling. You’re hurt.”

“As long as you stay here with me.”

“I promise.”

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Your quiet days in castle Dimitrescu met their end the moment Cassandra took an interest in you.

You should have known. Perhaps you did know and just didn’t want to admit it.

The woman –vampire, mutant, what even are they— is a bipolar sadist.

One night she may be walking down the halls sending you a sexy wink under her hood as she passes you by, the next she could show up out of nowhere and cut you ‘hello’ with her sickle, scoop up the blood with her thumb to taste, then disappear again. The evening after that, she may not even give a damn about you, may not spare you a single fleeting glance, like even the notion you could be worth her time is laughable.

And it is, isn’t it.

Humans are nothing to them. Your significance is below that of a pet. You may as well be livestock. It doesn’t matter, though, so long as you continue to breathe and remain intact. They’re the two essential factors to escaping. All else is secondary.

It doesn’t matter how Cassandra views you.

You don’t even like her.

What is there to even be drawn to? She’s covered in blood more often than not. The scent of iron usually drowns out her perfume. She’s capricious and cruel and the living personification of an unsheathed knife. You prefer your routes safer. Playful, creative pretty girls that are good for you and most importantly, sane.

Whatever weird tricks your brain and hormones are playing where she stars –you hate it, what is wrong with you— they’re just delusions, you reason, born from her questionable flirting and your time in captivity. It’s just a really bothersome case of Stockholm Syndrome you’re developing. And it has to stop.

Another week passes. You don’t see her.

You are on another night shift when you hear the telltale buzzing of insects down the corridor. Hervoice reaches your ear afterwards;

“Ugh, Bela, you never complain about anything. It’s so annoying.” Two pairs of heels steadily tap towards you.

“I leave it to you and Dani to cover for me, since you complain about everything.” The quieter sister drawls. You can easily picture her roll her eyes as she says it.

“You know, you really should sound more thankful I came with you in this unearthly cold.”

“I gave you the option not to—”

“Just to have you rummage through that bookshop for what was definitely the most boring twenty minutes of my life.” Cassandra continues.

From the fleeting glance you steal at them, the entirety of her attention is on Bela. You don’t think she’ll notice you as you continue polishing the corridor’s decorations. It’s just another one of these nights where you don’t exist and you’re deeply glad for it. Not just for yourself, but also the other maids.

“I thought I was going to die of frostbite.” she growls, shaking the elder sister’s arm.

“Technically, you can’t.” Bela shakes hers back.

It would be… cute, if they were any normal family. But you are quick to remind yourself of what they really are. Devils in human form. Monsters that took you from your home and trapped you here, to clean after their mess, with the threat of death looming over your head every second.

Their steps pass you by. You can almost breathe normally again, when—

Cassandra stops.

“Not even going to tell me hello?” The hurt in her voice can’t be genuine, you tell yourself as you turn around to face her. She’s closer than you thought, enough for you to be able to make out the tiny melting snowflakes caught in her long lashes.

“Um—hello.” you say, awkwardly.

“Cassandra.” Bela lets out a soft sigh.

“Bye, Bela.” The brunette pointedly speaks over her shoulder.

And to your horror… “Just keep in mind what mother said about the maids.” the eldest sister leaves you alone with her.

Each further step until the blonde disappears from view fills you with dread. Cassandra has that spark in her eye that you’ve learned to not associate with anything good. She’s completely still until she’s sure the two of you won’t be overheard or interrupted.

Then, she moves.

Her hands all too easily shove you against the wall. It’s more startling than painful, you realize, when your back doesn’t protest much at the collision.

Cassandra maintains eye contact with you as she tugs at the fingers of her gloves. You cannot fathom why it looks that sexy, the way she pulls them off, whether it is intentional or not.

“Plaything.” she says. Another new nickname for you. Not that you ever expected her to care to know your name. “I’m terribly cold.” she doesn’t seem to be lying, though the soft pout that curves her mouth is surely for effect.

It’s a test and your wellbeing depends on it.

Only, you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. Ruling your nerves under control, you decide to start slow. “Shall I light the fireplace in your room, my lady?”

“Maybe I want something more… immediate.” she replies, raising her hand to your neck.

The second her freezing skin touches your flesh, you cannot help but flinch. It feels like a slightly softer block of ice. Cassandra’s eyes creak at the corners. Of course, the sadist is enjoying your torment. Slowly, her fingers move under the collar of your black button-up shirt, which only makes it worse. The cold spreads, a peculiar tingle at your stomach with it.

“Well?” she asks. You get the memo that just sitting back and letting her have her way isn’t going to work, this time. You call upon all the willpower you possess and act.

Carefully, your hands rise to meet her own. You aren’t looking at her in the eyes –you don’t think you could— as your fingers wrap around hers and bring them in front of you, close to your body, warmed from hours of work. Instead, your gaze locks on the golden jewel decorating the chocker at her throat, before falling down, to your point of contact.

It is not the first time you see her hands without gloves on, but it only now hits you just how dainty they look. Her nails, filed round, are dyed a darker shade of crimson, stark against the white of her skin. There isn’t a single blemish or uneven spot you can feel on her palm. It is a princess’ hand you seem to be holding, not a killer’s.

But appearances can be deceiving.

The very corner of Cassandra’s lip curls up, amused or pleased or both. She then reaches forward, at the lowest clasped button of your shirt… and frees it open. You’re sure you aren’t breathing. Two more buttons are released. Her fingers, at least now considerably warmer, splay against your stomach. Something inside you quivers like a flickering candlefire.

You don’t want her touch.

But a traitorous, weak part of you has already decided that it does.

“You work out?” it is merely a whisper between you. She presses a little closer, entirely unashamed to be feeling the contours of your middle up while you’re burning with embarrassment.

“…probably the days of working in the fields.” you say, voice low because it cannot be trusted any higher. She’s doing a little thing with her thumb over your skin that you desperately want to deny turns you on.

Thanks to her you’re now freezing and burning at the same time.

Cassandra just stays like that for a few more seconds.

“Draw me a hot bath.” she eventually orders and extracts herself from you as if she’s not remotely happy with her own decision.

-

-

You don’t really know how she likes her bath and she doesn’t tell you.

All you can do as you test the water on your hand is pray. Your mind isn’t really working right after the touching at the hallway, but your survival instincts are strong still. Strong enough to remind you that Cassandra likes to be treated like royalty above all, so bubbles are your best friend in this. The more, the merrier.

The Dimitrescu daughter does not ask if the bath is ready when she comes in. You aren’t used to her being so silent, so you turn to see if something is wrong –but immediately regret it when the heavy robe clinging to her body drops down. The only glimpse you catch is of the fabric pooling at her feet like a shadow.

Your eyes stay glued on the queen-sized bathtub, even when she approaches. They turn to the side as she enters it.

You want to ask if the water is fine, but you can’t find your voice. You lose even your train of thought when she lets out a small hiss as she sinks in, replaced by a moan once she’s completely settled back, neck tilted and eyes closed in bliss. The polite thing is to let her bathe in peace, so you move to do just that.

Cassandra has other plans.

Her hand shoots out of the tub to wrap around your wrist, inescapable as an iron shackle. Those intense yellowish eyes are on you again and they seem to be glowing under the dim lights.

“No.” she says. “Massage. Now.”

Ah, great. You think. You’ve spoiled her. But if giving Cassandra massages is what is going to keep your hands attached to your body, you won’t complain. It’s just that… you can’t really focus right now. None of your thoughts are right or remotely what they should be. You need time off from her, rather than touching her.

Thankfully, the moans are kept to a minimum and there is no teasing. She is utterly relaxed, only giving the occasional command for higher or lower. It does kind of kill you when at one point she whispers “Right there.” but you are able to move past it.

You leave fresh towels beside her when you’re finally allowed to leave. Back in her bedroom, you light the fireplace in a way that you make sure will last through the day, while she’ll be asleep. The plan is to leave before she returns, but she’s already there by the time you’re finished with the preparations.

And –you’re trapped.

Because, again, she’s changing and you have to look away to preserve your sanity and probably your eyes. “No peeping, now.” she calls over her shoulder. You know better than to dare.

You keep your hands busy arranging bottles and boxes at her vanity until she’s done. Cassandra does that ‘flashing’ thing where she’s on one side of the room one moment and right behind you the next. You only then notice a little insect flying back into her form. It was spying on you.

“You didn’t even look near me, huh.” she says it like ‘congratulations, you passed’, but there’s a bitter undertone of disappointment in her voice.

She’s only feeling down that you didn’t give her an excuse to slice at your face, you think. Then again, does she really need one?

“I wouldn’t, my lady.” you assure. “If I may be excused—”

“Did I say you can go?” she turns you around, none-too-gently, her hands on your biceps tight. You’re effectively pinned against her and the vanity, but you have much bigger problems to worry about, when you take in what she’s wearing.

Cassandra is clad in a flimsy nightrobe that leaves little to the imagination, the fabric nearly see-through. You can see the edges of her lacy underwear underneath it, how nicely it sits against her perfect curves. To make matters even worse, the robe ends at about mid-thigh and your eye catches the expanse of creamy skin on display.

Your brain nearly melts.

“I don’t know what it is about you, plaything, but you’re working up my appetite.” she confesses, pressing into you, pressing you harder into the furniture. You try to think of literally anything else than how well her thigh is slotted between your legs.

If you’re supposed to look away from her lidded eyes, however, you can’t. And if you’re not supposed to feel the echo of her nails on your arm all the way down to your center, you can’t. You are definitely not supposed to be so achingly curious about her bow-shaped lips. But you just can’t.

“You’re working me up.” she breathes, so close you can feel the ghost of her lower lip on yours.

And then –her mouth is on you and you forget how to breathe. Your eyes close and just feel, instead. If this is how you die, maybe it isn’t such a bad way to go. It’s been too long since you kissed anyone, seems like ages ago now, but you gradually remember how to move once you allow your muscles to unlock.

Not looking at her makes it easier. Her lips are balmy and smooth and slide so good on your own you can’t think at all, much less of what she’s capable of. You would have guessed her to be aggressive, but Cassandra is oddly hesitant, the only thing hard about her being her grip.

You’re not sure what you’re doing or how you get so bold, but your hands trail up to her waist and pull her in. The little hitch in her breath threatens to break you. It provides the perfect opening to part her lips with your tongue. As soon as it touches hers, she moans low in her throat and slowly drags her hips against your thigh.

Oh. God.

There’s a hollow ache in your stomach. You’re shamefully wet for her. The voice of reason is mute in your head, until you’re forced to break your liplock to breathe and it only then hits you what you’ve just done.

Cassandra’s lips are insistent on your jawline, on the vulnerable spot under your ear. Her open-mouthed kisses are just hard enough, at first, but then start to border on painful. Your heart skips a beat when you feel the press of teeth, yet she rips herself off of you before she bites down.

“Ugh. I’m… so thirsty.” she says it lightly, but her voice is hoarse and something about her body language gives you the impression she’s hurting. “You should leave. Fast.”

You almost make the mistake of reaching for her. Almost.

Cassandra turns away from the temptation of your veins.

For both your sakes –mostly for yours— you hurry out of her room and never stop to look back.

[illusionsofdreaming]

riptides;

Notes: With bows being long distance weapons you’d never expect Childe’s main weapon to be a bow of all things. After all, he’d seem like the type to enjoy close combat where he can really get into the thick of things. Surely, something/someone must have happened to have inspired him? Thus this imagine was born. Obviously, set before Childe decided to use bows as a weapon.

Ft: Tartaglia

The raging blizzard outside meant all outdoor missions have been put on hold. The cold always made your sweet tooth and scars act up with a vengeance and the only remedy to that was being huddled in blankets, nursing your third cup of hot chocolate and sitting close to the fireplace.

The lounge area was filled with the lull of conversation you were only half paying attention to. The warmth of the fire and the drink in your hands had you in a contented trance, a comfortable bubble that was suddenly ruined by someone kicking the doors open. 

“Where’s __________?” 

You frowned as you slouched further into your seat and prayed that the back of the couch was high enough to hide your form. You didn’t know who was looking for you but you’re pretty confident that you’d want nothing to do with them.

“___________? Anyone?” When no one answered, the intruder let out a loud sigh before the unmistakable sound of a blade being pulled out echoed through the room. 

“O-over there s-sir.” 

You stifled an annoyed sigh as you flexed your fingers over your cup and counted down the seconds untill the end of your short-lived peace. You felt a weight land on the back of the couch and a shadow fell over you.

“Aha, you must be the rumoured uncrowned Harbinger?” 

You scowled at the stupid title, an embarrassing nickname that you’d been working hard to rid of for the longest time, to no avail. However, from this alone, you have a vague idea on the possible identity of the mysterious person looking for you, and it was honestly a terrible idea. Perhaps if you ignored him, he’d leave you alone.

“Hey, I know you can hear me.” he chuckled as he walked around the couch which forced you to face reality as you were met with a head of red, blue eyes and a wicked smile on a deceptively young face.

“I don’t make it a habit to respond to strangers, sir.” you scowled at Childe, the 11th Harbinger, Tsaritsa’s battle crazed war hound.

“Ah~ so they do speak.” he mocked as he crossed his arms. “Come now, let’s go for a round.”

“No.” Was instantly your reply. 

His expression turned amused, “No?” he repeated as if the notion of being rejected had never crossed his mind. The other Fatui agents would’ve balked at your boldness, to refuse the commands of the Harbingers was akin to asking for a death sentence. But then again, you had always been a little special. 

You turned your gaze towards the rest of the room and all the agents suddenly found something very interesting with their shoes or the ceiling. Well then, it seems like you won’t be receiving any help from others.

“Go find someone else to itch your bloodlust Childe, I’m not in the mood.”

In a flash of movement so fast you barely caught, you were pushed back against the seat of the couch, the sound of rushing water filled your ears as a cold, cutting pressure pressed against your throat. 

“Perhaps you can be convinced to be in a better mood then.” Although the Harbinger was smiling, his eyes were anything but. The speed in which he summoned his weapons and targeted your vitals with chilling precision made it clear why Childe is well known as the Tsaritsa’s weapon of war. 

However, though you’re loathed to admit, you’ve been in similar situations far too often. If you were that easily fazed by threats like these, you wouldn’t have survived this many years in one of the most unforgiving lands of Teyvat. You met his gaze evenly and saw something within him change as a curious sparkle entered his eyes.

His swords vanished as quickly as they had been summoned and you wiped away the water that cooled your neck.

“Relax, I was just joking, no need to look so grim comrade.” Childe opened his palms in a show of surrender although you weren’t convinced, both of you knew he had been plenty serious then.

Childe grinned, “Surely there must be something I can offer to convince you?”  

“Nothing can convince me, so please leave me alone.” Perhaps other agents would’ve leapt at the opportunity to get into the good graces of a Harbinger but you were quick to shoot that horrible idea down. You wanted nothing to do with the Harbingers and even less with the chaotic presence of the Eleventh.

He eyed the empty cups on the coffee table, then the cup in your hands. Chills ran down your spine when he smiled innocently at you. “Quite the sweet tooth you’ve got there my friend?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, goosebumps rising along your arms at his sudden change of topic and amicable facade. “Not really.” you answered carefully, wary of the direction the conversation was going.

“So you say,” his voice had taken on a light and airy tune, “but apparently big enough of a craving to have swayed you, not once but twice, to leave the comfort you’re currently reluctant to relinquish for refills it seems.” His smile was easy but you’ve never seen anything more vicious as he glanced towards the drinks bar at the other end of the lounge pointedly.

You pressed your lips together and hoped your poker face was enough to hide the scorn you suddenly felt for the man. 

“Think what you want.” you grumbled as you finished your drink, setting the empty cup down on the table as you got up from the seat. 

You were heading for the doors when Childe’s voice floated through the air. “I heard there’s a new shipment that just arrived from Inazuma. Scaramouche’s if I had to hazard a guess and a little bird told me those boxes are stuffed full of sweet Inazuman delicacies.”

You’re willing to bet your fucking underwear no ‘little bird’ but Childe himself broke into those crates to find out what’s inside. You hated how your traitorous body betrayed you as your feet stopped moving and drool pooled in your mouth at the mere mention of sweets. It didn’t help that you’d always been a fan of snacks from Inazuma and knew from personal experience how hard it was to get anything exported from the isolated nation. 

“Scaramouche can be stingy with his things but I know of a few ways that can convince him to share…” 

You closed your eyes in agony. Even as your mind and your gut told you it’s a very, very bad decision. 

Distracted you were by your internal conflict, you didn’t notice when Childe had approached your back. “Well then?” he chuckled, and you hated that you could hear how smug he sounded.

You’re pretty sure you’re going to end up with a permanent scowl on your face by the end of this day as you turned around to meet his stupid, victorious grin.

“Deal.” 

═════☩══⚔︎══☩═════

There was something about you that was different. Many cowered from the Harbingers and many more  grovelled for even a lick of their attention. The arrogant would challenge him, the smart ones hid, but you were the first to have shown such disinterest. He was not at all offended by your indifference or annoyance, but instead of trading words, it would be far simpler and easier to test your mettle directly.

He did not miss the subtle way you’d adjusted your weight the moment he shoved you against the back of the couch. It was just a minute relaxation of your shoulders, easily missed by untrained eyes, but it deflected majority of the blow as you went along instead of against the motion which saved your drink from spilling all over your lap. He saw the way your eyes had instantly tracked his movements without waver despite the lack of warning. To observers, it might’ve seemed like a one-sided challenge, but Tartaglia had watched your eyes, they remained clear, there had been no fear. 

Someone known as the uncrowned twelfth and the Tsaritsa’s weapon in the shadow had to be impressive. You didn’t disappoint.

Tartaglia could feel the blood pumping in his veins, excitement roaring through his ears. He was glad he decided to satisfy his curiosity in hearing the passing rumor.

He thought you would put up more of fight- he expected you to- that all it took was a flaw as simple as sweet cravings (just like the young ones) he wondered if he’d perhaps misjudged you. Was it confidence or arrogance that had you accepting so easily? Perhaps he’d find out here.

The round was to be held in one of the underground training rooms. Already the hall was being filled with Fatui eager to watch a Harbinger in action in a situation they weren’t likely to become collateral.

The rules were simple. With weapons of their own choice, whoever lands the first hit wins.

“Not training weapons?” you raised an eyebrow as he summoned his hydro blades.

“What? Scared of a little blood?” he scoffed. He thought it went without saying that this would be a battle fought with real weapons. He’s not so crass to demand a life or death duel, but surely no one working in their line of work would be so boring and stoop to using training weapons in a round.

“Just worrying how I’m suppose to explain how I turned the Eleventh into a pin cushion.” you replied without hesitation.

He laughed, satisfied by your answer. “Fighting words my friend, I’d like to see you try.”

You frowned, an expression that he’s quickly becoming familiar with, he can’t help but wonder what it’ll look like if only you’ll relax that furrow between your eyes. 

Because you were a bow user, it was decided to start with three hundred meters distance between them, to even out the odds. After all, your fights usually start and finish at a distance. Childe had never been one to reject challenges if it meant he could fight his opponents at their best.

In fact, this set up made things a lot simpler. Bow users are rendered useless at close range, it’ll be a matter of closing the distance before your arrows find him to secure his victory.

Of course, that didn’t mean he’s underestimating you. He’s confident in his agility and ability to dodge, but surely one does not earn the notorious nickname of ‘uncrowned Harbinger’ through tricks and luck alone. 

Standing on his end of the room, you were just a speck in the distance. But three hundred meters can be easily crossed especially when he’s sprinting. 

Childe twirled his blades, sixty… no forty-five seconds maybe? he guessed. It would be a short and decisive round then, but he hoped you’ll give him an entertaining fight nonetheless.

“Don’t disappoint me.” he muttered under his breath as he crouched and got ready.

At the sound of the blast of a horn signalling the start of the round, he dashed off.  

Ten meters were crossed in a blink of an eye.

A silver flash through the air was the only warning he got as your first shot grazed past his left. The force behind the arrow blew his hair aside, missing him by a margin of centimetres. The next shot that quickly followed narrowed that margin even further and he can’t help the impressed grin forming when he felt a sting, a cut on his cheek opening.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he laughed boldly. The force and speed behind your shots were remarkable he’d admit, but an arrow that can’t reach its target was fit to be nothing but decoration. “Don’t you dare hold back now!”

A hundred meters were gone. Not once had you shifted from your position. You adjusted your stance with the same ease of someone taking a lazy stretch, as if the distance between you and your opponent wasn’t rapidly decreasing, like he wasn’t a threat. He wondered what would it take to see that indifferent facade shatter. He wanted to see the fear and anger as you realise your defeat.

Hundred fifty meters left.

Your arm pulled back and he braced himself. A resounding clang rang through the area as he deflected the first arrow, feeling all 40 pounds draw weight smashing into his blade, reverberating up his arm. He barely brought his second blade up in time to redirect the second arrow, his weapon cracked and splintered to pieces from the abuse.  

“Fuc-!” he bit his tongue as he yanked his body to the side just as the third arrow whizzed past his eyes - for a split second, time seemed to suspend itself as he saw the grey arrowhead spun past him - as time resumed its hold, he staggered back, the tailwinds behind your shot stung his eyes. He fought back the instinct to blink back his tears because somehow, he had a feeling that should he get distracted, it’d be a fatal mistake for him.

The iron in his mouth tasted brilliant. He wasn’t imagining it. Your arrows were getting faster and closer. Even though he made sure to run in irregular zig zagging paths, you had clearly calibrated and adjusted according to his reaction and speed. Sparks tingled down his arms as he crowed with delight. 

The air crackled with static as electro sparked against his skin. The other Harbingers would shake their heads at borrowing a Delusion’s power for something so trivial. But Childe had never been known to be wise when pitted against the thrill of a good fight and with a burst of Electro, eighty meters disappeared in a moment’s breath. 

He relished in the way your eyes widened in surprise, the first change to the neutral mask you seemed so determined to uphold. Yes, he grinned at the frustration that crossed your eyes and your arm whipped back as four arrows materialised on your bow. 

That’s more like it! 

Your eyes narrowed and a sudden chill ran down his spine. He watched as your hand moved and it was only through pure instinct alone that saved him. Had he not been infused with Electro, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to avoid everything- never before had he seen another draw and shoot a bow so quickly- the first shot tore a hole in his shirt near his left shoulder and forced him towards the right straight into the second arrow’s path. He narrowly avoided it with a burst of Electro forcing him down as it whistled over his head, missing him by millimetres. The third shot pinned the end of his scarf and without hesitation he sliced away the cloth- that’s three, only one mor-

Your posture was relaxed. Your drawing arm was down. 

Alarm bells blared in his head- Childe threw all caution to the winds, only pure, feral warrior instincts controlled him as he drew his arm back and threw all his power into the spear that materialised in his hand and propelled it- he was nailed in the forehead in an explosion of snow and sent flying backwards split moments later.

As he laid on the ground dazed, his thoughts raced. He lost. 

A shadow fell over him. A fresh line of red was on your cheek which slowly beaded with blood. 

“Had that been a real arrow, you’d be dead pretty boy.” 

His heart raced as he stared up at you, he found that he couldn’t find it in himself to be frustrated, not when he was met with the uncanny sight of your lips twitched upwards.

“Now pay up.”

═════☩══⚔︎══☩═════

The lounge area was filled with the lull of conversation you were only half paying attention to. The warmth of the fire and sweet dango in your hands had you in a contented trance, a comfortable bubble that was suddenly ruined by someone kicking the doors open. 

A force crashed into the back of your seat and nearly sent you to the ground. “Hey ___________, teach me the bow!”

“No!”

[mightysteelix]

Attack Dogs

Yeah, people, this is the Maiser fic - with a taste of Baron on the side. I finally managed to craft his deck and playing it is so much fun that it gave me the boost to finish this fic. Because what better way is there to show that you love a character than writing a mass vore fic with him?

This is an AU where Maiser is Baron's partner, and their preferred method of clearing the goons who stand in their way is, well, vore. And when the Bloody Queen sends them on a big job, they have no choice but to pray their stomachs can handle it.

If it hasn't become clear enough,

CW: Same-size vore, Mass vore, Implied Digestion. Don't like, don't read.

Ah, good ole Rivayle. A dusty bowl in the middle of nowhere, the last rest of every crook from here ‘till the horizon. Land of scorching heat, gunpowder, and death. No hope, dear souls, no hope for no sinner. People shrivel up and die ’round every corner. That’s life in the slums. In the slums, don’t forget! The glided folks from Golden Hills are another breed. Luxurious little pests for the ever-greedy Titan who keeps the wallets fat and the leashes tight. If you can’t claw their way up to some safety—unless the big boss suddenly wants you dead—the choice is simple. You die or kill to take what you need to live.

Following until now? Good, now you can forget it. Because me and my partner—we will rock this world from the bottom. And all the above won’t matter. Not a single detail.

“Lost in thought, Maiser?” My partner—Baron, that old wolf—sighs. “Rest up that big brain, will ya? Don’t want to fry it from too much use.” His hands are firm on Val’s steering wheel; his stare is firm on the road. Sand and dust for miles, only one building to shake up the scenery. The Titan Icey’s garrison, in the middle of the road to Golden Hills. We’ve been poking in his side for ages. Now it’s time to strike big.

“No worries, Baron!” I laugh, tilting my trusty li’l hat to keep my eyes from the scorching sky blaze. “My mind’s sharper than a pack of needles!”

“Than needles? No way. Sharper than a haystack? Maybe.” He pulls Val’s brakes, and the wheels screech before stopping. “Remember the plan?”

I nod. We get in, deal with the patrols, then finish with the troops inside. Plant a mark on our backs and take the heat off our helper. She gathers her goons and stabs her co-Titan in the back. And when the dust settles over Icey’s corpse, we stab her.

Val’s parked away, and we go the last part on foot. Sneaky, sneaky, so that the guards don’t catch onto us. Two uniformed sticks stand before the door. Eh, we aren’t in for a big party. We need to raise some hell and make Icey keep us in mind.

“I take the one further; you deal with the nearby one.” Baron nods; we have a plan. Smirking, I whisper a quick “Accelerate.” Faster than a bullet, I dash to my target and grip his hands behind his back. The dust cloud hasn’t risen when he cries out.

“Do you know what are you doing?” Does he take their words with their freedom? If I got a penny whenever I heard that line, I could have long since retired at Golden Hills.

The man wiggles, trying to push himself free. His arms strain and he struggles to tear himself from my grasp. Mm, it’s always fun when they fight—when they still hope they’ve got the foggiest chance. And after they get it through their heads that they’re doomed and stop, I want to play them the saddest song on the world’s smallest violin. Not that I can play, but the thought counts, doesn’t it? ’Sides, it’s more than they have ever spared for other people.

He huffs, smashing his shoulders into my back. “Ouch!” They’re better trained than the street rats, that’s for sure. Take their firearms, and they become as docile as doggies. But not now, dear gods, no. No time for games; I gotta move fast.

“Better have some prayers prepared, bud.” I lean close and breathe into his neck. My grasp releases and he bolts forward, one hand reaching for his gun.

Mm, the struggle. Everyone’s doing their darnedest to survive, even those crooks. Man, it does give me hope for Rivayle. Too bad his future has run out. “Wrong choice.” I pincer his waist, his wrists pinned to his body, and raise him.

“It’s you!” he screams, horror drawing on his face. His useless struggles speed up.

“A smart one, aren’t you?” I take my last chance to gloat, digging fingers deeper into his skin. “Maiser and Baron, the big bad wolves of the West, coming here to clear the vermin. Our menu? You and your boss.” The hair sliding down my tongue is the worst part; so tasteless and thready. But I better gulp him down fast, or I’ll be hearing how the so great Icey will crush us.

His legs tremble and kick—he can’t move much more. Defiant to the end? Too bad it won’t save you, bud. Listen, if you were some lowlife street rat fighting his hardest to survive, I might have spared you. But Icey’s troops? Sorry, but you might as well be dead. Our helper’s not a gentle flower when she fights. Or ever.

The shoulders slide next, then the torso and the arms. He’s not struggling anymore; I must have crushed his spirit. Or he does believe his boss’s gonna avenge him. No matter—without the extra trouble, I gobble him quickly, slurping his legs. My belly’s bulging out, round and firm like a cannonball. It feels tight, stretched to fit Icey’s goon. Doesn’t hurt at all, though, and it’s still nothing too big. My shirt’s pressing it into some shape, it along with my pants.

Good think Baron’s been taking me on practice runs so often. I’m a big eater, no lie there—gotta be with our line of work and methods—but Baron’s a wildly different beast. ‘Spurred On’ doesn’t take him as a customer anymore—not after he almost cleared them out of food and business, then tried to finish the meal with one arguing patron.

“How was lunch?” Baron asks. “Took your sweet time, huh?”

“We aren’t all bottomless wells, bud.” Baron’s belly has rounded out, the firm ball visible on his much lankier figure. I swear, where does he pack those calories? He says it goes to his magic, the lair, but I’m eating less, and I’m still growing a tad pudgy. “What’s your secret?”

“Ages of practice, long before we met. You’ll catch up one day.” He walks to the door, his packed belly dragging him forward. “Going in?”

“Going in,” I nod.

The door opens wide but not as wide as my mouth. A swarm of flies could fly in with no trouble for their effort. “Hey, Baron.” I tug the fringes of his sleeves. “Didn’t Nath say to expect a private party?” The mother of all headaches crashes into my brain, pointier than a bullet to the forehead.

Troops swarm inside the stone nest’s hallway, each one armed to the teeth. Hands are firm on the hostlers; one wrong movement and the place will explode faster than a gunpowder chest thrown in a bonfire. My poor stomach grumbles; it knows what this means. Sorry bud, work won’t go as smoothly as planned. But does it ever?

“You still trust the Bloody Queen?” Baron asks, his expression deader than a body six feet under. “She’s gonna help us, but she’s never making it easy. Told you to bring your appetite.” Man, sometimes I envy you. How you can take such shocks and not flinch an inch, I’ll never understand.

“You know me.” I lick my lips, my hollow confidence flicked on and gleaming. “Good ole trusty Maiser, accepts any word as the gospel.” Once you stop having faith in the world, it stops having faith in you. Why then leave the bed and go do good?

“I don’t know how a fool like you is still kicking. Maybe your handsome face keeps you alive.”

“Stop it, bud, you’ll make me blush.” Not fair, man, not fair. You can wax poetic about the charming me, but I’ve never seen your pretty smile without the magic fog over it. I wish Nath would tell me what she finds when she breaks the spell, but she’s more tight-lipped than both of us. And speaking of magic: “Don’t you think the goons should have already blasted us full of holes?”

“They can’t kill what they don’t see. We’re the Specter of Rivayle. No one catches us unless we want it.” His lips curl into a smile. “You won’t get to play with them, but with so many partners, it’s better to dance in the shadows.”

Oh, you’ve hidden us from them. Great job, man, but the next time a little warning would be nice. My head always feels like splitting open when you do your spells. “Business before the joy, huh?” I whistle quietly, pleading with my eyes.

“Staying alive before the joy.”

Oh, I almost believe you. But you’re right; we can’t go belly up and let Icey and Nath walk off free. Someone must bring Their Haughtinesses down. Still, it doesn’t sit well in my stomach. If I stuff myself beyond bursting, I’ll need my stress relief. “What about the last few?”

I know, I know, partner. I’m unbelievable. No need for the sighing routine.

“If you can lift your huge gut off the ground by the end, you can play your Big Bad Wolf show.” The foggy smile twists in a smirk. “Care trying your best?”

“When am I not?” I clasp hands. “Let’s dance, partner!”

Baron throws himself down the main lobby, and I sneak into a hallway. Accelerating, I grip the closest goon. She tenses when two arms coil around her, and her mouth goes down my throat before she can scream. No trace of her but the growing bulge ‘round my waist. Man, I hate it when we’re rushing the job. It’s much better when it goes nice and slow, giving them a chance to sink in their horror before we swallow them. Not to sound like Nath, but fear? Fear’s fun. Yeah, I’m a wretch like the Queen; that’s what I am. Why else would I go down the outlaw’s road?

It’s time for the next sweet meal. Good thing my “Accelerate” dulls the pain when I move; otherwise, I’d be a cramping mess on the floor. The two victims wiggle all over my poor, taxed stomach, and each squirm makes me wobble on my legs. Ugh, not good when I need to jump from ambush. Baron, partner, I pray you’re having better luck!

At least fate’s smiling. I catch solitary goons patrolling around. If I had to devour an entire group, the first victim still kicking when I start the next… My stomach groans. No worries, bud, I’d never put myself through that hell. Not unless they can see me and scram, try to run only to end as the hungry outlaw’s meal.

Hey, now that’s an idea! Might finally let me outeat Baron; the old wolf’s always beating me and has the gut to prove it.

Not that I’m doing too shabby now, not at all. The gulps go down more slowly than before, not as impatient. I’m doing my best to finish quickly, swallow the troops before anyone catches us and brings Icey’s wrath too early. But damn it if it’s not difficult with a large, sloshy gut that wobbles on each step. And the more goons I take care of, the worse it gets. My poor belly spills forward, the skin creaking, and I can almost hear it splitting open.

I’m looking like a caricature: a slim body, a gut as gigantic as a barrel, and a still-munching mouth. My belly rolls forward just under my chest, a giant sack filled with all kinds of squirming meals. Gods, it’s hurting, but in such a good way!

I smack my lips as I waddle to the next door. That’s the way, Maiser! Let the gluttony take over. ‘Sides, once you deal with the troops, you can have your fun and play with the food as you love it. Indulge the hunger, devour the cowering bastards, and make a damn splendid show for a finish.

And I’ve found the next one, quickly gulping him. Pop, pop, pop! There go my buttons, snapping one after another. My growing gut explodes out of the tight vest, sloshing low towards my knees. The buckle pushes into it, pressing more sharply than a knife. Whenever I move, my belly digs into it, and the tender skin hurts like hell on earth. But there’s no time to complain! I’ve got to grit my teeth and finish the job. Don’t fear, Maiser; you’ll manage. Just think about how many people you will find, how your stomach will grow, how you will get nice and full. How your belt might as well blast off any moment now.

What’s worse, the prey keeps wiggling. “Guys,” I scream, “hasn’t your classy boss taught you any manners? If you don’t stop-Ugh!” My cheeks turn greener than seaweed; my face is wet with sweaty effort. Whoever has said eating is easy, I’ll devour them whole. It’s a chore, the most tiring chore of them all. But not without its joys.

My hands slide across my belly, hefting its spilling bulk. Can’t walk otherwise, not when my massive weight drags me forward. One wrong move and I’d be crashing on the ground. Sick gurgles are coming from my middle—consequences of the heavy meal. Each uneven, heavy step makes me sick to the core. I waddle widely, swinging like a pendulum: left, right; left, right. And the prey doesn’t stop kicking, not for a moment.

“Won’t y’all stop already? Guys, it’s impressive how tough you are, but I’m working here!” I slap the tight drum, hoping they’ll quieten a little. Just the opposite; the goons fight more lively, their elbows and knees smashing into my belly walls. Kicks and punches thrash inside me, struggling for a way out. I press a hand to my lips, stifling a groan, and lean on the wall. Baron will forgive a quick rest this one time, won’t he? For all his big talks of evilness, he’s a softie when you get to his heart.

A softie that will shoot you dead before you blink, but still a softie.

The wall squirms when I rest my weight onto it. No blame; I’d have cried, too, if someone that heavy pressed onto me. Maybe my eyes were bigger than my stomach this time. Now I’m enormous, larger than any ball I’ve ever seen. Can’t believe I’ve gotten so large without popping. If I fall now, I won’t stand up, not until my taxed stomach finishes digesting this.

How’s poor Baron handling this? I click my tongue, rubbing my belly. Why am I worrying; he must have guzzled his way through the entire garrison. That man’s putting the glut in gluttony. Don’t think he’s ever complained that he’s full, only that he’s hungry. A bottomless pit, that’s what he is.

Not that I’m dragging behind him. The practice’s paying off; people aren’t calling me the Big Bad Wolf of the West for nothing! Just gotta pace myself, that’s all. I make my first step: my gargantuan belly must have rested enough—

“Ouch!” Suppose not. But I can’t idle while Baron’s glutting himself. I already hear his mocking voice: “Did as good as you can, Maiser.” Nope, never again! He can’t push himself for my sake all the time. We’re a team—we split everything.

My walk slows down. I stop, groan, and rub my belly every few seconds, soothing the poor beast. Its gurgles even a bit, not as loud and sick; it purrs like a content, fed animal. No one’s squirming inside me anymore, but my gut’s so darn heavy that I don’t wanna move a muscle. Pain jabs my sides whenever one foot goes before the other. Thank my lucky star no one’s around to catch me; my headache’s disappearing, so Baron’s magic is wearing off. Has he focused on eating and forgotten the good ole me?

Then I’ve got to deal with the vermin myself. There aren’t more goons left here, are they?

I reach the end of the hall. Good news: not a single troop left on this floor. Bad news: there’s one upstairs. My gut roars, and a jolt of ache sears through it. Why did it have to be climbing? A long walk I’d have survived, but steep, uneven stairs, where one Accelerate will crash me through?

“Nah, Maiser—” I shake my head “—you can handle this. No worse than being shot.”

I take the first step. Oh, I was so wrong. My bulky belly drags me down. Not only does it hurt, but the sloshing mass inside throws me off balance whenever I move. My legs rise higher, my knees press into the taut mass and compress it. A sound after a revolted sound comes out of its depths. I’m panting, one hand rubbing my head and the other my middle. Almost there, Maiser, keep it calm. The rotten wood creaks and croaks under my stumbling. My feet crunch, hoping to grip the floor. If I fall, my gut’s rolling all the way to Rivayle.

“Finally-hic! over!” Huffing and puffing, red all over, I reach the second floor and pat my belly. Gods, I am such a pig—to be so stuffed that I can’t move. I tenderly lick my lips. It’s not bad when Baron’s tending for me after a job, his swollen belly pressing into mine: more than we, the crooks, deserve.

But here, where one wrong step might end with a hailstorm of bullets? No, thanks, I’d rather be my nimble self.

Gunshots come from a nearby room, bullets piercing through the sticky fog. My rest is over; Baron has gotten himself into a gunfight! The troops can’t match him—they could never, but if he’s in poor condition like me, he’d need every bit of help.

Walking stuffed is hell, but running? That’s the devil himself. My gut wobbles left and right, hurting as if someone’s been poking it with knives all day. I press my navel, rustle my belly, and hunch forward. Moment, please, Baron, till I catch my breath! More pressure collapses onto my stomach, and it lurches over the belt, my entire weight resting on the stubborn buckle. Gah, if I must gulp one more of Icey’s troops…

By the time I open the door, they have danced the dance. Smug as hell, Baron’s leaning on the wall, patting his gut and panting like a sick dog. The goon is sitting in the middle of the room, bound and gagged.

“Finished your part?” My partner smirks through the sickly huffs. “Got sidetracked helping a lady cross the street?”

I don’t reply. My mouth is stuck open, and my eyes are glued to Baron’s hefty belly. Every goon I’ve missed, he must have guzzled. His coat and vest split open, pieces of fabric clinging over his shoulders. His shirt’s ridden up to his chest, showing his stretched middle. The belt is undone under the fleshy dome, the buckle’s place marked. His skin screams in red, taut over the bloated stomach, and bumps form and disappear across the rough surface. The goons are fighting to get out. But good ole Baron doesn’t as much as flinch, only rubbing the huge ball gut.

He’s immense, outlandishly huge—and if not for the danger, I’d have rushed over there to rub his belly.

“I’ve paced myself, Baron,” I say when my breath comes back to me. “Unlike your bottomless mouth. So—” my eyes focus on the captured goon “—what’s his deal? The Bloody Queen fancies interrogating the poor fella herself?”

My partner smacks the fleshy sphere, quelling the noisy prey. “She’ll find ‘nother plaything. This one’s all yours—a chance to play the evil predator.”

A slow gulp slips down my throat. My stomach will hurl if I as much as step the wrong way. I must look like a wretched balloon, set on popping. “Thanks, Bar. But this—” I pant, almost moaning “—is too much.” Red colors my cheeks, and I blush like a lady in love. “One bite and I’ll explode.” But I want it. To gulp down the goon. Won’t hurt that much, will it? I might have the room to fit him inside me. ‘Sides, how will I beat Baron without practice?

“Don’t worry.” My partner flashes me a smile—gentle, not like the grins he throws like bullets in battles. “No one’s sounded the alarm, and the next shift won’t be coming ‘til after three days. We’ve got plenty time to rest before we need to ditch this place.”

My stomach protests with a sick growl. “Sorry, bud.” I pat it and lick my lips. “But if I don’t push myself, Baron’s sure to leave me in the dust. From now on, I’m doing my best.”

I stagger towards the goon, my steps echoing over the flimsy wood. One stronger push and my weight might break the boards. “As for you, pal,” I say, squashing down the pain, “did you think yourself a lucky lamb? That the Big Bad Wolves of the West have spared you?” My arms unsteadily reach for his shoulders. “Too sad because your fortune’s just ended.” His legs wiggle, his torso shakes like a leaf, and he tries to shove himself away.

Sweat breaks on his head as I approach. I am slow, staggering, and he hopes to escape somehow. Too good to be the truth, pal, too good to be the truth. “Accelerate.” A moment flicks, and my hands clasp around his body, pressing him into my gut: where he’s ending soon. The goon whimpers, begging for his life. “Sorry,” I whisper into his neck, my voice almost animalistic. “We’re no church. There’s no mercy here.”

We’re just beasts, aren’t we? Nath’s finest attack dogs, the ones who do work too dirty for the Queen and too difficult for her usual bunch. I do feel wild when I’m forcing victims down my throat, gulping shaking heads, and twisting shoulders.

The goon’s head and neck are reaching my stomach, the enormous meal making it stretch. My girth presses forward, forcing its mass on the belt. It hurts like hell, but I push myself to finish the goon, stomach groaning in protest. The belt’s prong creaks and the leather stretches.

Soon, the prey’s gone to his waist in me. His head and neck reach my stomach. Each constriction of my neck slides him down, rounding me out like a blimp. One hand moves down to rub the growing mass. The other reaches lower, lingering on the belt. It’s trashing more than Mr. Goon in my mouth. I don’t bother with letting it open; there’s no way under that weight.

‘Sides, if it keeps getting tighter, it’s a matter of time before—

Snap! The buckle tears and my gargantuan gut spills forward, now unbridled. My pants bear the crashing wave of flesh, forcing it back a bit—but the freed room is enough, and I finish the goon with no effort. Fast, before the ache makes me stop. “Over and done!”

“Great show.” Baron claps slowly, and I focus on him. Don’t think about the pain, don’t think about vomiting the goons up! “Thought I’d be finishing him myself, but you did well.” His butt collapses on the ground, and his belly lurches forward, even grander. He’s been waiting for me before sitting—because we won’t be standing up for quite some time.

“What can I say? The best teacher gave me the ropes.” I stroke the taut skin. If I try to look down, I’d slam on the floor, but there’s no need. I know what I’ll see: a vast, sloshy gut full of prey. Finding my feet? I won’t see even my knees! Hefting my enormous mass, I waddle to the wall and crash near Baron. “And now I’ve made myself a damn fine blimp, haven’t I?”

We sit in silence for a while, rubbing our overfed bellies. Not bad for our first big hit, not bad at all. But I lick my lips and wonder—can we do better? Oh, next time, I’m showing Baron a real predator. “Better prepare for that bud,” I whisper a promise which only I hear, and tap the stretched sides of my gut. The next feast will make this a light breakfast. Who knows what it will take to topple the Titans? I’ve gotta be ready for everything.

[0ooruioo0]

↣Muichirou Tokito

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Pairing: Muichirou/Reader

Content/s: It’s been sitting here waiting to get out just like me in quarantine.

Request:   Can i request for an angsty story with Muichiro from Demon Slayers?? The reader dies after they have an arguement.

"Got a fight with Muichirou-san again?"

You huffed not wanting to talk about it. You continued to run through the path as fast as you can on catching the demon. Not wanting to continue this conversation any further.

But your partner only chuckled in amusement.

"You know if we end up not surviving he won't be doing great"

"Don't say that, we're going to survive" You scoff.

They only shrug to which you see in the corner of your eyes. Silence engulfed you two, and you preferred it that way.

But he was right, if you somehow not survive this round. There's no clue what would happen once the word spreads, and reaches Muichirou's ears.

You could only pray for your safety.

―――――

Muichirou in the other hand sat on his garden. Spacing out in the clouds, though he did try his best to space out and not think about what happen. He just couldn't, it bothered him too much with no end.

With a sigh, he stood and walked around. Thinking that it would help him. But to no success whatsoever, Muichirou sat back in his garden, slowly feeling quite depressed at the thought of what might happen.

If you two weren't going to make up unlike all the arguments you two had. He'd feel... lonely.

Or even worse depressed.

He'd decided himself to quickly find you once his crow comes by and tells him, The usual jealous face on her face as she tells that you have arrived. Preparing his sandals right in front and ready to run out of his place as soon as possible.

He'd ask for forgiveness, at whatever he did wrong.

Hell, he'd even kneel and beg.

To be honest, what was the fight about anyway.

His eyes shot up, seeing his crow flying to him. Quickly putting his sandals on he stood, tidying himself up before he was going to make a run for it.

The crow caws and claws on his shoulder, quite painfully than she does than the other times. It makes him stop wondering what was wrong with her.

Cawing yet again she says "Y/N L/N has died from fighting with upper moon 1!!"

And then the world stopped, in the corner of his eyes he could see the crow looking at him worriedly. His breathing seemed to pace up a bit as he slowly processed what she said.

"..."

The crow was sweating, the silence was too aching to her animal heart. Even though she despised their relationship, she ached to see her owner upset about the news.

"Tell me where they are"

And with those few words the crow gives, he speeds off. Not to their estate, but to the place they was last fighting. His chest twisted and his stomach turned to what the sight might be.

He could've sworn he might have seen that upper moon, but he dismisses it and continued to run.

Arriving in the woods, he stops seeing the bloodied body of them laying in the ground. The butterfly estate people already running around to help the injured, you can see Shinobu trying to save the ones that were still alive.

From the middle of it all they were left to themselves, his chest ached more. Judging from the fact no one was trying to bring them back, they must've

with words stuck in his throat he couldn't think or say it.

The butterfly estate people didn't make it, he didn't blame them at least they tried.

But to think that they died right after an argument they couldn't clear up.

He could only fall into his knees. Sobbing quietly and trembling right before them. Internally screaming for forgiveness hoping they'd hear it up there in the heavens.

The only thing heard that day in the woods were the sobs and screams that no one expected the boy could ever do.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Inbox closed atm for requests. But open for questions! :>  

Fandoms I write

[kuroopaisen]

heart attack || bokuto koutarou

➵ your hot roommate likes to walk around without his shirt on. 

wc: 2.8k

warnings: implied f!reader, swearing, pure chaos

a/n: @stelleum jac darling, happy birthday! i tried writing you shipfic but i chickened out and wrote this instead (mayhaps i’ll finish the bkak fic one day, but for now it will sit in my drafts hh). i’ve already wished you a happy birthday so i won’t write you an essay here (although i’m fully capable of it), but i love you, and i’m so grateful to be counted amongst your friends. you bring such light and laughter with you, and i honestly feel like i’ve learnt a lot from being your friend. i hope you find this fic delightfully chaotic (just like you), and that it manages to make you smile a little -- you deserve nothing less (also big shout out to remy and ren for reading over this disaster fdsljk)

“he’s doing it again.”

“huh?” oikawa’s voice crackles from the other end of the phone.

“he’s walking around the house shirtless.”

it takes oikawa a few seconds to catch up. “oh, right. your hot roommate.”

you two have had this conversation many a time over the past two weeks. you’d quickly surmised that bokuto koutarou would be the death of you. probably by heart attack. oikawa had found that idea stupid.

“what do i do?” you ask, chewing on your lip.

“you could always ask him out.”

you scoff at the absolute certainty in his voice. “how dare you assume i wouldn’t shrivel up and die if i so much as attempted that?”

you don’t need to see your best friend to know he’s rolling his eyes at you. “why would you shrivel up and die?”

“what if he says no?”

“he’s not going to say no.”

“but he could.”

“you’re hot, it’ll be fine.”

“but you haven’t seen him, tooru,” you huff, waving off his assurances like they’re nothing. “pictures don’t do him justice.”

“i can’t believe you’re an adult…” oikawa sighs.

“you’re one to talk.”

“at least i can talk to people i find attractive,” he grumbles.

“he’s going to be a professional volleyball player,” you stress. “you know what they’re built like.”

“you were friends with us all throughout high school, and yet i don’t remember you ever talking about any of us like this.”

“the only one of you worth talking about is iwaizumi.”

a moment of silence. “that’s fair.”

“anyway, that’s all besides the point,” you grumble.

“do the other guys know about this?” he asks. you don’t like the playfulness in his voice.

“as a matter of fact, they don’t.”

“why not?”

“if i told them, they’d meddle,” you stress. “directly.”

“you can’t stop me from telling them.” you can tell from his voice that he’s grinning.

“i’ll block your number and never speak to you again.”

oikawa doesn’t need time to decide that it’s a viable and realistic threat.

“wait, are you hiding in your room again?” he asks.

“duh.” you roll your eyes. “i wouldn’t be talking about this in the living room, would i?”

---

meanwhile, bokuto’s sitting on the couch, quite shirtless as he twiddles his thumbs.

when kuroo had first told him that the best way to win his roommate’s heart was to ‘just walk around shirtless,’ bokuto had been a bit doubtful.

of course, kuroo hadn’t won the heart of his partner by walking around shirtless, but boukto was loath to completely disregard his friend’s advice. he does, after all, have a partner, so perhaps following his advice isn’t the worst idea.

but you’d scurried into your room almost immediately upon catching sight of him, and bokuto fears that he’s frightened you.

he likes to consider you friends. sometimes you’ll watch movies with him -- on occasion, you’ll even commit to a full anime series (even though he needs you to explain what’s actually going on half the time) -- and there’s a certain ease of conversation between the two of you. in his mind, it’s only natural that he should develop a little bit of a crush. 

unfortunately that line of common sense didn’t follow through to the next step of actually asking you out. 

---

your sheer embarrassment goes head-to-head with your insatiable hunger and loses.

you peek through a crack in your door, trying to ensure that the hallway was clear. perhaps you could survive seeing him in the front room, but an encounter in your cramped little hallway was bound to end in humiliation.

you manage to skitter into the kitchen quietly, every one of your senses on high alert for the enemy (see: bokuto koutarou’s god-like body). 

you spy the back of his head on the couch from your new vantage point. if you’re quiet enough, chances are he won’t notice that you’re in the kitchen. if the universe really gave a damn about you, then it would let you be invisible for a few seconds. 

“hey!” bokuto calls from the couch, holding a hand up.

“hey,” you mumble as you make an active effort not to look at him. damn him and his masterfully sculpted biceps. they’re almost enough to make iwaizumi jealous. almost.

you dash over to your pantry, opening it up and rifling through a couple shelves. you don’t have the mental or emotional fortitude to stand around and cook a proper meal right now, so the next best thing is instant ramen.

“whatcha looking for?”

you almost shed your skin in fright.

there’s a warmth hovering over you, and you’re far too aware of what it is.

“something to eat.” you can only hope that those words came out legibly.

“oh, yeah, there’s not really much,” he shrugs, tilting his head at you.

you’re still not looking at him. has he done something wrong?

“ah,” is all you can muster in response.

“did you want to order in?” bokuto asks, a certain lightness to his voice. it’s similar to the tone he uses when he wants to pick what you guys watch on a saturday night.

“uh—” oh no. “i—i don’t—um—”

what are you trying to say? you don’t know. bokuto has no chance of deciphering it.

but, he simply beams at you. “i’ll pay!”

sure, he has more money in his bank than you could ever dream of having – damn professional athletes and their egregious pay checks – but you still don’t want him to pay for you.  

“it’s okay,” you manage to say, holding up a hand to wave it off. 

you don’t expect him to take said hand. 

“please, let me treat you,” he grins. “as a thanks for helping me out with the bills last week.”

ah. that’s right. bokuto may be a sports star in the making, but he’s horribly lacking in the common sense most people rely on to make it through the day. 

“okay.” 

it’s very hard to say no to him when he’s looking at you like that, with his golden eyes all big and round and his fluffy hair falling around his face. damn him. 

you let him fiddle away with one of the delivery apps – you admittedly aren’t paying much attention to what he’s ordering – and entertain yourself with the bare walls of your kitchen. 

maybe you could sneak back to your room until dinner came? 

“how was your day?” bokuto asks brightly, effectively trapping you in a conversation. 

shit. 

“uh– fine?” you swallow. “my lectures felt like they wouldn’t end, but i survived.” 

“good thing you did,” he beams, tilting his head at you. 

you blush, trying to ignore just how handsome he is. “how was practice?” 

sure, you want to turn your tail and run, but you really don’t want to hurt his feelings. 

“it was good!” he grins. “tsum-tsum’s been less annoyed with me recently!”

“oh, that’s great!” you mean it. from what you’ve heard about his team, this ‘tsum-tsum’ seems like he’s the sort of person who’s hard to keep up with. 

“he almost gave me a compliment today,” bokuto said, voice brimming with pride. 

“really?” ‘tsum-tsum’ doesn’t seem like the type to give compliments, but bokuto always has a way of seeing the best in things. 

“yeah! he said my cross-court shot wasn’t half-bad!” 

you’re not quite sure if that counts as a compliment, but you won’t pop his bubble. 

“and omi didn’t flinch as much when i patted him on the back, either,” bokuto nods. 

“do you still use that hand sanitiser i gave you?” it had been a mindless little gift, one you’d bought after finding out he works with a germaphobe, but you are curious nonetheless. 

“of course!” bokuto nods enthusiastically. “it’s my lucky charm.” 

your breath catches in your throat. does he not understand what saying something like that could do to a person? especially when it’s coming from the world’s best himbo? what are you even supposed to say to that?

for the first time today, the universe takes pity on you. 

there’s a loud knock on the door. 

bokuto perks up. “i’ll get it!” 

“wait!” you call out instinctively.

bokuto pouts at you over his shoulder, frozen mid-stride.

“you’re shirtless.”

bokuto blinks at you for a moment. “is that a problem?”

three more brain cells stop fighting the good fight and perish. “no?” you frown. “yes?” he’s staring at you. “maybe?”

he’s still staring, a unique concoction of confusion, earnestness and disappointment in his eyes.

“it’s… a lot,” is all you manage to sew together.

“a lot?”

“you’re… a lot.”

“i’m a lot?” bokuto looks like he doesn’t know whether he should be upset by that statement or not.

“yes… muscles.” it’s official. you want to die. there’s no coming back from this.

bokuto glances down at his chest for a moment, a perplexed expression on his face. well, he is beefier than most, and none of his teammates are quite as built…

“just let me get it,” you breathe, well-aware of just how red your face is. after what is bound to be a horribly awkward dinner, you’d need to hop online and look for a new place to live.

you take a deep breath as you open the door, hoping, praying that this exchange, at least, would go smoothly.

you freeze as you look at the delivery boy’s face.

no way.

“holy shit,” makki grins, eyes crinkled and red cap slightly askew.

“no.” this is the last thing you need right now.

“this is where you live?” he asks, trying to pop his head through the doorway.

“uh—” you push him back instinctively, mustering up all your strength to budge the headstrong six foot asshole currently trying to force his way into your apartment.

he freezes, and you know the worst has happened.

“is that your roommate?” he asks, taking a step back with an infuriating grin on his face. “or are you getting some?”

“oh my god makki, i’m going to—”

“do you know this guy?” bokuto’s suddenly behind you, hands clasped behind his back and head tilted to the side.

“unfortunately,” you mumble, trying to keep your expression as neutral as possible. if makki catches even a hint of weakness, he’d press at it relentlessly.

you look him up and down, frowning. “i thought you were working at a tech shop or something.”

he shrugs. “i lied.”

“why?”

“i dunno,” he says, as if lying about your part-time job is the most casual thing in the world. “it sounded more impressive than ‘delivery boy’.”

it’s not like you expected any more from him, but even this feels a little strange.

bokuto’s stomach grumbles from behind you. you remember that he’s right there – and makki’s staring at him.

“why is he shirtless?” makki tilts his head to the side. “who is he?”

“my roommate,” you admit through your teeth.

makki stares at him for a few seconds more, a smirk spreading across his face. “is this why you won’t let us come over to your apartment?”

change of plans. time to pencil in a murder for seven o’clock. after your scheduled self-implosion, which is bound to happen any moment now.

“give me my food.”

“not until you answer my question,” makki grins, holding the takeout bag above your head. damn him and his height.

you glare at him, fists clenched at your sides. “i won’t hesitate and you know it.”

the threat of a knee to the balls is usually enough to make any man quiver. but not makki.

“really?” he smirks. “in front of your hot roommate?”

“i’m going to kill you—”

“i can’t believe you’ve been keeping him from us,” makki tsks, holding out a hand to bokuto. “nice to meet you. i’m a friend from high school.”

bokuto shakes his hand tentatively, a bit behind on exactly what’s going on here.

“and you are?” maki asks, a disgustingly sweet smile on his face.

“bokuto.”

“nice,” makki nods, looking him up and down. you know this will be immediately reported in the group chat. you’re never going to live this down. and, makki now knows where you live. you expect that you’re going to get some unwanted visitors very, very soon.

“get out of here,” you grumble, taking full advantage of makki’s distracted gaze and grabbing the bag out of his hand.

“hey!”

“have a nice night!” you call, pushing him out of your doorway with one hand. “i’ll leave you a bad review!”

“no, don’t—”

the door slams in his face, and you feel like you can breathe properly for the first time in the past ten minutes.

that is until you remember that bokuto’s standing right behind you. 

“should we eat?” he asks, a little too close to your ear than you would like. 

you flinch, taking a step forward. your nose presses against your front door and you curse every conceivable deity that comes to mind. 

“yes,” you nod, lightly banging your head on the door. perhaps it’s what you deserve. 

“okay,” bokuto says slowly, as if he’s not sure about what to do next. “i’ll get some plates.” 

you take a moment to catch your breath. all you have to do is make it through, what? the next twenty minutes? surely you could manage that. surely. 

bokuto’s already over by the couch, two plates in hand, and still very, very shirtless. that’s the reason everything’s gone tits up today. because he wouldn’t constrain his pectorals behind a thin wall of blended cotton. 

but you sit yourself down on the couch after unpacking your food on the coffee table. you sit yourself down on the couch, unsure if you can find the strength to start eating. 

bokuto plops himself down next to you. it’s almost like he’s vibrating with excitement. why does he have to be so damn hot and cute?

the two of you sit on the couch in total silence. 

bokuto stares at you. you make a pointed effort to look anywhere that isn’t him. 

“are you okay?” he asks, a genuine pout on his face. 

“can you… can you put a shirt on?” it feels a bit like an admission, or some kind of surrender, but this has gone on too long. 

“oh, okay.” bokuto hops up, watching you for a moment before dashing off. 

once he’s out of sight, you sigh, resting your head in your hands. what is going on? when you’d gotten back from university, you hadn’t expected the day to go like this. 

bokuto reappears out the corner of your eye, now modestly covered with a white shirt. it’s almost worse, honestly – the shirt really compliments his tan. 

“are you okay!?” his voice pitches as he moves towards you, placing a hand on your back. 

you flinch, dropping your hands from your face and closing your eyes. “yeah, i just…” honestly it feels a bit like you’re in purgatory. but that might sound a little dark. “it’s just been a weird night.” 

“i’m sorry.” you can’t see bokuto’s frown, but you hear it in his voice. 

you finally brave a proper look at him. somehow, his hair looks more deflated than usual. 

“i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable,” he specifies, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“uh–” you swallow roughly, unsure of where to go with this. “thanks? i guess?” 

bokuto pouts at you, his gaze flicking down to the floor. “i was just trying to impress you.” 

every single thought skids to a stop. what? what? he was walking around shirtless because he was trying to impress you? well, it worked, but he probably didn’t expect it to leave you speechless. 

“you… were trying to impress me?” the words feel strange coming from your mouth, but you manage to meet his eyes. 

“yeah,” he nods, his own cheeks darkening. it’s nice to know that the embarrassment isn’t one-sided. “my friend told me it was the best way to win you over.”

whoever this friend is, you intend to have a very stern word with them.

“you could just… ask me out,” you blink at him, unsure of how to proceed. 

“i could?”

“yeah?”

“would you have said yes?”

“i–” you clear your throat, breaking eye contact. “i guess?”

“so… that’s a yes?”

“yes?” 

bokuto stares at you, cheeks even redder than before and mouth slightly agape. 

“what?” you stare back at him. is he broken? has his brain finally given up too? 

“do you wanna go on a date?”

“i–” it’s your turn to have your mouth hang slightly agape. 

“please?” he asks, eyes going round and sad. 

“sure,” you blink. you? bokuto? a date? when? how? what–

“woo-hoo!” bokuto cheers, pumping his fists in the air. “alright!” 

oh man, this boy is definitely going to be the death of you. probably by heart attack. but, maybe that’s not the worst fate.