#save me blood orange songs

[taintedcigs]

fuck my dumb gay life

[7s3ven]

can you please do poseidon/reader and she finds out luke is the lightning thief?

THE GRUDGE. luke (pjo)

( master list )

IN WHICH… Y/N L/N can’t forgive Luke for his crimes despite loving him more than she loves herself.

“I know in my heart hurt people, hurt people. And we both drew blood, but, man, those cuts were never equal.”

Warnings : spoilers, small angst (in my opinion lol. I’m more sensitive to family/friendship angst, not relationship angst), short(ish) oneshot

A/N : to any other writers, do you ever act out the situations you’re writing so you can write a better descriptions of reactions and then you realise that you’re actually a good actor?

Because I literally just acted out Y/N’s reaction and either I’m great at fake crying (which has been a talent of mine) … or my heart-wrenching sobs were real 😨. Also, the song one of us from the Lion King suits Luke perfectly.

—

The life of a half-blood wasn’t easy, especially not when you were a forbidden child. Y/N flipped through her fashion magazine, aimlessly swinging her legs as she lay on her front. “Y/N.” Luke called out, pushing the creaky door open. She lifted her head, staring at him curiously.

“Hey, Luke.” She smiled at him, clasping her hands together. He grinned back, slowly walking over to her side.

“You feeling okay?” He asked, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. With Percy, her half-brother gone, she was alone in her cabin. Again.

Y/N gazed at him through her lashes. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m fine.” She whispered, reaching out to grasp his wrist. Luke bit the inside of his cheek.

“I have your phone.” Luke uttered, handing Y/N her device. Phones weren’t allowed in camp but Luke found a way around that, much to Y/N’s happiness. She had spent far too long in the mortal world to give up scrolling through social media.

“Thanks, love.” Her pink-tinted lips curved into a soft smile. “You have no idea how much I need this now that Percy is gone on his quest. It’s so lonely here.”

Y/N always hated being in her own company. Her cabin got messy and she never had the motivation to clean it. She was thankful for Luke because he always helped her with the mundane task that should have been easy, but not for her.

“No problem, princess.” Luke lightly kissed her forehead while she laughed. “I can’t wait until Percy is back because I have a feeling that things are about to change.” Nothing good lasts for long. Y/N, more than anyone, knew that. She stalked through the thick vegetation, harbouring a heavy sword. She had heard rumours of Luke… and she needed to confirm it for herself, even if it meant endangering her safety.

“Luke.” She called out, her voice shaking. She didn’t want to believe the rumours but Luke was unpredictable. Ever since returning from his quest, he hadn’t been the same.

Y/N had been at Camp Half-Blood for longer than most and she had seen demigods come and go, desperately searching for glory but never finding enough of it.

“Luke.” She said again, repeating it like it was a mantra that would save him from the terrible fate he had chosen. She dragged her sword against the ground, her eyes scanning for the slightest bit of movement amongst the trees.

She sighed, thinking of returning to camp before she spotted a flicker of orange. "Luke?" She whispered, but he still heard her. She stepped towards him, breathing heavily.

"Luke... what... is it true? Did you..." Y/N couldn't find the right words. "What did you do, Luke?" She asked, grabbing him by the front of his shirt when she noticed how he avoided her gaze and how his eyes looked so guilty. "What did you do?!"

"I did what I had to, Y/N. The gods... they don't care about us." Luke stiffened as Y/N glowered at him, her eyes filled with so much rage and hate and sadness and everything in between.

"You're wrong, Luke!" She exclaimed, harshly shaking him.

"I'm not like you, Y/N! My father doesn't care about me. Yours might give a shit about you but that doesn't apply to anyone! Look around you. Poseidon ignored Percy for years while nurturing you. My father abandoned my mother and I when he could have helped us. Ares hates Clarisse for being a girl and forces her to train harder until she collapses. They try so hard to find every little flaw in us that they ignore what we've done for them."

"But why this, Luke? Why betray us? Me! You betrayed me, Luke! And all your friends and family! Hermes may not give a shit about you, but I do! I have loved you since we first met, Luke! I fucking love you and you betrayed me!" Y/N slammed her fists against his chest, screaming until tears welled up in her eyes. "What did you do to Percy?" She muttered, her voice barely even a whisper. "Tell me. Tell me now and I might spare you! Please… please.” She hiccuped, her hits growing weaker.

Luke wheezed as Y/N gripped his throat for a split second. "He'll be fine... he only got stung."

"I hate you." Y/N seethed, rage engulfing her soft heart until it spilled out and poisoned her body with its toxins. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you! Gods, I hate you, Luke! Fuck you! Fuck… you!” She screamed, the sound echoing around the empty trees.

But she still couldn't bring herself to stab him. "Get out of here, Luke. Go! Leave! I never want to see your face again!" Y/N's voice shook as she shoved Luke away from her.

Heart-wrenching sobs slipped past her lips as she pointed an accusing finger at Luke. "The gods have fucked up, Luke, but you are no different. Maybe you had the right idea at first... but you went with it the wrong way. And it cost you everything. Don't go near Percy again. Don’t you dare touch him ever again! You don’t deserve his kindness! Don't even look at him because I promise you, if you do, I will drive a stake through your heart!” Y/N's confident voice faltered for a moment. She shakily inhaled. "I hope you're happy with yourself." That fated day still haunted Y/N's mind. She often had nightmares about it, where things turned out different had she stabbed Luke. She always woke up with a loud gasp, covered in a light layer of sweat.

On her nightside table, her phone rang. She hadn't been using it much since Luke left. She slowly reached for it. Nobody had her phone number except her close friend, who lived in Tokyo, her cousin, and... Luke.

Her heart was beating unusually fast as she shakily turned the device over to peer at the screen. Her stomach churned and she dropped her phone in horror. Percy was in the infirmary, still recovering from the pit scorpion attack. She was somewhat thankful for that.

She let the phone ring, letting out a sigh of relief when it finally stopped. But it started again, and again. Until on the third ring, she finally clicked the green button.

She didn't say anything, flinching at the sound of Luke's voice. "Y/N? Y/N. Thank goodness you picked up! I knew you weren't going to answer my iris message so I was hoping your phone was working."

Y/N cut Luke off from his ranting. "Luke... don't call me again."

"Wait, Y/N. Please listen to me. I love"-

She hung up before he could finish. She stared at her phone, gripping it tightly. With a guttural scream, she threw it across the room. It landed safely on Percy's bed and a part of her was glad that it did. It was one of the only things she had left from Luke.

She didn't know if she could ever forgive Luke for betraying her trust. And the worst thing was that she still loved him from the bottom of her heart. "You good?" Y/N quietly walked towards Percy, helping him sit up. He groaned.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about Luke... I know how much he meant to you." Percy's eyes softened as he stared at Y/N, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"He, uh... tried calling me last night." Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line.

Percy tilted his head to the side. "So what'd you do?"

"I ignored him until the third time... then I hung up after I told him to stop contacting me."

"You don't have to be so tough all the time, Y/N." Percy uttered, pulling her into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around her waste and she sighed.

"I really want to scream, Percy. I just... can't believe he could do that so easily. I mean, leave us... leave me. I'm trying not to care and I'm trying to say I'm fine but I can't let it go." Tears welled up again, dripping down the red apples of her cheeks.

Y/N would be lying if she said she hadn’t tried to figure out why Luke did what he did. She tried to piece everything together but it only hurt her head and heart to think.

After ensuring Percy was comfortable, she stepped outside. The camp was in utter chaos after Luke’s betrayal and they were trying to find more spies amongst them. Most people suspected Y/N because she ran into the woods to confront Luke and she was closely associated with him, which didn’t help. But she loved her friends and she could never leave them as Luke had.

She wandered into a small clearing, dipping her hand into a cold river nearby to calm herself. She didn’t even notice someone was watching her from behind until they cleared their throat.

With a panicked gasp, Y/N looked over her shoulder. She was expecting a fellow camper, maybe even Luke, but not Hermes in all his glory. The pair stared at each other for a minute before Hermes finally broke the awkward silence.

“You’re Y/N, right?” He hesitatingly pointed at her, worried he had the wrong girl.

She nodded.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see after Luke left.” Hermes started off, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“Luke is the last person I want to see.” Y/N retorted, “You’re second on that list.”

“He really did like you, you know."

“It wasn’t enough apparently.” Y/N shrugged, already accepting that she could tear Luke from his fate, “Maybe I deserved the betrayal… but not from Luke. He practically made me into the person I am. I guess he wanted to see how high he could build me before I fell. He had everything yet he still wanted more.”

“He cared about you. Dare I say, Y/N, he love”-

She cut him off just as she had cut Luke off. “Don’t say he loved me because if he did then he wouldn’t have done this! He… he wouldn’t have done all this!” Y/N choked on her words as she bit back a sob.

“He still loves you. Not loved. Not past-tense. Never past-tense. I’ve seen him, you know. He misses you and for a while, he tried to contact you in every way he could just so he could hear your voice. Even if you were screaming at him. I know that in another life, he wishes he didn’t have to leave you behind.”

“There shouldn’t be another life!” Y/N exclaimed. Getting angry at a god was dangerous but she was so frustrated and angry and hurt. Hermes didn’t seem to mind. He nodded his head, understanding her emotions. “Don’t you get it? You also have to take the blame. You’re part of the reason why he betrayed us!”

“He’ll forgive me eventually.”

Y/N shook her head. “No. You and every other deity thinks that your neglected child will forgive you but they might not. They might forgive but they will never forget. If I can’t even forgive the boy I love with all my heart, how do you think Luke will ever forgive you?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

“Forgiveness takes strength." Hermes whispered, barely loud enough for Y/N to hear. "Luke is much stronger than I originally thought and you, the mighty daughter of the sea god himself, are too.”

“Yeah, well,” Y/N shrugged as she stood up, brushing the dirty off her pants. “I don’t think I’m quite there yet.”

“It takes time.” Hermes said, “Meanwhile, I would suggest answering that.” He pointed at her phone that was ringing in her hand. Y/N didn’t even notice with how distracted she was.

She briefly looked down at the screen and raised her head again, her lips parting when Hermes was nowhere to be seen.

She hesitatingly pressed the accept button and raised her phone to her ear. She heard him quietly gasp, surprised she even answered again. “Luke… hi.”

PJO TAG LIST : @lostinhisworld @julielightwood @outerbanks-stuff @jennapancake @csifandom @evrybodydies1 @kkrenae @s0ulsniper @annispamz @justanotherkpopstanlol @soraya-09 @simpforeveyone @papichulo120627 @corpsebridenightamare @lilacspider @prettylilsimp @urmomsbananabread @ur-lacol-dsylexic @hottiewifeyyyy @kamiliora @be-bap @finnickodaddy @th0tblckgrl @shoyofroyoyoyo @uniquely-her @imafrkinsimp @syraxesrevenge @ahh-chickens @dracoslovergirl @midnightstar-90 @8812-342 @liv1104 @krkiiz @arialikestea @ch16rles @lizziesliz @maryclx01 @lukecastellandefender @yuminako @coryoskywalker @julielightwood @crybabysbakery @jsbaby @liviessun @p3pperm1nttea @angie-esc @purplerose291 @prettylilsimp @10ava01 @froggiesstalks @happy-jj @czennieszn @gisellesprettylies @loveyava @csifandom @luvvfromme @mashiromochi @kamiliora @yorksyree @mqg125 @jamesmackreideswife @niktwazny303 @2hiigh2cry @user021099 @living-in-my-imagination88 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

[eyesxxyou]

𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆 🏴‍☠️🐚

| i. one| pearly white eyes

🐚・・・pirate!Hobie x mute!siren!reader.

𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱: blood. death. decompostion. mentions of person being eaten. reader is caged. mention of selling reader.

↳ ❝ If only the sea would love him back. How unrequited his adoration was ❞

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

“Da ocean is no’cha friend, ‘Obie. It’ll chew ya up ‘n spit’cha ou’ ‘n there won’ be a trace of ya left.” His mother would grab his chin when he was young and gazed at the ocean for too long, hypnotized by the lapping waves at the shore, like it was coaxing him toward it. He’d stand there, body swaying with the sea back and forth back and forth, its song luring him closer. She’d try to hurry him along as they made their way to the market from their little home.

But Hobie would linger, feet bare against the ground, toes digging into the sand. The salt of the sea carried by the wind across his nose. He closed his eyes and listened—listened to the song of the sea. The crash of the waves against the rocks below, the seagulls cawing in the distance, the ripple of the salty wind against his face. He could taste it if he stuck his tongue out.

He knew that this was what it felt like to be completely at peace.

He let his eyes flutter open slowly and suddenly he was on the beach, taller, dressed in clothing that didn’t feel like his own. The sun had barely begun to set over the horizon, painting the sky in broad strokes of lilly pink and tangerine orange. The sea was calm, gentle waves washing up on shore. It was foamy and white, wetting his leather boots. Then it was pink, then the unmistakable brown-ish color of old blood. He looked out at the sea. Red, all red.

“‘Obie.” The calming voice of his mother. Low and thickly accented. Hobie looked back down at his feet and there she was, his poor mother, lying in the wet sand almost as if she had been washed up onto shore. The sea had spit her out. Half decomposed, half eaten, with blood coming from her ears. Her eyes were open, milky white, not a single spark of life to be found within them. But she spoke, her half exposed jaw opening. “‘Obie.”

“Mama?” He couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he help her? Why was he so useless? Why couldn’t he save her?

“I’s time t’wake up, ‘Obie.” She crooned so softly, almost singing to him. 

Hobie stared down at her, unable to look away as her body slowly withered away and turned to seafoam. Unable to do anything to stop it. “Mama, ‘m sorry I couldn’ save ya. ‘M sorry. Please forgive me.” He wanted her to hold him, even if she was decaying before his eyes. He wanted to know her kindness, her warmth, her forgiveness, just one last time.

But she just looked at him vacantly, with those dead eyes of hers. Just before her face melted away into nothingness, she spoke one last time.

“Wake up.”

Hobie shot up in bed, his eyes vigorously searching about his surroundings– wide and wild with panic. He was no longer on that beach he had known so well in his youth. He sat in his cabin, aboard his ship, The Mary Jane. His mother was nowhere to be found. She hasn’t been for years. He knew that already.

He was layered in a thin film of cold sweat, his chest rose and fell with the sway of the ship. His skin glistened under the golden rays of dawn stretching her fingers across the sky to mark a new day. It caressed him, told him it would all be okay. But it offered no comfort. He reached up and wiped away a stray tear from his cheek. Hobie figured there was no use in going back to sleep. He didn’t want to go back to sleep, didn’t want to run the risk of another recurring nightmare.

Hobie left his bed, disheveled and disgruntled. He grabbed his billowy, off-white tunic shirt from off the floor and slid it on over his head before grabbing his boots to shove onto his feet on his way out of his cabin. Tossing the door open, Hobie used his arm to cover his eyes from the rising sun. His face scrunched, grimacing at the abrupt brightness that overtook him. His lip curled with distaste. He was not a morning person.

“‘mornin’, Cap’n. How’d you sleep?”

Hobie looked up at the crow’s nest where one of his crew sat happily perched, looking down at him with a smile almost brighter than the early-morning sun. His skin was a deep caramel and his dark brown hair fell over his face, only tied back by a blue scarf. Pavitr had been placed on look out and by the looks of it, he'd been up there all night. He looked tired but was trying to hide it by being energetic.

Hobie only grunted and that was all the answer Pav needed to know that he had another nightmare. Everyone on the crew knew he had them but no one had the gull to bring it up to him or try to talk to him about it. He wasn’t the type to want to talk about and no one wanted to upset him. He had given them all a home aboard The Mary Jane and asks for nothing in return besides that they never talk to him about the things they’ve heard coming from his cabin.

“Get down from there ‘n get some rest, Pav.” Hobie motioned him down as he walked away.

The rest of his crew roamed about on the deck, either preparing their swords and guns or cleaning. There wasn’t much to do between raids besides prepare for the next one to float along their path. Most delegated chores amongst themselves simply out of sheer boredom. They all nodded their heads respectfully or greeted Hobie with a quiet, “‘mornin’, Cap’n”. They must have all known. Either he had been yelling again or they could tell just by the way he carried himself with a heaviness they could all feel, he cared not for which.

Hobie made his way up to the forecastle deck where he could feel the sea wind the best. He leaned against the railing and closed his eyes as he always had when he was a child and took in the beauty of the sea through the rest of his senses. The smell of salt and fish burned his nose and the breeze kissed his slender cheeks. He could feel the coolness of his rings against his knuckles and the layered chains around his neck almost restricting him. And he loved it all.

If only he could close his eyes and make it last forever. If only the sea would love him back. How unrequited his adoration was. He’s learned to despise the ocean and her children for everything it has done to him. And he’s vowed to conquer it. In a way, that's how he loved it.

“Cap’n.” Hobie didn’t open his eyes nor did he answer but he knew who stood beside him. She tried again. “Hobie.” He opened his eyes and glanced to his side where stood Gwen, a small blonde with brilliant blue eyes and a fierce attitude. She looked up at him sympathetically, the only one willing to take the risk to talk to him about his nightmares. “How were things last night? You were talking rather loudly in your sleep.” Her fingers twiddled with each other in front of her but she never stopped looking at him.

Hobie turned his head away, his jaw tightening with discomfort. “There’s nothin’ t’say. Y’all heard i’.” He dragged his tongue along the soft inner flesh of his cheek. “I don’ think i’s something’ we need t’talk ‘bout.” He retracted. It was easy to pull away from others. No one on deck knew him like Gwen did though, but even she had limited knowledge about Hobie’s life before he took up a life at sea.

“I won’t force you to talk, I never do. But I want you to know I’m always here if you need to talk. I’m your friend before anything else.” She placed her hand on Hobie’s shoulder only for him to shrug her away. “‘M fine. Where’s ya boyfriend, Gwendy. Go bother him.” He didn’t mean for his words to come off as harsh as they had but it didn’t seem to deter her.

She leaned against the wooden railing beside Hobie and sighed, looking out at the open sea before them. The sun was rising quickly, still red. The sea was as red as freshly spilled blood. She opened her mouth to speak but paused. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she looked out into the distance. “Is that a ship?”

Hobie perked up and squinted his eyes as well. It was indeed a British royal navy ship, the sails only half unraveled, just wading through the shallow waters entirely directionless. There seemed to be no one on the deck. There was something off about it. If he could see them with just his bare eyes then they could certainly see The Mary Jane, so why weren’t they attacking? They were certainly within range.

“Prepare the cannons but don’ fire jus’ yet. Ge’ ready to board.”

Gwen gave one firm nod and marched off to direct the rest of the crew who jumped up with enthusiasm and began scuttling about the deck in preparation. Finally, some excitement.

Hobie took his place at the helm of the ship, steering closer to the navy ship with an air of caution settling over the deck. “Fire a warning shot.” He commanded with authority that everyone respected. Within minutes there was a fire shot at the ship and before they knew it a white flag was being flown over the navy ship. They had given up without so much as a fight.

He was sure it must be a trap, a farce to get him to lower his guard. Hobie grabbed his sword and gun and rounded up some of his crew to board the navy ship with him while the others stayed behind to protect the Mary Jane from attack. He gathered Pav, Gwen, Miles, as well as a handful of others and took them with him.

Hobie boarded the navy ship with a heavy thump of his boots, his saber unsheathed in preparation for an attack. His eyes shifted back and forth, ringed fingers gripping the handle of his sword with a hold so tight his knuckles paled. He was soon followed by the rest of his crew, all equally as cautious.

“Search the ship, bring me everyone you can find.”

His crew split up and began to scour the ship for any people or loot they could find. Most of the crew were still asleep and were summarily caught with their pants down. Quite literally, as some were brought to Hobie in only their underwear. Including the captain or the ship who was tied up and brought before Hobie, shoved to his knees.

Hobie held the tip of his sword to the captain’s throat. He was an older, pale man with graying hair, round and fat with lack of work. He looked cowardly, afraid of the fate that lay before him. “We surrendered, take whatever you please. But leave us our dignity.” The man pleaded dramatically and Hobie found himself wanting nothing more than to slit the man’s throat and be done with it. He was not in the mood for being merciful after the night he’s had.

“Why did y’surrender so easily?”

The captain trembled. “We were raided by pirates just a day ago. We were in no position to fight. Most of our men were lost. Please, I beg.” He laced his fingers together only for Hobie to press his sword to his throat and draw the slightest bit of blood. “I wonder why I don’ believe ya.” His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Cap’n.” Miles came from the hold below the deck and motioned Hobie to come. “You’ll want to see this.” He shifted with distress and urgency. His golden, brown eyes shifted between Hobie and the lower deck where he, Gwen, and Pav all resided.

“Watch all of ‘em.” Hobie commanded the rest of his crew. “Don’ hesitate to kill anyone who ge’s outta line.” He looked back down to the white man before him before marching past him in firm strides towards the hold. Hobie followed Miles down, his sword still drawn.

It was dark in the hold and the smell of stale ale and old fish stung in his nose. The dim light of a lanturn offered just enough light to see exactly what Miles had beckoned him down for. He had seen you.

You were the most hauntingly beautiful thing he had ever seen. Pav and Gwen stood around the cage you were in; Miles joined them, all of them staring with something of wonder or horror, it was hard to tell which. Maybe it was a bit of both. Maybe they were one in the same.

You had eyes like the freshest milk he's ever seen, eyes like pearls, white and sparkling, all wide and framed with long lashes that stuck together with the tears that ran down your cheeks and over quivering lips that undoubtedly hid the horror of your fanged teeth. Shimmering scales like iridescent pearls showed up in small patches over your skin, on your shoulders, your forearms and your calves. You were akin to a human, minus the scales, your finned ears, and the fins that stuck out of the backs of your forearms and legs. You were covered in strings of pearls that hung around your neck and over your hips, shells, and coverings made of seaweed. 

You were something divine, something not of this world, something so terrifyingly gorgeous. Hobie knew exactly what you were.

“I’s a fuckin’ siren.” Hobie marched forward, his face stone-like with dispassion. He grinded his teeth almost to dust. His lip curled with disgust and his eyes lit up with fury. “Open the cage so I can kill the tin’.” They all looked at him with something of fear and worry. They had never seen him so furious about anything.

“Shouldn’t we think about this?” Pav stood between you and Hobie, his brows furrowed. “It’s hurt.” He looked back at you and saw the dried blood caked onto your skin originating from a large wound in your shoulder. “Shouldn’t we ask more questions? Why do they have a siren locked up in the first place? We should all be dead right now but we’re not.”

“Plus, sirens are useful. They cost a lot on the market.” Gwen piped up.

They were right. Hobie didn’t want to admit it but they were right. Siren's blood was highly valuable and was used to heal illnesses and injuries. Their scales were used to make jewelry as well. They were highly sought after and would make a good bounty but hunting them was incredibly dangerous. It’s rare that anyone actually captures one. They're known to bring entire ships to the bottom of the sea where they’d eat their victims.

Hobie sighed. He’d save himself a lot of trouble if he just killed you before you drowned the whole lot of them. “Keep them in the cage for now.” He turned on his booted heels and made his way back onto the upper deck. Everyone was just where they had been. He stood before the captain of the ship once more and glowered at him. “Wha’s with the siren? Y’should all be dead righ’ now.”

“I- We captured it for his majesty…he wants to make a zoo of the things, but it’s broken. Can’t sing. Figured…we jus’ might sell it on the market for parts. You– you can have it. Just leave us.” He smiled as he offered you to him, wearily and desperately. Something about the offer disgusted Hobie. The selling of flesh, even if it wasn’t that of a human, was morally reprehensible in his book.

With one swift motion of his sword, Hobie slit the captain’s throat and watched as he fell to the deck, choking and gurgling on his own blood. Blood splattered onto Hobie’s face at the initial spray and down the rest of his body as the captain collapsed.

He stepped on the captain’s body as he made his way back down to the hold to figure out if he should do just the same with you. Your kind killed hundreds in your lifetime, thousands even. Your kind lured people to their deaths by way of seducing them with everything they desired in life. There was something quite despicably sinister about it.

Hobie came back and stood before you, your frail, injured body. You looked up at him with those milky white eyes that almost made him flinch. He couldn’t bear to look at you, the way you wept, as if you were crying for your life. How could such a thing look so perfect while crying? He cursed his feelings, his empathy, his humanity. Would a being like you even understand something like that? Something as complex and beyond comprehension as human emotion? He barely understood it himself.

“Let it go.”

Gwen and Miles fiddled with the lock until they managed to break it open and let you free. You didn’t move for a bit, your eyes flicking from side to side at all of them to see what they would do. You trembled with fear, you sobbed in choking gasps. Hobie knew that sirens were meant to be alluring, that’s how they captured their victims, but he didn’t know one could look so pretty while crying.

After a while of stillness, you finally began to move. You crawled out of the small cage you had been locked in, wincing at the pressure put upon your injured shoulder until you stood up. You were a fragile thing, looking between the four of them as they all stood back and watched you. They were waiting for the moment you’d flip, the moment you’d sing your hypnotizing song and convince them to all jump ship.

“You’re free.” Hobie moved out of the way, sheathing his sword to show he meant no harm. He did it despite all signals in his mind telling him this was a terrible idea. “No one will kill ya, no one will sell ya. Yer probably gonna die from ya injuries anyway. Jus’ go.” If you remained in his presence any longer, he may just lose it. Your kind stole innocent people from their families. Monsters, the whole lot of you.

But you didn’t move, you just stared at him, blankly, blinking with those pretty lashes of yours. Your lips formed into the smallest pout.

Hobie sighed. “Don’cha understand me?” Sirens were meant to understand all languages.

You nodded, tears still streaking your pretty face.

“Then go, go now, before I change my min’.” He gritted his teeth and pointed towards the door, moving further out of the way to give you more room to leave. You hesitated just for a moment before beginning to walk on shaky legs and bare feet. You look at them all as you pass them but you stop in front of Hobie and stare– just stare for a long, drawn out moment. You stare even when he turns his face away from yours because he can’t bear to look into those eyes.

That’s when you begin to run. You scramble off up the stairs, soon followed by Hobie, Miles, Gwen, and Pav, and they all watch as you climb and stand on the edge of the boat. You look back one last time at Hobie before turning back towards the sea and diving overboard.

They all rush to watch you swim away. All except Hobie, who can’t stop thinking about those pearl white eyes.

[caesium-55]

—everything is orange. [ ii ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

warning/s: graphic description of blood and gore, body insecurity, lando might be a lil ooc

masterlist.

God bless Jinnie Jo and her overly prepared self because you thought you’d die when you got attacked by the damn shellfish allergy in the car on the way to the hotel. It's fortunate that Jinnie happens to carry around your allergy meds. You dry-swallow the tablets without hesitation, uttering your thanks to Jinnie.

“Song Dan-ssi gave me a list of your allergy meds before we left,” Jinnie tells you. Warmth floods your chest. Manager-nim may be in another country but he never fails to take care of you. You're definitely going to buy something for Manager-nim when you return to Seoul. A jacket perhaps?

The first thing you do the moment you enter your hotel room is kick your boots off, take a warm shower, and reunite with the love of your life—the bed. The mattress swallows you whole and you let out a content sigh as you allow your body to sink in it. Not even ten minutes later, you grab your bag, which you have haphazardly thrown on the bed, take out your phone, and open the X app. You type Lando’s name in the search box.

username1: i am disgusted by the people who still support lando norris like yall really support a man who got a girl pregnant and refusing to take responsibility? i just know mclaren is lying when they said he's not the father

username2: justice for the girl that lando norris got pregnant! he should be kicked out of mclaren!

username3: that girl lucky bc her baby daddy is THE lando norris. she should tell us how he fucks in great detail

You cringe. Your fingers tap the three buttons at the upper right corner and without hesitation, pressing report. You continue to scroll down the tweets, reading them one by one as the clock ticks.

username4: what lie will mclaren tell again to protect little lando norris?

Your phone pings. A notification bar appears on the upper portion of your phone screen. You have received a message. You stop reading the tweet and open your messages app.

unknown number: hey

unknown number: this is lando

unknown number: your boyfriend?

unknown number: the fake one

You immediately save his number in your contacts. You name him Lando Norris.

you: hey there

you: do i just call you lando or

lando: you can call me baby

You snigger at his flirting attempt. Ten points for trying, Lando Norris.

you: okay baby

lando: 😳

lando: okay

lando: we agreed on hard launching each other in socmed right?

you: yah

lando: i kinda don't have a picture of you?

lando: pr told me to ask you if you can send me one

lando: i’ll send you one too

you: i have an idea

you: put me on your story

lando: yeah im planning to do exactly that

lando: have you been listening to what we talked about earlier in the meeting?

you: then delete it after a few mins

lando: wait why

you: make it look like you did it on accident

Your first mistake in your first PR relationship with another idol is that you immediately hard-launched each other on Instagram after Dispatch released his pictures kissing a guy in a bar. People got skeptical and most of them called out your relationship as a PR stunt. They called you a cover up, which you were, but they weren't supposed to know that.

You're not going to make the same mistake twice.

lando: and this will work?

you: let's not shake the confidence i have

lando: 😂

you: people are already expecting mclaren to set a pr stunt so you can gain the public’s hearts back

you: u have to make yourself look like you never needed a pr stunt in the first place, that you’re not trying to win the public back

you: people will catch up if you suddenly post that you have a girlfriend in the middle of your hot issue

you: netizens are quickwitted theyre not as dumb as most of us think

You hope you're explaining it well. You're trying to make your point as clear as possible but it's hard. You forgot the other English words you’ve learned.

lando: okay i get ur point

lando: i’ll do what u want

lando: someone has to tell pr what u planned though

lando: it's not going to be me

Fuck the PR. You're not going to tell them and let them have a field day tomorrow. That's what they get for expecting you to sign that stupid first contract they made.

You open your camera app and take a quick selfie.

No. Your nose looks too big at that angle.

Again.

Now, your forehead looks like an airport.

Again.

Your teeth are showing. The coffee stains are visible.

Again.

Again.

Again.

you: *sent a photo*

lando: i

lando: help me with the caption? my braincells flew off

you: idk not good at captions

you: just say hello loml or smth

This is the story you want to tell:

You met Lando a year after you departed from ORACLE in Australia.

You have a mutual friend—named Tori Allen—who introduced you to one another. Tori Allen does not exist. She's just the fictional side character of your love story.

You started out as friends. Lando is freshly out from a breakup and you’re just trying to live a quiet life after your fall from grace.

You talked for months because of your mutual interest in cars. Eventually, you started going on casual dates.

You asked Lando to keep it secret. He said yes in respect to you. HAN Entertainment already released a press statement regarding your mental health status after the 2021 incident so the public would assume that this was the reason why.

The relationship turned serious three months before Lando’s scandal.

Lando never got the girl pregnant. He never touched that girl. He was loyal to you.

Jinnie almost breaks down the door the next morning. You open it before she can do so. She angrily stomps inside your room and you close the door behind her. Her face is red, her expression taut.

“It's seven,” your eyebrows crease together. You make a quick glance at the phone in your hand. 7:22, the clock in your lockscreen projects. “You told me we are supposed to meet at twelve.”

“McLaren PR called me up,” Jinnie informs you. You’re beginning to get an idea where this conversation is going. “You didn't do what we agreed on.”

“And what did we agree on?” you cross your arms over your chest. You flutter your eyelashes innocently at her.

“That you’re going to choose photos to post on each of your accounts and let PR handle the captions. Norris posted something immediately without PR checking it and deleted it!”

“Did he tell you that it was my idea?”

“No, but I know that it was and it turns out I’m right. You just confirmed it.”

“Did it work?” you question.

“I can't with you!” she throws her hands up in the air, frustrated. “We are supposed to follow orders!”

“No,” you say. “You are supposed to follow orders. That's what Yoon PD-nim told you. He told me to do what I believed was best.”

You open X. Lando’s name is at the top of the trending list. You press his name and read through the tweets that appeared.

username5: LANDO NORRIS WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOR

username6: EVERYONE HERE ARE THE RECEIPTS *screenshot*

username7: is this what you call the freudian slip lol

username8: I AM NOT CRAZY GUYS LANDO ACCIDENTALLY STORIED HIS GF IN HIS PUBLIC ACC

username9: he deleted it so quick too 😭 im sure the man panicked

username10: HE CHEATED ON HIS GF AND GOT A GIRL PREGNANT??!?

username11: for all we know he didn't even bang that girl 🤷 his girlfriend’s pretty hot he’s definitely not cheating on her

username10: men cheat on their pretty wives and girlfriends all the time

username12: not lando norris that man’s in love LOVE can u see his caption

username13: the caption??? lando’s pretty smooth with his words

username14: he’s taking smooth operator lessons from carlos

username15: im crazy but what if this is just a pr stunt 🤔

username16: girl he won't delete the story in a panic if it's a pr stunt

username17: he was definitely going to post it in his priv and made a mistake 😭

username18: very lando of him

username17: he stronger than me bc if my girlfriend was that pretty, her face will be flooding my instagram

username19: ignore lando, his girl tho 😳

username20: he called her loml omgggg

username21: booo luisa’s prettier

username22: fok off and move on

username23: lando can you fight? meet me at the kfc parking lot and let's fight

username24: probably not but he can run you over with his car

username25: i swear ive seen that girl before i just cant pinpoint where

username26: IT'S [NAME] EX MEMBER OF ORACLE WE HAVENT SEEN HER SINCE 2021

username27: so he bagged a kpop girlie??? lando got game dayummm

username28: isn't [name] an illegal street racer? that's why she got kicked out of the group right?

username29: an f1 racer and a street racer couple 😳 omg what in booktok is this

username30: she's not a streetracer she only watched the street race

username28: she told you that herself?

username30: her company did

username31: THEY CANT BE DATING OMG LANDO YOU CAN DO BETTER SHE DOESN'T DESERVE TO BE A WAG

username32: and u think ur better than her?

“It's working,” you state. You turn to Jinnie, raising your phone in the air and waving it. A smug smirk spreads to your lips. “It's working.”

Nobody is doubting the relationship like the time with Minhyung. This is a good start. Now, onto the next part.

“So are we really going to keep having lunch dates until your race?” you poke the shrimp on the plate with your fork. You're having pasta again. In the same place, too. It sucks but you swallow the food and smile as if you’re enjoying the meal.

For today's outfit, Jinnie chose a Valentino Garavani black midi dress paired with Jimmy Choo Antia leather sandals. Lando matched your outfit with a black silk button up and off-white pants. You’re both playing the “looking like a couple” card well.

“I believe so,” Lando says. You mentally count the days of the calendar in your head. The FP1 is scheduled to begin in two days. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask….”

“Hm?”

“The team didn't scold you a lot, did they?”

“They didn’t,” you give him a tight smile. Did he worry? For you? That's very sweet of him. “Why would they? My plan went great.”

Lando nods, “It did. You’re good at this.”

You smile at his compliment, shrugging a shoulder. I’m supposed to be good at this. I have no other choice.

“Let's show them our story,” you say. “Show, not tell. People are more inclined to believe actions rather than words. Show them the story we want them to know and we don't answer their questions early so we can keep the attention and the curiosity on us. Once the timing is right, you answer their questions, one by one. This is risky because if we don't act right, we’re done….”

You set the fork down and finally stop terrorizing the poor shrimp. It's completely obliterated now.

“But I believe we can act right,” honesty bleeds through your words. “You're lovable and you already act like a sweet boyfriend without trying.”

Lando purses his lips and averts his gaze. You see pink dusting his cheeks.

“I try.”

“Nice try,” your words come out dry. You give him a thumbs-up. “Also, I’m full.”

“You only ate half your plate,” Lando points out.

“The portion is too big. I’m a light eater.”

HAN Entertainment is partly to blame for that. You got accustomed to their extreme diets and small meal portions that you cannot even eat more than a small bowl of rice.

“Do you not like the food?” he asks, concerned.

You don’t answer the question. Instead, you lace your fingers together and rest your chin on them, leaning slightly forward.

“I have another plan. Wanna hear it?”

You still don't like having attention to yourself. The feeling of having eyes watching your every move, waiting for you to make a mistake still terrifies you. But attention, the right kind especially, is a weapon. You need a weapon to fight this war. A war to build your career again.

“Keep them on their toes,” the instructor of your PR training class once said. “Give them what they want piece by piece, just enough to keep them wanting more, but never give them everything.”

Until now, you still abide by her teachings. God bless Kim Gaon-ssi and her big brain, wherever she is now. She resigned from HAN entertainment a year ago.

It's been a few days since Lando pulled that stunt in his Instagram story and yet, the attention you're receiving from the fans is not simmering down. You didn't expect anyone to be this involved or curious about a driver's love life but here everyone was.

You wake up at seven and then proceed to spend an hour on your phone while lying in bed to push all the sleepiness away from your system. You leave your bed at nine, change out of your sleeping wear, perform a whole morning ritual inside the bathroom, and by eleven, you send Jinnie a message to get brunch and invite her to eat together inside the privacy of your hotel room. She arrives after fifteen minutes with hotel service food. You eat until twelve thirty and after eating, you begin to get ready.

The free practice session is at 5:30 PM. You can afford a bit more time to get ready so you shower again. It took you nearly two hours. In the meantime, Jinnie prepares your clothes.

You mentally thank the heavens when you see trousers neatly folded on your bed. If Jinnie forces you to wear dresses again, you’re going to lose it. You're conscious of how big your thighs look. You don't even have a thigh gap. Big thighs, small ankles, and muscular calves. They're just a few of your numerous bodily insecurities.

Jinnie pairs the Moon Choi black back pocket trousers with a Dior Toile de Jouy Sauvage silk top. For the shoes, she chooses a pair of white Fila chunky sneakers. She helps you apply your makeup and fix your hair. To finish the look, you grab your black cross body bag, smart watch, sunglasses, and a black ball cap.

Jinnie snatches the ball cap from your hands and replaces it with a McLaren ball cap. A tacky orange with the number four. You raise your brow at her. She gives you a pointed look, a look that says: don’t even try to protest. You sigh, resigned, and pull it onto your head.

She scans your appearance, dragging her coal eyes from the top of your head to your toes. She huffs, satisfied.

“You look perfect.”

Perfect is the goal.

Jinnie drives you to the race venue. She drops you off at the parking lot. She's not happy with it. Jinnie wanted to come. You told her no. You can handle this little act alone. You don’t see an ex-idol with a manager, do you?

The moment you exit the car, you slip on your mask. Figuratively and literally. You tip your ball cap upwards to scan your surroundings, searching for the way in. You carry your phone in your right hand and your paddock pass in the left. Lando gave it to you during dinner yesterday.

A racing event is crowded with people. That's a given. Perhaps not as crowded as a concert but still crowded nonetheless. A stage will not separate you from the people nor a barricade. Unfortunately. You have no bodyguard, no manager, no HAN Entertainment staff.

You're not here as ORACLE’s [Name] but as Lando Norris’ girlfriend.

Your feet lead you to a path where there are less people. You message Lando that you’ve arrived. He replies in a matter of seconds.

lando: ill come and get you

lando: wait for me

You remove your cap, fix your hair, before pulling the cap on. You spot a man with a Nikon DSLR standing a good distance. He is wearing a cord around his neck. The word MEDIA is printed in bold white letters. Your lips curl a little underneath your face mask.

It is show time.

During your trainee years, acting classes are mandatory. You know the basics. You're confident that you're good at acting. If you weren't, the company wouldn't have pushed you to act in two dramas as a side character during your rookie years. You received a reward for your performances, too.

To look lost, you have to keep glancing around you as if you’re contemplating which way to go. You have to look unsure of your actions. Hesitant. You have to constantly look at your phone as if you’re reading directions in it or texting someone to tell you where you should be going. You have to scratch your nape a few times to express nervousness. You're in a place you don’t know, it’s natural to be nervous.

Someone is bound to approach you and help you. When they do, you remove the cap but not the mask and then hope they know who you are. When they don't, well…. that's a problem for future you. You haven't thought that far.

“Hi, excuse me, do you need help?”

You perk up. Orange fills your view. A group of four girls have approached you and they all wear twinning McLaren merch. You can see that three of them sport the number four in their shirts, Lando’s race number. You involuntarily swallow.

There was a case once where a rookie actress got beaten up by her idol boyfriend’s fans promptly after the release of their dating news. Fans can be so jealous to the point of violence. It's a toxic fan culture. That's why so many Kpop idols resort to keeping their relationships private and secret. You hope you won’t get beaten up.

But also, given that they’re McLaren and Lando fans, there is a high possibility that they’ll recognize you. Which is exactly what you wanted. So you push that stupid fear aside and keep the show going.

“Hi, uh,” you remove your cap and lower your face mask until it's bunched up below your nose. “I’m kind of…lost? Do you know the way to the, uh…”

You forget what it's called. McLaren garage? You don't remember the exact word Lando used. You're still not confident that you know the difference between a paddock, a garage, and a livery.

“Wait, I know you!”

You purposely widen your eyes.

“You’re Lando’s girlfriend!”

You smile sheepishly, scratching your cheek with your finger.

The girls break out into loud and high-pitched squeals. Their voices are so shrill that you cannot help but wince. You motion for them to quiet down. Inwardly, you want them to keep being loud. Loud enough to warrant the attention of the photographer, your target.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, we absolutely have to take a selfie!”

You barely understand her rapid spitfire of words until she takes out her phone. Panic instantly swells within you.

This is not the plan. You only wanted one person to take the necessary picture. Not this.

You hastily slap your hand over the lower half of your face. You stagger backwards and stumble against a sturdy wall. Your hands fly out to your sides as you feel yourself lose your balance. Two hands grip your shoulders and you hear a surprised woah! from behind you. You lift your head.

It's not a wall. It's Lando.

His beautiful, beautiful eyes gaze down at you. The colors look lighter under the sun. His thick brows are furrowed together, his forehead creasing.

Lando spins you around so you're face-to-face with his hard chest. You squint at the multiple logos printed on the long-sleeves he’s wearing. Is this what he wears when he races? He swiftly takes the McLaren ball cap off your hand and puts it on your head. His hand remains tenderly flat on your shoulder blade, the other lays on your cheek as if he's trying to cover your face. You tug your face mask up and rub your throat.

“Hi,” Lando greets the girls sweetly. This causes the eruption of another wave of high-pitched squeals. “I’m sorry but do you mind if we keep the cameras away? Our relationship isn't out and as much as possible, we’d like to keep it that way. Can we respect my girl’s privacy please?”

He sounds exactly like a male lead in a romance Kdrama. You know it's fake, that the both of you are playing roles, but his words and the way he delivers them so effortlessly makes you momentarily doubt if he's really acting. It causes a butterfly to flutter in your stomach and your pulse to steadily accelerate. His hands are large and warm and for a moment, it makes you wonder if this is what security feels like. If this is what it feels like to be loved.

Then, you get reminded that it is all an act.

How can actors not fall in love with their co-actors when acting can feel this real at times?

“Thank you,” you hear Lando say. You miss the previous parts of the conversation because of the thoughts that invaded your mind.

“You look so cute together, oh my god. I’m going to die,” the fangirl adds. Lando’s chest vibrates as he chuckles, the sound deep and warm.

“We need to go, sorry. Enjoy the race today.”

He taps his thumb against your shoulder blade and he starts walking, his hands not detaching themselves from your skin. You keep your head low as Lando guides you away. In your peripheral vision, you see the photographer’s camera pointed towards the two of you. A self-satisfied smirk plays on your lips.

“How did I do?” Lando asks the moment he removes his helmet. He is sporting a bright grin, so bright that you're sure it’s going to make the sun envious, as his fingers comb through his damp curly hair. A few stray strands are stuck on his sweaty forehead. You feel the urge to sweep them aside for him.

You search through your mental thesaurus for the synonyms of the word amazing and have chosen: “Impressive.”

Light beads of sweat trickle down his face and neck. A McLaren staff member comes and hands him a towel to wipe them off. Lando thanks her and she leaves. He thrusts the towel towards you. You blink in confusion.

“Will you do the honors?”

“Can't you do it yourself?”

“But you have to play the part of a sweet girlfriend, am I right or am I right?” You roll your eyes at his cheekiness, rising to a stand. You place the McLaren jacket in your hands on your chair. Lando handed it to you before he climbed into the car. You don't know the reason behind his action. Nevertheless, you held the jacket for him.

You take the towel from his hands, your fingers grazing with his. Lando’s smile threatens to split in half as he puts his hands behind his back, parts his legs a little, and then bends down so you won't have a difficult time wiping his sweat for him. You're not that much shorter than him and your height difference is perfectly reasonable and comfortable but you're still grateful that he's doing this for you.

You don't wipe his sweat. Instead, you pat them out. Patting is gentle on skin. The towel will simply absorb the sweat on his skin. Rubbing the skin can lead to skin irritation and inflammation. Lando’s eyes flutter close at your actions and you swear you see him leaning against your hand.

“You raced good today,” you praise him.

You have zero idea on what happened in the past hour. The cars went around in circles. Then, they time their laps. They’re not even racing each other. You thought they would.

In all honesty, you think the entire thing is a bore. The street races you went to when you were a teen were more fun. A minimum of three drivers gets injured every race and it's highly likely someone ends up dead, which is your messed-up definition of the word fun.

You’re more interested in the special guest who decided to grace the track with its great reptile presence. A dinosaur. Kidding, it's just a lizard. It looks like it was surveying the scene and strategizing a great dinosaur invasion.

Lando's chest swells, “Well, I have to impress my girl.”

He opens his eyes and they meet yours. They're twinkling with mirth.

“Color me impressed then.” Despite your words, your tone is unimpressed.

He smiles impossibly wider, now showing his full set of pearly white teeth. He bites his bottom lip. You stop patting his sweat and lower your hand to the side.

“You don't have any more races tonight?” you question. Lando straightens.

“Later at 9 PM.”

“That's quite late.”

“It is?” Lando’s head tilts to the side a little. “Do you sleep early?”

You hardly sleep at all. You have a hard time maintaining regular human sleeping and waking hours. Like the other half of the world population.

“That's not it,” you shake your head. “I kind of just expected that the next practice session would be tomorrow morning.”

“Singapore usually holds night races. Track temperatures are low and the organizers can broadcast the race during peak viewing hours in European time,” Lando explains. “And they hold two practice races a day because it only lasts an hour.”

“That makes sense.”

“Are you hungry?” Lando questions, smoothly redirecting the conversation to food.

“I could eat.” You're not particularly hungry. You're not full either.

“I know a good place that sells these amazing wraps.”

Wraps sound enticing. You can't remember the last time you've eaten one.

“Lead the way.”

You chew on your beef wrap slowly as your eyes focus on the screen of your phone. The voices of the sports announcers live broadcasting the ongoing race fill Lando’s driver room. After buying the wrap, he brought you to his driver room so you can enjoy the privacy as you ate. You appreciate the thoughtfulness. You don't think you can eat outside. So many people can see you.

username33: LOOK AT THESE PHOTOS I AM GOING FERAL

username34: HOLUP LANDO'S GIRL WAS IN THE PADDOCK??? ON THE DAY I DECIDED NOT TO GO?? EVJSNSVSISKS

username35: girlie was hiding 😭 she deliberately went through the back of the paddock so no one can see her going to the garage

username36: my friends and i met her today! she looks like she's lost and as fellow mclaren fans, we went to help her and she was so sweet omg and so so shy too. we tried to take a pic with her but lando arrived and told us to respect his girl’s space

username36: and i quote “do you mind if we keep the cameras away? our relationship isn't out and we’d like to keep it that way. can we respect my girl’s privacy please” WHEN I TELL YOU I MELTED ON THE SPOT

username37: girl he really said that???

username38: i’m her friend and yes he really said that 😭

username39: little lando norris is not so little anymore

username37: pls tell me you backed off immediately

username38: we did!! we kinda feel bad now that we discovered she's been battling anxiety since 2021 and that she doesn't like having photos of her taken

username40: NO BECAUSE THE WAY LANDO IS SO PROTECTIVE OF HER?? THE WAY HE SPUN HER AROUND AND PULLED HER TO HIS CHEST?? THE PROTECTIVE HAND ON HER BACK?? HIM COVERING HER FACE?? WE ALL KNOW [NAME] HASN'T BEEN IN THE PUBLIC EYE SINCE 2021 BC OF MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES AFTER HER SCANDAL AND LANDO REALLY TRIED TO PROTECT HER

username41: bae i think you forgot that he's also the reason why [name] is gaining attention again bc he accidentally storied her in his insta

username40: that's why i said tried bestie

username42: i cant believe im crying over this LANDO NORRIS U BETTER TREAT OUR GIRL [NAME] RIGHT

username43: im waiting for @hanentertainmentofficial to say smth

username44: girlie’s career flopped and now she's leeching off lando’s money smh 🙄

username45: bestie she never needed his money she’s already rich from being an idol

username44: correction ex kpop idol, her money’s probably already running out

username45: bestie she's still richer than you while you're 14 (your bio says your 14) and still living with your parents

username46: AND THAT'S VERY SLAY OF HER,, YOU CAN'T EVEN GET A RICH MAN TO LOOK AT YOU

username47: that girl who claimed that lando is her baby daddy is suspiciously quiet rn

You turn your phone off and toss it inside your cross body bag. A sigh flies past your lips as you lean against the back of the couch, setting your unfinished wrap down. Your eyes flutter close. They're beginning to sting. Too much reading.

Sleep latches its claws on you and you allow it to take you.

You stand in darkness, allowing the deafening silence to swallow you whole. Suddenly, a thousand eyes appear. Unblinking. Bloodshot. They're bulging out of their sockets. In unison, the eyeballs move and lock on your figure. Judging. Judging. Judging. Your body trembles at the weight of a thousand gazes. You can’t breathe. You can't speak.

Please stop looking at me.

Please.

I’m begging you.

Stop.

The eyes slowly became bigger and bigger. Then, they disappear. You let out a shaky exhale. You turn around and the world becomes a blinding white.

Cameras. Thousands. No, millions of them. The loud clicking noise fills your ears. Your hands stretch in front of you, trying to cover your face and your body from them. You can only squeeze your eyes shut.

Silence.

The scene changes.

You register the feeling of sand getting stuck in between your toes. Your eyes slowly flutter open. The overcast skyline and the rising tides, the telltale ingredients of a brewing storm over the horizon, can be spectated from the shore. You recognize this place. This was a place you swore you're never going to step foot again.

Jeju.

You hear your mother’s gentle voice whisper your name behind you, causing goosebumps rise on your skin and your entire body to stiffen. It's not the name you own now, but the name you were born with, the name she gave you, the name you lost when you moved to Seoul.

She calls your name again. Again. Again. And again. You ignore every single one.

She stops.

You slowly turn around and you see your mother standing there, a few steps away, barefoot like you and wearing a dress. You remember this dress. She wore it when she was pregnant with you. She keeps the photo in her wallet.

No Eun Ha looks as beautiful as she was in your childhood memories. You greatly resemble her. The eyes most especially. That's why looking at mirrors feels more like a punishment to you more than anything else.

The word “Eomma” rots inside your mouth.

Your Eomma smiles at you. It's empty, her smile. When she smiles, they never reach her eyes. That's the way it has always been. For a second, you consider apologizing.

Eomma, I’m sorry that you have to raise a child you didn’t want. I’m sorry for stealing the light in your eyes.

You don't grow the courage to say it out loud.

No Eun Ha remains smiling. You notice that the edges of her lips curl higher and higher until the smile begins to look unsettling and sinister. Then you see the skin on her cheek tear apart as her smile grows and grows. Blood drips down slowly to her neck and stains the top part of her dress. She opens her mouth into an inhumane size and you see a thousand razor-sharp teeth lining up inside it. Everything is a gory red.

You scream in absolute terror.

She says your name again, her voice this time is not as gentle as you remember.

You wake up screaming and in cold sweat. You fall from your bed and onto the floor on all fours and begin vomiting your guts out. Nothing comes up. Only saliva. You break into pathetic sobs on the floor. Terror is a familiar feeling but you will never ever get used to it.

You don't know how many hours have passed. The floor used to feel cool against your skin but now, it's never been warmer. You still don't possess the strength to leave the floor. Your body feels as if it's being anchored down giant stones.

You're exhausted. You’ve done nothing but you feel exhausted.

You want to run.

You want to run away from this pain and exhaustion.

You need a life where you're no longer exhausted.

Desperately.

A sudden shriek interrupts the silence that wraps the air. A woman's. You don't even flinch. You know it’s just Jinnie. She's the only one who has access to another keycard of your hotel room.

When Lando’s panicking face comes into view, you are shocked. So shocked that you involuntarily raise your arms and accidentally hit him below his jaw. He stumbles backwards, not expecting the blow. He let out a pained groan, hand clutching the area you hit. You quickly rise to your feet, a thousand apologies already on the tip of your tongue. This action, however, triggers a wave of vertigo. Your vision blackens temporarily, your knees giving out at your own weight. Reflexively, you grab hold of the nearest thing beside you, the mattress to soften your fall, before your shaking knees meet the floor.

“[Name]!” Lando’s voice is so loud, you flinch.

When your vision returns, his face is the first thing you see.

“Good morning,” your voice is flat and rough.

Lando hisses and his large hands cradle your cheeks. You're suddenly made aware of how large his hands are. They can cover your entire face with how big they are.

“You're pale,” his voice wobbles. “Shit.”

You want to pass out again. His hands feel so, so comfortable and so, so warm that you want to sleep with this feeling.

“Hey, hey, don't close your eyes. [Name]—” Lando hands move swiftly. One second he’s holding your face. The next second he’s lifting you up in his arms. “Jinnie, call an ambulance!”

The word “ambulance” causes you to wake up. Like really wake up.

Oh, shit.

You struggle in Lando’s arms, “Andwae! No ambulance!”

You pry yourself away from Lando, hopping down to the floor, but the man doesn't retract his hands completely. He still holds onto your forearms to support you as you try to stand.

“No. Just no. I’m fine.”

“[Name]!” Jinnie scolds. She's finally functioning again. She froze in shock when she saw you earlier.

“I’m fine!” you shout. “I’m fine! Really!”

When you get caught that you're weak, you retaliate.

You grit your teeth and clench your jaw.

“I’m. Fine.”

They don’t believe you. You can see it in their eyes. However, they're not going to argue with you. You know they won't.

“I’m going to shower,” you announce. Lando’s grip on your forearm tightens just as you pivot your heels to head to the bathroom.

“I think it's best if you stay today.”

“We all agreed that I’m going to be in the paddock from the practice sessions until the race night.”

“I’ll tell the PR team that you won't go today.”

Your brows furrow.

“Just… Rest for today, okay?”

You turn quiet. Hesitantly, you nod.

“Thanks.”

He turns to Jinnie and tells her, “Take care of her for me. I’ll visit after the qualifying.”

And like that, Lando Norris leaves the hotel room.

[throatofdelusionincarnate]

Honeybee

Horror! Sans x Reader Oneshot

Here’s a little self indulgent crap from me to you because I cannot get my mind off of Horror Sans lately :)

Might be posted to AO3 later under the same username throatofdelusionincarnate

Word Count - 2,478

—

The soft grumble of thunder draws you from your sleep. You turn, glancing at the clock on the bedside table and blink a few times. Six thirty. On a Saturday. You rub your eyes and sigh. Soft rain patters against the window of your apartment and beside you Sans slumbers on.

You watch his large chest rise and fall for a moment. When you first got together, you thought it was a choice he consciously made. Something to make him seem more human. Though, after months together, you had realized it was just something he did. Perhaps it serves a purpose, pumping magic through his body as yours does blood. Or maybe it’s just a subconscious habit that he’s picked up. Either way, his large breaths comfort you.

Gently, you place a hand on his skull, just directly under the large wound that decorates the top of his head, and stroke his cheek with your thumb.

You won’t be able to go back to sleep, not with the growing thunderstorm outside. Still, there’s no reason to wake him up. You know how difficult it is for him to sleep, and you’d prefer that he gets the rest he needs. You can entertain yourself for a couple of hours.

You lean forward and place a chaste kiss on his brow bone. He stirs for a moment, then returns to his rest, a stifled snore escaping. A small laugh leaves you and after one final peck on his nasal cavity you swing your legs over the bed.

The apartment is cold, per usual, and goosebumps climb up your legs before spreading to your arms, then tips of your fingers. You shuffle towards the closet, each step feeling like ice beneath your feet.

You disappear inside the small walk-in, shutting the door before turning on the light. The sudden brightness causes you to squint, and for a moment you only stand there, adjusting to the feeling of being awake.

Once you can finally see, you rummage through your clothing for pants and some socks. You slip on a pair of very loved sweatpants, tying them at the waist so they don’t fall down. Then, you perform your best balancing act as you put on your socks. Regrettably, you roll the sweatpants over them, hiding the bacon decal and the phrase “make today sizzle!”

After your legs and feet are successfully bundled up, you turn to Sans’s stash of clothing and grab out a comically large grey sweatshirt with red lettering that says “BAD TO THE BONE” on it. You slip it over your pj shirt, allowing the hem to hang just above your knees. You swim through the sleeves for a moment before your hands emerge and you can push the cuffs to sit at your wrist.

You shut off the closet light then stumble out of the dark bedroom as Sans continues to softly snore.

The world is quiet save for the interspersed roll of thunder. So long as you’re up, you might as well make some breakfast. By the time you finish Sans will most likely be awake. His rest comes in short bursts.

If you remember correctly he crawled into bed at two last night. Four hours is longer than he normally sleeps, but the rain does tend to make him more tired than usual.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and click on the music app and press shuffle. A soft song radiates from the speaker and you leave the phone propped up on the counter to play as you cook.

Slowly, you collect your ingredients, settling for pancakes and bacon. You hum along to the song, whisking pancake mix together with milk, extra vanilla, and a dash of orange juice.

The rain grows heavier outside, pounding against the kitchen window. The occasional streak of lighting brightens the room before thunder overtakes it.

You pry open the package of bacon and set a few slices in the pan, watching them curl and sizzle against the heat.

Thunder booms and you jump as a large set of arms are folded around your waist.

“m’ sorry. didn't mean to scare you.” You settle into the grip, looking up to see Sans standing over you.

A small laugh spills from you. “The thunder startled me, though I still can’t get over how quiet you walk.” He leans his head down and you press a quick kiss to his teeth. “Did I wake you?”

He straightens back up and shakes his head. “nah, storm got loud. slept for too long anyways.”

Gently, the two of you begin to sway. He rests his skull on top of your head. You pull an arm free to grab a fork then flip the bacon over to let the other side darken. “Ah yes, because five hours is such a crazy amount of time to sleep.”

Sans just hums in response. The two of you will probably end up on the couch today, so you’re almost certain that Sans will get another couple hours of sleep. You might sneak in a little nap yourself. The rain is definitely making you drowsy despite just having woken up.

“Chocolate chips in your pancakes?” You ask, pulling out the bacon and setting it on a paper towel-lined plate.

“you know me so well,” he rumbles above you.

“I should hope so,” you grab a small measuring cup and dip it into the batter, then pour it onto the pan to cool. “We’ve been dating for almost a year now. I’d be a poor partner if I didn’t know how you liked your pancakes,” You pour more batter into the pan.

“You’re gonna have to let me go if you want chocolate chips.”

“or we could awkwardly shuffle over to the cabinet together.” Sans offers.

You roll your eyes and tap on his arm, “C’mon big guy, let go.”

A small gasp escapes you as you're lifted off your feet. Sans cradles you, a large grin on his face. “hmm… don’t think I will.”

You squirm a bit in his grasp, giving him a playful glare. “Sans the pancakes are going to burn.”

“i like mine a little crispy anyways.” He says.

“Well i don't!”

He shrugs, red eyes tracing over your features. “i ‘spose i can be persuaded… if ya got something good to offer in exchange for your freedom.”

“How about a not-charred breakfast?” You answer.

“tempting, but i might need a bit more. inflation is crazy right now.”

You sputter under his gaze. “You’re unbelievable!”

Though despite your protests, you stretch upwards, pressing your lips to his teeth. Sans returns the gesture, melting into you before pulling away. “There, now can I flip the pancakes?”

“m’ afraid you forgot tax.”

“Oh my god,” you deadpan. “How do you stay open with these business practices?” This time, you reach your hands up and pull his skull to you. Your nose presses against his cheek and you nuzzle him.

“what can i say,” Sans beams, red eye blown out and a light blush on his face. “my customers are very loyal.”

Finally he sets you down, though one hand still holds yours. “No accounting for taste,” you say, giving his fingers a quick squeeze before letting go.

Sans lingers, turning to lean against the counter as you grab chocolate chips. You scurry back to the pan and open up the bag before sprinkling the chocolate all over the pancakes. Then, you grab a spatula and flip them.

The tops are a very dark brown, verging on black. “These are yours,” you declare, nudging Sans with your hip.

He shrugs, “m’ not picky.”

You smile, “Yea I know. You’re my big cuddly garbage disposal.”

“who else is gonna eat the tomatoes off your burgs?” Sans’s hand sneaks forward, slipping into the bag of chocolate chips. He pulls out a small handful and tosses them into his mouth.

Playfully, you swat at him. “We’re not gonna have enough for the pancakes if you eat all of them.”

He ignores you, and grabs a single chip out. Sans makes eye contact with you, and you silently return it, daring him to. He does. With a self-satisfied grin he pops it into his mouth.

“You little shit!” You exclaim, snatching the bag up and setting it on the opposite side of you, away from his reach.

“awhhh c’mon hun,” he attempts to reach over you but you place your full weight against him to keep him back. You know he can easily move you if he wants to, but this is just play. Plus, he enjoys letting you win. “it’s just a few chocolate chips, i ain’t hurtin’ anyone.”

“I would like some in my pancakes,” you huff. “Once I’m done with them you can have as many as you wang.” You let up on the pressure and grab the spatula, putting the two slightly burnt pancakes on a plate. Gently, you push it into Sans’s hands. “Go butter these, hm?”

He sighs, “making me do manual labor this early in the morning? butter be grateful you’re cute.”

You snort, “Awh, you’re making me melt.”

“heh, good one. this is why you’re my butter half.”

Sans moves past you, plate in hand. As he crosses, you can see a skeletal hand try to reach into the bag. You gasp, and slam your hand down on the opening just before Sans can steal anymore chocolate.

“my genius plan, thwarted.”

“Butter luck next time,” you grin, hand still over the bag.

He chuckles, “you might’ve won for now, but I’m gonna get that chocolate eventually.”

He walks to the table, stopping quickly to grab a knife from the silverware drawer, then sets to work on doctoring up his pancakes.

With him gone you whip up a couple more batches, saving a generous handful of chocolate chips for Sans. The lull of rain and music settles you after your playful banter and you find yourself lightly humming along as you gather various accouterments for your meal.

You set the plate of pancakes in front of Sans and he gets to work on buttering those while you travel back and forth from the kitchen. You bring out the bacon, whip cream, syrup, and then two glasses with a couple juice options.

Finally, you settle in your seat across from Sans. He offers you the plate of pancakes first, knowing that you’ll take whatever you want and then he can have the rest.

You take two of the six and stack them on your plate before handing it back to Sans. Then you grab a couple of slices of bacon before sliding that over too. He eyes food and grabs the syrup, dousing his plate with it.

“Oh!” You exclaim, standing up. He lifts his gaze curiously as you dart back into the kitchen, grabbing the remaining chocolate chips. You set the bag in front of him. “For you!”

Sans smiles, pouring out a couple, “thanks hun.” He reaches across the table and gingerly arranges them in a small smiley on your pancakes.

You grin down at the happy looking face, “I hate to destroy such a cute gesture.”

“here lemme help,” Sans plucks one of the eyes off and eats it.

“Hey!” You protest playfully, reaching over to nab one of his chocolate chips. “There. We’re even.”

“‘spose we are,” He beams. “eat your food before it gets cold.”

You don’t have to be told twice. The two of you tuck into breakfast, a comfortable silence overtaking the room as you both enjoy the meal before you.

The constant rumble of thunder keeps you company as you finish up. Sans stands first, having finished his large plate of food, and grabs the serving dishes to take them to the sink. You stay behind, a bit slower at eating, and finish your food. Once done, you stand and bring your dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“you can just leave ‘em in the sink.’ He offers.

You nod, setting the dishes in the sink, then reach around to grab the washcloth. Gently, you nudge him to the side so you can wet the fabric down. You squeeze out any excess water and move back out of Sans’s way.

Quickly, you start the music back up and begin to wipe down the counters. A smooth voice comes out of the speakers as “Honeybee” by The Steam Powered Giraffes begins to play.

As you clean off the counters, removing any specks of flour and grease, you sing along. Behind you, Sans also begins to hum. You smile to yourself, enjoying the rasp of his deep baritone.

Everything is a peaceful, perfectly curated mix of noises that comforts you.

The sink shuts off and the clatter of dishes stops. Large arms squeeze your waist then spin you around to face them.

You look up at Sans, washcloth still in hand, and arch a brow. He removes the cloth from your grasp and replaces it with his hand, his smooth bony fingers enveloping yours.

His other hand stays at your waist and the two of you begin to sway. You get the hint and place your free hand on his chest, not quite tall enough to comfortably reach his shoulder.

Sans’s wide eye doesn’t leave you, and his usual expression melts into something akin to fondness.

“You didn’t have to smile at me, your grin’s the sweetest that I’ve ever seen. But you did. Yes, you did.” You sing softly as the two of you hold each other.

He brings your hand up to his teeth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You practically become a puddle. Your head rests on his chest, cheek pressing firmly into his shirt. His smell envelops you. It’s chalky and tinged with blood, but you don’t mind.

The two of you had made peace with his gory past long ago. Survival isn’t pretty, but in the face of starvation one does what must be done. Now, all you can do is keep him full and offer comfort and affection when he has a difficult day.

“you didn’t have to offer your hand. ‘cause since i’ve kissed it, i’m at your command. but you did.”

The world around you seems to disappear, and you cling to him, savoring the rumble that reverberates through his soul when he sings.

“set me free, my honeybee.”

As the storm rages outside, you and Sans remain. You know that neither of your lives have been perfect. His, less so than most. But in this moment, you’re grateful for everything that brought you together. You’re grateful for burnt pancakes and stolen chocolate chips; for thunderstorms and way too early mornings. You’re grateful that you get to call Sans yours.

Hello goodbye, I’m rather crazy, and I never thought I was crazy.

But what do I know?

I let myself go.

[gtgbabie0]

-Katniss Everdeen x Reader

{Katniss returns home to you after a long day of hunting and you clean her up}

I need to write more for her. Enjoy my lovelies💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

The herbal smell of venison stew dances through the air pleasantly as the pot simmers on low heat on the stove, bubbling ever so slightly whilst you potter around the kitchen. You hum a soft tune, a song that Katniss had gently whispered against your shoulder as she soothed you from a nightmare last night.

You had to convince her three times over before she finally left to go hunting today. Katniss didn’t like leaving you alone on a good day, let alone after what happened the night before.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth and an ache in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t seem to shake. She knew you’d be fine, tucked away in the depths of the forest. Warm and safe in the small cabin you both call home, but it still doesn’t make her worry any less.

Maybe that explains why every time she comes back home there’s a small sigh of relief that passes through her lips. Her face immediately softens at the sight of you as you walk over to her, helping her to take off her coat.

“Smells good,” Katniss smirks as you thumb her cheek, rubbing away whatever stains her skin. Her eyes flutter close ever so slightly at the feeling of your soft hands.

She kicks off her boots, not wanting to track mud into the small house. “Thank you, I used the last bit of deer.” You tell her and she nods softly with a hum of acknowledgement.

You lean forward to press a kiss against her cheek, the scent of the outside lingers in her hair and against her skin. It’s something you’ve come to love, a certain sense of comfort you’ve found within it.

Katniss sits down at the kitchen table with a soft sigh, running her fingers across the grazes on her palms with a frown. You notice this, your eyebrows pulled together in worry as your gaze flickers to her sore palms and then to her face.

The sound of a gasp that comes from you makes her look up. Her eyes find yours as your hand gently cups her face, fingers curling around her jaw.

“What happened?” The softness in your tone burns away her bad mood as you take in the sight her the scrape under her chin, red sore and slightly bleeding. See, she had tripped over a tree root that was hidden beneath the fallen, trodden leaves which blanketed the forest floor with colours of orange, yellows to browns.

But Katniss would never admit this, never. “Nothing… just you know, it’s rough out there this time of year.” She murmurs, glancing down at her palms with a slight twinge of embarrassment flashing through her face.

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, the grazes on her palms and underneath her chin. It’s clear what had happened… you’d save her from the embarrassment, for now.

“Looks rough, you really banged yourself up.” You have to bite back the giggle that bubbles within your throat when she shoots you a glare. Although, she’s not really mad at you, how could she be?

Especially when you press such a sweet kiss against her jaw and the way your thumb soothes against her knuckles. “Yeah… yeah.” She mumbles with a small smirk.

You take the first aid kit from the cupboard above the sink before sitting down beside her at the kitchen table. Katniss’ eyes never leave you, watching the way your soft hands take hers. You look down at the grazes on her palms, gently wiping away the dried blood and dirt with an alcohol wipe.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, doing the same to her other palm that was a little worse. She shakes her head, her cheeks a little rosy from how gently you’re handling her.

She’s not used to it, even after all this time. It’s addictive, the sweetness of you that leaves her stomach feeling all fluttery.

“No… no it’s fine.” She promises as a small smile adorns her lips, her expression softening.

“Good. Look up for me, love.” You tilt her head upwards gently, your hand cupping the nape of her neck so you can get a better look at the scrape under her chin.

With a soft 'tut' you begin to gently clean the small cut with the last alcohol wipe before pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw, and you can’t help but smirk at the way her breath hitches ever so slightly.

Katniss looks back at you, an appreciative expression settles against her face. “Thank you.” She whispers.

“Anytime, clumsy pants.” You can’t help it and honestly, Katniss doesn’t mind, despite the huff that escapes her. The sound of your giggle makes it all better, she’d do anything to hear that sound.

“Go get washed up… dinner is almost ready.” You tell her, your lips meeting hers as you both share a loving kiss. It’s soft yet desperate as if she had waited all day just for this.

The kiss tapers off into small pecks, ones that are just as loving. “Okay, I'll be quick...” She whispers breathlessly, her cheeks dusted with a stubble pink colour as she disappears off into the bathroom.

[evermourning]

⋆₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐤𝐳!! ❆ ₊⋆౨ৎ

pairing: Stray Kids x reader (OT8)

genre: Slice of Life, Fluff, Comfort, Established Relationship

warnings: Language, A tad suggestive in Felix's part

a/n: Merry Christmas everyone! This has been queued since Thanksgiving lol I didn't know when to release it. Feel jolly rn.

𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 ･:*:｡❆

It's snowing really hard outside.

You'd have to squint in order to see the dim streetlights, hidden by the storm of ice and the piercing cold brought along with it. You know very well that if you were out there for just a little bit, you'd be shivering, fingertips numb and lips turning blue.

Luckily, you are snuggled into your boyfriend, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you as you sit in solace on the couch. A warm blanket is delicately draped across his broad shoulders.

In front of you, a warm fire roars, warmth emanating from its core of orange and yellow flames. The room is oddly silent, except for the soft pitter-patter of snow against your window and Chan's quiet, melodic hum.

"What are you humming, baby?" you ask with a giggle, absolutely adoring the way his cheeks redden from your words.

"Well...it's a song I've been composing." he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wrote it for you. It's a love song...and I'm gonna release it on Christmas. Do you like it?"

"I don't know the words, but the melody is really pretty." you assure him, and his fingers intertwine with yours as a content sigh escapes his lips. "I can't wait to hear it."

He maneuvers you slightly so that you're now sitting in between his legs, his hands on your hips. His thumb rubs languid strokes onto your soft skin in the shape of a figure eight.

"I really don't deserve you." he whispers, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. "You're so amazing, so lovely. So perfect for me."

His nonstop kisses make their way to your neck and collarbone.

"Can we stay like this, just for a little while longer?"

So, you will stay in your little bubble with Chan, forever and ever. Until the snow stops, at least.

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎 ･:*:｡❆

The moon is high in the night sky, bright and full as it blesses the Earth beneath it with light. You're inside, having a small party with family and friends. It's not completely silent, as your home is filled with sounds of lively chatter and glasses clinking against each other, but it is tranquil.

You're standing in the arch of the doorway, talking animatedly to Hyunjin about a present you bought for your boyfriend, who is currently watching from the distance. He is definitely not pouting. Jisung stands beside him, patting his shoulder.

"I think you're overreacting, Min." he says teasingly, eliciting an eye roll from the older boy. "C'mon, they're just talking to Hyunjin. He couldn't hurt a fly."

"But he's attractive. And they've known him so much longer than they've known me...and they haven't kissed me in three fucking hours." he says the last part with such fervor it sends Jisung into a fit of giggles.

"Three whole hours? I'd think you were being starved just hearing that."

"I am!" Minho whines. When your adorable laugh, the one you only save for him, reverberates through the crowded room, Minho feels his blood boil. "Oh, fuck this."

He pushes through the room, soft echoes of "sorry" and "excuse me" falling from his lips. When he reaches you, Minho pulls you into his chest and flashes Hyunjin an unfathomable glance. Hyunjin takes this as his cue to leave (thankfully) and once he does, Minho pulls back, keeping his hands on your hips.

"What was that for?" you ask him with a light giggle. "You seemed so annoyed. Are you and Hyunjin not on good terms right now?"

Minho shakes his head. He tightens his hold on you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. His cologne smells so good, you think you might be a little dizzy.

"'Wanted some time with you, just the two of us." he mumbles into your shirt, pressing kisses all along your jawline. "Please? For me?" However, he stops when he hears you chuckle lowly, watching as your index finger extends to point upwards. Minho's gaze follows it until it reaches its destination: a trio of dark green leaves held together in a bow by vibrant red ribbon. You smile.

Minho's arms reach around you, caging you to the side of the door as his lips meet yours in a passionate embrace. He's never intimate in public with you, resorting only to hand-holding, but at this point, he just wants to be with you. He wants to feel your lips on his until the sun rises.

𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍 ･:*:｡❆

"Don't let go of me, 'm gonna fall!" Changbin whines, a gloved hand tightly squeezing yours as you gracefully skate across the ice. Your boyfriend unfortunately is not as graceful.

It was his idea in the first place. He wanted to take you here, to show you his amazing skills, until he remembered one very important thing:

He could not ice skate to save his life.

Now, here you are alongside him, expertly gliding along the ice as if you've done this your entire life. You ask Changbin, time and time again, if he wants to hold onto the side so there's a smaller chance of him falling, but he is too prideful. He shakes his head, his cheeks reddening.

"No way! I'm no kid, I can ice skate."

And yet, he still holds onto your hand for good measure. He says it "brings him good luck", and you simply giggle and continue skating through the rink with him at your side.

"It's not my fault that I'm slowing you down. We're at two completely different skill levels." the way he's looking at you now, eyes large and round and the cutest little smirk upon his lips, you can't help but grin at the sight. He's lovely, isn't he?

"I guess you make a good point, Binnie." you sigh, going to pat his shoulder when his hand clamps around your wrist in a vice grip.

"If you let go of me, I'm suing you." he says with absolute seriousness.

"For what?!" you laugh loudly, slipping your arm out of his hold. Changbin wobbles for a moment or two before gliding easily along the ice and when you call out to him, telling him a tip or two, he slows down until he is completely stopped.

"I...did it. Baby, I did it!" he gasps. You let out a sound of joy, skating towards his waiting arms to give him a celebratory hug. Unfortunately, his unsteadiness and your speed ends with the two of you on the cold ice, laughing so hard you can't breathe. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"So proud. Wanna try a twirl next?" You ask slyly.

"No."

𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 ･:*:｡❆

"Turn around for me, love. I want to see the whole outfit. You look divine."

It is not uncommon for such words of praise to fall from Hyunjin's beautiful lips, especially towards you. Hell, you were only going to buy a new sweater for a Christmas party but Hyunjin just had to tag along, and now here you are, in the goddamn Versace store, walking out of the dressing room with your boyfriend staring on in awe.

This outfit is far too expensive. It's amazing quality and it looks great, but it's designer. However, Hyunjin doesn't mind one bit. If you didn't stop him, his credit card would be drier than a desert, used up from buying you all kinds of things.

Hyunjin wastes no time paying for everything you need without you lifting a finger. He leaves with you by his side, his fingers intertwined with yours. When you find yourself in the center of the stream of people once more, his hand is quick to change its position to the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

Your next destination is a surprise: it's a kids' toy store. You have no idea why your boyfriend would lead you here, but once he starts looking, taking out his phone and checking something on a mysterious list.

"Hm? What's that for, Hyune?" you ask, the tips of your fingers brushing against the sleeve of his hoodie. He looks over at you, his beautiful lips curling into a lovely grin.

"I'm buying presents for Angel Tree. I felt like giving back this Christmas. Don’t you agree?” you feel your cheeks warm at his words. He’s such an amazing person and never takes what he has for granted.

You crouch down and begin searching for the perfect presents until you and Hyunjin have more than enough. It feels good, you think to yourself, helping people. It feels even better doing this with the love of your life at your side.

After your vigorous shopping trip, you want nothing more than to grab something warm to drink, so you drag a very unenthusiastic Hyunjin to a nearby coffee shop. As you're walking, you pass a jewelry store. And Hyunjin makes a mental note of the beautiful diamond-encrusted ring in the window.

𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 ･:*:｡❆

Movie nights with Jisung are always the best.

After a long day in the studio, he wants nothing more than to cuddle on the sofa, a mug of warm hot chocolate in one hand and his other wrapped around you. You're snuggled into his side, the rise and fall of your chest soothing. On the television, Home Alone is playing, although neither of you are paying it much attention.

You pull his mug over to you gently, taking a sip. A speck of whipped cream remains on the corner of your lip, and Jisung's eyes nearly pop out of his head.

"Baby, you've got something riiiight...here." he grins, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your lips. You can't help but giggle into it, smiling widely. You go to lean in for another kiss, but you are met with the soft skin of his round cheeks. He turned his head just before you could get to him, hearing some crash coming from the movie.

"Oh my god, he just burned himself on the doorknob!" Jisung says, laughing loudly. "Did you see that?"

When he checks to see if you're watching, he's met with a pout upon your adorable (and extremely kissable, in his opinion) lips. It's obvious you're trying to make him feel guilty for unknowingly rejecting your kiss earlier.

And it works. It works very well.

Jisung whines, flopping on top of you, his arms wrapping around you so he can hug you tightly. You pretend to be uninterested, to be more focused on whatever scheme Kevin McCallister is cooking up.

"Don't look at me like that." he practically cries, shoving his face into the crook of your neck so his words are muffled. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Babe..."

You giggle, giving the top of his head a kiss.

"I forgive you." you whisper, but he doesn't respond. He's fallen asleep, his arms around you, his breathing soft and gentle. Although he can sleep anywhere, he'll really only sleep around you. You're his safe space. You allow yourself to sink into the pillowy cushions of the sofa, closing your eyes and falling asleep with the man of your dreams.

𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 ･:*:｡❆

The windows are fogged up from the cold, intricate ice crystals forming on every pane of glass. But you don't exactly give a shit what's happening outside. The world could be on fire, but you wouldn't even notice, too caught up in the secure and cozy atmosphere inside.

Ambient Christmas music plays in the back, sweet and festive. Every other room in your homely abode has dimmed lights. Except for the kitchen, of course. You're very busy in there, having the time of your life with your boyfriend.

Strewn across the counter is an array of measuring cups and ingredients, along with icing and gaudy Christmas-themed cookie cutters. You bite your lip in frustration. No matter how much you stir it, the wet and dry mixes just won't combine. How does Felix make it seem so easy?

You feel a pair of hands brush against your hips as your prayers are answered. Behind you stands Felix, who leans forward slightly to make a much appreciated comment on the mixture in your bowl.

"You're doing a great job." he murmurs, the deep timbre of his melodic voice making your stomach do a series of aerial tricks. "One thing, though. You're stirring it, and that's not getting it anywhere. Try folding it...may I?"

Once you nod, giving your approval, Felix's hands covers yours on the wooden spoon. With precision and expertise, he repeatedly folds the dough into itself until it is completely combined.

"Thank you so much, Lix!" you coo, turning around to meet his soulful brown eyes. His hands rest against the counter on either side of you, caging you in his frame. You lean forwards to press a kiss upon his sugary lips, savoring every moment. He smiles, a hand moving to brush a few stray strands of hair out of your face.

Your arms wrap around him, and he reaches for the back of your thighs to carefully lift you onto the counter, the cookies long forgotten.

The way his arms are so snug around you and his lips fit perfectly with yours like some romantic jigsaw puzzle doesn't need to be studied - you already can confidently say it is a surefire sign that you and Felix are soulmates, fated by the heavens. You sigh contentedly as his hand slips under the warm fabric of your sweater and onto your cool skin.

And then, the nagging buzz of the timer interrupts your intimate moment. Ugh. Now you have to wait a little longer until you can have him all to yourself.

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 ･:*:｡❆

You've waited all year for this.

Now that the air is frigid and winter has arrived, lush layers of snow have come along with it. You are excitedly watching, waiting, hoping for the snow to reach a point where you can go out and enjoy it freely.

You're always so busy, you never get the chance to cherish the beautiful joys of nature. But this time, now that you're on a break and spending time with Seungmin, who is adoring as ever and more than willing to follow you on whatever journeys you embark on.

He comes up behind you, arms wrapping around you as he leans his head onto your shoulder, pressing his lips against the soft skin. You close your eyes, smiling at the quiet intimacy of the moment. Words are not spoken nor needed.

Once the temperature is cold enough, you pull on a winter coat and boots while you wait for Seungmin to be ready as well. As you're about to venture into the snow and ice, a gloved hand grabs yours.

"Your shoe is untied, hun." He says gently, kneeling so that he can tie it himself. You feel your cheeks warm up and your heart flutter. At this point, you won't be cold at all out there. "Is that better?" when you nod, he smiles and opens the door to your own winter wonderland.

The chilly air pierces your lungs as you step out into the snow, the crunch of it under your feet sending good vibrations all throughout your body. It's lovely, the feeling of tiny snowflakes landing upon your cheeks...

Until you get taken out by a snowball from behind.

Seungmin stands there, smiling wider than ever, holding a carefully-packed-together snowball or two in his hands.

"Wanna take your best shot?" he asks, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

"That's not fair!" you pout, and he just about melts at the sight. "You played baseball, this is rigged." Seungmin looks down at his feet, his cheeks pink from the cold...and the embarrassment. Were you really offended? Did he hurt your feelings?

And then, he feels something cold and powdery crumble apart upon his head at rapid speed. His expression quickly turns into a smirk.

"Oh, you're on."

𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 ･:*:｡❆

You've set aside a special place in your living room for the Christmas tree. It is nestled into the corner, yet is a hub of life, love, and memories, and you want nothing more than to cement your devotion to Jeongin by asking him to aid you in decorating it. He's sorting the ornaments, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Wow. Was this you as a little kid?" he asks, staring in awe at you in your little Santa hat. You feel yourself getting all flustered, hiding your face in his hoodie. He laughs at this, lifting your chin up with one of his fingers to press a kiss to your nose. Who knew your Innie could be so charming? "No, don't be embarrassed! You looked adorable. Nothing's changed since then. You've got the same smile."

He hands it to you, watching with a grin as you hang it on the tree. You would've very much loved to have some sort of color or aesthetic theme for your tree, but all different kinds of ornaments from various points in your life just seemed more...sentimental, you know?

"Where should we put this one? It's the last one." Jeongin asks, showing you a palm tree made of glass. You love this ornament, you recall with gentle fondness. You got it in LA while traveling with him on tour. You were so sure that he was the one for you, that you'd make it to Christmas with him. If you went back in time to tell your old self that you really did make it, you'd definitely swoon.

"Let's put it near the top, so everyone can see it and how far we've come." you point to a spot deemed absolutely perfect for this ornament...until you come to a revelation.

Neither of you can exactly reach up that high. Sure, Jeongin is tall, but he's not really tall enough. And it's a pretty big tree, too. This is going to need some problem-solving. Thankfully, Jeongin is quick to come to your rescue.

"Easy, baby. I got you." he says with newfound confidence, his large hands lifting you up. He keeps you steady while you fasten it upon the evergreen's lush branches, and admires your work once you finish.

And just like that, your connection with Jeongin has become something more. As he clicks the tiny remote and the tree lights up beautifully, you can't help but squeeze his hand and relish the fact that you are so incredibly lucky, this Christmas, and forever more.

@evermourning, ©2023. all rights reserved.

[madelynraemunson]

mini series

GO BACK | NEXT LEVEL 🔒 | theme song: new divide - linkin park

player zero: level one

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴛᴀQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ — ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀ ꜰᴀɴ — ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʀᴛᴜᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ (ᴠʀ) ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱ ᴠᴇɢᴀꜱ ꜱᴘʜᴇʀᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʜᴏᴡ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ꜱʜᴏᴡ.

I remember black skies, the lightning all around me.

disclaimers: 18+, psychological thriller, blood, violence, sexual themes, swearing, reader interacts with the st characters, eddie falls for reader who goes by “zero/000, player zero”, reader’s gender identity isn’t specified but does have a vagina, unintentional plot divergence, upside down exists, vecna/001/henry exists, everything is basically canon until reader shows up… 😳, joseph quinn cameo at the end | pairing: eddie munson x reader x joseph quinn

a/n: enjoy everyone! i’m sorry this took so long to come out but i am committed to only releasing my best work to you guys 🩶 i hope you all enjoy level 001!!

[WC: 2.0k words]

“Player Zero…do you copy?”

🎮

By the grace of your headset, you begin to scan the dark, almost void-like, aperture that’s hijacked your surroundings.

“Copy,” you report back to James.

“Excellent.”

Everything around you is black, a noisy puddle sits at your feet. The room is crisp from the AC, and the props smell like rubber tires. And soon, with a push of a button, you will come face to face with the Mind Flayer, saving everyone from this ill-fated town once and for all.

You can’t believe this. What thousands will pay to do, you get to experience for free, having been one of the few selected to try out the new Stranger Things: Virtual Reality Game at the Las Vegas Sphere. (Not to mention, you're the biggest Stranger Things fan in your hometown and quite possibly the biggest Joseph Quinn fan in the state of Nevada).

Eddie's death left you completely shattered. He just fit in so well with the older members of the party that you were almost certain the Duffers would keep him around. But to your despair, alongside many others, they did what they do best and killed off another fan favorite.

But there was something beautiful that came out of Eddie's death. Because of Stranger Things 4, Joseph Quinn has been getting booked for acting gigs left and right, getting asked to come to fan conventions, and you were able to find a community on Tumblr who shared the same love for him and Eddie Munson, and with that notion alone, means the silly metalhead lives on through you guys.

Your dream is to meet Joe one day. You’ve been frantically saving up for the day you get to hug him and thank him for everything he’s done for you and others. Whenever that may be. Until then, all you could do is support his work and contribute to all of his supporting franchises. Much like this one.

“I can’t wait to tell all my mutuals all about this game,” you think to yourself.

James permits you to walk around in order to adapt to your environment. You’re already planning what to tell your friends based on your observations so far. But since pictures aren't allowed, your phone remains in your back pocket for the time being.

“Alright Player Zero,” your guide further instructs you. “You’re going to walk through the gate. And from there the game will begin.”

“And what if I need to pee?”

The comment earns you a chuckle from James. “That’s fine. You’ll just have to take your headset off and call out to me.”

James asks you if you have any other questions. You couldn’t help yourself.

“Will I interact with any characters? Like Eddie?”

“No Eddie unfortunately, it’s primarily the Mind Flayer,” James answers honestly. “Goal of the game is to fight the monster.”

“Understood,” you pout in disappointment.

“Hey but I’ll be surprised if you run into anyone though,” James laughs. “Tell ‘em I say hi if you do.”

Just then, a neon orange projection appears from the corner of your eyes, followed by some squelching noises that gnaw uncomfortably at your ears. And as you get closer to it, you can hear the shrieks of some very familiar, unearthly creatures.

“Walk through the gate now, Zero,” James instructs you.

You take a deep breath, a little scared at how vivid the graphics are but reassuring yourself that all of this is just a game.

“Walking,” you report.

Hobbling into the gate, the synthetic warmth massages your ankle as you squeeze your way on in. You land on the bottom tier, a floor below the floor you started on... one that you weren't aware existed until you continued to walk around.

“This isn’t so bad,” you mutter to yourself.

Just then, the noise around you cuts off and your headset broadcasts to black.

Tssssss.

Unsure whether or not this was part of the game, you continue to tread around the nothingness that is around you. Holding your arms out to keep your balance doesn’t seem to help, because the more you graze onto nothing, the more panicked you become.

This is odd. Where’s the Mind Flayer?

“James?!” you call out, your heart nearly beating out of your chest now.

Nothing.

Suddenly, obnoxious TV static overpowers your headspace. It’s accompanied by lightheadedness, the brightness of it all mercilessly stinging your eyes, and the high-pitched feedback noise that soon fills your ears is probably enough to make you go deaf for the day. Great, now you know why this is a trial run.

“James!” you hiss again quietly. “Anyone?!”

No response. You were never warned about this part. Was this even supposed to happen?

Absolutely frustrated now, you reach for your headset to get out of the game yourself. But to your surprise, you’re stunned to have gotten two palms full of your hair, and part of your face. There was no headset on your head. You’re walking in a void of nothingness, with no one around to help you.

“I need to pee…” is your final attempt to connect with somebody.

The ear-piercing, scratching sounds start up once again. This time grainier, louder. It continues for a while as you run around in a panic before halting to complete radio. silence.

“Wh-” you pant. “What’s happeni-”

JOLT!

“OH SHIT!”

You’re then met with an abrupt, devastating PUSH that sends you flying across the room and down — what you could only describe as — an endless black hole. Your hand clutches at your chest as an attempt to soothe yourself. You’re almost sure your heart stopped for a minute due to absolute shock.

SMACK!

In a millisecond, your body lands on a prickly patch that you soon make up to be loose straws of hay. Blending into the scenery now is that of a remote grass field, with the smell of fresh trees and newly cut blades of grass dancing around your nose.

You can’t think of any place in Las Vegas that would have a barren field like this. Nor can you think of a town nearby with this much of a Midwestern flare, this much empty — and grassy — land, and this much Kodak green undertone to its atmosphere. Unless…

It can’t possibly be. Are you in Hawkins?

You're standing around like an idiot trying to figure out how this could've possibly happened.

You knew this experience was 'all-immersive', but judging by the description, you were supposed to be taken to the Upside Down... and the backwoods by Reefer Rick's hideout was a long commute from. Was this Mind Fight going to be after-the-fact?

Trudging towards Reefer Rick’s now, you begin to think of other ways to get James' attention. But when you hear the faint voice of someone else coming from inside the abandoned lake house, suddenly getting out of the game becomes less of a priority.

“Eddie…” the familiar voice softly commands.

Eddie?

The voice you register belongs to no one other than Gaten Matarazzo, or Dustin Henderson in this sense. But that’s impossible, you think to yourself. James said that there were no characters in the game.

“We are on... your side...”

Oh, it’s this scene. Peaking through the door that was open a mere three inches, you're stunned to see the four dimensional manifestations of the characters you've grown to love right in front of your very eyes.

IMPOSSIBLE.

It's them. You almost stumble backwards when you see Sadie Sink and Maya Hawke alongside Gaten; and despite having their backs towards you, you know it is for sure them, and not some workers hired to play the part.

Your eyes travel to the corner of the room. Very much to your surprise, evident by the butterflies in your stomach, you're met with Joe Keery as Steve Harrington, and Joseph Quinn... the love of your life... in the flesh... your Eddie. Both characters are too focused on each other to even register your presence. If they are even able to see you at all.

You continue to be the fly on the wall while taking a few collected deep breaths. There's no way that they're in front of you right now. There's no way a whole SCENE from the show is panning out in front of you right now. Almost as if it's real time.

“I swear on my mother!” Gaten Dustin continues, trying to reason with Eddie so he can drop the knife and let go of Steve. He turns to the others for help.

“Right?! Guys?!”

“Yes, yes we swear,” the party clamors together in attempts to calm Eddie down.

“On Dustin’s mother,” Maya Robin attempts.

“Yeah, Dustin’s…Dustin’s mother…”

Keery’s voice is strained as he gulps in fear. Reasonably so, because there’s a knife pointed at his throat in this scene.

You clear yours at the doorway, causing everyone to deadpan to you in shock. So they can see you. And sure enough when this happens, that’s when your gaze lands on him. And his gaze lands on you.

It’s insane. It’s like you are looking Joseph Quinn in the eyes, but at the same time, it’s not him. It is literally — Eddie Munson. He's even more beautiful than you imagined.

“On Dustin’s mother?” you speak.

“Jesus, where did YOU spawn from?!” Gaten Dustin exclaims.

“Who’s that?” Sadie Max wonders.

“I…don’t know,” Maya Robin answers.

Immediately, Dustin runs to shield Eddie from your sight. But it’s already too late. And plus, Eddie’s eyes have already met yours. Studied yours.

“I’m…” you speak. “I’m here to help.”

You figured while James figures out what the actual fuck is wrong, that you’d interact with the characters. They’re right in front of you after all, and actually responding.

"I'm Zero..." you explain to them. "I'm not... I'm not from here, but I know a hell of a lot about this place. A lot more than you guys think."

“You know about what’s going on around here?” Robin inquires.

You nod. “And I know part of who is behind it all, and what we can do to stop him.”

"H...him?"

Eddie's timid stare pierces straight into you. It's enough for your knees to buckle, but you know you have to keep yourself collected otherwise the projections of these characters would probably freak out at you.

You hear a tiny thud sound against the wooden floor. Eddie has dropped the knife. Breathing a sigh of relief now, Steve sinks to the ground to gather himself. Meanwhile, a small circle gathers around you.

“There are… greater forces at bay,” you explain. “And it goes way beyond what you know about the demogorgons, the shadow monster, the Mind Flayer… There’s this... really powerful warlock…and a shadow that looms over him to do some really horrible things. And it’s not who you’d expect.”

“You know about those too?” Steve asks.

You nod. Eddie only seems more confused.

"A lot more than you know..." you warn him. "Trust."

"What else do you know about?" Dustin questions.

"I know about Eleven, and Will," you answer. "And how they're safer in California than here, but that doesn't necessarily exempt them from danger."

They all exchange looks with one another.

You can't help but look over at Eddie again.

"I know what happened to Chrissy," you say to him. He looks back up at you. "She's that nice girl from the middle school talent show, right?"

"I left her there," is all he says. He knows you understand what he meant by it. "I'm just a coward."

"You're not a coward, Eddie. Nothing you could've done could've prevented what happened at the trailer."

“Zero…” Dustin whispers to himself. Then he looks up at you with suspicion. Pointing an accusatory finger at you, he says, "How do we know you weren't sent by Hawkins Lab to spy on us?! You're a number after all."

"I'm not a number from the lab, trust me," you roll your eyes, slightly annoyed at Curly and his superstition. But it makes sense. "I don't even know Eleven, okay? Just think of me as... a guardian. From another universe. I think I was sent here to help you guys. I know how this shit ends, after all."

“How does it end?” Eddie asks you. “F-for us? For me?”

You turn to him in anguish.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” you respond honestly. “But if you guys are open to my help, I can get us out of this mess unscathed. Build up some leeway.”

You turn to Max who only seems to be backing further away from you. It's definitely in her character to do so, Maxine has always struggled to ask for help. But you know, deep down in those fearful blue eyes, she wants your help as much as she wants to run away from it.

"And we're gonna break you out of that curse," you say to her.

You're no expert on the laws of space-time, but it doesn't take a scientist to realize that you're in a different Hawkins reality. And knowing there are countless outcomes and experiences for existence, you can make this reality your own.

Which means, if you choose to stay in this 'game', and play the cards correctly, the Eddie standing directly in front of you has a second chance at life.

Now’s your chance to fix it. And experience an altered timeline. You don't know how this is possible, but it is. And after all, the Rule of Probability states, "the probability of an impossible event is Zero."

“If you guys want to save everyone in Hawkins, including Eddie and Max, you guys have to do EXACTLY what I say do you understand?”

taglist: @winchester-angel, @arthurcerverogf, @damon-loves-pie, @breezybeesposts, @swiss-mrs,@leelei1980, @skulliecadaver-blog, @katethetank, @mexicanfolklore, @ali-r3n, @nailbatanddungeon, @hugdealer, @wtflindsay, @yourdailymemedelivery, @kellsck, @kthomps914, @daydream-believer19

cyberpunk dividers from: @k1ssyoursister @sillycircus-decoarchive

[madaqueue]

playlists

broke her daughter's legs in two | "bruno is orange" x hop along

synopsis: geto finds you after the village massacre, but things went differently

pairing: suguru geto x reader

themes/content: semi-canon curse au. angst. language. loss, death, mentions of possible abuse.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: a little angst to get me out of my smut era (jk i have so much more lined up lmao) anyways once again i highly suggest listening to this song while reading :)

“suguru?” you whisper hesitantly to the man standing in your doorway. the moonlight shines through the curtains of your dorm room, illuminating him just enough to make out his figure.

he says nothing, staring blankly ahead.

“what happened?” you ask, rubbing sleep from your eyes. he slowly starts walking towards you, a pit of dread forming in your stomach as he silently approaches your bed.

you shouldn’t be afraid. you know you shouldn’t. he’s your best friend.

but you also know what happened - you had read the report earlier today.

112 villagers died.

not a single person left in the village.

concluded to be that of suguru geto’s curse manipulation.

geto set fire to the village and fled.

subject to execution.

the weight of his body at the end of your bed causes it to sag slightly as he sits next to you. the smell of ash, blood, and death hangs on his clothes.

the cicadas chirp outside your open window, filling the air between you until he takes in a shaky breath, shoulders raising ever so slightly.

“i had to,” he mouths, the words barely audible.

his eyes stare straight ahead, empty.

“had to what?” you prod, gently reaching a hand up to his back. he flinches at your touch.

“i had to save them.”

you wouldn’t understand, he thinks. nobody else will ever understand.

the things he saw in that village, the way they hurt them - the two girls. it wasn’t their fault. and yet, there they were. they put them there. in that fucking cage, like animals.

the young girls begged him, tears in their eyes. “please don’t tell.” “please don’t yell.”

he was good. he knew he was good. he had to save them.

suddenly, the old woman behind him, their captor, spat back at them, “don’t speak. you’re both going to hell.”

he did what a good person should do. he saved them.

the world is not kind to sorcerers - he knew this all too well. especially in places like these, the outskirts of society where sorcery was equated to evil and condemned, they hurt them. they blame them. they punish them. the world is a dangerous place for sorcerers.

as he sits in your bed, he starts to shake. no tears leave his eyes, but his breathing becomes ragged, shoulders heaving as he stares into the distance in front of him, eyes unfocused.

in the quiet of your room, all he hears are the crackles of the flames. he didn’t even hear the screams, the pleas, that fell from their traitorous lips. because he was doing good. he was saving them.

your voice pulls him back to reality slightly, still unable to tune out the ringing of bloodshed from his ears. “suguru,” you murmur, “whatever happened, it’s okay.”

he wants to believe you, he does. he wants to feel your hand stroking his back, but it just feels like everything is a million miles away. he’s watching himself break down in the moonlight of your room. he wants to be good.

“i killed them,” he finally utters.

the words make you flinch, even though you knew they were coming.

“i killed all of them. the entire village.”

“why?” you ask, not wanting but nevertheless needing an answer, an explanation, for what happened.

“i had to save them.”

“save who?”

“the girls.”

a sigh leaves your lips in relief. you knew it, you knew suguru wouldn’t just hurt people. he must have seen them, they must have been hurt, and the only way to help them was to burn the village down. you needed this to be true, to reassure yourself as much as him. you knew he was good.

he was your best friend, after all, and right now he needs you.

you think back to the last time you saw him before this mission, how different things were, the morning he left.

–

the two of you sit on a picnic bench, shaded by one of the trees in the courtyard outside the school. geto holds an orange in his hands, peeling it with a small knife. he was always so careful with things like this, never daring to nick the soft flesh of the fruit, a care he brought with him into every aspect of his life. he was always calculated, a quiet thoughtfulness that came second nature to him.

your eyes trace over his hands before moving up to his face, the dark circles under his eyes a physical manifestation of the exhaustion you had seen growing in him the past few weeks.

“suguru?” you get his attention.

“mhm?” he murmurs, eyes never leaving the orange as he continues working his knife around it.

you sigh, not knowing how he’ll react to the question you’ve been dreading. “are you…are you okay?”

his hands freeze for a moment, body tensing, before he returns to his movement. “mhm,” he affirms.

you want to reach across the table, grab him by the shoulders and yell that you know he’s lying, that he is so clearly and undeniably not okay, that he just needs to talk to you and you’ll do anything you can to help him.

but, of course, you don’t. instead, you tilt your head back as your gaze shifts up to the sky, bright blue through the leaves above you.

“you know,” you start, scanning the branches that shake softly in the wind, “i heard that people used to eat oranges in the morning if they weren’t feeling well, the idea of a fruit-curing fever, something in it warming and soothing. they thought it could heal sickness.”

“mmm,” suguru hums softly. without another word, he splits the orange in two, handing you half. “worth a shot,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

–

remembering him, his kindness and hurt, your body language softens. “that’s okay,” you explain, more at ease now that you know he acted out of compassion. “where are they now, the girls? we can go help them, together.”

geto is silent. his eyes slowly move from the floor up to yours, a new darkness in them.

“suguru…” you start.

he just stares.

“w-what did you do?” you stammer, fear reappearing in the pit of your stomach, your hand freezing in place on his back.

“i saved them.” his voice is low, resigned. “it was too dangerous for them. they couldn’t live in this world, a world built to hate them. i needed to protect them. i needed to help them. and i did,” he pauses to take in a sharp breath between his rambling. “now, they won’t have to live in a world that would hurt them. it was too dangerous. i helped them. i did. i saved them.”

as he talks himself in circles, his grasp on everything becomes undone. he loses himself in his words, the mantra he so desperately clung to, the one he needed to say until he believed it.

he was good. he saved them.

your eyes widen as the realization sets in: the girls are dead. just like everyone else in the village. just like the reports said.

as he babbles out the same explanation, shock takes over your body. you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t move, the only words leaving your mouth are “it’s okay,” over and over again, the sounds mixing with his in your room, chaos swirling in the night air as you both drift away from this reality.

“it’s okay” “i protected them” “it’s okay” “i helped them” “it’s okay” “i saved them” “it’s okay”

suddenly, your body jolts forward as you sit up in bed. the action surprises suguru into silence as he watches you, eyes following your every move as you walk to the small kitchen in your dorm room, taking an orange out of a bowl that sits on the counter.

you shove your thumb under the thick peel, tearing at the flesh of the fruit as you pull it apart in strips. juice leaks down between your fingers and drips onto the counter. holding the fruit in your palm, your bare feet carry you back to suguru. holding out a hand, you both sit in silence and eat the orange.

your voice is raspy and worn as you speak to him.

“you saved them.”

[raythekiller]

hi there!! omg i just wanna say i love your writing and your art so so so much!! thank you for keeping the fandom well-fed and alive o7! if you don’t mind me asking, what are your thoughts on the slendermansion? like the layout, how it operates, and what creeps live there :D tysm!!! - tulip anon (if it’s not already taken lol)

🗒 ❛ Slendermansion Headcanons ༉‧₊˚✧

#Notes: I have so many thoughts about this omg

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First off, I think it's a manor instead of a mansion. Mansions are simply big houses located normally on neighbourhoods while manors are often times isolated, are bigger and have some land around them with maybe some other buildings in the property. There are three main floors, along with a basement and an attic. The first floor has a big ass entrance, a living room, kitchen, dinning room, nurse's office and storage, while the second one is almost exclusively for bedrooms, most of which have suites (but there is a community bathroom as well on all three main floors). The third floor has the proxy's bedrooms, Slenderman's room and a library. Every bedroom comes with a bed and a closet, but everything else the creeps have to either make or acquire in some way by themselves (Sally is an exception). Everyone works for and obeys Slenderman and in return receive clothes, food and a place to live. The only creep that doesn't live there is Jane. Here's some bedroom headcanons:

JEFF: A mess, lives in the second floor. The walls were shitly painted black by him and you can see several missing spots. There are some band and horror movie posters on the walls and you can barely see the floor because of the amount of clothes and trash scattered around. His blinds are always closed and they are that thick type that doesn't let any sunlight get through. Deadass lives like a vampire.

BEN: Another mess, also in the second floor. There are snacks and food wrappings all around the floor and several videogames posters on the wall, along with a pro gamer computer set complete with a LED keyboard, mouse and headset, also a big ass television. His walls are a yellowish green, also with some missing spots.

TOBY: Lives in the third floor, his walls are beige and his bed covers are a brownish orange flannel. Windows always open to let some fresh air in. It's filled with several trinkets he stole from his victims and actually looks kind of aesthetic pleasing if you ignore how unorganized it is, kinda like those indie bedrooms you see on Pinterest. Has a few house plants scattered around, like cactus and succulents, nothing too difficult to take care of (he doesn't have much of a green thumb).

EYELESS JACK: Lives in the basement, since he uses the freezers in there to store his food. Not very decorated, since he spends most of his time in the nurse's office, save from the blood (if you can call that decoration).

LAUGHING JACK: Lives in the attic. Has several kids toys he steals from his victims, all of which he DIY'd to be black and white like him. His old music box is on a prestigious self on top of his bed.

MASKY: Pretty organized, lives on the third floor. Mostly consists of brownish colors and tones. Has one of those clothes racks where he keeps his flannels and some old bands posters on the walls. Nothing too fancy. Makes his bed every morning.

HOODIE: Lives in the third floor. Kinda messy, but in a fancy way. Has several notebook pages torn off with song lyrics he writes sitting around, along with manuscript papers. His guitar is normally resting by his bed and is decorated with stickers. Masky makes fun of him for it, but he has fairy lights.

BLOODY PAINTER: Lives in the second floor, but has an exclusive art studio in the property outside of the manor that looks like a little shack. His walls are white, but covered in paint splashes, so they're very colorful, same thing with the floor. Has many canvases laying around, filled and empty, as well as acrylic paints and papers with random sketches and thumbnails.

X-VIRUS: Lives in the third floor. His walls are black and with several shelves, all with test tubes, flasks and beakers filled with strange and glowing chemicals inside of them. Has LED lights on the corners of the ceiling, always shining green. Has every lab equipment you could think of, from microscopes to bunsen burners and magnetic stirrers.

CLOCKWORK: Lives in the second floor. The most aesthetically pleasing room. Has tarot tapestry hanging from the walls and ceiling as well as those fake vines. Her walls are filled head to toe with drawings she makes herself, also those aesthetic posters with plants and butterflies and such. Speaking of, she has fake paper butterflies hanging on the ceiling. Uses monster cans as flower pots. Has a ukulele sitting in the corner that she gave up on learning how to play.

KATE THE CHASER: Left her room the way she found it, all white walls and a single closet and a bed with no covers. Barely ever steps inside of it. It's located on the third floor.

NINA THE KILLER: Lives in the second floor. Her room genuinely looks like some kind of early 2000's emo parade. Walls covered entirely in band posters (especially the main singers) and an unholy amount of plushies, mostly sanrio ones. Has a shelf only for her Monster High dolls.

SALLY: Second floor. Any little girl's dream bedroom. Fairy lights, pink walls, an insane amount of plushies and dolls as well as a dollhouse. Has some of her drawings pinned on the walls.

bonus!

LANE: Third floor. Grey walls with some band and horror movies/series posters, especially Supernatural, along with some random sketches pinned. A lot of plants sitting around on the shelves, floor and windowsill. Windows always open. Their bed has black covers and a hand-saw fox plushie laying by the pillow.

[the-lisechen]

~6.7k. gen. copia/f!oc. the cardinal has a cigarette with a fan. from there, it gets a little weird. (or: copia gets into a fist fight at 3am in a denny's parking lot over theology. metaphorically speaking.)

header by the divine @enjoy-my-swearing

(the fic that started it all and has eaten my brain ever since. don't mind me, i just wanted to reformat this one and also have it on my tumblr for posterity)

some kind of cosmic rearrangement - ao3

(full series here)

religious discussion, catholic character that isn't an asshole, unresolved sexual tension. tw: catholicism

Copia stepped out into the night, face paint mostly cleaned off, save for the black around his eyes. He couldn't even remember the name of the town they were in. Somewhere in the American South, the air warm and heavy with humidity that felt like silk against his skin. He settled his shoulders against the brick of the alleyway, and sighed, his blood still fizzing from the ritual. The comedown from the adrenaline dump always left him a little hollowed out and shaky.

As he passed a hand over his face, the car in front of him trilled out like a bird and flashed its lights. He turned to the sound of boots up the wet pavement. A small figure, female, dishwater blonde hair, head down, hands stuffed into black skinny jeans. Humming something he could recognize as one of his songs, and that never got old.

He watched her approach, curious. When she at last stepped into the light, she looked up at him, and startled like a deer. Her hands flew up to her mouth, and she squeaked out a breathless “Oh shit!” It took her a moment to recover, and my, wasn't that an interesting shade of pink. He’d seen people blush, of course, but this was remarkable, that red, that quickly.

He had to smile, even bowing a little. “Bunoasera, signora."

"Um! Hi! You are very good at your job!"

Her purse plopped next to her feet, and she knelt down to recollect it, the blush deepening to the color of late spring roses. "Sorry, I'm sorry--" she said, hands shaking as she scooped spilled detritus back into her purse, pens and lip balm spilling from her fingers.

He bent over to help her, smiling. "It is no trouble, signora. Not the worst I've seen." He paused, sitting back on his heels, and picked up a battered paperback the color of burnt orange. "'The Liberation of Theology.'" He looked up at her, mismatched eyes sharp, assessing. "This is what you read? At my show?"

The girl-- woman, really-- went still. She got to her feet and took half a step back, widening her stance, her shoulders squared. "Yeah." She tilted her chin up. "Is it really that strange?"

He flipped it to read the back cover, and her spine relaxed a fraction, with his focus off of her. "Perhaps... somewhat unexpected." An understatement. He stood, slow, putting himself further into her personal space, eyes still on the text in his hand. He read the subtitle. "'An instrument in human liberation.' Has it been?" He looked down at her, not exactly trying to loom, but not exactly going out of his way not to. "In your experience."

The woman folded her arms, leaning back against her car. Keeping her distance. "It can be. It should be." She flipped her keyring, once. "And in my experience? Yes, actually. But I am fully aware my experience may be-- atypical."

"In what way?"

"Well." She looked up, exposing the long pale line of her throat, and her Southern accent became gradually more apparent as she spoke. "I converted to Catholicism. Not really from anything, you understand, unless you count the vaguely agnostic Protestant background noise in America. And I did my catechism classes with a Capuchin Franciscan. A lot of mysticism. And a lot of social action to offset the navel-gazing that comes with that. The culture was-- it's different. I mean, how much do you know about liberation theology?"

"For the purposes of this conversation?" He idly tapped her book against his thigh. "Let us say... not much."

"In simple terms: feed the hungry, clothe the naked. Like the guy said in the book, right? It's both defending the poor and taking aim at the structural issues that are actively oppressing people. Real basic."

"You need a God to tell you this?"

He saw her warming to the subject, eyes alight and not quite on his. "Of course not, but it's a useful framework. And some people do! Whatever provides incentive. Besides that, it works on a practical level, if the Church is your primary social apparatus, that's a structure in place to distribute resources if the state is failing. I mean, the Jesuit approach in South America is not quite the same as the Black church in the Civil Rights movement in the USA in the Sixties, but it's not too far off, either. It's like--" and she cut herself off, the blush coming back, eyes cast downward. "It's just what's supposed to happen. What it says on the tin."

He ruffled the pages with a gloved hand a few times, watching her. "Incentive." He gestured at her with the book, halfway to accusatory. "If someone is doing something in expectation of divine reward, then they are, I'm afraid, an asshole."

"Man, I truly do not care about the motive. I care about the effect it has on the world. But faith without works is dead."

"You believe this."

"Yeah."

"You are this passionate about it, and yet you came to see me. My songs are nothing but blasphemy. Why?"

"Look, as blasphemy goes-- and I'm not trying to denigrate anything you're doing here-- this is just not that big a deal."

He stared at her. "I am literally praising the devil. Literal songs about, literally, devil worship."

"Yeah, and it slaps. Can I have my book back?"

He held it out carefully, as if it was a chunk of meat and she was a strange animal. One that might bite. "What is it, then, that qualifies as blasphemy? In your opinion."

She took it, opened the backseat door to her car, and tossed it in, careful not to turn her back on him. "I dunno. Start with that 'prosperity gospel' bullshit. 'If you're rich, it's because Jesus wants you to be rich!' Joel Osteen can bite the fucking curb. It's lazy exegesis, is what it is." Again, he saw her restrain herself, and she ran a hand through her hair, embarrassed. "I can go on. Obviously. But I think if you're getting bent out of shape about this kind of thing, you need to reassess your priorities."

"No, this is-- at least amusing. You haven't chased us out with torches and pitchforks yet, so I will continue to assume good faith." He smiled. "So to speak."

"Trust me, I am leaving a lot of stuff out." She fished around in her purse, picked out a brilliantly blue pack of cigarettes, and tapped them rhythmically on the heel of her hand. "So what's your deal? I don't know a lot about theistic Satanism. Pop the hood on it, man, tell me how it works."

"In simple terms?"

"Sure." She cracked a smile, thumbing a cigarette out of the pack.

"We honor the serpent that brought knowledge to Eve, as a liberator from the oppression of the corrupted demiurge that you call God."

"The snake, this was one of those gnostic things, right? That was, what, the Ophites? I thought they found it at Nag Hammadi."

"Fragments. References. But we have had the Syntagma for centuries. This was Hippolytus, yes? We borrowed a few things from Marcion of Sinope, as well. From those texts, and other pieces of what you would call apocrypha, we solidified a doctrine. Eventually. These things take time, no? Remind me, when did your people decide on the canon?"

"Council of Rome. I wanna say three..." she tapped the unlit cigarette, "...eighty seven? Somewhere in there. Fourth century, anyway."

"Just so. As a, you'd say-- distinct movement, yes? I would say sometime around the twelfth century that we came together."

"Hold on, twelfth century, evil demiurge-- what was this, like a splinter of the Cathars?"

"Not unrelated. When it came to that kind of dualism, we merely decided to side with the physical world."

"By running straight to the devil."

"Eh. No half measures."

"I'm just kinda surprised it got traction in that environment."

"Mostly on the-- margins, you would say? We had solidified the clerical structure some time before, modeled on the Catholic church. Camouflage, yes? But it was with the obvious corruption of the fourteenth century that we started to gain momentum. Acolytes. A whisper network of proselytization."

"That is neat. Like, what, a Dark Reformation kind of thing?"

"...That is, perhaps, somewhat reductive. But not inaccurate."

"Oh that is so cool. It's like finding a whole new life form in the Marianas Trench. No, I can see a kind of sense to it. Get far enough away from Rome, look as close as you can to the actual Church, you might get away with it."

"They did burn us. Your people did do that."

"I am sure that they did," she said, with a certain blithe amicability. "Burnt a lot of Cathars, too, makes sense. Sir-- Father-- I'm sorry. What is the title?"

"Cardinal."

A blink, barely perceptible. "Cardinal, then. Your Eminence, if you want me to stand here and apologize for every atrocity the Church committed, we're gonna be here all night, and it'll get boring quick. And, forgive me, at what point have I attached a moral judgment over your faith?"

He spread his hands, smiling a little. "Very well, I concede the point. You can understand if I am somewhat-- defensive."

"Yeah, of course." She grinned, mostly to herself. "And here I am, a good Catholic girl. Everything you rail against."

"Eh. It could be worse. You could be a Baptist."

She let out a laugh at that, an entirely inelegant sound, and Copia felt as if he'd won something.

"Oh. No. No, I couldn't. Too diffuse. A million different opinions going every which way. I'm also not into sola fide--"

"'By faith alone.'"

"Yeah. Not my bag. If it doesn't inspire you to help your fellow human beings and not just focus on your own salvation, it's probably bullshit." Finally she put the cigarette she'd been fidgeting with into her mouth. "Man. Cathars and gnostics." The woman brought out a burnished zippo and flipped the lid, a faintly musical sound. She didn't light her cigarette, but shot him a sidelong look, eyes alight. "Sounds more like heresy than outright blasphemy."

"Oh, now I'm offended." He was not, in fact, offended. He was fascinated. He wanted to study her under a microscope. "Certainly, that's the first time I've heard that. Maybe I should send you to talk to the-- ehh, how is it? The protestors. What do you call, the evangelicals, yes?"

"They don't like Catholics, either. The veneration of Mary, y'know? Idolatry." Finally she sparked the lighter, her face turning to alabaster in the light of the flame. "We're both going to hell in their lights. Just different neighborhoods." She bent her head to the light. A long drag on the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke upwards. "So no, I don't think going to a concert counts as a sin. There's just some songs I can't sing along to, is all."

Copia leaned back against the wall, arms folded, considering her. "You know that your Church would call this blasphemy. What is it, then, that you think I'm doing, if not spreading the word of Satan?"

A long drag of her cigarette. "Sick tunes, man," she said, around the smoke. Shrugged. "It's fun. And fun is underrated, as a concept."

"Signora, I don't think 'fun' is what brought you here." He leveled her with his mismatched stare, and she dropped her eyes.

"No," she said, studying the cherry on her cigarette. "No, fun would not be enough."

He took a step closer, not quite edging into her personal space. "What, then? What could possibly bring you to deny your programming, when you clearly believe with such conviction?"

The back of her shoulders hit the top of her car, but she tilted her head up at him in challenge. "Call it joy, then." A defiant kind of vulnerability. "That's what I hear in your songs. And that's a rarer thing."

"What a monstrous thing, to deny joy. To yourself, to others. That sounds to me like blasphemy. What abnegation of the self. We are not hurting anyone. I am not hurting anyone. Why not do as you like?"

"'An it harm none, do as thou wilt.'"

"Precisely."

"Isn't that, what, Louÿs by way of Crowley? Nineteenth century. I thought your stuff was older than that."

"That is beside the point and you know it. Answer me."

"Because that's where it falls apart for me! To begin and end with 'do no harm' does not work. You cannot always do exactly as you like, you have an obligation in society! Feed the hungry. 'Do what you want, whatever,' that's too passive. And being passive in the face of oppression is oppression! Come on, man, you must know this. You're too smart not to know this."

"I'm sorry, you want to talk about oppression? With the literal Catholic Church? With the colonialism and the forced conversion and the actual literal Inquisition? Even laying that aside, the harm it's doing now, how can you still stay with it?"

"Because that's not all it is! Not all it could be. Because it can be just, it can be equitable, and it can be used as a tool for liberation. I believe that, I do. And if if I'm in it-- and oh boy you would not believe how much I'm in it-- then I have a moral obligation to try to shape it towards those ends. Because those people--" she flung a hand out, gesturing towards what, he couldn't say, and he took a step back. "Those bullshit assholes that want to strip people of healthcare and gut the social safety net-- they're in my house! And they don't get to fucking win."

"You must see that this is about control. You are too smart not to know this."

The woman slumped back against her car, and took another long drag on her cigarette, before dropping it and crushing it under her boot, an oddly fussy swiveling motion. "I dunno, man. For me it's about service. You just don't fix something by walking away. And anyway I'm committed."

"I think you are tilting at windmills." He watched her, the last tendrils of cigarette smoke from her exhale the same blue-grey of her eyes, letting the silence linger until the smoke cleared entirely. "What is your name?"

She flicked her eyes back up at him, and then away, coming to a decision. "Sophia Turner." She bit her lip. "Sophie."

"Sophie. That's lovely."

"Thank you. And what do I call you? Feels a little weird, saying 'Your Eminence' to a guy whose faith you don't subscribe to."

He tilted his head in the faintest approximation of a bow, biting back a smile. "Copia."

"Well. I am delighted to make your acquaintance." Her accent more pronounced with the formality, a distinctly Southern drawl.

"You say you're committed. How? You don't have to stay anywhere forever."

"Oh. Oh boy. Um." She looked down at her hands, picked at the edge of a painted nail, and then turned to him, watching his mismatched eyes for a long moment. She smiled, a little rueful. "I am taking my vows in a few months." And to his blank look-- "The Maryknoll Sisters of St. Dominic." He blinked, recoiled a little, and she flinched, turning to look down the street, not seeing the rain on the asphalt, the streetlight shining on the fire escape. "I still don't think it's a sin. But it's-- maybe a little harder to square. After that. Wanted to see you while I could."

Her face composed. No-color hair hanging in grey eyes. He wanted to reach out, to brush it away, to see her clear, to make her look at him. A gulf between them, on the narrow sidewalk. Something twisted in his chest, at the waste of it, the thought of a fire like that locked in a cloister. And yet: "I could never fault someone for devotion to their faith. The discipline is admirable. Truly. But I would-- Are you allowed? To fraternize with the enemy?"

"Well. Maybe in the spirit of friendly ecumenical dialogue." She looked up at the streetlights, shoulders tensed. She chewed at her lip. "We are allowed to have friends, you know."

He had to drop his gaze, at that, a sharp inhalation. "Ah." And again: "Ah. Hm." He looked back up at her, at the tense muscle in her jaw, her face still resolutely turned away from him. "I wonder--?"

She darted a quick look at him, not quite daring to look at him full-on, yet, and made a motion for him to continue.

He had to smile, even if it was with a little trepidation. "Do you have another cigarette?"

That rough bark of a laugh again, and yes, it felt like a victory. "Yeah. Yeah, man, sure." She pulled out the cigarette pack and extracted one, holding it out with the slightest self-deprecating hint of ceremony. He took it between his gloved fingers, careful not to touch her. When he put it to his lips she leaned in to light it in a movement that seemed both courtly and instinctual, an ingrained habit. He couldn't quite look at her when she did it, shocked by the casual intimacy of the gesture. The warmth of the flame through his gloves, the first rough hit of smoke at the back of his throat and the head-swimming nicotine rush. An awful taste, and completely satisfying. He closed his eyes at it and drew in deep, amazed all over again at how much tension dissipated on the exhale.

When the initial wave of the nicotine high had passed, the fatigue settled in, and he tilted his head back against the bricks, eyes still closed, too tired to be on guard. "Where are we? I confess, I lost track."

"...Asheville, honey." A pause."D'jeet yet?"

Well, that certainly got him to look at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, that was very pronounced, wasn't it? My apologies. Have you eaten?"

His brain felt like static. It was all the answer she needed. "What I figured. C'mon, I know a spot."

"I should--" He stopped, inexplicably stricken. "We're leaving in the morning. I don't remember where's next. Charleston, perhaps?"

"I'll have you home before bedtime, scout's honor." He hesitated. Gently: "I don't have designs on your virtue, Cardinal."

He was tired, and sore, and his head was starting to hurt somewhere behind his right eye. He could feel the dried sweat on himself, like a film, absolutely revolting.

"Alright," he said.

She led and he followed, falling into step at her left elbow, almost without thought. "This is the South, yes? We won't-- we might attract. Attention."

"Mm. I might would worry about it somewhere wasn't Asheville. Here'd probably be fine."

"That seems to be an awful lot of weight to put on 'probably.'"

"More worried about someone from your show running into us and losing their minds, be honest with you."

"As in, dropping their purse and squealing?" Was he enjoying this? He was.

"Oh you think you're funny. And I did not squeal."

"Heh. It was a little bit of a squeal."

"Ain't gonna argue the point with you."

The nicotine felt wonderful. He grinned up at the streetlight filtering through a magnolia tree, the orange light reflecting on the leaves, the faint citrus scent hanging in the thick air. He couldn't restrain himself. "You are not, I hope, leading me into temptation?"

"Oh, foul! Foul. Get thee behind me."

"Equally terrible, signora."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Copia came to the last quarter inch of his cigarette, pinching off one more drag before dropping it down a storm drain. The smell would linger, but it had been blissful in the moment. "So."

"So."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Barbecue joint, open all night. Just up here, actually. You had barbecue yet?"

"I have not."

"You in for a treat, then."

They rounded the corner, heading into the jaundiced sodium light of a patchy parking lot, under a flickering red neon sign. 'Little Pigs Genuine Pit BBQ.' It seemed somehow ominous, but the set of her shoulders reassured him. Somewhat. She pushed open the door with its small jangling bell to red vinyl booths, formica tabletops, wood paneling. Vinegar and roasting meat.

He could feel the eyes on them as she ordered for them both, in a dialect so thick it was almost incomprehensible to him. He stepped closer to murmur, "Coffee for me, please, signora," while he surveilled the crowd. Not outright hostile, had seen stranger things, maybe, but a collective flicker of curiosity before sliding off of them. That flat and unsympathetic gaze. Her accent helped. His obvious manners did as well. Still, he was on edge.

He stayed on edge until he slid into a booth opposite her with his back to the wall, and even then it only let up slightly, a background hum to go along with the labored air conditioning. The barbecue was very nearly worth it, salt and sweet and vinegar and umami, along with the blunt force animal pleasure at hot food after a long time without. He looked up at her, making an inarticulate noise of shocked delight through the sandwich, and she nodded in eager agreement with her mouth full. Swallowed. "I know, right?"

"You cannot convert me."

"Okay. Wasn't trying."

"If you could, this might do it."

"Welcome to the South. It's got problems, but there are compensations."

"So I see."

They lost themselves in the food for a little while, and Copia, a usually fastidious man, found that it was actually impossible to eat a barbecue sandwich neatly. After a while he gave up trying, grateful for the strange softness of American paper napkins. It made sense, if the food was like this. He eyed her iced tea, wondering about it, if that was also an American custom, or if it only applied to the region.

She caught him looking after half a second, and passed it over with barely an eyeblink of thought, the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, and you've lost me. This is an obscene amount of sugar."

"They do call it 'sweet tea' for a reason."

"Are you sure that this isn't just colored sugar water?"

"Reasonably so. Might be accentual, brings out the depth of flavor, like. Least it isn't corn syrup."

"This is a nightmare dystopia you live in."

"Could be. Try one of them hush puppies, then you get back to me."

"Mm." Then, after following instructions, "I will concede on the food."

"Yeah. There's nowhere and nothing that's bad all the way through."

"Perhaps." He took another sip of her tea, pleased at her sputter of mock-indignation. "This brings me to where it falls apart for me. An omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omnibenevolent God."

"That is the doctrine."

"Why, then, evil? Why suffering?"

"We going with theodicy, then?"

He motioned for her to continue, a little gleeful.

"Which answer would you like, from the, oh, four-five thousand years that this has been a question?" She tossed the rolled-up sleeve of her straw in his general direction, smiling. "Why you coming at me with this shit, man?"

"Ehh. I want to know what you think. You, not your Church."

She nodded, and poked at the ice in her tea with her straw while she gave the question the consideration it was due. Finally: "I like Simone Weil for this. You read any Simone Weil?"

"Let us say that I haven't."

"Okay." The vinyl booth squeaked as she leaned back. "This isn't necessarily unique to her, it's got a lot of similarities with-- a Jewish creation story, yeah? But creation is where God withdrew. If God is everything, for creation to exist, there has to be places where God is not. If there's places that God is not, then almost by definition they are not, inherently, holy. It's apophatic, unknowable, like John of the Cross or Kierkegaard or what have you-- I'm getting into the weeds here. Evil is the form which God's mercy takes in the world. Affliction-- she's got a specific term for this, she's talking about spiritual affliction more than physical affliction-- doesn't create human misery, so much as reveals it. And it drives us towards God."

"That sounds, if you will pardon me, fucking horrific. The act of a sadist."

"I don't know that I'm explaining this well. We are created matter, and with affliction we are consumed by God. In the Incarnation, God suffers affliction, is made matter, and consumed by us. It's reciprocal. And if you can go through affliction and still love, and recognize your fellow human being as someone else who has suffered like you, then your duty is to help."

"No, still terrible."

"How do your people explain it, then?"

"By not having an omnipotent deity, to start."

"...I walked right into that one. I surely did. Evil demiurge, again?"

"All about control," he replied, amiable.

"Fair enough. I'm not a Jesuit, I could maybe get at this better if I was. My whole thing with it is, there's a difference between affliction-- which is personal-- and, say, generalized oppression, right? The personal makes you more empathetic with the collective."

"I can see the logic there, yes. I do not know if I agree, but I can see it. But do you truly need to suffer to sympathize with another's suffering?"

She turned her glass around in her hands, focusing hard on the ridged plastic edges. "I'unno. Some things you don't understand till you've been through them. Difference between empathy and sympathy, I guess."

"This is, what. You say, 'the personal is political?'"

She cracked a grin at that. "Oh, you done a lot of reading on second-wave feminism, then?"

"Condescending and uncalled for," he said, wagging a finger at her, mock-stern.

She held up a hand. "Fair point, apologies."

"Te absolvo."

"Thank you." She turned her glass in her hands, trailing through the condensation with a chipped fingernail. "My point being. For me. Affliction leads to empathy, and empathy leads you to act. What's the quote. 'Misery as a collective fact expresses itself as an injustice that cries to the heavens.' That's Oscar Romero, I think? Yeah. Oscar Romero. Anyway the thing he gets at-- Saint Oscar Romero, excuse me, did a lot of stuff in El Salvador in the the seventies, but the idea being: turning people into commodities for economic oppression, that's sin. The idolatry of wealth, of 'national security systems,' that's sin. Divine love should be mediated through justice. Gloria dei vivens homo--"

"'The glory of God is the living person.'"

"Yeah, exactly. Romero was on some-- gloria dei vivens pauper, which I think is probably about right."

"'The glory of God is in the poor.' Hm. And how well did that work out for him?"

"Well. They shot the guy during Mass in nineteen eighty."

"A martyr's death. Isn't that what your people aspire to?"

"Not me, man. I wanna live. But yes, he did lean in hard after his friend was killed. That was an inciting incident. I won't deny it."

"So, what, it is acceptable for one death, if it spurs on 'the greater good?'" He made air quotes at her, and she frowned.

"Not gonna debate the very concept of martyrdom with you, but I'm gonna say no, of course not. But like. Me personally? Rather that than have it go to waste. Some right wing fascist chucklefuck takes me out, I'd sure hope my people'd leverage it for all it's worth."

He sat back and tipped his coffee at her. "Bleak."

"Maybe. We each owe a death. And I mean, despite the guy being beatified, he isn't even necessarily the main dude in Latin America. None of these are exactly new concepts, you understand. But as a modern movement, really, it starts in nineteen sixty-eight, with the Medellín conference in Colombia, kind of as a response to Vatican Two, and from there--" she stopped herself, and raised her glass of tea at him in mock-salute. "Minutiae. The point, and I think I'm cribbing from Ernesto Cardenal here, is that while God is love, love can only exist in accordance with equality and justice."

He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in total skepticism. "I can only say that this has been-- the opposite of my experience. To put it in the most, eh, diplomatic terms possible."

"The Church has done horrible, fucked up things. Continues to do horrible fucked up things. In a space that big, though, there are always going to be practices that are inherently contradictory. This one is mine. And I have the benefit of being fucking right."

"You do see, don't you, how that-- attitude? Mentality, yes? Is dangerous. Even you! Even if I happen to think that you're right. Which I actually do. The benefit of Satanism, I find, is that we do have room for differences. It is, you would say, I think, built in? There is no wrong way to approach. You find your own way. Nobody will lead you, nobody will control you."

"And how far has that kind of rugged individualism progressed the reduction of human suffering?" she snapped.

"At least it doesn't perpetuate it!" he shot back.

They glared at each other over the formica, not quite snarling, equally frustrated.

The diner had gone quiet. Blank suntanned faces, the lone clink of a spoon in a coffee cup, the somehow awful bubbling of the deep fryer. A lot of people, for one in the morning, he thought. They looked at each other in mutual alarm for one tensed breath, and went for their wallets at the same time.

"No," he said, firm, fishing past Euros for American dollars. "You are taking a vow of poverty and I am an actual rockstar." He shot a stern glance at her opened mouth and felt a stab of immense satisfaction when she shut it, apparently- miraculously, even- chastised. He threw down enough to cover the bill and the tip and reached to drag her out, stopping short of actually touching her elbow at the last moment. "Come."

She went.

They escaped with the perversely jaunty ring of the bell over the door into the thick warmth of the night, and she brayed a laugh again, not quite on the edge of hysterics.

"Go, go, this could get ugly." But he was laughing, too. Madness. He'd seen these exact sort of people outside of a venue, enraged, faces red, carrying hateful picket signs. One small woman and one man frankly built like a noodle could be in real danger. Still, their laughter echoed down the gravel-lined drive they had ducked into, their boots crunching in a staccato rhythm in the stones. This was far too much adrenaline for one night, he thought.

While they slowed to a walk, he watched the fireflies darting upwards in the undergrowth, the ascending dashes of yellow-green light seeming fantastical to him, otherworldly. You heard of great masses of them, in America, but in such quantity it was like seeing a fairytale with your own eyes. They thinned out as the landscape started to shift, from residential suburbs to side streets.

"This was-- good. It was good, to get out. To talk. A lot of this, it is, ehh." He waved a hand in the general direction they were moving, to the venue, the concert, the tour. "Movement. Instinct. There is, by definition, no quiet. And that is fantastic, I enjoy it, I love what I do, I am fortunate in that. But it is not often that I get to speak about these things." The thud of their boots, and the high monotonous drone of a cicada somewhere off in the distance, blending with the faraway hiss of a car on the damp streets. "Thank you," he said, soft. "For this."

Her eyes forward, mouth closed tight. It took her a few steps before she spoke. "You are very welcome." She cleared her throat. "And I appreciate the outside perspective."

"Interesting thing, is it not? Having a vocation."

"Being called. Yes."

"What I do not understand-- and I do not wish to, as you said, litigate the very idea of martyrdom, of course--"

"Of course. That's above my pay grade anyhow."

"But the denial inherent in your practice. The self-denial. It seems to me a, hm. Turning away from joy. You say your God is love, very well. This is removed from my experience with Christians, but I do understand that it should be the intent. To claim that divinity is love and then to willingly cut yourself off from the experience of love seems to me contradictory. Not merely the physical, although that alone seems hideous. Some people of course are not interested, but this cannot be true of all your monsastics, your clergy, your unmarried."

"This is also an old question."

"You cannot tell me it is not vital. Few people are physically martyred, and I can see the value there, even if I think it grotesque. But this seems to me a martyrdom, and willing. And pointless. Everyone should be loved, yes? Is that not your very doctrine?"

"It is, but there's different kinds of love--"

"You are dissembling. Do me the courtesy, Miss Turner, of your honesty."

Copia heard her sharp intake of breath. He had stung her, and he very nearly regretted it.

"Discourtesy wasn't my aim, Cardinal. It's an old question, and people struggle. It's maybe the struggle, for most people, the stumbling block. How can I answer you? It's kind of a personal question, y'know?"

"I can see how it would be. I do not wish to intrude, but come now. What, you offer your suffering up to God? What kind of God would ask you to give up love in the very name of love? It's monstrous!"

"The standard answer is that one becomes the bride of Christ. My thinking is, in turning away from the singular, you're better able to focus on the collective. To focus, to pay attention. And attention in its highest form is prayer."

"You deny yourself. In denial, you turn away knowledge. You said this yourself, how can you understand suffering if you have not suffered? You should know joy, or else how can you understand joy? You should be free to do that, to be in the world, and the world is here! You are here, and while you are here you should be here fully. You should allow yourself to be loved!"

He had actually raised his voice, and his words hung in the thick air, almost suspended with the humidity. He couldn't take it back, and he fell silent, mortified. They had fallen to a stop.

"It's discipline," she said, helpless. She couldn't look at him, and he had to look away at her expression.

"In any case." He cleared his throat, and resumed walking. "Discipline I understand. There is discipline in my practice, you know."

"I can see that. Dedication, certainly. Seems like the whole world's against you. The dominant social climate is not accommodating to being that outspoken about, well, anything to do with sincere belief, really, but especially in your case."

"No. And in this situation, it is easy to-- tend to isolate. To stay in one's own community. Safer. Especially in a hostile environment. Anger is easy, you would say."

"Don't I know it. You do have to live in the world. I think you and I both have cause to be angry. Hell, we're probably angry at a lot of the same things. Coming at it from opposite directions, is all."

"The hypocrisy is galling," he agreed. "If I am a monster in the eyes of these people, let me be an honest monster. They feed their children poison and tell them it is virtue, to hate, to fear, I do not--" he cut himself off, blew out a laugh. "We are angry about the same things. The work is the same. We are both called to liberate, yes?"

"Yeah, I would allow that's fairly definitional."

"Here, you take that side, I will take this one, and we will meet in the middle and cast off all oppression," he said, grandly, sweeping out an arm as if he were back on stage. He echoed her smile on pure reflex.

"And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

"Julian of Norwich. An anchoress." Something in the concept, and in the simultaneous hope and resignation in her face, pierced his heart all the way through. She was remote, and lost to him, a marble statue of a saint. The nature of his ministry was to encourage pleasure, of mind and of body, and he did want to break her out of the cell she'd walled herself off into. Perhaps merely for his own satisfaction, when freedom was the whole of his law. Even her freedom to walk into her own cage. "Not so much to be consoled as to console," he said, halfway to himself, watching her.

"Francis of Assisi. But I think you knew that."

"I did."

"You are something else, aren't you?" She looked at him, pleased and reassessing. He felt seen, almost entire.

It was not an entirely comfortable feeling. "Ah," he said. "Perhaps."

He recognized, now, the alleyway they had walked down, the venue shuttered for the night. The only lights inside were deep in the back, distant. Likely everything had been packed away, or near enough. Likely the ghouls were wondering where he was. And she was small, and faith alone would not protect her.

It was too much for him. "It is very late. And I do not know if-- do you have a place to stay? This is not, I think, your home."

"I don't and it's not." She waved him off. "Was planning on just sleeping in the car. The seats fold down, I got a pillow, it's fine."

"I don't like it."

"Ain't about what you like." She dropped her head. "I apologize, that was rude."

"No, it is only--." He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I do have a hotel room."

"No." It seemed reflexive. But he could see the split second flash of her face cracking open with sheer want. Watched her snatch her composure together just as quick, even as the afterimage lingered in his brain like the echo of a lightning strike. "No, I-- I do not think that would be a good idea."

"There is a couch, even. I could take the couch."

"Copia." Oh, and it was costing her. Painful to watch. That wretched self denial. "Please." A brittle little laugh, accent creeping back in as she forced herself to sound brighter. "I seen you bounce around that stage, you gonna need a mattress."

"Nothing you do not wish, Miss Turner. Never that," he said, as gently as he could. A breath of silence strung out in the thick air, the space of a heartbeat. "Anyways." He considered his position, took a breath, and made the leap. "It would be good to-- I would like to continue this argument. You have some time, no? Before you are-- fully committed. Come to Charleston. My guest. In the spirit of, eh, ecumenical dialogue."

That got a smile out of her. "I'll think about it."

"Please. Do."

"I will. I will think about it."

"In that case." He straightened his spine by three degrees, took the smallest step forward, and picked up her hand in both of his. Even though the gloves it made something catch behind his sternum, the stutter of some cog in engineering. He bowed over it as deeply as he ever had on stage, registered the barest breath of the smell of her, leather and nicotine and something like amber, a clean animal scent. It was only an instant, and he straightened with some regret. "I have enjoyed your company, Sophie."

"I--. Yes. Yeah. Me too." She squeezed his hand, once. "Very much. Be well, Cardinal." And then she slipped away.

He watched her carefully measured walk to her car, head held up with the dignity of the condemned. She opened her door and looked back for the space of one brief inhalation. Orpheus, he thought, nonsensically. He stared at her taillights, the red glow like eyes, the dragon's breath curl of exhaust, long after it had faded into the wide restless night.

It was another twenty minutes before one of the ghouls dragged him back inside.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/17/2024

come take this very very friendly little man out of my bathroom! he is fiv+ and we are in houston tx! i am willing to drive a couple hours for the right home! he is a good boy he's just orange! more details here!

listening

emily jeffri's DENY off my spotify recommended weekly playlist: i can only describe it as "throbbing". immediately attention grabbing lyrics:

What kind of lover does your mother want? I'll do whatever, oh but you could not

very distinctly indie electronica. this would be the song in a cyberpunk/80s hacker movie where the chase takes you through an goth/alt fashion show where the models are actively giving blood as they walk or something.

i love the spotify daily mix for me and my bestie bc there's a guaranteed four bluey songs on it and it's a nice jumpscare. i know my mental health is taking a turn for the worse when a lot of mother mother starts popping up, i know my bestie's is taking a turn for the worse when a lot of girl in red starts popping up. suicide-watch-level sapphic angst singer-songwriter, generally. except for this song! extremely fun! didn't even recognize it as her! DOING IT AGAIN BABY is a more traditional selling-you-a-dodge-charger car commercial song and it's such a startling departure from her usual work that i wonder if it was a commercial commission? hard to immediately find out tho

I'm on a new level Something's got me feelin' like I could be inflammable And I might be I'm gonna light it up Nothing's gonna stop me if I say this is what I want

-

reading

i read twilight (yes that one) at the behest of my bestie and bc my mental health could not have gotten any worse in that moment. it has led to some uncomfortable realizations about my high school experience i will save for a therapist. i am mostly putting it here to remind myself that i read this book this year.

^ this is some silly goofy nonsense. not that i think people shouldn't be recognized at their retirement, but what happened to giving people nice watches instead of a thousand dollars in plaques

Saying that, the records did reveal something actually interesting: although the individual contract I sent a request related to was for a few thousand dollars, an attached blank purchase agreement (BPA) says that “the government estimates, but does not guarantee, that the volume of purchases through this BPA will be $360,000.00 over the term of the BPA.” So, a lot more than a few thousand bucks.

-

watching

Hang 'Em High (1968, dir. Post). certainly not clint's sluttiest role but really up there. i do wish he kept the fucked-out little rasp for the whole movie :(

When an innocent man barely survives a lynching, he returns as a lawman determined to bring the vigilantes to justice.

it has a typical bizarre shoehorned romance that (i think) deeply undercuts the theme it wants to explore, but there is no on-screen rape. the bar is on the FLOOR with westerns and yet i DNF so so so many.

hell of a whump film. literally everything happens to jed cooper. i will trumpet this again from the rooftops: that character needs cbt both ways.

-

playing

HIGHWATER, a 2022 adventure/turn based strategy thing from Rogue Games, courtesy of Netflix Games, whose game library is a fucking nightmare to navigate on mobile.

i loooove a water-based postapoc. the boat does in fact handle very poorly and like a horrible inflatable raft on mobile, which is both charming and frustrating.

i do not love a turn-based combat. despite the vibes off the charts, including a very well integrated "pirate radio" station as the game's soundtrack, i am not patient enough to muddle through complex turn-based combat. i'm sure someone had fun fighting off six guys and two bears (who aggro anyone and can one-hit anyone) and then a further three guys who show up for backup but i gave it the good old college try over two days and wasn't able to swing it. it would be nice to have either a difficulty setting or some way to spectate the ideal fight, but alas. a lot of fun environmental stuff in the fights you can use to your advantage, like the bears and these trees you can flatten your opponents with in a much earlier fight. there's a fun mix of different characters with different abilities and different weapons you pick up and keep during fights. i have no specific beef with this game's choice to make this the way you move through the game, it's just not my preferred genre.

a lot of book and newspaper collectibles in this one that i feel of several minds about. it feels less like environmental storytelling through newspapers and just the devs telling me their opinion when they provide little book summaries like this. also i wish The Industry as a whole was more thoughtful about using the word "insurgent".

not a game for me, i have once again confirmed that i cannot tolerate a turn-based combat no matter how much seafaring postapoc you drench it in :(

-

making

got a Phantom Menace era curtain panel for $4 at the thrift, and i was convinced it was fabric someone had made into a curtain panel until i got home and discovered it was an officially licensed product with bafflingly generous seams.

it's about two-ish yards of a 50/50 cotton/poly blend, which i feel like i haven't seen in a while? i think the current fashion leans more 70/30 or 100 poly for curtains i've purchased. after i finish unpicking the seams and pinking it, i am going to throw it in the wash again with some vinegar and see if that softens it up any, or if it makes the transition between the wear lines on the seams and the body of the fabric any nicer.

thinking about what kind of dress to make that 1) shows off this extremely large scale pattern 2) does not look like i am wearing a paper bag, and 3) does not look like the late aughts craft trend of sewing a twin flat Star Wars sheet to a tube top and calling that a dress, bc that's how hard up we were for feminine merch. much to consider. maybe it Will be a maxi skirt with pockets and i can wear one of my seventy black tees on top?

[centipede-gutzz]

🃏 COLD COURT [LC JESTER x GN READER]

A/N: sorry, you're going through the horrors this time.

SUMMARY: The Cold Court of Dine is cold and unforgiving, and the Jester is no different. Yet, it could be different for you.

WARNINGS: scenes containing death and violence.

TYPE: fic, gn reader, platonic, angst with comfort from the thing that literally killed your teammates not too long ago.

"Alright, that should be the last of it."

You nod in agreement as your teammate puts down the rubix cubes one of them found in the loot pile. Said teammate, or Orange, sighs in relief. Another successful job in the cold planet, Dine.

Your crew managed to save up a decent amount of money to land here, in hopes of better loot to reach the next quota more efficiently. And for once, it was a mansion! A nice break from the steamy pipes and creaking metal of the railings. And surprisely enough, no casualties were to be had.

The previous run didn't end well. You recall losing one of your mates to a Coil-Head. He didn't react in time when the sound of scattering footsteps quickly approache them from behind, catching him off guard as his head was ejected from his body. Blood stained your suit as you stared down at his corpse, the spring sticking out where his neck once was wobbling around.

It was a gruesome sight to behold. You're lucky the others were there to help you, handing you the loot to escape while they took care of watching the Coil-Head. They managed to escape with you soon after, but you can't stop the guilt from invading your mind. You could've saved him, perhaps if you were faster. It's too late now. As quick as he was gone, a new employee arrived to replace him. The newbie seemed to do just fine, despite being a nervous wreck (you all nicknamed her Yellow, due to her suit color). You can't blame her, this job isn't exactly an everyday choice. This time, you hope that things will turn out differently.

"Woah hey, what the hell is that?!"

Orange's voice breaks you out of your thoughts as you turn your head towards him. He seems on edge, taking a step back as he points to the doorway on the other side of the room. You open your mouth to speak and turn to look at whatever he saw. Before you can even speak, you let out a startled noise at the sight.

It's a jack-in-the-box. The thing is huge, more bigger than any other one you've seen. It has legs too, with a singular arm on its left right below the crank. You quickly activate your scanner to figure out what the weird toy was. A "jester", the words read from your scanner. It certainly didn't look like one, no funny hat or ringing bells to accompany its design.

It just stands there...menacingly. The box slightly moves up and down in an idle manner, as if waiting for something. Your teammates quickly scramble to grab whatever loot they can hold.

"I don't what the hell that is, but I don't think we should stick around to find out," Orange rambles out. You quickly nod, your grip on your items tightening.

As soon as you were all about to leave, the Jester raises its arm to reach for its crank. It begins to crank itself with a steady pace, the song "Pop Goes the Weasel" coming from the box. Dread washes over you as you take a few steps around the box towards the door it came from. The exit shouldn't be too far from here, if your memory serves you correctly.

You call out for your teammates to leave, one of them already making a run for it. You soon follow but quickly turn around to see Yellow staring at the Jester.

Your voices rings through the air as you call out to her, pleading for her to move away from the box. She doesn't move as she responds, "But...what if it's fine? I used to have one of these as a kid, and the most it would do was scare me! Surely it won't be any different, right?"

"IT VERY MUCH COULD BE! We can't stand here forever and risk everything, we gotta move," Orange yells out. He lets out a noise of frustration when she doesn't budge and he puts all of his loot into your hands. He looks at you with a serious, yet sorry look.

"Hey bud, I'm sorry you have to be put in this situation again but we can't lose our stuff. I'm gonna try to get her out of here, but you gotta get this stuff back to the ship. Blue's still there, they should be starting the ship by the time you get there," he says. You shake your head in response. You can't lose another one again! What if something happens again? They've gotten this far, it doesn't have to be this way.

It feels like he can read your thoughts or perhaps noticed your quivering body and panicked breathing as he continues, "I know things shouldn't be like this again, but who knows what happens if we miss quota? Just run, we'll be right behind you!"

He pushes you out of the room and runs to Yellow, tugging at her arm and yelling at her to leave. The song never stops, the speed increasing as time goes on.

It's the same thing again. You feel helpless, once again the last resort. Your grip on the loot falters for a second before turning to run towards where the exit should be. The sound of Pop Goes the Weasel and your teammates voices echo through the halls of the mansion as you run as fast as you can.

What if something happens? Your thoughts quickly begin to swirl, making you come to a halt. The glass of your helmet's visor fogs up as you begin to hyperventilate. You can't be a coward again. There's a reason why you lost your teammate, and maybe even these ones if you just run away. You argue with yourself back and forth, undecided if you should continue to the exit or go back to your mates. Your mind seems to go with the latter, your shaking legs quickly turning around to go back.

As you take a step forward, you feel that something is off. You can barely make out the distant sound of screams, both human and not. Fast and heavy footsteps are heard muffled beyond the hard walls of the mansion, and whatever is causing them doesn't sound friendly. It's too late now, it was always too late for you.

You choke back a sob as you turn to run away from the horrible noises. It doesn't last long, seeing how whatever caused your teammates' deaths is quickly approaching. You go around a few corners that you swear were ones that could lead you out, but you were only met with an empty room. You fall to the floor with tears filling your eyes, items clattering to the side as you clench your fists.

Perhaps this job was never meant for you. Maybe it was all just twisted luck that got you this far. Fate is cruel, and she had much more in store for you. There's no time to play the blame game, the Court Jester is waiting. You face the doorway, face to face with the one who's responsible for your end. The wall touches your back as you make a poor attempt to delay your death and scoot away from the Jester.

It's screaming. Not out loud, nor in pain, but it sounds faint. What was once just a box is now flesh and bone, empty eye sockets staring into your soul. Broken sobs and pleas leave your mouth, wishing for another outcome than this. You and your teammates were nothing but thieves, commoners that trespassed this Cold Court. Perhaps this is for the best. You close your eyes shut and fearfully accept this fate given to you. It's cold and relentless, the fear never-ending. Exhale, and await your shortcoming.

...

.....

...the screaming doesn't stop. Even with your eyes shut, you can feel the Jester looming over you. Somehow, boldness finds its way in your mind as you open your eyes to peer above you. The sight isn't pretty.

It's way too close for comfort, bloody teeth and gore filling your sights. It's surprising that you didn't faint yet. Despite this situation, you can't help but smile weakly. Nervous laughter meets faint screaming as you mumble out a simple greeting. Maybe you truly lost it.

The Jester opens its jaw, blood dripping and landing on your helmet. You wince and extend your arms to protect yourself, whatever that could do. It's probably just toying with its food at this point, how cruel can this thing get?

Apparently, it has other things in mind. You feel yourself being lifted up from the ground. Teeth bites at your suit as the Jester settles you in its mouth, dangling like a bear would catch a fish. One bite, and it's all over. You can't stop shaking in fear, even with the Jester walking out of the room. Its gentle with its hold on you, footsteps thudding against the wood flooring.

How the hell did you end up here? This is not something you ever imagined happening to you. The feeling of flesh squishing against your sides makes you cringe. You bite your lip to stop a noise of complaint, no doubt it could kill you in an instant if you insult it.

It walks through the dark halls perfectly, like it knew the entire layout by heart. You recoil at the sudden bright lights attacking your eyes as you both end up in the main room. It stops nearby the door and settles you down as gentle as it could.

Both of you stare at each other silently, waiting for the other to make a move. This thing killed your friends not a while ago, so why can't you move? Despite the obvious danger levels of the Jester, you find yourself muttering a quiet "thank you".

The Jester twitches, seemingly pleased at your thanks. It lowers its skull towards you and exposes the top, nudging at you against the door. You make a noise of confusion before cautiously raising you hand to pat it softly. You don't feel like testing how sturdy it is compared to your human skull. It quickly raises itself up, bouncing in excitement like a puppy who's horrors is beyond your comprehension. Bits of gore fall from the box from its movement and you try your best not to show your disgust. You wave a small goodbye towards the Jester and quickly exit out the door.

You've never been more excited to hear the crunch of snow beneath your boots. It becomes red from the blood on your suit, but you don't seem to notice. Luck seems to be on your side again, with the Jester being kind enough to let you go. It doesn't feel like the best of fate, but you decide to accept it.

The Cold Court is unrelenting, the snow never stopping for a moment. A kingdom with no king or queen, instead a Jester to take their place. You were blessed to be spared by the faux ruler, the gift of horrible memories containing your teammates screams and cries forever following.

It's cold, and unforgiving.

[dreaisgrayte]

Fluttering Fluster| Demon Akaza

Synopsis: Akaza has taken an interest in you since you don't appear to be scared of him. You're actually kind of fond of him yourself. He doesn't know what to do around you since you always have something flirty or sarcastic to say. He's constantly flustered and he can't help himself after saving you from a demon attack.

Warning/contains: friendship, killing (a demon), kissing, hitting it from the back, yeanring, bratty YN, confused and flustered Akaza, mostly top Akaza, flirting, cuddles, mentions of fear of lonliness (me too), slight implication that Akaza has already killed Rengoku

Word count: 4.3k

a/n: I wrote this in a day. What does that say about the quality? Well, hehehe, I'm not sure :) My lil basketball needed some love, even though I wouldn't accept any donuts from him, it's FINE, everything is FINE. Guys I need sleep, my sleep schedule went out to get the milk...time to drink water right before bed as I watch Minecraft videos.

The darkness from the dense forest outside your house fills the cabin with a loud silence. You could almost hear your heart pumping blood through your body as you went about making dinner for yourself. Some steamed greens and grilled meat should make a hearty meal. You hum a tune to yourself, crouching in front of the small grill set up on the dirt part of your floor. The wood crackles and throbs with a deep glowing orange color. You move the meat around in the small pot hanging from a horizontal log supported by sitting snugly in the junctions of two other logs. The rabbit you had caught earlier would prove to go nicely with the vegetables from your garden. Your song continues as you stoke the fire under the pot and then sit on the side of the wooden platform where your heimorn would be rolled out soon enough. A glint of something passes by the window and for a moment your heart pounds assuming the worst before passing it off to be an animal. The village people had filled your head with tales of demons roaming these lands. As if demons would take an interest in a quick bite, though maybe they’d enjoy the soup you were making? You let out a breath and glance back at the meat, wondering how much longer you’d have to wait before eating. You flop back on the wooden floor and groan. Sometimes the most exhausting part of living all alone was the creaking seconds that made downtime nearly unbearable. Sometimes you wish someone would stumble across your home and spend some time with you. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the break from human society, but the spiders all talked about the same thing. Maybe one of those demons would come to tell you their stories of how they killed their last victims. 

“My, this meat smells almost as good as you do.” A voice notes. You furrow your brows and hoist yourself up to the sitting position. There in your doorway was a shadowed figure. Your eyes graze over the small illuminated parts of him, like the obvious muscles on his arms and legs. Even in the dim flickering light, you could make out how defined he was. His face was dark and you couldn’t make out much of his features, but that’s when you noticed the thick dark lines trailing his body like some wild tiger. Though, one thing was bothering you.

“I smell?” You tilt your head in a questioning manner. The head of what you were assuming was a man in front of you twitches slightly.

“What?” His voice is strained and you twiddle with your thumbs while observing your meat to make sure it wouldn’t burn while you had this conversation. 

“You said I smell.” You answer frankly, looking down at your pink yukata and pinching it with your fingers to take a sniff. 

“I-” You look up to see the man had turned away from you. He briskly turns back around and enters your home more. This causes his face to cast away the shadows and finally be observed by your eyes. The black lines continue the same pattern on his face with the exception of one long one from the top of his forehead down the bridge of his nose, but what takes you by surprise is that…his…hair…matches your yukata almost exactly. “Aren’t you afraid of me?” He grumbles, his face twisting in a way that makes you more interested in what trauma he’d obviously been through than him being…frightening? 

“No…?” You shrug and look at the rabbit cooking in the pot again, it appeared almost ready to be taken off the heat and set aside to simmer in the broth. 

“No one could hear you scream out here.” He suddenly says. You furrow your brows and look up at him through your lashes. 

“Yeah. I know.” His face looks dumbfounded as you continue to pay no mind to him. Your meal was more important than your life at the moment. 

“So you don’t care if I make you scream?” The man’s words were more curious than threatening. Maybe this was his first time talking to a lady? Did he not get out much? Poor thing. It’s best if you prepare him for how ladies are sure to act around his beautiful face. 

“Oh no, I’d really appreciate it if you made me scream.” Your lips curl up into a smile and the man in front of you takes a step back. 

“Somehow I feel like we’re not talking about the same thing…” He frowns and your smile only grows. You carefully use another piece of wood to unhook the pot from the fire and set it gently off to the side in the dirt. 

“We could be. Why don’t you tell me your name?” You offer, standing from your position. The man is a little shorter than you and you bite back a giggle at that surprising fact. He narrows his eyes at you but then lets out a loud sigh. This was fun. You should socialize more often. 

“Akaza.” He mumbles. You smile at the sound of his name ringing through your head. It was like the sound of a beating heart. 

“A-ka-za.” You hit each syllable in awe of how a name could be so fitting to a human. A human with strange eyes no less. You observe his face and find it flushing slightly. “What’s the matter with you?” You quiz with furrowed brows. 

“Y-Y-You just, don’t…don’t say my name like that please…” He avoids looking at you, backing up almost to the point of exiting your house. 

“Why?” You inquire, stepping closer to him. Akaza groans and holds up his hand in front of your face. You stop in your tracks, blinking rapidly at the hand in front of you. 

“Stop. Why aren’t you afraid of me?” His eyes narrow at you and for a moment you see the faintest glimmer of something sharp in his mouth. 

“Why would I be?” You scrunch your face up in confusion and look around him expecting someone or something else scarier to be behind him. He scoffs and gestures to himself with the same hand he held in front of you. 

“I am Akaza.” 

“Yes I know.”

“Let me finish.” He glares at you. You hold up your hands in innocence and gesture for him to continue. “I am Akaza, Upper Moon 3.” He points to his eyes and for the first time during this conversation, you realize why they looked so different. Written there on his yellow eyes were the kanji for ‘upper’ and ‘three’. You tilt your head to study them further. 

“Upper…what now? What do you mean? Did you get your pink hair from the moon?” You wonder aloud. Akaza’s eyes widen slightly and he then rolls them. 

“What? No. I’m a high-ranking demon and I could kill you within seconds.” He states. A cooling chill runs through your body, but you remain calm. If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve already. So why was he here? And demons were real? Now that’s something you wish your mother was still alive to see. “Are you scared now?” He asks, stepping closer to you. You shrug.

“Eh, not really.” You reply. He stops advancing and his face goes blank. You have to stop from laughing at the look on his face.

“Why not?” He looks concerned, like if he’s not scary enough his mom is going to give him the ‘I’m disappointed’ look. 

“I think it's the pink hair and long lashes.” You observe, pointing at his face. “You’re too pretty to be scary.” 

“Wah, really?” He reaches up with his blackened fingers and touches his hair and then cheek gently. His fingers looked pretty long compared to your own. Now that you were really looking at him, the black lines were everywhere, even on his bear feet. They were similar to that of the ones on his fingertips, only enclosing the toes. He wore an anklet on each ankle made up of round pink beads. His white pants were held up by a blue rope with two pink tassles coming off around the front. His calves seemed unmarked by the lines and you wondered how far they really did travel. His chest was unclothed, except for a small dark pink jacket around his shoulders. The lines on his chest were geometrically pleasing with the way they all lines up. Similarly to his face, there was one line that connected to one that went around his neck to mid-way down his abdomen. It was a few inches shy of his belly button. Ah, so demons still have those. What else did demons share with humans?

“Besides, if you wanted to kill me, you would’ve already.” Your gaze meets his and his expression turns hard. He briskly closes the distance between you and pushes you up against the platform so hard that your legs give out and you fall backward. You hit the ground with a loud oomph and wince. You feel a weight on you and peer upwards to find Akaza pining you to the ground with his leg in between your thighs, pressing down on the fabric of your yukata. He’s baring his teeth, his insanely sharp teeth close to your neck. 

“You’re right human, I could eat you up right now.” His breath is hot on your neck and it makes you squirm under him. He pushes off of you with a little more force than need be and stands over you now. “But I won’t.” You let out a breath, unaware of how nervous you were that he’d bite into your neck. Although the throbbing lower down was proving for a confusing conversation with yourself later on. 

“Why?” You pant out, curious why this seemingly all-powerful demon would let you go. You sit up, draping your legs over the side of the wooden platform as you had done before. He presses his lips into a thin line and looks away from you. 

“Because I don’t eat your kind.” He huffs. Your face morphs into perplexion 

“Stinky?” You offer. He scoffs and shakes his head. 

“No. Women.” He corrects. “Please fix your yukata.” He mumbles. You look down at your chest and find one side draping over your shoulder, almost exposing your bare chest. You smile and pull it haphazardly onto your shoulder again. 

“Then why did you come here?” You ponder for him to hear. He looks off into the distance like he’s remembering something. 

“I…I was lonely.” He whispers. This makes your whole body warm with understanding. Lonely. A word you knew all too well. One that was your only companion at times. 

“Big boss demon fire all your friends?” Akaza grimaces and his fists clench. 

“I don’t have friends in the upper moon ranks,” He pauses and shuts his eyes a if trying to calm down. “Only annoyances.” He mutters. Your heart beats faster as you feel some sort of kinship with this supposedly scary monster. 

“Well, pardon me if I’m being too bold, but we could always be friends.” You suggest, gesturing between the both of you. His eyes shoot open and he stares at you. 

“Do you…do you really mean that?” He takes a step toward you and reaches out a tentative hand. 

“No, how could I ever possibly be friends with a demon? Of course, I meant it.” You’re take aback by the sudden warmth from his hand on your cheek. It sends a burning heat running through your body. Blooming in your stomach with a desire for his warmth to cover you, burn you, incinerate you. 

“You have such a funny way with words.” His brows slowly furrow down as he stares at you. “It makes me want to find out everything about you.” He then brushes a lock of hair that had fallen free behind your ear. You feel that heat round to your cheeks and you move your face away from his hand so he won’t be able to feel the way your cheeks are burning. 

“Ha, there’s not much that’s interesting about me.” You reply, shifting your body to sit more comfortably. Akaza drops his hand and looks down at the pot you’d set aside earlier. 

“You should probably eat your meal before it gets cold.” He bows his head to you and turns toward your open door. Was he going to leave already? But he just got here. 

“Wait!” You reach out your hand and Akaza turns to look at you with raised brows. What were you supposed to say to convince him to stay a little longer? He was a high-ranking demon, someone important, you were just a woman he happened to find because he was lonely. 

“Yes?” He faces fully toward you, waiting patiently for your words.

“Do you…” You gulp and look around for some sort of idea. Ah, you could tease him again. Then he’d want to talk to you about what you meant. If your mama taught you anything it was how to hold an uncomfortably long conversation. “Do you still want to make me scream?” You ask, leaning forward toward him. This causes your yukata to fall off your shoulder again and Akaza’s eyes are drawn to your rosy bear skin. He blinks a couple of times before looking back into your eyes. 

“What could you possibly mean by that?” He looks concerned. You tilt your head and feel your hair brush against your shoulders as it falls to the side. 

“I could scream your name Ak-a-za.” You whisper his name like it’s a dirty word. His brows flinch as he looks upon your seductive state. 

“I-I told you I don’t kill women.” He stutters, eyes wildly looking around you for answers. You smile and bat your lashes, swinging your head to the other side, allowing a full view of the slope of your neck. You notice Akaza’s fist clench at the sight. 

“I didn’t mean that you should kill me. I only meant you should share pleasures beyond imagination with me so that I scream out your name because it’ll be the only thing I can think of.” You explain, waving a hand around in the air as if that will conjure up an image for him to watch. Akaza shuts his eyes and his jaw ticks. It was funny to watch his restraint falter. 

“You can’t possibly mean that.” He grunts. His eyes are still glued shut and so you hum in response. 

“Oh, I do. I always mean what I say Akaza.” He lets out a low sigh and opens his eyes to gaze upon you shining in half moonlight half firelight. 

“You’re quite the vixen.” His eyes roll down the slope of your neck and curve around your shoulder. They dip to where the line of cleavage is slightly showing. 

“What can I say? The nights get lonely.” You were hoping by tossing around the same feeling he’d confessed to you that he’d empathize with you. If demons were even still capable of empathizing. Akaza’s eyes soften and he sucks in a deep breath. 

“I could stay for a little longer I guess.” He conceded. You grin happily and then raise your brows suggestively.

“Do you want to have-”

“No.”

“Aww but why?”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s YN.” 

Over the course of the next few months, Akaza came to visit you as the weather got colder. Seeing him appear over the hill sent a thrill of excitement through your entire body. Every time that pointed-tooth grin caught your eye you felt alive again. Though, it’d been almost 2 months since Akaza’s last visit and you were starting to worry. The last time you ventured into the village for a couple of new blankets for the winter you heard talk of the great hashira defending the innocent from Lord Muzan’s Kisaki. Your heart was torn. You wanted to pray for those who’d lost their lives to evil demons, but Akaza wasn’t like other demons. He was smart, kind, sexy, and certainly not evil. The reason he hadn’t come to see you in so long surely couldn’t be because he’s… no you couldn’t even think of such a thing. 

You roll out your mattress and fluff out the covers you’d bought a few days prior. At least if you didn’t have Akaza to warm your side you’d have these plush covers. Comfortable bedding would never leave you alone for 2 months. It’d always stay by your side. You lay out the blankets to the side and crawl onto the thin mattress. The light from your lantern flickers softly, casting a shadow against your closed door. You were certain that your dreams would be filled with a pink-haired demon. You pull the covers over your frame and sigh in happiness. You’re about to blow out your light when the front door suddenly slams open. You startle as a heaving form appears in the doorframe. You clutch your chest as it stalks forward, its tongue was sickeningly long as it lapped at the air around you. 

“Human you smell delicious.” It hisses, crouching down onto its haunches. Your face sneers in disgust as you watch it cock its head to the left, tongue hanging out its mouth framed by sharp teeth that glinted slimy in the moonlight. 

“Thanks but I’ve been told that before.” You spat, tightening your grip on your new blankets. Its mouth curls into a twisted grin as its head turns upside down. 

“I taste demon in the air.” Its eyes don’t have any writing on them like Akaza’s, but by the looks of it, weak wouldn’t be a word to describe it. “Have you been claimed by one of the twelve kisaki human?” Its movements are jerky as it advances toward you. You scoot back against the wall like that was going to help you escape from such a creature. You were glad it could sense Akaza had been here, maybe that would deter it from killing you. 

“Yes, an upper moon in fact.” You sneer, curling your body away from the demon. His yellow eyes glimmer with newfound excitement. Oh no. The plan may have backfired. 

“Ahhhh, upper moon whores always taste the best. Please let me have just a bite.” His eyes are crazed as he peers upon your flesh. Drool starts to form in the corner of his mouth, landing with a splat on the wooden floor underneath you. “I promise I’ll leave enough for him to fuck later, you just have to-UGHK! AHHHHH PLEASE NO!” It screeches as a hand appears through its chest. “Lord Akaza- EEK-UGH-I’M SORRY!” The demon is flung away from you and out the door. You watch as a shadowy figure, you’re assuming is Akaza, rip the demon apart. You’re glad you can’t see much because of the lack of light, but you can hear it. The yelps of pain from the demon, the sloshing of blood, and grunts from Akaza. He was here… he’d saved you from a gruesome death. You lean forward with bated breath, straining your eyes to find Akaza in the darkness. You jump back as he appears in the doorway. His arms are hanging loosely at his sides, a thick liquid dripping from his fingers. His eyes stay on the ground. 

“Akaza…” You whisper, but his whole body tenses. 

“Don’t look at me YN. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” He looks off to the side and clenches his jaw. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of yearning and sadness. 

“Like what Akaza?” You ask, uncovering yourself and bracing for the cold air to surround your body. Akaza glances at the blankets. 

“A demon.” He hisses and for a moment you hear such deep regret in his voice. Some buried sorrow keeps him from bonding with people. You stand and step down from the platform, Akaza doesn’t budge an inch. You take this as your chance to approach him. You take in a deep breath and place the palm of your hand against his chest. 

“Akaza. I don’t care what you are, only about who you are.” You can feel his heart rapidly beating against his skin. He looks at your hand and then finally into your eyes. 

“I need to go wash my hands.” He edges his head closer to yours. You feel a pull to kiss him as your bodies move into position but then shy away on repeat. “I’ll be right back.” He disappears with unknown speed and you let out a tiny breath. Did he almost kiss you? You’d been thinking about this moment for a long time and it was finally here. He was finally here. “YN…” You look up to find him in your doorway again. 

“Akaza.” He walks into your home and slides the door shut behind him. The cool air is somewhat cut off. 

“I respect women YN.” He rasps. You nod and watch his eyes rack over your blue yukata. His eyes meet yours and you feel a wave of anticipation crash into you. 

“Yes. I remember.” He’s getting closer to you, causing you to back into the platform again. He smirks as you both remember the first night you’d met each other. 

“Please forgive me for what I’m about to do.” He’s in front of you within seconds, pulling your hair back and aggressively kissing you. You groan into his mouth and he bares his teeth against your lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He hisses, licking the soft spot on your neck. You wiggle at the sensation and start to pant. 

“Even if you do, it doesn’t make you a monster,” Akaza growls against your neck and nips at the skin he’d been playing with. 

“Pull up your yukata and turn around.” He demands, letting go of your hair. You straighten out your sore neck and do as he ordered. Your cunt is bare for him to study now and he takes his time looking at you. “I didn’t think a human could be so beautiful everywhere.” He grazes the back of your thigh with his fingers and you flinch. You squirm and start to whine. 

“Please Akaza, I need your cock in my pussy. I can’t wait any longer.” You whimper, needy for his attention. Akaza grips your hips tightly as he pulls you back where your feet are planted in the dirt, knees resting against the ledge of the wooden platform. 

“Never imagined you’d be the one begging.” He chuckles. You wish you could see what he was doing, but you were too nervous if you glanced behind you Akaza would make you wish you hadn’t. “No need though, your pretty cunt was already begging me long before that beautiful mouth spoke.” You feel a warm hand spread your legs apart and then something pokes at your entrance. You bite back a moan as he works his tip into your folds. “I didn’t even have to warm you up YN, you’re already so wet for me.” 

“Shut up,” You groan and duck your head down in embarrassment. Akaza chuckles and thrusts deeper. A yelp sounds from you at the sudden presence of his warm cock burrowed deep inside you. 

“Did me killing that lowly demon turn you on that much?” He teases, sliding out only to slam right back into you. Moans are the only sound you can make at the moment. “You’ve always been a strange case, but for some reason, I can’t get you off my mind.” He confesses. Somehow you feel slightly insulted by his wording. 

“I-I just missed you.” You manage to reply. Akaza pauses for a beat before his grip on your hips tightens. 

“Fuck…” He hisses, pounding into you at incredible speed. The floorboards are creaking as your moans echo throughout your house. 

“Akaza, Akaza, oh my-shit,” You bite down on your finger, but Akaza slams into you.

“Uh uh uh sweetheart. Remember that promise you made? I want you to scream my name.” He pulls your arms behind your back then he rams his cock into you, the slapping noises and both of your moans filling the room. 

“T-too much, ngh,” You plead, he was too good at pleasuring you. More than you thought possible. Your eyes squeeze shut as Akaza reaches around with his free hand to play with your clit. “A-Ak-Akaza!” You cry out, voice shaking so much it cracks into a whine as Akaza slams deep into you and stays there. Your walls flutter around his cock as you see stars from straining so much. A shuddering waterfall of your climax causes your knees to buckle from underneath you. Akaza curls his arm around you and gently lays you on the ground. He pulls out of you and you hear the shuffling of clothes being pulled back on. Then quiet. You don’t have the energy to look up from where you lay on the floor. You were so close to your bed, yet too far. You could totally sleep here, it was fine. Suddenly the house feels like it’s buzzing as a warmth returns. 

“I stole cloth from some laundry and wet it at the stream. Here, let me clean you up.” Akaza moves your yukata out of the way and dabs the wet cloth against your folds. You hum in satisfaction with how wonderful it feels. “I’m finished.” Akaza alerts. You wonder if he’s about to leave again, but you feel his arms underneath you. He lifts you up and sets you down on your mattress. You sprawl out comfortably under your blankets. He lays down on his side with his head propped up by his elbow on the wooden floor. You lift up your blankets sleepily and beckon Akaza to join you. He smirks and shifts under them. 

“You killing that demon was pretty hot.” You mumble as you drift off to sleep. The last thing you hear is Akaza chuckle the warm way he does as you cuddle into his chest. 

[swlyf-24]

My garden still remembers your roots

"No, no, no. No, no, wake up. Please. Wake up, or hold onto my hands, please just give me a sign that you're still awake. Please…" Logan broke off into a sob, his fingers clumsily grasping at Oscar's fingers. It felt cold, colder than it should be. Tears cascaded down as he interlocked the limp hand against his. Blood stained Oscar's helmet, brandishing it in its iconic ruby red instead of that striking orange. "Please Oscar, would you just wake up?" Logan begged. He would fight tooth and nail, he would die for Oscar to wake up again. For Oscar to pursue the dream that they have been whispering to each other since young. The marshals came running over, trying ,without force, to pry Logan's fingers out of Oscar's. 

"Please cooperate Mr Sargeant, we ensure that Mr Piastri is in safe hands. Please let go." Let go. Let go? Sobs wracked Logan's body once more, corrupting his mind into those actions of toddlers, stumbling and crying. The paddock was silent. The drivers only stared at the scene on the screen, holding in their breaths. Logan sat on the gravel, his blood stained gloves buried under the pile of rocks. His heart sung out a melody, a song yearning for the hand to hold his once more, to feel the warmth against his skin. Oscar was the one that usually ran hot, so why was his embrace cold? 

"We'll become drivers in the top teams, and we'll race against each other. We'll both win at least a WDC and we'll be together to celebrate it. Promise?" Oscar used to whisper as if it was a secret of the government. He held out his pinky, awaiting for a response. "Promise." Logan hooked their fingers together. Like a tree amidst a garden, its roots initiated an eternal dance with the soil. 

That tree was soon uprooted, its roots ripped away from the soil leaving a gap. A gap that no roots could ever fill. "I'm sorry Mr Sargeant, your friend did not make it. I-" the doctor was dressed too pristine. Why wasn't his white coat stained with blood? Did they even attempt to save Oscar? Or was it by first glance that they could tell that he died on impact? Death is a cruel word. 5 letters couldn't contain the weight it carried. People using it as they wish, uncaring of the grief that it held from everyone. 

If Logan could plant that seed into the soil once more, caring it with more love, then perhaps it would flourish. 

The brown locks strung Logans heart like a guitar. It sung out for the boy in the kart, hoping to lure it near. "Hey!" An Australian accented voice shouted out, a hand tugging onto Logan's sleeve. "Oscar?" he muttered out, his mind working overtime. "How'd you know my name…Nevermind that. What's your name?" Perhaps he could replant the tree, shielding it from the horrors of the pouring rain and weather. 

"No, no, no. No, no, wake up. Please. Wake up, or hold onto my hands, please just give me a sign that you're still awake. Please…" Logan broke off into a sob, his fingers clumsily grasping at Oscar's fingers. It felt cold, colder than it should be. It happened again. A loop. Logan knew how it was going to play out, the moment etched into his mind. He died from impact, and all he was holding onto was a lifeless body of a promise that they made. "Did you give up on that promise already?" Logan laughed out, the striking difference from the quiet paddock. "I tried to save you, you know? I tried that if I was in Mclaren this time as your teammate, you would be alive."

Logan was on that track once more. Oscar took a step out of the kart as a glint coated his brown eyes. Logan had a pocketful of the seeds, he could always replant them. 

So Logan tried. He tried every loop to save Oscar's life. But it always ended up the same way it did. The soil was dying, sick and tired of waiting for the tree to be replanted over and over.

Oscar stepped out of the kart, his eyes glancing everywhere in search for someone. When he saw Logan, his eyes lit up, bright enough to light up a skyscraper. He jumped across the asphalt, ready to pounce onto the blonde boy. But he walked away, the moment he saw Oscar walking towards him. The boy had walked away.

It worked. The race where Oscar was supposed to meet his end, it didn't happen. Even if it was at the expense of Oscar ever meeting Logan, Logan didn't mind if it meant Oscar was alive. He didn't mind.

He didn't mind when he saw Oscar getting closer and closer to Lando instead, leaving him behind in the dust. Leaving him behind in the karting track, nudging his sole against the asphalt as he awaited for a boy to talk to him again. Perhaps it wasn't the tree's fault, perhaps it was the soil. The whispered promises gone, filled with a promise of forever being team mates instead.

[rainroses45]

Only for you, my love

(Neteyam x fem. Metkayina Reader)

☾description: Neteyam and you go onto the ship to go save Tuk but things take a twist

☾a/n: this may be a two part story, im not sure yet <3 warning: mentions of blood

☾song inspiration: we know what you whisper

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Bullets flew past you in swarms. The crashing of the waves was shunned out by screams. The blood spatter imprinted the metal walls leaving behind an unusual work of art. Every shake of the ship caused you to believe it would tumble over and eat you alive.

Neteyam ran with you, shielding your body with his as you ran towards the middle of the ship. Your bow carried in your hand seemed heavier than before as you took down some of the sky people. War cries were let out as the pile of dead bodies grew. No mercy was spared in the water, it was either be killed or drowned by the wrath of the mother ocean.

“Y/n you need to head to the back of ship and find Tuk.” Neteyam directed you as he slit a sky person’s throat. His blood oozed out of him like everlasting rivers. The smell of metal burned your nostrils. You looked away from the body, turning back to face Neteyam who was already heading away from you.

“Where are you going?!” You yelled back quickly grabbing an arrow and shooting it at the creature heading towards you. The arrow landed itself on the chest of the victim causing him to spasm in short lived gasps.

“I need to go find Lo’ak and Kiri,” he responded back, stabbing another man in the gut. This time the blood gushed out in a blob of mush. You wanted to puke at the sight. Neteyam pulled out his knife from the man and let the red liquid stain his innocent hands.

“Promise me you will be careful,” you looked at him with worried eyes. If he died you wouldn’t know what you would do. Yes, you both barely met a couple weeks ago, but the feeling of living without him, pained you deeply. To live without his smile, was to mean you would never see the sun again. To live without his laugh, would mean your heart song would cease to exist. To live without his warmth, would mean you would never be balanced again. It was out of the question on whether he lives or not.

“I will my love, as long as you promise the same,” you nodded back at him taking off to the back in a hurry. Some of the ship’s walls curved inwards, falling onto the loose iron beams, leaving you to duck down and crawl carefully through the maze.

It seemed like the sky people were cloning after every death. After defeating two of them, four appear out of the blue, then six, then eight, it was a never ending cycle. You were starting to grow tired and low on arrows. Every punch took every ounce of energy you had left, leaving your lethargic body vulnerable, but you had to continue on.

“Tuk!” You screamed out to the abandoned area. Most of the people here were dead, their oxygen masks laid shattered on the ground next to them. You didn’t feel any remorse for them, it was their fault and only theirs.

“Tuk!” You continued to scream out still staying on guard for any unexpected visitors. Water began to rise and spread across the floor. Its blue trail guided you towards a secluded area where lite sobs were heard.

“Tuk, tuk is that you,” you shouted it out keeping your bow loaded incase it was false. Slowly, stepping closer to the dark abyss you saw the young child chained up to a metal pole.

“Y/n is that you?” She called out, even in the dark her bright yellow eyes glimmered with hope. Quickly, you bent the metal pipes causing the physical boundary between you both to be destroyed. Water rushed in, flooding the small child in its hold.

“I got you sweetheart,” you said to Tuk trying to comfort her as the water began to rise. The orange straps were tied tightly around her wrist, not wanting to hurt her, you grabbed you knife and began to saw away the tough fabric.

“Hurry Y/n the water is rising,” your hands began to shake at the reminder, finally you got the restraints off of her and picked her up into your arms.

“Come on Tuk we have to find your siblings.” You stated hurtling yourself and her through the opposing tide. Tuk gasped as the water hit her face, you swiped your hand softly across her face getting rid of the water.

“Neteyam!” You yelled out, the quietness of it all made you panic. Only the crashing waves could be heard throughout the ship. Tuk’s tight hold on you was strong, her nails dug into your skin drawing blood. You preferred she do that than get drifted away again.

“Neteyam! Lo’ak! Kiri!” You screamed out, grabbing Tuk’s head you told her to count to three. Both of took a deep breath before swimming through the sharp maze. You did most of the swimming since you were the more experienced than Tuk, and you didn’t want her to get lost.

You nodded at Tuk, swimming back up to see the sun has already settled, leaving you behind with the goddess of the night.

The both of you were about to exit the ship and swim to high ground when someone grabbed you from behind. You released Tuk, pushing her away from you quickly. The stench of his caused you to panic. How could you be so careless and forget about your surroundings?

“Run along now little Sully,” he ordered softly smiling at her. Her eyes opened in fear looking back at you. His hands tightly held your neck and hands making you defenseless. You mouthed to Tuk to go and get help, she nodded swimming away in a hurry.

“What do you want?” You groaned as he twisted your hands. He let out laugh throwing your bow to the side while still keeping a hand on your throat.

“It’s nothing personal sweetheart, I just need some leverage here, you understand right?” Quaritch said with smile, he pulled me to the corner of ship hiding me in the shadows as we waited for the Sullys.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“Mama!” Tuk yelled as she swam towards a near by rock. All her family members huddled together in exhaustion.

Neteyam turned around search for Y/n. He kept looking around hoping she would pop up from the water and greet them with victory, but she never showed up.

“Tuk where is Y/n?” Jake asked as he saw the panic on his son’s face. Everyone began to worry about the missing girl.

“She was kidnapped.” Tuk stated with tears began to fall from her eyes. The child began to blame herself for you getting captured by Quaritch.

“It is not your fault my sweet daughter,” Neytiri tried soothing her child, her anger blossomed at the thought of you being hurt. During their stay at the Metkayina tribes home, you were one of the only people who welcomed them with warm arms. You and Tsireya were there to teach them on how to adapt to their ways and teaching.

“I’m going,” Neteyam told his family as he climbed off the rock and began to swim towards the almost sunken ship.

“Son, we need to form a plan we can’t just charge in there and open fire.” He advised his son who just kept swimming towards the ship ignoring his family’s pleas.

“I guess we are just going open fire.” Lo’ak smiled as swam towards his brother.

Here goes nothing, this was for Y/n.