#the wiked and the divine

[nubsneos]

Demonic:

daí/daím/daímon/daímonis/daímself or daímonios - from demon

bhágah/bhágam/bhágāya/bhágasya/bhágaelf or bháge - from demon

wik/wike/wikke/wikked/wikself or wicker - from wicked

sund/sundī/sunde/sundia/sunself or sinner - from sin

syn/senvul/symfol/sunful/synself or synne - from sinful

fel/fele/faluz/feluzi/felself or felony - from evil

vil/vile/vilus/vilior/vilself or vilissimus - from vile

saa/sata/sadon/saatdan/satself or satanic - from satan

adv/adver/adversi/adversus/advself or adversary

vil/vile/vilein/villain/vileself or villainous - from villain

faal/fala/faell/faelen/falself or fallana - from fallen

heo/heort/heortleas/heortleasum/heoself or heortleases - from heartless

gast/gaest/geist/gaistaz/gastself or gastlic - from spirit

sal/sawol/saiwal/saiwalu/sawself or saiwoloz - from soul

beel/beelze/bezel/beelzeb/beelself or beelzebub - from Beelzebub

bel/beli/belia/belial/belself or beliar - from Belial

beh/beha/beham/behamoth/behself - from Behamoth

aes/aesemo/aesema/aesemi/aeself or aesemahli - from Asmodeus

hey/heysh/hiyesh/hiyeshti/heyself or hiyeshenti - from Asmodeus

aes/aesmo/asmode/asmodeus/aesself or asmoself - from Asmodeus

dye/dyew/dyewos/dyewos/dyeself or dyewoso - from demon, God

dei/deitie/deity/deities/deiself or deitieself - from deity

div/divin/divine/divinity/divself or divinities - from divine

[themaidenczar]

Me to the universe: use me for divine will for God’s sake just give me a purpose!!!!

Me being granted a divine purpose: okay, sure, but hear me out……. i actually dont wike this 😟

[musicislife1396]

November-December 2018 Wrap Up

November-December 2018 Wrap Up

The end of 2018 was pretty tough for me. I had a lot of work and also a lot of personal things going on. So I didn’t get to read as much as I would have liked. I still managed to finish 8 books in the final two months of the year, which is not too bad.

Before They Are Hanged by Joe Abercrombie

This is the sequel to The Blade Itselfwhich I read earlier in the year and still haven’t reviewed.…

[cinnaminsvga]

Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font. 

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious. 

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie​ because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

[haisley]

There’s a lot of SBI AUs and fics where 3/4s of SBI are decidedly not human and very powerful and the last one is a normal human and this is usually tommy.

But like where are the AUs and Fics where Phil, Wilbur, and Techno are all very much normal humans and little Tommy is an all powerful reincarnation of god that decided to play as a human child to see what it was like for a while and like learn/develop or something so it’s just these three humans that end up raising a little boy with insane amounts of divine power and they discover this when something very very bad happens and Tommy just goes ‘no I don’t wike that’ and stomps his little foot and the problem is magically fixed to the bewilderment of everyone.

Bonus points if Tommy’s influence causes the others to be seen as divine/magic/not human i.e Technoblade never dies, angel of death, etcetera

[cashewally-sarcastic]

Hey I’ve made a curse!

This is dedicated to @echoing-sounds <3

Also I’m tagging @hyrule-kingdom-updates because I ain’t no coward and I want Quill to see the masterpiece I destroyed

Oh Goddess Hywia, heaw my pwayew. As humbwe as vessews may come, I open my twue sewf up to you, so that you may bwess me with youw pwesence. Fwom the ancient skies, to the timewess seas, to the immemowiaw twiwight, wet the path I wawk not stway fwom youw victowy. May youw smiwe be a wefwection of mine own on these watews.

…

Pwease.

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…

…

…

…

…A thus stawts the houw of connection.

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…

I’m supposed to be you, am I not? So, if I wewe you, which I am as we just estabwished, I wouwd…speak, a bit mowe. A yes ow no answew wiww do.

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Ok, not a “yes ow no”, an expwanation wouwd be appweciated as weww.

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…Youw Gwace.

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Sowwy, even aftew aww this time, I don’t know what to caww you. Ow…me. Ow…anything.

My fathew says just “Goddess” wiww do, ow “Youw Gwace,” but…weww, I don’t know. It feews weiwd. Fow one, whenevew peopwe say “Youw Gwace,” I associate it with…peopwe. Thewe’s a face behind it. Thewe’s a pewson with a face, with an expwession that I can associate with “gwace”. “Hewwo thewe, you awe gwacing me with youw pwesence.”

…

Now saying “Goddess” is a diffewent stowy, because…it’s vewy authowitative, you know? A god, divine being. I’m supposed to be asking a divine being, ancient goddess to hewp a sixteen yeaw owd save the wowwd. How absuwd does that sound…why shouwd I have to ask you in the fiwst pwace? Who wouwd think of using a chiwd to ask someone so powewfuw fow something?

Ow…ask *me* I suppose.

…

I don’t feew vewy authowitative.

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But, I wespect my fathew, I wove my fathew. I’ve twusted his wowd fow so wong. Hoping...pwaying...that it wouwd be enough.

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Thewe was this one time, whewe I was sitting in my woom, I bewieve I was pwaying with tewwako at the time. Mw. Astow wouwd come in, compwiment the new featuwes. Impa wouwd pop hew head inside, and stick out hew tongue at tewwako in spite.

Then my fathew, he wouwd come inside, see what I was doing, and say nothing. Say nothing and shake his head.

…

One day, I needed a new spwing, and Zawis wasn’t awound. He is usuawwy the one that finds me things. So, i decided to take the wisk that day. I said, “Fathew? Couwd you ask if anyone has a smaww spwing?”

He just waised an eyebwow. “And what do you intend to do with it?”

I answewed honestwy, “Pway with tewwako!” and...he just wawked away.

That night, I tended to tewwako as best I couwd. But he was stiww a bit bwoken. But I managed.

Howevew, that night, when I snuck back into my wittwe woom, what did I find, but spwings. Not just one, ow two, but sevewaw. A whowe piwe of them sitting on my bed.

Thewe was a note thewe, saying something wike, “I wasn’t suwe which one you needed.”

And that night, I smiwed to mysewf as I fixed up tewwako.

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That’s a nice stowy, wight?

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It’s not weaw.

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That’s a stowy I wish I had. I wish I had mowe stowies...mowe...somethings, to justify evewything. Like in faiwy tawes. Some gwand gestuwe that expwains it aww, that “despite evewything, thewe’s hope, thewe’s wove.”

But I don’t have that. I’m not wiving in a faiwy tawe, am I?

Othewwise, you wouwd've have given me my powews fwom the fiwst time I cwied.

Yeaws ago…

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That’s not to say that my fathew doesn’t wove me. I know he does, I know he is doing this fow the gweatew good. Yet...I’ve nevew seen it. I’ve nevew seen the action, the wawk that goes being twadition and duty. He’s awways stayed in his pwace.

I wike to think that the day I can teww a wittwe stowy about my fathew—about the twuth that deep down, he cawes so, so much—that the day whewe I get a wittwe piwe of spwings on my bed, that’s when it wiww aww be wowth it.

But I know that’s not twue.

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I’m not saying the gwand gestuwe is impossibwe, mind you. I’m just saying...it wiww nevew be wowth it.

I don't cawe about “deep down” anymowe. I don’t cawe about the subtweties and the cowawdice. I just want to see something now. Something consistent, something twuwy, twuwy thewe. One gestuwe isn’t enough…

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Goddess, why won’t you gwant me my powew?

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I used to sneak into the wibwawy with my mothew. I don’t wemembew hew face, but I wemembew the smeww. The touch of hew siwky dwess. We wouwd sit on this big sofa and wead about wegends of owd. Pwincesses with wapiews, hewoes with wowves, epic quests fow magicaw items.

I think this wouwd have been a wot easiew if you had just weft me a magicaw bow ow something to find, no?

…

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But it’s not just wegend, of couwse. It’s histowy. It’s fact. Evewy pwincess, evewy vessew befowe me has fuwfiwwed theiw puwpose. They have aww managed to unwock theiw divine powew. They have saved theiw peopwe, theiw fwiends, theiw woved ones.

And now the time has come fow me to continue this cycwe. Fow me to take on this towch. Fow me to wight the way.

Yet I have no idea whewe I am.

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I’ve been weft in the dawk, you undewstand? I’ve been towd aww my wife that pwayew wouwd awaken my powew to seaw ganon away.

Evewyone ewse fuwfiwws theiw duties with such gwace.

Why am I the onwy one who cannot wive up to hew own potentiaw?

What am i missing? What have I fowgotten?

I’ve spent evewyday of my wife dedicated to pwaying!

I’ve pweaded to evewy spiwit tied to the ancient gods!

Yet stiww…evewything is siwent.

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It’s not even the nice type of siwence.

…

You know he didn’t even want his destiny! He avoided it fow yeaws because it wouwd wuin his famiwy. Yet he stiww takes up his wowe with ease.

I want this! I want this so badwy! I want to save evewyone! what am I wacking?! What ewse do I need to do!?

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Wiww you just stand by? Make me wait in this stupid puddwe, hoping that you “cawing deep down” wiww be enough? Is that it?

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I know this is pwobabwy why you hate me. I know this is a pwobwem when it comes to me. I can’t wet this stuff go. I howd gwudges. I wet things festew. But i can’t hewp it! at weast when things get shitty, it’s consistent! Thewe’s a pattewn!

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It’s wike science. Thewe’s wuwes. Thewe’s tangibwe things you can see and howd. Thewe’s pattewn. Thewe’s pwedictabiwity.

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But who am I kidding. I can’t even fix up my own damn guawdian that I made mysewf. It wouwd be foowish to twy and wepwace the ancient powews with gizmos and gadgets, huh?

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You give awfuw advice, you know that?

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I have this fwiend. Heh. You pwobabwy don’t wike him vewy much, and I wouwdn’t bwame you. But I have this fwiend, and he once gave me this wine of wogic. It’s simiwaw to a pwocess of ewimination. You find what’s good, and what’s bad. Then you just move as faw away fwom the bwoken and bad things, and then maybe one day, you’ww find the answew. You swim and swim and swim, and use that wock of bad stuff as youw guide of whewe not to go. Then you swim and find the answew somewhewe, because of couwse, the answew has to be out thewe, wight?

…

But thewe’s a fwaw with his idea, that I weawize now. Something that he was pwobabwy awawe of, but negwected to teww me. Maybe to make me feew bettew, ow maybe because he was denying it himsewf.

It’s so much easiew to watch on to the wock.

It’s so much easiew to not swim at aww.

To just sit thewe, fowevew.

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Especiawwy when you’we so tiwed.

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Do you get tiwed, Goddess Hywia?

Pewhaps you’we tiwed of me, awways tawking to you?

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I’m tiwed.

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Pewhaps that’s stwange, and pitiabwe, fow a goddess wike you. Fow someone to tiwe. Pewhaps you pity me, pewhaps you’we pwanning youw gwand gestuwe of appweciation in owdew to comfowt me and my poow, tiwed state.

But I wove it.

I wove that I'm tiwed.

I wove that, aftew aww this time, I can teww you how tiwed I am.

How tiwed I am of being in this stupid dwess.

How tiwed I am, of waiting fow my fathew’s wove.

How tiwed I am, of wooking at aww my fwaws in shame.

How tiwed I am, of compawison, of twadition, of pwaying.

How tiwed I am of waiting fow some spwings on my bed…

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I’ve swam fow so wong, Goddess Hywia.

I’ve been in these watews fow so many houws, I can’t even feew my toes.

But I’m going to keep going.

I’m going to keep going without you.

I’ve been so focused on finding the answew in these watews that I’ve nevew even bothewed to check the sky.

You see thewe was this nickname my mothew gave me…

…

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Youw stone statue wooks down on me. So wawge, with beautifuw wings.

But I’m going to weave you in these watews now.

…

I’ww do this without you, if I must. I don’t cawe anymowe.

…

…

…

…

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Well?! Anything to say?!

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…

…

…

…

...Cuwse you, Goddess Hywia.

I hope you’we fwowning when you watch me fwy.

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

Its Too Hot in this Five Star Hell Hole (Javier Peña x OC)

hey all, back again! This time with a Javi fic, and the first smut i’ve written in weeeell over a decade lol. hope you all like it, lemme know what you think!

Pairing: Javier  Peña x OC Warnings: thigh riding (i am shameless), sex in a car (v. uncomfortable, i have stories), daddy kink, fingering, abuse of Oreos Rating: damn, i guess mild M? Word Count: 6046 Summary: There’s a generational gap when it comes to work attire, and Oreo cookies, and she is determined to not find the asshole sitting next to her attractive. She fails miserably.

“Murphy was right you know,” Peña remarked, legs stretched out before him, one arm hanging out of the window of his Jeep, the other draped over his lap. His fingers kept drumming rhythmically on the inside of his thigh and the action had drawn the attention of his companion for the past hour and a half. She was frustrated and wished he would stop.

“What was he right about?” she asked, deliberately looking away from the hand that had again moved closer to his crotch. She looked down at the canvas bag on the floor at her feet and shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position for what felt like the hundredth time since this stakeout had started. She saw her partner’s head turn languidly to face her out of the corner of her eye, his eyes still hidden behind those aviators that he thought were just so cool. She would never tell him that she secretly agreed. His ego was large enough already.

“You look like a college coed on spring break right now.” Peña remarked, mustache twitching up in a tiny smirk. She scowled at her beat up Converse. “I hope we don’t have to actually arrest anyone today- they’ll never believe for a second that you’re DEA.”

“Yeah, well,” she bent down to open her bag and dig around in it. “This is what happens when you call me in to an ‘emergency meeting’ on my day off.” With a quiet noise of triumph she pulled out her prize and shoved her bag further into the foot-well, before kicking her feet (with their beat up black high tops) onto the dash. Peña, still looking at his partner, was torn between staring at her mostly bare legs, now on display before him like some sort of divine offering, or staring at the package she was picking up again.

“Those are incredibly short shorts, Vic,” he finally settled on, eyes bouncing back and forth between legs that had only recently lost their northern, fish belly white color and her lap where she was eagerly tearing open familiar blue foil. “Gotta say, I’m a little surprised- now wait a minute. I have to ask. Did you seriously manage to bring a package of Oreos to this stakeout but not your work clothes?” Vic looked up at him with a grin, hand in the package of chocolate cookies and shrugged.

“Number one: I was already dressed for the day when you and Murphy called me in. This is how I dress normally. This is me. On my days off. It’s literally five thousand degrees here, you’re lucky I even put on shorts THIS long. And I managed to grab a shirt so quit your whining. Jeez, never figured you, of all people, for a prude.” Peña was about to protest multiple things that had just been tossed in his direction when she held up a hand and continued, “And number two: I had just grabbed my mail when you called, so I already had these in my bag. I didn’t make a separate stop.”

Peña blinked at her, digesting this as she pulled out a cookie.

“You got cookies in the mail?”

Vic stared intently at the Oreo in her hand as she slowly, painstakingly, twisted the two chocolate wafers in opposite directions, pulling them apart gently as she did so. Peña watched as the cookies started to come apart before the bottom one shattered and crumbled into four pieces in Vic’s hand. She swore quietly and shoved the mess she had made of it into her mouth and pulled out another one. She examined it closely, twisting and turning it, looking for any cracks or blemishes in the wafer as she chewed quickly. Swallowing, she replied,

“You can sometimes, and I mean rarely, find Oreos down here. They’re normally stale and broken and they generally cost about as much as Escobar makes in a day.” She held a cookie in the palm of her hand and turned to face her partner, offering it to him. He raised an eyebrow at it and took it slowly. She grabbed another from the package and repeated her examination as she continued, “But you can NEVER find the double stuffed ones. So my brother ships them to me. These are mana from heaven, better than any coke, better than any sex you’ve ever had. Honestly, if given the choice between most cocks in the world and a couple double stuffed Oreos, I would take the Oreos no question.” Peña snorted and both eyebrows shot up this time.

“Oh really?”

She smiled at the cookie in her hand, having found no weaknesses that might hinder her mission.

“A dick can be replaced by quite a few things. A real life, fresh, Oreo cookie is one of a kind.” Peña shook his head at her, cookie still in between his fingers.

“Clearly you haven’t met the right cocks.” Vic attempted to pull apart the cookie the same way she had before, with the same results. With an annoyed huff she ate it whole again.

“Wha,” she mumbled around the cookie in her mouth, searching the package for a likely candidate. “You offawin’?” He smiled, twirling his cookie around.

“Maybe after you swallow that thing.” Vic flipped him off. “And that’s my shirt, just to be fair, not yours.” He gestured with the Oreo at the overly large blue button down Vic wore, tails tied at her waist, sleeves rolled up, to hide how comically big it was on her. She looked away from the cookies and down at herself, plucking at the front of it.

“The shirt I have under it is mine.”

“And also especially inappropriate for a meeting with the American ambassador to Columbia.”

Vic rolled her eyes and returned to her mission.

“Whatever. Again, it’s a million degrees here, and the humidity is twelve thousand percent, I’m ripping the sleeves off of every tee shirt I own, Springsteen or no.” Peña was about to take a bite out of the cookie he had taken from her when she gasped, horrified, and yanked his hand away from his mouth. He startled, looking around at the street they were supposed to be watching. He didn’t see anything and was about to tell her so when he turned and saw her glaring at him, holding the cookie up and shaking it at his face accusingly.

“You don’t take a bite out of an Oreo! Don’t you know how to eat a fucking cookie?!” He stared at her, blinking slowly.

“What.” Vic rolled her eyes before quickly yanking the two halves of the Oreo apart and holding up the half that had retained most of the cream, pointing at it with her pinky.

“Cream first! Then cookie! God, how old are you.”

She proceeded to demonstrate and Peña felt his mouth go dry and a bead of sweat slip slowly down his back. With one long steady lick, followed by a few quick hard ones, Vic cleaned the cream off of one wafer before moving to its counterpart and repeating the process. She finished with a smile and a loud smack of her lips, twisting her head to clean off the side of her hand where some of it had smeared. She was about to lean back in her seat before her eyes caught on his hand and she grabbed it, yanking it closer to her mouth.

Peña saw clearly what was about to happen and really did try to protest, but before he could get more than a grunt out, Vic had the end of his index finger in her mouth and he felt her tongue wrap around it, sucking gently. He watched, his breath caught in his throat, as she drew back with a quiet popping noise and released his hand, now clean of any evidence of Oreos. He cleared his throat, still staring, as she stuck the two halves back together and popped the whole thing in her mouth.

“Wike tha,” she said, mouth full, hands reaching again for the package on her lap. She offered it to him with a little shake and smiled when he took one. She turned back to the street before them as he continued to watch her, the new cookie held absently on his lap.

Well that was an unfortunate reaction, he thought to himself, a little surprised at how much he had enjoyed watching the younger woman demonstrate how to eat a cookie like a toddler. That was just obscene- he reached down and tried to stretch out the denim over his crotch. No, not obscene, Peña, you’re just a dirty old man who needs to calm down and get back to work. He shook his head and ate the whole cookie before she could take it from him and do that again.

Next to him Victoria Eugenia Flanagan was panicking quietly, staring determinedly out the window, pretending that she had not just done what she had, in fact, just done. We fucking talked about this, Victoria, she berated herself silently, not seeing anything in front of her. He is your partner, and he’s a slut, you can’t ruin that relationship and you don’t want the clap. Vic sighed heavily and bent down to stow the Oreos back in her bag. Hands to yourself. That was the deal you fucking moron.

They sat in silence for a couple minutes, silence that wasn’t exactly awkward, but definitely not in the realm of completely comfortable either. Peña reached behind his seat and pulled an olive green canteen into his lap, unscrewing the top and smacking her arm with it gently. She shot him a brief smile as she took it, grimacing at the warm metal taste of the water and handing it back. She heard him drinking but dug her nails into her own palm to remind herself that turning around to watch his Adam’s Apple bob slowly as he swallowed was counterproductive to her new goal of forgetting that she had ever deeply and passionately desired to ride Javier Peña hard and put him away still dripping. Not as tall as Murphy, smokes too much, drinks too much, flirts too much, breaks too many rules, wears stupid boots, sleeps with too many hookers, Vic tried listing out everything that should be a barrier to her actually leaning over and sticking her hand down her partner’s pants, but the silence was beginning to become oppressive and it was just so hot in this car and this was supposed to be her day off and she hadn’t had any company but her own hands since she came to Columbia five months ago and-

“What do you miss most about the states?” The question was out of her mouth before she even realized it, and she still wasn’t looking at him. “I miss The Golden Girls. Damn that’s a funny show.” She was going to take her gun out of the holster under her arm and shoot herself in the foot when she eventually got back to her apartment. That would be less humiliating then what she just allowed to come spilling out of her dumb mouth.

“Excuse me?” Peña asked after a few moments of silence as Vic contemplated how long it would take her to physically run the distance back to New York City and never have to look him in the eyes ever again.

“You know,” Oh god she was still talking. There were more words coming out of her mouth right this second and she could not seem to make them stop. “The Golden Girls. The TV show?”

“Was that the one with Beatrice Arthur?”

“Yes! That one! With the old ladies and being retired in Miami and stuff?” Vic couldn’t help it anymore. She had to. She couldn’t just sit here and not for however many more hours they were stuck here. She turned back around in her seat, legs twisting on the dash and faced her partner with a smile. Peña made no attempt to hide the fact that his eyes raked over her, from bare legs, all the way up her body to where both her tee shirt and his dress shirt had ridden up with her twisting about, exposing a not insignificant section of soft skin that hadn’t yet lost its paleness. Vic knew where his eyes had gone, his sunglasses were not that opaque, and she knew that the professional, responsible thing to do would be to yank her shirt down and cover her stomach back up. But the sun felt nice on her skin for now, until it started burning, and she liked that he was staring. She liked that he noticed that she was a woman. That just because she shot a gun and swore and drank beer with him and Murphy didn’t mean she wasn’t subject to the same whims and urges as other women. And apparently the deep seated desire to destroy her fucking career over an emotionally unavailable asshole with a great ass. If that isn’t the height of femininity I don’t know what the fuck is. But this is fine. This is still flirting. Kind of. Mostly.

“I uh-“ Peña cleared his throat, eyes roving slowly from exposed stomach, across breasts and up to her face. He smiled that crooked smile that sent the secretaries a-twitter and leaned further back into his seat, fingers scratching at the steering wheel in front of him. “I’ve only caught a few episodes of that. It wasn’t on for very long before I shipped down here from Texas.”

“You’re definitely a Dorothy,” Vic declared, grin widening as one of his eyebrows appeared over his glasses. “Oh you so are. You’re sarcastic, you’re smart, and you so heroically bear the burden of tolerating Steve and I. Even though most of the time you want to strangle your two gringo partners.” Peña made a thoughtful noise, hand that wasn’t at the wheel coming up to scratch at his mustache.

“Alright fine, who’s Murphy then?” Vic drummed her fingers on her stomach, unintentionally drawing his attention this time. This was better, if she had something to occupy her brain and her mouth she was less likely to offer to suck her partner’s cock and ruin her life.

“Rose. Blonde, a little simple, big hearted, and incapable of keeping his mouth shut,” she replied with a grin, and then laughed as she imagined what Steve Murphy would look like if she ever said that to his face. Peña smiled with her.

Vic thought that that might be the end of that and was a little relieved that nothing too terrible had happened as a result of her inability to just sit still and ignore her unfortunate attraction to the asshole next to her. She had kept her hands to herself this time. She hadn’t said anything ridiculous, she hadn’t thrown herself at him, this was fine.

“So does that make you Blanche by default?” Peña asked quietly, smile shifting into an expression she had seen him use to get forms stamped and women of all walks of life to remove their panties faster.

Turns out it was not fine.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she tried to hedge, sliding her legs off the dash. “I wouldn’t really call myself a Blanche.”

“I would,” Peña countered.

“You calling me a slut, pal? Because I live directly above you, and I’m not sure I can count high enough to put a number to your bed partners this month,” she tried to tease, hoping to get him off the subject of her and on to the subject of whatever local prostitutes he’d managed to lure in with promises of American visas in exchange for information.

“You jealous, Vic? Cause I can always make room for a friend.” Vic snapped her mouth shut, hard, on the nearly instant assent that wanted to come out. She took a few seconds to breathe before countering,

“You couldn’t afford me, Peña. I expect at least breakfast the next morning; some money from Uncle Sam just wouldn’t cut it.” The grin he favored her with was nearly savage in its intensity and she just knew that this game was going to end  with her on her back if she didn’t regain a little more control over this situation. She was starting to ask herself why she bothered to try and stop such an inevitability. They were adults, weren’t they? This didn’t necessarily have to be bad. Right?

He shifted closer, leaning over the gear shift and she heard him draw a breath to say something.

“Fucking hell, look,” he ordered, all business again. Vic turned her head and looked out the window, not seeing anything other than a few mothers with strollers, an old man shuffling in front of an apartment building, and a group of kids playing soccer in the street.

“I don’t…” she shook her head and looked over her shoulder at him, shrugging.

“Right there, behind those kids. The other kids.” Peña pointed over her shoulder and huffed angrily when she shook her head again. He continued to point as he leaned even further into her space.

This was very much not fine.

He smelled like sweat and cigarettes and cologne and that man smell that she was pretty sure was just him. The smell that used to get under her skin and itch and irritate- a sliver of a smell, she could get used to it if she held perfectly still and thought really hard about something else but the second she lost her concentration and jostled it pain and the knowledge that it was still burrowed under her nail went shooting up her spinal cord and into her brain. She hated that smell. She hated what that smell did to her. She hated that she sometimes caught whifs of individual components of that smell on other people, on the wind, in a room and her eyes started searching for him. She hated that after a shootout that smell smothered her twitching nerves and calmed her down. She hated that after seeing another informant turn up dead, body mangled, that smell soothed her long enough for her to get herself under control again. She hated the smile that smell brought to her lips. She hated the heat that smell sent to her insides, the tingling between her legs, the fluttering of her walls.

She hated that she couldn’t even lie to herself. She loved every single one of those things.

This heat had betrayed her for the very last time. This was the last straw, as soon as they caught Escobar she was requesting a transfer to anywhere where it snowed all year round. They had drugs in Canada, right? She spoke French. Canada would be fine.

She had thrown her long hair into a bun this morning to keep it off her neck and to keep it from suffocating her and she had never regretted any decision she had ever made in her life quite as much as she did that one. If she was being honest with herself, and damn this was becoming a habit that she hoped she never indulged in ever again after today, the only reason she hadn’t melted into a puddle of whimpering, overstimulated DEA agent in front of him as soon as his large, rough hand came into contact with the back of her neck, squeezing almost as hard as she wanted it too, was because his other hand was holding her head up by her chin, tilting her face in the direction he wanted her to look. She had no reservations in her mind that she was in control of most of her body and her body’s reactions any longer. Vic was now completely just along for whatever ride her lady parts decided to take with him pressed up entirely too close behind her. Close enough that every time she breathed her shoulder brushed his chest. Every time he breathed she felt it disturb the strands of hair that had begun to escape the confines of her hair tie.

One of those breaths sent a shiver through her entire body and Vic’s eyes rolled a little back into her head. One fist clenched her knee and the other dug into the grey seat underneath her. Every single one of those reactions was noticed and cataloged behind bronze aviators by two dark brown eyes. And Peña tightened the hold he had on the back of her neck.

“Those kids are watching the street and using that radio to let Escobar know which cops are patrolling where. Just like Murphy said they were,” he said quietly, still not relinquishing his hold on her. Even though they had gotten what they had come here for. They could go back to the embassy and tell Murphy he was right. They could plan how to either get around this new roadblock or work with it.

He still was not letting go. And Vic still was not asking him to.

Fuck. Everything.

He squeezed again, gently, rubbing his fingers over the soft skin at the sides of her neck and Vic gasped, hands spasming from their positions of relative safety.

“Tell me to stop, Victoria,” Peña ordered quietly, voice rumbling through her and flowing over her ears from where his mouth was too close to the side of her head. “Tell me to stop right now and we can pretend this never happened and go back to where we were before.” His other hand left her chin and caressed down the front of her neck to her chest, slipping beneath the buttons of her button down and palming her breast through her tee shirt.

She should say stop. She knew this was a terrible idea, if anyone found out she would lose any respect she may have managed to earn for herself from her male colleagues. He would, too. He would stop and he wouldn’t make a big thing of it, they could leave and she could go home and take care of the problem that was staring to soak her panties by herself, as usual, no harm done.

He managed to find a nipple through both tee shirt and bra and pinched gently and that was that.

“I swear to god, Javier Peña, if you stop right now I will murder you in your sleep.”

He tugged her back into him by the grip he still had on the back of her neck and she looked up at him as he pulled his sunglasses off, tossed them on the dashboard, and leant down to kiss her.

His lips were soft. That surprised her, considering everything about the man screamed hard-ass. His mustache tickled her bottom lip as she continued kissing him from this frankly terrible angle, but she didn’t care that her neck was getting sore or that the gear shift was digging into her lower back. Peña held her in place, one hand on her neck, the other leaving her breasts to first deftly unbutton and then untie her shirt, finally burrowing under her tee shirt. She gasped into his mouth, one hand leaving the seat where she had braced herself to come up to the side of his face as his bare hand settled onto her stomach and petted gently.

He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and her other hand left the seat to hang onto the wrist draped across her, feeling the tendons and muscles contract and relax under his skin as he stroked her, before he finally backed off slightly to allow her to catch her breath, his teeth nipping at her lips as he retreated. He met her green eyes with his, their brown depths somehow darker, and he grinned.

“Those really are some fine tasting cookies.” Vic stared up at him, panting gently, for a few seconds before his words made it past her ears and into her brain. She glared up at him and struggled to sit back up, abdominal muscles clenching under the hand that was still under her shirt.

“You’re an asshole. And you taste like cigarettes.” He was still smiling as she turned all the way around in her seat to face him fully, his hands slipping off of her and landing in her lap where he wasted no time in wrapping them around her waist.

“Good thing I've noticed you like my cigarettes.” She sniffed and looked over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vic yelped suddenly, grabbing his arms as he took the opportunity to drag her across the car, hindered briefly by both of her legs and the gear shift, getting a knee to the stomach, and finally into his lap. And what a mighty fine lap it was. Vic settled herself onto his thigh, legs folded along side his own, and watched his chest as he breathed, mostly bared thanks to his habit of only buttoning about half of his shirt buttons. She reached up to run her fingers over his neck like she had dreamed of doing pretty much since she had met him.

Or rather, she tried to reach him. She felt the now loose tail of her button down get caught between her seat and the shifter, preventing her from wrapping her arms around his neck. She yanked a few times, before slumping back onto his leg.

“A little help here?”

Peña slid his hands up her back under the shirt and tugged, freeing the pale blue fabric before helping her out of it completely, tossing it onto the back seat behind them. Vic, finally liberated, dove for his lips again, one hand at the side of his long neck, the other tangling in his dark hair. Peña groaned into the kiss, his hands on her ass, squeezing and trying to shift her closer to his body. Vic complied, moving her lips across his face to his ear, and moaning softly when her shuffling put her clit in direct contact with what had to be an uncomfortable erection in Javi’s very very tight jeans. She rutted against him, enjoying his hands on her ass, moving her steadily, his quiet grunts in her ear as she did so, and most of all the feeling of his cock rubbing against her, warm and large through his pants.

“Javi, baby, please,” she gasped, nose tuning into his cheek as he thrust up against her as he brought her down against him. “Javi-” she was sweating in this monster of a truck, and she could feel him breathing hard under her. Vic tried to sit up and slide further back on his leg only to find her back pressed against the steering wheel. She wriggled around, elbow knocking into the car door, trying to find a more comfortable way to seat herself.

“This is a terrible fucking place-” she gasped as he flexed the thigh under her. “To do this, Javi.” Peña’s hands halted her squirming and he asked,

“You want to stop?” She shivered as he rocked her harder onto his leg, her back still pressed against the leather and metal of the steering column.

“That is definitely not what I was getting at.” He ‘hmmed’ and she leant back down for another taste of the cigarettes he had chain smoked during their search for Escobar’s juvenile informants.

She broke away from him and stilled, looking down at his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks. She began unbuttoning the rest of his buttons and Peña watched her, hands still holding on, rubbing and caressing her through her shorts as she worked. Finally able to open his shirt all the way, she dragged her hands down from his pecs down his sternum, and down to his stomach. She kneaded the slight paunch she had uncovered, leaning down again to kiss him, getting used to the scratchy brush of his mustache. She loved the evidence of his older, slower metabolism too often exposed to too much beer and tequila. It softened him up a little, fueled her dreams of cuddling with him on her couch after he had fucked the living daylights out of her. Mostly she just loved the soft skin contrasting with the coarse dark hair that started below his belly button and trailed down beyond the waistband of his pants.

Javi grumbled into the kiss as she grabbed a gentle handful of his tummy fat and rocked herself forward on his thigh. Her movements stuttered as the seam of her shorts rubbed directly over her clit and she cried out softly.

“Fuck girl, that’s it, just like that,” Peña encouraged, hands still guiding her movements, back and forth, head thrown back as her fingers kept digging into his stomach. He pulled her closer so he could lean his forehead against hers and one of his hands made its way to the front of her pants. He kissed her roughly as she stopped moving entirely, distracted, trying to undo his belt without looking. His fingers were deft however, and made quick work of both the button and zipper of her cutoffs, sliding into her panties, and finding their way to her now soaking slit.

Vic whined as he traced two fingers up and down her folds, never stopping long enough anywhere to be truly satisfying.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Peña asked softly, voice low, eyes dark. “What do you need?” Vic shifted her hips, bumping into the shifter, chasing his fingers, trying to get them back to literally anywhere at this point. “All you have to do is ask, I’m right here, ready and willing.” His lips found hers again as his fingers continued to stroke, and she felt like she was going to pass out, trying to breathe through both sensations.

“Javi, please, you have to,” she broke off to try and grab his hand to move it where she wanted it. He resisted. “Javi, please! More!”

“More what?” Her eyes found his and she shouldn't have been turned on by the hard look in them but damn, she loved in control Javier Peña, she didn’t care what that said about any latent kinks she might need to explore later.

“Daddy, please, I’ve gotta cum before we go back to base, you have to- '' her voice failed her as her brain caught up with the words tumbling out of her, that was not supposed to pop out of her mouth, that was supposed to stay buried in the fantasies she used to get herself off, alone, where the man thus addressed would never find out about them. Peña’s eyes widened and she felt his cock twitch under her and she moaned as he finally shoved two fingers into her and curled them slightly, the heel of his hand applying steady pressure to her clit.

Vic keened quietly at the sudden intrusion and stretch, her muscles not accustomed to feeling fingers not her own slipping in and out of her, and her head fell forward to his shoulder. The steering wheel dug into her back, and she turned her face into his neck and inhaled that smell she hated to love. Her hands kept massaging his soft stomach as he ordered, lips against her ear,

“Go on, girl, right now. On daddy’s fingers, I know you’ve thought about it before.” Vic gasped and reached one hand down and held his wrist in a vice grip, holding it steady, his fingers deep inside her cunt, and she rocked her clit down hard onto his hand. She felt more than heard his groan as she sighed,

“Javi,” and came over his hand, walls spasming tight around thick digits. She let go of his wrist and he thrust his fingers in and out again a few more times, riding out her orgasm with her before pulling them out completely, smiling fiercely at the whimper that made its way past her clenched teeth.

“There now,” Peña said, panting, removing his hand from her shorts and making his way to his belt that she had only managed to loosen slightly. “That wasn’t so bad. What have we been waiting for?” Vic watched as he slid the zipper of his jeans down and was about to reach for his cock when the radio on the dash crackled to life.

“Peña? Flanagan? You guys there?” Murphy’s voice floated into their humid world, breaking Vic’s concentration on her partner’s dick inches from her greedy hands, and eliciting a groan from Peña that was far from any of the more pleasant ones he’d loosed in the past few minutes. His head dropped onto her shoulder and he bit down gently.

“If we don’t answer him, he’ll assume we’ve been shot and come looking,” Vic pointed out, out of breath and still aroused, leaning her elbow on the window next to her. Peña’s nibbling teeth did nothing to help the little shocks that still shot down between her legs. “I don’t know about you,” she gasped as he moved from shirt to her bare neck, mustache rubbing where spit and teeth had been seconds previously. “But I would rather not look like you just had your hands down my pants when that happens.”

Javi sighed, mouth still attached to her neck, clearly contemplating how long it would take to fuck her in this car and how far away Murphy and Carillo were from their current position. Deciding that he didn't like the odds, he released the bit of skin he had been hanging on to and kissed the red mark gently. He sat up a bit and reached around her, grabbing the radio, pulling her closer to him and grinding up into her while he asked,

“Whats up, Murphy?” Vic stifled a gasp into his chest as the hard ridge of his cock rubbed against her still sensitive clit, bracing herself against the door and the hard wheel behind her, one hand going to the roof of the truck.

“You guys get anything?” Peña continued to thrust against her and hummed noncommittally.

“Yeah, same thing you thought, with the kids and everything- fuck.” He broke off and hissed as one of Vic’s hands left his belly and dug, nails first, into his side.

“What?” Murphy asked over the line. Peña took a second before answering.

“Nothing.” He halted Vic’s movements, slipping a hand into her back pocket and pulling her back along his lap. “We’re coming back to base now.”

“Alright guys, see you in a few.” Peña tossed the radio back on the dash and stared at Vic, capturing her gaze and bringing his hand up to tangle into the hair that was coming loose from her bun.

“We’re finishing this as soon as we make our reports. I’m taking you back to my place and I am going to fill up that tight cunt till the only thing you can remember is my cock, alright?” Vic swallowed, aware again of waves of arousal making their way through her insides, and the smell of sex in the truck. She nodded, eyes never leaving his impossibly dark ones. Well, you’ve already broken nearly all of your rules regarding this man, whats a little more sex between friends, she thought, eyes flicking down to his lips before meeting his again. She watched his tongue wet his lips slowly, before losing all semblance of willpower and leaning down to kiss him again, already getting used to the scratch of hair on her face.

“I think that's a really good plan, daddy,” she agreed, coming back up for air and lifting off his lap completely, half climbing, half crab walking over the gear shift and back to the passenger seat. She refastened her shorts and looked over to see his cock still straining the denim of his jeans, button undone and zipper almost all the way down. “Might want to do something about that though, Agent Tight Pants.” She gestured at his problem with a slightly smug smile. “Unless you’re planning on giving Murphy a show.” Javi snorted, reaching down to zip and button his pants.

“He wishes.”

[burberrybaby]

cast your mutuals as cevans/tom hiddleston quotes!! happy 150 babe 💗

this is perfect bc i've memorized so many hiddleston and evans quotes

@my-divine-death ; “make love, not war. unless you’re loki, in which case, do what you want.” -tom

@planetofawe ; "i don't wike it." -chris

@honeychicana ; “what's my guilty pleasure? the thing is, I never feel guilty about my pleasures.” -tom

@danneelsmain ; "i swear to God, if you saw me when i'm by myself in the woods, i'm a lunatic, i sing, i dance." -chris

༊*·˚ 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 !!

[spring-forth-from-my-mind]

50 Inquisitor Asks

1. What is their specialisation and why?

2. How did they decorate and structure Skyhold?

3. How did they handle being called the Herald of Andraste?

4. What are their views of the Chantry?

5. Who is their favourite follower and adviser?

6. Who did they romance and why?

7. Did they tell Dorian about the letter? Did they get him to forgive his father?

8. How do they relate to Sera?

9. Did they have Bull sacrifice the Chargers or the Dreadbought?

10. Who did they support as Divine candidate?

11. Did they give Vivienne a snowy wivern heart or lie?

12. Did they drink from the Well of Sorrows? Why or why not?

13. What did they thing of Solas?

14. Who is their favourite and most trusted adviser?

15. Our of the followers/companions, who are they most comfortable around?

16. How do they react to the corruption of the Wardens? Why?

17. Mages or Templars?

18. Do they enjoy Wiked Grace, or don’t they?

19. Do they allow Cole to stay? If so, do they let him become more human or more of a spirit?

20. Do they trust Morrigan?

21. How do they feel about the Circles?

22. What is their biggest regret?

23. What do they think is their greatest triumph?

24. How did they react when they found out about Blackwall/Thom Rainier?

25. What makes them lose trust in someone?

26. What makes them trust someone?

27. Did they think Cassandra should rebuild the Seekers? Why or why not?

28. Did they disband the Inquisiton or maintain it?

29. What did they do at Halamshiral? Why did they decide on who should reign?

30. How did they judge the prisoners? Alexius, Servis and so on. Specific a character.

31. Did they let Solas kill the mages?

32. Who did they leave in the Fade, and why?

33. How did they feel when they found out about the Divine in the Fade?

34. How do they cope with the stress of being Inquisitor?

35. What did they think of Bianca?

36. What was the most difficult choice that had to make?

37. Which is the first dragon that they fought?

38. Emotionally, what was their reaction at Sahrina Quarry?

39. To void the assassin contract on Josie, do they take Josephine or Leliana’s advice?

40. Do they get Cullen to start taking lyrium again? Why or why not?

41. Did they give the Emerald Knight loot to the Dalish or the Chantry?

42. How do they view Tevinter?

43. What is their favourite bard song?

44. How do they think their race plays into being Inquisitor?

45. What is their most and least favourite place to explore? Why?

46. Which companion/adviser makes them think twice about their choices, if any?

47. What do they think about the Champion of Kirkwall?

48. What do they think about the Hero of Ferelden?

49. What is their least favourite foe to fight?

50. Are they proud of what they accomplished?

[disobligingly]

“It made Wowd Beewus pwetty angwy the wast time I spoke wike this... But I think it's time. It's time to be who I weawwy am and tawk to othews as I have awways meant to. ...Or not. We shall see.

I should also tell the truth, and that is--I love being alive. I love existing in this reality where I have done no wrong and feel no guilt. I am glad for the deaths of those who came before me, because it has given me--a truly glorious, divine being--the space and time I require to shine as I have always deserved.

I love this--I love myself. But all of this life in the universe.. is pointless! Idiotic, foolishness that doesn't deserve to exist in this reality! But most of all, I hate K--.. Ki---"

He suddenly chokes on a bit of air.

Even jokingly, he can't say something so cruel regarding Kibito.

[vulpixelates]

for elera: 10, 18, and 43?

10. Who did they support as Divine candidate?

She supported Leliana, hoping that she would make the necessary changes to make the Chantry less of a shitshow.

18. Do they enjoy Wiked Grace, or don’t they?

She isn’t the biggest fan of the game, but she joins for Varric’s sake.

43. What is their favourite bard song?

Her favorite is the Grey Warden one, just because she finds it the prettiest.

[writinalexx]

Jale's Journey/post seven

Sorry for the late post, I've been dealing with sickness and been forgetting about socials... Oops!

The day had passed with little more event, they had been given a second meal before dark, but that had been it. Despite his unfortunate ties, the tall man had managed to sleep under the nearly full moon and bright stars.

Awaking to some excitement next to him, the commander observed as some trolls freed his men from their imprisonment. Though they seemed sore and uncomfortable, their moods were high.

"Next time, maybe we should pay you. Two meals and a nice soft dirt patch to sleep in. Hospitality!" Derik joked, only to turn to his commander respectfully.

Jale smiled at the comment. "Perhaps."

Tunskin walked over, his shoulders draped in a cream-colored scale hide. "You men will return to Bogsgate, if you wish my own warriors will ensure you get there."

"Thank you, chief. My men should be fine though," the commander said, nodding towards James.

"As you wish. Your horse and cart are north a few paces." The chief followed the comment with a gesture in the direction.

"May the Guides bring you smooth roads," Sah said, giving a polite nod to the troll.

He watched his group march off out of the village, knowing he may not see them for a while. Or ever again. At least they’re free and safe.

Tunskin huffed and untied the ropes encasing his wrists. "Since you demand to travel with the wiked, you can listen with the wiked."

Jale nodded, lifting himself off the ground. "Of course."

The smaller man looked up at him. "Without the ropes, you stand even taller. Impressive for one of your kind."

Offering a sheepish shrug, the tall man remained silent, unsure how to respond to that. His captor led him over to the warlock, who somehow seemed content in his binds.

The commander inspected the man with a curiously raised eyebrow. Hung from his wrists, the ginger had his head against the post and had his muscles slacked. Besides the angry exposed skin, he looked happy to be there.

"Hellspawn, you get to join the commander on his journey to save our world," the troll said, bringing his hands to free the human.

The warlock sucked his teeth. "Hard pass. Pardon me, Commander, but traveling a broken continent in a cage doesn't sound as appealing as hanging here being fed twice a day,” he hissed.

Jale scowled at the warlock, resisting the urge to inform him that he was offered food under his watch.

As Tunskin freed his wrists, the criminal fell forward, hitting the ground with a series of scornful curses. A hearty laugh fell from the troll before the rope around the human's ankles was undone.

"You don't have a choice," Jale mentioned with delight, grabbing his arm to pull him up.

His captive winced, trying to pull his painful arm away, but failed. "Ugh, I'd rather die."

Tunskin led the two into a large hut, the building stood strong; made of tanned leather and dull grey wood. While shiny golden scales scattered around the walls glinted in the sun, stating the importance of the house from the surrounding houses.

Inside the air was several notches cooler, and it smelled of herbs and smoke. Guider's tools. Knelt on her knees was a familiar troll, her hands were mixing a green smoke trail with a white cloud.

"Tesk, would you care to explain our prophecy?" the chief asked the female.

She looked up, pausing in her movements to scan over the humans. "This is who Roon suggested?"

The male spoke in their language, leaving Jale to glance at his prisoner, who returned the gaze with a weary bored expression. Though an underlying pain could be seen in the green eyes, that wouldn’t make the commander release the blistering arm.

"Fine, but I demand a strand to confirm his suspicion,” Tesk said suddenly in Common.

"Strand of what?" the ginger asked.

Tesk stepped over to the men, reaching up to pluck a hair strand from them both despite the warlock’s protest. "Hair. Now we can see who's supposed to be our savior."

Tunskin sat on a small fur mat. "Roon thinks it's the commander, but Jor'al believes it is the warlock. Seeing as humans don't normally have such... expansive energy ability."

"Think we’re what?" Jale asked.

"The hybrid. Our legends passed from the first Guiders back from before we even set foot on this land tells of a hybrid born of two worlds destined to save our lands. Offspring from the Divined Touched race and the Blind race, capable of soothing both the spiritual and physical souls,” Tesk explained, returning to her place in front of the fire. “As the Blind race pushes the Divines and Guides away, the land suffers, death and destruction following their spread.

It's believed, this savior will soothe the world, and our rains will return. Not only that, but the troubles to the north with the elves would also end. They suffer the most from the poisonous spread." She spoke with an eerie monotonous voice, eyeing both the humans down.

Under the glare, the taller man dropped his eyes. Perhaps it wouldn't be too late to back out, the warlock had a point. Being fed twice a day until you bake away in the sun was sounding extremely nice.

"Wow... Imagine that, our race is poisonous and blind." This was all the smaller human had to say.

The female searched for a response in her chief, who gave an encouraging nod. She sighed and took a branch of smoking leaves from the fire, it emitted the green smoke and smelled of spice. Snakestail, named for the slender shape of the single-pointed leaves hanging off the branch.

She placed the plant on a flat wooden plate, taking the red strand in her right hand. The troll laid the hair across the small flame eating one of the leaves with a steady and fluid movement. Shortly after the strand started smoking, she muttered a Trollish prayer, guiding the smoking in a circular pattern.

With hissed at them, the red hair caught fire, burning away to nothing. With a tsk of her tongue, she repeated the process with the shorter black strand. While guiding the smoke, the trail turned black momentarily, before vanishing. Curling at the ends, the hair refused to catch fire— instead, the leaves extinguished themselves.

Tunskin stood from his seat, narrow-eyed as he watched the smoke dissipate from the hut.

"Well... I suppose the Guides have spoken," Tesk said, looking up at Jale.

"You're hilarious. Don't kid yourself, lady. Mutants aren't allowed power in our society, so how would a hybrid of such bloodline become a commander?” The ginger scoffed. “A king's commander to be exact."

His prisoner's words whipped his brain, reinforcing why he worked so hard to hide the truth. "What did the Guides say?"

Tesk picked up the strand, bringing it over to show them. "You see, they never speak clearly to us, we aren't elves. But, we know how to read signs, and this sign," She shook the hair lightly, "Tells me that you have elf in you."

More disbelief spilled from the warlock. "Why would that of all things tell you such an outlandish thing?"

"Because, L'ineshed,” Tesk hissed the Trollish word, “the branch of snakestail is a plant of the Guides, they come to see what we need when it is burned. Since elves are Divined touched, the Guides could never harm them, not physically or figuratively. This includes putting out a flame to prevent a single strand from burning."

Jale let go of the smaller man's arm, using the hand to brush through his hair. The coarse and rough strands had always been a pain to hide. Knowing it could've easily given him away, he didn't know even disguised it could still reveal his identity.

The chief spoke up. "Commander? You're quiet for hearing such things. Are you more versed in this?"

Shaking his head, the tall human sighed. "It's not that. I don't know much about your culture or practices. I do know many people come to troll Guiders for help, and I trust your knowledge."

"Then what silences you?"

Jale brought his gaze to the chief. "Knowing it’s right."

Tesk gave a semi-relieved sigh, glaring a prideful glance at the ginger. "We listen to what the Guides have to say."

"You don't strike me as an elf." His prisoner commented.

"Half-elf. Mother was an elf..." When he had been given expectant looks, he added. "Father was a human if you're curious."

The chief nodded. "Roon had been right. I ask you to take him and Tesk with you on your journey. I'm not sure what the prophecy wants you to do, but please, commander. End the suffering."

Presented with the new goal, Jale raised his shoulders to bring his frame a touch higher. "Yes, sir."

"He's not the king. You can relax. If you know how to," his captive said.

"Darael Snyder was it?" Tunskin asked the ginger. When given a nod, he continued. "I hope your captor comes to his senses and leaves you here for our soul breakers. No one enjoys folk like you."

The commander smirked at the silence, bending in a respectful bow. "We shall leave whenever Tesk and Roon are ready, chief."

Tunskin chuckled. "He's got a point, don't forget your mission, but you might as well enjoy the traveling."

Of course, Darael had been right, this guy had probably never worked hard for anything. If anyone knew how to have fun in even the worst situation it was him. But, with the fate of the world in his hands, could he afford to relax?

End of Chapter Two

[thisdaynews]

We’re not responsible for explosion at Wike father’s church – IPOB

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/were-not-responsible-for-explosion-at-wike-fathers-church-ipob/

We’re not responsible for explosion at Wike father’s church – IPOB

Indigenous Peoples of Biafra (IPOB), has denied inclusion in the blast that shook a congregation said to be possessed by the dad of Rivers State lead representative, Chief Nyesom Wike, in Port Harcourt.

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More than five adolescents had apparently attacked the congregation distinguished as Christain Universal Church International on 25 Azikiwe Street Mile, 3 Diobu, Port Harcourt and exploded the hazardous suspected to be Dynamite, on Saturday night.

The gathering in an explanation gave on Tuesday by the Media and Publicity Secretary, Emma Powerful said IPOB was unconscious of the said implied assault.

It kept up that individuals from the gathering didn’t enjoy unstable gadgets and were not examining doing as such sooner rather than later.

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IPOB prompted the Nigerian Police and Governor Wike to quit selling oulandish lies against it, blaming him for sending same strategies the Nigerian Government conveyed to implant viciousness into tranquil #EndSars fights in Lagos and Abuja.

The assertion read partially, “The consideration of the Indigenous Peoples of Biafra (IPOB), capably drove by our extraordinary Leader, Mazi Nnamdi Kanu, has been attracted to the created and state-supported promulgation hawked by Nyesom Wike and his co-voyagers that tranquil and guiltless individuals from IPOB are liable for a supposed assault on his dad’s structure on Saturday night.

“We need to state completely and for record purposes that IPOB thinks nothing about the said indicated assault. We don’t enjoy touchy gadgets and we don’t have any intensions to do as such soon.

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“We have said it on various events that savagery isn’t important for the plan in our journey to reestablish Biafra. Any day we choose to wage war against the state, which isn’t in our nearby examination, it won’t be done covertly.

Peruse Also: How punks assaulted Wike father’s Church

“IPOB is a perfect quiet development with legitimately conspicuous presence in more than 100 nations of the world without any brutality. Our command remains the serene reclamation of Biafra.

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“The entire world is currently mindful of the shocking violations against mankind submitted by Gov Wike against guiltless Biafrans living in Obigbo Rivers State. Wike and co utilized the cross country aggravations that followed the EndSars fights as a cover to kill several guiltless men, ladies and kids in Obigbo Rivers State. He never denied it, indeed he gloated about it during his various broadcast interviews.

“We have since left retaliation in the possession of Almighty God. An administration saturated with ploy and fantastic double dealing might have organized the said assault on the congregation as an approach to additionally belittle IPOB in Wike’s urgent mission to legitimize the progressing open destruction against indigenous Igbo populaces, particularly Biafran Jews in Obigbo.

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“We look to prompt the Nigerian Police and Nyesom Wike to quit hawking oulandish lies in the shape of Lai Mohammed. Wike utilized a simple prepared charge and without response to legal cycle, to release another round of annihilation on Biafran soil in Obigbo. For that he could never at any point be excused. Regardless of how long the fact of the matter is covered and surpressed it should unquestionably surface eventually. Every one of those attempting to make a situation to embroil IPOB will never get away from divine equity.

“Wike is by all accounts utilizing similar strategies the Nigerian Government sent to implant viciousness into tranquil #EndSars fights in Lagos and Abuja. The entire world perceived how Aso Rock utilized dull SUV’s having a place with the DSS to ship furnished fierce hooligans to fight settings in Abuja to prompt anarchy and in the process slander serene dissenters. This is actually what the Fulani manikin Wike and his companions in the Nigerian Police are attempting to do to the great name of IPOB in Igweocha. The general population is presently savvier.

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“Wike and his representatives ought to prepare to demonstrate to the whole world how only he decided, without plan of action to or help from a skillful courtroom, that IPOB is liable for whatever offense or wrongdoing he asserted encouraged his lethal wrath against the honest individuals of Obigbo. It is untathomable that someone who professes to be an attorney and a local official didn’t buy in to the standard of law yet rather thoroughly enjoy doing outline and extra-legal executions of whole populaces.

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“How Wike in his twisted brain without any assistance denounced, attempted, indicted and executed IPOB relatives in Obigbo for the supposed passing of six officers without the advantage of either introducing the dead groups of the warriors, their names or judgment of court is outside human ability to grasp. However, this is Nigeria, where extra-legal killings of the guiltless is the standard, the specific explanation that offered ascend to the cross country endsars fights.

“Gov Wike is just terrified of his own shadow. He is just being excessively shrewd significantly. No measure of conceal will spare him from the awesome judgment that is coming his direction. He can run yet can never cover up. He won’t get away from it.”

[divine-knight]

Divine jolted awake suddenly in her chair, causing it to suddenly move back. It took a moment of scanning the room over and waking up for her to realize where she was, what time it was, what was going on. Yesterday. The eyes. Fear.

The kids! The knight stood up quickly in a panic, the eyes on her mask shifting to a dark brown almost instantly. Those large red eyes, they had been staring at Alaina, she had brought her in, and the eyes kept watching- Where were the kids- “Divine, dearie, are you all right?”

Divine glanced over to the kitchen entrance to see Celestia standing there, holding a plate of fresh fruit she had cut up. A quick glance into the kitchen revealed that the children were all at the table, eating a delicious breakfast; or in Aurora’s case, spreading most of her breakfast on her face while little Booky laughed and mimicked her.

And there was Alaina, giggling as she bounced in her seat. “No, no! You gotta use da spoon to eat! Wike dis!” The child took hold of a spoon and scooped up a bit of her fruit, and popped it into her mouth. Aurora and Booky watched closely, looked at each other, and then proceeded to pick up baby food with their stubs and stuff it into their faces.

Divine sighed in relief as Alaina continued her lesson in using eating utensils. Thank the stars, they’re all okay, she thought, wasting no time in moving to the kitchen window to peer outside.

The red eyes were still there. Had they been there all night? Who did they belong to? Why were they here? So many questions whirled through Divine’s head, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers to them.

A gloved hand touched her wrist, directing Divine’s attention back to the motherly Kirby.

“Why don’t we let the kids enjoy their breakfast while we talk in the living room?”

Divine gave her a curt nod, and followed her out, leaving the two babies to makes themselves a further mess, and leaving Alaina to laugh and try to teach them how to use a spoon.

The knight took a seat on the couch and sighed deeply. Celestia placed a plate of fruit in front of Divine, then took a seat in a chair across from her.

“Celestia, did you see-” “I did,” Celestia interrupted. “Just as I was coming home. All it did was stare at me. I haven’t seen anything like it before, but it doesn’t look like the usual Demon Beasts. Doesn’t act like them, either.”

Divine nodded and lifted up her mask enough to uncover her mouth. Her hands shook slightly as she gripped a fork and took a bite of fruit. “It’s been here since yesterday. I’m worried, Celestia. I have no idea what it is, either. I tried throwing a rock at it, but... it went through the thing.”

Divine shook her head and managed another bite of fruit. “Do you think we should call El Lobo?” she asked. Surely the human wolf would be able to deal with... well, whatever that thing was. He was capable of touching things that were intangible, after all.

Celestia shook her head slowly, her eyes closed in deep thought. “I already tried, this morning, Divine. He didn’t answer; most likely he’s on a mission of some sort.”

Divine’s heart sank. El Lobo wasn’t available. They were stuck here with something watching them from outside. The sky blue pupils of the knight’s masked moved to the right to watch the three children in the kitchen, laughing up a storm as the two babies threw food around, and Alaina tried to clean off their faces.

“We’ll have to keep trying to contact him, throughout the day,” Divine stated seriously. Her eyes shifted to a bright white shade as she continued her breakfast slowly.

“Whatever that thing is, I don’t want it coming any closer to this house, or anyone in it.”

[rofa1309]

MCL Hogwarts Tag

Rules: This is for your Candy. Fill with what your Candy could answer. If you have more than one candy or a genderbent, you can do this for them too.

And since number seven has magic properties in the wizarding world, tag at least 7 other blogs: I tag @nephy-azul , @camec, @mycandylovefanatics, @vrael-mcl if you don’t mind. And of course anyone who want to! ^^

Say “Hi!”:  Oh, hello, hi. I’m Victoria Fox.

What house did you get sorted into: Gryffindor, somehow...

Are you a muggleborn, an half-blood or a pureblood:  Muggleborn. My parents still can't believe it, heh.

Of which elements your wand is made: Alder wood, Dragon heartstring core, 14" in length, Slightly Springy flexibility  

Alder 

Alder is an unyielding wood, yet I have discovered that its ideal owner is not stubborn or obstinate, but often helpful, considerate and most likeable. Whereas most wand woods seek similarity in the characters of those they will best serve, alder is unusual in that it seems to desire a nature that is, if not precisely opposite to its own, then certainly of a markedly different type. When an alder wand is happily placed, it becomes a magnificent, loyal helpmate. Of all wand types, alder is best suited to non-verbal spell work, whence comes its reputation for being suitable only for the most advanced witches and wizards. 

Dragon 

As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental. 

What pet do you have (owl, cat, toad):  I have rat and his name is Choco. He is mostly white with brown head, front legs and single stripe on back. My little boy, I love him. 

What is your favourite class:  : I love Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures! First one because its easy for me, some students tell me that I luckily have talent. I personally think that's only my imagination. And second one because I love them! There's just so many amazing and funny creatures. Also I like the fact that on Muggle Studies they allow as to us I internet to do research's.

<One hitpoint in Hogwart on Pottermore>:

What is your patronous:  Deerhound. It actually surprised me because my parents always compare me to squirrel.

You are in any extra curricular activites (quidditch, dueling club, herbology club, potions club, gobstones club, chess club, Lumaclub…):  Of course! I'm in Art Club for Gryffindor and Knitting Club <3 They really relaxing.

Your are or will be a prefect/headgirl/captain of the quidditch team/ecc: When I was in my first year I wanted to be a prefect, but with time I realized how much responsibility it pun on person, and since I’m bad at making fast decisions I gave up on that idea.

Do you have any special ability (parseltongue, divination ability…): None.

You are a troublemaker, the first of your class, both, the one who blows things: Uh... I think I’m average student...?

Do you often get detention: Nope. I try to don’t make any trouble. I only get caught few times because of my night travels.

What do you want to do after Hogwarts: I want to be accountant but I’m not where. In  Ministry of Magic or muggle world.

Would you participate in the Triwizard Tournament (without Voldemort and Harry Potter of course): OH HE*L NO! I’m not going to risk my life for some trophy and popularite!

Your favourite teacher: Professor Lupin. Lessons with him are great, he always manage to make lesson intresting.

Your favourite fantastic beast: Hippogriffs

Your favourite spell: Ah, theres so many usefull ones. But I think my favorites are Lumos and  Homenum Revelio. Their especially usefull when I wike up in middle of night and go to kitchen for some snack and warm milk with honey.

What would Amortentia smell for you: Lavender, vanilla and honey. Just like in my grandmother’s garden with milk (with honey) and cookies.

Create an outfit with the color of your house:

It was really hard to make that outfit because her wardrobe have mostly blue, green and grey clothes, so I had to buy new ones for this. I’m not completely satisfied with effect of her looking a little bad ass but it’s not so bad. 

 PS. Sorry for any grammar mistakes. I'm not perfect in english since its not my first language.

[vcg73]

Kadam Fic: Twu Wuv

Combo Prompt: #3 - Dental Misery & #4 - A stupid or embarrassing injury

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kurt Hummel was a firm believer in good dental hygiene. Brush at least twice a day, thoroughly. Use dental floss and mouthwash on the regular. See the dentist twice a year for a checkup and cleaning; even when doing so took a good chunk out of your meager savings because your insurance is rubbish.

 It’s a personality quirk that Adam has learned to, if not love, then at least tolerate with genuine affection. Even though he isn’t sure that Kurt isn’t putting him on with some of his dental-oriented horror stories. Particularly the one where his school guidance counselor had married a dentist who somehow prompted Britney Spears hallucinations in half the glee club by using bad nitrous oxide. Or the time Kurt had kissed a girl who rinsed her teeth with soda pop, so religiously that he’d actually thought she was using root beer flavored lip balm. ‘She thought Dr Pepper was a dentist, Adam! And I touched that mouth with my mouth!’

 Not that Adam didn’t take care of his own teeth. He was conscientious about brushing, and avoiding too much processed sugar, but he only visited the dentist annually. He’d had good luck up until today. Only one cavity in his whole life, which admittedly had been a doozy that required root canal surgery and a porcelain crown; but that had luckily occurred back home, and while he was still young enough for his dad to be paying the resultant bill.

 Kurt had suffered through impacted wisdom teeth, braces, and a retainer, in addition to the odd glee club related woes. He took no chances with his teeth, and he refused to allow Adam to take any either.

 Which is why now, Adam was extremely reluctant (for probably the first time in their personal history) to speak to his boyfriend. But he needed to let him know that their planned evening of dinner and a trip to sing karaoke at a favorite local hang-out was off the books. Calling was out of the question, and a text seemed cold, so here he was. Standing on Kurt’s doorstep, not knocking.

 But then it was too late for second thoughts. Kurt was already opening the door, as if he had sensed his boyfriend hemming and hawing outside his apartment, and had grown impatient waiting for him to make his entrance.

 “Adam!” Kurt said in surprise, apparently not having psychically divined his presence after all. He laughed a little, trying to hide the kitchen sack he had clearly been about to carry out to the bin. He brushed a hand self-consciously over his chest, drawing attention to the ragged sweatshirt and plain black yoga pants he was attired in. “What are you doing here so early? Our date isn’t until 7 o’clock.”

 “Ah . . .’urt. I, erm . . . I’m vewy sowwy, bu’ I ‘ave to ‘ancel.”

 Kurt frowned, clearly having a little trouble deciphering the words. “Cancel? Why? What’s happened? You sound really odd.”

 He attempted a sheepish smile, only to wince instead when the motion aggravated his sore mouth. “Ow.”

 “Oh, Adam, are you hurt? Why didn’t you tell me!” Kurt drew him into the light and gasped. “Oh my gosh! Your face is all swollen. Did someone hit you? Come inside, sit down!”

 Before Adam knew what was happening, he found himself ushered into Kurt’s flat and settled into his favorite corner of the big comfy sofa, an afghan over his legs in spite of the rather warm day, and Kurt concernedly checking his forehead for fever and muttering about thermometers and compresses, and phoning for a doctor, or perhaps the police.

 “’Urt!” Adam blurted when Kurt seemed poised to start dialing for the National Guard next. “I’m no’ inj’ed! Nobo’y hi’ me. I jus’ bwoke a toof’.”

 Kurt stopped his fussing, looking surprised. “You broke a tooth? How? Adam, were you trying to teach the Apples to play cricket again?”

 It was a fair question. The Apples were lovable and talented people, but athletics did not rank high on the team’s skill-set. Adam’s previous attempts to instruct them had resulted in more than one bruised and bloodied mate.

 “No,” he said with a careful shake of his head. “I, uh . . .”

 “What?”

 He blushed. Now would come the explosion. “Well, I wa’ twyin’ a new wecipe. It cawed fo’ vaniwwa so I got out a new bott’l.  Da cap wa’ 'tuck.”

 Kurt got it immediately. He winced. “It was stuck, so you tried to pry the cap off with your teeth.” Adam nodded. “And I take it the bottle won the fight?”

 He nodded again, hanging his head as he confessed, “Bwoke my po’celain cwown, and cwacked the toof above. I spen’ all afte’noo at th’ den’ist.”

 “And now your mouth is sore and your face is still half numb,” Kurt filled in, smiling a little. “Which explains why you sound like Elmer Fudd with a burned tongue. Poor baby. You stay right there and I’ll fix you some soup and a nice bowl of pudding to eat as soon as the anesthetic wears off a bit. Do you need an ice pack? I have some frozen veggies.”

 Adam could not really feel his lower lip, but he was reasonably certain that he was gaping like a fool at this unexpected sympathy. “You’ no mad at me?”

 “Mad at you?” Kurt clarified, then frowned. “Of course not, why would I be? I mean, trying to chew the cap off a bottle wasn’t the wisest move you could have made, especially when I know you own a perfectly good tool kit, but it’s not like you intended to hurt yourself.”

 Properly chagrined at the reminder that Kurt had given him a very well stocked kit at Christmas, which included a set of pliers that would have done the job handily now that he thought about it, Adam sighed. “I fee’ wike an arse.”

 Kurt squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t. We’ve all done things like that. I once walked out of high school, heading toward the student parking lot while still talking to my best friend over my shoulder, and tumbled right down the north wing staircase. I’d gone down those steps a hundred times, but I completely misjudged my distance because I wasn’t watching where I was going. Wrenched my ankle and skinned up my knee and both palms trying to catch myself. It could have been a lot worse. Somehow I’d managed to do it at a time when none of the goon squad was outside to witness my moment of shame.” He laughed a little. “Though I was less concerned with my reputation or bodily harm than by the fact that I’d ripped the brand new designer jeans I’d only had for two days.”

 Adam huffed a quiet laugh too. That sounded like Kurt all right. “You a’ways warn me to take goo’ care o’ my teef.” He shrugged again with one shoulder, half apologizing.

 “Aww, honey,” Kurt said, giving him a careful kiss on his slightly swollen lips. Adam couldn’t exactly feel it, but he appreciated the gesture anyway. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. I know you hate to go to the dentist, and I always worry about the people I love, so maybe I got a little control freakish about that. I’m sorry. I clearly had nothing to worry about, because you didn’t hesitate to make an emergency appointment when you needed one.”

 For the first time all day, Adam relaxed a bit. It was true, after all. Kurt only fussed and bothered with those he truly cared about. Being on the receiving end of that tendency was comforting, even when it got a trifle annoying, because it reassured him of how much Kurt really did care. “Gonna be so’ fo’ a bit, but a new cwown is on o’der. Be wight as wain soon.”

 Kurt smiled and ruffled his hair fondly. “Well, until you are, you’ll just have to stick around and let me fuss over you.”

 Content to do so, Adam nodded. He accepted the bag of frozen corn Kurt fetched him from the kitchen freezer, placing it carefully against his swollen jaw. “I wuv you, Urt.”

 “I wuv you too. Now . . . cream of mushroom or cream of potato?”

 The End