#this got way longer than I expected anyway

[glossykissies]

i think this was like one of the first scott fics u posted but reader was in college for like fashion design? i think 😭 but anyways reader got a bad grade in one of her classes and scott says she cant touch him cos u cant reward bad behavior!!!

it’s funny because scott thinks he’s handling it the right way.

it’s how he was raised — it’s why he ended up in the working environment he did. his mother was a sweet woman, but his father was hard, never impressed, always pushing scott to achieve more. of course there were times he resented him for being so cold and unyielding, but he supposed he had him to thank for everything. now as a grown adult, scott saw himself in his old man, rearing his ugly head when least expected.

you’d come home to scott, all wired up and manic looking for a distraction. the project you thought you’d been slaving over ended up bringing you your worst grade yet. it wasn’t failable, and you knew you’d be able to pull yourself back — but it was certainly a wake up call. you felt ashamed.

you’d mentioned it in passing to scott as you were toeing your shoes off, thinking that if you treated it as a casual thing, it would be less damning. you were known to work hard, and you’d hate if scott thought any less of you. if there was anyone who’s opinion mattered to you over your professor, it was him.

“— and i’m gonna have to retake that class because i flopped so hard, anyway i had icecream for lunch—”

“hold on.” scott frowns, arms folded over his chest as he leans a shoulder against the wall, narrowing his eyes at you. “retake the class? explain.”

he makes note of the way you swallow and avoid his eyes as you gather up an excuse. “its fine, i failed the class. its fine.” you shrug a shoulder, and scott stares before shaking his head with a sigh.

“look — i told you, if you’re gonna be here all the time you can’t let it interfere with your projects. i think — i think it’s best if you start spending some weekends from home so you can get back on top of—”

“no!” you bark, eyes wide and desperate, which actually silences him in surprise. you are incredibly quick to adjust yourself, releasing a tense chuckle to let it be known that you were on your best behaviour, smile straining your cheeks and not quite meeting your eyes. “scott it’s not that serious, i swear. i’m passing all my other classes, this happens to everyone atleast once.” you figure your tone is reassuring enough, especially as he doesn’t follow you into the kitchen to make your daily green tea.

you spend a little longer than usual in the kitchen as you sip away at your drink, giving your boyfriend time to hopefully forget about the bad grade you received so you could potentially start the evening over, feeling things were a little chaotic. the hot liquid seems to soothe your nerves momentarily too, aiming to leave the day behind as you eventually slink out into the living room, eeking out your distraction as you join scott on the couch.

he’s watching some kind of documentary, naturally manspreading with that concentrated frown like a man much older than he was. you let a mischievous smile slip as you wriggle up to his side, stroking at his arm. this was nothing unusual from your usual behaviour, so scott doesn’t react — continuing on with his show.

“scotty.” you breathe in his ear, beginning to dot kisses gently along his jawline.

“hm?”

“missed you. needed daddy all day.” you pout as a manicured hand rises to rest on his broad chest before sliding slowly down his stomach toward his belt. you nearly jump out of your skin when he grabs your wrist and moves it away.

“no.” he hums, voice low. you blink your wide eyes at him in confusion — maybe you were just spoilt, because it wasn’t often you heard that word so firmly.

“huh?”

it’s only then scott looks at you, raising his eyebrows. “you think i’m gonna reward you for failing a class? you know, if i had been you — i’d already be at the desk with my laptop out, getting to work so i don’t fail my class again.” he’s stern, and whilst you’re used to his blunt ways you’re stunned by how cruel he was being. to him, he wanted the best for you and this was how he showed it in the moment, but to you it was the ultimate rejection.

it’s unnoticeable to the human eye, but he softens when you’re so quick to submit without argument despite his words, bashfully climbing off the couch to silently grab your bag and head to the bedroom where scott’s desk was. he watches you go, arms crossed — before he sighs, closing his eyes. that wasn’t him, it was his father. you didn’t deserve that.

he thinks up what to say to you, standing up to retrieve you approximately seven minutes later. he finds you at the desk where he suggested, laptop open on an empty document, crying quietly into your hands. scott closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath before starting towards you.

“hey. hey.” his voice is quiet as he scoops you off the chair, replacing you with himself as he cradles you on his lap. “c’mon.” he whispers, feeling you wrack with another silent sob into your hands.

“i’m sorry.” you squeak.

“you don’t have to be sorr—”

“you’re disappointed in me. i’m disappointed in me too i just wanted to forget for a few hours.” you cry like a baby, stripped down to your most vulnerable self and his jaw clenches, mad that he was the one to upset you like this. this relationship shit was harder than it looked.

“hey i’m not, okay? i’m not. i was… hard on you because i think you can be great. okay? i think you are great. most talented girl i know. i don’t wanna get in the way of that, you know?” his large hand slides up your back to pull you closer and he feels you nod.

“i know. i’m sorry i get so upset about stupid stuff. i tried to be a big girl about it. i tried to… start—” you pull away to gesture to the empty document and he breathes out a chuckle, pulling you back to his chest.

“i know. i see… and it’s not stupid. i was mean. you should have kicked my ass.” he shakes his head but hears you giggle against his shirt, likely staining it with tears and mascara.

“next time.” comes out muffled.

“great.” he sarks before pulling you back to mop up your face, trying not to grimace at any snot or drool as he swipes it away with his thumb. “look. get started on… all this tomorrow. i’ll help in any way i can. what do you need right now? hm?” he jogs you on his lap with his knee once to signify that he wants a verbal and decisive answer. you press your lips together, glancing down at his belt once more. “oh yeah?” he confirms in that deep voice that makes between your legs ooze. “still after that?”

you nod, and he squeezes you hip. “alright. i think i can provide.”

[ghostsforghosts]

The Start of a Courtship

(NOTE: This is the second part of a COD Regency AU, the first part is here.) This took longer than I had expected, oof. But it is finally written, so I can't complain. Anyways, like last time, Reader is male. Summary: It's time for the first ball of the season and this time, Susannah has a suitor to impress. Meanwhile, Lord Riley is getting closer to you, wanting your presence beside him. Word Count: 1,897

You resisted the urge to fiddle with your gloves, waiting in the main foyer for Susannah.

She was taking longer than you expected to get ready, but perhaps that was to be expected. She had accepted the deal Lord Riley had made and thus for this deal to work, she had to pretend to impress him so well that he'd want to start courting her. This was not only because she had to fool the ton, but she also had to fool your mother.

"One might think you're the one who had to impress suitors," Mama said, her voice biting as she stared at you being fidgety. She slapped your hands down until they stopped fiddling with your gloves, her hands not being kind to you in her actions. "Stop it. You're the man of the house, the Baron. You can't go acting like you're a child who has no clue what you're doing."

You nodded in agreement, deciding to tightly clasp your hands behind your back so you no longer fiddle with the gloves. The seconds seemed to tick slowly, your impatience growing as you all waited for Susannah.

Susannah finally came down the stairs, wearing this gorgeous red-lilac gown adorned with gold beads, her gloves matching the gown. Around her neck was a gold necklace that surely must've cost more than anything you were wearing, Susannah having chosen something that was an eye-catcher to draw Lord Riley in.

You had been conversing with the lord for the past week via letters and learned red and lilac were his favorite colors, so you had been sure to tell Susannah so she could buy a dress Lord Riley would love. You had to sell this ruse, for it to work, which meant she had to make his breath hitch.

A small red rose was clipped to the breast of your tailcoat, as you had been unable to resist adding one of Lord Riley's colors to your outfit.

Mama looked at Susannah with pride, her smile genuine when it came to her daughters. "Look at you, a gem in the making. All the lords will be fawning over you," she said, helping Susannah down the last few steps.

"Lord {Last Name}, the carriage is ready for you," the footman of the carriage said, having come inside to tell you.

"Shall we?" You asked your family, gesturing for them to lead. You stepped aside so your mother could lead Susannah outside.

You were the last one out of the house, the footmen closing the doors behind you. Walking to the carriage, you tried to steel your nerves, hoping this ruse worked.

The journey to the ball was silent, with no one wanting to talk and break it by saying something potentially awkward. Even your mother ignored Susannah's fidgeting so she didn't have to be the first one to speak.

All too soon, the carriage stopped at the manor hosting the ball and you got out with your family following.

Since you were the man of the house, you looped your arm with Susannah's, leading her up the steps and inside the manor. You followed the procession of guests who had come just a few moments before your family did, following them to the ballroom.

Susannah had done so well dressing up nicely that when you two entered, all eyes were on her. She didn't buckle under all the attention, keeping her head high like she wasn't internally screaming with nerves.

It helped that you led her around like you had so much experience showing off your debutante sister. You made your way to the king and the queen were lounging around, waiting in line with Susannah to greet the pair of royals.

The line went quickly and when you two finished greeting the royals, you let her mingle. You didn't go far, knowing that suitors would soon flock to her and you didn't want her to become overwhelmed.

You watched on, watching her talk to her friends while sometimes engaging in conversations with suitors. You saw that your mother was pleased, her eyes twinkling as she watched Susannah as well.

The man you were waiting for arrived, Lord Riley's cane clacking against the ballroom floor being heard before you saw him. All eyes turned onto him, seeing him walk inside the ballroom with his head held high.

He was wearing your favorite color and he looked so handsome in it, your breath catching in your throat as he walked towards the king and queen with a determined stride. With him needing to greet the royals first, it gave you time to walk over to Susannah and wait for him to come to her when he was done.

Your heart was fluttering and you had to remind yourself that Lord Riley was here for your sister, not you. Or well, he was pretending to be here for your sister.

Lord Riley finished greeting the royals and immediately turned towards where you and Susannah were just milling about, waiting for him. His strides remained confident as he walked over, giving a subtle glance over at you and Susannah.

You were pleased when he seemed to have a sparkle in his eye when he caught the red rose attached to the breast of your tailcoat. He seemed to like it very much, exactly as you had wanted him to.

"Lord {Last Name}, Miss {Last Name}, good evening to you both." Lord Riley greeted you two, bowing to you both as he did so.

"My Lord," you and Susannah both replied, bowing as well.

Lord Riley's brown eyes lingered on you briefly before turning to Susannah. "M'lady, you are looking marvelous tonight," he murmured, sounding sincere as he took her gloved hand and placed a kiss on it.

You had the strangest need for him to kiss your hand like he had hers. You wanted his attention, despite how improper it would be to have it during the ball.

Susannah grew flustered at the compliment and hastily searched for a compliment to give to the lord, complimenting his cane. The conversation was a little awkward, but she was handling it wonderfully.

You kept standing by your sister's side until Lord Riley asked her for a dance. You secretly wished you could dance with him, but you settled for watching him dance with Susannah.

Even with his limp, Lord Riley was dancing gracefully, leading Susannah well through the dance as the music played. Each step was a brushstroke to a larger masterpiece, one that played out through your eyes in real-time.

They were standing at a respectable distance as they danced, but each dance was always intimate in its own way. The eye contact that was held, the gentle grips of each other's hands, and their respective touches on each other's bodies (hers on his shoulders and his on her waist). You knew from experience of dancing with other ladies that he could see the subtle flecks in her iris, he could see her makeup up close and personal.

God, you wished you could see the flecks of color in his eyes, hold his hand and shoulder. He was a masterpiece, but one that was out of reach to see.

The dance, finally, ended and they pulled away.

Susannah got pulled into another dance with another lord, but as if they had thought of how to pull this ruse off together, none of her other dances had the same chemistry as hers and Lord Riley's did. Everyone who wasn't dancing was quickly murmuring about how well Susannah and Lord Riley clicked, how it was like sparks had ignited as soon they had met.

You were too busy watching your mother brag to her friends about her daughter managing to catch the eye of an earl to notice Lord Riley sliding up to you and taking in the image of you.

"Are you wishing that I had danced with you?" he asked, his voice a low murmur which quickly made you aware of his presence beside you. He stared at you beneath hooded eyes, his gaze steady as you turned to face him.

"Is it wrong of me to indeed wish we had danced together?" you asked in return, your hands feeling sweaty beneath your gloves as you stared into his eyes.

It felt wrong to even admit that you had wished to dance with him, but at this moment, you felt so safe with him. You felt like you could say anything and he wouldn't judge you.

Lord Riley's face brightened as his lips pulled into a smile, making his scarred face look more handsome. "I too wish we could've danced," he admitted freely once he made sure no one else was nearby. His lips parted as he continued to stare at you. "Forgive me for being so bold, but you draw me in like no other. It was very hard to keep my eyes on your sister while dancing when all they wanted was to look upon you."

Your heart skipped a beat and you had to hide a smile, knowing that you'd be beaming too much that others would become curious. You couldn't believe your ears, but perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised.

You hadn't just taken up the offer of Lord Riley being Susannah's suitor, but also the offer of you two being... friends. You had bonded over your mutual attraction to men and he had often written about his desires for you in the letters you two exchanged.

You weren't in the place to express your desires for him yet, but you had let him know that his doing so wasn't unwelcoming for you.

You wetted your dry lips with your tongue, trying to wet your dry mouth. "I draw you in?" you asked, unable to help yourself from wanting to know more.

"I long to be beside you exactly as I am now, the two of us so close," Lord Riley answered, his free hand that wasn't holding his cane twitching with the need to touch you. He groaned softly, forcing himself to place his hand behind his back. "If we were in my manor, I wouldn't hesitate to draw you closer to me. To give you the dance we both wish to have."

"Perhaps one day," you said too quickly for your liking. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a warmth filling your body as you thought about the two of you dancing with no eyes upon you two. "Perhaps I could come over one day and we can have that dance."

"I'd love that."

The rest of the ball wasn't as exciting as the beginning of it was and you could tell your family were slowly starting to get tired, especially Susannah who had been dancing with lords left and right for most of the night. You had stayed next to Lord Riley for most of it and so you bid him goodnight, giving him one last look before going to gather your siblings and mother.

As all of you got into your carriage and left the ball, you couldn't help but think about the next time you could meet Lord Riley. You hoped it be somewhere more private, so you two could touch each other freely.

You could only hope this arrangement wasn't found out. It'd be a shame to never see Lord Riley again.

Flower banner made by @/dollywons and reblog & mdni dividers made by @/cafekitsune

Requests are open!

[osakhee]

sad summer daze, wonbin x reader

! wonbin has blonde hair in this, smoking and alcohol consumption, making out but nothing crazy

🎧 summer daze by all time low...

wonbin sighs as he digs his back into his seat. the music in his headphones covers the noise of the old and rusty fan that makes his blonde hair fly into his face. these days, even in the early morning, the temperature is unbearably hot, the sun casting shadows on the floor through the glass doors of the convenience store. wonbin already knows it will be another boring day where he would scroll through his phone, trying not to fall asleep on his chair with his feet on the counter. summer was never his favorite season, but with this job, he feels like each day lasts for a week, only making his shift hours longer.

the clock hits nine and wonbin stretches his arms, his white tank top riding up to show a glimpse of his stomach, and he stands up to go through the empty aisles. now away from the metallic fan, the air becomes a lot thicker and the sudden warmth almost makes him dizzy. wonbin ties his hair into the smallest ponytail to stop the strands from sticking to his neck due to the invisible layer of sweat covering his skin. a few blonde hairs still fall in front of his eyes as he checks out every shelf, he makes mental notes of what's missing to refill them.

the store is dusty, the tiled floor that used to be white turned into a ash grey color, and the windows that let the sun inside leave a yellowish glow on the walls. behind wonbin's counter, piles of magazines and diverse boxes threaten to fall each time his elbow hits them, his eyes filling with panic at the thought of having to put them back in order -even though it would probably be more entertaining than dozing off-. no matter how hard he tried to clean, the black marks on the counter never left and the old stickers on the walls never really got fully off. and the best part? most of the time, it's just wonbin inside of the store, either with his music, looking at his phone, or the creaking sound of the fan while he stares at the ceiling that looks like it would fall on his face.

wonbin expected nothing from this summer job. he's not really a person with a lot of expectations. for him, summer isn't like any young adults movie cliché, no pool parties, no hookups, no holidays at the beach, no all nighters at the club, no afternoons with his friends. summer is more of a brutal reality. at least during the year, he's lucky enough to stay at his university's dorm, he cherishes each of his music and composition classes that gives him a comfortable routine. but as soon as the first days of the summer break start, wonbin is thrown back into the real and harsh world. a world where his angel face and voice would not get him anywhere. and who would get money to monthly repay the electric guitar he got last semester if not himself?

anyway, i just need a job, wonbin thought. he would have wanted one with little to no human interaction, his reserved personality being an obstacle to most place he went too. never from the employer, only from himself. the cafes were too busy, the restaurants too loud, and working at the train station really? wonbin could barely remember his way through the same supermarket he's been going to for the past year, so giving people directions? not his thing. and when wonbin saw the notice on the small convenience store near his friend's apartment that they were looking for someone for the summer, he was already desperate. he only wanted two things, getting out of anton's place that reeked like alcohol everyday and finally make some money. he never really expected that he would sometimes go days without seeing anyone, anton living quite far from the city center. most of the time, it was either busy workers coming in the last hour of his shift for premade dishes or kids buying candies and ice creams after going to the local pool. and wonbin was just a passerby in their lives, he's just "the cashier", "the young blonde boy", and it was more than fine for him.

wonbin fills with new bottles one of the shelves, he keeps one under his arm for himself. it's hot and he's working, and who would see that anyway? he checks the other aisles when the glass doors make a very uncomfortable noise, and the silence that was once only broken by the fan is replaced by loud chatters. wonbin walks back to his counter with a sigh, he avoids the customers by walking through the very last aisle of the small store, and he sits back down on his chair. he gets down half of the water bottle he took from the back, and the duo of people his age come up to him with much needed groceries. different alcohol bottles and cans, small snacks, and a pack of cigarettes, they both add when wonbin looks up at them from his seat. he doesn't need to ask for their id, wonbin already knows them. they don't follow the same course in university but they're good friends of anton. are they actually friends? wonbin just believes all the party goers are somehow friends.

"aren't you anton's friend? wonbin right? you play the guitar."

wonbin just nods, and hands the pack of cigarettes with a bored look. not that his job is really interesting, but he isn't there to make friends either. one of them gives him some cash and wonbin hands him back the change without saying anything else.

"i don't see why anton is friend with you, you're so... you know. well..."

the silence is too loud in wonbin's ears. what is he, silent? reserved? introverted? uninteresting? different? both the guys in front of him just scoff when wonbin looks into their eyes. wonbin knows his beloved friend anton only keeps him around for his own good. he's great, top student, he never misses a single day or assignments. he knows the sleepy bass player enjoys his presence during class because wonbin doesn't talk much and his handwriting is easy to read for when he'll copy the lesson later. though anton is a really nice person, and their friendship based on their musical composition classes gives wonbin a great opportunity : having somewhere to sleep during this awful summer instead of going back to his even more awful hometown.

"why don't you come to tonight's party with anton? is it not good enough for you?"

"none of your business."

"you know, being alive isn't so bad. you should try."

their laughters echo in the empty store and the door closes behind them. wonbin leans against his chair, his head drops back, the fan messes with the strands he couldn't tie. what's the link between late night parties and being alive, is he missing something? suddenly he feels upset. concerts are the only loud place he enjoys, not cramped apartments full of alcohol and other addictive things he doesn't really want to try. he never really had fun when he followed anton to the uni end of exams celebrations, all he remembers is being sick after two drinks and his heart beating in his ears when he woke up the next day. he felt lightheaded for hours, never again, he told anton who seemed to do just fine when they met in class later.

the day is slow. wonbin decides he needs a break before the horrible noise of the fan makes him insane. he hasn't seen anyone in hours, it's hot but sunny, and the air inside the convenience store feels so stuffy and heavy wonbin can barely breathe. he opens the large freezer and chooses a blue popsicle before walking outside. he rests his back against the wall next to the glass doors, the cold treat resting between his lips. if it's hot inside the store, outside is even worse, the sun feels like a burn on his skin. his ice cream doesn't help, it melts in his hand and drips down his fingers, so wonbin is quick to finish it. and with a sigh, he walks inside the small shop to go back to his previous activity : falling asleep on his counter.

his alarm rings at 6pm, wonbin stretches his sore arms with a pleased noise and grabs the set of keys, turns off all the lights and the fan -that stops with a clanking sound-. it's still really hot and bright when he steps outside, locking the doors behind him. his headphones find their place back on his head, music loud in his ears as he walks back to his friend's place. anton would be out tonight, which means he'll have the apartment for himself. it's easy to tell it's friday night from the people outside. middle aged men hurrying home, kids playing outside with no parents in sight, students excitedly coming back from their summer classes and heading to the latest club. out of all of them, wonbin just walks with one thing in mind, finally settling back on his friend's couch like it's a luxurious bed and sleeping. wonbin feels pity for himself. what a sad fucking summer.

anton rests against the window, he blows out the smoke of his cigarette when the door opens. he turns his head to look at wonbin, his blonde hair friend walks inside and drops himself on the couch without even taking his headphones off. his eyes flicker to anton and he lazily gets up as his friend hands him the pack of nicotine from a distance. the cigarette rests between wonbin's lips as he lits it, he inhales deeply and the weight on his shoulders slowly fades away just like the white smoke in the air. there's this comfortable silence between the two of them, until wonbin breaks it after exhaling deeply.

"who's party are you going to tonight?"

"sungchan's. why?"

"can i come with you?"

from anton's expression, wonbin guesses his friend had no idea he was about to ask that. they both lived on different timezones in the same apartment. while anton would enjoy his summertime, partying from the moment the sun sets until the early morning, coming home with the smell of whatever drinks he had clinging to his clothes, wonbin's evenings were quiet, lost into music sheets and his guitar resting on his lap. his own safe haven, like a home for himself even if anton's apartment is far from home to him.

"are you sure about that wonbin?"

"i figured it wouldn't kill me to... try to live."

"oh."

is that all you have to say? the question burns on wonbin's lips but he stays silent. there's no need to explain why he wants to join him. maybe this experience will be better, maybe he will hate every second of it, but he at least needs to give it a try, again. anton chuckles and gives a pat on his shoulder before leaving wonbin alone at the window. wonbin tries to gather some thoughts but it all gets lost into the swirl of smoke coming out of his lungs. he clings to the sound of anton getting ready behind him, his bassist friend hurrying around the apartment to find his belongings scattered everywhere. there's nothing for wonbin to take with him other than a black zip up hoodie covered in blue crosses and his phone dipped into his pocket. everything else is anton's possession. they get down the dirty stairs of the old building, a warm breeze messes up wonbin's hair, and he reaches behind him to untie them. as they both walk in the loud silence of the city, anton lits himself another cigarette.

sungchan's apartment is dark. it's packed, it's messy, and it's hot. there's a smell so strong it makes wonbin lightheaded, a mix of alcohol, cigarette, heavy perfume and too many people's scents at the same time. he already regrets his decision, looking for a way out, but with the half drunk anton holding his shoulder tightly, it's impossible to even try. the music is so loud in his ears, he can't barely hear what anton tells him. is this what being alive feels like? then it fucking sucks, wonbin doesn't realize he speaks out loud.

go have some fun, just be yourself. what a easy thing to say. maybe alcohol would help wonbin with his tied tongue, and he makes his way to the kitchen. he lost anton... somewhere. he has no idea where he came from and which way he needs to go, the dim lights and the waves of people threaten to drown him. he finally reaches the cold white counter in the kitchen and almost messes up all the cups. wonbin contemplates the different drinks. first he eliminates all the ones he doesn't know, then the few ones he remembers anton got sick of, which didn't leave much options available. he chooses the last beer bottle that stood in the corner, the taste of alcohol burning his throat along with the strong aroma of cherry. not bad, wonbin would even say he likes it.

wonbin still takes the first exit he finds, which happens to be the balcony door. it's finally night outside, the air cooler and breathable. on the balcony, there's no one else but wonbin. people are too busy clinging to each other inside, not caring about the city's show of lights or the few stars that painted the sky. wonbin reaches for the half pack of cigarettes anton gave him before he lost him in the crowd, and he takes a while to form a thought, looking at the rolled paper between his fingers. is drinking and smoking all by himself a good idea? wonbin would never find out, because when he looks around his pockets, he can't find a lighter. the smoke between his teeth, brows furrowed, he checks his back pocket again with no luck.

the familiar click of metal makes him turn his head, the dancing flame lighting up his face. alone with him on the balcony, there's you, holding up a lighter to his face. the night feels warm, his skin glistens and his eyes shine until the fire disappears. wonbin feels stuck in place, stuck to the ground when he meets your eyes, he stops breathing. the world around him is on pause when you take a step closer. wonbin lowers his head a little, strands of blonde hair falling in front of his eyes, and you click the lighter again until the edge of his cigarette burns with a faint smoke. wonbin's face brightens with the flame, it dances in his eyes, and make every details and flaws look more precise. and there's the silence. the cars vanished from the streets and the music stopped playing from the windows. your eyes are locked with wonbin until he looks away to blow the smoke on the side, and suddenly the noises start again, filling your ears and his.

wonbin's heart beats to an unsteady rhythm. is it the addictive taste of the cigarette mingled with the cherry of his beer or the intensity deep in your eyes when he turns back to you? wonbin can't find an answer. his mind feels foggy just like his lungs, and he breathes out the smoke once again, resting his arms on the edge of the balcony. you do the same, your elbow brushing his, and warmth blooms from the single touch. it courses wonbin's veins the same way alcohol does, it makes his face hot, and more than that, it stirs something in his stomach, a mix between fireworks and a roller coaster. maybe a bit of both. both your arms touching feel comfortable, like a special link between the both of you as if the windows of the balcony took you both to another place.

"i was wondering why someone like you was alone out there."

wonbin turns to you. of course it's someone like him again, like anyone else thinks. wonbin hopes you will be quite creative at least, so is he pathetic or just weird?

"what do you mean by that?"

"you're beautiful."

the words get stuck into wonbin's throat just like the smoke of his cigarette and he's forced to cough. blush tints his cheeks, ears and neck, he's thankful his face is engulfed by the night so you don't see how fuzzy your words make him feel. this time the silence is thick and heavy, wonbin knows you're looking at him, and he's too scared to dare laying his eyes into yours, he's scared the actual party would happen in his stomach and he'd feel shooting stars in his heart and body. the deep breath he takes is hidden by his cigarette.

"you're really pretty too."

"did you need a break from the party?"

"i'm not really a party guy. too loud for me."

too loud, too much people, too much scents, but if it means seeing you then wonbin wouldn't complain anymore. if you like parties then wonbin will like parties, if you want to drink wonbin will gladly drink with you.

"honestly me neither, i just followed a few friends. they're somewhere inside."

"mine is too, he kinda gave up on me."

"you smell like cherries."

you catch him off guard again and wonbin swears you're secretly trying to kill him. you're trying to take his heart out of his chest and put it in your pocket to keep it safe, and wonbin would even hand it to you. he gives up on his cigarette and faces you, he straightens his back and tries to appear more confident. with nothing but a quick look, he hands you his bottle of beer, it's almost empty but more than enough fo you to have a taste of the fruity alcohol. wonbin doesn't know what he wants, all he knows is that the time stopped again. he remembers how his days at the convenience store felt like weeks, and right now it's just the same, every second feels like an hour, every move slowed down to match the pace of his breathing. the drink stays in his hand, you make no move to take it, so wonbin brings to his lips to take a sip. you watch him swallow the burning liquid and the droplet that rolls down his chin and neck, the way he licks his lips afterwards.

"is it good?"

"it is."

"can i try it?"

it's like you both knew. like you both spoke to each others through your minds and eyes. wonbin's hand cups your jaw and you grip his shoulders before he presses his lips on yours, the sour cherry taste filling your senses. the kiss he gives you is like a dream, the kind of kiss you expect only in movies. his hand that holds your face wraps around the back of your neck and brings you closer, until one of your hand reaches for his hair to keep his face in place. wonbin is slow, lips warm from his drink, and your mouth only makes it warmer. the candy-like taste of his beer mixed with his cigarette makes you addicted, you feel high, high on him and the scent that clings to him. the fingers you tangled in his hair play with his blonde strands and wonbin deepens the kiss a little more, his tongue pushes on your lips for an entrance. you deny it, and wonbin parts away, he gives a quick peck on your lips to get rid of the strand of saliva that still connected the both of you.

his flushed face and half lidded eyes, the heavy rise of his chest and his parted lips, it takes your breath away. you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, and wonbin rests his bottle on the balcony, his now free hand finds its place on your waist. sungchan is lucky to have such a big apartment and such a large space outside, wonbin makes a mental note to thank him later. he guides you further away on the terrace until the few lights coming from the opened windows stop shining on your face. you can barely see wonbin now swallowed by the night, but you can feel him. you feel his fingertips under your shirt, grazing your skin without going further, you feel his mouth in your neck as he kisses behind you ear, you feel his chest against yours each time he remembers to breathe and stay alive, you feel the star charm of his necklace on your collarbone. wonbin feels you too, your finger mindlessly twirling a strand of his hair, your arm wrapped around his shoulder, your head resting against his and your breath on his skin. it's like a fever dream, wonbin wonders if the alcohol and the hot weather messed him up and created some kind of illusion to play with his heart. but when your hand lays on his chest and feels the loud beating under his skin, louder than the music, wonbin knows he's more than awake.

he rests his forehead against yours and for a few seconds, you admire his face so close, your fingers caress his chin and lips, follow his jaw and rest on his cheek. you want again the feeling of his lips, you want the drug he seems to get you on and flows your system like liquid fire. you presses your lips on the mole on his jaw and savor the small noise in wonbin's throat before he holds your face again to kiss you. this time you let his tongue meet yours in a heated valse, your arms wrap fully around wonbin's neck and he pushes you against the balcony railing, both hands resting behind you. he traps you against, towers you and takes control of the movements of your lips, he takes the lead of your heartbeat and your shaky breaths between his warm kisses.

wonbin can't get enough, the more time he spends tangled in your lips, the less he feels like he could keep living without it. now you taste like cherries too. one of wonbin's hand claw at your waist, he brings you closer until there's no more space. he needs to breathe, but dying this way sounds like heaven, you're slowly taking away his life by making him addicted to you. his fingers feel at home on your skin just like your hand in his hair. wonbin allows himself to breathe only to trail his lips on your jaw and down your neck, his mouth hot and swollen as he discovers your body. but he doesn't want to get away from your mouth, he steals your lips again and again, blown pupils lost into yours before you finally hold his head steady.

wonbin feels like a kid that's denied a sweet treat, but in a desperate way, he's about to throw a tantrum to have his favorite candy back. you brought him up to heaven and stole his soul, he surrendered to you having his heart in your hand. his nails dig into your hips gently as a warning, he brings his face closer, and you finally say the magic words.

"wanna get out of here?"

boom fireworks in his stomach, fireworks in his head and fireworks in his heart. the sparkles race in his veins and ring in his ears.

"i don't have a place to go."

"but i do."

wonbin's lips crashes against yours again, he wants to ground himself and tell himself it's not a dream. his teeth bite your bottom lip and you tug on your hair, he traps you again on the balustrade, his hand now finding your back to press yourself against him. wonbin gives you a kiss on the corner of your lips before licking his own. he finally breaks into a smile when you push yet again his hair out of his face. you take his hand, and you both hold tight when you walk through the drunk people in the apartment. this time the door is easy to find, and the empty streets somehow feel really comforting. your hand in his, fingers intertwined walking in a direction wonbin doesn't even know. this must be it, this must be what being alive feels like and what they all talk about, wonbin wonders if he's too drunk on his cherry beer or the taste of you for these thoughts to cloud his mind. yet they're all he can think about, and he wouldn't want it any other way.

a sad fucking summer indeed, a summer daze he hopes never fades away.

[gayczennie]

Forever ago I said I’d write this oneshot for Johnny, but I haven’t been in the headspace to write for a while. Today I randomly felt the inspiration to write a bit. I apologize if it doesn’t read well, I may or may not have written it while high af. It took way longer than I thought it would to lead into the actual sex part of the story, so there’s not really any smut in this yet. I’ll try to return later and write the actual smut later, but in the mean time enjoy whatever this is 🤩

Johnny x male reader

General summary: Johnny jerks you off after practice as a reward for getting through a really long day despite being super sore from yesterday’s activities

Reader is having a really hard time keeping it together with all the stress of being an idol

Johnny has been mentoring him and helping him get into shape

Johnny drags him to the car straight after practice seeing that reader is on the verge of breaking down

“Fuck this is exhausting!” you exclaim pushing back your hair that’s sticking to your forehead from all the sweat. “I don’t know why this choreography just isn’t getting through my head. And I’m tired and sore and I just wanna be done for the day so bad!!” Your throat stings from all the cardio you’ve been getting and your thighs shake under you, threatening to give way and send you collapsing onto the floor. You’d been obsessing over looking perfect for the performance that’s quickly approaching. Every free second of the day was spent in a practice room or with Jonny at the gym. He’d been so patient with you the last two weeks, really taking you under his wing. Johnny had made it his personal mission to get you whipped into shape before the upcoming reward show stage with the rest of NCT 127. The two of you had spent a lot of time together recently and you were of course naturally becoming closer. Johnny was harsh on you though, always manhandling your body into the correct form whether you were lifting weights improperly at the gym or doing the choreo slightly wrong. It had left you feeling a weird mix of admiration for the man mixed with a slight fear of his stearnness… and maybe, just maybe, it made you feel a tiny bit turned on feeling his harsh glare and his strong hands around your body guiding you to where you needed to be…

“You done complaining y/n?” asks Johnny from his place on the floor in front of you. He sits in front of the practice room mirror where he’s been for the last 3 hours straight helping you drill your choreography. “I know you’ve been working hard all day baby. But I think you can nail it if you go one or two more times y/n.” Fuck did he just say baby? Did you hear him right?. Maybe the tension you’d been feeling between the two of you the last couple weeks wasn’t all in your head after all. Too exhausted and sore to get your hopes up just yet though, you respond in a whining voice“Johnny I can’t. My whole body hurts and I can barely even move anymore. What’s the point? The performance is so soon anyways I’m not gonna get any better.” You expect Johnny to scold you and tell you to run it again, but instead you see a glimmer in his eyes and the start of a smirk spreading across his face. “Keep going until I tell you it’s satisfactory, and I’ll surprise you with a reward baby. How does that sound?” There it was again. “Baby”. You were certainly intrigued to say the least. Before you even have a chance to respond, Johnny hits play on the music again and you get back into position for another shot at the choreo.

Your legs are still shaking, but you do your best to keep it together and run the song again. Every ounce of your concentration goes into perfecting the dance, hoping that this will finally be the last run through. You put on your best show and move with every bit of energy you’ve got left, sweat spraying across the room as you move to the beat. Finally, the song’s end comes to an end and you finish and then fall to the ground. Rolling over onto your back, you peer up at the ceiling through hooded eyes and Johnny moves into your field of vision. His head hovers over you, making his necklace dangle over your face. “I won’t lie to you, you still have more work to do y/n. But you’re getting better for sure. You worked hard today and you looked good doing it. Come on” he said, holding a hand out to you to help you off the floor. You ignore his outreached hand and instead meet his eyes and ask “Johnny. Is it really still bad? Be honest. I need to know if it sucked”. Tears prickle at your eyes and Johnny’s smirk down at you on the ground quickly fades. He scoops you up onto your feet and places his hands on your shoulders. “Y/n. You don’t suck at all. It was really fucking good! I’m just being hard on you because I wanted you to keep improving. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Somehow Johnny’s words of encouragement make you feel worse, as if he’s lying to you just to make you feel better. “Baby don’t worry about it ok. You looked really good. Like I said before. How about that reward?” He tilts your head up at him and you notice that same glimmer enter his eyes again. It hits you too that he’s got his hands on you again, manipulating your movement the way he so often does. You let him grab your hand and guide you toward the door to finally leave the SM building. The two of you walk toward his car in the parking lot to go home, but to your surprise Johnny leads you both toward the back doors of the car instead of the driver’s and passenger’s seats. “Are we not going home? Johnny I’m so exhausted and I just wanna lie down and cr-

Your words are cut off as Johnny shuts the door and aggressively presses his lips against yours. You’re a little caught off guard at first, after all you didn’t even know if he was gay, but it doesn’t take any convincing for you to kiss him back passionately. Johnny’s hands waste no time exploring your body, and settling around your waist where he can easily control your small body against his. Pulling back a little, Johnny is the first to speak. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that y/n. Watching you train at the gym and in the studio has been turning me on for the longest time.” You smack his chest and ask him “why did you wait so long to do anything about it? You think I’m not thinking the same thing staring at your muscles every day? Or feeling your hands around my waist while we work on the dance? I’ve been spending all this time worrying and feeling stupid and you were interested in me the whole time??”

“I was waiting until I was sure you felt the same way” He shrugged. “What the fuck Johnny. I’ve been trying to hide a boner like ten times a day because of yo- He cuts you off again with a kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth, exploring a bit, while one arm wraps around your lower back. He lowers you down on your back in the backseat while continuing his attack on your lips. “You taste salty” he whispers as he pulls away slightly to remove his shirt. The sight of Johnny’s impressive muscles makes your dick jump in your pants. For once, you do nothing to hide it. You want to fuck Johnny. And it looks like he wants to fuck you too

To be continued.

[skyrim-forever]

So doing the baby meme thing got me thinking. What if Ondolemar found out Theodora was pregnant with his child while they were still seeing each other in Markarth? Just woke up one morning threw up beside his bed, she goes to Whiterun to get checked and BAM lil baby Arthano making an appearance in her tummy early! Because you know he was just so excited about popping his head out. Totally ready to be the next Arena champion. What kind of drama would ensue? Would Theodora even tell Ondolemar about it, given their current roles? How would Ondolemar feel sitting in his office or pacing Understone Keep knowing that Theodora was out there carrying his child? I NEED THE GOSSIP!!

Hi friend <3 Thank you so much for this ask this is a really interesting question. Unfortunately I can't see a scenario in which they would keep the baby because there are two ways it could happen.

Earlier on before they admit their feelings, if Theodora found out she would have a ~~fantasy abortion~~ and not tell him. They aren't in a relationship, owe each other nothing so it would be an "oops!" and then she'd be super careful. As their feelings came out she would tell him and he'd be very practical about it. That was the reasonable solution to falling pregnant in this type of arrangement. No hard feelings on his end.

It would happen after they had their love confession in Windhelm (chapter 1 is out here hehe shameless plug) in which case it would be the same outcome. This time done for the fact their isn't really any other option, she's got to fight Alduin, he has his duties. As long as she has to be in Skyrim she wouldn't be able to hide it, and then once its here, what do they do?

I was inspired to write this second scenario as that will explain it better. Under cut because sad :( and long this is 1100 OOPS

Ondolemar made it a point to work now, try to get something done while he still could. His love had scarcely eaten last night and was sprung from the bed early this morning with some foul sickness, retching into what she could find. The empty barrel had been something he meant to get rid of anyways. Theodora left to go see the Alchemist in town in hopes she could provide her answer as to what was afflicting her. She suspected some sort of stomach flu and if that was the case, he would likely come down with it too. Best work now until she returns with more information. 

Once she is gone for more than an hour he begins to worry. Running through his mind are fears it could be something more serious, something contracted on the road, an internal injury as she insisted on healing herself whenever possible; the fact they both drank heavily was not helping. The woman drank to be drunk where as he consumed casually throughout the day, it felt a bit better even if in reality it was comparable. As it’s nearing hour two, she comes back to him. Abandoning his work, he walks over to her, speaking just after the dwarven doors close. 

“You were gone for longer than I anticipated, I trust she found something? Are you going to be alright?” Her hands extend and he welcomes them gladly, trying to pull her in closer but she stays standing on her own. 

“I also wasn’t expecting to be gone that long either, but the alchemist has a strong suspicion.”

“That is good, what does she think? I hope it is not Bone Break Fever, absolutely a nasty disease that is. Do you feel weak?” She smiles meekly.

“A bit but that’s not it.” Noticeably her eyes fall to the floor. “I won’t know for certain until I speak with the healer, Danica Pure-Spring at the Temple in Whiterun but…” All the way to Whiterun what could possibly require such a trip? Any ideas as to what could be that serious are interrupted with the reveal. “I may be pregnant.” Oh. “And if I am then I will also take care of that at the Temple as well.” 

Ondolemar did not mean to be silent for so long, regretting that he retreated inward to grapple with this information rather than immediately comfort her. Regretting even more now that she apologizes.

“I’m sorry, normally I’m very good about-” He remedies the silence by bringing her to his chest, no resistance from her as she falls against him. Hand rubbing her back and the other smoothing her hair, he speaks. 

“No no, you have nothing to be sorry for, famously it cannot be done alone.” A weak attempt at humour but she does laugh, before the sobbing begins; anguished like he’s never heard her before. Hoping to never hear it again. Knowing there's nothing he can say at this moment, the intensity can not be healed with words, demanding to be felt, that is what he does. Let her cry against him until she can muster the words, chastising herself in anger now.

“Fuck, why am I crying? I’ve never considered having children before so why does it matter? Why do I feel so…” The question ends abruptly with another wail. 

He had thought of having a family someday, long ago  when he was much younger. The plan had been to throw himself into work, advance the family’s standing, then and only then would he let his mother work with the matchmaker and get on with the decades long progress to get married as an Altmer. But there was always more work to do, longer hours, more travel. Before he knew it the decades slipped by, casual relationships here and there but never entering into the formal process of courtship. Mostly with other agents, they were who he was around the most and thus were deeply familiar with the strict schedules under the Dominion. Seeing his sister wed had made him content, she found a nice, respectable man from a scholarly family in Skywatch. There were times he tried to rationalize with himself it was for the best. Whether or not he enjoyed it aside, he was a soldier first and foremost, the nature of a soldier is to be sent far from home. No point in having a family if he would not be able to see them, nor would he ask her to keep it as she was making the logical choice. There is her fated battle on the horizon, the matter of his position, as well as the purges conducted where there was higher density of mixed man-mer ancestry. What would he ask her, doom yourself to a life of hiding and single motherhood as he cannot follow because he loves her? Because sometimes he did imagine leaving his post, finding some way to flee from the Thalmor’s gasp and shed that which he cannot entirely believe. Tempted to do it even as he wished they lived in a better world and is curious if she has had similar thoughts. 

His thumbs gently wipe away her tears, as best he can, while cradling her face. 

“It is a serious situation, Theodora. You’re having a normal reaction regardless, let alone under our circumstances.” She nods and he places a kiss on her forehead, before gauging the situation.

“Do you want to keep it?”

“It’s not a matter of if either of us wants to, we can’t. Even if I could hide it the whole time, fight Alduin and manage to survive despite being who knows how pregnant,” A pained sigh as she is blunt with him on something which he knows to be true. “And unless it comes out looking identical to me, I’ll only be able to lie so much. Questions would be asked, Ondolemar. Nevermind if I tried to bring them around you in any capacity, how soon would it take someone to put things together, how fast would the hammer slam down on you?” Gods, she is right but that doesn’t stop the sting.

“I know, I know.” Leaning down for another kiss on her forehead, hands instead wrapping around her torso in a loose grip as she rests her head tilting upwards, clear view of the redness sin her eyes and the change in her skin tone. Red and puffing from the mental ache.

“If I were to have children though I’d want you to be their father.”

“They could have no one better as a mother than you.”

“I love you, Ondolemar.”

“And I love you, Theodora.”

[clownsuu]

Hey I'm Panic, and it's time to Gay!

Biblically accurate gay people jumpscare

[thecandymaticart]

A silly little idea I had

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Ok, I think I have a pretty good idea of why a lot of Akechi's dialogue is... like that.

So, even before his confidant truly started, I noticed that he has a real knack for directing the flow of a conversation. This is very fitting for someone who is both a detective and skilled at interviews - when there is a topic and a goal, Akechi is in his element.

All this to say, he's actually kind of controlling when it comes to conversational flow. He probes for information, or turns the conversation around to a particular topic, usually the Phantom Thieves. He manages to take a few of Joker's dialogue options and spin them so they sound mildly incriminating in the context he's placed them in - the only way to truly get around this is to pick answers that feign indifference, and even then, that's more than a bit telling. He's clearly very good at this kind of thing.

But then, we get conversations where either Joker does something he didn't expect, or else he doesn't have a particular goal in mind - and the conversation stutters. In the first instance, Joker does something (a particularly egregious example is putting his glasses on him and fluffing his hair in rank 3) which both leaves him wrong-footed and no longer in perfect control of the situation. He just kind of... freezes, for awhile. It's hilarious. He has no idea how to respond.

He picks up control again in the phone call afterwards, having chosen to play into it, turning this "fooling the crowds" into a kind of game or secret between them. Nice save.

But in instances where there isn't an obvious topic and the goal is somewhat nebulous, for instance, that one Leblanc scene, it becomes pretty apparent that Akechi doesn't have the right "script" to go off of. Again, it's particularly notable in that scene, because I'm fairly sure he didn't have any specific reason to be at Leblanc, other than him looking for a quiet spot now that public opinion has turned on him. And because there isn't anything specific he's digging for, he kind of just ends up throwing things at the wall to see what will stick. Probing for any kind of recognizable reaction that he can jump on and work with, and that just doesn't really happen in this scene.

He references Sae, a woman in a respectable position, to Sojiro, but instead of that netting a welcome, it earns his ire, given Sae's recent actions against him. He then tries to greet Joker, his... rival? friend? enemy? person who at least seems to somewhat enjoy spending time with him? But Joker's responses are somewhat short, and Akechi practically wilts. He tries to commiserate by oversharing. He tries to involve Futaba and reaches out for the only topic of interest he can think of around "young people". He compliments the coffee. He compliments Joker. He tries to invoke that connection between them. None of it is really sticking, nor does it serve as a jumping off point for him to steer the conversation, or even really start one.

So, he basically just ends up having a one-sided chat with himself and then leaves. Hilarious. Also a little sad, if I'm being honest. It's really giving "guy with no friends who only knows how to speak to adults" energy. If there's no specific purpose to the exchange, or he is not in control of its direction, he seems to be kind of out of his depth. He succeeds only in being a little awkward and confusing, more than anything.

[faunandfloraas]

It is kinda funny seeing people talk about Seungmin lately because he definitely has gotten more bold and confident for sure. He's also just getting opportunities to be perceived as an individual on his own as well for the first time in a while but it's still jarring to see people be like Aw he was always such a quiet goodie two shoes little nerd and it's like...... he was the one to leave and seek out his own vocal coach and blatantly talk about it, which of course lead to I.N and Lee Know also doing the same, he was the one to go on bubble and tell off sasaengs who used to camp outside their old dorm for invading members privacy but also because it effected other residents and staff at the complex, something that i'm certain upper management wouldnt have been happy about, and he wasn't curt or nice about it either. like he's never actually been a wallflower, he's always had a pretty strong backbone and seems to stick to his principals, its not really new.

[orcelito]

Considering the. Ahem. Ways this year has gone, I've not been thinking about it all that much, but. I did start this year with the motto of Year Of Unfucking My Life. With a few goals involved in that.

I got an official adhd diagnosis, as well as a diagnosis for PCOS. Other diagnoses in progress. Gotten adhd meds and birth control to regulate periods. I've gone back to school and I'm keeping up with it better than ever before. I've even been working on practicing driving, something I've been largely neglecting since I first got my driving permit, um... 11 years ago...

I just need to actually Get my license. And I need to get it before the end of the year. If I can accomplish that, then I'll say the Year Of Unfucking My Life was successful.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hunting for Clues (Dad Squad)

(@nancyheart11 @telemna-hyelle @smilesrobotlover @skyward-floored + @ whoever else wants to be tagged)

The air was uncomfortably thick as a heavy blanket of moisture clung to Rusl's skin. It felt like summer in Ordon Village, except he was in no place to be stripping off his shirt and going swimming to cool off.

Well, swimming might be involved. It depended on if there was a clear path to their destination.

They were following a lead he'd gotten from a nearby village. After the cucco incident, all it took was some conversations to figure out that a local cave had suddenly become more dangerous, that people were being harassed and attacked when they approached it. It didn't take much to ascertain, then, that if the Yiga had a holdout nearby, and a cave was being guarded, it was likely that the group would find Yiga there.

Abel led the group, tense with anticipation. Fierce was last, surveying the area and watching their flank. Rusl kept his eyes alert, wiping the sweat on his brow with his headband. His heart beat hard and fast, not so much from the exertion of climbing along the hill as they followed the river, but in the hope that they would find Link. It had been far too long since his capture, and though Rusl tried to stay focused on the objective rather than worry, the anxiety had steadily been growing.

It had been too familiar, having one of his boys kidnapped. He hated it. He'd been eager to push forward and find him. But when he'd realized he was in a completely different Hyrule, he'd recognized that he'd have to take a step back and figure this out. But now they had a lead, and now there was tangible hope that he could get to his boy, and now nothing was going to stop him from getting there.

They eventually reached the waterfall that supposedly hid the cave's entrance, and Rusl walked up to stand beside Abel.

"No guards," Abel noted quietly, his voice barely audible over the crashing water.

Worry wormed its way around Rusl's heart and mind. Abel was right, after all - the reason they had learned of this place at all was because people had been warded away with violence. The fact that no one had even tried to stop them was telling - either they were walking into a trap, or their lead was an old one.

"I have not noticed any scouts, either," Fierce added as he caught up with them easily. "This does not bode well."

Rusl drew his sword. "Then we should be ready for anything. Let's go."

The water was refreshingly cool on his skin as he passed through, bowing his head as the weight and pressure briefly beat down on him. He opened his eyes again quickly, blinking water away and surveying the area.

The cave was enormous, with moss and glowing mushrooms lining the stone path leading far beyond where he could see. He grabbed a lantern and quickly lit it, leading his companions into the darkness.

Bearing a torch and a sword while looking for lost children. This is too familiar. Rusl bit his tongue, shaking the thought away. He had to focus.

A particularly large water droplet fell from the ceiling, splashing on the top of his head and startling him back to reality. He gave a quiet huff, thanking the goddesses for the help focusing, and gripped his sword more tightly.

The farther they walked, the worse it felt. The waterfall drowned out any sound that could have tipped them off if there was someone nearby, and the very distinct lack of people made Rusl's skin crawl. The Yiga had already tried to ambush them once, and they were defeated fairly easily, but still... a place like this could make matters difficult if they were attacked.

There was a faint glow ahead, bluish in color. Rusl lowered his lantern slightly, squinting and looking for movement. He pulled the wick back a little, dimming the light so they wouldn't be as obvious as they approached. Though Fierce's steps were much louder than theirs, he still tried to creep along as quietly as Rusl and Abel did until the trio had reached a bend in the long cavernous pathway.

When Rusl peeked around, he saw litter and debris, and he immediately knew they were too late. The tension drained out of him with a heavy exhale, disappointment filling the void. His eyes were attracted upward, however, to trace the blue light to its source. It was a strange, frog-like creature clinging to the stony walls and hopping around easily. Rusl stared at it in wonder, reminded of the light spirits, and wondered if it was kin to them.

Abel swore softly, walking into the room, seemingly ignoring the creature altogether.

"Hello, little sprite," Fierce called to the animal. It turned, glancing at him, and continued to bounce around cheerfully.

"What is it?" Rusl asked, curiosity holding his anguish at bay.

"I am not entirely sure," Fierce answered, catching Rusl off guard. "I can sense its magic, though. It is not of the Yiga."

With that little knowledge, Rusl returned his attention to the large room the creature was illuminating. The room had a few barrels, a desk with some notes, but most of what was there had been removed. Abel was busy perusing a book of some sort that was on the desk.

Approaching, Rusl asked, "What did you find?"

"Notes," Abel answered simply, engrossed in his reading. Rusl didn't bother pushing the matter, waiting for him to finish.

The loud meow that emitted from one of the barrels distracted him well enough. All three men turned their gaze, though Abel resumed his reading quickly, and Fierce and Rusl walked to the nearest barrel.

Inside was a kitten, creamy white fur blending with patches of buttery brown. It meowed again as it looked up at the pair.

"What are you doing here, little guy?" Rusl asked as he cautiously reached in. The kitten didn't swat at him, allowing itself to be hauled gently out of the barrel where it had been trapped.

When Rusl turned to ask Abel if he had finished reading, he saw the knight staring at him with wide eyes and a furrowed brow, as if he'd just been given some sort of life altering news. Ice filled his veins, worry for Link immediately shutting out any other thought. "What's wrong?"

"The Hero of Time," Abel said. "That's... your son is the Hero of Time?"

Several thoughts clamored for attention all at once in Rusl's mind. The Hero of Time was a figure of legend, and he had been the one to train Link. Did.. did that mean Link inherited the title? He supposed that wasn't unreasonable. But that meant the Yiga had written about him in their log, and that meant he had to be alive still, because his title would not have been the first piece of information Abel had clung to if it were otherwise.

Hopefully.

Rusl walked to his companion in three large steps, the kitten bouncing in his arms, and he demanded, "What did they say about him?"

"T-they..." Abel glanced between Rusl and the kitten, temporary confusion flitting across his face at the sight of the animal before he continued, "They said he's---he's, ah, been fighting them off."

Rusl's dread vanished in an instant and was replaced with hope. "What? But..."

They hadn't captured him after all? Was he out here somewhere, lost and injured and alone, searching for Rusl as desperately as Rusl was looking for him?

"They escaped," Abel explained, holding the book close to his chest. "They escaped the main Yiga stronghold. They've been spreading their forces to find them."

The kitten was suddenly plucked out of Rusl's arms, held by the scruff of its neck by the fierce deity as he stared at it. "And this tiny furry creature was supposed to track him?"

Rusl's eyes stung unexpectedly with tears, and he let out a wet laugh, blinking them away. "I think maybe this little guy got lost."

"The kitten was supposed to be bait..." Abel added with a tone that was just as confused as Fierce's. "Apparently to lure the dog in."

Rusl whipped his head towards the knight. "Dog? What dog?"

Rusl immediately snatched the book before Abel could answer, courtesy abandoned, and the knight snarled, grabbing it back.

"This isn't time for your paranoia," Rusl snapped. "Whatever you're hiding, unless it has to do with my boy, I don't care. Let me read it."

Before either party could continue the argument, the book was taken out of Abel's tight grip with ease, making the knight yelp. The Fierce Deity flipped it in his hands, reading it aloud. "We have arrived at the designated site per our leader's orders. We're currently looking for a good way to lure the wretched heroes. The Hero of Time has been a constant thorn in our side in every encounter. He even took our bananas during the last fight."

Spirits above. Link's alive. He's alive and he escaped.

Of course he did. It was Link. His boy had fought Zant and Ganondorf, had been trained by the Hero of Time (the previous Hero of Time...? Did they all have that title, then?), had been forged into a strong warrior through the dark flames of twilight magic. Link could handle anything. Rusl shouldn't have worried.

Except he still did. Because he didn't know if Link was hurt. He didn't know where Link was, and the Yiga were hunting him.

What did these people want with him?! All Rusl knew of the Yiga was that Abel said they were traitors to the crown who wanted to see Hyrule fall. He said they were a cult of sorts, and they worshipped a demon, the same one that had destroyed Abel's Hyrule.

The deity turned the page with a thumb, carelessly tossing the kitten towards Rusl, who jumped, startled, and quickly caught the frightened little animal. He leaned it against his chest to soothe it as Abel grew steadily more wound up watching their companion.

"We've got a lead on their whereabouts," Fierce continued reading. "It appears the Hero's condition has improved somewhat, or at least enough that he is still alive. We have to ensure we catch him before he dies."

Rusl's breath was stolen from him. "What?!"

Fierce also stared worriedly at the pages, reading silently to gather more information quickly. It left Rusl in too much suspense, and he said, "Fierce, tell us what the hell is going on. Is my boy okay?"

"They're referring to three figures," Fierce answered as he read. "The Hero of Time, the Hero, and the dog. Sometimes they mention a mutt... I assume that must be the dog."

The uncertainty and anxiety were going to drive Rusl insane. "Just read it aloud. Please."

"Our camp was raided by the Hero of Time last night," Fierce obliged. "He took all our food and smashed all our bananas. One of our scouts spotted his dog but then we lost contact with him."

"We've made a discovery. The dog likes hanging around other animals. One of our scouts saw it playing with some kittens. We've since acquired one of the kittens and will be utilizing it to lure in the dog. If the mutt comes, then the Hero of Time will follow. Then all we have to do is find his base of operations to get the Hero."

"We've been in this cave for two weeks, and it's been almost a week since there's been any sign of our targets. The kitten ploy has not come to anything. Another group reported in that there are warriors looking the heroes. We will attempt to set up a trap for them. In the meantime, I've decided we need to move camp."

The longer Rusl listened, the more he realized that the Hero of Time was not, in fact, his Link. He could easily see his boy attacking the Yiga encampment, but he wouldn't simply raid it for supplies and leave. Link was too self reliant for that - he would gather his own supplies. He would only enter an enemy camp to eliminate it. His sweet boy was gentle in all ways but battle, after all.

Also, he knew, out of any group of boys, who would go running to the nearest pile of cuddly animals.

He knew exactly which one was his Link.

Which meant...

Rusl glanced over at Abel, really looked at him, and he saw the subtle signs in the man's stony demeanor. He saw the worry, the fear, the way the man's hands trembled.

"The injured one... that's your son, isn't it?" Rusl asked quietly.

Abel's expression darkened, a fierce, nearly feral glare crossing his face. His look dared Rusl to say anything else.

So this was the unspoken fear Abel had been carrying with him. This was the reason he didn't dare speak much about his boy. Had he thought they'd take advantage of his boy's vulnerable state? What else was Abel hiding?

"The Hero of Time is my child," Fierce said firmly, closing the book with a quick snap. "That is his title. And his tactics match. One of your children is missing."

Rusl bit his tongue as he smiled and choked back a snort. "Well... we'll find my boy. Let's start by finding yours."

"The Hero you've been protecting is the Hero of Time?" Abel confirmed.

"Yes," Fierce answered with a nod.

Abel let out a sigh of what seemed to be relief.

"What's wrong with your son?" Rusl asked gently.

The knight closed his eyes, his body stiffening. He didn't trust them. Rusl almost felt hurt, but then again... he had just withheld vital information about his Link as well.

But why wouldn't he? Telling them his boy could turn into a beast was a recipe for disaster.

Then again, them not knowing was equally bad. He knew that from experience. They'd already had to battle one pack of wolves and he'd nearly had a meltdown. He had had a meltdown.

What secret was Abel keeping to protect his boy?

Rusl's train of thought was interrupted when the strange blue bouncing creature hopped over, hovering directly over Abel. Seeing as the man wasn't reacting, Rusl hesitantly pointed to it. "You... can see that thing, right?"

Distracted, Abel glanced upward. Then he huffed. "It's a bubbulfrog."

"A what?"

"Bubbulfrog," Abel repeated, glancing at the pair. "Legend says if you strike one down you can obtain a mystical stone from it."

"You don't seem very fazed by this," Rusl noted.

"Link and I have found plenty in different caves when he was little," Abel sighed. He raised an eyebrow as he looked up. "I'm surprised this one isn't blowing bubbles at us, though."

"They do that?"

"Often. Link loved popping them. But we... never got this close," Abel went on uncertainly. "I wasn't sure how dangerous they were. They usually stay away from people."

"It won't harm you," Fierce said.

"Either way," Abel continued with a dismissive wave. "They don't hang around people. If there's one here it means the Yiga left long ago."

The kitten meowed again, pawing at Rusl's tunic. The Ordonian smiled down at it before looking back at Abel, whose gaze had grown distant. Meanwhile, Fierce turned, motioning towards them. "We should move on. It is clear the boys are not here and have not been in the area for some time."

Nodding, the two men followed him out of the cave. Rusl ran a hand gently over the kitten, which purred in response, relaxing him a little. They really needed to get to the bottom of all of this. Abel needed to open up and tell them more about the Yiga. And maybe... maybe Rusl should tell them about Link's transformative abilities before something terrible truly did happen.

Rusl sighed, looking around as the humidity came back in full force upon exiting the cave. This was... a mess. But at leas the knew Link was alive, and that was all that mattered.

[kanene-yaaay]

Welcome to the White... Space?

Kanene’s notes: OKay, okay, since the first time I saw Omori interacting with the floating hands the FIRST thing that appeared in my mind was “t,,,,tickles,,,” and thank you so much for @soft--valentine and their awesome fanart that gave me inspiration to write this quick scenario. Also, please don’t forget to check that fic from @t0mm33th3m0nst3r that is also inspired by the fanart!

Warnings: Nothing much, just a small warning for floating magic hands and not being able to move your arms. Lee!Omori. Around 1000 words.

[~*~]

The thing is, when Omori opened his eyes, he didn’t notice anything different.

Of course, there was a something (because for him, there is always a something), a piece of a feeling, a sentiment nibbling at the corner of his mind, faint, but still wary enough to make he wonder curiously about the way the red hands that floated freely around the white space approached his room, stopping and trembling mindless in the air when he turned around to stare directly at them.

He blinked, looked at it in this way or that but nothing happened so he began searching for his knife on his inventory. There was just one way to get out of here, afterall.

In the corner of his eyes, something moved.

With a quick, swift move Omori was turning back, staring at the hands that were behind him  frozen once again in the air, trembling without a care in the world.

They seemed to be closer.

But... that didn't make sense. They don't move, not unless he is close enough to trigger their run-catch-take drill.

He turned back at the inventory, fingers closing around the handle just before a bright red exclamation strayed his attention again. This time, when he looked up, it was to see the shadow of an exclamation disappearing (was that a heart in the place of the dot?) and two hands bolting in his direction.

A quiet gasp and Omori was also running, his legs carrying him to far and away, knife securely held in his hands and thoughts trying to understand how did the hands get into his room and why the hands that he passed by also showed that weird heart-exclamation before following him as well. Two quickly became five and for some reason thinking about that line of floating red hands trying to catch him made a bubbly something want to squirm in his tummy.

They were getting close. They were getting dangerously close and Omori had no idea of what would happen when they researched their target. Everything only growing more confusing when he turned around and half one of them waving and the other half wiggling their fingers.

Omori realized too late that not looking for where he was heading while running away wasn't his best idea. When he turned back, there was another red hand in front of him and both wordless surprised sound that came out of his lips and the sharp turn he got to not stumble on the hand were clumsy enough to throw his balance off, tangling his legs and making his face go too fast to meet the floor.

He closed his eyes, arms in front of him.

But he never fell.

There was warm hands on his wrists, stopping his fall and for some pieces of second Omori's voice almost said a name that used to be there to save him. But that didn't make any sense. This was the White Space. His White Space. No one was there besides him. No one should b-

The hands holding him kept pushing him upwards until he was floating a few inches from the ground. Omori kicked his legs and tested pulling his hands from hold. He kept floating on the same place. Weird.

Two other red hands appeared right in front of him, quickly patting his face, shoulders and torso with care.

Were...

Were they looking for injuries?

Omori wiggled on the same place again when a hand got too close to his side, a faint warmth running on his face. He wasn’t a child. He was not going to cry and get hurt for tripping while running.

The hand on his side froze and he felt himself froze too in answer, feeling a buzzing of adrenaline spark in his veins again. Before he could concentrate on it, however another red hands (how much there was? Six?) waved in front of his face, pinching his nose when he ignored it in favor to look at the hand that was still dangerously close to his side.

Omori scrunched his nose and made a face at the second hand when it let go, wondering, once again, what was happening as it pirouetted in front of him, poking his cheek for some reason.

Was it trying to communicate?

Before any other question could be imagined, his side was squeezed and Omori couldn't help the surprise yelp and giggle that fell from his lips.

The hands froze.

Ops.

All the other free three red hands turned their attention to the fourth on on his right side, who slowly began poking and prodding the tickle spot curiously. Each touch making a tickly shock run across his systems, inviting his mouth to turn into a smile and giggles to bubble on his throat.

Oh no.

Omori bit back his reactions, small ruffs and puffs escaping from him as the careful, delibered pokes simply did not stop and actually evolved to an awfully effective squeezing that made his legs kick and trash with all the giddy energy stuck in his system.

An involuntary squeak escaped from him when two more attacks made themselves known, one hand lightly - so light and so gentle that its only the tip of its fingers touched the ticklish skin - skittering and dancing freely across his armpit, drawing senseless lines and chasing the titters that couldn’t be helped when they scribbled from all the way from the top of his armpit until the spot where the highest rib was before going right back up and starting the entire cycle again and again and again.

The other hand, very differently, decided to take a much more rough approach, resting on the tickle spot and then digging as if there was no tomorrow. The thumb staying right in the center of the pit and the rest of the fingers energetically scratching the rest of the skin and refusing to move no matter how much Omori squirmed.

And squirm the boy did, while his arms trembled with the fact that he could not pull them down, the rest of his limbs had no such problem, legs caught in the middle of kicking non stop at every new squeeze tasing his side or just laying there and laugh his heart's content as more and more warmth filled his chest and traveled across his face, pooling on his cheeks and the tip of his ears.

And then a finger. A single only finger poked his bellybutton, the other four fingers fluttering in happiness at the crackle that was fished from this. So the index finger rested inside his bellybutton and began to scratch non stop.

All Omori's barriers were broken this moment, his eyes were closed, wrinkling at the corners, shining with unshed tears as crackles, chuckles, giggles, titters, snorts and squeals fell freely, in a lovely melodious laughter from his mouth, all the scribbles, digging, prodding, poking and scratching making his nerves buzz and dance with the fact that it tickled, it really tickled so, so much and for a moment nothing more in the world could matter beyond the tickling and the laughter and the fact that he couldn’t escape, that he was so helpless but still, it was fun, it was silly, it was unexpected, it tickled and he was not even a little afraid...

Sunny opened his eyes in the real world, a grin on his mouth, a warmth running on his face.

What was that?

[~*~]

Omori: Girl help I can’t escape

Us: U literally control the mindspace u can do anything you want, you can make them stop

Omori: I Do Not See It

[mississpissi]

im asking you to explain :mic: abby and her dad go

ok this all started w bulks post about “abby” meaning “father’s joy” and it got me thinking about the contrast between cecil’s relationship with his mom versus the relationship i imagine between abby and her dad. fair warning that this mostly exists in my head but u bet ur burger im still gonna try to back up my ideas w quotes from the text (AP lit and lang babey).

first of all, looking at cecil’s relationship with his mom is super important. one of the first things we hear about her is that she used to hide from cecil for days and that she covered all the mirrors in their house (33). she also tells cecil to “beware, be warned, be wary”, which she apparently says to everything and cecil interprets to mean that she’s proud of him. we also hear in “Homecoming” (55) that cecil looks forward to seeing his mom every year at the homecoming game and was disappointed when he wasn’t able to. in “It Sticks With You” (182), we learn their mother would take them into the woods and walk quickly, cecil saying, “I think she wanted to lose us in the shadowy labyrinth of tall trees.” she would leave flowers at the base of the same old tree every time. she would ignore cecil’s questions. in “Bedtime Story” (132), which im convinced is about cecil (but that’s another post), cecil says “he just wanted his mother to show interest in his curiosity.” and even if that story isn’t about him, it is a story his mother would tell him at night, one he never heard the end of. in the traffic section of “Pioneer Days” (143), cecil tells a story of a boy left behind, abandoned by his family, left with nothing but a snake. im also fairly certain this is about him (cecil loves to tell his own story without ever really telling it). 

most revealing is what cecil says in “Ghost Stories” about his mother and her death. we learn their mother left when cecil was 14 (whatever that means), that cecil “thought that Mom would be back at any moment, like maybe she was away on business. Or out for a walk. Or just hiding.” He says, “And Mom flew away, when all other defenses failed her.” we learn she returned many years later, sick and old and “sorry”. we learn that she died soon after in a way that was “mundane”, that cecil was at work when it happened. we learn that cecil mourned her passing.

all of this paints a picture of a relationship that was strained, full of pain, downright abusive. and we see cecil, as he does so often, retrofit this pain to be something more palatable. she was hiding because she was proud. she didn’t speak to him because she was focused on something else. her defenses had failed her. she was struggling with alcoholism and mental illness. she was playing a game. she covered the mirrors because of pride. she came back! her death was inevitable. he misses her. he grieves her. he loved her. she might have loved him. he makes excuses for her because to do anything else would be to admit that he had experienced immense pain- to re-experience this immense pain. better to change the story.

now abby. 

we don’t know nearly as much about abby as i wish we did. we know she “approach[es] life with a total practicality,” that she will save her pain for when she is in private (It Devours!). steve says, “With Abby around, I can't imagine a bad thing that could happen" (89). we know her relationship with cecil has been tumultuous, that she leaned on cecil and then on steve as she raised janice. in “Bedtime Story”, the sister in the story fought with her brother, telling him she hated him. “she would wrestle him to the ground and pull his hair.” after the boy is buried in the ground, the sister often visits the tree he becomes. she plants flowers, removes beatles from his bark, reads in his shade, plucks his fruit. she visits with a man and a child, visits with joy and with tears in turn. this sister, this abby mourns her brother and tries to protect him, fights with him, loves him. 

and, again, in “Ghost Stories”, we learn that abby was “reserved and controlling”, that she dropped out of college when their mom left to raise cecil, that she blamed him (that cecil blamed her for not being their mom). we learn that abby was there when their mother died, that her death prompted cecil and abby to reconcile their differences. we learn that cecil and abby are both haunted by their family. 

here’s where i diverge from what we really have. 

we haven’t really heard from abby. everything we know of her we’ve learned from cecil and steve. but i have to imagine she resented their mother, that she hardly wanted to drop her plans for her future to raise her younger brother.  i hardly have to imagine what it’s like to have that kind of responsibility thrust upon you when all you wanted was to live your own life. i have to imagine watching your mother die, your mother who just reentered your life after years of neglect, would hurt, would be complicated, would cut deep.

i imagine mr. and mrs. palmer bringing home their first born child, naming her “Abby”, naming her “father’s joy”, naming her after the pride that swelled in her father’s chest. i imagine mr. and mrs. palmer doing their best to raise their daughter in a town as hostile as night vale. i imagine them wanting a sibling for their daughter, someone to keep her company when they couldn’t. i imagine abby struggling with the idea for a moment, then embracing her brother wholeheartedly. i imagine mrs. palmer naming their son “Cecil”, naming him “blind”, naming him after the future she saw.

i imagine abby, her father’s joy, watching as he brought his son to “work in the pasture” with him (132). watching as her brother was injured by his curiosity, watching as her father avoided him in his anger. watching her mother hide from her brother. i imagine abby realizing she would have to be the one to patch him up, even while both parents were still home. i imagine abby hearing her father promise that he “would give [his] life for [his son]”, hearing him say her brother could never be a doctor because “he feared for the boy's future patients”. i imagine her wanting her father to offer his life for her, to invite her to the pasture. i imagine her becoming more reserved over time, realizing her brother needed more help and attention, willing to step into the background because she loved him, because she wanted to be strong for her family. i imagine her doing everything she could to live up to her name, to be someone worthy of the joy of her father.

i imagine abby, her father’s joy, watching him leave. maybe she knew why, maybe she was simply left. i imagine abby watching her mother slowly fall into paranoia and fear because of her brother, because of what she had seen. i imagine abby following her mother into the woods, placing flowers on the trunk of a tree she recognizes, trying to keep cecil distracted by playing a game with him. i imagine abby making sure cecil got to school, got food when their mother was hiding from him. i imagine abby finding out her mother too had left, left her with now full time responsibility for cecil. i imagine abby becoming controlling because she had to, because she had lost control over so many other aspects of her life. i imagine abby channeling what she could remember of her father, trying to be strong, reliable- ignoring that he had stopped being that very suddenly. i imagine abby yelling at a teenage cecil, telling herself that it was better than ignoring him like they had. i imagine abby finding out she was to become a mother, a mother without a father, a mother to a daughter who had more needs than she could handle on her own. i imagine abby finding a man who wanted to help, who could provide a stability cecil was unable to, for all his enthusiasm. i imagine abby, kicking her drunk brother she had raised out of her wedding, not willing to look him in the face for years without seeing her father, seeing her mother, seeing ghosts.

and i imagine abby listening to her brother describe their father on live radio. i imagine her cleaning up after the dinner steve made, hearing about a man with a “thin mouth… [and] threatening, beckoning eyes” (192). hearing about a man, their father, her father, going into the forest with a shovel, digging himself out of the ground. i wonder if she put the pieces together retroactively or if she’d had them all along. i imagine her waiting for the shower to cry. i imagine her hearing that cecil received a photograph of their father (201, 219). i wonder if she went to see it, if she was able to, if she even wanted to see it. i wonder if she listened in, checking that her brother was taking care of her daughter, only to hear that her father, the man who’s joy she had once been, was actually talking to cecil (224). i wonder if she wondered why he was reaching out to cecil and not her. i wonder if she called cecil after, or if she knew he meant it when he said, “I refuse to look into it further.” i wonder if she hopes that when cecil is made to remember their father, she gets to as well. i wonder how long she was her father’s joy, and how long she spent grieving whatever changed that.

most of all, i wonder if WE’RE EVER GONNA GET TO HEAR ABBY’S FUCKING VOICE!!

[skyeateyourdonuts]

weeoo

[raccooncityriots]

Ugh, do I want to go through all the stuff that I stuffed in the attic and never got unpacked when I moved back years ago to try to find my gundam seed necklaces for the movie?? I have to go up there anyway today but man I’ve got no idea where they’re actually at.

[binders-and-beanies]

.