#this has to be an axe right? but i don't really feel like there's a chunk of the story missing.

[miminmimikyu]

All in all, I think The Ichinose Family’s Deadly Sins had a good (i.e. fitting) ending. I don’t think I can picture any way that this story could possibly have ended in reconciliation/a final picture of everyone smiling, especially because one of the people who carries a lot of the blame for this mess is now in no state to apologise for his actions (not that he would, judging by that letter).

So I think the final solution to their problems was probably the healthiest this family could come up with: to keep on living imperfectly, accepting that they’re all shitty in some way (some more than others), and to voice their complaints rather than let them fester inside. In the end it’s still not a great situation (especially for the children) to be in, but it’s so much better than continuing that fake reality or the way they were living before the accident and before Sota left. It’s a very Taizan5 style ending too, which I like.

I’ve enjoyed this manga and I’m glad it ran long enough to get to its resolution, though it’s a shame that the writing and the pacing took such a turn for the worse in the second half. The whole uncertainty of “is this real, is Tsubasa still dreaming” was fun to speculate about but there’s only so long you can keep doing this without having the characters make any real progress with solving the mysteries. I don’t know if Taizan5’s writing style just isn’t suited for long stories or if being a WSJ series automatically puts too many restrictions on the kind of themes Taizan5 usually explores, but it just didn’t quite come together like his previous works did.

anyway, the most unrealistic part of this manga is that Tsubasa and Nakajima are attending school together even though Tsubasa was in a coma for 4 years.

[scuderiahalf]

(almost) one year with you — c.sainz

pairing. carlos sainz x strategist!norris!fem!reader

summary. your boyfriend is usually so intelligent. when he makes one of the stupidest decisions of his life to break up with you, his best friend (and your idiot brother) decides to take matters into his own hands. 4.3k, 18+

warnings. breakups = makeup sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, reader is kind of a bitch but carlos is into it

masterlist.

.

"I'm going to kick the door open."

"Please, do not do that," Carlos says from behind you.

"You think I can't?"

Smartly, Carlos chooses not to voice any further opinions.

You kick the door, more out of frustration than an actual attempt to break it open.

"I'm going to murder you when I get out of here, Lando!" you shout against the door, not really caring if your idiot brother has hung around to hear the very real threat.

You may not actually kill him (you're still debating it) but you will definitely hit him. At least five times. Maybe more. And he's not getting any of your late-night stress-baked cookies for several months. Asshole.

You kick the door again, harder. The wood bends near the bottom from the impact, rattling in the doorframe but otherwise unmoving. Your groan turns into a yell of frustration, punctuated by you hitting the still closed door with both hands. You seriously cannot believe Lando would do this.

"Are you finished?"

Carlos sounds almost amused.

If he hadn't been literally thrown into the room by not just Lando but Max and Alex as well, you might think he's in on this whole scheme. Instead, you just glare at him, irritated that he's so calm while you're both being held against your will.

"Is being made to be near me that horrible?" Carlos says.

"Oh, fuck off."

"You are acting as if they will not have to let us out eventually."

"How long is that going to take? Huh? I don't want to be locked in here for hours. It's actually FUCKING RIDICULOUS!"

You're shouting at the door again, hoping your dumbass brother and his stupid fucking friends can hear.

They all better be prepared for the consequences. There's no one better at holding a grudge than you.

You never should have trusted Lando when he had insisted you come to Charles Leclerc’s dumb yacht party. He never wants to be seen in public with you much less all but beg you to attend a party with all his friends who are so much cooler than you because he's an F1 driver and all his friends are, too, and you're just a strategist.

(You never thought that being a trackside strategist at Scuderia Ferrari would be preceded by "just" as though it isn't an impressive feat but with a brother like Lando Norris, nothing you do ever really seems to measure up. You're the reason Lando ever got into racing or F1 in the first place. So really, this is your own fault.)

You give up harassing the door (it locks from the inside so there must be something blocking it in the hallway) and start searching the room for another way out. It's a bedroom, and you're choosing to assume that it just happened to be the easiest place to trap you both and not a purposeful nudge to something untoward. Lando isn't that crude. You think.

After this little stunt, you don't think he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

You start checking all the drawers to see if there's anything useful. You don't actually know what you're looking for. Maybe like a fire axe or a hand saw so you can brute force your way out of here.

"We could talk," Carlos proposes.

"And give Lando what he wants? No, thank you."

"You are so proud. Can we not talk this out?"

"What's there to talk out, Carlos? You dumped me, remember?"

That shuts him up.

You refuse to look at him. Even with your back to him as you search through a completely empty dresser, you can feel the look on his face. Full lips pouting, big brown cow eyes all sad and pitiful. You'd fold like a cheap suit if you saw his pretty eyes right now and you're trying really hard to stay strong and hang onto your anger so you won't give in.

There's nothing in any of the dresser drawers. The nightstands are fruitless, too. The wardrobe houses only empty hangers, and not even the cheap wire ones that could be bent into something useful like a weapon to kill yourself with if things get any more tense in this tiny room.

"I regret it," he says.

You close the wardrobe with a heavy breath.

"I regretted it as soon as I said we should end it."

"Cry me a river, Sainz. Build a bridge. Get over it. You don't get to call me ‘nothing but a distraction’ then tell me you regret it and expect me to forgive you just like that—fuck this. I'm going to swim to shore."

You yank the balcony door open and climb up onto one of the chairs so you can get over the railing.

"Y/N!" Carlos curses in Spanish, scrambles after you and gets an arm around you before you can actually step up onto the railing. "What are you doing?!"

"I just said! I'm going to swim to shore. Let me go!"

Carlos picks you up like a purse dog and carries you back into the room. He stands in front of the balcony door after setting you down, blocking your only escape route.

"You cannot swim to shore. We are miles out of sea!"

"If it gets me out of this room, I'd do it!"

"Can you not just talk to me?"

"No!"

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want to!"

"What are you afraid is to happen?"

"I don't have to explain myself. Especially not to you."

So, you don't explain yourself. You walk over to the couch and take a seat, arms and legs crossed, looking anywhere but at Carlos.

You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to that first date with Carlos last year. You know what you were signing up for. You knew all the judgement would be on you if/when you decided to go public. You knew Ferrari would have many things to say about your relationship, and they did, when you told them earlier in the season before it could potentially get ugly with a reveal from unsasvory sources.

You knew all of that and you went for it, anyway, because could you even call yourself a Norris if you didn't go after what you wanted? You knew what being with Carlos would bring but apparently, you were the only one.

After eleven amazing months together, Carlos got cold feet. You don't know how else to describe it. You had told your family after three months; he'd told his after just one. Everyone was happy for you. Your family loves Carlos, and the Sainz clan accepted you with open arms. You were so happy.

But as your relationship pushed a year, Carlos said you needed to talk, called you a distraction, subsequently hazardous for his line of work, and ended things.

Did you call him an emotionally stunted manchild before storming out of the cafe he asked to meet at? If you did, he surely deserved it.

A few weeks after that, you're where you are now, locked in a bedroom on a yacht while a party rages on several floors above. Carlos says he regrets breaking up with you, that he wanted to take back everything he said, but he already said it and that's how things are now.

You'll not be the girl he comes crawling back to whenever it's convenient for him. If going steady is a hazard for work, then an off again-on again situationship is definitely not OSHA-compliant. You refuse to lower yourself to being a doormat that Carlos wipes his feet on whenever he feels he has the time.

After a while of standing guard at the balcony door, Carlos makes a move to sit on the couch with you.

"No," you say.

He halts midstep.

"You can sit on the bed."

Slowly, as though giving you a chance to change your mind, Carlos sulks over to the bed and sits.

He's moving to Williams next year. He has only a handful of races left in rosso corsa. He doesn't know you're sitting on a job offer that could have you following him, a promotion to head strategist at the Oxfordshire team that you can't believe you're actually debating because of your standing with a man.

You've told no one of Williams's proposition. So, you really don't know why you open your mouth to tell Carlos of all people.

"Williams wants me as their head strategist."

He looks up, eyes bright, surprised but excited for you. "What? That is amazing."

"Yeah, I know it is," you say, glaring at him again. "I haven't accepted yet, though."

Carlos is quiet, then carefully says, "Because of me?"

"No," you say because it's just ridiculous for that to be the reason you're holding up contract negotiations, "Yes, because of you. Obviously. I don't want you thinking I'm following you. I'm not. I'm pursuing my career. So, I know that changes you being all regretful. I just want to clarify things before you hear about it from someone else.”

“Why would it change how I feel?”

“Because we’ll still be coworkers next season.”

“That changes it? What does it change?”

Carlos' accent (hot as fuck) and the way he doesn't always say things 100% correct (cute as fuck) are misleading for his actual understanding of the English language. So, you're really not sure what he's getting confused over.

He's leaving. You were supposed to be staying. No longer working together meant no distractions for him until you would meet up at a hotel after a shitty quali and he would fuck the shit out of you. Or something like that.

It'd feel good in the moment but you don't want him for just sex. You don't want casual. You don't want to be a convenient, low-maintenance, not-quite-official girlfriend. You won't do it. No matter how pretty he is.

And his plan to get you back was ruined now that you'd be moving to Williams for next season, anyway.

“I’d not be a distraction if I was staying at Ferrari. Now, we’ll both still be on the same team. Not convenient for you to still be in a toxic work environment, huh? So, you can cut the crap.”

“That has nothing to do with my regret."

"I won't be a casual fuck buddy who you can't stand to be around when it doesn't work for you."

"I never said that!"

He seems genuinely hurt by your implication but you won't fall for it, won't let it deter you.

"It's kind of implied. You know with the whole 'I have to focus on my driving' thing. Like, what the fuck were you doing for the rest of the time we were together? Nothing changed and you suddenly decided it was too much, then you want me back but I ruined that for you. You'll be seeing me next year, too, so don't even bother with the whole regret speech or whatever."

"I—," Carlos starts, then says nothing.

He can't seem to find the words.

"What? Nothing to say? You wanted to talk. Talk."

"If I am in a team with you or not," he says, slow, calculated, "It does not change that I regret what I said."

Carlos takes a second to think before continuing. That's where you two differ.

Carlos has always been incredibly intelligent. You knew he was gorgeous before you had ever met in person but his mind made him appeal even more to you when you first started working trackside last season. Long, intellectual conversations preceded him asking you out after his masterclass in Singapore.

You nearly started foaming at the mouth when he said "it's on purpose" to keeping your brother within DRS to hold off Mercedes. You were ready to jump his bones right then and there in the middle of the team celebration when he asked you to dinner before you flew back to England.

But he was a gentleman. (He didn't fuck you until after your second date, but it was a close thing that first night when you leaned over the center console to kiss him. You'd have ridden him right there in the front seat of that rental car if your idiot brother hadn't chosen then to walk by and make a scene. Kind of a mood killer.)

The two of you both found fascination in the other's way of thinking, Carlos' smooth logic and your chaotic brilliance. He is all thought and few words while you talk and talk until you find your solution.

You always found beauty in the contrast. You balance each other. Simultaneously alike and disimilar. He is someone you saw yourself building a life with. After nearly a year together, those are the kinds of thoughts you start to have about a partner.

"So, you regret it," you gather, "But do you still think I'm a distraction?"

"Of course, you are a distraction. I am in love with you. There is nothing more distracting than that."

You laugh, disbelieving. "You're in love with me but I'm distracting and you can't be with me? Why? Because you love racing more?"

"I was scared. I was stupid. I am stupid. I am."

"Self deprecation won't do you any favors. But, yeah, you are stupid. You're not making any sense."

"I was scared. You were everything I could think of. I thought I could not find a balance between you and racing. But without you, it is even worse. I want you as a distraction. I know that because I have lost you.”

“You haven’t,” you say before your brain even knows what you’re doing. “Not entirely, yet. Maybe… You’re not allowed to do this again. Ever.”

And you’re crying. Of course.

Carlos is at your side in record time, kneeling in front of you, taking immediate advantage of the crack in your defenses. “Never.”

“You can’t do shit like this. You can’t push me aside like I don’t matter. You can’t call me a distraction.”

“You are a distraction. In the best way.”

Unimpressed and wiping your tears, you say, “Wow. You’re such a poet.”

Carlos laughs thickly. “I love you.”

“Ugh, fuck off.”

You’re still wiping at your face. You didn’t cry when Carlos called it quits, refused to let him have any sort of hold over you when he pushed you aside but now, you’re crying. It’s in relief but you still feel your face getting hot from the embarrassment of it.

He knocks your hands aside to cup your cheeks. “You are the love of my life. I will do whatever it takes to fix what I broke.”

“S’not broken. Just bent. Or whatever the saying is. I don’t fucking care—just kiss me.”

Carlos’ “yes, ma’am” is muffled against your lips.

It’s only been three weeks (three and a half but who’s counting) since he last kissed you but it feels like an eternity.

It’s salty from your tears and wet, also from the tears but more from the way you let his tongue into your mouth after probably not enough time has passed. You don’t care. You just want him.

“I love you," you break the kiss to say. "Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Say it back."

"I love you. I love you I love you I love you."

.

His words jumble between English and Spanish as he kisses down your body.

Your breath catches as he pulls your hips further down the cushion you're sat on. Stupid F1 driver muscles. You want to sink your teeth into his bicep, make him walk around with the bruise, a reminder of who he belongs to.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your pants, looks up for permission. You lift your hips. You've missed what his big brown eyes look like when they're all dark with want.

He pulls your pants and underwear down and tosses them aside, tugging you even closer to the edge of the couch. Your legs part. He puts your knees on his shoulders then finally pushes his face between your thighs.

You let your head fall back as you sigh, probably sounding ridiculous but he's always been good at this.

He had you ride his face one time. He practically had to beg to get you to agree. There was a lot of him gripping onto you, arms wrapped around your thighs and hips to force you to stay in place. He'd kept you there until you couldn't stay upright or fight against his hold, coaxing multiple orgasms out of you with just his mouth.

Then, he'd fucked you until you came for a fifth time. (You tell a guy one time about how your last partner hadn't the patience to get more than one orgasm out of you, and he makes it his life's mission to get three or more every time you go at it. How terrible for you. Ha.)

He eats you out like a man starving, like he has something to prove. To be fair, he does but he's not going to be entirely back in your good graces just because he's helping you get off for the first time in three and a half weeks. This is just extra credit.

One of his hands finds yours. He tangles your fingers and holds your hand as he involves his free fingers in slipping past your entrance. You open up for him with obscene ease, legs falling apart even further.

He fucks you with a single finger slow, slow, slow while his tongue licks languidly at your clit.

"Carlos," you whine his name.

You don't need all the pleasure you already know he's more than capable of giving you. You just need to get off already.

"I will get you there, hermosa," he promises with a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Get there faster; I don't want my idiot brother thinking better of his insane plan and letting us out while you're nose-deep in my cunt."

Carlos huffs a laugh. You can feel the air against where you're wet. It makes you squirm.

Usually, Carlos would tell you to stay still and be patient but seems to think better of it this time. You would probably still do as he says, circumstance regardless, but he doesn't need to know that. He just presses his lips back to your pussy.

He sucks on the hardened little bundle of nerves at the joint of your labia just how he knows will make you go limp and needy. He pushes a second then a third finger into you, the stretch just that much more than you can manage with your own, smaller digits.

You could've gotten it with the neglected dildo that lives somewhere mostly forgotten in your closet. There was something that felt so final about bringing out the toy you haven't needed since that second date. Thankfully, you still don't need it. You should consider just pitching it, at this point.

You push your hand through Carlos' hair, brushing the ridiculously perfect locks off his forehead so you can watch his stupid, beautiful face as he goes down on you.

"You're so pretty like this, baby," you praise.

His dark eyes flicker up to you, exhaling against your exposed cunt and shifting his knees on the floor.

You're sure if he had a hand free, he'd be palming himself over his pants. He gets off on you getting off and praise goes straight to his dick. You've got this fantasy of making him come completely untouched but you might need to do actual research on that before it becomes a reality.

He sticks his tongue down with his fingers, lapping at your hole and spitting your wetness onto your clit just because it's hot. Like the way he's slobbering over you isn't enough to make the glide of his tongue over your clit smooth and delectable.

"Come on, baby. Don't tease. Not now."

Carlos makes this little displeased noise in the back on his throat.

Quickies aren't really in Carlos' sexual vocabulary. He occasionally likes it as rough and fast as the next dick-haver but he's more of a spread you open and make love to you for hours at a time kind of guy.

He took you to a secluded little cabana in Mallorca for a week during summer break specifically so you two could spend days on end doing nothing but loving on each other. Then, he took you to meet his family and you had to pretend like you hadn't spent the majority of the week prior with their golden child's dick or fingers or tongue inside of you.

Currently, you're just wanting to find relief without Lando or some other F1 driver walking in on you first.

"Carlos, baby—please."

Carlos likes when you play nice. When you're so desperate for it that your bossy exterior goes away. You tell yourself that you exploit this because your unending pride doesn't like the alternative that you really just are that desperate for it.

He finally starts to finger bang you properly. Combine that with the obscene slurping sounds he's making against your clit and the lack of action for nearly a month and no one could really blame you for not taking long to hit your high.

Heat curls and explodes in your gut and up your spine, back arching, lungs gasping, Carlos' name falling from your mouth as your thighs try to close around his head. He gets his elbows up to hold your legs open. His fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm. He pulls his other hand free of your grip to massage your clit with his thumb, kissing your thighs, pubes, stomach.

He captures your lips in a kiss while you're still riding it out. It's intense and leg-shaking after so long without, emotion-driven, which is the best kind but not worth it after knowing what the fear of losing him is like. You can hardly kiss him back, face pulled in pleausre, moans spilling past your lips that Carlos swallows unburdened.

You tuck your face into his shoulder as he drags it out just to the precipice of overstimulation. You tug him into you, arms around his shoulders, fingers tugging the hair at the base of his skull. He lets his fingers rest inside of you, rests that thumb against your clit so he can hold you back with one arm, at least.

You just breathe for a moment, composing yourself where he can't see your face. The worst may be over but the level of trust you'd built over months together would not be so easily reinstated. He'd have to work hard for that, much harder than a sinlge mind-blowing orgasm.

"Don't leave me," you say in a whisper. "You can't, okay?"

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise I will not leave you again. I am the most dumb man if I lose you another time. I will deserve it, then."

"Be smart, then. Like I know you have the capacity to be."

Carlos pulls his fingers out. He catches your shiver, still wrapped up in his one arm. He kisses your cheek before finding something to clean his hands with. You've pulled your pants back on when he's finished.

"Likelihood someone heard us?" you prompt.

"Heard you, you mean?"

You kick at him as he comes back over to you. "Watch it."

He tucks you against his side once he's sat. "Scale?"

"One to a hundred."

"90, at least."

You smack his chest. "Dick."

"You are very loud, mi amor. You talk so much, and you make such pretty noises."

"Don't insult me immediately after I've forgiven you."

You've not drawn away from him at all. In fact, you've tucked your feet up on the couch to curl into him fully.

Carlos knows this. He presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you. I am sorry I am so stupid."

"I guess I've just got to have enough brains and beauty for the both of us."

"You have always."

You hide your smile in his chest. He holds your thigh when you put your legs across his lap. Now you've got him back, you want to be as close as physically possible. Whoever first said they want to be inside their partner's skin really gets it.

.

George Russell ends up getting sent to let you two out. Evidently, your brother fled the scene of the crime once the yacht returned to port in the early hours of the morning. He dumped the chore of opening Pandora's box on an innocnet bystander.

"I am so sorry—"

"Oh, clever," you say when you spot the poor Brit, "He sends an uninvolved party to let me out like I couldn't track him anywhere in the world. I've his trainer's phone number and Jon likes me more than him. I am going to beat his skinny little muppet ass. When I find him—"

You trip over the tangle of chairs that had been used to barricade the bedroom door from the outside.

Carlos catches your elbow.

"Amor, it is late," he says. "Sleep, first, hm?"

You relax into his hold a bit, a silent concession. It'll be easier to murder your little brother after a good night's sleep, anyway.

"So, are you two...?" George trails off.

You cut him a glare.

"Nothing. Never mind. Apologies."

He speeds around the two of you and off the boat.

"The 2019 rookies are all terrified of you."

"Good."

Carlos laughs. "I am excited to see what Alex is like with you next year."

You smile.

Next year, you'll still be working with Carlos. It'll be at a different team, a midfielder at best but at least Carlos will still be on the grid. He'll still find increasingly laughable excuses to be in engineering just to see you. He'll still come home to you, the same that you'll come home to him.

A future with Carlos is still in the cards. He'll be damned if he messes it up again, you know that much.

[hypvalsqr]

NOTICE: THIS POST IS ABOUT GETTING MURDERFUCKED AND MIND CONTROLLED BY A SCARY HOT TOXIC LESBIAN WITCH.

A lot has been said with regards to Enchantment being the true "most frightening/unethical" school of magic. I don't think you all quite grasp the full picture.

By the time the witch entered the house two of us were already dead. It was an insult to magic, really. Me and the other students had set up all of these sigils and wards and psychic defenses and yet hadn't considered that someone could slaughter us from outside, without ever laying a finger on us. It was me after all that had...but she'd made them attack me! And they looked like..

No matter. I don't have the luxury of time or guilt. She'd made me kill them. She did it. And she just stepped inside the house. I could feel her presence when she crossed the threshold. Like something slithering through reeds in the night. Something passing beneath your boat. I heard another distant scream. A girl? One of the underclassmen maybe. I had to move fast.

I wiped the blood off my blade and refreshed its evocation-edge. I headed to the front door of the classroom and waited to hear another sound. A flurry of magic missiles thumped into a wall upstairs. It was clear, and I rushed out into the main hallway, beneath the grand stair. In the corner was my favorite spot, an unassuming armchair with a potted plant next to it. If I stood in the just right way and wove some simple layers of illusion magic I could become completely invisible to all but the most trained illusionists.

I grasped my dagger.

I waited.

I heard two girls scream to the right of me.

On the opposite side of the house now, still upstairs, I heard a chorus of men scream war cries and the house lit up with lightning and flame and ether for a brief moment before falling silent. Save one voice. It was the Archmage. I'd never heard him speak like that before.

"No! No. Please! Fuck. NO! I can't move. What did you do to me? What did you do to them? Answer me! Your magics are foul. You-"

Then another voice, a woman, spoke with presence, "Hush. They're sleeping. You wouldn't want to wake them."

"Stop. No. No, please stop not that. Not-" Then he broke off into a series of unhinged wails. There was a thumping through the house. Then another, and another. Steadily I began to recognize the sound of an executioners axe crunching through vertebrae.

The Archmages last words, confoundingly, were "Thank you." Then silence.

I reached out with a simple life-detection spell. That was my mistake. It confirmed that the only two people left alive inside or out the house were me and the witch. I also detected her quickly whipping around and walking towards my location. Shit. Fuck. SHITSHITSHIT. I cut the life detection and shifted to the opposite corner of the room, taking my 'cloak' of invisibility charms with me. Just in case.

That's when I heard her in my head.

"I see you, little one."

She's bluffing.

"You're funny. Out of all the people in this school you're the only one who thought not to attack me head on. Or to mount some pitiful attempt barricading me out. Why is that?"

I gripped my dagger tighter to my body.

"I think, or at least I hope, it's because you will be more fun than all of these wastes." She stepped out into the open at the top of the stairs. As expected from a Witch of Enchantments, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. She wore an inky green ballgown, stained red at the feet. Her collarbones and face were exposed and seemed to shimmer in the light. Every breath of hers let out a jet of glimmering pink particles.

"I won't know if you are until I get a peak inside that head of yours."

I heard a girls scream to the right.

What?

That couldn't be...she screamed again. And again. Coming from all angles. My heartrate picked up. This scream was familiar, I'd heard it a few minutes ago. But the more it echoed throughout the house and pounded into my brain I realized with a growing certainty that this scream was mine. It was my voice. This was the sound I would make when I die. How did she know that? How could she?

She took a step down the stairs but instead of descending she floated out gently into the space above me.

"Well, wherever you are in this room - plotting your little ambush - I'm curious. Give me your best shot. Let's see what you're capable of."

She had her back turned to me, about 5 feet off the ground. It was an easy kill. I should have seen it was too easy, or that she was clearly goading me into striking. But something inside me wanted to. It felt like I needed to. So I took my dagger and with a great leap I thrust upwards directly into her spine.

I felt it sink through her muscles, into her guts. I blinked and was face to face with the Archmage. My knife in his stomach. The light fading from his eyes.

The oldest trick in the book. I fell for it thrice, and now I was surely dead. I tried to cry but instead of tears I felt fingers, soft and delicate on my cheeks.

She whispered in my ear from behind, "Good job, darling. That was so wonderful. Now it's time for you to give up, alright?"

"Okay!"

I broke my useless dagger in half and dispelled all my defensive magics. The school had decided to-

"-hire a new teacher who was going to show you real magic. And-"

turn me into a real witch! I didn't need anyone else but her. I was on my knees now, looking up at her gorgeous face. Her brown curls framed her amber eyes and ochre brown skin. She was perfect. She would take care of me. She was saying something to me still that I couldn't quite understand but she was smiling and petting my head and face all over while she said it so it must be good. Then she turned to walk out the door. I stayed kneeling because she hadn't ordered me to follow her yet, I had to follow my Witch's orders. She walked out the front door and turned left out of sight.

"AAAHHHHH! AuughG ASNnOOO NO PELase OGH AH!!" I scrambled backwards on my hands up the stairs. The terror had returned all at once unexpectedly. I think I'd managed to hit her once but I wasn't sure. I had to get moving or she would find me again. My dagger was missing, shit she must have disarmed me but when? And my head was spinning. Did she do something to me? I have to assume no. Just keep moving. As fast as you can up the stairs. God, I was so cold. Had I been hit? Was I bleeding? I took stock of my body as I went up the stairs and noticed I was suddenly freezing cold. My robes were...gone...and the stairs were snow and...

"What? Get over here."

Dreams in waking. Nightmares in sleep. Walking backwards. Falling deep.

"Oh, sweetheart did you get caught up behind me?" My Witch clicked my collar into place around my neck as we stood in the snow outside the house, "Silly me. I should have told you to stick close to me. The enchantments will turn off whenever I'm out of sight," she leaned in close as she conjured a chain and attached it to my collar, "Did you get scared?"

"Mmm! Yeah! You walked outta the house and I got really scared and missed you and it was really weird I didnt. Uhh, I don't uhm-"

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm going to take you back to my cabin and lock you up somewhere nice and safe until I can turn you into a good student. But only if you behave. Can you do that for me?"

I nodded while staring into her eyes, feeling a warm blanket of security and joy cover my naked body as it was dusted in snowflakes.

"Thank you!"

WILL CONTINUE IN PART 2

[the-gay-trashmouth]

I think something that's bothers me about how folks talk about mouthwashing is how they talk about Swansea. It's either "Swansea would have killed Jimmy immediately if Anya had told him" or "he knew and he did nothing just like curly." because, to me at least it leaves out a lot of nuance to his character and situation. Curly and Swansea are really good foils to each other, one who's got a reputation for being the kind and helpful captain but in the end does nothing to truly protect the crew from Jimmy, and one who's gruff, harsh, and cruel but genuinely tries to help in the background, the reliable mechanic.

(read more for a long Mouthwashing character ramble tw for unwanted pregnancy and SA)

Because Curly is the one with the power. He doesn't take what Jimmy did seriously enough. And you can say that he might not have known fully what Jimmy did, but I think the "I told you" pregnancy conversation and his reaction to Jimmy right before the crash ("come on we'll get through this together. We'll figure it out, you've had hard times before-") are indicators that he knew, but he still chose to stick by his friend and treat it like a "mistake" rather than what it really was.

Now that's my own personal speculation of course, there's no outright scene of her telling him "your best friend assaulted me", but I think there's enough evidence in game through Anya and Curlys interactions to say that he knew, and he knew before Anaya knew she was pregnant. He had a fully functioning ship and four fully functional cryo-pods. He could have at least given Anya more security, kept her far away from him, and at most forced him into the cryopod until they got back to earth. Jimmy STILL had full, uncontrolled access to the cockpit AFTER his freakout with curly. AFTER Anya tells curly she doesn't feel safe with him. AFTER Curly finds out he raped Anya. He's so focused on seeing the good in his friend that he does NOTHING to protect Anya, doesn't strip away not one of Jimmy powers as copilot and consequently endangers her and the rest of the crew.

Curly was the captain, he had the power to relegate Jimmy to the fucking storage closet if he really wanted, at least put him in the cryopod until they got back to earth. In fact, he was the only person above Jimmy in terms of rank on the ship, but he chose to do nothing. He chose to let Jimmy continue as acting co-pilot, chose to comfort him rather than actually confront him. Slides off his weird sexual comments as jokes "So what's this about horses?"

Now let's compare that to Swansea, the mechanic.

We don't have any evidence that Swansea knew about what Jimmy did until after the crash ("it's been her telling me things") where they were trapped with no captain, barely any rations, and a single cryopod that he kept hidden away in the one room he had the key too (and the only room that could lead into medbay). He didn't use it for himself, he makes it clear he didn't intend on getting off this hunk of metal in his last few conversations with Jimmy.

Swansea as the ship's mechanic, was used to fixing things in the background. He didn't need to get along with anyone to keep the ship running, he didn't need people to like him to keep them safe. We see that with Daisuke. He's harsh on him, for sure, but he leaves constant notes to help him learn. Genuinely tries to keep him out of harm's way when it comes to more dangerous jobs. We know Anya was scared of Jimmy getting a weapon, she hid the gun case in the medical bay even knowing she would never get it open. We can see Swansea and Anya off on their own towards the first days after the crash, and Swansea still has a tight grip of the axe weeks and months later.

I personally think that was him trying to keep Jimmy from having access to a weapon. The only time Jimmy gets the axe while Swansea is alive is when Anya Specifically asks him to use it to get medical supplies. I don't think that's a coincidence.

Swansea, like any good mechanic, was quietly trying to keep things running out of Jimmy's sight. It's not until everyone is dead or dying that he snaps, that he finally takes direct action. But it was too little too late.

Both Curly and Swansea thought they were doing the right thing, helping in their own way. Curly genuinely wanted to see the good in Jimmy, wanted it to just be some challenge they could overcome, but in doing so he failed to see the monster right in front of him. He had all the power (in context of the crew, the company is a whole other can of worms I have so many other thoughts on), but he was too afraid to use it. Hell, he was DISCOURAGED to use it if the memo about HR complaints are anything to go by. Swansea, on the other hand, never trusted Jimmy, never even really liked him, but he didn't want to make anything worse either. He didn't know what would actually set Jimmy off, or what he was capable of, and aside from just straight up killing him what else could he do that wouldn't just push Jimmy further off the edge? Like with the foam. "One wrong move and you'll rip this ship a new asshole", he worked carefully, hiding the last pod from Jimmy, keeping the only other weapon on himself, guarding the only other entrance into Medbay, but Jimmy was escalating quickly. He underestimated how far Jimmy was willing to go, just like Curly had, and in the end suffered the consequences.

The only character who actually understood how dangerous and unstable Jimmy was is Anya. She knew the moment she found out she was pregnant he would hurt her ("you won't let me protect myself"). He wouldn't be able to take it, he would do something drastic. She knew he was escalating the longer they were stranded. Anya is the only crew member who truly understood how dangerous Jimmy was and took direct action.

And interesting thing to me is that she doesn't just kill herself. She locks herself in the medbay. She could have waited for Jimmy to sleep, or locked herself in the cockpit, but she locked herself in the medbay with Curly. She knows that with her gone there would be no one left to take care of him, she knew Jimmy would continue to escalate his abuse, and with her gone all of his anger and fear and guilt would turn on Curly.

And wouldn't you know it? She was right. Without Anya to stop him, he takes curly out of the bed, forces him upright into the cryopod, and forces a man with no skin, no arms, no legs, and infected tissues to be frozen for 20 years while the rest of his crew Rot. And that's only what we know to be reality- if any of his delusions had some basis in reality he could have done so so much more. Anya is the Only one to take reasonable, direct action to keep herself, and then Curly, safe.

But she didn't have enough power over Jimmy to truly protect herself. She didn't have the code to the gun case, she didn't have a weapon or a rank to fall back on. She was outnumbered by men who she knew from experience either wouldn't or couldn't keep her safe, and she was heavily pregnant with a baby she didn't want and most likely couldn't even get enough nutrients to sustain either her or the fetus. She was physically weakened and trapped in a stranded ship with her abuser with no way home and a medical miracle (curse) in Curly.

This game is a really good reflection of reality, in my opinion as an abuse survivor. Some people will see them as "one of the boys" and constantly excuse or downplay their actions (Curly), some people will do small things in the background, recognize the abuse and disprove, but don't want to get in the way or make things worse (Swansea), and some people are just straight up oblivious/naive (Daisuke). But in the end, it's the system that allows abuse and incentives coverups to keep peace or save face that really allows abuse to fester and escalate.

Which is why I personally have a problem with the idea that Anya should have just Told A Different Man because it ignores the very real chain of power and her own agency in her story, AS WELL AS the idea that Swansea and Diasuke knew but didn't care because that's just not reflective of real life. Not every man is some rapist apologist who doesn't care what abusers do until it happens to them, some people just don't know what to do, or don't have any good options that wouldn't result in further abuse. Hell some people just don't even fucking notice! Not everyone has had exposure to the signs or knows what to look for.

It's easy when looking at fictional depictions of abuse to say "well if I was there I would have just punched him/killed him/called the police" but real life, in that moment, its never going to be clear cut. You can call out abuse, but that might just lead to that abuser taking it out on their abuse victim later. They could even start to target you for daring to speak out, or try to hurt you and cut you off from the person being abused. You can know all the right steps and the right programs, but in the moment, when faced with a real situation where someone could get hurt or even killed? You stumble. You think things over, you don't try and make any direct moves that would set their abusers off. Sometimes that's a good instinct, and sometimes that just lets abuse escalate. It's never a good situation, and it's never actually anyone's fault but the abusers. And this way of thinking also conveniently leaves out the survivor of this abuse, and portrays them as someone who needs to be saved, rather than someone who needs support and resources to save themselves. It also very conveniently lets the company that Put Anya in this situation in the first place get off Scott free.

The solution isn't "oh one of the men on board should have personally killed Jimbo and saved Anya all by himself" its "Anya deserved the support of her crewmates instead of being forced into close proximity with her rapist and also maybe Jimmy shouldn't have access to the fucking controls or medbay or any weapons- AND ALSO the crew shouldn't have financial incentives not to report things to HR"

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

"i wanna Be Cool, but only if you want me to."

"want to impress you"

synopsis// everyone knows that basketball is the way to someone's heart.

pairing// satoru gojo x gn!reader

word count// 3.8k

contents// college au, basketball au, mutual unknown pining?, friends to lovers?, gojo is a loser, obligatory this is for you and misses

notes// lu wanted a basketball au so lu gets a basketball au. also obviously inspired by the basketball scene in jjk s2 anywho this is just kinda short n goofy :p also inspired by the song i wanna be cool by super whatevr. also i have no idea how basketball works and only ever played for fun so ermmm if anything is wrong bring that up with the universe !

Shoko unwillingly finds herself sitting on a random bench in the boys locker room, her arms crossed as she glares at the two boys in front of her.

“Why did you guys drag me in here?”

Geto speaks up first: “In my defense, this is all on Satoru, and I have no part in this.”

“You still dragged me in here, did you not?”

“…Yes.” 

“Then you took part in it.”

Gojo smiles as he smacks Geto on the back. “Exactly! You’re my accomplice.”

Shoko rolls her eyes. “Again, why did you guys drag me in here?”

“A presentation!”

“A presentation I have nothing to do with,” Geto chimes in as he takes a seat beside Shoko.

She briefly raises her eyebrow at Geto before directing it toward Gojo. “A presentation?” 

“Yes!” 

“I don’t see a projector or anything worth presenting here,” she says, looking around the room unamused.

“A presentation minus the actual presenting part...”

“So you dragged me in here just to talk to me?”

Geto leans in and whispers, “He actually wants to ask you something.”

Gojo stomps his foot like he’s about to throw a tantrum. “Geto shut up!”

“Can you just hurry up, Gojo?" She asks impatiently. “It reeks of axe body spray in here; I think it might actually kill me.”

He ignores her dramatics because, honestly, she’s not wrong. “You're coming to our game tonight, right?”

“I mean, yeah? Who isn't? It's the biggest game of the season.”

Geto adds, “That's what I said!”

“Do you know if Y/N is going?”

“Is that what you seriously dragged me in here for? Why didn't you just ask Y/N themself? You guys are friends, are you not?”

“Well yeah!” Gojo mumbles sheepishly, “But when I asked, they said maybe...”

“That means no,” Geto says quickly through a cough, as if trying to cover it up.

Gojo hears anyway and outstretches his arms toward Geto as if trying to draw attention toward him. “Exactly!” He then brings his hands in front of his face in a praying motion and begs, “Shoko, please!”

“Oh my fucking god, I don't know why you don't just ask them out already.”

“That's what I'm trying to do! But in order to do that, I kinda need them to go to tonight's game.”

Shoko glares at Gojo for what feels like forever, and Gojo glares back like they’ve suddenly entered a staring contest, and it’s Shoko who breaks eye contact first.

She sighs and pushes the hair out of her face as she mumbles, “God, you're lucky I'm tired of both of you pining after each other.”

“Thank you, Shoko!” he beams. “Also here.”

Shoko takes whatever Gojo is handing her and holds it up, her eyes slightly wide as she inspects it. “…Is this your jersey?”

He nods, fully confident within himself now that Shoko has agreed to drag you to the game, but tilts his head at her because he has no idea why she’s confused. “Yeah, I want them to wear it?” 

“You make me sick to my stomach, fine.”

“Shoko, do you wanna wear my jersey?” Geto suddenly asks.

She stares at him blankly, as if to ask if he really asked her that, knowing damn well she does not like him like that and she has a girlfriend, though after a few moments he finally gets the hint.

“Oh my god, not like that; I just want someone supporting me too.”

She sighs in relief, “Oh, thank god, don’t scare me like that, but yeah, fine, I’ll wear it.”

“Wait, what the hell?” Gojo exclaims, drawing Shoko’s and Geto’s attention back to him. “Shoko, would you have worn mine if I asked?”

“No.”

“What?! Why the hell not?”

“I like Geto more than I like you.”

He glares at her and quickly points out, “You're lying; if that was true, you wouldn't be helping me!”

Shoko simply shrugs and mumbles a small “bye” before getting up and leaving.

Geto stands up and takes his place next to Gojo, softly patting his back as he whispers, “Dare I say this ends our lifelong debate on who's superior?”

Gojo shrugs his hand off of him and speaks harshly through clenched teeth, “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

“Why would I want to go watch a bunch of sweaty men fight over balls?” You mumble offhandedly, focusing your attention on netflix playing on your phone rather than on her.

“Ok, Y/N, first of all, there's only one ball, and second of all, did you forget Gojo is on the basketball team?”

You quickly turn off your phone and sit up, clasping your hands together in your lap. “….Have I ever mentioned that basketball is actually my favorite sport?”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath, pinching her nose bridge. “You're so obvious; why haven't you told him yet?”

“Are you insane? Gojo is hot, and on the basketball team, do you know how many people he already has crushing on him? I'm literally just another name on that list.”

“Sure,” she nods, “But the difference is that you're his friend too; you have more of a chance than anyone else.”

You sigh and frown at her. “Doubt.”

Shoko shakes her head, knowing that you two could spend all day here in your dorm debating whether you have a chance or not, but that’s not what she’s here for, so she’ll let you believe what you want, knowing that (hopefully) Gojo pulling whatever it is he wants to pull will prove you wrong.

“Whatever, put this on,” she says, throwing the jersey at you.

You catch it, your mouth slightly agape as you stare at it curiously. “…Isn't this?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, is it?”

“Shoko.”

“Can you just trust me?”

“I'm literally just gonna look like another one of his groupies," you say, disdain and disappointment lacing your words as your eyes dart back and forth between her and the jersey.

She smiles, and it’s off-putting because it’s not her normal smile; no, you know, this is the smile she only wears when she’s about to drop a bomb on you. “Difference is that that's his actual jersey.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“I’ll save you a seat. Bye,” she says as she walks out of your dorm.

The slam of your door restarts your heart, and suddenly it and your mind are racing at 100 miles per hour, and the only thing you can do is word vomit despite the fact that Shoko is gone.

“What do you mean by that?! What do you mean this is his actual jersey?!” You run and fling open your door to yell out into the hallway, “Get back here!?” 

Shoko is a good bit away at this point, but she still hears you call out for her and acknowledges that with a wave, yet she still keeps walking away, and you're stuck in your doorway with your chest heaving. You look back down at the jersey in your hands.

Holy shit.

Not only is this a jersey with Gojo’s number on it, but it’s his jersey. How did Shoko even get this? Did she just take it without him knowing? Too many thoughts are in your head, but there’s only one that keeps overlapping the others, there’s only one that’s consistent, only one that electrifies every neuron in your body:

Holy shit, this is Gojo’s jersey.

Fuck the questions and fuck the answers you know you won’t get; the only thing that matters to you right now is that you have and are about to wear Gojo’s jersey. You have to be dreaming; really, that’s the only logical answer, but holy fuck, if you’re dreaming, you do not plan on waking up anytime soon—or ever.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

The two teams quickly start filling up the court and taking up their respective spaces as they warm up, but Gojo, being Gojo, isn't doing that. Instead, he’s standing on the sidelines, looking in at the crowd of people starting to take their seats for the game, and his heart is racing as he searches the crowd for you, and it drops when he inevitably doesn’t find you, but he’s not discouraged, not yet at least, because the game hasn’t officially even started yet, so there’s still time for you to show up.

There’s still time.

He has to keep reminding himself that the whole time he’s warming up—now that he’s actually being forced to, though it’s a half-assed warm-up—he and his coach don’t even know whether what he’s doing could be considered a warm-up in the first place. The game is about to start any second now when Geto approaches Gojo.

“Nothing?” 

Gojo’s head drops as he reluctantly shakes it.

Geto hums and searches the stands for you, but when he doesn't find you either, he tries to find the next best person, Shoko, and it's quite easy to find her considering she’s wearing Geto's jersey.

“Shoko!”

She looks down from the bleachers and sees Geto staring at her as he gestures toward Gojo, and she knows he's trying to ask where you are, but in all honesty, she has no idea either. She shrugs, and even from as high up as she is, she can hear Geto groan before grabbing Gojo by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him.

“I'm sure they’ll come, dude.”

Gojo blankly stares at Geto, an eyebrow raised skeptically, as if to say, really? but before he can verbally reply, their coach comes over and removes Geto’s hand from Gojo’s shoulder to place his own hand there.

“I don't know what's going on with you, but whatever it is, fix it.”

Geto and Gojo tense up at his tone, full of nothing but pure determination. This isn't him asking; this is him demanding that Gojo get his shit together.

“This is the biggest game yet, and I'm not gonna let you and some petty college drama get in the way of that. You're our best player. Act like it.”

Gojo can only nod. His mouth suddenly feels dry, and it's like his throat is closing, but he tries to will the feeling away. Though his reaction is enough for his coach, who starts walking off.

Geto stares up at Gojo with his eyebrows knit, concern lacing his voice, “Gojo...”

Gojo shakes his head and takes a deep breath before flashing Geto his signature smile. “I'm fine, Geto; cmon, we got a basketball game to win.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

To be totally honest, the reason you were running so late to the game was because you were mentally shitting your pants the entire time you were getting ready. For a good chunk of time, you just sat on your bed with the jersey laid out in front of you, staring at it. Just staring at it, that's all. Because yes, even though you said fuck the questions and fuck the answers, you very much could not do that, not when too many questions and unknown answers were flooding your brain like a dam had cracked. You think you probably would've stayed like that all day and night, missing the game entirely, if not for Shoko spam calling your phone.

“What?”

“Don't 'what' me, where the fuck are you?” She snaps through the phone.

“Uh, getting ready?”

“Y/N, the game started twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh shit,” you say, hopping off your bed and quickly grabbing the jersey.

“Yeah, oh shit! Get your ass down here!”

You don't bother saying goodbye; instead, you quickly hang up, throw the jersey on as fast as you can, and bolt out the door. The halls are empty as you race through them, and you're not surprised; everyone is already at the game—everyone but you—and you speed up your pace just a smidge more. God, you're an idiot, missing the best game of the season—okay, you don't actually care about that. God, you're an idiot, missing seeing Gojo and maybe getting answers on how Shoko obtained his jersey—that's better.

You get to the gym in record time, slightly surprised at how quickly you got there, but you ignore that as you try to catch your breath before walking in and try to prepare yourself for the amount of noise that will assault your ears when you do. You can already hear how loud it is; the walls not doing very much at all to muffle the yells of people. You walk in and wince slightly at the noise as you look around for Shoko. She immediately finds you and waves her hand in the air for you to find, as does Utahime, who's sitting next to her. You smile and quickly make your way toward them, apologizing to the people you pushed through to get to them in the first place. You take your seat next to Shoko with a sigh.

“What did I miss?” you ask, leaning forward slightly just so you can look at both Utahime and Shoko.

Utahime has a small grimace on her face, and Shoko merely motions toward the scoreboard, and the minute you look, your jaw drops. Gojo’s team was losing. No. Losing isn't even the right word here; they were getting absolutely destroyed. They had zero points—none at all. You look back toward the two girls in disbelief.

“What the fuck?”

“Gojo is literally sucking so much ass that it's throwing everyone else off,” Utahime says with a shrug before glancing down at your clothes. “Are you wearing his jersey?”

You clear your throat awkwardly and look away, ignoring the smirk on Shoko's face.

“So, uh, do we know why Gojo’s sucking ass?” You ask after a brief moment of silence.

“Nope,” Utahime responds with a shake of her head.

“I do,” Shoko says nonchalantly.

Your head snaps back toward her. “What? Why?”

“Yeah, you didn't tell me either!”

Shoko rolls her eyes and ignores both of you as she loudly calls out to Gojo, who, by some grace of god, hears her over the hundreds of other people yelling for him. Gojo’s eyes immediately find hers, and he watches how she subtly jerks her head to the side, and like some angel descended from the heavens, like a god showing itself in a moment of dire, he looks and finds you sitting there in his jersey, and he can't help the smile on his face, can't help how just your presence lit a fire underneath him, can't help how just seeing you gave him his pep back in his step.

Gojo finds Geto’s eyes on the court and nods determinedly. They are winning this game, whether it's the last thing Gojo does. He's not going to look like a fool in front of you. So that's exactly what Gojo does. Once the second period starts, Gojo steals back the ball with a new sudden ease, and by halftime, he’s gotten the team caught up to the other one, starting the third period with a tie.

“How the hell did he do that? I thought you guys said he sucked!”

“Aw man, I was rooting for the other team,” Utahime says, frowning, and you have to resist the urge to chew her out in defense of Gojo.

Shoko shrugs. “He was till you know…”

You stare at her blankly. “No, I don't know, actually. Care to enlighten me?”

“No, I do not,” she says before turning to Utahime. “And don't worry, they're only tied; there's still a chance the other team will win.”

Utahime cheerfully hums as she rests her head on Shoko’s shoulder. “You’re right!”

“Don't encourage her to root for the other team?!” 

Utahime sticks her tongue out at you, and before any of you can say anything else, a loud buzzer rings across the gym, indicating a point was made, and to your delight, it was for Gojo’s team. For the rest of the third period, it was just buzzer after buzzer as Gojo’s team took back their rightful place on the scoreboard, completely smashing the other team into the ground, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. Watching Gojo in his element was doing detrimental things to your crush on him, only making it worse, but you can't even seem to care. Shoko looks over to you and laughs.

“I can practically see the hearts in your eyes.”

You scoff. “Shut up!”

Down on the court, they had just started their last two-minute break between third and fourth period, with the coaches gathering their respective teams into a huddle.

“Alright guys,” Gojo’s coach began, “Keep your heads in the game; we’re taking this victory home, got it?”

All the boys nod hurriedly, and the coach leaves them to do what they need to before the last period starts, but Gojo doesn’t let them get far.

“Whatever fucking happens, I'm getting that last score, got it?”

Everyone on the team exchanges uneasy glances, and Geto rolls his eyes and sighs before apologizing for Gojo.

“He just has a plan and wants to do something, guys.”

The boys nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

“If you guys mess this up for me, I swear to god, I will make you wish you were never born,” Gojo says with his usual smile, but in this case, all his smile does is make him seem feral.

Geto slaps Gojo across the back of his head and huffs, “He doesn’t mean that, don't worry.”

“Oh, I fucking mean it.”

“Gojo, shut the fuck up.”

Before anyone else can say anything, the timer goes off, and into the last minutes of the game they go. As the game goes on, everyone is on the edge of their seat, even if deep down they know who will win. You and Utahime are no exception to this, but apparently Shoko is.

“Why the fuck are you guys on the edge of your seats? It's obvious we’re gonna win.”

You go to glare at her but can’t even hold your stare long enough because you're so enthralled by the game. “Still, it's so nervewracking!”

Utahime laughs. “I'm only on the edge of my seat because I want the other team to win.”

“Why are you such a hater, dude?” you ask defensively.

Utahime doesn’t mind; she knows all too well about your little crush on Gojo, so she doesn’t take offense to your tone. “When it comes to Gojo, I'm always a hater.”

You finally find it in you to glare at her. “I hope Shoko breaks up with you.”

She rolls her eyes and glares back. “Oh, haha, you're so mature.”

You say nothing but stick your tongue out at her childishly, and she does the same, to which Shoko groans and rolls her eyes before grabbing both of your heads and turning them to face the game.

“You can fight after the game; there's only a few seconds left.”

Gojo glances at the time and realizes it’s now or never. He finds that Geto has the ball and calls out for him. Geto, on the other hand, hesitates to pass him the ball, with a look on his face asking if he really wants to do this, and Gojo can only nod. How could he not want to do this? This is the only thing he can do; it's not like he knows how to ask someone out the normal way, so this will do; it has to. Gojo tries to control his breathing as he makes his way to the hoop, the ball dribbling in tune with his heartbeat, and nothing matters to him in that moment except you and scoring—his surroundings completely drowning out. Everyone holds their breath waiting for him to shoot, and right before he does, his eyes lock onto yours.

“This is for you, Y/N!” He yells out as he shoots, and…

And he misses.

Horribly.

And there's no chance for him to redeem himself because the minute the ball hits the ground, the buzzer goes off, indicating the end of the game, and everyone seemingly ignores whatever the fuck he just did and erupts into an uproar at the fact that they won regardless of Gojo’s miss.

“What-“

Shoko slaps a hand over her mouth, attempting and failing to hold in her laughter. “Did he just fucking miss?”

Utahime is hunched over, her head between her knees, laughing. “Oh my fucking god, he's an idiot!”

You blink, not moving, not saying anything, but with how hard Shoko is laughing and Utahime leaning against her as she laughs as well, Shoko ends up bumping into you, and she instantly grows quiet, her head snapping toward you.

“Oh, why are you still here?”

“Huh?” 

"Why aren’t you down there?” she asks, pointing down to the court.

“Am… Am I supposed to be?”

“Uh duh!” Utahime speaks up, peeking out from behind Shoko. “He made that shot for you! Well, he missed that shot for you.”

“Oh,” you say blankly. “Oh. Oh shit.”

You stood up abruptly, and with how fast you went down the bleachers, you almost tripped once you made it onto the ground. You quickly catch yourself, and the moment you look up to find Gojo, he’s already standing right in front of you.

“You're-you're wearing my jersey,” he says breathlessly, but not in a I-can’t-breathe way, more in a holy-shit-my-crush-is-actually-wearing-my-jersey way.

You swallow thickly and nod. Your gaze flickers down to the jersey before going back to his face. “I am.” 

“You are.” 

“What was that Gojo?”

He seems to grimace at your question. “Ah, well, you see, I was actually gonna say if I make this, you owe me a date, but that’s a really long sentence to shout, and what if I didn’t make it? That would’ve been so embarrassing.”

You laugh under your breath. “Gojo, you didn’t make it regardless.”

He frowns. “Don’t remind me.”

You smile and push a strand of hair stuck to his forehead out of the way, watching how he blushes furiously at your touch, and it makes your heart swoon. Who knew the confident number-one basketball player could crumble so readily under your touch?

“You know, I’m still more than happy to owe you a date.”

He smirks as he pulls you closer toward him by your waist and coos, “Yeah?"

“Yeah… But get the hell off of me, Gojo; you’re sweaty and you stink,” you grumble as you push against his chest, trying to free yourself.

Gojo ignores you and pulls you in closer (if even possible), his body engulfing yours as he rubs his face against yours, making sure his sweat rubs off on you too.

You struggle against his hold. “Gojo gross!” 

“Sorry, I can't hear you over the people. What are you saying? Hug you closer?”

“Gojo, don’t you dare.”

You hear him chuckle before rubbing up against you again, and you groan but stop resisting, which he hums happily at before starting to pull away. You watch how his face abruptly twists into feigned disgust.

"Ew, Y/N, get the hell off of me; you’re sweaty and you stink,” he mocks as he pushes you out of his hold.

“I hate you.”

“If you hated me, you wouldn’t be going on a date with me,” he singsongily says.

“Yeah, not anymore,” you mumble with a wry smile as you start walking away.

“Hey, wait, Y/N, come back!”

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

[bleue-flora]

***UPDATE***

I did some snooping of my own as well as had people find or rule some out (I’ll probably continue to update this as we go on so to check the updated list return to the original post instead of the reblogs)

Alright, by popular demand here it is. There are likely things on here that may not exist yet because the map is from before the finales or don't exist at all or aren’t on this map (these items will be marked DNE - does not exist). I don't know, but that's part of the fun I suppose. :) Feel free to leave the answers in my asks, tag me, or just use the tag: #dsmp scavenger hunt so I can find your posts. <3 Good Luck!

DSMP Scavenger Hunt

Places

1. Staged Duo Island [related post]

✔️2a. Map #1 - Found ✔️2b. Map #4 from Dream’s wall in his bedroom cell [related post] (hopefully they are oriented right, I based it on the other wall maps’ orientation) - Found

2b. is Sam's Base at -3803 70 -3926 [post] (seems the map was oriented wrong oops, my bad... apparently it was right on his wall)

2a. has been determined by @sumwan to be a map of a more completed version of Sam’s handmade retirement island [post] (which is not actually shown in its completion on the dsmp map we were given, but is another mystery solved nonetheless :D)

✖️3. Quackity's storage room (what is in the chests?) [clip] - DNE

Given the look of this room and the presumed general area based off of the stream, I searched everywhere and am going to say this no longer exists and must have be changed since April 2021, perhaps it was part of a Las Nevadas building during construction… so no new torture method lore I guess :[

4. Quackity’s birthday poster (does it really say he’s 28? Or that his birthday is on December 28?)

5. Dream’s house (does he actually have one that’s not the prison or his old secret base)

✖️6a. Revival Book Lab [clip] - DNE ✖️6b. Punz's secret underground room - DNE

6b. The finale secret room has been confirmed to not have been built yet [post]

6a. It is a general consensus at this point that because Punz's tower does not appear the same as in the video that the video was filmed on a different map so there is no lab.

✖️7. Dream’s bed for respawning in the disc confrontation (it had to be close for him to get there so fast [related post]) - DNE [post]

✔️8. Warden’s prison stasis chamber on the outside [clip] - Found [post]

9. Does Quackity have an in Minecraft calendar? (that Dream mentions [clip] & is shown in vod)

10. Did they make a replica of the cell for the scrapped lore and just never filmed it?

Items

✔️11. Books Dream gave to Techno in prison (are they all empty?) - Found

No, the one labeled Dream says “dear technoblade” and the others also have things in them, not necessarily super notable but not nothing [post].

➖12. Dream’s letter to Techno - Maybe?

There is a world in which it could perhaps be the Dream book with “dear technoblade” in it [post] because that is what the scene ends on [clip].

13. Revival Book

14. Are there multiple Enderboo prison waivers for multiple visits?

➖15. The OG pink bed (shown in old enderchest [from this post] but not later) - Unfindable

So there are actually a shit ton of pink beds on the server a result of Eret’s ‘you matter <3’ pink wool and the og pink sheep at the community house no doubt. So I think this will be pretty impossible, unless we find something that seems like Dream’s house which has a pink bed.

✔️16. Does Dream have any named possessions? - Yes

A fish named J DAWG, good on Sneapeekay for giving Dream a pet, our boy has an attachment now :) [post]

17. Dreamrider [clip]

✔️18a. Dream’s blue shield - Found 18b. Smile shield from staged finale

18a. George still has it in his ender chest :) [post]

*40. Bonus Addition. Sam’s missing Warden items including: WARDENS WILL, his armor and his trident Wardens Mercy. [related post]

Enchantments

✔️19. Enchantments of Quackity’s netherite low durability axe - Found

Efficiency V and Mending [post]

✔️20. Enchantments of Quackity’s diamond sword - Found

Sharpness I [same post as axe]

✔️21. Enchantments of Quackity’s diamond pickaxe - Found

Fortune II and Efficiency III [same post as axe]

✔️22. Dream’s armor enchantments after prison (how does it compare to Nightmare?) - Found

Pretty comparable as far as main enchants go, but definitely missing the extra frills [post] (thank you to @sumwan for finding Nightmare)

Questions

✔️23. Would Techno and Dream have been able to escape from under the cell? [clip] - I think EVENTUALLY Yes [post]

✔️24. Is the End completely untouched? [related post] - Yes

@blockgamepirate has made the observation that no End file exist so presumably they never went to the end before the finale.

✔️25. Are the cow and sheep still at the disc confrontation vault? - No

Just For Fun - Where are these?

✔️26. KSI portraits from sex class (are there any still around?) - Yes

I do not have the plugin but all maps seem to still be in the school.

27. DEFINITELY NOT PENIS

✔️28. Dream’s Diary - Found

It was still in the cell.... [post]

29. “thanks for visiting” prison book

30. The :) book Sapnap gives to Ranboo from Dream in prison

31. Sam’s book that says "I am not an idiot "over and over

32. The L’manberg photo from the finale [clip]

✔️33. Are there any Tales of the SMP sets? - Yes

@feyscape has found the City of Mizu at 13979 70 12937 [post]

@feyscape’s website notes that The Town That Never Was is at 843 97 -296 [link]

✔️34. Egg - Found

Oddly, near Bad and Skeppy's mansion and the prison, not the banquet room, at 325 11 -884 [post]

35. Bones and Skeppy’s house (in Egg Finale) [clip]

✔️36. Antarctica Tommy got teleported to when he was banned on his first day [related post] - Found

@feyscape website coordinates at 2000 64 2500 [link]

37. The ocean monuments missing elder guardians (for prison build)?

38a. Fundy's house in mesa 38b. Fundy’s nightmare set in mesa biome [clip]

✔️39. Dream’s parrot’s grave [Dream's parrot] - Found

@oduvany has found it at 237 2309 [post]

Helpful Resources

@sumwan’s post [here] tells how to access inventories

And @seriousbusiness4130 left some helpful replies on my post about finding the loaded chunks of a map:

@feyscape has set up a helpful coordinates archive [here]

[throneofsapphics]

I figured I should ask before requesting but here goes nothing, again, ‼️TW‼️;

Can I request more angst with Az? Like uhmm.... Maybe the reader has extreme trust issues and she finally has opened up to Az but now that Elaine is here, she finds Ax drifting (not much but they don't do their normal dinners together as much as they used to, they don't bathe together as much, etc, small things she needs to that stability) and it starts to eat away at her but she doesn't want to tell Az about her feelings because she feels like a burden but then maybe Mor or someone convinces her to talk to him but he's had a long day so he snaps at her and leaves and she ends up... Offing herself..... Uhm.. and then Az's finding her body the next morning and his reaction and everyone else's too...... 👁️👁️

It only takes three 

Azriel x Reader

Summary: “There were three words you came to say, three little syllables, and it only took three to shatter you.”

Warnings: suicide, pills & alcohol, suicidal ideation, angst

A/N: I appreciate you asking, thank you for the request! & what’s a little more trauma for the inner circle? know your triggers y'all, this is heavy

Azriel dedicated himself to gaining your trust. The one person who managed to knock those walls down, and it took decades before you’d opened up to him. Mor was a close second. Maybe it was a cliche, but he understood you, more than anyone else. He’d listened through everything, listened as you broke, and helped you put the pieces back together. 

All these years, you’d been waiting and hoping he’d see it, hoping he’d feel the same bond you did. You were somewhere between friends and lovers, nothing ever clear or defined. But, you knew he was the one person you could rely on. 

Resentment was ugly, and so was jealousy, but you couldn’t help those emotions as you watched his infatuation with the middle Archeron sister grow. It was nothing against her, she truly was a lovely person, and you could see why Azriel took an interest in her. The nasty little voice told you he’d grown tired of you, that you were too much, that he’d found someone less burdensome - as you’d always feared. 

At first, you wrote it off as him being busy. That’s what he said - and he’d never lied to you. After the war with Hybern, things hadn’t quite settled and his workload was high. You tried to be understanding, to be respectful of the boundaries he’d subtly set. But you craved your old routine. Wednesday morning breakfasts, him slipping into your bed when he couldn’t sleep, bringing him tea when you knew he was working a late night. He used to always leave his door cracked, but recently it had been locked. Any knocks went unanswered, even though you could hear him inside. Instead, you’d leave the cup outside of his door, only to find it there in the mornings - untouched. 

It really began to fall apart, to you, when you went to visit Feyre at the River House. Azriel said he had some kind of work mission, that he’d be out for the day, and as Feyre led you around, he was in the gardens, with Elain. You didn’t let him see you, instead you stuck out the rest of the tour with a smile, saving your tears for home. 

It was a different type of torture, watching the one person destined for you fall in love with someone else. You tortured yourself too, holding on to hope he’d realize and he’d come back to you. 

Finally, you built the courage to tell Mor. You needed a sounding board, someone to give some advice, someone outside of your head. 

“Tell him,” Mor encouraged you, “he’ll understand.”

“He’s been pulling away, I don’t want him to think I’m trying to … I don't know, trap him.” 

“Az,” she sighed, “he’s wanted to find his mate for �� well maybe even for centuries. For a shadowsinger, he’s too stubborn to see what’s right in front of him,” her mouth curved up at one corner. “If you don’t tell him, he might never know. I imagine you’re tired of waiting.” 

“You have no idea,” you laughed, but stood. Brave. Three words; I’m your mate, and at least the weight would be off your chest. Whatever happened next, whatever his reaction was, you could figure that out as it came. Despite the growing distance, he was still the person you trusted above all, and you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

For once, his door was open. This felt like a good sign. 

“Az,” you called, peeking your head inside the room. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

“Tomorrow,” a clipped one word answer, not even bothering to look up from his desk. 

“It really is important.” 

“It can wait.” there was such a finality in his tone. Almost like he thought nothing regarding you could be important. But you wanted to give it one more shot. 

“Please-” 

“I don’t care, whatever it is, I. Don’t. Care.” 

Well, he’d finally looked up at you, like you were some obnoxious fly he was trying to get rid of. Swallowing your tears, you nodded and turned away. Part of you knew you couldn’t promise tomorrow. 

There were three words you came to say, three little syllables, and it only took three to shatter you. To shatter the fragile self he’d helped you build. 

-

Maybe it was intentional. You knew exactly what this cocktail could do to you, and you wanted that sweet release to drag you under. When every breath felt like a chore, every word like an ache tearing out of you, it felt like the only option. 

One hand clutched the bottle of pills, the other the bottle of wine. 

Pills from a friend, who warned you taking too many could kill you. That warning was a siren call now. 

You were already drunk when you poured the entire bottle into your hands, throwing them back without a second thought, wine washing them down. It would take you into sweet, sweet oblivion, and only the mother knew whether you’d wake up on this earth or not. 

Maybe your soul could become one of those pretty little spirits, migrating on starfall. Or maybe you’d end up in another universe, like the ones you studied in the library. You giggled to yourself. Anywhere else felt like a better option now. 

You were definitely hallucinating, because three little butterflies floated in front of you, reaching out you felt them touch your fingers. Was it welcoming? Or an omen? The butterflies faded, bursting into dust, and the tears began. A few minutes later, you knew nothing.

-

“Where’s y/n?” Mor asked Azriel as he stalked into the room. He was still in a piss-poor mood, and this was the last thing he wanted to do this morning. Going to a court meeting. 

“Do I look like her keeper?” 

Mor seemed a bit confused by his response. “Can you get her?” 

He wanted to ask; why not you, but it felt a bit too childish. Besides, he needed to talk about last night anyway. Too late, a shadow whispered in his ear. It’s never too late, he could fix this. Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed for your bedroom. Shadows swirled around him, in front of him, searching and … storming the room. They unlocked the door before he could, gone, gone, gone, they whispered to him. Had you left in the middle of the night? He couldn’t hear you in there, but your scent was still fresh. 

And alcohol. A pit settled in his stomach. Gone. Too late. 

Azriel pushed the door open. Not in your room. A small click and his shadows opened the door to your bathing room. There were sweet and tender memories from that room. Him washing your hair, delicately working through the strands that always seemed tangled, you washing his wings. 

He didn’t think this would be one of those memories. 

Pushing the door open, he fell to his knees. 

-

Mor heard the guttural scream, one of pain and sorrow. Something she’d never heard from Az. Mor didn’t bother taking the stairs, and winnowed to your door. Directly across from her, another door was swung open, offering her a clear view. Azriel on his knees in front of … your body. Lips blue, skin white. His hands pressed down on your chest, up and down, up and down. 

“You’re late,” Rhys said, echoing through her mind. She only cast the image to him. Within a minute, more voices and footsteps sounded inside the house. Mor had already crossed the room, kneeling next to Azriel, her magic searching desperately for a sign of life. 

Minutes later, Madja was there, crowding in behind her. Cassian pulled a thrashing Azriel away from your body. 

Mor could only stand by the door, mouth parted and body still in shock. 

An empty pill bottle, one blue pill laying next to your hand, as if it had fallen out. An empty bottle of wine on the floor, dregs of red liquid still gathering in the bottle. 

Today was supposed to be good. Last night, you’d told Azriel you were his mate. She was prepared for the two of you to miss today entirely. 

Something had gone terribly wrong. Whirling around, she took one step closer to the shadowsinger, each movement laced with fury, entire body trembling. 

“Did you reject her?” Mor had skipped the earthly and deadly quiet, and screamed at Az, power rumbling through the room. 

“What do you mean reject?” 

“She is - was - your mate.” 

-

Azriel felt like his world stopped. Each word sliced into his chest. Mate. 

That’s what you wanted to tell him, and he told you, unequivocally, that he didn’t care. He was the person you trusted above all others, at one point. The one who spent decades breaking down those walls, slowly and carefully gaining your trust. Decades working towards that goal, and a year to throw it away. 

This was his fault. 

He could imagine the hopeful look on your face as you peeked into his door. If he’d seen that … if he’d just looked. 

“Az, can I talk to you about something?” Fuck, he’d forgotten to lock his door. Papers obscured his entire vision. Today had been too damn much, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone. It wasn’t specifically you.

“Tomorrow,”

“It really is important.” Desperation, but he knew there wasn’t much going on in your life. A shadow swirled angrily at the callous thoughts. 

“It can wait.” 

“Please-” 

He looked at you, your face had fallen. The beginnings of tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Listen, listen, listen, his shadows were nearly begging. Tomorrow, he told them. 

“I don’t care, whatever it is, I. Don’t. Care.” 

You finally left. A small tinge of guilt, but he’d make it up to you tomorrow, or maybe the next day - that would be Wednesday, and he’d get up early to bring you breakfast, the old tradition you’d fallen out of habit with. Something easily revived. 

Tomorrow, however, would be chock full of meetings. Meetings you’d be at too, and he’d make the time to hear you out, to apologize. 

Now, a shadow curled next to his ear, pleading. He ignored it. They’d always favored you, and now he’d even say they were fussing. You were strong enough. 

Azriel had ignored everything. Ignored each warning sign, ignored the desperate pleas of his shadows and the tears on your face. You cried, but it was never often. 

“It’s my fault,” he said - more to himself. “My fault.” 

He felt himself crumble, felt everything he used to keep himself in check slip away, his magic threatening to burst from him, to turn this house to rubble. He didn’t fight as Rhys grabbed him, as he winnowed him out to somewhere far out in the mountains. His brother released him as soon as they landed, but didn’t leave, he didn’t abandon him. Rhys should’ve, should’ve left him out here to bury himself. That’s what he deserved. 

The ground shook, parts of the mountains surrounding him faded into dust, snow flooded down the sides, birds squawked as they fled. He spent hours, hours and hours up there - until his siphons dulled, until he felt his magic start to protest, until Rhys had to knock him unconscious before he let it tear him apart.

[thaylepo]

"Deer, meet Monkey" but on an intergalactic scale. Deer be like, what the fuck what the fuck it's standing it's walking on TWO LEGS?? fuck now it's CLIMBING what IS it oh god oh god WHY WON'T IT STOP FOLLOWING ME GO AWAY

Meanwhile Monkey be like, "hey cool sharp thing you got on you there, i want one."

Just thinkin' about andalites losing their minds over watching humans scale rock climbing walls.

[hauntaku2]

Pomni: There's this girl I like.

Ragatha: * violently upset * WHO!? I mean... oh. That's swell!

Pomni: Um... how would I go about telling her that I love her?

Ragatha: You should give her a present. Possibly something explosive!

Pomni: Uh... that doesn't sound very safe.

Ragatha: How about poisonous!? Deadly!?

Pomni: Are you feeling okay, Ragatha?

Ragatha: Ahaha! I'm fine. Fine... Pomni. Just... just get her something... that's exciting!

Pomni: Okay...

(Pomni rushes over to ask Jax something)

Pomni: Hey... Jax. Do you know why Ragatha's acting... unusual?

Jax: Ugh. Don't even bother talking to me, squirt.

Pomni: Jax! This is important.

Jax: I don't * bleeping * care. Got that?

Pomni: Grrr... JAX! Ragatha wants me to give someone I like something harmful! She's clearly not thinking well.

Jax: That's news to me! * smug grin * So... are we talking scorpions or...

Pomni: Jax! I think Ragatha is jealous but... I don't know how to tell her about my feelings.

Jax: Ooh? That's sounds like none of my * bleeping * business!

(Jax rushes off)

Pomni: Ugh...

Gangle: Hi, Pomni!

Pomni: Oh, um... hi, Gangle.

Gangle: Why are you... sad?

Pomni: Ragatha is acting strange. She wants me to give weird things to the girl I like.

Gangle: Ooh! She's always like this.

Pomni: What do you mean?

Gangle: Aha! I've said too much.

(Gangle rushes off)

Pomni: Everyone seems strange today...

Caine: Yeah.

Pomni: Gah! Can you not do that?

Caine: * stares blankly * Not do what?

Pomni: Nevermind. Ragatha is acting jealous because I told her about a girl I have a crush on.

Caine: Oh, that was a really bad idea.

(Caine leaves)

Pomni: Again!?

Zooble: What again?

Pomni: Uh... I told Ragatha about someone I have a crush on.

Zooble: It's not me, right?

Pomni: No, it's someone else. Why do you ask?

Zooble: I don't wanna be caught up in this whole... situation.

Pomni: Uh, so... Do I calm her down or something?

Zooble: Y'know, she has a crush on you... right?

Pomni: What!? * blushes * There's no way she feels that way about me. That can't be it!

Zooble: * facepalm * Are you serious?

Pomni: She... likes me?

Zooble: No * bleep *, Sherlock. Just tell her you feel the same way and leave me outta this.

(Zooble leaves)

Pomni: I... I have no idea what to say... Ragatha... likes me?

(Pomni walks over to Ragatha and finds her sharpening an axe)

Ragatha: Oh! Hey, Pomni! * throws axe away and almost kills Jax in the process * What brings you here?

Pomni: Uh... Ragatha? I... um... I heard from someone that you might have a... small crush on... me? * she squeaks *

Ragatha: * blushing * Haha... now where did you here a silly thing like that from? * eye twitches *

Pomni: Is it true that you... love me, Ragatha?

Ragatha: ...

Pomni: Uh?

Ragatha: * hugs Pomni tightly * Oh, you sweet little thing!

Pomni: Does this mean...? * blushes *

(Pomni and Ragatha embrace for a while)

Ragatha: * whispers * You better love me back, Pomni.

Pomni: I... I do. I really do.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Adventure Time new episodes

This is for "Destiny" and "Winter King". I am not making a big analysis, honestly I have no idea where the miniseries is heading, but here are a couple of points I want to make.

So, to start us off, this is obviously Snake on a Nokia phone... the controls for this thing were absolute garbage but it did the job. Is the snake eating little bunnies????

It's interesting that designer bags are the same in both worlds, but that makes sense because this is just another future version of a world Simon lived in.

When I first saw Jay, I assumed he was Finn's baby brother from the Farmworld universe - wouldn't the baby brother be about the correct age??? - but he's actually Finn's son!

Jay and Bonnie are a reference to the episode Puhoy! Their mother was most likely Roselinen. Our Finn had specific reasons for naming them Jay (Jake) and Bonnie (PB). Farmworld Finn named them that too but unless he knew a farmworld PB it's more of a reference than anything else.

Also... against all reason, Farmworld Jake is still alive! Barely!

Finn had a LOT OF KIDS and also his wife his dead. Damn, even in this world. Most of his kids have his or Rosalinen's hair colour but the boy on the right looks a lot like Hunter from the first episode.

Take that as you will...

Like in the original S5 episodes there are farmworld versions of some characters like Choose Goose, Starchy, and Wildberry Princess. So there was probably farmworld versions of most of his friends. We already saw what happened to this version's Simon and Marcy, who both died brutally.

The crown is in the giant crater because it was evaporated by the goddamn nuke. Incredible that any part of it survived, really.

The rest of this episode speaks for itself. It was a fun look at an alternate universe where Finn lived a very different life. His personality here is nothing like our Finn who is a lot more adventurous. Farmworld has taken its toll on our boy.

Onto Winter King...

This penguin boy doesn't seem to be 100% ice. It's possible that his beak was stuck on like a snowman, but it's also possible this is a transformed version of Gunther.

This Ice King's history is very similar to our Ice King's. Most changes were 100 years ago when he transferred the twisted madness to PB.

Can someone explain to me why there is a naked chicken here???? I do not like this at all

I checked out two designs that I thought this place might be referencing. It doesn't look like either but, eh.

Below is Candy Kingdom concept art from 2008.

Below is Candy island from Flapjack!

And below, ironically the most similar looking, is Candy Island from Bob's Burgers.

Some interesting things about this alternate Simon...

This young Marceline with the axe has implications for why this Simon might've turned "evil". Marceline either ran away from him after what he did to PB, or she died at some stage. He made an "Ice Marcy" to replace her.... Young and adorable, just she was when he was Simon. This seems to be his method for dealing with any problems.

His science in this room was interesting... it reminded me of Princess Bubblegum's technology, or the stuff that Simon and Betty were able to make when combining science and magic in the land of Ooo. Honestly I don't feel that he'd have been successful in duplicating the crown, but he was immediately willing to try.

The reason Simon doesn't remember Betty as his great love is because this was an important part of his madness. When he transferred his madness to PB, he also transferred his obsession with Betty.

This is why Candy Queen is so obsessed with kidnapping Ice King and Simon, it's the exact reason why Ice King used to kidnap her!

Also, 10 out of 10 to Hynden Walch in this episode. I was convinced there was a different voice actress for Candy Queen, but upon checking the credits, it really is her. You can recognise her singing well too.

This version of PB has a lot more mastery over her candy elemental magic. It's probably a result of being possessed by the Crown's madness for so a hundred years. You see her doing all sorts of crazy stuff as Candy Queen, though in that state her abilities are a lot more like Ice King's than they are like the insane PB from the Elements miniseries.

It's really funny that PB is like "I'm trying not to dwell on it" about the hundred years thing. AT is very casual like that. Though she's gonna be very sad when she realises Fionna and Cake ripped the faces off most of her candy people. Brutal scene.

And it's funny how she kissed Fionna. She just does that with all her knights. I wonder if there is a Finn in this universe? Ice Prince seemed to expect the Ice girls to save him...

I found it sweet that Ice King really wanted to save someone else he saw as being possessed by madness. It was entirely possible that CQ was just "like that", but he was right on the money, and it shows how he contrasts to his alternate self, who is actively benefitting from this situation even if he gets regularly kidnapped. And it's not like Fionna is doing anything that Finn didn't do to Ice King!

This scene was brutal. Funnily enough I watched Infinity Train book 3 with Kim last night, this reminds me of the moment THAT Simon-- Oh my God, does this always happen to characters named Simon?

Fionna removed the magic from the crown, so Simon aged rapidly, just like in the episode "Betty". Though this time it happened instantaneously rather than across 11 minutes.

I think this is the part where Fionna realises her rampage across the multiverse is genuinely hurting people.

It was VERY CUTE watching Gary Prince (holy shit that name) show off his little Candy Kingdom. There's a lot of elements of PB there, and it parallels how ultimately the Candy Kingdom was PB's own version of the cake - she made all these characters and made little stories for them, which we know from the show was her way of dealing with the world.

What was REMARKABLY FUCKED UP was the shots to Fionna murdering possessed versions of these beloved characters. I mean... they're PROBABLY all still alive, but they are very fucked up now.

I also enjoy how the Lemoncarbs - Tree Trunks calls them that!! - are both here and alive, and superior to Gary lol. And I think Jinx Monsoon's voice acting here fits a lot better than in episode 4 where they tried to do a straight imitation of Lemongrab.

I haven't said much about these two but you can see how they contrast - Marshall just Does things, while Gary procrastinates constantly. And Marshall's behaviour can seem reckless but Gary would've never taken that big step forward without his help. It's funny how Marshall can just call his mother to summon the Lemoncarbs in the middle of the night, and sweet how he'd do that to help Gary.

Then he listens to the autistic boy gush about his characters. Awww.

This world here is obviously a joke about the elusive Adventure Time Babies show that Muto was terrified he'd be asked to make. Hell it's possible he pitched this show to CN once or twice. But Baby Looney Tunes and Tiny Titans are both famous spinoffs of this ilk, and Craig of the Creek got a spinoff about Craig's baby sister.

Simon is still determined to become Ice King again but he wants to "do it right". I still think he's HORRIBLY MISGUIDED but he is starting to realise that, maybe, he is the best version of himself. He could've been a huge ding dong like Ice Prince.

Also Chan is going to be so sad if that's the only time we see Young Finn and Jake.

[ckret2]

I'm staring at the newest chapter in horror but also, there are SO many witnesses and there will probably be a ton of documentation about the second dimensional incident, which makes it that much more baffling Bill got an insanity plea. I know it's for Story Reasons and I probably shouldn't think about it too hard but goddamn.

They legitimately looked at all of this and said "yeah no he's found not guilty by reason of insanity, Theraprism NOW." (I thought at first it was "guilty but insane," however we get no indication that he's going to be sent to a normal multiversal prison after he completes his karmic rehabilitation. They all but say that reincarnation is the goal after this is over, which seems to be equivalent to release and reintegration into society.)

That being said it could simply be that interdimensional court has different requirements to be declared insane enough not to get permadeath. Or I'm misremembering how the Theraprism works...It's a forensic hospital, right? Not prison. He's being treated not punished.(Kinda debatable. That place sucks.)

The Axolotl gotta be the single best lawyer of the entire multiverse how the hell did they pull this off. I would love to just be in the court when this went down actually I can already feel how absolutely insane it was. No way either side didn't fight tooth and nail.

the fact that Bill is willing to look every single person he meets dead in the eye and say "no my dimension wasn't destroyed, it's fine, all my people are alive and they love me" is ngl gonna be a big part of the ax's defense strategy.

They have a lot of documentation of what Bill's like after the massacre—but there's absolutely no record, anywhere, of what happened during the massacre. You know what they do have documentation of though? Bill insisting that he dumped Euclydia into Dimension Zero so that he could do renovations and that he's built a paradise universe in its place when all he's built is a void with a few strobe lights. Bill claiming that all these people he kidnapped himself are actually from his dimension. Bill pulling off "rescues" with seemingly no self-awareness that he slaughtered more than he saved. Bill being told MULTIPLE TIMES "if you keep trying to fix Dimension Zero then the multiverse will collapse" and Bill going "okay. i hear you. So how about i fix Dimension Zero, and then, everything is fine."

What do you do if you get Bill into a courtroom and ask him "do you plea guilty to the massacre of Euclydia?" and he goes "I don't know what you're talking about. There was no massacre. I liberated everyone, they're fine. They're literally still alive today. Nobody died." Like. You're trying to decide his culpability in a crime he doesn't acknowledge happened.

You've gotta ask 2 questions: does Bill literally not know what happened to his dimension—even if the knowledge comes and goes, is it still sometimes genuinely missing—or is this just an act to try to wiggle out of trouble? And, if he does literally not know what happened to it, is that a trauma reaction to the massacre, or did he commit the crime not comprehending what the result would be?

Bill's a known liar, this could all be an act. But, like, god, wow, it's a really, really good act.

The Ax can argue that Bill literally doesn't grasp the difference between right and wrong. He can tell them that Bill is completely unable to differentiate fact and fiction. He can tell them that Bill has delusions that he didn't destroy Euclydia, that the neighboring dimensions are Euclydia, that all his people are alive and healthy, and argue that he probably had delusions that whatever he did to his dimension wouldn't destroy it in the first place. He can argue a whole lot of things about Bill.

Are any of these things true about Bill? Debatable. Probably not. Somewhere between 30%-60% true. Could the Ax convince a court that they're true? Probably. Everyone already agrees Bill's insane. The only question is if he was the right kind of insane at the right time.

[derangedanomaly]

Mafia boys(yes, mafia bad sans) getting a wife after crashing a rival mafia boss supposed wedding, now they are rewarded with Reader who has a elegant personality she was basically forced into the marriage and all

MASTERLIST

MAFIA BAD SANSES GETTING A WIFE AFTER CRASHING RIVAL MAFIAS WEDDING

You could only stare at the man you're supposed to marry.. the marriage in which you were so crudely forced to. "Now, Y/N L/N, do you take **** as your lawfully wedded husband?" You gulped, hesitating, of course you don't want to! But if you refuse, there'll be a death sentence ready for you.. it's like walking on a field full of mines...

"...I-" a glass breaking startled everyone at the ceremony, as all the people stared at what or who made that noise... You can't help but feel slightly relieved, as this saved you from agreeing to this marriage...

A man stepped into the room, in a dark suit...it was-

NIGHTMARE:

Nightmare slowly walked up the stairs leading to you and the man who you were supposed to marry, and now who was kidnapping you. This day can't get worse...

Just as you thought everything was lost, a black droopy tentacle curled itself around your waist, holding you tightly. Nightmare then spoke to the unnamed man; "This is the end of our deal" he proceeded to impale the man.

Nightmares gaze than settled on you, looking all over you. "Hmm.." he hummed in interest. "What a pretty jewel.." you don't know why, but you suddenly mumbled.. "Please...P-Please help me.." his eyes widened, his smirk now evident. He chuckled, and placed you on a chair nearby.

"What a sight..." He sighed, and caressed your cheek. "H-Hey!" He snapped his head towards the quivering voice, his face now wearing a frown. "...I'll come back." He whispered to you, facing the man.

You couldn't help but stare back at the disappearing figure of the goopy man. Your cheeks than gained a red color, when his previous words settled into you.. 'What a pretty jewel..'

KILLER:

A sudden blast could be heard, as fire spread out across the ceremony. You yelped, and backed up a little, when the man suddenly grabbed you by the waist. "You ain't going nowhere you bitch!" You closed your eyes, and silently prayed for this to be over.

"Now this ain't any way to speak to a lady, is it?" Your head snapped up to look at who spoke those words, while the man behind you took out his gun. "H-Hey now! Back up man!" You didn't failed to notice the aching voice in the man's throat.

A man who's eyes were pitch black appeared in front of you. You jumped a little at the contact. "...Huh." he was observing you.. you couldn't help your cheeks getting flushed, when he moved closer. "HEY!" The man in front of you tsked, but flashed you a toothy smile. "I'll help you out in a moment toots." He winked, then proceeded to tackle the man.

What a charmer...

DUST:

The man suddenly fell unconscious, and you were held up bridal style. You couldn't even process everything, when you were getting carried by someone unknown. Your gaze met his eyes, that were hidden under a hoodie.

"Hey, sorry for 'ruining' your joyous day, miss." You couldn't help but giggle at his words. "It's ok, It wasn't really a 'joyous' day for me..." He nodded, then came to a stop, and sat you on a chair. "I'll be right back, sit tight." He disappeared, and left you to your own thoughts.

What is even happening?

HORROR:

You stared in shock, at the scene in front of you. An axe came flying through the air, and cut open your 'future husbands' head... You stood there, completely shocked and frightened, while people screamed in the background.

You're met with what you could only describe as a living horror.. in front of you stands a man, with one red shining eye. He's sizing you up... You start to shake, and instinctively put your hands you, in surrender.

He didn't speak, only took your hands and threw you over his shoulder. You yelped in protest, but instantly stop, when you hear him finally speak... "I'm not.... going to hurt...you.." his voice was raspy, probably not used to talking much, but it was also deep.

You stayed quiet, while he carried you out of the venue. You didn't know, if you were saved, or doomed.. but by the look on his face, it was probably the first option.

[after-witch]

Sweet Valentine [wri0thesley OC Lucas x reader]

Title: Sweet Valentine [@wri0thesley OC Lucas x Reader]

Synopsis: It's Valentine's Day and Lucas has some sweet surprises planned, but things don't go as well as you'd hoped.

Word count: 3164

notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of cannibalism, abusive relationship, mentions of violence, non-graphic descriptions of noncon and dubcon sex, reader is implied to be afab

“You… want somethin’ special for Valentine’s Day, sweetheart?”

Lucas’ voice is low and tender, and when you look up at him, you see a faint blush dusting his cheeks. It’s a familiar sight. He always gets like this, when it comes to romance. Or what he thinks is romance, anyway.

You think it’s all that vulnerability that comes along with romance; the possibility of rejection, as if you were stupid enough to outright reject anything he wanted to give you. Not unless you wanted to meet the sharp end of a glare

(Or an axe.)

But it’s there anyway, that vulnerability. In the way he sometimes glances away or the way his cheeks gain a deeper tint or the lilt in his voice. He gets awkward and when you’re feeling dark and low, you sometimes wonder what he’d do if you didn’t thank him for his gifts, if you didn’t lean into his arms when he opened them, if you wiped away his kisses, if you were as ungrateful and awful as you were currently too afraid to be. 

The answer always comes swiftly: He’d kill you, moron. 

Maybe not right away. But you’d chip at his goodwill, such as it was, bit by bit until nothing was left but raw steel. And where would that raw steel go? Right into your skull, stupid.

You’re a lot of things. Scared. A liar. Helpless. But you’re not stupid. 

So you return his blush with a practiced meek gaze. The kind where you glance up at him and then look quickly down, and cross one arm (but never both, that’s too petulant) over your chest. 

Shy, that’s what you are; or rather, what you’ve become in order to survive here. 

If he thinks you’re shy and quiet and meek, it seems easier for him to brush aside the way you tremble; the way you flinch; the way you sometimes find yourself begging him to wait, just wait oh please, you’re not quite ready to go all the way yet. 

And if you have to debase yourself by taking his length into your trembling hands, by letting him touch you until you trembled and came on his fingers, it’s what you’ll do to put off the inevitable for another day. 

“Nothing special,” you say, voice crackling with the dryness of the morning air. He doesn’t respond. He’s disappointed, you think. Nothing special isn’t good enough for Valentine’s Day. So you add, quietly but quickly: “But maybe… If it’s not too much trouble… some chocolate?” 

You glance up at him and he’s got an almost goofy smile on his face now. It makes you relieved--it makes you sick.

“Or--or we could watch a romantic comedy?” You suggest. You bite your lip then, a holdover gesture from your old life. “Oh, but you don’t really have any, so I guess we could just--”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.” He pulls you close without giving you a choice and you lean your head against his shoulder, just like you ought to do. “I’ll find you somethin’ in town this weekend. Gotta go get some supplies anyway.” 

You smile and press your face towards his chest, so that he feels the curve of your lips against his shirt. “Thank you, Lucas. Really… really any movie you like is fine, but if you can find one, that would be okay.”

He sighs and presses one large hand against the back of your head, trailing it down past your neck--he could snap it so easily--until he’s rubbing your back.

“You’re the sweetest, you know that, angel?” 

You don’t answer, because you don’t need to, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

You were good. You behaved well.  You did what he wanted. Did it matter that you didn’t want chocolates or to watch a movie with him for Valentine’s Day or any day at all? Did it matter that at home, your real home, you were loud and brash and your mother would have pissed herself laughing if anyone called you shy? 

No. Of course not.

If only the truth wouldn’t get you killed. 

You don’t want chocolates or a VHS copy of some outdated romantic comedy.

The only thing you really want for Valentine’s Day is to go home. 

--

The chocolate isn’t great, but it’s not awful, either. There was even a cherry cordial--your favorite--and Lucas’ eyes had lit up when you told him so. 

It was a nice surprise. 

After all, the cynical part of you imagined Lucas showing up with a dusty box of chocolates that tasted like stale sweetness; the kind you find overpriced at drugstores, boxes that forgetful husbands pick up on the way home from work on the day-of. 

But when he came home from town, he’d sheepishly handed over a bouquet of colorfully dyed flowers. A mixture of carnations that were an impossibly vivid pink and daisies with bright blue petals. It was just the kind of bouquet you used to pick out for your mom when you were a kid, because you were drawn to the pops of unnaturally colorful simple flowers more than you were ordinary red roses. 

“Know you like, uh…” He’d held out the bouquet and waited for you to take it from him before continuing. “Know you like this kind of pink, so…” 

You held the bouquet to your chest and felt something that might have been pleasure. It was nice to have something familiar. Something you might pick up at a supermarket on the way home from work. Real flowers were beautiful, of course, and you’d grown to love the sight of them surrounding the cabin. 

But these couldn’t be found in the wilderness in which you were now settled. They were a sign that people still existed out there, people that weren’t you and Lucas and the ghosts of people who came before you.

And that made them more special.

--

“Honey?”

“Angel?.”

“Darlin’.”

It’s the darlin’ that yanks you out of your disassociation. How long had it been going on? You glance down at your fingers and realize you’re holding a half-eaten chocolate bon-bon. Your elbow feels stiff, you must have been holding it up for a while.

You shakily set it back down on the box and force yourself to look over at Lucas, who is cuddled up next to you, holding you in a firm but warm grip, with his arm slung around your shoulder keeping you close. 

He looks irritated. Like you said something wrong again. Only you weren’t saying anything, but that might be the problem; ignoring him was just as bad (sometimes worse) as doing the wrong thing.

“You don’t like the movie?” His voice is gruffer than it should be today, of all days. 

The movie? 

Oh shit.

You blink and blink and slowly details around you come back into focus. The dim lighting in the cabin, to set the mood. The flickering light of the TV and the soft whir of the VCR that could only be heard faintly under the movie itself.

And the movie…

The movie was almost over. The VHS he’d found was of a vaguely familiar movie you remember seeing on TV a few times. It wasn’t a classic but it wasn’t a stink-bomb, either. 

“Angel…” 

He turns toward you and after a moment, takes your chin into his hands.  You quickly glance down--meek, shy, feeble thing that you are--so he doesn’t see the fear that must be blinking through the back of your eyeballs by now. 

“You don’t like the movie, do you? Did I pick the wrong one?” There’s none of the usual sweet compromise in his voice, though, that makes you think saying “yes” might be an option. Instead, you get the sense that he’s laying traps for you to step on. Traps meant for someone ungrateful who completely zones out during what was supposed to be a romantic evening snuggling on the couch. 

Dumbass, you think. I’m such a dumbass.

“Do you…” You speak suddenly and swallow hard. Talking is awkward with his fingers holding your chin, but he doesn’t let go. “Do you want a chocolate?” You offer up the box that’s half-empty by now. The cherry cordials were gone, and maybe you should have offered him one since they were your favorite. But there’s nothing to be done about it, so you hold up the last caramel-filled piece towards him. 

Maybe he’ll appreciate the gesture. 

He finally lets go of your chin and huffs out a snort through his nose. That’s good, usually. A sign he’s calming down. But he doesn’t smile at you, and you can feel the heaviness in the air, a sort of sick pressure that you need to relieve before it gets worse. 

“I’m not much for sweets.” He says this like you ought to know. And you do, actually, it’s just… you don’t know what else to do. 

Your lips quirk downward. You lift the piece until it’s close to his mouth. 

“I know, I just--wanted to share. Please? One bite?” It’s almost a reversal, really; the way he sometimes has to nudge you to eat, when your stomach is all twisted in knots from anxiety or when you can’t shove away the thought that what you’re eating is almost certainly not an animal. Sometimes he feeds you just because he’s in a particular mood, a mood where you need to be more fragile and helpless than you are, which isn’t saying much.

Lucas’ eyes widen then and he finally smiles softly at you. His voice is low and gruff but you think, not quite as irritated as before. 

“All right, angel. A bite.”

He opens his mouth and you slide the chocolate forward until it’s under his teeth. He takes a bite and you pull away, caramel dripping from the half-eaten chocolate that you set back in the box. 

Lucas chews with his mouth closed (he has impeccable manners when he’s not murdering people, thank God for that) but then there’s the thought of the chocolate and caramel being chewed by the same teeth that just ate a “steak” for dinner--what if there’s a stray piece of meat left in his molars and they mix? 

It’s enough to make the sticky sweet flavor of the cherry cordials rise in your throat, acidic and sour from the chocolate digesting in your stomach. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, nuzzling closer to him like an apologetic pet as he finishes chewing. “I didn’t mean to get distracted earlier.” 

Lucas hums and pulls you tighter against him, harder than normal. He presses a kiss against the side of your head. A hint of caramel wafts in the air.  

“Mind you don’t drift often again, honey.” 

-

Lucas is still upset with you. Although you can’t quite call this “still” upset, because this is different from earlier. He’s not still annoyed that you were distracted during the movie or, at least, that’s not the real source of his irritation.

But what--what did you do? You thanked him for the flowers and chocolates. You kissed him (on the lips!) after he gave them to you.  You snuggled on the couch and yes you fucked up during the movie, but you made up for it, you thought. 

You set the table for dinner without being asked, you ate without hesitation and complimented his cooking… you were quiet, you helped him clean up the eggs, you made a joke about Dolly the chicken needing a Valentine’s Day card from him and he chuckled at it. 

You didn’t argue when he insisted he scrub you up during the bath, even when his hand dipped between your legs and lingered on your chest. You quietly let him brush your hair and pick out your pajamas (a pink nightie, tonight) and did everything you thought he wanted.

So what in the hell did you do wrong today that has him practically glowering at you as you both sit on the bed? You’ve re-read the same page in your book a hundred times while you tried to figure it out. You can’t go to bed like this, wondering if he’s angry, wondering if you’ll wake up in the morning to find him hovering over you with a glare and a weapon. Or maybe you won’t even wake up at all. 

“Angel?” There’s a gruff edge to the word tonight that tightens your chest.

“Yes?” Your voice is squeakier than you intended. You tuck a bookmark into your pages and set the book down on your nightstand, and look up at Lucas with practiced meekness that is made all the more real through the gnawing fear in your belly.

Lucas hesitates before he speaks. Emotions shift on his face. Irritation, disappointment, even something you think is sadness. They only make the feeling in your chest worse. What did you do? Why is he acting this way?

“I… wasn’t expectin’ nothing fancy, you know. But I thought you’d at least make somethin’ for me today.”

Make something for him? 

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

In all your worries about behaving perfectly, you didn’t even think about getting Lucas something for Valentine’s Day. Making him a card or throwing together a quick embroidery hoop or--something. That’s what a good spouse would do, right? It’s what he would expect from you, on today of all days. Sure, he wasn’t big on presents, and he’d told you a few months ago not to worry about Christmas (you’d embroidered a scene outside the window of his bedroom, the trees and snow and a little silver rabbit) but this was different. 

It was a couple’s day, and you were part of that couple. 

And you’d fucked up.

He’s not done, either.

“I went outta my way to get you everything you wanted. Drove all the way into town… An’ you didn’t even pay attention during the movie.” If you weren’t increasingly terrified,  you might be able to snort at how petulant he sounded, complaining that you didn’t watch the movie well enough. But there’s nothing funny about the way his voice is starting to raise or the way you can practically feel his muscles getting tenser by the moment.

“Did you even appreciate any of it?” It’s more to himself than to you, and that scares you more than anything else has in recent memory. 

Your mouth comes up with a plan the exact moment that your brain does.  You’re not sure if your brain would have let you go through with it, if it had more than a split second to think. 

“I did get you something!” 

Lucas shifts on the bed and looks at you questioningly. He doesn’t look convinced. Not yet. There’s a swift moment in which you have to convince him and you jump into it, feet first.

“I… I just didn’t know how to wrap it, that’s all.” Your throat bobs when you swallow and you look up at him with a soft expression that’s part nerves, part hope. 

“I don’t know what y’mean, darlin’.”

 His eyebrows furrow and you take a deep breath before you reach over and take his hand. You give it a squeeze and shift on the bed yourself, this time leaning backwards on the pillows.

“My gift is…” Oh,  you don’t want to; but you have nothing else you can give him now. You swallow again and fiddle with the end of your nightgown. It’s a flimsy thing, isn’t it? 

“I’m ready to… that is--I’m ready to…” 

You can’t finish the words but you don’t need to, because both of Lucas’ eyebrows raise before his lips curl into a delighted smile as he realizes what you mean.

He looks giddy. He looks drunk, despite not having a drink tonight. He looks like he’s going to devour you, and you can only be mildly grateful that it’s not in the way you normally fear. 

“Oh, angel.” 

In moments, he’s shifted above you, his body looming over your own, filling up all of your space with his size and warmth. 

“This is the best gift you could give me.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, then again; a kiss to your cheeks, to your eyes that close so he can kiss the lids. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Oh, honey, you must have been thinkin’ about this all day. No wonder you were so distracted.” 

There’s nowhere to go, if you wanted to go. Nowhere to run, if you were capable of running. He’s here and you’re here and this is going to happen now.

No more putting it off, no more gentle pleas, no more convincing him that you can do that and not this, not yet.

All because you forgot to make a damn Valentine’s Card. 

His hands hold the edge of your nightie and begin to lift it up, exposing the soft cotton underwear underneath. 

“I love you so much. You know that, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t take the nightgown off; instead he bunches it up against your neck, exposing your chest. 

“I love you too,” you murmur, because you’ve had enough of your own stupidity today not to answer his declarations. 

Your eyes flick up to the ceiling as he begins pulling down your underwear. 

It’s going to happen now. He’ll fuck you. And once that happens, well. It’ll keep happening. Every night? Every other night? You don’t know, but he’ll expect it. Things are changing and you can’t stop them. All you can do is try to scramble for what little pleasantries this isolated, captive life can give you. 

Like not-bad chocolates and bunnies outside the window.

Lucas’ hands grip the meat of your thighs and pull them apart with little resistance on your end. You don’t want to make it worse, do you? And it was your idea, you can’t even pretend to be anything but meekly nervous, can you?

He murmurs something in appreciation at the sight of your naked sex and your fingers clutch the sheets underneath you in anticipation. 

You don’t want to look down. It’s like being at the doctor’s--looking away when they give you the shot. You hear the sound of his trousers being pushed down. But he doesn’t push into you just yet.

Instead, he leans down, pressing a hot, wet kiss to your mouth that opens without argument. 

There’s  a faint taste of peppermint toothpaste and a hint of lingering caramel--he didn’t brush his molars well enough, maybe--in his mouth. 

“Love you,” he whispers against your lips. Maybe he sees the nervousness in your gaze and for once, is fine with it. It’s normal to be anxious about your first time, after all. “It's gonna feel good, I promise… I know what I’m doin’.”

Damn, you think vacantly, stomach lurching against your thoughts when you feel the unmistakable press of something hot and hard and wet against your naked thigh. I wish I saved the second cherry cordial for tomorrow.

[saiintvalentiine]

Summary: Parrot finds out Wifies doesn't know how to dance, and tries to teach him a few moves.

Notes: we're ignoring our dads' divorce <3 a billion years ago i posted this, and it came back to me and i got a little inspired. speed written in the span of about 4 hours between loads of laundry so it's super unpolished!!! feel free to lmk any major SPAG errors :) just a fun lil romp! divider

Wordcount: 1,286

It comes up on a random Wednesday afternoon. They're chopping down a tall spruce tree and Wifies is in charge of swapping out their jukebox’s music discs when they end, because Parrot is way too picky. He's just put a new one in— otherside, a recent snatch from an Ancient City run they did— when Parrot hops off the top of the half-chopped tree and lands next to him, wings aflutter. He's already dancing along on the way down and it makes Wifies laugh.

“I like this one!” Parrot says with a wide grin. “Don't laugh at me!”

“I'm not laughing at you,” Wifies defends, pulling his axe out of his inventory. “You can stay here and dance like a bum while I chop, if you'd like.”

“Why don't you dance with me instead,” Parrot is doing a two-step already as he reaches out for Wifies's free hand.

“Nah, I don't know how to dance.”

“What!”

This is probably one of the least strange things Wifies has ever said to Parrot, but Parrot has stopped dancing in shock.

“You don't know how to dance?” Parrot echoes. “What!”

“I just don't!”

Wifies tries to shake Parrot off but Parrot doesn't let go, instead tugging him closer.

“It's not hard,” Parrot says, getting that stubborn glint in his eyes that assures that Wifies won't be getting away from him. “C’mon, I'll teach you.”

Wifies groans but stores his axe again and turns to face Parrot. Parrot grins, earwings fluttering in pleasure as he takes both of Wifies’s hands hostage.

“Okay, we’ll start with something easy.”

Otherside is whimsical and simple in it’s rhythms, and Wifies has no problem keeping track of the beats. The issue, it turns out, is that knowing the beat and moving to the beat are two different skills. He and Parrot focus on just his feet, restarting the disc over and over, and Wifies keeps stumbling over Parrot. Parrot’s grip on his hand has saved him so many times that Wifies is red in the face with embarrassment.

“Okay, let’s try something different,” Parrot says. Wifies is biting his lip too hard. “This isn’t a good song to start dancing to anyway.”

Wifies isn’t sure that he’s being honest about that, but whatever will end this mortifying ordeal is fine by him. Parrot pulls out otherside and begins fiddling with the jukebox before popping in a new disc. Creator begins, but never descends into its full instrumentation.

“Is that a music box disc?” Wifies ask.

“Yup, and we’re going to learn to waltz to it,” Parrot says, pulling Wifies close again. “I’ll lead until you can do it. It’s really simple.”

“Maybe I’m just hopeless,” Wifies sighs out, but he lets Parrot maneuver him around regardless.

“You’re not hopeless,” Parrot says as he puts Wifies’s right hand on his shoulder. “You’re learning a new skill. I didn’t approach teaching you the right way.”

Parrot nudges Wifies closer by putting his left hand on Wifies’s scapula, and then takes his other hand in a loose tangle. Wifies mirrors his posture, adjusting his stance so that they’re toe to toe. The disc has already looped twice in the time they’ve taken to set up.

“Okay, watch our feet.”

Wifies does. He watches and listens with his usual precision and consideration, Parrot whispering “one, two, three, turn,” over and over, and Wifies follows. It’s still a struggle, but he steps on Parrot’s toes less.

“You need to relax,” Parrot says, breaking Wifies’s focus. He stumbles, and they stop. “You’re way too tense. You’ve gotta feel the music, not try to strangle it.”

“Ha ha,” Wifies looks up and glares at Parrot in the dying sunlight, but Parrot just smiles. “What does feel the music even mean?”

“What are you so red for?” Parrot teases, and Wifies pinches his cheek for it. “Ouch, ouch, okay! Just, you gotta feel the music, c’mon.”

Parrot starts up again, and Wifies follows, but instead of counting, Parrot hums along with the music. The rises and falls sound so much fuller coming from Parrot’s chest, just an inch away from Wifies’s own. He finds himself humming too, breathy and quiet, trying to feel whatever it is Parrot wants him to feel.

“There,” Parrot murmurs. “There you go. Now try to look at me.”

That’s a tall ask. It’s a very, very tall ask. But Wifies looks up and meets Parrot eye to eye. His left foot drags a little behind, his right too quick, but Parrot is smiling with so much joy that Wifies thinks it’s probably okay if he scuffs Parrot’s boots a bit. Parrot is a good lead, adjusting Wifies’s position with his left hand and holding him tight with his right, while being insistent enough to stop him from falling but never restrictive enough to frustrate.

It’s what saves them both from a nasty fall. In the low light of their scattered torches and a waning moon, they seem to have spiraled too far out from their cleared out space and their legs tangle in a copse of ferns. With a whirl and a few hard flaps of his wings, Parrot keeps them from falling ass first into the dirt; it’s the kind of kinesthetic thinking Wifies has never had, but that Parrot has always excelled in. Watching Parrot fight isn’t all that different from dancing with him.

“Whoa,” Wifies says, stilling for a moment to shake off the little shot of adrenaline. “That was dangerous.”

“Nah, we’re fine,” Parrot says, pulling him close again. “You were doing well.”

“I didn’t think you liked dancing this much,” Wifies tries to frown but finds the expression melting away immediately.

They must have spun a hundred times around the jukebox, but Parrot looks as content as he did at the start. The cool night air has nipped his nose pink and his feet have got to hurt after everything they’ve been through, yet there’s no discomfort anywhere on his face.

“I don’t know many avians to dance with. It’s nice to dance with someone.”

Their waltz starts over. Wifies has almost entirely tuned the jukebox out at this point, and talking while dancing seems a little too advanced for him. He tries anyway.

“Must be boring to dance with me,” he picks each word carefully, ignoring how breathless he sounds. He’s not tired, but anxiety over messing up muddles his chest. “Wingless and all.”

“Never,” Parrot says. “Anything with you is good. The only bad part is I can’t get you out of your head for long enough to actually enjoy it.”

Wifies snorts and stumbles, and Parrot bears his weight with a chuckle. They slow down, out of sync with Creator but in sync with each other still.

“We’ll try to get you into it next time,” Parrot says, squeezing Wifies’s hand. “Teach you a few new steps.”

“You should start wearing steel toed boots,” Wifies feels his anxiety unravel slowly.

“Maybe. But you’re really not that bad.”

“You’ve been compensating for my mistakes.”

“That’s what dance partners are supposed to do,” Parrot draws them into a proper stop. “It’s not about getting it perfect, it’s about feeling good.”

Parrot drops his arm from Wifies’s shoulder and steps back. Wifies mirrors him, their fingers still intertwined. Parrot’s bows, spreading and tipping his wings forward in an impressive, wide display of colored feathers. Wifies doesn’t have any feathers to preen, but he still bows in turn once Parrot stands.

“Thank you for teaching me,” Wifies says.

“Thank you for dancing with me.”

Wifies still isn’t sure that there’s any hope for him when it comes to dancing, but it won’t be a problem as long as Parrot enjoys indulging him anyway.

[scribbling-dragon]

Roll of the Dice

Summary:

“So, you know the current wildcard, all the fun with growing and shrinking.” “I wouldn’t call it fun, but yeah. Kinda hard to escape from right now.” “Yeah, yeah, well, um. I maybe – might have…gotten myself stuck?” “Gotten yourself stuck?” Tango blinks. “You mean you're stuck like this?"

(ao3 link)

(4,945 words)

Tango's not sure how to feel right now.

He had thought the previous time would be the last time; with the secrets and the tasks and the sneaking around. With Scar. He’d thought whatever higher beings continue to derive a sick sense of satisfaction from watching them scramble around, in pain and hurting, and hurting others, would have finally been satiated, fully satisfied with whatever twisted thing they got out of pulling them away from their own worlds and shoving them into this one.

Apparently not, because Tango finds himself here all over again. Scrambling for resources, feeling as though he’s no more dignified than a rat in a cellar, competing with his servermates to grab the best scraps before they're all gone. He’d gotten too used to the comforts of his everyday life, that’s for certain. The wind bites at him through his thin top, and the watery sunlight does little to dispel the chill that has long-since settled into his bones.

He moves on. Mainly because there's not really anything else for him to do. To stand still for too long would mean falling behind in this rat race that has them all running full-pelt towards bloodshed. Still, such violence is a while away still, and the night waits for no-one; he’d rather be prepared for when dusk does descend, rather than stuck out in the cold with nowhere to go and cowering with his tail between his legs.

Bdubs and Etho are just a little behind him, closer to the edge of the woods. Tango treks deeper, enjoying the short respite from the pair’s back-and-forth style of bickering (flirting, a part of him corrects, this is some kind of weird romance thing for the two of them. How they can find any kind of time for something softer in the midst of these glorified wargames, Tango will never know), even relishing in the soft sound of birdsong.

He’s learned to take the small things as they come; the birdsong will soon disappear, replaced by the wailing of the wind and the creaking of decayed branches.

He’s settled comfortably at his usual height, his perfectly average height, able to comfortably fit beneath the trees. His head doesn’t even brush against the leaves, leaving him nice and free to move through the forest unimpeded.

The…wildcards don't have him as easily swayed as some of his servermates are. They all seem to have taken to the new system with a kind of reckless abandon that Tango can't find it in himself to share.

It all seems far too suspect – there is no twist to this, at least not yet, nothing to twist them or turn them against each other. If anything, this has brought them all closer together, sharing information freely without any worries. Tango's not sure how long that’ll last before everyone starts hoarding information as something precious, something to be kept close to one’s own chest.

And Grian…well, the less said about how odd he’s acting the better, really.

Tango's discomfort is a little personal too. Too tall, and he can't cower in his usual corner and let the mobs rush past him, his usual nooks and crannies too small for him to hide himself within. Too tall, and he's looking down to make eye contact with his friends rather than up. Too large, and his soul feels as though it has been set adrift from his own body.

Too small, and he’s running underfoot with everything far too large and threatening around him. One misstep from his friends during an absent moment could spell his doom! His items are larger than his own body, and he’s left clutching something so ridiculously oversized that he has no hopes of ever using it.

Call him Goldilocks, but his own body feels just right.

His axe fits comfortably in his regular-sized hand, and his soul comfortably in his regular-sized body. Feeling it shrink around him is nothing short of unnerving; the way his flesh constricts around his insides before they too get with the program and change shape too. The way his heart is a little too big for his chest for a heartbeat and a half too long, threatening to burst free of the prison that his ribcage forms.

He stops at a random tree, considering it for a moment. The eyespots of the birch tree stare back at him, mocking with their emptiness; taunting. It seems to beckon him in, with its bare, leafless branches acting like knobbed fingers that creak and groan with the effort of bending.

He embeds the axe with a snarl, feeling the reverberations of the swing echo up his arm. The thunk of a blade into the wood-flesh of the tree is almost the same as the impact of a blade into blood-flesh. The only difference is the sound of splinters that follows afterwards, the crackling of the wood as it continues to split open.

The motion takes only a little of his pent-up stress with it. He can feel where his fingers tremble against the wooden handle; how his claws flex and dig into the soft wood. He knows that if he looked, there would be deep grooves carved into the handle.

For a long moment, there is no sound but that of the blood rushing in his ears and the ba-dump ba-dump of his heart.

He huffs, and steam escapes his mouth with the sound. The taste of ash is strong on the back of his tongue, coating the inside of his throat. He bites back another snarl, swallowing it down with the acrid stench of smoke and brimstone.

Sound rushes back in all at once. The silence of the forest, now devoid of birdsong. The clattering of empty branches against one another as the wind rushes past. The creaking of the tree in front of him as it leans, and leans…and continues to lean.

It crashes with a resounding thud that chases the last of the remaining birds from their nests.

He turns away from the still-shivering branches of the tree, turning towards the next one that he can bury his axe into. The frustration flares up within him once more as he hefts his axe, turning from barely cool magma to something that spits and surges forwards in a rushing tide of heat and anger.

Just as quickly as it arrives, the anger evaporates, leaving him worn out and cold in its wake.

He huffs out another breath, this one warm and sparking. He stamps out the few that seem to promise growth and destruction, crushing them underfoot before they can even eat away at the grass there.

A semi-circle of toppled trees surrounds him; each of them stares back at him with those cursed eyespots as he turns to take stock of the damage. He sneers at one particularly smug-looking tree before feeling immensely stupid, and grateful that no-one else was around to witness his little fit.

“You feeling better there?” As though summoned by the very thought, a voice pipes up behind him.

He spins on the spot, feeling his just-settled anger flaring again, stoked by whoever’s decided to come and peer at the destruction he’s caused. He deflates a little when there’s no-one stood just behind him; the intact trees stare at him judgementally. He’s just about to take an axe to them when his observer speaks up again.

“Up here, Tango.” A small flash of bright yellow follows the words, and Tango looks up into the branches of the tree that he had been primed to destroy.

“Jimmy?” He breathes out, deflating all the way at the sight of Jimmy perched on the very edge of a branch. He's a little too far away, and too small, for Tango to properly make out his face, but he can see enough to notice the uneasy looks Jimmy is giving him and his axe. “How long have you been there?” He consciously relaxes his grip on the axe.

“Since the first tree,” Jimmy continues to watch him carefully. “So, are you feeling better or should I pick a different tree to sit in?”

“Yeah, I'm- I'm feeling better,” Tango says, and it doesn’t even feel like a lie. A win for him. “It’s just,” he gestures around helplessly, unsure how else to explain the crushing knowledge of an impending doom that is coming for you and all of your friends, and that there’s nothing any of you can do about it. “All of this. Gets me a little on edge. Always does.”

“Hah. Doesn’t it just.” Jimmy peers down from his branch, and Tango takes a step closer so he can really take in the entirety of Jimmy's face. It’s been an age since Tango saw him last, and he found himself missing the canary sorely.

“So,” Tango looks around. None of Jimmy's allies appear to be nearby; if they are, they're doing a pretty incredible job of hiding themselves, which he highly doubts either Lizzie or Scar are capable of. “What brings you round here?”

“Oh, you know,” Jimmy shrugs, the movement so stiff that a wooden puppet would have looked more natural doing it. “Just hanging around, checking out the sights.”

“Checking out the sights.” Tango repeats, disbelief colouring his tone. Jimmy continues to avoid his eyes, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. “Okay, yeah, what’s the issue. You stuck up there? Need a hand down?”

“I- no!” Jimmy squawks. “I am perfectly capable of getting down from here myself!”

“Then why don't you? I’ve cleared a big enough landing area for you.” Silence echoes for a few moments, and Tango swears he can feel the disapproval from the trees that he cut down for that one. “C’mon,” he coaxes, when Jimmy makes no move to descend, “don't you wanna come talk to me? Haven’t you missed me too, birdie?”

“I'm perfectly fine up here.”

“Uh-huh,” Tango nods along slowly. “Okay then. When that changes, you let me know, all right? Until then, I’ll be over here. Chopping some logs.”

He turns around and makes it all the way to the first of the trees he cut down before Jimmy makes a noise of protest. Tango's ears twitch at the sound, but no words follow behind it. He mentally cuts the tree trunk into chunks in his head, one eye squinting shut as he does the divisions in his head. He should be able to carry most of the logs back to their temporary base in a few trips, and he might even be able to get Bdubs or Etho to help him out if he asks them enough times.

“Tango.”

“Hm?” He turns away from the tree he was preparing to butcher.

“I might need a little bit of help.” It sounds like it physically pains Jimmy to admit that.

“Really?” He steps closer to the tree that Jimmy's in. “What d’you need my help with?”

“Promise not to laugh.”

“I swear.” Tango says. Jimmy still looks uncertain. “Hey, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right? You're still my rancher, even now.”

“Aw, Tango.” Jimmy's grinning down at him now, and Tango finds himself grinning back. It’s embarrassingly easy to relax like this around Jimmy. To pretend that they're not just days away from being at each other’s throats. Jimmy's face falls as the moment drags on, smile faltering until disappears completely. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I've already said I won’t.”

“Yeah, you have,” Jimmy sits down on the branch, legs swinging over the edge. Tango rocks up onto his tip-toes in order to be a little closer to where Jimmy now perches. “So, you know the current wildcard, all the fun with growing and shrinking.”

“I wouldn’t call it fun, but yeah. Kinda hard to escape from right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, well, um. I maybe – might have…gotten myself stuck?”

“Gotten yourself stuck?” Tango blinks. “You mean you're stuck like this? That small?”

Something harsh and complicated tangles itself in his chest, feeling like a lump in the base of his throat; it’s mostly stress, because despite Jimmy not being his teammate for this go-around, he still cares about him and really doesn’t want to see him crushed to death or some equally gruesome fate that a taller person could avoid easily.

Before he even processes what he's doing, he’s reaching up towards the branch with both hands, scooping Jimmy into the palm of his hands and bringing him down from his high up perch, too far above Tango's head for him to properly see and process whatever expressions Jimmy's making.

“Hey!” Jimmy swats at his hands, short feathers bristling in offence as Tango cups his hands a little closer around Jimmy, tucking him in nice and safely. He's small enough to fit into just one of Tango's hands (which is terrifying and something that he's trying desperately not to think of too much), but he uses two so there's no chance of Jimmy falling, or jumping, and hitting the ground and breaking all the bones in his body in the process. “You didn’t have to grab me.”

“Well, I did. What were you going to do, fly down? Your wings are hardly going to save you if you leap from that height,” he nudges at the stubby wings, smiling at the way they bristle even more at the insult, the soft feathers tickling at the ends of his claws. “You need a few days for the feathers to finish growing in, then maybe I’d trust them to hold your weight.”

“I would’ve been fine,” Jimmy grumbles. “I wasn’t going around throwing myself out of trees for fun.”

“So you were just going to stay there all night?” Tango asks. “Or maybe until this wildcard rotates out and a new, potentially more dangerous, wildcard rotates in? What exactly was your plan here?” And maybe it’s the anxiety of it all – the upcoming bloodshed, the current state of everything, the gimmicks his friends are enjoying despite the fact that they’ve been thrown in for another round of wargames hosted by who-even-knows-what, Jimmy apparently being stuck like this in an already dangerous world – but his voice is a little harsher than he means for it to be, sparks spitting from his tongue as he speaks.

“Oh, yeah, like you had a better plan.” Jimmy stands up, the sensation of feet against Tango's palm only strange for a moment before he's focusing on the way Jimmy's face is screwed up, wings half-mantled behind him, shoulders a line of tension as he snaps right back at him.

“I do, actually,” he takes a short, calming breath. Opens his eyes again. “You stay with me, I make sure no-one steps on you, and then we go and find Grian to see if he can fix this.”

“And why would Grian be able to fix this?”

“Don't play coy with me.” Tango only pauses to pick his axe up – no need to arm whatever zombie wanders through here just because he has some more important things to be dealing with – before continuing out of the new clearing and back in the direction that he thinks his base is. “You know just as well as I do that Grian is far more in control here than he’d like us to think.”

“He’s not the one sending us here.” Jimmy says, oddly defensive.

“I know he isn’t.” Tango ducks beneath a branch, snickering as Jimmy copies the motion despite being far too short to even reach the branch right now. “Doesn’t mean he's not acting even odder than he usually does. If you try and tell me you haven’t noticed how he goes all spacey just before major happens I'm not afraid of calling you a liar.”

Jimmy grumbles for a moment, but he continues to lean against Tango's thumb while he does so. “Fine.” He eventually says, voice stiff, “Sure, Grian knows too much here. We all know this.”

“Not everyone. I think Lizzie’s still oblivious. And Gem. The newer ones.”

“Lizzie’s been here since the second game.”

“And then not for several afterwards. She missed a lot in that time. So unless someone’s clued her in she’s still not got a clue about Grian. Not yet at least. With the way he's acting for this game I wouldn’t be surprised if they both figure it out within the week.”

“Still doesn’t mean I want to go speak with him.”

“Tough. You can't run around like this until the wildcard’s swapped out or the issue manages to resolve itself just to preserve your pride from whatever pseudo-brother relationship the two of you have. We don't know how long these events are meant to last. Hell, this might be a glitch that starts taking everyone out, but if you don't say anything others might get stuck in the same situation and die because of it. How would you feel then?”

“Less like the punching bag of the server.”

Tango gives him a sympathetic look at that. It’s no secret that Jimmy is unusually unlucky in these games, and with their mysterious hosts not revealing themselves, he wouldn’t be surprised to find that they're pulling more than a few strings behind the scenes.

“Look, you can't just tough this one out, okay? There’s just…something not right about this gimmick. I just- agh, I don't know how to describe it. It’s just not right.”

When he looks down, Jimmy's looking at him with rounded eyes. The faint bit of sunlight left illuminates them, and the worry hidden there. Tango swallows back the rest of what he was going to say, looking ahead at the treeline. “It’ll be fine. I'm sure Grian will be able to fix this and then we don't need to worry about it.”

=== === ===

“Hmm.” Grian does another circle around Jimmy, both of them stood on the smooth stone floor of the Sub-One Club. Tango thinks it’s a stupid name, and a similarly stupid base. He sits, hunched over because the space isn’t even tall enough for him to sit upright, and watches the proceedings.

Grian hums again, tapping a finger against his chin as he continues to stare at Jimmy in the same way that he has been for the past five minutes. Mumbo and Skizz continue to watch from the sidelines, on the opposite side of the room to Tango so they don't “catch his tallness” whatever the hell that might mean.

They’d attempted to convince him to shrink down to fit into their base, but he’d refused adamantly, until they’d all been forced to give in, and he was forced to drag himself through the tiny hole that formed the entrance to their equally tiny base.

“So, good news and bad news.” Grian claps his hands together, leaning towards Jimmy as he grins. “Which do you want first.”

“Uh, the bad news?”

“You're stuck like that, at least until the wildcard rotates out and a new one comes in. But!” He continues on without even giving Jimmy a moment to express his emotions, steamrolling over the bristling feathers and outraged expression. “Good news: you can still join the Sub-One Club if you want to!”

“Absolutely not.” Jimmy crosses his arms. “I already have a team, and one with a better name than sub-one.”

Grian gasps. “Out.” He points at the door. “I won’t stand for the slander of the Sub-One Club in the Sub-One Base.”

“Fine.” Jimmy turns around, marching right past Tango and out the door easily. “Your base is stupid anyway!” His voice echoes back through the small tunnel. Tango awkwardly fidgets with his hands, watching as Grian’s wings puff up and he takes a sharp step towards the door.

His head jerks over towards Tango a second later. “You're also banned.” He points at the door. “Follow your boyfriend out into the darkness.”

“For the record,” he backs into the tunnel so he’s still facing the three bug-sized occupants of the uncomfortably small base. “I also think your name is stupid. And your base. Would it have killed you to make it a little bigger?”

“We made it this small so people like you couldn’t get in.” Grian sniffs, then turns his back on him.

Fine by Tango, he's just looking forward to escaping this hellhole, breathing in a breath of fresh air thankfully, turning his face towards the sky. It’s long turned to night, but he’s still grateful to see the moon and stars compared to the stone roof of their dumb base.

There’s a tug on his belt, and then his shirt, and then Jimmy's perching himself on Tango's shoulder, right beside his ear.

“A little warning would have been appreciated,” he grumbles, but he cups a hand around where Jimmy balances as he stands, waiting for a moment as Jimmy resettles himself before turning to walk back towards his base.

“I was worried you would step on me.”

“I wouldn’t step on you!”

“How was I meant to know that? Plus, it’s dark, how am I meant to know if you can see me?”

“I can see in the dark, you know this.”

“Well, the rest of us can't. What if the thing that I thought was you was actually a zombie and then it just ate me. What then, huh?”

“Then I’d call you stupid and save you.”

“Oh, how romantic.” Jimmy huffs out a laugh. “Can you hear that right now? The sound of a hundred people swooning at the sheer romanticism of that moment right there.”

“All I can hear is your panicked breathing. You sure you're steady up there? I can carry you if you're not feeling safe.”

“I'm fine.” Jimmy pauses. “Can you glow? You know, light everything up a little bit with your fancy netherborn powers so the rest of us non-night vision people can see?”

“I'm not a glowstick.” He huffs. “And I also don't feel like being a homing beacon for every creature with eyes out here.”

“Just a little bit?” Jimmy continues, voice taking on a slight pleading edge. With the way he's sat on Tango's shoulder, he can feel the exact moment that Jimmy starts to lean over. The sensation of a hand on the back of his neck is still a little shocking, and he has to consciously resist leaning his head in Jimmy's direction in case he crushes him.

“Fine, sure.” His tail glows a little brighter, the flame in it stoked a little higher than he would usually let it get during the night. “If I get bitten by a zombie I'm blaming you.”

=== === ===

“This is a little sad.” Jimmy peers around the temporary base that Tango is currently calling home. It’s not…entirely inaccurate, with it missing a roof and all, but Tango feels the instinctive need to defend his home from insult.

“You don't even have a house. You're just sleeping on beds under the stars. What’re you gonna do if it rains, huh?”

“I just thought there’d be a slightly higher standard of living when you have Bdubs to build for you.”

“Depends if Bdubs can stop provoking Etho for long enough that either of them can be productive.” He shudders a little at the memory. Not for the first time he wonders what, exactly, he's gotten himself into with teaming up with those two and no-one else to act as a buffer or to share equally pained, commiserating looks whenever the two of them start flirting.

“Huh.” Jimmy looks up at the sky above. “Well, won’t feel too different from home with the stars like this above me.”

“Hm.” He holds a hand out for Jimmy to step onto rather than just picking him up from his shoulder (something that would be rude, and would also get a similarly bad reaction to the last time Tango picked him up). Jimmy steps onto his hand after a moment’s deliberation, and Tango transfers him from there to the small slab of wood that he’s using as a bedside table.

He sets his glasses down beside him a moment later.

“What are you doing?” Jimmy asks.

“Going to sleep.” He pulls his shirt off. “What does it look like to you?”

“Tango!” He turns around, expecting another spider jockey, or maybe just a spider, climbing over the wall. Instead, he’s met with Jimmy trying to shield his eyes like some kind of fair maiden from a shitty romance novel.

“Don't you start with me,” he warns. “We literally shared a bed for a month. And a house.”

“You could have given me a little warning.” Jimmy lowers his hand, though he continues to not look at Tango. Fine, he can suit himself. Tango gives a half-hearted tug at the bedsheets before all but falling into it. His shoulders are beginning to burn from the number of trees he chopped today, and he knows for sure that he’s going to be feeling it even worse tomorrow.

“And where am I sleeping?” Jimmy's voice interrupts his misery, and he turns his head to the side so he can squint at the man.

“Wherever you want. Hell, sleep on Bdubs’ bed for all I care.” He turns his face back into the pillow. Maybe smothering himself will help him get to sleep quicker.

=== === ===

Tango wakes to the sound of bickering and the feeling of feathers in his mouth.

He opens his eyes, only to immediately hiss at the bright sunlight that assaults his eyes, throwing an arm over his face.

“Oh, good, he's awake. Look, we can ask our teammate now!” Bdubs voice grows closer as he speaks, before a hand is holding his arm and prying it away from his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to keep it in place. It’s too early for any of this shit, and he’d much rather roll over and go back to sleep than answer whatever questions Bdubs has for him.

But Bdubs is stronger than he looks, so Tango's arm remains away from his eyes, and he's instead left staring blankly at Bdubs’ grinning face.

“What.”

“We just had a question for you, Etho and I, we were wondering why you brought Jimmy back to our base last night?”

“Huh?”

“Did you think if he was smaller that we wouldn’t notice he was here?”

Well, that explains the feathers in his mouth. Jimmy's feathers get everywhere, no matter how much effort is put into making sure that they don't. He blinks a few times, slow as he processes the information.

“Jimmy wanted to come here,” he says. It’s a lie, and he's not actually sure why he says it. But he's said it now and there's no taking it back.

“And you just listened to him? If Jimmy asked you to give him all of our diamonds, would you?”

“Don't be stupid.” Bdubs continues to stare at him. “No, I would not give Jimmy all of our diamonds, even if he asked nicely.”

“Hmph.” Bdubs releases his arm. Tango immediately replaces it over his face. “The two of you are utterly scandalous! Wait until the rest of the server hears about you cuddling, shirtless, in a communal base area.”

“Nothing wrong with two men cuddling each other all night,” Etho decides to add. “Perfectly normal.”

“Ugh, g’way.” He shoves out in the direction that he thinks Etho is stood. He misses, only succeeding in banging his elbow on the edge of his bedframe. He retreats back into his blankets with a soft hiss.

“Sure, sure, we’ll go to the other side of our base to have breakfast. You two can join us when you feel like it.” Etho sounds like he’s stifling a laugh – he always does, actually, but he sounds about ready to choke on his laugh right now.

Tango lies there for another ten minutes, listening to the quiet, easy back and forth that Etho and Bdubs have.

“Are they always like that?” Jimmy murmurs into his ear, the first sign of him even being alive, let alone conscious. Tango does his best not to jump and dislodge Jimmy from where he's lying.

“Yes.” He groans out, not even caring if the two of them hear. If he whispers, they’ll just be more curious about what he's saying. Besides, he doubts either of them can hear him talking, with the way they're all wrapped up in their little domestic morning. “I’ve just been third wheeling them the entire time we've been here.”

“So you brought me into it?” Jimmy squawks. “You chose your teammates, suffer their lovey-dovey looks yourself.”

“Oh, but Jimmy, don't you want to be equally domestic? Do you not long for a nice morning where we can sit and stare into each other’s eyes and trade compliments the whole time?”

“No.” Tango can feel the shudder that travels through Jimmy at the thought. “Are we that bad? Were we that bad when we started dating?”

“I don't think they're dating.” He pauses. “Not right now at least.”

Jimmy pauses, going absolutely still. “They have to be, right?” Tango doesn’t say anything. “Right?”

“You'd think,” he sighs. “But those two are something entirely unique. I think they're the first people ever to do it quite like them.”

“There’s something wrong with them,” Jimmy breathes. He sounds a little horrified, but also intrigued. Tango gets the sense that he's actually watching them bicker rather than just listening to it.

“Isn't there just. You sticking around to watch how sickening they are with complimenting each other’s work?”

“Ugh, yeah, I guess. Not much else I can do until this wears off.”

“That’s the spirit.”

[blackmoonowl]

Could I request some comfy cuddly fluff with Nick Valentine or John Hancock from Fallout 4, with the prompt 4?

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

Pairing: John Hancock x reader (fallout 4)

Content warning: I mean come on, this is Hancock, chems/drug use, drinking, nudity, mentions of intercourse. Viewers discretion is very much advised.

Authors note: Did Hancock, but will do one with Nick Valentine if requested. This didn't really turn out how I liked but hey no one read these anyway so fuck it, we ball.

Word count: 643

The first rays of sunlight shone through the boarded-up windows.

Hancock's head was pounding from last night, though he could hardly complain. He let out a small groan, turning onto his side so he could spoon you. Memories of the night before slowly crept back into the ghouls’ mind as his fingers trailed over your bare thigh. His foot kicked away an empty chem canister as his breath hit your ear, causing you to stir slightly.

The entire floor was littered with clothes, chems, booze and whatever else the two of you could get your hands on. He had been quite eager to give you a glimpse into his lifestyle.

"Mornin', sunshine," the ghoul mayor muttered in your ear. "Did I wake ya?" He felt you shift against him, his hand gripping your thigh a little bit tighter.

"No, it's fine, was waking up anyway." Your voice sounded a bit rough. Your head was pounding and you still felt slightly disoriented. Hancock chuckled lowly as he heard you grunt.

"That's a hangover for you, you'll get used to it," he assured you with a light pat. He could feel his radiation burned and misshapen skin pressed against your soft and smoother form. His pitch-black eyes had narrowed as the sun crept further up. Life went on in Goodneighbor, not that it ever quieted down at night.

"Suppose you're all too familiar with it," you jabbed back, nudging him with your elbow. Hancock responded by pinching your skin lightly, pulling you even closer.

"Shouldn't you be getting up?" You questioned, turning your head slightly. "Surely the mayor has some important tasks he needs to be doing."

Hancock let out a scoff at that, his eyes trailing over the many bites, bruises and other hickeys covering your body thanks to him.

"Ain't no place I'd rather be than with you. They'll manage a day without me." The ghoul watched as you tried to sit up. The pounding in your head increased as you groaned. The idea had been to get on your feet, to walk past the empty bottles and containers. But it felt like your cranium was being split open. You ultimately gave up, flopping back onto the bed, and halfway onto your lover.

Hancock wrapped his arms around you, rolling over so you laid on his chest properly. His hand came up to massage your scalp. His mouth brushed against your ear as he spoke again.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"Yeah," you muttered. "Regretting it now, though. Feels like someone's putting an axe in the back of my head."

"You sure weren't complaining last night," the mayor snickered. "You were real eager to get me home after we took all those-"

"Yeah yeah I get it," you grumbled as you covered his mouth, turning his head away, pink dusting your cheeks. Hancock lightly took one of your fingers between his his teeth, tugging on it lightly to get more of a reaction out of you. You huffed as you watched him, gently pulling your digit back. The ghoul released you, gently getting out from under you as he stood up. Unlike you, he wasn't suffering nearly as much as you were, much to your envy.

"Where are you going?" You mumbled as you watched him pull his clothes back on, putting the tricorn head back onto his bald head.

"Gettin' you some water, looks like you need it." He flashed you a grin, pushing open the door. "Friendly word of advice, don't get up. Don't fancy having to send in someone to clean the floor."

You shot him a glare, before your gaze softened slightly again.

"You'll be back soon, right?" You asked with a small frown. Something about seeing you so vulnerable and needy tugged on his heartstrings, a protective feeling welling up.

"Wouldn't want it any other way, sunshine."