#to echo what i said on my side blog: if my art was put on a pokemon card i think i would collapse into subatomic matter

[chalkrub]

so i got through to the top 300 for the pokemon tcg contest. i'm feeling normal about it........feeling very normal and sane. which is why i also drew this in ms paint

[exquisiteserotonin]

In the Velvet Light

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader, Marc Spector X F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: After you get off work early, you visit your boyfriend Steven, then Marc at the museum, with intention of asking him for an interesting but important request concerning your relationship

Warnings: A little bit of angst, some Spanish, dirty talk, oral sex, somewhat dubcon (if you squint), polyamory (if you squint) knife play, cunnilingus, and a lot of other things that I want to put but I don't want to put in here bc I don't want to ruin the story...just know there are very explicit adult things that happen here OK?

A/N: This is my very first Moon Knight fic and Oscar Isaac character fic. I know I have kept it to Pedro up to this point, but I definitely wanted to branch out. Hope you all love it.

And as always, so much love to my magical sluts @redhotkitchen @imalrightllama @blueheat1-blog @basicoccult @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @sparklefarts38 @arcanefox207

In the Velvet Light

If there were any place in the world that whispered the word peace it would be museums. This was a universal truth, no one could convince you otherwise. The cleanliness, the quiet, the vast spaces, and the tiny corners gathered all in one massive space where no one dared intrude upon the reflections taking root and growing in your brain. It didn’t matter what type of museum: art, science, history. They all gave you the perfect place to let brilliant ideas percolate.

The loud, hydraulic hiss of the bus echoed to the ears of all the passengers as rolled to a stop at the British Museum. It was a stop for locals and tourists alike and today it was yours as well. The sound and smell of the rain on the pavement greeted you as the doors of the bus opened. A breath of excited anxiety escaped you. The way that the raindrops splashed on the growing rain puddles mirrored the way your heart was beating quickly in your chest. 

The majesty of the foyer and everything in it always reminded you of how much bigger and older the world really was. You walked amongst the other visitors, several smiling faces from the staff greeted you in friendly recognition. 

“How are you today, love?” said a tall, burly security guard with the warmest smile. 

You kissed him on either side of his brown, jovial cheeks. 

“Hello Ollie, doing well today?”

“Always, love,” every word from his mouth seemed to float out full of kindness, “meeting Steven a little early today?”

A knot formed in your stomach at the question. You would meet Steven for work occasionally, just to surprise him. Today was different, you felt in every part of your body. From the moment you woke up to this moment, you’d been nervous about meeting him today. With a nod and a smile, you answered Ollie’s question and left a tiny skip in your step.

Before losing yourself in the museum, you found a moment to freshen up in the bathroom. It was quiet and dark, nearly the exact opposite of the brightness and bustle of the Great Court. You stood in front of the sink and pulled out your lipstick from your purse. A twist of the tube revealed a vivid red, a color you normally wouldn’t have chosen for yourself. As you smoothed the rich color over your lips, you kept your eyes on your reflection in the triptych style mirror. You looked from left, right, and then back to center, marveling at how different you could look in such a deep color.

I wonder if he will notice. You thought to yourself as you combed your fingers through your hair.

The black hue of your boots stood in stark contrast to the pristine white floors and walls of the court. The rain-kissed sunlight filtered through the tessellating roof, casting warm and shifting shadows on your face, neck, and shoulders. You twirled around, letting the prismatic light bathe you and your pirouetting shadow, helping you to briefly forget the feeling of excited anxiety that continued to settle in the pit of your stomach. You began to draw, doodle, and write whatever came to you, letting it flow from your veins, through the pen, and onto the paper. You laughed at the three cute little doodles you made of your boyfriend. 

Nonsense. You murmured silently in your head. 

The afternoon moved and with it the sunlight filtered through the roof. You followed the golden beams, like you were skipping through a creek trying to find the sunbeams hiding in the shadows cast by leaves on a tree. The little game you made to pass the time had you so engrossed that you didn’t even notice Steven standing in a single beam of sunlight that broke through the glass roof. You couldn’t help but smile seeing him, something about his face. The way his eyes were so bright and open and full of wonder at everything. He wrapped his arms around you, enveloping in an embrace full of warmth and love. You squeezed him tightly as he held you, leaning your head closely to the side of his face, nuzzling your nose into his neck and into the soft curls of his black hair. He sensed something. You knew it in the way his long fingers slowly caressed the sides of your waist as he unraveled you from his embrace. His fingers moved lovingly up your arms, until they laced themselves in your waves while his palms cupped your face. 

“Did I ever tell you that I have the best girlfriend ever?” he said very matter-of-factly as the pads of his thumbs caressed the sides of your face. 

“Oh my god, I had no idea!” You teased, pulling him by the lapel of his jacket. “Who is she?!” 

“I don’t know, but she’s certainly never tempted me with this shade of red before,” he said, bringing gentle fingers to your chin just below your pout.

He scrunched his nose as the most charming grin situated itself on his face before he moved in to kiss you. It was so difficult to explain, but that little crinkle of his nose was something you found so endearingly irresistible about him. The gesture was so perfectly Steven and so perfectly kissable. 

“I also know,” he said as he intertwined his fingers in yours as you walked towards the exit of the museum, “that you’re definitely keeping something from me.”  

A secretive silence took over you as the sunlight began to wane over the glass rooftop. When he turned to you again, the beams of light waxed and waned with kaleidoscopic triangles of light and dark illuminated his chiseled face. With a light cough, you cleared your throat, a small feeling of guilt settling over your chest. There was no use in hiding things from him, considering your unique situation.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise!” You insisted as you walked outside, your steps rippling your reflections in the puddles the rain left behind. “You know I don’t keep things from you.”

“Not intentionally, no,” he said as his expression suddenly turned to confusion as you continued towards the crosswalk. “Wait, sweetheart, why’re we crossing the street? 

Turning to him, you smoothed the wrinkles in his jacket and kissed him, wiping your thumb along his lips where yours had left their mark. He sucked a deep inhale into his chest, and you could see the small glimmer of yearning shine in his eyes. The rain had stopped enough to let the sunset work her magic on his olive skin, highlighting it with warm colors of gold and coral. 

“Come home with me tonight,” you whispered as your lips parted from his. 

A combination of excitement and trepidation filled the lines around his expressive brown eyes. It wasn’t about sex, you knew that. You had already taken that much needed step in your relationship. Sex was far from being a problem in your relationship. No, you know from how his eyes hollowed in fear that this was something much more. 

“Oh, love,” he said letting go of your hands to wring his nervously, “aren’t you worried about---”

You wrapped your hands in his to alleviate some of the anxiety that lived in his shaking hands. 

“Steven,” you said, keeping a steady gaze on him, “you trust me, right?”

The inner corner of his eyebrows raised up as he nodded in earnest. It was difficult for him not to hang on to every word that left your mouth. Keeping his hand in yours, you crossed the street just as a bus stopped, ready for you to embark. You led Steven towards the middle of the bus, finding two empty seats. Steven gestured for you to take a seat first. When he sat next to you, you hooked your arm under his, your hand finding its way back to hold his. He leaned towards you, turning to give your forehead a kiss before you rested your head on his shoulder. 

Your eyes turned to look out the window, watching as the remaining raindrops trickled down the window. The dusky sunlight reflected off them like liquid gold. 

“Why do you have such a hard time opening up to him?” The sound of a subtle New York accented voice, pressed lightly against your forehead. 

In the window, you glanced at the reflection of your boyfriend’s face. His thick brows were lower, his eyes narrowed with greater focus, and his jaw and neck muscles were taut with stoicism. 

“Marc?” you inquired, still not used to how quickly he could appear without warning. 

He pulled you in with his gaze. It was one of concern, but in a different way from Steven’s. When he looked at you with that furrowed brow and discerning expression in his eyes, it was easy for you to see that he understood without words the feelings you were going through. A small, but grateful and earnest smile grew on your lips before you gave him a kiss. He didn’t melt quite the same way Steven did, but you could tell from the gentle caresses on your fingertips that he was letting himself relax. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit unfair to be talking to me about stuff that bothers you and not him?” Marc asked. 

“Marc, it’s not like he doesn’t find out anywa---,” you started, but Marc was so quick to interject. 

“Nah, no it doesn’t work that way, sweetheart,” he insisted while shaking his head at you. 

You took note of his words and lingered on ‘sweetheart.’ It was one of the terms of endearment that both Steven and Marc shared for you. You could never explain to anyone how your relationship (or was it relationships?) worked. You were in love with more than one man who shared the same face and the same body, but with distinctive personalities, distinctive lives. When you wondered how you’d introduce your friends or your family to him, telling them the truth was the worst possible option. 

Ok, friends, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, well boyfriends, really. He has, they have Dissociative Identity Disorder. 

No, that wouldn’t work at all. 

“I’ve just been anxious,” you explained to Marc, expressing all that floated in your head in the least number of words possible. “We’ve been together for a while now and it always feels like I’m having to navigate something new.”  

You caught Marc briefly looking at the window. 

“He’s listening, isn’t he?” You asked. 

Marc nodded with a raised brow and a shrug of his shoulders. The gesture told you that Steven “listening in” on your conversation was inevitable.

“Look, you don’t need to be scared about telling us anything, everything even,” Marc assured you with a gentle squeeze and massage of your thigh. 

It was unexpected and sent shivers up your core, reminding you of why you were so anxious in the first place. Another glimpse of Marc looking in the window caught your eye. You wondered what knowing glances they shared with one other. What did each of those glances mean when they were clearly shared about you? 

“I know, you’re right,” you acknowledged. 

“So, tell me, tell us,” Marc uttered before giving you a gentle kiss, “we’ve got a long ride home.”  

The long, stop-and-go bus ride was tolerable because you had Marc with you. When you arrived at your bus stop, you felt Marc’s fingers tighten in yours. Each step that you both took echoed on the cobblestone streets that led to your flat. And with each step that you took, Marc’s hand squeezed yours harder, an unspoken indication of his growing anxiety. Marc dug his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath as you unlocked your door. Before you walked in, you took his face gently in your hands. You looked deep into his eyes, searching for every part of him in those glossy brown globes of his. 

“Do you trust me?” You asked the same question you asked Steven. 

He rested your forehead against yours and nodded, kissing the inside of your palms. 

He followed you up the short set of stairs to your inside door. You flipped on the wall switch, filling your living room with warm light. Marc walked around your flat, taking note of the decor, a mix of mid-century, bohemian, and Scandinavian. A smile spread on his face with the thought that all of it was so perfectly you. 

“Make yourself at home,” you whispered softly in his ear, “I’ll be right back.”

Everything in your bedroom was perfect just as you had planned it to be. The terracotta-colored bed sheets were freshly washed. The lamps on your nightstand gave off a dim but romantic glow better than any overhead light could. You had even cleaned the circular mirror that hung over your dresser and the large arched, floor length mirror that rested against the opposite wall. Before you returned to Marc, you undressed from your work clothes and put on a purple, gauzy and lace chemise, paired with a slinky lace thong, with a deep teal kimono over it. You looked at yourself in the mirror, running your fingers through your waves and putting on a sheer gloss over your red lips. You understood, all of this didn’t make any sense. You knew he’d be ripping it off you in a matter of minutes, but he’d never been to your home. This was going to be something you made sure you would remember. 

You watched as Marc awkwardly walked around your small living room, pacing around wondering if he should sit or remain standing. It was almost Steven-like. As you glided back to him, he stopped in his tracks, paralyzed by the vision of you. 

“So, this is what you were hiding?” Marc growled, as he admired you, grabbing you by the ass and pulling you towards him. “Don’t think Steven will be too upset about it as long as he gets a turn.” 

Marc pulled you into him, rubbing his hands up and down the light, lacy fabric until he grabbed your ass again with his large hands. With his right hand, he grabbed the supple muscle of your thigh and lifted it to his waist. Keeping your hands on his face you kissed him fervently, sucking on his bottom lip until you were pulling it gently with your teeth. 

“Quiero hablar con Jake,” you stated with conviction as you ran your fingers through Marc’s dark curls. 

Suddenly, he stopped and backed away from you, his brow knitted together in disbelief, “You have no idea what you’re asking me.” 

“Yes, baby, I do,” you assured, pulling him to you again as walked backwards to your bedroom. 

Marc stood before you, his eyes dark with disappointment and anger. You let your kimono drop to the floor and moved to him, bringing your face close to his. He took a strong, commanding grip on your wrists when you tried to push his open button-up shirt away from his shoulders. 

“What do you think this is some kind of joke?” Marc snarled through gritted teeth. “Do you have any idea what he’s capable of?”

“Marc, you and Steven said you trusted me,” you said as you planted kisses on his neck and jaw. “It’s been hard, but you’ve told me that I should trust you and be open with both of you, all of you---why should Jake be any different?

“No, not up for discussion,” Marc shook his head. 

You pressed your forehead to his and moved your right hand up his chest and then to his face. You eased him into a gentle kiss, slipping your tongue until he was weak in the knees. 

“Let me talk to Jake,” you requested again, gripping his face tighter with your hands. 

Marc looked at you resolutely to protect you from what he perceived as dangerous. 

“You owe me this, Marc,” you affirmed through gritted teeth. 

“Then you’d have to make me,” Marc growled, bringing his face as close to yours without touching it.

His breath was hot and touched your painted lips with angry disappointment. Anger and frustration took over you and you lifted your hand, slapping him in the face. An immediate feeling of guilt took over you and you apologetically began caressing the curls that touched Marc’s forehead.

“Oh god, Marc,” you gasped, “I’m so sorry.”

Slowly, he lifted his face and focused his dark eyes on you. His eyebrows were angled downward. He lifted his hand, wrapping it around your wrist in a nearly painful grip. The light and shadows that traced the map of his face revealed eyes darker than you’d ever seen on Marc or Steven. The corners of his lips were turned slightly downward and the vein at the side of his neck was prominent from the tightness of his jaw. 

“Not Marc, hermosa,” he growled as he grabbed a hold of your other hand, tossing you on the bed.  

“Jake?” You gasped, looking at him as he grazed lustful eyes over your body. 

“Sí, claro,” he replied, his voice low and wanton as he stared up at the round mirror above your dresser. 

You weren’t sure who he was looking at, Marc or Steven, maybe it was both. Your mind and body completely focused on the man crawling over you on the bed. His hands explored the peaks and valleys of your body. His touch had its own quality that you had never experienced or imagined. With Steven, he made you feel like a queen always willing to serve you and remind you how beautiful you were through gentle, loving touches, and aftercare. Marc was decidedly more confident in himself, though your physical pleasure was always a priority, and he reveled in making you come especially on his tongue. No, this touch had no resemblance to theirs and you trembled beneath it.

Jake’s lips curled up into a devilish smile as he tightened his grip on your wrists. He brought his lips to your neck and pushed your legs apart with his strong thighs. Your breaths came out in quick gasps as he rolled his hips against you, allowing you to feel his cock growing in his jeans. 

“Are you scared of me, muñeca?” His breath was hot against your skin. 

“I—I don’t---,” you couldn’t find the words to confess how you were feeling, but every inch of your body quivered.

Trapping you beneath his legs, Jake reached into his back pocket to pull out a switchblade. You wiggled beneath him, but stilled yourself as he opened the knife and began tracing it lightly on chest. You closed your eyes, knowing you should feel nothing but paralyzing fear, but your body betrayed you as you rolled your pelvis upward in desperation for him. With a quick swipe of his blade, he cut a slit down the middle of your chemise, ripping the rest of it from your body with his bare hands. A moan escaped you as he tossed the remnants to the floor.

“Oh, you like this, hermosa,” he groaned as returned the blade to his back pocket, getting harder the more you writhed beneath him, “this is why you wanted us to come with you.” 

His hands worked at your tits, massaging them, squeezing them with heavy hands, and pinching your nipples until you were crying for him. He painted a hot wet trail up your body with his tongue until he wrapped his mouth around your right nipple, swirling it in mouth, drawing out continuous moans from your lips. A quick nip of his teeth at each nipple sent a wave of ecstasy through your body and you could do nothing but yelp out his name. 

“You want me to fuck you,” Jake growled as he pulled his shirt off over his head and as he unzipped and pushed his jeans off to the floor, “You’ve been wanting me to fuck you.” 

He pulled your hips towards the edge of the bed, where you were met with his mouth planting hot, wet kisses on your mound through your lacy purple underwear. He took two long fingers caressing the center of the lacy fabric, your desire growing with each stripe he traced there. 

“Dímelo,” he said as he curled the tips of his fingers at the edge of your underwear. 

They were so close to your center, so close to touching exactly where you wanted him. But not close enough. 

“Say it,” he demanded while he continued to taunt you with his fingers.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathed out, “---need you to fuck me, Jake.”

He paused with a low, deviant laugh that came from the back of his throat. You pressed yourself up on your elbows, needing to see his face after your reply. His eyelids were low with the most wanton desire as his gaze shifted to the large mirror that rested against the wall between two, long arched-shaped windows. The moon beams were bright through the window, and you saw them glimmer in his eyes before he said anything again. 

“Don’t worry, hermanos,” he said, his voice rumbling against your center, “I’ll take good care of her.” 

The sound of ripped lace reached your ears and just as quickly, Jake’s mouth was on you in a slow open-mouthed kiss. All you could do was gasp as he slipped  his tongue through your folds licking with slow, broad strokes of his tongue from the bottom to the top. He worshipped at your clit with slow, torturous circles until he licked down to your center, repeating the movements all over again. You bucked against him with a moan and moved your hands to lace your fingers in his curls. 

“Estas tan desesperada por mi,” he uttered, tightening your grip against his hair so that your hands couldn’t move. 

He pushed face further into your mound, the tip of his nose touching your clit as he his tongue dipped deeper through your folds, trading endlessly between broad, delectable strokes and swift, tight swipes that tortured you with each exchange. The beat of your heart pounded to your ears and all your nerve endings felt like they had gathered around your swollen pussy as he hummed against it. He wrapped his soft lips against your clit, rolling his tongue against you at first and then sucking every bit of your slick in his expert mouth. 

“Fuck---Jake---feel so good!” you cried out, trying to push your hips towards him for more. 

A deep throaty hum left his mouth as he began to slip one, then two fingers into your slick. His tongue never let go of its ownership on your clit as his fingers thrusted in and out of you, stoking the fire inside of you. Like some kind of poetic synchronicity your toes curled just as he curled his fingers in you, feeding your fire and sucking at your clit like it's the only thing he’s ever needed. In a matter of seconds, you came with a line of breathy cries of his name while he clamped his arms around your writhing hips. 

“Move up, cariño,” he said, slapping at your pussy and helping you with a slight roll of your hips sideways. 

His eyes kept their intense and libidinous gaze on you as you trembled and rolled in the sheets as he pulled off his black boxer-briefs. You licked your lips as he crawled towards you, cradling you in his arms as his right hand gripped your face as he kissed you. You knew your lipstick would be a mess by the way he devoured your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Need you---need your cock, Jake!” you cried, your fingers reaching out to him through the waves of your bed sheets. 

More than ready to oblige, he crawled over you and growled in your ear, “All fours, muñeca.”

His hands massaged your ass before, caressing up and down your waist before he gifted you with one, two, three strong slaps of his firm hand. Shuddering with ecstasy, you looked up and saw the mess he was making of you in your large mirror, your lipstick smeared and your face moaning with desperation for his depravity. It was like being hypnotized as you watched yourself and him in the mirror. A long thread of saliva left his mouth and dripped down to your ass, and you were suddenly wiggling back for him. He teased you with a few quick slaps of your pussy with his hard, bobbing cock and he coated his cock with a few pumps of his own saliva he’d pressed to his fingers with his tongue. And with decadent groans, he began to push into you. 

You’d felt this cock many times before, you reminded yourself with closed eyes, as Jake slapped into you with a few shallow thrusts. But you’ve never felt it quite this way, as he pulls back almost completely before he is bottoming out into you with an unrestrained grinding of his hips, making sure you can hear the slap of your hips and your soaking pussy against him. 

“Oh god, fuck, so good, Jake” you cried as you pressed your face against your sheets and pushed back against him. 

“Face up, cariño,” he ordered as you felt him swiftly wipe his thumb against your asshole, “want you to see your face when I make you cum all over my cock.” 

A moan escapes you at the novel feeling, one that Steven or Marc had never done for you. Jake  made a few more quick slaps on your ass as you scrambled to lift yourself back onto your hands. His loud groans continued to fill your bedroom as he thrusted in and out of you with a varied pace you couldn’t anticipate, driving you mad. 

“Jake, please---please fuck me like I’m your whore,” you begged through filthy cries for him.

The second those words slipped from your lip, Jake’s hand slid from the attention he was giving your asshole until he was caressing your back and pulling at the waves of your hair. His thrusts felt unimaginably deeper as he kept a strong grip there, thrusting and throbbing against the walls of your tight cunt. 

“Fuck, look at you!” He groaned as his thrusts became faster and faster as they continued to hammer deep inside of you. “Look at her, a fucking mess, acting like a whore for me.”

You couldn’t help but look, feeling almost bad that you knew Jake was speaking, no taunting Marc and Steven. The way your tits bounced, the way you clutched at the sheets, and the way your mouth hung open in an unending moan for him. The sounds that echoed from your cunt were wet and obscene. 

“I---Jake---Jake I’m gonna cum!” you cried, trying to reach back to him as the walls of your pussy quivered and clenched against his long, thick shaft. 

With vigorously deep thrusts, he emptied inside you with a luscious and raspy moan, “That’s it, mi amor, take it all.” 

With one final groan he pulled himself from you, swiping one thumb to your asshole before sliding one quiver-inducing stroke to the folds of your sensitive pussy. Together you collapsed in a mess of sweaty, love-soaked limbs. Resting right leg open against his thigh gave him a chance to caress your legs with an unexpectedly soft hand. You used this moment of silence to catch your breath and regain your composure, not sure what to expect afterwards from Jake. 

“That was...unexpected,” you sighed looking over at a smirking Jake, whose eyes were closed in post-coital bliss, “are they---,” 

“They’ll get over it,” he responded quickly to your unfinished question about Marc and Steven, “besides you said, ‘all in’, right? I’ve just shown them it’s ok to push you to your limits.” 

You turned to Jake, propped yourself on one elbow, and turned his face towards you with a gentle, but teasing hand, “Tsk, oh darling, you’ve only just scratched the surface.”

[itsjustbell]

Sleep

Summary: After a long day at the studio, you decide to pay your favorite scientist a little visit and maybe convince him to get some much-needed rest.

Lol, I did end up putting this on a separate blog. This is the first fic I'm posting to Tumblr. I had to hype myself up for this, but I hope y'all like it. Please let me know if y'all would want more of this kind of stuff haha I totally didn't redo my whole blog just to post this, so I could keep my art and writing on separate accounts

Oh and thanks to @bruh-anator3000 for the confidence boost, i love you _______________________

You could see the blue glow of HexTech from under the lab’s door before you even entered the room. Familiar piles of blueprints and scribbled out calculations lay scattered across desks and floors alike. You made special note of the ones that bore black burns on their borders. You’d reckon that the lab was almost as messy as your studio back in the arts and design side of the Academy, splattered with paint and littered with tools strewn haphazardly on tables. Mess was the calling card of a creative you supposed, and at the center of this particular one, bathed in blue light and golden sparks, was Viktor.

Despite the echoing clack of your shoes against the floor, he stayed seemingly unaware of your presence. Not that he usually acknowledged the presence of many while he was working, but you still thought that perhaps the sharp sound disturbing the relative peace would have caught his attention. Even as you stood behind him, peering over his shoulder, he kept working. If he knew you were there, he made no show of it.

He flinched as you placed a hand on his shoulder, cursing. A part of you almost felt bad for spooking him, and you would’ve if he wasn’t wearing those stupidly adorable blue goggles. He looked over his shoulder at you with what you could only fathom was a glare through those thick blue lenses.

“You’re lucky I didn’t drop anything,” He scolded, setting down whatever it was he was tinkering with. It looked to be some sort of mechanical…claw with one of those hex balls he and Jayce had been troubleshooting. “You should know better than to disturb a scientist when he is working. This is—” He picked up the blue orb– “dangerous stuff I’m working with!”

“Mhmmm, and what would you have done? Beat me to death with this contraption of yours?” You gently removed his goggles, holding back a laugh. He grumbled as you did, but the pout that had formed a tight knot on his face all but melted away as you started to smooth out his goggle-hair. His hair was soft, though slightly slicked with grease.

“Is it so late that even you have stopped working to grace me with your presence?” He asked.

“I think I could hear the morning doves as I walked here.”

He hummed, slinking deeper into his chair as your fingers carded through his hair.

“You’re going to tell me it’s time to sleep, aren’t you?”

“It’s important,” You say as you work out a particularly unruly knot, “and I think your back could use the break from all the times you’ve passed out at this desk just this month.”

You slid your hands down the back of his neck and gave his shoulders a light squeeze. He shuddered under your hands. You leaned down to his ear.

“You’re turning into a shrimp,” You mused. He gasped dramatically, turning around in his chair with a hand to his heart.

“How dare you!”

You laughed, a smirk playing on your lips, “If it hurts so much, you must know it’s true.”

“Who said things have to be true to hurt?”

Despite the oh-so-scornful look on his face, he didn’t move when you placed your hands on his cheeks. “Are you going to sleep or not, Vik?”

He hummed, meeting your eyes with a playful smile. “Ehh… With all these insults of yours… I don’t think I’ve been properly persuaded yet.” His hands found their way to your hips, drawing you in close. Half-lidded amber eyes suddenly turned to alluring whiskey, and you eagerly drank them in.

“And what would you suggest?”

His eyes flicked down to your lips.

“A kiss, perhaps?” You chuckled, but fulfilled his request nevertheless.

You could feel the warmth of his red flush bloom under your fingertips as your lips met his. The hands on your waist wound themselves tighter into the fabric of your shirt, inviting you to rest a knee on the edge of his chair, so you didn’t have to lean down quite so far. His lips were rough against yours, but the abrasion only seemed to make you dizzier with desire. You had to steel yourself in order to pull away, lest you get lost in your lustful daze. An amused hum resounded through your chest when you saw his lips try to follow yours as you leaned back.

“Will that suffice?”

He raised an eyebrow. His pupils had nearly eclipsed his whole iris.

“Surely I can’t convince you into something more?”

“Nice try, mister,” You grab his tie out of his shirt and pull lightly. “You can have more when you’re in bed.”

He sighed in mock annoyance. “Well, if you insist.”

You handed him his cane, which he took begrudgingly, and helped him go through the motions of closing down the lab for the night— or morning, you guessed. The sound of his footsteps and cane alongside yours made for a lovely orchestra for the doves as you walked back to his room.

[imightgetbetter]

might get better

this has been the most requested story on this blog pretty much since i started writing for this series-ish story. i understand how heavy this topic is, and very much understand the severity of it. i'm not writing anything to make light of it or to minimize it or romanticize it, which is why nothing is explicitly mentioned or detailed, it pretty much beats around the bush but you know what's going on, you know what's being talked about. with that being said, if you are not comfortable even thinking about addiction, don't read this. obviously, there is a happy ending, but don't put yourself through anything you don't need to. i encourage you to leave kind messages and thoughts, if you're going to be mean, please think twice. this is a longer piece, over four thousand words, so also keep that in mind. i hope i did this justice. thank you for reading. cw: mentions of addiction, angst

Matty is tickling Attie in your bedroom, you can hear her tiny giggles echoing around the room. He’s just stepped away from getting ready with you, nearly fully dressed, his hair perfectly curled and styled, hanging loosely on his forehead. Attie is off with Adam and Carly for the night, and you can feel your heart twisting thinking about leaving her when you’re about to celebrate something so amazing in your career. Matty will be by your side, but you want Attie to know that you’ve done this, that all those hours spend nursing her in front of the computer screen led to this, led to a moment that you pray she’s proud of you for. Matty’s laughter is what draws you away from the bathroom mirror and your thoughts, your head peeking around the doorframe and watching the two of them. His relationship with her is everything you dreamt of, and it’s hard to think about where you were so long ago, about what you said to him. Tonight is a reminder of those moments, of the darkest times in your relationship, and the way you and Matty had to work really hard to get things to where they are now.

“Attie, look at how pretty Mummy is,” Matty says suddenly, lifting Attie onto his waist and walking into the bathroom, the three of you standing side by side in the mirror. “You look so incredible, my love. I can’t believe you’re all mine, tonight.” His lips touch your hair as you blush, his hands gently setting Attie on her feet and telling her to go play before turning towards you. “You’re all in your head. Get out of there.”

“You have said on multiple occasions that you want to be inside my head,” you say, tilting your head in his hands and looking at him, your whole body relaxing under his gaze. “I’m scared.”

“Of?”

“Of everything,” you whisper, closing your eyes and leaning your head barely against his chest, afraid of getting makeup on his suit. “I wrote this novel in the worst time in our lives and I rewrote it when I was in the midst of all the postpartum emotions with Attie. I just, what if everyone thinks I don’t deserve it?” Matty’s eyes are burning into yours as you spill out every thought in your head, just as he always asks you to do. “I’m really scared that even with what I wrote, even with what I say, I haven’t done for our story what it deserves.”

“Gorgeous, are you listening to me?” Matty says, waiting for you to nod quietly before continuing. “That work of art you created, that tells the story of what someone goes through when they love someone that’s an addict, it’s something not many people could do. You,” he says with a wetness to his voice that makes you want to cry, “you told our story with such grace and love and care, and I couldn’t have pictured it being written any other way. You deserve all the praise in the world. I won’t listen to you say anything less than that.”

“I love you,” you say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly, his arms squeezing around your waist. Matty hums against you, holding you against his chest. “You look so handsome. I’m going to take advantage of you later.”

“Oh? You’re going to take advantage of me?” Matty smirks against your neck, kissing you repeatedly. He laughs when you nod against him, hiding his face in your neck as you sway back and forth for a moment. “Attie is too quiet. I should go check on her before we find her hanging from a chandelier with Mayhem.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” you laugh, reluctantly pulling away from him and patting his backside on the way out the door. “I love you.”

“I love you more, beautiful,” Matty grins, winking at you as he walks out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, searching around for your daughter. “Attie James! Are you hanging from the ceiling, again?”

Matty’s voice echoes around the house, and you can hear Attie’s tiny, mischievous giggles filtering in after him. He is the best father. Quite honestly, better than you imagined him to be when you found out you were pregnant a few years ago. Attie adores him, and you are certain you’ve never been more in love with him. And yet, Matty somehow challenges that idea, every single day. Hearing him, seeing him with your daughter, it’s hard to believe there was ever a moment in your life where you questioned being with him, where you said that he wouldn’t make a partner and a good parent. It’s hard to believe that there was a time where you had left.

All the things you said all those years ago still linger, albeit in a different capacity, but the reminder of what was is weighing heavily on you as you prepare yourself to giving a speech about the very worst moment in your life, the moments you told Matty that you were leaving.

Only ten feet stand between the base of the stairs and the front door. Only ten feet stand between where you are and where the jingling keys are making noise from outside. Only ten feet.

Only ten feet that feels like twenty, especially when it’s been hours since Matty was meant to come home, hours since your meeting with your agent and editor – a meeting he was meant to be at – and hours since you got home alone to an empty house.

Matty stumbles in over the welcome mat, swearing under his breath as he tosses his keys on the side table and toes off his shoes. He brushes his hair back away from his forehead before looking up and seeing you. He jumps, “Fucking hell, YN. You scared me.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you say first, your eyes cast on your arms folded over your knees. You never thought you’d have to say these words, not to him, and they feel heavy and foreign on your tongue. “Are you cheating on me?”

Matty rubs his hands over his face, “What?”

“Are you cheating on me?” you say again wiping the tears from your face and standing upright, your arms folded over your chest. He is standing too far from you, but you need him to stay there, you can’t give in, you can’t forget how you’re feeling. “Just tell me.”

“No! I’m not cheating on you. Why would you even say that?”

“Why would I even say that,” you laugh sarcastically, shaking your head as you climb off the stairs and stand in front of him. “You missed a really important dinner, tonight. Did you forget that?”

“Shit.”

“That’s all you have to say? Shit?” you say angrily, your eyes welling with tears as you watch him try to collect his thoughts. He’s been different for a while, you knew this, you were just getting painfully good at pretending he wasn’t. He reaches out to you, and you know what will happen. You know you’ll give in. You turn away, storming up the stairs, the tears falling freely down your cheeks as you rush into the bedroom and quickly grab a bag from your side of the closet. Matty follows you, quickly and panicked up the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” you lie, trying desperately not to tell him. He’ll find out eventually. Everyone knows where you’re going. Everyone but him.

“All because I missed your dinner?”

“No, Matty. Not because of the fucking dinner.” His eyes are welling with tears when you turn to face him, the clothes thrown into your bag a messy array of things you could pull from your dresser. “You’re lying to me. You’re lying to everyone. You come home late. No one knows where you are.”

“I’m not cheating on you. I swear.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I had a long day. Can we please do this tomorrow? I have a headache,” Matty grumbles, walking deeper into the bedroom and reaching for your bag. Quickly, you pull it away, zipping it up and tossing it towards the door. “Don’t start driving now. It’s late.” Matty grabs your wrist and turns you around, and the words bubbling in your throat escape before you can stop yourself.

“You would make a terrible father, Matty.”

Matty’s hand suddenly goes limp around your wrist. “Hold on a second.”

You grab the duffle bag quickly, slinging it over your shoulder and walking towards the door, stopping momentarily to say, “If by some chance I am pregnant, and you better pray to a god that I am not, you are taking me to take care of it and then we’re done. I’m done with you.”

“You think you’re pregnant?”

“Oh my god,” you laugh wetly, shaking your head and drying your eyes quickly, “you are such an asshole. You are such an asshole and I can’t believe I love you.” Your eyes are hazy when you hurry down the stairs and grab your keys from the side table, his footsteps hurrying behind you.

Matty follows you out to your car, holding the door open when you get into the driver’s seat and start the engine. “Can you pause for just a second? You think you’re pregnant?” His eyes are returning to their typical softness, to the honey color that you adore. “Why do you want to get rid of it? Why didn’t you tell me? Why can’t we talk about this?”

“I can’t talk to you,” you cry, harshly wiping your cheeks and trying to stare in front of you, not daring to look at him.

“YN, we don’t have do anything drastic. Having a baby is something we talked about, you know? Okay, so, we get married and all that a bit earlier than we planned. Why’s that such an issue?”

“Wow,” you whisper, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding as you swallow back a fresh set of tears. “My big proposal is because my strung out boyfriend might’ve gotten me pregnant. Very romantic.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m tripping over my words.”

“How did you mean it? Getting married because you think I might be pregnant. That’s pretty much it, Matty. I don’t know about you, but that’s not how I pictured us getting married. Especially not with you out of your mind like how you are, right now.”

“Come inside and we’ll go to sleep and wake up and talk about this,” Matty says softly, gently laying his hand on yours on the steering wheel. “Please, baby.”

“No, I can’t even look at you,” you say, and you can know what you have to say, you know the words that need to be said for him to get his head on straight, but you don’t want to tell him, you don’t want to say a thing. “Maybe losing me doesn’t matter, but maybe losing your friends will.”

“You can’t tell them, YN. It was only one time.”

“Why not? Why can’t I tell them? Especially since you just keep lying to me.” Matty pulls his hand away from you, and for the first time, you look at him, and you see that he’s crying, too. “I already told them. Maybe you don’t give a fuck about me, but I know you care about them.”

“Don’t do this. I thought you were on my side.”

“No, I am not on your side for this, Matty,” you say, the words on your tongue feeling like bile in your throat. “I’m not on your side, because whatever is going on is making me fall out of love with you.” Matty steps back, and you take the opportunity to shut the door, the tears on your cheeks blinding you as you reverse out of the driveway and pull away as fast as possible.

Matty is standing at the edge of the driveway as you pull away, his figure growing smaller and smaller as you watch him in the rear view mirror. He doesn’t take long to rush to his phone and start calling you, and you have to force yourself to turn off your phone. He’s going to find you eventually, it won’t take very long to figure out that you’ve hidden yourself at George’s, but you need time to think, and to sort out what you’re going to say to him when he finally reaches out.

George gets a call rather quickly, as you both anticipated. He says that he doesn’t know where you are, that he hasn’t heard from you, all while you’re sitting in a pile under blankets on his couch. He offers you a sweatshirt, but you decline, taking one of Matty’s out of your bag and bringing it over yourself. His is bigger on you, warm around your body. His smells like him, like him before all this. George’s words are drowned out in your head, a mess of syllables as you listen to him argue about why Matty can’t come over. He must’ve agreed, because George hangs up the phone and comes and sits beside you, patting your knee soothingly.

“I think you should go into my room, love,” George says softly, his hand held out for yours and encouraging you to stand. “I don’t know how ugly this is going to get. Adam and Ross are coming, now. I just, I don’t know what he’s going to say and I don’t want you to hear something you shouldn’t. He’s not all there right now, you know? He probably doesn’t mean half the things he’s saying.”

“I don’t want to hide,” you say brokenly, a voice coming from you that you don’t even recognize. “He should know that I’m going to leave, if he doesn’t listen to you, to us.”

George nods and stands, walking towards the front door and letting Adam and Ross inside, the stars shining through the drawn curtains. All of you look like you haven’t slept in days, and you wonder if they haven’t, if this has been affecting them the way it’s been affecting you. Adam sits with you for a while, for the time while they wait for Matty to knock on the door. His knocks are loud and angry, startling you from your blanketed cocoon on the couch.

Matty and George’s voices are loud from the entryway, and you can feel Adam stand on his feet and Ross move closer to you, standing in front of you to block you from here Matty presumably is storming in.

“What the hell is this?” Matty asks exasperatedly, his curls limply clinging to his forehead with sweat. His looks around the room, staring into the faces of George, Ross, and Adam, and he knows exactly what is happening. “You lot are ridiculous.”

Matty’s reaction is exactly what you anticipated, the denial, the anger. His shouting amongst everyone else’s is deafening and you can feel your head wanting to explode with every raised voice. His arguments and harsh words broke your heart, especially knowing that he doesn’t really mean it. Matty looks between Adam and Ross, addressing you, “You think all this, too? You’re against me, too?”

His words make the air leave your lungs, your body shaky as you stand on your feet. “I have never once been against you, Matty. I love you. I love you and I don’t want to see you ruin your life, ruin my life with whatever the hell you’re doing. I won’t do this. I won’t. You’re making me not love you.” Matty’s eyes instantly wash over, and you grab the blanket to wrap around your body, to hide you from everything you’re feeling. “You have five minutes to figure out what you want to do. They’ll take you somewhere, if you want to. If you don’t, I’m moving out tomorrow and we’re over. I’ll never speak to you again. I mean it. I won’t watch you ruin your life.”

“I’ll go. I’ll go,” Matty says, not giving any option a second thought. His eyes are pouring into yours, seeing if you’re lying, if you’re just trying to trick him. “I’ll go. I’ll do anything.”

“George will take you in the morning,” you say quietly, cocooning the blanket around your body and moving around the guys, trying to make your way out of the room. “I’ll see you before you leave.” Matty is silent as you leave the room and it takes everything in you not to turn around and wrap your arms around him and promise him that everything is going to be okay.

Hours pass slowly through the night, and you’re sure that nothing has ever felt this horribly. Nothing has ever felt as bad as telling the love of your life that you don’t love them anymore. Nothing has ever felt as horrible as looking at the person you love most and knowing that you have to say the worst things imaginable to help them. Hours pass, and before you realize it, the sun is rising and you know that very soon, everyone will be back in the house saying goodbye.

George nods for Ross and Adam to walk out with him, leaving you and Matty by yourselves. Matty stands much too far for your liking, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him to come closer. Matty sighs, taking two steps closer to you, lowering his voice to a whisper when he says, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Am I going to come back to all your stuff moved out?”

“No, not if you take this seriously,” you say, swallowing back your tears and meeting his red-rimmed stare. “I’m not going to do this, again. I’ll do it once. I’ll wait for you one time, Matty.”

Matty steps forward, and you immediately wrap yourself in his arms, holding him tightly against you. His tears wet your sweatshirt, and you can feel the reluctance and fear and shame in the silence. “Have I lost you for good? Can I ever come back from this?”

“You didn’t lose me,” you whisper, pulling away from him reluctantly and grabbing his cheeks. “I love you. Do you believe me?”

“I believe you,” Matty says quietly, the tears on his cheeks falling onto the pads of your thumbs. “Can I have one thing before I leave?” He waits for you to nod, knowing what he’s asking for. Matty kisses you gently, a kiss that says everything you can’t, and you savor it, savor it for knowing that when you see him next, things will be different, you’re both going to be different.

“And this year’s Pulitzer Prize goes to YN YLN for A Million Lifetimes.”

Matty stands with you, clapping loudly and whistling as you take a deep breath, holding your speech in your hands tightly, smiling against Matty’s mouth as he kisses you sweetly. “I love you, Sally,” he says with a smile, laughing when you shake your head and smack the papers against his chest.

Counting your steps carefully to the platformed podium, you hold the satin green dress by the hem, trying desperately to avoid tripping yourself. Matty is directly in your line of sight, smiling ear to ear, and you swear you’ve never felt more loved in your entire life. Out in front of you, your speech is laid out, a speech you memorized and repeated over and over again to your agent and editor, trying to perfect it. Taking a breath, you swallow your nerves, locking eyes with Matty and pretending that you’re saying everything to him.

“A Million Lifetimes is not a story I thought of randomly, nor is it a fictional story with no substance or background. A Million Lifetimes is a story close to me, because it is a fictional version of my love story. My love story is much like that of the characters. I fell in love at fifteen. I went away to university. I finally after years and years agreed to date the love of my life, after he had waited for me. I travelled the world with my best friends. I was so unbelievably happy. Knowing that this story is that of my life, also means addiction nearly ruined my relationship, my happiness. Addiction and Mental Health is so rarely talked about candidly, that we always see these stories ending in tragedy, in upset. Not this story. Not my story,” you say, looking away from your paper and looking into the audience, all the thoughtful stares and generous smiles making you feel more comfortable. Matty is staring at you with awe, and you want nothing more than to walk over and bring him on stage and say, This is the love of my life! This is the person that inspires me! This is him! He’s the reason I write and the reason I sing in the kitchen and the reason I want to believe in myself! It’s him! His hand over his heart says enough. “I learned firsthand what it means to love someone with addiction, and I learned firsthand what it means to not give up. Mental Health should be talked about more. Addiction should be talked about more. All of us have platforms and abilities to write and educate, and yet, so many of us don’t. I didn’t. I wrote this story in the height of my emotions when this was happening to me. I rewrote it when I was in the height of postpartum emotions, a few years back.” Matty’s eyes are beating into yours, you can feel it. “I used to think that this book wouldn’t do what it needed to. That I wouldn’t teach anybody anything. And yet, the longer the book is out, the more it’s talked about, the more I realize that my story is teaching people something, anything, and that to me is worth every tear I spent writing. I’ll continue using my voice to teach others, to inspire them to never give up. Most importantly, I want people to know, that the parts of ourselves that we deem unlovable, are always, can always be loved by someone else, even if you don’t believe it.” Matty stands and you lay your hand over your heart, staring at him with a smile. “Thank you to the love of my life, who I have loved since I was fifteen, who has inspired so many of my love stories. Thank you for inspiring my passion for falling in love, day after day. I wouldn’t have written this story without our story, and I am eternally grateful for you trusting me to tell my story.” Matty is crying, now, and you are, too. “Over a decade ago, I wrote on a very cheesy card, I didn’t say I was in love with you, but that doesn’t mean I am not fond of the ground you walk on. I’d wait a lifetime to walk alongside the ground you walk on.”

Ovations after ovations. Matty whistles and there are tears in your eyes and you’re holding your speech in your hand as you walk back to your table, hugging your agents and editors and your publishing house and soaking in every moment until you get to him, until the love of your life is standing in front of you, grabbing your cheeks and bringing your face to his, his nose brushing against yours. “You will forever have a much better way with words than I do, darling.”

“I’d like to think you can compare,” you hum, your eyes tracing his. His eyes are bright, wide, and you can see yourself clearly in them, you can see exactly who he sees – his wife, the mother of his children, his very best friend, his confidant, the one who makes him smile, his very first good morning and very last goodnight, his lover, his laughter, his muse, and inspiration. “I love you, from the very depth of my bones to the tips of my toes.”

Matty kisses you, your cheeks held tightly in his hands. He continues to kiss you, over and over, until he pulls away, only for a moment to say, “I need a million lifetimes with you. One is not simply enough.”

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

who's your fave BSD character and why?

what's your fave work of fiction?

Oppenheimer or Barbie?

Do you write OG stories too?

In your fanfictions, would you rather write fluff or angst?

do you have a best friend?

when writing, do you focus on plot first or characters first?

also how do you do such good analyses on characters with barely any screentime JFIRGR is that like a psych major thing? hehe anyways..

laast question: do you have a pet? TT and what's one problem (external or internal) that you want to fix in your life?

(lmao those are two last questions but uhm, yeah.)

(sorry for the rambles, im just bored and rlly curious TT)

Oh hello! It’s cool I don’t mind!

Favourite BSD character: This is really tricky because every time I think I have a favourite I remember something really cool about another character… I don’t think there’s a single character who I don’t find interesting. In terms of writing I really like Kyouka, Mushitarou, and Akutagawa. Atsushi I would actually hang out with and I am prepared to defend as an excellent protagonist. I also really like Yosano, Chuuya, Teruko, Ranpo, and Odasaku! Also my extremely overlooked fave is H. G. Wells from 55 Minutes… I love her so much she’s so cool…

Favourite work of fiction: Hmm… you know I’m honestly not sure I could pick a favourite. I’ve read a lot of stuff and watched a lot of things… however for the purposes of this blog I have been overrun by Trigun emotions and Hatoful Boyfriend had a death grip on me for most of high school.

Barbenheimer: Probably I’ll go see Barbie at some point. I actually don’t watch a lot of movies but this one seems pretty cool!

Do you write OG stories: Ohh how do I answer this…? Yes 100%. I have so many original plots in my head, and I have tried to write them several times. I have one ongoing right now on my side blog called The Capture of Light… I’ve been very slow to update but it’s there. My oldest story that I’ve been working on is a series called the Interworld… I’ve been working on it and revising it since I was 13. I worry it’s too needlessly convoluted though. The problem is that I’m never satisfied so I keep scrapping and restarting it… so can I really say I write them? :/

Fluff or angst: Angst all the way. I like to write suffering, but I generally will write in a bittersweet hopeful ending. :) Depends on what’s tonally appropriate though.

Best friend: Yes I do have a best friend! I’ve known her for 9 years now. She’s actually on here; her account is @doodle-storm. She doesn’t update a lot but I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you checked out her art or said hi. :)

Plot or characters first: I make a rough plot outline with key points I have to get to, then I make detailed character notes and designs. The way I see it, the best way to make sure your plot stays cohesive is to make sure you know your character’s motives at all times. That way, even if the plot winds up changing a bit, I still have a good idea of how the characters will react, no matter what situation I put them into. If I can transplant them into any random scene or situation and know how they’ll respond, I feel comfortable that I know them well enough to write.

Analyses: Hahaha, honestly the psych knowledge helps but… I think that might just be me. I’ve kind of always done stuff like this it’s just now I have people who actually read it instead of telling me to shut up ehehe. I think the key is to isolate the main themes of the story. A good story will have its characters all model or echo these themes in some way. From there, it’s a lot easier to read character motivations, even if they don’t have a lot of screen time. Another important thing to remember is “explanation not justification”. You should be able to explain the motive behind a character’s actions. This does not mean they’re justified. This really helps with analyzing villains or morally grey characters. It also helps you to understand people in real life!

Pets: None unfortunately. 😞 If I weren’t allergic to cats I would have a cat though. I love cats. They also tend to headbutt my legs a lot so I think they tend to like me too. I have to resist the urge to pet them every time. …I fail. Every time. I go home and sneeze for two hours with itchy eyes. It was worth it.

Problem I wish I could fix in my life: Well I have some mental health problems so I guess I wish I could. Not have those. Yeah. I’m looking for support about it. I’m trying. Hehe.

This was fun! Thank you! Can I shoot some of these questions back at you? I’d love to hear your answers! :D

[lone-fractured-throne]

✧ ♚ Welcome to my Echo Chamber ♚ ✧

Hey, hello, hi, greetings, those kinds of introductory words…

My name is Shayde, or E8, or lone-fractured-throne, which ever name works. I decided that I will make a personal blog of my own away from the main co-host's tumblr… mainly so that I have it available when I switch in to my gmail.

Here's some basic stuff to know about me personally:

Name: Shayde / E8 Pronouns: he/him Gender: vaguely masculine… I'm a man, but I'm also just existing. Likes: weirdcore + similar aesthetics, dark academia, chess aesthetics, art + drawing, medieval times, nature Fandoms…?: I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, Fear and Hunger, Shotgun King … will probably change tbh, my interests in that department are shaky boundaries.

If you're confused about what I've said in the beginning, that's alright. I am one of many alters from Bugcast Radio, a system that may or may not be a mix of traumagenic and endogenic… we have not been diagnosed by the way. Follow your own DNI if you do not accept endos or generally gatekeeping who can be plural, simple enough. Feel free to block me if you do the previously mentioned, I'll also block you on sight if you trespass this boundary by shoving it in my face. Sorry about the rude wording… I get really heated about the subject.

Below this text is tags to look out for when I either post or reblog things, it's really long in my opinion so if you need to see what tags I use, click below.

personal tags:

shayde: All marks of my existence starting 8/24/24 go to this tag. e8 makes a post: Self explanatory, it's for whenever i make a post on tumblr… like this one! e8 makes art: Ah yeah, I'm an artist too… I do share a similar (if not) the same style as the main co-host so it might be confusing to see which one of ours is who's. e8 reblogs things: Also self explanatory, I like to see the cool things on the funny hellsite. :3 e8 commentates: I will sometimes say something in reblogs or tags, and I personally want to keep track of that. any [- text here] tags: Additional tag addendums. - If they show up in reblogs, they'll follow after the commentary tag… (unless it's from the old days) - If they show up in my posts, they won't have the commentary tag since it's in my blog in the first place

plurality tags:

bugcast radio: That's our system name! Any shenanigans with my roommates will get placed in this tag. :D >? from the other side: There may be times where I show up in the other account instead. After all the main co-host shows up a lot more often and a bunch more of their socials are used in general… so in a pinch, I might post there instead. plural posts in the wild: General reblog tag for plurality posts.

warning tags:

>! wallowing in the abyss (vent): I know I shouldn't do this online but sometimes I just do so, any outbursts in emotion go here… do block the tag if you don't like this kind of stuff. >! content warning(s): I know that certain stuff that I might reblog might fall into things that will make people uncomfortable so i try my best to put up content warnings… they're usually in the post themselves but let me know if I put inappropriate labels on your work.

archive tags:

>> archive (year): Any posts for that particular year go there. >> old posts and old tags: Specific tag for posts or comments I've done in the past before I split off from the account, may feature the others.

[scarred-but-still-smiling]

I posted 19,274 times in 2022

176 posts created (1%)

19,098 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@violetstar250

@sharkythefangirl

@truncatedgrip

@theminecraftbee

I tagged 4,674 of my posts in 2022

#happy things - 184 posts

#peter peeps - 112 posts

#< prev tags - 53 posts

#friend art - 43 posts

#asks - 43 posts

#people being people - 41 posts

#yesss - 40 posts

#yes - 35 posts

#i love this - 34 posts

#yessss - 32 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#look bdubs being dead is beautiful and him in space with the corpse of the one man he was comfortable sharing his fear with is just 👌👌

I sent 10 gifts in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

RENDOG TYRANT ARC CONFIRMED

75 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

#4

Echoes

A piece inspired by this by @raisans-art

Professor Anthony 'Pixl' Riffs had always been good at reading people; it was one of his most famous party tricks back in college, being able to completely pick someone apart from just a short and casual conversation. In fact, a good amount of his food back then had been paid for by wagers with people who didn't believe he was that good.

So when he was sitting around that campfire last week, he noticed a lot.

He'd noticed that the pirate was on edge a lot more than most of them, though the man in leather armour also had the body language of someone on the run or hiding.

He'd noticed the woman with the pink hair was definitely hiding something, and that she was certainly not exactly human.

He'd noticed the blonde woman who arrived late was in this world unexpectedly, looking around with clear confusion.

But more than anything, he'd noticed that the tallest among them couldn't look any of them in the eye, but, more strikingly, wouldn't look at him at all.

That was what had caught his interest the most.

So he had taken to keeping an eye on the man, or god as he had discovered the previous day, to see if he was okay, to see why he was so... avoidant.

He'd just received a message from him, Joel he'd said his name was that day at the fire, that he was in need of a bunch of string and that he knew that Pix had a very good supply, so, gathering a bundle full, he set off across the mountains to find the location of his kingdom-to-be.

The floating islands were amazing, definitely befitting a god, but he couldn't help but get distracted by something in the crater where chunk of land had clearly come from.

He jumped down, expertly hopping from chunk of stone to chunk of stone, landing softly at the bottom and taking out a small trowel and a brush from his pack, and began inspecting the shape he had seen:

It wasn't very deep, so he wasn't expecting much, and anything he did find was probably only from the last century or two, but as he gently brushed the dirt aside he uncovered what looked like the pommel of a sword.

He put the brush down and picked up the trowel, carefully beginning to dig around the handle in an attempt to find the crossguard; once he had that, whatever remained of the blade itself could be dug out with ease. Unless it had become fused with mineral deposits in the soil that is. That would make things a bit more complicated.

"Professor?"

Pix straightened up, turning to the source of the voice; ah, yes, he'd come here for a reason hadn't he?

Joel's voice had been pained when he'd addressed him, something Pix noted down in his head for later, and he still wasn't looking at him, still just a little bit down and to the side.

"You mentioned you were gonna bring me some string?"

Standing up, Pix laughed, "Ah yes, apologies." He pulled out the bundle, checking the contents to make sure it was all still there, "I tend to get rather distracted by artifacts I'm afraid, hazard of my line of work." He tossed the bundle over, "here, six stacks of string, and a bundle you can use later."

The way Joel had flinched when he laughed was... almost alarming. It was a facial expression Pix knew well, one of someone being reminded of a loved one they had lost.

"Thanks man, I'll pay you back for this, I promise." The smile he gave was forced, so very forced, the eyes were far too sad for it to be genuine.

Pix approached Joel, putting a hand on his arm and looking up at him, squinting slightly as the sun was behind him but otherwise smiling kindly, "it's no problem at all. If you need anything, and I do mean anything, I'm always here for you. Don't be afraid to reach out, not even a god can do everything on his own." He glanced at the crater, "in fact I'm probably gonna be here for a bit anyway, I gotta get a good look at that artifact."

111 notes - Posted July 6, 2022

#3

Rendog, Jevin, Fear, Drawing For ya writing thing buddy

Tonight was a Bad transformation.

Ren had already had a very stressful day; he'd lost all of his shit mining for ancient debris to unlock the Gigapod, and kept trying to get past a ton of piglins when he'd had all his gold on him the first time so he could craft ingots on the go. Then, when all his stuff had despawned, he'd been heading into the shopping district when he got bombed by Scar with his Hawkeye nonsense, and then he was gathering sand when a chain reaction of falling blocks dropped him into a ravine.

So yeah. He was currently extremely overwhelmed, and his enhanced wolf senses weren't helping.

He was lying on the floorboards of his dog house, paw covering his right ear and the stump at his left elbow desperately reaching to cover his left ear.

Scar was messing with Grian, and Ren could hear them dog fighting outside over the Hermissippi, every rocket firing sounding like a gunshot and causing the wolf to flinch.

Directly across the river, TFC was only a few dozen blocks deep and Ren could hear him chipping away at the rock and the crashing of the rubble as it fell, just barely masking the sound of him whistling a tune he couldn't recognise.

Just the wind currents moving around the doghouse were too loud.

Suddenly, the door to his house opened with a soft creak, magnified by his panicked state of mind, and Ren recoiled with a loud distressed whimper.

"Ren? Dude, what's wrong?"

Ren felt someone approach him, he yelped as the atmospheric pressure in the room shifted and backed away as best he could with two of his limbs missing and he sniffed the air warily; the smell was wet and burned slightly like the chlorine in Keralis' pool, but it was also slightly fruity. He cracked open one eye cautiously to confirm: yup. Jevin.

Jevin had backed away, his hands in the air reflexively to show he meant no harm. "You have a bad day bud?" He asked softly.

Ren pawed at the one ear he could reach, whimpering.

"I can help put your legs on if you like, at least then you could cover your other ear. That sound like something you wanna do?"

Ren whimpered again, trying to paw with his left arm.

Jevin nodded; moving as quietly as he could, he put on a pair of gloves over his goopy hands to protect the delicate circuits involved and got the large robotic limbs out of the closet where Ren kept them. He assumed that the guy had just been too overwhelmed to get them out or grab someone to help him attach them, so he didn't tease him like he would have any other full moon, and just helped him get them affixed, referencing the book left on the labelled lectern as to the more complex connectors that dealt with nerves and making them move.

After a few minutes, with Jevin gently stroking Ren's fur as he worked, he was done. He stepped back to give Ren space, and took off his gloves.

Ren flexed his robotic paws, definitely a little calmer than before, systemically testing the connections one by one.

Jevin nodded to himself and went to leave, but as he reached the door he heard a soft little whine, and when he turned back to Ren he was met the wettest and most pathetic pair of puppy dog eyes he'd seen in his life. He stifled a laugh that was threatening to burst from him that would have been far too loud for the shaky canine.

"You want me to stay, pal?"

Ren nodded.

"Okay sure, if that's what you'd like."

Jevin moved back across the room and sat a block or two from Ren, fishing a spiral bound notebook from inside his head and a pencil from inside his hoodie pocket, and began to work on the plans for his megabase.

As he worked, he felt Ren shuffle towards him and rest his chin on his knee, and eventually he heard the soft sound of a very big wolf snoring.

Welp, looked like he was stuck here.

117 notes - Posted June 15, 2022

#2

cubfan, joehills, sonder, barbecueing

Cub and Joe were rather similar creatures. Not biologically of course; Cub was some variety of faerie, tangentially related to the Vex, and Joe was very much human. What I mean is that their minds move in similar circles, logic following similar pathways and fluent in a similar dialect of nonsense.

So it wasn't much of a surprise that they wound up hanging out together pretty often.

Tonight they were at spawn, it was one of the rare nights on the server when Bdubs wasn't online to chase away the moon, and the two were taking that rare opportunity to soak in the vast ocean of stars above them.

Like all Southern dads, Joe was pretty adept at grilling, and tonight he had decided to treat his friend Cub to some of his signature brisket and burgers. The thick, meaty smell of beef and spices hung over spawn, a gentle breeze wafting it over the Hermissippi as Joe tossed the patties on the grill.

The sharp sizzle of the meat hitting the hot metal of the barbecue cut through the stillness of the night and Cub's eyes snapped to the source, part evolutionary instinct and part hypervigilance.

Joe caught his gaze and smiled softly; all of the Hermits knew how he and Scar were always on guard for the Vex or any Evokers that could twist them. "Don' worry Cub, it's just me. Last I checked Vex didn't sound like cooking meat."

Cub laughed, "Yeah, you're right."

"Mind if I ask what you were thinkin' about before I interrupted you? You seemed really focused on somethin'"

Cub hummed; Joe was always very perceptive, from the very first time he met the guy there was always a sense that he just Knew Things, even without having been told.

"I guess I was just thinking about how small we are, you know? Like, as well travelled as we try to be, there's always gonna be so much we don't see or know." He gestured across the Hermissippi, "like, Ren's been talking about this Gigacorp thing; back in the Concorp days I did dealings with a lot of other corporations, and they never came up. And even beyond that, how exactly did the other Hermits get here? Not how did they survive, but what did they experience on the way?"

Joe nodded, "Oh yeah, I know the feeling. There's a word for that, by the way, did you know?"

"Hm?"

"It's called sonder, the acute awareness that everyone has their own rich lives that you'll never have access to." He flipped a burger, "there are so many different stories being told, all the time, and there's only so much we can glean from our brief moments of crossover, and oftentimes it's better that way." He flipped the rest, "just like a burger bun can only hold so many toppings, our lives can only be so full before it becomes overwhelming and very unhealthy."

Cub smirked, "that's a bit rich coming from you man, it seems every day you're seeking out a whole supermarket's worth of toppings for your life."

Joe raised an eyebrow at Cub and smiled slyly, "well unlike most people I am constantly bored and my burger bun seems incapable of filling up, and also every time Cleo kills me I forget just a little bit of the extraneous toppings on my life burger."

Cub laughed loudly, his voice dully reverberating across the spawn village in the cool night air, dancing with the cinders from the grill, "Dang Joe, I'm surprised you even remember your own name at this point if that's the case."

"I'll be honest with you," Joe laughed, "I do forget occasionally. You know how respawn is after all. Also she really doesn't kill me that often, it's mostly just standard non-lethal violence like breaking limbs."

The pair laughed together for a while, just enjoying each others' company, before Cub spoke up again as Joe was removing the burger patties from the grill.

"Okay but, for real though, don't you ever just wish you could know all those stories? Doesn't it just eat at you?"

Joe paused as he was picking up the completed burgers, a certain tension in his body that Cub couldn't pinpoint. "I used to." He said quietly, his accent suddenly a lot thicker, in a way that made Cub feel like he was witnessing something not meant for him. "But that's the thing about wishes, ain't it? Y'all should be careful about what you wish for, lest some cruel trickster hear you and curl a finger on a monkey's paw. A mind ain't meant to know that many stories."

"Joe?" Cub ventured, getting to his feet and approaching Joe, his hand going to rest on his shoulder. "are you alright buddy?"

As Cub's hand made contact, the moment passed, and Joe straightened up, a wide smile affixed to his features that couldn't have been more forced if he tried.

"Of course, Cub my friend, right as rain!" He handed Cub a plate with his burger on it. "can't be wrong with barbecue this good."

Cub took the plate, making a mental note to look into things later, maybe talking to the other Season 1 hermits who've known Joe longer. He returned Joe's smile, equally as forced-looking he was sure, "if this tastes as good as that brisket smells then you ain't wrong."

131 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

One Good Day

If there's one hill I will die on in relation to hermitcraft, it's that TFC would be a Grian-Tier Gremlin if he had the energy for it. So this is really just a whole bunch of self indulgence.

False woke up, rolled out of bed, and fell.

At first, her groggy mind thought she might still be dreaming; she'd had many dreams of falling in recent months, and she was painfully aware of the symbolism, but it was when she splashed into a pool of pleasantly cool water that she realised nope. This was very much real and she was very much in a pool of water in her pajamas and spare leather armour and not on the stone floor next to her bed.

She looked around, brushing her, now sodden, tangled blonde hair out of her face as she stood up; she was in a pit, a very deep one it seemed, and her bed was far out of reach. Squinting, she noticed a single block connected to her bed which had allowed it to function as a spawn point, and the walls were lined with obsidian, so it was very obvious that this was a deliberate prank, but the only thing she couldn't figure out was why there was no calling card.

Huh, she thought, I wonder who did this.

—

Cleo swooped down onto her floating island to a very strange new sight: between the seahorses at the site where the gates of Atlantis would soon stand was a mound of pink wool and concrete and terracotta.

She walked around it, already mentally planning a return prank on Joe whoever was responsible, but stopped suddenly when she came to the other side, laughter bubbling out and overriding any irritation or indignation.

It was a blob fish. A giant blob fish, with the despondent face of a fish that had basically exploded when taken out of its natural atmospheric pressure.

She broke a couple of blocks on the side, sword in her other hand expecting a flood of mobs that had spawned inside, to see if the culprit had left a clue as to their identity, but all she could see was.. a torch. And an item frame with an iron pickaxe in it.

Huh.

—

Tango had been working like crazy, he was Very Tired, so when he heard a low and eerie chuckle coming from somewhere nearby he thought he was hallucinating.

"Hello?" He called out, looking around the wireframe of Deep Frost Citadel cautiously, "anyone there?" That was a laugh he didn't recognize. The only hermit with a voice that deep was Chef, but he was all the way over in spawn, right? And he never did pranks.

He edged closer to the source of the laughter, following the occasional glimmer of the particles from the skulk sensor until there was suddenly a wave in another direction, and the ground collapsed beneath him, dropping him into a pit just barely shallow enough to not kill him, laughter all around him; loud and raucous and booming.

—

TFC had been having a wonderful day.

When he woke up that morning, he had felt something he hadn't felt in many years; he felt energetic, energetic in a way he hadn't felt since he was in his 30s, and none of his muscles and bones and joints hurt in the slightest.

He had pulled out his communicator and glanced at the list of who was currently online, a few of them were, and momentarily he had considered just spending the day mining, but that idea was quickly thrown aside in favour of something he'd not been able to indulge in in far too long.

So now, after laying out several small pranks, he stalked the perimeter of Doc's pit, in the caves halfway down the walls, watching like a hawk for where and when the man left the world.

The perimeter was impressive, TFC would never dream of saying it wasn't, though there was a petty little whisper in the back of his head that Doc had cheated with the world eater that he occasionally had to give a stern talking to. The world eater itself was incredibly impressive, something TFC himself could never have achieved.

Doc, all told, was someone TFC respected a lot; the man understood The Grind like few others he'd met, even when compared to the other hermits which was saying A Lot, and grind respects grind.

After a little while of waiting, TFC saw Doc log out, and that was his moment. He jumped down from the cave in the wall and threw out a pool of water to catch himself, running over to the spot Doc was last stood, pulling out one of his shulker boxes.

He had a few on hand, all filled with either deepslate or obsidian, and with no hesitation or need to catch his breath, he began building. He built a box of deepslate around the spot, only just big enough to hold a player, and he built layer after layer, more than a dozen blocks thick. Every second that passed was one second closer to when Doc would return, so he quickly brought out the obsidian and repeated the process from the deepslate.

Three layers into the obsidian, Doc's nametag suddenly reappeared, and TFC heard him shout a word in German that he didn't exactly understand, but from the tone he could easily deduce it was an epithet. He couldn't stop himself from barking in laughter, and he began building faster.

"TFC? That you man?" Doc's voice was clearly delighted, TFC could tell he was on the verge of laughter, "didn't think you had this in you!"

TFC grinned, "Oh, I've got a lot of surprises in me kiddo, honestly I didn't think I did either but I'm not about to squander it in the mines all day when this is finally an option again."

He could hear Doc mining his way out, maybe slightly faster than would be normal, but definitely not fast enough to break out before he was done.

After a short and silent battle, TFC placed the last of the obsidian, and as he stowed away the empty shulkers, he could hear another curse from the box, indicating that Doc had just reached the obsidian layer.

See the full post

139 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[pars-ley]

hi! i just came across your page the other day and i’ve read all of your drabbles and stories multiple times lol! so for my ask, i would love it if you did a college AU with popularjock!jk and have it be similar to the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’. some angst with smut and a happy ending if possible! oh and bestfriendjimin! as well :) hope this is not too much to request! ily

At the stroke of Midnight

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader

Summary: One popular boy + One 'uncool' girl + One school dance + One necklace left behind = A cinderella story.

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Cinderella au / A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

Warnings: Suggestive language / sex 

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Word Count: 4k

Beta reader: @casuallyimagining

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I had no clue about this film, so writing this entailed some research and me watching the movie...twice haha. I really hope I did it justice for you and you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!

"So, what's prince charming saying now that's so much more important than your best friend?" Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

You flush slightly. "He wants to meet." Grimacing at the words.

"And that's a problem, why?" 

You bury your head in your hands. "Because I'm me and I'm certainly no one special, what if he's disappointed?" You groan, the dilemma churning your gut and making you feel like your breakfast could make a second appearance.

"Hey," Jimin scoots closer to you along the bench and throws an arm around your shoulder. "No best friend of mine gets away with speaking about herself like that. You are lovely, and if he thinks you're anything other than amazing, there's something wrong with him and he needs to be studied in a lab." 

You laugh in spite of yourself, hearing Jimin’s words rattle around in your brain, knowing that you should not be this hard on yourself. You lean into his snug embrace.

You open up Tumblr and stare at the conversation between you and @gameoverguk. Your favourite gaming blog you’ve followed for ages, by chance seeing your gaming fan art and following you back was one thing, but conversing with him and finding out that he also attended your school was a completely different matter. Trying to solve the equation of who this mysterious creator might be is harder than you thought. And the way he converses with you, so open and honest and sweet, that had to narrow it down surely?

Something slams into your back, pain immediately in its wake. You and Jimin turn to see the popular boy of your university, Jungkook, gawking at you and his best friend Taehyung in hysterics. 

Jimin looks down in the grass behind you at the offending apple and calls, “Hey, watch it guys.”

“Really sorry!” Jungkook calls over, a slight dusting of scarlet across his cheeks but looks like he’s also fighting a laugh. It burns you how someone so smug can still be so handsome, and you hate yourself for even thinking about him in any way other than the airhead jock that he is. 

Taehyung jogs over and picks it up, still somewhat amused. “What, didn’t your crystal ball tell you that was gonna happen?” He says to you, loud enough for everyone in a mile radius to hear.

You cringe inwardly, attempting to fight your embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the top athletes in this university? And you can’t even catch an apple.” Jimin snarks in your defense.

His face drops as he looks like he’s about to take a step towards you both.

“Tae!” Jungkook calls, an air of command in his voice, breaking the tense air as he looks away from you ruefully. Walking off with Taehyung following, eating his apple and laughing between bites.

“Ignore them.” Jimin says sternly. “Speaking of, are you working tonight?”

Your face falls into an unamused expression, as if he even had to ask.

You were working so much you were almost taking residence at your step-mums 'magic shop', as everyone called it.

He smiles at you, his nose wrinkling, and you can’t help your face softening.

“Ok, ok, my bad. Can I swing by later? I need some more incense.”

You shrug, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder. “Sure. I’d be glad of the company to be honest.”

“Ooooh, maybe we could do a seance?” 

You glare at him and head off to class causing his melodious laugh to ring out around you.

Sitting in the bleachers after class, with your sketchpad and pencil, the perfect view of the city line and the departing sun staring back at you, you sketch away. The pencil etching fast across your paper as you manage to block out the sounds of the team practicing and their bodies crashing against each other.

Long after you've lost yourself in your landscape, fingers grey and shiny from shading, you neglect to hear some of the team members leaving, climbing over the seats and headed in your direction. That is until your pad is snatched from underneath you as you frantically grapple for it, without success.

"You know, this isn't where the nerds hang out." Taehyung smirks at his two other buddies, clearly impressed with himself.

You let out a bored sigh. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you owned the bleachers." Your words drip with sarcasm. 

His face drops and a mean glare spreads across his features as he throws your drawing pad in the air. You watch helplessly as the pages flutter in the wind as it flies away and disappears under the stands. 

"Have a nice night." He says quietly, an attempt to be intimidating, as him and his friends leave.

Your veins alight with fury, hands balled into fists at your sides. You wanted to stamp your feet like a petulant child. This isn't fair. Why you?

It's only then you notice Jeon Jungkook standing on the field watching. Embarrassment suddenly extinguishes your angry flames as he breaks your gaze first, walking off under the bleachers. You grab your bag to leave for work before you suffer any more humiliation.

As you reach the last step you yelp with surprise as Jungkook appears suddenly in your view, you manage to steel yourself before tumbling into him.

You stare at him, wishing he'd get on with it and tease you so you can go...but it doesn't come. Instead he hands you your sketchpad, gently dusting off the pages.

You take it, a hesitant, "thanks," ghosts from your lips.

"I'm sorry about him." He says quietly.

You shrug. "Not your fault, I guess."

Seconds tick by as you both stare awkwardly at each other, unsure what else could be said.

"You're pretty. I-I mean, it-it's pretty." He stammers, tapping the unfinished sketch in your book. "You're very talented." 

Your cheeks flush an undignified fuchsia as you duck your head slightly, letting your hair hide you. "Thank you."

He offers you a weak smile before giving you a halfhearted wave and jogging off across the field, leaving you watching his back, perplexed at the exchange you've had.

You stare at your messages, every moment he can see you're online and not replying makes your cheeks flush crimson and makes your mind run frantic.

Meet me at the Happy Holidays dance.

Could you?

It’s the first holiday dance your university has put on--one you had no intention of going to, because you frankly didn't need the added teasing from the popular kids. It is a masquerade ball however, so no one had to know it was you, you could fall pleasantly under the radar.

Were you really considering this? 

What did you have to lose? You can hide behind the comfort of your mask. If he discovers it's you, it's his problem if he doesn't like that, Jimin is absolutely right.

Ok. Where will I find you?

You press send and chuck your phone down, throwing your head in your pillow to scream. Did you actually just do that!? No taking it back now, it's out there. 

When you hear your text tone sound you scramble quickly back to it.

By the old sundial outside. At 10.00?

You grin dorkishly at your phone, typing a quick reply.

Sure. See you then.

You call your number one speed dial, two rings in and Jimin's voice sounds. 

"I was just going to call you, how strange. Listen, do you remember that time I-?"

"I'm in need of some urgent assistance. I just agreed to go to the holiday dance!"

He cackles excitedly on the other end. "I'll be right over!"

As you step out of Jimin's car you have to lift your ice blue dress up to avoid the floor...and tripping. How Jimin pulled this costume together in time, you'll never know, he's taking that secret to the grave. 

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and adjust your matching lace mask, making sure it's comfortable.

"Ok, go get him tiger." He roars, as he swipes a clawed hand in front of you.

You giggle at his silly antics and take a deep breath before giving him a final nod and heading into the dance.

From the moment you walk in, you want to go home. This is a bad idea. He won't be interested when he finds out it's really you.

You have no time to continue your anguished thoughts as you get swept up in the crowd, fighting your way through to grab a drink. Standing to the side and surveying everyone's costumes, noticing a lot of dark or bright colour choices, you being one of the only people in a pale colour, making you stand out more. Something you were definitely hoping to avoid.

A few songs later and the clock in the hall catches your eye, noticing you had fifteen minutes until you meet your mystery man.

You head outside, footsteps echoing along the cobbled floor, and see that the outside is empty save for a few smoking and talking. 

You get to the large, metal sundial and wait. Stomach churning from the butterflies that swarm wildly inside. 

"Blue hour artist?" You hear your Tumblr tag spoken behind you and freeze. 

You're about to meet him, come face to face with the person who understands you more than anyone, who opens up to you in ways most people wouldn't and who's creativity knows no bounds.

You turn slowly, not knowing who to expect but definitely not who you're faced with.

"Jeon Jungkook!? You're 'game over guk'?" You ask, your mouth popped open in shock.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's not fair, you're wearing a mask. How will I know who you are?" 

You stare at him, trying to find words to answer his question, but the fact that it's him stood before you blows you away.

How could this be? The person you've been talking to online is the complete opposite to Jungkook and yet, here he is, one and the same.

"You'll h-have to guess." You try to get yourself together.

His mouth stretches into a toothy smile. "Ok, how about we play '21 questions' to help me guess?"

You nod, playing with your fingernails out of nerves.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, looking over at one of the benches.

"Um, no, I'd rather walk, if you don't mind?" 

"Oh, sure." He agrees eagerly and you head off down the pathway around the building. 

A few awkward side glances between the two of you and he finally asks, "Do we have any classes together?"

"No." 

"Ok, narrows it down slightly."

You take this opportunity to look at what he's wearing and he's every part the Prince charming. In a white satin shirt, with light blue trousers and a one shoulder half capelet to match, complete with silver, trim detail. Surprisingly similar to your choice of dress, what a strange coincidence.

"You take art I assume?" He asks, into the comfortable silence.

You nod. "That's an obvious one." You refer to your Tumblr page full of your fan art and projects.

He smiles bashfully and your stomach flips at the sight, feeling like a true-life Disney princess with heart eyes and birds singing above your head.

"I don't know many girls in art." He admits,

 "Ok, what about outside uni, do you go to any popular hangouts?"

Your cheeks flush, knowing you're admitting how dorky and uncool you are. "Nope."

"Ok, harder than I thought." He laughs, revealing his perfect teeth again. "Do you have a job?"

Nodding again, you play with the hem of your lace sleeve, channeling your nerves into the action.

As you're about to answer, your heel gets stuck in between the paving stone, causing you to buckle. Panic strikes you. You cannot fall over and embarrass yourself! Not when finding out who you are will be embarrassing enough. Luckily, you steady yourself against a nearby lamppost before falling on your face but at the cost of leaving your shoe stuck in the ground.

You tuck your leg up under your dress, steadying yourself against the street light, directly underneath the assaulting brightness, illuminating you like a spotlight.

Jungkook rushes over to your lonesome blue stiletto and retrieves it before crouching on one knee in front of you.

You stare at him, eyes wide and alarmed by his sudden closeness as he holds out your shoe in the most sincere way.

You bring your foot down and arch it back into its rightful holster. As you do, his fingertips graze your ankle, sending a flush of heat cascading up your body and neck, stopping only at your hairline. 

He lingers there, looking up at you with huge doe eyes, but with a severe intensity you've never noticed from him before. 

His fingers skate up your leg slightly as he rises, sending a delicious shiver through you. His fingers tips hint at your hand, you yearn to reach out and hold it, as he stands mere centimeters away from you. His intoxicating scent swirling around you like your own personal hurricane, taking your composed state and tearing through it, leaving it whimpering weakly on the ground. His face is too close to yours and yet not close enough. You feel feverish from his proximity and yet you need him closer to sate your heat.

Your breast vibrates from the aggressive pounding of your heart. Having him here on his knees in front of you, something not even acceptable in your wildest dreams and yet, here he is. 

The person you've gotten to know so well, such a contrast to the person you've seen around campus. But then again, he seems to like the person he's gotten to know too, maybe he won't be as disappointed when he realises who you are? Maybe you can kid yourself into thinking that.

A chiming sounds in the distance, barely there and yet it creeps further into your subconscious.

"Your phone is ringing." He whispers, his breath tickling your face, as his eyes still blaze into yours.

'My phone. My phone? Oh, my phone!' Your muddled thoughts clear themselves enough for you to understand his words. You pull it out of your little silver handbag and see Jimin's number on screen.

"Hello?" You ask, staring dreamily at Jungkook who is rooted firmly in his spot.

"Ok, I apologise if you're throat-deep around prince charming’s dick but I really need to make it home before midnight so my dad doesn't turn me into a pumpkin...and by that I mean, pounded, pulped and pressed into pumpkin pie." 

You snap out of it suddenly, realising Jimin's words and not wanting him to get in trouble because of you. "Of course. I'm coming, right now."

Jungkook's eyes flit back to reality with a deep frown. His hand clasps yours as you hang up and tuck your phone back into your bag. Your legs, already moving towards the front entrance where he would be waiting.

"Wait," Jungkook's pleading pierces right into your chest, feeling your resolve bubble up to the surface, enticing you to stay and see where the night takes you. But you don't.

"I can't, I have to go." You say, gently slipping your hand from his and jogging elegantly to the front parking lot.

When you see Jimin's dads silver Rolls Royce, you're suddenly eager to get in and share your news.

"So...did you meet him!?" An excited Jimin shakes your arm as you close the door behind you.

"Yes. You will never guess who he is." You fasten your belt and Jimin pulls off quickly, both of you wincing as he narrowly misses a barrier post on the way out of the campus.

"Who?" 

You smile to yourself, heart fit to burst. "Jeon Jungkook."

Jimin's foot taps on the brakes, lurching you forward.

"I'm sorry. What?" He turns to you, eyes wider than you've ever seen them. "As in, popular boy, sex god Jungkook?"

You scoff. "Who told you he was a sex god?"

"I'm making assumptions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He grins as he elbows you in the ribs and sets off driving you home, while excitement rapidly blooms inside you.

You dropped your necklace.

You read the words over and over, unsure what your response should be. You needed that necklace. The simple silver chain holding the tiny teardrop pearl. It was all you had left of your dad. When he died, your step-mother sold most of his things, including gifts he bought for you. This was your last, most cherished item. The only reason you were allowed to keep it is that you were wearing it at the time and you haven't taken it off since. Losing it had your chest aching. You stared at Jungkook's last message until sleep over took you.

Monday morning. Eyes gritty and burning, you wake to the sea of sleep trying to entice you back to its darkening depths but you fight your fluttering eyelids and get ready for a new day.

How are you going to look at Jungkook now? You should tell him who you are. Yes, you'll do that and get your necklace back and it'll be happily ever after. 

Only it won't.

From your experience happily ever after doesn't happen for most people, even accomplished, brilliant, beautiful people. You're entirely average and ordinary, why would it happen for you?

By the time you get to campus, your manic mind has been changed numerous times. You decide to wait until you see him, which you spend every moment of your arrival scanning the faces that pass you.

"Hey, hey, Jelly Bean. Looking for me?" Jimin's cheerful face comes into full view, distracting you.

He's clearly unimpressed with whatever expression you're portraying currently, as he pouts and turns to the sea of faces. "Clearly, I no longer matter, now you've got big dick Jungkook."

You hush him loudly, looking around to ensure there were no listening ears. "Firstly, I'm begging you, stop talking about his dick and secondly, stop being stupid."

He laughs at your stressed rant. "Ok, ok, jeez. Is he meeting you this morning?"

Your body tenses, knowing, already hearing the lecture he's about to scold you with.

"You didn't tell him, did you? He still has no idea it's you!?" He sighs, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, typical Jimin fashion. "I swear to god...If you don't tell him, I will."

Your head snaps over to him as you walk side by side into the building, glaring menacingly in his direction. "You wouldn't dare."

He shrugs. "Try me, scaredy cat."

You huff and scrub at your tired eyes. "Let me just get through my classes then we shall discuss this."

He laughs as he tussles your hair and heads off in the opposite direction.

Your day passes fairly quickly, even though your struggle to stay awake during lectures only grows.

You do not see Jungkook, which is not unusual as you're not even in the same wings of the building most of the time.

Jimin's frantic waving has you puzzled as a deep frown creases your brow as you walk towards him, his jumping and pointing most unusual. It's only when you see a set of hands directly in front of you and feel your necklace land on your chest as it's draped across your collar bones, that you stop in your tracks. 

Those hands, warm at the back of your neck and a mouth next to your ear saying, "I told you I'd look after it and return it." Unmistakably Jungkook's voice whispers in your ear making you quiver.

When his hands are gone you look down and find relief washing over you with the familiar feel of your necklace, having felt bare and empty without it.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" He asks, stepping in front of you with a big bunny smile.

Wide eyed with shock, your mouth gapes open with the slow realization that he is, in fact, talking to you. "How-how did you…" Words fail you as you frantically think of any way you might have let slip your identity but coming up empty.

"How did I know it was you?" He asks, mouth pulled on one side in a smile. "When you dropped your necklace as you left the dance, I recognized it instantly. "

"Wh-what?" You squeak out. You attempt to swallow your confusion enough to form a coherent sentence. "On what planet would someone like you notice anything about someone like me."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, almost as if you'd slapped him as he takes a step towards you, a hair's width away now. "How could I not notice you? You're beautiful and smart, you don't follow the crowd and you're kind to everyone, I've noticed everything the last two years. I've just never spoken to you properly because….well...what do I have to offer someone like you, with endless talents and interests, a charming personality to boot and just when I think that's all there is, I discover something else about you. I'm just the school jock, popularity gets me opportunities, I don't have to work hard for anything...I feel...inferior to you. Worthless."

Your heart aches, hearing the words you feel escaping his mouth. How could that be possible? How on earth could he be so utterly mistaken, so completely wrong about himself?

"But gameoverguk is nothing like that person you're describing. If that's truly who you are?" You question quietly.

He nods, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to him.

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, I'm a gamer geek, I'm good at sports, I enjoy bike rides on the weekend and finding new food spots and I'd really like to take you out sometime...if you'll let me."

You feel your lips stretch into an undeniable grin. "Nice to finally meet you Jungkook. I'd love to."

As you aim the plastic machine gun, keeping it steady in your armpit and pointed towards the screen, you and Jungkook race through the game, taking down your enemies at every chance. When your team name, "Blue Hour Gamer" flashes in neon letters on screen as the winners, your hollering and hooting fill the arcade. 

You don't even care that people are watching, not when you jump up and high five each other or when that high five turns into a hug, or when that hug very quickly turns into a kiss. You don't care.

You pull away quickly, embarrassment finding its way to dust your cheeks scarlet. Until you feel his hand press your lower back to him, your bodies crushing together and moving in perfect sync, making their own rhythm and inviting you to sing with it.

Heat blazes inside you like a wildfire, capturing everything else in its path and turning into thoughtless ash in the wind. Nothing else mattered, just him, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, caressing so gently and yet setting your skin aflame.

Before you knew it, you were at his small, studio apartment, realising you had no clue he lived alone but thankful for that just the same.

When your back finds the bed, you sink into it, disappearing into a cloud of euphoria as he roams your body, slow and meaningful. Every touch makes you feel things you never have before, and every movement brings you closer to the edge of the precipice. 

The way his mouth feels on you as he explores your body sends sparks of electricity racing through you. The way he feels inside you with each perfect, controlled movement lights you up like the sunrise after dark, warming you with its rays as you stare off the cliff edge and brace yourself for the impact. His hand caresses your cheek as he looks deeply into your eyes, something so sweet and pure in the action that your chest swells with emotion. His forehead touches yours as he moves in perfect time with your pounding heart. Suddenly you're falling, everything going past in a rush before crashing onto a sea of ecstasy, writhing and moaning until your climax subsides and his has joined in unison.

A tender kiss on your head, his arm winding around you, pulling you to him and encasing you in the perfect safety net is enough. Maybe he'll be your happily ever after, after all.

[superphlyduskull]

Don’t Prank Your Nemesis

Chapter 1

hey yall! so this is the first fic ive ever gotten this far and organized with, inspired by this art by @this-is-z-art-blog. i was going to post it as a oneshot, but since ive been swept up in some other hyperfixations recently, i thought i would post the first part as chapter 1 and post the rest when I get back into writing!

tw for blood, gunshot wound, and inexperienced medical care of said gunshot wound

anyway, hope yall enjoy!

This was bad.

Just about the worst case scenario, really.

He never should've budged on Elle's idea to revenge prank Vlad.

They should've stayed away from the froot loop's godforsaken mansion and his stupid, powerful weapons. He should've known Vlad had heard about their plans somehow and was prepared for them. He should've known he was ready with the perfect gun to finally rid himself of his "failed" clone.

He should've been able to take the shot for Elle.

But no. Anything that should've happened was obviously reserved for a different timeline, and now he had a blood loss-addled Elle sat in his shitty little desk chair, blood still flowing from the wound in her abdomen like a goddamn river.

Danny didn't want to think about what would happen if she didn't get proper care in time.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and doubled his pace when Elle let out a pained whimper. He needed to get her bandaged now.

Danny scrambled to get his medical kit from his dresser, knocking over several model rockets in the process. Hopefully no one heard that.

"Elle, I'm sorry, but this is really gonna hurt," he whispered after getting the bandages and gauze out. He didn't know how much damage the bullet did or could still do, but he'd never had to worry about bullets before and therefore decided he'd wait until someone who knew what they were doing could get it out. He lined up the gauze and pressed it to the wound, wincing as she groaned in pain.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"S'okay, just get it over with," Elle hissed, breathing labored.

"I'm gonna need you to hold this gauze for a bit while I wrap the bandage around, can you do that?"

She gave a strained, humorless chuckle at that, which she seemed to instantly regret.

"Do I really have a choice?" Elle said with a glare at the gauze against her side. She replaced Danny's hand on the gauze with her own, wincing and letting out another groan.

"Sorr—"

"Apologize one more time," Elle took a shallow, shuddering breath, "and you'll be fully dead, Danny." Another breath. "I'll be okay," another, "just get this over with please."

Danny nodded quickly before carefully wrapping the wound as quickly as he safely could. Halfway through, he heard his mother at the door.

"Is everything alright in there, sweetheart? It sounded like something fell."

"Yeah, mom, I'm okay!" he said as nonchalantly as possible before realizing there was an echo to his voice.

He hadn't transformed back.

He hadn't transformed back.

It was really just Fuck Up Everything And Get Yourself And Your Cousin Killed Night, huh?

He banished the thought Can this get any worse? before it could fully form. He was not testing that right now.

Danny swore under his breath, shifted back into human form, and immediately continued to wrap Elle up. He needed to at least get that done before his mother inevitably came back to try to get him to stop overshadowing himself or whatever she thought was going on.

It wasn't the best job someone could do, but it would have to suffice. He needed to get out of here and get to— to Clockwork? Would he be able to help? Yes, he was their best bet. Now to just pick Elle up carefully and—

"Get out of my son, you despicable ghost!" Maddie bellowed as she kicked the door open, poised to shoot with her ectoblaster. Luckily, the sight she was met with gave her pause.

There was a still moment as everyone tried to process the scene before them.

"Danny—?"

"Please don't hurt her, she's part human!" Danny pleaded. He lunged to the side to put himself in between Elle and his mother, stumbling from his own injuries in the process.

"What... Danny? What's going on? Where's the ghost?" Maddie asked, confusion briefly furrowing her brow before her face paled at the sight of their injuries. "Oh, God, what on earth happened to you, Danny, and who is this? You both need to go to the hospital, I'll go get your father and the GAV—"

"NO!" Danny and Elle shouted simultaneously.

"No?" Maddie questioned exasperatedly, suspicion creeping into her features.

"The-the doctors won't be able to treat her, she's..." Danny looked anxiously at Elle, "...not fully human."

"Right, you said part, but I'm not a medical doctor, Danny, I can't treat her!"

"And a medical doctor can't treat a half ghost!"

Maddie was taken aback by that. For a few painfully long seconds, he thought she would do something like raise her blaster again or further insist on the hospital. Instead, amazingly, she holstered the blaster she forgot she was holding and visibly steeled herself.

"Let's get your father."

[jemmahazelnut]

Dark Écriture

Summary: The magic swelled in him, draining his energy. It was more powerful than any of his previous spells. More terrible than the rune of pain, more sinister than darkness, more vigorous than the rune of fear. It was pure evil and Freed was beginning to enjoy it, knowing full well the spell would end too quickly to relish it.

Or: the story of how Freed lived with his demonic magic over the years. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, unnamed character deaths, morally ambiguous actions.

Notes: This is a story about Freed, his dark past and his cruel side.

Thanks to oofenflugen who has beta read my fanfic. Without his help I would never have published it. Check out his blog @cygnus-arts to see his art. He also has a profile on AO3 oofen_flugen where you can find his fanfics.

Hope you like it!

Dark Écriture

-Year X777, Dark Écriture: Death-

(16-year-old Laxus, 13-year-old Freed)

Freed had promised not to do it again. He promised it only a few months earlier, but there was no way he could keep that promise to the Master. Not when he saw those children locked up in the cells and the instruments of torture surrounding them, not when he saw the man’s cruel face, not when he heard the whimpering of the children. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hold back his strength, much less the hatred that was beginning to rise and fill him.

Freed almost didn’t realize it, but he subconsciously raised his sword in front of him. He hardly noticed the way the Master’s grandson stared at him. He almost didn’t realize the demonic aura that enveloped him and choked the oxygen in the room. Mentally, he knew it was happening. He knew that he was breaking a promise he had made, and in doing so, he was doing something terrible that -maybe, just maybe- he would regret. But he couldn’t afford to worry about it.

The magic swelled in him, draining his energy. It was more powerful than any of his previous spells. More terrible than the rune of pain, more sinister than darkness, more vigorous than the rune of fear. It was pure evil and Freed was beginning to enjoy it, knowing full well the spell would end too quickly to relish it.

His magic caused his hair to rise. Freed's fringe lifted and exposed his face, leaving his black eye uncovered. His body burned, and he felt the pure hatred concentrated in his eye. His mind focused on a single thought.

“Death,” Freed hissed, unconsciously, as if his lips had moved on their own.

A deadly silence fell. It was as if the whole world had been silent for a moment. He no longer heard the whimpering children, the fighting upstairs, the voice of the guild leader, or that of the Master’s son. He heard nothing, and it was unreal.

A moment later the magic shot out with all its power out of his body, passed his guildmate, and struck the enemy. The dark wizard clawed at his chest, desperately trying to breathe. His body twitched, and he fell back to the ground, continuing to jerk, causing his leg to thump erratically against the wall. It was a terrible sight, and Freed was enjoying every moment of it. The dark mage's eyes filled with terror and widened. His drool poured and mixed with his blood staining the floor. The veins in his neck swelled.

It was magnificent. It was what Freed wanted, pure evil. It was what the man deserved.

It ended too quickly. In a few seconds, the man stilled, reducing himself to a corpse. Freed’s magic faded, and the ambiance of the room returned. The distant sounds of fighting and whimpering only brought Freed exhaustion.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, sword slipping from his fingers, forcing Freed to lean on his hands. Even if the spell had only lasted for a few seconds, Freed felt as if he had been fighting for hours. Sweat coated his body, and he struggled to catch his breath.

He couldn’t see the shocked gaze of the Master’s son. Freed didn't bother to check that the man was dead. He knew it was impossible.

He tried to stand up but staggered, exhausted in a way he’d only experienced a few times before.

“You killed him,” said the Master’s son. Freed smiled. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, I did, and it was wonderful. Instead, Freed stood silently, realizing what Laxus Dreyar must be thinking.

No. It wasn’t okay. He had to go back, back to a safe place, go back to being Freed Justine. He was no longer Freed the Dark. He was no longer a killer, no longer evil. He was a member of Fairy Tail.

That awareness immediately brought him back down to earth, and he felt nausea rise in him. What had he done? He advanced towards Dreyar but staggered again and was forced to lean against the bars of a cell while he tried to regain his strength and balance.

He had broken a promise. The only promise he had made to the Fairy Tail Master. He had broken it within a few months. What the hell had he done? He began to feel the terror rising in his back, terrified that everything he had done to change had been in vain. Nausea made him double over, and Freed coughed with tears stinging his eyes.

He was a monster. A killer. Just a cursed child.

He heard Dreyar’s footsteps approaching, and Freed looked up, swallowing hard.

“I’ll take responsibility for everything,” Freed said, petrified to hear his guildmate's incoming judgment, Dreyar, however, tilted his head to the side, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

Freed blinked in confusion.

“Excuse me?”.

“What spell is that?” Dreyar asked again. “I want to learn it”.

Freed’s eyes widened and he took a step back, straightening his back and avoiding his gaze. Was he crazy?

“You don’t want to do that,” he said. There was no way that the Master’s grandson wanted to learn how to do something like this.

“I want to know what spell it is,” Dreyar insisted. Freed shook his head.

“You can’t learn it anyway. Magic is tied to my eye,” he said. He saw Dreyar grimace and Freed turned to the children who were still locked up and crying. “I’ll tell the Master personally, for now we have to free them.”

“You don’t need to tell the old man,” Dreyar retorted. “Besides, the bastard deserved it,” he added as he opened a cell. Freed gave him a surprised look, but he didn’t say anything else. The mission wasn’t over yet.

-Year X778, Dark Écriture: Darkness-

(17-year-old Laxus, 14-year-old Freed)

Freed wanted to stop. He wanted to cry, scream and stop those attacks. He wanted to kill that darkness, kill that agony, kill the feelings suffocating him. But the only thing he succeeding in killing, were his teammates. It didn’t matter how much he fought; it didn’t matter how much he tried to free himself from the grip. The darkness enveloped him, and he was sinking inside it, letting the demon prevail over him.

Freed felt tears sting his eyes but, he was unable to escape. He couldn’t even control the tears pooling at his chin. He couldn’t do anything; his body was completely out of his control. He could only watch. Watch and suffer from every blow Laxus dealt. Watch and suffer for every blow the demon dealt.

Freed felt small, helpless, useless. But he was just that. He was just a cursed child, just a monster, just a killer. Freed put his hands to his ears in an attempt to drown out the thoughts, but nothing could stop them. Now they were there, they were constantly repeating themselves, filling his brain, echoing through every nerve.

Stop it, stop it!

But they were right; he was a monster. A monster, a murderer, he deserved that pain, he deserved to die, he deserved to sink, he deserved to disappear.

“Fucking hell, do you wanna get goddamn control back?”

Freed heard a scream and saw flashes of electricity piercing him everywhere. They stung and burned, leaving him in excruciating pain. Freed opened his eyes biting back tears, only for another punch hit him, with Laxus’ magic building stronger and stronger in ever more acute pain.

“Stupid kid, what the fuck are you doing, huh?” the voice growled again, and Freed looked up, seeing his teammate keep fighting him. Laxus was right, what the fuck was he doing? Crying and letting the demon seize control? No, he was stronger than that, he was better than that. He wouldn’t let the demon kill his team. He was a member of Fairy Tail, the Captain of the Raijinshuu, the bodyguard of Laxus Dreyar. He had to protect all three. It was his promise. No matter what, he wasn’t going to kill them.

Freed scrambled to stand but was halted by another shock. He gritted his teeth trying to bear it best he could and tried to rise from the darkness. It swelled around him and pulled him down, leaving him suffocated in the darkness. But he could still reach towards the light. Freed knew it. There was always a way to escape.

He growled and forced himself back up, ignoring the pain of lightning and the burning. He just had to think about his teammates and the guild he was a part of. He had to think of his friends, Bickslow and Evergreen. Freed ascended and for a moment stopped the blow the demon wanted to throw, only to sink into its control again.

The demon struck once more. Laxus had wavered for a moment, and the demon was more than happy to take that opportunity. Freed gritted his teeth again, scrambling a second time. The demon was launching another attack but as soon as Freed regained control he held it back. He was already sinking again, but the shock of electricity convinced him to grit his teeth and stay aloft. Then he closed his eyes and pushed all the darkness into himself, into the back of his mind, into his heart, and his soul.

When he finally felt it grow small, he forced himself to open his eyes again, only to see two orange eyes staring at him doubtfully. Laxus had a ready fist with electricity crackling.

“Hope you’re you again,” he growled, and Freed nodded.

“I’m back,” he whispered and Laxus lowered his fist.

Freed realized that he was collapsed on the ground, Laxus at his side.

“Your demon is fucking awesome but you really have to learn to control it,” Laxus snapped as he walked away. Freed didn’t move. He still felt numb from the shocks, dizzy from the fight, and tired as if he had exhausted all of his energy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Bickslow and Evergreen rushed to his side and helped him sit up. Freed grimaced but held back a groan, even though he could feel injuries covering his skin. It wasn’t the first time he fought Laxus, but God, that was painful. Freed glanced at Laxus and noticed that his leg was injured.

Freed reached out to him.

“I’ll heal your wound,” he said, partly to apologize, partly because he felt guilty. Laxus gave him a dirty look.

“It’s nothing,” he retorted grumpily and stood up. Freed noticed that he was staggering a bit and felt even worse. However, he didn’t dare say anything knowing his pride. Laxus glanced at him as Freed got to his feet, aided by Bickslow and Evergreen. “You should fight with that demon more often, he’s fucking strong,” Laxus said with a grin.

Freed looked up with widening eyes, wondering if he was crazy.

“You saw what happens if I do.”

Laxus rolled his eyes and snorted and took a step toward him. Laxus was close, close enough that their foreheads were almost touching. Freed looked up.

“This happens because you don’t train, kid. You just have to get stronger than the demon, that’s why he takes control.” Laxus turned away and walked away. “Now let’s get this fucking reward, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Freed couldn’t argue and followed Laxus, refusing the help of Bickslow and Evergreen. As he watched the blond with admiration and respect, a thought formed in his head. Maybe Laxus wasn’t all wrong, maybe the only thing he needed to resist the demon was training.

-Year X781, Freed the Dark-

(20-year-old Laxus, 17-year-old Freed)

“For a kid who wants to follow the rules, you break them quite often.”

Freed’s head jerked up in surprise at the voice. Laxus Dreyar. How did he find him? Freed made sure he wasn’t being followed by anyone when he walked away from Magnolia.

“How did you find me?” he asked aloud this time.

“Easy, I saw that the mission I wanted to take was gone and that you were gone too,” Laxus explained, sitting beside Freed. “Now you have to explain to me why you took a class S mission, especially when you know it’s forbidden,” Laxus commented, crossing his arms behind his head and throwing him a curious look.

“I’ll take full responsibility for my actions,” Freed assured, deflecting the question and staring straight ahead. He didn’t plan on coming back. He would complete that mission at any cost.

“Not if you do it with me,” Laxus retorted. Freed remained silent, refusing to reveal his true motive. “Then I’ll guess,” the Dragon Slayer challenged, glancing at Freed from head to toe.

“You hide under a cloak, in the past this place was headed by Lord Justine, and the mission requires to break a demonic curse written in strange purple characters. I suppose you or your family created the curse, right?” he inquired, and Freed pursed his lips, nervous. The last thing Freed wanted was for anyone to know his past, or to know his family.

“So? Are you going to explain it or do I have to find out all by myself? Because I will,” Laxus challenged. Freed stared at his hands, peering at his guild mark. He knew that Laxus would find out. He was one of the most skilled wizards he knew, and not just physically. It didn’t take a genius to understand that this mission had to do with Freed or his family.

Freed sighed and then looked up at Laxus, who was watching him expectantly.

“Okay,” Freed said. “But you have to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone about it.” Laxus nodded and Freed resolved to speak.

“You’re right, I was the one who launched the curse five years ago. I lived in that villa with my parents” he said, indicating with a nod of his head the large villa located on the hill, surrounded by a black fog, the same one breathed into the city, and the reason the city had asked Fairy Tail for help. “I was part of the Justine family; my father was the lord. It’s not like they really headed over this city. Theoretically, they had no rights other than the territories behind the hill. However, they were feared by everyone for their strength,” he said. “And a few years ago,” he paused for a moment, uncertain. “A few years ago, there was a bad fight, which led to the birth of the curse,” he concluded.

Laxus raised an eyebrow and peered at him.

“I guess that’s not all,” he said. Freed looked away.

“Details aren’t important.”

Laxus snorted and stood up.

“Okay, then let’s go and destroy this curse. I guess I’ll find out of the rest when we get there.” Laxus started towards the hill and Freed hurried after him, making sure his cloak still covered his face well.

“We won’t go into the villa,” he objected.

“It’s not for you to decide” was the dry reply of Laxus.

-

Freed wasn’t satisfied. He had destroyed the curse in minutes. It was child’s play, but Freed certainly didn’t feel good at it. Since he created the curse, it was quite obvious that eliminating it would be easy. Revisiting the villa had brought back only old memories. Old and terrible memories, and in that moment, Freed had decided that he was going to destroy that house.

He had done it, now he could only look ahead of him at the rubble of what had once been his home. But he still wasn’t satisfied and wanted to let years of anger and fear out. He would eliminate his past, destroy it definitively, destroy every little existence of the Justines, destroy everything that bound him to that place, but he couldn’t do it. He growled as he put his hands on his thighs, exhausted from the amount of magic he had used. An exaggerated amount, since he could have destroyed that building with much less. But he needed to let off steam, and he still needed it.

A new wave of dark magic rose, but he felt Laxus’ hand rest on his shoulder and a felt slight jolt run through him.

“That’s enough,” he said. Freed turned to him, gritting his teeth.

“No,” he growled.

“By now you’ve nothing else to destroy. What you’re doing is pointless and senseless,” the Dragon Slayer retorted harshly. Freed pulled away from his hold.

“Pointless and senseless?” he repeated furiously and again a wave of energy surrounded him. “You’ve no idea what I had to go through, you’ve no idea how much I want to destroy everything here” he growled and Laxus looked at him with an indecipherable expression.

“Tell me then,” he said. Freed turned to the castle, refusing to do anything like that. Laxus wouldn’t have understood anyway, he doubted anyone could. Seeing the rubble and dirt he had raised pissed him off even more. Laxus was right. It was useless, destroying the castle wouldn’t change his past. It wouldn’t change who he had been, nor who he was at that moment.

Frustrated and furious, he collapsed to the ground, trembling and feeling a sudden urge to cry. He didn’t, because Laxus was there and he wouldn’t show himself so vulnerable. He was silent and strangely Laxus sat down next to him, staring at the rubble and silently lighting a cigar.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until Freed’s nerves compelled him to speak.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for the story” was the simple reply from Laxus, who glanced at him, throwing out a puff of smoke. “You hated your parents, didn’t you?”

“I hated my father,” Freed clarified. “I still hate him.”

“Parents can be assholes,” Laxus commented. “So, what did he do?”

Freed almost laughed. He mentally filed through the very long list of things his father had done and hadn’t. The longer he thought about his father the more he resented him, and the more he wanted to go back in time and exact revenge. Now that he was dead, Freed had lost his chance.

“My parents were mages, but they weren’t very powerful. However, they were both very fascinated by wealth and dark magic” he began to explain chronologically, despite the difficulties to remember it in order. Laxus let him speak and Freed continued, unsure why he was telling Laxus. He had never thought of confiding in anyone, and the Dragon Slayer certainly wasn’t his first choice. But he was here now.

“They did business with dark guilds. They found items for them and sold them, or they bought items to then resell to others. Our house was full of those things, and I was a curious child, I wanted to know more. I was fascinated by everything related to magic, so one day I opened a book and read a spell. There was a demon in that book, and I saw that with that spell I could capture his soul and have his magic. My father didn’t pay much attention to me, he thought I was just a child with no magical talent, no matter what I did. I wanted to prove otherwise, so I cast the spell and united our souls.”

“You were a child and was already able to do something like this?” Laxus asked.

“Yeah,” Freed replied. “I think I’ve already proven to be skilled,” he commented coldly and Laxus just gave a half-laugh, puffing more smoke and waving him on.

“It actually worked. I caught my father’s attention all too well. At first, I lost control and feared he would treat me even worse, but he didn’t. He saw potential and he decided to train me. I was very happy, so I did what he said,” Freed said and stopped for a moment, thinking about the training his father had forced him to do. He clenched his hands in two fists and a new wave of hatred overwhelmed him.

“I told you the Justine family was feared. Well, it was because of me. When someone dared to challenge my father, he would bring that person to me and tell me to torture or kill him. Every now and then he even made me do it in public, in the town square. Everyone began to fear him and my father was happy, he felt himself the master of the city” Freed stopped for a moment. “My mother wasn’t happy, and she told me it was wrong to do it, and I knew it. So, one day I refused and… my father blocked my magic and made me understand that refusing him wasn’t allowed, especially in front of other people”.

“Did he beat you?” Laxus asked.

“Yes,” was the dry reply and Laxus snorted.

“Asshole” he growled and Freed turned to him, feeling a little understood. Maybe that was the reason he was comfortable sharing with his teammate.

“My father became more pretentious and crueler. Both with the wizards of the dark guilds, with the city, and with us. I don’t know if it was the wealth or the amount of magical power, he had accumulated that drove him out of his mind, but it happened. And one day he killed my mother,” he said in a distant tone as if he wasn’t talking about his family but something foreign to him.

“I was there, the two of them were arguing because of me and then they started fighting. I knew my dad would win, but I was scared, so I didn’t even try to stop him. My mother was a good woman, I loved her, and since all the children in the city feared me, she was the only person I could have fun with. She was the only one who really loved me. She died because of me in front of my eyes, and I didn’t even try to save her,” he said coldly, reviewing the images of her in his head as if they were part of a movie. He would never forget his mother’s expression, her screams, her lifeless body.

“My father destroyed her body. When I realized she was dead I went mad and my demon took over. I tried to kill my father, but I was still too weak and he stopped me. My father locked me in a room for weeks, torturing me to make me understand who was in charge and what would happen if I failed his orders. I think that’s when I truly started to hate him.”

“I hated him. I hated him so much you can’t imagine. But instead of taking that anger out on him, I took it out on all the innocent people he brought in front of me. If I was hesitant to torture people before, at that moment I began to enjoy it. He was proud of me, but the more he was, the more I hated him”.

“I’ve never forgiven him. I’ve never forgotten that day, and for years I’ve prepared a revenge for him. I wanted to destroy him. But I didn’t want to just kill him, I wanted him to suffer, I wanted him to feel what I had felt all those years, what my mother had felt before she died. And I wanted to take everything away from him. So, I studied for a long time in the library, looking for the most frightening spells, until I found a forbidden curse”.

“This curse would have locked people into an eternal Hell. I was excited, I couldn’t wait to torture him and the men most trusted by him. I prepared everything in advance, away from everyone. I drew the runes around the entire villa. It took me half a year. Every time I thought about the final spell, I enjoyed the sights, I imagined my father’s expression, I imagined him crying, I wanted to make him cry.” Freed’s words poured out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“And finally, the day come. It didn’t go the way I wanted. Even though it had taken me half a year to prepare it, I wasn’t powerful enough. The curse hit my father and it worked. But for only three days. I stayed there for three days hearing my father’s screams and I was delighted. But after only three days he died, I no longer felt anything. I made sure he was really dead, and I was so angry that I destroyed his body. But I still wasn’t satisfied. But it was over now, I couldn’t do anything else. So, I left. I wanted to live in the city, but I heard what they said about me. They all hated me, they called me the monster, the cursed child or Freed the Dark. I left and vowed never to come back,” Freed concluded. Laxus was silent and Freed continued to stare at the rubble for a long time. No words were exchanged between the two.

“This mission was because of the curse. Something went wrong and filled the city with fog,” Freed explained after a while.

“Your father is even worse than mine,” Laxus commented and turned to him. “At least you managed to take revenge.”

“I don’t deserve to be part of Fairy Tail,” Freed murmured, sadness enveloping him.

“You do,” Laxus sternly retorted.

“I’m just a monster,” Freed sighed. Laxus snorted and put out his cigar.

“You’re not what your father decided for you,” Laxus consoled. “You’re much better, and you’ve already proved it. You deserve to be a part of Fairy Tail more than anyone else.” Freed turned to him, surprised at the statement said with complete certainty. Laxus had never been very sensitive, yet he was here. He had listened to him and hadn’t changed his mind about him. Indeed, he had Laxus’ respect and friendship, and it made Freed feel accepted and warm inside. Laxus put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a skilled wizard and a good person. And you’re so much better than anything your dad has ever led you to believe,” he added, and Freed could only look into his eyes, feeling overwhelmed by those words in a way that had never happened. “So don’t be ashamed of who you are. Take off this cloak and show that you’re different from your father,” Laxus said and stood up, holding out his hand. Freed took it and stood up without hesitation.

“Thanks,” Freed murmured. Laxus grinned.

“Although, I have to say, Freed the Dark sounds quite threatening. Maybe you should start using it.” Laxus started down the hill. Freed watched him for a while before following him, feeling his heart beating madly. If Laxus, the person who most represented Fairy Tail, told him that, then Freed had no doubt he was right.

I swear Laxus, you won’t regret putting your trust in me, Freed thought, as he walked beside him.

-Year X791, Dark Écriture: Fear-

(23-year-old Laxus, 20-year-old Freed)

The brush ran smoothly through the boy’s hair, who looked at himself in the mirror. He was sitting on the big mattress, and behind him, his mother was singing softly, fixing his hair. Freed hummed the melody to himself and moved his fingers to the rhythm of the song. When the woman put the brush on the bedside table, she smiled in the mirror.

“You like it?” she asked.

Freed ran a hand through his hair, which reached over his shoulders and shrugged.

“It’s just hair,” he said automatically. A phrase that his father constantly repeated every time he saw Freed brush it.

“You don’t like it?” the woman asked softly.

“Father doesn’t care” was the next automatic reply.

“Your father isn’t here,” the woman said and rested her chin on his shoulder. “What do you think about it?” she asked again. Freed observed himself for a long time in the mirror.

“I like it,” he said. His mother smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Then she sat cross-legged on the mattress and grabbed a large hardcover book. Freed turned to her, suddenly curious and excited.

“Will you read me a story?” he asked, and the woman nodded, smiling, looking down at the first page and beginning to read. Freed rested his head on the palms of his hands, curious about the new book.

His mother continued to read aloud, but it became a distant murmur. He heard a scream and then some crying and looked around, trying to understand the sudden foreboding changes. He turned to the mirror but didn’t see the reflection of a child, but that of a teenager. His hair now reached his waist, his face was sharper.

He turned back and was no longer in his room. He was in the garden of his villa, holding a sword. A woman in front of him was crying and pleading. Freed couldn’t understand what she was saying, but of one thing, he was sure. That woman was terrified, and she didn’t want to die. By now, however, her fate had been set.

Freed felt the darkness envelop him, the heat rising through his body. His right eye burned and all his muscles were tense. His lips moved on their own and a single word came out.

“Death,” he whispered.

For a moment, silence fell around him. He no longer heard screams, no tears, no pleas. It was an abnormal silence as if the whole world had fallen silent. The woman put her hands to her chest, winced a couple of times with wide eyes, and then fell back to the ground. A helpless body with a blank expression on her face. Her eyes were full of the terror that had struck her in the moments before death took her.

Freed looked at her and lowered his sword, exhaustion hitting him suddenly. His energy disappeared, and he collapsed. But he didn’t have to. He could stay up, stand up, he didn’t have to let him down.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” his father said.

Freed raised his head. Two large bright green eyes met his. The little girl was screaming.

“Mom! Mom!” she screamed and Freed stepped back.

“Murderer! Murderer!” the little girl screamed. Freed backed away and crashed into a wall.

“You’re a killer! Give me back my mom!” she kept screaming and Freed wanted to run away. He turned but couldn’t run anywhere. In front of him was the body of Cana, lying in the rubble. Freed stopped and the sword fell from his hands. He was shaking. He wanted to turn around and leave and never return. But he knew that if he did it, it would be worse. That something even worse would happen. The darkness would follow.

As if forced to do so, his face turned to the right. Elfman was there, also lying on the ground. He was perfectly still; his chest was covered with the rune that had killed him. Above him, Mirajane was crying, and she was screaming, and her screams filled his ears.

“Murderer! Murderer!” Freed desperately turned, tried to escape, but stumbled through the rubble, fell to the ground and sank, under the earth. It was all dark, and he felt lost. He tried to fly. He had to get out of there. He had to escape. He had to find a way back home. But something was holding him down.

“Freed” the voice calmed him instantly. Freed turned and was greeted by Laxus.

“Freed,” he repeated, and Freed tried to get closer.

“Laxus, I’m sorry,” Freed breathed through tears.

“You killed him.”

Freed stopped short and Laxus looked away. Whatever void Freed had fallen into had vanished, and he was back down on earth. He was in the center of Fiore’s arena. And in front of him, there was another dead body. Ivan. His armor was shattered; his body was full of wounds. Blood stained the ground beneath him. His eyes were wide with pain and fear. Freed took a step back.

“You killed him,” Laxus said.

Freed looked up, perhaps for a savior, or any sense of peace, but in the stands, there were members of Fairy Tail. They hated him, everyone hated him. He caught the Master’s furious gaze and Freed was still under his glare.

Makarov raised his hand and a powerful light radiated from his palm, Freed tried to bring his arms in front of him to defend himself, pleaded that it wasn’t him, but it was useless. He was outnumbered and outmatched when everything went white.

-

Freed jumped up, his heart pounding in his chest and sweat sticking his clothes to his body. Terror ran through him and Freed inhaled deeply to attempt to calm himself.

‘It was a nightmare,’ he thought. ‘It was just a nightmare’ But it didn’t help him, because he knew it wasn’t just a nightmare. Because he knew he had really killed that woman years ago. Because he knew he had risked killing Elfman and Cana. Because he knew that when he saw Ivan in the arena, he felt that sudden desire to let himself go to the darker side. Because he wanted to kill the father of the person he loved.

Freed put a hand to his chest feeling his still racing heart. He wanted to throw up and cry.

“Freed, are you okay?”

Freed looked up suddenly. It was Laxus. The boy sat by the fire they had built on their way home from a mission. Freed scanned their campsite. There were two sleeping bags, the small fire, and their backpacks placed on the ground. They had decided to walk home so that Laxus wouldn’t have to take the train.

“Freed?” Laxus called him and Freed turned to him and smiled slightly to reassure him.

“I’m fine, I just had a nightmare,” he explained as he stood up and got out of the sleeping bag. He realized that his clothes were indeed damp with sweat and his hair was sticking to his neck and his clothes.

“You’ve been getting them a lot recently, is something bothering you?” Laxus asked. Freed shook his head.

“No,” he replied simply and sat next to him in front of the fire, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. But Laxus was right, he had been having nightmares for weeks, about his past, about his mother, about the people he had killed, about the people he could have killed, and about the ones he wanted to kill.

He'd had nightmares in the past, namely the Battle of Fairy Tail, and just as he finally began to overcome them, the Grand Magic Games brought them back in full force. And as much as he wanted to banish those thoughts, he just couldn’t seem to do it.

He felt Laxus’ arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t you want to talk about it?” he asked and Freed closed his eyes, leaning against him and closing his eyes. Talk about it with him, of all people? He who had asked him to kill his guildmates? He who was the son of the man Freed wanted to torture to death?

“No,” he said, “I’ll pass.”

He felt Laxus’s gaze fixed on him and his arm comforting him.

“You said my name,” the blond said, and Freed stiffened. “You said my name and then yelled that you weren’t the one who killed them,” he said tonelessly. “You know, I’ve never thought about it too much but I can’t believe I asked you to do something like that. I used you like your father did and I’m sorry. I know you’ll never forgive me but…”.

“I’ve already done that,” Freed said. “We’ve already talked about it. I forgave you Laxus, completely. The only person I haven’t forgiven is myself”.

“My fault,” Laxus murmured.

“No,” Freed tried to say reassuringly. “Laxus, darkness has been with me for a lifetime, it wasn’t you who pulled it out, it wasn’t you who put it in, and it wasn’t you who made me hate it,” he said forcefully. “You helped me instead to make me accept it as part of me, and even though I’m still working on it, it’s to your credit that I can now control the demon. It’s to your credit if I don’t feel horrible for everything I’ve done”.

“But you still have nightmares about the battle of Fairy Tail,” Laxus muttered and Freed shook his head.

“Trust me, that’s not the cause of my nightmares,” he said.

“So, what’s it?” Laxus asked.

Freed didn’t answer. He stared into the flames in front of him while he thought back to the nightmare he had had, the destroyed body of Ivan, the pleas of that woman. Freed didn’t think those nightmares would ever go away, but that wasn’t Laxus’s fault, it was the fault of the darkness that accompanied him and the evil he was hiding and that he was trying to control.

“My greatest fear” he answered simply. He let himself be enveloped by his friend’s embrace.

-Year X793, Dark Écriture: Suffering-

(25-year-old Laxus, 22-year-old Freed)

Freed could still hear the screams of terror of the enemies. He could still hear their pleas and their cries, their prayers, and their despair. And the more he heard them, the better he felt. The more he heard them, the more satisfaction grew inside him. The more he looked at their faces full of terror and pain, the more his soul laughed. There was no escape from that rune and Freed enjoyed every single moment of it.

He wanted it. He wanted to make them feel small. He wanted to make them feel powerless; he craved their terror. He wanted to make them pay for everything they did to his teammates. He wanted them to feel the way they did. He wanted to hear them pray for death. At that point, perhaps Freed would have satisfied them. Though he probably wouldn’t have indulged them.

They deserved it; they had asked for it. They had mistreated his comrades and still had laughed at it. They had enjoyed Fairy Tail’s momentary helplessness. Now it was his turn, and it was right. And if that wasn’t right, Freed didn’t care. It was he who made the rules.

Freed walked down the corridor going out into the fresh air and closing off the screams with the door behind him. He almost wanted to stay there and listen to them longer, but he knew that if he did, he'd seriously risk going mad and giving in to his dark side. And as much as he enjoyed having that dark power, he knew it was best not to go too far.

He walked away and entered the woods, passing all the trees in the shadows of the night and reaching the small stream near Magnolia. He sat down on the ground and looked at the water in front of him.

He didn’t want to get carried away by rage or fury, but he was far too happy to hear those screams. And even though he could no longer hear them now, just knowing that those men were still suffering filled him with a terrifying joy. He knew he would have to let them go sooner or later. He had to do it, fearing his sanity would disappear with each scream.

He heard footsteps behind him and then a voice.

“Are they still in there?” Laxus asked as he sat down behind him and wrapped him in a hug, pulling Freed against him and resting his head against his chest.

“Yes,” Freed said. “They were already begging,” he said with a sadistic smile and felt Laxus’ arms squeeze him even more. Freed felt himself returning to reality and realized what he had said and in what tone. “Sorry, I sound like a monster.” He knew that Laxus avoided gratuitous violence. He could kill someone or fight them if he was pissed off, but torture wasn’t his style. God, he must have found Freed awful. His stomach sunk at the thoughts, but still, Laxus’s proximity helped him. The blond rested his chin on his shoulder.

“I knew who you were from the moment I met you,” he said. “And I never thought you were a monster, you know.”

“I know,” Freed agreed softly. It still seemed strange to him, but it was true. Laxus had never been afraid of him, and he had seen some terrible things.

“Don’t keep them in there any longer,” Laxus murmured, leaving him a kiss on the neck.

“They deserve it,” Freed objected.

“Yes,” Laxus agreed. “But you don’t, and I’d rather you stay with me.”

Freed didn’t answer, knowing what Laxus meant. And he was right, he didn’t have to give up. He could have fun, but without completely abandoning himself. He closed his eyes and leaned completely on Laxus, who was now holding him in a loving embrace that Freed probably didn’t deserve. Even that didn’t interest him. Laxus loved him, Freed loved him, and that was one of the few pure things in Freed’s life. He wouldn’t let him go.

“You know Laxus,” Freed said after a while, placing his hand on Laxus’s and stroking it slowly. “Sometimes I like to be a monster”.

[clairecrive]

“Small thing” - Alfie Solomons x reader

A/n: So, I failed to post this on saturday but here it is! Thanks again for requesting @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby! I changed a few things however I hope you’ll like this!

Summary: Alfie can’t help but step in when he sees that the man you were talking to was about to hit you. Then, one thing leads to another and eventually it’s your shared love for animals that’s what brings you together.

Word count: 2.2K (roughly)

TW: violence on animal, abusive behavior but fluff overall

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @of-love-and-of-the-sea, @shadow-of-wonder, @fandom--0verdose, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @sopxhiea, @fuseburner, @ashesbelle (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

(this beautiful piece of art was made by @fortunetellingnonesense. she has other amazing art so go check her out!)

“Hey, stop! What the hell are you doing?!" Your voice resounded in the streets, its echo jumping through the buildings amplified. You weren't one to shout, nor did you get into fights easily. But if there was one thing you hated, it was bullying. Especially when those pieces of shit always picked on people half their size or age. It wasn't fair and showed how insignificant they were. However true that might be, the cuts and bruises that their kicks and fists would leave on them weren't insignificant. Especially compared to a smaller body such as the one of this little kitty that piece of shit on the other side of the road had decided to kick. 

Unfortunately, it had taken the small kitten cries for you to notice what was happening. But now that you had, you couldn't turn a blind eye to it. Not even if you weren't a strong muscular person and there was no one in the streets could give you a hand. Given the hour, the street was deserted.

"This little shit has decided to pee all over my doorstep. That’ll show him." Not happy with the kick that had probably broken the kitten's ribs, the bloke spat on its trembling body and was about to keep going. 

"Don't you see that it's a little kitten? They don't even know what a doorstep is." You pointed out incredulously but wasn't it obvious? 

"You almost killed him", you added to show that it was totally unnecessary and simply a dick move. 

"I don't fucking care. He peed on my doorstep and I taught him a lesson." His voice became even harsher as he bragged what he thought was a grand gesture. But really, he only proved your point further.

"You're a piece of shit." Simply put.

"Oi, lady, I don't know who the hell you think you are but ain't no one gonna talk to me like that." You could see that he trying to make himself look bigger and threatening but you didn’t expect anything less from him and were set on not let him win.

"If only you cared about yourself just half as much as you cared for others than I wouldn't have to point out the obvious." Dismissing him, you turned towards the poor kitten that was pathetically laying on the floor. Their breath was uneven and you could tell they were having trouble doing so. 

Your words must have confused the man, who apparently wasn't accustomed to a more complex way of speaking. You hadn't apologized but he wasn't sure that you had offended him either. By your tone though, he figured out that it must have been the second. And of course, his ego was bruised. 

"Right, you sl*t, it seems that you need to be taught a lesson too." Too busy cooing over the small thing, his words didn't even register. It was probably going to be too late once they did but luckily for you, a guardian angel interceded for you. 

"It ain't very manly to hit a woman, mate, right." A loud husky voice spoke behind you and you looked up, cradling the kitten to your chest, ready to make a run for it if it came to it. A tall figure of a man leaning on his cane with a big hat that cast a shadow over his face was the newcomer. You had never seen this man before but one look at him was all it took to understand that you did not mess with him. If you didn't want to end up bloodied and broken, that is. 

The bully was about to shoot a retort but the burly man spoke again before he could, "Just like hitting small animals. What fucking beast would do that, hm." And then he spoke no more, only stared at the guy. You found amusing how big and mighty the guy was trying to be just a moment early when it had been only you, and how scared and spineless he was being now, under the stranger's unwavering stare. 

It only took a minute, maybe even less, for him to lower his head and retreat. 

"That's right, no more lesson teaching for you, bastard." You snickered, mocking him. When the man in question turned to send a death stare your way, you shivered and moved behind the stranger's back, just to be sure. 

"Keep on going, mate." The stranger said fully ridding you of that menace finally. 

"Asshole", you muttered under your breath as the man disappeared into his house. You must have been louder than you thought because that prompted the stranger to look at you. 

"What are you doing, lass, getting head to head with a guy bigger than you, eh. Got a death wish?" As you were standing close to him now, you were able to see his face clearly since he was looking down at you for the height difference. What a lovely face. A guardian angel had sent him for sure because there was no way that such a handsome and kind man would stumble into your life by coincidence.

"Look, he almost killed this kitten and was definitely going to if I hadn't stopped him." You didn’t move to put some space between you. His eyes were too mesmerizing to look anywhere but at them and the way his lips trembled before forming a small smirk, was too endearing to miss.

 The stranger’s name turned out to be Alfie, but that wasn't the only thing you ended up knowing about him. He was a fellow animal lover and the human of a sweet bullmastiff. He had a trusted vet and offered to take you to him. On the way, you got to know each other. Albeit, he did all the talking, only stopping to let you answer the many questions he asked you, it wasn't annoying as it may sound. His rumbling was… comforting, in a way. It gave your mind no room to think back about what happened or worry about what could have happened if Alfie hadn't shown up. It only allowed you to lightly caress the kitten's fur and hum now and then to what he was saying. 

———————————————————————————

And after months of knowing him, you could vouch that it was. 

He was an interesting fellow, this Alfie. Such a scaring looking guy, all burly and dishevelled. His cane angrily stomped the ground, his boisterous voice and confident stride successful kept away any wandering eye and unwanted attention despite how difficult it was to not notice them walking down the street.  Of course, since you had just met him, you couldn't know that this happened mainly because of his reputation. And you would have never guessed either because despite his rough exterior, there was an underlying tenderness in the way Alfie looked at the small thing in your arms and how quickly and unprompted he had offered to help. It was the recipe for a sweetheart, wasn't it? 

"Right, I reckon we should get him some help, don't we?" Alfie couldn’t help but find you amusing and was more than willing to spend a little more of his time with you. His day had been uneventful up until now. Besides, the small thing in your arms did need help.

After the kitten was entrusted to the vet's care and eventually saved, Alfie, moved by your love for animals, had asked you to take care of his boy, Cyril. Of course, you happily took the job. Yes, the money was good and certainly helped but you mainly agreed because of him. As naive as it sounds, Alfie had made a really good impression on you that day and always had been the portrait of the perfect gentleman around you. 

He would welcome you in and offer a cup of tea when you’d get to his home in the morning and another one when he'd come home in the afternoon before you'd leave. And whenever he needed to stay at the bakery until late at night, he'd phone and tell you either offering to have someone walk you home or when you'd refused to leave Cyril alone - that was your job after all- he had given you one of the spare rooms for you to crash in and get some sleep, always with the promise of a raise for the inconvenience. 

You were titubant at first, yes Alfie had always been nice to you but was it enough to trust him? Eventually, you caved and stayed the night. The door of your room locked and a route for a quick escape already in mind. You'd soon find out that you wouldn't need it though. Alfie had come home a little past midnight and despite the late hour, he didn't go to bed straight away. Instead, you heard some noises coming from the living room. 

Curiosity got the best of you and you ventured downstairs. You had cooked a small dinner and left some for him in the oven. Alfie however, hadn't even noticed. The concept of a cooked meal was new and far away from him, his nightly routine mainly consisted of whiskey and the papers he'd brought from the office. 

Coming home to someone was also something out of the ordinary for Alfie, so when your silhouette appeared in the doorway he thought he was hallucinating. The whiskey made him a little slow but his mind still worked quickly enough that you didn't notice his moment of disorientation. 

That night turned out to be an interesting one for both of you. Looking back to it, it was also a kind of turning point in your relationship. Whiskey proved to be something that made Alfie even more prone to speaking and since the night is young, you two talked a lot, and you inevitably ended up feeling closer to him. 

After that night, Alfie made sure to come home a bit earlier so that you could talk a bit before you had to head home. And you ended up spending more nights at Alfie's too. 

Today was one of those days when Alfie said he would come home in time for tea. So, as usual, you had got everything ready, the cookies you had just taken out of the oven were nicely arranged on a plate beside the two steaming cups of tea. 

———————————————————————————

"We are restless today, aren't we? But we just came back from our afternoon walk, so what can I do for you, eh?" You were sure you sounded utterly ridiculous, using a baby voice with him but you loved doing so whenever you talked to him. And you’d swear that he could understand you. 

"A-ha, these are not for you sweet boy," you tutted at Cyril when he tried to help himself to the food.

It felt like a crescendo, your relationship getting out of the acquaintances’ stage and entering something blurry that you still couldn't figure out. All you knew was that it was warm and it felt a lot like home.

"Alright, alright, I'll give you some cuddles." Yeah, maybe you were a little soft on him but how could anyone be anything but when he looked so cute laying on his back with his little paws in the air?  

Exactly. 

The sound of the door closing caught your attention and you got up from the ground and walked in the hallway to meet Alfie who was taking his hat off. 

"Welcome back, Alfie. How was your day?" Walking to him, you helped him take his coat off. After hanging it on the coat rack, you turn back around to listen to his answer. You expected him to have moved away instead you found your faces extremely close after you had turned around. 

A gasp left your lips when your noses brushed whereas Alfie appeared unaffected. His eyes flickered between yours, his moustache tickled your upper lip as he spoke, "it's about to get a lot better, it seems pet. What do ya think?" He whispered on your mouth, referring to your previous question. 

The kiss was slow at first, your lips were cautious of each other, tentative and shy. Then Alfie’s hand reached the back of your head and it was like a flip had been switched. Only a  brief pause to get some air, your forehead touching, before your lips reconnected. This time with far more hunger, like you had been waiting for this moment. And in fact, you had been. 

"Look who's decided to join, cheeky bastard", Alfie commented, amused at his dog who was now panting on his leg. Cyril barked as if he had understood his human and you couldn't help but laugh. This dog was something else. 

Your hands trailed on his shoulders up to his neck while the kiss grew more desperate and Alfie pushed you to the wall behind the coat hanger. His hands began wandering trailing down on your body and his mouth was about to follow when something humid and wet interrupted them. 

Your eyes bore into his then flickered to his mouth, so close to yours, before you answered him. "I wholeheartedly agree." And that was all he needed to hear before his mouth was on yours. A shot of electricity ran through you when he did.

"I'm sorry mate, but this is a dance for two," Alfie gave him a loving pat on his head, "now where were we?" he turned back to you before connecting your mouths again. 

[surveycorpsbabie]

i prefer coffee - levi a.

an // so as much as i love all the fics of midnight tea times with levi i thought i’d put a spin on it. also don’t mind me always starting my blogs with fics about coffee

genre // fluff oh how i love levi fluff

wc // 1.4k+ unedited sorry

Insomnia may have been the bane of your existence in the past, at this point it seems more like an inconvenience. There are more pressing issues to focus and wallow on than a few hours of lost sleep. Still you found little ways to make the best of it.

Before joining the army you saved all the spare money you could manage to buy coffee beans. It was a luxury you knew, there were only a couple greenhouses in the upper ring that could even grow the plants. Still you couldn’t help but continue your habit of saving spare cash for coffee.

The only time you dared make it were on nights that sleep refused to bed you. The kitchens were bound to be empty at 2 am which was all you could ask for. Although you got why you still couldn’t stand the curious noses and endless asks for sips of your rare drink.

So you learned that early mornings were the best, and oddly enough the ritual helped you sleep.

When you first joined the Scouts you didn’t realize there was another night owl. You felt unbelievably embarrassed when you quite literally bumped into Captain Levi, this caused you to spill your drink all over both your boots. You had been saving up for the good beans to celebrate graduating from the cadets and they ended up spilled like mud on your new captain’s boots.

He offered to make you a new cup, you tried to refuse saying it was your fault but he didn’t seem to be listening. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you had been drinking coffee and not tea. You also didn’t expect him to have any and definitely didn’t think he’d want to share with a scout who hasn’t been outside the walls yet.

Since then you often found yourself sharing conversations with the raven haired captain in the late hours of the night. He often made tea for the both of you. You’d often find yourself hiding a small bag of beans in your pocket when he beat you to chase and you couldn’t make your brew before running into him.

He seemed to enjoy having someone to keep conversation with, you enjoyed his dry jokes and seemingly never ending scowl.

-

You smiled to yourself when you opened the door to the kitchen and found it empty. On your last day off you bought some preground coffee from a new farmer in the interior and were looking forward to trying it. Finding and trying a more affordable product always puts an extra pep in your step.

You hummed lightly as you watched the water come to a boil. You began to pour the hot water over the grounds. Eyes closed, you enjoy the sweet subtlety in the air and the sound of the coffee drips, they create a gentle harmony that you can’t get enough of.

The sound of someone clearing their throat cut through your moment of peace and pulled your attention to the door.

“Oh! Captain you startled me” you said with a nervous laugh. You wondered for a moment how long he was near, maybe if you had been paying attention you would have heard the echoes from his steps.

He rolled his eyes before muttering a soft “you can call me Levi.”

“But you’re my captain, sir” you tease “I thought you were all for respecting your superiors.”

“I am.” a man of many words, as always. Sometimes you wonder what goes on in that brain of his; why does he make conversations so hard to predict.

He stepped further into the dimly lit kitchen and watched with a bored expression as you finish making your drink.

“Coffee?”

You turn for a moment to soak up his appearance, he had one eyebrow raised slightly clearly curious.

“Yes I finally have a moment to try out this new blend.”

Perhaps your eyes sparkled when you talked about your secret passion or maybe you were making up the look of intrigue that Levi now wore.

He only hummed, taking a moment to think. A trait you noticed quite early on in your acquaintanceship, you hesitate to call him a friend...or more.

“I didn’t know you liked coffee.”

“Well I don’t get to enjoy it much, and you’re clearly a tea person so it never came up I guess.”

“Tch and I’ve been making you tea for years like an idiot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh “well I enjoy your tea so don’t worry too much about it. Now did you want to stand in the kitchen all night or do you want to sit down?”

-

You had almost forgotten about that night, days passed and soon weeks passed too. New cadets had come and with them lots of paperwork. Levi had asked you to help a couple times a week from now on, apparently asking said cadets to help was out of the question. As the captain so eloquently said ‘they are all useless shits’.

You gave a gentle knock on the office door, you knew you were already expected but still it felt off to drop any formalities with humanity's strongest.

A muffled ‘come in’ rang through from the other side of the ruffley cut door.

His office was always surprisingly warm considering the large window that should be seeping cold air into the room. Maybe it was a trick of the mind, the oil lamp gave a warm atmosphere and the smell of paper was oddly comforting.

You spotted the less than plush looking chair that sat across from the pair of eyes that watched as you make your way across the room.

He wordlessly slides you a stack of papers that were topped with a pen with one hand and a cup of presumably tea with the other.

Skimming the document you reach for the steaming cup, reading while drinking something was sometimes awkward but after many late nights you’d like to think you’ve mastered the art of reading while looking over a mug's rim.

To your surprise the warm beverage was not in fact tea, but coffee. You look to Levi for answers, surely he didn’t go to all the trouble of getting this just for you.

“What’s with the face? Did you eat something off?”

Any other time you would have cracked a smile at his specific bowel focused humour but you were spiraling. You almost scoffed at yourself, it’s only a drink.

“You got me coffee?”

“You said it was only for you huh?”

Your cheeks warmed “n-no i didn’t mean...i just meant it’s so hard to get and…”

“Just say thank you and move on.”

“Thank you..”

You shakily try to focus your attention back on the paperwork but it proved a difficult task. Was it really not a big deal? No, you knew how though it was to find coffee and he must have gone to the upper ring for it. It couldn’t mean nothing then right?

Taking a deep breath you center yourself. There was a long night ahead of you and that night had no time for your reading into what drink your captain gave you really meant.

“Stop overthinking.”

“I’m not” you try to give a reassuring smile “it’s pretty basic paperwork after all.”

“Tch.” his sharp eyes scan you for a moment, he was taking another moment to think over his words. “You know I wasn’t talking about paperwork.”

Looking down again you speak, meeting his gaze felt overwhelming for once. “Then what were you talking about?” You grasp for your cup and drink, eyes locked on the swirling movement of the dark liquid.

“You're not making too much of this.”

“The coffee...or us?” you could hear your heartbeat banging in your ears, the heat from your cheeks burned and you were sure he would make note of the colour. This was it, you had been dancing around subtleties and long glances for too long. If you had misread things you’ll never be able to look him in the eyes again.

The banging of your heart was suffocating.

Was this just his moment before talking?

Was this a pause for him to think of the right words to let you down?

Were you going to have to switch squads? Maybe Hange would take you in.

“Don’t be stupid. Why would I go to all the trouble of finding overpriced beans if there was no us?”

[lunaserenade]

Safeguard

Masterlist

Author’s Note: Set directly after Clandestine, As always thanks to @violentcosmicsymphony​ and @briefgalaxycat​ for beta reading and enduring my rambling. The two of you are wonderful and I adore you guys.

Part four of the Meet Me at Sunrise series:

Previous Chapter: Clandestine

Next Chapter: Wanderlust

Pairing: Marcus Pike x FBI!Reader

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Light violence and swearing

Summary: Securing a meeting with the forger, the undercover mission comes to a head.

Tall with sandy blonde hair, broad shoulders, and high cheekbones Christian Laurent was an attractive man if you didn’t know who he really was. Underneath the expensive suit and charm was a ruthless psychopath with a great deal of blood on his hands. Christian's eyes raked over your body and as his eyes met yours you had to suppress a shiver and instead give him a winning smile.

“Mr. Laurent, it’s nice to meet you.” Marcus said, his voice warm but he had seen how Christian had looked at you, sliding an arm around your waist loosely.

“The pleasure is all mine. Alexandria said your wife was looking to purchase one of my paintings?” Christian said peeling his eyes from you.

“Indeed, we want to add it to our private collection. I'm willing to pay handsomely for it.” Marcus said, studying Christian carefully.

“I could arrange that. Anything to make the wife happy, right?” Christian replied with a smirk you wished you could knock off his smug face.

“My husband loves to give extravagant anniversary presents.” You said fondly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“My assistant will set up the details with Alexandria, I look forward to doing business with you.” Christian gestured to a large man standing off to the side. If that man was an assistant, you were a damn astronaut. Burly and easily over six foot he was clearly Laurent's muscle. Laurent raked his eyes over your body one last time before he gave you both a nod and swept off into the crowded gala.

---------------

Laurent had insisted on showing his gallery to you and Marcus, saying he had the painting there anyway. It instantly made you uneasy and that's how you found yourself in a tank top strapping on a bullet proof vest before putting a loose button up shirt over it. The buy was this evening and Marcus was briefing Price and Collins, it should be straight forward: You and Marcus would meet with Christian Laurent at his gallery and exchange cash for the forged painting. When Price and Collins heard the go word on the wire, they would raid the gallery, arresting Laurent and his associate. Finally, after long months of work the team would get this dangerous man and his cronies behind bars. You would be relieved when this night was over, and all of this was behind everyone.

“Are you ready for this?” Marcus reached out and touched your arm. You let out a soft sigh, nodding. You reached out and lightly touched his chest, feeling his vest hidden under a black henley.

“I'll be a lot happier when we're on our way back to D.C.” You admitted. Pulling on a jacket and grabbing your Glock, you and the team headed out of the small apartment and out into the chilly autumn air.

---------------

Stepping into Christian Laurent's gallery felt just as unsettling as you thought it would be, there were too many hidden corners for your liking. Christian stood in the middle of the room with his 'assistant' next to him, the painting that you were going to use to put this monster behind bars at his feet. You took Marcus' hand, intertwining your fingers, and approached Laurent. In your free hand you had what felt like the world's biggest cliché: a briefcase filled with cash.

“Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Ramos.” Laurent greeted the pair of you.

“You have a very nice set up here Mr. Laurent.” You observed while your eyes scanned the room for threats under the pretense of being impressed by his collection. You were fairly sure half of these were his own works, forgeries that could only be spotted by the best of art experts.

“You're too kind Mrs. Ramos, Perhaps I'll have another painting you'll be interested in, in the future.” Laurent continued.

“We come through New York occasionally, perhaps we'll have to visit again.” Marcus agreed, “Perhaps we should get down to business, I promised Daniela a night on the town.”

“Of course. I have the painting here,” he gestured for his associate to exchange the painting with Marcus for the briefcase filled with cash.

“Three hundred thousand as agreed, you'll find it all there.” Marcus stated handing it over and taking the painting.

“Of course. I hope to do business in the future with the pair of you.” Laurent replied with a nod.

“Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Laurent” You affirmed and that was it. The team had their go ahead. Five seconds later they burst in, shouts of “FBI! PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!” bellowing from Price and Collins as they entered guns drawn with several other agents at their heels.

That's when you saw it. The metal of a gun catching the light as a third man emerged from a dark corner towards Marcus' back as time seemed to slow. Reaching for your gun you took a step between Marcus and the armed intruder. You weren't sure which registered with you first, the flash from the muzzle of the gun or the sound but you definitely felt it. Two shots directly to the abdomen, knocking you off your feet. Marcus spun and fired twice taking down the gunman with ease. Price and Collins took Laurent and his partner into custody as other agents swept the building. Marcus dropped to his knees next to you in a panic.

“Damn it.” you coughed, struggling to catch your breath, the impact of the shot having knocked the wind out of you.

“I need paramedics!” Marcus shouted as he pulled back your jacket searching for injury. “Are you hurt?!”

“I'm alright,” you replied, sitting up with a wince. Seeing the unbridled panic in his eyes you continued “Really Marcus, the vest caught the rounds.” you reassured hyper-aware of the potential audience the pair of you had.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Marcus' hands shook as he helped you strip off the layers you wore over your body armor. You reached for his hand as he started to pull at the velcro of your vest.

“Marcus I'm fine.” You murmured as you reached for his hand.

“But you so easily couldn't have been,” he insisted in a fierce whisper so only you could hear him. “I don't think I could live with myself if something happened to you because of me.” You gave his hand a squeeze, trying to calm him.

“Marcus...” you were interrupted by the arrival of the paramedics. Marcus gingerly helped you to your feet and assisted you in removing your vest, dropping it to the floor. The paramedics insisted on fussing over you despite your protests. After a short examination it seemed there was no major injury, possibly a bruised rib and you had a massive bruise in your future but otherwise you came out unscathed. Marcus called out to the rest of your team, asking Price and Collins to handle the arrests and finish up while he took you to the hospital, ignoring your grumbles of just wanting to go home.

After an entirely too long of a visit to the hospital for your liking you were cleared, you and Marcus made your way back to DC. The months of work had finally come to fruition, all you wanted was to crawl into your own bed and rest with Marcus at your side.

---------------

Sunrise, especially here on the steps of the Lincoln Monument, had become something special that you and Marcus liked to share together. At this early hour in the morning, it felt private, almost as if the gorgeous orange and pink hues that were spreading across the sky was a rare painting made just for the pair of you. You sat between Marcus’ stretched out legs, your back pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist as you reflected on the last few days. The gala, the facade of being married to Marcus, and how close you came to losing him. The mere idea of losing him had shook you to your core and you honestly couldn’t fathom how you would be able to survive that.

Marcus pressed a kiss to your shoulder and another to your temple, stirring you out of your self-reflection.

“What’s going on up there?” His words echoing yours from so many months ago, the first morning the two of you had spent on these steps. Taking a deep breath you shifted slightly so you could see his face clearly, giving him an adoring smile.

“I... I love you Marcus.” You had known you were hopelessly in love with him for some time but were terrified to tell him too soon. He had been through so much and you hadn’t wanted to scare him off. The massive smile that broke across his face told you instantly those worries had been for naught. He captured your lips in a tender kiss, soft but passionate. Resting his forehead against yours he smiled.

“I love you too...” Marcus said, lightly kissing the tip of your nose. “I love you so much.”

tagged: @diva-1992​, @yespolkadotkitty​​, @sarahjkl82-blog​​, @seasonschange-butpeopledont​, @mrsparknuts​​, @disgruntledspacedad​​, @mrschiltoncat​

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tags. 💕

[sweetsubharry]

hey ! sorry to bother you but could you reccomend me some fics of footballer louis?? thank you !! love your acc

Hiya!!  💖you can never bother me!! ^-^ ohmgosh I’m so glad you like my blog! I love footballer louis djskasdhjag tysm(sorry it took soooo long!)

please make sure you read the tags and stay safe everyone!💖

Also these are not in any particular order, however I will say the first two are probably my favourites ;) I have to read them again right after this!

freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this by rosesau

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

Definition of Beauty by zanni_scaramouche

“Your book is upside down.” Harry nods at Louis’ book, his history text now that he sees it too.

“I’d rather study you.”

They both blink, startled by the slip.

“With you. Study with you,” Louis rushes to say. “Liam says I’m shite at history, can you help?”

Louis’ caught off guard by an omega he nearly takes out with an errant footie ball. It’s not that Louis’ never seen Harry before, it’s that he can’t stop looking, and he’s desperate to figure him out.

Coffee Cups and Football Boots by kimtaedumb

Harry’s stood behind the counter again, but this time he’s painting his nails. Louis strolls up to the counter and, thanks to his no brain-to-mouth filter, blurts out, “Isn’t that a little girlish, Haz?” leaning closer to inspect.

Harry lets out a little huff as his hand slips, “Oh, damn, now I’ve messed it up,” he pouts and turns to Louis, “Why should making myself feel pretty be girly?”

Louis holds up his hands in surrender, “’M not judging, jus’ curious is all.”

(The entirely cheesy and cliché Christmas AU, in which Harry doesn’t give a damn what people think about him – mostly – and Louis may be a little bit in love.

Alternatively, the one in which Harry owns a café that’s barely scraping by and Louis is a footballer and he takes Harry away for Christmas.

Featuring Zayn as a cocky little shit that most definitely needs to be put back in his place, Niall as the loveable Irish dude who drinks too much and flirts with Zayn more than the average girl, and Liam who loves everyone but hates them all at the same time.)

Way in the World by flowsque

When Louis Tomlinson enters the waiting room, Harry can distinctly feel his heart sinking to his stomach. The man's hair is ruffled and dishevelled and his red jersey, damp with sweat from training, clings to his perfect and chiseled body. He stands there, almost unreal, against the glass door, peering inside the office. Harry knew this would’ve happened, sooner or later. That he would have bumped into him. They play for the same club after all, even if they’re in different leagues. It’s not weird. It is not. Except it totally is. - Or, the one where Harry has a knee injury and an embarrassing crush on Manchester United's pretty number ten.

I Long For You by AnotherAnonymousWriter

Thirty minutes later, he's sat on a bench in Hyde Park with a book in his lap and a travel mug with hot tea in his hand. Not far from where he's sat, a group of boys are playing football and a bunch of children are chasing each other. Life is good.

Or at least, life is good until he hears a familiar “LOOK OUT!” and sees a football flying in the direction of his face.

And then everything is black.

(Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.)

ease the quiet and talk me down by cabinbythesea

Harry's a model and Louis' a footie player.

(Louis teaches Harry some football and Harry is insanely good at giving a lapdance).

Baby, It's You by Bearandleonardwrite

"Oh, yeah. Um..” Harry lets his hands fall to his sides. His brows furrow, face full of concern, and he asks, “You’re not, like, stalking me, are you?”

Louis can’t help the loud cackle that escapes his lips and immediately slaps one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my god, Harry, no!” Louis tells him, a little breathlessly, giggles still bubbling out of his chest. “Lottie’s one of the makeup artists here today and she somehow got me to agree to come. I had no idea you modeled for, uh.. this brand until I saw you walk.”

“Oh,” Harry says dumbly, eyebrows still pinched. He lets what Louis just said sink in before a bright grin takes over his face and he goes back to doing up the buttons on his shirt. “Well, that’s alright, then. I’m glad you could make it.

(Basically, Louis' a footie player for Man U and Harry's a YSL model. They meet at a masquerade.)

Touch by kotabear24

Harry's shy and virginal with a past, new on the football team; Louis' the (experienced) popular star of the team and Harry's new mentor.

Come In and Change My Life by lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes)

He’d had the same neighbours since he’d moved into the building, a lovely, wealthy couple in their late sixties who had always invited him around for tea on Sundays. Martha had dropped off homemade biscuits the day he’d moved in, so Harry figured he may as well repeat the sentiment. He could hear someone getting closer to the door just as a flush ran through his body; oh fuck. His heat was close, too close to be knocking on a potentially unknown alpha’s door, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Harry’s mouth dropped. He’d never been overly interested in football, couldn’t find the fascination in watching men run around after a ball for hours aside from their uniforms, but he knew who this was. Louis Tomlinson, alpha, captain of Manchester United, star in a number of Harry’s heat addled fantasies, was his new next-door neighbour.

Or, Harry and Louis become friends when Harry looks after Louis' cat during away games, until one night at a party changes everything between them. It's just a shame Louis' going to be away for the FIFA World Cup for three months.

see the truth (it's me for you) by orphan_account

If you asked Louis the first day of his French Literature class what he’d be doing on the last, he’d probably never have guessed it would involve helping a poorly Harry Styles study for the final exam. Good thing he’s not a betting man.

(Or the one where Louis and Harry spend an entire semester ignoring each other after a one-night stand, only to come face to face when Harry manages to catch the stomach flu during finals week. Sometimes fate is funny like that.)

Use Your Words by zedi

based off this prompt: collage au where jock!harry always serenades flowercrown!louis with love songs in their music class. what nobody knows is that harry actually kinda means the words he sings.

But instead it's Louis as the jock and Harry as the flowerchild because I do what I want.

Stop The World (I Wanna Get Off With You) by ilikepianos

"You like this, don't you?", he asks breathlessly.

What? Sucking cock? Being dominated? Yes, all of that. A big fat yes.

Harry nods, lips still wrapped around Louis' throbbing dick.

Louis' lips curl into a smirk. "Keep going then. You're doing amazing, love."

OR: The uni-football AU where Harry may or may not have a minor crush on the captain of the team and suddenly discovers that the feeling is very much mutual.

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

I just think about my baby; I'm so full of love I could barely eat by mercutionotromeo

Harry and Louis are six hundred miles apart, but they have the same solutions to the same problem.

Or: a masturbation drabble featuring pillow humping, locker rooms, and copious amounts of dirty talk.

into another (another) serotonin overflow by mercutionotromeo

Harry wants this year to be different - wants it to be the year that he finally gets over this stupid crush. He’s going to uni, he needs to decide what he wants to do with his life.

Instead, he’s deciding what he wants to do to Louis Tomlinson.

Or: Sweet first time sex wherein Harry's adorably awkward, Louis is achingly cool, and Harry rides Louis wearing his jersey.

note: it says it in the tag but this is the edited version written in 2019, rather than the 2017 original- so there’s two put I put the link for the newest one :)

need a little sweetness in my life by mercutionotromeo

Harry's always liked feeling desperate and small when Louis touches him, but when he sucks Harry off...it’s fucking otherworldly. Desperate’s not really the word at that point - it’s helpless. Like… like the fucking world could stop spinning and Harry wouldn’t be able to do anything about it until Louis finished him off with his lips and his tongue.

Or, Harry and Louis go to university together. Harry really likes it when Louis sucks him off, and Louis really likes it when Harry calls him Daddy.

(Sequel to "into another serotonin overflow")

I made a map of your stars by brightbluelou

Harry does not have a crush on Louis Tomlinson. Yes, Louis is very pretty and funny, and Harry may have had more than a few inappropriate thoughts about him, but he certainly doesn’t like him. (Except for the fact that he totally does.) or, Harry is the shy boy in the back of the class that no one really notices. Louis is the loud, outgoing football player that everybody likes.

We Made These Memories for Ourselves by supernope

Breath held, Harry squints his eyes open and focuses on the first stick. A blue line. Harry breathes out an unsteady breath. He’s pretty sure he read that one blue line is a negative, but he fishes the box from the bottom of the pile just to make sure.

“Negative,” he confirms, voice echoing around the small room. “Next.”

Now that he’s feeling a little less shaky, he scans the rest of the tests at once, is met with a headache-inducing mixture of pink plus signs and blue double lines. His heart rate picks up until it’s pounding triple-time in the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach, thundering in his ears and throbbing in his temples. He flips over the rest of the boxes slowly, but he knows what they’re going to say before he even looks.

[or, Louis is a footballer, Harry owns a bakery, and they're having a baby.]

Kiss Me on the Mouth and Set Me Free by ls2k14   

Louis has his head thrown back in a laugh, his wet fringe hanging in front of his eyes, and a beautiful flush to his cheeks. From this angle, the sun hits his face just right to where the beams of light are shining in between the spaces of each individual clump of watered down eyelashes. His chest is showing through the soaked material of his white jersey and it seems that his biceps are attempting to break free from the sleeves that are clinging to his skin.

And Harry can do nothing except take it all in. He doesn’t even think he’s breathing at this point. He is literally stuck in place, admiring the true beauty of Louis Tomlinson, while being surrounded by fit footballers and generally attractive people. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in love before, but if Louis let him, he’s pretty damn sure he could change that in the matter of a few nanoseconds.

[kanene-yaaay]

Go Virge, go!

Kanene’s note: TODAAAAAAAAAY IS A SPECIAAAAAL DAYYYY!!! DO YOU KNOW WHY?? THAT IS RIGHT! BECAUSE TODAY IS @why-not-a-tickle-blog BIRTHDAY!!!! Gooooosh!!!! I know I already did a whole speech before, mah friendo, but you’re just so amazing and lovely! Aaaaaa I’m happy for being your friend! <33

Okay, I got a little carried away! Enjoy the gift! x3

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW Tickle-Fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* Oneshot. Something around 3.800 words.w-)b. Lee!Virgil and Ler!Patton in Human AU.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Since  it’s a gift: Essa fanfic não será traduzida, mals. Thankys for reading, my lollipops, especially you, Livvy!! Have a wonderful and incredible day just like you! 

[~*~]

Patton was confused. A lot.

 And that wasn’t even a whole brand-new thing in his life.

 Patton got confused quite frequently, being honest.  

He got confused when he accidentally fell asleep on the couch and woke up four hours later with all his house painted in the dark of the night and without a single drop of memory about where he is or who he is for some minutes. Patton got confused when his attention was caught in some adorably adorable video of kittens being the best thing in the world and quickly ran to Virgil’s room just to show them to him, not understanding why his friend can’t stop looking at him quizzically until Virgil finally asks why does he has a spoon in the knot of his cardigan and Patton jumps because HIS COOKIES ARE IN THE OVEN AND HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED-

 Oh. Wait. That is not what he was talking about. Focus, focus!

 Anyway. Life is confusing, feelings, thoughts, actions, trying your best, keep going, look at the refrigerator just to realize you have no idea of what you were supposed to be searching in the first place, humans…

 Yeah, especially humans.

 Patton stared at the figure of his friend laid on the couch, absently looking at his phone while a piece of smile adorned his face. The movie both decided to watch paused in the background as the one currently in the kitchen waited for the popcorn get ready, his hand held lightly his chin and a frown rest peacefully in his features, mirroring the same expression he always saw on Logan every time he was confronted by a problem whose solution seemed impossible to find.

 It was The Pose of all the incredible genius in the world, right? Therefore, in some moment about now the answers of all his questions should magically pop before him, unfolding and refolding in logic patterns just like in all the mystery series and books.

 Right about noooow…

 …

 Now?

 …

 Well, it didn’t work.

 Patton pouted, turning to pour the warm and probably delicious snack in big bowls that both would pretend they wouldn't be able to finish before even getting in the middle of the so expected movie. He grabbed the bowls and headed to the other room, reprising the entire day in his mind, a faint echo of Logan saying that could help basing his decision.

 Everything started in the morning with Patton arriving at their breakfast table only to find Virgil, but not his usual Virgil.

 That was a Virgil without his hoodie.

 Not that it was a totally strange thing! Usually by his free mornings he would prefer to wander in the house on his comfortable pajamas, however the thing today is… he wasn’t on his pajamas. He was prepared to fight the world – actually Virgil was just going to work, but he said this sounded more badass - on his black Slipknot shirt, jeans and the hoodie nowhere near to be seen.

 Besides that, today was predominantly cold. Cold enough for the one wearing glasses end up missing his favorite cat cardigan by the time he arrived their house, searching for the so dearly craved cloth in every little corner until Patton came across the scene of his friend - his best edgy, lovely friend cutely wearing it and being equally playfully bratty when tried ask it back, pulling out his tongue out as his form dazed in a chase the moment Patton’s promise of ‘physically fight for it!’ – which was a lie, obviously. He gave up the vestment the very moment his eyes locked in a Virgil playing with the cat ears sewed in it – flew from his mouth.

 And, after getting tired out, they cuddled! Okay, this wasn’t nearly a strange occurrence between both, albeit was one of those rare moments when Virgil was the one who initiated it, laying on his lap with a pout and a sharp look, as if he dared the other to say something (and Patton didn’t!! He swears!! Squeals. Do. Not. Count. As. Words.), feeling comfortable enough to even start a Poking War as they were accommodating themselves on the cushions, rays of giggles, squeaks filling the place for some heartbeats before both decided to metamorphose their last bit of routine into a movie night.

 Which was exactly what they were doing!

 Now, don’t get Patton wrong. He was absolutely delighted by everything! Knowing Virgil felt comfortable, safe enough to act nonchalant around him was so heart-warming he could almost feel himself melt in happiness!

 ….But…

 But there was this signal in the back of his mind. A particularly different gleam in the other’s eyes he had already seen before, however couldn’t quite place its meaning yet. Some words unpronounced amongst his lightly snarky demeanor. Some little thing that made Patton feel playful and happily bubbly as well, except he couldn’t really grab the exact information, the exact why or the exact memory.

 Not yet, at least.

  [~*~]

  Virgil was about to fucking quit it.

 No, actually, he was about to fuck quit everything when he woke up of his incredibly, horrible, wonderfully teasy tickle dream. The tingles of the dreamy tickles still ghostly buzzing on his body as he quietly giggled, burying his face in the pillows and kicking about everything on his bed, eyes firmly closed as the memories bathed his mind in a flow made to increase awfully his lee mood.

 And then one of his favorite artists posted some new things on Tumblr, which obligated him to see all their new posts and, who knows, accidentally click in the tag ‘My arts’ of them, which end up with him re-finding other works he had already forgot about, path that consequently leaded to some more reblogs and therefore another bunch of tickle blogs which, of course, made his lee mood at work almost unbearable.

 At least he had the cold to blame if someone questioned about the persistent blush spread on his features.

 After everything, finally: The calm and quiet of home, broken by his determined decision to try to make – somehow - Patton tickle him. His friend was soft and playful by nature, and he already knew Virgil liked tickles (quite of an interesting story involving a meme, a movie and the power going out. Heh. Do not ask about it.) so, I mean, the worst part was already gone, right? It wouldn’t probably be that bad. Virgil would just act naturally, smoothly following a few advices he found in some blogs discussing this topic and hope, for the sake of his life, the Universe wouldn’t follow Murphy's Law for ONCE.

 Of course, that didn’t happen. OF COURSE.

 Virgil tried first to be a bratty. He stole Patton’s cardigan and even ran across the house in an attempt to maintain his new possession. He stretched while laid in Patton’s lap: no hoodie, ticklish spots right there. In the last shot he even let himself giggle every single time his mind wandered to the dark corner designed especially for the subject. The one wearing smudged make up even started a poke war!! A poke war!! What kind of poke war doesn't evolve to a tickle war where he would, so sadly and despise his best efforts, lose spectacularly??

 He crossed his arms and DID NOT pout, blowing grumpily some strands of hair that fell in his vision’s field.

 “I would sell my soul for a tickle.” Virgil growled, his usually careful façade crumbling under the quite persistent thoughts of fingers spidering on his ribs, counting each one of them before lazily dragging the tip of the nails to his quivering tummy, dancing and poking unbothered by his squi-

 “What was that?”

 Virgil squeaked, jumping some centimeters in the air when the voice of his approaching friend filled the room, the words getting stuck in his throat, his head shooting in the other’s direction, wide eyes.

 “What.” He eloquently offered.

 “I was too far, didn’t hear what you said, sorry. Could you repeat, please?”

 Virgil tried – failing - to not blush. Patton was… actually being serious, right? That wasn’t any kind of tease, even if the traitor little demon he usually called brain unhelpfully unlocked all the memories of all the tickle fanfics he read that began with that exact same words. “Nothing. It was nothing.” He promptly ignored the way his voice came out slightly high.

 “Oh, okay!” Patton kindly smiled, putting the popcorn on the coffe table and looking for some space on the couch to lay down while Virgil pressed play, the show’s opening quickly filling the air and silence hanging between both. Patton stopped. Suddenly Virgil felt a shiver run across his whole body, his gaze turning to his friend, only to find the one wearing glasses staring at him intently.

 “You like tickles.”

 The word only was enough to jolt his body back to a sitting position, butterflies starting to wake up, proceeding to fly the most desperate as possible in his stomach, his brain fuzzing, crumbling for answers of How and When and What the Fuc-

 “What? NO! I mean, yes but how- when did you just…”

 “Oh!” Patton gasped and Virgil felt his whole face in flames once the realization of the shiny gleam in the other’s eyes, almost as literal stars shining, hit him. Maybe… Maybe something he had done before finally work? “That is why you initiated a Poke War? Were you trying to make me tickle you? Vee, you just needed to ask!”

 Yep. No. Nope. No way. That was definitely worse.

 Virgil tried to hide himself in his hoodie, deciding he could very much rather perish in his Lee Mood than stare at the pure love and awe gazed right in his direction. His lips curving in a shadow of a smile for a second when he pressed himself further on the furniture, noticing with a grumble leaving his mouth the only armor he owned was the cat cardigan. Hood pulled up and his face firmly pressed on his knees, he ignored the way his excited giggles started to bounce and dance in his throat, resulting in his own body bounce a bit.

 “Knock knock…” Virgil felt a light tapping on his knee.

 “Fuck off.” The hissed answer ran without letting he even think about it, too much occupied in pretending to not notice how much this position left his entire tickl- I mean, sensitive torso vulnerable and how much not seeing what was happening increased second by second the tingles and shivers crazily racing in his skin.

 “Gasp! Virgil!” The one dying in the cat cardigan internally rolled his eyes at the literally audible gasp his friend vocalized, almost being able to see the playful mood taking over his expression as it always has when they swore around him. “I should tickle you for this, Mister Potty Mouth!” Yes. Yes!! Come on, come on! “But I won’t.”

 Hey now, what.

 “What?!” His head shot upwards absurdly fast, a fact which, obviously, he would deny it to the end of his living and non-living days.

 “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide or ignore your desire for tickles every time you have them! Especially…”

 ‘Please – see? I know how to use some freaking good words. - Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say, Patton. You’re cool, you’re a funny guy, you have good intentions but you have any ideas of what the fuck will happen??’ Virgil found himself almost pleading, the sentences already running in his head, but his lips firmly gripped in the fear to let out more than these simple words.

 “… Since I’m totally okay in tickling you! Oh, wait. Did you just squirm? Aww, Virgil!! That is so, so adorable! You’re blushing, too! Awwwwww!!! Okay, okay, okay, I’m… Imma gonna die of cuteness. You’re truly the most precious being I’ve ever met!!! Wait, what I was just saying…?” 

 ‘I will die! No! I’m already dying! See? You already accomplished what you wanted!! Let’s move on to the next damn part!’

 “Oh right!” Patton lightly hit the side of his head. “I’m glad to tickle you! Truly! All you have to do is…”

 ‘Dude, Patton, Pat-Pat, Popstar don’t…’

 “Ask me! Please, please, please!!” Virgil stared him dead in his eyes, crossing his arms, his cheeks so hot that he was surprised his face didn’t melt yet. “Aw, don’t give me that look, kiddo!” Virgil just narrowed his eyes further. Patton pouted, his ‘Puppy Eyes’ expression – more like an unfair weapon - showing and nailing cracks on Virgil’s resolution.

 They stayed like this for a while, until Patton abruptly lifted his hands, his fingers wiggling on Virgil’s direction, the movement so out of blue that catched his friend out of guard, a true yelp jumping from him before he grumpily growled and let himself fall on the cushions.

 “I can’t.”

 “Of course, you can, kiddo! I’m rooting for ya! Wanna see?” And then he started to fold and unfold his fingers, approaching them to Virgil inch by inch “Go Virge, go! Go, Virge, go! Goooo, Virgeyyyy, go!” Inch by inch. Close and then even closer. The boy with a wobbly smile in his face felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes from the movements, the butterflies seeming to freak out in his stomach in the rhythm of the cheers.

 He hides his face behind his hands. Patton was going to be the end of his existence.

 “Stohop it.” Dammit. He was breaking.

 ‘Come on, guy! You can do this!’ He internally whined.

 “Ooh, is that a beauty giggly giggle what I hear? The cheering should be working then, don’t you think?! We believe in you, Virge-poo! And we can’t wait for when we…” Virgil dared to spy the scene between his fingers, only to see Patton’s hands barely touching his sides, his fingers positioned in a claw shape. “… getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha!!” They suddenly moved, clawing unbearably away and terribly close at each couple of words.

 No. Virgil did NOT squeal nor squirmed closer to the fingers. Fuck you. Nobody asked. That is none of your business anyway.

 ‘Just… just don’t think about it! Pull it off. Like… I don’t know! Like a stupid band aid!’

 “It is going to be so much fun! I didn’t even tickle you yet and you’re already giggling excitedly! Think in all your wonderful, beautiful laughter flying everywhere when I finally tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle you silly!! You’ll be giggling up a storm! Happy gasp! Pun inserted!”

 Virgil obligated himself to take a deep breath and not stare the warm, teasy hands which were oblivious of the intern turmoil caused as they rested on his sides. Their tips very lightly, almost impossible to feel and – even more difficult to ignore - poking the ticklish skin, as if they simply couldn’t bring themselves to stay still. The one laid on the couch and yet hiding his face felt the urge to kick just to get off all the pleasantly nervous energy building up in his body.

 “Virgey-wiggly-wiggley…~”

 “TICKLEMEPLEASE!”

 Patton squeaked excited, the teasy grin immediately giving space to the joyful smile. “Of course!” He grazed his fingers up his sides to his ribcage, the nails lightly drawing circles around each one of the ribs, receiving a quick tasering in the middle of them before going up to the next one, letting for a piece of moment Virgil’s bubbly and more high-pitched giggles fill the room alone.

 The cat cardigan owner ran the tip of his fingers up and down, up and down, up and down his sides, watching in complete awe the way the other squirmed at each infinitesimal move. He stopped the movement on his right side, his eyes gleaming behind the lenses as accompanied Virgil adorably wiggling away from the reminiscent tickles, as if he tried to escape from the evil fingers scribbling in that exactly spot which connected his left side to his tummy and leaded cute, sweet titters escape from his gigantic smile.

 A devious plan shinned in his head.

 Patton ceased the tickling in order to give him a breath, smiling at the pout that didn’t take too long before blooming in the other’s features.

 He quickly poked his left side, immediately hearing quiet, bubbly giggles dance across the air as Virgil wiggled to his right, only to be warmly welcomed by scratches of one single finger on his lower back, making his breath stop so fast a snort escape. Virgil widened his eyes, his hands automatically clapping in his mouth at the same time a big, gleaming grin took over Patton’s expression. They stared at each other, fingers never stopping, squirms never ending.

 “No.” His voice was slightly wobbly, giggles beginning to intertwine his words as his friend scribbled softly again. “No no no! You are a- dON’T!- such a dork!!! No!!”

 They initiated the cycle again. Every time Virgil squirmed to escape from the left tingles to the right tickles one more finger was added to the attack, soon leaving the blushed poor victim kicking sporadically when the ten fingers resumed their light, tickly attack. “I’m going t-t-to kick you!!” and then was subdued to the snorts and squeals painting his fast titters.

 The one who wore the cat hoodie which moments before had slipped from his head in the ““fight””, now showing clearly the red strongly flaming his cheeks and the tip of his ears shook his head from side to side, the frown he tried to form being immediately won by the smile taking over his features. Virgil let himself embrace the feeling completely over, laughing freely, almost doesn’t believing this was actually happening.

 That it didn’t matter how much he tried to escape nor squirm, the tickling just followed his movements, just as all his (fake) protests didn’t stop the excited, evil teases pouring from the other’s mouth. Not to tell how only the big, happy gaze from Patton was definitely not helping in the slightest his current state at all!

 He was certain. There was no way out of this. He was going to melt and   d i e.

 And he was loving every single second of this.

 “Aww! Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Look at the happiness shining in your face!! Someone really, really loves some tickly-tickles, am I right? But don’t worry, Virgey-wiggley! I will give you all the tickles you could ever want! Like here!” He booped Virgil’s bellybutton “Here” A couple of fingers slid on his waistline “And here, and here, and here and everywhere!” Fingers flew quickly, traveling on his hips, collarbone, sides, behind his ears…

 The incapacity to know where Patton would strike next killed every single drop of coherent thoughts of his mind, which could only focus on the tickling and how much it was unbearable and everywhere and it  t i c k l e d . His giggles grew to chortles, his hands flying from his own face to lightly push Patton’s, dislocating his glasses and freeing surprised chuckles mixed with his own squeaks.

 “Virgil!!” Patton ceased the playful attack in order to retire the other’s hands off his face, before both knew they’re wrestling, laughter cutting their acts and weakening their movements. “Virge!! I will go to another spot this way!”

 In a blink of an eye one of his friend’s arms hugged his sides and Patton felt a malefic grin crawling his lips without even noticing its presence. Very much different from Virgil, who in the same heartbeat realized his mistake, using the opportunity of the instant of distraction to lightly push the cookie lover off him, quickly dashing across the house. All his instincts gleaming and sparkling the sign of ‘Survive’ in his veins.

 The only reason of what Virgil forgot about the numbness from spending so much time laid on his legs, resulting in trips that definitely made him lose some crucial speed as he encircled the couch, capturing with the corner of his eyes the scene of Patton jumping of the cushions and following his escape route. The crackling dancing in the air owned by nobody specific.

 His heart beat faster, the joy raced his nerves and made his tummy tingle in advance just for imagining the exact moment where two arms would hug him firmly yet gently from behind and his ears would be set on fire the very same moment Patton would say-

 “Gotcha, Giggly Storm! I gotcha, gotcha ya!!” Patton dug his thumbs right above Virgil’s hips, the remaining fingers clawing the poor, sensitive skin in his back, leading belly laughter to took over his friend’s sentence, his knees buckling and legs uncontrollable kicking as Patton sat with him on the floor, pressing his back on his chest and resting his head on his shoulder.

 “Patton!! Pahahatton, come on, no!” Patton just hummed, two fingers calmly walking on Virgil’s waistline. “Don’t you dare!! Don’t you fuckin- gah!” The nails began to slid in the length of the belly, going from a side to another as elected soft snorts and bouncy giggles.

 “Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Did you thought you could run away from the Tickle Monster? Poor unfortunate soul ~. Now the Tickle Monster has to give you a bunch of more ticklish tickly tickles just for this, don’t you think?!” And then Virgil felt the tickles speed up to scribbles and clawing and wiggles delivered in every inch of his tummy. Going in random patterns, drawing forms on his sweet spot, up and down, from a side to another, over and over again. Quick enough to make him sporadically squirm and kick, a rain of squeals, yelps and squeals flowing from his lips, yet soft and light enough to let him rest his head on the other’s chest and just enjoy the feeling.

 “Awww! Look at how much shaking your tum-tum is! It is probably so happy in receiving its so much craved tickle tickle tickles, right, Virgey-poo?” The answer was only a blushy Virgil hiding his face on Patton’s neck, giggling nonstop.

 “Nonono!! It’s not!” And, if that move only led to a now very exposed neck to be gifted with some special scratches? They both pretended it wasn’t on purpose.

 Patton just rolled his eyes, playfully exasperated, quietly chuckling when the other jumped with the quick squeeze delivered on his hip.

 It didn’t take long before Virgil let out his first ‘Stop’, which Patton happily obliged, don’t having the heart to move when he realized Virgil’s breath becoming calmer, his eyelashes closing as he snuggled closer to the one wearing glasses.

 The duo knew very well they would probably regret napping on the hard, cold floor later, yet none of them managed to bring themselves to care, especially when Virgil’s quiet snorts with the second tickle dream of the day lullabied Patton to an equally peaceful dream.

  [~*~]

  Random non-said thing: Patton only remembered that information because the movie they’re going to watch was one of the trilogy they were watching when Virgil gathered up enough will to tell him he likes tickling.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 112

Whew! Okay.  Happy last-chapter-of-Spooptober!  I hope we all made it through okay.

This chapter is dedicated to @zazen-rabbit and our pumpkin carving antics in the past. I love carving pumpkins, and this chapter is the payoff to the month-long references to enormous jack-o-lanterns.  You want to know what they look like, right? Right. And thanks, as always, to @baelpenrose for your beta-reading and input. It made this chapter so much fun to write, and it always makes writing so much more fun to have someone to bounce ideas off of in real time.

Before anyone objects, @charlylimph-blog also beta-read this chapter and gave full approval. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, even after reading the chapter, then thank you ;)

On an serious note, since this is the last chapter before the big day: if you live in the United States, go vote by November 3. Too many people have fought and died for the right to vote in the U.S. for any of us to decide not to vote.  And there are too many people in this country who have lost the right to vote for unfair, racially motivated reasons for us to dare skipping out.

At some point, the pumpkins were finally scooped completely free of seeds and stringy goop, all of which was carefully stored to be used later as ingredients.  Finally, those of us who dared were set loose with sharp objects and abject glee to start carving, in our own unofficial competition.  Conor, Maverick, and Coffee took a well earned break and drank cocoa that had manifested from somewhere probably-Charly-related.

Arthur and Grey each took on their own enormous squash, carving with various implements in complete silence.  Tyche and I, on the other hand, were tag-teaming one at a time, moving with a similar precision to when we cooked together - she would carve the bulk of the spaces, while I focused on finicky tricks of the light and filigrees. I couldn’t see Charly over her pumpkin, but she was suspiciously quiet and I could see Simon eyeing her with worry.

Two hours later, I was seriously concerned with how anyone was carving these on their own.  My hands and shoulders were cramped into knots, and I had help. A soft tune was drifting over from Charly, who was apparently humming while she just kept carving away.  Tyche had very, very carefully climbed/been lifted out of the first pumpkin and was working on the second one.  Grey and Simon looked finished, while Arthur was studying his with a very serious expression that confused the hell out of me.

Especially considering that this side of his jack-o-lantern was untouched. Curious….

Eventually, I was done and trying to shake and massage feeling back into my fingers.  Charly was still going, but spoke as she saw me stand up. “Almost done!” she promised, one hand bracing herself and the other carefully cutting away a few final bits.  I shook my head with a laugh and wandered back over to our ‘fire’.  Before we started our carving, we promised that each person who finished had to wait and face away from any pumpkin but their own, and everyone looked like they had kept their word.  As tired as I was, I was nearly twitching to see what everyone else had done.

Finally, finally Charly came bouncing over and didn’t even bother sitting down while we all stood and turned to look at the finished products.

I had just enough time to take in Simon’s - surprisingly, a werewolf-Riding-Hood howling at the moon from a cliff - when Arthur started swearing. “Are you fucking serious, Reids?”

I smothered a grin and turned, doing my best impression of Charly’s most innocent face. “What?”

“They’re…lace…” Grey answered, much more calmly. “All the way around… You two turned them into… lace.”

“A bit sturdier than that,” Tyche corrected.  “But, yeah.”

Bravely, Simon ran a hand over the closest one. “There’s actually more here than you think,” he pointed out, almost confused. “Some of this isn’t cut all the way through.”

“Nope,” I grinned. “That’s how you get different shading.  Some of it is solid, just really thin.”

Grey nodded in understanding and I soon saw why: they had carved an optical illusion for their lantern.  When standing on one side, it was a beautiful young woman. But look at it from the other side - 

“Holy rabies, it’s The Phantom of the Opera,” Paden half gasped, half squealed.

“And Christine Daae, yes,” they smiled slightly. “I never was allowed to carved these when I was a child, so it became my favorite thing each year after I left my parents’ home.”

Charly let out a low whistle. “That is some serious carving skill.”

“Let’s see yours,” Simon turned eagerly, followed quickly by the rest of us.

Not to be outdone, Charly had carved an entire flower garden full of butterflies, birds, and fairies.  There was even a….

Oh. Oh hell no. 

Before I could stop myself, I let out an ear-piercing shriek and turned to run.  Conor and Maverick, confused as they were, quickly caught me and held me despite my struggles.  I was sobbing hysterically when I heard Charly’s voice speaking in a confused tone, although I could not make out the words.  Soon, I felt a small, familiar hand on my elbow.

“Sophia, it’s just a carving of a bunny,” Tyche explained slowly. “It’s not even real.” A brief pause. “Oh, you two better not say a damned thing, I mean it. She’ll explain later, she just needs to calm down.”

Arthur’s voice trailed in. “I knew about the bunnies, but I have some serious questions later.”

“Oh, noooo…” Charly practically shouted in what I could now realize was an entirely insincere tone, followed by a wet thud. “Simon tripped and kicked my pumpkinnnnn… the rabbit is now a rock…”

“But I didn’t - “

“If you don’t shut the fuck up,” she hissed. “I had no idea about the rabbits.”

“I really hope no one is afraid of aliens or werewolves,” Simon sighed wearily. “Especially… Charly are they making out?”

“Yep!”

“Seriously you two,” Tyche sounded like she turned away. “That’s not even remotely…. A… Joke, apparently? You actually carved that...”  She shook my elbow. “Sophia. Seriously. Alien making out with werewolf.”

I had calmed down just enough that my curiosity was peaked.  Slowly, I turned away from Conor and Maverick and back to the Pumpkin of Lapine Doom.  Sure enough, there was a hole where the rabbit had been, and as I followed around to what everyone was staring at… Yep. Alien. Werewolf. Kissing.

“Huh.” I was actually shocked out of any remaining anxiety I had. “That’s pretty cool, actually.”

“At this point, I feel like mine is rather anticlimactic,” Arthur sighed as dramatically as I had ever heard him - which wasn’t much, but it was at least noticeable. “There is no murderous mammal, or filigree lantern, or optical illusion.” Without further words, he flung his hands toward his lantern in a ta-da gesture.

“Oh, wow,” I whispered, echoed by nearly everyone. 

Instead of any tricks or intricate patterns, his pumpkin was a straightforward, three foot tall face.  A cross between a skeleton and a smile, it was eerily familiar.  The eyes were enormous - easily half the entire face - and just wide and empty spaces.  Two vertical lines made up the nose, while the mouth curled up and around cartoonishly until the corners stretched beyond the outside edges of the eyes.

“It’s Jack Skellington,” Tyche said, doubtfully. “From that really old movie.  But… something is different. I can’t put my finger on it.”

It was Conor who figured it out first. Leaning over, he tapped gently where the cheeks would be on the face. “These symbols.  I don’t think they were there originally.”  Sure enough, both ‘cheeks’ were covered in geometric patterns. 

“They look Terran Muslim,” Grey guessed.

Arthur shook his head, however. “Celtic, but I can honestly say you weren’t as off base as it sounds. Muslim art uses a lot more intricate geometry, though.” Clearing his throat, he stared through the pumpkin. “One of my students, Before, used to make a jack-o-lantern like this every year. When I decided to carve one, I figured… hell, why not?”

After a moment of silence, it was Simon who finally threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, nothing special he says… anticlimactic he says… Let me just show up lace, and illusions, and smooching cryptids by casually carving a memorial to a student. No big deal….”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Simon dangerously, prompting me to step in between them. Before I could say anything though, Arthur shrugged the comment off. “Why not? We’ve decided it’s October, so it would be the time of year for ghosts, and Halloween was always her favorite holiday. I know at least a few of my former students are somewhere on board the Ark, and we all carry her spirit with us.”

“You come pre-haunted,” Tyche nodded seriously.  Somehow, it didn’t sound that ridiculous.

After all, weren’t we all?

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