#trying to write at least five sentences each night but

[29625]

Me: I need to write so that I can depict the magnificent beauty of Slider and how Maverick grows as a person in the course of their mutual love and affection and indulgence

Also my WIP:

[igorluvr]

Can you do some with nam gyu?

‘ HERE WITH ME

PAIRING: nam-gyu x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: when you enter the Squid Games, you encounter a particular group of people, and to your surprise, one of them takes a special liking to you.

CONTENT: heavyyyy fluff, he’s a big softie for u, reader replaces gyeong su oops, love at first sight aww, shy!reader, both fall in love too fast

AUTHORS NOTE: first fic !! i didn’t know what to write abt so i came up with my own plot i hope u enjoyyy !!

word count: [1k]

AFTER the first game, you lost all motivation to keep going. Hours felt like days, eating felt like a chore, and you felt horrible for leaving your little sister alone in the world. You told her it would be just a couple days, that “big sis would be back soon,” but now you knew that you might never reunite—at least not in this lifetime.

Everything felt disgusting. You ran to the bathroom and cried for what felt like hours, feeling like vomiting as you scrubbed the blood and guts off your skin, washing so hard you swore some of the blood was yours. The walk back to your room felt like a death sentence as the smell of bodies grew stronger.

Sitting on your bed, you stared into space, trying to distract your mind from all the carnage. It felt as if the world outside was dead silent, with nothing happening beyond your little bubble. Hunger stabbed at your stomach as everyone else lay asleep. Using the dark, quiet room as an escape, you imagined floating in space, where nothing could hurt you, finally alone with your thoughts and soul.

That peace was abruptly shattered when the lights suddenly blared on, like a siren reminding you of where you were. “Damn,” you thought, “I stayed up the whole night?” The pink-suited guards lined everyone up and loaded them into the colorful hallway, leading to the next game. You weren’t sure if it was due to hunger, lack of sleep, or pure terror, but you felt weak as you walked up the steps, each stomp taking a toll on your body.

You heard from the previous winner that you would be playing dalgona, but when you entered the next room, you were met with two circular rainbows and six lanes. The announcer instructed everyone to form groups of five. Even though you hadn't played many games as a child, it was common sense to know dalgona was not a team game. Had the man lied? Was this really it? You glanced at him, noticing a look of dismay on his face. Maybe he didn’t know either.

As the timer began, everyone formed their groups, leaving you standing alone. The minutes ticked by, and your nervousness grew. You knew waiting for someone to pick you was wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up. Meeting new people had always been tough, and the pressure was tenfold now.

Just as you accepted your fate, a group of four approached you: a tall man with purple hair, a pretty boy with dark, long hair, a girl covered in piercings, and a boy who resembled a baby deer. The man with purple hair introduced himself as Thanos, but you zoned out, fixated on his friend. He stared deeply into your eyes as he fiddled with his rings. You tried to avoid eye contact, but every time you looked up, he was already watching you.

“Um, hellooooo? You deaf or somethin?” Thanos quipped. You snapped back to reality as he explained he wanted you on his team. You nodded, mainly out of necessity, but agreeing nonetheless.

The teams sat in neat rows, preparing for the games ahead. You overheard conversations about who would play which game, but your new team was strangely silent. Thanos and his friend chatted about a necklace, while the other two focused on the competitors. Your nerves ramped up, and you fidgeted with the sleeves of your jacket. The longer-haired boy suddenly tapped your shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” he murmured. Usually, you would’ve said you were okay, but in this situation, what was the point of lying? You shook your head, and concern washed over his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. All you could do was shrug. Suddenly, he took your hands and kissed them gently. The warmth spread across your face, leaving you feeling flushed and exposed. Did he know how his words affected you? Were you developing feelings in a place like this?

“It’s all gonna be okay, darling, I promise,” he reassured you. Just then, the girl beside you, Se-mi, interrupted.

“Hey, how about instead of drooling over her, we figure out our games?” she scoffed. You watched as Nam-gyu shot her a venomous glare, transforming his expression entirely.

“Nobody was talking to you, bitch,” he spat, his sudden coldness making your mind whirl. Why was he hostile with her yet soft with you?

As if nothing had happened, he turned back to you. “Which game are you best at, sweetheart?” You barely whispered your answer: “Um... gong-gi, I think.” He immediately understood, and soon after, your team’s games were decided.

Se-mi would play ddakji first, Min-su would follow with flying stone, you’d go next with gong-gi, Nam-gyu would play spinning top, and Thanos would go last with jegi.

When your team was called, fear washed over you. As your knees weakened, you felt Nam-gyu squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna do great.” His words bolstered your confidence more than you could admit.

Each game passed swiftly, and your team finished with eight seconds to spare. As you crossed the finish line, Nam-gyu launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, making you bounce with excitement. You were enveloped in his scent, overpowering the stench of blood around you. The touch of his hands melted away your worries, and for a moment, you felt truly safe.

As you walked back to the rooms, a smile formed on your lips. Was he genuinely interested in you?

When you settled into bed, a few moments of silence were interrupted by the sound of the bed creaking beside you.

"You did sooo good in gong-gi. Your hands were literally moving like a ninja" he praised, beaming with admiration. You giggled, "It was nothing, really."

He crawled closer, intertwining his fingers with yours, you loved this habit he’d picked up. “I’m so proud of you. You looked nervous, but you pushed through and helped us win,” Nam-gyu chuckled. You responded with nothing but a shy smile; words didn’t feel like enough. You turned your face the other way so he wouldn't see how much his words affected you

“Don’t hide your pretty face, you’re cute when you smile,” he said, fingers lifting your chin to meet his gaze. The compliment made you smile brightly.

“There she is—there’s my girl,” he added, inching closer until he was almost spooning you. You melted against him, relieved to have someone to stay beside in this chaos. As time passed, nothing else mattered. It was unlike how time slowed before, this time it was a comfortable passing. His hand played with your hair, scratching your scalp in a soothing rhythm. 

“You remember how nervous you were when you first went up to play?” he asked, his voice low and playful. “You were a disaster, but it was the most adorable disaster I’ve ever seen.”

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling in your chest and comfortability blooming. “You were just as bad, you dropped the spinning top across the floor”

“Well, I had to make sure you didn't feel alone in your clumsiness,” he teased, his breath tickling your ear. The closeness felt intoxicating, and you turned your head slightly to catch a glimpse of him. 

“You’d better not mess up like that again. You’re the only person here I actually like” you said, nudging him with your shoulder.

His gaze softened for a bit, like he was admiring you, then quickly flashed back. “Only if you promise to stay by my side forever,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Always,” you whispered, feeling an undeniable connection grow between you.

As the laughter settled, the world around you faded into the background, like you were in your own little bubble. He leaned in closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead that sent a shiver down your spine.

“When we get out, I’m gonna take you to my club so we can have a proper party together, get you out of that shell” he suggested, a grin spreading across his face. “Yea?”

“Yea, I’d like that, just make sure those girls aren’t all over you” you replied, smiling against him playfully.

“Oh don’t worry, Imma show you all off. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mines.” He chuckled, proceeding to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

The more than friendly banter made your heart swell, and you cuddled into his side, feeling a fuzzy warmth. You could see a future painted vividly in your mind—one filled with laughter, love, and euphoria.

Soon, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped in a sense of warmth and possibility. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope flickered in your heart, igniting the feeling that maybe, against all odds, you could find light in this dark world together. In that moment, everything felt right, and you couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else but here—with him.

[magicfootballstuff]

would you write some cute fluff of alexia being cute nervous to ask reader to move in with her, even though she has no need at all to worry?

“Is it just me or is Alexia acting weird today?” you ask Lucy, as the two of you stretch together in the gym before training.

“Dunno,” Lucy shrugs. “I haven’t noticed anything. But you know her better than I do.”

Alexia has been acting strangely around you for the last couple of days. You’ve managed to keep your romantic relationship and your professional lives pretty separate since you started dating a few months ago, but your teammates all know that you’re together and you never completely ignore each other at work. But Alexia has been weird the last couple of days, keeping more of a distance, being slightly jumpy around you, like she’s nervous by your presence. When you arrived at training this morning, she pretty much ran in the other direction when you tried to greet her with a kiss outside the dressing room, claiming that she had a meeting with Jonatan before training.

“There’s definitely something up,” you muse aloud, watching Alexia across the gym, where she’s loading plates onto the chest press machine with Mapi.

“Maybe she’s…” Lucy starts, but the cheeky grin slides off her face almost as quickly as it appears, and she adds, “Nah, I can’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“It’s nothing,” Lucy tries to dismiss it, folding her body almost in half against the yoga mat as she stretches.

“Lucy,” you warn her.

“Fine,” Lucy rolls her eyes as she sits upright again. “I was gonna make a joke that maybe she’s gonna break up with you, but then I realised that if she does break up with you it’s not a very funny joke.”

“She’s going to break up with me?” you ask, your eyes widening in panic. In all your consideration for the cause of Alexia’s weird behaviour over the last couple of days, you hadn’t paused to think that maybe it’s because she wants to end your relationship.

“No, I didn’t mean…” Lucy starts, in an attempt to fix what she’s said.

“But you said if she breaks up with me,” you point out. “Which means that you think there’s a chance she could.”

“Forget I said anything, it was just a silly joke. I don’t think she’s going to break up with you.”

But now that the idea is in your head, you can’t think of anything else. It all starts to make sense now, the distance, the jumpiness, the nerves. She wants to end the relationship, she’s just waiting for the right moment.

“Oh god, she is going to break up with me,” you say aloud, trying to do the maths in your head to work out when the last time one of you spent the night at the other’s apartment was. Four days, at least, maybe even five.

“I was just kidding,” Lucy tries to reason with you. “Alexia adores you.”

“Maybe not anymore. Not if she’s going to dump me.”

You glance over at Alexia again, only to find her eyes on you this time, and she quickly looks away, diving into a deep discussion with Mapi with their hands covering their mouths that can only be about you. Probably about wanting to break up with you.

“For fuck’s sake, she’s your girlfriend,” Lucy says, rolling her eyes. “Just go and talk to her.”

Lucy’s right, until Alexia actually tells you that she’s breaking up with you, she’s still your girlfriend and you have every right to want to talk to her in the gym. So you push yourself up to your feet and cross over, catching the end of Mapi’s sentence as you get close enough.

“… so talk to her and get it over with.”

“Yeah, Alexia,” you say, alerting your girlfriend to your presence behind her. “Get it over with. Break up with me, if that’s what you want.”

Alexia had seemed nervous when you arrived at her side, but when she hears what you have to say, the nerves disappear and her eyes almost bulge out of her skull in surprise.

“Break up with you?”

Mapi, you notice, is suddenly very interested in checking the weights on the nearby barbell, giving you and Alexia at least the pretence of some privacy.

“I don’t want to break up with you,” Alexia almost laughs.

“Wait, you don’t?”

“No!”

“But you …” you stammer, frowning as you try to remember why you thought she was about to end your relationship. “You’ve been weird the last couple of days. Distant. Nervous. Like you were trying to figure out the best time to end it.”

Alexia actually does laugh this time, tipping her head back, and you can’t help but feel like you’re missing the punchline of the joke.

“I haven’t been distant and nervous because I wanted to break up with you,” Alexia explains, taking your hand in hers and running her thumb over the back of your fingers. “It’s because I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you to move in with me.”

“Oh.” Your process Alexia’s words and it all starts to make sense. Relief floods through your body as you realise that your relationship isn’t coming to an end, but instead reaching an exciting new milestone. “You want me to live with you?”

“Yeah,” Alexia nods. “I know it’s soon. I know we’ve only been together for a few months, that you’ve been living in Barcelona for less than a year, but my life revolves around you. I want to go home with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning. And if you think we need more time then I’ll happily wait, but you’re it for me and I can’t imagine my life with anybody else.”

“Yes, I’ll move in with you,” you say, putting Alexia out of her misery as it’s her turn for relief to wash over her face.

“Thank god,” she says. “I was so worried you’d think I was moving too fast. But why did you think I was going to break up with you?”

“Well, I didn’t until Lucy said…”

As soon as you mention Lucy’s name, Alexia is looking around the gym for your English teammate.

“Lucia!” Alexia bellows across the gym.

You watch as Lucy scrambles to her feet, muttering something about hearing Jonatan calling her name as she practically sprints out of the gym to avoid facing the wrath of her captain.

“Note to self,” you say aloud, for your own amusement as much as Alexia’s. “Don’t take advice from Lucy.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Alexia hums in agreement.

[simplymarr]

Chapter five.

warnings: +18 smut; fingering, penetration, kinda praise kink?

notes: FINALLY i was so nervous but excited to write this. i know some of you were waiting for this so this chapter is long af. enjoy.

Head buzzing. Cheeks still warm. Heart racing.

As i went to bed that night i couldn't stop thinking about it. That kiss. My skin still shivered just thinking about his touch. His hands cupping my cheeks, his warm lips against mine.

He'd be the death of me.

One side of me was completely mad about him, and the other side was just as concerned.

What would we do now? What if someone found out? My heart almost hammering in my chest as i thought of my classmates' faces if they found out. I didn't want them to think i was trying to seduce him to get my thesis done, i didn't need to do that. I wasn't that kind of person, and he knew it. Or i least that was what i expected.

Thursday morning was already slamming at my door. All my thoughts still rambling through my head as i entered the classroom, and then there he was.

Formal but simple clothes as always, his hair always in-between of being put together and decontracted, his characteristic front strands fell on his forehead.

He looked at me stealthily among all the people during all class, and i could sense that he was thinking about it too.

As the bell rang, always at 10 am, i hessitated. Should i go and talk to him? should i go? All my doubts vanished as i saw him slowly walking towards me, as he was doing time while all those people left the place. Hands in his pants pockets and a side smile. Oh my fucking god.

"Hey".

"Hey".

Silence; the tension almost intoxicating the two of us. He broke it first:

"Listen, i was thinking about last tuesday and-"

"You don't have to worry about it, you know?" I said, stopping him mid-sentence. "You're my professor, i'm your student, it's all clear". My tone trying to sound convincing as if we didn't just made out in his car two days ago. Obviously, it wasn't that clear.

He smirked confidently, looking at me. "I know that".

I looked at him quite confused; Was he the same man that acted all nervous an hessitant last week? Didn't he care at all?

"Well, okay then".

"I've read your progress on the thesis, it's going very well" he continued like nothing happened, though i sensed some tension in his tone. "Though I have made some corrections starting from page fifteen that i would like you to look at".

"Oh, okay." I didn't even know what to say. "I will look at it when i get home then".

I looked at him, batting my eyelashes nervously as he kept watching me stoic, almost analyzing my movements.

Then, all of the suden, he grabbed me from behind my neck with both hands and pushed me against a near wall where nobody that would enter the room could see us. He kissed me hungrily, breathing heavily due to the fast movement that he had recently made. I responded quickly, closing my eyes and grabbing him from behind his neck as his hands traveled from my own neck to my waist, bringing me closer to him. Our mouths devoured each other, this kiss was not like the previous one. This was a hungry, sinful one, as if neither him or i could wait any longer. As if we both knew that all this could only bring trouble.

Heat starting to fill my body and his when suddenly a loud noise echoed the space, like a door slamming in the distance, not the one in this room but it felt like it.

We both broke the kiss in a heartbeat as a instinct reaction. Chests coming up and down quickly, eyes filled with unsatisfied hunger.

"I want to see you again". I whispered to him. If it was still a bit of shame left in me, it was already gone.

"Would you like to come home? you could bring all your drafts"

I laughed at his innocent proposition, given to what just had happened.

"I would love to" I said, smiling at him.

"8 pm is alright? I could pick you up if you want"

I looked at him, smiling nervously.

"What? it's not like you haven't been in my car before" He said, with a smirk.

I laughed and gave him a playful hit on his arm. "8 pm is just fine".

He smiled, quite hessitant. I could sense that he was just as nervous as me.

I mean, the damage was already done, right?

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

Nighttime had already come beneath us as he parked outside his house. A big, but modest one. Light grey walls and big windows, now covered by dark blue curtains.

The inside felt very cozy; warm lights, a round, wooden table at one side with a brownish sofa and big book shelfs.

A few wall paintings and a wine cellar from where he picked a bottle and two wine glasses. I looked at him almost blushing at the whole situation.

He was wearing a grey sweater and dark jeans, a bit more casual than what he'd wear at class. Silver hair perfect as always, the lines forming in his mouth as he smiled and handed me the filled glass.

"Thank you". Our fingers touching so slightly as i took the glass. He sat besides me at the sofa.

"Well, how did you do?. He said as he pointed at the drafts and papers on my hands.

"Pretty well, i would say. What do you think?" I handed him the papers as he put his glasses on.

He observed them in silence with a hand in his chin as i looked him with doubt. He chuckled to himself as he read them.

"What?" I said, opening my eyes to him.

"You are very incisive" He said in a playful tone, french accent dripping deliciously onto each word.

"I thought you already knew that".

He smirked as i continued: "Takes one to know one, right?"

The warm, subtle lights carressing his features as he drank the red wine.

"What makes you think that?"

"It just seems that you always know what you want".

He stayed in silence and sat closer to me. One hand on the sofa backreast, behind me. I continued:

"Do you?". Maybe it was the wine, already starting to hit on my words, or the way his eyes looked darker in the night. He smiled softly at me.

"I don't always know, no" I looked at him over my eyelashes, silence echoed the room as he continued. "But i think i know what i want just now".

He carressed my cheek with his fingers, the touch so tender but intoxicating. I needed his touch, his mouth on me again. I couldn't wait any longer.

"Vincent" His name coming out of my mouth as a pathetic moan as i begged to him. "Please, kiss me"

"How could i ever refuse?"

He then broke any remaining tension grabbing gently my cheeks and kissing me deeply. Slowly this time, as we had the night to ourselfs. He tasted like the sweet red wine we just drank and so was i. His perfume smelled, in fact, like a classic one. Wooden but not too harsh, just perfect on his skin My fingers ran into his silver hair as we kept deepening the kiss, both now lying down the sofa.His warm tongue intertwined with mine as his hands ran through my waist and i could feel the heat coming down my body.

He broke the kiss, heavy breathing as he whispered near my mouth.

"Are you okay with this?"

I nodded at him and attempted to kiss him again but he insisted:

"I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with, baby"

My entire body shivered just hearing the petname coming out of his mouth and his tenderness at each moment made me feel secure.

"I need you, Vincent. Please" My words coming out as weak whispers as my head buzzed, i needed his touch more than anything in that moment. His eyes getting darker as he was hearing me beg. He lifted me up softly in his arms and carried me into his bedroom.

The room was dark as only the weak, pale moonlight entered through a window besides de big kingsize bed. We were standing at the edge of the bed as i could feel my cheeks getting warmer and warmer under his touch. His hands slowly taking up my shirt as he stared with devotion at my body. His eyes wandered at each mole and each mark. Then he slowly kneeled in front of me, leaving a trail of gentle kisses down my stomach. He looked at me from below with greedy eyes.

"Can i?" He whispered to me, touching the button of my jeans. I nodded slowly as he began undoing them. My body now covered only by black lace underwear and bra.

"Mon Dieu" He whispered, still on his knees. "You're beautiful".

I carresed his chin with my hand as he stoop up slowly, without breaking eye contact.

"Now it's my turn" I said, as i took his sweater and the rest of his clothes off.

His skin soft and warm as we kept kissing deeply on his bed, the air so intoxicating as his touch. Wet kisses on my neck and collarbones. His hand slowly playing with the hem of my panties as i cursed under my breath.

"What's the problem, dear?" He whispered in my ear with a cheeky tone.

"Vincent, please"

"Give me words and i'll give you what you want" His fingers almost touching my aching flesh.

"Touch me, please" My words almost tripping.

He smiled and ran his fingers into me, playing with my clit as i left out a pathetic whimper.

"Merde, you're so fucking wet" He whispered to my ear as he kept touching every fold. He then slid two fingers into me, almost making me lose all reason.

"Oh, Vincent" I kept moaning his name, my core aching under his touch as i could feel his bulge growing against my leg.

"Yes, chérie?

"Please, fuck me." I begged to him, leaving all sense of shame behind. I needed him so badly, like i never needed anybody.

"I love it when you say my name like that" He said as he slid my panties down my legs and freed himself from his own underwear, his big length against my stomach as he pumped himself a few times.

He then stretched out an arm to reach the drawer of the nightstand from where he picked a condom. His firm body glistening as he put it on and then positioned himself between my legs, grabbing them firmly.

He sank into me slowly and i could feel every inch inside me, his head resting on the crook of my neck. He stayed still for a moment, feeling me warm against him.

" Putain. You feel so fucking good" He said as he began thrusting me, slowly picking up a pace.

My nails against his back as i could feel him so big inside me, my head buzzing as i heard the sinful sounds of his thrusts getting more wet and more sloppy.

"Fuck, Vincent" my moans getting more and more out of control. "Keep going, please".

He smiled and then bit my lower lip. "You're taking me so fucking well, baby"

Then he rolled me over the bed. My face now against the pillow as he began thrusting me from behind, hands grabbing my waist as he fucked me deeper and faster.

"You're being such a good girl. Just look at you"

I turned my face so i could see him while he kept fucking me, his silver strands of hair falling into his glistening forehead and his eyes dark and seductive. I started feeling pleasure waves getting bigger and bigger, my core aching for a release.

"Fuck, i really want to ride you" I whispered to him as i could, with half my face still resting on the pillow.

He smiled at me and slid himself out. I whimpered instinctively at sudden lack of contact.

"Go on, then. Show me how good you can fuck me" He said as he lied on the bed.

I climbed on top and sank into his length slowly, almost painfully slowly. My eyes pierced at his as i did it.

"Putain, tu vas me faire jouir" He moaned, almost cursing, under his breath.

My movements took a faster and faster pace as i felt closer to my orgasm. He grabbed firmly my breasts as i went up and down, playing with my sensitive nipples.

"Oh, God. Vincent, i'm gonna cum"

"Go on, chérie. Go on and cum all over me".

My body trembled as i felt closer and closer, i tried to close my eyes but he stopped me.

"No, no. Don't do that. Look at me, i want to see your pretty eyes"

Those words sending me even closer as i felt my orgasm reaching every part of my body, trying to keep my eyes opened. His eyes filled with magnetic lust.

"Fuck, Vincent" I moaned with the little energy i had left as he pushed himself one last time, cumming inside me.

"C'était tellement bon, chérie" He whispered into my ear as i lied on the bed besides him, totally surrendered by his words. I loved it when he'd speak to me in french.

He gently kissed me on the forehead as he put his arms around me. My head resting on his chest as we instantly fell asleep in the still warm bed.

next chapter soon

[suzayaaa]

ೃ⁀➷ BUCKET LIST ☆.｡.:*

𓆩⟡𓆪 pairing: friend!jisung x fem!reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 word count: 1.3k

𓆩⟡𓆪 themes: suggestive? just homies kissing

𓆩⟡𓆪 warnings: none?

“No, maybe not this one… Oh!” You gasp as you read point twenty-four on the piece of paper in your hands, your slightly messy handwriting shining through. “Go to an arcade dressed as one of the Powerpuff Girls.”

You look at Jisung with an enthusiastic grin, lightly bouncing on the cotton couch of your friend’s living room. Your eyes meet his, dead silent, his elbow pushing into one of the dark grey pillows he is propped on.

“Does this bucket list include anything… not embarrassing to do in public?”

Your eyebrows raise at Jisung’s sceptical voice. For a split second, you wonder what’s embarrassing about looking good and having fun, but your mind quickly dismisses the dilemma and you try to remember having any mild ideas during the creation of the bucket list. The lightbulb next to your head doesn’t turn on though. Instead, you realize the said list is the result of the girls’ night you had with your friends last month with too much alcohol involved in the process.

“You have some high expectations…” You mumble more to yourself than him, reading through each sentence carefully, but soon enough give up when you see a little distorted ‘swim with the sharks’ under point five.

You side-eye Jisung. Embarrassing? No, but definitely dangerous and definitely not something he would be down for.

“You know, we can just grab some popcorn and watch One Piece.” Resigned, you put the list right next to Jisung’s half-empty energy drink bottle on the glass coffee table to scratch a specific spot on the back of your head, although nothing’s itchy.

Jisung stares at the bucket list for a moment, bringing his hand to play with his earlobe as he gets lost in his thoughts. After almost two years of knowing him, you already know it’s his unconscious sign that he’s considering the options, so you give him the space and look around his living room to occupy his restless self.

Even though his place is small (as expected with the ridiculously high prices of apartments in Seoul, despite the location being outside the city center), the living room has always felt spacious to you. You assume it’s the work of his friend Renjun, as they live together. You’d noticed his artistic soul and the ‘I’ll do it’ nature right away when you first met him. The green plants in the corner and the delicate decorations reflect Renjun’s personality much more than Jisung’s—the latter is all about unevenly taped posters on the walls and a mix of clothes, shoes, and items scattered all over his room’s floor.

“Give me that list,” Jisung suddenly says, stretching his limb out to take the paper from the coffee table. You flinch forward, your first instinct to stop him. You are comfortable with him, but some of the points are… private, to say the least. He raises a brow at you, the bucket list almost in his hand, waiting for your further reaction. Yes, the list is a bit much, but you shouldn’t be ashamed of your dreams, you think to yourself. You wave your hand at him dismissively and rest your head back on the couch.

Jisung takes the list and repositions himself on the couch. It takes a while, as his legs look uncomfortably long to be squished into a cross-legged position, but you don’t say anything, just watch him read the list after finally getting cozy. His reaction changes from a questioning frown to an agonizing sigh to a blank blink at least five times, and the silence has the blood rushing to your cheeks. You take a minute (long? Short? You don’t know, but definitely painful) to regret bringing the list to him and distract yourself again. The window curtains have never looked better.

Jisung points at the paper, looking at your blushed face, amused. “Kiss all of my friends and rate the experiences from best to worst.”

Yeah, the curtains are so interesting today.

“I don’t remember writing this,” you justify yourself, tapping your knee with your fingers. It is true—after all, it was the alcohol in you making the list. Then again, ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’, they say.

Jisung watches your embarrassed self as a smirk slowly grows on his lips. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “You’re a freak.”

Something about the way he says it boosts your confidence and you forget how hot your face feels. Your courage to make eye contact is back, and mirroring his smirk, you catch a new glint in his eyes you have never seen before. You eye him up and down and realize how good he looks in a plain t-shirt and baggy pants. Maybe it’s the simplicity, or the clothes’ shape just flatters his body. Either way, his looks do him justice without much effort. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you also suits him, by the way.

“Let’s do it.”

“Do what?” You tease, although you don’t have to ask to know what he means.

“Kiss,” he gets up from the couch to stand in front of you, resting his hands on the back of the couch as he hovers over your body. “Let’s kiss.”

Jisung’s stare is so intense it sends shivers down your spine, sending you deeper into the couch. He even looks intimidating like that, when he is only centimeters away from your face. His new confidence excites you, your heart pumping the blood into your veins faster. It probably beats louder too, but you don’t hear it. All of your attention is on Jisung and his hot breath brushing against your skin.

You wrap your hands around his neck, fingers immediately feeling the cold metal on his nape. You look at the silver chain hanging on his neck before bringing your eyes almost back to his, stopping a little lower—at his lips.

You’ve always been a risk-taker. Nothing can ever go wrong in your mind and the aftermath is never your worry. When you saw a ‘Caution! Wet floor’ sign in a shopping mall as a kid, you would purposefully speed up your walk, laughing to the bits if you fell. Skipping class in high school wasn’t scary despite the consequences you had to face, at least you had fun. Moving out of your parents’ house a little too early—it was tough, but you handled it. Kissing your friend?

“Let’s see which place you’ll get,” is what you whisper before smashing your lips into his.

It’s messy at first, the flames in you not knowing if you want to ease each other’s fire or add even more fuel to it. It’s unexpected, the way your lips fit with his just right, but you love it. Your fingers tighten on Jisung’s nape, the other hand moving into his hair as you pull him closer, prompting him into your body. His hand moves to your neck, thumb lifting your chin to deepen the kiss.

He tastes like the cherry chapstick you bought for him after you noticed his once-dry lips that are now tasting your sweet lipgloss. Like a siren call, it’s something you cannot resist no matter how hard you try. Not that you want to, anyway. The adrenaline only grows in you with each touch, making you bolder, leaving you wanting more. But Jisung knows better than to turn into a starving animal. He pulls away, keeping your face at a small enough distance for you to not hunt your prey down.

“So,” he breathes out, thumb brushing over your lip, “what’s the ranking?”

You take a moment to admire the pink blush and satisfied smile on his face, wrapping your finger around his necklace to bring him closer again, foreheads clashing lightly.

“Not sure yet…” You smile, your leg pushing his hip to flip him around, seat him on the couch, and straddle him, “might have to check again.”

“Yeah, let’s make sure,” he loops his arms around your waist, pulling you into a kiss once more.

The best.

That’s the ranking.

[thisfeelslike-iykyk]

"x" marks the end ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

a fic from the perspective of se mi backtrack: "time to say goodbye", sarah brightman + andrea bocelli inspiration: this is an assignment for my writing class lol

she knew it was stupid, but she bet on kindness.

well, it wasn't really stupid. looking back on it, it was more like bad luck. trust in the wrong place.

she joined for the money. she had won a bit playing games against the recruiter, and when he offered her a chance to play more games for a chance to win $315 million, she couldn't refuse.

when she woke up in the warehouse-like dormitory, the first thing she thought was she'd been kidnapped. the van that brought her here had picked her up at night, and when she got in, there had been this weird fog that filled the car. she didn't remember anything after that.

there were hundreds of other people in the dormitory with her. bunk beds were stacked twenty feet into the air, one for each person, and each player was wearing the same green tracksuit and white tee. she noticed the white number printed on the upper left of her own jacket: 380. there were 456 people in total. to win that money, she would have to beat 455 people. she kept to herself, silently observing everyone and trying to assess who would be her biggest threat. if she could remain calm, she'd have a good chance at the money.

she quickly realized this may not be true.

she passed the first game, red light green light, easily. those who lost were killed, shot down right in front of her. she managed to stay still, but the stench of blood was heavy in the air. gunshots and screams perforated her mind. after she crossed the line safely, she realized she was trembling. there was someone else's blood on her tracksuit. to lose here meant death. that changed everything.

when the survivors were asked to vote whether they wanted to continue or stop the games, she almost pressed the x, to stop. there was a small voice in her head that told her staying would be a death sentence. but there was another voice that told her she could win. she was afraid of death, but not of these games. she had nothing to lose; her life was worse outside. she watched herself press the o, to continue. she received a blue o and stuck it to her tracksuit.

the second game required the players to play in a team of five. she didn't like this. she already was wary of the others, and now that they knew this was a death game, who was left for her to trust? she meandered through the crowd of people, looking for someone she could deem trustworthy.

she found that someone in a young man cowering by himself off to the side. he was shorter than her, and when she tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped. as he turned around, she took note of the number on his tracksuit: 125. a red x was pinned under his number. "what's your name?" she asked.

he spoke with a stutter, and avoided eye contact: "m-minsu."

minsu. she made sure to remember. "what brought you here?" she asked, referring to the games.

he was about to answer, but then another voice cut into the conversation: "hey. señorita."

she registered that "señorita" meant her after a few seconds, and slowly turned around. the one who spoke was player 230, a young man with spiky purple hair. by his side were two others: 124 and 256, both young men around her age. all three worse blue os.

this was not great. 124 was visibly annoyed that 230, who was clearly the leader of their group, wanted a girl and a dork (his words) to join their team. but 230 was adamant, and she was pretty sure this was the best luck she was going to have. they were athletic, she was smart. she'd be safe with them, at least for now. then she watched 230 open his cross necklace and take out a colorful pill. he popped it into his mouth and handed one to 124.

she started to rethink just how much faith she should place in 230.

but she had made the right decision to join him; they passed the second game. as they were herded back toward the dormitory, minsu caught up t her. "why did you talk to me?"

she tilted her head. minsu was not brave, smart, or athletic. he was truly, in 124's words, a dork. but she chose him anyway, and the reason was simple. "because I thought I could trust you." he was shy and timid; she was calm and realistic. in her, he found someone to stand behind, and in him, she found a friend. during the next round, he voted to stay, swapping out his x for an o. it was perfect.

perfection, she thought now, has a way of crumbling. for a few hours, maybe a day, everything was fine. then the cracks started to appear and spiderweb across the fragile glass of perfection.

the third game was called mingle. the players were herded into a large room, where they stood on a large platform that spun slowly while happy music played. when a voice came over the speakers to say a number, they would have to form a group with that number of people and run to one of the smaller rooms that were located around the big central room. she stuck with minsu, 230, 124, and 256. they passed the first round smoothly. the second round asked for four people. 230, who was high on one of his pills, kicked 256 to the ground before taking 124 and running toward a room. she pulled minsu, who had frozen in shock, toward the room as well, and they watched from inside as 256 was shot down.

the third round came. 230, who was initially devastated at his good friend 256's death, even though he had been the one to kick him out of the group in the first place, was still high. he and 124 linked arms and danced around, before the voice came over the speakers again. "three."

groups of three. 230, 124, 125, 380. that made four numbers. four people.

"rock paper scissors!" 230 demanded of her and minsu. "winner comes with us!"

"come with me," she said to minsu, holding out her hand. we'll find someone else. we don't need to stay with these jerks. her faith in 230 had run out. she was no longer safe with him. minsu stared at her, looking like a kicked puppy. his lip quivered.

"now!" 230 barked. "rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

she glared at him, but he didn't notice. then she looked back at minsu.

he was holding out two fingers. scissors. she looked at her own hand, which was still outstretched so he could take it. paper.

her stomach dropped. she suddenly understood what people meant when they said they felt like they had been punched in the stomach.

"minsu with the scissors!" 124 chortled, and they pulled him away, laughing and cheering.

her chest felt thin as she struggled to breathe. time was running out--she hoped 124 would die soon--and she wasn't going to find a group, she was going to get locked out of the rooms--she really hoped 124 would die soon--and get shot down, she was going to die here and--

someone grabbed her. instinctively she took off, running for her life toward one of the few empty rooms left. when it was over, she exited the room slowly, feeling numb. she gave a small nod to the two players who had taken her with them and saved all of their lives. then she felt eyes on her. she looked to her side and locked eyes with minsu. his mouth opened, as if to call her name. she turned away.

round three of voting. the remaining players--there were less than a hundred of them now--were separated into xs and os. when it was her turn she pressed the x, swapped out her o, and quietly walked over to the x side. she kept quiet, but was alerted to attention when she heard 124's voice from the o side: "minsu, you know how to vote. we're going to play one more game, yeah?" he clapped minsu's shoulders, pushing him forward so the latter was closer to her. then he looked over minsu's head to lock eyes with her smugly. she flipped him off.

minsu nervously stumbled up to the voting podium. 230 and 124 cheered for him: "team o, let's go!" minsu turned around and looked at her, an emotion she couldn't place heavy on his face. was that pleading? guilt? he pressed the x too, switching sides again.

tensions were rising. she heard that there would probably be a fight tonight. people would kill, others would be killed. dinner that night came with a fork. she turned it over in her hand. anything could be a deadly weapon if you tried hard enough.

later that night, something big happened. she learned through whispers and rumors: player 230 got into a scuffle with another player; he took a fork to the throat and bled out on the men's bathroom floor. after the lights went out, people attacked. she gripped her fork tightly, huddling on her bed and pressing herself to the wall. maybe if she stayed quiet, nobody would notice her.

someone was next to her. they cursed at her, and then she was dragged from her bed. she screamed, but nobody was coming to save her; everyone was screaming. the lights flickered, and she caught a glimpse of the player's number: 124.

she didn't stand a chance against 124. he was strong, strong enough to overpower her, and she was backed against the wall. he disarmed her easily, got on top of her and pinned her to the ground. the silver fork in his hands glinted in the air before he stabbed it deep into her neck.

she understood now. she was just a little tragedy. if she voted x from the start, if she never got involved with 230, if she didn't trust minsu, she could have lived. she could have lived.

a glass bottle crashed next to them, clipping 124 on the way down. he cursed, looking up to see where it had come from. someone was lying on a bunk above them, leaning over the edge. she squinted. had someone come to rescue her? did someone care about her?

the person disappeared and did not come down to defend her. she already knew who it was, but her eyes desperately found the white number on the tracksuit anyway.

125.

okay so I haven't actually watched the show in full so some plot points will differ lol. and if this wasn't clear by now, this isn't a x reader fic, it's a fic from se mi's perspective to flesh out her character. ALSO I got the sick perfection quote from an author here, but I forget who ;-; I'm so sorry

divider by @strangergraphics

taglist: @raysmayhem-72, @toooster, @sheisntyou, @soft-likethesunset

[pseudoartistpostsstuff]

Hello, not to sound forceful or anything, but could you write a part two for this post of yours?

https://at.tumblr.com/lilacsareinbloomagain/i-know-i-almost-died-but-like-its-really-not/93kyq8kcm2u6

Thank you!

Not forceful at all! In fact, I'm glad you liked it enough to want a part two :] Thanks for the request!

Notes: This is the part 2 of this fic.

I hope this will be to your liking.

I don't know why I made it seem like the reader does not know who Wolfie is in the first part of this, but I just went with it, so in this fic, reader did not previously play any Legend of Zelda game.

TWs: Yanderism, a bit of gore, beginning of stockholm syndrome?

The Chain X Reader

I almost died, of boredom this time.

Legend almost went into a state of shock due to the way Wild woke him up, the poor man was not expecting to hear about you being severely hurt in the same sentence as "It's your shift now". It took him a few seconds to pull himself together and not rush towards you to check how you were. He quietly thanked the Goddesses you were alright now, and also that Wild was too tired to notice the pure panic in his eyes, that blonde gremlin would spread the news to the others like a wildfire.

He couldn't let that happen, not when he would be teased forever about it, and what if you thought less of him because of that?! No way he'd let that happen. He had to keep this front, for now, at least until he was sure you loved him just as much as he loved you.

At least until you were living your life alongside him and only him.

Just as expected, he had to spend the rest of the night watching over you. If he didn’t he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, what if something happened to you in the meantime he was guarding the whole camp? Even if Hyrule had already treated your wounds, something could still happen, so he wasn’t really fond of the idea of possibly endangering your life.

That's why it's a good thing Time and Twilight were enraged at the forest during that time, slicing and stabbing through monsters and really whatever crossed their paths. Any of these monsters could have been the reason you were hurt, therefore, they were compelled to kill any and every monster in that forest and close proximities. They had to avenge the blood you lost, after all.

If they weren't doing that, the camp would be as good as unguarded, since Legend was only looking your way and not paying any attention to his surroundings.

What a funny thing. Normally, when someone stared at you while you were asleep, you’d wake up, since our brain has this little instinctual sense of danger.

Seems like you don't have that, maybe that’s why the shadow could watch you so easily through the nights.

Even more this one and the ones you spent at the forest, since no one was paying attention to the glowing red eyes in the dark not too far from you.

The annoying thing was how quick you were to wake up. One tug at your leg and you'd be bolting, adrenaline coursing through your veins at the possibility of who could be trying to kidnap you.

Who were you scared of? Him, or the Links? It seems like your trust in them was beginning to waver, was it not?

Maybe he could try to have a chat with you soon. All it took was one opening, five seconds were more than enough for him to grab you and take you with him, would you even put up a fight?

He could try any day, just not today, not when The hero of the Legend was watching you so closely.

He hopes the day will come soon. Or he could just arrange a distraction, he was never that patient anyway, not when it came to you, not when you were just at arms reach.

For now, he'd wait, like he has been waiting ever since he first set his eyes on you.

Some time passed before Time and Twilight finally came back.

By that time it was already morning, the others had already woken up, and already surrounded you in a frenzy, terrified but stern, just not as stern as Time could be.

You had to calm each of them down, trying to avoid more lectures from each of them, even from Hyrule, since when he cured you he was too sleepy and worried to scold you. Now he was well rested, having spent most hours of his night cuddling you.

Wild managed to make them disperse, just enough so you wouldn’t suffocate. With his cooking, there was no way they would be able to ignore their hunger any longer, you weren't different, you missed Wild's cooking, even if you weren't gone for that long, even if it was as simple as scrambled eggs and bacon. It gave off a homey feeling you missed since you were dragged into this world.

While you guys were eating, the duo came striding from the trees. Both looked, well... Disgusting, gore painting their clothes with death, in a way you could barely recognize the original colors. The shine of Time's armor dulled by blood and bits of internal organs and guts, the once fluffy pelt wrapped around Twilight's shoulders now was dripping with a dark liquid you couldn't tell if it was blood or it's black, evil counterpart.

There was still an unforgiving rage burning in their gaze, but it seemed like there were no more monsters left to satiate their bloodlust. Only they were aware of the dead silence they left the now empty forest in.

Just now did you notice that the amount of blood on their clothes was also due to the piles of dead animals they were carrying, innocents caught in the crossfire.

Maybe that's what chilled you to the bone, leaving you with a feeling of dread.

What exactly made you any better than those animals? Just how long would it take for them to get angry at you, just how long would it take for you to be another one of the rotting, mangled corpses left to decay at the forest?

Or maybe they wouldn't let you die, you'd suffer as a punishment while Hyrule would heal you just enough to keep you from dying. Even if hurting you hurt them.

The Links weren't afraid of being hurt after all, if hurting you was what it took to keep you with them, they weren't scared to hurt you for the sake of the "greater good".

After all, in their eyes the greater good was keeping you with them.

You were forced out of your little thinking bubble when you heard the two throw the bodies of the animals by Wild's side, the man jumped a bit from the sudden movement, but didn't say anything. Four made a face at the bodies before giving you a look, like he was saying "You're doomed" without actually saying anything out loud.

Normally, Warriors or Legend would have already said something by now, be it a quip or a joke. This time, the silence was deafening, it seemed like everyone was aware of the heavy tension between Time, Twilight and you.

Time called out to Wind before pointing to the bodies. "Help him clean. I want all of those clean and salted before evening." His tone sounded cold, almost as if he was daring Wind to react and get him angrier than he already was. Guess Wind was still being picked on for accidentally freeing you that night, you frowned at that, feeling guilty. The boy merely nodded, crossing his arms, clearly annoyed yet aware Time was on edge and anything could set him off.

"It isn't his fault, you know? I was the one who tricked him."

Your quiet words easily traveled through the silent camp, reaching not only Time and Twilight but also everyone else.

Time shook his head, but didn't say anything in response, choosing to speak to Twilight. "I'll be back before noon. Don't let her out of your sight." The man hissed to Twilight before walking away in the direction of the empty forest once again, the rancher sighed.

Once he was out of sight, everyone seemed to be able to breathe again, going back to eating normally, Wild offered Twilight breakfast which he accepted with a curt nod before settling down by your side, almost leaning on you, tired because of the hours of sleep lost. If you asked, he would say he was just doing what Time asked of him.

"Silent treatment, such a healthy way to deal with conflict." You scoffed, glancing in the direction Time ventured off to. Twilight nudged you with his elbow, giving you a look.

"Can't say you didn't aggravate him, sugar."

You gave him an annoyed look in response, of course he was going to defend Time. "Whatever."

Twilight seemed dejected as he finished his breakfast, seeing how you finished yours in a very… "Spiteful" way, using your spoon like you were stabbing your plate, not like you had a choice, you weren't really allowed knives or forks since the last incident.

Sky leaned over before Twilight was able to say anything, he made a signal for him to keep quiet. He had the feeling what Twilight was saying wasn't really improving the situation in any way, you felt like he was siding with Time and not understanding your side. Not like any of them did, but you didn't need to know that.

"Hey, sweetheart." Sky scooted closer to you, patting your knee to bring your attention to him, the gentle expression on his face never failed to make it easier for you to listen to him, neither did it fail to bring an annoyed eye roll out of the rest of the Chain. He held back an amused smirk at that, the other Links unable to say anything, since he was, after all, the only one who was able to get to you in such a way.

"Yeah, Sky?" You still had your eyebrows furrowed out of frustration, holding your plate tightly, if your almost white knuckles were to say anything.

Before saying what he had to say, he put his hands on top of yours gently, lowering your plate to the floor before pulling your hands closer to him, so that he could calm you down better by making little circles over the back of your hands with his thumb, it always worked.

"We want you to be safe. That's all" He gave you a small smile, barely lifting the corner of his lips. "Let us care for you."

"That's right, Hyrule is dangerous." Legend butted into the conversation, making Sky chew the inside of his cheek anxiously. You were still on edge, any wrong words and it would only push you away, and Legend of all people trying to convince you? It was a recipe for disaster. "You must have noticed that by now." He nodded his head towards your stomach, where you used to be wounded, his face serious. You couldn’t really deny the truth in that.

Sky brought your attention back to him, giving your hands a gentle squeeze. "I understand you may be confused and scared, so are we. But it is in our spirit to take care of you, an innocent person brought into danger by the shadow." The others, who were paying close attention to his sugar coated words, nodded along. "You may die if we don't keep an eye on you." There was silence after that, and finally, you nodded, albeit slowly.

Sky smiled and squeezed your hands one last time before releasing them and grabbing your plate, getting up to put it away. Not before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Twilight got up next, nodding to Wild and Wind as they went to the closest river to prepare the bodies of the animals, the latter huffing and puffing as he went, cursing about Time in a low voice which gained him a slap on the back of the head. After last night, you guys would be able to travel without hunting for a long while.

He patted your head affectionately. "Don't be mad at the old man, he was worried sick about you when you ran." That made you feel a bit guilty. With Time's hard exterior, it was difficult to see him actually caring about you, but you knew he probably meant well, even if it was pretty much unbelievable.

"He's the one who's mad at me." You grumbled.

"He thinks you acted recklessly, and you can't say he's wrong." Twilight squatted down to be eye to eye with you, just to give you a pointed look. "I'm sure that if you apologize he won't be mad anymore. Deep inside, he has a soft heart." He chuckled before getting back up.

You doubted the truthfulness in that, but still, you nodded, not looking at him.

"Think about it, he won't be back until noon, so you'll have the rest of the day to mull it over." Before going to do whatever he had to do for the day, he said one last thing, sounding stern without having to even turn to look you in the eyes. "And don't even think about stepping a foot outside of this camp."

You looked around you, noticing Sky, Four, Legend and Hyrule were still paying close attention to you, even if Warriors and Twilight were about to go somewhere else.

You sighed. "Fine..."

This will be a long day…

[iwriteasfotini]

Everyone Has a Story

This has been my tagline from the beginning and FINALLY I understand why!

*In this post I talk about my HC (aka my story) in an authoritative way. I am well aware this is not how everyone characterizes or reads these characters, nor should it be. Just FYI.

*There are also minor spoilers as I divulge certain things about each character’s journey through the fic.

Yesterday I had the honor of someone other than my partner (who really doesn’t know what he’s talking about but can spot typos occasionally) beta reading a few of the chapters of my story and the experience was both eye-opening and inspirational. What was pivotal was that the person isn’t part of the Marauders fandom, but my story most definitely is. The chapters they looked at are my Voldemort centric chapters. Apart from getting some welcome and much needed advice about dry writing things like capitalizations within dialogue, a few grammar rules, sentence flow, etc, they forced me to reflect on defining the purpose of my story. 

Because I was trying to explain (both to them and to myself) what the point of my million plus word series is to someone who isn’t invested in my ships (likewise I’m not invested in theirs). And I don’t think I did a very good job. This has been a struggle for me since I started writing. What is the point of this story? I know the story, I have over half of it written, and the other half is waiting in my head. But I have dabbled in trying to define it here and there in literal ways and artistic ways, and yet I’ve never been able to look at someone and say at its core this story is about… I’ve already had a handful of people tell me my story is starting off different from any Marauders era story they have read. Of course we are talking about five(ish) people and there are literally thousands of Marauders centric fanfics out there, maybe hundreds of thousands. So there likely is something similar to my story out there already, but it is interesting to me how many people have conveyed this message relative to the small number of people who have read it so far. 

And I can tell you it is because while it’s a Marauders era story, it is different. At least in my opinion. It’s the story I want to read about these characters (and I’m not eighteen years old). It’s also still teenage drama and relationship heavy. I like the coming of age aspect. Teenagers are interesting people. They are both more fallible and at times more capable than adults. I also have a particular passion for healthy human sexuality which I believe begins as early as toddlerhood but DEFINITELY arises in the tween/teen years. There is a bit of internal healing for myself going on in this aspect of the story. And I really did try to write it without this component but it felt so flat to me. Plus this is fanfiction and it’s easier to get away with things I couldn’t in a professionally published work.  

Then, last night, my toddler woke me up at 3 am (sore throat). I eventually went back to bed, and of course my brain went into full on processing mode. So I’m taking another stab at defining my story. 

At its heart, the story is a Lily Evans versus Tom Riddle arc.

But in a different way than canon. Both of them shared the canon ability to control magic prior to receiving their wands. Both of them were removed from the magical world until they turned eleven. And the way their magic manifests into adulthood is very different. Within this arc specifically, I play with examining the danger of prophecies within the magical world. The way a person’s personality can influence their access to magic, and either limit or widen their perspective. And the juxtaposition of a narcissist versus an altruistic. Both of them have flaws. And both of them have power beyond the typical magical person. 

Lily ultimately dies. But so in a way does Tom. And then their rivalry continues into Harry’s era through Harry himself being pitted against Tom Riddle/Voldemort even though Harry doesn’t choose this path the way his mother did. I have a canon divergent story in mind for these years which sits better with me than canon in specific correlation to MY story.

Why must this story be told through the characters I chose? Because I love these ships. Haha! Only partially kidding. There are many other arcs woven into the story through the various characters. Again, the fact they are all experiencing their coming of age years plays a huge role in why they work for me. Let’s look at them individually. There are seven main POV characters. 

Lily: Covered her already for the most part. But Lily’s story is also about loving yourself, making mistakes and growing from them, taking chances, trusting your intuition, and other teenage/coming of age themes. Lily is just a person with a full capacity to love, a badass, and someone who likes to take action. She is the main character pitted against the main villain.

Severus: The arc of language as power and as a social bond between humans. In my story Severus is a Spaniard, and Spanish is his first language. He grew up in Spain. When he moves to Cokeworth, language is a huge barrier for him in integrating with his peers in primary. He knows English, but he obviously has an accent and sticks out in the town’s demographic. But he connects with Lily, first over magic, then over language as he teaches her Spanish. This bond (which ultimately is the real life mirror of their soul bond) endures forever. Language united them as people from two different backgrounds. Magic united them as well, but the language aspect is more unique once they enter the magical world together. Losing Lily is devastating, and it does affect Severus for the rest of his life, hence some of his less than appealing adult characteristics. Severus is one of the characters I plan to canon diverge on in Harry’s era. 

Remus: The arc of a limited world view being harmful both mentally and physically (in Remus’ case). Remus is the werewolf. To explore his arc, he gets to learn about and even experience what life is like for werewolves who do not reside in the UK. It is only one other culture, certainly not comprehensive to the world. But life as a werewolf is VERY different. There is not only one way to manage a problem. And when we disregard the wisdom of cultures which look different from our own, we lose so much potential as humans. Remus is one of the characters I plan to canon diverge on in Harry’s era. 

Sirius: The arc of privilege doesn’t always equate to happiness. Also (because he lives long enough to move beyond the young adult years) the impact of trauma and how it affects a person over the course of many years. As in, can Sirius overcome his trauma to live a happy life as a functional adult? Sirius is the black sheep of his family. He also cares deeply about his little brother Regulus. He has very low self-worth and it causes all sorts of problems for him (including landing him in Azkaban for 12 years). Sirius is one of the characters I plan to canon diverge on in Harry’s era. 

Regulus: The arc of consequences of playing the game. I think about Voldemort and Dumbledore as game masters in this real world (fictional) game of war. Regulus (like Lily) is super powerful but because he had a different upbringing, his attitude about his power manifests in a slightly different way. Regulus and Lily end up with the same magical mentors and are good friends, but between their House characteristics and their personal histories, they approach the war in two different ways. Regulus is also arrogant, he’s a Black after all (which I think is why he pairs well with James, also arrogant). And this arrogance, which I feel is particularly well suited for the age of his character, comes back to bite him majorly. I mean he dies. 

James: I wrote a whole post about James’ character development (or potential lack thereof). His arc isn’t as clear to me. I think his arc might be the arc of loving too hard. James dies. So we don’t see him mature into a true adult. And while Voldemort kills him, I see James having died long before that. He’s what happens when we center our life around something tangible. Something which can be taken away, in his case a person. James becomes so integrated with Regulus he ceases to be able to function when he loses him. Losing a loved one is ALWAYS hard, but it is also survivable. In my life experience, no matter what your “eggs” are, if you put them all in one basket it’s a dangerous game to play. A person needs to define themselves through a wide array of likes, loves, interests, investments, etc. When we become narrowly focused, then LOSE the capability to pursue that focus, if we don’t have other things in life to fall back on, we can end up in a very dark place indeed. My tangible real life example of this is being a high performing athlete. If, due to injury whether temporary or enduring, an athlete loses the physical capacity to perform their sport, and they don’t have other things they are passionate about, it feels very much like the entire world is collapsing. Their whole sense of identity is gone, it is like a death in many ways. Some people push through. Some people fall into major life altering/life ending depression.

Barty: The arc of how a villain is made. Pretty straight forward. EVERYONE close to Barty peerwise fights for him to NOT join Voldemort. And in the end, due to many tragic circumstances, he does anyway. Not only does he but he becomes one of his most loyal servants. Yup, that story line is happening people. I’m not canon diverging on Barty’s role in Harry’s era. 

Beyond each character’s story arc, my story likes to take every event in canon and flip it on its head. As in, you think you know how or why these events transpired, but actually there is far more going on behind the scenes. I also stretch my creative liberties to the fullest extent where magic is concerned. From wandless magical practices from around the world, to the six types of magic, how they manifest and relate to each other, to why some magical people are more powerful than others (aka the individual magical well). It is only canon in the sense that the characters discover all this magic from individuals with niche interests (like Xenophilius Lovegood) or from mentors who are from or have studied magic in other cultures. It isn’t traditionally taught at Hogwarts. It is not well known in the UK. Thus it fits, if you figure Dumbledore was just exceptionally negligent with Harry’s magical education. Which I actually think he was, but I also think there is a reason he chose to withhold so much from Harry. You know who wasn't negligent about Harry's magical education, Severus. Though in the framework of what he knows and is capable of in my story the case could be well argued he too was negligent. This is one reason why I'm canon diverging eventually. 

This story is not canon compliant. It follows the canon timeline of events through Chamber of Secrets. That being said, as the story I want to tell myself about these characters, it works in tandem with canon FOR ME. I like the ethnic diversity of the cast. I like exploring queer romantic relationships, especially trying to be authentic and not shove them into hetero gender roles/norms (I have no idea if I’m succeeding, but I am trying). I also like exploring the various types of platonic relationships and the deep connections people forge with one another, particularly in times of hardship. Sibling/family love, friendship love, and romantic love all have a place in the human experience. 

So, after this VERY long essay, I hope you can see why, if you choose to read my story, it might feel a little different than other Marauders fics. That is not to say other authors are not exploring these themes. And it is certainly not to say what I claim to be doing, I am doing well. I am a very new fiction writer and this work is as much about my own exploration and skill honing as the characters experience. But I think the combination of the real world arcs, the intensely emotional ships and platonic relationships, AND the world building shape the story into something memorable. It’s also why I have laid out the story the way I have. Each POV character has their own work, their arc takes front and center focus for the duration of that installment, while through their POV we maintain a connection with the arcs of various other characters. 

I’d like to again thank my beta reader for reading my Voldemort chapters, asking awesome questions, giving fabulous suggestions, and being so encouraging about writing how I want to write. Almost every choice I make in the story is intentional. Sometimes the intention has deep meaning, other times it is merely because I find certain characterizations and events to be entertaining or to progress the character development I’m aiming for in the main seven. Either way, I encourage questions about why things are the way they are. This is fun! It makes me think critically about my choices and see things from a different person’s POV (something I absolutely love to do).

Please excuse any typos in this, it is very long and I wrote it before the sun rose.

[earlgreytea68]

I admire your writing SO MUCH. What is your writing routine? Or do you have any writing tips you might like to share?

Awwww, THANK YOU! That is really so lovely to hear!!

My writing routine changes from time to time, which I mention because sometimes it's worthwhile to switch up your routine if it stops working for you.

I always advice trying to write at least a little bit every day, even if it's just a sentence or a paragraph. And rather than framing it that way -- a sentence, a paragraph, a hundred words -- I set aside time to write. Even if I only sit down for five minutes and spend the whole five minutes re-reading what I wrote last time, keeping the story there in my mind is useful to me.

Because I think you should try to find time to write every day, I try to have a time set aside each day to write. When I was younger, I used to write at night. Then two things happened: (1) I got busier, which meant I was sitting down later and later at night for my writing time; (2) I began to be so tired at the end of the night when I finally got time to write. I didn't really notice that I was tired, what I noticed was I was having a hard time writing. The stories felt like slogs and I wasn't getting anywhere.

So! I read somewhere about someone who used to get up early in the morning to write. Look, I am not a person who's waking up at 5am to write. But some mornings I wake up fifteen to thirty minutes earlier than I need to, and I sit up in bed and I write, and this has worked really, really well for me. My brain is much more awake at the beginning of the day and the words have come more easily and it's been a nice way to ease into the day. The problem is it's not a very long period of time, but it's better than nothing. Again, when I was younger, I used to find the time to write for hours. Life happens. Rather than lamenting the loss of marathon writing sessions, instead I cherish the time that I get.

With that said, you might be like, "Hang on, sometimes you very quickly turn around a fic right after some event has happened, how are you doing that in 15 minutes at the beginning of the day?" Oh, don't worry, I'm definitely not. Because this is my other piece of advice: Sometimes you get an idea that just, like, goes, and when that happens, I write. Now obviously you can't do this if you have other commitments, but anything that I can procrastinate to the next day in favor of writing a fic that feels right there, I do, and I do it without guilt, because I can do it the next day, and who knows if the fic will be there the next day. I don't know if that's exactly advice, because I know I have a much more flexible schedule than many people do, but I did want to explain that I promise I'm not lying when I say usually I only write 15-30 minutes a day lol

So that is my "routine." As for "tips," my main writing tip is to write what you would like to read. If it interests you, then it's done its job. For this reason, I think writing is very personal and there are almost no universal "tips," because different things work for each person. I, for instance, cannot outline and hate to do it; it messes me totally up. I start with a vague idea and a first sentence and I go from there. This works for me. I'm unbothered by not having a plan. It wouldn't work for everyone, so if that idea freaks you out, make an outline! But if you feel like you get stuck at the outline stage, this is permission from me to ignore it entirely and just write.

Other things that personally work for me: I try to trust my characters. If I'm struggling with a story, it's probably because it's wrong, and I need to figure out what I did wrong. Like, the characters are in the wrong place and don't want to do what I'm trying to make them do, that's why they're fighting me.

I try not to write "boring" parts. Like, if I'm bored by what I'm writing, I assume everyone else is, too. Just skip to what you want to write and write that. The "boring" part can't be too important to the story if it was boring.

If you're writing a love story, give your characters time to fall in love. That is not the boring part, I promise. If they had a good date, tell us what they talked about on the date. Write the actual dialogue. Whenever I find myself writing, "They talked for hours," I stop and think if I can put some of that conversation in. That, to me, is the important stuff.

I happen to be an auditory thinker, not a visual one. I think in words, not images. For this reason, my first drafts tend to be a lot of dialogue. When I read them over, that's when I add in beats here and there to pause the flow. A dialogue tag can be a nice beat to make the reader pause and not be overwhelmed by the conversation. If you're struggling with dialogue, sometimes I try it out loud, playing both parts.

Identify what writers you admire do well. Not just "writing." Like, I think some writers write excellent descriptions of kissing, for instance, and I wish I wrote better descriptions of kissing. Once you identify the more specific thing they're doing that you admire, really study how they're accomplishing the effect that you like. What makes that description of kissing so good? Thinking about what makes something seem "good" to you can help you to think about using those same tricks in your own writing.

My only universal rule of writing: Resist epithets. You almost never need them. Just use their name or a pronoun. It will read better, trust me.

I hope some of this is helpful!! I will say that I got a comment recently (I read ALL of your comments and they are all wonderful and also so deeply helpful to me in your reactions to things, even if I'm often terrible about responding to them, they are lifelines for me, please know I read and appreciate so much EVERY SINGLE ONE) and the comment said something like, "I used to read your Sherlock stuff! I can't believe now you're in FOB fandom! Your Sherlock stuff was fantastic, but your writing has gotten EVEN BETTER!" I put this in not to brag about this comment lol, but to say that I agree with it, I think I am a better writer now than I was ten years ago and a better writer than ten years before that. You're always getting better, because you're always practicing and learning for the next story. You might not feel like it's happening -- it's not like I'm like, "Let me go PRACTICE writing now!" -- but it will!

[arcaneauthor]

I love your writing so much, if it wouldn't be too much trouble could do you something where Ghost and the reader get tattoos together

(kinda like the story where the 2 got tattoos for each other without the other knowing but this time they decide to get one together?)

If not thats 100% okay and I hope you have an Amazing day!

Warnings: None? Needles I guess? But it’s not described. Fluffffff

A/n: Sorry this took so long, my motivation has been 📉 lately. But thank you so much for the kind words and amazing request❤️ Hope you like it! Also this is technically a part 3 to my other story but can be read as a standalone.

-$-

“Would you get another one?” He asks suddenly one day as their sitting at the table, a deck of cards in hand.

Yes you know having poker be your date night activity is strange, but your relationship wasn’t exactly anyones definition of “normal” to begin with. But it was your normal. So, yes, sitting at the table on a Friday night with a group of playing cards in one hand and a take out taco in the other was your definition of a good time, sue you.

You look up from your deck at his question, he still hadn’t looked up from his, “What?”

“A tattoo. Would you ever get another one?” He questions, leaning back in his seat, eyes finally connecting to yours.

“I-I mean I’m not- opposed to the idea, if I found the right one.” You’re still not sure of the meaning of this. The question was so sudden

He hums, nodding his head. Eyes gazing back down at his cards, as if they held all the answers.

You raise an eyebrow, “why?” You drawl out.

He shrugs,“Curious.” Is all you get as response before he stands up, throwing his deck down on the table, “I win.” He proclaims in in a baritone voice, then promptly turns to step out of the room. Your eyes following him in total confusion.

They then flick down to his discarded hand.

A royal flush.

That bastard.

Shaking your head slightly, you can’t help but let a fond smirk overtake your face as your ears catch onto the sound of water pittering against the shower floor.

Your boyfriend, the man of many words.

-$-

About a week later.

“Are we there yet?”

Simon sighs in annoyance, the hand not on the steering wheel rubbing his temple, “You’re not bloody five years old, stop asking me that.”

You give him a pouty lip just for show,”But we’ve been driving forever.”

“Twenty minutes. We’ve drove for twenty minutes.”

That short?… really?

“Well how the heck am I supposed to know that, I can’t d*mn well watch the clock now can I?” You question rhetorically as you lightly tug on the blindfold secured around your eyes for emphasis.

He lightly swats your hand away,”Don’t touch it.”

You huff indignantly, but do lower your hand,”Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“No.”

“Oh come on.”

Simon huffs, that seems to be a reoccurring thing for him the last twenty minutes, “Impatient little thing.”

You could’ve swore you heard some fondness in that sentence.

-$-

Around, what you assume to be, ten minutes later, you feel Ghost’s truck gently pull to a stop. Slightly jostling the both of you as you hear the gear shift click into park.

You sit up in your seat,”Are we there?”

“Yes.”

“Oh thank gosh. Can I please take this off now?” You point towards the blind fold,”I don’t know how you wear that mask 24/7, this thing is killer.”

“It’s not that bad.” You can hear his seatbelt click and the sound of his old Ford door creaking open.

“Wait! Can I take this thing off or not?”

“Almost.” The truck shifts as he steps out. Giving a slight rock at the absence of Simon’s massive body weight.

The door shutting cuts off any response you had. For a short split second you think he’s left you, until he opens your door. Ever the gentleman.

You unbuckle and twist around, legs hanging out the door. Now how are you going to do this blind? You try wiggling your foot around, but can’t feel anything but air.

“Uh- could you like guide me to-“

You cut yourself off with a squeal as, without a word, you’re swept out of your seat. Simon picking you up in a bridal carry, one hand under your thighs, the other around your back, as you rap your hands around his neck in a panic.

“Simon-!”

“Every girl wants to be treated like a princess at least once, don’t they?” You can physically hear his smirk.

It’s embarrassing how much that made your heart flutter.

“You could at least warn me first!”

“Then I wouldn’t get to hear that cute little squeak.” He gives a deep chuckle

You’d never admit to the extent of redness that your cheeks turned to.

You’d also never admit how much you like the feeling of his large hands gripping tightly to the bare skin of your thighs. The gentle scrape of his calisced fingers being almost therapeutic. For such a large man, his hold is surprisingly gentle, always is when he’s touching you. Never wanting to bring you any semblance of pain.

Even after all this time, his touch never fails to raise your skin into goosebumps.

“Alright,” his words bring you back from your touch induced daze,”We’re here.” He sets you back onto your feet, your hands lingering around his neck a little longer than necessary.

“Allow me.” You feel his hands reach around the back of your head, fiddling with the knot.

The blindfold slips loose easily underneath his skilled fingers.

Your eyelashes flutter open now that the obscurity is out of the way. Though you’re forced to immediately scrunch them back closed as the light floods your corneas, leaving colorful spots dancing across the back of your eyelids. It’s only after a few tries that you can actually see anything then just a bright white. Vision finally clearing, you take in your surroundings, particularly the building with a big neon sign atop it.

It’s-

It’s-

The tattoo parlor?

You flick your curious eyes from the sign to Ghost. His face, the upper half that’s not obscured by the black surgical mask, almost looks, dare you say, nervous. Well, maybe not fully nervous, but, slightly unsure of himself?

“Wha-what are we doing here exactly?”

“Well-uh- I thought that, maybe we could get tattoos?”

“But-we already have tattoos?” He made the big deal of blindfolding you, and hauling your a** out of the car to,,get more tattoos. You’d accompanied him to this place multiple times, what’s different now?

“I meant like, together?”

It takes your brain an embarrassingly long time to catch on, your period of silence making Simon’s hesitation only grow.

“Ohhhhh, you mean like-like a couples tattoo.” You feel your smile start to grow as you grab his arm, pulling on it in excitement like a kid in a candy store.

Ghost’s hesitation seems to all but disappear in the face of your happiness, his eyes softening as he observed your childish antics.

“Yeah.” He finally responds breathily, before he remembers something,”I’ve gotta’ picture of the stencils if you wanna-“ He reaches towards his back pocket, though your hand over his stops him. He look up into your eyes, which are shining with love and joy.

“I’m sure whatever you have in mind is perfect.” You lean up on your tiptoes to give him a sweet peck on the cheek,”Thank you.”

You could’ve swore you saw his cheeks turn a little pink, though he doesn’t let you observe him for long before he’s clearing his throat, turning his face away.

He offers his hand to you in invitation,”Ready?”

You smile, placing your hand in his,”Yep!”

-$-

You both take turns since Ghost refuses to use any of the other artists besides Jackson. And refuses to let you use anyone else. Says he trusts him the most, with his whole identity thing and to not hurt you.

Simon won’t even let you in the room during his session, saying that he wants to reveal it after they’re both finished. He sits by your side during your tattooing, holding your hand and making sure you don’t look before it’s finished. Even rubs his hand over your arm when you wince, whispering a little “You got this princess” in your ear.

Jackson wipes the remaining ink residue from your lower arm,”Alright, looks like we’re finished!” He begins cleaning up his tools.

You and Simon turn to look at one another.

“You wanna see em’?” He asks.

You give him a deadpan expression,”No, I wanna wait another hour. Of course I wanna see!” You excitedly sit up on the bench

He fondly shakes his head, and when he speaks, you can hear the smile, “Alright, close your’ eyes for a moment.” An order you immediately comply with.

You hear rustling and then a slight ripping sound, which you assume is him tearing the bandage from his own tattoo if Jackson’s chastisements are anything to go by. Chastisements that Simon, of course, answers with a quick “Stop your bloody worrying, it’ll be fine”

You feel him grab your arm, careful around the tender area, and pull it up in front of you, placing it beside of his.

“You can look.”

You eyes flutter open, even though in the dim parlor lights you’re not nearly as blinded as when you removed the blindfold earlier, it still takes a second for shapes to register. When they do, your gaze immediately latches on to the two arms displayed in front of you. Your breath hitches.

“You like em’?” And there’s that unsureness again. Rearing it’s head in the face of your prolonged silence.

You look at him, eyes hesitant to leave Jackson’s masterpieces, “Like them? I love them!”

You basically tackle him in a hug, again, being careful with your arm, and almost fall off the bench from the momentum. Ghost lets out a little huff of amusement as he catch’s your weight with his other arm, “They’re perfect. Thank you.” You lean back enough to look at him.

He bumps his forehead lightly against yours,”Anything for you, sweetheart.”

The endearment makes you heart jump, a soft smile lighting your face. Every single thing this man does, makes you fall farther and farther in the depths of love.

“Can we please cover them now?” Jackson exclaims from the other side of the room, holding up a roll bandages.

You both burst out in giggles.

[sparklepocalypse]

First Line Analysis

Big thanks to @kiwiana-writes, @energievie, and @read-and-write- for the tags here! It's been awhile since I've done something like this, and I've posted a few things since then, so here we go!

RULES: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions.

Opening Lines, from most to least recent:

“We’ll just have to keep it very casual, of course.” Henry is an idiot. He hopes desperately that this realization isn’t written all over his face, like his every thought always is when it comes to the man sitting opposite him on the boldly colored sofa. The taste of Alex’s cum still lingers in Henry’s mouth, and he might have just prevented himself from ever getting a refresher, and — [Nobody Knows, Just We Two | Alex/Henry | E]

Each evening, Alex texts when he gets off the subway, and today is no different. Be home in ten. Love you. Missed your face. [He Drives Me Fucking Crazy; I am His Everything | Alex/Henry | E]

“Ma, seriously. I’m sixteen. I can go to the UN fundraiser,” Alex huffs, smoothing down the front of his shirt as the car rolls to a stop. “It feels like you’re dropping me off at daycare. I don’t even know these people.” [Count to Ten & Breathe Real Deep | Alex/Henry | E]

“Oh, come on,” Alex groans as traffic grinds to a halt on I-10 just outside of Norwalk. His shift starts in an hour and a half; it’s his first as a face character, and he’s going to be late if the cars don’t get fucking moving. [Love Like Yours Will Surely Come My Way | Alex/Henry | E]

The worst part about being a siren in the modern era, Henry ponders as yet another ship flies past his cove at a speed that he knows will disturb the anemone gardens below, is the yacht bros. Between the sound of their vessels’ motors and the dissonant noise the humans call music, Henry’s singing has no chance of attracting anyone’s attention. [All the Ocean Was Sleeping | Alex/Henry | E]

Alex Claremont-Diaz is sixteen years old, and he hasn’t presented. His dad seems to think it’s fine and offers Alex regular reassurance that his cousin Angel hadn’t presented until nearly 20. His mom, though, gets a little crease between her eyebrows whenever she thinks Alex isn’t looking. Presenting is a Big Deal in the Claremont family, and Alex just... hasn’t. [Late Bloomer | Alex/Henry | E]

For once, they’re not due on set until nearly noon. The night shoot at the V&A had run until nearly 1 AM, and Matthew had deliberately given the cast a recovery day, with only their Prime Video interview scheduled until that evening. It will, the Prime reps have promised, be a low pressure interview featuring some unserious activities framing an opportunity to reintroduce themselves to the world as the men bringing Alex and Henry to life. [You're the Spark That Won't Go Out | Taylor/Nick | E]

Nick can pinpoint the exact moment the line disappears. [Just Want You to Make Me Move | Taylor/Nick | E]

It’s coming. [Single Sad-Sack Seeking Same | Alex/Henry | E]

“Go win an election.” [Wrap Me Up, Unfold Me | Alex/Henry | E]

Analysis and tags behind the jump because that's already a wall of text. 😅🤣

First Line Analysis:

Not a ton of world-building in any of these first lines.

You can typically tell what sort of AU one of the more out-there AUs is going to be from the first line; Late Bloomer mentions presentation; All the Ocean Was Sleeping mentions sirens. The less outlandish AUs are less obvious.

60% of my last 10 fics make it clear whose POV you're reading in the first line.

Only one of these first lines contains a swear word; likewise, only one contains an overt reference to smut (even though these are literally all rated E).

Two of these first lines are a single sentence under five words; the remainder are... much longer.

Two of the first lines are either just a quote from the movie script or include a quote from the movie.

Four of the first lines open on dialogue, and of the rest, five are expository and one is ominous.

Tagging @eusuntgratie, @firenati0n, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @duchessdepolignaca03, @priincebutt,

@violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @cactusdragon517, @bigassbowlingballhead, @anincompletelist, @cha-melodius,

@orchidscript, @porcelainmortal, @thesleepyskipper, @onthewaytosomewhere, @mudbloodpotter05

[grecoisms]

title: a heap of broken images (4/4)

pairing: kim wexler x lalo salamanca

rating: E

summary: 

"Funny coincidence, no? I leave this apartment, and they come to kill me two days later." "One might say you could not get your house in order." Kim says coldly, pressing all her nails into her palm with full force. Small crescents of small moons.

"You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water." t.s.eliot - the waste land

They could have died.

Died so easily. 

As easily as one draws a breath.

The realization hits her like a gong gone off.

The realization comes after - 

locking eyes with Lalo and staring him down,

looking at the empty space he still occupied,

getting in the taxi and the ride itself, 

leaving adrenaline behind, again,

But the realization comes before -

Getting into the hotel bed,

Shaking from exhaustion,

Hugging Jimmy tight,

Faking a cough,

Calling in sick,

Sleeping in, 

Staying in,

Processing,

Surviving.

The day is spent in bed and recollection.

He thumbed his gun so naturally, Kim thinks, picturing Lalo with a repressed storm on his face and gun tucked in his belt. He spoke so politely, even though his very presence froze the place up, made Jimmy and her rooted to the ground. Speechless. 

Jimmy went out some time ago to get some food, but they promised to text each other every five minutes, something he was more adamant on doing than Kim, who felt how she felt usually after going on a rollercoaster. Slightly sick, insides coiled, head fuzzy. 

We almost died. 

He made Jimmy retell the story how many times? At least three. But the words were less crucial than his presence - for he actually came to listen to Jimmy's story, find the cracks, and then?

Then he would have shot them both dead. 

Except she convinced him. Or perhaps made him rethink his agenda. Matters not which. All that matters is he left, left to Mexico, or perhaps somewhere else, but is probably far-far away. 

Her phone buzzes from under the pillows. Kim peers at the screen, seeing Jimmy's name.

Just stepped in Walmart. Milk, cheese, sth else? 

If u see some tylenol, pls buy some, Kim writes back, head on the headboard, head in a fog, staring at the colorless painting hung on the colorless hotel wall. Staring, but not seeing. 

Lalo left only for them to leave the house as well, with shaking limbs and a shock worth several strung-out nights. Jimmy has more of a problem with dreaming than sleeping though: started mumbling, shaking in his sleep yesterday - please, please, I didn't know.

As for Kim, she has more of a problem with falling asleep. She keeps seeing the look Lalo gave her when she stepped between Jimmy and him; when she struck him down with three well-versed sentences, aim to be heard, aim to hurt. 

Later, in the dark, the hotel room feels foreign. A fever-dream. Kim scoots closer to Jimmy, touching his arm gently, to soothe him, calm him.

"I won't let anything happen" she whispers in the dead night, where the words might as well be a dream. Wish upon a star. "I'm here."

And he is gone. And he cannot hurt you. Even if his eyes seemed to pierce.

Eyes so dark.

Half-admiring, half-calculating.

.

She quits Schweikart and Cokely the next day, with the sole intent on focusing on two things:

Help pro-bono clients.

Turn Lalo Salamanca in. 

.

Helping pro-bono clients, of course, is way easier than trying to come up with an affidavit that won't put Jimmy and her in jail for at least a couple of years. 

Context matters, and since Kim's knowledge of criminal law has been superficial and whatever remained has rusted over the years anyway, she decides to consult some books at the Central Library. Asking Jimmy is out of question, especially because he is still jumpy at the mention of anything regarding the cartel, the desert or the name Jorge de Guzmán in general. His sunburn has started to fade, but the wound on his forehead is not in a hurry to heal. 

"Back in the biz" he sighs two weeks later, just as he sets his briefcase in the hall. They moved back a week ago, mostly because Jimmy insisted on going to work and repeating different versions of "everything is settled now, I don't think there is going to be a problem" - and well, because they actually missed their real bed, and in Kim's case, needing stuff like pens and skirts and various folders from home.

It's almost as everything is back to normal. 

Lalo nothing but a memory. 

And yet. 

Jimmy still mumbles in his sleep. He still awakes drenched in sweat. 

As for Kim, she insists on working from their bedroom. It's not that the kitchen or the living room has become spooky or uninhabitable, but when alone, she has become used to working from their bedroom, where light seeps in so tenderly.

No memory that taints the space. 

.

Whether it is fate or simply bad luck, Kim does not know. 

May changes to juvenile June - time flies. It has been what? A month since Lalo has entered their home, uninvited. 

The amount of pro bono cases double at the start of summer season, and Kim barely has time to eat, least to wander around Central Library to read through yet another book on cartel cases. One makes do with the time one has, and since the only time the library closes late is on Wednesdays, Kim makes it a routine to nap for twenty minutes in her car after work, then head to the Library and stay as long as eleven in the night in the silence of the books. Rubbing her tired eyes, praying to find at least one small parallel between older cases and the Salamanca case. What she found out so far is not from a book, but Jimmy.  Lalo's cousin, Tuco, is in jail right now. Real name, real case. But the cousin sounds labile, prone to violence, no control whatsoever, so Kim quickly shuns the idea of visiting him. Also, because she is sure that the moment she speaks with another Salamanca, she is dead.

And Kim likes living, thank you very much. 

But her time remains tight and because of that, her mood morose, and she, unmotivated. The hardest part is leaving Jimmy out entirely, but after reading a 1986 case where the lawyer of a larger gang in Chihuahua got away by a written warning only, he includes him - by name - in the document, watchful of the tone. Yet playing with the tone of the affidavit suddenly makes it personal, the exact opposite of what it should sound like, what it must be. 

After coming up with a particularly complex sentence and realizing Jimmy does sound guilty in all of this (Saul Goodman, known as Jimmy McGill, volunteered, accepted, got chosen by Eduardo Salamanca to collect the bail money) accentuating how thin her case, how brief her document, Kim throws her pen away, resisting the urge to scream on her way home.

Home is more or less a sanctuary. 

More so, because Jimmy is home.

Less so, because his mood is not the best either.

He still suffers from nightmares, regularly. Kim can hear it sometimes, the panting or lashing out against a ghost threat, a ghost danger. When she hears it, she shakes Jimmy up immediately, but there are other disturbing remnants in him: outages, as she calls it. Because sometimes, even during the most innocent of actions, like cooking soup, or watching TV together or starting the washing machine, Kim sees Jimmy transform - face dropping, eyes vacant, hands shaking - and she knows he sees not the flat, or her, or the screen, but the desert, vast and unforgiving. Something terrible has happened, or is happening, and he denies telling her. Kim cannot decide whether she is angrier at or sorrier for him. Right now, the two feelings are equal in her, arguing. 

"You're early!'' Jimmy is on the couch, fresh out of the shower, laptop in his hand. "You want to order Chinese?"

He looks a bit pale, as if not have seen the light today.

"Sure" sighs Kim, throwing herself next to him. "Anything important happen today?"

"Well. I kinda fucked up, Kim." he turns his head. "Khalil found me today. With that detective you mentioned."

"Roberts" nods Kim, tense. "What did they want?"

"Called me out on the fake family. No phone, no address. By the way, how did you find them?"

"It was buried in the back of your other folder, the red one. Got lucky."

The folder, alongside all documents regarding de Guzman's case (and Ignacio Varga's, coincidentally) was destroyed when they moved back to the apartment. Jimmy shred them to smithereens, but when Kim got a whiff of his plan, she insisted they burn the remnants as well.

  "Point is" continues Jimmy. "I...got carried away, and said Lalo's name."

"Shit" says Kim with a dry mouth. "Did they notice it?"

"Yeah, Khalil repeated his name back at me. Y'know... interrogation style."

"Shit" Kim repeats. 

"I acted confused, but I'm sot sure they bought it. I bet they ran to Ericsen right away."

There was a silence. The uncomfortable kind this time - sand in the shoes, sand in the eyes. 

Kim takes a big breath. 

"Okay. No point in panicking." This would, of course, accelerate some things. ''What if... what if this was a way out?"

"What... what do you mean?" Jimmy stammers.

Though feels he won't take it well, Kim leans forward, reaching for her husband's hand, still dry from the days spent wandering. How deep he still carries the desert with him, within his body!

Indeed, where can he put it down?

"Jimmy" her voice is soft, hushed. "If we fold now, we might have a chance to get out. It is your choice, always has been. But from where I'm standing, you don't seem so happy to have been caught in this."

"But..." Jimmy smiles at first, as if she was joking. Falters. "It's all good now. I just need... no, listen. We just need some more time. This will blow over." There must be doubt on her face, because he continues.

"Worst case, they're gonna be angry with us for a few weeks? And then - what can they do: shake their fists at us?" he waves, but it's half-hearted. "Come on!"

"And when it blows over, will it be really over?" she asks, sharply. "From where I'm standing, it looks like you are wandering around comatose, and it has nothing to do with the courthouse. It has to do with the desert."

"I'm just tired, that's all. Look, maybe I haven't drunk enough water in the past few weeks, and maybe, I should see a doctor. You were right before, maybe I will see a shrink, but.... Kim?"

His voice trails off, because Kim stands up suddenly, both alarmed and ecstatic. 

"Jimmy... the man. The man who wanted to kill Lalo!"

"You told me he killed him." her husband says, alarmed. 

"One of them. The cellmate. But the other one... the one from outside..."

"He is in the hospital." Jimmy's breath hitches. "In a coma."

"Listen. We might be able to solve this, without incriminating us further. Hear me out..."

.

Allegedly, the man who attempted to kill Lalo Salamanca in his cell (the very same man who almost got killed by him) is called Stephen Olarfsson, 39, an accountant born in Oregon. 

It takes her three days and - she avoids writing emails altogether - at least a dozen calls to track down the man. During this interval Kim is a chameleon: posing as a legal administrator, police clerk, member of the Neurocritical Care Society requesting a one-on-one with the patient, who she learns has woken up four days ago, disoriented and discomfited. He denies answering any questions and in turn, remaining chained to his hospital bed until the Rehabilitation Center of Rio Rancho discharges him, which, one of the nurses tells Kim's pseudonym, may take at least a month, but more realistically, three. 

Apart from the sever head-trauma (causing hemorrhage in his brain, rendering him comatose for a few weeks), the shiv which killed Lalo's cellmate has founds its way into him as well, more specifically his thighs and stomach (so he was to be operated twice at the end of the month and fed intravenously in the time being). 

He remains under close supervision, from both outside and inside of his hospital room. 

He remains silent, despite threats and pleads and deals. 

This suits Kim perfectly. She does not want to talk. 

She just wants him to deliver a message. 

 .

Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong - is what Kim's mom used to say, usually after waking up hungover. Yet on those mornings, it was Kim tasting yellow acid in her mouth, as if she had been the one drinking. Bitterness, by any other name. 

It's the same acidic bitterness in her mouth when Erickson finds her one morning, coffee in her right hand, and flattery in her mouth, and Kim knows they are in trouble. De Guzman's name could only hold up for so long - it's a damn miracle it lasted at all. 

"Here" Ericsen says after leading Kim to her office, placing two photographs next to each other on the table. They are not shaking, her hands, but she puts them under the desk anyway, so that they wouldn´t betray her. "Same person."

On one of the photos is a black-and-white mugshot of Lalo, a close up of his all-angles face, mouth downturned. On the other, he is violently alive, all colorful, laughing, while embracing two older women in a garden. Maybe one of them is his mother, or perhaps both of them are his aunts - Kim cannot tell from the picture. She can only guess, and the smile on Lalo's face seems genuine in its warmth. But then again, Kim cannot quite tell.

"Who is Eduardo Salamanca?" she asks, easing the edges of the questions. For she knows him, seems like she has known him for ages, even though it's only been a month and a half. 

"A major drug dealer south of the border" it's different, hearing it from Ericsen. There is a slight bite to her tone, meant to criticize. "It seems Salamanca jumped bail, fled to Mexico where he consequently died in a gunfight. Half dozen people were killed."

Dead.

Kim resists the urge to stare at the colored photo again. 

When? she wants to ask, to get proof. It seems laughable, unbelievable to her, that a man like that would die, as if he was too much for death to bear. A month ago, he was towering above them, and staring at her with his knife-gaze, the gaze that seemed sharp enough to cut through her mask. And now -

The word is on the tip of her tongue. 

When? 

But instead, she says: 

"And?"

Ericsen looks strict. 

"I think there's a question here, Kim: How much did you know?"

The question is piercing.

Tell her, sensible Kim says. Here's the chance. 

Not like this, survivor Kim whispers. She won't believe you. Or worse, she will believe you - but not Jimmy. 

And without Jimmy McGill, Kim Wexler won't make a deal. 

.

Kim returns to the hospital the next week. 

Olarfsson, patient-assailant, is gone. 

Kim's note, the one which he gave him to deliver, hid it under his mattress and told him to try, that note is gone, too. 

Worse, as she leaves the hospital in a rush, confused if Olarfsson disappearing is a good or bad news, she spots a car that she has spotted before, when they returned home from the hotel. 

A blue sedan with two men in it. 

Otherwise forgettable. 

Until they are not. 

.

Jimmy's mood blackens in the upcoming days. 

Hearsay starts and all the other lawyers ostracize him - the news reaches her not through Jimmy, but from here and there after hearings. This is how she knows his shunning is widespread, ugly in its depth.

He needs cheering up, Kim decides. 

In fact, she needs cheering up as well. 

Deserves it. 

The plan presents itself in the form of Howard stopping her one day at the Forque Bar, voice polite but words biting, telling her to make her own decisions and insulting Jimmy. That is all it takes. 

Rushing home, an idea forms in her mind, ugly in its depth, but rewarding too, she knows. 

A well-deserved prank.

A lesson, if you would. 

Nothing too serious.

.

"They're gone" says a gruff voice, grave and gravelly. "The two men who were following you. They're gone."

Kim turns, there is almost no one in the elegant, but shabby little café. It's a dead part of town, dead part of the day. 

An old man looks back at her with shrewd eyed at the bar top. 

"Would you mind sitting down for a moment? And I'll answer any questions you have. If I can."

Once seated, he fishes a paper out of his front pocket, unfolds it neatly, and sets it in front of her.

"This" he says. "wasn't very clever."

It's Kim's note, the offer, crumpled, but still eligible.

July heat scorches the back of her clothes, makes it stick to her back, however she resists it, whatever she wears. 

"Doesn't fortune favor the bold?" she asks evenly. 

"Sometimes" the man agrees with a small nod. "When you busted my men, that was brave. Not wise perhaps, but I'll give you credit."

"Were you..."

"The one who hired Olarffson? No." he shakes his head, for emphasis. "That is why you should not leave notes like that around. And I would advise against leaving a note like that at the District Attorney's office as well."

Kim picks up her note, and puts in her bag, slow. 

"But the men who followed me" she asks, sharp. "They were yours, weren't they?"

"Yes. Both you and your husband. I'm not police. They are not investigating you either, in case you were wondering. I also know you have been doing things you should not be doing. But this is not what it is about."

"What is this about then?"

As if to brace himself, he man breathes in deeply. He has a tough look, but a calm kind of face. Grounding. 

"Lalo Salamanca."

"Lalo Salamanca is dead."

The old man says nothing.

And by saying nothing, Kim knows. 

.

Paranoia is just a fancy word for intuition - was another favorite saying of her mother.

The same intuition that made her find out about the attendant's men is now heightened three-fold. Now that she knows he isn't dead, it's as if the pavement, the canals, hell, even the high windows downtown grew eyes, watching her. 

Made of sterner stuff, he said. It echoes in her mind, her child self, the survivor jeers at it. It is a praise but so what? She thumbs the note she has written, the offer of information in exchange for information, so that she can see better, understand Lalo, who is very much alive, and could be anywhere in the world. 

So why is she so certain he is here somewhere, watching and smiling and knowing? Knowing what she does not? Sterner stuff, yet she is powerless. No move, no motivation given.

The note, she puts it next to the half-drafted affidavit. Both these papers, she puts in the cabinet under the fish tank, where they keep receipts, letter of guarantees and different sized rubber bands. Perhaps later she will have need of it, perhaps later, they can forget about it. 

When cornered, an animal will attack. Kim, with a beer in one hand, and a cigarette in another, cannot attack a fanthom, a ghost. Takes a great inhale of smoke and watches the board where the Hamlin-scam's planning stages are almost all ticked. 

A career-setback.

Or else, an attack. 

.

You never listen, Kim. 

It is true. She never listened to her mother, who she deeemed irresponsible and self-destructive in more ways than one. But then, how was she different? Where was the line, the line which she never should have crossed? Was it the Howard-scam? Or planning the affidavit? Or standing up against Lalo? Or going to the Detention Center to meet him? Or lying to Ericsen; laughing at Howard? Or marrying Jimmy? Where did it turn into a tragedy? 

She doesn't reflect on these questions yet. Not on the sunniest day of July, the last day of the month, when the prank has succeeded, the deed done. Sex with Jimmy has never been this amazing. There must be something to be said about the euphoria found in the vulgar, and Kim is basking in it, her worries near-forgotten, so is her guilt. She has had no time to ponder about the affidavit too much in the last couple of days, so deep they were into executing the Howard-prank. 

"Drinks?" Jimmy asks, half-clothed. 

"I will get some snacks, we have nothing now." yawns Kim, who wants nothing more than sleep for a bit, but it has been a long time since they celebrated anything. "Not even toothpaste."

She drives to the nearest supermarket. On the way, Howard calls her, which she declines with a scoff. Gets the toothpaste and the snacks, but also  washing powder, and a new set of towels for the kitchen, feeling festive, as if they have renovated their house, or else, moved into a new one. As if she should not hurry, because why would she need to? 

One of her clients, an unemployed guy from Nevada who moved recently, calls her, she takes it, tells him the basics, asks him to write an email, tells him everything will be alright. Calms him. 

Then she sees then Ericsen has called while she talked with Nevada. Calls her back with the patience of a saint. Ericsen just wants an update that she cannot give her, they talk of ongoing cases and how Jimmy fares, which Kim decided to color in a better light than it is. 

"Oh, I forgot" Suzanne says before hanging up. Kim, who has been in the supermarket for two hours now, starts to get a bit impatient. "Police in Chihuahua tracked Ignacio Varga. He was first spotted at the border, then near Albuquerque around a fortnight ago."

Vertigo claims her, suddenly. 

"That's great help, Suzanne. Gotta go now." she says, hangs up. 

The first sign: when she checks her phone again, she sees that Howard has not tried to call her again, nor did Jimmy. 

Not once.

.

Just paranoia, she repeats to herself, but goes over the speed limit anyway, rushing home despite her rational self soothing her. Nothing wrong, he probably fell asleep. 

The second sign appears though: her key gets stuck into the lock - with a creaking, splitting sound, as if something has already been forced into it. 

Kim will remember the sound for the rest of her life. 

It is stuck, however forcefully she wants to pull it out. 

"Kim!" Jimmy shouts from inside, and he sounds desperate, so Kim leaves her keys in the door. 

Decides to step inside. 

An act that cannot be undone. 

.

Inside is a slaughterhouse. 

She barely has time to register Jimmy's voice, which is shrill, begging her to run, when another person steps from behind the door, closing it, barring it.

  "Mrs. Goodman" beams Lalo, dominating the dmall space around him. Smile so wide, so wild. "So nice to see you again - come, join us!"

He has specks of blood on his face, but he does not seem to mind as he leads her to the living room, where everything is either overturned, on the floor, or bloody. Or all three. 

On the couch is Jimmy, crumpled and worn, so small. Around him are books opened and smaller storage boxes emptied on the floor, a mass of paper, most of them bloody, and god, where did the blood come from? She studies Jimmy who seems unharmed, though thoroughly shaken, like he was struck by lightning. Lalo does not seem to be hurt either - a bit tired and worn, but still very virile for lack of a better word. 

All she has to do, however, is to step closer. There lies the answer. Lies, literally, because Howard is on the floor, sprawled on the ground, a stranger, because it is not him anymore, only his body: bloody and unbothered by the happenings around him. Some of his blood has been mixed with water, diluting it, increasing its spread on the floor. The water comes from the fish tank that has been shattered on the floor, the fish dead on the ground, the cabinets in the kitchen with the utensils and the pots scattered on the ground, as well as the papers from the filing compartment, soaking in the salty water and the fresh blood. 

"God" Kim hears herself uttering the words, automatic and from far away. 

She cannot see the note or the affidavit on the ground. 

.

Once he sends Jimmy away, - because obviously he would send him to kill a man, as if the choice mattered - they are alone. Lalo simply makes Kim sit on the sofa, setting a glass of water before her. 

"Can I get something stronger, please?" she hates how weak her voice sounds. It's like her energy was inside this room and by destroying its order, Lalo decimated her powers. 

"Sure" says Lalo, amused. He has been walking up and down ceaselessly since Jimmy left, not one moment at ease. "Where you keep your liquor?"

"I thought you ransacked everything."

"You came home before I could get everything."

"It's above the fridge."

He whistles while stepping over Howard's body, on the way to the kitchen. 

"You have a preference, Mrs. Goodman?"

"Gin."

"Blue or red?"

Kim looks into the unseeing eyes of Howard Hamlin, close yet far, and she has a sudden urge to cry. 

"Blue."

He pours them both a glass and sits down on a chair, facing her. 

"Drink up."

He gulps his in a second, sighing when finishing. Waits until Kim finishes hers, stares at her with a pensive look, thumbing his gun again. 

"You were an only child, weren´t you?" he says after a second or so. "A lonely one, eh? You have that independence about you, real toughness, no fake macho shit. Could see it the first time you turned up, even if you were shaking down to your boots. Real courage. It's rare."

"Is this about Olarfsson?"

"Olarfsson?" smiles Lalo. "That the guy who I almost killed with my bare hands?"

Kim is very careful to keep her face blank as Lalo peers down at her. 

"Seems like you´ve been bad" he murmurs to himself, licking his lips. "and there I thought you are all goody two shoes."

He scratches his chin with the gun, then pushes his chair closer to the sofa, to her. 

"But then, you got me thinking."

The smell of him hits her nose this close: smoke, sweat and day old gasoline. 

"Gotta hand it to you, your mask is real good. Almost fooled me too. But then again, you have some tells."

"Tells?" repeats Kim, voice far, mind on the floor, next to Howard´s body.

"Yeah" he drawls, holding up his fingers to count, comical. "The first being married to Mr. Big Mouth. The second chasing me down in jail. And the third, well... I saw the look you gave me across the table. You throw that look around often?"

"I dont´t often dislike people." 

"Dislike" Lalo sneers, smile going cold. "Now that´s a funny word. You know what I dislike?"

He leans in, confidential. 

"Disloyalty."

Her blood curls. Whatever happened to Varga must be something terrible, and there is not an ounce of her that wants to know. Not this, nor where her note or her affidavit went. 

"Disloyalty is really ugly to me." continues Lalo breezily, as if they were having a coffee downtown, not playing russian roulette. "Hate and blood, that's part of the business, you know, but when you really trust someone - let's take your lovely husband, as an example, shall we? - it's all give and take. Al que a buen árbol se arrima, you know? And to betray a bond like this, well that's just a shame."

"Tell me what does this have to do with us?" Kim bites back. She can feel a swollen drop of sweat make its way down from the nape of her neck, and the blood of Howard Hamlin streaming its way to the carpet, near her feet. "You have asked for a service which Jimmy and I delivered. And now our business is done."

A deep cut appears in between Lalo's eyebrows: scorn. 

"I told your husband the moment I left that cell: this business between you and me is not over. Great things were waiting for us. And then you two spit in my face."

"The job you gave us" argues Kim with a heaving chest. "wasn´t easy and it wasn´t quick, but we did it - and we did not rat."

"You are a liar, Mrs. Goodman" Lalo says a bit too calmly for her taste. "First time, I almost bought what you said, I even admired it. Thought to myself: this Goodman is one lucky pendejo, eh? But then your esposo comes back and suddenly, you don't know nothing about anything, despite being top of the class."

Some of the blood reaches her left sock - wet and warm. 

What was that thing Howard told her some months ago, about forgiveness? Her mind feels a maze, but arguing gives some of her strength back so as she continues, so fear eludes her voice entirely.

"Threatening situations make people scared and desperate. And desperate people often look guilty."  

"A nice defense, councellor. Maybe that´s why you went running to a hotel, afraid I´ll come back here, huh?"

"Which you did." Kim points out.

Lalo spreads his legs in sitting, and leans in closer. His knees are just touching hers like at the garden at the Center, when Kim wrote her number on the map of his hand. When she thought him human. 

Lalo strokes his moustache before speaking.

"Funny coincidence, no? I leave this apartment, and they come to kill me two days later."

"One might say you could not get your house in order." she says coldly, pressing all her nails into her palm with full force. Small crescents of small moons.

Now, a snarl appears, yet Lalo manages some mirth into his voice - the contrast between his facade and his face quite disturbing.

  "As you kindly warned me so. How can I ever repay you, Mrs. Goodman?"

"You can start by not killing me."

"Is this what you think I'll do?" his voice is low.

The thudding of her heart becomes almost unbearable. When she looks up straight onto Lalo´s eyes, only to find him already looking back at her, a mirroring. The sliver of his brown eyes seemingly warm in the living light of the room - but it's only veneer. She knows by now it melts off easy.

"What you think I want to do?"

Without looking at the table itself, Lalo puts his gun on the far end of it, and rests his hands on the sides of Kim's head, caging her in. Then he bends even closer, breath blowing some here-there slips of her hair. 

"The worst thing that can happen?"

His pupils are so large, they seem to have devoured half of his gaze. 

Fear, Kim realizes suddenly, is a very lax word. She thought she was afraid before, but it is nothing compared to what she is feeling now. It's as if her body was falling off a balcony, or her nerves were stacked on each other, aflame. 

"Look -" she gives reason one last shot.

But he cuts her off immediately by pushing his hands from the sides of her head to the nape of her neck. Kim feels heavy and light at the same time. 

"We talked about family, remember?" Lalo says in a strange tone. "Family...well it's everything. And the people back in my home, well, they were part of my family. And every one of them is now dead, thanks to Varga, and that hijo de puta, and maybe, just maybe... " he thumbs Kim's temples as an afterthought. "Because of you."

Terror is a stone that sits inside of her. 

"That's insane" she whispers, looking down to Howard and then back at his murderer. Her face feels wet, and why is it wet? "You think we wanted this?"

Lalo angles his head to the side, examining.

"You might not have sent the men or pulled the trigger. But I'm sure you got a wind of what would happen. What has happened. And didn't tell me. Isn't that against law, too?"

Then with an almost uncanny gentleness, he caresses her face. 

"You should have run further away, you know?" he whispers. "Just like your mama made you run before, huh?"

Time freezes. 

It freezes with a special kind of carelessness, the one you don't expect coming, that makes the heart of you shudder.

Howard's voice, in her head: 

Your debt is forgiven, but anything else? That's on you.

"You look shocked!" Lalo continues, toothful of mirth in his mouth. "But I check on everyone I employ. People I want to work with in the long run, y'know."

It's not so abstract anymore, the terror in her blood - indeed, it has turned entirely tangible, something to become entirely. Terror, personified, chewing on her brain, devouring it whole. 

"Checked on your husband before Varga introduced us" then he points at her, just below her neck, near the jugular. "And I checked on you, too, just after we had that nice talk right in this room. Kimberly Wexler. Goodman's name doesn't suit you as much as your own does. Lots of, consonantes, hard on the tongue. Hard name for a hard woman."

He licks his lips. 

"How many schools did you go to, exactly?" he asks. It would be a very polite question, were he a polite man. Were this a polite scenario.

Kim opens her mouth to say something. 

But nothing comes out.

So Lalo reaches for one of her wrists resting on her lap.

"Hey, hey" he says, smile flattening. "Don't get panicky on me now, hm? We're just having a conversation. You, me, just like back in the garden."

His hand doesn't let go - his index finger measures her pulse. 

"You can ask me anything in turn. Talking is nice, no? As long as we're honest with each other. Mira!"

He holds out his other hand, for Kim to shake it. 

With a clammy palm, Kim shakes it, her body shaking itself into acceptance. This is not a dream. This is happening. Howard on the floor, a body, nothing more. Lalo sitting on the chair, in front of her, nearer than near, with frenzied eyes, oozing blood. 

"So... Kimberly! How many schools did you go to, exactly?"

"I can't... can't remember." Kim confesses, teeth chattering. "Twelve, or maybe more. Didn't reach twenty, I think."

"Dios mio! Hell of an education!" he cocks his head. "But that's not what made you smart, isn't it?"

Kim says nothing. Thinks nothing. 

Lalo continues. 

"Must have been hard, growing up with a mama like that. You moved cause of her job?"

"Not really."

"Did she have a lot of men to run around with?"

"No, I wouldn't say that."

There is a sharp flash entering his gaze now.

Knowledge. 

"But you moved because of her, no?"

"Yes" there is no danger in confessing this, at least.

"Was she a drunk? Or a gambler?"

"Bit of both."

Lalo hums, thoughtful. 

"And your dad?"

"My dad left when I was very small." her answers come automatically - all she need is time. Maybe some curiosity where there is no sympathy.  "Don't remember him."

"Must have been hard. I should know - I don't remember my papá either" says Lalo wistfully. "But he didn't leave."

"Did he die?" Kim asks, sure of the answer. 

"Yes, he was killed when I was four. My brother too, y'know." he reaches for the hem of Kim's blouse, a soft kind of material, blue. He inspects it with a tender sort of care, like he wants to imprint it in his memory. 

Jimmy loved the color of it, said so in the morning. 

"Only brother I had. Mi madre estaba tan triste, she got locked in a madhouse. Did you know that grief can make you insane?"

"That's terrible" says Kim, fighting the urge to be sick. Her mind cannot comprehend it yet, but in her soul, she already feels what is about to bloom in between them. 

"Yeah" Lalo says, still caressing the material, hands wandering near the skin of her abdomen. "You talked with Olarfsson?"

"No."

"And a gringo called Mike?"

"I do not know who that is."

Lalo hums again, the sound reverbarating on Kim's stomach, in her body.

"And does Goodman know?"

"Know what?" her mouth is so dry she has difficulty swallowing.

  Finally, Lalo looks up from her blouse to her face, clenching both of her wrist this time, his hands hot and his eyes dark. But only when he starts talking, voice raspy and an octave deeper from arousal, does Kim realize his strategy as a whole. 

"How much you want to be punished."

"That's not - " she tries, but Lalo raises one of his fingers against her face - his face severe in its fury.

"If you lie to me again, I´ll make Goodman eat that fish on the floor before I gut him before you."

Whether it's a revolt, an instict, it matters not.

What matter is it makes Kim spit on him.

For a moment, Lalo does nothing. Stunned completely as the wetness trickles down his face - Kim's spit landed just above his left eye, where there is a week old graze, perhaps from the day they tried to kill him. 

"Bien" Lalo's face is blank as a baptism. "If you want to play it like this."

He thumbs the spit away, eyes bright, and there, just next to the craving, there is an animal coming out of his stare now, gentle reminiscing and the light mannerisms all gone, gone with the spittle. And Kim can see clearly now how the dark window of his eyes have splintered, and something wild and mad had spilled in between the cracks. 

The hold on her hands is definitely painful now, she can feel his fingernails leaving red crescents on her in his wake. 

"Turn" it's an order. 

And he is reaching for the gun. 

Kim has been waiting for this move since he put the gun down in the first place. 

So when he moves to hold both her hands in one, she can feel his hold loosening a bit, and then, then she yanks her hands, preferably knocking him on the head. She also tries to kick him. 

But that never happens. 

Lalo is a seasoned one, it was clear from the first moment they talked. 

It's past talking now, and even in actions, he feels experienced enough. The moment she moves to dislodge herself, he halts his movement and kicks the coffeetable away, so as to drag her by the waist, down, down to the floor that is all bloody and watery. 

"Here she is!" he is panting, but his voice sounds triumphant. "¡Una mujer de fuego! I knew you were there somewhere, Kimberly."

He pushes himself on her so easily - and he is smiling again, the look on her face, the crack in her composure so intoxicating. 

"Fuck" Kim hisses, strained. Lalo's body is a bulk. But the heaviness she feels now, in her abdomen, is both new and familiar.

"I'm trying, Mrs. Goodman." he chides her, cruel again, despite the plea now in her eyes, because he invoked him again. 

Not him, he doesn't have a place here. Leave him out of this.

"What a temper you have, huh?" he moves deftly this time, moving her wrists into one hand, and pulling the hem of the blouse up, stroking the hardened skin there, seemingly a solid shell, yet soft nevertheless. Goosebumps appear on her abdomen as he caresses it. "The first time you got into trouble, you must have felt so bad. That made you do all the stupid things in the last few months?"

"At least I feel bad" Kim says dryly. 

"Yes, I'm sure it made a lot difference." he looks around, cocking his head. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I really hope you will die soon and painfully" Kim bites back, childish. "I hope they shoot your brains out or else hang you by your feet to rot."

As this was an invitation, Lalo leans in to kiss her with a devouring sort of hunger, pressing his forehead to hers and cupping her breast. Her breath hitches when he bites on her tongue, hard. As she taste of copper floods her mouth, and she sinks her teeth into his lips as a rebuttal.

Lalo grunts. His eyes are pitch-dark, and his lips vivid-red when he breaks the kiss. 

"The moment you stood up to defend that clown of a husband, I knew. Almost took you on the spot. I got so fucking hard I got almost blind. Here, feel it."

Almost gently, he guides her hand to his trousers tenting. 

You still have weapons, y’know, says the dark and dead voice again in the back of her brain. Think fast, Mrs. Goodman.

So Kim palms his erection through the fabric of his jeans - hears him inhale, hard. 

"Qué inteligente" he drawls against her mouth, breathless. "Veamos que mojada estas."

So Kim helps him discard the rest of his clothes.

So Kim does not mind when he tears her blouse into two, and simply pulls her panties away, sticking two of his fingers deep inside of her, curling them. Does not mind when he groans against her neck when she pulls on his thick hair, dishevelled in their rutting because this is far from lovemaking, she wouldn't even call it fucking. It's something more violent, bordering on biological. 

A whimper emerges from her mouth when he sticks a third finger in her, and he leans in close to swallow the sound with a kiss, searing. He licks her teeth before sticking his fingers into her mouth. 

"Just get it over with" Kim chokes when he pulls his fingers out to lick them. Feels strung-out, feels seen. Does not like how Lalo keeps his eyes on fixed on hers, fixed on her - rooted, grounded. Does not like it at all. 

She thought he'd cease talking once he is in her, but he is only silent as he unbuckles his belt with one hand, and takes out his cock. There is little to no fumblings, but Kim wishes there would be so she could be prepared. Still, the suddenness and harshness of it all is quite fitting. After all, judgement and punishment rarely comes expected. 

It hurts, when he enters her - even wet, he is so big. She gasps into his mouth when he starts moving, resuming his speech. 

"Can you imagine" he breathes into the hollow of her pale neck, as he presses her into the floor, the woodboard hard on her back, her hips. His golden necklace is cold on her bare breasts. "What Goodman would say if he found out? That would be something, no? Him walking in while I'm balls deep in you."

It is almost vulgar, the sound between the meeting of their flesh, because she is wet, shamefully so, and he, so eager that he is now slipping inside of her effortlessly. 

"Enough..." she pleads, and when he smiles her down, she bites him on his shoulder, until she feels the skin break and the sinews shake and his shivering voice, low in her ears. 

"Enough?" he pulls out of her only to turn her over, on her stomach, only to hoist her skirt to her waist, and enter her from behind. "We're just getting started - or is this..." 

This time, his breath halts, as Kim feels her walls squeeze involuntarily, shuddering through her orgasm, throwing back her head, her ponytail slipping from its keep, the world with it too, falling apart. She feels as if she was being impaled, cut in half. 

"Jesús" his left hand finds her hair, gripping, then pulling. Her back arches instinctively, and she mewls despite her discipline, despite this being a game. Because it is still a game, a chess game. Isn't it?

He is close to climaxing too - she can feel it as he grips her by the narrow slope of her neck and drags her closer, skin on skin, want on want. 

"A woman like you, I could give her the world... ¿No lo quieres dulce, querida?" he bends to her right ear, his face next to her, their breath mingling. "You wouldn't have to act good, wouldn't have to act at all, you can be as cold...Don't you want it sweet though? Sweet from me alone? Cristó..." 

His cock swells, and then he empties himself in her, his cum hot in her womb, his body almost lifeless as his orgasm take him by full force. 

"It wasn't so bad, wasn't it?" he says, later, as he climbs down from her laid down body, resembling the corpse in the room, stiff and spiritless. "Miss Wexler?"

Kim turns her face away, and finally, finally, starts crying.

.

After, when Mike tells them that Lalo is dead, she also tells her he destroyed the note with the affidavit a long time ago. 

"Knew you would keep it." he shakes his hands. The dawning light seeps in, and Kim feels a thousand year old. "And some things, you should let go of."

"Thanks." it sounds empty, because it is. 

The apartment is a mess.

She wouldn't meet Jimmy's eyes, though he tries to catch her gaze. 

They have to leave, so that they can clean the place, Mike and his men. 

Most of the blood is Howard's, she wants to tell them in passing. Some of them is mine.

But there is a strange smell around the blood, heaviest in the living room.

Must be the same for them so it must means nothing for them. 

So she tells them nothing. 

Thinks of nothing. 

[captainjackscoat]

THE 2025 "DON'T DO SUICIDE AGENDA"

I had a 2024 agenda and it was shite. This is my list of things I must do every single day in order to maintain control over my own life whilst also maintaining my basic decent mental health.

Posting it on Tumblr because I may forget important things and I'll need you to tell me if you find I have forgotten something.

Write at least one sentence of my novel every day

Eat at least one full meal every day

Go outside of the house for at least five minutes every day

Message Daisy every day

Message Isla at least once a day

Have at least one semi intelligent conversation with my father per day. "Semi intelligent" does include film trivia, it does not include making fun of each other or hiding from my mum together.

Try at least one new thing every week (can be a food, a speech pattern, talking to someone new, a new tv show, anything)

Drink at least one cup of something each day

Take my goddamn fucking meds when i'm supposed to

Listen to at least one happy song every day

Brush my teeth when I'm supposed to

Take a shower at least once a week, and once that comes naturally, take a shower at least twice a week

Read a favourite paragraph from any one of my favourite books at least once a day

Go to sleep no later than midnight from Sunday night to Thursday night

On Friday night and Saturday night, go to sleep no later than 1am

Do at least two minutes of exercise per day (exceptions made on bad pain days)

Look in the mirror until Bad Thoughts start, once every day, until I can get to two minutes of looking in the mirror with no Bad Thoughts

Make at least one new list each day

[your-friendly-neighbourh00d-fag]

(hi I'm thickskulldotmp3!)

talk funkobra to me (if you want) 👀... I don't necessarily ship them (I don't really ship anyone here atp I'm more interested in the ambiguities and complexities of non-romantic interpretations tbh) but I would love to hear any miscellaneous headcanons or Thoughts you might have on them. I think they're crazy about each other in every sense of the phrase and that's beautiful

you're actually so real for being more interested in platonic 'joy stuff, there's soooo many cool dynamics to explore.

however i am also funkobra trash, so lets goo!!

totally agree, even if im not writing them as In Love, they have to be at least a little obsessed with each other. something about them being the only ones to understand the intricacies of eachother's brains. the shared madness of two.

they both get really destructive i think, only ghoul gets really self destructive and kobra gets outwardly destructive. they're the only ones who will indulge each other. like poison will tell kobra it isn't healthy, and fighting random 'joys in bars is bad, and he should talk about it instead, etc. etc. but ghoul will just get on the back of kobra's bike and go with him. yeah, it isn't healthy, but sometimes you need to do dumb shit.

kobra's a really good artist, so he's designed a few of ghoul's tattoos. ghoul's DONE some on himself, but kobra's always drawn the stencil.

ghoul always spends ages in the workshop making bombs, and kobra always spends ages in the workshop making bike mods and stuff, and sometimes they don't talk for hours, just feel comfort in the fact that the other is there.

but, what they do do, is make little trinkets for each other and pass them wordlessly across the bench. ghoul's favourite is soldering tiny flowers for kobra. one time kobra made a flower crown but out of wires for ghoul. he'd worn that one for days before kobra made him take it off.

they're SOOOOOO physically clingy. like, they can't have a rational conversation without ghoul's arm around kobra's shoulder, their legs tangled, heads knocking against each other, just something. they're always touching in some way, and it pisses poison and jet the fuck off.

^ for a bonus, poison and jet are rarely physically affectionate, their main love language is words of affirmation. every sentence has honey or sweetheart or babe tacked on the end, and they say i love you like every five minutes.

^ also, kobra has a lot of issues verbalizing big important things like 'i love you,' so usually when ghoul says it, he'll give it back in morse code. however he can. squeezing ghoul's hand, tapping the small of his back, clicking a pen. ghoul always understands.

a lot of the time, both of them have trouble sleeping. that's why they always sleep so tucked together, pressed so close that you can't tell who's arm is who's. BUT, when that doesn't work for one or both of them, they go out for a mid night joyride. anywhere. sometimes it's just aimlessly around the desert, sometimes they want the thrill of a clap, it doesn't really matter. kobra just drives off, presses his back into ghoul's chest to remind himself that he's still there.

kobra's a really good singer!! i say this specifically because i just wrote a band au, and people always go, oh, killjoys = mcr, so if they're in a band, kobra's the bassist, pois is the singer, jet and ghoul on guitars, but i DISAGREE. to me: kobra would sing, jet would play bass, poison would play guitar, and ghoul would play drums. fight with the wall <3

kobra teaches ghoul to read, because he couldn't for ages, and as much as he likes kobra reading to him, it pisses ghoul the hell off when everyone but him can do stuff.

ghoul is a Hoarder. like, it's bad. kobra has opened their wardrobe multiple times to find old keepsakes stashed away, and whenever they try to go through them, ghoul finds a way to convince kobra they're important.

thanks for the ask! i love speaking funkobra :))

[andthekitchensinkao3]

Let the WIP Games begin! :3

Thank you to @temporary-enthusiasm for the tag 😀

rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your wip folder and tag as many people as there are documents. Let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

Yeah, I’m not gonna lie, I have soooo many WiPs I’m not gonna be able to tag as many people on here. XD It’s not even a humble brag, I’m just a mess of a 40-year-old with too many ideas and not enough time to put them all down in writing. But I’m working on it! One idea at a time. :3 So bear with me, everyone. Moar HankCon (and other pairings) will be in all our futures.

The Kamski Experience - When a team of struggling documentary filmmakers get an invitation to the secret location of Elijah Kamski's newest stab at hospitality, they expect an exclusive peek into the mind of the reclusive genius.

But when the work weekend turns into a deadly game of chess with a masked serial killer, they must each pass a personally customized death trap in order to escape - or die trying.

Wayfarer - AU take on the movie Passengers, but if it were a thriller and the main character and love interest were more equal partners right from the start.

When You’re a Stranger - AU take on the movie Deliver us Fom Evil, in which Connor is a homicide investigator with a psychic streak, and Hank is a (derobed) Lutheran priest now working as freelancing exorcist.

Heart/Soul - set five months after the end of the game. Starting with Connor taking a leap of faith on stage, declaring his love for Hank with an old power ballad from the '80s.

Monochromat - a story set a few months after my first massive HankCon fic, Metamorph; When androids first start disappearing for no apparent reason, there’s no obvious signs of foul play, but then android bodies start showing up all over Detroit. Android life and death semantics aside, it would seem there is a serial killer on the prowl.

Then, to make matters worse, one of the original leaders of Jericho suddenly goes missing without a word. Hank and Connors Mark I and II find themselves racing against the clock, with too much evidence and too little time.

Gambit - another what-if kind of fic branching off a chapter of Metamorph.

... ... ...

And then there are the ones I haven’t even started posting yet. >_>

DBH x Dragon Age Inquisition AU, in which Hank is a former Templar and Connor is a mage on the run. Set right after the botched Conclave.

Mr Stern’s Criminal Conundrums - a silly, fun Ms Fisher’s Murder Mysteries AU in which the honorable Mr Connor Stern is an elegant bachelor by day and all-out flapper fabulosity at night. Solving crime and making men swoon all hours of the live-long day. His ever present adversary-cum-ally is Lieutenant Hank Anderson, who doesn't need this kitten heel/fancy frock BS in his life (but secretly loves it).

Plotbunny Hank/60: At CyberLife Tower, Hank shoots the wrong Connor and completely breaks down. As a direct result, Connor-60 begins questioning everything he thought he knew.

Runaway Man - A The Fugitive (movie) AU, in which Hank is wrongfully accused of killing his ex, and Connor is tasked with hunting him down.

The Mummy AU - with Librarian!Connor and Pilot!Hank tracking down an ancient ruin to retrieve an heirloom of Hank’s (or something far, far worse ;) ). Something he lost a veritable lifetime ago. Featuring ridiculously rich Elijah Kamski headed to the same ancient site in order to find something far more interesting - an artifact promising eternal life; and the Jericho Four as a gang of troublemakers who may or may not be out for the same thing (or just stopping Kamski). Everyone has secrets, and nobody’s safe from whatever lies waiting in the depths of the ruin.

I have woefully neglected two raffle fics I started as well, but more on them in a different post. <3

Last but not least, I have a whole sentence of a PWP that never went anywhere (yet): “One of Connor’s favorite things to do in the bedroom, was watching Hank fuck himself using one of his dildos.”

I TAG EVERYONE WHO FEELS THUS INCLINED LOVE YA! <3<3<3<3<3

[thedevilsmemes]

ASTARION ANCUNIN QUOTES ~ BALDUR'S GATE 3 SENTENCE MEME!

"Hello, darling. Don't be shy, I promise I not to bite until we've been formally introduced."

"The tadpole's influence broke his dominance over me, and now I can finally pursue the one thing I've hungered for these long dark years."

"I'll be the last thing the bastard ever sees."

"Given that my choices were 'eternal life' or 'bleed to death on the street', I took him up on the offer."

"It was only afterwards I realized just how long 'eternity' could be."

"By the Hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion."

"I'm out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice."

"And I wish I was drinking out of the skull of everyone who's ever wronged me. Life is tough."

"I've been waiting. Waiting since the moment I laid eyes on you. Waiting... to have you."

"Yes darling, that's what we call a lie."

"All I want is a little fun, is that so much to ask?"

"Why hello. Welcome to my humble party."

"Oh, we're lying to each other now? Excellent."

"But... you're no stranger now. Just strange."

"I hate it. This is awful."

"Wait! Don't interrupt them. Let me do it. They sound disgusting."

"I don't know, I'm sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your heart."

"My, My. Who knew our friend had so much blood in them?"

"Oh, you're such a sweetheart."

"I'm just glad you're being sensible about these revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks."

"Although, there's still time."

"I already apologised. What more do you want? Unless you're looking for another nibble?"

"Yes, darling? Do you need something?"

"What in the sweet hells were you THINKING activating that lance, I was right there!"

"Next time? No no no, if there is a 'next time' I'll be the one aiming the all-powerful weapon."

"Although, I do appreciate you trying to fix your mistake, just don't do it again!"

"It's just that I happen to be a... what's the best way to put this? A vampire?"

"Oh my honour, the only thing on my mind, is depraved carnal lust."

"You couldn't wait ten seconds before being an absolute freak."

"Oh, good, puns. Because clowns aren't enough of a horror already."

"What? Was it something I said?"

"Really? - Anything in particular?"

"Now, I can't help but notice that one of us is positively drenched in blood. So..."

"At least the smut peddlers of Sharass' Caress will have a field day writing erotic verse about us when we're both dead."

"Hundreds? Urgh, it'll take hours to kill them all. She/He's right, we should just go."

"Oh? Then what do you want?"

"Five seconds into this relationship and I already want to break up with you."

"Oh the one hand, killing Gortash will be fun. On the other, Halsin can be very annoying."

"The man can't stay quiet about 'enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts'. I bet he'd outlaw clothing if he could."

"Good Morning. Thank you for not killing me the other night."

"Of course, what fun! I'm going to fucking kill you."

"I am. And beautiful - not enough people mention that."

"Hmm. Hmm. Thank you for helping me. It was very kind."

"I can't even tell if any of you are acting strange because you've been replaced or because this group is full of weirdos!"

"So... I was wondering if maybe - perhaps - you might be able to..."

"Can you read what's on my damn back? Please?"

"Well, hello... Looking for a cuddle?"

"What are you? No. We are not jumping down there!"

"Oh - eh - Hello again?"

"Easy now. Let's not do anything Hilarious."

"You have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. I like it."

"I'd trust a devil over a vampire any day. I think he likes us."

"Oh, bravo! Encore!"

"Why she sounds positively demented."

"I love it! let's tell her everything!"

"Don't be touchy. I'm sure he meant 'better off dead' as a compliment."

"I'd shake her hand, but she can still snap me in two, so... probably safest to skip it."

"Anyway, it's a brand new day. I'm sure we'll find lots of people for you to kill."

"I must see this. Don't you dare say no."

"Well, this seems like a lovely little spot. The sense of impending doom aside."

"I suppose it was only a matter of time until [ insert name ] took vengeance."

"For the Lady/Lord of loss, She/He does not like losing."

"Come to kill me again, darling?"

"Guilty as charged. Sometimes literally."

"What? No! Don't you dare! This isn't funny!"

"Huh, thank goodness, I was almost worried."

"Nice as it is, she still doesn't have the best hair in the camp."

"Well, I mean... kind of? It's a long story, honestly."

"You'll get back to me? This is important, devil! When?"

"It's not enough we have a gallery of villains to look out for, but now we could be infiltrated by a shapechanger?"

"But you're serious about this? About... us?"

"Tailor's mannequins? I never figured [ insert name ] for a follower of fashion."

"Well done again on besting Baal and all that. It was very twee."

"You filthy devil. I'm shocked."

"Haha! That's - Oh, you're serious."

"Well, of course we can leave him, it's the easiest thing in the world. We just have to keep on walking."

"Well, at least you purr for me..."

"The thing that will decide my fate forevermore? Yes, it has been on my mind, why?"

"Who knows how long before the others go feral without us there to guide them?"

"Let. Me. Go! - Ah... Hello!"

"No, as much as I'd like to become a Lord, ruling over the Underdark's vampire spawn, we have unfinished business with the mind flayers."

"I'm glad you had your fun then. I am here to provide an endless array of delights."