#typing broken noses is harder than I thought

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal Part 9

WC: 1431, Masterpost CW: blood, cannon typical violence, off screen civilian and first responder deaths, mentions of death

Danny and his Flash were both very busy people, there was no denying that. The good thing was that the worst of their busyness were the same events. Sure, they both had obligations outside of that. Danny had all of the other work with the outreach and now overseeing and even training other team members. Flash… well, Flash had whatever he did with the rest of his life. Danny assumed he worked, even if it was for the Justice League.

It was a little odd not knowing Flash past the mask. Danny understood, of course he did. A secret identity was important and, despite having been on several dates now, they still were getting to know each other. It wasn’t as if Danny didn’t know anything about his Flash. He knew Flash always comforted the kids first, was fiercely loyal, and couldn’t resist petting a dog. He knew Flash loved trying new foods, played video games with friends that Flash wished he saw more, and really did enjoy spoiling him. He knew a lot.

He just didn’t know Flash’s name or what family Flash had or if those freckles ran all the way across Flash’s nose.

Danny would be patient though, because he understood. It helped that he at least had Flash’s number. He didn’t know if it was a burner phone or an app or routed through a number of proxies; he hadn’t asked. The first thing Danny had done, in fact, was to send a Flash meme. It had gotten him shoved, but that had turned into a make out session on the couch, so Danny certainly wasn’t complaining.

And if Danny now kept a collection of gifs, memes, and other silly Flash things on hand to send? Well, who could blame him.

He rolled over to grab his phone from the coffee table and sent off another picture of a cat dressed up in Flash’s outfit. The amount of people dressing pets up as superheros was honestly shocking. He didn’t expect an answer right then, looking at the time, but he found it was… nice to be able to find things to send to Flash for him to find and respond to later. It made him feel connected to someone in a way that he hadn’t had in years.

Danny recognized, now, that he had been really hurting himself trying to stay so separate from everyone. One way or another, this is how things would be for the rest of his life. He couldn’t keep morning what had happened, what he had lost. Besides, he was just a civilian now, he wasn’t a danger to his friends and family anymore. So, along with Flash, Danny had started actually accepting the occasional invitation from some of his coworkers. He had even found a game store to go to and play at on the weekends.

It was harder than he thought, putting himself out there again, but his life was brighter for being around people outside of work every week or so. He had Flash to thank for that.

He also had Flash to thank for getting him addicted to the Percy Jackson books. He could personally do with less lightning, but the story had a real way of resonating with the halfa. Danny was three books in at this point and needed to know how it all finished up.

A few chapters further in a notification interrupted him.

Quick Boy: It’s not fair that a cat wears my uniform better than me!!

Danny laughed and tapped the message.

Danny: The cat is pretty cute. But I still think you wear it best. You have a better butt. 😏

The little dots wiggled as Flash typed. It was endlessly amusing to Danny that despite being, literally, super fast, Flash was slowed down by the physics of the world around him, like how fast a phone could accept input.

Quick Boy: 😳🫣🥵 Danny! Have you been checking out my butt?

Despite himself, Danny felt a blush heating up his cheeks. They hadn’t gotten any further than kissing, it didn’t feel right to go further when Danny didn’t know who Flash was, but that didn't mean Danny couldn't tease.

Danny: You run around in spandex, I can’t NOT check out your butt. Have to say, it’s a pretty good one. 10/10, would ogle again.

Quick Boy: How do you feel about ogling it in my most flattering sweatpants? Got a hold of that Japanese giant bug movie you were ranting about. I can grab food and be over to your place in about an hour?

Danny: Stop calling it that!!!You know the title! 😤

Quick Boy: I’m not typing out that title.

Danny grinned as he rolled off of the couch. If Flash was coming over, he should at least pick up a little. Danny knew Flash didn’t really care, but the pile of laundry that Danny had been avoiding folding was a bit much.

Danny: Thought you were supposed to be fast.

Quick Boy: 😒

Danny: Come on, quick boy, take the nanosecond and type it.

Quick Boy: I hate you.

Danny: No you don't~

(Danny sung along as he typed.)

Quick Boy: “Help I’ve Been Made a Holy Knight in a World of Giant Bugs and Need to Save the Prince”

Danny: Knew you could do it! Proud of you. 😘 See you in an hour! Bring Thai and ice cream!

Danny was just putting away the folded stack of laundry when an alarm on his phone screamed at him.

It was work.

Emergency alert.

All hands on deck.

Danny dashed for his door, shoving his feet in his work boots and grabbing the backup vest he kept at home. Someone would drive the trucks full of kits there, but Danny still took his little kit with him, just in case he ran into any wounded on the way.

So much for dinner and cuddling his boyfriend.

As soon as he stepped out onto the street, Danny could hear the sound of sirens and the acrid smell of smoke stung his eyes. Danny’s heart sank.

Whatever this was, it was big.

-

“Danny.”

Danny flexed his hands. Flakes of dried blood broke off and scattered in the wind.

“Danny, babe.”

He would need more gloves for his kit. Was he out? He had to be out. He changed gloves so many times. There were so many people. He had to be out of gloves. He would need more for his kit.

Other hands entered his vision, covered in bright red. Not blood red, bright red. Blood red was mostly darker than people thought. Bright blood was worse. He watched as the hands gently rolled down the gloves.

He needed more gloves.

“Not for today, babe. You’re done for today.”

He needed more gloves, there were so many people.

“Everyone is accounted for. You and the others got everyone.”

Not everyone.

How many people died under his hands today?

Were already dead when he found them?

Wouldn’t last the night?

How many people did he fail?

Too many.

“Danny.” The voice was worried now. “Come on babe, look at me, please?”

Blood had gotten under his gloves, staining his wrists.

“Babe, please.”

Warm, fabric covered hands rested on Danny’s cheeks, tilting his gaze up and away from his hands.

Oh. “Flash?”

“Hey there, babe, you with me?”

Why did he look so worried?

“Because you’re scaring me a little. I think you’re in shock.”

Oh.

“Do you have a shock blanket in your kit still?”

“No… used them all. Had to cover…”

How many people did he fail?

“Okay, that’s okay. I’m going to take you home, okay babe? Well, not my home, but where I used to live— right, that doesn’t matter now. We’re going to go and I’ll keep you safe.”

Danny motioned to a cluster of officials. “I have to—”

“I’ve already checked you out.”

“My team?”

Flash glanced down and away.

“Flash, my team?”

“They’re…. all accounted for. Larson…. He got caught in part of the building coming down. He didn’t make it. Patel was paired with him. She’s at the hospital, they think she’ll pull through.”

Danny tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to scream, to rage, to wail— it all caught up in his throat because he couldn’t. He let out a soundless sob.

Flash pulled Danny into his arms, holding him close. “I know. I know. I’m taking you home. You’ll be okay Danny. It will be okay.”

The colors of the world blurred together as Flash ran, but Danny hardly noticed.

-----

AN: So this has been 95% written since before I got sick, but just now was the first time I could get my brain to deal with it. A darker part of the story, I know, but it felt needed. Danny's doing a very, very hard job and one made all the worse because Danny used to be able to do more and now he can't. (Though I have no doubt he pushed use of his powers further than was really safe in this.)

Stay safe and delightful, my darlings!

I no longer tag people for several reasons, you can subscribe to the masterpost instead to be notified! (May notify this part slightly later, I am queuing it.)

[marlynnofmany]

Racetracking

“The good news,” announced the gravelly voice of Mimi the tentacle alien, “Is that this model defaults to zero-g when it breaks.” He led the way down the corridor with tentacle slaps instead of footsteps, which managed to sound exasperated.

I had the brief thought that he was louder than Mur and Wio when he walked, possibly because he spent so much time in the engine room where everything was noisy. But I put that thought aside. I had a pretty good idea what the bad news was.

“The bad news,” Mimi grumbled, “Is that the carrying cage that these high-paying customers insisted on is so broken that I can’t fix it. Even with the right tools.”

“So we have animals in zero-g,” I said.

Mimi waved a tentacle in a way that I privately found hilarious. “We just took off! Just! It’s like they’re trying to frame us for damages!”

I looked at him in alarm. “Are we sure they’re not?”

He made a dismissive motion, still walking. “That’s what the cameras in the storage holds are for. There’s proof that no one dropped it or whatever. And I think Captain Sunlight is already talking to them about it, which is a conversation I do not envy her.”

I winced. “Yeah. Which animals? It’s just one of the carriers, right?”

“The little ones. I dunno what they’re called. They were alive when I left, but they looked pretty upset.”

That didn’t narrow it down. As the ship’s resident animal expert, I’d had a look at each of the half-dozen life support chambers that passed for carriers among the rich folks. Each of them held a different type of little furry whatsit in wild colors. Each was sealed with its own supply of air and gravity — or at least it was supposed to be.

I couldn’t hear any distressed noises yet, but when Mimi poked the button for the door, it slid open to a chorus of muffled squeaks.

The six chambers were lined up in a row, on display in the center of the room, with nothing close enough to so much as touch them. Five held animals calmly nosing around the bottom.

One held a whirling tornado of blue fur.

I dashed over to peer through the glass, hands dancing uncertainly. I shouldn’t touch it, shouldn’t open it. But—!

…But.

I looked closer. “They’re running.” I dropped my hands and stared.

Mimi plopped down next to me. “Is that bad?”

“No, it’s just — Look at them! They’re doing this on purpose!” I started to smile as I realized why the squeaks sounded familiar. “They’ve made their own hamster wheel.”

“A what now?” Mimi wanted to know.

I gestured vaguely. “It’s an exercise thing for animals like this where I’m from. A wheel that they run inside of, and it keeps spinning. These guys—” I pointed at the chamber. “—Have created their own.”

“Uh-HUH.” Mimi tilted his head to watch the antics, which were slowing down as they noticed us. “That is a strange reaction to zero-gravity.”

“I’ve heard of mice that did that, actually,” I said as a memory surfaced. “It took them a while to make a game of it. I wonder if this isn’t the first time the carrier’s gravity has gone screwy.”

Mimi held a curl of tentacle thoughtfully to his face. “That is an interesting data point. The captain will want to know.” He lowered it. “And if you’re sure these things aren’t about to die of organ explosion or whatever, then we should go tell her.”

The blue furry things — which did honestly look a lot like mice — had settled down to some more even-tempered bumping around in there. None were limping as far as I could tell, and none had been knocked unconscious or worse.

“I think they’re okay,” I said, looking closely. “The food dispenser is closed, thankfully, so there aren’t any pellets or globs of water floating about. They just got a bit of excitement.”

Mimi levered himself off the floor. “They’re not the only ones,” he grumbled. “Annoying little meatsticks must be in cahoots with the rich jerks, trying to make our lives harder. Why would they even do that?”

I gave the chamber one last look, then stood and followed him toward the door. “I dunno, it looks like fun. Probably a lot of animals would enjoy that if they knew it was an option.”

Mimi stared at me with one large eye. “Animals from your planet.”

“Well, yeah. Probably others too.”

He made a wet-sounding snort of skepticism and led the way into the hall.

I followed, smiling. “Come on, it looks like fun. I was just thinking it would be neat to try in a zero-g room, though flat walls wouldn’t be as good as curved ones.”

“Your planet’s full of weirdos. You know that, right?”

“Oh, it’s been said before.”

~~~

Thanks to this post for inspiration! It was too good an idea to pass up.

Anyways, this is the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. But you probably already knew that.

[under-the-dirt]

Hi :3

Question: could I request a one-shot with Ghost based on this song?

thank you for the ask!!! i’ve been wanting to base a one shot off a song for a bit now!! <333

sorry it took a while to respond, i was sleeping and i had to brainstorm the one shot!! but, i really hope you like it <3333

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

tags: afab!reader (sorryz again it’s super hard to write gn! smut. :[), not really established relationship, smut, simon’s kinda mean, but he loves u <3, uhhh petnames, a bit of angst, UNDER 13 DNI!!!!

You and Simon had been in this ‘friends with benefits’ type deal for at least a year now, and he’d always come when you needed him, or when he needed you.

Tonight, you needed each other, as he holds you down to the bed, hands interlocked, slamming into you as you whimper and moan.

He knows you, he knows you so well, well enough to know how to turn your brain off whenever you had sex. He knew how to touch you in all the right places, to say all the right words, move the right way to slam into your g-spot with every thrust.

“A-ah Simon!” You moan, and he shushes you.

“Keep it down, love,” He reminds you. It was nighttime after all , and you were in his highly occupied base. You hated how quiet you had to be.

“Mm- mm… Simon- Simon,” You whine, and he hums, rubbing your clit gently, sending you over the edge quicker than you could have anticipated.

“‘Ave ya wanted me this much? Ya missed me this much?” He teases, collecting your cum and slick on his fingers to display to you, before lifting his mask to his nose and licking his fingers clean. You whine at the sight. “Hm.. So needy nowadays..” He purrs, leaning down and kissing your chest gently, before taking one of your sensitive nipples in his mouth and sucking gently. The sensation was so much, you hardly realized he was back to thrusting into you harder than before, messier, sloppier, and you knew he was close.

“Where d’ya want it?” He asks, still hammering into you, heavy balls slapping against soft skin, and you moan.

“Uh- ch-chest,” You instruct softly, panting for air between broken moans.

“Hm.” He grunts, slowly pulling out and pumping a few times, before releasing a low groan and a puddle of his sticky cum on your chest.

You relax against the bed with a sigh. He climbs off of you, walking to the restroom and wetting a rag with warm water. He walks back over to you and begins cleaning the cum off your chest and cleaning the mess between your legs. Once finished, he walks back to the bathroom and you can hear the shower start.

Taking this as your cue to leave, you slowly get up, trying your best to stay on your feet. Which is always one of the most difficult parts of leaving, he always fucks you so good you can’t stand and you’re sore in the morning. You wish you could just stay the night, but you know that isn’t a possibility.You have a feeling that you both have mutual feelings but.. something won’t let you in. It’s like he’s got his guard up constantly, even for you, who has been in such intimate situations with him multiple times for over a year.

You were still standing there, naked and shaking, eyes unfocused as you were lost in thought. Simon taps the doorway to his bathroom, and you look up.

“If you’re wantin’ to join me, ya could’ve just asked,” He states, and you blush.

“Oh- uhm.. it’s alright.. i- i should get going..” You explain, grabbing your underwear.

“Nah, it’s alright, stay a while,” He offers, and you can’t help but accept. You’ve wanted to forever, and you’ve never gotten the chance. You quickly follow him into the shower, sighing from the feeling of the warm water on your skin.

Suddenly, Simon wraps his arms around your waist and presses a few soft kisses to your neck.

“‘m sorry,” He whispers into your neck, and you place your hand on the back of his head.

“For what?” You ask softly, and he sighs against your skin.

“For.. For not bein’ able t’ be with you..” He explains.

“That’s how a friends with benefits kinda works..”

“No.. I want it t’ be more, Love, I really do,” He whispers, hiding his face in your neck. You’ve never, ever seen this side of him, and it was shocking.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I- I love you.. “ He says your name with such sweet sincerity, you can’t help but blush. “But.. I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you. With everything i’ve done, the person i’ve become.. I don’t, I can’t hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me, Simon.”

“But i don’t know that. And you don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You don’t,” He whispers harshly into your neck.

“Then when will I know you? I barely see you, I’ve never even seen your face-“ You respond angrily, and as you turn around to yell at him, you realize he wasn’t wearing the mask.

“Holy fuck,” You whisper, and he presses his lips together in a tight line, unsure of your reaction. You place your hands on his cheeks, holding his face, his fucking beautiful face, rubbing his scarred skin with your thumbs. He’s so much more beautiful than you pictured. His hair is a white blonde, his eyelashes are long and full, lips plump and pink, a slight stubble on his sharp jawline, a scar across the bridge of his nose and a scar on his top lip. You pull him closer and kiss him deeply, before kissing all over his face.

He was blushing now, before feeling the water begin to grow cold.

“Alright, suppose ‘s time to ge’ out,” He chuckles, stepping out of the shower and holding out a towel for you to take. You take said towel, drying yourself off and wrapping it around yourself to get your clothes from his bedroom floor.

After getting dressed, you prepare to leave. You grab your phone and you walk out of his room, giving him a quick goodbye before leaving. You sit in your car a moment, before driving away.

He loves you, and you love him. You both know your feelings for each other, so why doesn’t he ask you out.

He wishes he could. He wishes so greatly he could, but there is part of him stopping this. Stopping him from loving you fully. A part of him will never be able to love you, and he hates that. He hates it, but he can’t change it. He’ll always have that part that won’t love you. Always.

tysm for the ask!! i loved writing this one it was sm fun!! i hope it goes with your idea, this is what i was picturing. tytyty for the ask, j love getting them!! and i love Ghost (the man and the band :3) <333

[mousolinibutcallhimpasta]

I’m brainrotting about gods cause I just wrote a quick fic where Foolish was very much favored by them so now I’m laying down all my thoughts about the gods of QSMP (will have use gods from DSMP too cause I like dragging the lore from DSMP over to QSMP and I'm using it until the QSMP lore is deeper)

It's a long post so I'll keep it under the cut

Hierarchy

Gods are split into ~3 hierarchies with some middle ones between them.

There are the Ancients (gods with high influence and high status), the Averagiums (gods with a relatively average status and influence) and the Mortal-adjacent (gods who have such low influence that they are seen as insignificant).

Ones from the upper-middle to high status have special titles, even multiple titles.

There’s a constant fight between the gods, most unable to see eye-to-eye on many things

Many are split into their own ‘categories’ or ‘groups’ of gods, notable ones are the Creationists, the Blood and the Evangelical.

Main characteristics

Gods are prideful beings, despite many being born mortals they consider themselves to be better than all.

Because of this, they see everything below them as objects, almost like figurines they could keep as decorations (yes this includes humans and human-adjacents)

Gods like capturing animals that they deem beautiful and keeping them as decorations in their personal domain, the more decorations you have the higher ‘status’ you are (in the eyes of other gods).

The rarer and harder to catch, the higher the gods’ status if they get the prize.

Regarding anything human or human-related, Gods usually tempt their prey with pretty promises or tight deals that end with them giving away the thing that gods want from them (pretty eyes, gorgeous features, etc.)

Word travels fast amongst the gods, so if one god takes an interest in something it becomes a race against time to take that prize before other gods do.

Gods can bless those they like more than they should, gifting them something to help them live easier. These blessings can also be used as bribes, causing a feeling of debt in their blessee’s and making them more inclined to follow the one that blessed them.

Blessings can not be taken back, but they can be somewhat broken yet it takes a lot of effort.

If many gods favor one mortal, they can band together to bend reality to help the mortal in some way, but it takes a lot of effort and there’s been little record of gods doing something like that for a mortal.

Groups:

The Creationists are mainly gods who have the abilities to create (servers, giant structures,…) the gods are mainly Ancient status, with minds so active they can only bounce their ideas off of each other. The main people in this group are server-makers.

The Creationists are also flashy people, interested in decorations and the more exotic things. That’s why they usually have high standards towards the ‘decorations’ they amass and why they have many high quality prey.

The Blood consists of gods who are more bloodthirsty and warrior-like, their favorite types of prey are those that can fight and survive in difficult situations. They are the more ruthless ones in the upper echelons, unhesitating in their judgement and can hold long grudges.

The Evangelical are the peaceful group, prioritizing peace and equality amongst the realm. They turn their noses up at the barbaric ways of the Blood and the selfish acts of the Creationists. They mainly prefer to share statuses and share prizes, creating the most blanched group in the realm.

People who are blessed in the QSMP

Foolish:

He’s not quite blessed, but it’s more of “Gods really want me and now they’re bribing me” kind of situation.

He was deemed the first humanoid totem to appear in the world (which already made him eye-catching) but he’s also the only one with a creature that none of the gods know about (Shark features)

Therefore, he’s extremely exotic.

However, Foolish may be a himbo, but he’s a SMART himbo whose very aware of gods.

So he’s spent many years outrunning the gods, playing tricks and keeping their eyes away from him. Sometimes he shows himself on purpose, playing with them in a game they can’t predict.

The gods should be angry but no, they’re absolutely DELIGHTED by this man.

The wild goose chase if half of the fun, and it makes Foolish all the more prize-worthy in their eyes.

There was a brief period where the gods believed that someone actually took Foolish as a prize

In reality, he was hiding in the DSMP.

DreamXD (true alias is ‘The Maker’) saw the man and knew he wanted something to lord over the other gods for as long as Foolish lived.

Yes the Totem of Death lore still exists.

Instead of him traveling with Eret, he actually travelled with Bad (named the Conqueror before his corruption.)

Both of them were named Conquerors (though Foolish’ name was actually the Favored) made more terrifying because both of them had been blessed by gods.

Foolish took lots of joy killing people in his path, enticing the gods to look at him even more (because gods will always have one thing in common: they all crave violence)

They used to be a duo people thought would never die, but they disappeared one day and no one knew where they went.

Foolish had been blessed with a (now semi-defunct) immortality blessing, a blessing of favoritism from the gods, and a blessing of war and a blessing of creativity.

Badboyhalo:

Bad is polar opposite of Foolish, and he also doesn’t raise the interest of gods. He’s a common demon-born, able to attract the masses with a smooth voice and charisma.

The only one to really take an interest in him is dubbed ‘Crimson Sacrifice’ (aka the Egg)

He’s nice but the Egg always thought that there was an undercurrent of violence in him.

He was right.

He travelled with Foolish at lot when the both of them were young, Bad fully believed that it was an innocent thing until the both of them became interested in blood.

Bad takes pride in his past even if he doesn’t explicitly say it. He’s manipulative and would happily show his regret if it meant he got what he wanted.

It’s one of the only things that keeps him sane and tells him that he’s powerful.

Bad’s careful to make good deals with the god that watches over him, making sure that it doesn’t trip him up somehow.

He made that mistake once and he’s vowed to never do it again.

The gods did take more interest in him after his cultist era though, even if Bad’s also running away from them now.

He’s usually harmless despite the god following him.

Make one bad decision and suddenly you’re on his bad side.

Vegetta:

He’s not technically favored by gods the way Bad or Foolish are,

But Rubius likes him so it definitely counts for something.

Somehow, he (technically) married a ‘mortal’ whose a favorite of the gods.

[fastenwick]

Wick's IZ characters meet the OCs that inspired them: Part Two

Agent Zim meets Agent 6,031

(@resisty-zim created in August 2022, 6,031 created in March 2022

Ft mentions of @tallest-red-stitched and @agnt-of-chaos)

Two characters are put in a nearly empty room. No doors, windows, or decor. Just two chairs, a table with food, and a note. The note reads "Enjoy your time together." The food products are donuts, a type of sweet bread called che, chocolate bars, popcorn, and sodas.

Agent Zim arrived first, stumbling slightly from the sudden shift from playing with his kids to an empty and quiet room. "The fuck." He tilted his antennae to listen and smell.Nothing smelled or sounded wrong, yet. He huffed and crossed his arms. This was annoying. Did he knock himself out? Did Red snatch him somehow?

Before any of those questions could be answered, a yellow alien about six inches shorter than Zim popped into existence. She had two yellow antennae with reddish tufts at the end of them, and the slightest amount of yellow fluff on the top of her head. She had three claws on her two visible arms.

She had eyes similar to an irken's, but blue and the two pupils were… shaped strangely, like a puddle that constantly changed shape. At first glance, it looked like she had too reddish claws hooked to her gold shoulder pads, but upon a closer look, the claws were actually connected to extra arms without thumbs that were tucked away against her back. She wore a red patterned shirt and tights and plain red armbands, no shoes so her two toed feet were visible. And she wore a gold piece around her waist, like a belt or a skirt of some kind. And she had type of nose made up of two nostrils that looked eerily familiar to some pop culture thing Zim had seen before…

Zim snorted as he realized what the nose looked like. "Voldemort."

The new alien gave Zim a flat look. "Wow, I bet you think you're real funny."

"I do." Zim nodded.

"Congrats, asshole." She stuck out her tongue at Zim. It was blue like her eyes, it looked more like a snake tongue than an irken tongue.

Zim stuck his tongue out back.

"Did you kidnap me?"

"No, I thought you kidnapped me," Zim replied.

"Well I didn't, I don't even know who you are. I've never seen a creature like you," the alien huffed and tilted her antennae to smell Zim and the room.

"I haven't seen one like you either." Zim tilted his antennae to smell the alien too.

"You're copying me."

"I am not."

The alien rolled her eyes and looked around. She spotted the table. "Ooooh, che bread!" She snatched a piece and munched it.

Zim snorted. "Okay then, enjoy your snacks. I'm gonna find a way out of here." He looked for a door.

The alien found the note. "Enjoy our time together? What is this supposed to be, a date?"

"Ha! Sorry lady, I'm taken!" Zim laughed.

"Uh huh, I am so sorry for your spouse," the alien finished her bread.

"He's actually very happy."

"No one asked."

"Then suffer with the knowledge."

The alien snorted. "You call this suffering? You're funny."

"I am." Zim grinned.

"Get back to looking for an exit, flirt." The alien stuck her tongue out at Zim again.

"Zim is not flirting with you, as I said, I am taken. I know, I know, your poor broken heart." Zim sighed dramatically.

"Ew." The alien grabbed a soda can and threw it at Zim.

Zim stabbed it with a PAK leg, smirking. "Attacking now, are we?"

"Eh, I could go for a fight." The alien chuckled. "What was it, Zim?"

"That's right."

"I'll kick your non-existent ass, Zim." The alien grinned.

"You wish. Look at you, short and stumpy…" Zim approached the alien, shaking his head.

The alien gave Zim a flat look.

Zim patronizingly patted her head. "There there, you'll grow up someday."

The alien snatched Zim's wrist and threw him over her shoulder.

Zim caught himself on his PAK legs, chuckling. "I was trained as an Invader, you'll have to work harder."

The alien had some sort of gun out. "No clue what that is, but I'm a trained Kiraq Agent." She fired at Zim.

Zim expected a lazer and tried to dodge. However, the room was very small and it was not a lazer. It was a wave of sticky green goop that stuck Zim soundly to the wall.

"What the hell?" Zim looked around in confusion.

"Got ya!" The alien grinned and winked.

"Mmh, nicely done." Zim nodded. "What's your name?"

"My ID is six thousand thirty one."

"... I am not calling you that."

The alien rolled her eyes. "The human calls me 6-K."

"Well, 6-K. You forgot about my PAK legs." Zim used his PAK legs to pry himself off the wall and darted at 6-K.

6-K dodged and ran around the room. But with such an empty and small room, Zim easily pinned her to the ground with a PAK leg.

"Got ya." Zim winked back.

"Fine, now we're even," 6-K huffed.

Zim nodded and took the PAK leg off her, offering her a hand to get up. 6-K ignored the hand and stood up alone.

"Any idea where we are?" 6-K asked, dusting herself off.

"Nope. One second I was on my ship with Dib, the next here," Zim said.

"I was chasing Sal through the woods before I was here…" 6-K said.

"Sal is your Dib?"

"What?"

"Eh, your human that tries to expose you and is your rival?" Zim clarified.

6-K snorted. "Sal? Expose me? Nah, he just wants me to leave him alone. He actually is the one that came up with my human disguise."

"Weird, but whatever." Zim shrugged. "You're obviously not any Zim."

"Obviously." 6-K crossed her arms. "I'm not that ugly."

"Pffff, nah, you're uglier," Zim chuckled.

"You've clearly got your perspective mixed up."

"Nope, just not afraid to be honest," Zim said.

"Okay, can we get back on track? Unless you can honest us out of this place. Do you have any enemies capable of instant travel?" 6-K asked.

"No, Red can't teleport people and he'd have no reason to go after a random alien from… I'm going to assume you're from a different universe from us if you don't know what an irken Invader is. Because either you're not from our universe or you're just living under a rock," Zim said.

6-K rolled her eyes. "I'm not living under a rock, I've explored nearly the entire galaxy from Earth to Zicato."

"Then yeah, different universes. The only enemy I have that would kidnap me would have no reason to kidnap you too," Zim explained. "You?"

"Minex, maybe. But the same thing as yours, he'd have no reason to kidnap you," 6-K said. "And Minex works alone, so I doubt that he coordinated with your Primary Color enemy."

"Ha, Primary Color, that's a good one."

"Thanks." 6-K grabbed the note to look over it again. "This is so weird. Why would someone just lock us up here and tell us to enjoy our time?"

"Beats me. Maybe it's some multiversal weirdo that likes to trap strangers in a room just to see what happens." Zim took a donut and used his tablet to quickly test it for poison.

"Like that would ever happen," 6-K huffed. "You sound crazy."

"Takes one to know one."

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"Sure it does. The snacks aren't poisoned, by the way."

"I know, poison doesn't work on a Kiraq anyway." 6-K waved her hand in dismissal.

"I should hope so, you went to town on this weird bread." Zim picked up a slice.

"It's called che, you uncultured gyrsho."

"I do not know what this is," Zim said.

"It's a slimy green slug that's very pathetic, annoying, and also bounces around like a lunatic," 6-K said. "So you."

"Mmh, whatever you say, Voldemort." Zim nodded along.

6-K growled under her breath.

"You're the one handing out insults." Zim shrugged and took a can of soda, opening it and sipping it.

"Look, I'm just trying to get home. I have to get back to Z or he's going to freak," 6-K said.

"Who's Z?"

"My AI assistant."

"Oh, I have one of those. Used to have two. One of them became an asshole and he died. Gir is still around, just terribly unhelpful," Zim said.

"I. Literally didn't ask," 6-K said.

"I'm trying to make conversation. We're stuck together for who knows how long, might as well make the best of it."

6-K sighed. "Fine, I'll try to be a good talking partner. What's your human like?"

"Dib? Very gay. And annoying as fuck, but I love him," Zim said casually.

6-K raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, we're married and shit." Zim sipped his soda.

"Cool I guess."

"What's your human like?" Zim asked.

"Well, that's complicated. He just graduated high-school and is kind of just drifting. He's a living test subject, so he can't exactly live a normal life. I'm trying to get the Booster off him so I can go home and so he can live a normal life. The only problem is he tries to stop me from doing do, so I'm making very lite progress," 6-K explained.

"So you're not on Earth for world domination? That's a new one," Zim mused.

"No, I haven't conquered a planet in awhile. Besides, Minex is more the power hungry one," 6-K explained, studying the walls.

"Who's Minex?" Zim tilted his antennae to listen for any wind.

"A sile that also wants the Booster. He's trying to get it off Sal first, but I have a head start," 6-K sighed. She leaned against a wall, frustrated by the lack of exits.

"Interesting. My Dib doesn't have anything like that, he and I are both wanted by my former empire so that I can be turned into a baby making machine though." Zim straightened and kicked a wall.

"That's disgusting." 6-K made a face.

"Yeah, I know." Zim aimed a PAK leg at the wall. "Take cover, I'm blowing us out of here."

6-K raised an eyebrow.

Zim fired a PAK lazer at the wall. It crumbled easily and fell apart, but there was nothing outside of the wall. Literally nothing. Emptiness. "The fuck?"

6-K's antennae perked and she approached the hole. "What the hell?"

Zim finished off the can of soda and held it over the abyss. He dropped it and watched the empty can disappear into the black. He and 6-K both listened closely to hear the can hit something.

No sound.

"Let's not fall in that…" 6-K suggested.

"Yup. There's no sound at all, no wind, no life, just us. This is eerie…" Zim sighed.

"Yeah." 6-K went to a chair and sat down. "How do we get out of here?"

"I'll see if I have a signal to message anyone, I know people who could teleport us out of here. Getting you home is another story, since we don't know where you come from," Zim said.

"I know where I come from," 6-K said.

"Universe."

"Ah," 6-K nodded.

Zim leaned on the wall. "I've got a signal, the messages are sending."

"How can you tell?" 6-K asked.

"Oh, see this thing?" Zim pointed to his PAK. "To put it simply, this is my brain, and it's hooked up to my socials and tablets, so I can send messages with thought."

"Huh, that must be handy," 6-K said.

"It is," Zim confirmed. "Dib is responding, but the time is all screwed up here, it's going to take a bit to get anything figured out."

6-K shrugged. "As long as we get out of here."

"We will." Zim nodded.

There was silence for a few moments.

"Do you want to talk about anything?" Zim asked.

6-K shrugged. "Uhhhh. You can tell me about your human?"

"Sure," Zim said. "Well he and I used to be enemies and rivals. I was supposed to take over Earth, and he fought to defend Earth. But my mission was a fake, to get me out of my leaders' way."

6-K's face fell.

Zim noticed quickly. "Something wrong?"

"No, continue."

Zim sighed. "When I found out, I rejected them. But I had to go through a whole crisis, and Dib didn't believe that I really gave up taking over the world. It wasn't until the past year that we actually got on good terms while fighting my old leaders. We never really knew what we were, not enemies, still sort of rivals, not friends, something more than allies. But before we could get it figured out, we became… mates and then engaged."

6-K seemed absolutely baffled by the line of events.

"Yeah, that's the appropriate reaction," Zim chuckled.

"You're weiiiird." 6-K shook her head.

Zim shrugged. "Just you wait, you're gonna fall in love with your human too. It's a tale as old as time."

6-K made a disgusted face. "Sal? Hell no."

"That's what they all say…"

"Gross, stop pushing your species intermarriage onto me. You do you, but don't include me into it," 6-K huffed.

"You'll be singing a different tune eventually."

"Stop."

"You're no fun," Zim chuckled.

"Damn right, I'm six thousand thirty one."

"Laaaame!" Zim rolled his eyes.

6-K stuck out her tongue at Zim, who returned the favor.

"I'll offer you a bet," Zim said with a grin.

"A bet?" 6-K's antennae perked.

"Yep. How long have you been on Earth?" Zim asked.

"Almost two years," 6-K said.

"Mmh… In six years, if you haven't fallen in love with Sal, then you win the bet. And if you do fall in love, then I win," Zim said.

"What does the winner get?" 6-K asked.

"Bragging rights."

"Not good enough." 6-K looked at the snacks. "A six year supply of donuts."

"Deal." Zim held out his hand to shake 6-K's.

6-K stood and shook Zim's hand. "Deal."

"I'm sure we'll find a way to stay in contact." Zim grinned.

"Yeah, here." 6-K took a little device out of a fold on the gold waist band and tossed it to Zim. "You can reach me on that."

Zim caught it. It looked like headphones built for antennae. "This might not reach across universes though. Here." He handed 6-K a spare communicator. "This will reach, it works like a human phone."

"Cool." 6-K tucked the device away.

A dart whizzed through the room, a note on it, and it struck the wall.

Zim aimed a PAK leg at the dart, alert. 6-K aimed her goop gun at it.

They both paused when they saw the note. Zim picked it up.

The note read "Say your goodbyes, you'll be going home soon."

"Huh." Zim stared at the note, confused.

"I guess we bored whoever sent us here," 6-K said.

"Serves them right for kidnapping us." Zim crumpled the note and tossed it into the void outside of the hole in the wall. "Well, just in case they really are sending us home, goodbye."

"Bye."

And with that, they were suddenly both returned to their own worlds and lives.

[recipro-turbo]

brother mine - year ten

Chapter Rating: T Chapter Word Count: 910 Chapter Notes: originally posted to twitter here. tensei is 25 in this chapter.

Chapter-specific content warnings: minor child injury

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

Engine has been the dominant Quirk in the Iida Family for generations. Mutant-type Quirks were often dominant genes, but Engine had something that a decent chunk of Quirks in this class lacked: the next generation was always superior to that of their predecessors.

Tensei had explained it to Tenya in terms of technology―newer models often improved on the older ones, fixing what was wrong with the previous generation for a faster, more reliable processor. In their case, each subsequent generation of Engine was faster than the last, and depending on where in the body the engine systems manifested, the power could vary between siblings.

There are things Tensei can do that Tenya likely would never be able to on his own. He can hover about a foot off the ground, he can propel himself straight up like a rocket, he can technically fly short distances (though his comms team and his technicians and his medics really hate it when he does that). Having his Engines in his arms meant that he could be much more mobile than his father or his grandfather had been. He was also capable of reaching top speed instantly, whereas Tenya had gears he needed to go through one at a time.

But Tenya’s Engine placement is logical for someone with a speed-based Quirk. Even now, at ten years old, the kid is tall for his age. His speed without using his Quirk is astonishing. His strides are big enough to accommodate moving at speeds fast enough to break the sound barrier.

Tenya’s that step between generations, where a company makes key improvements to an existing model without overhauling the entire design. He’s superior without making Tensei obsolete, a preview of what’s to come if either of them have children. He’s the fastest Iida, and he’s still in primary school.

Being fast had one very brutal drawback, though―Tenya was not good at stopping, and he was even worse with corners. Which is why Tensei is currently kneeling in front of his little brother, who is very clearly trying not to cry while he checks to see if Tenya broke his nose from running straight into the massive tree back behind the Iida family estate.

“Sorry, Otouto,” Tensei says, as he gently prods the bridge of Tenya’s nose. He frowns sympathetically when Tenya inhales sharply at the contact, but nothing feels wrong. “Good news, it doesn’t seem to be broken! Bad news, you’re probably going to have some nasty bruising.

Tenya lets out a quiet, frustrated sound, wiping up blood and snot with the handkerchief Tensei keeps tucked in his pocket. “Again?”

“Stopping is hard. Corners are harder.” Tensei brings a hand up to Tenya’s shoulder. “Believe me, kiddo, I went through the same thing. You’ll get it eventually.”

Tenya doesn’t say anything as Tensei guides him over to one of the garden benches, where they have a first aid kit on standby. He radiates frustration the entire time Tensei tends to his bloody nose. He’s glaring at nothing in particular, eyes still brimming with tears even after his face has been cleaned up and little rolls of gauze have been pushed into his nostrils to staunch the bleeding.

“Tenya,” Tensei says gently. “I mean it―I didn’t get the hang of corners until I was in middle school. I have airbags installed in my suit because I still sometimes have trouble stopping reliably. I mean, just last week, I crashed trying to pursue that Bat Villain, remember?”

While the frustration in Tenya’s eyes doesn’t disappear entirely, his expression does become more thoughtful. “Can I try one more time?”

Tensei hesitates. He admires Tenya’s determination, but one more high-speed collision might actually break his nose. “You sure? There’s no shame in taking a breather and coming back to corners another day.”

“One more try,” Tenya says. “Please, Oniisan?”

Tensei lets out a soft huff of laughter, mussing up Tenya’s hair. “Alright, one more try.”

Tenya hops off the bench, expression fiercely determined as he walks back over to the starting line Tensei marked into the dirt with a stick. Tensei takes his spot near the tree, Mother’s contact info pulled up just in case―if Tenya did end up breaking his nose, he wanted to make sure to keep her in the loop.

“Ready?” Tensei calls over.

Tenya gets into position, staring straight at the tree.

“Go!”

Tenya’s engines roar to life as he sprints towards the tree at first gear, feet furiously hitting the dirt path that has been worn into the ground through generations of Quirk training. Tensei feels his heart beating hard in his chest as Tenya comes closer and closer to the tree, bracing for impact.

It does not come.

Tenya, about a meter or so away from the tree, turns to his right. He runs another few meters before skidding to a halt, eyes wide and chest heaving. After a moment, a wide grin breaks out across his face.

“I did it!” Tenya screams.

Tensei laughs, jogging over to his little brother. He hoists him up into his arms, pulling him into a tight hug. “You did it!”

Whatever frustration remains is dispelled and replaced by excited, enthusiastic energy. Tensei barely manages to get Tenya back on the ground before he runs towards the house to share his latest accomplishment with Father. With a laugh, Tensei texts Mother the good news, then goes back to the bench to pack up the first aid kit.

[casspurrjoybell-20]

FOOLS - Chapter 49 - Part 1

BOOK ONE: The 'Fools Fall in Love' Trilogy

*Warning Adult Content*

Samuel Moretti

"Goodbye, Sam."

The second I heard the door close, I covered my mouth with my hand and practically fell to the floor.

I sobbed pathetically in the janitor's closet as my heart began to break, piece by piece.

Is this real?

Did Noah actually break up with me?

I've always thought when people talked about having their heart broken it was just metaphorically.

I don't believe that anymore.

Based on the pain that was in my chest, my heart literally broke.

I felt like dying.

I wished I had died to get rid of that horrible, excruciating pain.

My whole world had collapsed on me, that was the feeling.

I didn't think I had ever experienced that type of pain to that extent.

My sob lessened to double intakes of breaths and silent tears.

After a couple minutes, I pulled myself back up.

Screw school, I was going home but as I walked out of the janitors closet and turned the corner, I ran into someone.

I blinked a couple times before I realized who I ran into. Kaitlyn.

Kaitlyn's face filled with worry.

"Hey, are you okay? What's wrong?"

And my sobbing started up again

"Noah. He... he... he," I was crying so much I could barely form a coherent sentence.

"He broke up with... with..." I cried even harder.

"With me," I finally got out.

I was an emotional person but I didn't normally cry that hard.

With tears rushing down my face, snot clogging up my nostrils, my breathing wavering uncontrollably.

I could already feel the raging migraine coming on behind my eyes from all the crying I'd done.

"What? What happened?" she asked looking genuinely upset for my sake.

"I... I can't breathe."

It felt like my lungs were going to fail on me.

"Okay, okay. Just take deep breaths. Let's uh..." Kaitlyn looked around before her eyes landed on the bathrooms.

"Follow me," she instructed, though she was holding onto me the whole time.

When we walked into the girls bathroom, we went to the back and slumped down against the wall.

"Here," Kaitlyn said as she pulled out a mini packet of tissues from her book bag.

"Tell me what happened."

"We were..."

The bathroom door swung open revealing a Junior named Becca.

"Um, excuse you, this is a girls bathroom," the Junior said, looking at me in disgust and I wasn't too sure why Kaitlyn didn't just bring us into the gender neutral bathroom.

"Fuck off," Kaitlyn hissed at her.

"Ugh," the girl muttered before storming out.

Kaitlyn refocused on me.

I cried and tried my best to tell her exactly what happened between Noah and I.

When I finished, I was all teared out.

"It was horrible, Kaitlyn. We've never talked to each other like that."

"I don't think he really meant it. Clearly he was angry before even talking to you. I mean, that's no excuse for how he talked to you but give him time to cool off and then talk to him."

"What if he did mean it?"

I began to tear up again.

"He just needs some time," Kaitlyn told me again.

I nodded and laid my head onto her shoulder.

Maybe Kaitlyn's right.

Noah's dad pissed him off way before we got into an argument.

Noah was just being impulsive and once he cooled down, we would sort things out again.

After a moment of silence, I said...

"How is the girls bathroom significantly cleaner than the boy's? And why does it smell like flowers in here but like a skunk blew up the place in the boy's bathroom?"

Kaitlyn laughed.

"Probably because girls constantly spray their perfume in here and all those burnout jocks smoke weed in your guy's bathroom. Yet, never get caught."

"Makes sense," I said then wiped my nose with my tissue, ridding it from the snot that accumulated while I had my crying session.

I stood up.

"Oh my God," I whined as I saw myself in the mirror.

My face was all puffy and my eyes looked worn out and red due to the crying.

Tear stains trailed down my checks.

"I need to go home."

"Let me drive you," Kaitlyn offered, looking at me through the mirror.

"You're in no state to be driving right now. I'll text Haven saying you left early and she'll drive your car home."

I nodded.

Speaking was not an option for me at that moment.

Even uttering the words 'thank you' to her would cause me to choke up and start sobbing again.

Kaitlyn held out her hand and I gladly took it.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

Kaitlyn dropped me off at home.

She offered to talk more or stay over with me but I thanked her and told her I wanted to be alone.

So, alone in my bedroom, I was crying into my pillow, wondering if what happened was real or a God awful nightmare.

I really did feel like dying, the emotional pain was too much, too excruciating.

I loved Noah more than anything.

None of my ex boyfriend's break up compared but eventually, I was able to fall asleep, my pillow soaked in my tears and snot and my cat cuddled up by my legs and I dreamt of Noah.

It wasn't until after four pm that I woke up, my eyes and cheeks still red and puffy and I decided I should probably eat and by eat I mean indulging in a carton of ice cream.

When I got downstairs, Haven was there.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked with her worried eyes.

I shook my head, barely able to say...

"Noah... he... he broke up with me," more tears pooling in my eyes.

"Oh, babe," and she spoke softly and pulled me into a hug.

I wrapped my arms around her, grateful for my sister's comfort.

Until she spoke...

"But it's probably for the best. Noah is toxic."

I pulled back like she was a hot flame, giving her a bewildered look.

"Toxic? You don't even know him."

She held up her hands.

"Hey, no need to get defensive. All I'm saying is, from what I've heard, he's not a good person and has a shit home life. You don't want to deal with that."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing from my sister.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're dating 'Zach Price' he cheats on you all the time and you stupidly forgive him. All. The. Time. Noah's not toxic. He's better than everyone at that fucking school combined. He's been through more shit than you'll ever know. He would never cheat on me."

"Funny, didn't Noah cheat on Kaitlyn for you? And I think I remember that argument in your room about him shoving you? Or did I miss understand?"

I shook my head, not caring for her words.

She heard one conversation and a few rumors and thought she knew Noah?

If she knew the way he loved me, she wouldn't be saying any of this.

"He's not fucking toxic."

"Hmm," she nodded.

"Answer me this, have you ever swore at me before Noah?" I gritted my teeth, my hands balled in a fisted. I never hated my sister but I swore in that moment I did.

I stormed back into my room, slamming my bedroom door shut and I cried the rest of the day.

[sincelastsession]

Today has been fucking insane.

I had to call my uncle (who was very sloshed and mean abt my mom) and a friend in the military to prove to her that she was talking to a scammer and not the real General Ricky N Rupp who she believes is really real and going to wisk her away and shit.

Then I ordered us food and she complained abt everything and made faces.

Then my dad called and started screaming at her and instead of hanging up she put him on speakerphone.

He wants to tell you all about me by himself first and said some awful shit before I just walked outta the room.

I told my mom to tell him that you run the sessions, not me.

He wanted to basically meet and talk with you first I guess tattle on me and sus you out. He wanted to know what kind of person you were or something and I was just like....oh he's going to try to play games with Joshua.

So I'm just letting you know. I'll take accountability for the shit that's true that is reasonable to apologize for.

I know that you've been a therapist long enough to spot bullshit crazytown behavior.

He is very imo rejection sensitive and takes correction very hard. Moreso than I.

I don't know if we can get him to come to more than this session or if it's a good idea but I can't talk to him without a mediator because I'm scared of him. I'm also very hurt and angry with him.

If you want to see what sort off "oh I love my daughter she's not what you think" crap he's gonna say...it's up to you I'm letting you drive the parents sessions.

I'm honestly very nervous. He needs to understand that this is his last chance of having a connection with me.

He needs to understand threatening me and putting his hands on me etc...well he's lucky he's not in jail. If he hadn't had surgery that day I would have said "well I guess I'll be homeless" and just called them.

But it's not that instance. I actually did sustain an injury and my Rheumatologist has that on file. He fucked up some connective tissue in my neck. She said with my cervical spine issues if he'd yanked my hair harder that day he could have damaged me to a broken neck.

I was fully aware of everything that day and the other times he's attacked me. I remember it and I get anxiety.

Then I showed Mom places. We called an agent that was a friend of old friends and he was FUCKED UP and made an excuse to not talk with me about a rental he's in charge of because he had a stuffy nose...guy sounded like a spun out cokehead but Travis said "he's a weird guy" My mom thought he was rude as fuck.

Then I allowed mom to hug me which is rare and even asked for another hug and she had to tell me I smelled horrible...but I'd eaten like onions and garlic with my food and ofc my sweat wasn't great. Then she made a comment about my stomach "gut" and I told her "that's enough"

Annnd ofc the neighbors that were being quiet got loud after she left but it's a birthday for a kid so I'm not calling the security officer because I'm not a monster but it's past 8pm I hope they shut the fuck up soon.

I had to put my jacket on and curl up in bed and call Travis after allllll of this. I was getting the "in shock" tremor shakes in my stomach area and felt like I was going to pass out.

Other than typing I've gone pretty much nonverbal.

[saulweissberg]

terry and her uncanny ability to cut him right where it fucking hurt! they hadn’t been married in twenty-five odd years, really hadn’t had a reason to be in each other’s vicinity after micah graduated college, but they knew where exactly to put the knife in. he knew he needed to try harder with their son, but the chasm between them was deep, dark, and seemingly had no bottom. he was afraid to try and end up falling down, forever falling into darkness. it had been almost thirty years of disappointments, broken promises, missed calls. a long, long history. a shameful history. there was nothing he could do to make up for all of it, and with the way micah reacted like saul had doused him in acid any time he got near, it seemed less and less probable to try. the window was closing, barely an inch open anymore, for saul to even try to make things better with micah.

micah’s move to blue harbor had maybe been another chance—perhaps the last chance he’d ever have—to fix his relationship with his son, but the pair had rarely spent any time together outside of the office, beyond a few dinners together and those two weeks where micah had occupied his guest room. was the onus really only on saul? if micah didn’t want to spend any time with his father, what could saul really do? micah was his own man, and as much as it pained saul to think it, he didn’t owe saul anything. not his time, not his love, or his forgiveness. “not as much as i would like.” saul answered measuredly, punctuated with a visible clench of his jaw.

better he a weissberg, then, than a lowenstein, in that regard. 

was that not the only regard? the only thing that seemed mildly weissbergian within their son were his steely blue eyes, aquiline nose, lithe height, and propensity for self-sabotage. everything else had the stamp of lowenstein. did that naturally happen, or was that by design? another fault to add to saul’s blame. micah had spent more time with terry and their extended family. levi, maureen, and their children were known to micah, especially due to his near twinness with gideon—born less than a week apart—but he had always spent more time around terry’s family, particularly his maternal grandfather. if saul's surname hadn’t been on the birth certificate, he might not have been a weissberg at all. he wondered if terry remembered how people would call her family the lowlysteins. “not all lawyers play golf and tennis, but it certainly does help.” saul replied with a shrug of his shoulders. there were many ways to be a lawyer, but to be the type of lawyer that saul was, it was an asset. he knew, though, that micah didn’t want to be a lawyer like his father. saul was almost certain that micah didn’t want to be a lawyer at all.

you liked it enough for twenty-something years, saul thought. no other reply formed in his mind, nor left his lips, because now terry was kicking him out. so, there terry went from hot to cold. the story of the latter years of their marriage, then the bulk of the years following their divorce. as easy as a faucet stopped, or a light switch was flipped to off, any sign of warmth between them died instantaneously before saul even had a moment to recognize it. many responses flittered through his head, such as: you were the one to fucking invite me in for a drink in the first place!, or, why are you so adept at turning cold on a dime? several others ran through his head, but the need to cling to civility held his tongue. after all, what did he tell his clients daily? getting upset just makes you seem unstable, so save it until you’re back in my office. instead, saul downed the rest of his drink, very little left after all the sips he took to center himself throughout their conversation, and placed it gingerly on the coffee table before he pushed himself off of the couch.

“hm, i was just thinking the same.” shrugging his blazer back on, saul regarded terry with a weary expression. the first of his wives, sitting right there, no longer just someone that he knew he shared the same state with back in new york, but rarely had to see anymore. no longer abstract, no longer a stranger, no longer only reminded of her existence by micah crying ‘mom said you’d do this!’ after his umpteenth disappointment. terry lowenstein was here in blue harbor, eight hundred miles away from where she had been contained for the last twenty-five years. any attempts he made to rationalize staying in illinois—his property, his firm—suddenly evaporated, and he wondered how long it would take him to return to manhattan, significantly less rich, but with only one ex-wife to share the city with (lovely cassie, staying where she belonged!).

a good look at terry’s face and he felt the distinct desire to abandon ship. “i’d appreciate it if next time, you’d call before you come into the office if you don’t have an appointment already.” and maybe before you move to my state without my knowledge. with that, saul turned to exit the room, waving goodbye insincerely as he entered the foyer and made his way out the door.

END SCENE.

A bigamist. They bit the inside of their cheek, stifling their ill-placed laughter as they indulged in the image of one Saul Weissberg with two partners, holding the hand of Work—anthropomorphized in their head as a tall, sprightly, leggy blonde in a bespoke suit—and whichever brunette wife he had at the time in the other. Would Saul have been twice happier, twice as miserable, or would another form of work haunt him, a phantom limb? His devotion to work might have been easier to make sense of if it were a breathing, living thing. They dropped the flimsy analogy quickly enough, returning a quip with one of their own, lacking their usual bite, but in accordance with Saul’s own contrived, measured tone. “Saul, if they’d ever legalized bigamy, I imagine your work would be much harder,” they said dryly, taking another sip from their glass—half-empty now, they found—“though I suppose you’d find the high of winning a divorce case of that nature much more satisfying.”

And the analogy fell further flat at the next mention of their son. If Work was Saul’s rift, the wedge in which he’d cast all relationships against, then Micah was hers. In architecture, it was easy to fall into the metaphor that structures were a form of skeletal system. This was only sometimes true. It is rendered false when building systems—from skin, the interior finishes, the ceilings and fixtures, and so on—are separated from its source. An architectural structure exists once the elements fall into its unique interplay, the tensions and compressions held in between them. 

To Terry, Micah had made up the walls of her existence. He had held her back, sure, but in many other ways he’d kept her together, fortifying the structure of her existence when they’d felt themselves falling apart. How did Saul look at him? A son and an employee. The latter decision had been Terry’s, to be certain. It was their phone call to Saul that had led to hire their son; their credit card that Micah had used to book his airplane fare. But how else would Micah fit into his lawyer father’s life, when for the past twenty-odd years, his presence had been marked precisely by its absence? 

“And have you spent as much as time out of the office with him, then?” Terry pierced through the air again, the blade more precise. Had it been a mistake, then, on Terry’s part, to cast their son away into this role of his father’s subordinate, into whatever scrap of life Saul might be able to share and offer him? They couldn’t say. That was a decision that Saul had to make on his own. There was no use to argue about it. Not when their arguments about their son had, over time, become more moot and academic—a hashing-out of regrets and mistakes rather than making any real attempt to rebuild. 

Case in point: again, a recollection, of the Weissbergs in their New England residences and country club memberships. A flimsy recollection that drew them further away from the subject, and the distance rewrote itself again, further into the past, when Micah had yet to live and exist and their own world was defined in disorder. “Better he a Weissberg, then, than a Lowenstein, in that regard. My brothers are much more handy with a knife than a tennis racket. I’m not sure how that skill would translate to Micah’s legal career.” If here were to continue it at all. 

Against the room, and so far away from New York, even the memory of their brothers felt displaced. Nothing else anchored both of them here but Micah. A wave of irritation swept across them. How far back did Saul want to go in order to build his defense?

Manhattan. They’re not sure what they expected. Manhattan was the straightest answer they could’ve offered, they thought. A place where he’d stayed and left. 

But the word, again, felt foreign against Saul’s tongue. Certainly, it was not the place they associated with the man who sat on the opposite end of the couch, regal but world-weary and almost a stranger. They returned his gaze firmly, mapping his features as they did. The stubble of a late evening against the sharp edges of his jaw. The skin stretched taut over the bones in some places, while sagging in others. The bags under his eyes that had never gone away. But his expression was fierce; his posture, tense and rigid; his grip on the glass, tight, ready to shatter the already delicate silence with those few thousand shards that Terry have to walk through and sweep away. 

They directed their gaze back into the fire, of the kindling crackling, being torn apart. An occasional small stick might shoot up like a firework, but it relented against the gravity of the earth, the intense heat of the fire. Like it knew it would turn into the ash in the end. “Okay,” they said, resigned. 

They dragged the glass back to their lips again. Earlier in the evening it had been close to the brim. Now, about three swallowfuls of the amber liquid swirled in the glass, and the world swirled alongside them. The buzz should have felt pleasant, but the weight of their thoughts bogged them down, still, and the world was rendered all at once heavier and harder to distinguish—the heat emanating from the wood and the burn inside herself, the pain of the present colliding with the pain of the past, the world as it stood and the world as it should’ve been.

The question was easy, but any open admission cast against Saul had always felt raw. Home, for Terry, would always be Micah and the life they’d built together, and even the space Saul had made around it. An absence was palpable just as the silences between the musical notes, the gaps between columns, the pauses between birdsong. 

But maybe an absence was just that. An absence. No need to assign it any real meaning, any false nostalgia, any echoes of heartbreak. Had Saul wanted to be there, he’d have been there. Pure and simple.

“Saul…” A hoarse laugh left their lips, rough and unexpected like gravel crunching underfoot, surprising even themselves. “I hated White Plains.”

It was as good as a confession as any, if one knew were to look. That they’d never wanted to leave, for Micah not to have grown up without a father, and, on her worst days, even without a mother. That it had hurt to be alone. But the error in Terry’s assumption was that being alone was somewhere you could go, rather than someplace where you had to be left. And their apartment, in the last few months of their marriage, was all it was. A place to be left.

In the absence of Micah, their walls wavered but found themselves back soon enough. “I think that you should leave,” they moved their glass back to the coffee table, finding themselves shutting down, “thank you for the ride.” Lest they forget: an attempt at a courtesy. “You already know the way back.” 

[poppy-metal]

poppy i feel like steve is the type of guy who gets off on you telling him you love him,,especially since nance gave him that whole “bullshit” speech about their relationship and how she never loved him :((( he would just want to hear it for reassurance that he is lovable and not just a boyfriend you have to pass time until “the one” shows up

“tell me you love me” he’s panting, you can tell from his twitching cock that he’s seconds away from exploding inside of you “i love you..i love you so much steve” you sound so genuine, your tone is soft but desperate. you need him to know that he’s it for you “it will only ever be you steve, i love you i love you i love you” he dips his head down to yours placing a sweet, loving kiss on your parted lips while he’s gripping onto the headboard in front of him “fuck baby— i love you” he gives the heartwarming phrase back to you before slowly stilling to let himself go “so good to me” between the sound of his pillow talk, your moans and small pants, you find it hard to hold onto the burning sensation in the pit of your stomach any longer. you pulse tightly around him riding out your orgasms together before he collapses next you pushing stray hairs behind your ears and promising to take care of you forever

oh god yeah :(

its like his kryptonite. hips slamming into yours like he wants to punch the words from your lips. words you'd always give willingly, they're just hard to claw up your throat with how hard hes pounding you into his bed. making the headboard clash into the wall, making your feet bounce by his head where your legs are thrown around his broad tan shoulders.

you try for him anyway. trying to roll your eyes from where they'd dissappeared into your skull from him hitting that spot over and over.

"love you." you gasp. "steve, i love you. oh god-"

makes him buckle down over you and devour your lips, cage you in with his big body as he drives in and in and in, heavy balls slapping your ass. your lips sliding against eachother as you pant and gasp, "love you too." kisses rain down all over your face, cheeks, chin, nose, neck, he keeps his mouth there, mouthing over your pulse. "love you so fucking much."

you'd always thought making love was something vanilla and boring, but. steve had proven that very much otherwise. you'd never felt so ripped open and pieced back together than you do right now, clinging to him as you moan your sweet words to eachother, bodies slapping lewdly, climbing to your peak.

"Inside me." you hear yourself whine, hands sliding down his flexing back, trying to hold on. "please. i want it."

he lets out a broken moan into your throat, hands gripping your hips to keep you still and pinned. starts giving it to you even harder if thats even possible. It is.

"s'yours, baby. gonna- fuck- gonna give you all my cum. gonna give my baby allll my fucking- cum."

[obeymeluv]

“I Got All A’s! Can I Have Some Dick?” (Bros + Undateables)

Just something stupid and funny I thought about. You had a very tough semester in the Devildom and you got good grades! You want to celebrate and go to your favorite demon to ask for a special reward.

Obvious NSFW warning. No minors allowed!

No Luke. Luke is baby.

I have a personal headcanon that Simeon likes to be totally cozy when he writes. We’re talking big fluffy sweaters or a blanket cozy. I like to think he wears glasses when he writes, too.

Lucifer

He’s part of a special committee who’s notified about your grades/progress so he actually knows before you do

Proud boyfriend is proud

Purrs when he opens up the wax-pressed envelope and reviews your marks

Secretly plans a cute, fancy dinner date at Ristorante Six

Is thinking of being suave and breaking the news to you when you bounce into his study (he may or may not have poured a couple of glasses of your favorite age-appropriate beverage)

He’s got something witty prepped and is ready to toast you and maybe steal a few kisses but you come out of left field like a bullet with a simple “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Lucifer.exe is broken

That’s what you want as a reward? No dinner, no date?

Literally doesn’t know what to say for a few seconds. Totally freezes. Starts to stutter.

His brain kicks back in when you start playing with the folds of his collar and petting his chest and staring at him with those wanting eyes

Sets his glass down, fixes the cuff of his gloves, and hoists you up to plant you on the nearest surface. “I will make it worth every point, and you will say all the letters.” he purrs.

Mammon

He’s just happy he passed.

Mammon actually does pretty well, he’s just a very...chaotically successful type. A lot of last minute turn-ins and such. Not top marks, but no dunce either.

Now that the semester’s over he’s checking his schedule to see when the next shoot is or if he has time to squeeze in a party. Maybe a trip somewhere. Something fun!

He’s feeling lucky! Lucky enough to win some money and make Goldie happy!

If he’s going anywhere, he needs a good luck charm though! He goes to hunt you down and his stomach just warms because you’re smiling and clearly in a good mood

It makes him purr in that cute, curious little way. Basically using the demon’s language to ask you why you’re in such a good mood (but you don’t know that. It’s basically a cute chirp).

You both shout your good news at the same time.

His invite to go tear it up was a bit long so it takes a minute for his brain to process what you said. You want...his dick?

Boy wants to blush SO BAD. HE’S SO RED!

Well now his thing seems stupid, doesn’t it? He wants to do your thing! Your thing sounds GREAT!

“OF COURSE you want to be with the GREAT Mammon!” he’s got his hands on his hips and his chest is puffed out big in that happy, silly way he has about him.

No, really, you do your thing. It’s a great thing.

It’s a good way to unwind from exams, right? He likes it!

Levi

If Levi didn’t get good grades, Lucifer would kill him.

Probably force him to go to school physically ALL THE TIME!

HIS SUBSCRIPTIONS WOULD BE AT RISK,OKAY?

He’s a solid B student (at least). No desire to be all A’s. Too much time away from other passions.

Because he’s well-behaved and leas likely to get on Lucifer’s nerves, he gets a little bit of bonus money for good grades.

Levi’s neck-deep in his charts and comparisons and muttering to himself about where to invest that money when you pop into his room

“I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?!”

You get The Noise

How indecent! How naughty of you to ask! But yes, yes you can. Absolutely. 100%!

He’s really shy about it because it’s sudden and you asked him instead of him having a cool moment or anything, but it ends up being a giggle-filled romp that ends with a cuddle in his bathtub bed and you wrapped up in his tail

He totally suggests a round two with a sexy VR game or just making bets with ‘winner take all’

Satan

He’s a grade juggernaut with lots of self-discipline so Satan expects to get out what he gets in

The type to be smug because he knows he did well. He owes it to himself and he’s glad.

Likes to treat himself to an outing, be it a simple walk or a visit to a cafe or even a new book

Satan’s 100% ready to settle down with some books by the fireplace. At the end of the semester he typically makes a one or two-portion charcuterie board and picks at it while he reads

Thumb keeping his place, Satan’s in the middle of stacking a fancy little cracker with meat and cheese when you let yourself in

His eyes flick to you and he smiles, eating his little cracker

You pick at his tray with him (he’ll let you, of course). “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Chokes on cracker. It’s not a good time

Almost drowns himself/further chokes trying to wash it down with drink

Can’t help but laugh at your...bold request

When he sees he’s kind of sputtered all over himself, he slips out of his clothes and makes a few witty jokes as your ‘naked butler’

Naked butler happily provides his services

Later he makes you picked crushed cracker off the floor with him

Asmo

The second Asmo knew he passed everything (like he always does. Just because he’s pretty doesn’t mean he’s stupid!), he booked himself a full day pampering experience

His inner circle of beauty specialist know his routine so they save his spots for him

Asmo sweet-talked them into including his favorite human and he’s DYING to tell you and DYING to make his brothers jealous

You skip into his room, so bright and lovely, and hold his hands in the cute excited way he likes. Makes his heart skip a beat every time like it’s young love.

“I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Doesn’t expect it and has probably never been asked ‘Can I have some dick?’ in the thousands of years he’s been alive

Boy gives an airy laugh because he’s surprised and flattered. Of COURSE you want him (because who wouldn’t?) but he always gets a bit shy when it’s YOU asking

“Sounds amazing,” he’s already peppering you with kisses, “and I’m happy to provide but can we do it after our special spa day?”

You guys have a sweet, lazy round the day of the booking to ‘loosen up’ and ‘fully appreciate the services’ and he DEFINITELY worships you when all is said and done because ‘the epitome of beauty deserve the epitome of devotion’

Beel

Boy works hard and celebrates even harder. Usually with food

Because he’s always hungry and looking forward to eating, Beel likes to do his work ahead of time. The sooner he does it, the more time he has to eat!

He has to keep up good grades to stay on the sports teams, anyways

Solid B student, sometimes A’s. C’s and below aren’t a thing. He refuses.

Because he is also best boy and generally acts as Lucifer’s pseudo-enforcer, he also gets some bonus money.

The coach of his local sports team also pitches in because Beel is best boy and a TANK. He could literally carry the whole team

Beel’s all set to hit the town with his food money when find him and wrap your arms around him

He’s all excited and ready to tell you about the food money when you make his face catch fire. “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Brain also stops. BEEL IS SO EMBARRASSED!

You’d rather have him than food? That’s pretty impressive! He’s honored!

But...what if you could have both? He’s totally down for both!

You celebrate your success by staying in (bed) and spoiling yourselves with food in-between rounds

Belphie

Belphie is a ‘C’s get degrees’ kind of guy but C’s are his minimum. Tries for B’s and usually gets mid-to-low B’s.

With exams over he’s 100% down to sleep the day away and there’s NO REASON for ANYONE TO BUG HIM ABOUT IT!

Totally prepared to live in his finest pyjamas until school starts again. Might even treat himself to a new pillow or blanket!

If he hadn’t learned your scent by now, you wouldn’t have a face when you breach his blanket cocoon

Belphie just snorts and smiles at your little face and messy hair (the blankets give it static and mess it up)

You kiss his nose and wait to make sure he’s really awake before sharing the good news. “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Laughs himself to the point of almost choking on one of his blankets

Throws himself out of the cocoon to breathe and wipe his tears away

But yes, yes you can. After he calms down, he pulls you onto his lap to straddle him. 

It’s fun and lazy but a genuine celebration of the end of the semester

Diavolo

He’s the other part of the committee that saw your grades, so he knows

It’s a bit off his plate so he won’t have as many duties to attend to

Diavolo wasn’t sure when you’d come over, but Barbatos assured him you’d be over that day. He did his best to speed through his meetings and arrange his schedule to have a rest period

He asked Barbatos to prepare a small, modest lunch of finger foods and some complimentary tea

You may have thought Diavolo was making himself a plate when you walked in, but it was actually a plate for you

The prince of the Devildom almost dropped that plate when you said, “I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Prince of Hell is super blushy and flustered and awkward and almost knocks his teacup off the table. Is suddenly scrambling to make sure he doesn’t know anything else off the table

Tries to compose himself but can’t help the boyish smile and laugh that escapes him

You’re just such a lovely, fascinating person! He’s so happy to have you. His life seems eternal but you make it so fresh and new! His heart just bursts with love and delight.

Is no longer worried about the food or pushing in your chair for you. Offers his lap instead. “I have an opening for that,” he assures, pulling you onto his lap.

Diavolo likes to think he’s thoughtful about taking you on the floor because Barbatos doesn’t have much to clean up.

If your stomach grumbles after you’re settled and sleepy, he pulls himself off your body long enough to grab a plate from the table and put it beside your head. 

Demons have more stamina and it would be un-princely of him not to spoil you, so he feeds you until you’re too sleepy to eat.

Barbatos

It’s exhausting to be able to see multiple timelines and see into the future.

He never knows how far into the future he’s seeing, or if it’s in the timeline he’s currently in

All he knows is he heard you ask him for dick and almost dumped the wrong thing in the soup, okay? 

Had to excuse himself and ask someone on the cooking team to take over for him while he “dealt with another matter” (laughed it out where no one could hear him)

I’m not sure if Barbatos is considered a student at RAD, but Diavolo must be too. We’ll say he is. Boy is a master of self-discipline and scheduling so he’s fine. Flawless, as a butler should be. It carries over into all things.

It’s a delicate balance sometimes, but he’s type A and used to being busy so it works itself out. He does well.

Barbatos simply looks forward to having less to do. Focusing on Diavolo can be a job all its own.

He was planning on making a few sweets for Luke and the others. Diavolo suggested a “pot luck” to celebrate. It’s something the humans came up with and he seems to like it. It turns into sweets for the pot luck

Probably makes you a special mini-dessert or a special portion of the dessert

If he’s in control of plate presentation, you might get a special sauce heart of chocolate heart

When Diavolo is generous enough to include him in the celebration (because he deserves it and you’re there, so it’d be cruel not to), Barbatos makes small talk and woos you subtly

You ask him to “show you where to take the dishes” to get him alone. He can feel it in his little demon bones. You’re about to do it.

You do it.

You’re basically vibrating with excitement because you probably planned this and think you’re very clever. Human enthusiasm is so darling and it makes his heart pitter-patter to think you were simply bursting to ask HIM this.

“But of course,” he helps you stack the plates and guides your hand to the silverware sorter because you’re looking at him instead of what you’re doing. You almost put a fork in the spoon section. “Covered in chocolate? Plain?”

He’s trying to one-up you. He loves seeing his human change colors and not know what to do.

You whisper “I prefer wet,” back in his ear and Barbatos wonders how he didn’t see THAT in any of his visions

You: 1, Barbatos: 0. Helpless. Defenseless. Horny.

“That will be ready shortly,” he’s already pulling you away, down the hall, to meet your request.

Solomon

It wouldn’t serve him to do poorly in the Devildom. Basically wasted opportunity

He’s not a straight A student but he does well. Really pulls out the stops on major projects and things that are worth more points than others

Isn’t perfect at everything but makes up for it. Solid B’s, always really close to A’s. At least a couple low A’s.

Solomon doesn’t quite know how he wants to celebrate. He knows Asmo’s already pestering him to go shopping or clubbing

He’s considering it. He’d like to drink, honestly

You show up, light of his life, his favorite person, and he feels himself warm with joy

He revels in being the only other human in the Devildom. It makes your relationship that much more special, he thinks. It’s kind of stupid, but it’s something to coyly hold over the others whenever he sees fit. All in play, of course (not).

“I got all A’s! Can I have some dick?”

Pretends to think and looks anywhere but your face. If he looks at your face he’ll blush himself stupid and won’t be able to say anything smart.

He can’t lie. He’s already hard. He appreciates humor and wit and you’re all of it.

Very bold of you to come onto him like that, and he’s 100% for it.

“Can you take it?” Solomon wishes he said something smoother, that he wasn’t already slipping between your legs and grinding against you like the weak man he was. He doesn’t regret it though because the friction is good. Something you both need.

He whispers against your skin and gives you light, sloppy kisses with a hint of teeth.

He gives, and he’s generous. He wants to reward your efforts.

Simeon

Simeon makes it a point of personal pride to do well in the Devildom

That’s the utmost symbol of peace and understanding, isn’t it? To embrace their culture and livelihood and do well? To do well means he’s understanding them and walking in their shoes. It’s only right

He works hard and does well. Doesn’t stress himself out with A’s since he’s keeping up his grades because it’s required. He’d rather reconnect with the brothers and try to help Luke enjoy the Devildom.

He’s happy to spend his free time taking Luke to places in the Devildom, trying to visit the House of Lamentation, and maybe working on some things for TSL since editors are clamoring for more

You stop by because he’s been fairly quiet, wrapped up in his favorite writing sweater with his little editing glasses on

Simeon smiles and greets you with his little ‘Hi, angel’ as he kisses your hand. 

Boy almost breaks his favorite pen when you ask him for...for dick?

He’s not absolutely clueless but this boy has been in ‘holy angel’ mode for centuries. He struggles with texting and stickers and you expect him to know slang?!

So confused he takes his glasses off. Boy can’t comprehend

“You’re asking me to procure one? Like...the ones humans use from those stores? You want mine? Well, I certainly hope so because we’re--oh...”

He could write books of poetry about you, and though he doesn’t like to admit it, he’s had those thoughts

“Well,” he’s standing up from his chair and guides you so gently to his bed it’s like you’re floating on a cloud. He lays you down just as gently, fabrics whispering as he slips out of his sweater and it pools at his feet. “I wouldn’t be a very good angel if I ignored the wishes of my dear human, would I?”

Doesn’t really see the point of sex as a reward, but will never turn down a moment to show how cherished you are. 

Hope you liked it :)

[knivesong-moved]

❝ Oh, I am far from humble. I think we both know that. I just feel I need to work perhaps a little harder to if I want to achieve godhood. I already have my Chosen in mind. ❞

She flashed him a devilish grin, removing her hand from his cheek for but a moment to flick at her hair dramatically. Satisfied her point had been made, her fingers made their way back to his face to resume brushing against his skin tenderly. Reverently. She moved as though he would crumble to ash beneath her touch.

❝ A bath sounds absolutely amazing. A proper bath. I feel like no matter how hard I try, I'm layered in some vile combination of dirt, sweat, and blood. ❞

Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought. Though, she did feel significantly better after having Astarion clean her up. Her wounds still throbbed with a dull ache, but she was in a far better state than she had been earlier that day. She wasn't sure what had sparked her desire to have him dress her wounds. The bard had patched herself up more times than she could remember - from minor scrapes to resetting her own broken nose. It was a marvel it wasn't absolutely mangled to bits.

She was relieved to hear that her lack of experience in this endeavor would be equally matched by his own. It soothed some of her embarrassment at stumbling through this clumsily. He was so kind. Too kind.

There it was, that nagging doubt in the back of her mind. Was he being sincere ? The two of them knew how to play the game exceptionally well - a notion that made her uneasy. How easily she threw herself into him could be considered laughable. Annie allowed herself to be the perfect mark - the very type of person she herself targeted.

She had fought hard to suppress those feelings, to swallow the doubts she had surrounding their relationship. She wanted desperately to be able to put her trust in him; how easily he could simply pull the rug out from under her. She had given him her most vulnerable self so freely. So far he had shown himself worthy of that trust.

But was she worthy of him ?

Anything she wanted ? She'd never stopped moving long enough to ever consider what she wanted. Sure, she was one to act on habit and chase the easiest high she could find. But long term happiness ? She had absolutely no idea. She lived in such a way that anything "long term" felt impossible.

Annie leaned forward to press her forehead against his. Her eyes slid closed and she inhaled deeply, savoring his scent and proximity. Oh how desperately she wanted to kiss him in that moment. To completely drown herself in him. But she didn't want to push things too quickly.

❝ Hold me. ❞

❝ I wouldn't say that. You've managed to enthrall everyone here at camp well enough. Enough to keep Lae'zel and Shadowheart from ripping each other to pieces, though it certainly would be far more entertaining if they did. Not to mention you somehow convinced Wyll to cease chasing after Karlach and now he's gone and defied a devil. You hold far more influence than you give yourself credit for, darling. No need to be humble about it. ❞

Astarion had observed very early on that Annie held some sort of sway to their travel companions. At first, he didn't understand way. His first impression was that she was just another weak-hearted bard in over their head who would tuck tail and run at the first real sign of trouble. But she had surprised him. She had been stronger than he pegged her for. More influential than he'd have assumed. That was definitely what piqued his attention first, why he chose her of everyone in camp. He'd sent out little flirtatious feelers to everyone, of course, gauging who would be the easier mark to manipulate a mutually beneficial agreement. Sex for protection. Sex to stay within the camp unbothered.

❝ I'd say this handsome charlatan - thank you for noticing - is doing more than that lately. I'm absolutely thriving, darling. What more could a vampire wish for than to feel sunlight on his skin and a warm companion to fill both lonely nights and oh so graciously his blood lust? Of course, access to a proper bath and some culture is a much missed addition, but we'll be in Baldur's Gate soon enough for that. ❞

Of course, it wasn't part of the plan to actually end up liking her. All he'd hoped for was to at least enjoy time with her enough he didn't feel like he was banging his head against the wall and that she'd be easy on the eyes so he would have to hide revulsion. This was far more than Astarion had planned or intended. Far, far more.

Which is why he'd needed to take a step back. Which is how they ended up here like this. Both of them trying to figure this mess out.

He lingered still with lips against her wrist. He could so easily have bitten down to claim her blood, but he didn't. He respected Annie far too much and he refused to deny someone autonomy and choice as Cazador did him. So, instead, he simply placed another kiss before retracting to instead nuzzle into the palm of her hand. His little smirk remained, noticing the way her pulse had fluttered at such touches.

Astarion liked this. Oh, he liked it very much. But her words fully encapsulated how he also felt. He also had absolutely no idea how to do this.

❝ I... must admit, darling... I'm as lost as you in this. But, it pleases me to know that, at the very least, I'm not lost alone. ❞

A pause and another nuzzle of her hand as he took a thoughtful pause.

❝ Tell me what you need. Tell me what you want. At this moment. Anything at all, and I shall do it. ❞

[sor-vette]

#10 The Getaway Ploy

“It’s a refurbished student housing,” you explain as they trail after you like ducks in a row. Even if they don’t understand what you’re saying, they seem to be clinging to every word. Wherever you look there’s always at least one pair of doe eyes staring expectantly back at you a.k.a. what do you do when you open your doors and find a certain retired boyband for some reason wants to move in

▶ type: ot7 x fem! reader (poly)

▶ word count: 5.6k

▶ series’ masterlist

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▶t/w: mentions of parental abuse, mentions of childhood trauma and reader's deep denial over said trauma, angst, Taehyung is insane and has kinks

▶ a/n: The resolution of the Kiss debate. To be honest with you guys, I did think of going on a brief hiatus for a bit because that mental state is yodelling all over the place. But the feedback for the last part was so encouraging I'm now considering weathering it through :) Also *circus music starts* to those 11% who said that if I make the kiss angsty, they'll throw a fit... *runs away, clown shoes squeaking* Also please make sure you've read the previous chapter

"This is bullshit!" Taehyung slams down the newspaper. He didn't even read it, merely bought it for theatrical reasons.

"You all spent some time with her! And what do I have? Nothing! I'm not even in the poll pie chart!"

He pushes into their faces the bright image on his screen of a photo pinned to Rebecca's door.

Apartment 27 First Kiss Debate, opening bid 10. Come back to catch up with new weekly results.

Through the swollen eyes, Hoseok can't make out much of the jumbling colours or the knife extended towards his throat. Yoongi sees and doesn't care, continues to flip pancakes, ignoring the threat of being stabbed.

Taehyung points with the blade at the rest of them garnering exactly zero reaction.

"This will be my day!" he threatens, backs hunched like a deranged cat. "I get to play with her!"

"You've got to know how wrong that sounds," Namjoon chides tiredly from his squatting post on the chair, a real-life version of Rodin's Thinker.

"Yeah, no," Jin objects from the small patched sofa in front of a broken 60's TV. "We all came here to have a good time."

"And you can have a good time," Taehyung narrows his eyes, clutching the knife harder, "away from me and her, far away, the further, the better."

They all freeze when you shuffle out of your lodge room, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"How can it still smell like fish in here?" you ask, greeting them one by one. Jungkook greedily reaches for your hand and sinks it into his hair. You oblige, with the other hand navigating milk delivery to the cereal bowl.

"Your hair is turning out quite curly," you remark with a critical eye and Jungkook preens underneath the attention, even straightening in the chair. Taehyung very casually is sharpening the knife two steps away.

"Molly had similar ears," you smile, brushing locks away from the forehead. Jungkook glances up, and even he himself can feel the way his eyes widen and become overrun with stars. He's making that expression he always makes when he thought there really was no one cooler than his soulmates. He must be looking at you like this all the time for there was no one more impressive than you.

"Would you - would you," he stutters, a nervous tick showing itself much to his embarrassment. Instantaneously, he's thrown back to the rookie days when everything was so new and he could barely a word past his lips. He automatically searches for Jin, who gives him an encouraging smile from the sofa.

"Just slow down," he remembers Jin saying. "Don't force the words to come but let them arrive at the speed they want to."

The memory seems like a thousand lives ago, but Jungkook is as fond of it as ever. He breathes in and out, relaxing in your touch. You'd never mentioned any of his difficulties speaking, he knows you wouldn't do that, so he calms.

"Would you like to spend time with us?" he gazes up, from the corner of his eye, spotting thumbs up from Jin. Still, you grow awkward, and much to Jungkook's chagrin, the soft caresses leave his hair.

"Uh... I'd like to but um..." you stumble, then sigh, looking up at the ceiling in pure, unadulterated exhaustion and fish out a crumpled ball of paper out of your sweatpants pocket.

"Kim Seokjin is the most beautiful, kindest man in the world, and I love him so much, I'd ma- no, sorry that's the wrong paper."

You push it back into the pocket while Namjoon throws an unamused glance. The accused, however, sits with round cheeks, smugly nodding along to every word. You cough and then read again, as King's messenger would delivering a decree upon illiterate village simpletons.

"Everyone present, I must inform you that, today I will be devoting all my attention to its rightful owner - Kim Taehyung. I've meditated upon my wrongdoings, namely not spending enough adequate time with upper mentioned Kim Taehyung and will set to fix my faults, in fact, immediately. Thank you for your attention and piss off Yoongi..." you trail off at the last words, turning to the breakfast man whilst cold-blooded chucking the paper in the bin.

"I didn't mean the last part," you point out and Yoongi's lips quirk in the slightest smile.

"I know," he mumbles and if Namjoon wouldn't be in all of this, he'd gag at the loving sight. Yoongi then leans in and presses a chaste kiss to the side of your temple, fingers ghosting across your back.

The cup in Jungkook's hand explodes. Unfettered Jimin picks out the shards of glass from his hair looking just as if not more murderous than Jungkook. Taehyung is up again with the knife in hand. You glance around at the pack of hyenas and make a quick exit. Yoongi out of self-preservation adjusts his hold on the pan for optimal grip.

"I told you he'd be the first," Hoseok murmured bitterly in between bites of pancakes.

"Damn it if every play cards with you," you huff as annoyingly happy Taehyung bounds after you.

"You're a Jungkook," he smugly tosses out.

"Excuse me?"

Holding out a finger he grabs his phone and after a moment announces victoriously.

"A sore loser!"

You grumble and walk away from him but because these men are in fact 80% leg, you don't get very far away.

"Another game?" he suggests

"Did I not just say I would never play with you? Get in through your head, never ag-!"

You slam your forehead against the small table of the confectionery store shop as Taehyung proudly closes the game with 40 to 1.

"I hate you," you groan but he only glows brightly as the sun.

"So...you're my maid."

"I am no such thing!" you brandish the cake fork to his smug grin but the bastard doesn't even feign fear.

"You lost, you do as I want."

That was the insane term you'd agreed on but at the time you'd underestimated just how quickly Taehyung could learn to play checkers.

"What do you want?"

Immediately you regret asking as his grin widens in malicious intent.

"Call me master."

You want to die. No, you want to kill him first, then yourself - to preserve honour.

"No."

"Or maid," he gestures over himself.

You blanch.

"You don't have a maid costume with you!"

"Oh, I do," he crosses palms underneath his chin and dares to look innocent.

"Namjoon won't - he won't - he's in debt, too."

"Okay...master," you grind your teeth and Taehyung turns straight up insufferable. He breathes something akin to cut off groan satisfaction. This dude was a menace to society.

"Didn't hear you," he leans the side of his face obnoxiously close, nearly crushing the table underneath his weight. His profile is right in front of you, so close your cheeks swelter with his body heat and there's nothing but his cologne invading your every sense.

"Master," your tongue burns from the word and Taehyung falls back into the chair with a highly unnerving blissed-out expression.

"If I spot a boner, I'm out," you warn but he doesn't seem to hear it.

Despite the never-ending teasing and abuse of height difference, being with Taehyung wasn't half bad. Admittedly a goof, he was ultimately a kind, if slightly kinky man who despite the evident desire of wanting to see more of ships and town life abandoned it for desolate beaches and hikes through the forest - a beacon of comfort for your kind of thoroughbred social avoidance. Yesterday it was the last sunny day of the season, a bit of Fortune's smile for Jimin, but even in the grey, it is delightful. Many pictures are once again taken or more accurately tried to be taken, with you dodging out of the shot and Taehyung chasing you down. In between comparing scoured seashells or particularly gnarly pine cones, Taehyung shares pieces of his life. He doesn't even blink twice at the outright proclamation of his previous career and so you do the same. He struggles through the very accurate, unbiased and completely not overdramatized account of the infamous Dumpling Incident when a familiar face catches your eye on the hiking trail.

"Ah ______! ...and you weird stranger," Jin beams against the tree, completely casual. Taehyung's left hand itches suspiciously for something on the side of his backpack.

"Don't I look handsome in the forest," Jin models his face from various angles and if completely honest you'd have to say - yes but then again it was Jin. Even if you'd disagree he would blow you all the way across the ocean from the force of his shouting.

You open your mouth but Taehyung is quick to put his palm over your lips.

"I'm sorry," he sneers with pronounced distaste. "I don't let baby talk...talk to strangers."

You frown and bite into his index finger.

"Ah! _______!" he pulls back but doesn't look outraged, in fact, he seems positively elated. "You no bite here, you bite here," he points at the juncture of his slender neck.

You roll your eyes as the first reaction and something from the way Tae nudges you with his foot indicates he is not happy with the response. No, he wouldn't be so cra-!

Taehyung mutely gestures over himself with a stern wrinkle sitting in between his brows. The maid outfit - the clearest of warnings.

"Yes, Master," you sigh and immediately he bounces on the spot with replenished energy while Jin tears the bark of the pine tree.

"Let's go away from the strange man!"

"Yes, Master," you can only echo soullessly, leaving the scenic hiking trail, so when Namjoon falls out of a tree, secretly listening in, you don't even look back.

You're back in the sandwich shop acquainted with yesterday, solving a crossword while Taehyung stares at you with a mysterious smile. Today's menu - grilled salmon sandwiches. The concept of not having fish while on the wharf was a distant concept for the local cuisine. You just sip on the hot cocoa, looping the final letters of T - H- I - R - S - T to a "refers to the necessity of water; in pop-culture describes an excessive sexual desire" when Taehyung with unbridled ease, asks -

"Would you want to have my kids?"

The cocoa is in your nose and the crossword is ruined. Unblinking, he stretches a helpful napkin your way.

"Did you perhaps mean would I overall want kids?" you laugh nervously.

"No."

Before the conversation, if it could be called that, can continue, Taehyung is promptly kicked out of the chair by a very weighty sneaker. Jungkook takes the seat as if nothing happened, contributing a handful of napkins.

You watch in non-existent worry as Taehyung is dragged away by a very innocent looking Jimin and Yoongi.

"Uh...that," you try to direct Jungkook's attention to unfolding semi-abduction but he is having none of it.

"Lesser men," are all the kind words he grants to them.

You toss a hand in the air, having grown used to the various nonsense they got themselves into.

"Do you- you like Yoongi? The most?" he twiddles with his thumbs shyly. "It's cool if you do, I just - I just need twelve-page...uhh essay? To explain why."

You don't really know from where did Taehyung procure a meter long baguette to propel at Jungkook's head, nevertheless, he did so, effectively knocking him out. Perhaps. You wouldn't know, as Taehyung grabbed you by the hand, shouting something to the poor waitress that the man on the floor will pay and dragging you away.

"Taehyung, this is - this is not appropriate," you manage to stutter out, as Taehyung has pressed all of himself against you and up the wall, tucking you both in the relative hiding of the small museum's alcove.

"I don't know what "appropriate" means," is all he whispers, breath hot against your ear, your vision landing in the square of his chest.

"Clearly," you ironize and he chuckles, the above-mentioned chest rumbling from the quiet laughter.

"Hmm, maybe, we not hidden good."

There's that glint in his eyes again, that suggests he's up to some devilry.

"We're hidden good enough."

But Taehyung only shakes his head, his hair brushing over your forehead as he puts all his weight against your form, so you're practically pinned to the wall.

"No, this," he captures your thighs and hoists you up against his thighs, trembling from the weight as those grubby hands of his wrapping tightly against your waist. "This is much better."

"This is really not appropriate," you uselessly reason, actively disengaging from the situation at hand from the overwhelming input of proximity.

Taehyung looks somewhere down, in the vicinity of your chin, one corner tipping upward into a sharp smirk.

"And whose watching?" he rumbles, leaning down.

"I AM!"

In the entryway of the museum's second floor, ichthyological exhibition, stands Jungkook, panting and vengeful, armed with the damn baguette. Taehyung lets you down, shoving you behind his back, arms stretched out.

"I told you she's mine for the day!" Taehyung growls and you try not to think about the weird sensation at the word "mine".

"We- we did not - agree to this!" Jungkook advances with the baguette.

"Can't you guys just be normal for a day?" you ponder behind the wall known as Kim Taehyung. "Just like for a day?"

You get ignored.

"I'm sorry Miss, do you know those two?" the museum curator asks, watching in astounded horror as Taehyung and Jungkook try to crawl up each other, trading weak blows.

"No," you reply and leave the building.

"_______, why do you think the sky is grey?" Jin asks as you awkwardly sway, trying to walk with his gigantic stature clinging onto you like a mite.

"Why, Jin," you blankly humour him for the fifteenth time.

"Cause all the colours are in your eyes."

Cue high pitched, wiping laugh in your ear.

"Hey, _______."

"What, Jin?"

"How does it feel to be more beautiful than the ocean?"

"Then tell me."

Jin blushes bright red, ears so hot they could signal ships back home as he lets go of you to crumple onto the rock breakwater.

"Feels good, thanks."

You move onto much quieter Hoseok and Yoongi, dodging any loose rocks.

"They're still bothering you?" Yoongi asks, gently holding onto your elbow as Hoseok does the same.

"Yeah. Don't pretend you didn't as well," you throw him an accusatory stare, but he turns his head away.

"The only one who hasn't been nagging the hell out of me is Hoseok," you point out and at the mention of his name, he automatically gives a tight-lipped smile but stops because he knows you don't get caught up in his deceits.

"I...I want you to rest," he scratches at his ear. "You're no...not sleeping again."

It's your turn to look away. There really was no way you could ever lie to Hoseok.

"How do you know?" you whine.

"Monday to Tuesday you slept well, I didn't hear you um...walking in your room. Wednesday you walked for ten minutes but Thursday you walked thirty minutes. Yesterday for an hour."

"Is it me or does it seem a little scary?" you try to joke with Yoongi but now there are lines of deep worry etched on his face.

"Is this true?" he asks. "Your insomnia is back?"

"What's this about insomnia?" Joon suddenly asks hovering above you like a black-haired orb.

"It's nothing, really," you huff, slightly smothered by all the caging. "It's just...well it's easier to show you."

You hand them your phone with the open email.

From: Solveig, HR&A

Subject: NYC convention

Hello, ___________, I know this is last minute, but Erik got sick and he can't go now to the convention. I need someone responsible to fill in (you know won't talk too much, won't drink themselves to death) and you came to mind. Respond ASAP, the flight out is on Monday 19:30.

Cheers,

Solveig, HR&A department manager.

"This is good, right?" Namjoon says above you, placing his chin on your head. "The event can help you network and stuff."

"I hate networking. I didn't think seriously of going, anyway."

"But?" Yoongi urges and you bite on your lip coming to the stop at the front of the water breaker, watching as Jungkook and Taehyung, having quickly made peace, chased each other around.

"For fun's sake, I threw a portfolio together, of my work," you admit and Hoseok nods along.

"The hour walking."

"Yes, that's why I paced around, and I don't know I had this quick flash of like...maybe I could do it, maybe someone could appreciate what I do, but - "

"But?" Namjoon echoes Yoongi.

"It doesn't matter! It will not matter! Do you have the slightest idea how nepotic is this line of work? If you don't have connections, you could design the interior of Taj Mahal and no one will care!"

You sit down, watching the small waves splash against the rocks. They all plop next to you, hair ruffling in the wind. Behind you there come the sounds of Jin and Jungkook struggling to push each other into the water.

"Anna cared, didn't she?" Yoongi gently breaches but you scoff, mirthlessly.

"Anna likes my designs, yes, but more than anything she'd like me to have a threesome with her husband."

Namjoon's jaw clamp shuts.

"Are you sure it's about how impossible it is or is it more about your mother?" he asks blandly and without even fully wanting to, you turn hateful. It didn't matter how many years went by, the hatred and humiliation and resentment didn't lessen even a little.

"Don't ever talk about my mother with me, ever. Do you understand?"

He flinches backwards, astounded by the abrupt fury. Even Hoseok and Yoongi seem startled.

You breathe out an aggressive sigh and force a gentler tone.

"Sorry, about that but this... I don't want to talk about it."

You look onto the sea, letting your mind wander far away, from life and its problems. At times like these comprehending the vast nature of the world, time and space you seemed so small. And perhaps that was a comforting idea. Your pain will fade because you will fade, the mistakes you've made will disappear into time and while you will make no impact, largely you also won't screw up the world. The universe will persevere with you or without you. In the sands of eons, no one will remember you and no one will be able to laugh at you or see your failure. The only person who'd truly know all of you would be only yourself and all the ugly parts and thoughts and memories as such would remain safe in the confine of your skull.

In the distance whale springs from the water, diving up and then disappearing into the depth. You all collectively "ooh" at the sight.

The thing was that you could be someone. You had advantages at birth, other people didn't. Being the daughter of the UN Senior Political Affairs Officer granted the opening of many doors, but the one that mattered the most, the doors to your home, remained closed. You'd rather shut all the doors in the world than to ever vouch for yourself using the name of your mother. Your... well, you guessed that the word the woman, who approved your surname change request, used was your abuser.

The process had been strenuous as the request didn't apply to any terms officially approving the name change but in the end, after intervention with a state-licensed psychiatrist, you managed it in the end. Abandoned your surname, your university, your degree of Political Sciences, abandoned it all to hell, seemingly having nothing but you still could vividly recall that feeling of freedom. Like you were finally able to breathe fresh air for the first time in your life. The physical copy of the surname change was soaked with your tears right at the entry of the Civil Registry that day. Though you didn't like it how was it received -

"Due to parental abuse and diagnosed long-lasting effects of childhood trauma inflicted upon the applicant, the request for the surname change to avoid contact with the legal parent is granted."

- but in the long run, you were just happy to be rid of this stain. In your private thoughts, you assumed the psychiatrist was embellishing it a little bit. Your mother didn't beat you, it's not like you had broken bones every day or she let anyone else touch you, she just wasn't a suitable parent. You weren't abused, you just had a difficult upbringing, many people had it worse and it was nothing to whine over. Right, the psychiatrist was just dramatic, to get the request approved. The words "long-lasting trauma" sounded serious, something that should be treated with, rather than simply saying you didn't bond well with your mother. Some people were not meant to be parents and their kids were not meant to be their kids. It's all there was.

"I just want to have a good day," you mumble, coughing away something lodged in your throat, resting your head on Hoseok's shoulder, observing the distant whale coming back to the surface. "Can we do that?"

They're all silent for a minute, exchanging grave expressions before lightening up to the best of their abilities.

"Of course, we can," Namjoon assures and Yoongi leans in to kiss your temple again but something in the way you stare at the sea like you're decades away in your mind, stops him and he frowns at the rocks instead.

"This turned out so nice," you coo at the picture you've all taken together, squeezed into the small, creaking chair of a local cafe. Surprise, surprise, the menu was 90% fish.

The picture was taken back at the breakwater, with the sea as the background and you all huddled together, specifically the guys huddled around you as some strategic kneeling and leaning had to be done to fit everyone in the shot. It was late evening already and everyone, including you, was drunk. Not the wisest decision probably.

"What the hell is that?" you point at the possibly largest trout you've seen being carried on a platter to table four.

"It's my love for you," Namjoon hiccups with a dimpled goofy smile. Taehyung had tucked himself on your thigh and Jungkook was in his natural position, sniffing your hair and/or neck. You weren't certain. Whenever you got this feeling, that this was certainly not what roommates did, all of this, the touching, the hugging, the slight groping, was not exactly normal behaviour you took a shot or a sip, anything really and lulled the feeling away.

It was all around a merry gathering except for Hoseok who wasn't drinking but looked like he had. He didn't smile or joke at all, resigned to sitting quietly to the side and enduring Yoongi's incredibly sweet professed nothings. After ten minutes you examine as he gently pries away Yoongi from his side, pushes him towards Jin and left the cafe with nary of explanation.

You saw him rifling through the breast pocket and you instinctively knew what that meant.

"You promised me you wouldn't smoke anymore."

Much to Hoseok's fright you appear out of nowhere, startling him into the metal bins, guilty cigarette already tucked between his lips.

He can see that you're well on your way to being unconscious and hangover the next morning but he still obeys the accusing tone and chucks the cigarette away.

"Sorry, I...I can't quit. It's too hard."

You approach him, shivering in the cold and more than anything Hoseok wants to have the courage to hug you, lend you his jacket, hold your hand anything at this point, but he always was a coward, so he resolves to lose the battle with the addiction, rather than giving in the one he had with himself about you. By smoking, he harmed only himself, if he ever concedes the war of restraint, inevitably it will also hurt you. He long ago promised not to hurt you anymore but you have this concerned look in the eye, and you're standing so close he can smell your shampoo and you're so real he could just reach out and touch you. No, no, he will not touch you, unwanted touch hurts, he knew that.

"Why don't you bother me?" you ask.

You're drunk, Hoseok tells himself, you were slurring your words and swaying, this was not the conversation to have whilst not being sober but his restraint is waning. Fast. Eroding like sand in a tsunami.

"You want me...give you trouble?" he laughs, remembering your feeble attempts to wrangle Jin off your back. If anything, he thought you were annoyed by them.

"I want your attention," you pout taking a step forward. Hoseok automatically steps away. He knew you did, to compensate for being invisible, but you would never admit it out loud. Another point for that he should get you inside really quick before anything bad would happen. Before his restraint broke and he'd drown you in all this love he held for you. If only he could tell you how much of his attention you held, how he counted your steps at night when you didn't sleep, how he watched every time how you cursed silently when a coworker of yours send a dumb e-mail. How he sometimes saw you on the street, by accident, observing the way you moved on your own through the world. You had all of his attention but if he showed it to you it would only hurt you in the end. Yes, he would be happy, he would be overjoyed for every single day of his remaining life but what life would it be for you. If they dated you then publically it would have to appear as it would be only one of them, it would impact the relationship as a whole. And if it ever got out you were dating them all - the world would eat you whole. You'd get what he got, stalkers, death threats, pressure. No one would care how hard you worked to live, how kind you were or what you dreamt for, they would build another you, pin the mask to your face and then throw rocks at the image they created.

They were who they were and to love you from the pedestal that the world imposed upon them was selfishness. It was selfish to chase you down, charm you into their arms only to then submerge you into a taunting nightmare once everything would be revealed and pretend that they could fix it all with a kiss or an encouraging word. Hoseok wasn't a master of love, he was bad at it, but he knew that above all love was not supposed to be selfish.

But it's so very hard to not give in when you're right underneath his nose, gaze glossed over but determined.

"Why don't you kiss me?" you ask quizzically and he has to screw his eyes shut. He will lose if you look at him.

"They all did. Tried at least," you continue, breath fanning over his neck. He sinks his nails into his fist, hoping it would help, but it doesn't.

"Not you. Not even a kiss on a foreh-"

Hoseok kisses you. Practically shoves his face into yours. You give a muffled sound in surprise, eyes shooting wide open but you're not pushing away.

"Stop, what are you doing, stop! Right now!" he can hear his own worried voice rattling somewhere but it's lesser than dust in the wind. He can taste your lip balm and the beer you drank and he can smell Namjoon's cologne on you because he had been hogging you all the time during dinner and he can't stop.

How many times did he imagine you instead of strangers? How many times did he theorize how would it feel, falling in love with a dream over and over again? None of it compared because simply you were real. He sinks his fingers in your hair, desperate, pleading, one hand hitting against the brick wall of the cafe where he pins you.

Give in. Give in. Give in. It would be so easy. Stop pretending you don't want this, stop pretending you're not desperate. Hoseok never gave much thought to demons, before this very moment where there is one worming his way through every base instinct he has, shoving away the purity, the caution.

You try to match his energy but just as he suspected you're drowning underneath the weight of what he holds for you. You didn't have the luxury of growing up with them, leaning into the idea of soulmates slowly, you get the finished product, the feverish longing shoved right into your arms with zero preparation.

Still, Hoseok can't stop, his mind is yelling to stop, he's breaking every rule he ever set, but his body does as it wills. He presses into you with sloppy, wet kisses, uncoordinated because you're still strangers and lets his hand roam where it can reach. He traces your chin, your collarbone, your arms, sides, losing himself in you completely.

Even when he registers a waitress coming through the backdoors, witnessing the scene, not caring and chucking the trash in one of the bins, he doesn't stop. He's not in the right state to stop, but then he gets a whiff of the garbage smell and he becomes acutely aware of the surroundings.

Behind an unknown cafe, amongst trash and rats, pressing you against a dirty wall. Stealing a kiss while you were drunk.

Disgusting. Unworthy. Disrespectful.

If you would ever be with him, no money that they had could buy you all a normal life. This is what you would get - booked hotels under fake names, dates in the shabbiest of places where no one expected them to be, sloppy make-outs between piles of trash. Hiding you away like some sort of dirty secret and not openly cherished as you should be.

You deserved more.

You deserved home. You deserved the world and Hoseok couldn't give you that. Simple as that. He could not give you what you needed, could only take what he wanted.

Love was not selfish.

So he pulls away. Practically tears himself off at the speed of light.

You stand veering slightly, out of breath against the wall. Hair a complete mess, lips swollen and flourishing bruise on your neck, he wasn't aware he'd given you one and now he grew even more ashamed. He mauled at your throat like that, maybe you didn't even want it, he hadn't asked.

"I'm sorry," he croaks, trying so hard not to cry. "That was a mistake."

Oh.

Right.

Of course.

It always was.

The hold around your heart is so painful, it crushes all of your insides in a mush. And then the pain disappears, as sudden as a leg cramp when the muscles release and you feel nothing. Nothing at all, just the awful hollow.

"Well, mistakes happen," you say, voice distant. You want to go away, where no one knows you, where you can be alone.

Hoseok observes your expression with a pained grimace.

"Hey, it's not you, it's - "

"You?" comes your counter, slightly derisive and he winces. "I'm going to go back to the lodge."

You waddle away, taking slow steps, one at the time as if you've forgotten how to walk. Hoseok's concern only grows as he watches you detach from the world. It was scary the way all soul left your face and you just grew...still.

"No, really, I..." he tries to amend but you don't want to hear it. You don't want to hear anything at all. And so he's left standing alone at the wharf, surrounded by the sounds of rushing wind and the swaying wind.

"What do you mean you're going to New York?" Yoongi asks quietly, careful not to wake anyone up.

"I mean, I'm taking my chance, what do I have to lose if I go to this convention, right? You wanted me to go."

"Well, yes," Yoongi stammers, anxiously taking in the way you avoid him, his look, his questions, even his presence if it was less than ten steps away. "But you were rather determined not to go just yesterday. It's a bit sudden..."

"I can change my mind," you snap.

He thinks very, very carefully of his next words.

"Are you running away?"

For the first time in the early morning, you stop moving and peer back at him. The kitchen is small but there's so much space between you, Yoongi wonders if he can ever breach it.

"Why would I run away?" you lie. "I'm fine."

Yoongi lets his hand fall away from the chair and stands awkwardly, not knowing what to say, how to comfort you.

You nod to yourself when he stops talking.

"The conference is for three days, but maybe I'll stay longer. I don't know yet how much the HR will pay for it."

Yoongi can only numbly take in what you're saying. He wanted to take you roller skating or go to the caves he saw on the brochure, or play to you the guitar you'd both chosen. All those plans, fond certainty that you could make it through together, all of it - gone in an instant.

You bid him quiet goodbye, not expecting him to be up in the first place, and reach for the handle of the door, dragging your suitcase behind.

That damn red suitcase Yoongi loathes. Every time he lost you, he saw it trailing after you. Like a beacon, it shone your way but he was always in the storm, failing to catch up, stranded as you flew away.

"Just come home," he breaks as you step over the threshold. "I'll wait for you. No matter how long it takes, I'll wait."

previous ⟷ next

[caliginousarchitect]

Vongola 10th generation squad (+Byakuran and Kyoko) based on @bonesetblues​‘s KHR/BNHA crossover curiosity kills the cat (but satisfaction brings it back)

As yet in the fic only Tsunayoshi and Byakuran have actual established cat forms, so I was like,,, WHEEEE Tsuna I did him as a cinnamon classic tabby longhair. Not actually doing him as a Norwegian Forest Cat, but I did base his facial structure on one a bit. (And it is quite funny to envision him going from being one of the smallest of his agemates to having a good kilo on them) Byakuran Longhair, high white spotting over lilac (with a carried point gene because even carried it can affect the eyes sometimes). Also wings. He came out kinda Eh sadly, I think Hayato Mediumhair blue silver spotted mackerel tabby. Something about him gave me spotted tabby vibes (and hey, kinda a shoutout to Uri), and I got to make his facial markings be a shourout to his glasses. Takeshi Shorthair black solid, very low white spotting. Homozygous for Japanese Bobtail (fun fact, Japanese Bobtail is a Partial Dominance gene- with only one JB gene, the cat has a shorter than normal kinked tail instead). I actually concluded that Bobtail was a very fun idea for Takeshi, because it’d make him a lot harder to read. You can’t really see the emotions the tail would convey if the tail is that short, after all; like how Takeshi generally gives off cheerful vibes all the time, shrouding his actual thoughts. Kyoya Black solid mediumhair, with very oriental-type build and head structure. Lambo Did him as a kitten because, well. him young. Gave him Laperm-type curled fur, since Lambo has fairly curly hair (he’d be medium or longhair, but, well, kittenfluff) and curled ears (to reference his lightning horns). Black solid with medium white spotting forming patches to reference his general cow theming. Chrome Blue solid shorthair (pale/light blue). Gave her some white hairs to indicate scars because,,, how, exactly, did she end up losing an eye and internal organs and not have scars? (even if the accident didn’t leave any somehow, surely there were medical proceedures at some point that would have?) Mukuro Blue solid mediumhair (dark blue). You know, I didn’t realise his other eye was blue until right now? (Although I’m a manga reader so) Also his Eye of Reincarnation is drawn in its third path, Path of Beasts, because I Thought It Was Funny. Ryohei Shorthair blue silver classic tabby with extreme ticking and rufousing, and a little white spotting. I actually have other incarnations of Ryohei. Still a bit iffy on how our attempt at his markings/colouration came out here. (alternate version that can’t be put here because of image limit is a red tabby with very high white spotting, with his red patches being in more unusual spots than you’d usually have, and slightly higher rufousing than Kyoko)

Kyoko Longhair red classic tabby with extreme ticking and less extreme rufousing than her brother, and low white spotting on her nose. (have an alternate version is the same but just, classic tabby instead of ticked classic tabby, but again, don’t have the image allowance to put that in this post) Other characters who we are considering doing: Xanxus- gives me real strong longhair/ medium-high rufousing / black classic tabby vibes. Probably built like a maine coon. Big beefy boy. Squalo- It’d be kinda funny to have him be a shorthair? Just because imagining how he’d flip out given the reason he has longhair is mildly amusing. Blue silver broken mackerel tabby to go for shark gill/scale vibes. Maybe some white spotting? Reborn- author of the fic thinking melanistic serval, me over here going “would a black savanna cat or a very small black cat be funnier?” Like, a savanna cat is 100% going to cause chaos, they’re leggy and they’re a hybrid breed that’s still using the rather unfortunate wild ancestors (unlike Bengals which are now a... what’s it called, a fixed breed? and no longer use their progenitor species) so the non-domestic genes are still very much there. A savanna is tall enough to open your doors easily. But on the other hand, having a tiny black thing doing all the same things despite the size IS very funny to think about. Expected vs unexpected chaos, I guess? those are the only other ones that really wandered through my mind while I was doing these, but maybe others will in time

[demcnsinmymind]

therebekahmikaelson​:

“Sorry, love. By that logic, there wouldn’t be many monsters to worry over. Even my dismal brother didn’t elect for this type of existence. Our parents, driven mad with grief, made a deal with a witch that went horribly wrong, remember? We did not seek to become what we are either, though we are beasts, nonetheless. The sooner you accept your fate, the better.”

Ironic, given Rebekah’s penchant for finding the cure and reversing the curse. Klaus called the endeavor obsessive, but every couple of decades, the notion that somewhere in the world existed a solution to the abysmal mess that was her life gnawed at the vampire’s very being. She imagined a little boy with someone’s eyes and her nose, the perfect blend of mother and father. Happy, healthy, with a beating heart and soft, sweet-smelling skin against hers.  When Lance voiced interest, the woman grew silent. What if there was only enough for one of them? Surely, Rebekah Mikaelson deserved it most; the only female Original and centuries older than this infantile nitwit. She thought about ending him right then and there - eliminating any competition - but instead she waved a hand with nonchalance. "Not easy to come by, but there is. If your Brainiac knows anything about where to find it, let me know.“

Rebekah managed to push silly daydreams aside in time to note that Lance was a big fat liar. She had caught the flash of pain that crossed his features. The mark of someone so irrevocably broken that no boasting about dozens of women could change the sadness in his eyes. "Goodie for you,” she told him. “We’ve all had our dozens, but what about the one you loved? I’d like to hear about her. Assuming she broke your poor old heart or got lost amidst your bloody time travel problems.”

Man. Her words just kept cutting deeper and deeper. Making it harder and harder to try and get his signature smirk back. But still, it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t stay stubborn as hell.

“Well too bad. There’s no such thing as ‘fate’ in my book. And I sure as hell am not just going to sit back and accept shit I don’t agree with, or even think is true at all.” With that the smirk was momentarily back, exaggerated and mocking as he pointed at her and gave her a wink. “Let’s just drop the topic. It’s obvious we’re both set in our ways, so it’s pretty pointless to keep arguing about this any longer. Otherwise we’ll be at it for days without getting anywhere. And I’d very much like to get somewhere soon.”

Sure, that somewhere was still left to be determined, but the point still stood anyway. He wasn’t in the mood to keep talking about shit he didn’t like. Didn’t want to hear, and didn’t want to think about. Sadly enough though, Rebekah wouldn’t let up. Of course she wouldn’t. He really didn’t know why he thought he had a chance with her. She really was just as stubborn as him after all.

This time, he didn’t bother trying to hide his visceral reaction to the topic anymore. Though he supposed this wasn’t a reaction she was expecting. Given the initial talk about love and all that crap, her own despair and need for a plain old happy ending, she probably thought he was going to get teary-eyed now. All shaky voice and trembling hands. And sure enough, in part, most of it was still happening. But not due to sadness. Or devastation, missing her. No, it all came from very deep and scary anger, fury, fucking wrath, because how dare her ask about any of this.

“Why? What’s the fucking point exactly?” he suddenly snapped at her, but even though he looked furious, he didn’t move or act on any of it, just gave her a glare. Because he wasn’t a violent person. And he knew the anger wasn’t aimed at her, or there because of her. It was just...there.  “Because you’re right. It’s all lost in bloody time. I died. They all died, she died, okay? So why fucking bother talking about it any longer. It’s all said and done. I’m not wasting my fucking breath on any of it anymore.”

Yet here he was, still talking, still wasting his breath right on it even when he’d said more than enough to try and shut her up about it. But he already knew that she wasn’t going to. So perhaps talking even more would leave her no room to say something else about it. Sneak something in there that could actually break the ever so carefully crafted walls around and inside him. Oh no, he was going to keep fighting.

“Really, what the hell do you want to hear? The white-picket fence story of uh, he actually cared about someone and they were in loooove and it was all going to be all happily ever after before tragedy struck. Well guess fucking what, you’re not going to get that kind of story. I didn’t love her, I used her. Just like I used everybody else. Still doing it by the way. With you, with your brothers, with anyone else who can get me wherever the fuck I want to end up. So bohoo. This is your little gotcha moment right here, Rebekah. Maybe you’re right after all. Your big bad monster’s been there all along and way before your brother even turned me. And I happen to have embraced it instead of accepted it as a sign of defeat."

He could almost fucking believe it himself. Given the delivery of his little monologue right there. That he didn’t care. That he was just using people, but didn’t care about them. About her. That he was over it and that it didn’t keep him awake at  night anymore. If it weren’t for the trembling. And those pesky fucking angry tears pooling in his eyes, his left one especially.

[itsleese]

Tension 2 | Matsukawa Issei X Reader (Haikyuu)

Warnings: 18+, College Au, Angst, Makin’ Out

yeah ok i know i have other things to write but inspo hit leave me aloneeee

part one || part three

It’s easier than you think to ignore him: turn up right on time for classes, leave a bit early, avoid tutoring sessions, eat at home.

Forgetting him is harder.

Forgetting his scent, the feel of his skin on yours, his mouth, his fingers, his words. Fuck, that’s what kills you, isn’t it? You hear his voice late at night, when you’re trying to sleep and your fingers are travelling between your legs, desperately trying to relive the stress of the day.

“Pretty doesn’t cut it, does it?”

You hate that the memory pushes you over the edge every time. You despise the fact that no matter what you’re thinking about–what you’re watching or reading–it’s his face and the memory of his lust-filled voice that sets you off, has you cumming on your own fingers like a desperate little virgin.

It’s been two weeks since that faithful encounter at so-and-so’s party, two weeks of ignoring him, of desperately trying to recreate the feeling of his long fingers uncoiling you piece by piece. Two weeks of you reminding yourself you’re just another girl on a long, long list.

Two weeks of desperately hoping he’d chase you.

He didn’t.

You’re in the library, giving your roommate and her new boyfriend—lucky her— the privacy you both need, while you study and he fucks her brains out. The knowledge makes you fidgety, irritates you, and salts the open wound that is your swiftly broken heart.

“You’ve been looking at that page for an awfully long time, honour student.” The chair next to you scrapes back, and the familiar scent—that goddamn cologne—brings a rush of saliva to your dry mouth as you will yourself not to look at him.

So you don’t. You narrow your eyes at the page and try your best to focus, to soak up the words, to jot down points of interest in your notebook.

He sighs, stretches his long legs out under the table, folds his arms behind his head, linking his fingers. “You’re mad at me,” he has the audacity to say.

You resist the urge to screech at him like a banshee, to unload all of your frustrations on him, biting your tongue in lieu of it all. Remaining silent.

“You think I’m fucking around with a bunch’a girls, hm? Think I’m just toying with you?” he leans closer then, lays his arm across the back of your chair, places his other hand over your pen as you scrawl notes messily. Then he breathes your name in your ear, follows it up with: “you’re all I can think about.”

Your traitorous cunt clenches hungrily, whole body tingling at the prospect. But you can’t let him know that, can’t give him the satisfaction of winning again.

“You’ve got a lot of pretty words, Mattsun,” you hiss his nickname at him, the one Makki called him. “Do they work on all the girls, or do you use other tricks for other types?” You make the mistake of looking at him, glaring up into those deep-set eyes, letting him read the frustrations posted all over your face.

Like an idiot.

“Oh, honour student,” his voice drips in fraudulent empathy. “Are you jealous?” he breathes, invading your bubble, ridding you of your pen in favour of weaving his fingers through yours, other hand mindlessly drawing a finger up and down the exposed junction of your shoulder and neck.

You gnaw at your lip, throat constricting as you press your thighs together and glance around the empty library, begging your eyes to find something else to focus on. Something other than the man that’s been haunting your thoughts every night for two weeks.

“Fuck, you are, aren’t you?” His voice is huskier, closer, nose inhaling the scent of your hair, mouth exhaling a slow, controlled breath onto the shell of your ear.

You pray he misses your shiver.

“Matsu—” your voice is unsteady and whiny, and you’re actually relieved when he cuts you off.

“Remember when I was knuckle deep inside you?” he breathes, replaying the memory in your mind’s eye. “Your pretty little hands where holding onto me so tightly; greedy, wet little cunt moulding to my fingers. And you had the cutest fucking look on your face.” The hand by your neck grows bolder, snaking below the collar of your t-shirt, teasing the strap of your bra, as his other hand draws slow circles in your palm.

“I was drunk,” you pull your hand out of his, shrug off the one on your back, and busy yourself with packing up your things.

“Hey, you’re not leaving,” he says soothingly, scooting his chair impossibly closer, resting his elbow on your textbook so you can’t pick it up. “I finally caught you.” His large hand wraps around the back of your neck as fingers on the other pinch your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

He could kiss you right now. He could kiss you and you’d let him, and you’d forget it all in favour of that amazing tongue, those incredible fingers.

But you can’t let him win.

“Don’t act like you couldn’t have caught me sooner,” you hiss, sending him a glare that splits his face in a gleeful grin.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about. You wanted me to chase after you at the party.” He chides, prying open the wound he made two weeks ago, laughing off your insecurities like the asshole you know he is.

Instinct tells you to just push him away, just go. But your pride wants him to think you’re unaffected; that you’re strong and fine and unbothered by his antics.

“No, that’s not what this is about,” you wrap a hand around his wrist, tug his fingers from your chin. “This is about me not wanting to go any further with you because I don’t want to. I’m not interested in guys like you.”

He leans away a little, giving you space. “Guys like me?”

You scoff, roll your eyes, “like you don’t know the kind of guy you are.”

“Let’s say I don’t. Why don’t you educate me?” he offers, thick brows rising as his dark eyes shine with mirth.

You resist the urge to lose composure, choosing instead to take a breath and sigh, “you’re too smart not to know, Matsukawa.”

“Too smart?” There’s a chuckle to his rumbling voice, and you need to look away, prevent his handsome face from sucking you back in.

“You’re a player. Smash and dash.” You sigh, feeling stupid that you’re spelling it out for him. “Go look for girls that like that type of thing; its not something I’m into.”

He reaches for your wrist, pointer finger gently drawing up your arm. “Oh, so you want me to wine and dine you, that it? You want flowers and poems and—”

A groan escapes your throat and you stand, swinging your bag onto your shoulder and picking up your books. “I’m just a game to you, aren’t I?” you say a little too loudly, glancing around to make sure you haven’t garnered any more unwanted attention. “Go find another pretty girl to play with; I’m sure we’re a dime a dozen.” You send him a glare and storm off, already feeling tears—more stupid, fucking tears—pricking at the backs of your eyes.

“I don’t want another girl,” he says, large hand wrapping around your upper arm, dragging you into an aisle lined with books. “This is why you keep losing to me, you overthink everything. The four canons of science; what’s parsimony?” His voice is a low growl, hands firm as they push your back against the shelf.

Your heart and mind are both racing, and you blank; he sees it.

“I want you.” He says, brows knitting together.

“N-no, you don’t—”

“The simplest explanation of a phenomena is usually true,” his face inches closer, voice drops to a whisper. “I want you, and you want me. No woman cums that fast for a guy she hates; and you’re not the type of girl to give it away just because he asks for it.”

“I told you, I was drunk—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, agitated. “Fuck, stop being so goddamn stubborn.”

Textbooks fall to the floor, and your bag slides from your shoulder as he crashes his lips to yours, those huge hands hoisting you up, hips grinding against your core. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, legs around his waist as you moan against his lips, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck.

“Shit,” he rasps, “you smell so good.” He groans, nose running up your neck, settling in your hair, lips at your ear. “I want you so bad.”

His hips grind against you again, and you moan as he latches onto the skin beneath your ear, sucking at it hungrily.

“Matsu—” you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp nip at your throat, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you yelp and your core clenches.

“Issei,” he breathes, pushing his hard body against your own, books moving behind you with the force. “Call me Issei.” His forehead knocks against yours, his blown-out pupils meeting your own expectantly.

“Issei,” you whisper, testing it out on your kiss-bruised lips, hormones racing as he groans and drops you to your feet, nose in your hair, lips at your ear as he works on your belt, your high-waisted jeans.

“God, I’ve been thinking about you every night,” he whispers huskily, breath hot at your ear. “Your cunt, your tits, your face. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You don’t stop him, like you probably should. You’re in public—in the library!— but all rational thought’s left you, mind reeling as your pussy throbs in need; the desperation in his voice, the memory of his fingers inside you at the party spurring you on, fogging your inhibitions.

More, more, more.

You loop fingers around his neck and bring his lips back to yours, moaning into his kiss, drunk on him. Ready for him.

“Matsukawa Issei.” An authoritative tone—a voice you’ve heard many, many, times before—cuts through the two of you, breaking the kiss. “What have I told you about doing this in the library?”

You panic.

The fog clears almost instantly, her clipped, irritated tone sobering you up; the thought of being reprimanded scaring the shit out of you. You’re an honours student. From her vantage point, the librarian can’t see you behind Issei’s huge frame, so you’re tugging your zipper back up, fixing your belt, tucking your shirt back in—

Wait. He’s done this in the library before?

“Hi, Natsumi,” Issei grins, that cocky drawl back, a switch flipped. “Fancy meeting you here.” He turns his head back to look at her—he even calls her by her first name—and you duck a little to keep hidden, anxiety thick and ugly in your chest.

“What did I say last week?” she scolds, unbothered by his charm. “Take Rina and leave, you’re banned from the library until the end of term. Both of you.” Her heels click on the hardwood floors as she storms away.

Rina. Your heart sinks. Last week.

Fuck, you’re really stupid and naïve for a goddamn top-of-her-class college student, aren’t you?

It’s hard to breathe, your mind spinning as you process what just happened, what you almost did again. You need to get out of here, you need—

“Hey, relax, it’s okay—”

“Don’t,” your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it. “Don’t touch me, Matsukawa.” He steps closer and you shove him, the shock of your action forcing him back a few feet. “Don’t.” You warn, crouching to pick up your bag, shoving the books that you dropped inside.

“I can explain—”

“I know you can, Matsukawa,” you cut him off, standing up to swing your bag onto your shoulder, eyes glassy and wide with frustration. “I know you’ve probably got some flowery excuse for why you were fucking Rina from chemistry against the shelves in the library last week, even though just minutes ago, you were sprouting off shit about how it’s me you want.”

He steps towards you, hands up in surrender. “It’s not a flowery—“

“I don’t care!” You’re crying now, tears hot and wet as they slip down your face. “Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t—don’t even think about me. It’s not gonna happen.”

It’s a mistake to look at him before you push past him. His distraught face has your heart aching even more, but this is for the best.

A player is always going to be a player; a leopard can’t change its spots. But you’re different. You won’t be played again.

Will you?