#we're breaking the losing streak with this one boys

[emisdetermined]

My 7th year of artfight 💥💫

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOO!!!!

Come fight me if you want! Or I'll fight you? Maybe we'll fight each other? 👉👈😳

[yxngbxkkie]

i love you (h.j)

so, i found a tik tok that you can watch here of hannie saying i love you. and, i wanted to write a fic based on it. it's kinda sad but it has a happy ending 🥹 i hope you guys like it! 💓

feedback is appreciated 🥰

"Are you seriously being this way?" Jisung asks you with pointed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. "I told you that this month's going to be busy. Our comeback is coming up quickly."

You scoff and run a hand through your hair, getting frustrated. "Okay, and I get that," you tell him. "But, I also thought that you'd make a little time for your fiancé."

The dark brunette rolls his eyes before walking towards the front door. "You're really going to throw that in my face? You said you understood. This is my life. It's always going to be this way," he mentions, putting his shoes back on.

"Where are you going?" You ask him, looking towards the clock.

"I'm going back to the studio. I'm not going to sit here and argue with you over stuff you already know, Y/N," Jisung sighs, opening the door to your shared apartment. "You're being really clingy right now, and I just… I can't handle it."

You purse your lips as tears begin to pool in your eyes. "God forbid I worry about you, Jisung," you laugh, shaking your head. "If you don't want someone clingy, maybe we shouldn't get married."

Silence fills the shared space, and both of you avoid eye contact with one another. Tears begin to slide down your cheeks, feeling a little hurt that he's not fighting to stay with you.

You walk away from him first, heading into your bedroom. You flinch a bit when you hear the front door shut, silence continuing to fill your apartment.

Your lip quivers as you look down at your engagement ring. A sob escapes your lips as you slide the ring off of your fingers, gently placing it on the dresser.

After trying to stop yourself from crying so much, you grab your duffel bag out of the closet. You stuff some clothes into it, packing everything you might need for the next couple of days.

A part of you wants to text Jisung to let him know that you're not going to be home. But, another part of you wants him to worry. Maybe he'll come to his senses and not let this small argument ruin your relationship.

You tuck your hair behind your ears before wiping the tear streaks from your face. You slip your shoes on and walk out the front door, locking it behind you.

~

Jisung plops down in Chan's chair, releasing a deep sigh. He rubs his hands along his face as the argument he had with you replays in his head.

He checks his phone and frowns at the photo of you on his lock screen. Jisung slowly closes his eyes, knowing that he's not going to get anything done in this state.

He scrolls through his contact list and decides to call Minho. He presses the phone against his ear while staring at the white table.

"Ya," Minho answers after the third ring, hearing the sound of oil bubbling in the background.

"Minho hyung," Jisung starts to break down, tears spilling from his round eyes. "I think I fucked up."

"What happened? Where are you?" Minho asks him.

Jisung wipes his eyes while leaning back in the computer chair. "I'm in Chan's studio," he mentions, sniffling a bit. "Y/N and I got into an argument… a-and now I don't even know if we're together anymore."

"Ya, Han Jisung, I swear," Minho sighs. "You need to go back home right now and make up for whatever argument you had. Understand? Otherwise, you're going to lose her."

"O-Okay. I'll head there now," Jisung whispers into the phone, shoving all of his stuff back into his bag. "I'll talk to you later, hyung."

"Let me know what happens, okay?" Minho's worried voice reaches Jisung's ears, causing the younger boy to nod his head.

He hangs up the phone afterward and quickly rushes out of the studio. It doesn't take him very long to get back home. He pulls his house keys from inside his pocket, unlocking the door before opening it.

His heart drops at the sight of an empty apartment. The only light comes from the oven in the kitchen. "Y/N?" He calls out your name, slipping his shoes off.

Jisung's heart races in his chest as he checks each room. He checks the bedroom last and notices the ring sitting on the dresser. He swallows the lump in his throat, tears quickly pooling.

"No, no, no," he mutters to himself, gripping the ring until his knuckles turn white. He grabs his phone with his free hand, typing in your number before calling. He starts to panic when it immediately goes to voice-mail.

He takes deep breaths, feeling an anxiety attack coming on. Jisung redials your number, calling again. "Come on, baby, please," he begs to himself as he tries to call for a third time, getting the same result.

His hands shake as he looks at the screen, seeing your cheery smile break his heart more than it already is. He swallows the lump in his throat, moving to sit against the wall.

"I guess I'll just leave a message…" He whispers, dialing your number.

~

You wake up feeling like absolute shit. A groan leaves your lips, bringing a hand to your forehead. "This is what I get for crying myself to sleep," you sigh, pushing the covers off of you.

You glance around the hotel room you're staying in, your chest clenching at the thought of what happened yesterday. You reach for your phone and turn it on for the first time in twelve hours.

The first notification that pops up is a voice-mail from Jisung. You hover your finger over the message, debating on whether or not you should listen to it. You swallow the lump in your throat and decide to listen to it.

You press play and press the phone against your ear. Your heart strings tug as soon as Jisungs voice starts. "Instead of apologizing, I'll say I love you," he starts, noticing his voice is a bit raspy and you frown. "Thank you for worrying about me, I love you. Really, thank you. I love you. I love you so much. I love you immensely. I love you endlessly. I love you completely. I love you so much. I really love you. I love you the most. I love you the most in the world. I completely, madly love you."

By the time the voice-mail finishes, you're crying your eyes out. You cover your mouth with your free hand, not wanting to be too loud with your sobs. You pull the device away from your ear, not hesitating to call him back.

You click on his contact and press the phone to your ear again, listening to it ring. After the fifth ring, Jisung picks up. "Honey?" He mutters, causing your breath to hitch. "Baby, listen, I-I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to call you clingy. It's just… this comeback is really exhausting, and I took it out on you. A-And I know that's not an excuse, but I don't want to lose you. I won't survive."

"Jisung," you cry out, his words making your heart hurt even more. "I don't want to lose you either."

"Come home, please," he begs before mumbling incoherently. Your lip trembles as Jisung starts to cry on his side of the phone. "I love you so much. I'll work on myself, I promise. Please marry me still."

"I'll still marry you, baby," you whisper, sniffling. "I'm sorry I left. I'm coming home right now."

You stand up from the bed, quickly making it before gathering your things. Jisung's still on the phone with you, and his voice comes through the device.

"You have nothing to apologize about, honey. This is all my fault," he reassures you. "When you come home, can I give you a kiss?"

A breathy laugh escapes your lips, and you grab a tissue to wipe your nose with. "Yeah, baby, you can give me a kiss," you tell him, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. You pause what you're doing as your gaze is fixed on the marble sink. "You pinky promise this won't happen again?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, honey. I will never, ever do this again. I love you."

"I love you, Han Jisung."

~

tagging: @thewxntersoldier @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8

[taylorftparamore]

love's a game, wanna play? -> back when we were card sharks, playin games -> what if none of it was accidental? -> baby let the games begin -> oh no, i'm fallin in love -> i wanna be your first string -> you know i love the players, and you love the game -> the whole school is rolling fake dice -> and i bet you thought you'd beat me -> baby, i'm the one to beat -> fighting with him is like trying to solve a crossword with no right answer -> and she's laughing, drawing aces -> i play em like a violin -> it's poker, he can't see it in my face but i'm about to draw my ace -> you're calling the bluff on all my usual tricks -> the sickest army doll -> just playthings for me to use -> uh oh, i'm fallin in love again -> i wanna be your end game ->

that child's play back in school is forgiven under my rule -> devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes -> with your hair falling into place like dominos -> the dominoes cascaded in a line -> i'm fallin in love again -> but there was one prize i'd cheat to win -> just like any good trophy hunter -> i lived in your chess game, but you changed the rules every day -> begging for footnotes in the story of your life, drawing hearts in the byline -> you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes -> my boy only breaks his favorite toys -> love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right -> video games, you pass me a note -> no one wanted to play with me as a little kid -> i felt more when we played pretend -> i wanna be your a team ->

twenty questions, we tell the truth -> luck of the draw only draws the unlucky -> i've been breakin hearts a long time, toyin with these older guys -> excellent fun til you get to know her -> i've been scheming like a criminal ever since -> pull the string and i'll tell you that he runs because he loves me (he loves me) -> lose something, babe, risk something -> i'm tryna see the cards that you won't show -> we broke all the pieces but still wanna play the game -> like any real love, it's ever-changing -> cause we were born to the pawn in every lover's game -> they're off to the races -> push the reset button, we're becoming something new -> we've been on a winning streak

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Things that come in my head as I play through Diasomnia's chapter (chp 1- 37):

[Potential spoilers below darlings, proceed with caution!]

Lilia using his hatchet, which by Sebek's reactions we can assume is basically at the same level of significance as a magical artifact used by say, one of the great Seven, to cut wood. He even justifies it by saying the hatchet might feel better being used even if for mundane things than sitting and gathering dust somewhere. Is that a metaphor for himself? Is he referring to himself and how he busied himself with raising his sons? To how from a weapon in war, one that brought devastation with every swing of his blade, he softened into a someone, who despite his doubts managed to be a father and mentor to both his sons? Does he think of himself as an object to be used, first in the war and then as a caretaker for Malleus?

Silver losing his cool and shouting that yes, Malleus needs to be there to say goodbye to Lilia. We've seen how Silver constantly wants to be useful and do something to sort of 'justify' Lilia taking him in and raising him as his own. I feel like he doesn't see himself as Lilia's son despite calling him "Father"; he sees Malleus as more deserving of that title, and so every time he's shown some resistance against Lilia going away, he puts it as if he's speaking on behalf of Malleus' feelings. Whereas Malleus believes that he must not be selfish and stop Lilia from leaving just because he doesn't want him to. He's trying to be mature about it all, even if it eats him up inside. Just... why can't these idiots realize how much they love each other?? Also, Lilia asking where Silver got his stubborn streak from like sir, have you seen yourself and Malleus? Both of yall are so stubborn that I'm surprised Silver isn't more stubborn than just this.

Malleus and Silver are so similar in so many ways that it actually hurts. Both are losing their father figure, their mentor. And they're both trying to be so incredibly brave and mature about it. Malleus' general dislike of being compared to a child (even though Lilia says that the Draconias achieve their maturity when they're 1000 years old and are still children at 200 years) and Silver saying that he'll be coming of age the next year when Malleus tells him that all children cry... Both are children, but they don't want to be seen as children. These boys are gonna make me cry istg-

Gonna take a break from the dia boys for a sec because how cute are the first years??? Oh my god I love them all so much. Also, weird freaky things happening to the Prefect... could it be a side effect of being stuck in Twisted Wonderland for so long? Or maybe even an effect of the Prefect starting to become "aware" of how the great seven are the people they see in their dreams? Hm... Also have I told you how much I love Adeuce? Because I love them. Very much. The way Ace shows concern about the Prefect feeling under the weather, and the way Deuce immediately agrees that they should leave after saying their greetings just makes me so happy (and it reminds me of my friends.... i think i just realized why im so fond of the idiots...) Okay now back to our regularly scheduled program...

Love how Lilia basically said, "If people here were well-adjusted individuals who knew how to ask for help gracefully and take the help offered to them gracefully they wouldn't have been chosen by the Dark Mirror" because he's soo right, but also, dear sir, if you recall, you were chosen to attend this very same institute yourself <3

"I haven't the slightest intention of being friendly–" shut it lightning boy we're gonna KO you with the power of friendship and life-or-death bonding situations

LILIA HOW DARE YOU TRY TO LEAVE WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE TO YOUR KIDS ISTG IM GONNQ BITE YOU YOU STUPID OLD MAN THEY FUCKING LOVE YOU HOW DARE YOU SHSVWIDVWYDGWIDVEYWGDGEUDGDH

Oh shit the iconic Maleficent entry– I love you Malleus but Jesus christ you are scaring me rn with that smile–

First battle of the chapter.... wish me luck... Oh wait I was supposed to lose? Ah that's fine, I didn't wanna be stuck on that chapter for the next six months-

Oh god the utter pain in Lilia's voice when he yells out to Malleus.... oh this hurts more than hearing Silver cry.... why can't these idiots just fucking talk and tell each other how much they love each other?!?!?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

HELLO?!?!! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT–Malleus' voice is so pretty while humming the song– BUT HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT?!?! THE FUCKING PROTAGNONIST OF YOUR OWN STPRY?? THE TEISTED WONDERLAND SORT OF TITLE SCREEN THINGY WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK I— WHDYEHWGDGDYW

[aquietlifesblog]

Ravening Wolves (Dio x F!Reader) 14/?

"When it's all over," he breathes, "when I stand supreme, and am no longer a slave to fate... I shall show you heaven..."

OR

At long last, the time has come to set your grand scheme in motion: the elimination of Jotaro Kujo and Dio's glorious resurrection. The Age of Heaven is near, and you won't let the Joestars stop you—no matter how hard they fight. You've defied fate and death for Dio. Perhaps one day you'll tell him how you feel. A sequel to 'Hungry Eyes.'

Read on AO3

First Chapter | Masterlist |

Chapter 14: Caro Mio Ben

The world outside the taxi window blurs into a streak—the blue sky,  the greens and browns of palmetto trees, and the vibrant hues of cars speeding past come together like a painting.

Giorno's heart races with anticipation, each passing moment bringing him closer to his destination. 

"Turn left up ahead," Giorno instructs, leaning forward as if to catch the driver's attention in the rearview mirror. He can feel that primal pull grow stronger, and can't ignore the instinct that guides him. 

The driver raises his brows but complies, changing lanes to guide the taxi onto the nearest exit ramp. For a moment, there's nothing to see but smooth plains of land and wild trees. But the driver proceeds down the winding roads at Giorno's discretion, and the scenery shifts from bustling highways to local shopping districts to quiet suburban streets.

The driver turns a dial to change the decidedly inappropriate song on the radio before breaking his silence, his tone laced with curiosity and concern.

"You know what you're looking for, kid?"

Giorno meets his gaze through the mirror with a sense of resolve.

"A neighborhood," he begins, his mind racing to piece together any clues he may have about his father's whereabouts, the only evidence being the type of man his Mother seems to like. "I'm looking for big houses. Perhaps... mansions?"

The driver nods in understanding.

"We're not too far off from the estates," he confirms, his voice reassuring.

Giorno feels a surge of relief as the taxi continues its journey. Each passing moment brings him closer to the truth he seeks, but with every turn of the road, he can't help but wonder what awaits him at the end of this path—and whether he's ready to face it.

He thinks back to Josuke, to the words the older boy said, how he was better off not knowing who his father is. 'But what does he know?' Giorno thinks with a scowl.

Josuke doesn't know him, how could he possibly understand?

The clock reads 2:36 when the taxi slows to a stop, its journey blocked by a tall, imposing gate with wrought iron bars that cast intricate shadows in the midday sun. 

"I can manage from here," Giorno assures the driver, his voice steady despite the lingering doubts that tug at his resolve. But the driver peers skeptically at the gate, then back at Giorno.

"Are you sure?" he asks. 

Giorno nods firmly.

"Thank you for your help," he says sincerely, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. The driver's eyes widen as Giorno presses a wad of cash into his hand, the bills far exceeding the fare for the journey.

"You... you didn't have to," the driver stammers, his disbelief evident in his voice. Giorno offers a small smile before slipping out of the taxi, his gaze fixed on the gate before him. And though the driver intended to watch him, to ensure his young passenger's safety, he loses sight of Giorno as he disappears into the natural growth, having been momentarily distracted by such unexpected generosity. 

By the time the driver looks up again, Giorno has vanished without a trace, leaving only the rustle of leaves behind in his place. He doesn't notice the new tree that grew and carried Giorno over the gate. 

And as he wanders the well-kept streets and his senses attune to the subtle rhythms of life pulsating around him, he can't shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at the edges of his consciousness. The air is thick with the scent of blooming flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the smell of fresh-cut grass, carried by the gentle breeze that rustles through the palm trees and bushes that line every yard.

His steps are guided by the invisible force that pulls at his very core, a force that leads him down streets named after people he's sure he doesn't know. But when he arrives at the estate he believes is his father's, Giorno approaches with a mix of apprehension and dread. There's something wrong here.

The clusters of life energy that he has always been able to sense swirl around him, vibrant and pulsating with vitality, but there are voids within this house. It isn't 'death,' he thinks he wouldn't feel something dead, but there are three voids, three beings within those walls that aren't dead, but not quite alive either. 

Drawing closer to the gates, Giorno can feel the weight of this revelation pressing down upon him. He tries to discern what he could be feeling as the birthmark on his shoulder tingles with a peculiar warmth, and something unseen tugs at his ear, urging him to listen, to pay attention to the world around him. So, he tries to push those thoughts away and instead contemplates how he will introduce himself, rehearsing the words silently in his mind.

But before he can take another step, the door swings open, shattering the stillness that settled in the air.

His heart leaps into his throat as a tall figure emerges from within, cloaked in the garb of a priest. The man's presence commands attention, his white hair stark against his warm brown skin. Their eyes meet in a silent exchange, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air as the priest's piercing gaze seems to bore into Giorno's very soul.

Before Giorno can utter a single word, however, a sudden impact sends shockwaves through his skull, and a sharp, searing pain shoots through his consciousness.

He staggers backward, the world spinning around him in a dizzying whirl as darkness threatens to envelop him. The priestly figure moves forward with a concerned expression, reaching out a hand to steady Giorno as he struggles to maintain his balance.

"Are you alright, my child?" the priest's voice is gentle yet firm. But before Giorno can respond, the world fades to black, and his consciousness slips away.

Pucci traces the path of the rubber bullet that collided with the child's skull. And there perched upon the rooftop garden, Johngalli A stands, his silhouette stark against the clear blue sky. Had he not instructed the man to back down? His eyes narrow, though the true source of his discontent is clear. Layla, your trusted servant, stands beside Johngalli A, her expression unreadable as she fixes Pucci with a piercing stare.  There's something familiar in the tilt of her chin, the set of her jaw—it's a subtle echo of the expression you make whenever you are displeased. She then turns heel and disappears behind the doorway. 

His attention then snaps back to the child lying prone on the ground as sand begins to swirl and coil all around him. He takes a step back as the sand rises like a tide and cacoons the child in a protective barrier. He knows this ability, he knows this stand, and his mind races with questions as to what your maids are up to. But before he can voice them or even act, Layla's voice cuts through the air, her words laced with a steely resolve.

"You need not worry yourself, Father Pucci," she says, her smile strained as she steps forward from the doorway. There's a sense of urgency in her movements, a purposefulness. "The mistress gave us specific instructions should another intruder arrive. You should not have been bothered."

Pucci's gaze flickers to the woman standing behind Layla, her presence a silent reminder of the formidable forces you command. He recognizes her as one of your loyal stand users, her crimson ribbon a symbol of her unwavering allegiance to you. 

"While I appreciate your dedication to your mistress, I must express my concerns regarding the severity of your actions," he says, his tone measured but intent clear. "We must tread carefully, lest we draw unwanted attention to ourselves."

But Layla's gaze remains steady, her expression unwavering as she meets Pucci's eyes.

"I understand your concern, Father Pucci," she replies. "But rest assured, the mistress's instructions were given for a reason, we must trust in her judgment and act accordingly. Cool J should not have bothered you; he will be dealt with accordingly." With a bow, Layla disappears into the depths of the house, her figure receding into the shadows like a specter. Behind her, the other woman, Aguilera, manipulates the sand to lift the child's body and carry it into the depths of the estate.

Pucci watches, but he does not interfere. 

As a maid, Layla is privy to the inner workings of the estate, and her late hours allow her to witness the subtle nuances and secrets that unfold within its walls. The previous night had been no exception.

She recalls with vivid clarity the sight of Vanilla Ice, a figure of formidable power and unwavering loyalty, standing outside the door of your bed chamber. The intensity of his gaze, coupled with the palpable tension that hung in the air had not gone unnoticed. It was a moment that spoke volumes, a silent testament to what she believes was a shift in alliance, an alliance Pucci was not part of. 

She knows better than to underestimate the significance of such observations. She’s a maid, after all, your maid, it’s her job. Any detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant, holds the potential to shape the course of events to come. So, with a determined set to her jaw, Layla resolves to keep a vigilant eye on any unfolding developments. 

"Upstairs," Layla instructs, her voice firm yet tinged with an underlying urgency. "The mistress will want to see to this personally."

Aguilera nods, her crimson ribbon fluttering as she manipulates the sands to lift the child's limp form and carry them effortlessly up the grand staircase and right up to your door. Layla knocks. 

"Mistress?" 

"Enter," your voice beckons from the other side. And with that, Layla pushes open the door and steps into your chambers. 

Despite the hour, your bedroom is cloaked in darkness. The heavy curtains of your canopy are closed, shrouding your figure in shadow as you recline amidst a sea of plush pillows and silken sheets. The lingering scent of roses and wine wafts through the air, enveloping your senses in their sweet embrace. It's an intoxicating aroma, one that speaks of luxury and indulgence, of secrets whispered in the darkness of the night.

"My apologies, Mistress," Layla begins, her voice barely above a whisper, "but there is a matter that requires your immediate attention."

You shift slightly against the pillows, your eyes flickering open to gaze at Layla's silhouette against the dim glow of the candlelight. Despite the darkness, she radiates an aura of unwavering loyalty and devotion that fills you with a sense of comfort.

"And what matter is that?" Your voice is soft, yet carries an underlying tone of authority that commands attention.

"An intruder." Layla's voice is steady, her gaze unwavering as she tries to meet your eyes in the dark. She braces herself for your response. 

You consider her words for a moment, the weight of her revelation settling heavily upon you. And though you do not immediately answer, the room grows cold. 

Scenes from the previous night with Dio replay in your mind like fragments of a vivid dream, each memory etched with searing intensity. Between passionate bouts of lovemaking, the two of you engaged in conversations that seemed to transcend the physical realm. He spoke of many things—art, religion, philosophy—but none more than his desire to revel in the music of your screams, and the ecstasy he found between your thighs.

 "Tell me," Dio said, his voice a low whisper, "what is art to you? Our connection, the passion we share—it's a form of artistry, is it not? A symphony of desire…"

"The same woman as before?" Your voice carries a hint of restrained anger, a simmering rage beneath the surface. You’ll kill her, you think, tear her apart piece by piece, and dump the shreds of her flesh into Dio’s lap. Or perhaps you'll ask Vanilla Ice- You don't allow that thought to continue. 

"No," Layla's voice cuts through the air, shattering your violent fantasy and pushing away any thought of your friend, "a child." 

"A child?" you echo, your brow furrowing in confusion as you try to make sense of her words.

"Yes, a child. A young man, I believe." Layla's voice is calm, her expression unreadable as she gestures toward Aguilera, who stands nearby, cradling the child in her arms. You gaze down at him, your eyes narrowing in scrutiny as the sand retreats, revealing his curly blond hair and delicate features. He appears innocent enough, yet there's an unsettling aura that surrounds him, setting off alarm bells in the back of your mind.

"I do appreciate your diligence, Layla, however..." Your voice trails off as the sand disappears into the bottle Aguilera keeps strapped beneath her skirts, the container for her Stand. Without the cacoon to support him the boy's head falls to the side, and his hair shifts, revealing faint markings on his right ear. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognize them.

Freckles, you think, too flat and faint to be moles but unmistakably present nonetheless. A cold shiver runs down your spine and a sense of foreboding washes over you like a tidal wave. Could it be possible?

Déjà Vu materializes beside you. She blows a kiss into the air, creating a heart that collides with the boy, forcing a golden reel of memories to festoon and unfurl before you, revealing the entirety of his history.

You watch in silence as the memories play out, each scene painting a vivid portrait of the boy's life. From his earliest childhood memories to the trials and tribulations he has faced, every detail is laid bare for you to see. The weight of the truth settles heavily upon you as you realize the implications of what you're witnessing.

Narrowing in on a more recent memory, you feel yourself drawn into the scene, enveloped by the vivid imagery unfolding before your eyes. Through the boy's perspective, you see Josuke Higashikata. You wonder, briefly, why he appeared to be in Italy, yet the whereabouts of your enemy is a far more distant threat than the boy lying at your feet.

"I don't want to fight you. I only want answers. You said 'Dio' just now, didn't you?" the boy's voice cuts through the silence, his words laced with confusion and desperation. "Tell me, how do you know my father? Did he send you here?"

Your silent shock matches that of your enemies. You take hold of the reel and pull it backward, forcing the scene to play again, then again as if you failed to understand it.

“Father?” You repeat, and continue to watch the conversation unfold, the dialogue sharp and charged with emotion.

As the memory reaches its climax, you can almost feel the tension crackling in the air, a tangible energy that pulses with each passing moment. The golden reel spins faster, the scenes flash before your eyes in rapid succession until finally, the memory comes to an abrupt end, leaving you breathless and eager for more.

So you delve deeper into his memories. Vivid images and sensations flood your mind, transporting you to the moments of his past.

You witness the image of his mother, a striking figure whose beauty is undeniable, yet tempered by a cold and distant demeanor. The memory paints her as a radiant young woman, her features illuminated by an ethereal glow, but there's a darkness lurking beneath the surface—an aura of cruelty that taints her beauty.

You can almost feel the weight of her neglect pressing down upon him, a suffocating presence that leaves him feeling isolated and alone. The sound of his cries going unanswered echoes in your ears, a cry you understand too well.

The memory shifts, revealing the figure of a man who enters the boy's life—a stepfather whose presence brings only pain and suffering. You can sense the atmosphere growing tense as the man's abuse comes to light, leaving the boy vulnerable and defenseless in the face of his torment.

The sensation of fear and helplessness washes over you as you witness the bullying the boy endured at the hands of his peers. The taunts and jeers of the other children ring in your ears, a relentless assault on his fragile sense of self-worth.

You watch as he’s told to fetch his Mother’s earrings and finds the picture hidden in her jewelry box.

'Dio Brando,' she scrawled across the front, as if she could ever forget the name of the man who fathered her son, Haruno. Giorno.

You allow the memories to fade, for the golden reel to return. And for a moment, you stand there.

Your senses return to your bedroom, though you pay no heed to the frost that now crawls across the window or the way Aguilera shivers in the cold. Your gaze remains fixed on Giorno, his unconscious form serving as a stark reminder of the uncertainty Dio has wrought upon your life.

The room grows quiet, still, as if it senses the impending storm. 

"Why should I spare you?" The words escape your lips like venom. You loom over the boy, a formidable figure consumed by fury and resentment, ready to unleash your wrath upon this invader, this parasite, the proof of Dio's indiscretions. 

The very sight of Giorno ignites a firestorm of rage within you, threatening to consume everything in its path. Why should you be forced to suffer the sight of him? 

Déjà Vu stands beside you, ever stoic, and ready to strike. 

And yet...as you stand over Giorno, you know deep down that you cannot bring yourself to kill this child. Despite the waves of rage that crash against your subconscious, you cannot bring your wrath upon him.

Is it weakness, you wonder, or is it the haunting familiarity of his memories that stirs something within you?

Flashes of your youth flood back with a vengeance, each memory a dagger plunging into the depths of your soul. You remember the grandeur of the Pendleton Estate, the opulence that suffocated you, a facade of luxury that hid a darkness within. 

You were but a child then, too, an unwelcome reminder of Lord Pendleton's infidelity, the object of Lady Pendleton's scorn. The venom in her words, the cruelty in her gaze—they were etched into your memory like scars upon your skin, reminders of the cruelty you endured. The cruelty you survived. 

And now, in Giorno, you see echoes of your past reflected at you—the innocent victim of a scandalous affair thrust into a world of hostility and resentment. And as the memories wash over you, a sense of empathy begins to stir within your unbeaten heart.

You take a step back.

Anger still simmers beneath the surface, but it's tempered now, redirected toward a different source. 

So you snatch Giorno from the floor with a heavy sigh and cradle him in your arms with a tenderness that surprises even yourself. 

“Mistress?” Layla's voice cuts through the tension, a tentative inquiry hanging in the air, but you silence her with a curt gesture and storm out into the hall. 

You push into the chamber across the hall, your steps echoing in the silence, only stopping when you see Dio lounging before you, a picture of casual indifference. You can see the remnants of your shared passion clinging to him like a ghost of the night, chest bare, hair tousled. The sight only fuels your anger, the ache in your chest growing with each passing moment.

"Dio," you seethe, your voice trembling with barely contained fury as you approach him with purposeful strides. His amusement is palpable, his arrogance a bitter reminder of the depths of his deception.

You shared so much with him, bared your soul and body in ways you had never imagined, and yet he had kept this secret from you—a betrayal that cuts deeper than any blade.

Everything you felt, everything you shared, everything you've done to please him—it all feels tainted now, poisoned.

Dumping Giorno into a soft cushioned chair, you stare at him. His confusion is fleeting, overshadowed by the arrogance that oozes from every pore.

"What am I do to with that?" 

"He's yours," you declare, your voice cold and cutting as you meet Dio's gaze with a steely resolve. But his reaction is nothing short of disdainful. 

"Mine?" he scoffs, his voice dripping with contempt as he scrutinizes Giorno. "You expect me to believe this scrawny wretch is my offspring?" You bristle at his dismissive tone, your jaw clenched tight with anger.

"Do not proceed to play games with me, Dio," you retort, your voice sharp as a blade. "The evidence speaks for itself. I will not be toyed with."

But Dio remains unfazed, his arrogance unyielding as he stands from his seat and reaches for you, settling a hand upon your hip, scrunching the fabric of the gown so similar to the one he tore from your flesh the previous night. 

The previous night, he thinks, was near perfect. Your tender moans, the way you wrapped around him, what you allowed him to do. You had been so easy to coax open, so easy to disarm. For what reason would you have to sour the morning? Embarrassment? Pride? Shame? 

Or could there be truth to your words, truth, however unlikely, to what you say? 

"And what evidence would that be, my dear?" he taunts. 

You clench your fists at your sides, the fury within you simmering just beneath the surface, ready to boil over, to explode. 

"His memories," you declare, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "Giorno's past, his connection to you—it's all there, laid bare for me to see."

For a fleeting moment, Dio's facade wavers, uncertainty flickering behind his stoic mask. But before you can savor the crack in his armor, he regains his composure. 

"Did you know about him?" you demand, your voice cracking with a mix of rage and despair. "Are there others? Tell me, Dio, how many other sons have you hidden away from me? How many... how many daughters," you stumble over the word, the pain cutting deep into your soul, "have you left to fend for themselves in the world?"

Your accusations hang heavy in the air, the silence deafening as Dio considers your words with a calculated gaze. His expression remains inscrutable, his eyes betraying nothing as he formulates his response.

"I knew nothing of this," he says coolly, though a flicker of uncertainty dances behind his eyes. But his words offer little solace, however, only serving to fuel the fire of your anger.

"How dare you do this to me?" you demand, your voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. "After everything I've done for you, after everything we've shared?"

Memories of the previous night flood your mind, a whirlwind of sensations and conflicting emotions. The warmth of Dio's touch, the intimacy you shared, the unspoken desires that hung heavy in the air. You can still feel the ghost of Dio’s hands holding you down, his lips caressing your skin, and—you block something else from your memory, something else you dare not think about as you struggle to maintain your composure and fight the urge to seek solace in Dio's arms even as you yearn to unleash your fury upon him. 

Dio accepts your accusations with a stern, yet calculating gaze. For a moment, the room is silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. You can feel Dio's gaze boring into you, probing for weaknesses to exploit, a way to bring you back to his side. 

"This anger of yours is misplaced. The boy was conceived years ago, while we were apart," Dio reminds you, his voice cool and detached. "You knew of my indulgences and yet now you choose to take issue?" 

The words hit you like a physical blow, each one driving the knife of betrayal deeper into your wounded heart. You growl in frustration, your fists clenched at your sides so tight that the skin breaks and blood seeps through your fingers.

"What is this truly about?" Dio's voice is like a whip, cutting through the silence with a brutal clarity that leaves you reeling. "Is it about the boy, or is it about something deeper, something you refuse to acknowledge?"

You falter, the weight of his question pressing down upon you. 

"It's about everything," you whisper, though you want to scream. It's about everything, everything you could have been but never were, never had the chance to be—but the words catch in your throat, choked off by the suffocating weight of your despair.

"And what is 'everything' to you?" He asks, his voice soft because he knows he's ensnared you once again. He knows the secret you keep buried deep within your heart. 

And yet you say nothing. Despite what it is he knows you yearn to say, you do not speak.

Dio accepts your silence with a stoic resignation, his features betraying no hint of the irritation that rages within him. However, with a firm grip, he clasps your shoulder and guides you towards the door.  He's growing tired of this game. 

"Enough," he says, "leave." 

You resist, your muscles tense with defiance, unwilling to accept his dismissal so easily. But Dio remains unmoved, his expression unreadable as he stares back at you with a cold detachment that cuts you to the core.

"I won't let you ignore me!" You declare, your voice tinged with desperation. But your protests fall on deaf ears as Dio steers you towards the threshold.

"Perhaps you should consider your own deceits, or they run too deep for even you to realize?" "He asks, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

You open your mouth to protest further, but before you can utter another word, Dio cuts you off with finality. 

"Go," he commands, his voice like ice, and something stirs within you—something primal, instinctual, and you find yourself backing away. Is it the command of his voice? The lingering effects of his vampiric blood that courses within you? Or perhaps something new to you altogether. 

Nevertheless, he pushes you out the door and you stumble forward. The door slams shut behind you with a resounding click, leaving you alone in the empty hallway, the silence suffocating in its intensity.

So, with a heavy heart and clouded mind, you turn away from Dio's door. Your room just across the hall beckons to you like a siren's call, but as you approach, something holds you back, a nagging feeling of dread that coils in the pit of your stomach.The corridor stretches before you, each step carrying the weight of your uncertainty and you find yourself drifting down the staircase, your steps a haunting melody.

You come to a stop in front of another door and your hand hovers. You hesitate to push it open. Memories you had dared to suppress flood back with a vengeance, breaking through the walls you built around your heart.

Dio's words echo in your ears, taunting you with what now feels like cruel irony.

" You're such good friends already…as are we. Should we not explore this avenue of ‘friendship’ as well?” 

You cannot face Vanilla Ice, not yet, not now. The mere thought of confronting him fills you with a dread that threatens to overwhelm you. And so, with a heavy heart, you step away from the door, your movements listless and aimless as you wander back up the stairs and into your bedroom chambers. 

There, you draw the heavy curtains of your canopy bed closed, shutting out the harsh light of day and the memories that threaten to overwhelm you. The soft embrace of darkness envelops you like a lover's caress, like Dio's caress, offering solace amid your turmoil. You bury your face in the cool fabric pillow. You are going to sleep now, and you demand there be no further interruptions. 

Now alone in his chambers once again, Dio sinks into the plush velvet of his chair across from Giorno, his mind a tempest of emotions. Giorno's sudden appearance has shattered the carefully constructed facade of control Dio prides himself on.

The women he once entertained as partners should all be dead, their existence meant to be erased from history, their purpose fulfilled; he should not have a child. Yet, here is Giorno—a living reminder of Dio's past indiscretions, a testament to his fallibility. 

But Dio is nothing if not adaptable, so as he contemplates his next move, a steely determination settles over him.

He calls for Pucci.

When the priest enters the chamber, his eyes immediately fall upon the unconscious Giorno seated in Dio's chair. His brows furrow with concern, a multitude of questions bubbling beneath the surface.

"Dio, what has happened?" Pucci's voice is laced with concern as he approaches, his gaze flitting between Dio and the boy. "Is he...?"

Dio interrupts him with a wave of his hand, cutting off any further questions. 

"He is unharmed, Pucci," Dio assures him, his tone clipped. "But there are matters that require my immediate attention."

Pucci nods, though his curiosity remains evident in the furrow of his brow. Before he can voice his concerns, however, Dio issues a request that leaves Pucci taken aback.

"You'll extract the boy's memory DISC for me, won't you?" It's posed as a question, but Dio's voice leaves no room for argument. "I wish to review his memories."

With a nod, Pucci steps forward and retrieves the memory DISC from Giorno's forehead, a delicate procedure he performs with practiced precision and grace.

Once the DISC is in Dio's possession, Pucci waits expectantly, his curiosity burning bright despite Dio's preoccupation. But Dio pays him no further heed, his attention consumed by the memories unfolding before him.

As Dio reviews Giorno's memories, a wave of disgust washes over him at the sight of the boy's upbringing—a life filled with neglect, abuse, and relentless bullying. Rage simmers beneath the surface of Dio's calm exterior, his hands clenching into fists as he witnesses the injustices inflicted upon Giorno by those who should have protected him. 

But what enrages Dio the most is the image of Giorno's mother—a woman who would dare spurn Dio's seed. The thought of her callous disregard for Giorno, for his blood, fills Dio with a seething fury unlike anything he has ever known.

Giorno's mother, the Shiobana woman, will pay dearly for her sins Dio vows silently. And as for Giorno himself, Dio sees in him the potential for greatness. Yet, despite the adversities Giorno endured, Dio could not shake the nagging sense of disappointment at the weakness he perceived in him. 

After all, he had rid the world of his father with far less power at his disposal. The fact that Giorno had not taken similar action against his abusive parents was a glaring sign of weakness in Dio's eyes. But amidst the anger and indignation, there is a flicker of something else—a twisted sense of satisfaction at the thought of claiming Giorno as his own, of molding him into the perfect instrument of his will.

As the memories come to an end, Dio rises from his chair, his eyes burning with a newfound resolve.

"Leave me, Pucci," he commands, his voice cold and authoritative.

Pucci hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between Dio and Giorno, but he acquiesces. 

"Of course, Dio," he replies, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "I'll speak with you later." 

Dio doesn't respond, not to Pucci's assertion. 

"Ah, Pucci. Find a maid suitable for the task we spoke of, will you?" 

As Giorno stirs, he feels disoriented, his head throbbing with a dull ache as consciousness slowly returns to him. The plush chair he was unceremoniously dumped in offers little comfort, and the opulent surroundings only lend to his confusion. Blinking away the haze of sleep, Giorno takes in his surroundings—the grandeur of the chamber, the intricate details of the antique decor, and the soft glow of polished wood illuminated by the gentle light of the fireplace. 

The scent of expensive perfumes and aged leather envelopes him, adding to the surreal atmosphere of luxury surrounding him. It's overwhelming, suffocating almost, as if he's been thrust into a world where he doesn't belong.

Overwhelmed, Giorno scrunches his eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear his mind. When he opens them again, he finds himself face to face with Dio, seated regally in a large chair across from him, an old book in hand. Giorno's heart quickens at the sight of him. Yet, Dio's expression remains unreadible, his features cast in shadows that Giorno cannot decipher. And a wave of unease washes over him as he realizes he cannot sense Dio's life energy. The void he sensed before, one of them at least, is him. 

"You have quite some nerve appearing here, claiming to be my son," Dio's voice cuts through the silence like a dagger, its tone so cold that it sends a shiver down Giorno's spine. But, despite the palpable tension hanging in the air, Giorno summons his courage and speaks, his voice steady despite his ill ease. 

"I don’t ‘claim to be your son.’ I am your son," he asserts, his words ringing with a quiet determination. Though he's dwarfed by Dio's imposing presence, Giorno refuses to cower, refuses to let fear dictate his actions. He sits tall, meeting Dio's gaze with a steely resolve of his own, determined to uncover the truth of his heritage, no matter the cost.

As Giorno speaks, Dio listens with both curiosity and disdain. In Giorno's unwavering resolve, he sees an odd echo of himself, a reflection of the same controlled facade he's mastered over the years. Yet Dio can see where the boy falters, he sees past the boy's act. He hasn't mastered his emotions just yet.  

“My name is Giorno Giovanna-”

"I know who you are," Dio interrupts, his voice cutting through Giorno's declaration. "Just as I know you haven't earned such a title, to call yourself my son," His words hang heavy in the air, heavy with authority. "Though you will have an opportunity."

Giorno's jaw clenches at the dismissal, his eyes narrowing with frustration. He refuses to be belittled, especially by a man wearing such gaudy leather pants. 

“What does that mean?” 

The memory of Giorno's encounter with Josuke Higashikata plays out in Dio's mind with perfect clarity. He saw Giorno, driven by an unseen force, seize the piece of the beetle arrow from Josuke's pocket, his eyes ablaze with a fervor that Dio knows all too well. Had you seen it, too? While reviewing his memories, did you notice what Giorno held within his grasp? Or had you brushed past it all in your rage? 

For him, it was a moment of revelation, the moment he understood the true purpose behind Giorno's sudden appearance in his life.

Fate has once again conspired to deliver unto him the very tool he needed to achieve his ambitions, the arrow with untold potential.

"Josuke Higashikata refused to divulge anything of substance to you," he remarks. "Merely labeled me as a 'bad guy' and left it at that."

Giorno's brow furrows in confusion, his mind racing to comprehend how Dio could possess such knowledge. 

"How do you know this?" he asks, suspicion in his voice. "You have a power like mine, don't you?"

Dio offers a small smile in response, neither confirming nor denying Giorno's claim. Instead, he leans forward, his expression earnest as he seeks to enlighten his newfound kin.

"Giorno, what you possess is known as a 'Stand,'" he explains, his voice carrying a weight of authority. "It is a manifestation of your fighting spirit, an extension of your very soul."

Giorno's eyes widen with realization as Dio's words sink in, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place. 

"A Stand..." he murmurs, the concept resonating with him on a fundamental level.

"But let us speak of a different power, the power of gravity between individuals," Dio continues, his voice taking on a philosophical tone. "Do you believe in it, Giorno? The idea that fate draws certain people together, binding their destinies?"

Giorno's confusion deepens, but he listens intently as Dio elaborates on his theory of gravity and fate. Dio speaks of a dream—a world where everyone knows and understands their future, where uncertainty and doubt hold no sway. 

"Imagine," Dio muses, his voice filled with a sense of longing, "how much easier life would be if you knew every twist and turn that awaited you. If you could navigate the world with unrelenting certainty and purpose. I, Dio will create such a world, such a 'heaven.'” 

Could such a way of life exist? And if it did, would Giorno be willing to accept it, to relinquish control over his own life in exchange for the comfort of knowing his path? And what of his dream? Would knowing he would succeed give him comfort? What if he were destined to fail? Was it better to be a sleeping slave or one that was awake? 

He casts a sidelong glance at Dio, but the man's gaze seems to pierce through him, fixated on some distant horizon that Giorno cannot fathom. It's as if Dio's vision extends far beyond the confines of the present moment, reaching into the depths of time itself.

"Sure," Giorno speaks, "say that's true. How could such a world come about?" 'Fish for information,' he tells himself, 'find out what power he has and what it can be used for.' 

But even as Giorno speaks in agreement Dio's gaze is calculating, cold. 

"You may remain here," Dio says instead of answering. "There is much for you to learn, much for you to prove. And in time, perhaps you will prove yourself worthy of the answers you seek, perhaps you will be rewarded." 

Giorno's mind churns with uncertainty, but beneath the surface, a flicker of determination begins to burn. He doesn’t care much about ‘earning’ the title of Dio’s son, but knows that this is his chance to gain what he truly desires; the power to change his home for the better. And so he plays along. 

“Now, of course, there is the matter of my wife,” Dio begins. The irony of the situation is not lost on him. You may be angry now, but he saw the crack in your armor, he knows it will only be a matter of time before you come crawling back. In his mind's eye, Dio envisions the satisfaction of seeing you at his side once again, your unwavering loyalty a testament to his power over you. You were his, are his, and always will be his. No matter how far you may stray, you'll never run further than the garden he made for you.

And as he thinks of you, his thoughts stray back to a peculiar moment in time, long before his ascension to immortality—a time when he walked the earth as a mortal man. He recalls the moments when he pondered your capabilities as a mother, wondering if you possessed the strength and resilience to nurture and protect a child in a world filled with darkness and uncertainty.

Back then, the idea seemed nothing more than a fleeting curiosity, but now, he sees that this, too, is fate. Not only would you be allowed to mother his child, but it is you who must wield your power to extract the arrow from Giorno's memories, to deliver unto him the tool that will, in fact, unbind you from your fate.

And in that realization, Dio finds a strange sense of satisfaction— were his, you are his and will always be his, his beautiful flower, forever bound to him, meant for him, planted in his garden. 

And soon your anger will not matter—as he will give you the life you've always wanted. And if Giorno was worthy, his hardships would mean nothing as well. 

“You’re married?” Giorno asks, interrupting Dio's thoughts, contemplating the identity of his potential stepmother. There are three voids within his estate, he thinks, one of which is surely you. 

“Soon enough I will be,” Dio waves a hand dismissively. “Your arrival here has...upset her, but you shall be introduced soon enough. She, too, lived a difficult life, so I’m certain she will want to get to know you…”  

Next |

[yankstrash]

what about #69 with the boy of your choosing but maybe they're ex's who bump into each other a while after the break up?

request for the umich celly extravaganza !

"Is that my shirt?"

You were leaving class when you caught sight of your ex boyfriend walking in your direction. There really was no way to avoid him, so you figured you'd be civil and say hello.

"Nick, hey." You said as you approached him.

"Oh, hey!" He said, taking an AirPod out of his ear.

"So, how's hockey?" You asked, not too sure what to say.

"Good, good. We're on an 8 game win streak!" He said, beaming.

"That's awesome, good for you!" You replied.

He was about to open his mouth to speak again, but closed it after he realized what you were wearing.

"Is that my shirt?" He asked you, pointing to your oversized t-shirt that you were wearing.

You looked down at it, not even realizing that you had it on. When you and Nick were together, you'd borrow his clothes all the time. You ended up losing track of how many you had and which ones you had because you did it so often. When you broke up, he didn't even ask for them back, so you just kept them.

You still wore them sometimes not even registering that they were his. It was just second nature to you.

"Oh, yeah. I guess it is." You said, feeling very awkward.

"I'm sorry, I honestly didn't even realize I still had it. Here, I can go change and drop it off-" You began to say, but he cut you off.

"No, don't worry about it. They always looked better on you anyways." He said, smiling before he turned and walked away, leaving you dumbfounded.

[nikatyler]

Zeph 1.0

oh?

(x)

I love this little shit

(x)

I accidentally threw a bomb at Gale...the one time I take him out with the party and I murder him right away

I'm sorry Gale I love you actually I really do 💀💀

"I threw" no actually it was my boyfriend, I'm innocent 😇 not like I'm controlling him or anything 😇

(x)

magic delulu besties, yay!

(x)

SHUT UP IS HE PROPOSING WHAT I THINK HE'S PROPOSING

I mean...

dsflakjasdklhgfjghadkfl

the giggle i just let out was not human

Oh lord

OH

So that's the bear scene I'm hearing so much about

Well that was. Something

(x)

welp what a night for Zeph because guess what they're bloodless too, good for them

(x)

sounds about right

(x)

Oh. Didn't have this combat the first time around here. Yay. I'm stressed :D

Yay family, what a lovely bunch they are :D

For real though I thought they would kidnap him, I was so worried I'd screw this combat 😂 I just wanna mess around the city before I get to the bigger quests (and also, yes, the battle with a certain evil vampire scares me, I didn't do well there before my big reload 💀)

(x)

oh god here we go again, should i do it for the achievement

this might be the worst thing i have ever done but let's go i guess. zeph i don't know how you're going to face your boyfriend tomorrow but that's a problem for future you 💀

pause i'm gonna go get dinner 💀💀

JFJFKFKFKDKSKKFNFJF WHATHEFUCK

not gonna lie i expected more people have done it 💀

teehee anywayyyy moving on from that back to this

(x)

i made four new besties

(x)

such a dramatic moment and all I can think about is that old "what are those?!" vine

(x)

who gave this game the right to hurt me so much 🥹

(x)

alright i took a break but now i think it's time to try and face cazabitch again. that combat was not going well for me at all before my big big reload but i think i learned a thing or two 💀

(x)

a good luck kiss before we go get absolutely fucked up :D yay :D

(x)

I'm stalling so bad lmao I don't wanna do this. If it wasn't for me getting stupid attached I would've been done by now for sure. 💀

What if I went to play Minecraft now. hole works need to continue you know

(x)

Fucking hell this quest is actually giving me so much anxiety I don't want him to get hurt but I'm hurting just knowing we're near

(x)

place your bets how many times i'm gonna have to reload

well first off i'm taking a break to do some duolingo because i'm not losing my 299 day streak

yes stalling again

wowie 300

besties i'm eepy i might go to bed

I already knew what was coming (the lines said) but phew. This is heavy. Think I'll actually leave the fight for tomorrow though

I did not leave the fight for tomorrow and I failed. Although I think I did better than before, I'm gonna crack this eventually (if not, I'll cry and you'll hear about it)

I may be stupid

Why did I not think of that dammit. If I wasn't so tired I'd go back to my computer now 😭

(x)

LETS FUCKING GO EAT SHIT YOU EVIL ASS VAMPIRE BITCH THAT'S RIGHT YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE MY BOY ALONE FUCK YOU

(x)

rip me i died dead

(x)

That was intense oh my god

(x)

same Karlach, same. smoochies

(x)

and what if my stuck-at-the-age-of-13 brain picked option 3 (I won't, but what if)

(x)

how i feel after this playing session

Jokes and silly aside, this was actually so good. Oh my god I would never shut up about this if I had the words. This did something to me for real

(x)

Shorter playing session today but I hit 200 hours 🫣 I don't have a problem, no no, not at all 🫣

And still not done with my first run 😂

(x)

Yesterday I was like "okay, I'll leave this combat for tomorrow, it'll probably take me ages to get through" and then I was done in 5 minutes? Maybe I'm getting good at this game idk

(x)

Karlach 😭😭😭😭😭

I promise in my next run I'll fix you 😭😭😭

(x)

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP YOU'RE NOT DYING I WON'T LET YOU I JUST WON'T

(x)

I promise in my next run I'll fix you 😭😭😭Duuude this combat is getting way too easy for me 😗 I should choose a higher difficulty in my second run. I didn't expect I'd get a hang of it

(x)

babyyyy ♥

yeah yeah she's a badass warrior and all but she's also baby

(x)

gjkldfjlkdf what

👁️👄👁️

👁️🫦👁️

(x)

bedfellows? we can be too? interesting choice of words 🤨

(x)

I can't be watching this before lunch or ever actually 👁️👄👁️

This game is wild

(x)

I love it when I cast a spell and so many things go unexpectedly boom and my laptop lags more than usual

Like the lag is bad. But it's a sign that the boom was excellent

(x)

i don't want to finish this game i want it to go on forever 😭

i'm acting like i'm not gonna immediately start a new run when i'm done but still

(x)

I was doing the house of hope yesterday btw 🤭

(x)

Okay I feel a little less sad now because I'm thinking of things I'll do differently in the next run and I'm excited but what kind of character do I play with 🤔

I'm really leaning towards bg3-ifying Ross but I still dunno what class I want him to be. Race even. I'm not sure if I want him to be a human here 🤔 half elf I could see but my current tav is a half elf…hmm. Full elf mayhaps? Dunno. I think that could work for him maybe

I might pull out that long ass dnd test and answer it in character for him to help me figure it out lol, work's slow today anyway

Welp I have figured out already that Zeph is a lot like Ross but so much nicer and without the whole "I was a dirty cheater in my late teens and dated half my high school" thing 💀

(x)

[fanficsfreeideas]

this is part of Alastor sold to Adam as his bride.

Vox Confronts Val

Vox and the other two Vees sat in quiet disbelief. Had they heard right? The Radio Demon, Alastor, was an Omega? They exchanged uneasy glances, each processing the revelation. Val turned to Vox, a smirk creeping across his face. "Did you know about this?" he asked. Velvette also turned, noting Vox's half dead expression as he sat on the couch, like the news had sucked the life out of him.

Vox's mind raced, struggling to reconcile the conflicting emotions swirling inside him. Despite his deep-seated animosity towards Alastor, the idea of exploiting his Omega status was deeply troubling. Vox's possessive streak over what he considered his territory clashed violently with his moral code, particularly when it came to the treatment of Omegas.

Suddenly, Vox erupted. "What the fuck? Shit, shit, shit! We can't let this get out or let it be known that Alastor had been sold to Adam."

His outburst reverberated in the tense atmosphere. Velvette intervened quickly, sensing the volatile mix of emotions in Vox. "It might be best to be quiet," she said calmly, trying to diffuse the escalating tension. "Vox seems really pissed."

Val, ever the provocateur, grinned wickedly. "Why keep it to ourselves? You hate the guy. Or do you plan on using this as blackmail later?"

Vox's anger flared even hotter. He stalked over to Val, grabbing his face with a menacing grip. "If you dare speak a word of this to anyone, I'll fucking kill you," he growled through clenched teeth. "Alastor was mine first, and if the others find out, they'll try to take him from me."

Val pushed Vox off with a dismissive laugh, standing up with a mocking wink. "Well, it seems your dear Omega was someone else's before you," he taunted, provoking Vox further.

In a burst of fury, Vox knocked Val down, launching into an attack fueled by betrayal and protectiveness. "You motherfucker, he was never with that asshole! He was never with anyone!"

Velvette, alarmed by the sudden violence, shouted, "Boys, stop fighting!"

Val, sprawled on the ground, smirked up at Vox. "Oh, a shame then," he retorted, seemingly unfazed by the physical altercation.

Velvette stepped between them, her voice firm. "Val, we're not going to say shit. And Vox, cool down; you're having a meltdown. But you can use this information to get what you want."

Vox, seething with rage, struggled to regain his composure. "I want to fight Alastor," he admitted bitterly. "I want to embarrass him by making him lose a fight, not destroy his whole life. I'm a huge asshole who enjoys destroying others, but I would never go after Omegas. That's too low, even for me."

Velvette's tone softened. "He will still be an overlord, but as your Omega. We'll keep it to ourselves if he agrees to join us."

Val nodded, his smirk still in place though he didn't fully grasp the depth of Vox's conflict. The prospect of forcing Alastor into their fold clearly appealed to his desire for dominance.

Vox's frustration boiled over. "I don't want to fucking force an Omega! Do you know nothing? I'm not breaking the law just because I want Alastor. Whoever broke it will pay big time."

Val chuckled, unfazed by Vox's threats. "We’re not going to abuse him," he insisted casually. "We'll make a nice nest for him, plenty of space to move around. The only thing he won’t have is the freedom to do everything he wants, but it's still better than losing everything, isn't it?"

"Go fuck yourself, Val," Vox retorted fiercely. "A nest and some room to move isn't enough. Alastor worked his way into being seen as one of us. I hate him, but he's still an overlord."

Val's smirk widened. "That didn’t stop him from being caught, now did it?"

Vox sighed in defeat, feeling the battle slipping away from him. Despite his anger and frustration, a sense of duty to protect Alastor tugged at him. "Al was my friend first, my best friend until I pushed too far. I owe him this one favor."

Val and Velvette turned to leave, Vox delivering one last barb. "If you can't see that blackmailing an Omega is still abuse, then go."

Velvette shook her head, torn between loyalty to Vox and her growing discomfort with the situation. "Vox, if it means that much to you, I'll keep quiet about it."

Val's grin turned malicious. "Too bad I already sent a clip of Adam calling Alastor his Omega to Carmilla. Now try to keep your little Omega safe when everyone knows about it." As their phones started beeping, Val sneered, "See you both at the next overlord meeting."

"Shit," Velvette whispered under her breath. She turned to Vox, trying to offer reassurance. "Vox, it's going to be okay. You've got this. You can charm them into letting Alastor stay, I believe you can. If not, just hypnotize most of them. Or get Alastor to agree to be with you so he can still take part."

Vox closed his eyes briefly, overwhelmed by the magnitude of their predicament. The Vees had made enemies of most of the other overlords, and he knew they wouldn't listen. "Sure," he murmured bitterly, "because I've got you beside me to make my plans right."

Velvette smiled confidently, though uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "Those old fucks don’t know who they’re messing with. And Val will regret what he’s done."

[joz-yyh]

Of Monks and Monsters - Ch. 4

SUMMARY: Role Reversal AU. As Damian and Bigby bond over a bath, their time together grows short; the search party tasked with finding the lost boy embarking upon their mission. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: T ((rivalry / sass talking))

PAIRING: Abomination x Flagellant

WORD COUNT: 4,710

READ ON Ao3: -> HERE!!

A/N: Bigmian won my Twitter Poll so I am here to deliver a new chapter, a Christmas present especially for you! Happy holidays my darling readers!! 🎄💝

I'll be introducing even more characters this time~

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

“No reason to recruit the four of us,” remarks the disgruntled markswoman, black boots poorly equipped for the woods, “It's overkill.”

The search party pays her trash talking no mind, the redhead trailing behind in the farthest position, making the most noise as she stumbles along.

“Not that our present company would appreciate true skill when they see it, but I'd rather not spend the day scraping mud off my heels.”

“Would you rather we be down a man,” Missendei sighs, frowning at such blatant inconsideration, “we have no idea what we're up against.”

“We can handle it just fine on our own,” rebukes the musketeer, as if no one else was privy to her conversation, ”It would be better if it was just us women.”

Dismas can endure the redheads belittling jeers no longer, never one to engage in a duel of insults and lose.

He spins on a dime, sweeping past the arbalest to confront the problematic misandry dragging down their progress.

“Alright, listen up Miss ‘World Champion Loser,’ I was hired fer this job, same as you. And unless you plan on donatin’ a generous sum of money to keep my pretty little mouth shut, kindly take your unwanted opinions and shove ‘em up that stuffy hat a yers.”

The girl's nose wrinkles, unappreciative of his interference, a feral grimace taking over her fair feminine features.

“Ha! A convicted criminal is threatening me,” a patronizing, haughty nod to civility, “Do you even know how to use a firearm or do you just wave it about, hoping to hit something?”

“Oh darlin’, at this distance, I am bound to hit somethin’ vital.”

Dismas taps his dirty gun barrel against a round, rosy cheek, threatening her good looks to the highest degree.

“Pea shooter,” she snarls, fiery lips to match the rouge of her hair.

“Blunderpuss.”

“Alright, alright already,” calls Missendei, wedging herself in, a referee to break them up, “Settle it back home.”

William adds his own exasperated sigh into the mix, Fergus too, grows tired of hearing the humans bicker. Even with her long ears, as big and shaggy as they were, are still too sharp to block them out completely.

“A lazy eye like his, he's got no chance of touching me,” Margaret spits, wiping her face clean, adjusting her hat and cape.

“Don't need a scope to beat ya, lame shot,” he counters, paying homage to her second place streak.

“I am not the one compensating for something,” she fumes, a most suggestive vernacular.

“Coulda fooled me wit’ the size of that musket,” he whistles for effect, raising a brow to its long length.

The two continue to bark back and forth, though that last remark seems to be the end of it, the highwayman’s smirk perceptible through his neckerchief, the steeple of his face scars showing.

Were William and Fergus the only ones focused on the mission? Was there no concern for the missing monk?

Just then, a break in the case, a cluster of broken branches, a disturbance of leaves. Someone ran away in a hurry.

“Quiet! I've got something.”

They all turn to the houndmaster, huddling around him to see his latest discovery.

“What is it chief,” asks the highwayman, looking over a scarf-clad shoulder, a nod to the ex-lawman's old police days.

“Think he ran off here,” replies William, feeling nostalgic for cold cases like these, waving a hand over disturbed earth, his golden gaze looking to where the erratic trail leads.

“Wonder why,” Dismas muses, letting his gun rest on a furry lapel, cocking his head.

“Something probably spooked him,” a most logical assumption, courtesy of the corn-rowed archer.

“Oh yeah, like what,” Maragret snips, skeptical of her rival's observations.

“A monster maybe,” claims Missendei, sounding a bit fearful herself.

The entire group gawks at her fantastical suggestion, unconvinced of such fairy tales.

“Oh c’mon, you've all heard the stories,” she cries in a flush of embarrassment, confronting their judging stares.

“What are you, 5? Don't tell me you still believe in all that kid stuff.”

More of Margaret’s bullying, but Missendei bites her lip, unable to refute it.

So what if she still kept a candle on, huddled under her blankets with a stuffed patchwork rabbit in her arms? It was the only way she felt safe enough to sleep.

“Spend enough time out here, exhaustion can play tricks,” William says, crediting Missendei’s fears to the delirium of thirst and hunger.

“I know a guy who's seen ‘em,” adds Dismas, taking the risk of being ridiculed as well, but it was a possibility that needed to be explored.

“Seen what,” Margaret sneers.

“The monsters.”

“You're so juvenile,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes, “it should be added to your rap sheet.”

The shady thief hopes one such monster will show up to devour her whole, prove his point, but no such luck.

“Odd, how the trail vanishes here,” William muses, entrusting his pooch, “can you pick up his scent, girl?”

The loyal canine barks an affirmative, sniffing at day-old footprints, tail up, nose down as her superior senses go to work.

Her paws take them through various twists and turns, their destination being a peculiar formation of obelisks, sealed tight like a tomb, stone covered in a thicket of vines.

“It's … a bunch of rocks,” Maragret observes, unimpressed, frustrated to be strung along only to arrive at a dead end.

“You think he was killed,” asks Dismas, “Coulda buried the body here.”

“Don't see any more blood aside from that spot we found back there,” says William.

“Well, he couldn't have just vanished into thin air,” Margaret contests, “that is, unless you believe in ghosts like Missy here.”

The arbalest turns away, ignoring the musketeer’s schoolyard provocations, gripping the strap of her crossbow.

“He could've been knocked out,” Missendei offers, weighing in, “as part of a kidnapping?”

“Who would kidnap a monk?”

“Word travels fast. Maybe they knew Bigby was important and wanted to ransom him off.”

“If that were true, they'd have handed us their demands by now.”

“Hey, I am just throwin’ out possibilities here,” defends Dismas, “But yeah, maybe we're on the wrong track.”

“A dog's nose never lies,” declares the master of the hunt, attesting to his best friend’s infallible capabilities.

“First time for everything,” shrugs Dismas, being confrontational.

Really, what did the highwayman have against him? The houndmaster could probably work faster without all these needless interruptions, the groundless jabs to his canine’s expertise.

“Let's look around a bit more,” the mustached man suggests, “Might’ve missed something.”

“What a waste of my talents,” Margaret protests, feathered head tilted back with an irritated sigh.

“Then, use your award winning eyes to help us look,” Missendei says, nudging her into action, a gentle push against her back.

The group splits off, two by two teams, Missendei and Margaret surveying the outskirts of a potential crime scene while Dismas and William hang back to check for freshly excavated earth.

A few sleuthing sniffs later, Fergus stumbles upon an anomaly, sizable forepaws scratching at something of interest, a resounding bark to summon those with opposable thumbs.

“What is it, girl?”

William is the first to arrive, as expected of her master, the wolfhound giving a demonstration of her findings.

“Strange,” the houndmaster says, rubbing at his beard, “Here, look at this.”

“What about it,” the highwayman asks, arching a brow, kneeling down for a closer look.

“Touch it.”

Dismas humors the request, a scarlet glove reaching out, but what should have been a perfectly normal space is mere illusion, his palm impeded by a barrier.

“It's solid,” he remarks with wide eyes, trying a few more times to penetrate the mysterious force, met with the same unfortunate result.

“It's magic,” Missendei beams, exceptionally excited, having overheard the commotion.

Childlike wonder sparks in her eyes as she tests her luck, her fingers eager to interact with a phenomenon she'd only read about.

“Magic,” criticizes Margaret, watching the fools map out an invisible fence like the ridiculous mimes they are, “There's no such thing!”

“Then, how do you explain this?”

“Simple, you're all crazy!”

“Wouldn't be so crazy if you tried it,” the arbalest smiles, having way too much fun to let the pragmatic stick in the mud keep her down.

“Not on your life!”

As Margaret resists the blind hysteria sweeping through her comrades, William finally brings his pensive meditations to light.

“We may need to double back.”

Wise words from a seasoned gumshoe, having some experience with enchantments like these, thinking it best to resupply and regroup.

“And tell Baldwin we've come back empty handed? I'd really rather not.”

Not that Baldwin couldn't hold his own in a fight, the leper had more muscle than Dismas could ever want (with a considerable blind spot to match), but he was more likely to send his pet jester to carry out his retribution, an insane assailant he'd prefer to avoid.

A guy like Dismas, William is surprised to see him so evasive, having no qualms about screwing with the supernatural if it meant further immunity from the red-deviled henchman.

“Got any better ideas? I didn't come equipped for counteracting magic spells. Unless, one of you has a grimoire in your pocket?”

His group members look remiss, only packing the traditional supplies in accord with their skillet.

“Maybe, we could go around it? Might be a gap somewhere.”

William highly doubts such a flaw exists, especially something large enough to fit a person through.

“Whoever took the time to erect a magical barrier wouldn't be so careless. I am positive Bigby’s inside. We just need the right tools to break through it.”

“Still, we should check,” the arbalest insists, but the lawman imagines the quest has more to do with her arcane fixation than actual evidence.

“Stand back, gunna try somethin’,” advises the steely thief, brandishing his blade.

“What do you think you're going to do,” snaps Margaret, always a cynic.

“Just watch.”

The highwayman slashes at their roadblock, a red steak like an open wound following his trajectory, reflecting his weapon before it heals, glamour restored to normal.

“Well, that didn't work,” he laments, goading the musketeer with his next brilliant idea, “Why don't ya give that big gun of yers a try?”

“I'd rather not waste the ammo.”

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

Dismas swaps his blade for his pistol, hoping to hit a weak spot, shielding his face with his other hand, afraid the bullet might ricochet.

“Wait,” calls Missy, relieving him of his aggravation, a needlessly risky gamble, “It'll be safer with an arrow.”

Dismas gladly makes room, giving her the spotlight, all eyes fixated with suspense as she draws her crossbow, setting her sights.

As the latch flies, the attack lands true, hitting it's mark, but for all her precision, the projectile is rendered useless, deflected backward before somersaulting to the ground.

“Yeah, I'd say we're definitely not getting through this way,” she frowns, lowering her weapon. She retrieves the stray bolt, returning it to her quiver.

“That settles it then, back we go.”

Aside from wearing themselves out (and their inventory), there wasn't much more they could do here, William making the call to postpone their objective until they were better suited for pressing forward.

As their unofficial leader, they fall in line with his decision, backtracking towards Hamlet despite any complaints, Dismas leaning in close to the beast tamer’s ear, resting a consoling hand on his shoulder.

“Been nice knowin’ ya, friend.”

“Baldwin’s a reasonable man,” the houndmaster argues, one minor setback nothing to condemn his life over, “we weren't properly debriefed for what we were up against.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, sure, but as far as I am concerned, you're takin’ all the responsibility on this one.”

“Fine, but just remember, if I die suddenly from unnatural causes, you're next on the chopping block.”

“Dunno, miss high and mighty looks a lot more prospective than me,” a thumb to indicate the woman begrudgingly holding up the rear.

“Maybe, but eventually you're going to run out of bodies to hide behind. Also, if it comes to that, I'll be entrusting Fergus to you.”

Dismas had never considered being a dog owner before, barely able to take care of himself let alone a creature that had more hair on her body than he had on his, a bigger stomach to match it, money spent at the tavern now given to sober nights in.

“Haha, no worries, boss man, like I was saying: we're a team! We'd never leave ya high and dry!”

“Teh,” William smirks, a temporary intervention, piercing through the squirrelly man's defenses, “glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

Sometimes, a retreat is just as strategic as a battle charge, a carrot just as effective as the stick.

—---

The eldritch deity did not like being out during the daylight hours when most trifling humans wandered the woods, preferring to avoid them by holding up in his den till nightfall. Plus, sunlight hurt its eyes.

However his companion had insisted, pestering him for a water source suitable enough for him to bathe in.

Hence why they're here, Damian showing his human pet to the nearest stream at his behest, a mostly concealed space with minimal exposure to bright light.

The young monk seems to not mind the wechuge being nearby, keeping a lookout in case of trouble, some manner of trust built between them over these few short days.

Still, he's surprised Bigby would allow himself to be so vulnerable, an oversight of exhilaration perhaps, the monster trying not to devour this gift of flesh and yet unable to resist it’s temptation.

Lean muscle, a few shades darker where his clothes fail to cover: face, hands and feet given a tan line to an otherwise predominantly pale complexion.

He doesn't strip completely nude either, wearing some form of underwear, a white loin cloth to keep his modesty, robe discarded on a branch until it dries.

The creature knows better than to ogle for too long, attending to his vigil, a dutiful sentry presiding over his kingdom so not to be noticed peeping.

More drizzles of water lure him, the creature inclining his attention back to the preening human, Bigby using a handkerchief from his pack as a washcloth.

He rubs behind his ears, the column of his neck, tilting his head back, sweeping across his collar bones, humming blissfully despite the natural coolness of the river.

His lithe body swivels, hands arching, letting the rag wash between his shoulder blades, showing off his back, but what's this? A mark?

At this distance, its origins are difficult to decipher, the symbol mimicking a jagged star shape, the last edge of the design left unfinished, commanding the expanse of his shoulder.

Whether the curious brand was birthed with him or inflicted after, Damian feels the same surge of possessiveness, wondering what secrets Bigby was hiding, if he was once enslaved, beaten or property of another.

The creature leans in closer, hoping to get a better view, completely enraptured by where that cloth is headed, translucent streams squeezed to christen a petite chest, rivulets thinning out as they reach the lily white of his thighs.

The lad bends forward, re-soaking his cloth, rinsing and twisting it out and the sight of that adorable, heart-shaped rear is the last dam that does the creature in.

Damian loses his footing, falling into the brush, spooking his companion with the sudden rush of perilous noise.

Bigby gasps, holding his washcloth under his chin, curling around it as he turns to confront the source.

The wechuge shakes his head, dislodging the dirt and leaves from it’s nose, the monk’s calm reconciled once he realizes the intruder was just his friend.

“Damian, you alright? Something wrong?”

A pouty, tempered concern, the boy angling his gaze to spot him, the creature making some embarrassed huff of acknowledgement, trying to save face.

“Be careful! I know you're not used to water, but it's slippery.”

Great, now the boy thinks he’s clumsy, but perhaps that was better than being labeled a pervert.

“I am just about done anyway.”

It’s meant to console him, recompense as if Damian was the one inconvenienced, but really it’s quite the opposite, the wechuge sighing so hard he slumps.

Legs wade through a waist-deep tide, but Bigby had only wandered in as far as his knees, the boy coming closer, wearing a smile, Damian basking in this last reverie of skin.

“I feel so much better. Thanks for keeping watch for me. ”

Damian tries to look disinterested, the boy glistening wet, radiating a glow like gemstones, willingly coming closer, not as adverse to an eldritch monster as he once was.

“Why don't you have a turn? I'll stand watch this time.”

The monster gives Bigby a haughty look, would add a disturbing eye blink if he had the parts to do so, finally turning his nose up at him in offense.

“C'mon, when's the last time you had a bath?”

The wechuge doesn't answer, avoiding his gaze.

“That long, huh,” he teases, chuckling, “no wonder you're cranky.”

Damian growls, anger rising, piqued by the blasé snub to his cleanliness, scrawling out a blistering hot rune, underlining it.

¬ DIRT BATHS ¬

Bigby attempts to wrap his head around the concept, not quite understanding the benefit of such a practice, but trying to.

“I am sure dirt baths are all well and good, but why not try it with a bit of water this time? C’mon I’ll help wash your face. What do you say?”

The wechuge is a picture of disbelief, never expecting this wild turn of events.

“You're against it?”

A mopey head tilt, a disappointed simper, an expression the animal spirit finds he is exceptionally weak to.

The horned menace nudges the boy toward the water, insisting he go in first.

“No silly, I already took mine,” he softly protests, laughing as he’s prodded along, “It's your turn.”

Damian slides up beside the ravenette, looking down into the clear ripples of the rolling river. Hesitantly, he dips his claw in, jerking it back out, wagging his hand free of cloying wetness, mortified by the feeling.

“C’mon, it’s not so bad. I promise,” the monk extends his hand, bare feet submerged, taking the lead.

Trusting his companion and at the same time wanting to please him, Damian slowly steps into the river, taking his smaller human friend by the hand.

“That's it, you’re almost there,” Bigby praises, cheering him on, “Keep going, I am right here with you.”

That entity trudges in further, at his own pace, occupying a similar spot to the one that Bigby held before.

“Good, that's far enough. Try to sit still, I am going to wash your skull, OK?”

Damian nods, doing as instructed.

As the first of the water splashes onto him, flowing through the lofty ridges and dusty channels of his head, the wechuge shrinks, hiking up his careworn shoulders, jarred by the sensation.

It's so different from the hard grit of dirt, so fluid and heavy compared to malleable chunks of parched soil, only tolerating the presence of water if it was to quench his thirst.

“You're doing so well,” the boy says, noting the monster’s discomfort, doing what he can to assuage it, make the experience more pleasurable.

The washcloth cascades down his bones, careful consideration given to each section, a slow and steady progression, rubbing circles until Damian shines a pristine, pearly white.

“I'll get your back too.”

The monster allows it, the monk dragging the washcloth over his shoulders as he goes.

Bigby hasn't seen this side of him up close, lacking circumstance and appropriate lighting, skin so withered and gangly it blends into a gruesome crisscrossing that spans the length of his back.

He traces over layers and layers of scars, an extensive history of lash wounds, wondering how he got so many, reminded of his own hidden torment, secrets that he kept prudent guard over.

“This, what happened to you?”

Damian raises a claw to spell out the answer, fingers hesitant, reluctant to tell him.

¬ HUMAN ¬

Bigby sinks at this revelation, instantly crestfallen, emphatic to his pain.

“I am sorry,” he says, laying hand on the protruding knobs of his spine, consoling, “but we're not all bad, you know.”

Damian acknowledges this, twisting in his position to find the human's quivering hand, clasping it sweetly, knowing the monk was different, pure of heart.

“I am glad you think so highly of me.”

Damian draws more with his free hand, a symbol that stays a symbol, five prongs, a star shape, but Bigby knows what it means.

He'd been so absorbed in his bath, it never occurred to him that the monster would have taken an interest in such a thing.

“You saw that?”

Yes, among other things.

¬ SCAR? ¬

“Maybe, I don't know exactly. I was born with it.”

He hasn't opened up about his deformity to anyone in such a long time, not since he was a child. There was such fear surrounding it, but to finally share this burden with another, someone who could understand its ugliness, the relief he feels is almost overwhelming.

“Guess we've both been hurt by the past.”

They exchange a look, the boy forcing a smile to mask a lifetime of sadness.

Claws reach out to cradle his cheek, and Bigby takes the comfort for what it is, still feeling warm despite all the cold.

He doesn't realize he's crying, a teardrop caught on the precipice of Damian’s finger, reflecting the light, shining like stars.

He latches onto the monster, pulling him into a hug, standing on toe-points to reach.

“Thank you,” he says, holding him tight, nose buried in the crevice of his hood.

Damian lets him stay for as long as he needs, locked together as the water flows, a serene serenade between their bodies, remorseful when the boy finally lets go.

“Anyway, I think we're finished with your bath,” the boy collects himself, returning to his normal, flat-footed measurements, “So … how did I do?”

The wechuge takes a moment to assess his companion’s performance, antlers cocked to the side, scratching at its neck, looking culpable.

“I know, it's wet, but admit it, you feel better.”

It takes him a minute, lowering his skull to hide his eyes, but the bare-boned creature nods.

“There, you see! I knew you would!”

For the young monk to look so happy, every small discomfort that passed through his bones was with it.

“Stay right there. I'll be back in just a second.”

The boy is already bound for land, the wechuge huffing, raising an objection, about to follow, worrying for Bigby's safety.

“Don't worry, I'll be OK. Trust me.”

It goes against his instinct, but if Bigby required his trust, he would give it.

With the monster’s blessing, the religious boy finds his robe, pulling it on over his head, fabric still damp, not about to wander the forest without its cover.

—--

Bigby finds the creature still lounging in the quiet stream, enjoying the gentle current weaving past his lanky limbs, skull tipped back as he listens to the sound of running water echoing off the rocks.

What a change to see Damian so content, serene despite all the fuss he made about coming here, basking in the precious juxtaposition of the scene a few moments longer.

“Hey, c'mon and dry off. I've got something for you,” Bigby calls from the shore.

The wechuge turns toward him, intrigued by what his little human had brought, especially if the monk looked so excited to share it.

Leaving a wet trail dripping in his wake, the creature obeys, shambling out of the water and onto one of the larger rocks hugging the river.

The vast difference of their height is made equal, eye level as he sits.

“That's good, just like that,” the human praises, “Now, hold still and close your eyes.”

Damian regards him blankly, as if he was a monster in possession of three heads.

“Uh, can you close your eyes,” fumbles the good natured boy, wondering if his request was beyond the creature's ability.

The wechuge's trademark red glare slowly fades, receding into a distant glow, eye sockets becoming empty hollows.

“Perfect! Alright, this may take a bit, but trust me, you're going to look great by the time I am done.”

Damian can smell the sweet scent of something pulled from the earth, having a good guess of what this gift could be.

Rather than spoil the fun, he waits patiently for the monk to finish, listening to his breaths, the shift of movement, the mumble of his words as he rambles to himself about another stem disobeying his orders.

The flowers he picked were even more delicate than they looked, liable to break in half if he pulled too tightly around his friend's antler, crushed if he knotted them too tightly.

The monk steps back to assess his progress, deciding that his canvas still looked too empty, needing more flora to fill in the gaps, offset the dreary chains.

After some toiling and artistic license, Bigby deems his project done, prompting Damian back into wakefulness.

“Here, come take a look,” he urges, stifling a giggle.

The wechuge peers over the river bank, staring at itself in the reflection of water.

“What do you think,” Bigby asks, quite proud of his work, eager to hear Damian’s opinion.

The forest spirit hardly looks as intimidating with flowers and ribbons strung about his antlers, even more so now that the shadows of his face had been washed away by his companion's efforts.

The creature huffs, a ripple distorting the embarrassing image of cuteness he now represented.

“Aww,” Bigby drawls, disappointed that his friend wasn't as thrilled with his new appearance as he was, but he supposes it's to be expected when dealing with a malicious spirit. “I can take them off if you don't like it.”

The wechuge raises a claw, snapping off one of the blooms, guiding it to his companion, tucking it behind his ear.

The white petals shine against raven-colored hair, as gentle and soft as the man who picked them, a stunning accent for one so pure.

“Oh, you wanted us to match,” Bigby beams, the heat of the sun darkening his blush, “I have more if you'd like to do my hair too.”

The creature nods, following the monk back to his assortment of freshly primed wildflowers strewn in a pile over gray slate.

“It'll probably be easier for you if I stand. Oh, but I can close my eyes too if you want, make it a surprise.”

At the sound of Damian's chitter, Bigby obliges with a smile, enjoying the scratch of claws as they part his locks, the rest of the flowers arranged in a dainty pattern on both sides, fit for a bride on her wedding day.

The wechuge admires this, thinking Bigby was better suited for ephemeral guises, giving a congenial hiss of satisfaction.

“Done,” Bigby asks gently, squinting open an eye, brimming with anticipation.

The monk scampers over to the river, hardly recognizing himself dressed in a crown of flowers, touching over them in reverent awe.

“I love it,” he beams, looking towards his friend, a smile so dazzling that it could bring heaven to its knees.

Damian reaches for one other ornament, the red ribbon now tied into a bow around one of his antlers.

“This too,” Bigby says, expression dropping, sad that his friend had so many adjustments to make.

He takes the young monk's wrist, so thin and frail, returning the band to its rightful place.

“Is it that important to you that I keep it on?”

The wechuge nods, raising his own bracelet to compare the two side by side.

He couldn’t bear to see their link broken, even for the smallest whimsy.

“You really like it when we match, huh,” the boy chuckles, thinking he understood. “OK, I won’t take it off again.”

If only Bigby knew what these bands had meant, a promised engagement, a pair of betrotheds, hoping to entwine even more of their lives one day.

[cpidsworld]

☆ DAY SEVEN: TORU OIKAWA ☆

dilf!toru x f!reader

wc:700

tw: throat fucking, degredation, breath play

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

a/n: god he's so <3

dilf december collab

dilf!toru - your knees ached and your throat burned. you weren't sure how much more of this you could take. your body was pinned up against the locker as toru pistoned in and out of your mouth. your mind was blank as the tears and mascara rolled down your cheeks. his team had lost. even though it was a friendly match-up with some of his close friends, toru never took failure well.

you met him about 6 months ago in argentina. he was a volleyball coach at one of the local highschools, while you were a student teacher. you had run into him by accident on your first day, confused on where to go. the charming man offered to show you around. small accidental meetups became conversations before practice which eventually lead up to dinner.

you could barely believe a man like toru wanted anything to do with you. the man had brown curly hair and his stubble just made him look all the more beautiful. you could see the streaks of grey in his hair which he never saw the need to cover. he was confident and charismatic and always knew how to put a smile on your face and here you were, opposite him at the table as you laughed and chatted about everything and anything.

toru never thought he'd fall for someone as quickly as he fell for you. your bright smile and the way you'd counter his snide remarks. he loved it all. you were one in a million and he never wanted to give you up. one dinner turned into five. five dinners turned into five more, and an occasional day out here and there. you two were inseparable.

when push came to shove, he took you out for a sunset drive to the beach. you were taken aback by the array of colours as you and toru sat on top of the hood of his car. you stared at the sunset, admiring its beauty while toru's eyes were only on you. it was that day when he asked you to officially be his partner and you've been together ever since.

toru's highschool friends had invited him home for summer break and of course he accepted. it'd be a great opportunity for him to introduce you to them. so six months into your relationship, you and him are packing up and flying all the way to japan. this was one week ago. for that one week the two of you were getting over jetlag, sightseeing on your part and then the friendly match between him and his friends.

that day you met iwaizumi, issei, takahiro as well as the rest of his old team. a few other friends from different schools came to participate, making it quite the fun day, but oikawa's team had lost. he laughed it off with his friends before they said their goodbyes, promising to meet after for a drink or two.

this is what led to him throat fucking you like never before. god did you love it when he was angry, the sex was amazing and he was rougher than usual. he grabbed your hair giving him more leverage as he abused your hole.

"god damnit! not only did i lose, you were making eyes at iwa-chan the whole day. think i wouldn't notice slut?"

now you have to admit, you did take advantage of the situation to maybe have some jealous sex and oh boy did you get something better. his thrusts became haphazard as you felt him getting close.

"you're gonna take my cum like a good slut, hmm?"

all you could do was nod slightly before he grabbed your nose and closed it as he bottomed out inside your mouth, cumming down your throat. he let your nose go and pulled his cock out, allowing you to breathe. he wiped himself off with his towel before throwing it at you.

"clean up. we're meeting them for drinks."

he gave you a quick kiss on the head before taking his bag and walking out of the locker room. after what just happened, you might make oikawa jealous more often.

[hugheshugs]

hockey isn't for everyone | q. hughes

prompt: #7 — "i hate hockey."

summary: the canucks are on a losing streak and quinn messes up their last game, seeking your comfort.

pairing: bestfriend!quinn x reader

note: my first imagine ahh, im not too proud of it but i have to start somewhere. may or may not be inspired by recent events.

you sit on the living room floor of your apartment, anxiously watching quinn and the canucks fight to break their losing streak. they've gone five games without winning, today's the sixth and the pressure is on.

quinn had been talking to you last night about how much he wants to win today. no one likes losing, especially when your fails are broadcasted to the entire world. he's been your best friend since he joined the canucks so you knew there wasn't anything you could say to ease his mind. you simply tried your best to reassure him that everything would work out in his favour as long as he played his best.

which he did. he played his best, skated his best, everything was going well. until the third period.

you watch as someone from the opposing team slams him into the side of the rink, no penalty being called. although you know it's part of the game and quinn can handle it, your heart breaks and the sight of him standing up on wobbly legs. you assume he's alright, the commentators not mentioning that he's making his way to the bench. only a few seconds later, quinn skates up to the guy who pushed him and crosschecks him, resulting in a penalty.

groaning, you watch as quinn and his emotionless face make their way into the penalty box. you nearly scream when the other team scores, the once 2-2 tie game now looking bad for the canucks. you have your phone on standby, knowing your best friend (aka the boy you have a crush on) will be on his way to you as soon as the game's over.

they take a commercial break and you nearly throw your remote at the tv when you hear the sports commentators talking bad about quinn. sure it was a bad penalty, that doesn't mean they have to bash him for it. you know it's a part of sports but hearing people bash quinn isn't something you're fond of.

with only a couple seconds left in the game and an empty net on the canucks' side, elias passes the puck to quinn past their blue line. he quickly skates over and turns to pass back the puck, not realizing two opponents were right on his tail. the pass was intercepted and shot into their net, a 4-2 loss for vancouver.

you know quinn is beating himself up for it. with the 2/4 goals by the other team basically being his fault, he wouldn't stop thinking about everything he did wrong and how he should have played better. mentally preparing yourself for an emotionally bruised hughes to arrive at your doorstep, you begin setting up some blankets and pillows on your couch, opting for a movie night to try distracting his mind.

while putting his favourite chips in a bowl, your phone begins to ring. you grab it from the counter without looking at the caller id, knowing exactly who it is.

"hi, quinny," you greet softly.

"can i come over?" his voice sounds heartbroken and you can't help but frown.

"yeah, of course. how long'll you be?"

"i'll be right there after this fucking post game interview."

"okay, i'll be waiting."

"can we please get drunk as well?"

you laugh loudly, quickly covering your mouth. "no, we're not getting drunk on a wednesday night."

"oh come on, please," he begs, almost whining.

"the only thing we're getting drunk on is hot chocolate and tangled."

he huffs. "fine, i'll see you in a bit."

"love you," you say with every beat of your heart.

"love you more."

you know he doesn't mean it in the same way you do, but you can't fight the smile that makes its way onto your face. your stomach flutters before hanging up.

around half an hour after the call, you finish setting the snacks on your coffee table when a soft knock on your apartment door grabs your attention. you make your way over and open it, revealing a sulking quinn standing at your doorstep.

he drops his duffle bag to the ground and wastes no time wrapping you in his arms. you know he needs in it a different way you do, him wanting your reassurance and you wanting his love. you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck in hopes of soothing him while he holds you tighter. he pulls away after a minute and you both stay quiet as he grabs his bag and makes his way to your washroom to freshen up.

you take this time to prepare some hot chocolate for the both of you, knowing he only likes it when you make it and it'll cheer him up. by the time you finish pouring the drinks into two mugs — both decorated with the letter of your first initials, — quinn makes his way into the living room and plops onto the couch. you make your way over to him with the steaming sweetness in your hands.

"i hate hockey," he groans, not lifting his head up from the pillow it lays in.

"no you don't," you rebuttal, setting the mugs on the coffee table.

"yes i do. i hate it and i'm bad at it and i'm never going to play it ever again," he insists, lifting his head up as you take a seat beside him and snuggle into the blankets.

he rests his head on your lap at you play with his hair. "you're not bad at hockey. hockey isn't for everyone but it is for you. you played your best and that's all that matters."

"i cost us the fucking win," he looks up at you and you pause.

"n-no you didn't," you lie. he sees right through you.

"i know i did. the team didn't say anything but i could tell by the way they were trying to stay away from me that they were pissed," he tells you sadly.

your heart nearly shatters at his words. the thought of quinn being ignored by his best friends is something you're unable to grasp. they loved their huggybear, always. it feels weird that they set that aside today but it's also slightly understandable.

"quinn, it wasn't your fault-"

"i shouldn't have crosschecked him. if i didn't, maybe we would have won," he plays with a stray string on the blanket.

"don't beat yourself up for it. you have another game on friday, right? make up for it then. it's not like this was the last game of your career."

"i don't even care about the loss, i'm just upset i let the team down. what kind of defence-man am i if i can't even stop the other team from scoring?" he nearly scoffs, ashamed by his skills (or lack thereof).

"hey, you're still a very good player. you're my favourite one, that's gotta count for something, right?" you ask, hoping to cheer him up.

he looks up at you with sad eyes. "sometimes i think you're all i need."

you almost don't catch it, but you do. your eyes bulge as you look down at him but he makes no effort to clarify what he meant and has already looked away. he reaches over to grab the remote without a word and presses play on the movie you had picked out earlier.

"thanks for letting me come over," he thanks while sitting up, grabbing both of your hot chocolates and handing your mug to you. he shuffles toward you, trying not to spill the drink and he nuzzles himself into your blanket. you rest your head on his shoulder and sigh.

"i know you're still sad."

"of course i am."

"that wasn't your last chance to win. i know i can't say anything to stop your overthinking but you can't change what happened. focus on right now and think about your next move, rather than your last."

"when did you become so wise?" he jokes, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. "god, this tastes so good."

you giggle and drink some yourself. "what can i say? wiseness comes with the skill of being able to make hot chocolate."

"that's the worst thing i've ever heard come out of your mouth."

a quarter way into the movie, you begin to notice quinn's attention drifting. you know he's still overthinking and you bite your lip as you wonder what you can do to help. if you're honest with yourself, there really is absolutely nothing that'll get him to snap out of whatever trance he's in. all you can do is provide him with comfort.

"you okay?"

"i'm not going to cry," he mumbles to himself.

you blink rapidly, taken aback by his abruptness. was he trying to tell you that or was he trying to convince himself?

"it's okay to cry—"

"i'm not going to cry," he repeats again, his voice cracking at the end.

your mouth parts slightly, stomach churning at the helplessness you can so clearly tell he feels. it's as if his mind's arguing with him, telling him he's a bad player even though he knows he's not.

"do you need a hug?" you ask quietly and he immediately tucks his head into your chest, making no move to hold you in return.

he just wants you.

you wrap your arms around him immediately and he pulls you into his lap. you straddle him, your thighs on either side of his legs while he holds you tight. you play with the soft strands of his hair again, knowing it's something that brings him comfort.

"i just want to be good. i wanna be as good as petey and brock but i can't seem to do anything right," his voice is muffled by your chest.

you hope he can't feel your heart racing against him, the way your skin on your neck is beginning to dampen with warmth as a result of his face on your body.

"y-you are," you take a moment to compose yourself. "you're just as good, quinny. you're not a bad player, you just had a bad game. what's one game out of a hundred?"

he sighs, his breath tickles the sensitive spot above your ear and you begin to wonder why you didn't stop him from nuzzling into you. if you weren't feeling so good in the moment, you would be upset that he doesn't even realize the hold he has you in. practically a chokehold, if anyone were to ask.

"you're right, you're always right. i just don't think i'll be able to stop thinking about this tonight. it really hurt, seeing the way miller walked past me and how petey didn't say bye before leaving. it sounds stupid but i wish i did better for them," he explains, lifting his head up and pulling away slightly.

you almost sigh in relief, now able to see his face properly. your neck begins to cool in his absence and you almost whine at the feeling, missing his warmth just as much as you wanted it to leave in the first place. you can't stop yourself from wanting him, but you can't let yourself fall for him even harder.

you smile at him sadly. "you know they'll be over it by tomorrow, right?"

"yeah but i won't forget it," he shakes his head.

you're about to open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it.

"i'll just.. try my best to forget about it. i have you here, right? you can help me.. distract me," he runs his tongue over his lip, not suggestively but in thought.

"i'm so lucky to have you," he adds after a moment."

your throat runs dry at his previous words, unable to comprehend what's running through his mind. if he didn't have such an innocent look on his face you would have thought he meant something else. something that involved two bodies, a bed and everything but sleep.

"i'm lucky to have you. c'mon, let's cuddle and go to sleep," you suggest, making an effort to wiggle yourself out of his grasp.

his hold on you only tightens and his eyes darken for a minute before returning to look at you softly. unbeknownst to you, his heart beats just as fast as yours.

"can we just stay here? keep watching the movie and fall asleep with it playing in the background," he almost seemed hesitant to ask.

"it might be a better distraction. we can go to your room if you want, though," he adds quickly after.

you smile and shake your head. "we can stay here quinny. whatever makes you happy."

"thank you, i love you."

"i love you too."

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

(Y/n) stands in the kitchen of her mother and step-father's apartment, making the bean dip Smelly Gabe liked so much.

(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the counter but then she lets out a yelp as something hits her in between her shoulder blades.

"Hurry it up, girl!" Smelly Gabe snarls.

"Yes sir," (Y/n) murmurs.

A few minutes later, Gabe stalks into the kitchen, takes the dip without so much of a thank you.

(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the shoe on the ground before she moves to her room. She climbs into her bed, getting under her covers. (Y/n) turns, facing the wall.

She closes her eyes, falling to an uneasy sleep.

(Y/n) watches, disconnected from the others in the dream, as one of her brother's teachers turns into something that reminded her of a demon, or something similar that she'd read books about. The woman had bat wings, claws, and a mouth of yellow fangs.

Then (Y/n) looks around, her eyes widening in shock as she sees her brother holding a bronze sword.

Percy swings the sword, the demon exploding into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot.

A hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder has (Y/n) jolting awake. "Honey? Are you okay?" Sally Jackson asks.

Catching the wide-eyed look of horror on (Y/n)'s face, Sally wraps her daughter in a hug.

(Y/n)'s breathing steadies, and she breathes in her mother's familiar scent - chocolate, licorice, and all the other things she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central Station.

"Did you get all your work done?" Sally asks softly, her thumb brushing over a slightly visible bruise that had appeared at the base of the back of her neck.

(Y/n) hums in reply.

. . .

The next day, (Y/n) is once again lying in her bed, not wanting to have to deal with Gabe throwing more shoes or glass bottles at / near her.

. . .

Percy walks into the apartment, dragging his suitcase behind him, hoping his mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe is in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blares ESPN; chips and beer cans are strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking up, he says around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's my mom? (Y/n)?"

"Mom's working," Gabe says. "The girl's in her room. You got any cash?"

"That's it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

Gabe had put on weight since the last time Percy had seen him. Gabe looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He has about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp.

"I don't have any cash," Percy replies.

Gabe raises a greasy eyebrow. Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which is surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.

"You took a taxi from the bus station," he says. "Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he ought to carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looks at Percy with a twinge of sympathy. "Come on, Gabe," he says. The guy just got here."

"Am I right?" Gabe repeats.

Eddie scowls into his bowl of pretzels. The two other guys pass gas in harmony.

"Fine," Percy says. He digs a wad of dollars out of his pocket and throws the money on the table. "I hope you lose."

"Your report card came, brain boy!" He shouts back at Percy. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

Percy slams the door to his room, which isn't really his room. During school months, it is Gabe's 'study.' He doesn't study anything in there except old car magazines, but he loves shoving his stuff in Percy's closet, leaving his muddy boots on the windowsill, and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne, cigars, and stale beer.

Percy drops his suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home he thinks.

Gabe's smell is almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn.

Percy sits, lost in his thoughts.

Then he hears his mom's voice, "Percy?" She opens the bedroom door, and his fears melt. "Oh, Percy," she hugs him tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas."

Sally had brought Percy a bag of 'free samples' the way she always did whenever he'd come home.

The two sit together on the bed. While Percy attacks the blueberry sour strings, she runs her hands through his hair, demanding to know everything that he hadn't put in his letters. She doesn't mention his getting expelled. She doesn't seem to care about that.

Percy tells his mother that she is smothering him, but secretly, Percy is really, really glad to see her.

From the other room, Gabe yells, "Hey, Sally - how about some bean dip, huh?"

Percy grits his teeth. My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should be married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

(Y/n) pads into Percy's room, and the dark haired boy brightens at the sight of his younger twin.

"I've got the dip, Mom," (Y/n) says softly. Sally gazes at her daughter for a moment, her gaze sad.

"Wait, (Y/n)," Sally says, and (Y/n) turns back to face her mother. "I've got a surprise for the two of you," she says. "We're going to the beach."

Percy's eyes widen. "Montauk?"

"Three nights - same cabin," Sally replies.

"When?" (Y/n) asks, looking excited.

She smiles, "As soon as I get changed."

(Y/n) can't believe it. Mom, Percy, and I hadn't been to Montauk in the last two summers because Gabe had said that there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appears in the doorway behind (Y/n) and growls, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

Percy wants to punch him, but he meets his mother's eyes, and understands that she is offering him a deal: Be nice to Gabe for a little while; just until she's ready to leave for Montauk.

"I've got it, Gabe," (Y/n) says.

"Sorry, honey," Sally says, looking at her husband. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes get small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," Percy mutters. "He won't let us go."

"Of course he will," Sally says evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money."

(Y/n) turns to face Gabe, smiling as kindly as she could. "What if I make a seven-layer dip that'll last the whole weekend?" she asks. "Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softens a bit, then turns back to face Sally. "So, this money for your trip . . . it comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

"Yes, honey," Sally replies.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratches his double chin. "Maybe if the girl hurries up with the seven-layer dip . . . and if the boy apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, Percy thinks. And make you sing soprano for a week.

"I'm sorry," Percy mutters. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important power game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrow. His tiny brain is probably trying to detect the sarcasm in my statement, Percy thinks.

"Yeah, whatever," Gabe decides; he goes back to his game.

"Thank you, Percy," Sally says. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about...whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, (Y/n) can see anxiety in her mother's eyes, but then her smile returns, and (Y/n) figures that she must've been mistaken.

. . .

An hour later, the three are ready to leave.

Gabe takes a break from his poker game long enough to watch (Y/n) and Percy lug the bags to his car. He keeps griping and groaning about losing her and (Y/n)'s cooking - and more important, his '78 Camaro - for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, brain boy," Gabe warns Percy as he loads the last bag into the car. "Not one little scratch."

Like I'd be the one driving. I'm fourteen, Percy thinks.

Watching Gabe lumbers back towards the apartment building, Percy gets so mad that he does something he can't explain. As Gabe reaches the door, Percy makes the hand gesture he'd seen Grover made on the bus, a soft of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over his heart, then a shoving movement towards Gabe. The screen door slams so hard it whacks him the the butt and sends him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon.

. . .

(Y/n)'s POV

Our rental cabin is on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It is a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There's always sand in the sheets, spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea is too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

Mom, Percy, and I had been going ever since Percy and I'd been a baby. Mom had been coming even longer. She'd never exactly said, but I know why the beach was special to her.

It's the place where she'd met my Dad.

As we get closer to Montauk, Mom seems to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turn the color of the sea.

We get there around sunset, open all the cabin's windows, and go through the usual cleaning routine.

Mom, Percy, and I walk on the beach, feed blue corn-chips to the seagulls, and munch on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples Mom had brought home from work.

I guess maybe I should explain all the blue food.

Gabe had once told Mom that there was no such thing. They had had this fight, which had seemed like a really small think at the time, but ever since, Mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes, mixed blueberry smoothies, bought blue-corn tortilla chips, and brought home blue candy from the shop. This - along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano - is proof that she isn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, just like Percy.

When it gets dark, we make a fire. We roast hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom tells Percy and me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents had died in the plane crash. She tells us about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, it seems that Percy gets the nerve to ask about what is always on our minds whenever we come to Montauk - our father. Mom's eyes go all misty. I figure she would tell us the same things she always did, but neither Percy or I ever got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," Mom replies. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle too, like you, (Y/n)." Mom says and I soften. "You have his black hair, Percy, and you both share his green eyes.

Mom fishes a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you two. He would be so proud."

I wonder how she could say that when I'm the girl who cowers from her stepfather. The girl who hides in her room to get away from said stepfather.

"How old were we?" Percy asks, pulling me from my thoughts. "I mean . . . when he left?"

Mom watches the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But . . . he knew us as babies."

"No, honey," Mom replies. "He knew I was expecting twins, but he never met you. He had to leave before you were born."

I try to square that with the fact that I seem to remember . . . something about my father. A warm glow, maybe a smile.

Percy and I had always assumed that our father had known us as babies. Mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt that it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen us . . .

I feel angry at my father. Maybe it is stupid, but I resent him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry Mom.

"Are you going to send me away again?" Percy asks. "To another boarding school?"

Mom pulls a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey," her voice is heavy. "I think . . . I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" Percy says and I flinch, avoiding both his and Mom's gazes.

I glance up to see that Mom's eyes had welled up with tears. "Oh, Percy, no. I - I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

"But you never send her away," Percy says and I look up, eyes wide with surprise.

Mom looks at Percy, eyes wide with shock.

Finally she says, "I have to keep both of you away from each other as much as possible. I thought you'd finally be safe."

"I tried to keep you as close to me as I could," Mom says. "They told me it was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy, (Y/n) - the place your father wanted to send you two. And I just . . . I just can't stand to do it."

"Our father wanted us to go to a special school?" I ask.

"Not a school," Mom replies. "A summer camp."

My head spins. Why would my dad - who hadn't even stayed around to see me and Percy be born - talk to Mom about a summer camp?

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," Mom says, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I - I couldn't send you two to that place. It might mean saying goodbye to you for good."

"For good?" Percy asks. "But if it's only a summer camp . . ."

Mom turns towards the fire, and I know from her expression, that if we asked any more questions, she would start to cry.

Word Count: 2413 words

[minzart]

Allow me to self project for a sec

Tiktok/vine Yuu

When Yuu is annoyed at one of their close friends they just playfully say "we're breaking up"

As if their videos don't have enough missed signals already they take some where they "break up" with the boys and don't think much of it because they are used to it

And theres this messed sequence of Yuu breaking up with different guys

Some i think got caught on camera and what could have happened

Ace – Probably said something weird or embarrassing

Cater – Flirt and teasing

Ruggie – Pulled a prank on Yuu

Idia – Left Yuu on a losing streak at a game

Floyd – body slamming (this was an intrusive thought)

Floyd took that too personally

[paversandplatters]

||𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (5/20)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Reader x multiple

Chapter 5: A Flock Found

They pack a wheel barrow to the brim with the newly acquired supplies they find not botheringing to leave behind much of anything, making sure to cop the twenty five gallon container of gasoline from the tool shed out back behind the building... Lord knows they'll need for the grand task ahead of them. By the time the light in the south western sky began to fade from a light gray to pink over the backwaters of the panhandle they're ready. They slip outside through the rectory's side door and creep single file along the edge of the property. Y/n takes the lead, periodically glancing over her shoulder for any sign of the herd that had crossed the highway or any sign of the group that occupied this space all too recently. She carries a glock with a full magazine just in case. The dusky air gets clammy and cool on the back of the stranger's neck as he follows them to the car. They climb in hurriedly, stowing their provisions in the rear cargo bay. Y/n kicks the engine on as the newcomer clambers into the passenger seat next to her- much to the dismay of the other two- unfolding an old dogeared map.

"They usually stick pretty close to the ocean." He says almost to himself, silently calculating the mileage between them and the gulf. "Probably should start down by Perry or Carwfordville." He senses movement ahead of them through the windshield and glances up in time to see a couple of jagged shadows emerging from the woods about a hundred yards away, drawn to the sound of their engine. Garbled growls can be heard over the drone of crickets. The trace smell of garbage on the breeze, the light and space of the outdoors is almost overwhelming to him. He feels like he's been asleep for a hundred years, locked away in that dank and dirty church- he starts to feel dizzy.

Y/n gooses the accelerator and the SUV lurches away. He sinks into his seat as they roar down the road, swerving to avoid the half dozen or so biters now skulking out of the woods blocking their path. They sideswipe one the creatures, ripping a chunk of its shoulder, splattering fresh gore across the glass of his side window.

"You get used to it." she states after he flinches in disgust. He just stares at the splatter, flecks of bone chips, and a long trail of black bile.

"I don't think anyone can get used to that ..." Nick mutters from the back seat.

Night falls and the darkness deepens behind the trees on either side of the road. Most of the streetlights in this part of the country have gone the same way as the internet or cable TV, so the road only gets darker and darker as they head south towards the steaming thickets and festering swamps of the coastal lowlands. The going is slow, most of the two lanes are crowded with rusted out wreckages ,the carcasses of cars and trucks so old now that the weeds and switchgrass have begun to grow up from their metal endoskeletons. The two young men in the rear breathe heavily, thickly, half asleep while Y/n drives and softly hums some forgotten tune. They had passed the jerky and water around a few minutes ago- their standard fare of supper- and now their bellies growl and their eyelids droop with exhaustion.

"You never gave your name..." His hushed voices rings out from the shotgun seat.

"Hadn't crossed my mind at the time, sorry about that... It's Y/n" She chuckles softly. "The one with the headband is Nick but goes by Sapnap, don't ask i don't know- the other one with the accent is George." he just simply hums in reply.

"What about you big guy? What do they call you?"

He takes a moment to regard the woman seated next to him; his head still trying to wrap itself around this complete stranger who's shown him nothing but kindness. On the one hand, she seems trustworthy enough, friendly, a good listener, courteous and capable of single handedly taking out an entire chapel full of reanimated corpses... On the other hand she seems like a walking time bomb. He'd seen her type before- they type that's too kind until something or someone breaks that trust. A hairline trigger. The sad fact is he doesn't have a large array of options. Staying in that hellhole of a church with those enslavers, listening to the groans of the dead, waiting for whatever those bastards would do next quickly loses its charm... Seeing the aftermath of her cleaning house with that knife had given him an odd charge- a cathartic release. He's also aware that he'd never be able to find the caravan on his own given the sorry state he's in. He really has no choice but to go along with her and her scruffy ass men and hope for the best.

"I don't have a name.. that is, one that I can remember.."

She desperately wants to pry, how could he not remember his own name? But the thousand yard stare and glassy gaze is enough to stop her from inquiring any further. "Well we've gotta call you something big guy." She's met with silence in response. "Alright, I guess Big Guy it is then." He offers only a meek hum in response. In an attempt to silence his own raging thoughts his eyes landed on the red bandanna tied to the rearview mirror for what was probably the hundredth time since he started on this way too long car ride.

"... What's that about?" He points to the red scarf.

"It belonged to a friend of mine a long while back, before Sapnap and George were a thing." Her hands tighten their hold on the wheel. "I was caught by 'traders' and he was stuck in the same hole as me... Couldn't have been any older than fourteen at the time. One night the compound was under attack, their front gate was breached- luckily we were kept at the very back end, so when the opportunity came we managed to escape our holding cell and I hoisted him over the wall. Told him to keep running, to not look back. He got away but I was caught again," She takes in a deep breath before resuming her story.

"I was quickly sold off to some asshole who had these two chained up for breaking into their stores... one thing led to another and we snuck out and snagged this ride... we've been moving around since." It was obvious by her tone there was a lot she was leaving out and probably for a good reason. Notably the two in the back seat were dead silent, so much so that it made the air feel heavy and dense enough to cut with a sharp enough knife. Suddenly he was wishing he hadn't bothered to ask in the first place

"That sign back there," He manages, desprate to break the heavy air "Said 'Cross city 12 miles" He glances up from the map in his lap, gazing out the side window at the stewing darkness of Dixie County Florida. "Got a feeling we're getting close."

The vast patchwork of wetlands passes in a blur on either side of them. The land oozing a low blanket of methane as gray as mold, clinging to the shadows of pine thickets and gullies like dirty lace. The air smells briny and rotten with dead fish. Every few minutes they pass the ruins of a small town or wreckage strewn trailer parks. No sign of survivors in these parts, though only the occasional silhouette of an upright corpse shambling by, it's eyes like twin yellow reflectors in the darkness.

"We can't just keep burning gas all night." Sapnap says from his place in the rear, his voice all cranked up with pain and panic "and we can't just go off of what you overheard those traders talking about- Much less go off of feelings.." Big guy just keeps a neural face.

"We're in the ballpark" He persists "Believe me they'll be hard to miss." Y/n grips the steering wheel, her jaw working overtime on a piece of gum, snapping and chewing complusively as she drives.

"How many vehicles do they have in this convoy?" George questions between wheezy breaths.

"No idea... but it's quite a few ."

"That's pretty general."

"They'll be easy to spot." He replies once more, gazing back out at the darkness. "Our best bet is to follow the coast, they like to keep close to the water.."

"Why's that?"

He shrugs. "According to those 'traders' they keep their eyes peeled for ships or any possible way they might get their asses the hell out of here. Most of the bigger boats around here have been destroyed by the hurricane that hit a couple years ago, so it's a long shot that they'll find anything..."

They're about to give up the search when they start to climb the gentle slope- at first so gradual it's almost unnoticeable - up the side of a vast malodorous landfill- the barren trash-strewn scrubland to their left reaches across miles of sandy berms, all the way down to the deserted ghostly boardwalks that wind their way along the beaches. The sky has begun to bruise pink with predawn light and Y/n has just started to say something when the Big Guy sees the first faint streaks of red dots in the distant haze.

"LOOK!" He points his large gnarled hand down at the far dunes of ashen white sand winding along the coast. The surface is so pocked and windswept it resembles the dark side of the moon.

"Where?" She cranes her neck, slowing the vehicle down to a crawl.

"I don't see anything."

"About Half a mile up there... Look at the tail lights!"

She takes a deep cleansing breath as she finally sees the caravan chugging along the coastal road in the predawn light, it looks like embers throwing up puffs of smoke in their wake.

"Holy shit, I see it." A big smile washes over her face, Glad she decided to follow through with this insane plan.

"What do you think of those boys?" The two young men in the rear lean forward, transfixed by the sight, each of them rapt and silent as they gaze at the convoy.

"What are you doing?! Blaster your horn at them," George stutters anxiously. "Don't let them get away !"

Y/n smiles to herself, in her former life she used to be fascinated by the wildlife shows, often catching them in the late night showings after work before she turning in for the night. She remembers one episode in particular, on the behavior of sheep vs the behavior of wolves. She remembers the flock mentality; the sheep moving almost as one, easily managed by a single sheepdog. She remembers the instinct of the Wolf, stealthy, patient as it and its pack creep up on the flock. She shoots a glance across the dark interior at the larger man sat next to her before turning her head to face the two sat behind them.

"I have a better idea."

Taglist

@the-wandering-pan-ace @hvrcruxes

[fayeimara]

Meant To Be || One For Every Billion

8. Fan Behaviour

Your impromptu group has slowly made way through the long street of vendors over the last hour, sampling different treats and picking up small trinkets and mementos of the festival.

It's been pretty exhilarating not only with the exuberant energy of the younger girls with whom Akari somehow seems to blend right into, but also the odd tension between you and Suna. He's mostly stayed by your side as you stroll behind the others, his watchful eye on his sister and her friends but you've also caught his discerning stare aimed your way many times as well.

In as little as sixty minutes, that's quite a lot of time to make eye contact with a silent and seemingly immovable companion for the night. You don't let his demeanor throw you off, however, and continue on, immovable in your own way. Which means you say what comes to mind but don't follow the urge to stumble or yammer to fill any quiet gaps in conversation.

Somehow, it works and instead of being awkward and uncomfortable, you find myself at an odd peace, even with the feeling in the air as if you're at a precipice.

You haven't felt this level of comfort and familiarity with someone since... well, since Toru, you suppose. At the thought, a prickle rushes over your skin but you shouldn't have anything to feel bad about. You're in no way committed to anyone and you're sure nothing will happen here, regardless.

"Sorry," You look over at Suna's quiet intervention to your thoughts, "I don't have a jacket on me."

You raise an eyebrow before realizing you must have shivered outwardly at your last thought, hm, you really are letting your guard down to have let a physical reaction slip through. And he really is as perceptive as you first thought to have noticed that small movement.

Looking over at his own simple yukata that suits him incredibly well, you feel the corner of your lip lift before replying, "No, but it's so worth it."

He flicks another one of those sideways looks at you, chin lifted slightly and face angled so you can't read too much of it, "Yeah? Like what you see?"

"Oh yeah." You bite down on your lip to stop your smile from breaking into a flirty grin. You really cannot stress how incredible attractive his laid back confidence is to you.

A small smile of his own breaks through and you catch it before he turns his face away to the stalls on his right. When he looks back, it's gone as if it never happened but there's a look in his eyes that makes you feel almost breathless.

You think you actually do lose your breath when he smirks and casually adds, "Me too."

"Y/n-chan! Rin-onii!" You don't get a chance to respond as Rika bounces back to you both, "We're at the end, but Akari-chan found us a perfect place for the best view for the fireworks!"

"Then lead on, brat." Suna huffs out in mock annoyance. Yeah, you've been getting slightly better at reading him over the past hour. It's a gift.

The two of you follow behind them again, heading towards one of the bridges over the river beyond the street you were just on. There are glowing paper lanterns floating in the water below, lazily passing underneath and by in groups across the length of the bridge. Strung up above you all and reflecting in the dark water are similar lanterns, casting a warm glow over your group's chosen little corner with only a few people some distance away from you all.

Even if the view of the fireworks isn't all that great from here, which you're not sure about since you don't know quite where they've been set up, this ambience is enough to make this a perfect place to rest. Suna leans his back against the railing, right beside where you've chosen to lean forward facing the other way, with your forearms resting on the wrought iron as you survey the lanterns that are carried away.

"Do you game?"

You jerk your head up at his random question, looking up at him where he's got his classic side gaze trained on you. Hm, maybe not so random as probing. You answer just as succinctly as he asked his question, "I do."

"Okay." Another smile tugs at his mouth, you're sure he knows you're being stubborn. "Your voice..."

He's baiting you but what exquisite temptation, you can't help but ask, "What about it?"

"It sounds so..." He trails off, as if lost in thought but you think he's just torturing you for your sass earlier.

You're usually patient, you swear, but.. "Suna." but, you're starting to think his patience might just outweigh yours.

"Familiar." His eyes meet yours again as soon as the word leaves his lips and you're called back to the moments you were thinking that being around him felt familiar too.

But that's not what he means is it? You wait for him to speak again and when he does, even though you're expecting his next implication, you're somehow still both surprised and flattered, "I really like your channel."

"You watch GameOverGirls?" Yeah, that's literal disbelief in your voice. You know you and Vee have a lot of followers on the channel the two of you started back in the fall, especially thanks to both your fans from other clubs and activities, but here in Japan? At least any family you have hear that know about it would make sense, they know you from the first degree. But how would Suna Rintaro have found you already?

He shrugs casually, expression unreadable when he answers, "I like your voice. And you actually know what you're talking about." Then, with a smirk, "The streams aren't too bad either."

You don't even know where to start. The audacity of this pretty boy. Now you're flattered, flustered, and somehow offended at the same time. "When did you figure it out?"

"Just now."

"Seriously?"

"I couldn't place it at first. But then I just did."

"Huh."

"Pretty sure this is where you say thank you."

"For what? Entertaining you?" You pretend to yawn with a hand to your lips and a roll of your eyes, "Talk about fan behaviour."

He tilts his head back fully to study the sky, "Guess I can't deny it, huh?"

With a laugh, you mirror his stance, turning around to lean back against the railing and tilting your head up to survey the stars. After a pause, you give him an opening, "Unless you think you can do better?"

"Well, I could have cut some serious time on that run through of Sekiro. And yeah, I'd be the one carrying you through Warzone." He pretends to grimace and you smack his arm in retaliation.

"Please, squad up and let's see who carries who."

"Okay, bet."

You're about to turn to look over at him to see if he's serious or not about his offer to join your party sometime when something streaks over the sky. You've been expecting the fireworks but when you realize what it is, you suddenly reach out to his arm with one hand and point with the other, excitedly exclaiming, "Oh my god, Suna, a shooting star! Make wish, quick!"

Then you're watching its briefly brilliant light slowly disappear, scrambling to think of your own wish without realizing you're already making one by wishing that you could enjoy more moments like this. It takes you a little bit to realize you're still lightly holding Suna's wrist and he hasn't said anything.

After another beat, once the star has completely disappeared, your eyes slip back over to meet his only to realize he's already been watching you. You're compelled to break the building tension and choose to ask, "Did you make a wish?"

The serious, piercing look in his eyes holds you in a trance as he replies, "I did."

Light blooms across his face just as he answers, sharp, bright bursts accompanied by loud booms and pops, but you can't tear your gaze away from his own immovable, captivating gaze. It's better this way, the reflection in his eyes as they echo the light cast by the fireworks.

So the two of you stand there watching each other instead of the fireworks, surrounding by the cheering of your group leaning on the railing across from you both, conveniently facing away from you to give the illusion of a private moment. One that belongs just to you and Suna.

x-x-x-x-x

The rest of the night flies by quick as you and Suna are pulled to rejoin the rest of the group shortly after your interesting moment together. You don't know what it means but what you are sure of is that you'll be replaying it over and over in your head later, unable to stop from analyzing such a poignant moment with a guy that was a complete stranger to you just hours before.

Neither of you really have the chance to explore it further either, as you're both pulled this way and that by the others for the rest of the activities. No more breathtaking moments relatively alone together, but you don't mind too much, you have to think it over after all and need a minute to catch your breath in the meantime.

Everyone writes down hopes and wishes on paper lanterns before setting them afloat to join the hundreds of other dreams that float away hopefully to a benign deity. Your group then stops at the shrine, placed at the apex of the location, to offer your respective prayers before returning to loop around to any stalls you missed.

As you're all winding down for the night, Rika asks for your socials and you happily oblige. Suna, on the other hand, manages to slip your phone out of his sister's hand as the two of you are exchanging the devices back and taps at it briefly before handing it back to you. You smirk and mouth 'fan behaviour' when you see he's added his contact info, including his twitter handle.

He just raises an unbothered eyebrow and replies out loud, "Just wait until it's you asking for my autograph. You'll thank me then."

"I won't need to thank you if you're my friend."

"But you'll still need my autograph?" He smirks at you.

You can't help but tease about something you both had discussed earlier, "Didn't you tell me you were scouted to go to school here? I'm sure I'll be wanting your name on a paper someday."

"You'll want my name, huh? At least buy me dinner first."

You blush as you realize how he twisted your words and, for once, you don't have a comeback. So you make a reckless, last ditch effort to act like he didn't just win this round and do the opposite of denying his words, "Sure, Suna Y/n has a nice ring, I guess."

Holy shit. You didn't think anything couldn't completely break his impassive expression but you think you might have accidentally have won this round as you see the shock roll his expression right before the red of a full blush sneaks up to kiss his cheeks and tips of his ears.

His surprised eyes are wide on yours as if he's frozen solid by your words before he blinks and then it's like a shutter as he recollects himself and suddenly he's completely unreadable again. But you saw it, that moment that Suna Rintaro was completely caught unaware and absolutely flustered.

You both know who won, though somehow, he still gets the last word, "Well, that's definitely one way to get a permanent autograph."

The two of you turn and start to move forward to the exit in mutual silence, neither you nor Suna noticing Rika still by you both, having watched your exchange in delighted surprise and gears now turning in her head as she realizes her half baked idea earlier seems to have worked even better than she could have ever imagined.

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Masterlist

Behind The Scenes!

-Remember Vee's tweet back in the Falling Into Winter Interlude? Sept 18th (21-09-18 timestamp if you're curious) - she was promoting her and Y/n's gaming channel - GameOverGirls :)

-There was still another hint connection in regards to it back in the same episode

-One that may be one or two degrees of relation as to how Suna found the channel ;)

-He really does like Y/n's voice specifically (even though Vee's got a nice one too but he's barely noticed lol), long before he saw the pretty face to match :D

-Y/n and Vee only suffered through Sekiro on a bet from Key and Tee

-Suna realized it was crazy since he just met Y/n tonight but... he kind of liked how his name sounded with hers..

A/N: Seriously, why is everything about him so pretty??? His name, looks, voice. Just...why? Anyways, with this episode, I've caught up to where I'm currently at in written segments for this series so updates might be slightly slower than usual until I can pull back ahead. Additional notes - I don't know why but I'd mixed up the pic for Suna's priv with his main so ended up using the same one for both since it was too late by the time I realized. It'll be fixed from here on. Also, clearly, the yukata pic makes him look older but he's still 14, it's more about the visual of him in his simple (but striking) yukata <3 Finally... can we all guess which precious bby boy is next???

Taglist: @delusivist, @prettyinblack231, @kac-chowsballs, @sakusasimpbot, @hawkthekinnie, @poppi144, @oikawasbuttcheeks

[neo-culture-mafia]

I

Partying. It's all he knew how to do when he was in his feelings. Masking his pains and concerns behind a green bottle of liquor. It happened when he was first kicked out of his home, to now when he was scared he was going to be kicked out of your life. Grinding against sweaty bodies made him feel guilty and craving your own touch.

I'm too emotional

Yet, once he got home he just wanted to curl into a ball and not acknowledge his own existence. Dirty clothes still on as he wrapped himself in a thick blanket; trying to bring warmth and comfort.

The darkness in his room paired with the slow breathing made almost a silent movie flash across his bare and intimidating walls.

I'm sure I've prepared you for every guy you'll date

"Lele! Stop!" You chased after him in his apartment. Your bag being flung over his head, out of your reach. The giggling boy found this hilarious as you just wanted the stupid bag back.

"Gotta catch me first." He taunted, wanting to continue this long game of tag. You stopped where you were and just huffed. He saw the angry look and got angry himself.

"You're no fun." He said, throwing the bag at your feet. He knew his temper was like a flick of a switch in his mind. You knew that too, so as soon as you saw his eyes become squinted and dark you quickly backed off.

Your hands dropped to your sides as his settled over his own chest. "Le~ I just needed the bag back. It's okay, I'm not mad at you." You said, trying to deescalate the situation. The bag was now in your hands and be started softening up the stone thick façade he put up.

"Well I'm mad." He said pushing past you to go to his room. "I don't want to see you or that stupid bag." He knew that you were hurt as soon as he got into his own room. His guilt ate at him quickly, but he was too stubborn to open the damn door and say, "I'm sorry."

He sat on his bed that you made when you first came over and just tried to make shapes in the carpet.

A soft knock was heard from his door. He was happy and hopeful, but he didn't want to apologize to you right now.

"Go away." He said and laid on his bed, facing away from the door. "Lele~ can I please come in?" You asked. "No-" but the door was already being opened.

You apprehensively sat on the edge of the bed, and put a hand on his upper arm. "Chenle~ it's alright."

We're just Romeo and Juliet

You guys were bound to fall off as soon as you both met. The love dousing you both in a euphoric lie. You came from one family and him from another. A literal Romeo and Juliet story; each other's lives mimicking the story...and you both acknowledge the story did not have a happy ending.

"We can go over to my house next time." You smiled, his arm was thrown over your shoulder. "Yeah yeah yeah." He booped your nose as you both walked down the bustling streets.

The movie theater fading away in the distance as you both walked farther away from it.

It held your new secrets of a first kiss with the boy you hoped would be your first and last.

I brush the bangs behind her lovely little ear as she describes in detail how the end is truly near

The tear ridden pillow that laid under your head began getting hot and gross, yet your heart ached and stung throughout your body.

Chenle laying next to you, holding tightly as if you would float away if he were to let go of the only thing he felt valuable.

"please don't leave." Was all he could whisper, your tears and sobs coming forth once more.

Your dad had found out, so he was sending you away for a long time to a 'boarding school' in America. Yet, you know that no distance could keep Chenle from you.

He's proved that he would travel oceans and deserts just to see you smile at his dorky laugh or smile at his squishy cheeks when he smiles.

"I don't want to." You shook your head, your hand coming up to play with his necklace to try and find comfort. "I'm scared." You admitted, throwing yourself into his chest, letting the shakes come from your body.

He could only hold you because he didn't even know what would be happening in the next month. But he knew he needed to act like everything will be fine, which he knew it would be. As long as both of you are on Earth, nothing could come between you two.

He moved your hair out of your face as he wiped your tears away.

"It's going to be okay. I promise."

Dear Shakespeare, could you write a happy ending please. We deserve a happy ending...please.

You both sat facing each other. The anger strung tension could be split by a fork. "You didn't have to do that." You sassed, his eyes rolling at the mere vocslized thought.

"Someone disrespects my queen? I'll make them look like the joker they are." He muttered and his gaze was shook by the sudden wood scraped against wood as you stood up quickly.

"That does not give you the right, Chenle." He knew he was in deep shit. "You can't just go around and destroy people's property because they pissed you off." You condemned and it just ticked him off a little more than it should have.

"Especially my father's. You know he already doesn't like you." Your voice became a little more quiet.

He stood up and you slightly flinched. He was done. He knew he was losing you, as you quickly slip past his fingers and he was the only one to blame.

"...it's 9..." Chenle said as a matter-of-factly.

You looked at him in the eyes, your gaze becoming blurry as you knew what he was doing...and what he was about to do.

"I know, babe." You nodded, your arms coming across to hold your own body.

The first tear fell and he knew there was no going back.

"You walk out that door for that meeting," You point towards the front door, and look at his faltering gaze. "I will not be here when you get back."

You hiccuped and he really had to make a painful choice. Go to this meeting or stay with you.

His life...or his world.

He knew which one he had to choose and which one that would continue to just bring him more pain. His feet carried him towards you...

...and straight past you to the door.

He shakily put his hand out and looked back to see your shocked and saddened face.

He threw the door open and was one foot out when you called out for him, "Lele," the anger had dissipated from your voice as your eyes held a gleam he couldn't describe.

You continued to hold yourself as if you'd let go, you would crumble and shatter into a million little pieces.

"I loved you." You whispered and his eyes were now focused on the floor.

He nodded, swallowing the growing lump of angry years in his throat.

"and I still do." You hiccuped and his eyes slowly trailed up your body to find your tear streaked face. "...and I always will..." you whispered, a small smile arching into your lips. a pained and broken smile he would need to remember for the rest of his painful and broken life.

he needed to stare at the floor to stay composed.

"I have always loved you and always will, y/n." He nodded, looking at you as his own tears fell.

"but this world doesn't love us." And with that, the door slammed and the only thing heard in the hallway was his heavy footsteps and sniffles as he knew you were breaking down in tears by yourself.

and it's tough, 'cause that's the sound of people falling out of

l o v e