#yes yes undertaker was fine too

[grelleswife]

IT MAY ONLY HAVE BEEN ~2 SECONDS OF FLASHBACK SCENES BUT WE GOT GRELLE IN THE CLOVERWORKS STYLE MY SKIN IS CLEAR MY CROPS ARE THRIVING

[wobster109]

Dissecting the post-Sunday conversation between Ratio and Aventurine

This conversation is not, as many are interpreting, proof of Dr. Ratio's loyalty.

It couldn't be: they are still in the dreamscape, where the Family's eyes and ears are everywhere. No, this is a post-mission debrief, heavily encoded and disguised as a quarrel.

Dr. Ratio: You look pale. Or, is that also part of your act? Aventurine: Didn't think you'd have the nerve to show yourself. Dr. Ratio: I thought this was exactly what you wanted. After all, I faithfully fulfilled my duties as you instructed. Dr. Ratio: Just tell me if you can't hold on any longer. Aventurine: So, the "genius" of the Council of Mundanites wants to be my undertaker now? My… what an honor.

First part of the convo. Aventurine is playing his part perfectly. He’s acting angry and hurt: Ratio you rotten betrayer.

Interestingly, Ratio is slipping. Are you ok? Tell me if you can’t hold on. It almost sounds like he's a bit unsure about what happened. "I thought this was what you wanted", like he's asking for reassurance in some form.

Aventurine has to work hard to drag Ratio back on-script. "Have you forgotten, Doctor? You betrayed me." It's a hint and a reminder: stick with the plan, Doctor!

Dr. Ratio: Yes, and I'm pretty sure the people at the Strategic Investment Department would love to be notified of your death in due time, but let's not forget you won't be seeing them, because I'm the manager of this task. Aventurine: Great, then tell your people that Aventurine is ready to go in seventeen system hours.

Ratio asks for instructions (disguised as a taunt), and Aventurine provides them. I'm not entirely sure what instructions were given. It seems to be What should I tell the IPC? / Here's what you tell them.

Aventurine: My conversation with Sunday convinced me that there's a traitor in The Family, and that they hold the secrets of Penacony… So, I took the opportunity to set everything in motion. Aventurine: I even managed to recover the gift money. Things haven't gone this smoothly since I walked through the doors of The Reverie… Now, I'm only one step away from victory. Let's just wait and see.

Confirms that everything is on track. I believe the line about the gift money is actually him confirming that he has the aventurine cornerstone.

Dr. Ratio: Sounds like a very elaborate way of saying that you failed. Aventurine: That's all I can say. Have you forgotten, Doctor? You betrayed me.

This sounds like a bit of a warning from Aventurine. Remember we can't say too much here.

Dr. Ratio: You've got a lot of nerve — how exactly do you plan on completing your task while you're hands are tied by The Harmony? [...] Dr. Ratio: That's true, but what's your plan? Did you conceal an Orbital Support beacon in that gift money bag?

This is interesting. Ratio doesn't know the full plan! I imagine he's tremendously on edge. He's fishing for info, again disguised as taunts, specifically info about how Aventurine is going to get himself out—but of course, Aventurine can't say it out loud, not in the dreamscape.

Ratio is at the breaking point.

Dr. Ratio: Fine. Here, take this. Open it when you're on your last legs. You'll thank me.

YES this is what I was waiting for, the moment when his whole voice changes! His usual tone is very much like giving-a-speech. He pronounces each word and syllable with precision, and clearly enunciating all the ending consonants.

Not here though. It's all grumbles. I think this might be the first time we're seeing cracks, and the personal Dr. Ratio is showing through instead of the public-speaking one.

Aventurine: You catch on pretty fast, Doctor.

He caught on that he was supposed to play along and not say anything that outright gives the plan away. (In my opinion he was pushing it a bit.)

I wonder if that's why he pulls the sudden disappearing act. He's slipping up, and/or bad at saying good-bye. Can't trust himself to get another word out. 🥺

[edgeray]

Ray! 🍅 anon here, I said I wasn't going to request but there's one idea I've been really, REALLY itching at.

So you know how you reblogged "cold nights" by beiibeii? Yeah about that... I think I cooked an angst idea of this on a related tangent? (If you choose to write this, ofc)

How about Mother!Reader who is faced with the same scenario of Arle neglecting them to the point that she loses hope in their relationship? Think of the angst when the children constantly remind their Father of important dates but she's away or somehow missing most of them because of work. To the point reader just implies for them to stop trying and accepts the fact that they married Arlecchino but is now simply the Knave's wife? Like even the children can see them losing hope which is why they sometimes lowkey plead with their Father to actually pay more attention to Mother. Mother marrying Father means that Mother is strong but behind their strong facade you can see their sadness! You can feel their loneliness! And their sense of isolation and sorrowful acceptance of their new reality. And Arle does not pick up on the subtle signs until it's Too Late. Like. Reader in the coffin Late.

And as the Knave's wife Reader does need to undertake missions like in "I am Fine in Your Arms" but because reader has lost so much hope in living a wife outside of being the Knave's wife, reader does not make an effort to return alive. The angst of the burial, maybe the children blaming their Father etc. The really young ones aside, I don't think they would be actively angry with their Father, just very, VERY, disappointed. HotH would lose its warmth for a while before Lyney, Lynette and Freminet try their best to build it back (but of course, it never becomes as warm as it used to be)

Whether or not you choose to give this one a happy ending is up to you, but on my end the only happy ending that I cooked up for them is that Arle wakes up in the next Samsara with all these memories of losing Reader and prevents the relationship from going South in the first place. (Bonus points if Reader also has the memories and compares it to how they were treated by Arle previously, makes a comparison, and goes "How I wish this were my Arle" without knowing that it actually IS their Arle, just acknowledging she fucked up BIG time and is now making heavy amends for it. and Arle Knows because of that look that Reader gives her, sorrow and joy in a complex blend.)

...I think by now you can tell that I'm an angst writer too HAHSHHSHA Nobody leaves my fics without getting a knife and I promise it's just for the plot (like we always say).

I've still been keeping up with your writings (Beauty and The Beast actually fits, holy-) (Someone send Siren!Arle a whole farmhouse of ham for her consumption please) and yes I agree that you've been pumping out bangers after bangers. (I mean. Given that, you probably can afford to be a little indulgent? If writing this much quality about your muse doesn't give you the OK to put your hands all over them, abs and all, what does?)

As always, prioritise your sanity and schedule first, stay well rested and hydrated!

Lost Warmth

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N -  Link to my momma's (@beiibeiii) piece right here. If I see you read this before reading the masterpiece I just linked, know that I am a very disappointed axolotl. 😔  Anyways, you might be able to tell just how long this has been sitting in my inbox… haha… my bad guys. T^T. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write more angst. :3 And thank you for the additional comments 🍅 anon. I do have quite a soft spot for siren! arle, seeing that she was my first request (and requested from my momma :3). Wanted this to be a little longer, but I do have to wake up earlier tomorrow, so this is what you get T^T. Hopefully it's still good. Content warnings / info - angst, character death (duh), reader is referred to as ‘Mother’ but is otherwise GN!, 1.4k words

Cold is a feeling you've long gotten used to. Cold is your husband's dismissal of your existence, with every interaction ending with her blunt words and back towards you, leaving you with a crumbling heart. Cold are the long nights as you anxiously wait for Arlecchino's appearance for a candlelit dinner you spent half the day preparing, only for her never to return until you fell to exhaustion on the couch, a flower bouquet that remains unreceived in your hands. Cold is the creeping loneliness in the late hours of the night, when you've finally grown tired of anticipating someone that will never come, and returned to bed alone. Cold is the way you shiver underneath the thickest of blankets, no one's body warmth to sink into, no one's softly whispered words into your ear to drift you to sleep. Cold is when instead of your husband, only dim stars, a bottle of liquor, and the tears that stream your face join you in bed.

When was the last time you had felt warmth? 

You recall when the Knave first started courting you, how gentlemanly she was for such a rumored cruel Harbinger. You were first just a caretaker of the House of the Hearth, this small orphanage which you quickly found to be home for you. You couldn't help but adore the endearing children, watching as you slowly became a staple in this family. Despite your best efforts of hiding it, Arlecchino noticed when you snuck in the occasional pastry or cake from the town's most lavious bakery for the children, out of your own paycheck as well. It was then, your husband admitted, when she first fell for you. It had taken her months of encouragement from her ‘pestering’ children before she asked you out, and it was impossible to not fall for her charm.

How could you not? Not when she held you like you were her world. Not when she viewed you higher than the Tsaritsa herself. Not when her touch was heavenly, her words silky and sweet. When she proposed to you, your heart leapt with levity, and you thought your life was perfect now. A warm house, fitted with warm parents, that was what you had had, you had never felt so content. 

Then came the long nights. Nights when she trudged home later than usual, where she fell asleep without a word but sunk into your arms still. Then she started forgetting, forgetting about the dates and birthdays, and anniversaries more and more. At first, you chalked it up to her demanding Harbinger duties, but as time grew and the excuses started to run out, the perfect life you knew was crumbling. 

You became aware of this two years after your marriage when you had been preparing dinner for the two of you once she arrived home, slow cooking a steak since the early hours of the morning. Just as you exited the kitchen, you heard some children surrounding your husband before she left for another Harbinger meeting, telling her that you had a surprise for her once she came home and how excited you were for her to enjoy a new recipe you created. Your heart swelled with hope and appreciation for your children, especially when Arlecchino promised she would return in time. 

You should have known better.

You ate your tear-ridden steak alone and went to bed, leaving the steak out for her for whenever she returned home. Just like how you fell asleep, you woke up without your husband's presence, and when you arrived at the kitchen, the meat and the note besides the plate were untouched. 

You tried to eat the cold steak for lunch as well. You threw it away at the first bite. That day, you gathered your children, pleading them not to ‘pester’ Father with more reminders, as she was very busy. All that you gained back from the children was pitied expressions, and the agony in your chest worsened. Your children could pity you, but your husband couldn't? Even with your husband's coldness, you still carried out your Mother role, if only for the children. You cannot deny that the children's antics helped you forget the ever-present void inside you, caused by Arlecchino. 

You never learned the reason for Arlecchino's behavior, why she had grown so cold towards you. Now, you suppose, you would never know.  

Red fills your hazy vision as you lay on the ground, your entire body aching and fatigued, desperate gasps for air while your heart pounds in your eardrums. Your side was sliced, and the crimson liquid quickly poured out of the wound while you tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. 

This is your end, you think to yourself as you weakly turn on your side, every nerve in your body protesting against the movement. Your bloodied hand comes into view, your engagement and wedding ring gleaming slightly underneath the blood. The rings bring your thoughts to Arlecchino–oh, how you imagine the common disappointment in her otherwise apathetic expression, disappointment at your mission's failure. Your eyes bubbled and blurred with tears, vivid memories of your wedding flashing through your mind. The wedding ring is beautiful, still polished with that bold scarlet, the same color of her eyes, the same eyes you could never stop drowning in.

Would she even know your absence? Would she ever acknowledge you, treat you properly like her partner even if you did return? You doubt it. Did you want to return a cold bed, to a husband that does not love you, to a house no longer warm? 

It's warm. 

Your body feels like fire courses through your veins as you feel inexplicably hot, yet it's a welcomed heat. It's the first time you've felt this, but it feels familiar, comforting, like a hearth, and you want nothing more than to surrender to it. It soothes your heartbeat and calms your breath, easing your body as if you were to sink into the most plush of beds, swallowed by the thickest of blankets. The warmth coils around you, wrapping you like a cozy embrace, evoking you to sleep. Your eyes flutter shutter, a faint smile plastered on your lips.

It feels just like Peruere's arms. 

— 

Arlecchino receives a letter addressed to her on the third day you've been sent on a mission. The contents make her drop the paper, and she rushes outside, without an additional word, leaving the House. 

The children do not see her until she returns late into the night, a body wrapped in cloth in her arms. Arlecchino raised her children to be smart, to be attentive, to be logical. Whose body it is, they realize with little difficulty. 

The children weep that night. Arlecchino does not. How can she, when her source of emotions is gone? 

The burial takes place soon afterwards. As your body is placed into the ground, Arlecchino can feel the weight of her children's stare on her back. The charged tension between her and the children is palpable without words. She cannot discern which of the two reactions cut deeper. The seething fury underneath the oppressive grief for the young ones, having to lose another parent, or the crushing dismay inhabited by the older ones, specifically the twins and Freminet. 

Their thoughts are clear, even when none of them speak out loud. 

How could you fail Mother?

The House of the Hearth no longer suits the orphanage's name, not with your missing presence. There is no warmth, no matter how much the trio tries to fuel a lost flame. Even with Arlecchin's pyro vision, it is futile.

Arlecchino stands before your gravestone, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hand, and she rests it beside the other bouquets by your grave. Six bouquets in total, for each day after your burial. 

“For all the flowers, I should have given you, my love,” she whispers as she addresses you, glancing up to the heavens. The last two words make her feel like a fraud, undeserving of calling you hers, when she had clearly never shown so. 

Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fatui Harbinger, does not plead, does not beg, does not kneel. However, her knees drop to her dirt, and she grovels. “Please… wait for me one more time, my dear. Once I meet you again, I promise I'll never leave you alone, I'll never let you out of my arms again.”

There is no reply. 

Arlecchino feels cold. 

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

"What the fuck?"

Selina felt that those three words were enough to describe her whole relationship with Bruce Wayne. First as Batman, then as Bruce.

She had thought there might be something between them. Luckily it had passed, and a weird friendship had developed between them. Which might make some people turn up their noses since she was a thief and he was a vigilante but Bruce hasn't been so uptight lately and as long as Selina didn't kill and steal only who deserved it, they were fine.

Still, what the heck?

"Oh, Brucie is growing up," Harley said, all too pleased.

She was upright on the bed, while Pamela sat on the other side trimming her nails, seemingly ignoring the ongoing conversation.

Fuck house arrest for both of them. Why had she accepted? Oh yeah, they were friends.

Alsp, Bruce hoped that with her, Pamela and Harley could direct their impulses towards more correct forms of fighting for their principles, without involving innocent people.

So far it wasn't going to be great, but at least Harley had dumped her clown ex, for good this time, so it was a win.

(Probably more thanks to Pamela than her, but details.)

"Let me get this straight…you, mister, I don't look anyone in the face and if you talk to me for more than five minutes I'll start crying, you want….I can't believe I'm about to say it…learn how to seduce a man."

"Exactly," Bruce replied, as he petted one of Selina's cats.

"Just…why?"

"Who cares?" Harley broke in.

"He finally wants to step outside his boundaries! You have my respect!"

"It's not about going outside my boundaries. It's about planetary security."

"Really?" Selina said, half joking.

"Superman is powerful enough to destroy the planet."

This knocked Harley over, and Pamela finally stopped pretending not to pay attention.

Selina didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or slap him on the head, "Do you want to seduce Superman?!"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To discover his weaknesses and use them against him when his powers drive him insane."

"Wow, talking about trust issues," was Harley's comment.

"I like to be prepared," Bruce said.

"What did the boy scout do to make you fear that he might become world dictator at the slightest provocation?"

The man pouted adorable, and grumbled. Selina still wasn't an expert at translating each other's mumbling but she swore it was something like smiling too much, and I don't trust him, he's got something to hide.

Harley said, "Isn't Superman having an affair with that reporter? Lois Lane?"

"She is General Lane's daughter. A close relationship is not advisable."

"She seems to know him well. Why don't you ask her?"

"She wouldn't answer me, so as not to betray him. Everyone says he's a hero."

"And you obviously don't believe it," Selina suspected.

"No."

"What makes you think he might be interested in men?" Selina asked him.

Harley laughed, "Cupcake, no completely straight man would wear pants that tight."

"Same conclusion I came to."

Oh good. The fate of the world was entrusted to a pair of tight trousers.

"Besides, I've done some research on him, and I might be his type. At least physically. What I lack is the ability to seduce him to lower his defenses and believe me harmless."

"Ability you think we have?" Selina asked, not sure whether to feel offended or not.

"Gotham is very sexist," Bruce said.

"You did your best to manipulate men who thought they knew better."

Pamela smiled, "I'm liking this one."

“I told you Brucie's one of the good ones,” Harley genuinely smiled as she said it.

"And he's a weirdo, like us."

Selina wanted to moan. This is what happens when you make friends with strange vigilantes. She said, "So Superman has a thing for brunettes. Good to know. Have you thought about what to do in case your brilliant plan fails?"

"It won't fail," he said confidently.

"You don't know," she insisted, trying to give him some common sense. A futile undertaking, it was Bruce she was talking to.

"Superman is overconfident. He will fall into the net."

"Definitely not dressed like that honey," Harley commented, taking a long look to Bruce.

"What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

"You look like a creepy stalker," Selina said. Army jacket, hat, scarf to cover her face and mascara for her eyes. Bruce was a walking fashion insult. They're definitely going to have to fix his wardrobe, make him wear things that flatter his body and…

Oh god, she was totally on board with that plan, right?

Read more

[jangofettjamz]

Overwhelming

Jenna Ortega x Autistic!Male!Reader

Summary: Your were nervous about going to the Scream 6 premiere, but it turned out to be a lot of fun... until it wasn't.

Words: 1993

3rd Person POV

The premiere for scream 6 was but a few hours away. Tensions rose as Y/N tried to prepare himself for the event, despite being an actor he has very secluded and did not enjoy the limelight as much as his fellow peers.

He had been trying to muster up the courage to become more socially involved in his work such as: going to interviews, late night shows, going to dinner with directors etc. Unfortunately, It just seemed for too difficult.

However, this time was different. He was going to try this time; to attend a premiere. He knew this would be no easy feat, the camera flashes alone would overstimulate him into madness but he was determined, scared but determined nonetheless.

His girlfriend and co-star, Jenna Ortega has been helping him to confront his fear of social interaction through love and support. She had studied his language and helped him navigate in a world that didn't understand him.

Y/N has also made a life long friend in Mikey Madison, who also happened to be close with Jenna. Though she never was on the set of scream 6 due to her character dying in the previous film, she remained close with the cast and crew and treated him as an equal.

Y/N, although adamant in his choice to attend the premiere, was still absolutely terrified at the thought of hundreds of people in one space wanting him to sign autographs, take photos and pose on the red carpet. It made him feel ill.

Jenna was his shield from everything. She promised to protect him from the cameras, should he not want his photo taken. She promised to protect him from the hyper fans who have little regard for personal space.

"Alright sweetie, I've got all your stuff in my bag: stim toys, plushie and snacks if you need one. If you need a break or want to leave just tell me, your comfort is my number one priority."

One problem; Jenna didn't pack the headphones and Y/N was too stressed to even remember them aswell. The noise would likely send Y/N spiralling.

"Jenna how many people are gonna be there?"

"Atleast a thousand people honey" she says sadly knowing that this was going to be tough for Y/N.

"We don't have to go you know, we can just chill here for the night." She suggests not really thinking of the consequences that could have on her career.

"Wouldn't you get in trouble?" Y/N asks but imm receives an answer.

"I don't care, as long as your comfortable it's worth it" she states making Y/N feels warm inside, like a scarf wrapping him up in the cold winter but on the inside.

"It'll be fine Jen', we're all ready to go now anyway so there's no point in backing out now." He reassures making her form a toothy smile.

"Besides I know how much this movie means to you and I wanna make you happy aswell." She approached him with loving intent.

She placed a hand on his cheek. "Can i kiss you?" She asked, knowing he doesn't like spontaneous kisses without permission. He nods and she kisses him lovingly which he reciprocates, light pink blush painting his cheeks.

Their private car soon arrived and they made their way to premiere. Y/N was on edge, he wasn't as excited so much as he was nervous.

Jenna held his hand rubbing soothing circles with her thumb and he put his head on her shoulder as she held him tight around his waist for the rest of the car journey.

-

The premiere was more packed than usual, containing around 2230 people; far more than they anticipated. The movie drew more hype than Y/N and Jenna thought possible, some just there to see Jenna.

This troubled Y/N, yes he had prepared to undertake an entire crowd but not to this extent. Jenna could sense his fear as if she was some sort of telepath and held his hand tight.

He started to stim by clicking him fingers and tapping him knees, though seemed futile as the feeling of overstimulation didn't seem to falter.

"Y/N/N, do you need your stim toys?" He nodded violently, starting to sweat as the noises from outside became more irritable.

She grabbed a fidget cube for him to play with for as long as he needed until they had to walk onto the red carpet. He slowly leaned back into her shoulder and she held him tightly again, placing feather light kisses on his scalp.

"Remember, we can always leave if you want." She reminded him wanting to make feel as safe as possible.

"I'm gonna be with you the entire time okay, Mikey's gonna be there too and she'll protect you aswell; we both will I promise." He nodded and took deep breaths while Jenna rubbed soothing circles on his back.

He took one final deep breaths before opening the door of the car and out into wilderness of: fans, paparazzi, reporters and fellow actors. He was gonna hate this.

He instantly grabbed a hold of Jenna's hand and she squeezed tightly letting him know that she's there. Fans wanted to Jenna to sign stuff for them, but she made it a point that she's putting his comfort first, much to their dismay.

"Let's go find the others okay, I heard Jack's here aswell and I know how much you two get along." Jack Quaid visited set often in vancouver when he wasn't Filming for The Boys and the two of them clicked because of their shared nerdiness.

Jenna and Y/N made their way up the red carpet and were called for an interview by Vanity Fair. Y/N considered his options, he could either do this interview with Jenna by his side and be extremely uncomfortable or walk away and still be extremely uncomfortable. The choices were negligible so he figured he'd do the interview.

They walked hand in hand over to the interviewer for Vanity Fair. "Well hello you two, how are feeling about tonight's premiere." She started

Jenna was the first to respond. "I'm so excited, I can't wait for everyone to see this film we worked so hard on it and I think fans are gonna be very satisfied with what we've created." She says smiling.

"Y/N L/N so lovely to see you at the premiere, how was filming with veteran talent like Courtney Cox and Hayden Panettiere?"

He answers "They're very lovely people and easy to work with too. This film project is probably my favourite one I've done thus far." The interviewer asked more questions before promptly ending the interview.

"It was very lovely speaking to you two, congratulations on the movie." Jenna looks at Y/N with a proud look on her face which made Y/N's heart do cartwheels.

She cups his face making eye contact with him. "You did so well Y/N, I'm so proud of you for getting through that interview. You should be proud of yourself too."

Y/N kisses her on the cheek thankful for her words of encouragement, he felt elated on this new found confidence, he wanted to do more and that's exactly what he did.

"Y/N/N!!!" He heard and he saw Mikey and immediately tackled her into a hug. She had become a very good friend to him.

"I'm so glad you came, you having fun?" She asked and he was indeed having a good time.

"Yeah you know what, I think I am having fun." He said with a wide grin.

Everything went great, he did more interviews, conversed with his co-stars and even took a few pictures with fans. He was having a good time... until he wasn't.

The next interview he did was with Fox News and they did not hold back on their questions. He and Jenna both went up to talk with them.

"Hello Miss Ortega and Mr L/N, how's you're evening?" she starts "It's going great, we're having a wonderful night" Y/N answers with tremendous enthusiasm, which will be snuffed out soon.

"Y/N is it true you have spaz attacks when people are screaming on set?" He was confused, Jenna was pissed.

"I'm sorry?" He says politely but still confused. "We heard that you have spaz attacks on set, it would be really unprofessional if you did you know." Now he was annoyed "spaz attacks" who does she think she is?

"I don't have meltdowns on set, or "spaz attacks" as you call them when people scream on set. The screaming is on script so why would I complain? Has anyone ever told you you're extremely unprofessional and terrible at your job?" He says, his voiced laced with venom.

Jenna snickered, she was proud of him for taking a stand for himself, plus she thought is was hot. But that confidence soon faded.

The interviewer says under her breath "Yeah well atleast I'm not a retarded spaz like you" just low enough for the camera's not to pick up but Y/N and Jenna heard it well. Jenna was PISSED.

Suddenly Y/N felt his confidence diminish, the voices around him became louder, the camera flashes became more irritable, creating spots in his vision. He could practically hear all the clicks and cracks coming from each of the cameras as they snap photos.

The colors around him became more and more irritable to look at; too bright so he clamped his eyes shut. The voices and music hammered his ears drums, he held his hands to his ears and started to hyperventilate, thoat closing up in the process. He was having a meltdown.

Jenna saw this and instantly whisked him away from the crowd and into the theatre, they found a quiet corner and begun their techniques. She searched through her bags only to find that his headphones weren't there, he started to panic.

He babbled uncontrollably, he needed his headphones to block the noise. She pulled out her headphones that she carried with her 24/7 and moved his hands and put them over his head; noise cancelling too so that helped.

Once she put her headphones on his head she began to speak. "Honey, can I hold you?" She says, her voice quiet and muffled due to the headphones but he nodded nonetheless.

"We're gonna rock okay?" She says and he nods they begin to sway side to side. His head was in her chest and her head on the top of his, she was his safe space and he was so thankful.

After a few minutes he took the headphones off, but was still feeling non-verbal. Jenna continued her rocking as she began to speak.

"What she said was bullshit, you know that don't you?" He shrugged in response. "Sweetie, you're not a spaz or retarded or whatever horrible words she called you, she's just a bitch and she will be dealt with, believe me."

He nodded against her chest. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, buddy. I hope you didn't regret coming here." He shook his head, he didn't regret it and he had fun.

She pulled something out of her bag. "Here, I've got your ghostface plush. You wanna take him with you while we watch the film?" He nodded and they made their way into the screening.

They sat down and Y/N put his head on her shoulder as she stroked his hair to keep him regulated, keeping a vice grip around his body as they watched their new movie.

In moments like these he felt safest, like no could hurt him as his girlfriend shields him from all the bad things in the world. It felt like home. She felt like home.

Despite everything that just happened, he was very happy.

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 4 Transcript

00:00-00:29 *Intro Music*

00:28 John: Hello there, Mister Flatmate.

00:31 Sherlock (Resigned): What is it and why have you got your laptop?

00:34 John: It’s that time! My fine fellow-

00:34 Sherlock: For goodness sake. *sounds of him moving on furniture*

00:36 John: Oi, where you going?

00:38 Sherlock: I’m getting my cushion.

00:39 John: Your cushion?

00:40 Sherlock: Yes. Here. This one.

00:42 John: That- that’s Mariana’s.

00:45 Sherlock: Ah, it’s mine.

00:46 John: I know it’s her’s. I bought it for her for Christmas.

00:50 Sherlock: Are you sure?

00:51 John: Yes, because you don’t support Real Sociedad and she does.

00:56 Sherlock: *pause* I could.

00:57 John: Yeah, you could, but you don’t. Ok- *gibbers* It doesn’t matter. Just sit on the bloody cushion. Fine. Qs! And indeed As! Here we go. Uh, ahem, mm, just a disclaimer here, to the patrons. Um. I’m old. Uh, I’m thirty-four. If-if I see a question in the Discord, I-I just ask it. Uh, if it’s in the wrong order or i-if I’ve missed some out. It’s-it’s probably just me not seeing it. So, y’know. Right-o! Uh-Ooo! Off to a flyer here! Milque asks, “Favorite tube line?”

01:29 Sherlock: Victoria.

01:30 Yeah, Victoria. Yeah, yeah. Generally, most Londoners will give that answer. Umm, y’know clean trains, not too many stops, and some big stations on there. Y’know King’s Cross, Euston, Oxford Circus, um Victoria, obviously. Um, some other lines worth mention: Bakerloo brings a certain vibe. B-bit of a sort of kooky, deranged, but pleasant elderly uncle that doesn’t wash kind of vibe. Uh, central line is possibly the most hated, ah, especially during the summer. Um, Piccadilly gets a lot of people headed to Heathrow, so it comes with a lot of baggage. Hah! Literally clambering over suitcases on that one. The Elizabeth line is amazing, but seems to be closed or delayed most of the time. Um, so thanks for listening to TubeCast!

02:20 John: Heh, right. Next question! SaraHawke722 asks, “How do you both know Stamford?” Stamo! The Stamster! I think therefore I Stam. Heh, uh, I-I added those bits. They didn’t say that. Uh, right. Sherlock you go first.

02:36 Sherlock: I met him at St. Bart’s.

02:39 John: That’s uh Saint Bartholemew’s Hospital in London

02:42 Sherlock: I know.

02:43 John: Yes, I know, I’m just telling the listener.

02:45 Sherlock: *pause* Right… I met him at St. Bart’s. There was a study on skin grafting that he was undertaking. I initially made a number of enquiries about the study, he then hired me to work with him on it. Then after that he wanted me on other projects that I didn’t find that interesting, but *with emphasis* he did let me use the lab.

03:03 John: Great, uh ok, um, I met Stamo in Freshes week at University. Um, the University of London. W-which is kind of affiliated with UCL and King’s College London.

03:15 Sherlock: By kind of affiliated, you mean it’s for their underachieving undergrads.

03:19 John: Uh, sorry mate, what University did you go to, exactly? *silence* Yeah, right, thought so. Uh, by the way, um, few of our American listeners have mentioned that you and Victor went to college together. College in the UK is sixteen to eighteen, generally speaking. Um, but, sorry Sherlock, posh lads will sometimes call boarding school a ‘college’. Uhh, I d-I don’t know why. They also call their private boarding schools ‘public schools’. So, yeah, I know. Weird lot. Uh, anyway, yeah, met Stamo at University of London in Freshes week, we both liked football. He’s a Villa fan, Aston Villa that is. We, we kinda were, uh, both out of our depth a little bit with medical degree life, so y’know maybe stuck together. Which. Which was stupid really as you should probably attach yourself to some smartarse, but hey! Y’know! Live and learn! Uh, he started to do well at Uni. Um, he went on to y’know big-big private practice and cosmetic surgery for the most part. And I got shot at for a living, so. Yeah. Listen in school, kids. Listen in school. Uh, WeirdScience asks “Do you believe in ghosts?”

04:32 Sherlock: No. Do you?

04:33 John: Uh, no. No, no. Joff asks “Sorry to be intrusive doctor, but did you suffer any hearing loss during your army days?” Pardon? *wheezing laugh* Ha, uhh no. No, seriously, I did. Um, I burst an ear drum, twice, um, actually, in Afghanistan. I-in my right ear. Uh, thought it was fine, but then after Ukraine when I was getting a full body M.O.T. as it were, there were signs of hearing loss. Um, yeah, but I’ve been lucky I think. I hope it doesn’t get worse as I’ve built my career in audio now. So. Yeah-yeah, but uh a little. A little bit. Um, JellyBaby says, “Dogs or Cats, podboys?”

05:18 Sherlock: I prefer vermin.

05:19 John: Hm. I uh prefer dogs, through and through. Yeah. Um, y’know I like a cat, but they don’t get me. Dogs get me. Ain’t that right, Arch? Heh. Uh, don’t know where he is actually. He’s probably downstairs with Mariana. Catonk asks, “What’s your favorite musical?” We-well it won’t be ‘Cats’! Hahaha! Ahh, Sherlock, your favorite musical?

05:43 Sherlock: What’s the one with the man?

05:46 John: The. The one with the man. Um. Right. You’ve just described the entirety of art and media there.

05:54 Sherlock: He has a piano and he lives in a cave.

05:57 John: Piano in a cave?

05:59 Sherlock: There’s a girl he loves. He-he-he’s got half a face.

06:01 John: Ohh! Phantom of the Opera.

06:04 Sherlock: Yes! I thought that one was okay.

06:07: Great. Yeah, no, it’s a good’un, it’s a good’un. Good answer, I like Phantom. I like Les Mis. I know that’s a boring answer, but some incredible songs in that. Uhhh, yeah. Question via email here from Sartori, “Did you feel bad for Violet Caruthers, because I did.” Um, well yeah, I did. Um. She, uh- I-I-I don’t know how to put it, really-

06:34 Sherlock (interjecting): Had given up control of her life.

06:36 John: Yeah, it was- I don’t know- confidence shot to shit? Th-th-the truest sort of victim I think I’ve ever seen, really. She just, uh, she couldn’t grasp the wheel on her own life. Like Sherlock says. Was that why you were reluctant on that case, Sherlock?

06:55 Sherlock: Very much so. Men had muscled in and filled the gaps she had created from her own insecurity. I didn’t wish to be yet another imposing presence.

07:05 John: But we were.

07:07 Sherlock: We were. And what good did it do?

07:10 John: Saved a bloke’s life?

07:11 Sherlock: Mm, we didn’t pull the trigger but we may as well have. And we set the process in motion.

07:18 John: Welllll… right. Yeah. Okay, didn’t think this q and a session would get so deep. Um. But, yeah, t-that, uh… Welcome to True Crime! *awkward huff laugh* Yeah, we don’t always run off or cycle off into the sunset. Um. Yeah. Uh, okay. Mush-Pit asks, “How many languages do you know?”

07:47 Sherlock: Many.

07:48 John: Great.Uh, why?

07:50 Sherlock: When I was young, I often fooled myself into thinking perhaps it was my grasp of language that was the reason that I didn’t quite fit in. So, I decided to try a number of other languages to see if they worked as a better and more effective means of communication. I wondered whether the nuance and subtle signals of the English language were what was holding me back from social environments. So, I attempted other languages.

08:14 John: Right, and how did that go?

08:15 Sherlock: It’s the same. It would appear it’s nothing to do with language.

08:20 John: Yeah, I’m inclined to agree with you there. I’m rubbish with languages. Ha, it never sticks for some reason. Um, hole in my brain I think. Mariana is also a dab hand at the old languages. She cracked open a bit of Russian the other day. I nearly ducked for cover! * laughs at his own joke* Uh, *clears through* RangerPip asks, “Have you seen any of the fan content Sherlock?”

08:42 Sherlock: Yes, because you keep showing me. And sticking things on the fridge.

08:46 John: Uh, yeah because they’re cool. They’re really good mate! Just-just you wait until I show you the presentation.

08:52 Sherlock: The what?

08:53 John: Nothing. Right question via email from Unbelted, “Does the fingerprint in your logo make an ‘S’ and is that deliberate?” Yes, um is the answer to that. My idea, thanks. Uh, Jones asks, “What’s our spice tolerance?” So, um, right. Okay, yeah. I can go really spicy for Indian. Uh, I can hit the searing temperatures of the Madras and the Vindaloo no problem. Lot of Brits can actually. But I tell you what, Indonesian and Thai spicing I feel. Geez, whew, that is-is a whole different realm of spice. Um…phew. S-sherlock?

09:32 Sherlock: I like the sensation.

09:35 John. Yep, uh. Anything else to add?

09:39 Sherlock: It depends on my emotional connection to the food.

09:42 John: Of course, of course. Well, a-a-as mentioned in Gloria Scott, Sherlock will only eat certain foods if he’s in the right mood. The mood for food, heh. Uh, right-o. Few general questions asking how pancake day went. Uh, yep. No dramas. Went well. Went ‘flipping’ great. Eh? Hehe. Uh, yeah, uh oo! Questions and comments. A lot from North American Podpals, uh, about me describing a woman as ‘tasty’. Um. So, ‘tasty’ is a Carol Watson word. Uh. T-t-the sort she would use for young, handsome men that she flirts with when she can. Um, don’t know what the American equivalent would be? Um? Yeah, you know, what’s a lame word used to describe someone as good looking? Y’know what would an elderly woman use basically…get in touch! Right, another question here. Uh, by the way, when I started this whole question and answer thing, Goalhanger and I thought this would be a great way to field questions about cases. Um. Y’know about the people we meet, about the nature of the crimes we’ve dealt with, uh to fill in possible knowledge gaps, and impart little gems of information that expose the murky nature of crime. Um. Which takes us to this question from Saphhster, “John, what are your thoughts on ranch dressing?” *long pause* I mean, yeah. I like it. I like it, it’s good stuff. Um, Sherlock is nodding. Uh, it’s audio mate. Great. Thanks for your contribution. Uh, Tonky asks, “Does Sherlock have any tattoos?” Apart from my face on his bum. Heh, that’s a joke. That’s a joke, don’t write in. Sherlock, tattoos?

11:26 Sherlock: A spiral on my hip.

11:28 John: What?! Alright, well let’s see! Get it out. *sound of clothes being moved/removed* Oh, well that’s rubbish.

11:34 Sherlock: I know.

11:35 John: Why’d you get that done?

11:36 Sherlock: I-it’s scarring from falling out of bed. I had it filled in because it looked like a spiral.

11:42 John: Okay. Sarah Hawke again with a question, “What is your advice about dealing with a noisy flatmate? Would love both your takes on this lol. I’m at Uni and have a noisy and slightly annoying flatmate. Somehow I’ve agreed to live with them next year as well.” Um, okay Sara Hawke, w-

12:03 Sherlock (cutting John off): Try to tune them out as best you can. Bring in other elements to distract you from their noisiness.

12:09 John (cutting Sherlock off): Sorry, what are you doing?

12:10 Sherlock: Answering wonky-blonk’s question.

12:12 John: It’s not ‘Wonky-Blonk’, it’s Sarah Hawke. Who’s Wonky-Blonk?

12:15 Sherlock: They’re all called that.

12:17 John: Look, I live with a noisy flatmate, alright, it’s clearly directed at me.

12:20 Sherlock: They said both of us.

12:21 John: Yeah, but they added a ‘lol’, okay. That means they recognize the irony of you being asked.

12:26 Sherlock: Why?

12:27 John: Because you initiate a fucking marching band at three am every night.  Ssssake. Uh, yeah, Sarah Hawke, I would say get some earbuds. Play music. Uh, white noise is good. Um, oh, I l-looked into this. You can get quite cool soundproofing panels on Amazon. Um, they don’t look awful and they do kind of work. Sometimes. Uh, yeah, right, anyway. That’s it. Thanks for the ‘Qs’, hope you liked the ‘As’ and we will see you soon. He’s wav-He’s waving. It’s. It’s audio m- For god’s sake-

13:00-13:30 *Outro Music Plays*

[hindahoney]

hi, hinda! sorry if this question is like over the place ive been trying to figure out how to word this and my search hasn’t given me any like definite answer. im considering converting ( for bg info im black american from a christain bg ) and every where im looking is saying converts are like a part of the jewish people? is there a reason why that is or is it like a purely religious thing and im misunderstanding it to be like an ethnicity change ( for the lack of a better word ) ?

super sorry if this doesn’t make sense 🥹 and ty for taking your time to look at my question !

This question is totally fine! It's a really interesting question actually, and I'm always excited to answer interesting questions.

As with everything, there is no 100% agreement among the Jewish people, so please know that my opinion is my own, and if you're able to discuss this with a rabbi they would give you a more well-rounded answer than I can.

That being said, yes I do believe that converting to Judaism changes your ethnicity. If you are defining ethnicity solely on heritage, then no they don't suddenly have Jewish ancestors (this too can be debated, as we believe that all Jewish converts come from Avraham and Sarah). But if you are defining ethnicity on everything else – language, culture, food, shared identity, and belief system – then yes, unequivocally, a convert's ethnicity changes. In addition to this, converts can not be treated differently in any way or reminded of their status as a ger, so the issue of their ethnicity being brought up would almost never happen and we see them as indistinguishable from a born yid.

So, when someone converts and becomes klal Yisrael, they undertake all of the responsibilities and, in turn, also the responsibility of speaking up for your tribe when we face antisemitism. When you convert, you have to be keenly aware that you are now a target like the rest of us, and the trauma we all have is shared with you. You don't just get the good food and community, you also get all of the hardships. You are converting to our history, which means the Shoah, the Crusades, the Inquisition. Each pogrom, each time one of us dies al kiddush HaShem, it is felt deep in our bones. The ger inherits that sorrow, and we share it together. We are one people, and that's essentially how many academics have defined ethnicity.

I think many Jews are pretty much in agreement about this, but not all, some still want brownie points for flaunting their pure yichus. Others are using a different definition of ethnicity, as the concept is not concrete. This is another problem Jews face, we have existed long before racial and ethnic classifications so it's hard to put us into a box. It doesn't help that "Jewish" is hardly ever on those government forms they make you fill out.

[kkongdakz]

“ TOO PERFECT. ” ft. sung hanbin

hanbin x gn!reader, genre : fluff, warning : mostly fluff & comfort, warnings : a little angsty, reader is head over heels for hanbin, wc : 3k>

it was pitch-dark when hanbin walked through the door of your apartment, shedding his shoes with lightning speed before camouflaging himself in your arms. his face plunged into your neck, while your hand instantly found the nape of his neck, undertaking to caress his skin delicately. your second hand reached up to his back, moving up and down in a comforting gesture — and him seemed to relax somewhat under your fingertips. a long sigh left his lips and a shiver ran down your spine as his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your collarbones. hoping he hadn't noticed, you laid your cheek against his head, whispering not far from his ear, « let's make ourselves comfortable on the couch, okay? »

hanbin nodded and moved slightly away from you, but never letting you see his face. he looked so desperate — so you slipped your hand into his, your fingertips simply holding his while guiding him into your living room. settling yourself on the sofa, you guided your best friend to slide against you, between your legs, his chest pressed against yours. little do you know, he put his ear to your chest to be able to hear your heartbeat. his arms slipped around you, while one of your hands was lost in his brown locks. « so.. what happened? » you finally ask, a little curious to see him so dejected after a date that seemed very important to him in the first place.

let's get this story started : you've known hanbin for as long as you can remember, and you've never been apart since. only small downside : you fell deeply in love with him in high school, while he stayed in the friend side. you don't really know if he's ever seen you as a potential future love interest, but if he had, he'd always hidden it extremely well. deep down, a little piece of your heart was broken to see him trying dating someone other than you, but you felt lucky to have a boy like him always by your side. he was such a caring, well-mannered, helpful, adorable, gallant, attentive boy.. it was hard not to get butterflies in your stomach when you rubbed shoulders with such a living green flag. then yes, your feelings for him hadn't changed a bit, but you'd much rather keep him around as a friend than not have him at all.

so today, lying in your living room's sofa with him glued to you, you were ready to listen and learn why this date seemed to have gone so badly. « in the beginning, everything was fine, » he started, but you couldn't help drowning in his honeyed voice, « i took her to that restaurant i told you about, then we went for a walk in a pretty park where there was some good music, everything was going really well, i hold her hand and we talked about everything for a long time. »

how you wished you were in that girl's shoes — of course, you had already spent similar evenings with hanbin, but she had something you didn't : hanbin's love interest in her. nodding even though you knew he couldn't see you, your second hand reached up to the curve of his jaw, tracing it with the tip of your index finger. then hanbin resumed his story, « but suddenly, she wanted us to sit on a bench and have a serious conversation. »

« i was a little worried but kind of happy because i told myself she wanted us to put a word in about our relationship.. » his voice seemed to change completely, shifting from his naturally warm voice to a more defeatist tone — and you didn't like it. « what did she tell you? » you asked, frowning. your hand tenderly stroked his cheek, tilting your head to the side to try and catch a glimpse of hanbin's face. but the only thing you could see was the tip of his slightly reddened nose.

« she said she was sorry, » he declared with an umpteenth sigh, his words choking on his breath, « but that she didn't think we could go on together. »

you could feel his grip around you tighten, and his fingers mechanically grasp the sweatshirt you were wearing (which was his, by the way). and before you can retort, he continued his story with words you never thought you'd hear in your life, « because she thought i was too perfect. »

you felt like you'd just tumbled down the stairs of a 7-storey building. too perfect? that was the dumbest excuse you've ever heard. you thought you were dreaming, that it was just a bad joke on his part, but the silence that followed proved that this was the unvarnished truth. a nervous laugh left your lips, still stunned by such a senseless revelation — « you must be kidding me, right? » you finally say, your hand ceasing all movement in his hair and the tone of your voice slightly more annoyed than expected.

but hanbin nodded negatively, rising higher above you to hide his face in the hollow of your neck. his lips resting innocently on your skin sent another uncontrollable shiver through your body, and you prayed inwardly that he wouldn't feel the crescendo rhythm of your heartbeat. biting your lip to stop you swearing at that stupid girl, hanbin's voice again invaded your personal space, stoking the rage boiling in your blood.

« unfortunately, no. she was dead serious, » he whispered, his breath escaping over your shoulder, hovering over your left collarbone, « she explained that she was afraid she'd soon tire of me if i was always so helpful and attentive. »

you still couldn't believe your ears. hanbin had all the criteria of the perfect boyfriend, and that's what made him so attractive and irresistible. he was a gentleman, who took care of everything around him, always looking out for everyone but himself. he remembered the smallest details about each person he liked, he knew his friends and family's tastes and colors like the back of his hand, he had that reassuring voice that lulls you to sleep at night and comforts you during the day, he had this warm, protective hand capable of erasing every insecurity. but above all, he had that perfect bright smile that could make anyone happy at a glance.

obviously, you didn't think that way just because he shook your every feeling, every second of your life. but you were simply stating the facts after years of being friend with him. hanbin was everything that was pure, healthy and desired in a relationship. but this girl was too stupid to realize what a gem she'd just let slip through her fingers.

and it pissed you off.

« sung hanbin, look at me. » you say suddenly. when he barely had time to leave the warmth of your neck, your two hands cupped his face, holding his face in place in front of yours. he was so close you could feel his breath brush your lips, but you had to stay focused and find the right words to reassure his lost heart and question-ridden mind.

but how could you stay focused when the love of your life was this close to you, and looked so stunning despite his glassy eyes?

you couldn't speak for a long three minutes, your gaze wandering over every detail of his skin that you had already memorized. every curve, every mole, every feature of his face was flawless. your thumb unconsciously moved across his cheek, causing him to juggle his gaze from one eye to another — thanks to this, you could see the hazel glow of his pupils. « who could refuse anything to such a pretty face..? » you murmured in an inaudible sigh, only to yourself — unaware that your words had reached hanbin's ears innocently. deep down, you sincerely hoped that your words were just a figment of your imagination, without suspecting for a second the gentle warmth that was seeping into the heart of the boy in front of you right after. your heart stopped beating for a microsecond, when your eyes gazed innocently into his, and you lost all sense of time.

it was as if everything had frozen, and the only thing able to move was him and you, and your two beating hearts. you knew he was patiently awaiting your next words, but the latter were stuck in the back of your throat, as if an invisible force were trying to silence you forever. you finally open your mouth, attempting some sort of speech — but suddenly the butterflies in your body lodged themselves in your mind and made you forget all about the lexical field of comfort. all you could think about was him, the perfect curve of his lips and the hazel glint in his pretty doe eyes.

you fought your inner demons to keep the uncontrollable effect he had on you under wraps, not wanting to risk taking a single wrong step. biting your lower lip, you finally decided to try and regain your composure, because despite the mad desire to let your feelings invade space and time, your current role was to comfort your best friend who thought there was something wrong with the perfect person he was.

« don't dare think even a hint of negativity about you, » you began, softly, in a whisper so as not to let the tremor in your voice be heard, « you're the best person i've ever known in this world, and i don't say that because you're the most important person to me, but because it's the only true truth. »

« your parents made you the most perfect being in this universe, there's nothing wrong with your personality. » hanbin seemed immersed in your words, as if they were all that mattered right now, and you could feel his skin warming slightly under your fingers placed delicately on his cheeks. « that random girl don't want to be with you because you're too perfect? it's okay, someone else will love you fully instead. »

« you're still young, you have your whole life ahead of you, » your eyes gazed into his, as if you were trying to overcome and fight every bad thought stuck in hanbin's mind right now, « you'll end up finding the person who'll fall in love with you, and won't be afraid to love every green flag that makes up your personality. »

hanbin felt his heart explode in his chest, as he concentrated not only on your every word, but also your heart pounding next to his. he couldn't speak, he didn't know what to say — it was as if you'd invaded his thoughts and stolen his words. he'd forgotten about the crappy date he'd had a few hours earlier, and was trying to convince himself that telling you now that you were everything he wanted, was a bad idea.

but that bright gleam in your eyes made him realize that it was you who ran through his mind every day and night, over and over again. it may have been a cliché, but his heart felt fulfilled only in your presence. you soothed his every woe without realizing it, helping him to always look on the bright side of life, you were synonymous with stability, happiness and reassurance for him.

his grip around your waist tightened, unconsciously, without your noticing. you just let him do as he pleased, your hands still clinging tenderly to his face. you looked deep into his eyes, looking for the slightest sign of any negative thought still present — but he seemed lost in the sincerity of your eyes to think of anything else.

« you are such a perfect little arrangement of atoms. » — he could hear the smile on your lips as the words left your mouth, as his pupils juggled from one eye to the other once again. it was probably the nicest thing he'd heard in a long time, and the simple fact that it came from you filled him with joy. trying as you might to lean a little closer to him, you placed a light kiss on the top of his cheekbone. it was like an angel's kiss, soft and light, but as warm as a ray of sunshine, filled with a cloud of kindness and love beyond compare — hanbin could feel the tips of his ears heating up furiously at the same time his heart began to accelerate in his chest.

« you deserve someone who loves every little things about you. » while you simply tried to reassure him, remaining focused on his perfect face that almost made your head spin, hanbin again seemed lost in thought. you unhooked one of your hands from his cheeks to put the messy strands of his hair back in place, paying no attention to the deviation of his gaze from your attentive beloved eyes, to your rosy lips painted with a smile. hanbin thought he was going crazy, thinking about kissing you at a time like this — but he couldn't help thinking that in the end, disappointment after disappointment, the only person he still had left was you. and everything seemed so obvious suddenly : his feelings, the effect of your hands on his skin, the sound of your laughter that turned his heart upside down, your comforting voice that he wanted to hear every night before going to sleep. all this time, the only person he really loved and wanted was you.

but the constant fear of losing you and spoiling what was already there between you two, crackled unceasingly in his mind. what idiocy, he thought, knowing that despite everything, he couldn't live without you. you were his ride or die, you'd been with him every step of the way, and this was certainly not the end of your beautiful story. that the story continues as a passionate love story to make romance novels green with envy, or as an unconditional friendship that will never fade, you'll end up by his side until your last breath.

as he found your eyes again with his own, he observed them for a long time without saying anything. trying to remain calm despite the distressing perfection of his face close to yours, you let go of the lock of hair caught between your fingers to find his cheek again. but before you could put it back in place, it was captured by the boy's, who slowly interlaced your fingers with his own. you didn't know what to do, you panicked slightly inside : it wasn't the first time he'd held your hand, nor the first time he'd looked at you that way, but it was the first time his gesture had seemed so natural.

you could feel his heartbeat beating in unison with yours against your chest, and his thumb, which began to caress your skin, didn't help to calm your desilusory ideas. « i need someone like you. » he said suddenly, with a sigh, like a secret that only you had the right to hear. but it wasn't enough, it wasn't what you wanted to hear : you wanted him to want only you.

then you drew your face to his, slowly, and tenderly, you placed a kiss on the corner of his lips. an innocent kiss, as light as a cloud, so sweet he seemed to dream — but it was real, and now he knew. he knew that only you could love every part of him, every fiber of his body, every feature of his personality. you were the only one who could fulfill him, make him happy, make him in love, hopelessly in love.

so he decided to be bold, and look into your eyes — into the depths of your eyes, and say those words that ricocheted in your little head. « no, » he said more firmly, as if he was one hundred percent sure of what he was about to say, « i need you. just you. you're all i've ever needed. »

a storm erupted inside you, as you contained all the euphoria that had just exploded in your body, invading every muscle in it. everything you ever wanted was in your hands — and the indescribable love you had suddenly seemed reciprocal. but something wasn't right for you : your more mature thoughts whispered to you that it wasn't what you wanted. so you bit your lower lip, almost regretting having a brain at the very moment when everything you'd ever wanted was being handed to you on a silver platter. but you had to be sure of one thing.

« i don't want you to need me, » you replied, a kind, almost sad smile creeping across your lips, « i want you to love me. » — but that's all it took for hanbin react, and realize that he had to prove his words. and his love for you.

so even though his evening had begun with a monumental fiasco of a date he didn't even want in the first place, he decided to end his night by proving to you, in a princely kiss, that all the love crackling in his heart was destined to you.

you couldn't describe how you felt when his lips mingled with yours — it was far too powerful to explain in words. you'd been dreaming for years of being able to try out kissing the person you considered your soulmate, tasting the taste of their love, feel his heart resonate in yours, the warmth of his touch burn your skin with a delicate heat. it was just as you had imagined : as precious as a diamond, as pleasant as a gift, as melting as chocolate, as soft as cotton, accompanied by a powerful love that surpassed all your imagination. your heart could have stopped at any moment, its beat ready to explode in your chest — he had found that one heart that would beat at its side for many years to come. and you'd just found the perfect arrangement of atoms that could invade yours without restraint.

after a few passionate kisses, a few words of love and a few overwhelming proof, you once again found yourself lost in the warm sincerity of hanbin's eyes and the undeniable beauty of his tender smile. in the end, you had finally tasted the exquisite pleasure of winning the benevolent heart of the boy for whom you could give everything — and the reward for your legendary patience was considerable. hanbin was yours, completely yours now.

maybe hanbin was too perfect for her, but for you, he was just the right dose of perfect.

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[bridgetotheskyyy]

snapshot.

summary: Deidara meets a superfan

warnings: Smut, 18+, rough sex, choking, pool sex, reader has a bit of a description, reader is complex, mentions of killing

word count: 6.9k

a/n: I had this idea shortly after conceptualizing Apprentice and while I was, like 70 or 80% done with that fic. And now we have this fucking 7k monster. I consider this to be a spiritual successor to Apprentice, maybe a oppositional series of events even? Idk, you decide lol. There are even some similar words and wordy allusions that you may catch haha. Hope you enjoy!

read on ao3 here. (recommended for extra notes)

Kisame’s wicked cackles reverberated across the cavern walls, summoned from the pit of his stomach; Deidara was sure he would pass out sooner rather than later. 

“It seems,” Pain began, eyeing the sculpture in the center of the room, “you have an admirer, Deidara.” 

Deidara’s brow twitched as a blush snuck across his face. His eyes roved over the sculpture ― the naked sculpture.

Tobi threw up his hands in laudation. “It’s so pretty! ”

Kisame laughed harder ― if it was possible. 

“I have taken it upon myself to apologize to (Y/n),” Pain continued over the cackling. “She’s one of our main contributors, after all; we would be amiss to upset her.” 

“When …” Deidara’s brow held a life of its own, “... did she send this?”

“No clue; I had Kisame retrieve it,” Pain explained. “Apparently, we sent the wrong member to entertain her.”

Kisame’s hand hugged the wall. “You’re damn right! ” 

It was as subtle a joke as could be achieved by Pain and it still wasn’t funny. Deidara’s eyes had not once left the sculpture since Pain had signaled for his attendance, saying it was of the utmost importance he appeared. One arm yawned out to the sky while the other snaked around and brushed against the meat of the breasts ― your breasts. One leg stuck out before the other, the fat of the thigh attached concealing the womanhood. 

Your womanhood. 

Both futile attempts to afford the piece some decency. Futile, Deidara guessed, was the point. It was coquetry. A shameless attempt at flirtation on your part. 

And just in case Deidara was too dense to get the message, you’d taken it upon yourself to leave him one, attached to the foot of the sculpture’s dais:

Hello! Please deliver to Deidara. Thank you.  

It even had a smiley face after the period.

Deidara balled his fist. 

What. The. Fuck.

“(Y/n) must be an incredibly beautiful woman!” Tobi admired the piece with fascination, a sparkling heart encasing his eyehole. “Look at the face, and the hips, and the feet ― ”

“Tobi!” Deidara was beet red. “Shut the hell up!” 

“Deidara,” Pain spoke again, unfazed by the cacophony. “I’m sure you’ll be undertaking a journey west? Since (Y/n) has clearly requested you specifically.”

Deidara’s eyes yo-yoed between their leader and the monstrosity of the naked sculpture. He debated it. Of course, all while fantasizing about shoving explosives down the laughing fishman’s throat and turning him into a pile of sardines. 

Tobi can taste one himself, while I’m at it.  

“What?” Irritation bit Deidara’s tone. “We’re fucking prostitutes now?” 

Pain raised holographic brows. “If it ensures peace, then yes.”

Deidara’s mouth dropped. The audacity of it all. How much was he expected to take? 

“We’re waiting, Deidara.”

A pause. He was no fool. This wasn’t a request, it was an expectation. 

“Fine,” Deidara sighed irritably. “I’ll go, all right?”

“You better,” Kisame said, at last recovering from his fit. “Better get those high heels out and start walking the streets, too!”

Deidara was ready to draw blood ― 

“No need to be crude, Kisame,” Pain’s backdropped against another fit of raucous laughter. 

Says the man who puts a naked STATUE in the room.

“ Honestly, ” Kakuzu spat. “Do the rest of us have to be here for this?” 

“I second that!” Hidan said with relief, “Finally, something we can agree on. ”

“Of course,” Pain said. “You were here in the event Deidara tried to refuse.”

Deidara ignored them all. He gave the sculpture one more scan before swallowing dry and awaiting the end of the call. He could not believe your gall. You were so … brazen . A simple love letter couldn’t have sufficed? No? A naked ― What the fuck was the matter with you?

Still, he was … intrigued. Curiosity was a hooking finger, beckoning him forth. Was that really … your body? Your lips? Your thighs? Your …

Deidara swallowed dry again, his tongue sticking to the top of his palate.

He’d go to the village and put an end to your games. 

And maybe …

He wouldn’t let himself go there ― even if his treacherous mind was wandering already.

<<<>>>

You sat in your museum of sculptures, head tilted up against the gods you had crafted.

The door creaked open.

“I just received Pain’s crow,” your assistant’s voice rang. “Deidara should arrive in another day or so.” 

Stars were in your eyes but you kept your back to her. “Great!”

Your grand plan relied on whether or not Pain, mysterious leader of the Akatsuki, was morally bankrupt enough to hoe out his members. At any point you could’ve been rejected with your sculpture returned swiftly to you. But it worked. You were thrilled. The first part of the plan had succeeded. 

You were going to see him again.

Your assistant’s footsteps tapped repeatedly over the polish floors upon which you now sat. 

“Hmm.” Doubt deflated some of your enthusiasm. “Do you think it was effective enough? You know, for him?”

Your assistant huffed incredulously. “What? Just because Deidara’s a shinobi means he’s immune to pussy? C’mon. You’re not one of those types that thinks all shinobi are noble and stone-faced, are you, (Y/n)-sama?”

  As if. You guffawed. Nobility wasn’t the issue; hundreds of people scoured the red light districts for carnal game. You told your assistant as such. 

“At least seventy percent are shinobi searching for quick thrills,” You joked. “If my math’s correct, anyway. It could be higher. And I know any one of them would be more than happy if a girl simply threw herself at them without need for reimbursement. But still …” You trailed, gaze tailing down the hardened clay of a kimono-garbed sculpture. “I only wondered. It’s been a long time since … I don’t know how dedicated he is to his little terrorist group, is all. He might not be as amused.”

“You answered your own question, ma’am,” your assistant said. “And even if he wasn’t a shinobi, he’s a man. It’ll go down without a hitch! You worry too much.”

You nodded. She was right: despite the years, you wanted to speak to Deidara in his language. Art. How could he resist such an enticement? How could any man, but especially Deidara, due to the manner in which you had sent your little gift. “Okay. Part one of the plan: Complete!”

“What’s the rest of the plan exactly?” You heard the pat, pat, pat and knew from your many years with your assistant that she was thumping her clipboard against her head. “Dinner? Walk on the beach? Or just … Fucking?”

Your smile was evil. “Yes.” 

You held Deidara in your mind’s palm. Blonde hair, gorgeous face .. . One of the most admired artists in Iwakagure ― no, the most. For  could rival Deidara? Even your knees wobbled in the face of his raw talent, even years later. He was still revered in the art community. Of course, his name grew to possess more notoriety than reverence when he started blowing up things ― and people. But, hey everyone was flawed. 

It was only when he went rogue and abandoned the village did you start your own search for him. Years passed and then … reports of a long-haired, blonde shinobi with profound arsonry acuity. Rogue. Affinity for birds.

Bingo. 

Your giggle was shamelessly girlish. “I’d love to woo him.”

Your assistant chuckled. “Aaand you’re not the slightest bit afraid of him? I mean, with all respect, (Y/n)-sama, he’s a criminal. He’s an arsonist. ” 

You licked your lips. “Love me a bad boy.”

“Right,” she said with a chuckle. “Forget I said anything.” 

“I will. Now, let’s get ready.”

<<<>>>

“We’re going to see the girl with the pretty feet, aren’t we, Senpai?” 

“I told you to shut your mouth, Tobi.” 

Deidara’s taller partner buoyed from foot to foot as he tailed behind. Deidara didn’t want to think about your body ― your incredibly artful body, artful in more ways than one … 

The sun crept from the sky as it vivified the color of peachskin. Deidara’s eyes darted hither-thither, collecting information. It was all he could do to not summon one of his explosive birds and fly over this entire, forgotten village. The urge to set it ablaze and go home was immense. A part of him had wanted to make such an entrance, but prudency would never allow it. 

Nor would Leader.

Deidara turned back to Tobi just in time to see him pose, a hand visoring his visible eye while the other landed on his hip. 

“Leader said the pretty naked lady would have someone waiting for us,” Tobi said. 

“Hm,” Deidara said. It was true; they would wait for someone to escort them to you. Until then, they remained lost in one of the village’s districts. The streets were alive with noise and peopled with busy folk. Deidara could tell the amount of businesses actually open were sparse.  Pain had called you one of their main contributors … She must be a big wig to have people doing her dirty work for her. Just who were you? And how were you so familiar with him to send such a thing to the Akatsuki headquarters? 

And if you were so rich, why did you squalor in the dirt with the likes of those in this village?

Thoughts bubbled in the back of Deidara’s mind― 

“Hey …!” 

Outside of a food stall a woman eyed them, holding a curtain back with manicured nails.

Bingo . 

“Tobi,” Deidara gestured. “C’mon.” 

“Okay, senpai!” 

Deidara neared the food stall.

The woman ticked her head to the side with a smile. “Enjoy your gift?”

Pink colored Deidara’s cheeks.

“So, you’re escorting us, right?”

The woman backed away to admit them into the food stall, where the people inside, dining on bowls of ramen and mackerel were too engrossed in their meals to notice the cloaked men enter. 

“You got me,” she winked. “C’mon.”

The woman led them behind the bar, where they slinked through the backdoor into the alley. 

“Don’t need anyone asking questions about the cloaks,” she reasoned. “Surprised you didn’t think of that, Oh Great Deidara of Iwakagure.”

“Of course I did!” Deidara said. “I look stupid to you?”

“No,” the woman’s eyes roamed on Deidara now. “You look cute . My mistress really didn’t lie …” 

Deidara averted his gaze as the woman snickered. Tobi gawked. 

“Does lady think Tobi’s cute, too?” 

“Uh,” she blinked. “Sure.” 

Tobi twirled with a squeal. Deidara rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever,” Deidara said. “Just take us to meet her, all right?”

“Sure …” the woman said. 

They traveled through as street lights blared to life, the sky a bruising purple as evening descended.

“I only wanted us in there to help us blend in a bit,” she guided them through the streets. “I hope it wasn’t too troublesome getting here.” 

“We can care for ourselves,” Deidara said, prickly. 

“You don’t have to be so defensive,” the woman said. “I’m just making conversation.”

“I said don’t worry about it,” Deidara snapped. “So … who is this woman? This mistress of yours?” 

“I’m one of her many assistants, yeah,” the woman said, leading them down a dark street, made darker by the light of day dying faster. “I started working for her years ago. I was so amazed by her art and so intimidated by her talent, I didn’t think she’d accept me. But, surprise surprise.”

“Yeah? So how she so rich? She sell her art?”

“Exactly! People come from all over the world to see her exhibits. She brings so much tourism to this ragtag village. She doesn’t even keep her wealth to herself; she donates so much. She should be much richer than she is! She’s a saint, really.”

So she donates to the Akatsuki, the deadpan of the thought laid flat in his mind. Deidara was silent, tailing shortly behind her. Some saint.

“You called me Deidara of Iwakagure.”

“ … Yes, I suppose I did.”

“So … Your mistress … she knows where I’m from.”

The woman was silent now as she led Deidara and Tobi down street steps to a quieter street, nearly bereft of people beside the occasional deadbeat smoker. 

“She from there, too?” 

Deidara went unanswered. 

Hm, so I’m on to something, Deidara noticed the buildings growing taller, treeing up as the raucous of the village slipped away. They traveled further south. Maybe Pain’s got this wrong; maybe this girl’s a fucking black widow and wants revenge on me for something. Figures, he’s sure he’s broken a few hearts in the past he’d long since forgotten about. But then … Why would she donate so much money to our organization? She clearly believes in it.

“We’re here,” the woman-assistant said.

Deidara raised his head ― and kept raising it. 

Shit . 

The mansion was immaculate, easily the tallest of all of its sisters. Its main building was flanked by towers with onioned tips and was encased in a giant garden, all of it shielded by a surrounding wall. 

Deidara stared, bug-eyed.

The doors to the gate’s entrance burst open and a gaggle of girls filed through. 

“They’re here ―!” 

“Ooh~! there’s two of ‘em!” 

“Mistress will be so pleased!” 

Girls stood star-eyed at Deidara while more hugged themselves to Tobi’s arms. 

“Tobi likes pretty girls!”

“We’ll entertain the other one,” the woman-assistant said with a wink. “You just follow us.”

The woman-assistant led them in where the cult of girls drove Tobi away laughing and giggling. 

“This way,” the woman said. 

Deidara followed her, looking around. From the inside, the mansion opened up like some grand palace from myth, folkloric and mysterious. Columns shouldered the brunt of a ceiling that raised into the darkness. The floors were illustrated scenes from what Deidara recognized as actual myths. Valiant samurais rescued princesses with flaring kimonos, dragons ribboned down hallways. The scenes on the walls diverged from the ones of nobility beneath them, were lavish with depictions of wild courtesans and … 

Deidara blushed. 

Begrudgingly, he had to admit you did have taste; the art was a lot, but wove together into one cohesive masterpiece. The hallways the assistant led him down were flanked by vases winking with sheen and overflowed with bell flowers, roses, sunflowers. The hallway widened into a foyer. Something winked in Deidara’s peripheral and when he looked upward saw that the ceiling domed into a orb of glass, giving way to the first few blink of stars. 

He had entered the lion’s den for sure.

“ Deidara … ” 

The sirenic voice compelled his head to a foyer alcove where a figure shrouded the threshold. 

His eyes widened. 

(E/c) eyes glittered at him. Long legs supported swaying hips. Elegant cleavage sinking into a familiar mound of breasts. Delicate hands, hickey-worthy neck … 

And lovely ― and lovely … 

Inwardly, he sighed, defeated.

Feet.  

The naked sculpture colored Deidara’s memory. 

“Deidara!” You parroted in awe. Your expression shifted as you came to smolder at him. “In the flesh. And just in time for dinner.”

Your kimono waterfalled as you left the alcove. Deidara gulped, speechless as you sauntered to him.

“It ―” Deidara’s cheeks grew hot. “It really is you …” 

“It really is me …” 

Your woman-assistant's eyes tennis-balled between you and Deidara before bowing respectfully. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” 

She hurried away down a different alcove. 

Deidara shook his head in a desperate attempt to reclaim his senses. Fucking hell, Dei, get a grip.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “I ―”

“I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” You began to turn, “Let me show you ―”

“Wait, I think we should discuss monetary terms first,” Deidara said in a futile attempt to hold some ground over the woman. 

“Hm?” You blinked. “Didn’t your leader explain things to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The money comes after the evening,” you winked at him. “Of course.” 

Pain, you fucking ― 

“Deidara …” You revered, pulling the sleeve of your kimono back over your shoulder. “Before dinner, I would love for you to see the rest of my work.” 

“Your,” Deidara deadpanned, blinking, “work?”

“Yes,” You smirked at him. “You enjoyed the piece I already had you review, I presume?” 

Deidara fought to keep things on the issue at hand, but his eyes grew preoccupied with the twinkle in yours. The sky above the two of you had plunged into a chief darkness. Candles flared to life to douse the hall in tangerine light. 

Deidara turned a blind eye to it. “Your assistant called me Deidara of Iwakagure.” 

You eyed him. “Did she …?” you said coyly. “I’m glad she didn’t try and call you anything else; she’s got a mouth on her.”

“How do you know me?” 

You shied away. Your head dipped. Deidara tried to ignore the cuteness of it all. 

Focus, damnit.

“I’m guessing you’re from Iwagakure, too?” Deidara pressed. “What are you playing at?” 

You took your time. “Yeah, Deidara, we have a village in common.” You began to walk, crossing the columns to circle him. “Do you remember the underground competitions that used to be held there?” 

“Hm,” Deidara recalled and relished in the ego trip it afforded him. Dark rooms. Rowdy spectators circled around art pieces under makeshift stage lights like cavemen around fire. It was before he left the Iwagakure, when he was still itching to engage in the village’s indie art scene before growing bored of the whole thing. “I won most of them.” 

“I used to show up early and wait for you to showcase your things,” You glazed with memory. “You were always my favorite.” 

Deidara smirked. “Hm, naturally. So you’re, what, some kind of superfan Not like I’m surprised, but …”

You thread past a column to scoop up a candle holder. 

“You could say that,” you said. I have something to show you, if you follow me.”

He obliged, curiosity hooking him with a second finger. Candle flame lit like thin clovers to ward off the darkness. The flames illuminated the sway of your hips as he trailed. The sleeve of your kimono slipped past your shoulder again, revealing the skin of your neck and shoulder pad to him …

Why am I even noticing? 

You brought him to a room hidden behind a set of rectangular doors.

“This is where I keep them.” 

You pushed the doors open with a strength Deidara wouldn’t have expected. 

Deidara entered ― and stopped.

It was a museum of art; animal pieces blazed his vision; exotic birds in flight, elegant cranes, all shaded and hued with masterful care and, if Deidara hadn’t been who he was, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize them as pieces done with clay. There were apricot-colored foxes, a dragon head amongst a dragon bust. Deidara recognized a few self sculptures in the forest of pieces. Obscure structures too abstract to be assigned to names dotted space, esoteric symbols eluding even him …

“You inspired me to create my own art,” You explained as he gawked. You inched to him and brazenly took his hand in yours.

Deidara jumped from the sudden contact and found your pretty face in the dim light. Stop … stop. A part of him wanted to summon a tongue to taste the salt on your palm. 

“It’s how I’ve made my money,” you continued as you tugged him along the aisles of work like an excited child.

“So you’re that kind of fan,” Deidara said as he recovered. And, what do you want from me?” he chuckled in disbelief, “My critique?”

“Of course.” 

He wasn’t expecting an honest answer forthright. Sincerely, he roved eyes over your work. 

“Hm, well …” he approached one, taking inventory of it head to foot. “Give me the candle.”

You obeyed.

“You’ve got a great understanding of color, I’ll give you that,” Deidara examined. “Painting can be messy, especially on clay ― and honestly so many artists use colors so … bluntly; it makes the whole thing come off as garish.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He laughed at that. “Hm! … You’ve got a great eye. And I don’t hand out compliments easily.” He raised the candle to illuminate another sculpture. “How long did this one take you?” 

“Five weeks,” You answered before chuckling somewhere behind him. “It’s funny, I sketched and re-sketched this one so many times, it was technically seven weeks.”

“A perfectionist. I like that.” 

Deidara found himself smiling. Rarely did he get to talk to someone about art or its many processes. Deidara thought of Sasori and was touched with a tinge of respect for his fallen partner. But, of course, they’re philosophies so often chafed against one another. But you … An image of him helping you craft one of your pieces came to his mind: his hands guiding yours over unsophisticated clay, paint dashing your collarbone, maybe on your lips … 

“Deidara …?”

Your voice brought him out of his thoughts, only for him to realize you were now in front of him. 

“We could talk about this more over dinner.” 

Your hands grazed his forearms and for some reason he didn’t pull away. The alluring scent of your perfume flirted up his nose. 

Deidara’s cock twitched; he kicked himself inwardly. What was he? A fucking teenage boy? He had half of a mind to shove you away, end this … whatever this was.

But none of that happened. Instead, he agreed. And, taking his hand again with fingers threaded through his, you led him out of your museum. 

<<<>>>

You let him to the roof of one of your buildings, where moonlight bestowed diamonds over the still waters of your pool and the dinner table waited, illuminated by more candles. 

“You’re a real hot shot now, aren’t you?” Deidara said.

You blushed as he surveyed dinner. “Is it too much?” 

“Nah, if anything it’s just the artist in you dying to come out,” he shrugged. “I respect that.”

You moved to take a seat, Deidara following you. He stopped you, pulling out the chair for you. 

You sank to your chair with a mixture of surprise and thrill. “What a gentleman. ”

“Just showing my respect, is all.” 

You snapped your fingers and two waiters appeared to kneel before you, plates of food in hand. 

Deidara did a double-take. “Wow.”

The waiters displayed the food and took their leave. His favorite: bakudan.

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Deidara said.

“Yeah.”

“Hm …” he could not pretend as though he was not impressed, but he could try as he took his seat.

He remembered the art shows in Iwagakure. You were always there? Did he ever see you? Even if he had, you would’ve been little more than a nobody to him, another sycophant he rightfully deserved amongst a herd of fawns and nothing more. You’re telling me all that time … I had a groupie groupie?

“Hey,” he said. “Remember when you said you used to attend my showcases.”

You lowered your fork to raise your brows. “I remember ten minutes ago, yeah.”

Deidara’s own brow twitched. Cheeky cunt . Then kicked himself; he didn’t want to think about your cunt. He watched your tongue swipe your plump lower lip ― then kicked himself again. 

“Why didn’t you ever try to talk to me?” Deidara asked. “I mean,” he leaned back in his chair, dangling his fork, “not like I needed any encouragement, even back then, but what gives? If you were such a fan ―”

“I was shy, back then …” You said. You toyed with your food. You had turned bashful, like a schoolgirl. “Still am, to be honest.”

He scoffed. “Hm! Says the woman who sends naked sculptures of herself to people.” 

You waved your fork. “What can I say? You bring out the wild girl in me,” The glint in your eye turned seductive. “Always have …”

Deidara gulped. What did that mean? You play with yourself with me in mind? Is that it?

Thinking that was another mistake;  images of you sieved into his mind. Sweet, feminine hands sinking in between the softness of your thighs, fingers grazing your wet lips to ... 

What did you smell like? Did you smell as good there as you did everywhere else? 

He shook his head. Fuck . 

“So you’re telling me,” Deidara said just to say something, “you have absolutely no issue with what I do.” 

“I don’t know,” You coquetted. “What do you do?”

“Don’t play coy . You contacted Akatsuki. You know damn well what I mean.” 

You were silent. 

“Killing people,” Deidara said. “Blowing them to smithereens. Kidnapping. The gods know what else. You’re cool with all that?”

Your manicured hand wrapped around your wine glass. You raised it, but before bringing it to your lips: 

“Birds of a feather.” 

You drank. 

What? 

“Come again?” 

You smacked your lips. “You’re not the only one who’s killed a few.” 

A pause. You set aside your drink before challenging his gaze. 

“Care to elaborate?” he asked. 

“I had an assistant once,” you began. “She told me she was desperate for a job, but you wouldn’t know by the run of her mouth. She complained, took off without warning. But then it turned out she had sticky fingers; she tried to steal one of my pieces. I’d had enough.” You leaned over the table as though you feared Deidara wouldn’t hear. “So I killed her. Used her for my piece after the last.”

“And,” Deidara swallowed, “your current girl …”

“You’ve already met her,” you said. “She’s mouthy, too ― but not to me.” 

You had killed, not only that ― encased a girl inside your work. She had wanted your art, and she had gotten her wish. 

“That’s …” Deidara trailed. “... Amazing.”

You smiled. “So, you see, I have no problem with what you do. Who am I to judge, am I right?” 

“Do the villagers judge you?”

“This village has seen enough strife for a lifetime,” You said. “I don’t think they’d mind learning about indiscretion ― especially if they knew why I killed her.”

Deidara raised an eyebrow. “So you donate bundles of cash to clear your conscience?”

“My conscience is clear,” You said. “People shouldn’t have to suffer any more than they already do. I want this village to prospect. I donate because I want to.” You popped a piece of food into your mouth. “You never answered me, by the way.”

“About what?” 

“The sculpture,” Your eyes narrowed with coquetry again, a glint especially bright and beautiful in your eye with aid from the moonlight. “Did you like it?” 

Deidara’s heart beat especially loud in his ears ― and this time he didn’t kick himself for it. 

“... Yeah,” he relented. “Yeah, I liked it.” 

“And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen any of your work, Deidara,” You raised to leave your seat. “Why don’t you show me something?” 

Deidara’s eyes widened. Far was he ever from an opportunity to flex his brilliance, especially on someone so appreciative ― so 

deserving. 

“Sure!”

Enthusiasm straightened your shoulders. “Really? I mean, If you need ―”

“I don’t need anything,” he said, waving you away. “Just stand back!” 

You obeyed, eyes bright from the contagion of his excitement. So aptly memorized did he have the hand signs, Deidara didn’t care to glance at them. Instead, he watched you try to futilely follow his movements. 

<<<>>>

Clay spilled like milk from mouths on Deidara’s hands to form into creatures before your eyes ― you blinked furiously and each time you did another creature was born; small dragons, spherical creatures with eyes, birds, and one, growing piece of clay, raising meters above the ground. It looked like a snowman to you but, knowing Deidara, it was leagues more dangerous. 

You stepped back, overwhelmed by the breadth of Deidara’s creation, Deidara’s artistry . 

One of Deidara’s clay birds flapped its wings, swerved in the air and landed gracefully on the cliff of your shoulder. 

“So,” Deidara’s smirk brightened his face and sent a throb to your nether regions, “what do you think?” 

What do I think? You pet the bird’s clay-made wing. What do I think?  

You took a step. The roof crowded with his creatures to dab white ivory among the encroaching night. 

Surely, it helped being a ninja; Deidara possessed powers you could only dream of understanding. Still. Your mouth hung agape at the amount of things he could spring alive from the literal palms of his hand. Your eyes followed up at his bigger piece, more of a monument to you than a mound of clay. 

He’s a god. A god among men. A god of art.

“Hm!” 

Poof.

You startled. Some of the pieces began disappearing. They left the roof choking with smoke until only his large, snowman-like piece remained. 

“I see you’ve been stunned into silence by my art,” Deidara said. 

You didn’t reply, only began to step forward. 

“Hm!” Deidara looked away, crossed his arms. “It’s only natural, after all, to have your breath taken away by my artiste.” 

Another step. Another. 

“I’m sure our leader didn’t even tell you what I’m capable of.”

Another. 

“It’s a good thing, too ―” 

You were running now. 

“It would’ve spoiled the surprise ―” 

You pounced on Deidara. He cried out but you barely heard it as the force propelled you both backward, falling hard and fast into the swimming pool. 

<<<>>>

Bubbles spilled from Deidara’s mouth. He could feel your hands on him, somewhere, everywhere ― 

He looked to the surface of the water and swam toward it. He could not feel your hands anymore.

He came up for air, looking around for you. 

“(Y/n)!” 

Then you emerged ― but he had no time to register it as your arms came around him. You pulled him down toward you, your lips crashing into his in a wet kiss. 

“Mm …!” 

Your tongue ran over the hard shell of his palate. Your hands held his cheeks. Your legs hooked around his waist to trap him between your thighs.

“That was ― mm ― the most ― mm ― amazing thing I’ve ever ― mm! ― seen!”

Deidara’s hands found you ― and immediately met skin; your kimono, having not been able to withstand the pull of the water, slid dangerously past your shoulders, the folds opened wide so he could feel the full cushion of your breasts against him. 

Oh, fuck.

Just as he began to play with your tongue, you broke away.

You faced him with heavy-lidded eyes, drops of water falling from your abused lips. 

“Let me make good on my promises to Pain,” Your hands hooked behind his neck. 

“Wha ― what?”

“Fuck me, Deidara,” Your voice was thick with lust. “I told him the quantity of my donation was completely dependent on how hard you fucked me. It would be an honor to be fucked by such an amazing artist!” 

That sent something to his dick. 

The surprise dissipated. He smirked. “Really …? Is that so …” 

He gripped your throat and hoisted you above him. He heard you gasp and tightened his grip, feeling the twitch of his cock in response to the  victimized sound. 

“Beg for it,” he ordered.

“ Oh … ” You whimpered. Your head fell back as Deidara’s hand served as a brace. 

He reached downward and tugged at the wet bow of your kimono. He yanked it and reveled in it coming apart to reveal the rest of you.

“ Beg. For me .”

Everything you did and had done was a plea for him, he admitted, but the idea of you begging vocally made him painfully hard. His eyes drank in your naked form still half submerged in the water. Wet tits in his face. A droplet of water fell away from a nipple. 

“Please …” came your breathless voice. “Please, fuck me ― oh … ” 

He thumbed at the tempting nipple, pert and so responsive to his touch. 

“ Nothing underneath, ” he feigned chastisement, pinching the nipple between his fingers. “Fucking slut .” 

He tightened his grip twofold and was pleasantly surprised with the moan you rewarded him with. The strict fit of his pants was becoming too much to bear. You jerked in his hold, tits jiggling in his face. 

“ Please, fuck me, Deidara!” 

Satisfied, He set you down and watched you bounce in the water before yanking you forward. He pressed his mouth against yours once again. You reached for him to no avail; he spun you, your back now pressed hard against the side of the pool. He released your mouth to dabble kisses at your neck, biting at pieces of skin. 

“ Fuck …!” You arched and Deidara fell into the dip of your curve.

You gripped his hand to bring it to your face. He stopped kissing you to look at what you had in mind, his tongue still present at his palm. 

Your lips traced his palm and began to kiss the tongue there. 

“Mmm …”

Deidara laughed as you tongue-kissed his hand. “You really are a fucking weirdo, aren’t you?”

The tongue slithered over your own. You released a moan and closed your mouth over the tongue, a flushed red tainting your cheeks. Your hand pressed behind the back of his hand, forcing it to deepen the kiss, to nibble at his tongue. Deidara hitched a breath. You sucked it further into your mouth. 

“ Ah ― y … you wanna suck on something so badly …” Deidara murmured. “MaybeI should give you something more legit, hm …”

You mewled in approval. His tongue retreated from your mouth and he felt a twinge of triumph when you gasped for air. He approached you. A hand ghosted over your neck before ramming you hard against the wall of the pool, the force with which he’d done it so hard he was sure its cement edge imprinted on your upper back. With his other hand he tugged his trousers down. 

You met his eyes.

“Take a deep breath.” 

And he plunged you into the water.

He looked down, watched the water dance as your squiggly reflection gripped his cock and fit it into your mouth. 

Deidara groaned. His head fell back as you hollowed your cheeks and took him in. The water did nothing to stall your mouth; you bobbed your head, stroking what couldn’t fit into your mouth. 

Deidara steadied himself with a hand at the pool’s edge, entranced by how your tongue rolled back to lick his head each time you pulled away, only to take him deep into the back of your throat when pulling in ― 

“ Nargh …! ” 

A hand palmed at his balls while another tightened around his cock. Deidara reached for your head in the water to thread fingers into your head and force you harder onto his cock. 

“ Aah … shit! ” He wanted you to choke on it. He wanted to own your mouth. 

And apparently you wanted that, too; you popped him from your mouth a few times. You hadn’t come up for air once since he’d submerged you, his cock now your only business. He yanked your head up. He forced a kiss, the taste of himself in your mouth driving him mad.

“Enjoying dinner, I see, hm, hah …” he quipped, eyes heavy on your hand still stroking his cock. “What a pro. ” 

“Only for you, Deidara-senpai. ”

You hand abandoned his cock and you licked him off your palm. Without his help you went under, fitting his cock in your mouth a second time. Deidara kept your hair from your mouth as you sucked him. His cockhead hit the back of your throat and, oh , you didn’t choke, only took more, more. Greedy cunt. 

He imagined you practicing this for him, only for him, your senpai. Your mouth hungering for what wasn’t truly there. Deidara squeezed eyes shut; close, close. You were sucking his cock as though his was the only one in the world, worshiping with your mouth and tongue. He imagined your lungs desperate for air, screaming for them, yet your mouth too transfixed to care. 

A fucking servant for him, obedient to his cock. 

Deidara’s cock twitched. His groan was low and rumbling as he spilled his seed into your willing mouth. You sucked hard, jerked him into your mouth. Your mouth slicked with his cum and grew impossibly warm. Saliva and his own seed coated his cock. 

“Aaah-ha- ahh …! ” 

He scalped you as he emptied into your mouth, cum guzzling down your throat.

At last, you popped him from your mouth and emerged before him, mouth and lips thoroughly abused.

Deidara’s gaze cast down on you. He caught his breath in the seconds absent of words. 

“I could use a girl like you,” Deidara exhaled. 

You popped your lips, eyes dreamy and narrow. “I think you just did,”

“Hm! An apprenticeship, then?”

You recovered immediately. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

He smirked at his own prospect and pulled you to him. “C’mere.”

He emerged from the pool before helping you follow suit. He removed his black fishnet shirt and flung it away. He drank you in. Naked, in the flesh ― and wet, right when he thought you couldn’t be improved upon.

You settled atop the dinner table and waited for him. Deidara came to you.

“Spread those legs.” 

 You acquiesced. He licked his lips at the sight of your puffy, glistening cunt.

“You wouldn’t be my first,” You said, “but you’ll be my last.”

He slotted into the space you afforded him. He caressed your vulva before giving it a firm slap. You yelped and his lip upturned at the sound. He slid a finger between your folds, encouraged by your appreciative mewls. 

He gripped the fat of your cheeks and forced you to look at him and not his adventurous fingers. 

“Your best. ” 

You hooked your legs behind him as he geared his cock grazed your folds ― 

And thought he might cum just from the sound of your drawn out moan when he slid inside you. 

He bucked from instinct, the firm grip of your twat clouding his senses. Again he went for your throat, the appendage becoming its permanent resting place. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” Deidara breathed out, thrusting hard. “Leader’s gonna get his fucking money’s worth …” 

Hands gripped his wrists tight as he began to fuck you, the table wobbling slightly underneath your mewling body. 

“Yes …! Ye―Yes, oh!” You clung to him, Deidara’s hands upholding you. “ Fuc ― oh, Yes! I owe Pain my life ― oh! ” 

He released your throat just to bite at it. He sunk his teeth into your skin while his hands committed to making scarlet red prints against your ass.

“ Fuck, you’re ―” Deidara stammered. The feel of your cunt swallowing him was too much. He recalled Kisame’s threat to fuck you himself. Not on your life, sharkman . And he felt himself thrust hard just to affirm you were his. He’d set the entire world ablaze before anyone else could experience the wonderful grip of your cunt. “You’re mine. ”

You tugged him to your lips again and kissed him. A moan from you vibrated against his lips. He reached downward to tease your clit and your legs trembled at his sides.

“ Fuck, Deida ―” You flung your head back. “ I’m ― ”

He knocked you onto the table and lifted your legs over his shoulders. He began to pound you, relishing in the bounce of your tits. Plates fell to the floor and shattered as he wrecked your cunt. 

He choked you again, sure there would be a greater hand-shaped bruise once he was through. He flicked your clit, thumbed it. Your scream rumbled under his grip as his balls slapped your ass. 

Your moans grew shrill, and you clenched ―

“ Fuck …! ” Deidara lost himself in your tight cunt. He slapped your clit, grip dangerously tight at your neck―

“Yes, please!” You called out as you came, “Dei― Deidara!”

Spurts of cum left his cock and sucked into your cunt. You convulsed and convulsed. You showed him the whites of your eyes as you came. Deidara held you to him by your thighs. A few more weak thrusts and he gave out on top of you, his chin hiding in the crook of your shoulder.

A few moments passed. Deidara raised his head, caught you over the corner of his eye. “So … everything you wanted?”

“And more, ” You sang.

He maneuvered to place a kiss at the heart of your collarbone, still so fascinated with it. He removed himself from you before assisting you as best as he could. 

“Did you mean it?” You inquired after a few moments more.

“Hm?” 

“About me being your apprentice?” 

“... Hm,” Deidara shrugged. “Well, I’ll have to check my schedule. But, if it all adds up, I wouldn’t mind having you by my side.” 

You squealed, engulfed him in a hug. 

“Ah, ah!” Deidara fought you off. “Okay, okay, whatever!”

“Oh, I’m so excited! ” You bounced. “So, so ― wait!” 

You pulled back, smirked up at him.

“I almost forgot,” You said. “Your payment … ”

<<<>>>

“Two million yen,” Pain said. “All in a single donation ― our highest to date. I assume it went well?” 

“Hm!” Deidara said. “Very!”

“And Miss (Y/n) tells me she’ll be requesting you monthly from now on,” Pain continued. “Each time with the same donation or higher.” 

“Are you telling me Deidara’s dick is going to fund all our expeditions from now on?” Kisame mocked. 

“And the rest of our lives,” Kakuzu’s voice tipped in interest, “if this goes on …”

“Don’t get any ideas, Kakuzu!” Hidan barked. “We’re not whoring ourselves out.”

“Shut up,” Kakuzu bit back. “I’ve never even thought about it. Unless …”

“What girl would wanna fuck you? ” 

“A satisfied and wealthy client means less worry over how we secure our money,” Pain said, ignoring the bickering, “so, in a manner of speaking, yes. Deidara will aid in contributions― as we all should.” 

“Well, then, we’re all set!” Deidara said. 

“There’s just one thing that irks me about this whole endeavor,” Pain said. “... Where is Tobi?” 

“...”

“... He didn’t come back with you, did he?” 

“... No.”

“...” 

Pain sighed.

“... Go back and get him, Deidara.”

[doppel-doodles]

Since everyone is making their own little version of the characters I thought I would join the fun for my Fallen crown Au! These were supposed to be quick little sketches just to get some ideas down but they still took me the whole day:'D will probably change as I draw them but I wanted at least something down on for the time being and I do like how most turned out!

Single versions plus some info and ramblings about each under cut for those interested:

My lamb was mainly based on both, yes the actual player character but also the vibes of my own plathrough which were very "oh god who let this child be in charge?-" while I'll still mostly just call them Lamb I figured they should still have a proper name so I went with my friends @/tamaruaart suggestion as it suits them rather nicely! And most note worthy detail is honestly just the fact that they carry something from each bishops realm on their person now, I like to think they treat those items like little trophies:>

Narinder is probably my weakest I feel like, he definitely needs something to give him some extra "ompf!". I basically made his undertaker fit a sorta reverse or at least loosely inspired by his white robes in game. I imagine he is very boney or a straight up skeleton underneath so he covers it all up beneath heavy fabrics, but because I lack subtly I still covered him in bones regardless-

And yea I kept the veil cause 1. It's a look and 2. It coviently covers up his now sewn shut third eye.

There wasn't much reason behind making him an undertaker, I simply thought it suited him, when your the former god of death you aren't exactly squeamish around corpses. Lastly the dark blues are there to contrast the other followers warm tones, as they kinda seen him as an outcast which is just fine for narinder he isnt exactly thrilled to be here.

I'll put Leshy and Heket together as they were sorta designed as a set.Since they are both youngest among the bishops I sorta latched onto the headcanon that they get along pretty well and just stick together after getting into the cult so they just share a lot of their duties. So I gave them some matching elements like the puffy shorts but also stuff that contrasts like Leshy having looser clothing and Hekets being more tight. Or Heket getting working gloves with a little belt to hold tools plus a hat for the sun, meanwhile Leshy will happily dig through the dirt bare clawed in the sun for hours-

I debated on giving Heket an apron but honestly I think she would only wear one while cooking or tending the farm plots there is no reason for her to wear it casually, the gloves though stay for I reason I utterly love because its PETTY-

Literally the only reason she keeps them on almost constantly is because when the lamb asks she can be like "ew, I'm not touching you with my bare hands." Yes, my humour is broken moving on-

I also gave Leshy a cane just so he actually has something to feel around with when he is areas he isn't too familiar with so he isn't running into crap- on that note, Heket can speak a bit but not exactly loud or for a very long time without seriously hurting her throat, once I properly learn it I definitely wanna draw her using sign language.

Lastly bodies, Leshy was based off a previous drawing I made of him in bishop form, I simply made it less monsterous but he is in charge of chaos so he had to remain a creature- Heket is more straight forward, she is a frog and she is large and in charge.

There was one reason why I made Shamura a tailor and that was the mental image of them sewing the bishops clothes when they were younger and dressing them up all cute.

I went for more pink colors mainly because I thought it better suited the purple and would make their red eyes pop! Honestly I really love their colors they remind me of a Berry! I've drawn shamura before but honestly the only things that stuck were the colors,face and then also the hand markings I did tweak their eyes a bit I wanted something more stern feeling.

For clothing I kept everything nice and loose, while they are the tailor I also love the idea that in their spare time they either teach the youths in the cult or are like the champion of the fighting pit because war is also their domain and they can be- so I wanted them dressed pretty comfy to deal with whatever may come! But still keep everything pretty mature and mildly fancy maybe in the future I'll do some fancy gold and silver embroidery to the pants because of that.

As for body type I wanted them to be pretty thin but unlike Narinder who is twink material under his cloak they have a bit more bulk on top to show that they can choose violence if they so wish-

I adore me some pathetic but still serving men, honestly except for the cross on his belt I completely ignored the fact I made him a medic- If he needs to treat something gross he can throw something over to protect his clothes but just like Heket there is no reason for him to wear that while not working.

Otherwise my main goal was simply to make Kalamar look pretty and fancy. I debated on either short or long bottoms until I realized I'd have to figure out his tentacle situation, then realized I don't hate myself THAT MUCH so bro got put into a floor length gown, work smarter not harder kids.

If I have an excuse to give a character a shawl I will take it so fast.

His body type I mainly wanted to flesh out the roster so I tried making him very squishy and huggable looking, I debated on thinner so he looked more dangly and stretchy but that made him kinda to similar to Narinders build for my liking.

[crimeronan]

In titan P!Luz AU, in the scenario that Amity, Hunter, and Lilith do manage to escape to the Owl House (pRolOng ThEiR GriEf yyeeeSS >:)), how would Eda even deal with this? She’d understand how serious the situation is, but let’s say Luz does come back RIGHT in the middle of the Owl House, now looks like a humanoid version of King, and Hunter won’t let go of her while she’s like I need to go kill Belos RIGHT NOW.

i just showered and spent the entire time still thinking about this timeline because i love SO MUCH that it's like. a hunter extended grief spiral to match luz's over in the worst timeline. WHEEEE BE MISERABLE ABOUT EACH OTHER !! YAYYY

so.

antics in the owl house.

lilith is transparently coming apart at the seams, given that she's just lost her status AND any chance to heal eda's curse. amity is responding to this by scrabbling even harder for any bit of control she can get, which typically involves yelling at hunter and/or lashing out at hooty with her abomination magic.

and hunter is.... well. hunter.

so. eda is like well. we're all gonna kill each other eventually!! ah well. the world's gone to hell. this might as well happen . I Fucking Guess

at first hunter responds very similarly to the way he does in ftf -- after amity refuses to let him go martyr himself, he THROWS himself into making plans to attack belos. however even with all his castle knowledge and belos knowledge and wild magic knowledge, it's Pretty Fucking Difficult to assassinate the emperor. particularly when you are Public Enemy Number One.

after frustrating himself about a dozen times in a row, hunter starts digging through all of eda's books on wild magic and deeply illegal dark magic and other bullshit. eda assumes it's for more emperor-killing business, until hunter comes to her all like

hunter: owl lady.

eda: ....yes??

hunter: you know things about curses, don't you??

eda: well. some. obviously. you want to curse the emperor?

hunter: no, not that. it probably wouldn't take. i want you to curse me.

lilith, who was previously pacing around the kitchen, zipping into the room: hello. What.

hunter: there are Apparently curses that can take away a person's emotions. that'll make it easier to work without distractions. let's be practical about this

eda: ....those curses aren't a painkiller, kid. you wouldn't be able to feel anything positive, either. that's not the kind of life you want to give yourself

hunter: i don't Need positive feelings to get this done. i'll be able to remember my pre-curse priorities without any feelings getting in the way. as far as i'm concerned there's nothing but upsides!

lilith: cursing someone isn't something to undertake lightly-

hunter: wow! there is literally no one else on this island whose opinion i care about less than yours. anyway. eda, are you going to help me or not.

eda: ....not when you just lost someone, i'm not.

hunter, voice breaking: no, wait, please. Please. listen to me. i need to stop thinking about her. i'll do anything. i'm open to other solutions, i just - please.

eda: well, i'm not using a cursed solution to your emotional problems. that's a non-starter. i CAN get you really drunk, though. do you want to get Really, Really Drunk??

lilith: EDALYN-

eda: WHAT. it's not like drinking can make him feel WORSE.

hunter: actually. yeah. yeah that sounds great. probably the most useful thing short of a coma right now, so.

amity, muddy and covered in goop, coming in from where she's been outside wrestling hooty for like the tenth time today: if hunter is getting drunk, i would Also like to be drunk. just so everyone knows.

lilith: .....titan help me. fine. Fine. pour me a glass too. it's not as though anything matters anymore!!!! haHA!!!!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Third Imposter: Undertaker

Dressed in the gray suit

Undertaker is called onto the ship when the number of the dead begins to rise

Immediately cleared of any suspicion he’s expected to be a neutral party

Nutty but mostly neutral

Whether you don’t mind his morbid humor or you think it highly inappropriate

He’s planning to spend as much time with you as humanely possible

"Where ya' runnin' off to now Lieutenant? Can't I join ya?"

Even if the lieutenant and the Mortician don’t usually spend time together

But alas his laughter is the best payment and for someone with morbid humor like his 

He doesn’t mind lending a hand to the alien or galactic crime syndicate imposters

Especially if it gives him a good laugh

But the best way to have his help is by making sure his beloved lieutenant is beside him in the nosebleeds:

“Another body found…where was everyone?”

The body was in navigation. But as the only acting authority left it was up to you to continue the primary mission of ejecting the imposter. Your crew has dwindled into a smaller number since you and the captain began the elimination process; in which the majority decided who to be ejected for their crimes as imposters. Autopsies show that at least one of these imposters had been caught through this method. Now all that was left was to find their partner that continued to jeopardize the Skeld’s mission. 

“I was in electric with Ciel and Sebastian…”

The small voice of Elizabeth or more commonly known as  “Lizzy” twiddled her pink-gloved hands, shuffling her feet. At her testament, Sebastian and Ciel nodded their heads. The man in the black suit spoke with that ever-familiar smirk.

“While we were working on tasks, I did see Soma and Agni run by.” His crimson eyes trailed to the prince and his guard in their purple and green suits. “And seeing as neither are dead, I’d commend their innocence.”

You had nothing against that statement, you looked towards the agent in the grey suit–William Spears. He claimed to have been working on firing asteroids saying he ran into Claude Faustus who he thought was suspicious. Claude quite quickly refuted the statement with his own suspicions. They continued to bicker, making you sigh as you turned to the crewmate in white. 

Ash was an odd one…he was personally your top suspect. Too many times had he fumbled his location or left repairs undone. Too many times had he come to the defense of the ejected imposter promising that he was simply fooled but you thought otherwise. But even when you brought your concerns to your captain he was adamant in his defense.

“Lieutenant! I don’t want to hear this again! Ash has proven his innocence to both me and the mortician. I just wish you would realize the same.”

“I’m just sharing the observations I’ve made–”

“Lieutenant, I understand you want to be proactive but remember you are my student. And it’s entirely normal to make impulsive decisions.”

“But–”

“No! For as long as I’m captain you will not be bothering this agent! Do you understand it?”

“Fine.”

But your captain was dead…and you were in charge. Still, you were willing to hear him out if only for the nail in the coffin of your conviction. 

“I was busy, looking at the map and I think I stopped near what’s it called–ah navigation, yes!” 

You nodded turning to the next person. You had to keep it quiet until you were prepared to drop the info. 

Next was Hannah who said that she was organizing files in the command office. You weren’t alarmed when others asked their questions. She did seem to hesitate when Ciel further interrogated her but you guessed that was just how she talks. 

“So…where was the body actually?”

The meeting room was overtaken by a pregnant silence as they all looked at you. You let your eyes go to Ash as you spoke watching how the man’s pale face flashed a glare in your direction.

“The body was found in…navigation.”

Immediately an influx of accusations flew across the room. As everyone fought for and against Ash. You refused to participate, mirroring the behavior of your captain as a silent executioner and regulator as everyone made their decisions. With arguments coming to a head the ones on the chopping block were Ash and Hannah who so far had no other witnesses or reason not to eject either. 

Ciel turned to you already leading the charge for the rest of the crewmates.

“Whatever you decide, Lieutenant (Y/n). Though I’m leaning towards Ash.”

You wanted to agree with him. And you were going to until there was the sound of the air hissing as the sliding door lifted, revealing the gray-haired smiling mortician. 

“Crevan–” 

“Ah ah, Lieutenant!” He waved his finger in your face and you sighed. 

“Ugh-Adrien…have you the results of the autopsy?”

“Aye! I was also curious as to who’s on the block this fine morning!” 

Sebastian spoke for you, while Adrien’s smile faded into an unsatisfied pout. 

“We’ve selected Ash and Hannah for the ejection…judging by your expression this is displeasing to you.”

“But of course! I know it’s definitely not Ash!” 

“What?” 

You let your composure slip as everyone asked the same question. The Undertaker’s smile returned giggling as he produced a bag filled with a bloody clump of hair, that was lavender in color. With wide eyes, you grabbed the bag holding it up to the horror-stricken Hannah. Slowly you turned to the undertaker, trying to stop the quiver in your voice. 

“Are…are you most definitely sure that this was…from Alois’ killer?”

The Undertaker gives his morbidly unnatural wide smile, as he nods. Despite her pleas and the weirdly triumphant smirk, Ash tried to hide the group unanimously voted. You encouraged the remaining crew to continue with their tasks. You let yourself be pulled by the mortician away from the meeting room. Looking at the back of his head you hoped that this was the right choice. 

____________________________________________

You cursed at the electric shutdown of the lights as you darted down the hallway with your taser in hand. The imposter was not caught and you had been duped. You were livid, for someone who had been wrestling down their gut feeling only to be proven right when the Skeld was sabotaged once more-you had every right. Out for blood, you were making your way to the pod bay, willing to send your frantic crewmates away while you took down the infiltrating scumbag. You assumed you'd pass by your innocent crewmates foregoing the emergency call as it seemed to be glitching. But all you found in the light of your electric torch was the black cloak of the undertaker.

“Adrien?”

“Whoa! Look at you all ready to defend your crew. You’re just the cutest, my dear!”

His playful tone made you nervous. You turned on the taser letting the crackle of the electricity alight both of your faces in an electric strobe. His hair was pulled back, revealing an alluring lime-green set of eyes; squinting at you in amusement. It irked you. 

“Move. Adrian. I’m getting rid of the imposter. I don’t care if you think he’s innocent or not, this has gone too far!” 

The undertaker stood firm in the hallway, smiling with a more unhinged look on his face. You barely spied the odd wooden pillar he flung haphazardly to the side. Steeling yourself you prepared to charge forward.

“Awww (Y/n)! You’re still trying to protect a dead crew.”

Rather than questioning his words, you charged forward aiming the taser at his neck. He dodged grabbing your offending hand. Holding you up high he grabbed your other hand which was already curled into a punch. With great ease he threw you against the wall, pressing your face into a wall of glass; forcefully making you realize what makes up this specific hallway. He held you tight pressing the front of your body tight against the glass with his own, holding your struggling wrists. 

“Now now no need to be so fussy,” Letting his head rest against your shoulder he forced your own face to look at the cargo bay below.

“The show’s about to start!” 

As if timed perfectly the lights turned on showing the struggle happening behind the one-way glass. Your remaining crew seemed to be tied to the floor, even from far above you could see the splotches of red on and near their struggling and limp bodies. While some looked worse for wear you couldn’t definitively tell that anyone was dead. 

You made the mistake of sighing in relief to which Adrian took advantage. 

“You don’t think this is all, do you?” He whispered, letting his cold lips graze against the shell of your ear. You tried to back away only to find that you were simply letting his body cradle yours. Forcing you to look forward you watched Ash gesture widely as he monologued something to the tied crew, which couldn’t be heard through the glass. The imposter skipped, with glee, to the grand switch–a switch that would trigger the opening doors of the cargo bay.

“W-wait he’s not going to-”

“Yup!”

“A-and you knew?”

“Yup!”

“So…you faked that evidence?”

“Yup.”

You turned away from the glass to look into the chartreuse gaze of the Undertaker as you asked with the deep pit in your stomach. 

“Adrian..why…why did you do that?” You lightly banged your head against the glass as you looked at the screaming crew. “How could you let this happen?” 

Closing your hands within his own he hugged you from behind. Puckering his lip in mock sadness as he nuzzled his head into yours.

“All for a good show, deary…anything is worth everything for a good laugh…” 

You heard the muffled blare of an alarm as the cargo bay doors began to raise revealing the starry vastness of space. Like clothes, on a windy day, the previously kneeling crewmates began to float with the pull of the icy force of the vacuum. Your legs buckled in defeat as you watched your crew’s respective ropes snap as they were each pulled into space. Thanks to your legs’ failure you settled into the rapidly raising chest of the undertaker; who was laughing hysterically. 

When the cargo doors finally closed and you officially remained as the last of the Skeld’s crew, you slipped into unconsciousness. Allowing Adrien to lovingly carry you as he mused with a chuckle.

“I’m just glad you got to watch with me…Believe me when I promise you there will be plenty more laughs between us. I’ve ensured that much.”

[takeariskao3]

I’ll give you an example…. I read this Reddit post about a gf who convinced her bf females shed skin during their periods (she was wearing a face mask at the time), and got her bf’s sister/mother/female friends in on the joke. They all went along with it or months and the poor guy thought it was true until he brought it up during dinner and his Dad was like WTF?! Who told you that??? Lmao. I could see Ginny pulling something like that and the little old gullible Harry completely falling for it.

Something along those lines…

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BEAUTIFUL!!! 🥳🎂🎊

okay this is shamelessly inspired by an old onion article lmaoo

There was a rock in Ginny's shower.

Not like a pebble, or a piece of gravel or something that would be equally confusing, but maybe easier to explain. This was a solid three inch by three inch, light gray, porous, circular rock in the corner of the bath.

Harry had eyed the thing curiously over the span of several weeks. It moved every so often, which made him think it was either sentient or useful in someway. It was also always a little bit damp, sometimes even sudsy, which made him think Ginny used it during her washing routine. This had him testing the hypothesis on himself, but scrubbing the rock down his forearm didn't result in any extra cleansing, it just fucking hurt. So, he ruled that one out.

Then he wondered if it didn't have some magical purpose, like a wizard shortcut, but he asked Ron, and his best mate didn't have a clue. Which brought Harry back to square one.

For about two months, the mystery of the stone in Ginny's shower remained just that. A mystery. Until one night, after joining her in the bath post spectacular sex, he finally worked up the nerve to ask.

Grabbing the rock from the shelf, he held it up between them. "What is this thing?"

Ginny frowned at him and blinked several times in confusion.

"Is it alive? Does it do anything? What do you use it for?"

Ginny sucked her lips between her teeth to bite back a smile. "What do you think I use it for?"

"I don't know!" Harry replied dramatically. "I thought maybe it was for the soaps and things, but its too rough to use as a sponge. But it moves around, so obviously you use it. Either that or it's taken up residence in your shower and you have a pet rock you've never told me about, which fine, whatever, but it can't just be here for no reason..."

Ginny nodded along, her grin growing harder and harder to hide.

"What?" Harry asked. "Is it something obvious and I'm being a muppet?"

"No," she interjected and her face contorted into something like sympathy.

"Well, then what?" He turned it end over end in his hands to examine it. "Because I can't figure it out. Does it absorb bad smells? Does it clean when we aren't looking? Does it ward off evil spirits?"

Snorting, Ginny plucked it from his grasp and stared up at him with wide eyes. "I'll tell you, alright, but you can't laugh."

"Why would I laugh?"

"It's sort of..." she hesitated, "superstition."

Harry pinched his brows together. "Like a normal superstition or a Luna superstition?"

She winced. "Luna superstition."

Smoothing his grimace, he listened to her explanation with steadily increasing wonder...

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

3 years later

"It's just getting worse," Hermione complained from her spot on the sofa. "I don't think I can keep going on like this. It's completely demoralizing."

"It's just a slump," Ginny answered. "It's not like you've had a ton of great options to begin with."

"Yes, that is the demoralizing part."

Harry backed away from the conversation slowly, unsure of how to engage with the subject matter of one of their best friend's, frankly miserable, dating life. Hermione had always been so sure of herself, and so independent, he hadn't ever considered that she truly wanted to date someone for real. After her and Ron had broken up, she seemed put off by the whole undertaking.

Which, fair. Harry had abhorred dating. So, he could relate.

Sometime recently, though, she must have decided to put herself out there. Only it seemed she wasn't impressed or particularly taken with any of her choices.

A spark of an idea curled through the back of his mind, and he turned toward the stairs to mount the steps two at a time. Charging into his and Ginny's bathroom, he found what he was looking for in moments. He supposed they could loan it out, at least until Hermione could get one of her own.

It wasn't like he and Ginny exactly needed it anymore.

Returning to the sitting room, Harry marched past the armchair and presented his gift with assured conviction.

Hermione stopped talking abruptly and looked at the stone in Harry's hand in unmitigated confusion. Meanwhile, Ginny made a choking noise and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Take it," Harry urged, but she still looked utterly bewildered. "It's-- well, it's not exactly incontestable, but it seemed to work for us. Maybe... you could give it a go?"

Hermione's expression didn't change, but she accepted Harry's gift anyway.

"A pumice stone?" she asked, looking to Ginny for clarification. Ginny, for her part, seemed unable to speak; her shoulders shaking and her cheeks as red as a tomato.

Harry took over the responsibility of explaining. "If you keep it damp and keep it close to where you... you know-- it'll bring you luck and... you know... the other things, too."

"Sorry, I'm not quite understanding." Hermione blinked several times very quickly. "You think a pumice stone brings you sex luck?"

"Yeah," Harry swallowed down his discomfort and shifted his gaze to Ginny in a plea for help. Only she was full on convulsing now, her entire upper body shaking with...

Laughter.

His realization must have showed on his face because Ginny lost all semblance of control and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, christ--" he swore loudly. "I can't believe this. What does it actually do?"

"It's for your feet!" Hermione cried, her own grin stretching across her face.

"Your what?" Harry replied, his horror growing with each second.

"Your feet!" Hermione said again, then she threw the rock at Ginny's middle. Ginny caught it and, if possible, laughed even harder.

"FEET?" Harry roared. "What does that do for your feet!?"

Ginny sucked in a gasping breath and cackled, "You scrub the callouses, you absolute moron!"

He threw his hands into the air in embarrassment and frustration. "Oh for fuck's sake, what else have you tricked me into?"

"No!" Ginny bellowed through tears of laughter. "Nothing, I swear!"

"I got one of those for Ron last Christmas!"

"You what!?" Ginny and Hermione shrieked at the same time.

"He and Padma had just--" Harry clenched his teeth, grinding his molars in mortification. "This is unbelievable. "

"Oh, Harry," Ginny keened. "I'm sorry, okay? But think of it this way, we didn't actually need luck at all!"

Shaking his head, he grumbled a few choice words under his breath and turned his back on the uncontrollable giggles still echoing from the couch.

[stobinesque]

23. “Just pretend to be my date.” for the writing prompt thing <3

hello!! thank you! 😊As much as I love a set up for a fake dating plot, I ended up going in a platonic stobin direction because writing dialogue for them is addictive to me. (also holy heck this grew legs; I did manage to keep it below 1k though)

---

“That sounds like a big undertaking, Steve.”

“What? Robs, how? Just pretend to be my date. It’s only for one night.”

“Yeah, exactly, dingus. Anyone who sees us interact for more than two seconds in a ‘date’ context is going to think we’re married, not on some casual second date or something.”

“I think you’re giving my family’s observation skills a little bit too much credit.” He rounds the corner of the desk with a fresh stack of returns in his arms.

“No, actually, I’m assuming they have the same observational skills of the average Hawkins resident.” Robin flings herself dramatically onto the register’s counter. “Honestly, life would be so much easier if I actually wanted a beard—constantly trying to convince people we aren’t dating while also throwing them off the scent of my raging lesbianism is exhausting.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he sticks a tape into the rewinder. “Tell me about it.”

“I am! Right now! Me being your beard for your cousin’s wedding is just going to cause more problems than it solves.”

“If I go alone, my aunt is going to spend the whole night trying to set me up with one of the daughters of her husband’s country club friends. Or, worse, she’s going to spend the whole night interrogating me about why I haven’t ‘settled down with a nice girl’ yet, and each time I give an answer that isn’t ‘I am currently planning out an elaborate engagement to a girl you don’t know’ she’s going to get increasingly suspicious about my ‘prolonged bachelor-hood’.”

“Yeah, okay, but why does it have to be me?”

“Because you’re my best friend and you love me?” Steve shoots her his best charming smile. Robin rolls her eyes.

“Try again, asshole.”

Steve throws his hands into the air. “I’m kind of limited on options here, Rob! All the people I know are either children, men, or my ex!”

Robin’s face turns considering, and she gets a little glint in her eye.

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” Steve circles a finger in the general vicinity of her face. “What’s that? What’s this? What are you thinking?”

“How about Vickie?”

“What?”

“Yeah!” Robin pushes herself back off the counter and starts pacing around. “Think about it, it’s perfect: you both have similar tastes in movies, and the same awful sense of humor—“

“I’m telling her you said that.”

Robin halts in her tracks and shoots Steve a mock pitying expression. “Babe, she already knows.”

Steve crosses his arms across his chest, grumbling.

“Anyway, as I was saying: you both have the same terrible sense of humor, and you both love, like, cars, or whatever. Oh, and sports—!”

“Rob, you like sports—”

“Yes, but we’re trying to figure out a date for you who’s not me.”

“You’re trying to find a date for me that’s not you.”

“And you’re playing along because you’re a supportive friend.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but she wasn’t wrong, so he just snapped it back shut again. “Fine, carry on.”

“Thank you.” Robin gives him an imperious little nod. “Aaaas I was saying: the two of you have a lot in common and get along really well, but you’re also both, like, supremely weird around each other when I’m not there—”

“We are not!”

“Steve, the last time I left the two of you alone together I came back to find both of you standing side by side staring into the middle distance, completely silent, until Vickie piped up to say ‘So the sky is really blue today, huh?’”

“I can’t help it if you can’t appreciate a mutual pensive silence, Bobbin.”

“I’m— I— wh— ” Robin splutters, looking dumbfounded. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“I can do long words too, sometimes!”

Robin rolls her eyes again. “Yes, yes, you’re a regular Einstein. Back to my point—”

Steve flings his head back. “Did you have one?”

“Yes, now shut up. My point, is that you and Vickie have enough in common that people will buy her as your date, but you’re awkward enough around each other that you won’t have to act like it’s true love, or something. Perfect for a cover-up temporary romance!”

Steve mulls it over. “Okay. Say I agree that your logic makes sense—”

“It does.”

“Sure, fine, yes. Your logic makes sense. But, you’re still forgetting one crucial detail.”

“And that is…”

The bell to Family Video’s front door jingles as Vickie walks in with a wide smile on her face. “Hi Robin! Hey, Steve! What’s up?”

Steve raises an eyebrow in Robin’s direction.

“Oh shit. We have to actually ask her.”

[josefavomjaaga]

Brun de Villeret about Marshal Victor

Claude-Victor Perrin aka Marshal Victor is one of the marshals I know the least about. So I was quite happy to find Soult’s aide de camp Brun de Villeret wrote a bit about him in his Cahiers. As this journal was never intended for publication, it’s likely to contain Brun’s honest (if possibly exaggerated) opinion.

Victor was, together with Mortier, one of the marshals who found themselves under the superior command of one marshal Soult during their sojourn in Spain (and didn’t like it one bit). Victor specifically was tasked with the siege of Cadix. When Napoleon sent Masséna into Portugal in the third and last attempt to occupy the country, he demanded Soult come to his support. Soult decided to besiege the fort of Badajoz together with Mortier and for that purpose had to take a larger number of troops from Andalusia into Estremadura, stretching himself dangerously thin. The Spanish troops in Cadix used that opportunity to attack Victor’s siege forces and even had some small successes before being driven back into Cadix. As Brun puts it:

[...] Some of our redoubts had been taken and demolished. The damage was easily repaired, however, and the Duke of Bellune could only congratulate himself on his victory and the way he had conducted his business.

Unfortunately, the gloomy mood which dominated him and still dominates him in all the circumstances of life, led him to believe that the Duke of Dalmatia had wanted to sacrifice him, by weakening the forces he had in Andalusia and taking the Duke of Treviso to Estremadura. He wrote him bitter and reproachful letters. As I was on fairly intimate terms with him, given that my brother was one of his aides-de-camp and had his confidence, the Duke of Dalmatia thought it appropriate to send me to him as a mediator, with the mission of trying to soothe his bad mood.

I see. The Brun brothers. Unofficial psychotherapists of the Armée de Midi.

I found him furious. He had retired to bed and received me while in bed. For two hours, his ravings were so violent that it was impossible for me to reach the end of a sentence. Finally, exhausted from shouting, he allowed me to speak.

Brun: Can I say something now?

Victor [sheepish]: Yes. I am hoarse and my throat hurts.

I managed to make him understand that with his talents, his reputation and three divisions as fine as his own, he should not be surprised that the Duke of Dalmatia had counted on him to defend his lines and cover the south of Andalusia. "You have," I finally said, "responded perfectly to this hope and added a fine jewel to your military crown. For our part, we have obtained great results [...] In short, since success has crowned your defence as well as our undertaking, you would be doing yourself a disservice in the eyes of the Emperor if you were to cast a negative light on what has been achieved." While I was speaking, his face had become serious, and he had resumed that air of benevolence he had always treated me with, when I did not have to address him on his relations with the Duke of Dalmatia. He even showed me the most delicate attentions and sent me away very satisfied with the result of my mission, and bearing answers written in a perfectly moderate style. I knew how to deal with him, and the Duke of Dalmatia knew it too: let him exhaust his ire and his verve. Afterwards, he would listen to reason. Also, during my stay in Spain, I had the opportunity to carry out several missions of the same kind.

One of them apparently included Victor shouting to Brun for another hour about how Soult never sent him enough food and how he was about to starve with his troops, before Brun finally could present him all certificates of receipt for Victor’s corps, proofing that the food Victor claimed was missing had very well arrived, and announce that Soult, nevertheless, had sent off some more boats with food for Victor’s corps. As Brun remarks at this occasion, Victor was "a better warrior than a good administrator".

But my favourite part about the scene Brun describes is that Victor apparently, all the time while he was raging to Brun about Soult’s injustice, was lying in bed. So he was like, yelling at the ceiling, his head in the pillows? Did he also wear a night gown and a sleeping cap?

[mazeinthemiroh]

Square Pants

Genre: San x Reader, crack, slight angst, essentially a chaotic mess

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, chaotic drunk behaviour, cursing

Requested?: Yes

Summary: You give San a tattoo when you are both drunk.

Author's Notes: I found this hilarious to write lmao anyways lemme know what you think. I'm not sure about the pacing of this one, whether it was too quick or not. Let me know your thoughts on that. Anways, hope you all have fun reading this!

"Just trust me, bro."

"Did you just call me bro??"

You and your boyfriend had recently tumbled back into the apartment you shared, both drunk off your faces from drinking the whole night. Currently, you were both in the bathroom, cackling with laughter at the situation you found yourselves in.

In your hand: a tattoo gun. You were a former tattoo artist, so you knew a thing or two about giving people tattoos. Or, at least, you did when you were sober. But being shitfaced and undertaking this task was something incredibly challenging (and extremely stupid, might I add).

"Just trust meeeeee" you groaned loudly, stumbling a bit where you stood. Apparently standing still wasn't an option you quite understood. And so, you unintentionally rocked backwards and forwards on your feet as you got the tattoo gun ready.

Your boyfriend sat waiting. He was perched up on the side of the bathtub, barely able to balance his own body even though he was sitting!

"I've done this a million times, Sannie" you say, not to reassure him but rather to brag about your past achievements. Whatever the intention, San was in another world of his own.

"I want Spongebob," he stated decisively.

"Spongebob?" You giggled hysterically at the idea, "you want me to tattoo Spongebob on you?"

"Yeah, and what's your point?" San questioned, pouting defensively now.

"Squidward is better," you stuck your tongue out. The tattoo gun was ready to use. "Where do you want it?"

San pretended to think, although really he was staring up at the ceiling and wondering what type of lightbulbs were used for the lights. LED? Halogen? Incandescent?

"What type of lightbulbs do we have?"

"Does it matter?" You questioned, your tone exasperated now, "Hurry up, I'm getting borrrreeed."

"Fine," he whined defeatedly, looking down from the fascinating lights that hung above him. "On my neck."

You rolled your eyes but didn't question it. And so, you got to work. San was used to the pain of getting a tattoo, since this wasn't his first time.

"I bet they are filament light bulbs," he said, his eyes now fixated back on the lights. You were perplexed as to why he found such an odd obsession, but you were too drunk to even care.

In no time at all, the tattoo had been done. San somehow sunk into the bathtub fully clothed, now passed out. Perhaps it was because of the pain. Perhaps it was because it was 2 am. Or, quite possibly, and more realistically, it was because having this amount of alcohol in him exhausted him.

So you left him to it. Leaving him in the bath, you chucked a towel on him so he wouldn't get cold and walked out, going into the living room and flopping onto the couch. Both of you snored, loudly.

And it was about 8 in the morning when San woke up. He blinked his eyes open a let out a low groan. His body ached so badly and he could barely keep his eyes open due to the light pouring into the bathroom.

And it was then that he realised where he was.

He opened his eyes fully and whisked his head around to see that he was in fact in a bathtub. He tumbled out of there reluctantly and made his way out of the bathroom and into the living room, where you lay on the couch, snoring your head off, as was the custom after a night out drinking.

San gazed at you and smiled lightly. These drunken nights happened all too often with you, and every instance shared some crazy story that you would both either agree to forget about, or forget about it through no will of your own. It was entirely down to fate. And by fate, of course, I mean the influence of alcohol. Same thing, really.

Knock, knock, knock.

San couldn't think who was at the door. He scrambled through his brain to grasp some actual, coherent thought, but found nothing but an empty void of half-written thoughts and glimmers of last night, not piecing anything together at all. And so he headed for the front door reluctantly, knowing you were still asleep even despite the loud knocks.

On the other side of the door revealed Wooyoung. Oh yeah, San thought, I forgot he was supposed to pick me up this morning.

"Sup," Wooyoung barged in, eyes glued to his phone, his mind already preoccupied, "you ready to go?"

"No," San held his head in one hand as he shut the front door with the other. This headache wasn't going to shake off anytime soon. "Lemme just pack my stuff, okay?"

"What's the matter with you," Wooyoung whined, now looking up from his phone. Only to drop it out of his hands.

"San, what the fuck!"

San looked perplexed at his friend, peaking over at him with strained eyes. Why the sudden outburst? What did he see? What did he know?

"What?" San looked at his friend, perplexed and impatient all at once.

He watched as his friend shrieked with laughter, gripping his stomach with the amount of hilarity he found the situation to be in. San groaned and held his head again, "can you shut up, my head hurts." But all he got in return was a louder, obnoxious laugh. Was he doing this on purpose?

"Oh my gosh," Wooyoung wiped a stray tear away from the effort of laughing, "Hongjoong is going to absolutely kill you."

"What?" San's heart dropped, his mind blurry when envisioning Hongjoong's stern disapproving face about something he didn't know he had done. "What did I do? What is it??"

Wooyoung looked at his friend in disbelief and snorted, "go to the bathroom and have a look at yourself."

You woke up to a loud shout coming from the bathroom area. Your hair was a mess and all over your face as you rolled off of the couch, cocooned in a blanket that covered your whole body. You had one eye open and one eye shut as you walked over to the bathroom, seeing Wooyoung leaning again the door frame intently.

"What's happened?" You mumbled weakly, disorientated from having woken up not seconds ago. On peaking into the bathroom, your blanket dropped from around you, and now both of your eyes were open and wide with shock.

"Oh my god."

Wooyoung quirked his eyebrow up in amusement as you made your way over to your boyfriend, who stared at his newly tattooed neck in disbelief.

"Well, you two clearly can't be trusted alone if this is what you get up to," Wooyoung looked at his nails casually while his friend stared in disbelief at the mirror in front of him.

"I have to go on stage in 5 hours and I have a Spongebob tattoo on my neck," San said, unnervingly calm now. There was nothing more he could do but stare, but all he wanted to do was cry.

"I mean," you started, "to be fair... I did a pretty good job."

San whisked his head over at you aggressively, making you take a step back.

"I agree," Wooyoung chimed in, "for a person who was drunk off their mind, your hand was very steady. Spongebob definitely has square pants." You managed to stifle a laugh.

"Neither of you are helping," San cried as he angled his head to see more of his neck before wincing at the sight.

Sprinting to your bedroom, you grabbed all the makeup you could. With the help of Wooyoung and the slow acceptance of San, he remained still while the both of you got to work on his neck. No amount of concealer was ever going to cover the tattoo fully, but it did help with the appearance, at least.

"That's all we can do for now," you pulled away having a look at his neck for one last time, "your makeup artists will have to work their magic to make it invisible."

San groaned again at the thought of Hongjoong's face of horror and anger, which was much more clearer in his mind now. "I'll get kicked out of the group and become an old maid."

You rolled your eyes, "no you won't silly." You both looked at Wooyoung's grinning face as he put away the makeup products.

"I'm glad you find this funny, Woo," San shook his head disapprovingly, giving him a playful punch on the arm.

"Don't worry," you whispered in your boyfriend's ear as the three of you neared the front door to leave, "I'll give him a tattoo next time."