#short worm on a string

[eyeless-jeff666]

Miniya is probably even above Jaddy at this point I love him look how small he is??? Still taller than me but???! First time I saw this scene I didnt even see him. Angy looking lil baby. He's angy cuz he's smol.

He uses the hairstyle to be taller I swear

[worm-angle]

MORE WORMS

A petrified worm

A gift for my birthday last year

Cat and normal worm for scale

The face

Solomon

[excaive]

obsessed with this red knockoff worm on a string I bought that is actually pink. blind snoorm

[nomaishuttle]

frankie if yr curious

[sunderwight]

Trying my hand at this one:

Shen Yuan transmigrates into a worm.

It's just a normal garden variety (heh) earthworm, not a special magical worm (yet), so initially he thinks this is gonna be a really short transmigration adventure indeed. But of course that would be boring, so he also manages to end up in the body of a worm who lives under one of those magical immortal fruit-bearing trees.

One of the fruit drops, Worm Yuan chows down, and he significantly upgrades his physical abilities, and senses, and gains a cultivation boost! Hooray!

Unfortunately it's not enough to fix that he's still a worm, but it's enough so that he has less to fear from getting hit by a random shovel or such. In the process of eating the fruit, he sees some disciples (come to gather the fruits, slacking somewhat since they even allowed a few to hit the dirt) and overhears enough of a conversation to figure out that he's transmigrated into a worm that lives in the PIDW setting. Specifically, on Qian Cao Peak!

Wow! How random and wild! Why a worm??? What god did he piss off in his past life for this?

Well anyway, it is what it is, and Shen Yuan decides that if he's gonna live a probably short and uneventful life as a worm, at least he wants to see his favorite character. So he inches his way in what he hopes is the general direction of Qing Jing Peak, course-correcting whenever he gathers that he's guessed wrong, hitching a ride on the occasional shoe or once even gripping the internal part of a wheel from an An Ding Peak carriage, until finally, he's leveled up his meager worm cultivation even more and has reached Qing Jing Peak!

As Worm Yuan continues to inch his way across the peak, he keeps just-barely missing Luo Binghe, until finally he comes across... not Binghe, but a recognizable item: a fake jade pendant!

Though lost initially on a tree branch, it must have fallen at some point, down to the ground where Worm Yuan stumbled upon it.

Mustering his strength, Worm Yuan manages to get the broken string of the fake jade around his little worm body, and then makes the herculean trek to the wood shed. Dodging bird attacks, hiding from other QJP disciples, and further upgrading his Worm Skills such as digging, inching, and oozing, until finally he reaches his destination and squeezes under the door.

Leading to the situation of an incredulous disciple Luo Binghe -- who had previously been tending to his bruises -- watching as a little worm climbs into the shed (normal, usually it's spiders but sometimes other bugs get inside) while dragging his long-lost most treasured item in what can only be described as a deliberate fashion (very not normal).

After ascertaining that Worm Yuan is not some cultivator's tool or shapeshifted creature, Luo Binghe decides to approach this situation in the only reasonable way, and offers the worm some scraps from his leftovers. Worm Yuan happily shares a meal with his favorite character, and things take off from there.

Somehow Luo Binghe finds himself learning more about cultivation by watching Worm Yuan than he has in all his attempts to figure out his manual or listen to his shixiongs on Qing Jing Peak so far. He watches Worm Yuan work up the spiritual energy to crack rocks and scale the wood shed walls, and deduces some methods for applying his own spiritual energy in similar ways. He finds it heartening to think that if even a little worm can learn to cultivate through what seems to be pure determination, then surely Binghe can make his situation work, too. He scrounges around and manages to gather up enough materials for a makeshift terrarium, so Worm Yuan can be safe and cozy by his side at night.

Of course, trials and tribulations never stop. At some point Ming Fan and his cronies find the terrarium and smash it. Binghe is inconsolable until he realizes that Worm Yuan got away (extra durable, after all!) and is wriggling back towards him in a reassuring fashion.

Worm Yuan's hero schedule is quite full, too! At some point he digs his way into a tunnel to the Lingxi caves and saves Liu Qingge, and in the midst of the demon invasion he manages to help Binghe at a vital moment by hardening his body and tripping his opponent. He rides in Binghe's pocket when Binghe goes to claim Zheng Yang, too, developing his cultivation throughout it all.

Unfortunately, kind of, Worm Yuan is also in Luo Binghe's pocket when he gets thrown into the Endless Abyss. Through the hardships of the Abyss, Worm Yuan consumes some unsavory things (the less said about the quality of worm food in the Abyss, the better) but manages to unlock rare worm cultivation upgrades, until finally he achieves his first transformation -- a gigantic Dune-esque mega worm!

The less said about the symbolism of a stallion protagonist accompanied constantly by a literal monster worm, the better, probably. But having the ability to tunnel through basically anything does make a lot of things easier, at least in terms of travel, and cuts years off of the Abyss trip. Binghe and Worm Yuan almost have fun, even, just tearing through the terrain and any foes stupid enough to get in Worm Yuan's path until they retrieve Xin Mo and bust out.

Then they get into the demon realms and that actually is just straight up mostly a good time. Worms like Shen Yuan are not common so at first he nearly always surprises Binghe's foes when he shows up to help with fights, and a lot of the time the demons involved don't even seem to realize, at first, that he's with Luo Binghe and isn't just some hellish calamity that's coincidentally also shown up! But word gets around pretty quick that the new Heavenly Demon on the scene has a giant worm companion (probably leading to some misconceptions of people who think it's Tianlang Jun returned and that someone's mistaken Zhuzhi Lang's snake form for a worm).

Once that happens, unfortunately, some demons start taking precautions. After the first time Worm Yuan gets poisoned and nearly perishes (saved by Binghe's blood in the nick of time), Luo Binghe stops letting him participate in fights. Which is just rude! Worm Yuan's not going to make the same mistake twice, duh! But Binghe just keeps holding him in reserve again and again until the fight with Mobei Jun, and then when Worm Yuan intervenes anyway (is it just him or does Mobei Jun seem to know a lot more about potential heavenly demon weaknesses than he did in PIDW...?) and gets partly frozen, Binghe goes berserk. For a while there Shen Yuan is worried he won't actually LET Mobei Jun surrender!

Thankfully though he does, and then Binghe settles into his properties and starts... building a giant-scale worm garden? What about the harem, Binghe? Like obviously it's nice and all, but shouldn't you be focused on housing for, y'know, your future wives?

Other factions in the demon realms clearly are wondering about the same thing, as the marriage alliance offers naturally start pouring in. The most vocal of these being Sha Hualing. Worm Yuan supposed that his Binghe is probably waiting to officially take his wives so that he can marry Ning Yingying first or something, but still, a little planning wouldn't go amiss. Though eventually Luo Binghe seems to get -- if anything -- fed up enough with the questions about his marriage prospects that he does start setting up for a wedding.

Worm Yuan is surprised and touched when he finds himself being fitted for a monster-worm sized amount of wedding regalia. So he can be included in Binghe's wedding procession? That's so sweet! He's not sure he understands the inclusion of a veil, though...?

Anyway. Yes. Binghe marries the worm.

[yourdarkcherry]

Is it casual now?// Ellie Williams x fem!reader

summary: you and Ellie had a “casual” thing until she decided to ghost you and replace you. your friends decide that the best way to get over her is to get under another woman.

warnings: jealous ellie, abby is the revenge, reader is barely surviving her first wlw heartbreak, she/her for reader.

a/n: if u cant tell im obsessed with chappell roan.

It was your fault. Sleeping with Ellie Willaims was your fault. 

Ellie was notoriously known as the toxic one, and you knew that. But you were like a moth drawn to a flame, you smiled at her when your eyes met hers too many times at the party. You allowed her to flirt with you, and encouraged her to make out with you at the backseat of the Uber. 

She told you she liked you, and that you were the sexiest girl she was with, but it was all casual and no attachments, it was just having fun.

You knew that deep in your heart, and you liked it because you weren’t looking for anything serious and simply liked the sex and the flirting without any attachment. You liked being able to sleep with anyone you wanted, you liked being able to flirt with anyone, no one blowing up your phone and no one requiring your time and care.

You liked it all.

Until Ellie wormed her way to your heart. It was truly your fault, all of your friends told you that a ‘Casual’ thing with Ellie was a recipe for disaster. 

You didn’t care, you were happy to be the one occupying most of her time, you were simply happy to be the one that got to meet her dad or Joel as she liked to call him, you were ecstatic being the only one to know how much of a big nerd she really is, to be the one to hear her sing, to be the only one that knows how to make her laugh when she’s sad.

That is all until she decided to replace you.

The sight of Ellie with another girl, the two of them were on the couch, the girl sat on Ellie’s lap and giggling into her neck as Ellie whispered things you never wanted to hear in her ear. Just seeing them like that made your eyes burn, and your breathing turned short and despite wanting to peel away your stare from them.

You couldn’t.

Your eyes were glued to them, your vision turning blurry by the second and your stomach turning sick, you didn’t drink anything at this party so you cannot blame it on the drinks no matter how much you wanted to.

In your trance at them, Ellie turned to stare at you—must’ve felt your burning look. You wanted her to push the girl away, to stand up and walk to you and lie to you that it’s not what you think it is. You wished for her to tell you any lie, to pretend like she wanted you just as you wanted her.

You would’ve believed it all, you would have succumbed to her and allowed her to take you to her bed and you would’ve allowed her back into your heart.

But none of your wishes came true. While maintaining eye contact with you, Ellie pulled the girl closer to her.You could feel the bile rising to your throat, and you ran outside the house party and threw up into one of the bushes.

Some part of you is grateful that your wishes didn’t come true, that the next day you didn’t wake up naked in Ellie’s bed. Because it makes hating her a lot easier. 

“It’s a good thing you two ended that weird casual thing you had,” Leah told you on the way to the cafeteria after class. “I don’t know about you, but if the person I was fucking with no strings attached made me meet their parents, I’d run.” You sigh and roll your eyes at her words.

“It was never casual, maybe at the beginning but it quickly escalated to something very codependent. I’m glad it ended, though.” She added, taking the booth seat. 

“Okay, can we stop airing out my dirty laundry for once? I was wrong and you were right, is that what you wanna hear?” you scoff at Leah. The woman grins and nods, “that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

You sigh for the millionth time on this day. 

“I’m glad you admitted that I’m right, because from now on you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.” Leah said, then her eyes falling to something behind you and waving. Before you could look over your shoulder to what she’s looking at, or more rightfully, who she’s looking at, she holds your arm and stops you.

“You’re going to flirt hard with Abby Anderson, and you’re going to dress as a slutty cop when you go to the party this weekend with Abby.”

You open your mouth to ask who the hell is Abby Anderson and why does Leah think she can boss you around like that, but she cuts you as she speaks urgently. “You are a whore, act like it.” before you get a chance to feel offended at her words, you hear Jordan’s voice as he greets, “hi babe”

He rounds the table to sit at the booth, he presses a kiss to Leah’s forehead. She grins into it, and from the corner of your eyes you see a new figure, you turn to look at a tall blonde woman. She pulls out a seat and then turns to look at you when she notices your look.

“Hi, I’m Abby, Jordan’s friend.” You blink, taking in the sight of the tall, blonde woman who just introduced herself as Abby. Her gaze is steady and confident, her smile is charming and polite.

“Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N)” you reply, forcing a smile as you try to mask your confusion. Leah’s instructions echo in your mind, and you're not sure how to react. Who is this Abby Anderson, and why does Leah seem so intent on orchestrating some kind of encounter between you and her?

Leah’s so obvious as she says with a knowing look directed to you, “(Y/N), this is Abby Anderson,” 

“Hi Abby, Leah tells me a lot about you.” you lie. 

Abby chuckles, and nods, “she told me about you too. She has a knack for thinking all the lesbians on campus know each other.”

As you burst out in laughter at Abby’s comment, Leah feigns innocence as she asks, “y’all don’t? I know all the bisexuals on campus.”

Jordan leans back, his arm draped casually over the back of the booth, watching the interaction with a keen interest. "So, you guys ready for the party this weekend?" he asks.

Leah comments, throwing you another look as she said, “(Y/N)’s been looking forward to it,” she says, shooting a grin at Abby. “She never attended a frat halloween party.”

Abby nods, and looks at you, “It’s pretty fun, any thoughts for a costume?” Her voice is smooth, and it grounds you even when you glance at Leah that’s glaring at you. 

“Uh…” you hesitate, glancing again at Leah that kicks your leg underneath the table. You finally answer, “uhm…I’m going as a cop.”

“No way! I’m going as a prisoner.” Abby said with pure surprise, and when your gaze falls at Leah and Jordan that are pretending to not have known. You also stammer as you try to lie, “wow, I had no idea!”

“What a coincidence, truly.” Leah says.

“You two should go together.” Jordan comments, and Leah claps as she affirms, “oh yes that’s such a good idea! That way you two won’t look like single losers, no offense.”

“None taken.” Abby says with an amused grin, then she tilts her head to you and asks, “so, what do you say?”

“Sure.” You nod.

As the night of the party approaches, your nerves begin to bubble up, and it's not just because of the skimpy costume Leah convinced you to wear. The real source of your anxiety is the possibility of running into Ellie Williams. 

She attended all the parties, she never missed one. You on the other hand stopped attending them after the one you saw her at weeks before with that other girl in her lap. After that, you swore to never see her again. Which was easy, considering you had memorized her schedule like the back of your hand. 

The idea of seeing her at the party, mingling with others and having fun, twists your stomach into knots.

“When’s Abby picking you up?” Leah asks, her voice coming out of the speaker of your phone.

You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the police costume's accessories for the umpteenth time, trying to focus on anything other than the potential encounter. “In five minutes, you on the way the party?” 

“Yeah, Jordan is in the car with me.” She answers. 

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Cool, I’ll see you guys there,” you say, forcing a smile that Leah can’t see.

“Hey, you'll be fine," Leah reassures, her tone softening. "Remember, this party is about you having fun and maybe getting to know Abby better. Don't worry about Ellie. If she shows up, just ignore her. You've got this."

You nod, even though she can't see you, and glance at the clock. Time seems to drag and race simultaneously, your thoughts racing ahead to every possible scenario that could unfold at the party. The memory of seeing Ellie with another girl, looking so carefree and happy, still stings. It was that moment that made you realize it was time to let go.

A knock on your door startles you out of your reverie. You quickly grab your phone, ending the call with Leah. "Abby's here. I'll catch you later."

"Have fun, (Y/N)!" Leah calls out before you hang up. You take one last look in the mirror, smoothing down your costume and taking a deep breath.

When you open the door, Abby stands there, a grin on her face. She's in her prisoner costume, complete with fake tattoos on her arms. She was wearing a short sleeved orange button down, the first five buttons left open and giving you a good look into her chest. “Hey, Officer,” she jokes lightly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Please don’t arrest me just yet, I have a party to attend.”

You laugh, though it’s tinged with nervousness. “I’ll let you off the hook just this time.” you reply, stepping out and closing the door behind you. 

The drive to the party is filled with light chatter, Abby doing most of the talking. She seems at ease, excited for the night ahead, and her energy is contagious. You try to focus on her words, on the fun you're supposed to be having, but a part of you can't stop thinking about Ellie.

It’s truly the pinnacle of loser behavior as your friends always tell you, but you can’t help it. She plagues your mind, and everything about her haunts you.

As you arrive at the party, the music and laughter spilling out from the house only amplify your anxiety.You and Abby climb the steps leading up to the door, and enter through the wide door. Your eyes scan through the dim lit room with the red and green lights. The music pulses through the room, a steady beat that seems to synchronize with the thrumming in your chest. You scan the room, your eyes darting from group to group, hoping to spot familiar faces—or perhaps to avoid one in particular.

"Wow, it's packed," Abby comments, leaning in close to be heard over the music. Her presence is comforting, a steady anchor in the sea of partygoers.

You nod, your eyes still searching the room. Suddenly, you spot Nora and Mel in one of the corners, engaged in an animated conversation. They're dressed up too, Nora as a pirate with a makeshift sword at her side and Mel as a witch, complete with a pointed hat and a fake broomstick.

A wave of relief washes over you at the sight of your friends. You nudge Abby and point in their direction. "There are Nora and Mel," you say, a genuine smile breaking through your earlier anxiety.

Abby smiles back, nodding. "Let's go say hi."

As you and Abby approach Nora and Mel, their faces light up with recognition. Nora waves excitedly. "Hey, Abby! (Y/N)! Over here!"

Mel, grins widely, “there you two are! We were wondering when you'd show up." She gives you both a quick hug. "And look at you, Abby! Going all out with the prisoner theme, huh?" Nora hands you a drink that you down, hoping it will calm down your nerves.

Abby laughs, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Thanks” she says as she’s glancing at you, "and (Y/N) makes a pretty convincing cop, don't you think?"

Nora nods enthusiastically. "Absolutely! You two look great. Perfect match for the night." She takes the empty cup from you and places it somewhere else. Eager to find another drink, you take the red cup from Mel’s hands and down it too.

A new song starts playing, and as you recognize the song from the beginning of it. Nora’s eyes widen and she pushes you and Abby to the direction of the dance floor, “this is (Y/N)’s favorite song! You two should dance together!”

It doesn’t take you long to figure out that Leah most likely roped Nora into it too. The mission of getting you to get laid by someone new to get over your weird feelings for Ellie.

It seems like your friends are determined to push you out of your comfort zone tonight. Abby, ever the good sport, grins and shrugs. "Well, if it's your favorite song, we have to dance," she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Caught in a case of mild embarrassment, you let yourself be led to the dance floor. When you reach there, you kick out all the embarrassment out of your head, and then turn around as you bring Abby’s hands to rest on your waist from the back.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, but if your friends are so eager for you to sleep with Abby, you might as well do that. It’s probably the tell-tale signs of you being tipsy but the idea of making out with Abby seems like a good idea right now. You like her just enough, and she seems to like you too.

With that, you start grinding your ass on her. Abby leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "You're a pretty good dancer," she says and you can hear her teasing grin. 

You smile back, feeling a flush of warmth to your cheeks and neck as one of her hands on your waist roams underneath your tits.

“Do you like my costume?” you ask, your hand resting on her own and you tilt your head to the side to allow her to press her face to your neck. She breathes in your perfume and whispers back, “I love it.”

You’re about to whisper the same line you used on Ellie when she saw you wearing that tiny scarlet dress she likes in that first party you met her. I wore it just so you’d sleep with me. But your eyes fall on the very same Ellie Williams.

Standing right to the side, and glaring at you like you were the one that cursed her with seven years of bad luck. Her piercing gaze sends a chill down your spine, and any playful mood you had vanishes instantly. The weight of her stare is too much, and instinctively, you pull back from Abby, the space between you widening in an instant.

Abby, sensing the shift, looks at you with concern, “something wrong?”

“I—I need to go to the bathroom.” you lie, and then take unbalanced steps towards the stairs to use the upstairs bathroom. Your mind races, unsure of what to do next. The party, the music, and the laughter all fade into the background as you enter the toilet.

You allow the cold water to sting your hands as you can’t really wash your face. 

But before you can fully collect your thoughts, the door swings open, and Ellie steps in, closing it behind her with a quiet click. The small space suddenly feels even smaller, the air charged with the unresolved tension between you.

Ellie’s eyes are a mix of emotions—anger, hurt, and something else you can’t quite place. She takes a step closer, her jaw set. “What the hell was that?” she asks, her voice low but intense.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of her gaze. You rest your hands on the sink as you scoff, “why do you care?” then you push your weight back while turning around to face her, “you moved on, and I’m trying to move on.”

“Is that what it was? Moving on?”

You hesitate, the words sticking in your throat. You want to say yes, to tell her that you’re over her, but the truth is, you’re not sure. Seeing her now, the intensity of your feelings crashes over you like a wave, and you realize that moving on is much harder than you thought it would be.

“Actually, it’s not moving on. We were never something, it was never that deep between us.” You say.

You feel your heartbeat accelerating as you stare at her, before you stepped closer to the door and invade her personal space, “baby, no attachment.” you use the same words she told you that last night you slept with her.

Without waiting for her reaction, you turn and push open the bathroom door. You walk out, the noise of the party flooding back in, a stark contrast to the tense silence of the small room. As you step into the hallway, your heart races, the adrenaline from the confrontation making your pulse quicken.

Forcing yourself to keep moving, and trying to put as much distance between yourself and Ellie as possible. You promise yourself that night that you won’t allow her to take up one thought of your mind.

[lapinauxfraises]

It's wednesday my boys, raise the JonElias

(hoo boy i sure hope the quality hasn't gone to hell)

I don't know what devil @sweetmapple 's recent comic put in me but it demanded me to spend THREE DAYS drawing JonElias instead of doing anything else I had to be doing this week.

That being said this is by far one of my favourite drawings I've ever done, so some details that I like go under the cut!

I thought Jon's face looked really good here, his hair in s1 used to be longer, but because of the Worm Attack he cut it short enough not to feel it against his skin, because he kept feeling it squirm against his neck. Tim did the same although I haven't drawn it yet

Writing this made me realise I... Didn't draw his worm scars. Oh well.

This was partially motivated by a conversation I had on discord that said that Elias would probably dress Jon up way more than he should be for certain occasions. I imagine this being mid s3 so that Elias can dote on him with so many eye-motif things, and Jon thinks its corny as hell but wears them anyway because those are the best clothes he's ever had anyway. He does end up looking like Elias's arm candy every meeting/gathering they go to though, like a trophy Elias likes to show off, and the eye markings are just further proof of ownership.

Also the world WILL end if I ever draw Jon binding. If you ever see me do it you can call the police because I WILL BE under distress and that will be my call for help

These guys absolutely do not have sex but instead they have this very niche thing where Elias starves Jonathan for a while just to remind him that he's so dependent on statements and then finally gives him some of the papers he had with him the whole time. Jon then gets sat down while he regains his strength and even though he does so about halfway through the statement he doesn't really move away from Elias, whether its because he's too focused on the reading or because he wants to be there is always something he'll argue about, even though he knows its futile and that Elias knows the answer to that himself.

I also shaped Jon's glasses a little more with this one :] so that Elias's would look different even though they are matching with identical strings

[hargreeves-duncan]

⎯⎯ BEDTIME BICEPS

a/n: @claraswritings posted some pictures talking about luca’s biceps and it inspired me to write a little something for it, so, go check her out❤️

summary: luca comes home after a long night and cuddles up to his girl

warnings: brief mention of alcohol

word count: 1.0k

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

You couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered in and out of consciousness as you laid in bed.

It was creeping into the early hours of the morning and Luca had yet to come back from a work-do for somebody or other’s birthday.

You had your duvet cuddled up to your neck as you tried to resist the urge to sleep. Just a few minutes longer… he’d be home soon… you could wait it out.

You drifted off again, head seeking out your pillow like a knight on a devoted quest, only to snap awake again at the sound of keys in the door.

You blinked sleepily as you heard the rustle of your 6”2 boyfriend trying - unsuccessfully - to sneak back into the house unnoticed.

A colossal crash sounded from the corridor followed by a string of whispered curses. The shoe rack had fallen over.

“Luca?” you called quietly from bed. The swearing subsided and, a few moments later, footsteps approached the bedroom hesitantly.

Luca poked his head into the room, squinting in the dark, “Darling?”

He made out your open eyes in the dark, blinking back at him. He frowned slightly.

“What are you still doing awake?” he cooed softly, making a beeline for your side.

He perched on the side of the bed, gently rubbing a hand over your cheek as he looked you over, “Thought I told you to sleep and I’d see your pretty face in the morning?”

Your eyelids flickered open and closed, open and closed, tired beyond comprehension and still fighting sleep. You nodded, “Yeah, you said, but I wanted to wait up for you. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I see,” Luca murmured, fingers sliding over your shoulder and beginning to trace a lazy pattern up and down your spine, sending tingles through you.

“Well, I’m home, now,” he said softly, “Do we think we can try and get some sleep?”

You nodded, reaching for his free hand. He held it out to you and you wrapped both hands around it. He smiled fondly at the sight, “You seem very tired.”

“Cause, I am,” you mumbled, pressing your cheek against the mattress, and revellling in his touch and voice both.

“How about…” he purred gently, pulling back slightly, “I go and get you a nice cup of water, and get changed out of these clothes, and then we can cuddle up properly, hm?”

You liked the sound of that. You nodded, rolling over with a yawn.

Luca gave your hip a soft pat and stood again, “Don’t fall asleep on me, darling. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

You grumbled incoherently as he disappeared down the hallway, in search of a water for you.

He returned a few minutes later, as promised, a glass of water in each hand. He was now in only a grey t-shirt and boxer shorts, padding quietly towards you.

“Still with me, gorgeous?” he asked, setting the cups on the nightstand.

You nodded, pulling the blanket back for him, “Quick, get in, before we lose all the heat.”

Luca climbed into bed, pressing himself up behind you, and tucking the covers over you both once more, “I’m in.”

He leaned down to your neck and breathed you in, happy to finally be home.

Your own nose scrunched as you smiled tiredly, “You smell like beer and your fancy cologne.”

“Do I?” he chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to the back of your neck, “I’m sorry, beautiful.”

“S’fine,” you mumbled, sinking back into him. Before long, you shifted fussily, dissatisfied with your current arrangements.

You pushed up onto your hands, looking at him expectantly, “Shift.”

Luca laughed quietly at your demanding tone, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He sat back against the headboard and opened his arms for you.

You turned and wormed your way around until you rested your head on his chest.

“There you go,” he said, his bicep curling beneath your head, like a soft pillow, letting you nestle your cheek into his thick arm.

You hummed appreciatively and Luca lent down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You nuzzled closer to it and felt his arm flex subtly around you, tightening his grip on you. You relaxed as you felt him do so.

He noticed the sunken look in your face, exhaustion quickly taking over. He whispered reassuringly, “Close your eyes, gorgeous. I’ve got you.”

His big hand began to run over your head, gently caressing your scalp and moving with a tender touch through your hair.

You sighed against him, the smooth motions of his hands lulling you to sleep, slowly but surely.

You let your face bury into his chest, breathing Luca in and letting him absorb you completely. All the tension seemed to drop from your body.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you inexplicably closer to him and cradling you close to his heart. He kissed the top of your head again.

“Just sleep, darling,” he said, letting his own eyes close as he simply held you, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sound of his heartbeat, the gentle strokes of his fingers, the warmth of his body. It all had your eyelids fluttering shut for good.

With a final, soft sigh, you let go. Your body relaxed completely against his, the weight of the day finally lifting as you succumbed to sleep.

Luca stayed awake just a little longer, listening to your steady breathing, a content smile curling on his lips. His arms remained around you, holding you close, making sure that even in your sleep, you never felt alone.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

EDIT: PART 2 HERE

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

[azzibuckets]

do you even love me anymore? [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: quick little blurb based on azzi’s tiktok repost

a/n: yall better not give my any heat for the fact that im so desperate that im getting inspo from tiktok reposts

word count: 700

masterlist

Paige dragged her teeth across Azzi’s collarbone, nipping at her skin and tasting the saltiness of her sweat. In response, Azzi’s grip on Paige’s hair tightened as her breath hitched, her chest heaving in sync with the pants escaping through her parted lips. Paige’s hands trailed down Azzi’s abs, tugging at the strings of Azzi’s shorts, but her hands were gently pushed away.

“What’s wrong?”

“You said we could get Yogurtland.”

Paige dipped her head back down, running her lips along the soft crease of Azzi’s neck. “You’re seriously thinking about yogurt right now?” When Azzi sighed softly and tilted her head to give Paige more access, the blonde smirked, congratulating herself for making Azzi forget about dessert so quickly.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered close. “I want gummy worms this time. And chocolate chips.”

Paige dropped her head onto Azzi’s shoulder and groaned, knowing that she was fighting a losing battle. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

With another exaggerated sugh, Paige dutifully climbed into the front seat. “What are you getting? I might take a bite.”

“You’re not getting your own?” Azzi’s face looked almost wounded.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m still full from dinner.”

“Ugh, fine. We might as we just go home then,” Azzi grumbled, purposefully ignoring Paige’s hand splayed out for hers on the console.

Paige looked in disbelief at the dark haired girl before grabbing her hand and forcefully interlocking their fingers. “Dude, we can still get you your yogurt.”

“I don’t wanna be getting dessert while you’re just watching me.”

“Azzi.”

“I’m not even hungry anymore.”

“Az, you’re being ridiculous.” The fondness in Paige’s voice was evident. When Azzi stayed silent, the older girl shook her head and started the engine. “Okay, I’m driving there anyways.”

Once they parked in front of the white building, Azzi stayed wordless, slumped low in her seat with her arms crossed and looking everywhere but the huge pink Yogurtland sign right in front of them.

“Unbelievable.” Paige reached over and unbuckled Azzi’s seatbelt, trying to prod her into getting out. “You were literally just begging me to get Yogurtland two seconds ago.”

“That was before you broke my heart and called me a fat fuck,” Azzi said, tapping her nails against the armrest.

“Well, we’re here now, so you might as well get some.”

Azzi sniffed, her nose upturned as she looked away. “Do you even love me anymore?”

“What the fuck?”

“You don’t even wanna get dessert with me. Next thing I know, you’re gonna be saying you don’t want kids with me.”

Paige rested her forehead against the wheel of her car, resisting the urge to bang her head. Goddamn it. “Azzi,” she said slowly. “Would you like me to get yogurt as well?”

Azzi was already out of the car and slamming the door before Paige finished her sentence. “You’re paying!” she called over her shoulder as she sped walked inside the store.

Rolling her eyes, Paige grabbed her wallet and followed her girlfriend inside. Azzi was pumping vanilla yogurt into her bowl by the time Paige walked through the door. The blonde took a furtive look around the mostly empty store before wrapping her arms around the younger girl’s waist and planting a sloppy kiss onto her cheek.

“Ew, Paige,” Azzi complained, wiping her cheek with the sleeve of her sweater.

“What should I get?” Paige asked, even though she already knew she was going to get strawberry because that was Azzi’s second favorite flavor but she would never get it in her own bowl because she hated the way strawberry and vanilla tasted when mixed together.

“I don’t know, anything,” Azzi said dismissively as she moved to the bar of toppings, but Paige smiled when she saw the quick glance she sent to the strawberry dispenser.

Paige pressed a quick kiss to Azzi’s hairline as they walked out, each with a bowl of yogurt. “Happy?” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against her hair.

Azzi nodded, offering a spoonful of her vanilla yogurt for Paige to try. “That’s good,” Paige said, biting back a grin when she saw the wistful glance Azzi sent towards her own bowl. “You want some of mine?”

“I mean, I guess I can try it,” Azzi said.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re dramatic as hell?” Paige said when Azzi finished taking a bite. Her thumb moved to the corner of her mouth, wiping away the pink smudge.

“Not my fault when you spoil me.” Azzi said cheekily. “You have no one to blame yourself.”

“My fault? You’re the one who walks around looking like this all the time,” Paige grumbled. She pressed against Azzi as they leaned against the car, hands fisting her shirt. “I should just lock you up in my room and never let you out.”

Azzi brushed her nose against Paige’s, her eyes lighting up with a smile. “Refuse to get dessert with me again and you’ll regret it,” she said, faux sweetness dripping off her words.

“You’re sick.”

[havikshoochiemama]

Bow lessons

Pairing: Sparrow x Reader

Warnings: None!! no pronouns used!

A/N: WTH i didn’t think ppl would actually read the one i wrote 😭 i was so shocked!!! but tyy soooo much!! i wrote this one when i was at work ngl (i be doing anything but working) it’s a short one !! it’s like 500 words LMAOO lmk if y’all want more i have sm time on my hands 😵‍💫

─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

“I thought you were just kidding when you said you’d give me bow lesson,” you muttered as you walked up you to him

“You know i never kid… sometimes,” he grinned “now grabbed that one over there and let’s get started”

you let out a groan “But Enea it’s 5 in the morning… can’t we do this later”

he shook his head “You know what the say amore—‘Early bird gets the worm’”

You yawned, reluctantly reaching for the bow

Sparrow stepped behind you, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath despite the cold morning air. “No, not that one. This one suits you better” he said as he handed you a slightly smaller bow, “Lightweight and easy to draw. Perfect for my sleepy archer-in-training”

You rolled your eyes but took it anyways “is that your way of calling me weak?”

“No, it’s my way of saying you got potential.” his grin softened.

You let out a tired laugh “remind me why were doing this again?”

“Because you said you wanted to learn, or was that just the drinks talking?” he said stepping back “Besides, archery is an art.”

He then demonstrated, with practice ease. Raising the bow, drawing the string and releasing. The arrow tore through the quiet morning and hit the center of the makeshift target he made.

“Show-off,” you muttered.

“Your turn, amore.”

You sighed, as you positioned yourself like he had. The bow felt weird in your hands, the string tighter than it looked. When you finally released it the arrow skidded off to the side landing quietly into the dirt.

Sparrow clapped dramatically, “Incredibile! The dirt never saw it coming.”

You shot a glare at him

He raised his hands in a mock surrender as a smirk tugged on his lips “Too much?”

you rolled your eyes as he slipped behind you fixing your posture with infuriating gentleness

“You know,” he muttered near your ear, “most people would kill for private archery lessons from the great sparrow”

You smirked “Yet here you are giving them to me for free.”

“Of course, amore. You’re special.”

You let out a soft laugh bitting your lip as you grabbed another arrow “if i hit the target do i get a prize?”

Sparrow hummed “Depends, what kind of prize were you thinking?”

you released the the arrow as it struck the outer ring and not the floor this time.

You turned to him with a big smile on your face “That counts… right?”

Sparrow let out a whistle ���Bersaglio! See? you’re a natural!”

You turned to him smile still big “Beginners luck.”

“Maybe. Or maybe i’m just a great teacher.” he gave you a wink “ could be both.”

you lifted a brow “So?”

instead of replying he just leaned in giving you a kiss. Warm and lazy mixed with a little smugness.

As he pulled back, you smiled. “A kiss for barely hitting the target? I wonder what I’d get for a bullseye.”

“Gotta hit it to find out,” he said, passing you another arrow.

─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

A/N: TYYY for reading i want to write more for my pretty baby i have so many ideas (im procrastinating my actual writing) always open to criticism im just a yapper not an actual writer 😭 i was gonna make this longer and i was doing research on archery and i got lazy ngl 🌚 i want to write something w the cat !!!

[zizbombs]

What’s your opinion on String theory? Btw I’m 100% for legend hate-maxing

short answer? crazy tinker lady is hot

Long answer is that I really love string theory for generally what she represents. Her personality, look and power are all really fucking good, the crazy mad scientist, the doomsday clock ticking down one second at a time as the heroes rush to stop it, it's all very reminiscent of the classic superhero stuff. What I like about it in particular, is that she's inside of the birdcage. There isn't any dastardly scheme to escape and cause havoc again, it's over. that part is done, and largely the age of more of the classic supervillains are done- it ended with the 'golden age' of superheroes. The birdcage to me acts similarly to a time capsule, or kind of a place to put all the archetypical villains that wouldn't fly in the real world because of how dangerous they are, like galvante being the classic mob boss guy, or teacher being the mastermind type. now all we have are gang leaders and shit. Also, (haven't read worm in a while so this could be wrong) but she fills the similar niche that other capes do in expanding the setting's power level. the birdcage has been built up as like this fuckin hell on earth place with all the toughest motherfuckers around, and she's one of the first looks we get at a cell block leader's power level, which was probably hitting scion with the most amount of force he's been hit with in that part of gold morning and getting flung into a mountain or whatever. she just fuckin built that shit idk it's cool. to me it always fucks when this random guy shows up that maybe offhand you've heard mentioned once and they do some cool shit and you can soyface and point at them like!! thats cool!! also she's super hot and crazy

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Downpour

It was a cold rain. The type of rain that pelted and walloped and an agenda that may or may not be biblical in nature. It left no one saying “oh, but the plants need it.” If this was what the plants needed then surely it was their first act of warfare.

Andrea was wearing her favorite pair of brown kitten heels. They had soft insoles and lifted her high enough to reach the top of cabinets. She wore a featherlight white dress in the hopes spring was just around the corner and a heavy green overcoat in the cynicism that it wasn’t.

It started with splattering across her cheek—like a teardrop, balloon-heavy. Andrea glanced up. The sky was quilted and menacingly dark, if it had eyes they would have been cartoonishly glaring. She had no room inside for shock or outrage, but permitted herself a deep groan before picking up her pace.

She guarded the flimsy cardboard box in her arms with her whole body, ducking her head down and running. The rain pelted her shins and shoulders tops and the sky rumbled dangerously from above. She almost considered permitting herself another groan.

“Goddammit!” she cursed instead and she blinked away the water; her hands were too full to wipe it away themselves. She quickly surveyed the area as the land became harp  strings of rain connected the sky to earth.

Andrea hunched over more to protect her box and quickly pivoted. She was on a narrow strip of sidewalk next to a park she didn’t recognize. A neighborhood sat on her other side with two story houses that might have looked elegantly old-fashioned if the paint wasn’t peeling off and front steps sagging. She squinted at the park again and her eyes snagged on a single white structure.

A plain white gazebo stood with open windows and a dry platform. Andrea blinked back water from her eyes and the wind buffeted into her at an angle. The shushing of the rain grew louder. She checked her options one last time before making a run for it.

She was practically bent in two protecting her box by the time she reached it, hands turned to claws and clumsy steps banging and sliding as she climbed. Stepping inside, she exhaled from deep within her chest and the world darkened and quieted. It was like stepping out of a Greek wedding into a monastery.

The rain still beat furiously outside, no doubt in response to worm-sins and the need for a worm Noah’s arc. She took a step inside and her heels were soaked and squeaking, but at least her overcoat had protected the rest of her for the most part.

She adjusted the box in her arms and was pleased to see only two of the cardboard corners were damp. She went to shake out her curls when she heard it: A muffled cry. Andrea froze.

It was a choked, ugly sound that indicated animals caught in hunters traps or toddlers discovering bedtime. Andrea inhaled tightly and spotted a lumpy shadow in the corner of the gazebo. She wasn’t alone.

Andrea turned to face the other way. A second strangled wail followed. Andrea noisily shifted the box in her arm to announce her presence and cleared her throat. There was no end. Another sob. Andrea coughed into her fist—it was what she would have wanted if their places were switched.

Steady weeping responded and Andrea was unclear if she was doing a bad job of making noise or if the person behind her simply didn’t care. The latter seemed unreasonable, but Andrea had once seen a man piss on the sidewalk, right on the street. Anything was possible.

“Oh God.” A deep sniffle. It sounded like a woman. Andrea scowled. A shamelessly weepy woman—her mother had strong opinions on those.

Andrea covertly glanced behind her and got a quick profile. The woman was hunched over in one of the plain benches arranged in a semi-circle along the walls of the gazebo. 

She was curled up into herself, hair short and limp around a gentle jawline and muted pale skin that gave her a ghostly look, almost luminescent against the dark backdrop. Her clothes were baggy, but didn’t look particularly rumpled, a pair of jeans and a loose flannel button-up.

The woman shook and cradled the empty air in front of her like it was a baby bird. Tears were mapping down her face almost faster than the rain outside.

Andrea whipped back around and inched toward the edge of the gazebo in an imitation of commuters on the trains ignoring a couple's noisy openings to a divorce. She took it upon herself to study the contents of her box.

“Fuck, oh God.”

There was a vividly green fern in the center of the junk. It was small and finicky, but she had kept alive through sheer force of will alone. Its pot was thin plastic and would need replacing.

“I can’t believe . . .”

Resting against the plant, she had two frames: one a picture of her and her dog at the top of Pikes Peak. The other was of her family, mom, dad, sister, one niece and one nephew. Her mom always said it was nice her sister had a boy and girl like that, it felt right.

“Nooo.” A long keening sound followed. Andrea checked her phone. The rain was still coming down and she desperately needed to charge her battery. It might be an hour at least the weather app said and she was still three blocks from home.

Andrea wasn’t sure she actually wanted to be home, but she didn’t have room in herself to dwell on that either.

“She’s never, fuck, fuck.”

“Ahem.” Andrea decided to make a final valiant effort for both their sakes. She held up her almost-dead phone to her ear. “Hello?” she announced loudly. “Yes, hello, mother. I’ll be home shortly. Unfortunately, I’ll be waiting out the rain a little longer. I promise not to be a bother, but I’m sure the time will pass quickly.”

She pretended to hang up. Though, she never had been a very good actress—she delivered every single line in her elementary school play like a traffic director coordinating rush hour.

A pronounced sniffle followed, but there was a kind of finality to the sniffle—like a period or at the very least a comma. Andrea dared to turn.

A young woman was sitting upright and looking directly and pointedly at her, a drill bit into soft wood. Her eyes were red-rimmed and hot as meteorites. Her nose was candy-red, cheeks sticky, hair in all directions, and a clear story to be told: I have been told I have three days left to live, ect and so on.

They regarded each other. Her dead phone sat limply in her hand. A silence stretched until it filled up the whole Gazebo, a helium gas ready to catch fire. Andrea considered going back out into the rain.

“Your mom, huh?” The woman started. Her voice was grief-thick and rough as sandstone, but there was a clarity to it, a density. The stranger’s scowl deepened and it was an accusation if Andrea ever saw one.

Andrea cleared her throat and shifted in place. “I’m waiting out the rain,” she announced lamely and directed the young woman's attention to the outside. “There is a storm. A storm and it’s a public gazebo.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “By all means,” she gestured. “Stay.” A slight smirk played across her elfish features. “More than happy to share the benches, it’s a free for all really.”

Andrea studied her for a moment, up and down and then up again. She had a narrow, hawkish face, like every feature was a corridor built for skinny cats and malnourished children to slip through. Her lips were dark, a deep maroon color like bold lipstick only certain women wore who wanted to be seen.

“Feel free to sit,” the woman over-articulated each word.

“No, thank you.” Andrea remembered to respond this time.

Another sniffle followed. “Well let me know if I can get you anything,” it was a bitter statement, sardonic. “Rain water? Coffee? I can also cry in soprano and baritone.”

She was making jokes. Andrea frowned. Was a third groan permitted at this point? How many things had to happen today?

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she stated firmly. “I understand finding privacy can be sometimes hard these days.” She wasn’t sure what she meant by “these days,” but older men at her work seemed to use the term all the time.

A ragged laugh came from the women. “Yeah, well, looks like I disturbed you too. Sorry ‘bout that. Why don’t you sit?” She seemed to be forcing her shoulders down and Andrea could see her hands still trembling slightly.

Andrea shifted the box in her arms and examined her again. “Why?”

“You’re making me nervous, honestly.” Her smile frayed.

“Hmm.” Andrea narrowed her eyes in turn and nothing more. She let the silence settle.

“Come on!” The woman finally snapped. She was clearly in a very bad mood. And it might have continued like that, silence turning into mutual flagellation, but then Andrea saw it coming. The disaster, a near crash, the train whistle blaring, the car changing lanes without a blinker, the lactaid almost forgotten to be taken before dinner with the in-laws. 

The woman’s nose was still wet and streaming despite her commendable sniffling. She bawled her sleeve up in one hand and raised it.

“NO.” Andrea dashed over just in time. She reached into her box for her tissues and grabbed several in one fist. “Here.” She offered the tissues with an iron-backed arm and perhaps not enough consideration for personal space.

“Oh.” The woman blinked at it.

“Tissues.” Andrea explained, hovering.

“Yeah, okay. Thank you?” She dropped her sleeve and took them, thank God.

“I have more.” She nodded resolutely. “Please, use as many as you need.” The woman gave her another look, head tilted. She started to clean up her face.

“I’m Oxa,” the woman croaked. “Ox-uh. I’d say, um, good morning or good day or something but,” she gave a huffy laugh as she mopped up the tear stains. “But you can tell it hasn’t been a very good one one way or another.” Andrea frowned. “My day was not particularly good either. I . . . I understand,” she said primly and gave another curt nod. She reached for the entire box of tissues to give them to her. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Oxa stared at the box. “So,” she arched her brows. “Your name?”

The sound of rain shattering the earth filled the air.

“Andrea,” she said after a long beat. “But not Andy.” Oxa took the tissue box with a grin.

“Thanks again.” She blew her nose with an enormous trumpet, loud enough for fatherhood, no, loud enough for a grandfather. When Oxa finally finished she looked up and gave a smile and it was a lovely smile. It was wide, spreading across her face in the careless way some people handed out valentines.

Andrea took a step back.

“Sooo,” Oxa cleared her throat and glanced at the box in her arms. “Moving day? I hope you don’t need these back.” She held up the balled-up tissues.

“Uh, no.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather give you my wallet first if it came down to that.”

Oxa gave a dry laugh. “This would be the most convoluted way to do a robbery unfortunately. Or the best busking anyone’s ever done.”

“Busking?” “You know,” Oxa strummed the empty air. Some darkness had left her eyes. “Street performers. They sing or do magic for money on corners.” “Oh!” Andrea smiled now, hesitantly. “Yes. I know those. One of them took my quarter for a trick once and never gave it back.”

“Can you believe people these days?” Oxa shook her head humorously, though not quite meeting the mark with her shaky movements. Andrea would never point that out. “Really! Taking quarters and crying on benches for free tissues. In my day, we cried into the dirt like adults.”

Andrea did laugh this time. She covered her mouth and giggled a little too loudly. Luckily, the rain was pittering and pattering outside and harmonized with her. Oxa made a face, screwed up her nose and wagged her finger in the air. Andrea’s shoulders shook.

“Don’t tell me you’re a comedian.” Andrea edged a bit closer.

“I wish,” Oxa’s eyes softened. “Just a depressed bastard on a bench, and you can find those a dime a dozen. Nothing special here, ma’am.” “I think we’re the same age,” Andrea said quickly. “What?” “You called me ma’am.” “Oh.” Oxa gave a watery grin. “My bad. You're just very well dressed--and needed some cheering up. I can sing too? Anything for a little lady.” “If you call me ‘little lady’ I will in fact take my tissues back.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Then also perhaps make you eat them? 

Oxa was the type of person that laughed with her whole body, like she was possessed by it from the inside out. Andrea covered her mouth a second time for no reason at all just as she bit her bottom lip.

“Oh my God,” Oxa giggled. “Who’s the comedian now?”

Andrea unclenched her shoulders. She shifted in place before shuffling over to take a seat on the bench next to Oxa. She made sure to keep a whole body length between them, but they could at least be eye to eye now.

“I suppose,” Andrea started as she settled in, but Oxa smiled at her then and her mind abruptly fled from her. For no reason at all. “Well, laughter is the best medicine,” she said stiltedly and cringed. It was the wrong thing to say, not original or even lighthearted. She should have stayed standing.

Oxa didn’t seem phased. “No way. True medicine in this case is listening to horribly sad music on repeat until the noise has lost all meaning.” Andrea persevered. “Is that so?” “I’m a nurse. I would know.” Andrea lit up. “A nurse, that sounds interesting. Do you work at Good Samaritan?”

“Nope. ER at the corner clinic.”

“Oh.” Andrea searched for the right thing to say. “I heard that can be a . . . stressful job.” “Unrelated to this.” Oxa gestured to herself. “Ya think it would be, but this was just . . .you know, it was just, it was,” Oxa took a deep breath and Andrea recognized when someone was struggling to find the end of their tongue. “Yes,” she said gently. “I had some troubles today too. I had to clear out my desk as you can see.” Oxa’s brow wrinkled. “Last day or . . .?” “Fired,” Andrea clarified. “I should have just said fired, I was fired. They fired me.” She repeated the word like a mantra as if it would make it sink in more readily, be less bitter, less bile in the throat, and more real. She sat up straight. “But it’s fine.”

“Alright.” Andrea side-eyed her. 

“I got all my things and received my last paycheck.” She lifted her box with her fern and her photos. “It’s fine.” Oxa was quiet for a long string of moments, musical even as the rain filled the space with a steady shushing. Like the world wanted you to hush and grow dark.

Andrea felt like she was going dark herself when Oxa spoke up again, steadily and Church-like.

“It’s fine as in ‘it was a shitty job and good riddance�� fine? Or fine like losing all my stuff in a house fire but I can’t talk about it at this McDonalds fine.” “Well . . .” Did her house burn down? Andrea hadn’t checked yet.

She felt her own expression shifting like light over water, mouth twisting up and then down again, eyes searching the empty air around them for something. Was there always a hand pressing down on her chest?

“Is this a McDonalds now?” She forced a chuckle. “You think I would have noticed.” “What is the world but a giant McDonald’s line with an unreadable menu?” They chuckled together this time but Andrea still felt the weight of her, Oxa, still pressing down.

She took a moment to glance out the window, checking for breaks in the clouds.

“Fine is a state of mind, isn’t it?” Andrea wasn’t sure why she spoke up. They could have let it be buried there, a little gravestone among the field of dead conversations between strangers. “Anyone can do it really, zen and all that.” “Yeah?” Oxa did not look happy, perhaps even preparing to narrow her eyes again. “I’m not sure I’ve ever personally been very zen to be honest. I’m open for some lessons though. What are the steps for being fine?” “Well, of course,” she tried to smile, but it was metal on metal. Her voice wavered, “First you have to be fired.”

“You know,” Oxa pantomimed pretending to think. “There is this patient I’ve been really wanting to mack on, a bombshell really, maybe even a rebound? I think that would be worth getting fired over.”

“Perfect, you’ve got it.” She collected herself, tried to. “Second, you have to get drenched in the rain on the way home from being fired.” “Done. Please videotape it and send it to my least favorite teacher too with a note that says he's free to say I told you so.” Andrea giggled and it was fine. “Thirdly,” she faltered as Oxa watched her, smiling, waiting. What does she want? Andrea didn’t plan for the next words. “Finally, you have to be a really good liar.” “Oh.” Oxa blinked a couple times. She drew back just a fraction of an inch. Andrea felt it, she couldn’t stop it, she deflated and deflated and left nothing but bones behind.

“I mean, it’s fine. It’s fine to lie. You have to. How else would anyone get through the day? You need to lie.” Andrea was rambling now. “My boss asks if I know how to do spreadsheets so I say yes. My cubicle neighbor asks if I’ve figured out the emailing system and I say yes. The secretary asks if I can use the fax machine and I say yes and yes. Even after none of the faxes get sent. Even after they’re not sent a second time.” Andrea tried to recover with a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. “They ask how I’m doing and I say yes.”

Oxa waited for a full minute, kept waiting, eyes flickering over her as Andrea took deep breaths. “I’m sorry.” Oxa sounded like she meant it. “You’d think,” no, no, no. Andrea didn’t have time to check on her house. She didn’t have time for this or room for it. “You’d think it’d be better to be fired for genuine incompetence rather than just perceived incompetence,” she reached up to her cheek. No, no, no. Her face was wet, wet for no reason at all. “But it’s not. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Hey, hey,” Oxa was fully facing her now; she closed the person-length gap between them. She offered up the tissue box. “Here.”

Andrea hiccupped and prepared to grab at her emotions and yank them together, but she was clearly disappointing her mother that day. She made a strangled sound as she tried to swallow and it wouldn’t go down. The lump in her throat seemed to be threatening her with a knife and she had to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. I didn’t want to be any trouble so I tried not to need anything.” She didn’t take the tissue even as the tears slipped out, one by one, and then a downpour. She put her face in her hands and shook. “Even in the end,” she gargled on her own tongue and sniffed. “They asked if I wanted to try one more time. But I couldn’t ask, couldn’t ask for a second chance.”

A hand pet her hair and someone was beside her now. She could see, couldn’t she? All of this and for a moment Andrea didn’t even care. “I know.” Andrea looked up with overflowing eyes. “I know.”

“I don’t know how anyone survives being fired.” She heaved. You have to be fine.

“Was this your first job?” Oxa crooned and cradled her head like she might kiss it. The idea made Andrea shake harder, ready to tear into pieces so small they’d never be put back together.

“No.” Andrea’s mouth tasted like salt and snot. She finally took a tissue, just one. 

“It won’t be the last one. You’ll find another,” Oxa reassured. “And you’ll ask for help next time.” “I don’t know if I will.” She stared unseeing at her lap. “I’m not good at . . . asking for things.” At least she finally got a hold of her breath. “What if I mess up the next one?” “Well, then you’ll find another job after that too. You can even practice, practice and practice.”

“Sure. I can practice asking questions. Finally pass the 1st grade.” Her laugh cracked like starved earth.

“Hey, first grade is the hardest one.” Oxa mock-reprimanded. They both laughed, emptily. “Now repeat after me,” Oxa tipped her chin up and they were eye to eye again. “Excuse me, can you help?”

Andrea humored her hesitantly. “Excuse me.”

“Go on,” Oxa prompted. “The next part. This is an exacting drill, they do this in only the most grueling military regimes.”

Andrea covered her mouth to snort. “Alright. Can you help me?”

“Perfect. Next part, repeat after me.” She nodded. “I’d like to know how to scare off a flock of fucked-up crows from my yard.”

“What?” “We’re practicing asking for help.” “What kind of help do you need?” She broke into a real smile and Oxa returned it, close now, so close, and Andrea’s heart squeezed in her chest for unrelated reasons. “All sorts, don’t worry about it.”

“A flock of crows?”

“Yes, come on! They’re ruining the garden and conspiring to rob my bank account as we speak.” “Well, dear sir or madam,” she leaned into Oxa’s space. “Could you please help me release more crows into my friend's yard? Preferably evil ones that understand bank codes.” “See? You’re part of the problem!” Oxa crowed and patted her hand warmly. “But that wasn’t so hard, right?” “Sure. But it didn’t involve me having to admit I don’t know something. Or am bad at following simple instructions.” She grinned weakly. “I absolutely hate when people realize that . . .”

“That you’re human?” She shrugged, loosely, with a sigh. “That I’m not like them.” “I see.” Oxa looked her up and down. “I have a secret for you too then,” she was so fragile as she leaned forward. “No one is. No one is like everyone else.” She squeezed her hand as she said it. Andrea squeezed back, hands accidently slipped together, foolishly, drunkenly; heads too close like they forgot they were in public. Her mom would have thrown something—especially as they ignored the rain turning into a slow haze.

“I have a secret for you too.” Andrea was too warm, her chest expanding with a hand still on it. Oxa leaned forward further and it spilled out, overflowing. She couldn’t help it. “If no one’s alike then I must be quite lucky. To meet someone out of millions in a gazebo.”

“In a Gazebo in the middle of a rainstorm that is?” “Yes. Naturally.” She responded shakily and wiped at her cheek again. “Favorite person I’ve ever met in a gazebo in the middle of a rainstorm.”

“Well Andrea, I have to say, you are the prettiest person I’ve met who’s ever caught me sobbing in a public gazebo.”

Andrea blushed deeply and looked away. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry,” she clutched her tissue in her other hand, drenched and useless. “I didn’t even stop to ask you the same thing.”

“Ask the same what?” “I mean, if you needed help.” “Oh.” Oxa drew back and scratched the back of her neck. “Well, I don’t need the same kind of lessons.” Oxa looked up at some unknown God in the bird-shit roof above them. “It wasn’t really . . . I mean, I knew my girlfriend wasn’t happy. I knew it, I had eyes, I had a brain. But . . . you lie. You lie to your boss. I lie to myself. And I said I could fix it, I could fix us, I was,” she gave a pained smile. “We were fine.”

“I’m sorry.” Andrea echoed, a cave that tries to speak back.

“I think I trapped her there. Trapped both of us. But why would she want to leave? I was trying so hard.” “Is she gone?” It was the wrong question. Oxa cringed with her whole body. “I’m sorry.” Andrea tried to squeeze her hand tight enough to make up for it. To pour every single free t-shirt, drippy ice cream, sunshine day into Oxa’s fingertips. 

“She’s gone . . . She was the one that had to do it in the end.” A tremor started from her spine, her chest, her center. Oxa’s voice shattered. “Why didn’t I let her go sooner? Why did I drag us through that?” “Hey, hey,” Andrea scooted closer. An echo within an echo as she spoke softly. “You did your best. I can tell.”

“I hurt her!”

“Then . . . you’ll try again. The next one, you’ll find the next one and know a little more.”

“No. No next one.” Oxa shook her head miserably and her eyes turned that meteorite red. “She was the only one. There’s no one else . . .”

Andrea sat up straight as if electrified and set her shoulders. “Excuse me?” Oxa sat up as well, appearing a little stunned at the change.

“What?”

“It looks like I have to ask someone for help.” Andrea tutted. She didn’t mean to be her mother, but really? Really? “I have to ask someone to help me explain numbers. We both need to pass the first grade today I see.”

“Uh?”

“We don’t speak nonsense at this McDonalds. Only one? Do you know how many people there are on earth? Do you even know the chances of that?” Oxa’s expression folded in. “But what if– ” “What if you’re the last man on earth and your glasses break, huh? Right when you want to read a good book?” Oxa's mouth hung open, eyes dried up. “You’re obviously one of the kindest and funniest and nicest people in any Gazebo anywhere during a rainstorm, be realistic about the statistical chances. Be realistic!” Oxa shook. For a moment, Andrea was afraid she made her truly break this time and she was going to come apart at the seams and Andrea would have to deal with a lot more crying, like, a lot more. And it would be her fault.

“You’re right.” Oxa wiped her eyes. She laughed with her whole body. “You’re right! What can I say, I’m bad at math.” “Well, get better at it.” She huffed and refused to look outside where it was now drizzling a fine mist and splashes of thin light streaked through. “I don’t want to hear you, Oxa, doubting that she won’t find someone else. It’s just not possible. The numbers aren't on your side.”

“Not possible? You underestimate me.” 

“You’re very bad at math if you believe that,” she said with a force of finality.

“Okay, smartest women in the world,” Oxa was nothing but one smile now, wide and cracked open. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Andrea straightened her clothes. “Though I am very dumb actually and very good at getting fired, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Oxa laughed. “Alright, I believe it. I’ll believe it if you say so.”

“Believe it because it’s true!” She threw her hands in the air in frustration. “You will find love! It’s not possible for there to be no one. It’s not possible for you.”

“I dunno . . .” she said softly, delicately. “Aphrodite herself, come down to give me romantic advice. Come down to help me solve math problems. I can believe that.” Her hand reached out, slow as syrup, and she pushed Andrea’s curls back.

Oh. How Oxa’s smile stretched and for that reason, oh, it made reasons and then more reasons.

Andrea gulped. “You’d think Aphrodite would be taller.” “She knows my tastes.”

“You’d think she’d have a job.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“And you’d also think she wouldn’t have bitten the tongue of the last woman she kissed.” Her face burned. She hadn’t planned on mentioning such personal details like her name or age or the fact she was thus inclined to look at women like Oxa.

Oxa’s face lit up all the same.

“You bit her?!”

“She moved! I was trying to concentrate and she moved really quickly.” “Aphrodite,” Oxa raked a hand through her short hair. “Even she bites girls in the wrong places sometimes!” She cackled.

“You are the worst therapist I’ve ever had.” Andrea scowled. “I even had to bring my own tissues.”

“But I’m the sexiest therapist you’ve ever had, right?” Oxa winked. Andrea opened and closed her mouth dryly. Oxa snorted. “Wait, wait, don’t answer that.” “No, no, one second.” Andrea put a hand on Oxa’s shoulder. “Please, excuse me there, hello, could you help me?” “Yes?” Oxa said breathily.

“You see, I met this terribly sad, but lovely stranger, in the park.”

“Yes, very sad, can’t leave that part out.”

“SO sad. But unfortunately . . .” She fluttered her eyes and it was silly. But the clouds were broken now and her mother wasn’t there. “Unfortunately, I seem to have a bad habit of biting the tongue of girls I like. Can you help me?”

Oxa inhaled sharply, but didn’t miss a beat.

“Luckily, I happen to work in a hospital.” Oxa shifted her entire body and they faced each other now, light streamed in through the windows on all sides and cast rainbows on the floor. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I’m also afraid . . . it’s a little disordered. I think you’re supposed to impress the person first before deeply disappointing them on the quality of your character.” “I’m not disappointed.” It was barely above a whisper. “Does that help?” “Yeah.” She still felt sticky and weak and broken up in too many places, but there was nothing left in her to resist. “But I seem to be drowning, nurse. Totally drowning. Can you help me?” A hand chastely, unhurried, grazed her cheek and then stayed there. Cradling it and leading her forward. “I’ll see what I can do.” Andrea closed her eyes.

Their lips met and it was ocean-bright. Salty and warm and threatening to drag her under into vast unknown depths. She didn’t resist. Oxa put a hand on the small of her back and drew them together, the soft press of them meeting. Andrea wrapped her arms around her neck and the kiss deepened away from herself and outside of herself. Her thoughts poured out until she was nothing but this. Life could be a kiss, couldn’t it?

Life could taste like salt and soft skin. Life could be strangers and rainstorms and, oh, life could be the best day and the worst day.

Andrea could live within that single moment where you kiss a nice girl in a damp place and forget about forming memories or following alarm clocks.

They kissed for a long time.

She was flushed and sparking like a frayed wire when they finally parted. She must have smoothed her hair out, must have straightened her clothes and stood up again. She must have walked out of the Gazebo as she stood outside in the too-bright sun and renewed birdsongs.

She didn’t remember what she said or if she said anything at all, but did remember the quick second kiss that begged to be continued.

They parted. Her heart tore itself into tiny tissue papers when she returned to herself. She wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to asking for someone to stay. And maybe she wouldn’t be fine.

Of course, Oxa grinned, cheekily and wide. She was flushed as well. “Let’s do this again if you like. I’m preparing my next breakdown already, Aphrodite.” She squeezed her hand like she was trying to say something.

Andrea glanced at her shoes for a moment, remembering herself. Then she forgot herself.

She inhaled as she looked up and didn’t care how loud she was or if anyone saw her glowing features and disheveled clothes. “Or I could walk you home?”

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

my new book! 🧡 Newsletter

[redr0sewrites]

Can you write Vox x reader where like the reader just says like really unhinged things and just like vile things whenever they rage and stuff like the internet could be slow or smth and the reader is just like “IM GOING TO RIP OFF MY SKIN” idk man I’m kinda just self projecting rn like you can right anything with it tbh idk sorry for rambling anyway you don’t have to do this if you don’t wanna

THIS IS SO MEEEEE I LOVE THIS IDEA SM!!! sorry it took me a hot minute to reply to this i have over 70 hazbin hotel requests in my inbox 😭

🥀Cw: fluff, crack, silly vox

when he first met you, vox was charmed by your seemingly sweet nature- that is, until you were pissed

your unholy screech of how you were going to rip off your skin if he cut the wifi again was both endearing and confusing in his eyes

vox would just short circuit for a second, just blinking at you while he tries to process what you just said

once it clicks, he just starts giggling. vox very rarely genuinely laughs, most of his laughs are professional or part of the persona he adopts as the leader of vox enterprises, but when he's so shocked by what you just said, he can't control the booming laughter thay fills the room

he's wheezing and gasping, each barking laugh only pissing you off more

"what's so funny? if you keep laughing i am going to fucking break ur fingers like carrot sticks!" you snap, and vox only giggles harder

after a few seconds, you can't help but notice how adorable his laughter is, and soon you don't mind it as much

once you two are officially together, you notice how stressed vox often is, yet how he seems to visibly relax around you

the batshit crazy things you say, which normally disgusts other people, only seem to amuse him

its actually a wonderful dynamic because you bring some spontaneity and slight insanity into vox's otherwise irritating and depressing lifestyle, and vox balances out the crazy things you say and calms you down every time

you often find yourself searching for new phrases to baffle him with, and for new ways to make him laugh

after vox has a stressful day, he enjoys just listening to you ramble about the most insane things and adores hearing whatever fucked up saying you've adopted recently

vox notices himself beginning to copy your speech patterns. he only begins to realize when he slips in an exceptionally odd metaphor into a work meeting and everyone stares at him, yet his heart skips a beat at the thought

there's something so charming to him about the fact that he's adopting your mannerisms, and you truly make him laugh when no one else can

whenever another one of the vees pisses him off, he always comes to you for advice on incredibly deranged comebacks, and you never disappoint!

he's won multiple arguments by just repeating one of your fucked up sayings and the other vees being too lowkey shocked to disagree

vox LOVES IT when you diss people he hates, hearing you ramble some fucked up insults about alastor made him fall in love with you all over again

"that worm on a string fucked up karen cut bob looking ass- if i see him around here again im going to eat a fucking brick" *cue vox looking at you with the biggest heart eyes*

overall, you are both menaces, but you're menaces in love ♥️

vox lay with his head in your lap, the blue light of his screen illuminating the dim room as you rambled mindlessly about your day.

"and THEN, this fucking asshole tried to flirt with me! ME!! as if he doesn't know were dating! ugh, it makes me feel like i have an entire beehive living beneath my skin. i swear if he even looks at me again im going to lick wet cement i can NOT deal. how can you even work with him? he's such a fucking CREEP voxy, i'm going to cut off those ugly ass wings and shove them so far down his throat- hey, are you even listening?"

you look down to see vox half asleep, his eyelids drooping as his light dimmed. "keep talking.." he murmurs, looking up at you with a lazy smile on his face. "you're my favorite person t' listen to.."

i love the idea of vox with a partner who challenges his very idea of power. he clearly wraps himself in a sort of persona, surrounding himself with powerful people and acting like he's so serious and important. i love the idea of him falling in love with someone who can break down his walls in seconds, someone who can dismantle his entire bravado act and who allows him to truly be himself. this is such a wonderful prompt and i am eating this up. nonnie ur awesome!!!!

[lucysgraybird]

meet the readers: honey!reader

on the arm of: clark kent (smallville), william h bonney (billy the kid)

what is she wearing? an old t-shirt worn ragged, either once her father's or owned since high school, jean shorts that are similarly toeing the end of their lives, thrifted maxi skirts and loose dresses when it's just too hot to justify anything touching her legs, minty chapstick that just appeared on her room one day, a braid edged in a bow of string, heavy work jeans to help on the farm, a single silver cross in the hollow of her throat

what is she listening to? plastic jesus by tia blake, i know the end by phoebe bridgers, castle on a hill by ed sheeran, sullen girl by fiona apple, solid liquid gas by eartheater, ptolemaea by ethel cain, the bug catcher by haley heynderickx

✴︎ who was raised small-town religious and still is, but in her own special way - god is now a friend to talk to rather than a deity to be feared.

✴︎ who falls into a summer fling that quickly turns to be more with the boy with sparkling eyes giving her parents a hand on their farm over the summer.

✴︎ who rambles through the graveyards and the more desolate parts of her once-great midwestern industry town, sometimes on the arm of her sweet boyfriend who's happy to be with her, no matter where it happens to be.

✴︎ who is more likely to have bugs crawling over her hands than kittens cradled in them, who wanders the gravel roads leading up to the farm after storms to pluck lost worms out of harm's way.

✴︎ who is trying to learn that while home may be people, not place, it's okay to miss the places too - even if other people tell you you shouldn't

✴︎ whose first kiss was shy and quick, proceeding her prompt disappearance into her room for several hours while she tried to parse the way her stomach fluttered at the feeling of his lips over hers.

✴︎ who isn't necessarily sure she knows what love is, certainly not romantically, but knows that being curled under his arm feels safe and certain and that might just be enough for her.

[vashtijoy]

I wanted to ask if you could clear this up for me, if you play in third semester and you get to Maruki's Reality, we see Akechi appear to turn himself in on Christmas Eve so, Im not sure exactly why we dont see him do so when you go back to The True Reality? what was the reason for it, Im not clear on it a bits

Hi! In short, Atlus want to maintain the mystery of whether Akechi is canonically dead or alive. Thanks for your question!

... okay, okay. More seriously, Akechi arriving on Christmas Eve is the first use we see Maruki make of his enhanced power. Akechi is present in Shibuya to take the rap for Ren because Maruki puts him there. So when that is later undone, Akechi is no longer there—and Ren was arrested and detained, all along. Just as he was in the vanilla game.

but doesn't maruki's reality start on 12/31?

We-ell... kind of. As he says in his 1/1 journal entry, Maruki finally merges Mementos with reality late on 12/31, when Ren has his dream about the butterfly. But he's already using his new power before that point, to do nice things for his friends, the Phantom Thieves.

It's not just Akechi in Shibuya. The Christmas Eve party in Royal is very different from its counterpart in vanilla—well, sure. Ren's not in detention, so the whole mood is different. They talk about Akechi, but then they just move on to have fun. Well, it is Christmas.

But the New Year's party is a strange sequence of pleasant events. Futaba calls it "an actual, real-life good ending"! We hear not just that Ren's conviction is likely to be overturned, but that Shido is to be prosecuted for the crimes he confessed. In February, of course, Sae will tell us that it took months just to document his confession, and that he's being prosecuted only for breaches of electoral and funding law.

Something else to note about the Royal Christmas and New Year events: to my ear, they have a glib, superficial tone. Don't you think so? Matters of import come up, but the team move past them, to talk about trivialities, about their party and the fun they're having. It's kind of nice; this is who they might have been without the weight of responsibility, of grief. But equally, that weight should be there.

This is illustrated in the script. Both events feature a long string of sound effect emotes:

These SE lines are never translated, but what you see here is Joker, Ryuji, and Ann laughing—waraigoe, the sound of laughter, literally "a laughing voice". This laugh, on New Year's Eve, continues through the whole group, not just the Phantom Thieves but also Sojiro and even Sae.

Coincidence? There are group laughs later, after Joker is released, and at the big confidant party. But those are just attributed to 全員 zen'in ("everybody"), or 一同 ichidou ("all present"). These lists of identical laugh lines at the start of Maruki's reality are just a little bit unnerving. By the time of Maruki's bad ending, those brief lapses into reality, with all of its unpleasantness, are gone.

So yes, in small ways, Maruki is using his power even before he merges Mementos with reality late on 12/31. And here's one last thing to pay attention to on 12/24. You know how Maruki alters reality itself, by altering people—by changing everyone's cognition so that the world agrees on its new nature? Watch Sae, during this scene.

She's surprised, sure—but she never seems surprised that Akechi is alive. She's just surprised that he's turning himself in. In the vanilla scene, on the other hand, she explicitly says that Akechi is missing. Ren can bring up that Akechi is back from the dead, but Sae doesn't seem to care!

Wheels within wheels.

so where's akechi in the "real" timeline?

Can of worms. Which "real timeline"? There are two, depending on whether or not you maxed Akechi's confidant. In the vanilla timeline, you don't get him to rank 8 before the engine room, and he dies behind the door. But in the Royal timeline, you do get him to rank 8, and you keep your promise, and that gives Akechi the will to live.

(Yes, this is what I currently believe. And more than that, I think it's the true meaning of that creator interview, "the player's feelings are equivalent to the protagonist's cognition". It doesn't mean that guy on the platform can be a randomer in his school uniform or a ghost!—it means there's one route where he's dead, and one where he's alive.)

In the game as released, we don't know where Akechi is. But in his February deleted scene—where he's clearly alive—he tells us where he was, for precisely this reason.

He wasn't in Shibuya at all. He was at this refuge, wherever it is, going into hiding. He wasn't around to save Ren.

If this scene had been left in, this would have been the moment Akechi came out of safety, out of hiding, and gave up on his life—to do what's right once more, to confirm his 12/24 decision, and face justice in Ren's place. If you think Maruki altered him, and he would never have turned himself in otherwise—watch this scene again. Yeah, we were robbed.

what else does akechi say?

On 2/2, Akechi tells us how it happened:

Let's take a quick look at that line in Japanese:

Akechi けど、君たちと戦ったあと⋯{F1 82}ともう一度会うまで僕の中にハッキリした記憶はなかっ���。 kedo, kimi-tachi to tatakatta ato... [Ren] to mou ichido au made boku no naka ni hakkiri shita kioku wa nakatta But after I fought against you all, I had a gap in my memory that ended with meeting up with [Ren] again. [lit. But, after I fought with you and the others… until I met back up with [Ren], I had no clear memories.]

hakkiri shita—"clear; distinct; vivid; plain; explicit; well-defined; sharp; loud and clear". hakkiri to kioku shiteiru—"to remember clearly". hakkiri shinai kioku—"unclear memories". hakkiri shita kioku—"clear memories".

Note that well. Akechi is not saying that he remembers nothing. He's saying he remembers nothing clear, which is substantively different, and not conveyed well by the English "a gap in my memory".

(He also switches address mid-sentence—in the first half of the line, he's addressing Ren as kimi ("you"), but then he cuts off, and addresses him as Ren. It looks like he switches from talking directly to Ren to talking to Maruki. And if you remember him being a dick about that moment on 1/2... this might be the line that reveals that actually, yeah, their promise in the engine room really did matter to him.)

Akechi believes he's dead on 2/2; I think there can be no question of that. There isn't a big reveal that he was alive all the time. And you can't even get this scene if you didn't max his confidant, if you didn't keep the promise—if Akechi didn't survive.

But there is an afterlife in the Persona universe, from which characters have even spoken—so I'd like to hear a little more, some day, about these "unclear memories" of his.

but how can he be alive

Bear in mind that the third semester looks identical (besides that engine room flashback on 1/2), regardless of whether or not you maxed Akechi's confidant. That's to say, whether Akechi dies in the engine room or not, the third semester does not change.

That means that everyone's perceptions of it cannot change. That includes Akechi. If he was dead and Maruki revived him, then he has no memories before he awakens in Shibuya, because he was dead. But if he wasn't dead—if he was at the refuge we see him at in the deleted scene, or in Hawaii, or on the Moon—if Maruki believes that he was dead, and attempts to revive him based on that conviction—

Well, then he creates a world where Goro Akechi died behind those shutters, doesn't he? A world where Akechi remembers nothing before he awakens in Shibuya, because now he was dead for those weeks. A world where, even though you saved him, Akechi died in the engine room. Just like in the vanilla timeline.

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.2 (2024/07/13)—wording.

v1.1 (2024/07/12)—added a bit about how akechi bookends 1/2 and 2/2.

v1.0 (2024/07/12)—first posted.