#Wage is friend-shaped

[yourfaveisfriendshaped]

Wage from UglyDolls

Wage is friend-shaped!

[fluffer5]

How Protective Terrans Are

So... I might've dropped a few trauma bomb in my previous entries... but we won't further open those particular can of worms *smiles brightly while throwing the proverbial can at the traum-- ehem, garbage disposal*.

Anyways, this is my 5th entry to Humans Are Space Orcs! For today's human documentary, we're going to talk about what adult Terrans can and will do to you if you touch their young, family, close friends, pets, or special mementos given to them by a special someone (which doesn't have to be from a dead anybody or a romantic somebody). We all know people wouldn't hesitate to throw hands just to keep their people or stuff safe.

So, let's refer to my list, cuz it's easier to do lol. Again, I've used movies, series, podcasts, and a writer's angst-filled mind to type this. Should I warn the rest of you for further reading? I guess I should (I was so used to reading things without the warning that I'm sometimes confused of the TW tag on some stuff lol).

TW: Gore, violence, theoretical bodily harm even though I censored most of it, death, stabby people, bullying, the insanity train.

Kill the threat. Bit of an extreme one for the first thing to pop in my head, yes? But it is true. Wars were waged for lesser things. See this news article for one example: "Mom fatally shot home intruder to defend kids, she says". This one was published on August 18, 2022. In 2012, cuz I'm too lazy to search recent ones, there's another news articles featuring the same thing but focuses on a mother shooting an intruder to protect her 3-month-old baby. In 2015, an 11-year-old boy also shot an intruder trying to defend his 4-year-old sister from possible harm. I could go on and on about this but in countries where guns are not accessible, the next possible thing to use in defense would've been something sturdy and blunt or something extremely sharp. Actually, if we were in a time wherein tribes or kingdoms exist instead of cities, I can surely say that killing their young would definitely put you and your family in said people's sh*t list.

Fight the threat. Whether is be physically punching them on the face of the place where the sun doesn't shine, nobody cares as long as the deed of letting them know their place is done. Exhibit A that a lot of us know would be bullies ganging up on a younger sibling in school. We know that younger sibling are the proverbial pain in the *ss of older siblings. It's a love-hate relationship between them. But it's also an unsaid rule that only the older siblings can threaten or push around younger siblings. Anyone else touching them aside from the close family ties should be prepared to taste someone's fist. Or feet. Or the pavement. You get the gist of it. Though as long as the child in question can take care of the bullying on their own (which I did in my experience) then the parents or older sibling would gladly back off until the time they notice that things are going too far. Though, sadly, some kids prefer not to talk about their problems which leads to behavioral issues in the future, sorta trying to get attention from their elders but in a negative way.

Threaten the threat. I see this as the tamer version of protection actually lol. I don't know about other countries but in my country, the smart kids in school can threaten your life as a student. We have the usual bling-bling kids with the money and huzzah but they don't last long in the face of being a social pariah at school. They can throw money all they want but the smart kids wouldn't be threatened at all cuz they hold the key to higher GPA. Even the teachers complain about them nerds but action speaks loud and their compilation of evidence speaks louder lol. You'd be lucky if the nerd assigned to you has the patience of a saint cuz if not... well, I've had to stop fights from breaking out from simple arguments. Not just in school though. If you've got connection in higher places then that could also be a way to threaten someone (it does happen in real life so it isn't far-fetched). Though it is more effective to threaten the threat if you're in the same place as them. Another thing would be holding blackmail on said person (though that only works if they're not an immediate threat). If you have enough social influence, well, you can destroy their entire life without touching them even once.

Torture the threat. A friend says I'm too kind for ending their lives easily. Well, watching too many action and horror films prepared me for this part lol. I don't know which one would be done but interrogators have done the worst to get information from their victim. Too gory for this though and I don't know how many kids or emotional teens are in here so I have to censor a ton of the juicy details. Let's say it would be a bit similar to Saw, Jigsaw, and war interrogations. Chemicals, acids, peeled skin, salt, knives, and hammers might also be in place. Just know that it would be a bloody, unforgiving event that would take place in that particular room with that unfortunate victim.

Play the long game. Another said killing them quickly was... well... too quick XD. This one centers heavily on having money and patience. Know who the threat is, where they live, who they interact with, and what makes them tick. For this to work, you need to give up who you were before and settle on anonymity. This is... a bit more drastic than torture but works well if you have too much hate in your chest or the deed done was something you can never forgive. It's more on watching them physically suffer with their injury or doing the threatening on their family (gets messy very fast), but since this threat had amassed A LOT of enemies, they won't exactly know who did the evil deed on them. Shoot them on their legs, feet, and shoulder. Their spine if you're a good shot and know where to hit. Places that aren't close to their vital organs but would render them disabled. You'll let them live, but it will be a life of pain and agony.

Talk to the threat. The most peaceful type and probably the most boring out of this chaotic list > v <. This should be the first thing we do and not escalate to violence if some of us can help it. Again, your patience and wit will be tested here. If your threat is minor (like another child), then talking to their guardian would help with keeping the problem from going through a rollercoaster ride. Sometimes that doesn't work and the problem turns into an adult fight.

In summary, you have 2 kinds of Terrans. One would shoot before asking; the other would talk before shooting. Which is why you should never step on this particular deathworld if you were thinking about making Terran slaves or using our young in experimentation. We haven't given chase on aliens yet. Don't make yourselves the first intergalactic specie the Terrans would obliterate.

Meanwhile in a fast approaching spacecraft...

This alien reading this How To Deal With Terrans manual : Why did we want to go to this deathworld again?

Another alien turning yellow from anxiety : To befriend them and learn about the resident Terrans?

Yet another alien wilting as they feel faint from the information : Oh, thank the stars we won't be terrorizing them.

The alien commander whose frills are flaring in alarm as they read through the unredacted version of the manual : They will torture and skin us for taking their young and their pets?!

This particular scientist whose skins are changing colors in excitement : See? I told you their famous quote of "If predator not friend, why friend shape?" also applies to them!

[boethiahsboytoy]

Sometimes Vulon thinks how easy it would be to just. Stop controlling itself. To unleash its full power on the world, to conquer it as Alduin is trying to do. It knows it could. It's strong enough that it can bend the Dragons to its will, it's strong enough to bend mortals to its will. I think there are definitely times its up late at night thinking about just that. About the massive power it has--and the knowledge and skill it has to USE it, and how easy it would be.

[robotwrangler]

Man I am so excited to move out with my friends later this year.. I can’t wait to finally have a life, and a nice new home for Pigeon, and a new job..

[puripurin]

[2024 Valentines Day Special] [summary - Cupid wants your hand in marriage, but you think it's a prank.]

— "You, give me your hand in marriage!!" You stared at the pink haired man that had wings on his back with a blank stare. You look around at your surroundings once more before sighing.

"Sir. This is a 24-hour convenience store, not some comedy TV show." You yawned as you look down back at your phone because you figured he wasn't there to buy anything. Only thing is, HE FUCKING SHOT AN ARROW AT YOUR PHONE.

"The fuc—" Your mouth shut up so fast once you realized a heart-shaped tipped arrow was underneath your chin. You looked back up, and his face had an angry pout on it.

"Listen here, you! My mother says that you are my fated one, so you must give me your hand in marriage, or else I will find the entirety of your bloodline and end it right now." He huffed without looking away, making you feel he wasn't playing with his words.

"I- uh, but I'm not ready to be married as yet. I don't know your name, your likes and dislikes, nor have I introduced myself to your parents!" You tried reasoning with him, and it actually made him stop and think, so you spoke up again and pushed the arrow downwards.

"Don't you think I should be able to know about my "future husband", so we could have a "harmonious" relationship." You were bullshitting at this point because you still had your future ahead of you, i mean you were only 22.

"Ah... I see. Then we shall be boyfriend and girlfriend. Though, we shall be staying on Mount Olympus!" He smiled before jumping over the counter and on your lap.

"Wait, you're joking. It isn't funny to be pranking a minimum wage college student." You frown as you tried moving him away, but he sat there with no intentions to move.

"Well, you're not going to be a minimum wage college student in Mount Olympus!" He planted a kiss on you before making you open your mouth forcefully and shoving his tongue in it. He moaned in delight and hugged your body.

Once he pulled away, there was a warm feeling on your tongue that made you feel unsettled. All the pink haired man did was giggle at your behavior and blew a kiss at you.

"I've marked you. Now, the gods will know who you belong to." You blinked at him before trying to get up and leave from this ridiculous situation, but you didn't go that far as he summoned a portal to Mount Olympus and tossed you in, knowing that there was going to be a long fall and all you could say was,

"FUCK YOUUUUUUUU...." As you fell.

Hap Valinturns. Hope yall are giving your partners chocolate cus i want some. No, i don't have a partner but i got my friends :D. Anyways, it's short but dramatic like always.

No proofread

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Staccato breaths mingle with the wild drumming of your heart as Coriolanus takes you to a place unknown, so far from where you live on the outskirts of town.

The freezing air sneaks under your skirt, causing your legs to tremble. Wherever you look, you’re surrounded by darkness, a cluster of clouds cloaking the moon now.

It reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your tears soak the blue shirt of his uniform but he doesn’t seem to care. In your current upside down position, you can’t see his expression and it scares you even more. 

You wonder what he’s thinking, why he’s doing this and, most importantly, what his plans are for you.

“Where are you taking me?” you inquire, your wavering voice dripping fear.

“It’s a surprise,” he announces, readjusting you on his shoulders.

You don’t like his tone, not one bit. It’s taunting with a sliver of resentment. 

Somehow, you pissed him off at the bar and he wants to make you pay for it. Punish you for…for what exactly? It eludes you. All you did was dance with some guy and Coriolanus saw red.

You knew the peacekeeper was strange, but this is a step beyond that. He stole you. In public. It’s insane, deranged.

Lights finally pierce through the veil of the night, twinkling through the hazy obscurity. A faint shred of hope glimmers inside you. If there are people here, maybe you could shout for help, appeal to basic human decency. Back at the bar, no one would help you.

Part of you understands. This is the kind of fear the Capitol has instilled in everyone in Panem.

Still, a hint of bitterness lingers inside you. Not even Yara lifted a finger to help you. You thought she was your friend. But you suppose even that is asking for too much for someone like you. Even that is a luxury far beyond your means. 

You confine tears. You do not wish to give the peacekeeper the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart. 

He enters a building with bright lanterns scattered at its front. The smell of incense, cigarette and expensive perfume engulfs your senses, so overwhelming you can hardly breathe. A woman appears in your line of sight. She’s strikingly gorgeous. Glossy, raven curls frame her heart-shaped face and heavy makeup adorns her delicate features. She wears a low-cut red dress that must cost at least two months of your wages. 

You frown, dull remembrance tugging at your brain.

Something about her is vaguely familiar. 

Then it dawns on you, and your stomach coils in dread.

You’ve seen her before, at a bar in the northeastern part of town. She was working her charms on a man who slipped her a bag of coins before they disappeared together.

The urge to puke tickles the back of your throat. A brothel. Coriolanus has taken you to a brothel.

“Is our room ready?” he addresses the woman, impatience bleeding through his tone.

“It’s all been prepared like you asked, Mr. Snow,” she trills.

“Help me, please…” you beseech. 

She tilts her head, a wide grin unfurling on her crimson-painted lips. 

“She’s a pretty thing, your lass. Almost as pretty as you.”

Coriolanus reaches inside his pocket. The clinking of coins resonates as he drops a tiny purse in the woman’s hand.  “Don’t disturb us,” he instructs.

She grabs the purse and beams at him.

“Wasn’t planning to.” Her cheerful inflection makes your stomach sink. “Our clients’ privacy is of the utmost priority.” 

“Let me go you mon-”

The woman giggles. “She chirps an awful lot, that bird of yours.”

He heaves out a deep sigh, both weary and resigned. “She needs discipline, which is exactly why we’re here.”

His words do nothing to reassure you. You thrash again, legs flailing and hands reaching for any parts of him you can. He groans but doesn’t release you. He stomps upstairs.

Your mind runs wild as your fear grows. Soon, the blond reaches an ornate black door. He kicks it open with his boot. Once inside, he tosses you onto the canopy bed in the middle of the room. He slams the door closed and locks it. Your blood runs cold.

Without much thought, you clamber off the bed, awkwardly getting to your feet and heading straight for the door.

He grabs the back of your neck and yanks you away from the door. A strangled shout leaps from your throat.

Coriolanus peers down at you, bent in an uncomfortable position beneath him.

A look of mild annoyance decorates his handsome face.

“Still trying to run away? You never learn your lesson, pretty bird.”

“Let me go,” you croak, your pleading eyes searching for pity in his icy gaze. But you’re only greeted by contempt. Tears swell under your eyelids. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He snorts, like he can’t believe you’d ask something so ludicrous. He narrows his eyes at you, the fingers clamped around your nape squeezing harder.

“Why? Because you’ve been ungrateful,” he hisses.

Befuddlement trickles within you. “Ungrateful?”

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks.

“I help you, I save you.” A storm gathers in his enraged tone. “I do so much for you but you bat your lashes at some pathetic district scum?”

You cower beneath his accusing stare, in disbelief at what you’re hearing. Your lips clamp shut, your mouth quivering before you retaliate, “I’m district scum too.” You squint at him. “I’m district scum too so what do you even want with me, Coriolanus?”

He chuckles darkly, wrenching your head so far backwards, your neck starts singing in pain. He sinks to one knee, scrutinizing your shaking form on the floor. 

“What do I want with you?” he echoes. His hold on your neck loosens to latch around your jaw instead. His scorching blue gaze dives into yours as his voice dips, whisper-soft. “Tell me, sweet bird, am I that repulsive to you?” Puzzled, you blink. Why does he even care what you think of him? 

Your silence has him jostle your frame, as if trying to shake a reply out of you.

“Answer me,” he growls.

An hasty, breathless response tumbles out of you. “No.”

You hardly had to think, needing to simply utter the truth. Of course, Coriolanus is handsome, a feast for the eyes like a prince from a fairytale, with his smooth skin, free of any blemish, bright blue eyes and angular features. It’d be hard to deny how beautiful he is.

…But he’s not a prince, and you're not in a fairytale.

As your eyes lower, his fingers dig harshly into your cheeks.

“Look at me.” There’s a sharp edge of authority to his words. You lift your gaze, too terrified to dare divert your attention from him. He continues. “Do you find my face disgusting, my voice unbearable?” His mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s my smell. Is it atrocious?”

Tears dangle at your lashes as you mutter, “No.”

“Then why?” A blend of dismay and anger paints his features. “Why do you always run away from me? Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

“I don’t need you. I never needed you.”

His orbs flare dangerously. You shriek as he hauls you from the floor and hurls you on the bed. 

“This is where you’re wrong. You live because of me. Your cousin lives because of me.” He begins removing the blue vest of his uniform, his motions irate and rushed. A lump nestles in your throat as you watch him zip down his pants next. “You owe me, and it’s about time you show me some gratitude.”

This time your attempt to flee is curtailed by a steely grip on your ankle. A knife-like sensation pierces your limb as he twists it cruelly. The pain knocks the wind from your lungs. You freeze and go limp over the sheets.

The blond’s forehead puckers, a contrite look flickering over his features.

“You’re making me do this. I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making me.”

He squeezes your shoulder and forces you to sit up at the edge of the bed. The air chills around you as he tugs down his white boxers, revealing his long, thick girth, glistening at the tip. You gulp the lump in your throat.

Your fingers clasp around the end of the bed as you gape at his erect cock. The vein along the shaft seems to taunt you. Cupping the side of your face, he nudges his tip against your wobbling lips.

“Open up,” he orders. He sneers when you don’t move an inch, “So stubborn…I can’t tell if I love or hate that about you, pretty bird.”

“Please…” you mumble, your glistening eyes rising to meet his.

He purrs, lust clouding his sky blue orbs. His thumb skims over your bottom lip.

“You’re even prettier when you beg me, birdie.” His tone mellows as he offers, “Open your mouth and I’ll make sure you never want for anything.”

Your mouth remains adamantly sealed. 

Studying you, he ponders, “I’ve always found the punishment for thievery needlessly harsh.” He unleashes a dragged out, ponderous exhale. “For shame, I’m not sure your cousin will last very long here without you.” Your heart threatens to spill from your chest. A wicked, lopsided smile blooms on his lips as he fondles your cheek. “It’s a tough world, especially for a little girl all on her own, wouldn’t you say?”

Your chest collapses at his blatant threat. Even if your own fate mattered little to you, you can’t imagine Tilly fending for herself here. You’re all she has now and if she can’t rely on you, who will she be able to rely on?

Besides, she might be better now but she always had a fragile health. Someone needs to look out for her. And it has to be you.

It’s as if Coriolanus could hear every thought bouncing in your head, smugness oozing off him as he observes you. 

Your lips part slowly. Victory illuminates his features.

He pumps his shaft, excitement bouncing in his orbs.

As he pushes his tip into your mouth, a hum of pleasure vibrates in his chest. You feel it through your own body and a shudder passes through you. 

You quiver as you swirl your tongue around his leaking tip, silently wishing he’ll be quick about it. Maybe if you do it well enough, it won’t last long and he’ll leave you be.

Still, embarrassment pools in your gut. You’re letting a peacekeeper treat you like a common whore. You doubt your dignity will ever recover from this ordeal.

He grabs both sides of your face, impatient, pushing more of himself down your throat. Your mouth aches at the corners, the size of him nearly too much to bear. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels good,” he rasps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

He slides his entire length down your throat until it tickles the back of it. You fight your gag reflex. The salty taste of him spreads on your tongue as you choke on his cock, air flailing in your lungs. He licks his lips, gently stroking your tear-stained cheeks.

“Good girl”, he praises.

He starts fucking your mouth, bruising your throat with each forceful thrust. Tears and spit mingle around your mouth as you take him as well as you can. You grow numb, eyes half-seeing as you let him use you.

Coriolanus’s throaty moans fill the room. The echo of his blunt thrusting reaches your ears. You feel sick. 

You close your eyes, hoping to forget, but all you can see is him, hear is him, feel is him.

You wish you could climb out of your own skin.

His pounding turns more feral. Cradling the back of your head, he shoves himself more urgently inside you. His chest ripples as he grunts.

You weep, suffocating on his length. Your stifled cries join the lewd sounds he makes. Your fists tighten around the sheets as your vision dims.

His motions become sloppier as he snarls, a look of sheer bliss decorating his handsome face.

His cock twitches, his eyes rolling back. A warm stickiness glazes the inside of your mouth. A groan leaves him as ropes of him pour down your throat. When you try to pull back, he firmly keeps you there, framing your face so you can’t escape.

The excess trickles on your chin and neck.

You shudder, quaking sobs wracking your body.

A wet sound resonates when his softening cock finally exits your mouth. You inhale a wide lungful, thankful to be able to breathe again but disgusted by the bittersweet aftertaste still coating your tongue. You wish you could bleach the inside of your mouth many times over. 

He collects your tears with his thumbs, his smile growing as he basks in the sight of the mess he made on your face.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, my sweet bird,” he croons.

You plunge your hands in the frigid water, roughly rubbing the clothes against one another. You focus on a willful beer stain that won’t come off no matter how much you try. Frustration blooms inside you as the brown lingers on the beige fabric.

You grimace. This was one of your nicer blouses. Now it’s forever ruined, tainted beyond recovery.

Yara wrings her skirt above the bucket, her attentive eyes clinging to you. When she offered to do laundry together this morning, you expected a plethora of questions. Instead, she spent the last hour mirroring your silence.

You’re grateful. While her presence soothes you, there are many topics you’d rather not broach. One in particular. A memory you went to great lengths to bury but won’t let itself be erased. You feel branded, like you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

It’s a ghastly prospect, one you have no desire to mull over too deeply. 

You’d rather focus on laundry today. Washing, rinsing, drying and repeating. The tedious routine keeps the scary thoughts at bay. At least for a little while.

“Tilly’s doing a lot better.”

Yara’s abrupt words stagger you. Your head snaps up. Your focus veers to your younger cousin. She’s sitting by the fire playing noughts and crosses with her friend. The two little girls are wrapped up in the thin lines they’re drawing with white chalk on the stone floor, concentration etched on their small features.

She has been doing better. Much better than she has the entire year, though it guts you to admit it. She can laugh, play, run and be a normal kid.

…And you have the little care packages Coriolanus has been dropping on your doorstep to thank for that.

It stuns you that he even found out where you live so easily. You thought you were careful.

Now you don’t even feel safe in your own modest home.

There is nowhere to hide from the peacekeeper.

While he hasn’t shown up in person, his presence hovers over every aspect of your life.

You live because of me.

“Yeah,” you reply tritely.

Hands going still in the water, Yara observes you for a while, hesitation wrinkling her features. 

Eventually she dips her head, averting her gaze as she mumbles, “I shouldn’t have let him take you away.”

Guilt bleeds through her tone. Sighing, you peer at her. While you resented being on your own, you’re also keenly aware there is nothing she could have done.

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure. “I’d be scared too. I am scared,”

Though sadness still glistens in her eyes, she nods.

“Did he…” She trails off, sucking in a deep breath as if to gather the courage to speak again. Her gaze meets yours head on. “D-Did he hurt you?”

Goosebumps erupt at the base of your spine, spreading outward as your mouth trembles. 

“In a way,” you answer belatedly.

Shock covers her features.

“We should tell Commander Crane…”

You scowl. “We can’t.”

Not only does the ruthless Commander of District 8 harbors little to no sympathy for anyone’s plight, he may be more concerned about your thievery charges than any misdeed carried out by one of his Peacekeepers.

Such are things in District 8. Unjust and bereft of any morsel of hope.

“But we have to do something, report him,” she insists.

Irritation nips at you. You wish she’d drop it. It’s not like anyone will come to your rescue. You’re not some damsel in distress, a precious lady from the Capitol in trouble. 

You’re no one. Some might even say district garbage.

“Yara, he’s some rich kid from the Capitol, and I’m…we’re just…” The words shrivel on your tongue, hopelessness cresting within you. “It’s best to leave it alone, trust me.”

“But…”

“It'll only get worse if I fight him,” you snap.

A puzzled expression appears on your friend’s face. “Worse in what way?”

In what way indeed? You’ve no idea how far Coriolanus Snow is willing to go to torment and toy with you. There’s a glint of madness in his blue eyes which haunts your nightmares.

You go quiet. 

You pick up the drenched blouse from the bucket of water, wringing it until your hands start to hurt. 

Yara’s soft voice rises, encouragement laced in her tone.

“Hey, I’m sure he’ll get bored at some point, move on,” she says. “I mean he has to, right?”

She smiles at you and you return it.

“Right.”

But deep inside, you’re not so sure, dire thoughts of pretty boys with devilish smiles swaying in your mind.

[pseudomonaslisa]

i hate spring i hate spring i hate spring i hate spring i hate spring

[gojhoes]

Bleed Me Dry

*art from nerdreamer | *divider from benkeibearnever written anything like this before but yolo (also this art is PHENOMENAL)

- contents: sfw, college au, no jujutsu sorcerers/cursed spirits au, jumping on the vampire au train, gojo x reader (ofc), fem!reader, characters in their early 20s, mutual pining - warnings: stalking, bodily fluids, drugs and alcohol. - wc: ~4.3k

Have you ever met someone and felt that you knew them in the past life?

You'd never much cared for religion, nor did you think much about the possibility of an afterlife. There were too many denominations for a single one to be correct. Not at all worth the millennia of wars waged in the name of someone's God. How was a god supposed to be benevolent and holy when they inspire such violence? Yes, you were a cynic through and through, remaining skeptical of all things damned and divine.

But then you met Satoru Gojo, and all that stubborn disbelief fell to pieces.

It was the weekend before the beginning of your final year of college. You'd been dragged along to some party being thrown by a friend-of-a-friend's-friend to kick off the start of the semester. Shoko, your roommate and impromptu best friend, was crushing hard on one of the boys in some club of hers, and she'd asked you to join her as moral support.

Just like the venue, the party itself was nothing special. In someone's parents' house that was already well on its way to being trashed, the room smelled of marijuana and faintly of unpleasantly scented air freshener. You recognized a few people, as the university that you attended was a rather small private technical school. Everybody seemed to know everybody even if you considered yourself an introvert.

You and Shoko found yourselves sitting around a card table with several others amid a very serious drinking game. Shoko was trying her best, but the poor girl was already three shots in while you sat back and observed.

"Aren't you going to talk to him?" you encouraged, following Shoko's line of sight until it landed on a tall blonde leaning against the wall. He was good-looking with his broad shoulders and neatly groomed hair that complemented the glasses hanging from the bridge of his nose. You could easily see why Shoko was interested in him.

"He's tall," you commented.

Shoko was beaming, her eyes practically heart-shaped while she talked about him. "He goes by Nanami- we were in the same research group last semester. And he plays rugby."

Shoko was a Microbio major carving her path to medical school. If this mystery classmate took the same courses as her, then he must've been smarter than you'd originally given him credit for.

You grinned mischievously. “Go,” you said.

She gaped at you, her brown eyes wide with fear. “I can’t!”

You pushed her bodily with your hand on her back, urging her to go to talk to this Nanami. She stumbled a bit, already tipsy, and shot you a glare.

“Go," you insisted. "I'm going to find food.”

Ignoring Shoko's frustrated groan, you trickled over to the kitchen adjacent to the living room. You couldn't deny that you were bored, but leaving simply was not an option with how obsessed Shoko was with this guy. The kitchen was void of people, but someone had mercifully left out a fruit tray that appeared untouched in comparison to the picked-over coolers of beer. Working as a bartender had diminished your cravings for the stuff, so you avoided it wholly.

Just as you turned to re-enter the living room, you slammed right into something solid, a person, and let out a yelp. Your plate fell to the ground, the carefully chosen grapes bouncing in a thousand different directions. To your dismay, a good portion of them rolled underneath the fridge, out of reach and surely to rot later.

"Shit- I'm so sorry!" you cried, ducking down to immediately retrieve your fallen mess.

The victim of your attack kneeled beside you to help, which was a kind gesture, but it only helped to embarrass you further. You glanced up to apologize again, silently regretting every choice you'd made in your life thus far.

"You didn't have to-"

But the words stopped dead in your throat. Your victim was beautiful, breathtakingly so. Crystalline blue eyes that met yours, snow white hair brushing just above matching eyebrows. Ivory skin and pink lips that looked so soft and perfect it made your mouth go dry.

And then he smiled. "It's okay- I move quietly." He dropped a grape onto the half-crushed plate in your hand while you forced yourself to rise back to your full height. He followed suit, towering over you so much that you had to tilt your head to view his face.

But it wasn’t just his striking features that threw you so much- it was the familiarity, the nostalgia that flowed through you when you properly looked at him. In the moments that followed, you were able only to stare while you tried to recall just where you'd seen him before.

"Oh," he said, plucking the plate from your grasp. He turned and reached behind him to toss it into the trash with ease. His periwinkle button-up stretched across the expanse of his shoulders as he did so. You made yourself look away.

"Um," you cleared your throat. "Thanks."

He chuckled at that and extended his hand for you to shake. You couldn’t help but to notice the delicate nature of his long, pale fingers, reminding you much of a pianist’s. Your hands connected in the briefest handshake you’d ever participated in. His touch was cold, so much so that you couldn’t help but to jerk your hand away when the skin made contact.

Your eyes flicked up to his, illuminated blue in the dim light of the kitchen. You blinked as he held your gaze steadily, unable to shake that feeling that you’d seen him before. You were aware that you were staring at this point, but you were determined to recall this man's identity.

"Satoru," he said greeting. Not familiar, you thought.

You relayed your own name before asking, "Do I know you?"

Satoru tilted his head to the side, smirking as though he was in on some joke that you wouldn’t get. “I never forget a face, and I certainly wouldn’t forget yours.”

Even though the comment made you blush, you hummed. “Smooth. But seriously, weren't you in Dr. Kusakabe's organic chem class, like, last spring?"

"I can assure you that I have never seen you before," Satoru insisted. "Are you sure you just haven't been drinking too much?"

You scoffed at the accusation, a small smile tugging at your lips from his teasing. "No, I haven't been drinking, thank you very much. Somebody's got to keep my friend alive."

You glanced back at the fruit tray and immediately thought of those stupid grapes. "Do you see a broom anywhere?"

"I'm afraid those poor grapes are forever lost," Satoru said mournfully.

You let out a melodramatic sigh, smiling a little when you met his gaze once more.

His lashes fluttered, and then you saw him stiffen as though something suddenly pained him. Small, clammy hands landed on your bare shoulders, and you started, though you knew exactly who the offender was.

“Why are you hiding from me?” Shoko whined, her words slurring.

You pried her hands from your shoulders and peered down at her. She was swaying a little and the smell of liquor on her breath was all but apparent. You suddenly remembered your forgotten promise that you’d stick with her throughout the night, feeling a little guilty at the pouty expression on her face.

“Sorry, Shoko,” you said. “I was just looking for a snack.”

Shoko noticed Satoru then, who had taken a full step away while his fingers fluttered wildly by his side. So peculiar, you thought.

"Oh-" she hiccupped. "Hiii. I didn't see that she was talking to you."

Satoru didn’t reach out to shake her hand, you noticed, opting only to nod his head in greeting as he smiled in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“No trouble,” he said fluidly. He then fixated his gaze back to yours, “If you’ll excuse me.”

He stepped out of the kitchen, and at least Shoko waited until he'd walked away to ask, "who was that?"

You shook your head as you watched him disappear into the throng of people scattered about the living room, stopping only when his white locks were no longer visible.

"Satoru."

The next week was spent with thoughts of Satoru scratching at the back of your head. During study breaks, you’d rack your brain trying to figure out where the fuck you knew him from. You were sure that you’d met him in the past; maybe he had been an elementary classmate? Maybe he worked at one of the local grocery stores or the café down the street? The possibilities were endless, but still, the mental search persisted. He even appeared in your dream the very night of the party, standing tall and fair with his back toward you.

Friday night was arguably the busiest at the bar. It was a flurry of drink orders, checking IDs, and straining to hear customers over the cacophony of voices. But you preferred the busy evening shifts– the bustle made the time fly. And it occupied your mind in a way that kept you from thinking about everything else, at least temporarily.

But after the last call for alcohol, a lull finally fell into place, and you began with your housekeeping tasks. Small things such as wiping down the bar and prepping garnishes and the like. Mentally, you’d already clocked out and were at home watching the new episode of your favorite anime. You were distracted, not all the way present, and you had your back to the bar. That’s why you were startled when you turned around to see that Satoru had materialized on the other side.

You flinched and your eyes went wide as your hand flew to your chest as if to steady yourself. “Oh sh– hey, it’s you! You scared me.”

Satoru raised his hands and grinned wickedly. “Boo.”

Never mind that he hadn’t been anywhere near the bar in the five seconds it’d taken you to do a 360. But your heart rate returned to normal, and you drank in his appearance. Still gorgeous, even in the bar’s poor lighting. He wore a collarless black sweater with sleeves that were too long even for him, and a pair of gray slacks. The neutral tones made his blue eyes appear even brighter, seeming almost to glow.

“Aren’t you going to order something?” you asked teasingly. “It’s past last call, but I’m sure I can make an exception.”

Satoru purred, maintaining that wicked smile from before. “You’re too kind to me.”

“Please, I insist.” You cupped your hands around your mouth and leaned over the bar so that your fingers just barely were brushing the shell of his ear.

“It’s on the house,” you faux-whispered, trying to ignore the way his hair tickled your skin for the briefest of moments before you pulled away.

He swallowed, the first sign of hesitation you’d seen since meeting him. Not that you knew him well, but he otherwise moved so confidently and with such intention that the gesture seemed out of place on him.

“I’m afraid I don’t drink.”

“I can make you something virgin,” you urged, wiggling your eyebrows. You were being unnecessarily insistent, pushing a little hard, but you felt this inexplicable urge to impress him. To serve him...? It was your job, after all, to make drinks that people would enjoy.

And then he replied, his voice firm but not unkind, “I have to decline, but I deeply appreciate your offer.”

You sighed and made a point of overdramatizing your disappointment. “Some other time, then. I’ll get you something good to drink, just you wait.”

An unnamable expression flashed over his features, quickly replaced by another disarming smile. You weren’t sure if it was the dim lighting of the bar, but his pallor seemed more translucent than before, the color blending in with his pale hair. His eyes were nearly glowing, nearly burning and you found yourself trying to differentiate all the shades of blue within his irises before he cleared his throat, and you realized you had been staring.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, cursing the blush that crept high on your cheeks. “I just.. I swear that I’ve seen you before somewhere. It’s kind of driving me crazy.”

Satoru tilted his head in question, a mannerism of his that you’d picked up on. “Is that right?”

Okay, you were definitely into this guy, no doubt about it. How could you not be? He was insanely, unfairly attractive, and though you’d just met (SUPPOSEDLY), you couldn’t help but to feel that you were connected to him in some way. That was a scary thought, one you shoved down before it could fester along with your other delusions.

The bar where you worked was close to campus and being part of a chain, its main demographic for business was students. It was a simple coincidence for Satoru to be there. Maybe that’s where you knew him from- it wasn’t a total impossibility; you'd served thousands of people since starting there.

“When are you off?”

You glanced down at the small watch face adorning your wrist, pretending to squint as anxiety slithered into your gut. Guys had asked you that same question in the past after mistaking good bartending for flirting. Satoru was charming, but he was still a stranger, and it was already well past 2am. But something about him pulled trust out of you like it was nothing. Like he was luring you in, a moth drawn to a flame.

“30 minutes,” you replied truthfully. “Maybe longer, depending on the crowd.”

"I want to take you to a cafe down the street," he said. "It's open all night, and I'm sure you must be starving after such a long shift."

Your stomach tattled on you before you got the chance to respond, growling loudly at the prospect of eating- you'd neglected to do so before coming in almost eight hours ago.

“I couldn't impose-”

He smiled at you as your words trailed off, and that voice in your head telling you to be careful was far too distant as you felt your resolve falter. “I insist.”

So at exactly three o'clock, standing with his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the wall was Satoru. He lifted his head when he heard the door open, smiling once he realized that it was you. You'd be a fool to deny how pretty he was when he looked at you like that.

“Shall we?” you said once you were standing at his side.

“Of course. It’s only a block or two.”

You turned to your right, moving to take the first step of many, when a large hand wrapped itself around your wrist. It couldn't have been colder than 60 degrees Fahrenheit, but even through your sleeve, you could feel the frigid cold of his fingers. You gasped at the sudden touch, flicking your eyes up to his, which were likely wide with alarm.

“Ah, ah,” Satoru said, releasing you from his grasp. “This way.”

You tried not to let show how freaked out that made you, blaming it on how quickly he’d moved to stop you. But he carried on nonchalantly as though it was something he did with everyone- perhaps, he did, if you thought about it. You focused only on following him dutifully and nothing else as he led the way.

"Do you always work nights?" he asked, breaking through the buzz of your overthinking.

You nodded, grateful for him breaking the silence. "My roommate says I'm crazy, but I prefer it. I take classes in the evenings, too, so I'm usually sleeping during the day."

Satoru held the door for you, gesturing widely as you passed over the threshold. You plucked a menu from the pocket by the door, vaguely recognizing the restaurant's logo; it was a simplified portrait of a dryad.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “I feel like I’ve been here before. Maybe in high school…”

Satoru chuckled. “It’s only been open for about a year. Maybe you should get those false memories checked out.”

"Ha-ha."

You could feel his eyes on the back of your head like two pinpricks of ultraviolet light as you escorted yourself to an open table. He slid gracefully into the booth across from you, folding his legs in a way that couldn't be comfortable under the too-short table. You laid the menu flat as you peered over it.

"What's good here?" you asked.

Swiftly, he replied, "Everything. Plus, you can never go wrong with chicken tenders."

"This is true."

You decided on a ham and Emmental baguette and a glass of cherry juice -they actually had it!-, opting to keep it simple. You noticed that Satoru hadn't grabbed a menu himself, but thought better than to comment on it. Besides, who were you to pry into the specifics of someone else's eating habits?

You slipped the straw dipped in your drink between two fingers, toying with it nervously. "So, what year are you?"

"Ah, I just graduated," Satoru replied, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "And you're a senior, right?"

Your eyebrows knit together as you tilted your head to the side just slightly. "How'd you know?"

Satoru didn't miss a beat. "You had that look about you at the party. And since you're old enough to bartend, I filled in the blanks."

When he put it that way, the logic seemed sound enough for you to safely dismiss it without a second thought.

"Quite the sleuth, are you?" you teased.

Satoru chuckled breathily. Before either of you could ask any more questions, your food magically appeared before you. Neither of you had indicated that this was a date, but you still wanted to at least try and appear well-mannered, so you ignored the urge to fall upon the sandwich.

"Are you sure you don't want some?" you asked, holding the half out to him.

Satoru raised a hand. "No, thank you, I ate not too long ago. Please, go on."

"I just feel bad."

But you figured it would be more rude to continue pestering him, so you decided just to suck it up and eat. You were starving anyway. You sunk your teeth into the sandwich, but you misjudged the force necessary to bite through the thick bread. Sharp pain lanced through your tongue and a familiar tanginess flooded your mouth.

"Fuck," you muttered. "Bit my tongue."

As politely as you could, you brought a napkin to your mouth and spit into it before folding it neatly to hide the blood. “Sorry.”

Satoru's eyes had grown wide as he stared down at the napkin. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and you suddenly grew more embarrassed. Had you really grossed him out that much? It was just a little blood and it wasn't exactly a Michelin star restaurant.

But as though you imagined it, that discomfort morphed into a smile so radiant you forgot he'd been unsettled in the first place. The bleeding stopped, thankfully, and you slowly but steadily made your way through the sandwich. While you ate, you and Satoru passed questions and answers back and forth like a badminton game.

He'd declined your offer to make him a drink and was refusing to eat anything now, but you thought little of it until you watched as he took the smallest sip from his glass of water. He made a face as though it tasted utterly foul. It was city water, after all, but he looked physically unwell after setting the glass back on the table.

“Are you okay?” you asked. “You look a little pale.”

He shook his head, making the stands of his white hair bounce comically. “Just tired. I didn’t expect to be out so late.”

You couldn’t deny the little stab of disappointment that shot through you, though your watch did read a quarter-to-four. Sure, you were off tomorrow, but that didn't mean that Satoru wasn't.

“Oh,” you said. “Well, I’m ready anytime, then.”

The second you place your dishes at the end of the table, Satoru sprung out of his spot in the booth and started for the door. His height must've been the reason he moved so fast, and you had to scramble out of the booth and run to catch up with him. You grabbed your coat from the rack and shrugged it on before following him through the door.

You turned to look at Satoru to somehow gauge the state of his wellbeing, only to catch him staring at you with stormy eyes and parted lips. Weren't you going to ask him something? But then he blinked away the intensity you'd seen, a placid expression replacing it instantly.

“One second," Satoru quickly added. “Wait here.”

He bolted back inside like a bullet from a gun, furiously jangling the bunch of bells that hung above the inside of the door. So, you waited, poking your head through the window to see just what he was doing. He was standing over the table where you'd both been seated just a minute before, but you couldn't see much more than that. He must've forgotten something, or maybe he just wanted to give his compliments to the chef- or something.

"Forgot my wallet," he said in explanation once he'd joined you at your spot by the curb. You nodded as he confirmed your first theory.

Satoru had both of his hands shoved into his pockets precariously as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. It seemed childish at first, but that quickly turned to endearment when you realized that he was nervous. "Would you want to do this again sometime?"

You smiled at him, touched by how sweetly he'd worded the question. You reached out to touch him in some way so he knew your next words were sincere, but he stood in a way that would've made it painfully awkward to do so, so you let your arm fall limp at your side.

"If you ever want to grab a bite, I'll be awake." you answered before the two of you parted ways for good.

All you knew was that you wanted to see him again, wanted to see this strange man you'd met by chance and break past his walls and excessive smiles. And you wanted him to tell you where you'd seen him before- maybe you were delusional, but you had an inkling that he knew exactly what you'd been talking about.

What you didn't know was that Satoru had followed you for the entirety of your walk home, slipping in and out of the shadows as he debated whether to reach for you. Sitting across from you in the booth had been torturous, especially once you'd bitten your tongue. The napkin that now sat in his pocket seemed to burn a hole straight through to the bone. Any of your blood would have long since dried, but it was yours, and for now, it would have to do.

His hand hovered over the doorknob- hadn't anyone taught you to always lock your door? He heard you shuffling around inside, the clinking of drinking glasses and silverware being put away. The mundanity of you tidying your kitchen was a slap in his face. You were still living, still warm-bodied and radiant. Not cursed, as he was, with a full life ahead of you that would end peacefully. There would come a day when you would close your eyes and they would not again open. It would be completely and utterly selfish of him to do something as stupid as tampering with something as precious as your life.

But the urge persisted, as it had for months, inspiring the most selfish ideals he’d ever before been plagued with. And that selfishness was what made him believe that he truly was a monster deserving of his fate. That selfishness made him into who he was.

If he'd never seen you that night just a few short months before, he would've long since left this forsaken city. He wouldn't be trapped here by the longing he felt for you. He wouldn't be such a damned mess, going to parties and putting himself directly into situations he should be avoiding at all costs. All the lies and the hiding started to add up after a while; soon he’d be so deeply intwined in a wreck of a story that would be too much to keep up with. He’d slip up eventually; he always did.

The party had been the absolute last straw. Suguru had advised him not to go, but Satoru was a social creature, and he still enjoyed bantering and foolishness as he had during his waking life. And as was commonplace as of late, anywhere you went, so would Satoru, because that's just the type he was.

He had not planned on getting as close as he did though. Quite literally, you’d been on top of him even if it was for only a second. But it had been enough to break through the delicate semblance of control he’d had hanging by a thread. The sheer pleasure he got from your scent alone was something he’d learned he needed; it was more than a want. Even now, the bits of you he could pick up on through the door had some kind of trancelike effect on him.

But as Satoru turned his back to your apartment, fists clenched by his sides from the sheer amount of effort it took, he admitted to himself that Suguru had been right. He shouldn't have gone, because it sealed the fact that his every moment would be consumed by thoughts of you.

Confession: I ship Shoko and Nanami SO HARD. They're both water signs, too. I love symbolism and foreshadowing more than anything else in this world.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Hello my good friend. I have an AU for you.

(Warning: blood)

The type of magic you are born with is the most important thing in the Kingdom.

Everyone has some type of magic. That's just how the world works. Some people have magic that is MUCH stronger than others, and some people don't have very much magic at all. But everyone has magic of some sort.

And, like I said, the magic matters.

Who cares if you have a ton of magic, but the only thing you can do with it is fold laundry? Or you have a world ending amount of magic power, but the only thing it can effect is a coin toss?

The type of magic matters more than the amount of magic power.

Technoblade has a ton of magic power, but the only thing he can really do is fertilize plants. Not make them grow, not control plants. The fertilizer he makes is just really good. Not incredibly useful.

With a power like that, the only option available to him is being a gardener.

It doesn't matter how much he loves books or loves writing. It doesn't matter how SMART he is. His magic is only good for making fertilizer so WHY would anyone hire him to anything but what his magic is good for.

He doesn't hate gardening, but he does hate being forced to do it.

Technoblade gets a decent paying job gardening some asshole nobleman's house. The Duke is a dick, but his son is even worse. The kid has a decent amount of magic in something academic. Technoblade had corrected the kid on something ONE TIME and the kid made it a hobby to make Technoblade's life a personal hell.

Asshole kid tears up the garden and makes Technoblade redo it. Asshole kid breaks the gardening tools and then the Duke takes it out of Techno's wages. Asshole kid trips and knocks Technoblade into the mud and dirt as often as he can, telling Techno that its where he belongs.

Techno endures. One, because he needs the money. And two, because he's pretty sure if he quits, the kid will prevent him from getting another decent job.

At some point, the Duke throws a party for young noblemen. The next generation needs to make connections and so on. Technoblade works overtime to get the garden in good shape, even with the Asshole Kid making it hell. He doesn't sleep very much, but the day of the party arrives and Technoblade tries his best to make sure everything is perfect so he can be above reproach. Technoblade is basically hovering out if sight, ready to quickly fix anything if he needs to.

He didn't expect to have to talk to any of the guests.

One of the guests, some teen about 13, is hovering near a flowerbed. Just leaning down and looking at the flowers. Technoblade tries to quietly leave without being spotted, but then he notices that the kid is crying.

Technoblade awkwardly approaches the kid and tries to ask him what's wrong. Ask him if he needs anything.

The kid says no and that he should fuck off.

And then the kid just starts plucking the flowers and throwing them on the path.

And Technoblade knows the kid is a noble, and he knows he shouldn't get angry over it because he will get in trouble, but he WILL get in trouble if the Asshole kid sees the dead flowers. It doesn't MATTER if he was responsible or not.

And Technoblade tells this noble kid off for killing the flowers and then the Noble Kid gets all angry and starts cursing Technoblade out.

And Technoblade in a fit of anger reveals that he doesn't want to get fired from the only job his magic would allow him to have. And the noble kid gets quiet about that. Then the kid just sort of says that Techno could get a job for some other noble. And Technoblade, probably unwisely, says that the Duke's kid is an asshole and would just make it so he didn’t get hired anywhere.

Noble Kid laughs and agrees that Duke Noble Kid IS an asshole.

The kid then introduces himself as Tommy.

Tommy and Techno connect over how much of a dick the Duke's son is. Tommy tells Techno that the Duke's son had made fun of Tommy because the only thing that Tommy could do was make flowers. It wasn't useful, like his older brother. Technoblade mentions how its still better than HIS power. At least Tommy can make the flowers grow immediately. All Technoblade can do is make fertalizer, and then SWEAT over trying to get the flowers to grow.

Tommy is back to being upset about his powers, though. And Technoblade states that he doesn't think powers are the be-all anyways. He points out that the Duke's son isn't that smart, even though his magic says he should be. Tommy then tells Techno that Techno is really smart. Techno is like "thanks, I know." Which makes Tommy laugh.

Eventually, Tommy has to leave and go back to the party, but he fixes the flowers he broke so Techno doesn't get in trouble. Which Techno appreciates. They part ways, and Techno goes back to trying to make everything go off without a hitch.

The next day, Techno is getting absolutely chewed out by the Duke. Apparently, a large part of the garden was TRASHED and the guests had complained to him. (It wasn't trashed. The Duke's son and his friends had fun tearing it up, then telling the Duke they found it like that.) The Duke plans to bring charges of destruction of property against Technoblade. For all the years of loyal service, the Duke gives Techno a choice. He can take the case to the courts and be imprisoned for 10 years, or he can agree to 30 lashes and keep his job.

Technoblade really needs the job.

Of course, the Duke's son decides to make an event out of it. He invites all of his friends to see the gardener whipped for destroying the garden. It's so funny, right?

Technoblade really wished that Tommy wasn't there. But he was. The kid looks horrified when he realizes what the party he was invited to was about. He tries to intervene. For a moment, all of the party goers hesitate and Technoblade wonders if maybe Tommy was more important than he thought. But then the Duke's kid is all "Are you calling us liars?" And Tommy hesitates, and suddenly all of the other nobles are more bold and drown Tommy's words out.

Technoblade doesn't look at Tommy the entire time he is whipped. The kid tried to stop it, at least. He appreciated the thought.

The next day, Technoblade is dismissed from his job as a gardener. Without recommendation. He's thrown out onto the street, in pain and with nowhere to go.

Funny enough, though, his wounds had stopped bleeding.

Technoblade used what little money he had to find a cheap inn to stay at. He had no idea what he would do next, but he needed somewhere he could heal.

It takes a week for there to be a knock on his door. Technoblade slowly gets the door, and is nearly bowled over by a teary-eyed Tommy.

Tommy apologizes when Techno groans in pain, and then apologizes more that he couldn’t prevent it. And Technoblade is so busy trying to reassure the kid that he didn’t really notice the other person with Tommy.

The guy introduces himself as Wilbur, Tommy's older brother. Wilbur says that Tommy had mentioned Technoblade and that Wilbur was grateful that Techno had tried to cheer up his brother. Tommy had been too embarrassed to tell his family that he was getting bullied by the Duke's kid, but he had finally admitted it when he asked Wilbur to help him find Techno.

Wilbur said that they would love to offer Technoblade a job, if he was interested. They needed a gardener. Technoblade accepts immediately. Like, why wouldn't he? He needs the money.

Wilbur tells Techno that they will send someone the next day to pick him up. He could go ahead and move into the estate, even though they would, of course, give him time to heal.

When Technoblade arrives at his new workplace, he is MORE THAN SHOCKED that it is the Royal Palace. Like, the royal palace can afford better gardeners with better magic than Techno.

But Prince Wilbur and Prince Tommy both assure him that they want him. Technoblade has a terrifying conversation with the King, where King Philza also assures Technoblade that they want him.

King Philza gives Technoblade two weeks leave, and says that Techno can take more if he is still not healed within that amount of time. Technoblade thanks him. But within a week, Technoblade feels too nervous to keep laying around (and honestly, he feels back to a 100% anyways) so he starts to work with the other gardeners.

Tommy throws a fit when he sees Techno working, demanding that Techno rests more. Technoblade assures Tommy that he is fine but Tommy won't hear of it. He marches Techno to the King, demanding his Dad make Techno rest more. It's frightening, but Techno argues that he is fine. The King requests Techno visit a physician to determine if he is alright to return to work.

Techno agrees, and Tommy is very smug up until they get to the physician. Becaise the Physician clears him. And Tommy is annoyed and in disbelief about this.

But King Philza seems curious about this and gives Technoblade a second glance. He asks Technoblade again what his magic is. When Technoblade answers that he makes fertilizer, King Philza ponders that before grinning. He simply says he understands and then tells Tommy to stop whining so loudly because Technoblade is free to continue working.

Technoblade isn't the only gardener. He's not even the head gardener. But he IS the only gardener that gets pestered by the royals. Tommy, of course, has the time of his life skipping classes and annoying Techno while he worked. Wilbur is a gossip and definitely find it interesting what tidbits Techno heard in the Duke's house while he worked there. The King, however, just sort of stares at him. Which is very disconcerting.

Eventually, the palace holds a massive garden party. Technoblade and the other gardeners work overtime so everything is perfect. Every noble in the kingdom is invited.

Including the Duke and his son.

Technoblade stumbles across where the Duke's son and his friends have cornered Tommy. They yell at Tommy about getting them in trouble. Technoblade's hesitates between stepping in and calling a guard, but before he can decide, the Duke's son throws a punch, and Tommy goes down, blood pouring from his nose.

Techno sees red.

Techno immediately stands between Tommy and the Duke's kid. The Duke's kid doesn't seem bothered, insulting Technoblade. Insulting Tommy. Even insulting Wilbur. But Technoblade doesn't back down.

The Duke's kid goes to punch Technoblade and Techno catches the kid's wrist. The kid starts to threaten Technoblade for touching him, but before he gets very far into a rant, the blood vessels on the kid's arm rip open. The kid is now screaming, His friends are screaming, Technoblade lets go in surprise. Guards and guests alike flock to the area at the sound.

Guards seize Techno immediately. The duke's kids friends are shouting accusations and threats. The guests that showed up are shrieking insults at him as well. Technoblade is basically frozen in horror and fear, thinking he is about to get the death penalty for attacking a noble. Or torn apart by a mob.

Tommy finally stands up and yells for everyone to shut the fuck up.

Tommy tells the guard to release Techno and to arrest the Duke's kid and his friends. The guards hesitate as the other kids tell them that Tommy is lying. And the adults scoff and say that Tommy is a useless Prince anyway.

Bad thing to say when the King is in earshot.

The guards don't hesitate to follow Philza's orders.

A physician is seeing to the bleeding out Duke's son. Philza stares at him for a while, before turning to the Duke himself. He says that he had been lenient on the Duke and his family over the bullying because the kids had never actually touched Tommy, but that was no longer the case. The Duke argues that most of the witnesses say that it wasn't his son. And the Prince is probably confused from being hit by the servant.

The King makes a motion with his hand and the Duke's throat opens up in a fount of blood. The onlookers are horrified as they watch the Duke bleed out.

Blood Magic is rare, and incredibly flexible. It can be a weapon of war. It can heal. It can do so many things.

It is also incredibly hard to recognize. Like, how many people are going to try controlling blood?

Also, blood is an excellent fertilizer.

Philza demands that the Duke's son is dragged to the dungeon, along with his friends and their families. The guards immediately move to do this. A physician is called for Tommy.

And Technoblade is to be escorted to his quarters.

Technoblade spends the entire walk writing his will in his head, but also wondering what the heck just happened. Just, vascillating between confusion and fear. Being locked in his room with no info definitely adds to his fear.

Doesn't help that the King eventually walked through the door. Technoblade is not all that comforted by the King smiling.

The King asks Technoblade if Techno knew that he had Blood Magic. Technoblade basically buffers at that and Philza doesn't even need an answer to know that Technoblade is lost.

Philza then explains that, even in defense of Tommy, attacking a noble like that was a crime. Technoblade just slumps. Philza continues that such an action requires that his job be terminated. Which, fair, Technoblade supposes.

However, Philza would like to offer Technoblade a position as a bodyguard for Tommy. Technoblade is confused about that. He's just a gardener. Bodyguard?

Philza insists. Philza will even train Technoblade in Blood Magic himself, so he doesn't need to worry about qualifications. He already proved he would be a great bodyguard for Tommy, anyways.

Technoblade carefully asks what would happen if he refused. Philza calmly explains that he would make sure that no one in the Kingdom will ever hire him. That he would be left without any options and if he, a blood mage, tried to cross the border, then it would be seen as treason.

Technoblade just gapes at Philza at that and Philza pats him on the shoulder. He assures Technoblade that he will be well taken care of as a bodyguard. He won't want for anything.

It's not really a choice, anyways. Technoblade agrees.

So, in reality, the type of magic you have is really only the SECOND most important thing in the world.

Because the First most important thing is what King Philza thinks you should do with that power.

Have a good one!

Oh god this arrived in my inbox on FEBRUARY 12th-

I even DMed you about this amazing AU and spend a couple hours in my discord server making an AU of this AU with dark sbi and vaguely the same premise (fnatasy setting with type of magic vs amount of magic) but then I forgot to actually post the ask :wheeze:

WELP, here you go fellas, feast your eyes on this tasty treat. And thank you Lenn for delivering such based AUs to my inbox all the time (and not taking it personally when I accidentally hold them hostage for weeks)

[netherworldpost]

(pours one hard drink and it’s not even that alcoholic)

okay here is how we are going to fix your finances

your love life is against my ire so I am going to level with you:

“respect and talk to each other and if you can’t do either part ways, possibly permanently”

this goes for friends and family members too there are zero exceptions, your life is your treasure let none take more than you are willing to share — not give — freely

bad grammar spelling ink lines bad proportions tropes easy and predictable endings color choices contrary to popular taste and all other “sins” in art are irrelevant if you enjoyed making it, and if you enjoy making it then there are likely folk who will enjoy it too

if cooking goes awry lower the heat and go slower, take shortcuts, if you can add more salt butter and/or garlic, in small amounts, tasting often

entropy says something I can’t remember I am a bad scientist so ultimately and untidy home will return to untidy once tidied so clean what and how you can

work your wage and not more, it’s typically more profitable to take time and find a new job than risk not being promoted

this also includes working for yourself

if your business isn’t fun then make it a semi-pro hobby and just do the parts you enjoy

be fearlessly honestly with yourself, in quiet times if no where else

keep an eye on boots lest you not seek freedom but to become a cobbler, or worse, the foot in the boot on someone else’s neck

when (not if) you find yourself as a boot or cobbler, fix it, you always can, and this is when not if because propaganda is subtle

money is a neutral tool, it’s used for good and evil, understanding how it works is possible, I always send people to nerd wallet dot com because it’s the one I remember, there are a million similar blogs

guilt is an unwanted gifted weight to the waterlogged, possibly drowning, be suspicious of its value, it rarely serves as a building material

your sexuality and gender identity are clear as glsss or not and that’s okay not all glass is clear, it’s so pretty whatever color and shape it is, it might not make sense, that’s great too

“life is short” is only half true, life is also very long, the chances of a single fuck up ruining things permanently is exceptionally small

you made it this far, so rest, it’s good and necessary and universal, then keep going when you can

cheers to us all I hope we all make it

[imagine-shenanigans]

my favorite thing about writers interpretations of johnny and simon being freaks who bully their way into your life is that I love the variety in it.

Like yes there are some community agreed staples that tend to track regardless, but I love how in character two wildly conflicting points of view are.

Like yes, Simon is absolutely the type of person to wage a psychotic fucking war against his point of interest to the point that, despite his uncanny behavior at times, reader can solidly write him off as just kind of a loser until he masterminds his way into being a permanent fixture in their life and they dont realize ever or until the trap is so solidly snared around them that its inescapable. And yes he's ALSO the type to so stubbornly butt his way into that same life just because he decides he can! Theres no convincing of anyone, not even himself, he just walks up, throws you over his shoulder and caveman style calls it his. I like it, its mine, no i dont care.

Whereas Johnny you see the same thing in a different shape- a Soap so willing to keep his prize that he'll bumble his way into your routine like its an accident, all charm and smiles despite the times he gets a little forceful or creepy, but is so patient and willing to get what he wants that he'll play any angle he can to get it. Your best friend? sure! your cool coworker? absolutely! The neighbor who you can rely on day or night in an emergency? on it! And then you also see a Johnny who refuses to wait, refuses to heel, refuses to wait. He'll kiss you sloppy in front of the whole supermarket just so nobody tries anything but his image is so naturally good you cant do SHIT about it. An unrelenting force that will get what he wants and is, while not willing to wait, willing to "clear the way" for you. Almost like he's fine running ahead because youll get there eventually on rhe railroads he's putting down.

i just think its neat watching people play jn the sandbox with them

[lowkeyrobin]

Jock!reader who's like really nice to everyone and has a crush on Ethan and tries to flirt with him while Ethan is tutoring him and FAILS MISERABLY and Ethan just thinks it the most adorable thing ever ahhhh plss🙏

- ♣️

YES YES YES HELLO ♣️ ANON!!! welcome my third child 🙏🙏🙏🙏 literallt love u sm thank you for this pookie

ETHAN MORGAN ; flirty jock and flustered geek

summary ; jock!reader who has a crush on ethan and fails successfully to flirt with him

warnings ; language, cheesey stuff lol, reader is described as a basketball player but can totally be changed, this also isn't that great tbh

word count ; 1k

masterlist

You rest your letterman jacket on the back of the chair you sit on, being greeted by Ethan. He opens his binder to the homework in the Geometry packet, and you do the same, mentally preparing yourself. You notice his white binder is covered in stickers and some reference to vampires, witches, the supernatural, and beyond. Ethan was kind of your friend, you were more than acquaintances but you didn't talk outside of Geometry and English class.

You were one of the very few nice people on the basketball team, or maybe you were just a decent person and didn't judge people all too quickly. Otherwise, you didn't mind needing the tutoring from Ethan, you appreciated it really, if you failed another test you could be at risk for getting kicked off the team and you might lose the opportunity for a scholarship to college.

"Okay, so, what exactly do you need help with?" The brunette asks, looking up at you as he runs a hand through his hair, looking a little nervous.

"I just don't know how to like, figure out what shape they are like, how Mr. D wants us to, and like how to find the second base or the height" You explain, "Like, I know how I just can't remember the like, equations, I guess. And when I do, I get the math wrong"

He nods, "Okay, so, you know how to find the areas and perimeters well enough, though, right?"

You nod.

As he begins to explain how to solve your problems, you notice his orange t-shirt, accentuating the perfectly placed blush on his cheeks, faint but definitely pink. The way he spoke to dumb it down for you a bit but to not infantilize you made you smile a bit, seeing as he cared about your feelings. You notice him rub the nape of his neck, seemingly anxious or nervous around you, or maybe uncomfortable because he didn't know how to teach, like how Mr. D should be teaching you this and not poor Ethan, wasting his study hall for you.

You were already very, very aware of your crush on Ethan Morgan. He was your every thought, he was in your blood, in your ears, in your eyes, and in your tears. (weezer reference)

But, now was not the time to dilly dally about with high school crushes, these next 35 minutes could potentially determine your entire future. You needed this free ride to college, otherwise you'd turn into another old person working a job that pays minimum wage for maximum effort.

As time lugged on, you couldn't help but not focus on your homework and instead focus on Ethan and his gorgeous face. He looks back up at you after asking a question, seeing you were totally zoned out staring at him.

"Y/n?" He waves a hand in front of your eyes, trying to snap you back to reality. (eminem reference, wow I'm on a roll today)

You blink, "Oh, shit, sorry, uh, what'd you say, pretty boy?"

You couldn't even think about the words spilling out of your mouth until after they already fell. Those words hit Ethan like a falling anvil, his face turning bright red as he tries to shrug it off as you were just surprised and trying to be nice to him.

"Uh, this is the equation, uhm, try solving it"

You awkwardly nod, writing down the equation and putting in the numbers with the respective variables. You solve the equation, ending up with 24 for the height. He looks confused, having got a different answer. He scooches over to you, trying to figure out where you went wrong.

"Y'know, you're like a walking calculator. A cute one though" You shrug, he looks at you with a slightly confused and amused face, "I dunno what that even means, sorry"

He nods, "Oh, okay, you I think multiplied by two instead of dividing"

"Oh, whoops" You pick your pencil back up, fixing your mistake.

"There you go!" Ethan smiles, "It's just little mistakes, you'll build on it" He lightly pats your shoulder.

"Did you know Ancient Romans used to brush their teeth with their urine? And it actually worked?" You randomly ask him, fidgeting with your pencil.

Ethan blinks, slightly confused before he lightly laughs. "I hate you, focus on the Geometry, no stalling"

"Do you hate me or are we about to kiss right now?"

"Dude. Did you get that off Pinterest or something?"

"...Yeah"

He hides a laugh and bites his lip, "Okay so you-"

"Damn, are you Terms and Conditions? Cause I'd love to blindly agree to whatever you say"

Ethan quickly covers his mouth, "Shut up!"

You laugh a bit, "Sorry, sorry. I didn't sleep for shit last night and I'm getting frustrated cause I don't understand this"

"You'll learn!" Ethan smiles, shaking you lightly by the shoulders.

Some time later, the bell is about to ring, dismissing you to lunch.

"Thanks Eth" You lightly smile, "Oh, uh-" You reach into your backpack, pulling out some homemade cookies in a plastic Tupperware, handing them to him. "These are for you. I have to go to lunch in a second" You say, pulling your backpack over your shoulders, carrying your binder and pencil in hand.

"Oh- thank you!" He smiles, watching you stand up. The smile falters a bit due to awkwardness, "Uh- I have lunch next period too-"

"Bye Ethan, see you later! Love you, dude!"

Ethan is left confused and slightly shocked, cheeks a little red.

He knew you had a crush on him, he felt the same way, but he loved seeing you miserably fail to flirt with him. You were no romantic, if anything, a hopeless romantic in your thoughts.

He smiles, looking down at the red-lid Tupperware, seeing soft, chocolate chip cookies inside, his favorite.

"Thanks, Y/n," He whispers with a little smile, then gathers up his binder and books, shoving them in his backpack.

He notices a tingling feeling in his face, feeling a familiar warmth on his face as he thought about the nicknames and dumb pickup lines you'd spilled out of your lips that past half hour. God, would he love to kiss those lips of yours. He sighs, realizing he should definitely let you do that some more before he asks about it at all.

Thankfully, he'd been able to have slipped a note into your binder before you left.

"Hey Y/n! If you need any help tomorrow I'll be in the library. Bring your pickup lines with you, and I might help you not get kicked off the team. -Ethan"

[alienpossession]

The Pagon Prologue: Brick by Brick

Read the first part here

Not stopping at the military operatives, Pagon asked for more manpower to be utilized to infiltrate Russian criminal society in order to fund the establishment of New Skrullos in a way that is less track-able by the government in Moscow. It's a process of starting to build their ideal temporary home brick by brick, and after the groundwork with the military, they need to stretch out their control a bit further

Posing as the decorated General, Pagon strut his way to meet an old friend of the General that went rogue and eventually worked for a criminal oligarch.

The friend would never expect that it was all just a ruse by the manipulative Skrull as he got hauled and then locked away in the Fracking Pod where a Skrull operative named Zirksu took his likeness and absorbed his memories to infiltrate deeper amongst the criminal underworld

Just like wildfires, the Skrull moved swiftly and decisively, targeting oligarch from various background that they found necessary to support the success of their operation. Starting from the commander's best friend boss who owned sprawling construction empire and illicit drug trafficking mixed with it named Wassily Kirilenko. He was in the middle of his workout in his private gym when his very own right hand man who spotted his bench press suddenly shape shifted right in front of his eyes and pressed the heavy weight to crush his body. After telling fellow Skrulls he brought along that already infiltrated the innermost security detail of the oligarch to dispose the real body, he checked himself in the mirror and flexed his newfound affinity for big tattooed muscle and the insane thirst for power and control

Skrull love to toy around with their target and taunted them to the maximum pain before locking them away in the Fracking Pods or outright killing them. Just like how Nuro taunted Maxim Yagudin, a former KGB spy turned telco oligarch, on how Yagudin is not that smart after all for being easily tricked by a shapeshifting alien half his size.

"Let's see later how you got so rich, bro. I have theory in my mind that it's all about nepotism and being an eye-candy for an influential widow with wide connection from what I read about you, but I'll know every single thing about you without you even saying a single word anyway.....so.....keep your mouth shut," he said before choking him close to his death to make him unconscious

But all in all, the infiltration of the criminal oligarch can be qualified as a successful operation. Not only they raised so much more capital to support the cause, now they have wide range of services they can use and manipulate to further wreck havoc among human. For example, he might look young, but Gennady Tatishvili is a real danger with his 10,000 well-armed militia that he inherited from his father

The Skrull operative that is directed to pose as him cornered him to the en-suite bathroom in his own sprawling mansion where he met his demise after a heart attack for being so goddamn terrified when he witnessed the Skrull shapeshifted from a woman he's about to fuck to a perfect replica of himself. A portable fracking devices he brought along proven to be handy as he copied all Gennady's memory before leaving the real body unattended in his own pool of pee and sweat, a tragic end to an up and coming oligarch overlord. The plan on his militia is to basically do Gravik's dirty work without sacrificing Skrull operatives in the process

Then, there's this trio of gun manufacturer and also owner of various exclusive restaurant, clubs and gyms across Russia and its former Soviet area. Gravik simply want to have endless gun supply to support his causes to wage war among humans and what better way other than seizing the control in its production to do just that. The high-end chain of entertainment spots can also work wonder for the Skrulls as it will ease transportation process of goods to remain illicit and untraceable. Plus, the spots are well-known among the 1% so it's a perfect breeding ground to get more shells if necessary. The 3 man are related because the first two (Aleksander Samsonov and Boris Samsonov) are step-brother from the same father while the last one (Jurij Alimov) is an in-law that entered the family through marriage with the eldest child and only daughter of the Samsonov family. They were kidnapped as their dinner already spiked with sedatives that can knock an elephant within minutes, and they all fell flat to their plates of privately-catered food in the confine of their own home not even a minute after their first bite. They never wake up during the transfer of their body to the continously-developing Skrulls operation base and once they lined up to the fracking pods, Skrull operatives already await to replicate them and returned right away to their estate in order to not raise any suspicion

Usually, before these operatives went out of their way to live life as humans for God knows how long, Pagon as the Acting General of New Skrullos will test the operatives loyalty and dedication to the cause. Ibragim Musayev is a high-ranked Chechen officials that the Skrulls decided to target since he has close connection with some scientist that would be beneficial for the Skrulls cause, and obviously, Chechen militia (do we need to spell this out?). As the Skrull operatives finished changing into Musayev, Pagon asked him to stand straight and interrogate him

"What's your name?"

"Warrior,"

"What's your fight?"

"Skrullos,"

"What's your dream?"

"Home.....in my own skin,"

"Your enemy is?"

"Humans, of all kind, sir,"

"Can you assure me your utmost dedication to the cause and will not let any humane distraction swerved you from the goal?"

"Yes I can, sir,"

"Well, let the time talk on that. Remember warrior, no spot, no flaw. You're Ibragim Musayev now and there's no going back unless I or Gravik tell you to,"

And just like that, the 260 lbs 6'5" mass monster of a military commander just walk right out to the next room to pick up his clothings, ready to straighten up some unruly Chechen fighters under his command and see how beneficial the scientific community he has close ties with can be leveraged and utilized for the cause of his people

[writethrough]

The Accident That Led Me to You (Part II)

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Synopsis: You and Morpheus finally go on that date.

Warnings: Feelings of unworthiness, fluff, mutual pining, Death and Lucienne being the ultimate wing-women

Word Count: 2542

A/N: Here it is! Part two! Grammarly decided to be a bitch today and not help me edit. Also, I don't know why I'm doing this to myself, but what about part three?

Read Part I

If the emissary and janitor of the Dreaming had gotten wages, neither would’ve been happy. A month had passed since that day in the library. You and Morpheus were still making cow eyes at each other, Matthew and Merv kept renewing their bet, and Lucienne had enough of you four. Death, on the other hand, was greatly amused by both of you.

You were a close friend to her now. Despite her compassion and kindness, she didn’t have many. She practically jumped at the opportunity your strange circumstance put you in. Not that either of you minded.

Though Death was busy frequently, she always made time to see you. Now, curled up on your couch with wine, you couldn’t help the giggles as she told you a story about a younger Morpheus.

“It’s true! He doubted me, and I had to prove him wrong!” She said it like it was the obvious thing to do.

“But did you have to steal the horse?” You pursed your lips, trying not to laugh.

She shrugged. “I had to make an entrance.”

You both erupted into more giggles.

You could only imagine the look on Morpheus’ face when all of this happened. Did his lips tug into a smirk? Were his eyes alight with amusement at his sister’s antics?

It wasn’t until Death spoke that you realized you’d gone quiet.

“So…” she drawled, giving you an expectant look. “How are you and my dear brother?”

You groaned, knowing exactly where she was going with this.

“We’re fine,” you said, taking a big gulp.

“Just fine?”

You nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“You looked cozy when I dropped by the other night,” she said.

She had arrived in the Dreaming a few nights ago to talk to Morpheus. When she didn’t find him in his throne room, she searched and discovered you and him in the library. Lucienne was off somewhere while you were shoulder-to-shoulder over a book. Death would’ve made herself scarce if Morpheus hadn’t caught movement out of his periphery. Later, when she questioned her brother about it, he said nothing was happening between you two.

“Come on, (Y/N)! When are you going to ask him out?” she whined, gripping your wrist.

“Why would I ask him out?” You pretended to be clueless.

“Because you like him!” she said, exasperated. “And he likes you.”

“Has he told you that?” You weren’t expecting her to answer.

“He literally doesn’t stop asking about you,” she said. 

“Oh.” You paused. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

She pinched the bridge on her nose. “You are both going to be the death of me.”

You snorted and couldn’t help bursting into laughter, and she soon joined you.

—

No matter how long Morpheus stood in front of his soon-to-be creations, he couldn’t seem to finish them.

Half-formed shapes and featureless bodies could not focus him. Instead, he thought of you.

What were you doing at this moment? Did you start a new book, or were you still stuck on the previous one? Were you having a good day? When would you go to sleep so he could see you? Should he visit you before you go to bed so he could see you sooner—

“My lord?” Lucienne broke him from his thoughts.

“Yes, Lucienne?” He continued to face his would-be dreams, intent to appear as if he were busy.

“Are you alright, my lord?” she asked tentatively. “You seem distracted.”

Of course, his librarian could read him like a…well, like an open book.

“There’s no need to concern yourself. I am alright.”

There was a moment of silence. Morpheus could feel Lucienne wanting to speak.

“Is there anything else, Lucienne?”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “If I may…you and (Y/N), you’ve gotten quite close.”

“I suppose,” he said, smearing a wave of hair onto one creation to distract himself.

“And you enjoy her company—greatly,” she added.

“Yes.” His reply was a bit drawn out as if he didn’t know where the librarian was going.

“It’s just…I believe she’d be happy if you were to tell her. And…”

Morpheus now fully faced her. “And?”

“And perhaps you should both stop mooning over one another and do something about it,” she said, letting a breath of her exasperation slip through.

Morpheus, shocked at her outburst, could only think of one thing to say.

“I’m not mooning over (Y/N).” His cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

“My lord.” It amazed him how Lucienne could twist his title, like she said, “We both know you’re lying.”

The look in her eyes made him divulge his hesitance.

“How could something possibly come from us? It…It could not last.” He let his gaze linger over her shoulder, recalling why they had been able to meet in the first place.

Lucienne gave him an understanding smile and took a step forward. “We both know there is no such thing as an ending. Only new beginnings. Perhaps this is one the both of you must start together.”

Her words sunk into his bones. Death had never been final—it did not signify extinguishment. It was simply a transition. One which (Y/N) somehow avoided before meeting him. But maybe that transition was taking on another form—one that could begin with a simple question.

—

You and Morpheus had just left Cain, Abel, and Goldie. The young gargoyle was rapidly growing and was ever the playful creature. Though, she tired fast, too. Goldie spent most of her time curled up on your lap, sleeping.

“Abel grows more worried each time you visit,” Morpheus said as you walked back to his castle.

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Why would he be worried?”

“He fears Goldie will want you instead of him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please, she loves him and Cain too much to ever leave.” You squeezed his arm slightly. “And besides, I can’t take care of a growing gargoyle part-time. I’d need to move in if that were the case.”

“That can be arranged.”

You stopped, your hand on his arm halting him as well.

“You’d let me live here?” You both got along well, but would he really want you invading his space?

“If you wished, yes,” he said, earnestness in his eyes.

“Would that even be allowed? How would that even work?” You were mortal. And alive. You knew Matthew had been a human, and Cain and Abel were invited by Morpheus to stay here, but all of them were technically dead.

“I am the ruler of this realm, (Y/N). Of course, it’s allowed.”

“But wouldn’t I have to die?” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit worried.

He chuckled. “No, I would never suggest it if that were the case. And you’d be free to come and go as you please. I would not keep you from your life.”

“Oh.” You sighed, relaxing. “That’s reassuring. The not dying thing. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me.”

“Good.” He gave you a gentle smile.

You stood there, taking each other in.

His eyes never left you. Usually, you’d shrink away if someone paid this much attention to you, but Morpheus always made you comfortable. It was uncanny how connected you felt to him, and sometimes it scared you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of something more. Maybe Death was right. Maybe her brother did have a soft spot for you.

You hadn’t noticed you had returned his smile, and it was the way he glanced down at your lips that had you speaking before you could think.

“Would you want to go on a date with me?”

—

A few days later, you sat with Lucienne, trying to figure out what a date with an Endless should look like.

“Whatever you plan, he will enjoy,” Lucienne reassured you.

“But how will I even know he’s enjoying it?” You sighed, exasperated. “It’s not like his face will show it! Honestly, it’d be easier to read Moby Dick in Mandarin.”

“I’m afraid the closest you’ll get is reading it in Chinese,” she said without looking up at you.

You brushed her comment off with a wave of your hand.

“You know what I mean.”

She set her pencil down. “Yes, I do. And I also know his lordship. He would not have agreed to a date with you if he wasn’t completely interested. You could take him to watch paint dry, and he’d be happy.”

You considered what she said. It was true—Morpheus had no issue denying someone. He also seemed…content when you were around. After all, he was the one to approach you after you ran away from him and his sister.

“It’s just…I want him to have the best time. He’s this powerful entity who’s had all these experiences. What am I going to do that could ever keep his interest?” How could you ever compare to him?

“(Y/N),” she said, gaining your attention. “You keep his interest. All you have to do is share the same space, and he’s entranced. Not to be rude, but it’s why nothing ever gets done anymore. His lordship’s nearly useless when you’re around.”

“...I’m sorry?” you said, uncertain if she wanted an apology.

“There’s no need. I’m hoping once you’re in a relationship, everything will be in order again.”

“A relationship?” Would Morpheus want to take things that seriously that quickly?

“(Y/N),” she gave you an “are you serious” look, “he’s—oh, what’s the colloquialism—he’s whipped.”

—

Your biggest concern about your date tonight wasn’t if Morpheus would show up or not—no, he would never stand you up—it was if he’d like what you had planned. What kind of first date would an immortal being enjoy? Dinner and a movie seemed too simple. A museum had sounded intimate initially, but frankly, you weren’t interested in looking at anything other than him. You landed on an evening at the local fair.

It was during a weeknight, so it wasn’t that crowded. And you could snack on fair food as you walked around and talked. There were benches scattered around the grounds. And in an hour, music would play at the stadium near the back.

You told him to meet you at the front gate. You had to force yourself not to play with the beginnings of a hangnail as you scanned the incoming people. He had a few minutes before he’d be late, but he was a king. He had better things to do than go on a silly little date with y—

“(Y/N).”

You turned, and there he stood. The first thing you noticed was his smile. Though small, it was gentle, and his eyes were bright. He seemed lighter somehow.

His gaze slid down your form, and heat settled in your cheeks when he looked up again.

“You look beautiful,” he said, and if he couldn’t tell you were already blushing, he could once he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered, then cleared your throat. “Shall we?”

He nodded, still giving you that look, and held out his arm.

Once inside, you pulled him to your favorite hot cider stand.

Walking around the various vendors, you pointed out different spots you had tried and reminisced about your family and friends.

“The look on his face when she proposed was priceless,” you said, gesturing to a bench in front of a stack of hay bales. “Then he pulled out the ring he got for her as his answer.”

“They are fortunate to have found one another,” he said. “Not many can say they’ve found their love.”

“No, they can't.” You led him to the bench, needing to rest your feet for a moment. After brushing the hay off the seat, you sat shoulder to shoulder, the band starting up.

“It’s a common dream—and nightmare,” Morpheus said. Then, after a pause. “Tell me, what is your dream?”

You opened your mouth, not sure where to begin.

“I…well, after what happened, I want to try everything,” you said. “I want to travel, and explore, and…and find love.” You breathed out a laugh. “I guess my dream is to just…live.”

The look he gave you was one you couldn’t decipher. He was focused, maybe searching, trying to figure out a puzzle you weren’t aware had something to do with you.

Then, his features relaxed. “If I can help you achieve those dreams. I will.”

You blinked. There was no sign of a lie or uncertainty. He wanted to see you succeed. And before you could say or do something to embarrass yourself, you returned his question.

“What about you? What’s your dream?”

His brow furrowed as he considered your words.

“I…I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that.”

“Really?” He was the embodiment of dreams—surely someone had wanted to know what the Dream Lord wished for.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ve had dreams, but now…I haven’t thought about them in ages.”

You hummed. “We can help each other then. If there’s anyone who deserves to accomplish their dreams, it’s you.”

His eyes grew wide. And just because it was so rare to see him surprised, you continued.

“I’ll be your own personal Queen of Dreams,” you teased, wiggling your fingers as if casting a spell.

He chuckled. “I quite like the sound of that.”

“Good.” You then realized a slow song was coming from the stadium, and an idea popped up. Before you lost your nerve, you stood, holding out a hand to him.

“Dance with me?” You smiled when he placed his hand in yours without a second thought.

His hands rested on your waist, and he pulled you close.

Your arms wound on his shoulders as you swayed, not noticing the glances and small smiles thrown your way.

Morpheus’ thumb grazed your side softly, a breath of a touch.

“Thank you. For tonight,” he said, eyes boring into yours.

You tilted your head. “Does that mean you enjoyed yourself?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I always enjoy it when we’re together.”

Heat pooled into your cheeks as you let out a nervous chuckle and looked down.

He returned your gaze to him with a hooked finger under your chin.

“I believe this is when I request your company for our next date. Or am I mistaken?” The slight narrowing of his eyes suggested he was trying to remember.

“I don’t think the social rules apply to us,” you said. “And I would love to.”

His smile made your stomach all fuzzy.

“Tomorrow?” he asked, hopeful.

His tone emboldened you to answer with a kiss on his cheek.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

Morpheus was in his throne room, preparing for your next date when Death arrived. She strolled in, whistling.

“So, when can I expect a wedding invitation?” Death teased.

Morpheus shook his head slightly with a small smile and played into her. “I already asked her to move in with me, unintentionally.”

Death laughed. “Your first date, and you already want to cohabitate.”

“It was before.” His reply was somewhat hesitant, knowing his sister would enjoy that information a little too much.

She clutched her side, still giggling. “Oh, little brother, you’ve got it bad.”

[falconearring]

Hello Falcon, first off LOVE you're AU and designs, their so unique. I was just curious and I don't think anyone's ever asked this but.. What did everyone do before the Apocalypse? Aside from Scar which you already answered. :)

Hi hi! So happy to hear you're enjoying! I think here and there I've mentioned bits and pieces of some character's pre-apocalypse lives, but never all at once. Here's a comprehensive list of everybody's prior occupations, with some supplementary info for the characters that I've thought about the most.

Etho worked on an industrial farm. He was mainly tasked with planting and harvesting vegetables, and other miscellaneous labor tasks. When he wasn't working, he spent much of his time with Cleo and Bdubs. He's notorious for leaving his flip phone on the kitchen counter in his apartment when he goes out for the day, so it can be a bit difficult to get a hold of him. In general, he's pretty content with his life, and enjoys the routine his job offers.

Joel sort of just goes through the motions. He works a number of minimum wage jobs during his adult years, and doesn't really do much else. It isn't until the apocalypse, when he starts to meet new people and he realizes being lonely sucked. If you ask him, though, he's never felt lonely in his entire life-that would just be silly.

Grian spends his late childhood learning how to cook in a local restaurant. The owner and staff look after him best they can, but despite their hospitality, he resolves one day to grab as much cash as possible and head to a seaside town to start his early adult life. There he finds a small funeral home, and lands an apprenticeship only because they could really use the help and the owner themselves isn’t particularly concerned if they have to cut corners. It isn’t long before his inexperience starts to cause problems, and he takes off yet again when it comes to light the name he had been going by was stolen from an obituary a few cities over. He continues as he was, from place to place and name to name. It’s become somewhat routine for him to cheat every person he comes into contact with, in some way shape or form.

Scar, as we discussed in this post, has an extensive criminal history. Him and Grian somewhat deserve each other in that regard.

Cleo does a lot of crafting in their free time. I don't think I ever decided what she does for work, but on the side she does jewelry making, pottery, crotchet and a bit of sewing. She often sells some of what she makes, or gifts it to friends.

Bdubs does a trades program and is just starting out doing construction work. He takes up drawing as a hobby, mainly life drawing. His two best friends are his whole entire world, baby! He somewhat struggles with his independence, and usually wants to spend his time with Etho and Cleo.

Martyn is a hypnotherapist who specializes in past and future life progressions/regressions. He also claims to be a surgeon, but it's unclear what kind or when exactly he got a PhD.

Bigb was a racecar driver. Later in his career, he switched from cars to offroad motorcycle racing. He fell in love with modifying bikes and became a really knowledgeable mechanic.

Tango was a paramedic. Not much time for anything, but when he can he usually would meet up with some of his buddies to play board games.

Ren worked at the saw mill where Etho's friends are set up. At the time, he was living in a cabin in the woods not far from his work. He was somewhat of a hermit, and he has all sorts of woodsy knowledge and equipment at the ready.

Impulse has a bachelors of engineering and worked as an electrician for a few years. Loved his job, loved having to take out all his piercings most days a lot less. He's always been very close with his brother, Skizz, and they meet up often.

Skizz worked a 9-5 office job, and genuinely could not be any happier about it. He's the type of person to make extra time to exercise, or wake up early just to have some quiet time.

Pearl was an art student on exchange from Australia. She has a passion for installation pieces and painting. Some of her work is a bit strange.

Mumbo was a programmer. What did he program? I don't know. I'm sorry Mumbo fans. If it's any consolation he is so disoriented and so scared and so stressed.

Jimmy lived on a small farm with his family. It was all he knew growing up, and it was all he really knew going into adulthood.

Lizzie had a part time job at an aquarium in her town. She gave tours and sometimes did workshops with the kids where she did aquatic themed arts and crafts.

Scott.... I have a hard time imagining what he was up to before everything happened. Who can say for sure what he did in his spare time? (<- the guy who is writing the AU and can't think of an answer)

Hopefully this is helpful! Sorry some of it is more sparse than other parts. Take care, thank you for reading ^_^

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

I wonder like what does Yves like to eat? Does he prefer sweet foods? Savory? Salty? Etc?

I could also imagine that he would change his darlings food cravings and wants with his reality bending if they are lacking a certain vitamin or mineral.

TW: eating disorders, gore and nasty horrible rich people stuff like making people their toilets or something, sexual harassment and human trafficking

He has expensive taste, the palate of a stereotypical rich person. It doesn't matter if the dish is sweet or savory, it must be made from scratch from the freshest produce the market can offer. He prefers to eat his own cooking as he can easily control what goes into it.

Yves has an intense aversion to strong-tasting foods, not because he can't handle the pungent aroma of garlic or other spices; he used to eat boxes upon boxes of takeout, fast food, and convenience meals.

It's because he associated them with the decades he spent struggling to find his footing in this world. They were cheap, accessible, and definitely not something he would willingly put in his body despite knowing it probably wouldn't affect him greatly in any way now.

Foods that are greasy, overly salty, processed to unrecognizable heights, and contain a barrel's worth of sugar are foods that Yves has a strong disdain for. He very much prefers eating foods that are steamed, boiled, or baked with minimal amounts of oil, salt, and sugar. His cooking is definitely still flavourful, it's mostly simple but it has a quality that makes it lavish and 'clean'.

Yves wasn't always like this though. Just like most humans, he started off hating his vegetables and fruits, yearning for junk and other vices. His previous cravings are only exacerbated by the stressful life that he lived, to no one's surprise, he wasn't always in the best shape. Or the best state of mind.

He knows what it was like to live in a severely unhealthy body on both ends of the spectrum. Yves was both a hundred pounds overweight and a hundred pounds underweight, neither phase was fun at all and it just made his life much harder than it was supposed to be.

Yves sobbed hysterically when he failed to stop himself from eating an entire 5-pound chocolate cake to cope with his emotions, then promptly threw up everything afterward on the dingy floor of his dilapidated rental. He was too familiar with the feeling of his two fingers pushing his uvula as deep as he could so he could empty his stomach into the toilet bowl, to the point that the off-white ceramic was painted red. Yves knew what half-eaten hamburgers covered in god-knows-what, found in dumpsters taste like. He knew what ingredient in candies to look for that aided him in vomiting, he tried all the slimming teas, laxatives, and enemas. Yves had his favorite brands.

Yves vividly remembers how he would be out of breath just by standing up, how his joints felt like it was about to give out at any moment. The bruises he received from merely sitting on certain types of chairs, the horrible chafing that led to nasty, debilitating infections because he didn't have the means to receive medical attention, the humiliation, and degradation, painful and permanent swellings, the increased frequency of sexual groping that usually led to something much worse, overheating in a flesh suit that he cannot just remove, the cruel loneliness, the desperation for food when he doesn't even have a single cent left to his name, his reflection and more revolting memories.

He remembers all of it. He remembers the broken bones that were forced to heal on their own, bleeding orifices leaking with excrement due to his abuse of weight-losing drugs, articles of clothing ruined by his own feces and vomit, the obsession over the number on his scale, the shivering even at scorching temperatures, locks of his hair clogging the drain, fainting spells that cost him his meager wages for the week, the taste of his own stomach acid still lingers on his tongue, his "friends" who were equally as ghoulish calling Yves a fat pig and incessantly oinking at him for finishing a whole apple by himself, being unable to chew properly because his teeth were eroded, being unable to fight back because he was just that weak, fingers that looked like it belonged to a rotting corpse, his reflection, the hunger, the hunger, the hunger...

And in both chapters of his life, one thing stayed constant. The infamous, deep-fried, saturated, tastebud-abusing slop served to the disadvantaged masses.

So please do forgive him when he gives you a blank look for an uncomfortable while when you eat a crispy fried chicken leg in front of him. He didn't mean to give the plate of french fries on the table a long, dull stare before digging in like any other normal person; with a lot more elegance. Yves just had a few memories pass through his mind, that's it.

Not to say that he will act like it's the end of the world to eat the food that he hates. You wouldn't know that he despised them unless he told you, Yves would have eaten it without complaint and hesitation, expressing his gratitude to you for getting these for him. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, after all.

Yves understands that his experience doesn't necessarily reflect yours, he has no issue with you eating garbage foods in moderation. You will have cravings, it's simply something humans like you have to deal with. He will still agree to have a date or two at a fast-food joint even if he detests the griminess and classlessness of it all, as long as it makes you happy to see him 'enjoying' himself too. Of course, he would attempt and succeed at making healthier alternatives at home.

If you're craving something that is missing many of the key nutrients but it's not harmful to your health, he would fortify it with the needed vitamins or minerals. You couldn't even tell the difference, but your body will.

He will have a massive problem if you exhibit the same symptoms his younger self had. Yves will plant his foot firmly on the ground, he wouldn't even talk to you about it. He goes straight to rewiring your brain without even thinking if Yves noticed your struggles. You would find yourself one day 'cured' of whatever complex you had with food, baffled but grateful, brushing it off as something trivial although it is anything but.

You might notice that the fridge always has at least one tin of sturgeon caviar on a block of ice. You deduced that his favorite food is caviar, but you might not truly know why.

He isn't stingy with it. Yves told you that you are welcome to eat as much as you want (within reason, it has a ridiculously high sodium content). Whether you like eating it or not, it was astonishing that he could replace it as soon as it's finished despite needing to pay an exorbitant amount for a container the size of your palm.

And he associated that overpriced spoonful of fish eggs with the dawn of a new era and the end of his horror-filled years. His life wasn't perfect when he first tried it, far from it actually. He still gets assaulted, spat on, molested, and insulted straight to his face, more so due to his new career as a budding fashion model. But it was a change, an overall positive change.

Despite first trying it at a mansion owned by a syndicate of influential Oligarchs who hire conventionally beautiful people and commit unspeakable acts against them, caviar became a symbol of hope. Yves, disheveled, drugged beyond belief, and covered in bruises, cuts, and disgusting fluids, managed to slip out of the room where the torture happened. His own disorganized thoughts drowned out the screams of his colleagues and the cheers of the rich, Yves was on a mission.

He somehow maneuvered his way through the hallways without being detected by staff or other members, finding his way to one of the private chambers. It was occupied an hour ago, as shown by the mildly displaced chairs and empty crystal glasses.

Even under the influence of substances, his first instinct wasn't necessarily to run away. It was to rob them of everything they had, watches, jewelry, shoes, bags- anything he could get his sticky hands on. God, he so badly wanted to own their wardrobe. The rings looked dazzling on his fingers, and the purses fit right around his arm.

Then his bloodshot, dilated eyes landed on the glass table.

An open bottle of champagne half filled; in Yves's eyes, half-empty. A tray with something he only heard of, but never seen. A tin filled with numerous, tiny black spheres accompanied by a plate of Blinis and an intricate bowl of creme fraiche, and a couple of lemon wedges.

His hands trembled as he stumbled towards the glistening set. These are what the rich and powerful eat. He thought to himself. Yves didn't understand the fondness towards these. Tastewise, he didn't find anything particularly exciting or great. Statuswise...

For a minute, just a mere minute, Yves felt like he was at the top of the world. Yves ate what his 'masters' ate.

It didn't matter that he got caught after, it didn't matter he was made an example of by being urinated in front of an audience, beaten unconscious, and had a skull fracture. For a moment, he was their equal. And this will be the last time he will be disrespected to this level.

He escaped with enough stolen goods to buy his way out of his hell.

And he stole a coveted tin of caviar for himself.